Wonderlust

Collective Scrape Marks

Public transit has never been my thing, it never will be. I don't like being young in places with so many eyes, all trained on me and ready to confront me with their upturned noses. They all held in their right fist the hammer of old age, like it was something they could bring down upon the heads of any young person they wanted. It never will make sense to us why we were never allowed to just grow, but I suppose after you've lived enough to see generation after generation pass you by you get tired of waiting for them to discover themselves, when you can just tell them all of the answers. The world is no longer as shiny and new to you as it was, and a small part of you knows you will never get that back. But the thing is children do not want to grow up, and any adult who tries to force them into the unknown world of maturity simply because they are tired of waiting for teens to "grow up" instantly becomes an enemy.

Sometimes I think that happened to Janet. It wasn't intentional. No real parent would willingly rip apart something as innocent as childhood. She was old enough to understand what was happening when dad left. That kind of thing that cuts into your head and makes wounds, they don't always heal nicely. I was thinking of Janet because across from my spot on this God-forsaken bus, there was some guy who had been staring at me for a while. Real shifty looking, the whole package. The part of my brain that was conditioned to think female was scared.

I pulled out my phone and ignored the hateful text messages from numerous unknown numbers and scrolled through my phone contacts. I didn't have many. I hadn't acquired someone's phone number in years. It was just my mom, Janet, my dad whose number I had copy and pasted after he called me that one time, a few old friends who weren't really my friends anymore, and Dylan. Looking at his name drew a sour taste onto my tongue, like a cat dragging home a dead bird.

The finger however over all of these names before it finally landed on Janet. I winced, this was a mistake, but the creepy dude looked away as I pulled the phone to my ear.

It dialed for maybe half a second before she picked up. "What are you doing?"

God, the sound of her voice made me panic, I had to keep calm. "I don't know."

Stupid stupid stupid-

"You aren't running back to us, are you?"

"God no, I value my life."

There were a few moments of silence on her end. "Then why bother calling? We don't want your goodbyes."

"Janet, what is this?" I asked.

The vibration of the vehicle climbed into the soles of my shoes until I could barely feel my feet. Her rage made me numb. Her dark blue rage, her purple insecurity. If we had anything in common is was that we were both devastating train wrecks.

"What is what?" She was still trying to sound angry but I could tell it was forced now.

"Why are we like this? Why do we fight? You know I've never understood why you hate me so much." I admitted.

I don't know why I was saying half the things that spilled from my lips, Dylan had exhausted my emotional filter. I had never had a meaningful conversation with Janet before. We never grew up close. She would always tug at my hair and call me names as a kid. I would even go as far to say, she never loved me.

"I know you've figured it out, you're not stupid." Her voice had gone quiet.

"I got to keep my childhood." I sighed. "That's a long time to keep a grudge Jan."

"Shut up Allie, you don't know anything." There it was, her voice bit dark blue through the speakers with the saturated purple edge, sharp and ready to cut through anything.

"You're right. I don't know anything." I laughed dryly. "Can I tell you something? It's a lot easier to talk to you now that we're miles away."

There was nothing but silence as I stared out the window again.

"I'm not listening." Janet replied, in a fake offhanded way.

"I fell in love with a boy." The words were as salty as tears on my lips. "I thought he loved me too. You can tell how desperate this is because I'm talking to you."

"Att- Allison, why are you tell-"

"What was that?" I sat up.

"It was nothing." She insisted.

"You said my real name." Despite the fact it was coming from her, I smiled.

"Your real name is Allison, and I hate you."

"Mm hm."

Another silence followed, I guessed she was angry and frustrated. I wonder how far I could push that.

"Hey Jan?"

"What?" She snapped.

"What was dad like?"

She paused. "A drunk idiot. It doesn't matter."

"It does to me. There has to be a time before all that happened. Nobody marries a drunk idiot." I pointed out.

"He was a cruel and selfish person, and family was the last thing he cared about. I'm hanging up and telling mom you called."

"No, you won't." I pointed. "You won't because you don't want me to come back. You think mom is safer this way."

"Goodbye Allison."

She hung up on me.

I let the phone hang by ear as I watched the creepy guy get off the train. Then I just laughed quietly to myself. I still hated her with all my being but it wasn't her fault. None of this was anyone's fault, it was just collective scrape marks of human explosions from all sides.

A plus: Janet sees me in her head as Atticus.

That was enough for me. It was more than I ever expected.

"Excuse me miss." An older lady waved her hand in front of my face. "Is this seat taken?"

I sighed and moved my bag under my feet. "Nope."

It wasn't perfect, but at this point I didn't know what perfect was. Thoughts floated by me at the same speed as the trees outside, incoherent and just blurs of color. One stuck with me. Dylan, despite not trusting me, saw me for who I was.

He had the ability to reach towards my face and remove my mask of skin that wasn't mine. This was not my skin, but I was trying as hard as I could to make it my own. He saw that, acknowledged it, and helped me see it too. I hugged my chest a little tighter as the lady next to me threw down a glance of scrutiny. She was trying to figure out why I looked so weird. My skin and my body were mismatched and I was trying my best to call the reflection in the mirror my own. I was trying, but it's hard. It's hard seeing yourself when everyone around you insists on explaining it wrong. I would compare being transgender to buying a shirt online. It comes in the mail, you open up the box, excited to wear this shirt that you really liked, but instead of a shirt in the box it's just a piece of fabric that isn't even in the same pattern or color. You drape it over yourself, and you hate wearing it, but you have nothing else to wear. Slowly you begin to cut and sew it into something that looks like a shirt, it's not perfect but it's growing on you. Your friends and your family will either help you, or they'll tell you can't do that because you were given a piece of fabric and it makes them upset that you would even think about making it into something you actually like wearing. I was just trying to make my body into something I liked living in, simple.

Dylan had been helping me, and I would be lying if I said I didn't miss that.