Nancy Boy (Frerard)

Chapter 1: Fuck Gender Roles

The gentle summer breeze caresses my skin as I stumble across barren field to the other side of town. It's particularly warm today, too bad I was never a fan of the sun.

It doesn't take me long before I'm at the edge of the land, resting upon a ledge that looks out over the rest of the city. I've always loved how quiet this place is. Not many people know about it and those who do don't care much for it due to the infertile land. To many, this place is worthless. To me, this place is everything.

Standing tall behind me is a sparse abundance of trees, unevenly scattered across the border to nowhere important. This is my own frequently rehearsed escape, and I love every spontaneous moment of my performance.

I watch over the land and bustle of everyday life below me as my mind drifts to something better. My life has never really had many negatives, I just find peace in contemplating the things my life remains void of. It acts as some kind of peace offering to myself, or maybe even a proposition to aim higher. I never do though. I'm quite content with the way things are.

Through the flurry of my musing, my senses fall absent of the world around me, that is until I'm saved by the sensation of my ears pricking up to a distant tune.

Someone is singing.

My mind trails from confusion to wonder, because even though I don't know who or where the sound is coming from, nor how they discovered this place, I'm perplexed by the beauty and raw emotion encompassed by their voice.

It's a thousand waves crashing against my skull, memories and emotion and passing clouds of thought, but simultaneously so much more than that. It's everything, the way things are and work, the present, the past and future, the world and everything enclosed by one case of heartfelt sorrow.

It's the reason for everything and a thousand things more. The voice is absolutely everything, especially now, especially to me.

My rather stunned daze causes me to follow the sound, my actions disobeying my brain, but I can't afford to turn back now, and there's still a million parts of me that don't want to. I need to stop, but I deem it impossible at this very moment.

This is everything I've waited for.

The person singing is quite short, yet expectedly still taller than myself. He- she- they?- are sat on an exceedingly low branch, drawing something currently unknown to me in their sketchbook, legs swinging free beneath them.

They sat clad in knee-high socks and a black skirt that could only be described as pleated, a shirt, jacket and heeled ankle boots laced to the top in a rushed bow. Their hair was knotted and slightly greasy, it looked like it hasn't been washed or brushed in several days, uncared for yet still falling perfectly in place.

My approach was slow, steady as if not to startle the unsuspecting victim of my inability to travel back in the direction I came, but it was far too late by the time I'd sat beside them on the branch, my voice flowing between my lips in a friendly sounding coo.

"You have a beautiful voice."

I don't know how they didn't notice me prior to that moment; I usually sense people circling around 10ft from my position, but when they did they jumped up, freezing like a deer caught in the headlights before losing balance and falling from their seating position completely.

My reflexes kick in astoundingly fast as I reach out and grab their wrist before they hit the ground, assisting them as they reform their position beside me.

"My name's Frank."

The artist with the pleasant melodies shoots me a cautious glance sideways, speaking ever so softly, "I'm Gee."

I nod, sending Gee my best winning smile, "It's a pretty name."

There's something I find oddly satisfying about being able to put a name to a face, something reassuring. Maybe it's the generally false proposition of a friendship that an exchange of names brings. Alas, I suppose humans will accept anything to ease their rush of thoughts.

Gee nods, returning to their drawing which I'd come to understand was actually a pair of trees slipping off the page with the rest of the world set around them.

"Your drawing is astounding, Gee."

"Thank you, Frank," and what I didn't expect Gee to do was to smile, but that's what they did, and I think maybe my heart really did skip a beat as they did so. It's something I'd never known to happen to me, something I'd never expected. I never believed it would. I deemed it impossible, I simply can't begin now.

I can't have a crush, especially not on someone I hardly know. I literally just met this person, but my stomach is knotting and fluttering, my heart is pounding in my chest.

The notion seems ridiculous, but I suppose that is nothing peculiar to the mundane ignorance of the overall majority of people. I suppose it isn't going to cause me any harm though, it's only my mind playing games with my heart. It will pass.

"What brings you here then, Gee?"

"Wanted to be alone."

I cringe, slightly disappointed in myself for disturbing Gee from their peace despite knowing nothing of their intentions.

"I'm really sorry for distracting you, Gee, would you like me to leave?" I sigh as I rest my gaze upon a falling leaf. I like the way it sways and dances in the wind, twirling rhythmically to the ground.

"No, it's okay, you're pretty good company actually," they make eye contact with me and smile sweetly. "And you haven't... questioned it," they exhaled heavily, gaze dropping to the bark beneath us.

Immediately I miss the beautiful, eyeliner-rimmed, hazel eyes already, the honey and coffees and fleeting flecks of green. I think I could look into their eyes forever, maybe I could even learn from doing so.

I feel like I shouldn't comment on it, but nothing is stopping me and nothing is going to stop me. My mouth opens without my command, the brain-to-mouth filter completely nonexistent.

"You mean what you're wearing?"

Gee frowns, confirming their answer to my question with a barely audible 'yes'. I can't say it's something I didn't expect, there's just something causing it to hurt.

The hurt in Gee's eyes tells me of only negativity, and I find myself knowing far too well how it feels to be discriminated against for who you are. Okay, maybe not in exactly the same sense, but by the look in their eyes I can feel the daggers stabbing my chest. I know how painful it is.

And in that instant, I know there's something I simply must say.

"Why would I question it? There's nothing to question. There's no law telling you that you're not allowed to wear cute skirts and makeup. It shouldn't matter if you're a boy or girl or something else entirely. You have the ability to wear anything that feels right to you.

"The opinions of others don't matter, Gee, because it's not them being affected by it. Your clothing choices should reflect you, your choices and yours alone. Nobody should be able to tell you what you can and can't wear. Fuck gender roles, dress yourself in only what makes you happy.

"Just do you, Gee, because in the end you're the only thing that matters. Oh, and, for some kind of record or whatever, I happen to think you look absolutely stunning right now."