So, What's Your Name?

It wasn’t always like this.

Butterflies used to soar when I would hear the name Makaela. Grasshoppers used to sing melodic harmonies when I would hear the name Makaela. But not anymore.

I now look myself in the mirror, gaze drifting off the parts I felt a passionate hatred towards; it was my chest, my curves, my hairless body that aggravated me to the point of tears. Fingers would curl up into my scalp, begging to rip out every bit of hair that was attached; maybe it will make me feel like a person. Maybe it will make me love myself more- but after many horrid attempts, my scalp felt defeated, and I was back at square one. It never worked. 

I now listen to myself in recordings, ears fixated on every high pitch that would crack like fireworks, dropping in like a new hot tune. I hated it. I disliked it. I wanted to hear it become static- maybe I’d like it more. 

It wasn’t always like this, so what was wrong with me? Maybe if I closed my eyes long enough, it would all disappear- these foolish insecurities, these foolish thoughts. Maybe I could love myself more.

But it didn’t work like that. As years passed by, the feeling only worsened; hyperventilation in the shower as my eyes stare at my nude skin and body, head spinning as my body fit into tight, uncomfortable skirts, my curves quite present in the fabric, unable to get lost between the material- it was a prominent body part that grasped everyone's attention. I hated it. I hated it all.

However, hatred never laid within my reach; not at the mention of boy things. No, the idea of living like them created a lightning-like excitement coursing through my sturdy veins. Wearing boxers, wearing shorts, wearing basic t-shirts, having shorter hair- these are all things I began doing in my lonesome, habits forming within my brain. Instead of preparing myself for the outdoors by curling my hair, I reached for the short-haired wig. Instead of reaching for the dress and high heels, my hand shook towards the tank top and pants, fingers sinking into the fabric, easing against the material. No longer did I shake. And I loved it. But what was this?

I couldn’t be a boy- I was a girl! I had an opening down there- a genital opening, delicately crafted, for the purpose of birth! I had these two large globes of adipose tissue resting atop my chest! So why did I feel comforted by these activities? Maybe there was something I could do to stop myself; desperate times call for desperate measures, and at this point, I was nothing more than a desperate kitten, yearning for a mother to drink milk from. Maybe I should just-

And then I heard it. A knock at my door, sounding like vanilla bean and ice cream- it was light and sweet, a tune being carried across the hallway of my apartment. And by that delicate knock, my brain had smirked, knowing exactly who came to my door. 

“What’s up, sexy?”

The words casually rolled off my tongue, and he laughed- god did it sound amazing. “Oh, nothing, just waiting for someone to open the door. I wonder…will I be accepted into the grand home of Makaela’s-” I loudly winced upon hearing the name, hand rubbing my elbow, and for a moment, I thought I heard a hum, “the grand home of my darling friend? Or will I rot here for an eternity, waiting upon the sight of her long hair?”  

At first, I giggled, feeling my tummy turn and curve at the words of ‘darling’, but then, my blood turned ice-cold when hearing the friend bit, stomach releasing on in itself, dropping down, and yet, I felt the urge to release every item of food I’ve eaten. Why was that? I have confusion about my life now. What are all these emotions? 

And then, I snapped out of it upon hearing the pronoun her. She/her/hers/herself…it all makes me want to scream and cry and dive and disappear without a trace. “No!” I exclaimed, shaking my head, to which Logan took a few steps back, to which I could tell from the gentle taps heard against the pavement of the hallway. 

“Oh uh-” Logan paused, humming once more. “Can we talk?” he questioned, to which I strayed to the door, hand shaking on the doorknob, slowly turning it with a creek. But as he looked at me, he found a fascination, to which I tilted my head.

I couldn’t help but wonder what was wrong.

“Y-you look…nice,” he whispered, cheeks a rosy pink, and I felt my insides tighten at the compliment. “I m-mean, not that you don’t always look nice…I mean, you look better!! Uh-” he stared at his feet, shaking his head. “I should shut up…” he ended, to which I giggled.

Motioning him over, I smiled warmly, eyes trailing over a nearby mirror, seeing my reflection, causing me to blush- no one was supposed to see me in my ‘dress-up’. “I think you should continue. You sound cute, admiring my beauty. Finally, someone with sense~!”

Logan laughed, and I smiled at the melody. It was like bells ringing, after a ceremony. It was like the softness of a cello, and yet, it had sharp inhales- if I could associate him with any instrument, it would be a cello. Something about him made me tingle, just like how I get at the symphony of cellos. “Well…” he started after a while of thinking. “Ah, it’s nothing.” he shook his head, but then began once more. “Actually, may I take you out for a walk?” he requested, creating a stir of anxiety and curiosity within me.

“Yeah, let me just change-” 

The brunette male had chuckled, knuckles digging into the softness of my false hair strands. “You look perfect. It’s just a little walk, I’m not inviting you to dinner!!” he had joked, though I wished he hadn’t; a dinner with him, just like old times, would be divine. But I let him. 

I let him coax me into going out, and through the excitement of spending time with him, I forgot all about my dignity, and hopped over on into my sandals; he had a smirk on his lips that made me want to kiss him and-

Wait. That wasn’t a platonic thought.

I rapidly shook my head, refusing to think such thoughts, to which Logan questioned with his features, but I didn’t allow that to ruin me like poison. “W-where are we off to?” I had asked him, and he grabbed my hand, and maybe, just maybe, I might have let myself savor the feeling of his large, warm hands in mine- it felt like a newly boiled egg, and goodness, did it fill me with an alluring sense never felt before.  

“Surprise!!” he exclaimed, hollering as he ran down the stairs of the apartment, ignoring the way his feet would glide against the floor, my chest uncomfortably hopping up and down with each strut of my legs. I don’t like this, I told myself. I don’t like the feeling of my chest…

But the longer my hands fit into his, the more I loved the feeling of running. I felt free. Maybe I was, with Logan. Or maybe I was just safe. Either way, my heart beat, and it felt like each thump was hand-crafted for him. Each drum-like throb created a wrecking ball of emotions, hitting me and destroying me as I got re-built with something softer- perhaps it was cotton, or maybe a sweeter something; perhaps it was cotton candy. 

“We’re here!” he yelled out, and I examined every rim of existence.

Plastic of slides shone and shimmered in the summer light; squinting, I tried to search for a meaning behind this, but as Logan let go of my hand and ran towards a falling child, I knew what he wished for in this moment. He craved the innocence of a child. 

So he brought me to a playground. Maybe he wished for me to bring out my inner innocence, too. But for now, I watched as Logan held onto the poor youngster, staring as the minor limped towards their guardian, to which the parent thanked Logan, grateful expressions displayed across their face. 

“Don’t think too much,” Logan said at his returnal, poking at my side, chuckles sounding like honey; it dripped slowly, but spread everywhere, and you can’t forget it. Yet, upon hearing his voice, I startled, eyes widening as a line of curses escaped my button-like lips. To this, he only laughed. 

Maybe this is home. This is safety. Maybe this is love, I thought, looking at Logan with something I had always felt with him; admiration? Desire? Whatever it was, I couldn’t help but sink into it, loving it, clinging to it. “So, what’s up?”

I tilted my head, feeling a crack from the tense muscles, letting out a soft groan. “What do you mean what’s up to me? You’re the one inviting me out!” I exclaimed, feeling a buzz of confusion bubbling in my head, dizziness following afterward. 

“You think I haven’t noticed?”

Suddenly, it was like all the breath escaped my lungs, finding an oasis to reside outside of my body; did he realize what feelings I’ve had for him? Did he realize my feelings for myself?

“The recent hesitation with your name, the clothes, the less and less showering…you know, I notice these things.”

This was it. This was the part he never would want to speak to me, would leave me. This is where-

-he said what??

“-hello? Did you hear me?” Logan urged, a hand on my shoulder. I shook my head in response. “I said…you must be like me.”

I stared. Then laughed, and giggled, and snorted. “Like you? What do you mean?” I asked, noticing the way his lips curled into a frown, eyebrows knitted together, short hair falling atop his forehead, flat chest- oh how I wanted so desperately to lay across such a flat chest- rising and falling. 

Quickly looking around, Logan invited me over underneath the slides, hiding underneath the shade, motioning me over quickly. “I need to show you something,” he whispered, voice shaking, but I couldn’t understand what was wrong; and so, I nodded my head, hand reaching out for his, but I stopped myself from connecting the two. “This is me,” he revealed, lifting his shirt up to show me the ragged yet healed scars of a recent surgery- maybe one or two years ago, before we met. 

But to my oblivion, I gasped. “You had open heart surgery?” I had asked, and he laughed, shaking his head. 

“I’m transgender. These are my scars for my breast removal.”

Suddenly, everything clicked into place; it was like the world cleaned its lenses, the puzzle pieces were turned the right way round. The ways he would wince at the arrival of clothing stores, the ways he would buy me feminine hygiene and menstruation products. He was born in the wrong body. 

Was this normal?

Was it normal for me to feel like this?

Feeling a brush against my forehead, I looked up, and noticed Logan worriedly staring at me, hand fanning my facial features. “Those were my warning signs, too. Either that, or you’re depressed as fuck-” Logan joked, but had a serious expression on his face. “You don’t have to tell me now, but if you ever need someone to talk to about th-”

“I’m transgender!”

Logan looked up, startled, eyes wide at the confession, watching as my hand clasped my mouth. “Congratulations; that’s called ‘coming out’!!” he smirked, and I bit my lip at the sight. 

Slowly, we crawled out from the shade, only to realize that outside had a shade as well- clouds had covered up the town like a headscarf on a religious woman. 

“So, what’s your name?”

“I’m Makae-” I stopped myself; it didn’t feel right.

The question was obvious. I’m trans- finally I can accept it- but had I ever thought of a name? What name felt like me?

So instead, I smiled, feeling free once more; maybe I knew my name. “Call me Timothy,” I announced, and at the end of my declaration, a familiar sound rang in my ears- a rough, tough ‘boom!’ resonated throughout the park, and soon, a strike of light zapped from afar, the tingling sensation bursting through my body. This felt right, I grinned, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Well then, Timothy, care to dance?”

Now, this question was less obvious. I’m an adult- what can I do with random dancing in the middle of a playground? But I was here, and Logan was here, too- so I took the chance. 

Together, we grabbed one another’s hand, and danced. We danced to the feeling of freedom. We danced to the feeling of acceptance. We danced to the feeling of friendship. We danced to the feeling of love. As we danced, and danced, my wig slipped off shortly. But we never stopped, not even when little droplets of sweat formed. But we never stopped, not even when little splashes of water appeared on our forearms. We never stopped, not even when the little splashes turned into a downpour of water, getting my clothes soaking, but we didn’t care. 

The cool water felt magnificent against my sticky, wet skin.

And then, I had the mighty idea to whisper a confession. 

“Lo?”

“Yeah, darling?”

“I love you.”