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His ribs were aching.
They often hurt, especially on days like today, when they were busy outside in the yard tending to the bee-swollen flowers and tilling the dirt over seeds, but there was a persistent, unavoidable sharpness to this type of pain. It felt as though a small needle was repeatedly inserting itself in tiny, infrequent intervals into his ribcage. And then a vice was wrapped around him and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. It meant every breath he was forcing out seemed stuttered and hard to swallow; every inhale and exhale slightly caught, a fly in a spider’s web.
Kevin sat down heavily on the tilled grass. They had spent the morning watering; the floor was messy with mud, and he knew it would be a bitch to wash out of his slacks. But he had to stop, catch his breath, regroup, and prepare to go again. He hunched over, slightly, even though that made breathing harder.
It was cruel to wear a binder in Northern Uganda, and it was crueller still that he could never really take it off. There was a permanent imprint on his ribs; they flared outwards, sharp and tilted. His body didn’t feel right without it, so he had to wear it, but that didn’t mean he liked it. It would be different, he thought, when he was back home, but being back home felt a lifetime away.
“You alright, Kevin?” asked Arnold. They’d both been assigned to work out in the yard. Kevin was fine with that – it was better than going door-to-door in some nearby village or reorganising the Book of Arnold for the fifthieth time or preparing something to eat for dinner. Especially if Arnold was there. “Kevin?”
Kevin sucked in another breath and straightened up. “Sure,” he said, “Fine.” Because he was fine, he was. “Just a stitch.”
He wasn’t going to complain.
***
Nobody knew that he was trans.
It had taken effort just to be allowed here. He’d come out when he was ten years old and remained steadily consistent with ‘I’m a boy’ to his parents until they were forced to slightly realign their perception of the doctrine to permit that reassignment of his gender in their heads. God didn’t make mistakes; He didn’t. But it wasn’t a mistake because God gave worldly tools to allow those who felt misaligned in their bodies to recraft them, all them to fall back into place. Or at least that was how Kevin had persistently explained it to them. Going through the Book, peeling through scripture, reading and reading and highlighting and underlining until he had an argument convincing enough. They’d let him socially transition, and he passed well enough that nobody in his high school ever had an inkling that he was trans.
It was only when it came to the Church that things were more conflicting, but they’d worked themselves out. So he was here, and he was serving his mission, but it was nothing like he’d ever thought. Nothing like he’d hoped and prayed it would look like. It was too hot and if he still believed the way he should believe, he’d know he was committing acts of daily heinous blasphemy, but he didn’t believe like that anymore, so he had no idea how he felt about the belief system he unspooled to strangers every day.
For the most part, Kevin Price was doing fine. Kevin Price was doing just great. He’d mostly stopped snapping at people when they asked him how he was doing, and he’d mostly stopped tipping over the monopoly board whenever he was feeling the slightest bit pissy, and he’d mostly done away with his perfect mission training centre smile and replaced it with a smaller one that never quite met his eyes instead. He had altogether stopped always trying to insert himself into conversations as the core focus of everybody’s attention. He’d started to slow down. He’d started to like talking to other people, just listening, playing with a ball of yarn to hold and focus his attention. He’d started to like his fellow missionaries, which was why it was getting increasingly more and more difficult not to tell them the truth.
They didn’t need to know; that was what he kept telling himself. Because he knew what well-meaning cisgender Mormon boys were like, knew that they could smile and say they thought of him just the same, exactly the same, they would change their perceptions in their heads. It would start small, and then it would snowball. One day, someone would swap his gardening duty out, and he wouldn’t toll in the yard, and they wouldn’t ever say why, but he would know. He would find himself doing the dishes more and more. And then one day, one day, someone would slip, say Sister not Elder, say she not he and then he’d be right back at square one. They’d show they thought of him not as the man he’d always shown himself to them as, but a woman, and they’d treat him the same way they treated their mothers and sisters, that crushing system he’d tried so hard to get away from.
(Which in itself now he was free of the church and the imposed doctrine he’d swallowed his entire life, like a mind-numbing drug, he could recognise it was fucked up in the first place that being born a certain way meant you had a certain role to perform in the eyes of the church. It made him think for a few days would he have changed his name and cut himself loose from femininity and being female if the church wasn’t his life, if being Sister Price not Elder Price would’ve meant he’d have to be subsubviant, if it would mean control was taken from his outstretched hands. But after a few days of thinking he’d settled on the same stem: that he would have always, always, looked down at his body and thought fuck that’s wrong, that he would have always, always watched his brother with restless jealousy, that he would have always, always known differently.)
So he wasn’t going to tell them and they weren’t going to work it out.
***
Another day. More sun, more heat in the air, imposing and stagnant. The clouds streaked across a peaceful cerulean sky. Anxiety gnawed at him; the Tgel he used was slowly getting lower and lower. When it ran out, it would be – whatever, he’d been on hormones since he was 16, any changes were now for the most part set in for life – unsettling. While nothing would really change, he didn’t like the idea of losing the routine.
Kevin stretched. More work out in the yard; growing potatoes, onions, garlic. Elder McKinley was digging a hole with a spade, pausing every few minutes to wipe his brow. Kevin had no idea why he was digging a hole. The thought of asking seemed – what if the answer was obvious, and he was just making himself look stupid?
“Elder McKinley,” he said eventually, curiosity winning out. “What’s that for?”
Elder McKinley turned around. “I thought I’d told you to call me Connor.”
He had. Kevin didn’t like it; it was against a lot of what he’d been taught. But so was pretty much everything about a lot of what he was doing currently. “Sorry. Connor.”
“It’s a pond,” said Connor. “I was thinking – it would be nice to watch it get busier and busier, like when frogs lay their eggs, and we could maybe have ducks…? I don’t know. It was just an idea. I still need to line it with tarp.”
“Oh,” said Kevin. “Let me help you.”
Connor gave him a look. “Are you still busy with those potatoes?”
“I’ll be done soon,” Kevin insisted. “When I’m finished, I’ll help you.”
It was good, necessary almost, to feel helpful. Useful. Far, far better than the alternative, where he began to feel like dead weight, something to be cut loose and discarded.
“If you’ve got those potatoes planted, sure.”
***
A week later. They were slowly filling the pond up with water. This point of the summer, it became sparser and sparser. “How are we affording this?” Kevin asked Connor, tipping a large bucket into the small hole dug out for the pond.
“I, uh,” Connor blushed, looked a little sheepish. “It’s coming out of my luxuries budget. And I’m cutting my contact with home down to – the week before we leave, actually. I’m hoping that should offset the difference.”
“That sucks,” said Kevin. “That you can’t speak to your folks.”
Connor shrugged. “They haven’t really called me that often, if I’m honest with you. So! Clearly no loss to them.” He laughed in a way that made Kevin think nothing was really that funny.
“Still, it sucks.”
“It’s… hard,” said Connor. “But I’m too busy with everything going on here to fret about it too much.”
“Yeah. Uh, I get that,” mumbled Kevin, a little awkwardly. He turned to fill up the water bucket again. His ribs ached beneath his shirt, and he tugged self-consciously at the fabric. Stabs of paranoia jolted through him occasionally, the sudden idea that everybody knew and they were just waiting for the right moment to spring that fact on him. “How much water do you think we’ll need?”
“Another three buckets?” Connor whistled through his teeth. “Sheesh, I don’t know. Mutumbo said to fill it at least to the lip of the pond, whatever that means, and I’m taking his word for it.”
“So like, to the top?”
“Yes, I think so.” Kevin turned, and Connor caught him by the shoulder. Kevin jolted, and moved erratically away. “I – what?”
“Sorry,” said Connor, moving his hand away. His cheeks were flushed a pretty shade of pink; Kevin inwardly scolded himself for having that train of thought. “I just – Keviin, I rarely get a chance to speak with you. Are you doing alright?”
Alright was such a vague word. If by alright Connor meant Kevin no longer thought about digging his nails into his wrist and scratching until he bled, then he was doing alright. If by alright Connor meant Kevin didn’t dream of holding his head under water until the breath slipped out of him, the same way mothers drowned their infants when an invading army approached, then he was doing alright. He was doing just fine.
Kevin swallowed. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
***
It wasn’t to say that being Kevin Price had ever been easy. Kevin had fought tooth and nail for the right to be called ‘Kevin’ and it was a desperate uphill struggle. His parents, once they had accepted that he was a boy, expected so much more of him than they would ever expect of Jack. It was as though they couldn’t perceive him as a man unless he was the picture of LDS church-going excellence; bible readings every Sunday, fishing with his dad. No expectation of dating because – Kev, dear, would that be fair on a girl? But they were happy to view him as male if he proved he was by viciously cutting away anything and everything that could ever be seen as female.
At school, just as bad. He told his classmates he had a rare skin condition and that he couldn’t get changed with them. He kept his friends at arm’s length in case they found out his secret. And it felt, above anything else, like something he should keep a secret. Kevin judged the other trans kids at his school viciously; they were out and open and proud, pin badges on their bags, throwing around their pronouns with flashes of defiant smiles. Kevin thought – you aren’t doing what I’m doing, you’re not making the effort, you’re not even attempting. Whereas he was bending over backwards to prove himself, prove himself, prove himself.
The thing was: no matter how hard Kevin worked, how far he alienated himself from a community he’d never felt part of, no matter how hard he told himself no I’m not like them, I’m not, it still wasn’t enough. There were people at his church who still called him – not his name, not his name, not his name – and eyed him when he went with the Brothers on a Sunday, didn’t go with the female section of his ward. There were people at his church who had stopped talking to his parents after he’d shown up for the first time wearing a binder and a tie. We’re so good to you, Kevin, his mother had always said. To sacrifice so much for you.
He believed that, he believed that, he really did. He knew what they had given; knew what they had lost. Some bitter gnawing part of him had always questioned why that was his problem, why he should be held responsible for – not God making a mistake, but for God making his life so, so much harder. Why he should be seen as the problem when all he was doing was honouring himself by being the person he knew God wanted him to be. But bitterness was resentment and resentment was not forgiveness and Kevin knew that if he wanted all he’d ever wanted, he had to put that resentment and hate and bitterness to the side. Really, it was awful that he was feeling it in the first place.
After years and years of pushing it to the side and being told that he should be grateful that he was loved unconditionally (even though the conditions stacked and stacked with every new year) he was finally able to sit and be at peace with – everything. And that realisation, that weighty collaboration of we’re so good to you Kevin and his deadname and being told always, always, always that he was lucky and that nobody else was usually ever as lucky as this and it was only because he worked so hard that it just – everything just - he just -
Broke.
Being Kevin Price had never been easy; it was no different now.
***
Monday morning. Ribs fine, all okay. But a curious sensation right at the centre of his stomach; a fist planted, again and again. Fuck, thought Kevin.
He hadn’t had a period since before coming to Uganda, mostly because the hormones he took prevented it. But today – fuckass Monday – he was waking up with one. Because God hated him? Presumably yes.
Kevin coughed miserably. Arnold rolled on his side.
“You coming down with something?”
“No,” mumbled Kevin. “Go away.”
Arnold wasn’t perturbed, which was perhaps the best thing Kevin could say about Arnold. No matter what Kevin threw at him, he never seemed to care much. Kevin presumed Arnold could just tell he wasn’t being serious.
“Awww, buddy,” cooed Arnold. “Is it that flu going around?”
Kevin didn’t know how to say get the fuck out because there is blood everywhere and you don’t know shit about me so you’ll think I’m dying, so instead he settled for rolling over. Arnold apparently took that as a cue to stand up, and very dramatically sidle along the side of Kevin’s bed, like Kevin was a sickly child he was caring for. Kevin snatched the covers and dragged them up to his nose.
“Yes,” he muttered. “I’m contagious. Go away.”
Arnold laughed, and – grabbed the sheets, and yanked them, and –
“Did you murder someone?”
Kevin swallowed. He could hear his heartbeat in his throat. Arnold was surprisingly tolerant for a Mormon but that didn’t really mean shit when you were actually faced with – truthandfactsandKevinweacceptyoudarlingbutyouknowyou’renotareal –
“I didn’t kill someone,” said Kevin.
Arnold pressed his hands together. “Then why is your bed – covered in – blood.”
Kevin sat up, crossed his arms. He wanted very badly to rub his eyes, to curl up in a ball and cry, like a small petulant creature. “I’m –” he started, found he had to stop. He didn’t wear his binder to sleep (though he had in the first few weeks) and felt disgustingly self-conscious. His dysphoria wasn’t so much about what he had because he didn’t care about that; it was more so how he knew it would be perceived. “I’m –”
“If you did kill someone,” said Arnold. “You know I’ll help you hide the body.”
Kevin scoffed; the sound surprised him. “I’m not going to make you hide a body. Also, c’mon. Give me a little more credit. I would have cleaned up.”
“Then why… why the blood? Are you–”
“I’m not hurt,” said Kevin, and was horrified to find tears pricking his eyes. “I’m just –” he couldn’t even say it. Because I’m trans stayed caught in his throat; felt like a sinful admission. His parents had always preferred that he say something else.
He’d caught them talking, once. When he’d first come out. She’ll grow out of it.
Kevin cleared his throat. “I’m just – it’s because –”
Arnold, for his astonishing lack of tact and ability to miss any social cue Kevin had ever thought about, seemed to understand – something. His expression shifted; something soft and sombre. “It’s because what?”
“Because I’m trans,” said Kevin, in a scary, scary rush. He rocked inward, stared down at his fingers. “Sorry, I didn’t –” tell you? Want to be? Want any of this?
“Oh,” was all Arnold said. Then: “Ohhh. Wait, that makes so much sense.”
“What?”
“I actually thought you were a vampire, or something. I don’t know. Or that you were on the run from the law. Orrrr you were part of a witness protection program.”
“What?”
“I don’t know, you just never talked about your childhood much. Or like, any sport at school. Plus? I don’t know. There was that time Elder Michaels told you to man up and you looked like he’d stamped on your feet.”
“...witness protection program?”
“When I asked to see your passport so we could compare shit photos, you almost bit my head off!”
Kevin found that he was laughing.
Not really because he wanted to, but more because Arnold had done what he always did, and managed to drag a laugh out of him, a real, sincere laugh.
“You thought I was part of a witness protection program?”
“Dude, I don’t know. You’re so secretive.” Arnold waved a hand towards him. “Did you – were you scared to tell me?”
“Yes,” admitted Kevin sharply.
“Why?” Arnold actually appeared – somewhat hurt. “I wouldn’t ever care about anything. Like that. At all. Ever. You’re my best friend. I don’t care that Heavenly Father gave you extra steps or whatever, you’re my best friend.”
“I know,” whispered Kevin. “Which was why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“Because?”
“Because I thought – God, I don’t know. That you’d be like – everyone at my church or something, I don’t know.” Kevin sighed. He wanted to – scratch at his wrists, pop his knuckles. A movement to remove the itch from his bones. “That you’d treat me like – a girl, or something. I don’t know.”
“You never usually say I don’t know so much,” mumbled Arnold.
“Sorry,”
“Or that, either.” Arnold frowned, tiptoed closer to the bed. Kevin wrinkled his nose. “I’d never do that. Cause you’re not. So it would be stupid. Besides, what would that even mean?”
“Like, you’d expect me to do the dishes, or something.”
“Why would a girl even have to do that in the first place? It’s not like, in the Bible. Thou shall set the table.”
“I know, but –” Kevin shrugged. He was just used to growing up with those expectations on him, he guessed. Imprints of a bullshit patriarchal society. “I don’t know.”
“Can I tell you what I do know?” said Arnold, leaning a little closer. His glasses dangled; he was still wearing his pyjamas; and Kevin loved him so, so dearly. His wonderful, brilliant best friend. “I know that you’re an asshole.”
“Gee, thanks–”
“I know that you’re a prick, I know that you hate getting the gunk out the sink, I know that it’s you who keeps leaving the toilet seat up even though Elder McKinley hates that. I know that you’re purposefully putting gum under Elder Neeley’s spot at the dinner table so he gets it on his fingers. I know that you’re brave. I know that you’re strong. I know that you’re kind and selfless when you try to be, and I know that you’re my best friend. I know that you’re Kevin. So don’t worry about what I think about the steps you took to get there. I only see the outcome.”
Kevin swallowed, and it felt like a stone sinking into his stomach.
“Okay,” he managed. “Okay.” Then. “I love you.”
“I love you too, dummy,” Arnold said. “Now, get up. Do you want me to do your laundry? If anyone sees me I’ll say I was reenacting a battle or something and spilt food dye everywhere.”
Kevin laughed wetly. “Sure. Please. Thank you.”
“No prob, dog.”
***
Three days later. Back outside again. Breathing in and out, in a cycle.
Connor, on his knees, somewhere in front of him. Digging out a plot for wildflowers. “I don’t think any of them will live,” he’d said. “But it isn’t it worth trying for something pretty?”
Kevin doesn’t know if he agrees.
Quiet, simple, peaceful. Kevin was focused on his own work; watering the crops they’d planted so far. He couldn’t help but think of Connor’s phone calls home disappearing into the dirt.
“Elder Price,” said Connor, out of the blue. Kevin lifted his head.
“Kevin,” corrected Kevin softly.
“Kevin, sure. Sorry. Ugh, I’m such a hypocrite,” Connor said. “I was just wondering – I was having a look at the supplies that we would need in the next few months, and do you need more –” his face went red, all of a sudden, redder than normal. “Supplies?” Voice a little strangled.
“Supplies,” Kevin repeated, feeling faint.
“Yes. Your…” another awkward stretch of his mouth around the words. “Hormones? I noticed that – well, the information I got from the centre was very vague, and I don’t know – a lot, about anything really, but I was waiting for you to come to me and ask and you haven’t so I figured I’d check before I sent off for a shipment. Though heaven knows it’s going to be hard getting half the things you boys have asked for shipped so I don’t know if it’ll work out. If it doesn’t, I’ll speak with Gotswana, and see if we can work–”
“Slow down,” said Kevin. Fainter, even fainter. His ribs ached. “You – know?”
Connor arched an eyebrow. “What? Oh. Yes. Obviously, it’s in all the paperwork.”
“Oh,” Kevin managed. Because he’d never let on. Never, ever. Never treated Kevin any different, never made him feel like he was less than the rest of them, and – you boys. Oh, okay. Okay.
“Did you think I didn’t?”
“You didn’t,” Kevin swallowed, “Make me think that you knew.”
“Good?” said Connor, sounding puzzled. “It’s not a big deal, you know.”
Kevin shuffled where he was sitting in the dirt. “Feels like it, sometimes.”
“In the past few months,” said Connor, in his most matter-of-fact district leader voice, “There have been days when I wonder what we’re even doing here. There have been days when I’ve doubted my convictions, and there have been days when I haven’t wanted to ever go home. Slowly, the last thing on my mind has been the… the thing that used to be the only thing on my mind. You, and the way you are – there are bigger problems in the world.”
“Oh.” said Kevin again.
“Seriously, Elder. Bigger issues in the world than a boy who likes other boys and a boy like you,” Connor said, in a forcibly easy-going tone. “Don’t you think?”
And Kevin didn’t lie when he replied, “Yes.”
***
A month later. A pond, bubbling with greenery, watermint, and algae. Frogspawn was beginning to burst with tadpoles. Dragonflies, moths in the twilight.
Change, where before there was only dusty, dry earth. Instead, it teemed with life.
Kevin looked at the pond by the dying light of a summer day and thought, in a shifting, drifting sort of way, about things that had been and things that were now, and how none of the in-between and the before ever really mattered, not with the right people.