If I Was Your Girl (17 page)

I was already on my feet when the bus hissed to a stop. Marcus stopped when his feet hit the sidewalk and stared at me while the bus churned back to life and rumbled away.

“Hey,” I said, wondering why he was looking at me like that. “How was your day?”

“I don't want to talk to you,” Marcus said, scowling and turning his face away. He put a hand on his backpack strap and turned to walk away.

“Did I do something wrong?” I said, hating how wimpy and desperate I sounded. But I needed to know.

Marcus dropped his backpack onto the ground and pulled a bent black composition book out.

“That's my diary,” I said, as a wave of sheer horror shot through me.

“Boys call them journals, faggot,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. He started reading from the open page. “‘
So glad I haven't hit puberty yet. Maybe I'll be lucky and I never will, or maybe everybody is wrong and when I go through puberty I will turn into a woman like I'm supposed to. Probably not, but at least I can dream.
'”

“Stop,” I said, looking around to make sure the street was clear. “Please stop.”

“‘
Marcus is so gorgeous
,'” he read, his voice lowering. He glanced up at me, his brows knitted. “‘
I wish we could do more on our sleepovers, but just being near him is nice.
'” He turned a page. I ran over and tried to grab the journal out of his hands. He struggled with me for a moment and then punched me in the stomach. I gagged wordlessly and fell to my knees, my hands over my aching gut. “‘
Maybe one day I can finally be a girl like I'm supposed to, and then he'll see how I feel about him, and maybe he'll feel the same way.
'” He turned the page again. I didn't stand back up but felt tears dripping out of my closed eyes.

“‘
It isn't because he's so hot though, really,
'” Marcus continued. “‘
It's because of how wonderful he is
.'” His voice faltered at the end. “I never read this part.” He was silent for a moment, then continued. “‘
He's smart, and funny, and never cruel.
'” Marcus's voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “‘
Nobody has ever been as nice to me as he is. He's made me feel like maybe the world isn't so bad, since he's in it.
'”

“Oh God,” I said, rocking gently. “Sorry, sorry. I'm so sorry.”

“What are you?” he said, stepping back. I couldn't look up at him. I stared at the cracks in the sidewalk and slowly shook my head.

“I don't know,” I said. “I don't know.”

“Well, whatever you are, never come near me again,” he said as he threw my diary on the ground between us and walked away.

 

20

Virginia was late.

I sat at the bar in the Sartoris Diner and read
Absalom, Absalom!
for class, trying to figure out which character disgusted me the most. The waitress refilled my Diet Coke and I checked my texts for the dozenth time since Virginia had contacted me an hour before, saying she was going to be near Lambertville and that she wanted to see me.

Where are you?
I typed.

Pulling in now,
she responded.
Sorry, GPS isn't much use in the boonies.

I turned and saw her banged-up Bronco pulling up. The door chimed as she came in. I ran over and wrapped my arms around her before it had time to close.

“Easy, girl!” she said, laughing and halfheartedly trying to push me away. “Jesus, how starved for company are you?”

“It's not that,” I said, retreating a step and bouncing on my toes. “I just missed
you
!”

“Same, kid,” she said, giving me a crooked smile as we settled in at the bar. “We've all been worried sick about you.”

“How is everybody?” I asked. The waitress came by. I ordered a waffle and Virginia ordered a plate of hash browns.

“Same old bullshit,” Virginia said, rolling her eyes as she took a sip of water, “or so I hear. I've been in Knoxville almost as long as you've been here.”

“Why?”

“Tinder hookup at first,” she said. I looked away and she laughed. “Still a prude! Anyway, it turned out he was one of the, like, five guys on the planet who's willing to date trans women without being a creep about it.” My heart raced suddenly and I glanced at the waitress and cook to see if they'd heard her. The cook was scraping gunk off the grill and the waitress was cutting up lemons. “What's up?” Virginia said, giving me a small wave.

“Nothing,” I said, turning my attention to my waffle even though my appetite had disappeared.

“I've known your neurotic ass long enough to know when something's up,” she said.

“It's just,” I began, then halted and took a deep breath. I felt like the worst friend ever, but she had insisted. “It's just that I'm trying to be stealth.”

“Ah,” Virginia said. She squirted hot sauce on her hash browns and shrugged, though her expression was hard to read. “I get it. I won't use the
T
word again.”

“Okay,” I said, forcing myself to smile. “Thanks.”

“Don't mention it,” she said. “So anyway, he was cool but things didn't work out.”

“Why not?” I said, straightening my back and facing her again.

“He said he could deal with me being … the way I am, but that he wanted a family one day and, since I couldn't provide that, it felt like we were going nowhere.”

“Ouch,” I said, my stomach churning as I imagined a grown-up Grant saying the same thing to me.

“Whatever,” Virginia said. “It is what it is. How are things with your guy?”

“Good,” I said, rubbing my arm. “We kind of had our first fight, but we got over it, and things have been great ever since.”

“Aww,” she said.

I looked up at her and took a deep breath. “Do you think I should tell him?”

“Hell no!” she said, arching an eyebrow and leaning away from me. “Why would you do that?”

“I don't know,” I said, scrunching my nose and sighing. “I feel like maybe he should know who I am…”

“You don't owe it to him if
that's
what you're thinking,” she said. “You're a girl, you've always been a girl, you won the genetic lottery when it comes to passing, and he'll never ever have to know unless he sees your birth certificate for some reason.”

“Or wants to get married or start a family,” I said, jabbing my straw at the ice clattering in my now-empty cup. “But that's not why.”

“First of all, you're only eighteen,” Virginia said, her cheek full of fried potatoes. She poked her fork at me for emphasis. “You're supposed to be having
real
fun for the first time in your life, not dreaming of settling down with Mr. Right.”

“Whatever!” I said, flipping my hair and sticking my tongue out at her. “I like him a lot … I think I might love him.” I chose to ignore Virginia rolling her eyes. “And it obviously isn't everything, but being … being
the way I am
has been a huge part of my life. It's easy to act like my past never happened, but it feels like I've put up this wall around my heart.”

“You know walls are there for a reason though, right?” she said as she gingerly wiped hot sauce off her fingers. “They keep things from falling apart.” I started to say something but she held up a hand. “That's just my opinion. Do what you want with it.”

“That's fair,” I said. I made a motion to the waitress that we were ready for the check. “How long are you in town?”

“However long I feel like, I guess,” Virginia said, shrugging with one shoulder as she rummaged for her wallet. “So what's up for tonight? Should we call your friends?”

“Oh,” I said, my hand freezing between my phone and my face. I looked Virginia up and down and saw two separate people. One was the beautiful, statuesque angel who had been there to guide me through some of the hardest steps of my transition. The other was a woman with a jaw just a little too strong, forehead just a little too high, shoulders just a little too wide, and hands just a little too big. I felt like an ungrateful bitch for thinking like that at all, but a hateful little voice at the back of my head screamed that if my friends saw me with her, and if my friends figured out
she
was trans, then they might figure me out next.

“What?” Virginia said. She looked over her shoulder and then looked at me, her shoulders tightening as she bit her fingernail. Then, as I sat mute, her expression began to darken. “Oh,” she said finally. “Oh, I get it. Amanda, hey, don't look so stricken. It's okay if you don't want me to meet your friends. You don't have to worry about my feelings.”

“No!” I said, shaking my head and blinking. “I mean, yes. It's complicated, but…” I trailed off, pain and confusion mingling in my chest. Virginia had meant so much to me for so long, and I wanted her to meet all the people who were beginning to mean a lot to me now.

A sudden thought occurred to me, and I slid my phone out from my pocket. “There is one person, actually,” I told her with a smile.

*   *   *

“So what do people do for fun around here?” Virginia asked as we pulled out of Bee's driveway.

“Meth, mostly,” Bee said from the backseat. I craned my neck and saw her fishing for something in her bag. “Mind if I smoke?”

“I don't know,” Virginia said. She reached up and poked at one of the torn, hanging strips of upholstery above her. “I'd hate if the smell messed up my car's trade-in value.”

Bee's sudden laughter catapulted her unlit cigarette into the front seat.

“I like her!” Bee said, leaning forward to grab her cigarette where it had landed in a cup holder. “What was your name again?”

“Virginia,” she said.

“And how do you guys know each other?”

“Virginia's my trans mentor,” I replied.

Virginia raised an eyebrow. “What happened to being stealth?”

“She's the only one I told,” I explained.

Virginia looked in the rearview mirror for a long time, then to the road, then back at me. She seemed to be evaluating something, but she didn't say anything more.

“So where are you girls taking me?” Bee said as she ashed her cigarette out the window.

Virginia didn't hesitate. “A gay bar in Chattanooga called Mirages,” she said, grinning in the rearview.

“Hell yeah!” Bee cried, slapping the back of the seat. “Are all your trans friends as badass as her?”

“Nope!” I said happily. “Virginia's one in a million.”

As the interstate flew by outside the car, Virginia asking all the right questions and making Bee laugh, I smiled. She really was one in a million—she was the sister I never had, the watchful eye that had kept me safe, and I hated myself for ever thinking her anything but beautiful. I thought about how every person could hold two truths inside of them, how impossible it felt sometimes to have your insides and outsides aligned.

The conversation flowed as Bee and Virginia moved on to college plans, previous relationships, and tales of debauchery.

“I'm glad you guys like each other,” I said after a while, smiling. It had taken me a little while to figure out what I was feeling, but now I understood: it was the sense of two parts of me coming together. It felt honest.

“Sorry I'm being quiet,” I said. “I'm just … happy. This isn't something I felt like I could ever have.”

Virginia smiled at me, warm and wise. “You can have anything,” she said, “once you admit you deserve it.”

 

21

I sat on the balcony with my laptop and a glass of sweet tea, enjoying the crisp fall weather and nursing what remained of a hangover while I tried—and failed—to finish a paper on
Absalom
. We'd gotten in late last night, and Virginia had left early this morning, before Dad even woke up. Part of me wanted them to meet, but another part of me was glad they hadn't. The night with Bee had been great, but not everyone was Bee.

I sipped my tea and stared at the blank Word document on my laptop's screen. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow over the parking lot below and the woods beyond. I thought of the cicadas, long gone by now, and listened to the rustling, howling wind that had taken their place. Grant's shift at Krystal would be ending in a little over an hour. The thought that had been bubbling just under the surface for weeks arose once more, unbidden:
What if I told Grant the truth?

“I can't do it,” I said to nobody in particular. I'd been able to tell Bee because I'd gotten swept up in the moment, and because I knew that even if she didn't understand, she'd try to. But what about Grant? Was it crazy that I wanted to tell him everything? Was it crazy that I felt like I couldn't keep seeing him without at least trying?

I sat up straight again, took a deep breath, and opened my eyes to see the blank Word document still waiting for me. The cursor blinked over and over, like a promise, or a threat.

Dear Grant,
I wrote after a moment.
This is the story of my life. When I was born my parents named me Andrew Hardy and the doctors wrote “male” on my birth certificate. They had no idea who I would grow up to be.

*   *   *

I stood in the employee parking lot behind Krystal, my stomach in a knot. I had already been waiting for an hour, but it felt like ten hours and like five minutes all at once. The envelope in my hands was thick and crumpled at the corners from my constant fidgeting.

Inside it was a letter that told him everything: my birth name, my suicide attempt, how long I had been on hormones, the effects hormones had had, and the bathroom assault that pushed me into his life. Everything.