“She wanted this. She asked for this!”

“She?!? My son is not a she, Cheryl! This is delusion! This is abuse!”

“You need to get off my property, Dale, or I’m calling the cops!”

“I bought this house, you bitch!”

“Before you abandoned it!”

I couldn’t believe this was happening. I hadn’t seen my father in years! He picked my thirteenth birthday, as well as the day before my first school dance, to just show up? And now the two of them were arguing. I thought I had forgotten about the arguing. But it was always like this, wasn’t it? Was this my fault? Was this always my fault?

I couldn’t stand this going on any longer. No, this wasn’t my fault. I didn’t start this. But I was going to put an end to it. I got out of the car, my wig blowing back into my face from the wind. Fed up with it, I took it off and threw it back through the passenger side door just before slamming it.

“Honey, I told you to wait in the car!” my mother said, sweetly, yet clearly uncomfortable.

“That’s my boy! Facing problems head-on instead of hiding from them!”

I looked him dead in the eye. “You’re one to talk. And I’m not your boy.”

The smirk disappeared from his face.

“Why’d you take off your wig, honey?” my mother asked, concerned and confused.

I resented her confusion. “I hate that wig, Mom! It’s tight and scratchy and itchy and it won’t stay out of my face!”

“Just who do you think you are to talk to your parents that way?” my father asked, before turning to my mother. “What the hell is the matter with you? You made him wear a wig?!?”

“She wanted to try living as a girl!”

“No son of mine…” he angrily left the sentence behind. “What else did she do to you, Chris?”

“I’m not your son! I never was! I barely know you, so why are you back here trying to ruin my life?!?”

His face became sad, in an acted out sort of way, like he was only pretending to have emotions. “I came here to see you on your thirteenth birthday because this is supposed to be the day you become a man. That’s my right as a father, isn’t it?!?” He paused, as if to catch the manly tears in his eyes that weren’t really there. “But I can see that day isn’t here yet.”

“And it never will be,” I replied.

“You need to leave, Dale…” my mother said, puffing up her chest. “Kris and I need to get her ready for her first school dance as a girl.” She looked down at me. “Kris, honey, could you go get your wig from the car?”

“No! No more! I haven’t been wearing it except around you, I hate it!”

“Well… I’m very sorry, Kris. I wish you’d told me sooner, but that’s fine… maybe we can switch you to hair extensions. For now, I can still help you pick your outfit and do your makeup.”

“What’s the point? You’re just going to make me wear what you like…”

“We can stop putting you in what I like when you figure out what you like.”

“I already have! And you took some of it away for no reason!”

“He likes toy soldiers and football, like a normal red-blooded American boy!”

“Shut the fuck up, Dad! You don’t know me!” Tears started streaming down my cheeks. “You… you’ve never known me.” My mother stared at me, mouth agape. As did my father. They’d finally stopped fighting, but I somehow couldn’t stand the silence, either. “I don’t want to be around either of you right now.”

I ran off. My mother began crying out for me, her voice quivering. “Kris, I - I’m so sorry! You can have your Mario back! You don’t have to wear the wig anymore, you don’t have to wear anything you don’t want to! I’m so sorry!”

I didn’t look back.

~

I arrived at the mall, but it was already closed, so I took refuge in the loading bay. I sat on the curb, more alone than I’d ever been, and cried into the knees of my jeans. Was anyone going to come looking for me? Where would I go?

It was starting to get dark. I considered going home, but… no. I didn’t want to see my mom again. I certainly didn’t want to run into my father, if he was prowling around. Could I take a bus back to campus? Ugh, I don’t even know how bus schedules work.

It was just then that I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around, frightened, nervous, lost as I could ever imagine myself being in such a familiar place. I had nothing and no one. Until someone tapped my shoulder.

“My dear, are you okay? This is no place for a child.” It was Celia.

“No, I’m… I’m not okay. I need to get back to my dorm room. I can’t go home.”

She lowered her eyebrows empathetically. “I’m sorry you’re having a tough day, Kris. Come on back inside, it’s so cold out here. Let me make you a nice hot cup of tea.”

We went through the service corridor into her shop. She led me to the break room and handed me a throw blanket. I wasn’t that cold, really, but it was nice to have someone care about me like this. I couldn’t imagine why she would - we weren’t related or anything. She’d been so nice to me since the day we met, and yet… there was something unspoken between us.

Celia came back with two mugs of tea and set them on the coffee table. She sat on the chair opposite me - it was like a little living room.

“Now,” she said, catching her breath. “Would you like to talk about what has happened?”

“Maybe…” I replied. “But first, I just have to ask, because I’ve been wondering for a while…”

“Yes?”

“When we first met… well, even now… what gender do you see me as?”

Celia leaned back in her seat and paused to think for a moment. “I’m not sure.”

“Wha… What do you mean you’re not sure?”

“I mean what I say, I’m not sure.”

“But you helped me try on a dress, right?”

“I offered to, and you accepted my offer. Isn’t that just good business?”

“I guess, but…” I wasn’t finding the mutual understanding I hoped to discover here. “I don’t understand.”

“Ah…” she quietly exclaimed, beginning to see through my confusion. “You are under the impression that dresses are for girls, are you not?”

“Well, yeah, of course.”

She shook her head. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, those old-fashioned types are always behind these things.” She repositioned her cane on the couch to keep it from falling over. “Dresses are only clothes, my dear - they are cloth sewn into a shape, just like any other.”

“Then… why did I want to try one on so bad if it didn’t mean anything?”

She chuckled. “Things like this have only the meaning we give to them. What did it mean to you? Clothes do not determine what kind of person you can be, they do not pick you. Clothes are to be picked by you - you must figure out who you are first. And only you can decide who you want to be - what person you are.”

I’d never thought of it that way. My father wanted me to ignore it. My mother wanted me to exaggerate it. But what did I want it to mean? What did I want? I think… I think I finally knew. And I wasn’t going to let anyone tell me otherwise ever again.

“Celia… I think I get it. Can you help me put together an outfit for the dance tomorrow?” I blurted it out, but then thought about it for a moment. “I, uh - I don’t have any money, but -”

“It’s no problem, my dear, none at all. Consider it a birthday gift. Or if you prefer, a hiring bonus - if you’d like to come work for me this summer?”

Celia was kind enough not only to offer me that job, but to drive me all the way back to campus. I was so glad to have somewhere to go. I got out of the car, waved goodbye, and carried my large brown paper shopping bag in with me. This outfit had me very excited.

I walked inside, and on my way to our dorm, I walked past Sarah. We’d never spoken much - Kylie, Britt, and I were a tight clique - but she actually started talking to me.

“Hey - Kris, right? Nice haircut. Pretty daring to go so short just before the dance. I’m lowkey jelly of your confidence.”

I wasn’t entirely sure if she was being serious or sarcastic. “Oh, uh… thanks!”

I opened up the door and saw how empty it was. I stood there in the doorway, missing my friends. I knew they’d be back tomorrow, but that seemed so long to be alone.

“Hey!” Sarah called out to me. “Do you wanna join us? We’re all playing board games in the common room.”

I looked toward her, smiled, left my bag in the room, and ran to catch up with her.

~

I slept well that night, better than I thought I would. And now, well rested, I was ready to face my greatest challenge yet: paint my own nails without messing them up. Britt surely wouldn’t mind if I borrowed some of her polish, and she had a large selection - purples and blues and greens and turquoise, black, gray, white, in sparkly and glossy and matte. What would I choose? Hmmm…

I like this dark blue. I rolled the bottle in my hands to mix the pigment and the base without introducing air bubbles, then set it on my desk and got to work. Nail polish requires deep focus and careful brush strokes for a clean result. The slightest deviation from perfection would leave either uncovered nail, or painted finger skin, or both. If I wasn’t careful, I could ruin it. So, I carefully lowered the brush, loaded with just the right amount of paint, slowly down to the nail of my index finger…

And I slipped. Dammit. I looked around for nail polish remover, but there just wasn’t any around. Well, I figured, it can’t get any worse than that. So I continued on, the rest of my nails done to more or less the same standard. I tried dabbing off the excess, but it just smeared. My nails didn’t look great, but nevertheless I was proud of myself. I let them dry for a few minutes until I realized I was getting hungry, so I threw on some jeans and a T-shirt and went off to the cafeteria.

Emily Dickinson School Brunch was an activity I’d yet to experience. It was impressive - lots of fruit, trays of scrambled eggs and Potatoes O'Brien, and even a crepe bar. My sweet tooth ached for coconut syrup, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it there. A crepe with coconut syrup! I was in heaven!

But I’d never been to the cafeteria without Britt and Kylie - where would I sit? I looked around for a bit and didn’t see anyone I knew - until I noticed a hand waving up in the air. It was Sarah!

“Hey, Kris!” she said as I sat across from her. “I don’t see you here on Saturdays very much!”

“Yeah, I usually go home for the weekends… but not this time, I guess.”

“Why not?”

Should I tell her? Would she understand?

“I had a… disagreement with my mother last night, when my father showed up.”

“Your father, huh? Are they divorced?”

“I think so? They never really told me anything. My mom said he was in Bermuda for five years, but I don’t know how true that is. She seemed surprised to see him.”

“My parents are divorced, too. Part of why I go here is because it’s like halfway between their houses. They’re supposed to trade weekends, but my dad is always working, so.. I just stay here.”

“Last night was the first time I saw my dad since I was seven. I don’t feel like I really even have one.”

“Do you have a step-dad?”

“No.”

“Oh…” she seemed to feel even sorrier for me. “I spend a lot of time with mine. Maybe you can get one?”

I tilted my eyebrows and squinted. “I’m not sure how I would…”

There was something of an awkward pause. “Sorry, sometimes I say things I shouldn’t.”

“That’s okay… I appreciate the apology.” I suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. “My mom was trying to apologize when I ran off yesterday. I haven’t spoken to her since then. She’s probably worried sick.”

“For me, sometimes I’m not ready for an apology. Like this one time, another girl slapped me in the face and the principal got involved. She told the other girl to say sorry, and told me to accept her apology, but I don’t think either of us meant it. My face still hurt and she was still mad at me. We made up later, but sometimes the pain is too fresh.”

I looked down at my hands. They were a total mess - no sign of anything approaching a professional manicure. But I started scratching at the painted skin and the blue flaked right off.

~

Sarah and I spent a few hours in the cafeteria, just talking, joking, and laughing. It felt good to be able to make new friends. But it was time to continue getting ready for the dance, so we went back to our respective dorm rooms.

I wanted to do my makeup, but I didn’t want to go too crazy with it. The focus needed to be on my outfit, which I loved so very much. But it would just look unbalanced if I went without any makeup at all, so I picked a dark red shade of eyeshadow and started applying it.

Sure, I spent several hours putting it on in a little desk mirror. And sure, I didn’t get it entirely symmetrical. But I liked the color, and I did it myself! I didn’t need anyone to tell me what to wear!

It was about 6:30 when I heard voices just outside the door. It opened to reveal Britt, with freshly-washed dirty-blonde hair flowing onto her shoulders - shoulders which suspended an emerald-colored sparkling dress that matched her eyes. Also, there was, like, some guy.

“Heyyyy, Kris! I want you to meet Charley!”

She gestured towards him, and all he said in his forced-deep voice was, “sup.”

“Awww!” I said, ignoring the notably dull looking fourteen-year-old boy in the room. “You look amazing, Britt!”

“Thank you!” She clapped excitedly. “Don’t you think I look great, Charley?”

“Eh. Yeah, I guess so.” he replied.

Six words out of this guy and I already knew I didn’t like him.

“Hey, babe…” he said quietly, looking at her chest, then back to her eyes. “How about we kick out your lesbian feminist roommate and have a little fun?”

“What, you mean, like… like before the dance?” she replied.

“Yeah, why not? We have a little time.”

“But… my roommate needs to be here, though… she has to do her makeup. Right, Kris?” Britt looked toward me, and I could see a bit of panic in her eyes.

I scowled at him. “Yeah, dude. I’m not going anywhere.”

Charley looked anxiously around the room, grinding his jaw. “You know what, babe? I’m not really feeling up for the dance. I’ll see you after, ‘kay?”

“B- but…” Britt stammered. “But I thought you were going to be my date!”

“Whatever,” he said, as he left, slamming the door.

Britt sat down, dejected. “He was the only boy who even came up to me at the mall today. Am I ugly?”

“No! Of course not, Britt! You’re really pretty! You’ve got, like, a cute nose!”

“You really think my nose is cute?” She rubbed it and tried to look at it, but ended up just crossing her eyes.

“Yeah! Take it from me, your ‘lesbian feminist roommate’. All the boys are probably just intimidated by your good looks and fashion sense.”

She smiled. “You’re right!” She turned her nose up and drifted into a posh British accent. “Some day a man will approach me who is actually worthy of my affection.”

“Yeah, that guy was just a creep. And I think you’ve been watching too much Downton Abbey.”

~

I took my brown paper shopping bag into the bathroom to get dressed. I didn’t want anyone to see it until I was ready - there’d be more dramatic effect that way. In fact, I’m not telling you what I wore until we get to my entrance at the dance. Don’t peek ahead.

Since I wanted my outfit to be a surprise, I told Britt to go on ahead and text me when Kylie arrived inside. I put it on, one piece at a time, and exited the stall to see myself in the mirror - and wow, did I ever. This… this was really me.

I got a text, and checked my phone, but… it was my mother.

“Kris - I never meant to hurt you. But now I see I have. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. I thought I was nudging you out of your comfort zone, but I see now that I was pushing you to be what I thought you were instead of asking you what you really wanted. This should have been for you this whole time, but I made it about me. You’re not me, Kris. You’re not your father or your brother, either. You’re just you. I’m sorry. Your home is still here with me as soon as you’re ready to come back. I love you. - Mom”

I smiled that kind of bittersweet smile, the one with the weary but hopeful eyes, that you only smile when you know things have been so hard for so long, so long that you can’t remember what good times felt like, but things are changing now. Things are going to be better.

I got another text, from Britt this time. “She’s here! :D”

Suddenly, my confidence faltered. Would she like my outfit? Had I done “fashion” right? I looked towards the door and I felt, for a moment, just like I had before brunch at Tropic of Chorizo. Who would be the first person to see me in the first outfit I ever picked out by myself?

I wasn’t going to let fear stop me. I gathered my composure and strength, and pulled the door open. I walked down the hall to the dance and strutted in.

Britt and Kylie were across the room from the entryway, a few yards from the refreshments table. This is what they saw: A brief opening of the double-doors let in just enough light to obscure all but my silhouette. As I walked in, the doors shut slowly behind me, gradually revealing my pink and baby blue formal flats, my turquoise dress, and my favorite part of the ensemble - the flowing violet cloak. All eyes were on me. I loved it.

Here’s what I saw: Kylie, in a pastel yellow dress with sunflowers on it, brown Mary Jane flats, unstyled hair parted down the middle, and a light tinted lip gloss, and Britt, in her emerald dress and full-face makeup. Both of them had their jaws wide open, and both of them seemed to be blushing.

“Hello, you two. Kylie, would you like to dance?”

She blushed even harder, her face as red as my eyeshadow. “If, uh… if that, uh… yes!”

I led her to the dance floor. Neither of us were taught how to dance, so we kind of just moved around haphazardly while staying close to each other.

“You look beautiful, Kylie.”

“Thank you… I kind of feel underdressed next to you.”

“Really? I kind of feel overdressed. Not a lot of people wearing cloaks.”

She giggled. “Well, I think I see one other.” She pointed behind me, and I turned around to see Violet from the next dorm room over, wearing a black cape, dancing with Britt.

“Maybe Britt is finally over her boy-crazy phase.” I said. We both laughed.

“I like your eyeshadow.”

“Really? I was worried it was a little lopsided.”

“It is.” She smirked. “But it’s you. And I like you.”

“I like you too. And… I like your lip gloss.”

“Would you… like some?”

“Yeah.”

She pulled back and reached into her purse, pulling out the lip gloss. Swiftly, she opened the bottle and brought the brush to my lips, applying a thin coat.

“That’s… not quite what I meant…” I said, as she put the gloss back in her bag.

“Oh yeah? What did you mean?” She batted her eyes, feigning ignorance.

“You know what I meant.”

“Do I? Why don’t you show me?”

I kissed her, and both of us smiled, looking into each other’s eyes.

~

Things really did get better. My mother and I reconciled and she got me in to see a doctor for my blocker implant. It left a neat little scar where they put it in my arm. I still don’t talk to my father much - he doesn’t “get” me. But ever since Kylie introduced me to her family, her father is more of a dad to me than mine ever was.

I kept working at Celia’s Styles every summer until I was 16, when Celia had a nasty fall in the shop. Luckily, I was there to call for paramedics, but she decided to retire. When I asked why, all she said was “my most important work is already done.”

Britt, Kylie, and I all graduated from Dickinson and had a shared graduation party. Such a wonderful time - it was a small event, but all our favorite people came. My family (Dad was invited but declined), Kylie and Britt’s families, Sarah, some other girls from the dorm - even Celia made it.

Violet, the enby from the dorm room next door, opened up shop in Celia’s old spot, and you’ll never believe what they sell. Go on, guess. Yeah, yeah, pretzels again. It’s called Pretzels 'n' Things, and while you might think they’re just selling the same old twists as the other two shops, they’re actually not. The gimmick there is that they have loads of different shapes of pretzel - the classic, the stick, the bow - really, they’ll make any shape you can come up with, if you’re willing to wait for them to bake it fresh. Britt loves to hang around there… but she never seems to order any pretzels.

Kylie and I are still very close. We’re not dating anymore, and definitely not getting married anytime soon, if at all. Going off to college changes people, and neither of us want to make that kind of commitment. Even so… I wouldn’t want to rule it out.

I’ve been on HRT since I was fourteen, and I’m so lucky to have had this opportunity to be myself. I can’t imagine my life having gone any differently - and I don’t want to.

~

I pull up to my mother’s house around noon. I haven’t been here in months, since I’ve been so busy away at school. But she’s asked me to help go through some old junk in my room so that she can use it for storage.

I go upstairs and open the door, flicking on the light. I’m struck by how little this place has changed. Same old mattress, same old posters, same old desk. It’s like it went untouched since I was twelve, and well, it has. I was always at Dickinson and now I’m always at my dorm at University. Plus, summers were more about friends and going to the beach than they were about sleeping.

I start clearing off the desk first. Oh, hey, that one Christmas gift! The latest Dreamworks movie, on DVD - well, it was the latest at the time. I never opened it… and I won’t. Into the donation box it goes.

Alright! It’s that Mario game from the same year! I pop it into my jeans’ pocket. I want to play it again when I have some downtime between classes.

Mostly, the desk is full of math notes and old assignments from the middle school that I went to before I got the pink dress. They’re covered in my deadname - in the bin with it! Hey, where is that dress?

I look over at the closet, wide open, and hanging there just as it has for so long is the silky pink dress with the black ribbon. “How did that thing scare me so much?” I say to myself, and chuckle. I pull it out and look at it more closely. It would never fit me now, and come to think of it, I’m not sure I ever wore it after the first time I tried it on. You know what, though? I didn’t need to. It was still the single most important article of clothing I’ve ever owned.

I feel the fabric between my fingers and start to get sentimental. Even if my mom wasn’t perfect, she gave me the best gift I could have ever asked for. How could I be so selfish as to keep it to myself?

I lovingly fold the pink dress, and place it gently into the donation box.

~ Fin