Chapter Text
There was so much guilt the first time. Because Jay knew her madre wouldn't notice. Passed out on the crummy mattress on their living room floor.
The closet was still full of all of Willis' things. He had not bothered to pack the last time he had left. Jay had always wanted to try the big jacket. The one Willis had stopped wearing because of the tear in the right sleeve. The one that had stopped smelling of cigarettes and booze and just smelled like leather.
Putting it on she looked at her reflection in the cracked floor to ceiling mirror. Her too small shoulders were suddenly broad and strong. When she tucked her hair in behind her ears just right, it was like it was short. It was like she was a boy. It was like she was no longer Janine, she was someone else entirely. And she cried.
You look so silly she thought. Like a kid playing dress up. You're acting so silly. Just forget about it. But she couldn't and she didn't.
The next fifteen times still came with guilt. Until the sixteenth time when Catherine was out and came home to find her still in the coat.
"Jay? Princesa? Is that Willis' coat?" She asked, she was spacey again. Voice sounding distant even with her curiosity cutting through.
"I thought I'd try it on, seemed warm," Jay replied, her body gone cold in fear.
"It looks good," she said her smile was warm and her eyes distant. She came over and ruffled Janine's hair. "It's like your mi hombrecito."
Jay looked away quickly. So her madre wouldn't see the way her eyes teared up and a grin split her face apart.
After that Jay began to wear the coat all the time. Catherine began to jokingly call her "mi hombrecito". And every time she did Jay felt like himself.
"Why do I have to wear it, mamá?"
"You are going to look good for church, corazón, what will the sisters think. They work hard so that families like us can eat and pray, you know this."
"Si, mamá."
"Now get ready."
Catherine was always so headstrong when she was free. Free of the dark cloud of methamphetamine. The needle was always there. Lurking in the darkness, in the twitch of her hands and the circles under her eyes. But on days like this she was the way she was years ago. Before the hazy days of half smiles and heavy sleep.
Jay remembered when wearing Willis' coat used to feel like he was playing dress up. He didn't know at what point he realized what he was, that he wasn't a girl. But it was a sudden feeling that day when he put on his church dress and looked in the mirror. The sudden feeling of ridiculousness because he was looking at a boy wearing a dress.
He knew some boys wore dresses. David who worked at the club on Porter street wore them. People called him a 'drag queen'. Janine wasn't sure what that meant but he knew that David always looked beautiful in dresses. Unlike him, who looked gangly and awkward. He wanted to beg his madre to not make him wear it. There was a buzzing under his skin and an awful feeling of dread. But he knew he wouldn't get his way, not today.
"Are you ready, Jay?" His madre asked, coming up behind him. "Oh, look at you, beautiful girl."
Jay felt like he wanted to vomit. Is that what he was? Is that how the world saw him? He grabbed Willis' coat with shaking hands burying himself into it. Trying to hide his figure within it.
"Janine, do you have to wear that to church?" Catherine asked exasperated, as they walked out of the apartment.
"I'm cold, mamá," he mumbled.
Catherine let out a world weary sigh. "Muy bien. Darte prisa ahora, we're going to be late to the sermon if we don't get moving."
The sermon had been one long hell. Even with everyone's eyes on the pastor, Jay could of sworn people were staring. People were thinking about him. And they were seeing a girl. They were seeing his long hair and his dress and not the real him. He gripped Catherine's hand and she gripped back. Giving him a worried look.
She rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand, touch soft and soothing, he leaned his head against her shoulder and felt the fear push to the back. She was there to keep him steady, like he did for her.
Like they would always do for each other.
Jay didn't want to steal the scissors, but making due with a knife seemed like more trouble in the long run. He doubted sister Claire would notice them missing from the church art supplies with how many pairs they had. He hoped she wouldn't notice.
He stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Looking at his long black hair. His madre loved his hair. Loved to slowly braid it on spacey days. Loved to brush her hand through his curls when she couldn't even focus enough for that.
He held a lock in his shaking hand and brought the scissor blade to his hair.
She would be disappointed in him.
She would be disappointed in him.
She would be disappointed in him.
"Fuck it," he whispered.
A snip and he had crossed the line as a cascade of dark hair fell into the rusted sink. He kept going. No turning back, 'don't think about it, don't think about her think about yourself.'
It was uneven, it was choppy, it was like slowly painting onto a canvas. And his face, his real face was shining through.
And then he was done. His shaking hands pressed the scissors down onto the sink and he stared at the boy in the mirror.
His hair fell to just above his chin. Curling around his face and framing his soft features. But he was young, and it made sense, for a boy his age to be soft. And he looked.... He looked like a boy. He looked the way he always dreamed of. He always wanted. He always needed.
The tears came again. He didn't care if boys weren't meant to cry. He could be strong tomorrow. He could be strong when his madre returned from the night shift and saw what he had done. But he let himself feel weak because he had found something to be strong for. He had found himself.
His mother had been too out of it to notice the haircut when she returned. Curling up in the mattress after giving a halfhearted, "Buenas noches, Jay."
He softly removed her shoes and tucked the blanket up around her shoulders, smoothing her curly hair off her forehead. "Buenas noches, mamá," he whispered.
Janine lay next to his madre and imagined names for himself. Something that would shorten to Jay. Jared? Jason? Jackson?
He wasn't sure, but he played them in his head over and over as he curled up and gently fell asleep.