Freakboy Read online

  The grandfather clock bongs midnight and snapshots of

  freaked Vanessa

  shocked Mother

  raging Claude

  scared Courtney

  etch my brain.

  Pretending gets hard

  remembering that everyone,

  straight or gay,

  would be

  creeped out by this.

  Creeped out by me.

  I peel off my shirt

  shed the bra

  like snakeskin

  ball it up

  and stuff it onto

  the top shelf of

  my closet.

  It’s repulsive.

  I’m repulsive.

  If anyone ever saw

  the real me

  they’d know that.

  (Angel)

  Because of Frankie

  I tried to stay in the area

  even after leaving Tía Rosa’s.

  Not too close though—

  La Jolla doesn’t roll out the red carpet

  for the homeless,

  but San Diego’s near enough.

  There was a whole bunch of girls.

  Trans like me

  with no place to stay.

  We shared clothes,

  food when we had it,

  tips on safe places to sleep,

  advice on which gas stations

  would let you wash up in their

  bathrooms

  without giving you too much shit.

  Watchin’ out for each other

  and ourselves

  ’cause no one else was.

  Well, except for

  Renée.

  I’d been on my own for two weeks.

  Hungry, tired.

  She caught me Dumpster diving,

  took me back to her place.

  Let me clean up,

  bought me Taco Bell,

  told me how easy it was

  to make enough to eat,

  buy new clothes,

  makeup,

  hormones.

  All I had to do was … you guessed it.

  Oh—and give her a little cash

  now and then

  if I was gonna do it on her block.

  Only Friend I Still Have

  from that time is

  my roommate Denai.

  We don’t talk

  too much about

  what it was like for us

  three years ago.

  But every once in a while

  we’ll be at a table in Starbucks

  or at home on the couch

  and our eyes will meet.

  I see in hers what I

  know is in mine—

  incredible gratitude that

  we’re still here,

  that we got the life

  we’ve got now.

  That so far,

  we’ve escaped

  the

  ugly

  the

  fatal

  statistic.

  Praise be to God.

  (BRENDAN)

  Tonight the House Is Quiet.

  That word is loud.

  Back against headboard

  laptop on knees,

  I “research”

  bathed in

  the dim light of

  of my computer.

  It’s hard to see me

  in snatches of statistics,

  old words, new phrases

  gnaw at my skull.

  “Gender dysphoria” churns my stomach

  with its science-fiction sound

  and what does it mean

  that I love Vanessa

  mind soul body?

  “Gender identity”

  and

  “gender attraction”—

  two different things.

  I snap the screen closed.

  Not being gay doesn’t make me not trans.

  No Hope in Hell of Normal

  If someone asked,

  would I have

  enough humor

  left in me to say,

  “I think I’m a lesbian”?

  Vanessa used

  to say

  I was

  a funny guy.

  I think she’s right,

  but it’s easier to laugh

  when you’re not

  terrified.

  A Simple Solution

  And for the next few days

  I just fake a sore throat.

  It’s better that way.

  Better to lean back

  in the desk chair

  playing Warcraft.

  I’ve signed on

  with the Horde.

  Built my Blood Elf avatar.

  No more “research.”

  My shame stays in the closet and

  I’ve found a way

  to escape from me.

  Virtual me has long legs,

  blue hair,

  a killer body.

  It’s as close as I can get

  to being a girl.

  I’m Larissa.

  I’m Larissa and

  I kick ass and

  I can lose myself

  in the anonymous world

  of online gaming.

  I start to think

  it’s all I want to do,

  that Larissa is all I want to be.

  The last weekend of Christmas break

  is the perfect time to laze at home

  pretending to be sick,

  not stirring.

  It’s just better this way.

  Except that

  I miss Vanessa.

  Final Day of Winter Recess

  I leave the house,

  drop an envelope in the mail,

  show up to practice

  tell everyone I got better,

  promise Vanessa

  we’ll hang.

  But during conditioning

  that word gets loud and

  something twists in me.

  I duck out of the gym

  catch a bus for home

  stand under the showerhead,

  let guy stink

  go

  down

  the

  drain.

  She has to be pissed

  I didn’t tell her goodbye.

  I just don’t know

  what to say to her.

  Of course I love you.

  Sorry I’m distant.

  No, I’m not mad

  just don’t feel well.

  Not sorry we made love.

  Can’t go out tonight.

  Family dinner.

  And that will be it.

  There’s no explaining

  some things.

  Others just have a sucky explanation.

  (Angel)

  Gorgeous Sunday

  and I’m singin’ at church like

  music brings me closer to God.

  When I was little,

  Mama always took us to Mass.

  The Sperm Donor

  wasn’t big on worship,

  so he stayed home.

  Sometimes if Frankie fussed

  she’d take him

  into the cry room

  at the back of the chapel,

  leave me alone in the hard pew

  with wintergreen Life Savers.

  I spent my time looking

  at the stained glass window

  of the Three Kings,

  wishing I could wear

  their dresses,

  the colors were

  so gorgeous,

  so rich.

  Later on,

  I really

  started listening

  and realized that

  even if

  I liked church,

  with its soaring music

  and beautiful art,

  church didn’t like people like me.

  After Mama’s funeral

  we just stopped going and

  I sure as hell d
idn’t miss it

  until …

  Three Years Ago

  after a sadistic-pervert john

  landed me in the hospital

  Social Services got in touch

  with the Sperm Donor.

  He wouldn’t take me back.

  (I wouldn’t of gone with him anyways.)

  Got a social worker named Pat

  who placed me with my foster mom.

  Praise be to Jesus.

  Girl, Veronica was homely.

  Fashion? Forget about it!

  It didn’t matter, though.

  Her heart was beautiful

  and big enough

  to take in kids like me.

  She cleaned me up

  brought tea, protein shakes

  while my jaw was

  still wired shut.

  Big Macs when it healed.

  She read books out loud

  when the headaches

  were too bad for me

  to keep my eyes open.

  Told me how smart I was,

  how beautiful.

  How valuable

  my life to God.

  I lived with her almost two years,

  kids came and went,

  bouncing around in the system.

  (And I know now

  how blessed I truly was

  after hearing stories

  from the ones who didn’t get

  a Veronica in their life

  soon enough.)

  But I didn’t have

  anywhere to bounce

  and she said me and her

  were a good fit.

  When I healed enough

  to get around

  she invited me to her church,

  said it was up to me though.

  So I waited

  and then waited

  some more.

  (Till I was bored out of my brain.

  And we were used to each other.

  And I was feeling bad ’cause

  I stayed out late one night.

  And didn’t call

  ’cause it’s hard

  to live with house rules

  when you been on your own.

  And she cried when I finally

  did get home ’cause she worried

  but she didn’t tell Pat on me.

  Girl, did I feel guilty.)

  Funny thing was,

  when finally I did go with her?

  Church was a serious party!

  Singin’, swaying, witnessing

  to the loving power of God.

  Christ Church Unified.

  LGBTQ friendly.

  They welcomed me

  embraced me.

  Now that’s what I call Christian.

  Sundays Like Today

  when there’s nothin’ goin’ on

  it feels good to go

  to church

  but I don’t feel

  like I have to

  or the Lord will get mad.

  I’m a pretty strong spirit myself.

  And me and God?

  We’re tight.

  We don’t need anyone

  to translate

  for either of us.

  God doesn’t make mistakes.

  I’m here for whatever reason He/She has.

  No need

  to apologize

  For who I am.

  For what I am.

  (Vanessa)

  Today Was Just Another Crappy Day

  in a long line of

  other crappy days. I d o n’ t

  know what’s wrong.

  Brendan left without

  saying goodbye.

  We were supposed

  to hang out after wrestling,

  but that was something

  he obviously didn’t w a n t.

  When I left the gym I saw

  someone’d written “dyke” on my car.

  I acted like I didn’t care—and

  Brendan’s the only one

  I’d complain about it t o.

  They say I play for both teams

  but there’s not a lot of play

  now anyway. We used to

  get busy after meets—

  endorphins would surge,

  win or l o s e.

  Today he just left, and I wish

  to God he’d open up,

  tell me for real

  what’s wrong with h i m.

  In the Parking Lot

  I text him:

  Give me a call?

  By the time I get home

  there’s still no reply.

  Helloooeeee?

  Nothing.

  After dinner

  I call his cell,

  leave a message.

  “We need to talk.”

  Nada.

  I’m mad

  and worried

  at the same time.

  There should

  be a name for this

  Morried? Wad?

  I dial again, hang up.

  Should I call the house?

  Anger and sadness

  compete inside me.

  It’s a tie.

  (BRENDAN)

  On the Wall

  After my shower I

  go to put on pants

  and I end up in bed,

  eyes closed. Won’t look

  at the dresser m i r r o r.

  How do you deal when

  what you see just d o e s n ’t

  reflect your soul?

  The hips, the tits don’t exist

  and what is there is a l i e.

  The Big Question

  I’ve ignored two texts and a call.

  When I hear the landline ring

  I get off the bed, still ignoring

  the bastard mirror,

  open Hamlet, and sit at my desk.

  Mom knocks on the door.

  (I knew she would.)

  Opens it a crack

  and pokes her head in,

  “Sweetie, it’s Vanessa?”

  (I knew it was.)

  I shrug.

  “Studying,” I say.

  Mom nods—

  like she believes me.

  “I’ll tell her to call back?”

  She sounds like she’s asking

  a question. She’s not.

  Until she does.

  “Brendy, are you all right?”

  Oh, so there’s ANOTHER question, not

  just to be or not to be. Hamlet, you ass-

  wipe, you had it all wrong.

  I Can Tell

  Mom’s standing

  outside the door

  still waiting

  for me to answer.

  “Just tired,” I say.

  “Okay.”

  Is that relief in her voice?

  “Let me know if you

  need anything.”

  I hear her move off down the hall.

  Knowing what I need is different

  than knowing what I don’t.

  I don’t need

  to let the world

  see me

  a curious shemale.

  (Vanessa)

  Driving to Brendan’s

  feels a little weird.

  I didn’t tell him

  I’m coming over

  not that I always do—

  but this is deliberate

  as if I’m mounting

  a sneak

  attack.

  His mom

  answers

  “Vanessa!!!”

  Like I’m her long-lost daughter.

  She opens the door wider to let me in.

  “It’s good to see you!” she says

  before waving me up

  to Brendan’s room

  with a graceful harp-player hand.

  He’s sitting

  at his desk

  back to the door

  World of Warcraft

  on the screen

  in front of hi
m.

  No idea I’m behind him.

  I watch him for a minute

  his shoulders are slouchy,

  his hair a little long.

  I want to touch it,

  trim it, take care of him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He jumps

  at my voice

  turns off the game

  like it was porn

  or something.

  “When did you get here?”

  He doesn’t sound happy to see me.

  “Just now.

  What’s wrong?”

  I repeat.

  He stares at me a minute.

  I can’t read his face

  and I want to cry.

  Not long ago

  I wouldn’t have had to

  try to decipher anything.

  He’d tell

  me everything.

  “I started feeling sick again,”

  he finally says.

  “And you couldn’t text?

  You couldn’t call?”

  I’m getting whiny

  and I hate it

  but his excuse is lame.

  “Look, I’m sorry.

  But I don’t feel well.”

  “And there was

  no way of

  letting me know that?

  I was worried!”

  His mouth

  hardens.

  “It’s not always

  about you!”

  He flops

  onto his bed,

  closes his eyes.

  “I really feel sick. I’m sorry.

  Can we argue about this later?”

  He looks tired,

  small somehow

  and maybe he IS

  just sick?

  Guilty

  I

  cave

  kiss him

  leave.

  On the Way Home

  I’m rewarded

  with a text

  for dropping

  the whole thing.

  ILY

  And it sucks that

  Grand-maman was right again.

  She has a cautionary saying (of course)

  Foxes are all tail,

  Women are all tongue.

  I think it means

  shut up

  if you want a guy

  to love you.

  (BRENDAN)

  Dr. Do-Little’s Office

  Soothing beige

  stucco walls

  press in on me

  at my mandatory

  six-month check-in.

  I missed school today

  so Mom could roll her eyes

  and drop me off

  at Dr. Andrews’s office,

  where he asks

  the same old questions.

  (Suicidal thoughts?

  Tendencies?)

  Last night I had the princess dream

  and maybe agitation seeps out

  in my “no”

  because he doesn’t take it

  for an answer.

  NOW he wants me to talk