Noel
She’s standing at the opposite end of the room, by the windows. She’s laughing, perfect teeth flashing in the light of the winter sun that has just risen past the rooftops in the distance.
There are people all around her, laughing with her, making jokes, paying attention. She’s always the centre of the room, but not in an oppressive, demanding way. She’s just the kind of person people gravitate toward, like moons around a planet, like planets around the sun.
She’s wearing a white knit pullover today, with pale blue jeans and low boots. No jewellery but tiny gold hoop earrings and a golden ring on her left middle finger. Classy, but not stuck-up.
She says something in reply to the joke her friend made, and the laughter continues.
I look past her and out of the window.
We used to be friends. Best friends, even.
But that’s unthinkable now.
Just seeing her makes my skin crawl.
She has it all. She’s one of the prettiest girls in our year. Everybody wants to be friends with her. All the boys like her. Even the teachers like her, because she’s just responsible enough to still be cool. She’s at every good party, to the point where her presence is a seal of quality. Her parents are rich, and she has good grades. She’s probably going to go on and cure cancer or something, and she doesn’t even seem to care much about it.
She is all I ever wanted to be.
She is all I’ll never be.
Shit. Fingers tightening around the ends of my sleeves, I get up, shoulder my bag, and walk out of class. I can’t be here anymore. Everybody’s just so happy.
The excitement of the new year. I’m sure they have lots of stories to tell about Christmas and the New Year’s parties they went to, if they didn’t all go to the same one. That’s what it feels like, watching the other people in my year. Like everybody’s friends with everybody, and I’m the only one left out.
Then again, it’s not like it’s their decision to exclude me. I just can’t be around people, not anymore. All the happiness, all this pressure to be somebody is suffocating.
I was thirteen when I learned what it means to be trans. When I learned, truly, beyond the definition, the pictures, and the media coverage, what it’s like.
But I denied knowing, of course. Like everybody else, I fought to be fine. So I watched as the irreversible effects of the wrong hormones sank their claws into my flesh. I watched myself get taller. I listened to my voice crack and lower. I watched the girls around me grow increasingly beautiful, as the boys grew increasingly dumb. And as they continue to develop, I’m caught on the sidelines, watching passively.
Sometimes, I wonder whether it would be better to just leave the arena. At least then I wouldn’t have to watch.
But that’s the thing. I want to live. Desperately. Now that I finally know what’s… wrong with me and how to attempt fixing it.
But I can’t transition now. There’s another year and a half before school ends. If I come out now, I won’t just have to deal with everybody’s reaction; I also won’t ever make it to a point where I pass enough that accepting me will be natural.
No, I’ve got to get away. Finish school and move away, to some place where nobody cares or knows, so I can start over quietly. And maybe someday I’ll be able to return as a complete person, as something more than the dull fracture of an identity I am now.
The hallways are mostly abandoned. All the other students are in class right now; it’s just those of us who were blessed with a free period this January morning.
The wind is biting when I leave the building through the side entrance, making my way to the football field. The large, open space is the most secluded area on school grounds. Right now, it should still be empty. Good place to get some time on my own and stop thinking for a while. Stop existing.
I walk quickly, tucking my chin into the collar of my coat, hands buried in my pockets.
I meet nobody on my way away from the main buildings. It’s barely above zero degrees Celsius. Not cold enough for snow, but cold enough to make everybody miserable.
Not even the sun is out anymore. The sky’s overhung with light-grey clouds.
I don’t mind it, though. Mirrors my mood perfectly.
The football field is surrounded by a narrow wall of trees and bushes. Beyond lies the street and then houses. But that does little to keep the wind out. It is even stronger here, and briefly, I regret my decision to come here. I could’ve stayed inside, sat in some quiet corner to hide from the rest of the world. But of course, that’s different. The inside of buildings feels claustrophobic right now, and it would have made little difference from staying in class.
So I sit on one of the subs' benches, the narrow roof and walls protecting me at least from some of the wind, and huddle further into my jacket as I try to move as little as possible, to preserve body temperature. I’m definitely going to get cold here, but it’s better than being inside.
Her face flashes through my mind, blonde hair tied back, her lips wearing that distant smile they always show when she’s lost in thought.
I hate how I can’t seem to make myself stop thinking about her. Like I have some weird obsession with her. Like I—
“This seat taken?”
I flinch, immediately feeling the cold leak in through the gaps that opened in my clothes. I look up, and my stomach turns.
It’s her. She’s wearing her beige felt coat and a broad red scarf. She doesn’t look like she feels the cold.
Did she follow me here?
I give a slight shake of my head, watching her as she sits down. We’ve barely talked in four years. Why would she want to change that now?
She doesn’t need me anymore, after all. She’s popular now. And sure, with these classmates, it won’t be detrimental to her reputation to be seen talking to me, but it won’t help, either. And doesn’t she have better stuff to do?
She sighs, looking out across the field. Then she turns abruptly to meet my eyes. It feels like there’s an electric current running through me.
“How are you?” she asks, her voice bright and cheerful, like it mostly is these days. The worst part about it is that I can’t even make myself believe that it’s just a front.
I shrug limply. “Good.” I don’t expect her to buy it. More than anything else, my reply is saying, You don’t really care anyway, do you, so why not skip the small talk and get to what you’re really here for?
“What about you?”
Her eyes stay on me a moment longer, obviously unsatisfied with the reply. “I’m fine,” she says, and the bright colour has faded from her voice. She sounds thoughtful now, which I prefer greatly. It seems her good mood was just a front.
Or I killed it with my energy.
Yay.
“But I think winter can end now,” she muses. “It’s so depressing.”
I look up. “Really?”
She shrugs. “I mean, sure. There’s still a lot of fun stuff I can do, but… I miss going to the park with friends.” I feel her eyes on me as I tense slightly at the mention of her friends. “Or sitting in the backyard,” she adds. “It’s difficult to be in a good mood when everything is grey and cold.”
I give a dry huff more than a laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.” I know that’s kind of mean. She’s being vulnerable, and I’m shoving it back in her face.
But what else am I supposed to do? She’s got to know that I’m not going to relate to her, no matter how much she talks about feeling down in the wintertime. It doesn’t compare.
There’s a moment of silence, and I wonder if that was already enough to discourage her from doing whatever she’s attempting to do right now.
My hands are balled in my pockets, from discomfort just as much as from the cold. Because even once I do transition, how can I ever be beautiful? How can I ever be loved?
She gives a low chuckle suddenly. “Hey, do you remember that night on New Year’s, when we went out and got as many sweets as we could carry and then spent the whole night in a continuous state of sugar rush, watching Disney movies?” She looks over at me, and her eyes laugh at the memory.
My stomach clenches.
I remember, of course. We must’ve been nine or ten, and her parents were out for the night, at some important function, and they left us with money to order food. We decided to invest differently, and the rest of the night was a blur of laughter, jumping, and singing along to the songs.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking back to those years, wondering if things would have changed as much had I not… been a boy.
Would living still feel that… light? Would the magic of long nights still return with the same certainty?
“Sure,” I say slowly, watching her.
Her eyes stay focused at the distance. “I was wondering if… you’d want to do something like that again sometime?” She swallows. “Or… I mean, it doesn’t have to be a movie night. We could also just go eat something, or,” her eyes light up hopefully, “go book shopping! Do you still read?”
Sometimes. But not the kinds of books you buy at a bookstore. I also spend a lot of time dissociating. And sleeping.
I shake my head slightly. This is gonna be the hard part, isn’t it? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
There’s a flash of hurt in her eyes, but she patches it over bravely, pressing on.
“Why? We used to have so much fun together, didn’t we?” She tries to keep her voice light, but it’s not as convincing now. “I miss that.”
I scoff. “You said it yourself, the cold and bleak is depressing, right? I’d only get your mood down. And anyway, you managed fine for the last four years.”
“No,” she says slowly. “I’ve always missed it, but I…” she trails off, seemingly unwilling to reveal this part of herself.
Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I wanted her around.
After a moment of staring into the middle ground, her mouth parted slightly, searching for something to say, she finally draws herself up. “Would you please think about it? Just… I don’t know, give me an afternoon, and if you don’t like it, I’ll leave you alone. You—” She stops herself once more.
“I what?” I ask, tilting my head at her.
She hesitates, but then she pushes her chin forward a little and meets my eyes. “You don’t seem like you’re doing very well.” She must’ve seen something shift in my eyes, because she hurries to add, “We don’t have to talk about it. I promise, I’m not trying to… fix you or anything. But I thought maybe it’d do you a little good not to be alone as much. We don’t even have to talk,” she bargains. “We can just… sit around or do homework, or….”
It’s irritating. I’d probably be a lot more comfortable right now if she had just come to laugh at me or something.
My eyes narrow. “You don’t owe me shit, you know?”
“What?” She startles, and her brow creases. “I’m not doing this because I feel like I owe you anything. I’m doing this because I like you, and because I want you to be happy.” It seems like she wants to say something more, but she stops herself.
I get up. “There’s nothing you can do to help me.”
“Noel,” she says, her voice pleading as I begin to walk away.
And somehow, hearing her say my name makes the facade crack.
I whirl around on her. “I’m trans, okay? And every second I spend in the presence of somebody like you makes me want to claw my fucking skin off!”
I don’t wait to see her reaction. Instead, I turn and run away.