Who he is

Lane thought deeply about how her friendship with Kitte’ had shaped her life, and how they had moved through the world together and shaped one another’s experiences of the world. Kitte’ may not have always been the most accepting person, and upon reflection, perhaps it would have made a difference if in her letters Lane had been more open — divulging meaningful thoughts, feelings, and opinions rather than simply relaying events. 

She’d never been taught or shown how to be that person, and an honest evaluation even now would have her say that connecting with her feelings was uncomfortable. Still, when it mattered, Lane made sure to show up; she was there as a full person in the important times. It was those times that were the most rewarding in the end.

She may have been estranged from Kitte’ for years before her death, but she and Bill had grown close since the inception of that estrangement. She’d always guessed that Bill might be queer. It was a circle that she knew well, but one that she largely kept from Kitte’. Still, Bill never showed an affinity for feminine activities or clothing. Honestly, Lane had assumed maybe Bill was gay, after all, we often mirror ourselves in others. That is why Lane wasn’t surprised when she received a panicked call from Kitte’ on a cold October night.

Kitte’s voice on the other end seemed panicked, her words were choked with distressed tears. “Lane, I don’t know what to do.”

The depth of the emotion behind the words took Lane by surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“Bess. She’s. I don’t know what to do.” Kitte’s voice choked off again.

“Is she okay?” Lane asked, panic running through her mind, concerned about what this call might mean.

“She says she’s a boy.” Kitte’ managed to choke out.

Lane’s panic subsided, she let out a relieved sigh as the more dramatic of possibilities receded from her mind. Then she contextualised the panic in Kitte’s voice. “I’ll be right over, don’t do anything.” 

Lane grabbed her keys and stepped out. The drive over filled her mind with the possibilities of what might happen, and no matter what, she was determined that Bess would not be subjected to the same fate she was. No matter what, she wanted Bess to know she was loved, to know she was worthy, to know that there was nothing that she could say or do that would incline Lane or Kitte’ to love her less. Lane caught herself: would incline us to love him less. That would take some getting used to.

When Lane stepped into Kitte’s apartment, she briefly surveyed the scene. Bess was sitting in the corner at a table, looking stunned and afraid. Kitte’ was in the kitchen, the picture of panic and confusion. She strode over to Kitte’: “Are you okay, dear?” Lane asked kindly.

“I feel like I’ve lost my daughter.” Kitte’ responded with defeatism.

Lane thought for a minute. “What do you think you’ve lost? What has changed?” She asked with a calm, reassuring frankness.

“We will never get our hair and makeup done together. I won’t go shopping with her for a wedding dress. Will she want to wear a suit to prom?”

Lane laughed a little, thinking about the Bess she had always known. “What about your child now ever made you think that he” Lane put some effort into the ‘he’ here “would ever be interested in those things? This is the same child you had this morning.” 

Kitte’ looked unconvinced, but demonstrated a willingness to listen. With that small reassurance, Lane continued: “What you have lost is the idea of what you think a daughter should be. You’ve lost the future that you imagined with some abstract child based on pre-conceived constructs that you and society invented. When was that ever your child? Bess likes to wear pants and get dirty, he loves his short hair. This is the child that told you they were angry they couldn’t join the boy’s baseball team. This is still your child. This is the child you’ve loved your whole life.”

Kitte’ perked up briefly, but then seemed to devolve back into despair: “What would Reuben say?” Kitte’ asked resolutely.

Lane thought for a while, then caught herself: “There’s no way of knowing what he would say. He’s dead, and he has been for a long time. It doesn’t make any sense to run our lives off of peer pressure from dead people. But would you still respect him if he said anything other than that you should love your child?”

Tears rolled down Kitte’s face as she thought of this question. “He was so happy when she was born. He loved that child so much.”

“Would he have loved your child any less if he had been assigned male at birth?” 

Kitte’ didn’t hesitate in responding: “He would have loved his child no matter who they were. He was proud for us. He was excited for whatever this adventure would bring.” A smile crossed Kitte’s lips and spread to her whole face, beaming underneath the tears that gleamed down her cheeks. Then Kitte’ paused. “Who even is she now?” Kitte’ asked, this time less with panic and more with genuine curiosity.

Lane knew exactly what to say: “He is the same child he has always been. The pronouns don’t change that. The way he looks doesn’t change that.” Lane put an arm over Kitte’ shoulder.

“Is he going to be okay? I mean, is he going to be safe?” This time a slightly different panic suffused Kitte’s voice.

Lane sighed knowingly. “I . . . I don’t know. We can’t know. I’m sorry.”

Kitte’ began to spiral again into a deep, unknowing fear.

Lane looked over at the child in the corner, still in a trance. She wasn’t sure what to do. Looking up at the cabinet, she noticed a small blue teacup with a gold rim on a matching saucer. Without thinking, she began boiling some water. She made up a medium teapot of Chamomile tea. When she felt it was sufficiently steeped, she filled the blue cup and a white cup covered in pink flowers for herself.

She strode confidently over to where the child was sitting. Setting down the blue cup, she held the floral cup in her hands. “Hello, dear. I’m very happy to see you. You’re very brave. I’m here for you, I’m always here for you. I made you some tea, I thought if you’d like, we could sit here and drink together.” Gesturing to her own cup, she smiled warmly.

Bill continued to stare dully across the room. Lane’s heart dropped a little. “You don’t have to say anything, but if you want to, I’m here to listen.” Lane then sat, slowly sipping her tea for what felt like an eternity. She wondered if Bill was ever going to come back to himself. Slowly, after some time, Bill reached for his teacup and began sipping. Relief flooded through Lane’s body like a rich, euphoric wave. It was at that moment she knew he was going to be okay.

From a distance, Lane could hear Kitte’ ask: “How will she survive in this world?”

With renewed surety, Lane knew just how to respond: “He.” Lane corrected. “And I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s a smart, clever, talented young man, and you’ve raised him well. He’s going to be just fine. All he needs from you now is your love and support.”

Lane knew that Kitte’ struggled with Bill’s transition. She often made mistakes and didn’t know what to do, but she led with love and curiosity. She was always supportive and always tried, and Lane could see that that made all the difference in the world.