A shuttle shifted its way through the neighborhood toward a famous catholic school. It was freshly painted black and gold. Its wheels were smooth and chrome. The school's name was printed on the side of the shuttle in bold and grandiose letters. “Grand Philippine Academia” The school that prided itself as being a beacon of the Philippines and Filipino culture.

 The shuttle’s spotless outside sharply contrasted its insides. It had rusty barred windows and ripped window tints that were decades old. The dark inside was artificially cramped.

It was musty. There were several weeks old empty bags of chips laying around, as well as dried doughy bits of gum stuck under the corners of seats. The owners clearly didn't care to clean the shuttle. Strangely enough, the bus was only ever neat when parents were inspecting it. 

Not to mention it was hot. Despite the shuttle’s age, it’s aircon was new and cheap. It had loose screws, an odd shape, and was barely cool.

There have been complaints of course. Students always protest that the bus should be upgraded, however, their complaints always fall on deaf ears. After all, why should the owners invest in comfort if they’re not losing any money?

Paul slumped at the back of the shuttle reading a pastel-colored book. He fought to stay awake. as the long sleepless nights had taken its toll. His feet were cramped and his back was sweaty. Pop. He glanced at the door. 

Jack entered the bus. He wore a furry white jacket and had colorful pins hanging on his bag. He had flawless peachy skin and wide eyes that fit snugly behind his round black eyeglasses. He looked over at Paul and waved his hands. Paul beamed and gestured for Jack to sit beside him. 

“What’s up, dude?” Jack asked.

Paul stretched his arms and said with a slight yawn, ”Reading.”

“That's from Anicon, right? Gods, Anicon was fun! Oh right, have I shown you my flags? You haven’t seen, have you. Look. Look!”

Jack reached down to lift his bag from under the seat. Paul stopped him.

“You don’t need to show me, dude. With how much you’ve been posting those flag pin thingies on Instagram, it would be a miracle if I hadn’t seen them yet.” 

Jack blushed and smiled bashfully, “I-I guess I’ve been showing these off too much.” 

“It's cool, it makes sense for you to be proud of your flags. They are pride flags after all.” Paul paused.

 “Though I have to ask." Paul pointed toward the suspicious red flag embroidered with a hammer and sickle.

 "Why do you have that?"

Jack’s eyes shimmered and he cleared his throat slightly.

"Do you mean this wonderful flag that symbolizes humanity's hope for a future where everyone is equal and nobody holds power over others."

"Are you talking about communism?"

“Yeap.”

"Why?" Paul asked baffled. 

“The Marxist idea of communism is the best thing in the world! In a just society, all men and women should be treated equally. And nobody should be suffering under the upper-class-.” 

Paul rolled his eyes, “Ok, I'ma stop you right there.”

"Why??? I was just about to get to the good part!" 

"Save your spiel for another person." Paul scratched his head and sighed.

"Jesus, are all of you HUMSS guys like this?"

"No, ma'am. This bitch is one of a kind," Jack laughed.

Paul smiled.

 “...Besides wouldn’t communism mean that I have to share?"

Paul hugged his book and said in a grieving tone." I don’t like sharing. In fact, I hate sharing. I won’t give away this 1,500 peso book just because some poor boy wants it. Marx can pry this book off my cold dead body.”

Jack inhaled sharply, "Dude. There are so many things wrong with that statement, my HUMMS heart is bleeding. Marx would never steal from his fellow men!"

Paul replied, "Well, what if I'm not a man then?"

Jack went silent. 

"Fuck." 

Thundering laughs rolled out of Paul and Jack.

Jack spoke, still giggling, "I guess Marx operates by Lord of the Rings logic then."

“Hmm?”

“You know the whole 'Witch-king' bit.”

"Ohh, that guy. I never really understood that part. Wasn't the Witch-king invulnerable to ‘Men’?" Paul asked.

"Eowyn was a woman though. What's not to get?"

"No, I meant the race of Men."

"Are we really gonna argue the semantics of a novel from the 1950s?" Jack asked with a wry smile.

“Maybe.”

“Well, alrighty then!”

Paul sat up straight and cleared his throat, "It just seems weird that the ability to kill someone is decided by your crotch."

"Hmm. If the ability to give birth is decided by whether or not you have junk or a box, then I think it's fair the other way around."

"But what if a man had his bits cut off would he be able to kill the witch-king?"

Jack was taken aback, "First off, gross. Second, I don't think you're any less of a man whether or not you have your dick cut off. "

Paul adjusted himself, "Ok then, what if the person had XY gonadal dysgenesis."

"Is this some sort of STEM joke that I'm too HUMSS to understand?"

"They're guys who have male chromosomes but were born with a working vagina."

"Hmmm. I guess... they would be... able to kill him then? But they're still genetically male..."Steam came out of Jack's ears.

Paul’s phone rang. He received a text message.

Jack shrugged, "Maybe it's about what gender you are then? Bah! Whatever, I'm pretty sure Tolkien didn't know about that stuff. I mean, back then there were only two genders. Who would’ve thunk that in the future, helicopters would be a valid gender."

Paul narrowed his eyes at Jack, “Bruh.”

Jack shrugged, “Sorry, had to.”

Paul shook his head and opened the message.

‘Anak, don’t go to the bus later. I’m coming home and I want us to meet up at the store near your school.’ 

“Who’s that? Your girlfriend?” Jack leaned over and asked with an interested expression.

“It’s my mom you idiot.”

“Mom’s can be girlfriends too,” Jack said promptly.

Paul felt a chill run up his spine. He turned to glare harder at Jack. Never before had he seen such insufferable filth.

Paul spoke, “Look, I love you; But there is a limit.”

Jack burst into laughter.

Paul let out a breath and replied to his mom.

‘Ayt’

“What are you reading anyway?” Jack asked.

“Oh, this? It’s a comic called ‘Wandering son’. I heard a lot of great things about it.“ 

Jack was surprised, “Really? I don’t think I’ve ever even heard that title before. So how is it so far.”

Paul shrugged, ”It’s been pretty good so far and the main character is super relatable-or it is to me at least. Though it does bug me that he’s so lucky. God, what I would give to be in her shoes.” 

"Her?" Jack said with a smug grin.

Paul rolled his eyes and chuckled, "I meant 'his.' Jesus, can’t a guy make a mistake every now and again."

"No mistakes! Good grammar means big brain. Your have small brain." Jack replied.

Paul grinned, “Whatever you say, dude.”

Jack scrunched his face and pressed his forefinger into his temples, “BigBrain.”

Paul sighed and blankly looked out the barred shuttle window. 

The bus passed through a pastel field of flowers. It was bright and colorful with morning hues and evergreen pastures. Paul grasped the barred window and felt the cold dusty steel. He wished he could pry the damned thing off. He wanted to open the window; to smell the sweet fragrance of the outside. Sighing, Paul pulled back from the window and sat upright in the dark gray world within the shuttle.

“What's wrong?”

Paul turned toward Jack with a blank look, “Huh?”

“You ok bud?” Jack asked snarkily.

Paul cast a wry smile and answered, “I’m fine.” 

Jack said with a grin, " You sure?" 

“ I'm. Fine.”

Jack looked Paul straight in the eyes and sighed. 

“Look, If you ever want to talk just know that you can tell me. I’ll always be there to support you.”

“What the hell, dude?... And, thanks. I guess,” Paul said before quickly turning to look at the window. He rubbed his eyes and watched the fields pass by. He chuckled. 

The shuttle ground to a halt. Outside, towering egg-shell white walls loomed over the shuttle. They had arrived. The doors popped open and the students departed en masse. Paul and Jack said their goodbyes and went to their classrooms.

Paul sat dazedly, his head buried in his arms. Tap. Tap. Tap. He clicked his pen and bobbed his leg. Tap. Tap. Tap. He felt his brain pulsating as if his heart had somehow sprinted its way to his brain and was violently beating his skull on its way out. His heart raged, drowning out his thoughts and reason. Get me out. Paul blankly glanced at the clock and felt his consciousness fade.  

Paul sat alone. He was never really social. He just talked to people here and there about mundane stuff. Nothing words that were meant to waste time. He was fine with that. No, he had accepted it. After all, he was used to solitude. The teacher entered with a bang. 

Paul jumped. The teacher had grey hair, a grey suit, and a grey laptop. His back was hunched and he had deep bags under his eyes. The teacher looked like a depressed panda. As he began his lecture on the philosophy of gender, Paul looked out of the window and fixed his gaze on the giant marble cross near the gate.

The Grand Philippine Academia was an ancient catholic school. It was decrepit with broken monuments and sun-bleached pillars holding up worn down arches. A bloodless stone cross stood silently at the entrance of the school, proclaiming God’s infinite and unchanging love toward the world. A funny juxtaposition to its students who were ever-changing and wordly. A thick overcast sky loomed over the academy.

The bell rang, waking Paul from his stupor. He had daydreamed through the entire lecture. Noticing that his classmates were leaving the class, Paul quickly packed up and left for the canteen. 

The halls of the school were smothered in otherworldly shadows. A lone fluorescent light flickered erratically. Paul frowned. His silent footsteps boomed through the mad empty hallways. Something’s wrong. He felt his clothes stiffen, anchoring his body in place. His limbs grew sluggish and heavy as if weights had suddenly attached themselves to his arms and legs. His breathing became frantic. Paul looked down. He felt his lungs collapse, his heart-stopping. A single lonely thought breached his mind and drowned him. Something’s missing.  

"Paul!"

Paul turned to look at who was talking to him. 

"Oh. Hey Rom."

Rom shrugged. He was tall, four or five inches taller than Paul, and wore a tight school jacket over his basketball jersey. Despite being a year younger than Paul, he had arms as big as tree trunks and a dirty half-grown beard. He looked like a bear.

"You ok?"

“Yeah," answered Paul.

“Ayt, let’s hurry.”

What was that? Paul thought.

Paul and Rom arrived at the canteen and saw countless students eating. They quickly made their way to the corner of the canteen where they usually ate. 

Gabriel gushed, “Dude, did you see the fight yesterday?”.

Gabriel had a headstrong personality. He had circular steel glasses that meshed well with his fat cheekbones and pimply face. He had messy curly hair and an ashy sweater that was just slightly too small for him. 

“The one between the seniors? Yeah, I saw that” answered Phoenix.

Phoenix was stoic. He wore sharp rectangular glasses and was dressed prim and proper, like a model student of the grand philippine academia. 

“You call that a fight? Bro, that was a slaughter. The other guy didn’t even land a punch!” Commented Lucas.

Lucas had a goofy feel about him. His hair was unkempt, and his clothes were ruffled. He seemed to have an unending source of both energy and bad jokes.

“You know what, I saw Ryan going to the clinic after the fight. His face was fucked up. He looked like a freaking siomai,” Rom bellowed. 

Paul smiled wryly and found a place to sit. He brought out his food, a scrumptious PB&J sandwich, and a coldish Chuckie milk drink, and began eating.

Paul looked around and asked, "Hey umm, Where's Jack?"

"He had to go to the clinic. Stomach ache or something," Phoenix answered.

"Oh."

Paul nodded and took a bite of his sandwich.

"Why did they fight anyway?" Gabriel asked.

Lucas turned, "Who, the seniors?"

Gabriel smirked and answered, "No. The fight between the turtles."

Lucas made a confused expression, "What?"

"Of course, I'm talking about the seniors! Gosh, you're such an idiot!" snickered Gabriel.

Phoenix leaned in and said, "So listen up, this is how it went down. Ryan was being really creepy toward Alex's friend. Like, being really touchy and stalking him and shit."

“Wait a minute, Ryan was stalking a dude?” Gabriel asked.

“Yeah, Ryan is gay. So Alex got angry and confronted him.” 

"Then they started fighting?" Rom asked.

"Yup," Phoenix replied.

Gabriel clicked his tongue and said, "This is why you don't engage with the gays. They're freaking nuts dude!"

“You are what you eat,” Lucas commented.

Paul paused his bite and snapped at Gabriel, “Excuse me, the fuck?”

Gabriel shrugged, ”What? I’m right!”

Paul’s mouth dropped, “Bruh.”

“Dude. You can’t say stuff like that. It makes you look homophobic as hell.” Rom replied.

“Geez, fine,” Gabriel lowered his hand.

“Not just ‘look homophobic’, tha- that was just straight up homophobia,” Paul stuttered.

Gabriel huffed, “Alright, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Geez, can’t a dude make gay jokes anymore!”

Paul rolled his eyes and went back to eating his sandwich. He bit into his sandwich, the flavor spread through his mouth sending waves of relief through his system.

“Oh right, you went to Anicon right?” Lucas asked Paul.

“Hm? Yeah, I went with Jack.”

“So, why did you guys take so many pics with traps?”

Paul choked, “Well, their cosplays were really cool and I like the anime they’re from. Also um, don’t call them traps dude.”

“What’s wrong with traps?” asked Gabriel.

Phoenix pondered, “Maybe it’s ‘cause calling them traps sounds like they are deceiving men?”

“That’s what they’re doing though. I mean come on, if you fall for a chick and she has a dick wouldn’t that make you a bit sick?”

“I don’t know man. The dick makes it better, not gonna lie,” Lucas joked.

Paul put down his sandwich, “Look, you shouldn’t call them traps because it's a slur used against trans women. It’s even been- I think it's even been used in court for decades to excuse murders against trans people!” 

“Traps aren’t even trans women though. They’re just crossdressers aren’t they?” Rom interjected.

“Just call them that then,” Paul replied.

“Paul’s face is red,” boomed Lucas.

“You ok?” Rom asked.

“I’m not mad, I’m just... eating,” Paul deadpanned, as he took a bite out of his sandwich. 

Rom declared, “Look, Paul’s right. If someone doesn’t like the word ‘Trap’ then just don’t use it. It’s the nice thing to do.” 

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “Blergh, save your SJW shit for another person.”

Chew.

“How come you know about trans stuff Paul?” Phoenix queried.

“It’s… Interesting.”

“Interesting how?”

Paul gulped, “Dysphoria is just a really weird and interesting thing, you know.”

Lucas chimed in, “The fuck is dysphoria?”

“It’s when a person cannot function or even live with their assigned gender,” answered Paul.

“Yeah, I still don’t get it.”

Gabriel chimed in, “Sounds like bullshit to me.”

Paul retorted, “Well it’s definitely not bullshit since millions of people suffer from it. Look, gender dysphoria... is like going to the barber to get your hair dyed red, but your barber is dumb and dyed your pink. You don’t want it, you certainly didn’t ask for it, and every single time you look in the mirror you are reminded by how fucking gross you look.” 

Lucas showed an enlightened expression, “Ohh, got it.”

Gabriel countered, “Nah dude, that’s such a bullshit argument. You can’t just change your gender like you’re going to a fucking barber or some shit. You were born with a dick, fucking own it.”

“And if you can’t?” replied Paul.

“Then get some professional help. It ain’t right to want to change your gender.”

“Just like it ain’t right to like the same sex?”

“See, now you get me!” Gabriel bellowed and slapped Paul’s back.

“Don’t touch me. And fuck off with that bullshit. It’s not that “it ain’t right,’ that’s just how it is.”

“Come on dude, if a person had cancer you bring them to a hospital right? So if they have gender dysmorphoria or whatever, bring them to a psychologist or a mental institution or something.”

“Exactly! That’s why doctors give trans people hormones and help with their transition.”

“Fuck off! You know what I mean.”

“And what do you mean.”

“If you’re a guy, your a guy! Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So what? Doctors are wrong?”

“Bingo! You were a little bit slow there, but you caught on eventually.” Gabriel continued, ”The only reason Doctors put up with that transitioning shit is cause they would get lynched if they didn’t.”

“Ok that’s going a little too far,” Phoenix interjected. 

“But you have to admit, Gab does make a good point. Besides, how would a doctor even know you have gender dysphoria?”Rom replied. 

“By asking questions, obviously,” Paul explained.

“But what questions would you even ask. And what if they lie? There is no way to tell if someone was lying about their gender dysphoria.”

“Of course there is! This stuff was researched by doctors and psychologists for a reason.”

Gabriel forced down a laugh, “And, in the past, those same doctors researched how to cure diseases and found that cutting a hole in your head was a good way to get rid of mental illnesses. Doctors aren’t all-knowing.”

Paul held his head, “Come on! If research isn’t enough to justify treatment then what the fuck is?”

“Facts!” retorted Gabriel. 

Gabriel ranted, “Facts are what justify treatment. Because facts don’t care about your feelings. You don’t just call a bird a cat if it feels like a cat. No! That is a bird and no amount of feelings will turn that bird into a cat. And it is a fact that if you are born with a penis then you are a guy, and if you are born with a vagina you are a girl. Simple. Logical. Factual.”

“Oh yeah? And where did you get your facts? Elementary biology? Come on, be real. Who would you trust with the facts, a 17-year-old student or a 40-year-old doctor who has researched this for decades?”

“The one with a brain! Duh!”

Paul snickered, “Whoa, no need to call yourself out.”

Lucas burst out laughing, “Ok guys... We all need to calm down and take deep breaths. There’s no need to get worked up on such a stupid topic. I think we can all agree that trans people are weird and doctors are idiots. Are we good?”

“We good,” said Rom.

Paul let out an exasperated breath, “Fine.”

Phoenix nodded.

“Look, it’s not my fault Paul is defending those sex-craved bastards,” Gabriel replied.

Paul choked on his sandwich. He grabbed his Chuckie and started gulping down mouthfuls of chocolate milk.

Rom chuckled, “Honestly dude, so true. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a tranny that wasn’t horny or wearing skimpy shit.”

“Hmm, does that mean they like dick so much they wanted theirs off?” Lucas commented.

Rom turned to Lucas, “Nah dude, gender and sexuality aren’t the same thing. Maybe they love women so much they wanted to become one.”

Gabriel shook his head, “A straight tranny? That’s the stupidest shit, I ever heard. This is why nobody likes SJW bullshit. Their logic is so goddamned stupid.”

Paul took a big gulp of air and said with a shaky voice, “What are you guys on about?”

“We’re spitting facts,” Gabriel replied.

“Straight facts,” Lucas added.

Paul was speechless. The beat of his heart pounded his ears. He stuttered, “Y-you guys do realize your shitting on one of the most marginalized and hated communities in the world right?” 

“Yeah, because they deserve that title. Fuck’em. Actually don’t unless you're gay.” 

Gabriel, Lucas, and Rom bared their teeth and let out a peal of booming deafening laughter.

Paul felt his insides drop. He looked at his friends, the people who he had been eating with for months. Who are they? Paul thought. They laughed, but all Paul heard was a painful piercing sound. His mind was blank, like a TV set to a dead channel. The bell rang. 

The group packed their lunch and left. 

“Hey Paul, where are you going?” Gabriel asked.

“Hm? Oh, I’m going to the restroom.”

“Ayt, hurry up dude. Class is about to start.”

Paul nodded and walked off. He kept his head down, an empty gaze scanning the jagged floor. The pretty marble tiles were now broken and shattered. What am I doing? Paul thought. 

Arguing about shit I don't care about, shouldn’t care about. 

I bet they think differently of me now. 

God, I was cringy.

They probably hate me now. 

Nah, they probably don’t care. 

What if they do though. 

Then I’m screwed. 

Fuck.

Paul stopped at the edge of the men’s room. He sighed. The men’s room was putrid. The walls were moldy and the air was stuffy. Half the sinks didn’t work and the ones that worked flowed slowly and were even limited to a drip if more than one was turned on. The dim fluorescent lights flickered wildly casting weird shadows on the shattered graffitied mirrors. The toilets were considered a death sentence by most of the male students. Some students would even rather skip school and get an offense than defecate on the moldy gray flush toilet.

Paul walked over to the sink and lifted his sleeves. He took a slow deep breath and splashed water on his face. For a few seconds, he stared blankly at the mirror. He saw the hair above his lips, the pimples in his cheeks, and his dry flaky mouth. His body went limp, like all of his energy was sucked out. He cast a wry smile. Fuck. Tired, Paul buried his head in his arms. The silence of the room burned his ear like the bark of a midnight campfire. 

Time passed quickly, and in an instant school was over. The students headed toward the school gate eager to leave and hang out with friends or go home for a much-needed nap. On the way out, Jack saw Paul and walked over.

“Hey, what’s u-Damn you look like shit,” said Jack.

Paul shrugged, “How’s your stomach.”

“Well it ain’t hurting anymore that’s for sure. But nevermind that, the fuck happened to you?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Also, tell the driver I’m not coming today.”

“Huh, how come?”

“Mom is picking me up by the clothes store.”

“Oh, ok then…”

Paul and Jack walked to the school gate, drowning in the chatter of the students around them.

Paul broke the silence, “I’m heading out now.”

“Alright. You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m telling you, I’m fine. Bye.”

“See you tomorrow. Oh, and I’m gonna read Wandering son later.”

Paul stopped and turned to look at Jack, but he had already disappeared in the sea of students. Paul smiled and shook his head. He took out destitute earphones and smiled. He plugged in and felt the world around him fade; The chatter of students, the roaring of the cars, and the thoughts in his head all seemed to disappear in exchange for the overwhelming calmness and security of music. 

The sun took shelter behind the horizon and dyed the earth in shades of blue. Melancholy streets wrapped around silent cars stood still in traffic. Thin trees slow danced for the dark December breeze. Solitary lamp posts glowed sanctuaries of green, while sleepless storefronts blinded passerby in neon worlds. 

Paul walked alone. Tired. His body felt slow and heavy as if he were wading through cobalt waters. Each step he took sunk him deeper and deeper into a cold and lonely abyss. Paul felt the air slowly leave his lungs. His eyes drooped and his posture sagged. He felt himself slowly melt into a sea of nothing.

Paul stopped, he had arrived at his destination. A bright neon pink sign blew away the dark abyss and submerged Paul in its pink domain. The sign read, “The White Rosebud Boutique”. Colorful pastel dresses and myriad aesthetic accessories painted a picturesque image of womanhood and femininity. Paul smiled. The boutique was famous among the locals because it provided affordable and cute fashion items. 

Paul found a discrete lamp post not too far from the store and decided to wait there. He leaned on the lamp post and bathed himself in its gentle emerald hue as if to wash away the lingering aura of the boutique. Paul closed his eyes and breathed deeply. When he opened them, there was no longer any trace of confusion and anxiety. In its place was a look of stoic resignation. Paul gazed at the boutique.

The boutique could not be described as particularly large or small, however, at this time countless female students could be seen shopping inside. They busied about, trying on dozens of clothes while joking with each other. Paul’s heart ached. A sinking feeling enveloped Paul, and once again he was deep in the abyss. Paul looked up where the darkness broke. He could see the boutique. Paul reached his hand out toward the light. He stopped. No. This is wrong. Paul thought. He forced his eyes open and found himself back under the lamp post. He looked back at the girls in the boutique and mouthed.

“That should have been me.”

Paul jumped and hastily covered his mouth. Why did I say that? Paul shuddered, his mind assaulted by countless innumerable thoughts. Paul started crying, but no tears came.

A small blue car pulled up beside the store. Mom had arrived. Paul cast a crooked smile. Get it together Paul! You’re a Man! He said to himself. Paul took a deep breath and took one last glance at the boutique. That’s a treasure, that isn’t mine to keep. Paul shook his head and entered the car. 

Rachel, Paul’s mom, was inside. She wore a cute floral dress topped with a denim jacket. She had just come back from a three-day church retreat. Paul struggled to fit his bag in the backseat because of all the souvenirs that laid about. Paul sat down on the seat with a thud. 

“Sorry for taking so long! It’s super traffic eh,” Rachel said.

Paul sighed, “It's ok. I didn’t wait too long.”

Rachel nodded and started up the car. The car engine let out a low roar and flared to life. They began their trip home. Rachel tapped the steering wheel and glanced back and forth between her son and the road.

Rachel asked, “How’s school?”

“It was ok.”

Rachel nodded, “I’m gonna get takeout on our way home. Is that ok?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want anything?”

Paul sighed, “Two-piece chicken would be nice.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m good.”

The car rode silently, neither mother nor son spoke much. Paul was lost in thought. He glanced at Rachel and thought. Fuck it, I’ll ask. 

“Hey, mom.”

Rachel’s eyes widened slightly. She looked at her son through her rear-view mirror. “Yes?”

Paul hesitated, ”What do you think of trans people?”

What am I doing? Why did I ask that?

Rachel replied, "Well... I think they're ok. Some of them are nice. In fact, a few of my friends are gay!”

Paul rolled his eyes.

Rachel continued,“ Men are men and women are women because that is what God intended. Their actions as sinners will make them go to hell. That is why it is our duty as Christians to guide them to God and help them do the right thing."

"...What if it was what God intended though," Paul muttered.

“Sorry, what was that?” Rachel asked.

Paul spoke, "God is omnipotent, omniscient, and all-knowing. And he loves everything he creates. Then wouldn't he have created and loved Trans people as well?"

Rachel sighed and answered in a sing-songy tone, "If you read the bible you would know the answer."

Paul stayed silent. 

Rachel glanced at Paul, "Do you know what God's love is?"

"I think so."

"What is God's love then?"

"God’s love is unconditional and merciful."

"You're not wrong... But you're not right either.” 

Rachel continued, ”Our God is a God of love, but he is also a God of justice! God's love is unconditional in that he will always love you if you love and follow him. God’s love is merciful in that he will forgive you no matter what you do, as long as you accept him. But if you neither love nor accept him then you will face God's justice. He made Man and Woman. Anyone who doesn't follow his law also doesn’t accept him and will be subject to his justice."

The rest of the trip was in silence.

The car stopped. 

“We’re home.”

Paul was numb. His eyes were hollow, and his movements were stiff. He walked out of the car. Tired. He limped to the ebony door. It was locked. Ugh. Beside the door was a potted plant, a bloodless rosebud trapped in dead leaves. He dropped on one knee to pick up the pot. The pot hid a rusted key. Paul stood up and unlocked the door mechanically. 

The living room was somber, black and white like an old film. The air was heavy and chilling. Paul's forehead throbbed, and his eyes drooped. Sleepy. He staggered to his room and dropped to his bed.

Paul woke up in the middle of the night, his bladder bursting, and sluggishly left his bed. He navigated the dark and eventually felt the cold damp floor of the restroom. Standing in front of the toilet, Paul pulled out his member. Paul sighed in disgust. Gross, he thought. How often had Paul wished he was rid of the vile thing, the biological shackle that threatened to choke his every waking moment. Paul breathed long and plaintively.

 His somber breath lingered in the silent room, echoing softly. The golden dam opened and with it came the sharp ringing and swishing of water. Trickling filled the room. But about Paul, there was a deep, and awful silence that only made him shiver. Somber panic seized him, and Paul turned to look at the mirror. A dark reflection looked back.

In the mirror was a man, a dark brutish man. Short, wild hair shagged above his head; while a sharp-angled jaw lurked beneath, mocking him. Thick broad shoulders hung on his sides and along with them, large powerful muscles. Crimson spots covered his oily face and neck, further cementing the single indelible truth. Paul was a man; a dirty, messy man. A wild pain gnawed at his heart. He lowered his head and stood motionless. Dim memories of his youth floated through his brain. Memories of play, as he remembered himself exchanging shoes with girls and laughing. Memories of grief, as he remembered the loss of his robe that looked all too similar to a dress. Memories of secret love, as he remembered himself gazing at his friend from a distance. Memories of a wish, as he remembered the prayer that he repeated every night. 

My God, please make me a girl.

Paul slowly closed his eyes and dreamed. He dreamed the dream that haunted his every moment. He dreamed the sweetest dream. 

Paul found himself in an evergreen house. He sat on an auburn couch. Rays of sunshine bathed the living room in golden colors. Two children danced in the living room, playing and laughing. My children. An oaken door creaked open. A handsome man entered the room. His features were a blur aside from his smile; His bright, beautiful, brilliant smile. The man glanced at his children and laughed. His pleasing laugh echoed, as he rushed to hug his children. The man eyed his wife, with a gaze that told without speaking. I love you. The man called out in a soothing voice. 

Pauline.

The man sat beside her. Pauline leaned on her husband. He was warm; the type of warmth that made her melt helplessly. He began talking about his day. Mouthing about the countless eccentricities that plagued his morning and afternoon. Each word soothed Pauline, like a shower of happiness and peace. The man stopped. He looked at her, and she looked back. Pauline lost herself in his eyes. No words were spoken, but their eyes told a million songs. I love you. She hugged him tightly, afraid that if she were to relax by even the slightest bit she would lose him and be trapped alone again in the darkness. The man smiled the most beautiful smile and placed his hand on her still swollen belly.

Paul woke. He stood alone, cold in the darkness. He reached for his gut and held it. He pressed it, squeezed it but felt nothing but emptiness. In despair, Paul felt his knees buckle and slam against the floor. He began to cry pleadingly, piteously. He cried for help; for a life, he could not live; for a child, he could not bear. He wailed and wailed, but no one answered. Paul lay on the bathroom floor, dreaming. All those dreams empty, fleeting, like rainbows in an overcast sky.

The sun rose quickly, in the blink of an eye a brand new day had begun. Paul woke up drenched in dried sweat and tears. Tsk, it happened again. Paul thought. Get ahold of yourself you damned freak. Paul slapped himself awake and rushed to get ready for school. Dark clouds loomed over the morning sky. 

The shuttle arrived swiftly. One more day, Paul thought. One more...The shuttle doors opened with a pop and Paul went inside. Paul walked to the back of the gray vehicle. The back of the shuttle was cramped, far more than the other seats. Still, Paul leaned on the rusted barred window and slept. Jack entered the bus. He looked at the sleeping Paul and sat beside him. Jack glanced at Paul over and over, and sighed. He leaned on his seat, eyes closed.

"You awake?" Jack asked.

"No," answered Paul.

"Got it."

The shuttle dragged slowly. It moved from neighbourhood to neighbourhood, picking up students and filling up it’s seats. The shuttle buzzed with the sound of student conversations.

"You ok?" Jack asked.

"I'm sleeping." answered Paul.

"Phoenix told me what happened yesterday."

A shiver ran through Paul’s spine. He glared at Jack but remained silent.

"Don't mind those guys. They're just idiots."

Paul sighed and replied, "Yeah."

Paul looked out the window. Monochrome flower fields filled the outside of the shuttle. The once myriad pastel colors dyed gray by the cloudy sky.

"I read the book,"  said Jack

Paul shook. Fuck, I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned that book. Paul bit his lip and tried to remain stoic.

"Do you really relate to that stuff, the trans stuff in the book?"

Paul stopped. 

He knows.

Paul’s heart pounded his chest. His breathing became unsteady and sweat poured from his face. 

“Paul?”

Paul snapped, "Look, I'm trying to sleep. Please leave me alone. I'm fine."

Jack looked at Paul and shook his head.

He sighed, "Look, I'm always open to talk whenever." 

"Whatever."

He's just saying that. He doesn't really care.

The doors popped open. They had arrived. Paul stood and briskly walked out of the shuttle. He quickly found a place without students. He leaned on the wall and fell flat to the ground. Paul hugged his knees. Will he leave me too? Paul wept, but no tears came.

Classes went quickly and in a flash it was lunch time. Paul refused to eat with his classmates. He walked to the roof alone. The school’s roof was open to the students. However, since it was so far from the canteen nobody ever came to eat there. Paul gazed at the gray sky. The roof door opened. Paul turned to look at the intruder. It was Jack.

Jack waved his hands, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Paul replied.

Jack sat beside Paul. And pulled out his lunch.

“Sorry for a while ago,” Paul muttered.

Jack smiled, “Don't mention it.”

The two ate silently under the oppressive clouds.

“Hey Paul,” 

“Yeah?”

Jack turned his body to face Paul. His face was stoic.

“Are you transgender?”

Paul shivered and his face went pale. Paul thought a million things in a second. He looked at Jack. I can’t lie to him.  

Paul cast a sad, aching smile and answered,

”Yes.”

 

Jack embraced Paul. 

Tears fell from Paul’s eyes. Once that first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. Paul opened his mouth, but his words were drowned by the strength of his wails. Snot flew and his voice cracked. He cried and cried until his voice was dead and sore.

“Jack…” Paul muttered faintly.

Paul looked at Jack, his eyes red and his face filled with tears.

“I want to be a girl.”