The constant flow of encouragement made it easy to keep up the routine, although I guess it was pretty shitty for girl-me. No one ever complimented me as Alexis. That was one thing I never got about the people I dated. The girls dated me because I was boy enough for them to “not really be a lesbian” but didn’t have a dick so I wasn’t threatening. The boys either strayed when they encountered female anatomy or refused to use my male pronouns even if they were the ones all over me when I was in a male cosplay, and spoiler alert: the second that happened, I dumped them.
I hated it. I hated them. Forever.
I didn’t have to forgive any of them, and I wouldn’t.
You should, the voice reprimanded.
Fuck the voice.
By now I’d reached Anthony’s building. With a deep breath, I walked up the front steps. I pulled out the sealed envelope with ANTHONY written on the top. Inside, the cash and a note:
This is to help pay off your debt.
Break up with her. Keep going.
—Raziel
P.S. I will know if you spend it on anything that isn’t debt. Don’t play me.
As soon as I dropped it into mail slot, the weight lifted from my chest. I could almost forget what my uncle had preached, condemning people like me, people like the altar boy, people like the terribly amused guy who was joking around with the young priest.
My mind shifted to Sister Bernadette. I needed a friend, and it didn’t have to matter that I thought she was pretty. Maybe she could know me. Both parts of me. All of me. Maybe I’d permit it. And that would be enough.
♱♱♱
“I saw you leave the homily early,” Uncle Bryan said at the dinner table in the way that indicated he was trying to be friendly but oh my God, he was pissed. And I couldn’t really blame him, you know, given that I was in his house and had agreed to go to church every week.
Except, haha, here’s something funny: I did blame him. If he expected me to sit and take it while he tore people like me apart with not-even-veiled homophobia and transphobia, he had something else coming for him.
I wasn’t even sure if I believed in God. I’d identified as agnostic ever since I heard the term when I was in, like, elementary school. Believing in what’s been proven by science while being open to the unknown just made sense. It didn’t discount people. It acknowledged truths. And it acknowledged things outside our range of perception. Endless possibilities.
That said, if there was a God, and maybe there was—how was I supposed to know?—I didn’t think it’d hate people.
So as Uncle Bryan lectured me about responsibility, and appearances, and seeing the light, and sin, and whatever he was rambling on about since I tuned out almost immediately, I stayed quiet. Which was normal for girl-me. But boy-me? Less so. Lately boy-me was taking on a quietness that made me nervous because it wasn’t me, and if Aleks couldn’t say what Alexis thought, my brain would be like a pressure cooker of self-loathing and resentment. I could handle a seven or an eight, but cranked past the max and it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt. And more likely than not, that someone would be me.
There’s a lot of stuff about gender on the internet, a lot of great essays and books and everything. Some people want to do away with the concept of gender altogether while some argue that it’s critical for spiritual reasons. Is there even a right answer? For me, I see my life in two lenses: female and male. They’re not divided by emotions or anything. I’m not magically stoic as a boy or sobbing hysterically as a girl. It’s just a construct, a state of mind, whatever consciousness I step into.
So I stayed quiet at the table, sitting on my clenched fists to keep from sticking my middle finger up. I said I’d try not to leave church early again, try being cooperative. Oh, and by the way, could they not insult me in front of the congregation, kthnxbye.
I didn’t actually say that last part out loud, even though a part of me, a huge part of me, felt that I should have.
9 Alexis
So much for my streak of restful sleep. I tossed and turned the whole night, forcing my eyes to stay shut as best as I could, and wished I had something, anything, to block out my uncle’s words. I glanced toward my sewing machine, having a deep urge to create, but I refrained. I’d made money for that Anthony guy, and some for me to save. I didn’t need to get into the habit again. I was done with cosplay. Period.
At some point I gave up trying to distract myself and just watched the clock on my phone, waiting for morning.
Around sunrise I heard my aunt and uncle moving around in the bathroom and the kitchen. Once I’d heard the front door open and shut twice, I figured I might as well get up.
I ran my fingers along my femme clothes, settling on a pair of capris and an old tank top. I could have worn something nicer, but I didn’t have the energy. Even in the bathroom, I stood at the sink, staring at my cleansers without picking them up. It was stupid, but washing my face seemed like too much.
Just twist the faucet.
Aleks would do it.
You can’t even do something this simple?
It’s “too much”? What does that even mean?
Ugly, ugly girl.
When I walked out of the rectory, I noticed a guy around my age sitting on the steps. He looked up at me with a hazy grin, bottle of Gatorade in hand. I recognized him immediately as the guy who’d been goofing off with the young priest after church. “Are you waiting for my uncle?” I asked politely.
“Nah. I was waiting for you.”
I sucked in a breath as he rose to his feet. Who the hell was this guy? He was a lot taller than me, with olive skin, dark hair, and black eyes similar to my own. A gold crucifix around his neck glinted in the sun.
“I’m Dima.” He held out his hand.
“Alexis,” I replied as I took it. “I don’t think I’ve heard your name before.”
“Nickname for Dmitry. Guessing you don’t know that many Russians.”
“Not as many as I should, considering we might get annexed by Russia any day now,” I joked awkwardly. “And considering my dad’s got Russian Jewish ancestry.”
“Knew it,” he said. “I always recognize my peeps.”
I fought a little smile. “Did you immigrate here?”
“Me? No. Second generation off the boat, on my dad’s side.” Dima stretched his back, arms rising above his head. “So you’re the infamous niece.”
Infamous? I was cringing already. This definitely wasn’t a good sign. “Heard of me?”
“Everyone has,” he said. My chest tightened. If everyone knew, that meant I wasn’t as invisible as I needed to be. My friends—my former friends—from the anime world could find out where I was. It didn’t matter that I was avoiding social media if other people talked about me on it. I wouldn’t be safe.
But then he started snickering. “Relax. I’m messing with you. Deacon Jameson told me you were coming.”
“Who?”
“He’s the transitional deacon.” When I looked at Dima blankly, he groaned. “Seriously? Your uncle’s a priest and you don’t know what a deacon is?”
“I know what a deacon is,” I lied. Actually, I’d only heard the term in passing. “I just haven’t met anyone yet.”