Which One's Which

Somewhere We Belong

Before we knew it, Miles and I finally got to a place we hoped we could call home. We walked in with pride, even though we were both very modest. We were determined, yet scared.  Despite our fears, we walked up to the door and when a woman answered, we explained our situations.

She led us into a living room and gave us each a pile of forms, and told us someone would be out to talk to us shortly. 

As we read through everything, we became less terrified. Through it all we gained more and more hope. They had provided so much. They helped with education, safety, getting jobs, getting therapy, life skills, but most importantly, a place to sleep.

"Hello children, I'm Wendy, and I'll need to talk to you both before we decide if you will be staying with us. From what you answered on all of these forms, you both probably will be, but first we have to complete the interviews."

She asked us each expected questions about who we are, where we came from, why we are homeless, etc. 

 After what felt like a century, the woman left. She was gone for around half an hour before she came back to bring us to a bedroom.

We walked into a nice, tidy, room with two made beds. The woman told me where I could put my stuff and I then sat on one of the beds sighing in relief. I knew staying here wouldn't last forever, but I was glad I was at least under a roof for now. As if reading my mind, Miles cheered calmly with a wide grin,

 "For now, we're home!"

They laid back on the bed they had decided was theirs. It looked like they hadn't felt a bed in years, which could easily be true. The kid fell asleep instantly. 

Even though it's late, and I ought to try to sleep, I didn't. If I fell asleep and woke here, then this would all be real. Even though Miles is great, and at least I wasn't hiding anymore, I still miss the security of a real home. I hate that this is all real, and I want to go back. I know I can't, but a boy can dream. Though I guess a boy can't dream if he won't even try to sleep. I'm just going to have to accept reality, and... just sleep. 

...

Nope, I can't sleep. Instead, I located the nearest bathroom. I haven't actually had a chance to really look at myself since I shaved my head. 

"DAMN IT!"

I probably yelled that a little too loud, considering the woman from earlier asked if everything was okay.

I replied with a quiet "yes", while sobbing a bit. I still look really female. I was hoping shaving my head would help, but now I just look like a butch lesbian.  

Wendy knew something was wrong, causing her to reply with a,

"Do you need to talk?"

I gave up trying to hide how I felt, so I just let the tears flood my face as I opened the door and nodded yes. 

She sighed and said "Come on honey, let's talk in the kitchen."

We spoke all night about everything I felt, and she really listened. She understood. She had been kicked out of her house when she came out as a lesbian, therefore she wanted a job where she could  help kids who have gone through similar tragedies. She understood what I was going through, and told me that my reaction after having time to process was actually quite common. 

After a few hours of talking, I finally felt like I could sleep. So we wrapped up the conversation and I quietly made my way back to my room.