It's Just Me

Okay here goes nothing, I’ve waited 8 years to say this. I can feel my heart pounding, in my bounded chest. My hair is cut short now, I’m now one step closer to being the real me. I just have to tell them. So I’ll take a deep breath.

“Mom, Dad I’m a boy, my name is Alex.” Silence falls over the dinner table. Mom dropped her fork and widened her eyes. Dad shook his head and piled more spaghetti into his mouth. I stay there pale, waiting for them to welcome me in with open arms. I mean I am their only child, they have to accept me right?

“Alexa, what makes you think you’re a boy? I carried you for 10 months, I gave birth to you. I know you’re a girl.”

“Mom, I was biological sex is female, but I am a boy. I’ve always been a boy. Why do you think I cut my hair, and only buy baggy clothing and flannels, and buy from the men’s section? I’m a boy, I'm your son Alex.” My voice is quivering, as my chest tightens. What if they don’t accept me, am I in the wrong?

Dad slams down his glass. And looked me in the eyes, his face red. “Alexa stop this nonsense, you are a girl, and that’s it. No daughter of mine will keep playing this game with me. God decided you were a girl, so a girl you will be.”

“But Dad I’m not a girl, I’m a boy. And it’s not nonsense, it's who I am.” I can’t be wrong, this is my life. I get to decide who I am right? My heart is pounding out of my chest, it feels like it's gonna burst.

“Shut up! I’m done with this nonsense. You are my daughter! D-A-U-G-H-T-E-R! Daughter that’s it! And if you insist on being otherwise, then you’re no child of mine.” Dad looked away with his last sentence looming in the air. Mom returned to eating her spaghetti. I sat there stunned. My pounding heart stopped. How could my own parent’s not accept this?! I mean yes we grew up in a Catholic home, but isn’t our job to love thy neighbor? I am a boy. I’ve always been. Why don’t they understand that? Why can’t I be myself in my own home? Why are my parents willing to abandon me for being me? Why can’t I be me?

“Is that how you truly feel?” I say defeated. I felt like of all people they would understand, that it was their job to love me. But I guess they don’t.

Dad shoots me a look of disgust. Mom just keeps looking down at her plate.

“Mom?” I can feel the heat in my cheeks, as tears start to dwell in my eye.

“Alexa honey, you don’t mean it. It’s just a phase, trust us. We know what’s best.”

I sit there for a moment. How can she know what’s best if she doesn’t know who I am?! How? I thought you guys loved me. I begin to get up and leave. I need to get out of here. I need space, I need time, the air is too thin and I need to breathe. They follow me on my way out.

“You ungrateful little wretch! We raised you and gave you all you could ever ask! Why do you feel the need to embarrass this family?! You’re a disgrace.” I ignore them and look at our family photo. A strange numbness consumes me, and I can’t hear them anymore. I place it face down and walk to the door. I stop, turn around and look at them.

“How can you tell me what’s best, if you don’t know who I am.”

They stand there awe struck, my Mom trembling tears rolling down her face as she holds the family photo I placed face down. My father seething with rage. The veins on his forehead are about to burst. I shut the door behind me and stopped. Is this right? Feeling a weight on my chest, I run through the backyard. I run through the bushes and trees. I hop over a log, and keep running to the stream. I stop right as I approach it. I find a nice patch of moss and sit there. Curled in a ball. How can my parents not love me, how can my parents let me leave? Am I wrong? I’ve spent so many years wondering why I was different, what made me not like all the other girls, why I couldn’t fit in. I finally found the answer. I began to grow, and I felt happy with my identity. I began to love myself. I was happiest dressed as a boy. I felt happiest when my best friend called me Alex. But my parents don’t care. They don’t want what makes me happy. What helps them feel like they belong in this world. What’s wrong with them? Or is it me? Am I wrong? Has it always been me? I can’t breathe, my chest feels like an elephant is sitting on it. I can’t catch my breath, and I can’t even hear my own thoughts. Soon everything is black.

I smell smoke, and start to feel a strange warmth. I wake up to find a fire in the forest, or what’s left of it. The forest is devastated, trees broken in half, uprooted, and on fire. I start running toward the edge of the forest close to my school. I run as fast as I can, my throat is burning from the smoke, and my eyes are watering. I can’t see well but I know this forest better than anyone. I stumble a little due to the trees being on the ground, and fire everywhere but I make it out where our school was and it’s flat. All the buildings are flat. Oh no Mom and Dad! I start running down the street, but the asphalt is hot. It’s melting the base of my sneakers. As I make my way around the corner onto my street it's no different. I ran three doors down to my house. No one’s moving. I start moving the smoldering supports that once held up my home. My hands are burning with each and every piece moved, but I didn’t care. They were my parents. Even though I’m mad at them they need time to let it sink in and accept me. They can’t be gone before that happens. I need closure even if it's just me trying and failing I need the time to try. I smell burnt flesh and I begin to move the rubble more quickly following it’s sent. I find two burnt people. The flesh is red and black. Neither were moving or breathing.

“Mom?! Dad?!” I lay both of them down on their backs. I’ll start with Mom. She's smaller and she'll need CPR first. I begin to push down on my hands but they are burnt and it hurts. Her body takes each push and caves in more and more, red liquid coming out and splashing my face. I was too late... they’re gone. I look at my parents and notice a broken picture they were holding. I move my dad next to them and as I do I see the golden frame he was holding drop.

The glass was shattered but the picture was intact. I shake the loose glass off the frame and look at it. It’s us… before they died they were holding a picture of us. It was a recent one, my hair was blond and short. I look like a boy in the picture but they didn’t care they were smiling. I look at their faces now and two streams appear less burnt on each person. It might have been tears. I pull their eyelids shut, but their eyes are melting so that they fall inward and white matter oozes out. I sit on the grass which is nothing but ash. And I cry, holding the broken frame to my chest. I wish I could tell them I love them. I wish they could tell me they love me. I take the picture out of the frame. And look at the back. I look at the names Mike, Jaimie, Alexia. Above my birth name I see Alex.