In the Dark

I open my eyes and groan. The sun is filtering in through my bedroom window and it’s too bright. My room is bleached white with the intensity of the sun rays. I literally feel my eyes burning. Okay, maybe they’re not literally burning, but the sun is still annoying as hell.

I know I should get out of bed and go to school, but I can’t make myself get up. I just want to go back to sleep but, oddly enough, I don’t even feel tired. I just feel numb. And I really want the world to go away. Actually, I just want the sun to go away. It should implode and then it will never shine in my face again.

I’m expecting my mom to come and drag me out of bed, but as the minutes pass, she doesn’t come. I blink down at my phone. 6:55. I have to start getting ready in 5 minutes or I’ll probably be late for school.

But as I start to feel more awake, I realize there’s a slight tingling sensation going through my limbs and, now that I think about it, a dull pain in my head. But when I finally muster up the will to climb out of my bed, I am suddenly overcome with an intense pain. It feels like I’ve been run over by a truck or something. The feeling quickly passes but I’m left feeling unsettled and anxious.

I stumble over to the bathroom but I don’t really need to use it so I descend to the kitchen for breakfast. My dad is nowhere in sight. He’s usually awake by 6:30 and downstairs cooking breakfast. I consider grabbing a banana or something but I’m feeling a bit nauseous so I decide to skip breakfast. 

I return to my room and throw on my school uniform. I can’t find my tie so I decide to go without it and if one of my teachers (I’m looking at you Ms.Robins) gives me a detention slip because my uniform is incomplete, so be it.

Before I leave, I stop by my parents’ room. My dad is sleeping and my mom is sitting at the foot of the bed, just staring at some spot on the wall. It’s kinda creeping me out, but she looks exhausted. Like she hasn’t slept at all tonight.

Just then, I remember what I’m supposed to do today. What I’ve been planning for weeks. I have to come out to my parents. After school. The thought makes the dread that’s already building in me worsen. I know it’s better to just get it over with today, but I’m really scared. What if everything changes? What if they hate me after I tell them? I resist the urge to cry and try to calm my nerves. 

“Hey, I’m off to school,” I whisper to my mom. My voice is shaking.

For a second, she doesn’t even blink. Then she nods softly.

She mutters something but it’s quick and really quiet so I don’t hear. I decide to ignore it and leave for school.

It’s only a 10 minute walk to the school so that’s convenient. 

As I’m walking, I notice a group of my classmates across the road. They’re all laughing and having a jolly time walking to school together. I don’t bother calling out to them because they would just ignore me anyway. I’m not what one would call “cool”. I tend to keep to myself, and none of my classmates have a problem with that. I don’t really care either. I’m fine on my own. I have my school work to focus on, and my music career. I play the piano, guitar, and saxophone, and I have a Youtube channel where I post videos of me playing songs—some of them are even original songs. So I don’t really have time for friends anyway. 

I arrive at the school and then the day flies by. I mostly pay attention in my classes but my mind starts to drift. I keep thinking about coming out to my parents and it’s a terrifying thought. None of the scenarios in my head end well. While I’m confident in my being non-binary, I’m very afraid that they won’t understand. That they’ll think I’m making it up. That they’ll tell me my identity isn’t real. But I need to tell them. They deserve to know. And I deserve to be out and proud. I deserve the chance to be referred to by the name and pronouns I prefer (though I’m not sure that will happen, even if I come out).

I’m going to tell them as soon as I get home. 

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, the knot in my stomach grows infinitely more tense. I sigh. This anxiety won’t end until I tell them.

So I sit quietly through my classes, worrying about coming out in an endless loop of panic.

I don’t really interact with anyone and, thankfully, no one bothers me. None of my teachers mention my missing tie (not even Ms.Robins, the most strict teacher I’ve ever met). As soon as the bell rings, I bolt from the classroom and basically start sprinting home. But then I think about what I’m about to do and I slow down to a crawl. And then I build up some motivation and start running again. 

When I get home, my plans immediately unravel.

I can’t find my parents anywhere, until I go upstairs and find them in, essentially, the same position I left them in this morning. Dad is sleeping… at 3:30 pm. Mom is sitting on the floor by the bed now, going through an old photo album. I guess she’s nostalgic. But why is Dad asleep in the middle of the day? Maybe he’s sick. Maybe my parents are just having a bad day. 

I go to my room and don’t speak to my parents for the rest of the evening, my plan to come out abandoned.

I do my homework in my room, but I feel too tired to play my music after so I just lay in my bed and I guess I end up falling asleep eventually. 

I have a weird dream that night. I don’t remember much happening, but I distinctly remember hearing a woman’s voice singing gently. The voice has a slight tremor, as if the person has been crying. It also seems very familiar. I wake up the next morning saddened by the tearful song of a woman I can’t quite place.

*        *        *

For the next week, the days fly by, and I continuously chicken out of coming out to my parents. Every day, the thought consumes my mind but there never seems to be a good time. My parents don’t act as odd as the first day I wanted to come out, but they don’t seem to be exactly normal either. My dad doesn’t really cook anymore, even though it’s one of his favourite things in the whole world. I don’t see my mom doing yoga even though she used to do it daily, claiming it “helps her center herself”. Whenever I ask my parents what’s wrong, I never get a straight answer. It’s really frustrating.

Nothing interesting happens at school, which is pretty normal. What interesting thing could possibly happen in an American high school in Ohio? A kid coming out, probably. But I’m definitely not ready for that yet. First, my parents. Then, the school. Although, it’s really annoying to hear the wrong name being called during attendance. I’ve never liked the name given to me at birth, even before I realized I was non-binary. But I’m afraid to correct my teachers because that’ll look suspicious, and I don’t want to draw any attention to myself. I like being the quiet student that just exists in the back of classrooms. And I would also have to ask for the teachers to use the right pronouns which would just out me, and I would rather endure the wrong labels than have to suffer whatever bullying will follow. For now, anyway. Maybe one day I’ll find the courage.

I also can’t seem to muster up the motivation to practise my music. I play a bit of piano one evening, and I want to record a video for my 6000 Youtube subscribers but I can’t seem to find the inspiration. 

After two weeks, I don’t really seem to be doing much of anything anymore. I wrote my exams a week ago and summer vacation started. I would usually spend the time writing music and maybe calling one of my acquaintances from music camp to hang out. But now I don’t even go out, not even on runs, which I used to do at least thrice a week. I don’t even know what I spend my time doing except moping, daydreaming, sleeping and panicking about coming out. 

My parents seem to be unmotivated too, and I wonder if it’s because they know there’s something going on with me. Is there something going on with me? Am I depressed or something? Is it because I’m so anxious about coming out?

I don’t know what’s going on, but I decide to be okay with it and just give myself time to work through this. Maybe I deserve a break to do nothing for a while. Maybe I should just relax, build up the nerve to come out, and then everything will be fine.

Okay, that’s the plan then. 

I spend a few days trying to figure out the exact wording of what I want to tell my parents. Nothing sounds right and my parents aren’t helping the situation. They leave and return from work but at home, they mostly just sit around watching TV or napping. Maybe they also need a mental health break? I don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t seem like a good time to reveal such big news. But I think I have to do it, for my sake. 

So I finally pick a day to do it. And nothing is going to hold me back.

I thought I wouldn't be able to sleep the night before, but I do. 

I dream of the woman’s voice again, like I have been most nights for the past few weeks. Sometimes there’s another voice, but mostly it’s the woman’s. She sings some nice songs, and cries sometimes. I don’t know what the dreams mean. Maybe it’s some sort of sign from the universe that I’m ignoring. Maybe it’s a reflection of my own sadness these past few weeks. Either way, I appreciate the music being sung for me, especially because I haven’t been playing my instruments recently. 

On the morning of the big day, I wake up extremely early—at 6:35. 

I slowly get dressed and then try to find a way to kill time while my parents wake up. In the end, I realize I’m too anxious to wait so I decide to just wake them up.

But when I go into their room, my mom isn’t sleeping. She’s in the exact same position as she was on the morning when I’d initially wanted to come out. She’s sitting by my dad’s feet and staring off into space. My dad sleeps peacefully beside her.

I walk up to her and say, “Mom? There’s something I need to tell you and Dad. It’s important.”

She doesn’t say anything for a while. Then she starts nodding and mutters something. It’s eerily similar to that other morning weeks ago, but this time I catch what she says.

“It’s all my fault.”

A chill runs down my spine.

Does she know I’m non-binary? Is she blaming herself for it somehow?

“Mom, wait. Before you say anything, let me explain,” I plead.

A few moments later, she simply repeats, “It’s all my fault” but considerably louder this time. It wakes my dad.

“Marissa,” he says softly. “Get some rest.”

“I can’t. Not after what I did to our child,” she replies, tears forming in her eyes.

What is going on? Is she really that upset about this? No, she can’t be. Actually, she probably doesn’t even know about it. I haven’t told her yet… could she have figured it out?

“Mom, dad. I want you to understand. Please, give me the chance to ex–”

“It’s not your fault,” my father tells my mom firmly, interrupting me.

I blink. Why are they treating me like I’m invisible? I know I’ve put in a lot of effort to fade into the background my whole life, but I’m trying to say something really significant right now.

“I’m non-binary. I’m not a guy, I’m not a girl. I’m just me, and I don’t feel comfortable with either of those binary terms, and I don’t like my name and this is who I am. I’m the same person I’ve always been, okay? It’ll just be a bit of an adjustment,” I utter before I can back out.

Silence. My parents don’t even look at me or acknowledge my presence. My dad holds my mom in a tight hug and I wonder if I’ve even spoken or if I imagined it. 

Finally, my mom says, “You can’t tell me it’s not my fault, Michael. I reacted poorly. I started yelling. I’m the reason he ran out of the house. We lost our child because of me!” She’s screaming by the end.

Her words register. We lost our child…

“But I’m right here,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Then Dad tells Mom something equally strange. “He isn’t gone. I refuse to believe it.”

And something clicks in my brain. The loss of motivation. All the days on loop. My parents acting weird.

I’m not really here. They don’t see me or hear me, and neither does anyone else. What does that mean? Am I… dead? Did they really lose me?

I fall to my knees. My head is spinning. What is happening to me? Am I even real?

Then, a memory plays in my head, clear as day.

“I’m non-binary,” I say.

“What? You’re my son.” My mom is confused. “You have always been my son and you always will be.”

“I know you don’t understand, but I’m not a man. I prefer the term ‘non-binary’. And I don’t like the term ‘son’.”

My dad just stares at me, speechless. 

“Stop being ridiculous, Matty,” Mom says to me.

“Don’t call me that,” I mutter in reply.

“It’s your name,” she says, her voice gaining volume.

“I don’t like it.”

“It’s the name we gave you,” she states. 

“I’ve given it some thought, and I like the name ‘Allyn’.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m not calling you that. It’s not your name,” she scoffs. 

It escalates too quickly.

She’s yelling all too soon.

I can’t take it. So I run.

I run out of the house and down the street.

I need to get away from there. From her.

I cross the street without looking and…

Headlights. Pain. Darkness.

I can’t find my way back. I can’t go back to my house, to the scene in my parents’ bedroom, trying to come out. Because that’s not real. I don’t know what’s real, except that one memory. That memory happened. I came out, and then I ran away... but what happened next?

I’m stuck in a sea of black now. Darkness everywhere. I’m lost. I can’t move. Or talk. Or hear.

Wait. I can hear. I hear… the voice. The voice from my dreams. I hear a beautiful song. And I recognize the voice now. It’s my mom. She’s here, wherever I am. 

Then there’s another voice. 

“Any news?” I think it’s… Dad.

“The doctor should be in soon,” mom replies. 

Time passes. It could be seconds or minutes or days. I can’t tell. Probably a few minutes. Then a third voice announces, “There’s been a development. He’s been showing signs of regained consciousness.”

Then Mom says, “They. The right pronouns are they/them, I think.” A pause. “Are you saying there’s hope for our child For… Allyn?”

“Yes. I expect they’ll wake up soon.”

I recognize the sound of Mom crying, but it sounds happy this time. 

I’m stuck in the darkness for now, but I’m happy too.