And that’s exactly what I was going to do.
Racing down the stairs, I nearly collide with Mum who is walking in the front door carrying more shopping bags than a five-foot nothing, fifty-year-old woman should be able to carry. “Oh, D—, love, help me with these will you?”
“Sorry, Mum, I can’t. I’m late for the Leavers’ Ball.”
“Oh, yes! Just wait a minute. Lyla! Devon! Come here and grab the shopping will you! I need to take some photos of Dee looking all…” She pauses, and I hold my breath. “Handsome.”
My exhale is full of relief and joy.
I told my parents a week ago that I was having some confusing feelings about my gender. It had been a long and difficult conversation. My father had been more oblivious, and therefore shocked, than I had expected. My mother hadwanted answers I wasn’t ready to give. Because while I acted confused and maintained that pretence, I have been feeling clearer and clearer about who I am. About the man I am.
And I’m starting to really like the man I am.
I’m just not ready to burst that bubble by being him in the real world yet. I want to, I so desperately want to, but I know it’s not going to be easy or simple or without pain.
I’d like to postpone the accompanying pain a little longer. Like after I’m done with school completely. Like when everyone else who is leaving this town has finally, finally gone.
But that conversation still brought about change that has made life so sweet recently. Now, I’m Dee, which I had been before, but I’m Dee all the time now. I officially have a deadname, in my house, at least. Dad doesn’t call me pretty or beautiful anymore, which he had a habit of doing, although he hasn’t quite landed on a more gender-neutral pet name for me yet. He also hasn’t stopped looking at me with this curious expression that I can’t describe, or rather, prefer not to.
“You look great,” he says from his armchair.
“Thanks, Dad.” I lean down to kiss the top of his head, his closely shaved afro tickling my lips.
“You’re going to drive safe, yes? No drinking.”
“Of course,” I say as I reach for Mum’s car keys. Lyla and Devon thunder down the stairs and after a couple of grumbles start helping Mum with unpacking the shopping bags.
I hesitate, watching them.
“They’ve got this,” Dad says, like he can read my mind. “You need to go and have fun.”
“I don’tneedto go and?—”
“I want you to. You deserve to be happy,” he tells me, and it confuses me because his tone is nothing but sadness.
But I am going to be late if I don’t get a move on. So I call out a handful of goodbyes, squeeze Dad’s arm on my way out of the living room, and close the front door behind me.
Raquelle hasher arm hooked in mine as we walk from the car park to the school’s gymnasium. We’ve walked like this a hundred times before, but tonight it feels different. Tonight, I feel like I look like the man I am. Tonight, I’m a man holding her arm, not her best girlfriend. Tonight, I’m her date.
“You smell…” She sniffs the air as we approach the open double doors of the large sports hall. “Different.”
“I’m wearing cologne,” I tell her. It’s one of many little pieces of information I’ve taken to dropping in front of Raquelle. Building bricks, I call them. I’m trying to lay the foundation for my big reveal, because while I trust Raquelle will still love me when I tell her, I don’t want it to be a shock. It’s the shock that my dad had in his wide eyes that made me second guess myself and I’m so very tired of doing that.
She sniffs again. “Why?”
“I like it,” I say, feeling like I’m chickening out of something.
Raquelle opens her mouth to say something else but then a loud, “Oi,oi!” has us both turning back to look behind us.
“Nice suit, D—!” Miles Richards’ voice barks out. He’swalking towards us and he’s not alone. In his hand is a can of beer that he waves around, strongly suggesting this isn’t his first, and around him are several other members of the football team. As they come closer to us, I find myself looking for Benji, but when I see him walking a few metres behind everyone else, I immediately look away. Self-consciousness makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
“Borrowed it from your dad?” Miles asks me, and I know he’s making a joke about me wearing what looks like men’s clothing, and I know he doesn’t know that my dad is sick because I don’t let hardly anybody know about that, but the blood in my veins starts to simmer with rage at him even mentioning my father.
“Fuck off, Richards!” I shout back and then yank on Raquelle’s arm to turn us around before I pull her into the gymnasium.
It’s hardly an escape. The boys stay right behind us. They start talking and guffawing about something else, but I’m on high alert, listening out for any other possible dig at myself or at Raquelle. I can’t wait for these fuckers to be out of my life.
Not for the first time, I question why Benji still hangs out with them. I know football is a big deal to him, but why still be friends with these boys. He told me in Paris how much they annoy him and he’s already playing for a bigger and better football team. Why would he still bother hanging out with them?
