10 Things I hate About Her (10 Things #1)

The First Letter

December 21,

I sat on our bench by the lake- the one we took your grandma to. I brought my notebook with me. I found it funny that it wasn't until I couldn't speak to you that I realized how many things I want to tell you. I want to tell you about the trees. How some stand naked and upright at the wind's harassment. I want to tell you of the lake, some parts frozen and covered in snow, other parts, wet and fragile, superficial layer of ice that a slight pressure would crack. I want to tell you of the sky, day after day, cloudy, grey, sad, depressing.

But this is not truly what I want to say. Even though I have taken the time to write to you, I still can't say what I want to. I'm still afraid. It still hurts.

Over a decade ago, we met and became friends.

When I was thirteen, you told me not to jump from the swing. To prove my courage, my superiority, and stubborn confidence, I jumped -completely disregarding your warning- at the swing's highest peak and twisted my ankle on landing. It hurt. It was this blinding, searing pain. You said that was the first time you had seen me cry. You wrapped your arm under mine and assisted me on my walk home. My dad was upset but took me the hospital and the kind nurse took care of the ankle.

You visited my house everyday, reading books, watching movies and feeding me chocolate.

I wasn't terribly sick.

I wasn't dying.

I would heal.

But you still did those things for me. You sacrificed your time and energy to make sure that I was alright. I've met a lot of selfish people, but you were, no, you are different. You care for me. You look after me.

Till now, I haven't forgotten. Half the insults people have screamed at me, I never told you. Your friends that bullied me in elementary school to the point you stopped talking to me for a while because you got pulled in by them.

I never told you half of what they did, not even when you abandoned me for a brief period of time.

What was it that you called me? Disgusting? Sick? Perverted? We argued for a long time before we reconnected, and I swore on my life that I wasn't homosexual. That was our first big fight.

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I was thinking of Shakespeare, and I know it seems like I never pay attention in class, but I do listen, and I learn. There's this quote from Romeo and Juliet which you might find a little bit silly, but I don't.

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."

It's a blessing to be born a man. More than that, it's a blessing to be born a straight man. Women's rights, our voices went unheard for a long time. Even now, we still aren't accepted as men are. Even now, our voices are often unheard. That which we call a girl by any other name would still have feminine characteristics and would still be a 'girl'. I thought at first that maybe if I was born a man then it would be okay for me to love you. Since heterosexual relationship were the standard, then one of us would have to be born as the opposite gender for our love to be okay. But, a woman can never become a man. No matter what alterations she makes to her body, it will not equate to that of a natural born man. At best, it would be a mere imitation.

But, if I were born as a boy, would I be me or someone else? Would I have met you? It doesn't make sense to me that any situation other than this current one is possible. We exist in the now. We live and breathe instantaneously. You and I are together in this life. There are no 'what ifs', there are only 'what nows'?

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Do you hear the blue jay's call? Light and airy on the breeze. Do you hear the muttering of people as they go about their day? Do you hear my heart crying out for you in the dead of winter? Can you see the blood soaking my chest, fired from my own father's gun?

Can you see that I've forgiven you for all the harsh words you said?

You weren't the one that threw sticks at me or ripped my notebook to shreds.

You weren't the one that stole my gym clothes or pushed me into the boy's washroom.

But you spoke, strongly and vehemently against my kind. Like my father, you were the same. Yet, I love you, Naomi, I do. I fear that if I did hold your hand today, you wouldn't be prepared for the sacrifices that would have to be made for us to live together. I don't think you're ready. I want to give you space and time to reflect, because this is a big change. One that we can't rush, and I don't want us to damage the relationship beyond repair. So, as much as I want to pick up the phone and call. As much as I want to perch on your window sill. As much as I want to hold you. I won't. I hope you're doing well.

Sincerely,

Val