My Unmasking

No one wanted to go first.
Either that or they were all expecting me to.
Quite a few heads turned in my direction.
Seeking out my white mask,
in the dark seats around them.
Finally I rise.
Mask on,
sign hanging from my neck.
What Is My Name?
Dictionary firmly in hand.
As soon as I rose from my seat,
the clapping started,
and increased to a fever pitch.
I have an idea as to where it started.
Yes I'm looking at you,
Dalton,
Mira.
I continued.
Walking forward to confront my peers.
My teachers,
my friends,
my dorm mates,
and yes,
even a few enemies.
But,
this wasn't a confrontation,
at least not between people.
Certainly not these people.
This was a revelation.
My unmasking.

All day I walked,
walked around with a blank mask,
hiding my face.
But,
not hiding.
More like,
recreating.
I gave them a blank slate,
a virgin canvas.
Around my neck,
hanging by a thread,
a sign.
A sign asking a simple question.
What is my name?
It offered paper and pen.
The directions were simple.
Give me a name.
Take the pen,
take the paper.
Write something down.
A guess.
A suggestion.
Put it in the offered pocket.

I opened my little speech,
with a simple question.
'What is a name?'
I opened my dictionary.
'Well according to The Merriam Webster Dictionary,
a name is simply,
a word,
or words,
by which a person,
or thing,
is known.
So what is my name?
I have many ways that I am known.
But,
I wanted to know what you would name me.
How do you know me?
I got some pretty interesting responses.
A lot of Dante's ,
which is fine.
But here are some I thought I'd share.

One,
from the only counselor to enter a suggestion,
said,
Virginia Butterscotch Sasquatch.'
Everyone laughed.
I let them,
then continued.
'Another great one was simply,
that guy with the face.
Yeah,
I'd say this is a face.'
More laughs.
'But my favorite had to be this,
A Human being.
I am a Human being.
We all are.
That is a name we share.
This though,
this really caught my eye.
Katherine.
Let me tell you why.
Here in my pocket,
in my wallet,
I have something to show you.'
I walked up to the front row,
opening my wallet,
flipping to my school ID.
'Can you read that name?'
I asked.
'Kaitlyn Sanders'
the girl said.
I nod.
'Did everyone hear that?'
They nod.
'This is my school ID.
My legal,
given,
birth,
name,
is Kaitlyn Victoria Sanders.
I applied here as,
Dante Emerson Rausch.
This is the name I identify with.
Dante,
because,
well,
I am not really sure.
Emerson,
because it is a family name.
And finally,
Rausch,
because my father deserted my family,
when I was only nine years old.
I don't want to keep his name.
I don't want to identify with him.
Another interesting entry I got was K. Dante.
Some of you may have seen,
seen the awkward K,
on my name tag,
on my door.
Now you know,
you know what that K stands for.
What you don't know,
you don't know what it means.
Kai-Dante...
that's what my mother stutters,
when she momentarily forgets,
forgets that,
that her little girl,
wants to be a man.

This mask,
makes it so I can't see myself.
Literally.
Figuratively.
No one can really see themselves,
not as others see them.
Sure we try.
But mirrors are warped,
photos edited,
by our own self-imposed ideas of perfection,
and society's ideas of right and wrong.
We fail to see ourselves.
This mask made me look.
It made me see the world differently.
Only seeing others,
knowing that the warped,
edited,
version of myself was gone.
It was androgynous.

I am in a forced state,
an androgynous state.'
I opened my dictionary once again.
'According to The Merriam Webster Dictionary,'
acquired last minute at the NIU bookstore,
'the definition of male is,
of,
relating to,
or being,
the sex that produces germ cells,
which fertilize the eggs of a female.
So,
according to the people at Merriam Webster,
I am not male.
But let us take a look at what they consider female.'
I flipped to the next marked page.
'Female,
of,
relating to,
or being,
the sex that bears young.
Sorry,
but,
I will never bear anyone's young.
I want to be a daddy.'

I removed my mask.
My unmasking.
'I don't identify with this face.'
I put it back.
'This is my face.'
And I was done.

There was applause.
Then a moment of silence,
of digestion.
Then a friend rose.
She spoke of a friendship.
A boy who she trusted.
A trust that was abused.
I cried.
I sobbed.
I wasn't the only one.
And after letting them digest,
I rose again.

'I wasn't going to talk about this.
Not to all of you.
But that,
that was brave.
Today,
I was attacked.
Today,
today I was cornered in an elevator.
By strangers.
They asked questions,
questions that should never be asked.
They joked and laughed,
all at my expense.
They poked and prodded.
But the questions and the jokes,
the laughing.
It will never hurt as much,
not as much as the burning hands that grabbed me.
I don't trust now.
I don't like to be touched.
I don't like people.
Because,
like my friend,
I was molested.
When I was very little,
too little.
By a friend.
Someone I trusted.'
I could hear the sobbing.
Feel the anger.
A friend of mine rose,
and fled from the room.
I ran after her.
I caught her,
took her in my arms and spoke.
'I don't know,
don't know what it is you are dealing with,
but you need to hear the end of this,
more than any of them.
Today,
a boy walked up to me.
He said.
You look familiar.
You have beautiful eyes,
mystery person.
Never before have I gotten a compliment like that.
I needed you to hear that,
there is good in the world.'
And I hugged her.
And together we cried.