my name is aaron (ftm)

1

First day.
Eighth grade.
Oldest of the school.
Kings and Queens of the Camington Middle School kingdom.
The rulers.
We survey all.
But somehow, I feel more hopeless than a second grader.
A peasant, lost among the kings.
Walking filth.
Would I call myself that low on the chain?
Not filth, but enough for some to smell a slight pungent odor.
Or maybe everyone has a very bad sense of smell.

"Arona!"
Ignore them, keep walking. Hood on, good. Hands in pockets, good. Legs are freezing because I didn't bother to wear jeans in below zero weather like everyone else.
"Arona!"
Not my name... That's not my name... It's not Arona. Curse my parents for giving me that name. For branding me with that name forever. The name that shows up on the attendance sheets, so when the teachers call your name on the first day of school, everyone knows what to call you. "Tell us what you'd like to be called." They also say. Then you can go, "Oh yes, call me Aaron, not Arona." But then, everyone has already heard your real name. And there's no unhearing it. If only the teachers asked what you want to be called before they take attendance on the first day. Still. The kids I grew up with, they called me Arona my whole life. Before I became Aaron. No one calls me Aaron. Arona, Arona, Arona. Like an evil incantation, everyone is constantly saying it to me. "Aaron! It's Aaron!" I don't even bother correcting them anymore. They call me, and I reply with a muttered "yes?" "what?" "mhmm?". People don't take change too kindly.
"Arona!"
Last one, I can feel it. After this one, whoever calling me will assume I've gone deaf and go hang out with people who actually care about what they think. I continue walking. No more calls behind me. Like I suspected. Where am I even walking to? I have no clue where my first period is. It's the first day. I know nothing. I know everything. I know everyone in this school, I know all the teachers, I know the principles, I know the school counselor, I know how horrid the cafeteria food tastes, I know who to stay clear of and who's on the nice list. I know so much about everyone here. Everyone knows about everyone else. Except me. People think they know me. They really don't. I look around at girls squealing and hugging their friends. What a happy reunion. "Oh, Glenda, I missed you SOOOO much over the two month break where we saw each other every day!" and the dudes, that see each other and nod "hey, how you been? How was your summer? Wow, played video games? Yeah, same with every other boy in this school". The usual back to school chit chat. Meanwhile, I sit on a freezing metal bench (why is it so cold, we just came back from summer vacation?) and stare at everyone lonelily. Not like I'm lonely. I choose to be by myself. I'm not a social outcast or a freak or anything, I just keep my distance. "Would I die for you? No. Can I live without you? Yes." Those people, I don't need, so I stay away. I wasn't always this way. I wasn't born this way. I didn't pop out of the womb going "God, I hate everyone, get me away from all these people". I was very shy for most of my early years, until about fourth grade. Then, I became social until about last year. And then mid seventh grade, the depression gods sprinkled their fairy dust on my head and the world went cold and dark. Early stages were mild, normal pre teen mood swings and wearing a lot of dark. Then I began to eat less, sleep less, hang out with people less, and everything less. Perhaps I'm rushing the story here. I am missing out on a ton of details. But you don't need my life story. In fact, if my life was a book, it would be sitting on a shelf in an abandoned book store, hiding behind other rejected books, collecting dust, the cover barely visible:
"THE LAME-ASS LIFE OF AARON BIDDEN"
Just flying off the shelves, ey? But that's the problem with most books. They're all about someone who's just some average joe, and they're the ones who get to go on wild adventures, meet interesting people and creatures, have their lives changed. The problem with that would be that stuff like that doesn't happen. That's exactly why people read. To read about great and exciting things that they wish were happening to them. Then they all live their life, and die, having never doing those things.

"Hey, Arona."
Sharp intake of breath.
Turning slowly to see who this person is.
Plaster on fake smile. Wave politely.
"Hi Sadel." I say, no cheerfulness at all in my voice.
Nothing against Sadel or anything, that's just how I greet everyone: fake smile and monotone voice. No one is bothered by this. They figure it's just how I am. No one questions me about how I am or how I feel or how I've been doing when they see me. It's hi and bye. Am I avoiding my friends or are they avoiding me? I'm still unsure.
"So what's your homeroom class?"
Oh, Sadel, you're still there.
"No idea." I say truthfully.
"You should go to the office and check."
Oh Gosh, the office. No way in hell. The office is the den of the principle. I really hate the principle. Enough said.
"Sure, I'll do that." I lie.
Better just hide away in the bathroom until someone in my homeroom class tells me which teacher it is.
"How was your summer?"
Why are you still here, Sadel? Go hang out with your other pretty friends. No use being around an ugly fag like me. An ugly fag who was born in the wrong body.
"It was great." I reply with a forced smile.
It was horrible. We went to Hawaii. I was forced to go to the beach practically everyday. First off, I just hate beaches in general. Second, swimsuits. What's the point of wearing something that shows off exactly what I'm trying to hide? Third, salt water stings my cuts. And that is unpleasant I can tell you.
What's Sadel talking about now? I see her lips moving, but I don't really hear her. I hum some tune-less song in my head and nod every few seconds, so Sadel doesn't know I zoned out on her. Finally, she stops talking and turns to leave.
"So I'll see you later then, Arona?"
'Aaron,' I want to scream, 'it's Aaron.' I want to scream so that the whole world could hear.
Instead, another fake smile. "Yeah, bye Sadel."
She walks off smiling to herself. I'm not smiling. I shouldn't have to pretend. I shouldn't have to fake with all these people. I want to just die, escape this place, not have to care about anyone. Just to die. Lie down, close my eyes, and painfully yet painlessly sink down into a black eternal slumber. One where I never have to wake from. One where I don't have to care, because I'll be dead. Dead people don't care.
No, I don't believe in an afterlife. I don't believe in anything. I don't believe in Love, or religion, or God, or Santa Claus, or friendship, or Hello Kitty.
I used to believe in God. It was comforting to think that there was someone powerful watching over me and making sure I was safe and happy. But then one day, I wasn't safe and happy. I prayed to Him desperately every night through tears, pleading for some escape from this horrible torture that is my life. Pleads that were never answered. When I finally knew what I was, I blamed him. I wanted to be a boy. And I was stuck in this girl body. I am stuck in this girl body. With boobs that I don't want. Other certain parts I didn't want. Like, my whole body. I know some people can surgery their bodies and change whatever they want. But I know my parents will never allow it. No one would accept me. I will always have been born a girl. Why couldn't I just have been born a boy? If there was a God, he would be able to tell what people wanted to be brought into the world as, if they wanted to be brought into this world at all. If there is a God, he sure as hell doesn't give a damn what people want. I feel sorry for all the people who waste their lives on some being they believe is watching them, judging them on their every move. They waste their lives in fear that if they don't follow whatever this God expects from them, they will be punished. What kind of religion is that?
The first bell rings. I push myself off the bench, start walking to the bathroom. The school has several bathrooms, but there's a bathroom people barely use. It's small and crammed in a corner most people will walk past on their way to class, and all the stall doors are broken or jammed. Usually I'll walk in there and find lesbian couples making out. They know nobody goes in there, too, so it's a popular secret make out spot. I don't mind. I don't care.
I walk in and choose the second last stall, the one with the only close to decent working stall door and lock. It's loose enough to open and close it, but jams just enough so anyone trying to open it can't. I set my backpack down, leaning against the door, and sit on the edge of the toilet seat without pulling my pants down. I prop up my chin with my elbows on my knees and stare at the stall door. It's covered in fading graffiti. R+G, I hate everything, do drugs, and my personal favorite, School sucks, start a band.
All these messages not meant to say anything, just people writing random stupid phrases, for no reason. I look over to the right of the door, where my very own message is written, I wrote it the second time I hid out in this stall. It says in purple glittery pen: I'm not a girl. And then some smart ass wrote underneath it, yes you are. Underneath that, another doofus wrote, then go to the boys bathroom dipshit. I would. Oh, believe me, I would go to the boy's bathroom, and the boy's locker room in P.E., and when the teachers say "Girls on the left, boys on the right" I would go to the right, if only I COULD. But by society's definition, I am a girl. Society can suck a dick. But that doesn't mean they're wrong. I'm the only person who can tell you I am a boy. 99.8% of people in this world will tell you I am a female. 0.1 percent of that is me. The other 0.1 percent is probably someone who would actually be willing to call me what I actually am.
Obviously, I haven't found that person yet.
I wonder if they even exist.
I chew on my bottom lip and the second bell rings.
Class has officially started.
School has officially started.
And Arona is nowhere to be found. But Aaron is here. Aaron is invisible to everyone though. I twirl a strand of my long brown hair on my finger. I release my bottom lip from my teeth and stare intently at the finger wrapped around my index finger.
Hair. Long hair. Girls have long hair.
I remember over the summer, at a 7-Eleven...

"Here you go, miss."
"I'm a guy."
Light laugh. "No, you can't be a guy! You have long hair. Girls have long hair."
That cashier lady had pissed me off. Some dumb blonde.
I let the strand of hair fall from my finger and I reach into my backpack. I pull out a pair of safety scissors. Hood off, I bring my hair to the front of my body. I separate it into two sections, like when tying up pigtails. I take one section into my fist, and with the other hand I hold the scissors. Snip, snip, snip, snip, snip. The weak safety scissors struggle against my thick hair, but they finally chop through. It feels like relief. I turn and drop the hair into the toilet bowl. Then repeat with the other chunk of hair.
Standing in front of the dirty bathroom mirror. I did a bad job. It looks uneven and messy. I look stupid. I look different. But what can I say, I kinda look like a boy. I used to stand and look at my reflection in my full length mirror and think, from the shoulders down, I look like a guy (minus the boobs I would hide with excessively baggy sweaters). From the shoulders up, I look like an ugly girl. Now, the picture is complete. If I were a stranger on the street, I would think this person in the mirror is a boy. But of course I would say that. Well, we'll see what everybody else thinks at brunch.
Bell rings. Brunch. My ass is sore from sitting on the toilet and I jump up at the bell and dash outside. AIR. FRESH AIR. My heart is jumping, I walk up to the nearest person I know.
"Hi Jason." I say, trying hard to conceal the anticipation in my voice.
"Hey, Arona! Wow, you got a haircut! You look..."
Here it comes, I look like a boy! Yes, yes, yes, yes....
"You look pretty!"
Excuse me, bitch, what was that?
As if reading my mind, "You look pretty." Jason repeats.
I hate my hair more than ever. Maybe I should go bald. People will think I'll have cancer, maybe then they'll call me Aaron. "Oh, she has cancer, I feel so bad for her, let's just humor her and call her Aaron."
I shake my head and walk away from Jason. Pull my hood back on. Damn these people.