We learn quickly how to vanish from the family table when we break the mold.
We learn quickly that vanishing is easiest, safest, less painful.
Step One.
Sit where they can see you.
Not too close to the father.
Within earshot of the mother.
But hold your silence close.
Step Two.
Smile when they ask about your dating life.
Not too big.
The smile can't reach your eyes.
They may become suspicious.
Step Three.
Test the waters.
Make a joke about some Pride event.
A celebrity who has come out as trans.
A woman who married another.
Step Four.
Practice saying "I'm fine" without closing your eyes.
Recite the lie until you believe it.
Fold your tongue around the silence.
Prepare for the worst if they ever find out.
Step Five.
Compliment the casserole.
Compliment your family's accomplishments.
Compliment your mother's new rosary.
Dodge the questions when they ask about your future plans.
Step Six.
Keep breathing. Quietly.
Do not mention pronouns or love.
Swallow the name, whether yours or your other half.
Try not to remind them that when they said "We love you no matter what", that they didn't know there was a "matter" they chose to ignore.
Step Seven.
Keep laughing.
Laugh when they ask if your haircut is "just a phase".
Laugh when they call some innocent walking down the road a "fag" or "dyke".
Laugh when they mock the "tranny" on the TV.
Step Eight.
Excuse yourself from the table.
Don't look back.
Hold onto the memory, and remind yourself.
Because when you turn, the seat you left behind at the family table
has already disappeared.
About the Creator
Autumn Stew
Words for the ones who survived the fire and stayed to name the ashes.
Where grief becomes ritual and language becomes light.
Survival is just the beginning.


Comments (1)
Damn. Bravo. Loved this, it really cuts deep.