The Phantom
By: Stella Luna, They She
Tags: Transgender, Friendship, Identity, LGBTQ, Fiction

The Phantom

Eddie finally lets out her biggest secret, forcing her to learn how to be again.

cw: transphobia, homophobia, slurs

When I moved to New York, I knew exactly what I was getting into. I didn’t want to act like it was going to be the same as all those well-lit Brooklyn apartment tours all over YouTube, lo-fi piano music playing in the background. While it would have been nice to have a boom-bap beat as the soundtrack to me finally starting over, it just wasn’t realistic. Instead, every morning began with the sound of construction, jackhammers smashing sidewalks while sedans blared songs over their shitty 2003 sound systems. With the little money I saved, though, even just scraping by was better than where I was before. I just had to get out and fast.

My situation wasn’t the absolute worst, but my small town in North Carolina was anything but home. In high school, I was always reserved, my head deep into some sort of book that I was pretending to read to be left alone. One ear always had some sort of music playing in it before and between classes so that I could feign not hearing someone when they tried to talk to me. As much as I tried to disappear, there were always some people that liked me for my cloistered sensitivity. I think some of them thought I was gay and just wanted a GBF.

Over time, I just started to accept the rumors and presuppositions about me. I kept my distance and they kept theirs, and that was fine with me. The only person who I actually connected with was my best friend at the time, Kaylee. A born actress and singer, her whole personality resonated off every wall, whether you wanted to hear it or not. She didn’t care, either. While I wasn’t too keen on even basic mishaps and disappointments turning into life-shattering events from the way she told her stories, she was nice to me and accepted my shyness. I never had much to say, and she was much more interesting, anyway. She said it herself. A small town can be constricting, but with the right people you feel less alone. I, on the other hand, was trapped in a much worse way. I was trapped inside myself.

Photo by Tim Hüfner on Unsplash

It’s all incredibly cliche, but towards the middle of my sophomore year of high school, I found out that I was not gay at all. I was bi, but beyond that, I was trans. That night, standing on the dingy faded linoleum of my bathroom floor, I looked myself dead in the eyes and said “I am a woman.” And, it felt good. So good, in fact, that I tried everything in my power to fumigate and exterminate all the butterflies that started bubbling up in my guts. Even flooding them with tears that had been dammed for 16 years wasn’t enough to keep them down.

My family, though doting and kind, were determined to make me a man. Of course, this was before I even said I was trans. I was enlisted into the ranks of little league sports of all kinds. When I wasn’t sliding through mud to get to whatever goal post I was supposed to get into, my dad would take me for ice cream and we’d have “fireside chats,” as he called them. It always entailed life lessons for “men,” like how to be a good husband, respectful to others (to women in a more chauvinistic way, but still), and how to stand up for yourself. Obviously, these are qualities for everyone (except the first one), and one dark October night in my junior year stopped these fireside chats completely… and every other chat.

Photo by Federico Respini on Unsplash

We sat around our small, splintery table that my dad made years and years ago, shoveling mom’s famous (Kraft) mac and cheese and broccoli into our mouths. Every day since that night in the bathroom, I prayed to a God at night that I knew I didn’t believe in just to see if he’d make me into a girl, or at least let my family accept me. Well, it didn’t quite go like that at all.

“I saw Eddie here eyeing the cashier as we were checking out. I was almost tempted to invite her over! I don’t want kids, but I want you to get out there Eddie, so I’d give you a free-”

“John, what are you saying to him? My little baby is still just that- my baby boy, and he won’t grow up until I tell him to.” responded my mom in put-on anger, thinly veiling the smile underneath. The moment was so normal that I almost felt bad breaking it up, but I just couldn’t wait any longer. It’s funny how we feel like an inconvenience, even though the people we think we’re making uncomfortable might kick us out on the street in the next 5 minutes. I could feel my heartbeat in my eyes, and the table almost started spinning. I couldn’t even fake a chuckle like I usually do… Instead, I just blurted out,

“I’m not your baby boy. I’ve felt this way for a while now and… I’m… a girl.”

The last two words barely fell off my lips. I wish they were like crumbs that just landed in my lap, unnoticed, to be swept into the cracks in the floorboards. But, no, something like that is not to be swept away. The silence peeled away at me. The sweat on my forehead felt like it froze over. I could almost hear the whispers of the last leaves shaking as they clung to the skeletal branches, the animals around the house eavesdropping on our private moments.

My parents sat shocked, mouths agape for at least a minute. It could’ve been an hour, though. Maybe days. It was like they were rubbernecking an accident, but as their faces shifted, it was like one of the drivers was caught driving drunk. I was to blame for this ax thrown into our family tree. I was the mistake. The bitterness on their faces told me everything I need to know. I almost got up to pack my bags until I heard the faint creaks of my mother trying to say something.

“No… Edward… no son of mine is going to be like one of those… things. Those faggots.” the venom practically seeped into the mac and cheese in front of her, now ice cold.

“I didn’t raise you to be like this. What did we do wrong?” my father asked, comforting my mother who started to whimper, face in hands. I didn’t know what to say. Long story short, that dinner was one of the worst of my life. I asked if they were going to kick me out, but instead, they just said this:

“We aren’t family anymore. It’s for the better if we just tell everyone that you ran away from home. You can stay here, but you better be paying us rent. We don’t care how you get the money, but if you can’t, then you’re out. It pains us to say it, but unless you start being our son again, you’re just going to be our unwelcome roommate. We clearly didn’t know you, and since you felt like you could lie to us like this, we’re just giving you what you deserve.”

That was a summary, but you get it. The same thing started to happen at school. I texted Kaylee in a moment of emotional franticness, desperate for any sort of approval. She said it was a lot to process, but she’d be ok with it. I guess that was acting, too, because not only did she refuse to even look at me when I tried meekly waving at her from my desk, but the rumor of my identity somehow got around to every single person in school. That includes the faculty.

Photo by Rubén Rodriguez on Unsplash

It was as if I wasn’t there. Even some amount of bullying may have been better because at least I’d be acknowledged. I got a couple of slurs muttered my way under their breath, but besides that, I was the ghost I wanted to become so badly just days before. Now, I wanted anything but. I was towards the top of my class, but all my assignments came back graded much lower than usual. I no longer was called diligent, kind, and smart by my teachers. Instead, I was ignored even when my hand was up. So, I stopped caring. If I was gonna make rent, I needed an after school job. I biked 20 minutes to and from a McDonald’s every day. My parents raised the rent ten dollars every month until I was paying an exorbitant $750, which was way more than our dump was worth. Instead of going to college, I knew that I needed to get out.

While everyone else was graduating from high school, I was pawning the last of my unnecessary belongings. Whatever didn’t fit in my suitcase had to go. I already booked the bus ticket to Port Authority, found a shitty apartment in Brooklyn, and had enough money to last at least a week or two before finding a job. I didn’t arouse any suspicion in my parents, because they never looked in my room or talked to me at all. Finally, the night came, June 27th. I took my favorite Red Hot Chili Peppers poster off my wall, not caring about the tacky mess I was leaving behind. My room looked like a tornado hit it, but they’d never see that anyway. I closed the heavy wooden door behind me for the last time, careful not to have let my rolling bag bump against the stairs and wake them up. The clock read 1:06, which gave me enough time to walk to the station and catch the 2:35 bus to New York. I had no idea where I was going, but anything was better than being nothing here.

Photo by Juan Encalada on Unsplash

Five months later, I managed to snag a full-time position at what my parents would call a part-time job. My barista apron cinched me at the waist a bit, a development I was proud of due to the fact that I couldn’t’ start hormones yet. My shaggy blonde hair now fell just above my chin, lovingly tied into the saddest excuse of a ponytail you’d ever see. But, it was my ponytail. Besides talking to customers, old habits die hard. Most of my coworkers know nothing more about me than the name that’s written on my tag: Eddie (I kinda liked my nickname, to be honest). After work, I’d go straight home to my dingy little flat. But it was something I could call mine, after months of being treated like I was just a specter.

On the way home every day, I popped into a thrift store and sheepishly made my way over more and more to the women’s section every day. Braving the chilly winter air, the shop was a perfect, warm midway point to escape to. I started off by browsing the men’s section on the first day. A worker in a bright, vintage milkmaid top asked if I needed help. I was so flustered that I ran out, barely sputtering the words “no, thanks.” Over time, I worked my way across the store, finally settling on the blouse section. I’d never shopped for women’s clothes before, and my heart was almost beating as hard as it was when I came out to my parents. Practically nobody was in the store, but I felt like the moment that I touched those clothes, I’d be on the news for being a “freaky gender-variant pedophile” as my parents gently put it when I was still in the closet.

I approached the shiny metal racks, a stark contrast to the jewel tones and neutral clothing hanging on them. The first thing that caught my eye was a pink and white blouse, striped vertically with bell sleeves. I didn’t know how women’s sizes worked at the time, but I assumed a large would work for me. I almost didn’t want to ruin the material, as if me touching it would make the whole thing burn up. As I tentatively reached my hand out, a presence manifested itself behind me.

Photo by Anastase Maragos on Unsplash

“Is everything ok?” a voice asked me, sounding like lavender. That’s the only way I could describe it, deep, yet soft and sweet. A woman just a bit taller than me stood before me, probably almost 6’1”. I didn’t want to stare, but I couldn’t help it. She was gorgeous, and while I was programmed to think it was rude to think this, I was pretty sure she was a girl just like me. Her mary janes were polished and shiny black, slightly darker than the tights that went all the way up to her mid-thigh. A beautiful skater dress, light red, and sturdy with a circle zipper all the way down the front, adorned her body. She was a bit broader like me and absolutely stunning.

“I don’t mean to pry, and I’m sorry if this is rude… but… uh… you just look like… me. I mean, me when I first started on my journey to look like this. Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I… I… uh… yeah.” I responded sheepishly, turning redder than even the tomato colored blouse I was staring at to not look her in the eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I don’t mean to embarrass you. I really just want to ask… do you want me to help you find some clothes?” she asked, lowering herself down to my gaze. Her eyes were hazel, her face round and friendly, framed by gorgeous lilac-colored hair.

“I… if you want…” was all I could get out, but I was beyond grateful. I could feel the tears coming, but she already turned around to curate a closet for me. Luckily, I managed to wipe my eyes and wait for her. She introduced herself, Mary, and she gushed about every little thing in her life. She sent me over and over into the dressing room, spewing stories about nightmare customers, club nights, and more until I came out. I felt afraid, but not around her for some reason. With every garment, I got more and more adventurous. So did she, as every new garment was more feminine and revealing. With every pull of the curtain, she would gasp and cheer me on.

As the shop neared closing, I thanked her and started to leave empty handed. As much as I wanted some of those clothes, I could barely afford ramen for myself tonight. She urged me to hold on and rushed to the back of the store, where the other employees had gone to get ready to head out. I could hear some laughter and almost felt the smiles in their voices as they all headed out to the front, bags in hand. I assumed this was the stuff they brought to work, but when they began shutting off the lights, they handed me the bags. I was so shocked I dropped them right on the floor.

“What are you doing? We… some of us who work here have been in your shoes. I’ve been in your shoes. It’s hard. Hard as hell, and I don’t wanna assume your situation but I’m sure it’s not the prettiest… You look not a hair over 18, and I was even younger when I went on my own. So… we wanted to get you some stuff to feel more like… yourself,” she said, a maternal smile creeping across her face. Her coworkers stood behind her, smiling sheepishly as well.

“I… I can’t…. Accept…” and that’s all I got before I burst into tears. After months and months of turning myself off for my own protection, settling for being ignored over being abhorred, she finally saw me. I’m not invisible.

For so long, I felt completely and utterly alone. I got used to the cold of it all, not even thinking I could have anything but. I could finally feel something warm, though, wrapped around me. I rubbed my eyes, panicking a bit that I wasn’t in my apartment. Then I remembered: we all went back to Mary’s and just talked all night. She fell asleep with her arm around my waist, using me as a pillow. I didn’t even care that her foundation had stained the shit out of my shirt. She could do it forever for all I care because she’s shown me that I’m going to be ok. I’m gonna be ok.