TBBM XIX. Make James Smile

"Jap," the room was dark without the lights on. James affixed his hands on my shoulders. I took one big gulp as I waited for his next move. I wasn't ready for this. In movies, this was the moment when the guy kissed the girl. I closed my eyes. He sat me in the couch... and asked. "What did you do there at Roma's?"

"R-roma?" I shuddered. Was he actually thinking about another girl at this moment?

It puzzled me. He never really asked me about other girls before.

+++

Other than being unlucky and bringing myself to fail due to poor choices, I had another talent I wasn't very proud of---OVERTHINKING.

The way my brain worked was as simple as analyzing whatever was infront of me at face value---to looking deeply into their molecular structure, to conspiracy theories, to the life and death of a star.

In short, my mother always called me crazy.

What did you do there at Roma's

What did you do there at Roma's

What did you do there at Roma's

I couldn't take my mind away from that line of James. We didn't really talk much about it last night. I knew he almost talked, but, something made him flip and change his mind.

We didn't do much last night. We just lied on his bed talking incessantly about things, life, possibilities. James knew about my condition---my mother told him. Somehow, I always wondered what he thought about me or why he never asked me about it the way Roma occasionally, would. I guessed he was just being a guy.

"Doesn't matter," he smiled, as both lied flat on our backs, staring at the ceiling. "Whatever you are, you are still Jap-jap to me. I'll protect you from the bullies if you want me to."

Dub dub. Dub dub.

Dub dub. Dub dub.

I shuddered at what he said. James wasn't very vocal about how he felt on deep issues, unless it was something that really bothered him. Often, he would let me open up first before he filled me in with his thoughts. He was a very simple guy.

I liked him like that. Actually, I loved him, the way he was. And, every time I thought ahead of myself as I looked at him, something sharp and heavy gripped my heart: the fangs of biology---that no matter how far I changed, at least in our current time, I still would not be able to carry his seed and give birth to his child. How would he like me like this? The prospects were dim for me at present... probably even dimmer in the future.

"James," I was back to my room the night after. But I still thought of him. I drew out the photo of him I used to bury under my pillow---they said to hide a photo of the person you fancied under your pillow at night and you'd dream of him. I'd been doing that ever since. I took the photo to my heart and said, "I love you. I really, really, love you, James."

My heart beat fast. I couldn't sleep. I wanted to make James smile again... take his worries away, so I taped his photo on the pillow, played a romantic song on my phone, and started dancing. Maybe, somehow, he would feel it, even from afar.

"Jim-jim..." I started talking to the pillow, as we slow-danced. "Did you know that I've been in love with you for so long now? I never told you but, you could at least feel it, couldn't you? James... do you have feelings for me, too? Deep inside me, I'm so scared to hear your answer. I have so many changes awaiting for me. I'm scared, James… James, would you come pick me up tomorrow? I miss you, already. Can you hold my hands again, while you drive? Jim-jim, you make me feel giddy---"

"Aherm, " suddenly, my mother appeared by my door, hands on her waist, frowning at me.

"Mmmm..." I couldn't even finish a word in embarrassment. I was dead cold. I took off under the covers.

I forgot to close my door. Why was I such a failure?

+++

Saturday.

I volunteered to teach short lessons to out-of-school-youth every Saturday morning. I was particularly excited today since it was the first session we would have together. The poor---they were always close to my heart. I fully well knew that had my mother not worked so hard, I definitely would not be any different from them.

The day's lesson was ADJECTIVE.

I taught them briefly how it worked in sentences and made them do an activity.

"Already," I smiled. "So, how about you write on your own now, a descriptive paragraph of the person that inspired you the most? Nothing short of ten sentences, please."

The group of fifteen out-of-school youth complained initially, but ended up pushing themselves to the best they could.

"Miss," sometimes they asked me help if they couldn't construct their lines quite well on their own. "Face is damaged..."

"What!?" I thought he was teasing me. But he looked serious.

"You know, like, holes in the face... when uh," he scratched his head. "After you popped the pimples."

"You can write, 'big pores' or 'scars left by pimple-popping'..." I taught, feeling beat up internally.

"Miss, I wrote 'slimy-faced girl', that's okay, right?" another one inquired.

I wondered if they were Red's kids for the way they attacked me.

"S-slimy? Do you mean oily?" I smiled, defeated.

"Oh, yeah!" he screamed. "Got you."

"Miss, Miss," called the next student. "How do I say this? 'She was uglier than ugly and she smelled like rotten---'"

"Kids!" I cut him. "Can we write more about positive traits, please?"

Dear Saint,

Why do you do this to me?

+++

Soon as the class ended, I hurried my way out of Gate 1 and took the bus to see my doctor. My mother usually accompanied me but starting this year, I convinced her to let me go by myself. I was a bit more stable now; but that did not mean I didn't have fears.

The gender clinic was situated at the city centre. The world was starting to be kinder and more understanding of people like me, evident to the growing number of patients who came over with their guardians to seek professional advice.

I remembered the first time I visited the place with my mother; it wasn't this big yet. Back then, they normally endorsed patients who were at the surgery part of their transition to the nearby hospital. I'd been mulling over the prospect of full transition since then. But I was scared deep inside. I didn't want the new me to live so wastefully like I did. So, I told my mother that I wanted to keep this very much a secret. Every time somebody we knew saw us dropping by, we always said it was for dermatological reasons---like removing an unwanted birthmark behind me, perhaps? That pretty much became our secret code.

Dr. Gracey, I figured later on, was Mr. Vizca's third-cousin. Coincidentally, she'd been my doctor since I was twelve. She saw me during my dark days, when my father disapproved heavily of my preferences, shortly before he left. She saw me cry and lose interest in virtually anything. She heard me, when I wished to just die rather than live in this body.

On the over-all, she'd been very understanding and patient of me.

"Unfortunately." she began. "You can't talk me into extending your blockers anymore. We'll begin your female hormones, today."

Being brave in the face of the familiar was one thing; but being brave in the face of the unfamiliar was another. I bit my lower lip as she pinned the needle directly to the skin of my thighs. I shouldn't be new to the sensation, but it pricked differently, this time. I often looked away from needles, but strangely, I was looking at it the whole time, this time. This was the elixir to the new me. This was the beginning of the death of the old me. Bizarrely, I saw flashes of what I'd been through play before my eyes.

I walked, with heart pounding, towards the door that led to the death of the old me, awaiting for the new---no, the real me, to wake up from its long hibernation.