an artifact from jerusalem has been brought to mass. i am kneeling in front of it and
crying. i ask god why he made me bad so that he would not love me. my youth leader tells me
after that i should enter the seminary, with how my devotion moved me so quickly to tears. i nod
politely.
the people around me are talking about imposter syndrome. i feel bad for them. they are
all good people. not like me.
i have a mustache drawn on my face and i am doing a spanish accent in a pinstriped suit.
this is the most i’ve felt like a person in months.
my babysitter’s daughter and i are playing dress-up. she doesn’t have any “boy
costumes”. i wear a tutu. i feel pretty.
i am wearing a suit. i do not like how the collar feels on my neck. it feels like if anyone
wanted to hurt me they could grab my tie and do the job very easily. i have been dragged to this
event by the people on the debate team. i will not give any speeches during the congress sessions
out of spite.
i am 13. i believe i more or less understand the world in its entirety. everything i currently
believe to be dichotomous is actually spectral.
i stare up at the dragon model hanging from my ceiling. it has been there for years. i am
21 and this is the last summer i will spend in this room. i feel a tear run down the side of my
head. i roll over and go to sleep.
i tell my parents i want to use they/them pronouns. my mother is crying. my father won’t
look at me. i go back to my room.
same book. he tells me that in the bible when jesus spoke to the woman at the well he was saying
that divorced and remarried people are condemned to hell. i think he and i did not read the same
book.
i am sitting on the couch with my brother. my father comes home from work. he still
won’t look me in the eye. he asks how my brother’s day was. it was good. he asks me how my
day was. he still won’t look at me. my day was fine.
the road has a big sign in three languages that says “turn back now”. we do not. we drive
to a small pullout and climb partway up the mountain. the lake behind us is clear and cold. the
valleys in front of us are green in a way that seems impossible. i put my arm around my brother.
we stand in silence for a few minutes.
rehearsal is over. i sit in the history department teacher’s lounge having a panic attack.
five minutes ago my drama teacher was holding a gun to my head. five minutes before that it was
my partner. last week we were told we wouldn’t choreograph this final scene until the day before
we open. it is a month before we open. why is it so important to do this today?
it is midnight. i am eating cotton candy ice cream from dairy queen in the parking lot of a
target that has been closed for two hours. if i had a nickel for each time i was here after being
broken up with on snapchat i would have two nickels.
“i support the lgbtq+ community. am i going to hell?”
“well, i certainly hope you aren’t going to hell. but lgbt people are disobeying the rules
that god has set for us, and that is a sin.” the priest is smiling. the girl who asked the question is
not smiling anymore. i think he and i did not read the same book.
have lead roles in two shows. life is good. it is two days before the world stops.
it is the second grade. the nurse tapes a note for my parents to my chest. it tells them that i
am overweight and have been since kindergarten. she thinks i will not read the note before giving
it to my parents. she is wrong. my body is bad. food is bad. i am bad.
i am the front man for the weezer cover band geezer. i do not look just like buddy holly,
but i can hit the high harmonies on “say it ain’t so” and “holiday”. we play one performance, at
the guitarist’s 45th birthday party.
i do not know what gay means. it must be bad, though. it’s what people call me when
they are upset with me at school. i hope i am not gay.
i am third place in the state vocal competition in the musical theatre category. my prize
money is $5 less than the entry fee.
the sign says “god hates fags”. i am pretty sure that god not hating people is his whole
deal. many of the people in my church agree with the sign. i think they and i did not read the
same book.
i learn how to play the ukulele so that i can make music jokes while playing dungeons
and dragons.
i am propped against the wall in my dorm bathroom. my vision is going dark and i am
trying not to pass out. i think my fingernail scratched the back of my throat this time. i flush the
toilet and walk to the scale. not enough. i’ve only lost 50 pounds this year.
i am in the marching band. my back feels like it is on fire. i trip and fall. my band director
tells me to stop being lazy and do the set. i stand back up and get a new reed for my clarinet.
it has been an entire season of little league baseball and i have not been able to get a hit. i
am the last batter in the final game of our playoff season. the ball almost hits me. the umpire says
it was a strike. i swing at the next one. another strike. the final pitch is far outside. the umpire
calls it another strike. i am out and the season is over. we lose the game. we do the after-game
high five line. when my teammates get to me, i say “good game”. they say “it’s your fault”
before moving on to say “good game” to the person behind me. i am angry that i missed the
weird al concert for this.
my mother cries every time we talk about me. i don’t take it personally. my mother also
cries at beer commercials. she thinks that there were no signs of this before i told her. i do not
know what to say to that. she tries very hard to use the right words to talk about me. she asks me
often whether i have anything new to tell her about my identity. i do not know what to say to
that, either.
the priest at our old church has driven my father away. we try lots of other churches. at
one of them, the priest tells us that it’s easier to come out as a “blue-haired homosexual who uses
pronouns that don’t exist” than to tell people that you are a christian. we do not go back to that
church.
there is a short moment of silence at the end of the show. i lay dead on the ground, with
my wife dead in my arms. toby finishes the final monologue of the piece, and the lights go dark.
for a moment, we are all living together in the same experience. then i get up and run offstage
left. i have to be ready for bows by the time the lights come back on.
the trans pride flag. i watch my friends and peers flock to his classes as an elective where they
know they will be respected. he still won’t look me in the eye. i wonder what i did wrong.
i watch the entire lord of the rings extended editions in a day while cuddled up to my best
friend. it is the best weekend i have had in months.
i made up a world and every week five of my friends come and hang out with me in it to
roll dice and fight monsters.
my father used to run the music at our church. i used to help him out with the sound
system and also sing. i liked doing the music at mass far more than i liked going to mass. it made
people happy.
my parents and i have an unspoken “don’t ask, don’t tell” rule about my religious views. i
think they know that i don’t feel safe or comfortable going to church anymore. i don’t think we’ll
ever talk it through.
i think my parents are trying. they come to visit me. my dad wordlessly hands me a small
pin. it says “they/them” on it. he does not address it for the rest of the weekend.
we finish bows for our performance, a labor of love for the past year and a half. the
modest crowd cheers and stands to applaud. my mother cries, but they are tears of pride. my
father looks me directly in the eye, smiling. i think we will be okay.