Desperate Cage
In All Senses
Ana, eight and a half years old, the summer between third and fourth grade:
"Come on, Ana! You can pretend to be the mom, and I'll be the dad. After all, I'm a boy and you're a girl," Petey said with disgust. "Don't you get it?"
I looked uncomfortably down at my bare feet. "Well, yeah. But I want to be the dad or the brother. I don't want to be the mom. Moms suck." I knew it was stupid but inside I felt awful about this situation. After all, I felt more like a boy than a girl. There was no feeling like it: The emptiness that got caught on the cage in my chest, the confusion I had nonstop.
"You're such a queer," Petey sneered. Was he right? Was I a queer? I put my head down in shame.
"I think you're right," I whispered.
Petey hollered and hooted and made obscene faces at me. "Holy shit! Ana's a queer! She's a faggot, everyone! Look at her, the faggot!"
***
Ana, ten years old, fifth grade:
Dressed in my baggy jeans and big T-shirt, I strutted across the hallway. "Safety patrol," I said to a kid running in the hall. "You get a ticket for running in the hall." I held out my hand and motioned for the kid to come over here.
He didn't. He stood there and looked at me with a grin on his face. "Alright, Anthony, I'll play your little game. As long as I don't have to be a gaytard like you it's fine with me."
I stood there, motionless. The kid laughed wildly and sauntered off, leaving me to feel empty, hopeless, and broken. Defeated. I was defeated. Nobody gave a shit about who I was or my feelings about anything, anyway. Who was I? I wasn't a girl, that's for sure. I was just a boy in a girl's body, but nobody could understand that. Only I could, and that's why everything fell through the cracks like falling sand.
*****
Ana, thirteen years old, seventh grade:
Slowly I walked in the cafeteria, all eyes wandering on me as I walked up to the line of kids waiting to get their food. They only stared at me because my hair was short and I wore clothes from the boy sections in the stores. And what was wrong with that? I didn't think anything was wrong.
Sadly everyone else disagreed.
"Hey, Josh, look at Ana today. She's wearing your shirt." The two boys giggled and even though they hurt my feelings so much, I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to be a boy and be free to just be myself. Why couldn't anybody accept that?
*****
Ana, fifteen years old, the summer between freshman year and sophomore year:
I looked in the mirror at myself. My dark (ish) brown hair was shaved a few inches on the sides and longer on the top. I put in my .16 steel shot gauges and looked down at my outfit. Big T-shirt, long khaki shorts with the big pockets, and huge Vans.
My chest was naturally a B-cup, so it wasn't a harsh pain when I binded my chest flat. I knew who I was now, after all these years of being taunted and picked on: I finally knew who I was.
Transgender.
"Come on, Ana! You can pretend to be the mom, and I'll be the dad. After all, I'm a boy and you're a girl," Petey said with disgust. "Don't you get it?"
I looked uncomfortably down at my bare feet. "Well, yeah. But I want to be the dad or the brother. I don't want to be the mom. Moms suck." I knew it was stupid but inside I felt awful about this situation. After all, I felt more like a boy than a girl. There was no feeling like it: The emptiness that got caught on the cage in my chest, the confusion I had nonstop.
"You're such a queer," Petey sneered. Was he right? Was I a queer? I put my head down in shame.
"I think you're right," I whispered.
Petey hollered and hooted and made obscene faces at me. "Holy shit! Ana's a queer! She's a faggot, everyone! Look at her, the faggot!"
***
Ana, ten years old, fifth grade:
Dressed in my baggy jeans and big T-shirt, I strutted across the hallway. "Safety patrol," I said to a kid running in the hall. "You get a ticket for running in the hall." I held out my hand and motioned for the kid to come over here.
He didn't. He stood there and looked at me with a grin on his face. "Alright, Anthony, I'll play your little game. As long as I don't have to be a gaytard like you it's fine with me."
I stood there, motionless. The kid laughed wildly and sauntered off, leaving me to feel empty, hopeless, and broken. Defeated. I was defeated. Nobody gave a shit about who I was or my feelings about anything, anyway. Who was I? I wasn't a girl, that's for sure. I was just a boy in a girl's body, but nobody could understand that. Only I could, and that's why everything fell through the cracks like falling sand.
*****
Ana, thirteen years old, seventh grade:
Slowly I walked in the cafeteria, all eyes wandering on me as I walked up to the line of kids waiting to get their food. They only stared at me because my hair was short and I wore clothes from the boy sections in the stores. And what was wrong with that? I didn't think anything was wrong.
Sadly everyone else disagreed.
"Hey, Josh, look at Ana today. She's wearing your shirt." The two boys giggled and even though they hurt my feelings so much, I wanted to be just like them. I wanted to be a boy and be free to just be myself. Why couldn't anybody accept that?
*****
Ana, fifteen years old, the summer between freshman year and sophomore year:
I looked in the mirror at myself. My dark (ish) brown hair was shaved a few inches on the sides and longer on the top. I put in my .16 steel shot gauges and looked down at my outfit. Big T-shirt, long khaki shorts with the big pockets, and huge Vans.
My chest was naturally a B-cup, so it wasn't a harsh pain when I binded my chest flat. I knew who I was now, after all these years of being taunted and picked on: I finally knew who I was.
Transgender.