I baulk at this, but read on.
One doctor emphasises that all of these conditions are biologically understandable while statistically uncommon. Wikipedia claims research in the 20th century led to a growing medical consensus that this was true, and then immediately begins to talk about the intersex condition’s redefinition as ‘Disorders of Sexual Development’, a term which seems to clash with their definition as biologically understandable. I am left confused.
I read about the history of hermaphroditism, I read about the Greeks, I read about Victorian-era hermaphrodites. I read about different approaches to gender norms, I read about surgery. I read that specialists in the UK began to advise the minimisation of childhood surgery in 2001. Max was born five years before.
In Max’s file there were five pages of writing about his parents’ reaction to his disorder and to everything the doctors said. They were encouraged to let Max be assigned as a girl, then later they were encouraged to assign him to a male gender. The notes stop two years ago. He was almost fourteen, and had just received a round of male hormones.
‘Was he a girl at birth then?’ I murmur to myself, scrolling through the Wikipedia page. ‘What karyotype did Mia come up with?’
I can’t wait until tomorrow, so I drive over to the clinic and let myself in with my key, quickly disabling the security system. There, in my fax machine, is the key to Max’s intersexuality. I boot up my work computer, type Mia’s analysis into a browser and click ‘search’. Three hours later, I’m still trawling through websites, rapt.
I print out each document I find, a mass of paper amounting on my printer tray. I absent-mindedly staple leaves together, bind others in hole-punched folders. I daydream about giving them to Max, going to his school, perhaps dropping by his house. I sit and I wonder how much he knows about his condition.
From our meeting, it seemed to me like he knew very little. I wonder if his parents plan to tell him when he’s older. I have a feeling that explaining everything to him would be for the best, but would it be going against their wishes?
Is it my duty as a doctor to tell him everything I know? I could tell him if he asks, but what if he never does? Is it better for him to go through life unaware, but relatively happy? Or does he only appear to be happy, but is silently searching for something, for a sense of belonging, of self, of home inside his own body?
I could give this all to Max and ruin his life. Or I could give this to him and he could feel relieved to know who and what he is. I might send his sixteenth year into turmoil, aggravate a fairly powerful local family, and ruin his vision of himself. What would Max want me to do?
A fortnight later, with the pile of papers in my office at the surgery still awaiting him, Max hasn’t contacted me again. I take this as a cue, and I regretfully put all thoughts of spilling his parents’ well-kept secrets to the back of my mind.
Max
The middle of October is entrance exam time for Hemingway St Catherine’s, the private sixth form college. Other schools do them a bit later, but since I’m local, a space is reserved for me to take the exam early.
Everyone taking the exam has to go over to Hemingway St Catherine’s and sit in a big hall. The exam determines who gets in, so I need to do really well. I’m one of the top people in my year, academically, but I still get nervous about exams.
Well, that’s not completely true. I get nervous about the grades I’ll get after I’ve done the exam! Actual exams are pretty good, because:
1. You get it over with and if it’s a subject you’re not taking when you’re older, then you never have to remember what you’ve revised for again.
2. It beats lessons any day.
3. Because it takes a little time to get over to St Catherine’s and settle into the exam hall, you basically get a whole afternoon off from school.
I don’t, however, feel that great about today, because Hunter goes here. Despite the fact that his grades have dropped off this year and I know his parents are pissed at him about it, Hunter’s actually really smart. He scored ninety-eight per cent on the entrance exam when he took it.
We wait in the corridor and I watch out for him anxiously, but I don’t see him. I’m relieved as my group files into the big hall. We’re called in alphabetically, so when I walk in, amongst the last there, Sylvie Clark is already sat near the front, in the first row. I smile at her as we pass. I’ve smiled at her a number of times in the last few weeks, but she always looks away. It’s funny, outside of school she had no problem talking to me. Inside the school corridors, she seems to avoid everybody’s eyes. Today she has her hair in two bunches either side of her face. When I smile at her, her irises roll down to the page in front of her and she chews the tip of her pen. She’s wearing a grey skirt that’s pleated and hangs low on her legs, grey tights, and some badges in her black jumper. The girls in my school have to wear grey, the boys wear black. We all wear black jumpers because you can’t find V-neck grey jumpers and it’s too cold to go without. She twirls her ankle like she’s listening to music in her head.
I grin and whisper to myself, ‘Kook.’
My seat is the second desk to the very last in the whole hall, in front of Todd Z. Todd used to do pretty well in class but recently he’s been doing worse. So have most of the guys, because they’re all going out with other people now. Marc was mumbling about Olivia to me the other day. I think he wants to go out with her, after what happened at my birthday thing on Saturday.
They left when we all did, and she went back to his house for a bit. They didn’t go inside apparently, but they ‘talked’ outside.
‘Talked’ means made out, no matter how innocently Marc said it. I used to hang out with Olivia, so I think he feels bad. I don’t mind though. I did really like her, but I couldn’t go out with her properly, of course. So I told him it was OK if he wanted to, even though he hadn’t asked. Then Olivia hung out with me yesterday on the football pitch. She said she really liked Marc, hoped I didn’t feel bad, etc. I said that Marc really liked her, and she should go for it. I didn’t tell her I used to really like her. It would only make her feel guilty. I do still really like her, actually, I just don’t like to think about it. She’s really nice and funny. I always liked hanging out with her. It was fun. I felt a pang of regret when I said she should go out with Marc. But they both like each other, and they’re both free to go out, so. I said it wouldn’t make things awkward between me and Marc, that I was the one who said I couldn’t go out with her, so I couldn’t say anything. I told them both. We’ll see what happens.
The examiner tells us he’s going to wait for five minutes so we start on the hour. We have to sit in silence, so I rest my head on my hand and think about yesterday evening, when Daniel kicked off about the exam.
It’s then that I see him. He’s walking past the window. Somehow I feel him before I see him. He’s walking, talking to a friend. He’s wearing the uniform: black suit, white shirt, and black tie. His head turns towards me, as if in slow motion. When he sees me he keeps walking, but Hunter touches the knot of his tie, his lips part, and his brow changes minutely, his eyes narrowing, checking it’s me. Then he smiles.
Daniel
I only got angry because Max finds everything so easy and I find everything so hard and I think it’s unfair. I have to try all the time to ‘check my behaviour’, like Miss Jameson says, even though I don’t know what it is that they don’t like about my behaviour. It just makes me so angry, and then they don’t like that I’m angry, but how can I not be angry if they are going to be so stupid and treat me like a baby?
Then with this exam, Mum was saying how she was sure Max would do really well and go to the good school, and I just asked if she thought I would do the exam and go to the good school.
And she said, ‘There are lots of schools, honey.’
And I said, ‘I want to go to the GOOD school.’
And then Mum sighed at me like it was my fault I find things harder. I’m really good at Maths. I don’
t see why I wouldn’t pass the exam. Then she said sorry for sighing, because she was tired and I shouted, ‘MAX never tires you out.’
And then Max sighed and rubbed his hands over his face and I said, ‘Why are you sighing at me?’
And he said, ‘Sorry, no, I wasn’t sighing at you, Daniel. I’m just trying to revise.’
I said, ‘Fine, I’ll go.’
And I went upstairs. Then later I came down and yelled at Mum that I could do the exam and if Max finds everything so easy why don’t they just give him the scholarship without the exam. I asked Max if I was any stupider than him and he said no, but then he said he had to work and he’d talk to me later, but then he never did and Mum wouldn’t read me my bedtime story because I kept asking when Max was going to come in and talk to me. I told her I didn’t want to hear what she had to say to me, I wanted to hear what Max had to say, because we’re brothers and he never lies to me.
Mum got hurt and she said, ‘I never lie to you’, but she said it sort of confused, like she didn’t know.
Then she went to bed.
This morning I told Max I was disappointed with him for not coming in to see me at bedtime.
He said he was sorry. Then he said, ‘I like talking to you about this stuff, but sometimes I really have to revise and do school work. Why don’t you write it down during the day, if you think you’re going to flip out at someone, and then you’ll remember to talk about it to me in the evenings, and if there’s an evening I miss, we’ll make it up the day after.’
I frowned. ‘Go on.’
‘And we’ll, like, work out solutions together. And talk about it. I don’t mind,’ he said, smiling. Mum looked at him like he was amazing. I rolled my eyes. But I like talking to Max.
So I thought about this for a minute and then I said, ‘OK.’
Max gave me a big hug. He got the car in with us this morning, so that he could revise before he went. In the car Mum played Max’s CD of The Strokes, which we all like, so we were happy when we got to school.
Mum gave me a kiss and I waved to them as the car went away. Then I turned and gave the school a once-over. Miss Jameson, my nemesis, was standing in the window. I was going to glare evilly at her, but then I remembered I promised Max I’d write stuff down rather than flip out. So I put my bag down on the tarmac of the car park, got out my workbook, and wrote: ‘Miss Jameson nemesis looking at me from evil HQ (her office)’.
I saw a movement in the corner of my eye, and I noticed Miss Jameson walking down the path towards me, so I put everything in my school bag and put it on my back. Everyone at school has Ben 10 backpacks but I have a World of War backpack.
‘What are you doing out here, Daniel?’ Miss Jameson says.
And I smile at her like an angel and say, ‘Just making notes for a story for school, Miss Jameson’, and she looks confused and I skip past her, grinning to myself, and go to my classroom.
Max
‘Pens down,’ I hear from the front of the exam hall.
I’m shaking and sweating. I still have to finish my answer. I go to put my pen down and have a thought: I’m so obedient. I just put my pen down. I just lie there for Hunter.
I look up to the front of the room. The adjudicator is picking up people’s papers and not looking this way. I quickly scribble the rest of my answer. I put my pen in my pocket. Done.
I see Sylvie’s copper-caramel head up front. Her chin rests on her hand, and she’s looking out the window Hunter walked past earlier. I can see the outline of her lips and cheek. I look out the window.
‘Thank you,’ the adjudicator murmurs, when he walks past me. It’s our cue to stand up. We file out from the back first, out a different door.
‘Hey, it’s your cousin,’ says Todd.
Ahead of me, Hunter is leaning against the door of a classroom. He’s waiting for me, just past the exit of the hall, in a corridor lined with light green flooring. It gives everything a cold hue. He looks sharp, tall, together, still. People part to let us walk towards each other. He raises a hand to Todd, who nods, then leaves us alone. They all know Hunter as my cousin. As I get closer, I feel like I’m being pulled on a track, that it’s inevitable that I must walk up to him. How could it not be? Everyone is watching. Everyone knows we’re close. They expect us to say hi. I feel eyes on us. Everyone stares. A metre away and he looks me up and down slowly, swallows and adjusts his tie again.
‘Hi,’ he murmurs, his voice deep, his hand touching the back of my blazer firmly, and reaching across my shoulders. I feel it stroking sideways from the back of my right shoulder to my left. I feel him pulling me closer. ‘Y’alright?’ he drawls.
I nod, not knowing what to say.
‘Missed me?’
I don’t reply. I notice some people watching us, so I put on a smile and nod at Hunter. I try to say something, but I find I can’t. I chew on my lip, remembering to keep smiling, and feel my face getting hotter and hotter.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ he says.
I open my mouth. I look over to where people are watching us, as they walk by, dozens of strangers passing us in a stream on their way to classrooms. I try to speak. I try again. I shake my head. My whole body feels heated. I feel like I’m sweating in my armpits and my socks.
‘I can’t,’ I say quietly.
He frowns. ‘What’s wrong with you? Why you being so uptight?’
I shrug, still grinning. Smiling and smiling like my mouth is cut into that shape. I imagine the corners sliced away at the sides, the lips locked into a perpetual clown grin.
He leans in and whispers in my ear. ‘Is it because I saw your junk?’ He darts out from my ear and grins at me. As if it’s funny. As if it’s no big deal.
I imagine Hunter again above me, looking at all that. All that mess. My cheeks burn and I feel my face about to buckle. I pull my hair in front of my eyes with my hand and turn in towards Hunter so the people passing can only see my back.
‘Max, don’t worry,’ he says, his tone changing, lowering, his smile gone. ‘I was so pissed I can hardly remember it.’
I look up. He seems genuine. He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He looks concerned that I’m not talking.
‘Really?’ I say, swallowing. My throat feels like it’s swollen.
He smiles slowly and his eyes go to my temple and across my forehead and down to my lips. ‘Sure. Fun though, wasn’t it?’
Is he crazy? I shake my head incredulously. ‘No!’ I whisper, my voice breaking.
Hunter grins and pokes me in the stomach. ‘Come on, you loved it. All that moaning.’
‘Shut up! No I didn’t,’ I hiss.
‘Yes you did!’ he scoffs, looking a little confused, half-smiling, half-frowning. He looks at my lips again and he swallows. He’s nervous too. He shrugs, as if to say, ‘Well, never mind, it was just a bit of fun’.
A thought crosses my mind and I mutter, quietly, in horror, ‘You’ve not told anyone, have you?’
He shrugs.
‘Please, Hunter, please don’t, OK?’
He starts to grin, like he’s teasing me, and shrugs again.
‘Please!’ I say too loudly, then look down, look around, fiddling with the bottom of my blazer. I meet his eyes and beg him. ‘Please, please don’t tell anyone. If you do, everyone will find out about me.’
‘Shh, Max.’ He shakes his head.
‘Please, please, please,’ I beg him, moving closer to him, about to cry.
He takes pity on me. ‘Shh, quiet, OK?’ He touches my arm lightly. ‘I’m not going to tell anyone. Don’t be crazy. This is me, Hunter. Your secret’s safe with me, Max.’
It’s when he says this last bit that the timbre of his voice goes dark and threatening. I stare at him, absolutely rooted to the spot with terror, but he just looks normal. He looks as if nothing’s really wrong, as if he can’t understand why I’m so frightened.
Hunter squints at me searchingly. ‘We’re alright, aren’t we?’ he asks. I feel his hand
on the muscle of my upper arm. He squeezes it gently.
I bite my lip, studying him. I give him a big smile. ‘Yeah, we’re OK, Hunter.’
Sylvie
After the exam, bored, done, dusted, easy, I stare out the window at the day I’m missing.
‘Up,’ murmurs the dude at the front of the room, like I’m a dog heeling. I raise my eyebrows, and slowly, slowly, circle my feet around to the side of my chair, and lift myself out of it. I look back at him angrily and wander down through the hall to the door at the back of the room, which almost everyone but me has already left through.
I walk softly through it, opening it, and stop, holding the door. I feel like I’m in a movie, so cinematic is the scene in front of me. In the further reaches of the corridor, I see a river of uniformed older kids passing through from the corridor to a classroom. Another smaller river passes the other way, out of the corridor. These are people from the exam hall.
I am the only person at the end of the corridor, but between myself and the river are Max and his cousin. I am the observer, and I have the weirdest feeling, like this is a scene in a play and it’s telling me something. Everything looks staged: Max and Hunter being right in the middle distance, having the other people in the far distance, me being equidistant to them as the far distance is from them. Max is standing straight and stiff and facing Hunter, and the low light is making his hair glow very yellow, very prettily. It’s all over his face, a messy veil. Hunter is laughing, and his sharp face is turned into Max’s. They look like they’re sharing a secret joke. It just seems theatrical for a moment.
And then someone pushes through the door behind me and bumps my shoulder, and the moment is gone, the symmetry of the scene broken.
Golden Boy Page 11
