Chapter Text
G squirmed uncomfortably in his plastic school chair. He could feel the damp gathering of sweat where his legs met the plastic of his seat, and he again tried to pull his skirt lower, but it was futile. He detested the piece of fabric. But he hadn’t been given a choice. He had had a fight with his mother that morning and she had removed all the clothing in his room while he was showering. She had left him with only skirts and dresses to wear, knowing that he hated the feminine clothes and it would make him uncomfortable for the entire school day. It had become her favoured method of punishment after fights recently.
He focused on the clock at the front of the classroom and drowned out the teacher. Only ten more minutes until he was done: done for the day, done for the year, done forever. Ten more minutes of senior year. Around him fellow students were starting to wriggle in anticipation, clutching at papers they were ready to throw into the air and rain down around them. It was hot in the small classroom, and all he wanted was for this day to finally end. He had been dreaming of closing this chapter of his life since he had accepted who he was a year prior. All of his life something had felt like it was off, like part of him didn’t quite fit. It had taken until his 17th year of life to finally come to terms with what ‘it’ was.
A year earlier he had been in the comic book shop with his best friend, Ray, and they were perusing the latest releases. He’d been dressed in a loose shirt and baggy jeans, as was his usual, but back then he had let his hair grow long. No-one had ever questioned his tom-boyishness, and he had always just accepted that femininity was not something he was particularly comfortable with. It wasn’t until he picked up a new release called The Invisibles that he discovered perhaps there was more to this than just being a tomboy.
The characters were unlike anything he had ever read before. He had eagerly bought each new release, devouring the story line, and being unable to stop thinking about the characters. At night, alone in his room, he started drawing himself, but how he wanted to be seen. He gave himself short hair, a strong jaw, and broad shoulders. As he would look at the drawings, he would feel his heart pound in excitement and fear.
As he started to discover more about who he really was, he started to clash with his mother more. She started arguing with him when he would refuse to wear a nice dress to the family dinner. She would tell him that he was just trying to make her feel like a bad mother. He felt guilty for being such a bad child. His guilt continued to grow each time he and his mother fought. He tried continuing to wear the girly clothes that made her happy, but his discomfort grew. He couldn’t bring himself to keep it up.
One night after a particularly nasty row he locked himself in the bathroom, plugged in his dad’s hair clippers, and cropped his long, chestnut hair off. As the hair fell at his feet, he felt relief, as if he were cutting away the argument he had just had. His reflection started to resemble that of his sketches, and a part of him finally began to feel placated.
He cleared his throat, and hesitated a moment. He met his own eyes through the looking glass. “You’re a handsome young man,” he said to his reflection. His face grew hot and he had to look away. It felt so right. It felt so so right and he was terrified of what it meant. He shoved against the vanity, as if the mirror may hurt him, and sat down with his back against the side of the bathtub. For months now he had known, but had refused to admit it to himself. Denial was a powerful drug.
Someone knocked on the door. “G, can you please come out here and apologise,” his mother’s voice came through the locked bathroom door.
His anger simmered below the surface and tears stung at his eyes. He hadn’t done anything wrong. She had once again started ripping into him that he was a terrible daughter and was punishing her for being a bad mother. He half-smiled to himself, swallowing against the tears. Maybe she was right about one thing, he was a terrible daughter.
She rapped at the door again. “Come out here, right now, young lady.”
His heart clenched in his chest. He resented her. He resented the way she refused to see what was so clearly in front of her. The way she forced him to continue to be her ‘little girl’, even though he never had been. The way she shoved her religion down his throat until he gagged. Even as a kid, she had pressured him to play with dolls and help in the kitchen while his younger brother could run around outside and play with trucks and action figures. She had pushed this feminine narrative on him, and he was done.
Gripping the edge of the vanity, he pulled himself back up to inspect his appearance. He relished the feeling of the short, spiky locks against his fingers. It was cropped blunt and haphazardly, but he didn’t care. The joy he felt seeing himself with the cut was unparalleled. It gave him enough confidence to face his fuming mother on the other side of the door.
As he reached for the doorknob he pretended that his hands didn’t shake. His shoulders were already tense, bracing against the expected howl of disapproval at what he had done.
The door pushed open, and he stood, eyes downcast. The expected screech never came. He raised his eyes to his mother who stood visibly trembling with fury in the hallway. A vein on her forehead pulsated, but she didn't speak. She did not utter a word. Instead, she turned on her heel and stormed away without a word. G flinched as she slammed her bedroom door. He stood in the hallway confused for a minute, dumbfounded at what had just happened. She always had something to say, some backhanded remark to bring him down a notch.
The ringing of the final bell broke G out of his thoughts. The students around him cheered, tossing papers into the air as they ran from the classroom. He couldn’t help but smile to himself at the scene, it was straight out of a John Hughes film. He kicked a few of the papers covering the floor as he trailed behind the group of teenagers barrelling down the hall. He wasn’t in a hurry to get swept up with the mob. There were still a few things he needed to reclaim from his locker anyway.
These halls had seen a lot of shit over the last few years, and it felt bittersweet that this was his final trek down them. A chapter of his life was closing here, and a terrifying new one would open when he started college in the fall. It was strange to think he wouldn’t walk these halls as a student again, and even stranger that the last time he was walking them was in an uncomfortable pleated skirt.
He reached up and pulled his locker open. Carelessly he swiped the remaining contents into his bag: polaroids, notes, old gum. He was zipping up his bag a moment later when he felt someone’s hands grab around his waist as they yelled in his ear.
The high-pitched squeal that instinctually escaped his mouth made him cringe. He spun around and smacked at his friend's chest. Ray stood in front of him, a good few inches taller, with tight curls close to his head. He’d buzzed his hair short not long after G had to show his support. G hadn’t told Ray why he had cut his hair off, but it hadn’t mattered, because Ray was loyal to a fault and would defend G no matter what.
“How was madam’s last day of classes?” Ray held his hand out to take G’s bag, as was tradition. He was one of those kids who insisted chivalry was essential to courtship; meanwhile G frequently argued the point that it was counterproductive to feminism. Today, however, he gladly handed over his bag as it was stuffed to the brim with all of his belongings and would pull up the hem of his skirt as he walked.
“Boring as fuck.” G grabbed one of the remaining, expired pieces of gum from his locker before slamming it closed, and placed it in his mouth.
“Yeah, same. Seemed really pointless seeing as all of our stuff is done. Like why are you still trying to get us to pay attention, we’re so out of here.” Ray bumped his shoulder playfully against G’s as they walked.
The pair had met freshman year and been inseparable ever since. There was a time when Ray had crushed hard on G, but G had made it very clear he just wanted to be friends. He needed a friend like Ray. Surviving the hell of high school would have been an impossible task without him.
“You’re still sleeping over tonight, right?” G asked, again his voice pitching high in excitement and making himself flinch.
“Yeah, I’ve got Night of the Living Dead on VCR.” Ray said, tapping his bag.
“I wanted to get some smokes on the way home. My parents are going to notice if I steal theirs again. Did you wanna just go all in and try to get some booze too?” G was feeling rebellious and free. No more school. No more rules. Why not try out a few bad habits as well? It seemed to work for his parents.
“It’s a bit late to become a burnout, dude,”
“Like father, like son,” he said without thinking, then laughed to cover it as a joke. Ray didn’t press him on it.
G had actually started smoking a few months ago, covertly sneaking cigarettes from his parents’ packs. He had read in a magazine that Lucille Bell’s distinctively husky voice was likely due to her being a heavy smoker, and he had become fascinated by the idea. No matter how hard he tried, he always struggled to stop his voice pitching up when he was excited or surprised. He had decided that it was worth a shot to see if the cigarettes would help him stay in a lower register.
The pair walked side-by-side to the local corner store, chatting about their plans for summer and how they were going to get ready for college. G was incredibly excited to have been accepted into the School of Visual Arts in New York City. He’d only submitted the application because Mikey had pushed him to get his portfolio completed. If only his mum was at least a little bit excited for him too. She seemed more interested in finally having him out of the house.
Ray had been accepted into one of the small local colleges, but he was happy. He was still thinking of starting a band with his brothers, and had decided to stay local for that reason. G was proud of him for sticking to his dreams, and honestly the guy was an incredibly talented musician. He seemed to have an ear for melodies that you only saw in legendary musicians.
They came to a stop outside the store.
“Do you have your fake ID?” Ray asked G, digging his hands into his pockets but making no move to search them.
“It got confiscated last week. You don’t have yours?” G swallowed, nervous.
“My brothers thought it would be hilarious to hide it somewhere. I still haven’t found it.”
“Fuck.”
Ray peered through the window. “Cute college dude is working.” He turned back to G. “Do you think you could distract him with your feminine charms for a few minutes?”
“I don’t have feminine charms,” G huffed, crossing his arms across his chest.
“Just pull your shirt down a bit and hike up your skirt like the other girls at school.” Ray waved a hand at him, still staring through the window to assess the situation.
He glared at Ray, but still tugged on his shirt to expose the top of his breasts, and rolled over the top of his skirt to shorten it slightly. “I fucking hate you, dude.”
“It will be 5 minutes, tops. Thank your mum for forcing you to wear a skirt today.” Ray slipped away into the shop, casually perusing the shelves.
G felt sick to his stomach. Ray never asked him to do shit like this though, and it was the end of school, they needed booze to celebrate. But he felt incredibly ill as he stumbled through the door after his friend and approached the counter.
“Hey, darlin’,” the cashier drawled, immediately leaning forward on the counter and watching G intently as he approached.
“Hi,” he barely whispered, his voice catching in his throat. It worked in his favour though, making him seem flirtatious and seductive.
“What can I do for ya?”
“A pack of Camels, please.” He consciously forced his eyelids to bat in what he hoped was a flirtatious manner. He felt so rigid and awkward, as if he was being poorly puppeteered.
The attendant didn’t even question him, and turned around to immediately grab the pack off the shelf behind him. While his back was turned, G heard the bell jingle as Ray slipped away, hopefully with some decent booze.
G swallowed hard, trying to remain casual when the attendant turned back. “That’s $1.95.”
G threw a fiver on the counter, grabbed the cigarettes and started to bolt. “Keep the change,” he murmured. He could feel bile rising in his throat and needed to get out of the shop immediately. The door slammed as he pushed out, half running around the corner and pulling his clothes back into a slightly more comfortable position. He gasped for air, trying to stop himself from puking right there on the pavement.
“Hey, G, are you okay?” Ray was suddenly there, rubbing his back gently as he remained doubled over trying to breathe. “Was the guy really skeevy or something?”
G couldn’t explain, how would Ray understand? Usually when he had to do anything like that he at least had some time to mentally prepare himself. But this had caught him off guard and he felt so uncomfortable in his own skin at this moment. “Never fucking make me do that again,” he hissed, shrugging off Ray’s hand as he stood up again.
“I’m so sorry, dude. I didn’t realise…” Ray trailed off, inspecting him thoroughly. “Did he do something to you?”
“No,” G snapped. “Tell me you got something good.” He pulled a cigarette from the pack and lit up, inhaling deeply to calm himself.
Ray produced a bottle of whiskey from his bag, wagging his eyebrows at G.