The envelope is thick and heavy in my trembling fingers. Already, I can feel the sweat from my palms seeping into the rough paper. I swallow to dissolve the thick knot in my throat, but it refuses to go away.
This is it.
Mum is filming me. She’s standing on the other side of the kitchen counter, holding her phone at waist height, as if that will make me not notice it. She’s got this obnoxious, confident mother’s grin on her face. As if to say, I know already.
But she doesn’t, and neither do I.
I’m scared.
“Could you… not?” I ask, trying and failing not to glare. I want to be excited, I really do. But with everything on the line—
Mum’s expression doesn’t waver. “Just open it. If you don’t like what you find inside, we can delete the video.”
That’s a fair point. Still, my fingers are unsteady as I pick up the letter opener and hook it under the flap. The letter doesn’t open cleanly. Of course it doesn’t. I apply the pressure wrong and the envelope tears halfway through the motion. But then the letter is open, and I pull out the stack of stapled paper.
Dear Max, it reads.
Congratulations! It is my greatest pleasure to inform you that you have been admitted to the Statehaven program of—
I don’t read on. My heart is beating out of my chest. An unimaginable weight lifts off my shoulders. For a moment, I’m sure I’m going to lift right off my feet and start floating. I hadn’t even noticed how heavy I’d felt. But now? Now I am free.
I made it.
“And?” Mum asks, in an almost teasing voice. Like it wasn’t obvious from the sigh of relief that I breathed. “Tell the camera.”
I give her a look, but it’s difficult to be annoyed right now. “I made it,” I say, finally caving in and giving the camera a tentative smile. “I got accepted for the full-ride scholarship program.”
Mum lets out a squeal, then taps on her phone and puts it away before stepping around the counter to give me a tight hug. I let it happen, even put my arms around her a little. It doesn’t bother me now.
“I’m so proud of you!” she squeaks. “I knew you’d get it, because nobody has worked this hard and nobody deserves it as much as you…” And then, almost like an afterthought, she adds, “Max.”
I stiffen. It’s Mia!
But she doesn’t know that.
“I’m sure there were plenty of others who also worked hard,” I say, letting go of her and immediately stepping away.
“We’ve got to celebrate!” she exclaims, unaware of the shift in my posture. “What do you want for dinner? I’ll make cake! And then we can watch a movie together. Gosh, I’ll miss that so much once you’ve moved out. I’ll have to watch all those movies on my own, or invite Cynthia over—”
I tune out as I grab the jute bag with my notebook, my swimming stuff, and a large water bottle, and back away towards the door. “Actually, I’m gonna go outside now, I might be back very late, so it’s probably best if I just make something for myself when I come back. You’re welcome to cook for me tomorrow, though!”
Mum gives a dramatic sigh. “Always so eager to flee the nest, the young’uns.”
I wave as I turn the corner into the entryway, and she waves back, smiling again, and then I’m putting on my shoes hastily and running out the door before she can think better of it.
My steps have a skip to them as I make my way through the front yard and down the street. The sunshine hits my face, and the euphoria is back at a snap, lifting me up. For the first time in what must be years, I don’t put in headphones, choosing instead to listen to the birds in the trees around me. It is easy now to have hopeful thoughts and feel the beauty of a day that is already a little too warm to be considered spring.
Just another month and a half of school, then I won’t ever have to see any of them again. I’ll just… disappear, turn a new leaf in a new city and live the life I’ve been dreaming of for so long. I don’t need anybody now, not even Mum. I don’t have to care what anybody thinks. I’ll make new friends, find a new family if I need to, study my butt off and find a good job. Because who’s gonna stop me now?
I’m going to finally transition.
At the end of the row of houses, I climb onto a low wall and continue walking along it as fields open up to my left while trees line the other side of the street. The smell of flowers and freshly cut lawn that defines the front yards behind me gives way to the more primal scent of leaves, fern, and bark.
I’ve known for years that I’m trans. It wasn’t a single moment that made it clear to me, but instead the creeping realization that I could not bear the thought of growing up to become a man. So I decided that I wouldn’t. I did my research, read articles online, asked around in the right communities, and got myself on hormone blockers by the time I turned fourteen. Mum doesn’t know anything about it, and she will continue to know nothing about it at least until I have moved out and can’t hide my transition anymore. Then I’ll tell her on a video call or something, and if she reacts badly, I’ll never have to see her again.
I was lucky with the timing. Puberty had barely done anything to me when I started hormone blockers; I’m still small and kind of dainty. My voice is a little deeper than I would like, but I’ve already trained myself to the point where I can switch effortlessly to a distinctly feminine voice. I suppose this way, at least I can still somewhat pass myself off as a guy at school, because my face, frame, and long hair definitely aren’t doing me any favors in that regard.
I like myself when I look in the mirror. I can clearly see the girl where others find the boy, simply because they expect him. Once I’m at college, I’ll finally be able to put away the baggy, monochrome outfits and put on all the clothes and makeup I’ve been dreaming of. I’ve already got a whole shopping list for the day I arrive on campus. Yes, I’m that kind of person. A dreamer, if you will, and a planner, too.
Slowing briefly, I reach up and untie my hair. I always wear it tied back, because a slightly messy ponytail is the best I can do to make myself appear more masculine. This is my present to myself today. I’ll give myself this.
With a shake of my head, my hair falls loosely around my face. It’s straight, reaching down just a little past my shoulders, and I’ve been itching to see what it’ll look like curled or after having slept with a braid. But even like this, I like the way it frames my face.
A breeze picks up, and I turn towards it, feeling its gentle touch play with the strands. I close my eyes and lean into it as if it were a loving caress, but then it fades, and I’m not ready to give it up yet. So I close my fist around the jute bag and break into a sprint. Immediately, the wind is back, eagerly meeting me as I chase towards it, and it feels like I’m taking off. I’m faster than the pull of gravity, laughing in its face. My feet barely touch against the rough stone of the wall underneath me, and my lungs take in the air in easy, deep pulls. It’s effortless.
The wall ends before I am quite out of breath, but I don’t stop. Instead, I jump at full speed, land in a crouch and roll once. I try to guide my body back to its feet, but I still have too much momentum, and so I end up falling forward. I am not scared, though. The tall grass cushions my fall, and I roll onto my back, laughing breathlessly.
Clouds trail lazily across the sky as my chest heaves with deep breaths. It’s like I can see the world turn. A wild grin blossoms on my face. Grass tickles the back and sides of my neck, and my bare arms, and something tiny crawls over my left hand. I let it. The sun is like a firm pressure against my skin, hot and bright in just the right way.
With a sudden burst of inspiration, I turn over onto my stomach and pull the worn notebook from the jute bag. My sifting fingers easily find the last page, and before I know it, I’ve clicked open my pen and started writing.
Lying in the grass,
I feel the sun against my face.
I watch the world turn
And I feel at peace.
Maybe everything
Will turn out well after all.
Another short poem is already itching for the page by the time I finish the first.
It’s like flying.
The hope that carries me
Forward until my feet
Barely touch the ground
Until I’m laughing with the wind,
Chasing the sun
And a better future.
I started writing poetry when I first came out as trans online. People there told me that art is a great outlet to channel my feelings into and reflect on myself. I considered getting into drawing, but then I tried to write a short, plain poem, and the words came so naturally that I did it again, and again, and again. I wrote only about important stuff at first, but I have since found that the joy of it lies in the little things. So while I still put my fears into words on days when it’s hard to get out of bed because I’m still not right, I mostly focus on the beautiful, mundane things.
I write about the morning sun, the wind as it brushes the surface of the lake, the children in the schoolyard, and my mum in the kitchen. I write about my hopes and dreams, and the person I keep hidden deep inside of me. It’s what keeps me going, what keeps my spirits up through all this time. I’m pretty sure it’s made me an all-around happier person, even as I long to be myself.
Satisfied, I close the notebook and turn back around, hugging it to my chest as I once more close my eyes and bask in the endless possibilities of my future. I only have to keep it together for another month and a half of school, and then I’ll be free. There’s a summer program at my college that I’m going to attend. It’ll give me a better start into the first semester, and it’ll get me away faster. That’s a win-win.
“Thought I might find you here,” a deep voice says with a chuckle.
When I open my eyes, his head is framed by the sun so that I can barely see him. But I would recognize that freckled face with the piercing blue eyes and the short-cropped sandy blonde hair anywhere. The athletic frame that practically every girl at school is drooling over.
It’s Drew.