Zora

Chapter One

A vile man. One that no one ever wanted to be around. And now that he was dead, it was time to celebrate. Tears fell freely down Zora's cheeks, not in sadness but rather joy. Joy of knowing the man who hurt her every day was gone. She would never have to wake up to stare into his dull gray eyes as he forced her to grab him another beer.

Staring at the open casket alone in the church should have been enough to cause her to believe she was free, but so long as she lived every day in constant ridicule, she would never be free. Every day she woke up knowing who she was, but the outside was only crafted to appear more like how she felt inside. People never paid attention to the details, only what they could see. And what they saw was not a girl.

There was nothing she wanted more than to open her bottle of 'Happy Pills' and swallow them dry. Becoming another statistic, as she called it. No one would miss her anyway; it wasn't as though her part of Georgia accepted her for who she was. Everyone in town knew what sort of family she was tied to. One where the father raised a tranny from hell. One where the two would suffer alone in the rest of their unnumbered days.

Yet as she stared into the open casket in a room with no color other than the blue that matched her hair, she felt hope. A change was coming, the possibility to start fresh prompted her to keep the lid of her pill bottle screwed on tight and sit on it's shelf for a rainy day. Soon, she'd think, but not yet.

Unable to handle being alone with her thoughts, Zora stood up from the pew and exited the auditorium. Up the backstairs and to the rooftop, she pulled her hair into a tight ponytail as she approached the edge of the roof. Stepping onto the edge, she sat down and dangled her legs over the side of the building. She was thankful the chapel was on the top floor of the five-story building in the small town.

Rather than occupying the real chapel down the road, she picked the fake one. The one where a man in his mid-thirties had a dream to turn the 'Rhythm of Life', a cult from a classic musical, into a real musical. In a town where everyone had to be the same or else they would be shunned, it was nearly impossible to do anything different. Being the only other outcast in the whole town, the man handed Zora his chapel for the funeral. Though she didn't believe in the man's 'Rhythm of Life' religion, she hoped the hell his religion believed was a place where the wicked would be tortured. And she hoped that was exactly where her father faced eternal damnation.

Zora stared down at the people below her. They all walked leisurely from store to store with their friends, laughing the day away. She wished to have that sort of friendship. To have friends who accepted her for who she was. Who loved her for who she was. But she never believed she would. The moment her mother would arrive to take her to her new home, she was sure she would instead be dropped off on the door steps of a man who would 'cure her'. The life of happiness she dreamed of was not a reality. Life would forever be a nightmare.

With all her belongings already packed up and down in the church, Zora was ready for her mother to arrive. All her mother ever knew her as was a boy. Rather than tell her over the phone, Zora decided to see the honesty on her mother's face and see what could not be heard. Despite the ridicule about to occur, she refused to hide herself again. And with that, she climbed off the edge of the building and entered the church to wait for her mother's arrival.

Down on the sidewalk, Helen exited the taxi. Staring up at the seemingly vacant building, she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and checked the address. Though she knew she was at the right place, she wasn't sure if that was true. Nevertheless, she entered the building.

Walking up the stairs to the fifth floor, her body turned rigid. Nerves shackled her down, holding her back in an anxious headspace as she worried over seeing Jeremy again. After divorcing Hector, she lost the custody battle. He banned her from ever seeing their son again. No phone calls. No texts.

When she hugged her son goodbye for the last time, she slipped her number, written on a piece of scratch paper, into his coat pocket for emergencies. But if she were to contact him again before he turned eighteen, she would face a lot of legal troubles. She refused to risk it.

But he died. Jeremy had nowhere else to go but back to her. And she would take care of her son. She could recall the horrible way Hector treated her, and she didn't want to think of what he may have done to their son. She wanted him to live a normal life. To live as any average young boy would. And as she stepped up to the chapel doors, she was prepared to give it to him.

The creak of the doors opening sparked a cold chill to run down Zora's spine. There was no guarantee who was there. A harasser to make fun of her true self. The morticians to bury her father. Or her mother to come and take her away. Unable to brave a peak at the intruder, Zora ducked her head as the clack of heels approached the casket.

"Where is he?" she heard someone mumble under their breath. "Missing his own father's funeral." A scoff. "Not that I can blame him."

Exhaling in fear, she knew it was time to face the music. "Actually," Zora spoke as she stood up, "I'm right here." Lowering the black hood of her jacket, Zora stared into her mother's eyes for the first time in eleven years. The only emotion she could clearly detect was shock, not that she blamed her. She finally looked like a woman.

Zora shuffled from foot to foot, burying her hands in her pockets as she stared at her mother from under her thick eyelashes. There were no words spoken. No gestures shared between the two. They stood solid as statues as she continued to watch Helen process what she was seeing.

Lowering the hand from her mouth, Helen stepped up to Zora, holding out the hand as though she were afraid to touch the person she once knew as her son. "Jeremey?" she asked, her voice a mere whisper.

"It's Zora, actually," she softly replied, flashing a small smile. "Hi, mom."

"Hi, son- I mean...daughter?" Helen questioned. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to make of all...this," she said, gesturing to her daughter's look. Black, skin tight skinny jeans, a black leather jacket with a hood and lacey sleeves, high heeled ankle boots, and long, aqua blue hair with black makeup around her eyes.

"Well," Zora said as she sat down on the pew, "I'm transgender. I identify as a woman. My name is Zora, and I use female pronouns."

"Oh, sweetheart," Helen cried as she sat down next to Zora and wrapped her daughter in her arms, a gesture the girl was not expecting. "Is this why you're bullied? Because you're trans?"

"Yes," Zora whispered, a tear running down her cheek. "No one accepts me here. They find it easier to make fun of the tranny than to get to know her." Covering her face with her hands, Zora released all the tears she hadn't been able to cry since her father died.

To feel Helen's hands wrap tightly around her frame caused her to cry more. But Helen did not let go. Gentle, soothing words were whispered into her ear, telling Zora to calm down.

"It's okay, dear. I won't let anyone hurt you. Your brother Terrance will protect you, I know it. And if he doesn't, I promise he will get a whooping," Helen assured, causing Zora to laugh with her mother. "There's my angel," she cooed, wiping a tear away from her cheek.

"So...you accept me?" Zora murmured.

Helen nodded. "Of course, I do, baby. I gave you a name when you came into this world because you couldn't give one to yourself. Now that you have your own voice, it's time for you to give yourself your own name."

Throwing her arms around Helen's neck, Zora sobbed. "Thank you."

Hugging her close, Helen whispered, "You're welcome."

Maybe living in a new town wouldn't be so bad after all.