by Lexie Bean
Well, thanks for listening.
Love,
Rowan
Friday, June 5, 1998
Dear You,
Today was my last day with Sofie before she goes to Detroit. She told me that her grandparents live near a tire swing that her mom went to when she was a kid. I think that’s great she gets to have that tradition. I think she’s lucky to go, but I bet she will miss the rivers and trees and hills here. They’re not the same anywhere else. I bet she’ll miss a lot, especially her mom. I don’t know. I guess I’ll never know what it’s like to be Sofie, but that’s okay.
Sorry, it’s just that I’m not so sure how to start this letter because I’m kind of afraid to tell you something.
Today was one of the best days of my life. I just thought it was going to be weird and sad because Sofie and I only had two or three hours left together, but I was wrong. What if we have our whole lives together?
Sofie and I galloped across the Portage Bridge from Houghton to Hancock with three yellow balloons. We sang that same song Hercules sings, “I will find my way, I can go the distance.” We sang it louder than that last school bell ever could. Our balloons bounced through the air trying to catch up to us. Sofie took on the big part at the end of the song and shouted, “I will go most anywhere to find where I belong.” She stretched her arms to the moon, faded into the blue sky like somebody had tried to erase it. We carried our balloons all the way to Mont Ripley.
We went past the pine trees, ski stunt equipment, and all the way to the bowl of the ski slope. In that moment, we didn’t care about shouting “I’m king of the world” for the whole town to hear. Instead, we cared about each other, the white puffy clouds shaped like dolphins and other animals with good memories. I pointed up to the sky. It wasn’t until today I told Sofie: “I like using balloons to send mail to faraway places that I don’t always know how to get to.” I tied one of our balloons to a nearby rock and said, “Let’s use the other two to send something out for your dad.” Sofie smiled and said “Yes” real big.
I pulled some markers out of my bag, and we got started right away. I’m not sure what Sofie’s letter said, but she showed me a picture that she drew of her riding Richard’s shoulders under a big bright light. She used shadow to make it look as 3D as possible. My letter to him included a really nice drawing of a Kit Kat bar split into two. Sofie and I carefully tied our letters to the ends of our balloons, and triple knotted the long ribbons just in case.
Sofie pointed into the distance and said, “When we let them go, let’s each make a wish about anything we want.” I thought it was a good idea, so I started our countdown of “5, 4, 3, 2, 1, ZIGAZIG AHHH” to set the balloons free. We opened our hands and our letters chased after the sun, going up and up until they were farther than the welcome signs, water towers, and all the rivers in sight. It was almost hard to believe that they started in our very own hands.
We held our breath and quietly made our wishes. In my heart, I asked for something I have asked for before. I wished we would go somewhere that has five spare rooms and lemon trees in wintertime, and that we could stay there together with Richard and everyone all year round. Maybe I would bring my mom with me too so she’s not stuck with Dad. I don’t know. I just hope a place like that actually exists. I opened my eyes and played with my friendship necklace waiting for something to happen.
Sofie quietly let out her breath and put her hand up to her forehead to look for the sky mail one last time. She said to me, “It’s good to tell each other our wishes because then maybe we can help each other make them come true.” The last remaining balloons did a tiny little dance in the wind just hearing that. I told Sofie she could go first.
She blinked twice, and kissed my forehead. Her lips were even softer than her hands. That was her wish, her big secret, and there is nothing to forgive. I promise you, there is nothing to forgive.
I knew that things would never be the same again because the whole sky was watching and I had nowhere to look but up. Sofie reminds me that the moon is actually always there, even during the daytime. She rested the side of her head on mine, and her beads fell over my shoulder like a quilt. I felt safer than ever. I would usually ask for you not to tell anyone all of this, but I really don’t think anyone would even believe it if you did. I’ve heard plenty of stories about girls and boys, but never one like this.
After all, Sofie Gavia is not a crush. She is a hand full of balloons, and I am going to miss her this summer because she has the maps to all of my favorite places. I hope you have things to look forward to too. I’m trying really hard right now, but I just want it to be today all over again.
Thank you,
Rowan Beck
Saturday, June 6, 1998
Dear Whoever Is Listening,
How are you? I’m lying on top of my bed and I’m feeling okay. I’m actually more than okay right now.
When I woke up this morning, though, I had a stomachache and I wondered for a moment if I had made a mistake letting Sofie kiss my forehead. I looked at the drawing of her orange couch I keep next to my bed. I touched it as if I were back there again. My parents went out for errands today, so I decided it was safe to call the number Mr. B put in my yearbook. I didn’t know exactly who I was calling, but they seemed happy to hear from me and wanted to know all about my day before it even started. I didn’t say much, but it still felt nice and they gave some good advice that I didn’t even ask for.
After about five minutes on the phone, I said goodbye and tried not to cry. But I did cry. I don’t think I shared anything wrong, but it’s always easy to feel like I’m going to get into trouble for something. It’s hard to know sometimes because my house, school, and some people who hardly know me want me to forget the important things. They want me to forget my name. They want me to forget who I love and they want to decide what I learn. They want me to think that God’s hand has let go and doesn’t care about me. Through my tears, I made a pinky-promise with myself to remember the important things tomorrow when we drive by the trees and abandoned mines on those long car rides to the doctor lady.
I wiped my eyes and tried to remember the one and only time I ever saw my dad cry. But I’ve seen my mom cry way more times. I put the home phone back in its normal spot in the hallway, and decided to take off my friendship necklace for the first time. I needed some time to think, and I took a long walk without Sofie by my side. I made it all the way to the big river by my house, and found a spot to sit near the army man statue and the Houghton welcome sign, where I used to check for letters. I watched the kayakers get carried down the stream, and I threw random rocks into the water knowing I would have no porch to put them on for the next few months. I thought about telling my mom about the phone call. I thought about everything that it could lead to if I told more people the truth about what it’s like to be my dad’s son. I think I will tell Mom, or at least try, because life didn’t feel so scary anymore when I got back to my house a few hours later.
I stepped into my bedroom, and lost my breath. Nearly one hundred balloons completely covered my pink walls. There must have been at least ten different colors floating in every corner. I don’t know how Sofie got inside the house, but I know that it was her because there was a piece of paper on top of my bed that said: “You gave me ninety-four rocks. Here are ninety-four balloons. When you have the chance, write me at my grandparents’ house please. I’ll check the mailbox every day. 20025 Greenfield Road, Detroit, MI 48235.”
It made me so happy that I did a slow dance with the little paper. I can’t wait to tell her thank you ninety-four times.
I cracked open my window, letting the wind move the balloons around me like a solar system. Their static hugged my hair, my fingers traced through the dancing ribbons. I can promise you now that I am going to sleep on top of my quilt tonight because the stars are right here. I can touch them. I can wish on them without even trying.
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I know that balloons don’t last forever. They might be on the ground or in a landfill tomorrow morning. I know my bedroom walls are still there and there will always be someone trying to keep them pink. I know that my mom might not believe me when I tell her about Dad. She might blame it on my boy haircut or call me crazy. You don’t have to say anything to make me feel better about this stuff because I know that it’s all true, and now I have that number to call again thanks to Mr. B.
And I have a kind of friend that I’ve never had before. We have the biggest ship in town, and in the fall we will take our box out of her basement. In the meantime, Sofie and I can remember each other when it feels easier to disappear. I’m going to write her a really nice letter tomorrow night, and maybe the night after that, and the night after that.
I don’t really know what I’ll be when I grow up, but I can say that I’m going to fill my house with rocks and balloons with Sofie Gavia. We will live with hills in Michigan, have a dog, drive a tractor. The wallpaper will be yellow like honey. We will have our own moon bounce and have framed maps to all of our favorite places hanging on the walls. There will be a long table, the fridge will be full, and we will have only one rule that says we cannot tell each other what is and isn’t okay to eat. There will be valentines tied to the phones in case someone mean calls, and a whole entire yearbook filled with anyone nice to call. Oh, and there is another rule where we say yes to our feelings and “EXPAND!”
If I don’t write balloon mail anymore, and spend my allowance on postage stamps instead, please remember one thing: My name is Rowan. I even told my dad today when he walked into my room tonight. He looked afraid of the magic, but I know that it will always be mine. He slammed the door and said, “You have a lot to think about.”
He’s right. I’m starting to smile when I think about what my life could be.
Love,
Rowan
AFTERWORD
Monday, June 15, 1998
Hi Rowan,
I found your letter stuck in a tree not too far from my house in Calumet. I hope you don’t mind that I read it. I actually found it a long time ago, back in March. I’ve been wanting to tell you since we were in class together, but I didn’t know how to say it because it seems like you’re quiet all the time too, kind of like you are hiding or something. I don’t mean that in a mean way. I’m actually really glad I found your letter when I did. I have never gotten anything longer than a Christmas card before.
I mostly wanted to write and let you know that you’re not left behind. I actually feel that way sometimes too. I haven’t told anybody about this before, but sometimes I pray at night to fit in better. You asked if there’s a place that helps me imagine again, and there is. I usually go there alone, though. It’s my secret spot by the Pilgrim River, maybe not too far from where you stood in the sand. My spot doesn’t have any sand, but has lots of moss that covers the big cedar trees. I sometimes pretend I’m there when I’m actually at the dinner table and I’m supposed to be following a bunch of rules. Grown-ups make so many rules.
I wasn’t so sure how to start this letter, and now I’m not so sure how to end it. In your letter you said you didn’t know if you could end it with the word love. Mom says there’s all kinds of love, and when Dad’s not around, I love everything. I’m still trying to figure out what it all means, but I can say that I love what I found in your letter. If you ask me, you’re pretty lucky to have a good friend like you do. If you care that much about somebody, you have to hold on and not let go.
I taped four quarters onto the paper below. One is to buy another balloon and the last three you can save for the fall. We can share a chocolate milk when we get to middle school. I hope that’s okay because I would really like a friend to sit next to.
Love,
Nathan Lucas
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Ship We Built is about many things. It is about beginnings: the realization that as a kid, so many ways of connecting and building exist. It is about that spark and strength that comes with realizations that are big and untaught. The book is also about big subjects, like coming out to yourself and others, surviving incest, having your world quietly change with the fall of different industries. Asking for help. Asking for things to end, begin. Living with wonder, and the joy and pain that comes with it.
This book is a gift to my ten-year-old self. I was nine when I stopped speaking at school. I was ten when I wrote my first suicide note. According to the American Academy of Pediatrics, more than 50 percent of teenage trans boys attempt suicide. This is the highest rate of any group under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella. Many trans boys, especially those with violent or absent fathers, struggle with not knowing what they can grow up to be. Many of us have been abused, and will never tell because many feel pressured to claim girlhood in order to be believed as survivors. When I came out as trans, I was told I was not trans. Instead, I was “a confused girl who had been abused.” For a while, I regretted telling anyone anything at all.
Being trans increases the possibility of getting hurt by strangers and loved ones and having fewer resources to deal with it. It raises questions of being lovable or being easy enough to understand. Being abused does not make you trans, and even if it did, it doesn’t matter. What’s important is you offer respect when someone shares a part of their identity or experience.
All this to say, I would not call this a “trans book” or an “abuse book.” It’s about the things I have had to carry shame about. It’s a book about my hiding, Rowan’s hiding. A book about the ache of constantly being out of place—to the point where you believe only the sky will understand. We have to question, as a society, what it means to protect somebody. What happens when we find emergencies in the wrong things? What happens when you love somebody who hurts you? And in Sofie’s case, how does the absence of one person hurt an entire community?
Writing this has been one of the most deeply human experiences of my life. It is no small thing to explore the gap that existed between my reality and what I needed. It makes me sad and angry to know that it might not reach those who may need it the most. But I wrote this book because Rowans exist, and we need to see ourselves in books. Although this book is fiction, it also is not. There are also Sofies, Richards, and nameless moms and dads in your own community and tucked away in prisons. They are in the Midwest, and other places labeled as “backward,” and often get left behind in conversations, actions, and resources.
Rowan’s intimate letters are about the importance of having at least one person believe you and see you. Although he finds this in Sofie, Mr. B, and ultimately Nathan Lucas, I hope you could also be that person for Rowan. I also hope that somebody can be that for you. No matter what your experience is in reading this book, look up. Look for the balloon, look for what’s left in the recycling bin. Look for who has an empty seat in class again and again. Look for everybody who is waiting to be seen.
RESOURCES
If you are a young person with a home like Rowan’s, know that it is not your fault. Someone hurting your body or feelings might feel normal for you, but it doesn’t have to be. The change might be a scary one, some people might go away for a while or try to tell you that you’re bad for wanting a better life. You are not bad. Everyone deserves a home to feel safe in and everyone deserves to sleep the whole night through. If there are no adults in your life you trust with your story, here are some numbers you can call:
Darkness of Light, local information and resources on sexual abuse for children, teens, and adults.
1-866-367-5444
National Child Abuse Hotline, 24/7 crisis counseling in more than 170 languages and connection to thousands of emergency and support services.
1-800-422-4453
National Runaway Safeline, 24/7 crisis support and on and offline resources, and also offers a family reunification program.
1-800-786-2929
If you a
re a young person with questions about gender and love like Rowan’s, know there is nothing wrong with you. You are growing and becoming. There are other kids and adults out there like you in this world even if you haven’t met them yet. Some are thriving, some have even made their own families. Many are struggling and working hard to make a better world for you. In the meantime, your questions are perfect, and you are deserving of care no matter what. Here are some numbers you can call and websites you can visit:
GLBT Near Me, a directory of 15,000 support centers, youth groups, and community centers for gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people of all ages.
www.glbtnearme.org
LGBT National Help Center, links and phone numbers to free peer-support and local resources.
www.glbtnationalhelpcenter.org
Trans Lifeline, a peer support line run for and by trans people. For hotline hours or information on micro-grants, visit www.translifeline.org.
1-877-565-8860
The Trevor Project, a 24/7 hotline for LGBTQIA+ people twenty-five years old and younger.
1-866-488-7386
Trevor Space, an international online community for LGBTQIA+ people thirteen to twenty-four years old.
www.trevorspace.org
Upper Peninsula Rainbow Pride, a non-profit organization for LGBTQIA+ community, events, and activities in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.
www.uprainbowpride.org
If you are a parent or mentor looking to lovingly support a child through navigating gender and sexuality, first of all, know that change is not loss. Listen. Take a moment to realize there is no emergency, the focus should never be on the “cause” because nothing “went wrong.” As with anything in parenting, you do not have to have all the answers. See the resources above or explore the websites below with your questions:
