Freakboy (13 page)

illusion's enough.

The thought that it

might not always be is    
a n o t h e r

more radical issue entirely.

I cross my legs

tuck myself under

love how I look when I'm alone.

The crowning touch,

under a plain T-shirt,

came from Victoria's    
S e c r e t
.

A Forbidden Jewel

in a shimmering gift box,

it sat at the back of my closet

for over a week

and images of Bugs Bunny

ran through my head.

When he wore a coconut bra

it didn't make him female.

Padded green satin

won't make me a girl either,

but I wanted

to see myself.

Tonight Mom and

Claude the Interloper

are safely off with their

New Year's Eve–concert audience.

Courtney, worn out

from jumping

on the trampoline,

is safely off to sleep

after I read her four books.

I unwrapped

the package

containing this

symbol

emblem

bra

inside my chest

a furnace.

Excitement

battling

fear.

You know Pandora.                Her box?

Nothing on me.                     And mine.

I fumbled,

caught up

straps too short

cups too high.

I knew I

looked stupid—

turned my back

on the mirror

until satiny material

slid through plastic clips

longer, longer

just right,

struggled to fasten the back clasp

shoved away a rogue memory

of helping Vanessa get dressed.

I pulled on a shirt

looked down,

saw a feminine

shape and

                     I was home.

My soul

had found

a shell.

Relief from

the gray sadness

of what I'm not,

a rising flood.

I imagined moving

through the world

alive and at home

in this, my body.

Physical form

matching my spirit

matching me.

But Cinderella Perfection Can't Last

The grandfather clock bongs midnight and snapshots of

freaked Vanessa

shocked Mother

raging Claude

scared Courtney

etch my brain.

Pretending gets hard

remembering that everyone,

straight or gay,

would be

creeped out by this.

Creeped out by me.

I peel off my shirt

shed the bra

like snakeskin

              ball it up

          and stuff it onto

          the top shelf of

             my closet.

It's repulsive.

I'm repulsive.

If anyone ever saw

the real me

they'd know that.

(Angel)

Because of Frankie

I tried to stay in the area

even after leaving Tía Rosa's.

Not too close though—

La Jolla doesn't roll out the red carpet

for the homeless,

but San Diego's near enough.

There was a whole bunch of girls.

Trans like me

with no place to stay.

We shared clothes,

food when we had it,

tips on safe places to sleep,

advice on which gas stations

would let you wash up in their

bathrooms

without giving you too much shit.

Watchin' out for each other

and ourselves

'cause no one else was.

Well, except for

Renée.

I'd been on my own for two weeks.

Hungry, tired.

She caught me Dumpster diving,

took me back to her place.

Let me clean up,

bought me Taco Bell,

told me how easy it was

to make enough to eat,

buy new clothes,

makeup,

hormones.

All I had to do was … you guessed it.

Oh—and give her a little cash

now and then

if I was gonna do it on her block.

Only Friend I Still Have

from that time is

my roommate Denai.

We don't talk

too much about

what it was like for us

three years ago.

But every once in a while

we'll be at a table in Starbucks

or at home on the couch

and our eyes will meet.

I see in hers what I

know is in mine—

incredible gratitude that

we're still here,

that we got the life

we've got now.

That so far,

we've escaped

the

ugly

the

fatal

statistic.

Praise be to God.

(BRENDAN)

Tonight the House Is Quiet.

That word is loud.

Back against headboard

laptop on knees,

I “research”

bathed in

the dim light of

of my computer.

It's hard to see me

in snatches of statistics,

old words, new phrases

gnaw at my skull.

“Gender dysphoria” churns my stomach

with its science-fiction sound

and what does it mean

that I love Vanessa

mind soul body?

“Gender identity”

and

“gender attraction”—

two different things.

I snap the screen closed.

Not being gay doesn't make me not trans.

No Hope in Hell of Normal

If someone asked,

would I have

enough humor

left in me to say,

“I think I'm a lesbian”?

Vanessa used

to say

I was

a funny guy.

I think she's right,

but it's easier to laugh

when you're not

terrified.

A Simple Solution

And for the next few days

I just fake a sore throat.

It's better that way.

Better to lean back

in the desk chair

playing Warcraft.

I've signed on

with the Horde.

Built my Blood Elf avatar.

No more “research.”

My shame stays in the closet and

I've found a way

to escape from me.

Virtual me has long legs,

blue hair,

a killer body.

It's as close as I can get

to being a girl.

I'm Larissa.

I'm Larissa and

I kick ass and

I can lose myself

in the anonymous world

of online gaming.

I start to think

it's all I want to do,

that Larissa is all I want to be.

The last weekend of Christmas break

is the perfect time to laze at home

pretending to be sick,

not stirring.

It's just better this way.

Except that

                                I miss Vanessa.

Final Day of Winter Recess

I leave the house,

drop an envelope in the mail,

show up to practice

tell everyone I got better,

promise Vanessa

we'll hang.

But during conditioning

that word gets loud and

something twists in me.

I duck out of the gym

catch a bus for home

stand under the showerhead,

let guy stink

go

down

the

drain.

She has to be pissed

I didn't tell her goodbye.

I just don't know

what to say to her.

Of course I love you.

Sorry I'm distant.

No, I'm not mad

just don't feel well.

Not sorry we made love.

Can't go out tonight.

Family dinner.

And that will be it.

There's no explaining

some things.

Others just have a sucky explanation.

(Angel)

Gorgeous Sunday

and I'm singin' at church like

music brings me closer to God.

When I was little,

Mama always took us to Mass.

The Sperm Donor

wasn't big on worship,

so he stayed home.

Sometimes if Frankie fussed

she'd take him

into the cry room

at the back of the chapel,

leave me alone in the hard pew

with wintergreen Life Savers.

I spent my time looking

at the stained glass window

of the Three Kings,

wishing I could wear

their dresses,

the colors were

so gorgeous,

so rich.

Later on,

I really

started listening

and realized that

even if

I liked church,

with its soaring music

and beautiful art,

church didn't like people like me.

After Mama's funeral

we just stopped going and

I sure as hell didn't miss it

until …

Three Years Ago

after a sadistic-pervert john

landed me in the hospital

Social Services got in touch

with the Sperm Donor.

He wouldn't take me back.

(I wouldn't of gone with him anyways.)

Got a social worker named Pat

who placed me with my foster mom.

Praise be to Jesus.

Girl, Veronica was homely.

Fashion? Forget about it!

It didn't matter, though.

Her heart was beautiful

and big enough

to take in kids like me.

She cleaned me up

brought tea, protein shakes

while my jaw was

still wired shut.

Big Macs when it healed.

She read books out loud

when the headaches

were too bad for me

to keep my eyes open.

Told me how smart I was,

how beautiful.

How valuable

my life to God.

I lived with her almost two years,

kids came and went,

bouncing around in the system.

          (And I know now

          how blessed I truly was

          after hearing stories

          from the ones who didn't get

          a Veronica in their life

          soon enough.)

But I didn't have

anywhere to bounce

and she said me and her

were a good fit.

When I healed enough

to get around

she invited me to her church,

said it was up to me though.

So I waited

and then waited

some more.

        (Till I was bored out of my brain.

        And we were used to each other.

        And I was feeling bad 'cause

        I stayed out late one night.

        And didn't call

        'cause it's hard

        to live with house rules

        when you been on your own.

        And she cried when I finally

        did get home 'cause she worried

        but she didn't tell Pat on me.

        Girl, did I feel guilty.)

Funny thing was,

when finally I did go with her?

Church was a serious party!

Singin', swaying, witnessing

to the loving power of God.

Christ Church Unified.

LGBTQ friendly.

They welcomed me

embraced me.

Now that's what I call Christian.

Sundays Like Today