Be a girl

In the following weeks, dad had taken James to a specialist doctor, who was able to prescribe medication unoriginally named ‘puberty blockers’, which did exactly what the name suggested. James would first have to go through a mental evaluation to see whether the medication was appropriate, which I hoped wouldn’t take too long. There was a ticking clock, after all.

The idea behind the puberty blockers was to delay James’ puberty to give him some extra time to decide whether he wanted to go through a male or female puberty. Though I didn’t say it, I wished I’d known that was an option when I was James’ age. I would have absolutely taken it. It was hard knowing that all the changes caused by puberty which I loathed could have been avoided if we’d simply known. But it was way too late for me now. What was the point? It’s not like you could just undo puberty.

It was no use thinking about this either though. Changing the past was impossible, and I had to live with that, in so many ways. There were many things I would do or undo if it were possible, but there was no use dwelling on what could have been.

In other news, I never did confront mum about her treatment of my brother. I just couldn’t. All because I was too much of a coward. Dad didn’t confront her either, believing it pointless, and I consigned myself to agreeing with him. He even went so far as to keep his plans about the puberty blockers a secret from mum. I wasn’t sure I agreed with him, but he was worried that she might try to put a stop to it, which seemed plausible enough that I went along with it.

The weeks went by, and eventually Christmas rolled around. Christmas this year was sure to be weird. It was the first time that we wouldn’t be celebrating it together as one big family. The plan for today was lunch at dad’s, and dinner at aunty Miranda’s, seeing as mum and dad still couldn’t stand each other. It was disheartening that they couldn’t put what had come between them aside just for one day.

In any case, today was Christmas day, a day which had lost its joy and wonder years ago for me. It was around the same time I lost my childhood innocence, in other words: once I’d hit puberty. Like birthdays, people always asked me what I wanted, but I could never answer them. There was, of course, one thing that I did want, but no one could give that to me, even though I could now give that out to others. Go figure.

Dad always expected me to at least attempt to look nice. Which meant a button up or polo shirt (of which I preferred the button up shirt), nice looking shorts, and having my hair not look like I’d just stuck my head out of a moving car. I never liked what I had to wear for special events like this. I especially hated formal wear, but I supposed this was better than having to wear a suit.

Dad’s side of the family was rather small. Mum’s side was even smaller, consisting of just her and my aunty. I’d never met their parents, and they didn’t like talking about them. What had happened to them, I could only guess. By contrast, James and I had met our grandparents on our dad’s side many times, which was nice as we wouldn’t have ever known any of our grandparents otherwise.

Dad’s brother, Uncle Bill, was the first to arrive with his two kids. Dad greeted him and the kids at the door. Dad had of course informed his brother and parents of what had happened to him, but I could tell that Uncle Bill was still a little shocked to see the state of his brother in person. He hadn’t informed anyone that the same had happened to James, though, to protect him. Unfortunately for dad, his changes weren’t easily hidden.

“Who are you?” Amy, Bill’s youngest, asked my dad. She was about a year younger James. Her brother Tony, who was two years older than James, stood beside her, also rather confused by the strange woman who stood before him.

Dad leant over to speak to Amy at eye level, smiling widely. “I’m your Uncle Joe,” he said, “I know I look a little different, but on the inside I’m still the same person.”

She placed her index finger on her chin and made a soft humming noise as she contemplated the information presented to her. “Ok!” she said, before rushing through the door. Tony still seemed unconvinced. He simply shrugged, not saying a word as he followed after his younger sister. Dad let out a sigh of relief at not having to give the kids a longwinded explanation.

I decided it was finally time for me to greet my uncle. I approached the door and gave him a quick handshake. “What’s with the gloves?” he inquired as he gripped my hand in his own.

“Do you want to end up like my dad?” I replied, motioning slightly in my dad’s direction with my head. 

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead left it hanging open. Like he wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure exactly what to say. He looked between dad and me, mouth still agape. Eventually, he managed to say, “Well, in any case, it’s nice to see you again.” He gave me a light pat on the shoulder before making his way into the house.

I could tell that today was going to be boring as there was no one in the family around my age. The other kids were all far too young for me, though I was expected to entertain them for at least a little while. They seemed like they were having a great time. I sure wasn’t. Every year, I always wanted to go play some video games on my own, however dad didn’t want me to hole up in my room all alone when I was supposed to be socialising with the family.

The grandparents arrived not too long after Bill and his kids. I greeted grandpa with a handshake, and grandma with an awkward hug. I never really liked hugs, but I could tolerate them with people to whom I was somewhat close.

Once the pleasantries were dealt with, and everyone had settled down, we began handing out the Christmas presents. All the kids got toys that they seemed to genuinely enjoy. Particularly my brother, who got a fancy water gun that he no doubt wanted to take for a test run later today. It was reasonably warm, so I probably wouldn’t mind joining in. James would want me to anyway, so I wouldn’t have much of a choice.

As for what I received? Socks and jocks¹Australian word for "briefs" (the underwear). A stock standard gift for those whom you didn’t know what to get. Boring, but it wasn’t the end of the world. What annoyed me was that my grandparents gave me a masculine hygiene kit, or whatever one called these things. It contained ‘manly’ soap and shampoo, and shaving cream and whatnot. The kind of things that I didn’t want to use. Except maybe the shaving cream, since I would always need to shave so long as hair kept growing on my face. Didn’t mean I didn’t hate that I received it. Sure, I hated having to shave my face, but I wasn’t ever going to let my facial hair grow out. That was far worse.

I gave my grandparents my best attempt at a smile to show my ‘appreciation’ for the gift that they gave me. Not that my best was any good, though it seemed to placate them. I couldn’t tell them that I didn’t want this, since it was partly my fault that they gave it to me. I didn’t know what anyone could give me for Christmas, so they had to simply guess. They just happened to guess wrongly.

Lunch was the usual Christmas affair. Turkey, ham, baked potato, roast vegetables, you know the deal. The adults all chatted amongst themselves, the kids tried their best to sit still for a few minutes, while I kept to myself. I simply let myself get lost in my own thoughts while slowly picking away at my meal. I was both too young to engage with the adult conversation, and far too old to chat with the kids. At one point I glanced over at dad who gave me a worried look, but neither of us said anything.

Once lunch was over, James began tugging at my shirt to get my attention. New water gun in hand, I knew exactly what he was going to ask me, but I let him say it anyway. “Ben! Ben! You have to join our water pistol fight!”

I humbly agreed as I didn’t want to disappoint him. He was going through a rough time, even if it didn’t seem that way right at this moment. He needed his older brother more than ever. In only a few hours, his mood would noticeably dip as we would be going to mum’s, so it was imperative I help him enjoy himself as much as possible until then. Besides, I might actually have some fun as well.

And I was right. Overall, it was fun to let my inner child out for a while. Even if I had to go back to my usual cynical self once it was all over. Despite my best efforts, I was unable to avoid becoming absolutely drenched. James’ new water gun was simply too powerful. It was fine though; it only took about half an hour in the sun to dry off due to the heat and low relative humidity. I was thankful that summer was very dry here, or I might have been waiting around for quite a bit longer.

The time I spent waiting to dry off was nice though. The gentle summer breeze slowly evaporating the water that clung to my clothes, providing me its sweet cooling effect. I made sure to remain in the shade though; I didn’t want to risk getting sunburnt.

It was also nice to lay down on the deck chairs round the back of the house. Running around with young ones was exhausting. I was very unfit since I hated sports and enjoyed spending most of my time sat at my computer. The little ones eventually got bored of waiting to dry off and ran back inside to play some more, leaving me to sit outside alone.

My loneliness was temporary however, as dad came outside and pulled up a chair next to me.

 “Are you ok?” he asked calmly. I turned to face him, seeing the concerned look in his eyes. A look with which I had recently become all too familiar.

“I’m fine,” I lied. He wasn’t going to buy it, but I had to at least pretend. I didn’t want him to worry, though arguably, such a white lie would only exacerbate his concern. The fact that the look of concern on his face deepened only confirmed that for me.

He sighed and leant forward in his chair, splaying his legs apart and resting his elbows on his thighs. “You really need to get better at faking your reactions to presents you don’t want.”

Now it was my turn to sigh. I’d hoped he hadn’t seen my lacklustre attempt at a smile of appreciation. And now he was disappointed with me.

“I know there’s something up with you, and it’s more than just the obvious. There’s something else going on. Ben, if there’s anything you need to tell me, please do. I won’t judge you and will love you no matter what.”

He was right of course. There was something, but I simply could not tell him. He said he wouldn’t judge me, but how did I know I could trust him? I felt like a fucking freak. I shouldn’t feel the way I did, so it was best for me to simply lock it up and not think about it too much. If I ignored it long enough, kept it hidden away in the dark recesses of my mind, then it would eventually disappear for good all on its own. The world was cruel, and it wasn’t possible to always have what we wanted, so it was best to simply let go. He didn’t need to know.

Both of us remained silent for what felt like an eternity. He was waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t want to.  No, more than that, I couldn’t. Even if I did try to say it, the words would never escape my mouth anyway.

“Ben, please. Is there anything you need to tell me?”

“No,” I said bluntly, rolling over to face away from him and stare off into the distance. I heard him sigh and get out of his chair.

He placed a hand on my shoulder and told me, “I’ll leave you to it then.” His voice was solemn. I was unconvincing, and we both knew it, but there was no use trying to force the truth out of me. He removed his hand and walked back inside the house. I remained staring at nothing in particular the entire time, not wanting to look at him.

I felt like crying. No. I needed to cry, but I just couldn’t. And that made me only feel worse.

***

Dad dropped us off at mum and aunty Miranda’s in the early evening, just in time for dinner. They both greeted us at the door. Mum wore a Christmassy dress, patterned with green and red and white snowflakes. The contradiction of snowflakes and it being a summer dress was not lost on me. It made sense though. Christmas was always winter themed, despite it being summer. Miranda wore a short sleeve button up shirt – similar in style to mine – and three quarter length pants.

Mum frowned at the sight of James’ outfit. Far too boyish for her tastes no doubt, despite her sister wearing something not too dissimilar. Dad bid us all farewell and asked that James and I be nice to mum and our aunty. No such wish for mum to be nice to us, but that was perhaps asking too much.

“Chloe, go get changed into the dress I left on my bed while I finish getting dinner ready,” mum instructed James. He grumbled something in response, but I wasn’t able to catch exactly what he said. He seemed very unenthused by the prospect of wearing a dress during Christmas dinner which came as no surprise to me.

Mum took her leave, heading back to the kitchen. Meanwhile, James followed me into the lounge room and sat down next to me. He pouted, folding both arms firmly across his chest, and leaning far back into his seat.

“You’re not going to put on the dress?” I asked cautiously. I knew he didn’t want to, but I was worried how mum would react if he showed up to dinner without changing.

“No,” he grunted.

“Aren’t you worried what mum will think?”

“I don’t care.”

I frowned. It was his decision to make, but I still felt uneasy about it. I sure wasn’t going to force him to do something he didn’t want, unlike mum. The last thing I wanted was to lose my brother’s respect.

We spent the minutes waiting for dinner to be prepared in silence. It never got any less depressing seeing my little brother’s mood do a complete one eighty when we came to mum’s house, and today was no different. He’d had so much fun earlier, and now he barely wanted to speak. It was heart wrenching.

It wasn’t long before we were called to the dinner table by aunty Miranda. She raised an eyebrow at James – which he likely didn’t notice – but didn’t comment on his attire. We filed into the dining room and sat down right before mum entered carrying a tray of food.

She immediately noticed the fact that James had failed to change into the dress like she wanted. She calmly placed the hot tray of food down onto the table without a word. Everyone remained still while mum sat down, pulled the oven mitts off her hands and set them to the side.

“Chloe,” she began with an eery calmness in her voice that did not bode well for James, “Why are you not wearing the dress like I asked?”

James crossed his arms in front of his chest and pouted. “I don’t want to.”

“Chloe, it’s Christmas, I expect you to look nice. And that means wearing the dress I got you.”

“Dad said I could wear this.”

“Your father is not here right now,” mum said, the calmness in her voice slowly fading, “And I told you to wear the dress.”

“I don’t care!” James shouted, “I don’t want to wear a stupid dress!”

“Chloe!” mum yelled back, “You will wear the dress, or you won’t be getting any dinner!”

“Fine!” He stood up from his seat, the chair scraping loudly across the floor.

“Chloe, sit down,” Miranda interjected. Everyone stared at her, including James, who froze on the spot. He remained standing, but he didn’t leave the table. Miranda glared at my little brother, waiting for him to return to his seat. After several seconds of nothing, she said, “Sit,” with notably more force. This time, he obliged, carefully planting himself back into the chair.

Aunty Miranda addressed mum next, “Beth, I’ve kept my mouth shut about your parenting thus far out of respect, but enough is enough. I know you want to help your daughter adjust to suddenly being a girl, but you’re taking this way too far. Your child clearly does not want to wear a dress, so why are you forcing her? Do you think I should wear a dress too?”

“Of course not!” mum exclaimed.

“So then why does she need to? Come on Beth, I know you want what’s best for your daughter, but this is not the way to go about it.”

Mum bit her lip as she thought over her sister’s words. James and I stared at our aunty, stunned. I’d never seen her criticise mum’s parenting before, let alone so harshly. Would this mean that mum would ease off on James? Stop forcing him to wear clothing he disliked?

Mum sighed. “You’re right, Miranda.” That was a surprising admission. “I just wanted to prepare Chloe for school next year. I’m sorry Chloe… you… don’t have to wear the dress.” Those last few words were far too hesitant for my liking. Like she disagreed with her sister but didn’t want to outright say it so as to not hurt their relationship. I didn’t trust mum to let James wear whatever he wanted, but at least for today, he could. Which wasn’t nothing. Small victories still deserve celebration, if even only a small amount.

“Really?” James inquired, sounding rather unconvinced, yet hopeful.

“Yes,” mum replied somewhat solemnly.

“Yay!” That excitement definitely sounded real though.

“Shall we begin our meal now?” Miranda asked.

“Let’s.”

***

After dinner, we all sat around the Christmas tree which mum and Miranda had set up in the lounge room earlier in the month. Mum handed out the presents, as was tradition. My presents were nothing special. Not bad, not good, just unnoteworthy. James’ however…

To say James was unhappy about his would be an understatement. The first present he unwrapped for himself, from mum, was a girly doll and he, as dad would say, spat the chewie. He threw the doll right at the Christmas tree, somehow managing to embed it within the plastic branches, and stormed out of the room with mum following swiftly behind.

That left Miranda and I sitting on the lounge awkwardly as sounds of a screaming child echoed throughout the house. Eventually, the wailing died down, leaving us in silence.

“You’ve been pretty quiet today,” Miranda commented.

I looked over at her and sighed. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I just…” I sighed again thinking of what I wanted to say. “I am displeased with mum’s actions regarding my younger sibling.”

She nodded. “I agree. She’s been rather forceful and it makes me uneasy. I’ve been holding back criticism of her parenting style, as you two aren’t my children, and she’s a mother, not me. I understand that she’s trying to acclimate her now daughter into being a girl, preparing her for school next year, in an attempt to prevent the other girls from bullying her. But, she keeps forcing her own expectations of what a girl should be onto Chloe, when she’s clearly unhappy.”

Miranda’s words gave me some thought. I agreed, but also disagreed. The obvious was that, yes, mum’s treatment of James was appalling, and she needed to stop. Whether or not that was possible, I didn’t know, but I doubted it. The other point was that implication that, no matter what, we would need to treat James as a girl, with which I disagreed. Convincing mum of my opinion, though, seemed completely impossible.

“I don’t understand why mum requires that we treat James like a girl in the first place.”

“Well, whether we want it or not, she is a girl now. Denying that won’t do any good.”

“But he’s so much happier when dad and I treat him as a boy!”

“That may be the case, but in a few years, there’ll be no denying that she is a girl. I know you feel guilty about what happened, but I do think getting Chloe to accept what she’s become will help her as she grows up.”

“But you said earlier that forcing expectations onto James is bad!”

Miranda pursed her lips. “Right,” she said, “we shouldn’t be forcing Chloe to be the girly girl your mother wants her to be. I’m not a girly girl, that much is obvious, so it’s not fair to expect Chloe to be either. We should let her decide the kind of girl she wants to be, not push it onto her. Realistically, I think it’s likely Chloe will grow up to be a very masculine woman, considering she used to be a boy. But importantly, no matter what, she is a girl, and she needs to accept that. And that will only become more obvious as she gets older.”

I bit my tongue, refraining from mentioning that there was special medication which would prevent James from going through puberty as normal. Dad told both of us to not tell mum or Miranda about it, and I would keep to that. I still wasn’t sure if keeping it secret was the best idea, but I trusted his judgement.

“I know your mother’s behaviour is upsetting both you and Chloe,” Mirada said. She placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll talk to her. Get her to ease off.”

I wasn’t sure how to feel. I knew that if I tried talking to mum about this, she would refuse to listen to me at best. At worst, I would be stuck unable to speak. It was a lose-lose. Miranda, however, actually had a decent shot at changing mum’s mind. I just didn’t fully agree with her. Still, if it meant James felt even just a little less miserable, then I felt it worth it.

“Thanks,” I said.

***

Miranda did talk to mum about James. Sorry, ‘Chloe’. She took James to the shops on Boxing Day, taking full advantage of the sales, in order to buy him some clothes that weren’t dresses. Miranda went with them to ensure that mum kept her word. I didn’t. Because going shopping with my mum and aunty as they bought clothes for my little brother did not, in fact, sound particularly fun. James wasn’t happy about that, but I wasn’t sure what my presence could have done to help. He would survive. I just didn’t want to stand by and watch as my mum and aunty bickered over what was appropriate for James, all while being able to do nothing. They wouldn’t listen to me; I knew that much.

When they came home, they had James dress up in one of the new outfits they bought for him. It was less overtly feminine, but it was still clearly from the girls’ section of the store. And it wasn’t just because of the shirt that had ‘Princess’ written on it in glittery pink letters. I rolled my eyes at that. I wonder who picked that one out. Definitely wasn’t James.

The shorts he wore were also super short. Too short in my opinion. Not even because short shorts were considered feminine attire, but because he was ten. Even if he did want to be a girl like mum and Miranda insisted he be, it felt wrong to have him wear such short shorts. Was it really normal for ten year old girls to wear shorts that short? It seemed wrong. Perverse.

The sandshoes were white with a pink stripe along the outside that made it obvious to anyone that they were meant for girls. Besides the stripes, they were perfectly ordinary shoes. James probably wouldn’t have had any issues with them if they didn’t have the pink.

Overall, James looked like a tomboy, owing mostly to the short haircut. A definite improvement to be sure, but the word had an extra syllable that shouldn’t be there, that Miranda seemed to insist on.  

Finally not being forced to wear dresses every weekend did improve my brother’s mood, but it was still noticeably lower than the times we stayed at dad’s house where James could be a boy. If mum and Miranda could stop being so obtuse, perhaps they would have known that.

I had to force down the envy that was welling up inside me. I knew it was wrong to be envious of my little brother, and so I did my best to shove those thoughts to the side. If our situations were swapped, I knew that both of us would be happier, but we couldn’t swap positions, so it was no use thinking about.

We eventually fell into a rhythm, becoming used to swapping houses twice a week. Mum didn’t try anything new at least. Still insisted that ‘Chloe’ adjust to being a girl now, even if that meant no longer forcing him to wear dresses. I didn’t try to stop her. It was pointless. Didn’t stop me from feeling bad about it though.