I’m wearing a dress again. The realisation hits me and for a second I don’t know what to feel. I’m sitting in class. We have Maths. Sadie to my left is silently scribbling into her copy, the teacher’s talking to someone at the front. Nobody’s looking at me weirdly. Nobody notices. It’s like I’m invisible. Or… maybe like this is normal.

Where’s my backpack? It still has to be in there. There it is, at the foot of my bed. I open it almost solemnly and there it is, the orange colour flashing through the gap I just opened. Quickly, I pull it out and press the fabric to my face, breathe in the smell of the store, feel the texture against my face.

And then I wake up for real. When I get out of bed to check my backpack, it is with an almost defeated kind of anticipation. Like I’m only checking to prove it to myself in yet another way, the unattainability of my dream. And still, when I open my backpack to find it empty, my heart sinks. A hole of longing opens in my chest, like this is the final piece missing to solve the puzzle, like all my problems could be solved with this simple piece of clothing. And in a way, wouldn’t they? Wouldn’t I know, if I got to wear a dress and find out whether I really like it that much, however weird that may be? Wouldn’t that help me figure out this whole cluster fuck that is my identity at the moment?

My stomach twists in anticipation and I sit up. Fuck it. Why shouldn’t I just get one at this point? It’s still early on a Saturday morning. If I leave soon, I should be able to get in and get out again before ten. And at this point I pass well enough for a girl if people choose to perceive me that way. There’s really no way I’d get any sort of trouble for browsing the women’s section.

My hair is almost down to my shoulders now. It’s the end of January and yes, I’m painfully aware that this isn’t the season for dresses. But they should still carry some, shouldn’t they?

My voice sounds overtly feminine now. Still at the low end of the spectrum and the doctor said it’s going to rise a little more. The curve of my breasts is always visible now, unless I wear a thick coat. They aren’t going to grow all that much more, the doctor said, because of my low fat levels. I’m not very sad about that part – they already get too much in the way as is. And it hurts, too. Bumping into something, accidentally brushing my hand against them. I’m slowly getting used to the feeling of additional weight and the movement but it’s an annoying and painful process.

I like looking in the mirror now. Every time I’m alone in a bathroom, I’ll take a second to just grin at my reflection like we’re the only two people in on a secret. I still haven’t told anybody but Kim. And even with her, I haven’t talked in a while. Maybe because I’ve been waiting for something like this. Waiting for certainty. Waiting for proof, for something feasible, for something that couldn’t just be explained away by saying, ‘Oh, it’s natural. The brain is great at coping, isn’t it?’ Because I don’t think it is but what if…?

Quickly, I brush my teeth, shower and get dressed. I leave the house without eating breakfast, I don’t even think Mum notices me getting through the door. I’ll have to think of something to tell her when she asks later where I was. Should I get something else, too, so I can say I went to town for that or would that be overkill?

My breath forms clouds as I make my way down the street to the bus station. It’s really gotten cold now. It might snow soon. If we get lucky. I feel like it would be nice weather to wear a hat and a scarf but I don’t have any I like so I don’t. So I’m cold. My coat isn’t exactly made for winter, either. It’s a functional autumn jacket. I used to be the type to hate going clothes-shopping and it’s starting to dawn on me why.

The bus is almost completely empty. I sit in the very back and stare out the window at the landscape, glistening with frost, and listen to music, trying desperately to distract myself from what I’m about to do. Going underwear shopping for the second time was easy. I could just tell myself that I had to do it, both to spare myself the embarrassment of having Mum drag me there and for the comfort of having proper underwear. But this isn’t comfort or functionality. I don’t need a dress. This is going beyond what I need to do to survive this year of, let’s face it, being functionally a girl. It feels shameful. Forbidden.

And I know that logically, it isn’t. But who’s going to explain that to my subconscious?

I walk quickly as I head into the shopping mall. I stride past the shop windows with purpose until I turn the corner into the clothing store. I wish I knew where the dresses are. That would make it less awkward. This way, I have to look for them. Past the T-shirts and tops, the trousers, underwear, there. A whole rack full of dresses of all sorts of sizes.

Tentatively, I pull one out to look at the cut. It’s simple. A plain top part with a wide-cut neck, a plain skirt. They’re not fancy but fancy is also really not what I’m looking for. There are several colours, none of them are orange with white flowers. One of them is a really, almost grey-ish nice blue, though. As my heart rate slowly begins to lower, I put the dress I’d just picked out back and take one of the blue ones. I’m not going to try it on. Just take it, buy it and put it on at home. I’m not buying it to wear it all that much anyway. Only at home, in my room. Maybe to bed…. The thought makes my stomach tingle.

“Wells?”

At that moment, it feels like I might just actually have jumped from my skin. For a second, it’s like I’m not even in my body anymore. Everything stops and there’s just this awful, awful feeling of everything going so fucking wrong. Like I’m caught in a nightmare, like this is just the start of the downfall. I’d been doing so well.

I want to hide but I’m naked, out in the open for everybody to see. Not even my thoughts are hidden now. I’m back in front of the shop window that night I went out to do parkour with Henry, back when I still had no clue what I was feeling. Even then I felt caught by him but it doesn’t compare to this.

Sadie gives me an uncertain smile from across the aisle. “So sorry for giving you a fright. I just… I saw you from over there and wanted to check in….” She stops herself, seeming to grow suddenly self-conscious. “Is this a bad time? Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, it’s –”

With more force than necessary, I put the hanger back on the rack. My face is turning to vapour. If somebody offered me the choice to just cancel my existence alltogether, I’d jump at it.

“It’s fine,” I hear myself mumble as I turn and walk away from the aisle. My voice is hoarse. Swallowing is hard.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Sadie says with an almost desperate air to her voice, hurrying after me. “I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever you were doing, I –”

I stop walking so suddenly she almost runs into me. “I said it’s fine,” I press out. “I was just looking –” My throat goes impossibly tight. “At the colour. I was just looking at the colour.” It sounds unconvincing, like it’s a desperate plea for her to play along with this charade, even though we both know at this point that it’s nothing but a facade.

She looks up at me and there’s pain in her eyes.

I hate the way I tower over her even now. It feels so wrong. It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t be like this.

My eyes sting and I turn away.

“Wells,” she calls and there’s genuine fear in her voice. “Wells, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude like that! I didn’t mean to –”

I turn back briefly, just long enough to give her a plastic smile. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I just… I already got what I was here for. I was already on my way out.” Yeah. Like she’ll ever believe that. But right then I can’t get myself to care.

Trying desperately to keep my breath steady, I turn and walk away.

***

It’s my birthday and I’m not going to lie, I’m miserable. It’s almost eleven AM and I’m still lying in bed. Not because I’m tired.

It’s been three days now since the incident at the mall and I’m still rattled. I haven’t gone to school. I’ve barely left my room. I barely had to ask Mum whether I could stay home. There was that very same pain in her eyes that I’d also seen there before Christmas. Now she checks in on me occasionally, bringing offerings of hot chocolate, orange juice or plates of cut fruit or cookies.

Sadie has called and texted me several times but ignored all of it. Henry, at least, was dissuaded from bugging me any further with a simple, I’m sick. Yesterday, Kim texted me, asking if I wanted to talk about it. I haven’t made up my mind yet whether I really want to. It seems like such a pathetic problem to have. To ask her for help buying a dress or to lend me one. So I could find out whether I liked wearing them.

Logically, I know of course that she’ll be able to solve this problem and that she won’t mind, either. I just haven’t yet gotten desperate enough to involve her yet. Only a matter of time the way things are going right now.

I turn over and stare at the wall, the YouTube video on my phone suddenly muffled by a fold in the blanket. I wasn’t paying attention anyway.

The doorbell rings and my throat briefly constricts but I don’t move. Sadie’s in school right now. It’s for Mum.

Except it’s not. The steps on the stairs are all too familiar. The light knock against my door is, too. The voice calling my name….

“Wells?”

Ever so slowly, the door eases open. I don’t move. Maybe she’ll think I’m still asleep. But the video is still going. My breathing isn’t regular enough.

“Hey,” she says gently. “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it? Henry told me. I… I got a present for you.” I don’t care much for birthdays. I never really bother to remember other people’s birthdays, only congratulate them when everybody’s doing it. What’s the point? I’m older, so what, nothing special about it.

Finally, I turn and look at her silently. My stomach’s doing summersaults in the cavity of my chest. I want to tell her to stop looking at me that way, like I might break any second, but what would be the point? The lion’s out in the open. I doubt she’s told anyone just yet but how much does that really change?

“I haven’t got it here. It’s… over at my place. You… wouldn’t want to open it here. Please, can you just come over for a moment? We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Though I’d really….”

But what’s the point? She knows. Or at least she thinks she knows because how can she know if I don’t know myself?

Abruptly, I get up. I’ve started wearing joggers and T-shirts to bed recently.

“It’s fine,” I mumble as I pick up two random socks from the floor and put them on.

She nods, silently biting her lip, then she walks ahead of me down the stairs and to the door. We put on our shoes in silence, then we make our way over to her place. Neither of us bothers with jackets or scarves.

She leads me to her living room and tells me to sit on the couch as she goes upstairs to get my present. Somewhere in my mind, I register that since Christmas, she’s started regularly using the whole house as opposed to before when she’d just stay in her room whenever she could.

She’s barely gone for a minute. The present she hands me has the same wrapping as the one she gave me on Christmas, simple white with little reindeer across it.

“Here,” she says with a sheepish smile. “I –” she starts to say but then interrupts herself and takes a step back to let me open the present.

Again, my stomach twists a little because I probably know what’s in there. And at this point, why am I even scared of it? I’m angry at myself for it. It’s stupid. It’s nonsensical.

Decidedly, I rip open the paper and watch as the thin, blue fabric of the dress is revealed.

SeptemberMorgan

Ah, finally the egg is starting to crack!
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