by Olivia Doyle
The dress lay on her bed, with all its frills and flowery fabric. She was disgusted at the sight of it. Surely her mother would have known by now. Dresses and skirts and all the sickening pink that came with being born a girl.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, moving her hands through her hair. The length made her want to tear it all out. Another problem, her mother had never let her cut her hair, insisting that to look beautiful she needed to keep it long. Well, maybe she didn’t want to look beautiful. Maybe she wanted to look handsome.
Taking the pair of scissors from her pocket, she hacked at her hair.
The shortness of his hair made him feel euphoric. The hair that had once felt imprisoning now felt light like a weight had been lifted, not only from his shoulders, but from his mind. He slathered some gel into his shorn locks, spiking it up like he’d seen his father do.
Sneaking back to his room, he glanced at the dress, grabbed it, and shoved it into the back of the closet, instead dressing in baggy jeans and a hoodie.
The conversation halted as he entered the dining room.
“What have you done?!” his mother gasped.
“I am a boy, not a girl”
“Well, I think it suits him Mary,” said his dad, stuffing a forkful of food into his mouth.
“I want to be called Max from now on”
With that, he sat at his usual place. As the rest of the family kept looking at him, he felt his sister’s hand take his own under the table. No words were exchanged between them but he knew she understood.
“I am finally me”