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Abed is ten years old, and he already has the image of who he wants to grow into. He’s mapped out everything over stale macaroni in the cafeteria and at dinner while his dad reads a newspaper.
It goes like this.
Hair that doesn’t touch his neck, a lean frame that will be flat now and forever, a face that will be called “handsome” instead of “pretty”, and a mustache he can run his fingers across and cry happy tears over.
A couple months back, he’d taken one of his school markers and drawn a mustache on his upper lip, jutting it out so nothing got on his teeth. He’d sneaked out to the girl’s room, and given himself a good stare in the stained mirror. His “mustache” was just four black lines, and his drawing skills left something to be desired. And still, he loved it. His hands fluttered and tapped the sink, following the rhythm of his heart that danced and ached all at once.
You can be this forever, if you wish.
Later that day, the teacher had tried scrubbing off the ink, and Abed was sent to the office when he kept squirming away. His father had been called, and the ride home was an awkward one.
“I work so hard to keep you clean, why would you dirty yourself? There are things more important than dress-up.”
Abed takes a mental note of his father’s words.
You can be what you wish, if he understands.
Abed is 13, and he’s learned to keep secrets.
He doesn’t tell anyone about how he copies the boys he sees on television, making his voice deeper and reshaping his hair to match theirs. Bapa had already let him get a haircut (he convinced him that it would be easier to manage) so it isn’t too difficult. He tussles his short tresses into something free and perfect. He doesn’t let anything slip about what he does on errands. If he’s at the mall, he’ll make time in between visiting appliance stores to stock up on hoodies and jeans.
He always, always , makes sure to cover his mouth and shut the door when he’s wailing about the directions his body is going in. There are so many times when he wants to erase his shape, his voice, that name everyone calls him, and start over from scratch.
You can be what you wish, but so many will turn away.
Abed is 15, and he’s finally told his father the truth.
The purpose of those haircuts, those new clothes, and that deeper voice his dad had been so confused with was pushed into the light.
“Baba, I’m a boy.”
Abed’s father is unreadable, and for a few seconds Abed’s heart is in his stomach. He sees his Baba rubbing his face, eyes downcast.
“Please don’t turn me away. I know it’s all so new to you, but I’ve felt this since I can remember. Having a son can’t be so bad, right?”
No response.
“Baba, please, I want you to look at me.” Abed whispers, and he’s surprised that he wants that last part, but he does.
Abed’s dad looks up. He sees Abed. He sees a son where he didn’t before. He takes a deep breath.
“I’ve…always wanted what was best for you. I never want you to be in pain.”
Abed’s throat is starting to sting.
“I don’t know how I can help you with this. Not right now.” Abed’s father says under his breath.
“But I’m going to try.”
A burst of sunlight. A fluttering of birds. Everything. Abed stands still. Happy tears start to flow from his eyes, and he slowly breathes in and out.
“Please don’t wipe your eyes on your sleeve.” His father says, his usual sternness back. Abed is handed a tissue, and he cleans up.
“Thank you…son”.
Abed’s father is surprised at how natural “son” feels to be spoken, and Abed’s happy tears come back.
You can become what you wish, because he’ll be with you.