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He was trying his hardest. He really was.
Every Sunday Chip and his mother would go to church. Every Sunday he followed along will the pastors prayers in celestial. Every Sunday he would attend the church’s celestial lessons. Every Sunday he would pray that these feelings and thoughts would leave. But they never did.
He wasn’t meant to be a boy. That’s not the body God gave him. Yet every time he looked at his long hair or wore his white dresses to Sunday School he felt anguish. He couldn’t do it anymore.
On that final Sunday, the Sunday before it all changed, he found himself in the bathroom. In a haze of agony he took a pair of safety scissors from his bag and began to work away at his hair. The hair that he would have to brush till his arms were sore. The hair that his mother had never let him cut. The hair that brought him so much pain.
When he regained a sense of mental stability, he felt an pang of anxiety rip through him, but at the same time, relieve. He looked… wrong? Right? What was right? Is it the path that his mother always told him god had planned for him, or was it the path that let him be himself.
The bell indicating that the lessons were over for the day rang as messy tears gushed from his eyes. He hastily grabbed his things ran out of the bathroom to the back exit of the church.
After a pause, he wiped the still flowing tears as he began to walk back home. Truth be told he didn’t want to go home. Not with what he had done. But he knew he didn’t have anywhere else to go and even if he did, he’d have to go home eventually.
After what felt like an eternity of walking and anxious thoughts, he reached his home. With a deep breath, he turned the nob.
“Hello, mother”
What happened next was a blur. The sound of porcelain plates breaking, yelling and screaming, hastened steps, it all mushed together. Despite it all, he remembers one phrase crystal clear.
“You’ll never be my son. Get out of my house.”
And with that, he had nothing. Only a small plush snail and the school supplies in his bag from school. He had no where and no one. He was alone. He was afraid.
After an hour or so of wandering, he found himself near the docks in a cold, wet alley between 2 shops. He slid down the wall and sobbed for hours.
By the time he was done the sun had set and it was dark. I missed his warm bed. He hated this. He hated himself .
As he sat there, trapped in his own mind, a figure approached and he panicked. “Are you lost, little one?” The figure said, crouching down. Chip only began to cry once more.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright, if you have no where to stay tonight besides the streets, you can spend the night on my ship with my crew mates,” the man said, offering out a hand.
Despite Chip’s better judgement he took the hand. Little did he know, that simple action would change his life, for better, or for worse.