Freakboy
Page 10
and I wish he’d just
give me the prescription
so I can go home and sleep.
School’s fine.
Friends are fine.
Wrestling’s fine.
Girlfriend’s fine.
Fine.
Fine.
Fine.
But not.
And I can’t help it
can’t help myself.
I fail at
being a boyfriend,
being a guy
and I’ll never be able
to live as anything else.
And somehow,
thinking these things,
(in the presence
of a trained professional
who nods and smiles)
but knowing I will
never
ever
be able to tell anyone
pisses me off.
(Vanessa)
I’m Lonely Without Brendan
Too much time
to wonder and worry
about what’s e a t i n g
him. There’s no one to talk to
and nothing to look forward to
when he’s not here.
I miss him at l u n c h
and on break I sit in my car
thinking about next year
when he’ll be off to college
and I’ll be here.
Left all a l o n e.
We’re Practicing Takedowns
After fifty burpies
a hundred push-ups
countless squats
my ponytail
is wet and stringy
by the time we
partner up
for my favorite drill.
Thoughts of
Brendan
leak away in
my pouring sweat.
I shoot fast
grab Sheahan,
who, after two years
as my workout partner,
is so over any idea
that I’m a fragile girl.
I take him down.
We stand up
do it again
over and over.
I’m in the zone
and he’s tired
but when I hear the stop whistle
I take him again
’cause I can.
He calls me a dick
then bumps my fist with his.
We share a tired smile.
At tournaments
there’s always
some buzz
in my weight class
about whether
a win by me
is legitimate.
The only way to make sure
is if my opponent goes for it—
lets go of the thought I’m a girl.
After all this time,
it’s an easy thing
for Sheahan (my friend?) to forget.
I just hope that’s not
what’s happened
with Brendan.
(Angel)
When I Have Time
I don’t mind
doing dishes.
Like it, even.
The smell
of lavender detergent
from Trader Joe’s
reminds me of my mama.
I’m standing at the sink
thinking of her, of Frankie,
when Denai floats in.
Lit up like that Christmas tree
we still need to take down.
“Sistah, you are glowing!”
I turn, get a good look.
“Is that my sweater?”
“Mmmhmmm.” She’s dreamy.
“I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
I hand her a towel
so she can dry,
go back to the spaghetti pot
I was scrubbing.
I’ve seen that look on her before—
envied it then, too.
It’s that I-just-met-someone look.
And it doesn’t
seem to happen
as often as it should
to me.
(Now, you could argue
that my standards
are higher than Denai’s
and, Girl, you’d be right! Ewww,
some of the boys
she’s put up with!)
But part of it’s
what you could call
a difference in philosophy.
Nothin’ to do with standards at all.
When (or if) to Disclose Birth Gender
Such a controversy.
The arguments go back
and forth. Ping-pong.
Denai passes really well—
doesn’t see it as an issue.
“I’m not gonna ask him
what he was born with
so there’s no reason
to talk about me.”
And that works for her.
Some say it’s a question of safety—
if he finds out later and freaks
she could wake up dead.
Others say choose smart,
suss it out, then tell. Or don’t.
Chantal says it’s my combat attitude
contributes to dateless Saturday nights.
Whatever. It gets me less boyfriends,
but I like to ask up front
if a potential date’s a transphobic bigot.
Leave the disclosing to him.
I Pass Really Well
but there’s one thing …
After I got out of the hospital
Veronica said her no-illegal-drugs policy
extended to hormones.
So I had to go see a shrink
for three months
in order to get the legal kind.
Dr. Hendricks gave me
a personality test.
I could tell the results weren’t
what he expected.
(Shrinks always think they’re
better at hiding their thoughts
than they are. Either that or God
has given me psychic abilities.
’Cause I can always tell.)
“You have astonishingly
healthy self-esteem.”
His “professional” opinion.
I shrugged.
I’m blessed to like me
the way I am
even if I like my body
on hormones better.
Not my fault the
world just isn’t ready to
stop defining gender
the way it always has.
Nothin’ to Be Ashamed Of
There’s way worse things
to be than transgender,
let me tell you.
Rapists who rape
thieves who steal
racists who degrade
cowardly haters who
do shit like burn crosses or
throw rocks through windows.
“Take it easy, Girl!”
Denai’s laughing brings me back
into the kitchen.
“You’re gonna scrub a hole
right through that pot!”
I look down at the bristles
of the brush in my hand.
They’re flattened out.
Usually I know my own strength
but sometimes I don’t.
(BRENDAN)
It Turns Out
moving through life
pissed
is better than
moving through life
sad and
wanting what I’ll never have.
I keep my distance from Court,
who always wants a story. I
snap at Andy, who says,
“Whatever, Dude.”
Snap at Mom, who says,
“Watch it, mister.”
Snap at Claude, who says,
“That was out of line.”
Snap at Vanessa, who says
nothing.
And just before a meet on Saturday
I even
snap at Coach, who says,
“That’s my boy, go get ’em.”
He cups a hand on my shoulder
before sending me onto the
mat to crush my opponent
from Jefferson High.
My wrestling’s getting wilder,
technique less refined.
I’m on the verge
and my adversaries know it.
“Take it easy, Brendan.”
But there’s no stopping me.
Even the fact that I’ve come to
really hate touching other guys—
swarming over and around their bodies—
takes a backseat to the unleashing
fury of this body,
this body that isn’t mine.
My new maniac style
impresses Coach.
Bad luck.
Because now he thinks
he can depend on me.
(Vanessa)
Dateless, Friendless on a Friday Night
Thank God Grand-maman
isn’t here to witness it.
She got on a plane
back to France yesterday
and my mother
looks relaxed for the first time
in weeks.
I’m flipping through the channels
trying to keep my
mind off Brendan,
who texted me
at six to say he
couldn’t go out.
And I’m wrestling temptation
to drive over to his house.
Dad’s out with clients
and Mom comes in with a
bowl of popcorn.
“What are we watching?”
she asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
Flip, flip, flip.
She sits next to me.
Asks point-blank what’s going on
and I’m pretty sure she
wants to know about Brendan.
I don’t want to
talk about it—so
I tell her about
getting into a fight
with Julie and Tanya instead.
I don’t tell her it was about him.
“Friendships can be
complicated sometimes,
especially at your age,”
she says, and
strokes my hair,
tucks it behind my ear.
“But, honey—the truest ones are
worth the ups and downs.”
That’s easy for her to say—
she’s had the same best friend since
she was in elementary school.
They’re like sisters.
Aunt Jennifer lives in Washington
but they still visit each other
and talk on the phone
and laugh at weird inside jokes
that no one else gets.
I’m sure the best-girlfriend thing
isn’t Grand-maman’s idea of paradise—
she’s all about the guys,
but it’s something
when you consider that my mom
has that AND she gets to have Dad, too.
(BRENDAN)
“People, People, Settle Down”
Dean Johnston is trying to get
all 900 of us to shut up
for monthly assembly.
The gym is loud
but that word is quiet
and I woke up today
feeling almost okay.
Andy’s sitting next to me
bragging about how far
he’s gotten with Lindy
now that they’re together.
“So you really like her, huh?”
He looks confused for a minute.
“Of course!”
Damn, he’s a big mouth.
I just can’t picture talking about Vanessa,
or anyone I cared about,
that way.
We sit on hard benches
divided into classes
to listen to whatever
antidrug motivational speaker
the administration’s
dragged in today.
Lillian Bruner
climbs up the bleachers,
steps over my legs,
and sits down between me and
her girlfriends.
She’s the queen of Miller Prep,
star of the drama department,
popular, and surprisingly cool.
I glance over.
She and Elise Hart
are checking each other’s teeth
making sure nothing’s stuck.
A wave
of weirdness
washes over me.
Dean Johnston is still
trying to get people
to shut up.
Lillian says something low,
her friends crack up,
and my tenuous okay feeling
sinks into something else.
I notice the way they talk and
laugh and touch one another
and I can’t help it.
Everything makes me jealous.
The clothes they wear,
the way people treat them.
God, I’m even jealous
of their little vanities.
(You don’t see guys
brushing their hair
between classes.)
I’m jealous of the way
they hug in clusters,
the way they always
seem to have something
to say to each other.
Contrast that
(even accounting
for occasional mean-girl
bitcheries)
with
sweat-stained shoves,
murmurs of “Faggot,” “Queerbait,”
and “In your face, asshole!”
I glance at Andy,
who seems to have finished
providing me with the
intimate details of his sex life,
try to imagine hugging him.
It’s a good thing I don’t want to,
he’d probably pound the crap out of me.
“Quiet, People!”
Dean Johnston
repeats into the mic
for the third time.
“We have a really special
presentation for you this morning,
brought to you by Plus Healthcare.
“Later today
your homeroom teachers
will pass out”—
Lil leans into me.
“Give them air!” she says,
even as Dean Johnston
continues his sentence—
“packets of information.”
It’s funny and I laugh,
one of her entourage
for a delicious
minute
in time.
(Vanessa)
In the Bleachers
Flannigan nudges me,
points across the gym.
“Check it out.”
I look over to where
the seniors sit.
“What?” I ask him,
scanning the rows.
“Look who your boyfriend’s
sitting next to.”
Sheahan looks, too, shakes his head.
“Flannigan, you’re such a shit-stirrer.”
And it takes me a minute
to see what they’re talking about
because Brendan’s sitting
almost sideways,
his back to Andy.
I’m sick, he says
I’m depressed, he says
I’m just not in the mood, he says
and I’ve accepted his lame excuses
for the distance,
unreturned phone calls,
short temper with me.
And
there he is
laughing it up
with Lillian Bruner,
looking anything
but sick
or depressed
or not in the mood.
“Shut up, Flannigan.” I strike a bored tone,
outwardly calm in the
din of the gym.
Why doesn’t he laugh
with me anymore?
What happened to our
Nation of Two?
Is it about to include
the state of Lilliandia?
There’s no way he’d
cheat on me though. Skin prickles.
Is there?
Thank God
ceramics is
right after assembly.
Julie is at the table closest to the door.
She nods at me when I walk past.
I nod back, too preoccupied
to think very hard about this subtle thawing.
I settle in at my table
to slam the hell
out of a block of clay.
Push and work
knead and fold.
“Take it easy, Vanessa,”
Mr. Mathews says
when he walks by.
“Be careful—I think you’re
working air bubbles into that.”
I ignore him,
pound and push
knead and fold.
All tail
no tongue.
Oh, God.
What if Brendan
just doesn’t love me anymore?
(BRENDAN)
The Closer Finals Get
the nastier Coach gets
(a real motivator).
He’s working
the team,
working me,
harder than
ever before.
(I’d like to see him
do a hundred push-ups
after rope climbing.)
Training lasts
three hours now
and I hear his voice
in my sleep,
what little I get,
because after practice,
it’s home to homework
till one or two (and I’m down
to a B in AP History),
then gaming for an hour to relax
and when I close my eyes
I see a river stone
sail through a window
and that word gets loud.
My Insides Are Roiling
A concert tonight
means leaving practice early.
Coach didn’t say anything
when I first told him
but that was two hours ago—
steam’s had time to build,
and sure enough, he follows me
when I leave the wet heat
of the wrestling room.
Outside, the cool air
feels like an attack.
“Remind me why you’re leaving,
when the rest of the team is
in there working their asses off?”