ELLIS: [Spritzes the camera.]
———
[Caption: Day Five]
[Examining room at the clinic. The surgeon unwraps the final bandage from Ren’s chest in front of a mirror.]
REN: Oh my god. [Touches his chest tentatively.] Oh my god.
ELLIS: How do you feel?
REN: I don’t even know how to describe it. I feel like . . . a kid. Like I used to before all of this happened, all of this . . . wrongness. This wrong life. That’s me, Ellis. In the mirror. That’s who I’ve seen in my head all these years. It’s—are you crying?
ELLIS: [Sniffs.] No.
———
[Caption: Day Six]
REN: Back home. Still sore as hell. Just a quick update about—
[Distantly, a door slams.]
About that.
That’s Best Friend, and she’s pissed. Can’t blame her—I can’t take care of myself right now, our apartment is a wreck, the chores aren’t done, and I’m late on bills because I put every penny into this surgery.
The surgery she calls “cosmetic.”
And “an exercise in internalized misogyny.”
And “trying to fit in with the people you hate.”
I can blame her for making me feel like shit, at least.
[Jump cut.]
It’s really hard to transition when the people you love are fighting it. When it feels like you’re nonstop dropping burdens on them: the burden of understanding, the burden of caring, the burden of being happy for you. My therapist told me the trans people who are happiest are the ones who have solid social support.
The ones who don’t? Well, someone has to fill up those post-transition suicide statistics.
I never expected her to be thrilled about this, but I did expect some recognition of how good it’s been for me. How energized and optimistic I am on T, how much more myself. How miserable and depressed I am when my hormones slip back into girl mode.
When you love somebody—selflessly, unconditionally love them—their happiness is more important than your own. Even if what makes them happy hurts you.
My mother made it clear that her love is conditional. She said, “If you butcher yourself, you are no longer my daughter.”
Funny thing is, she still doesn’t get that I never was her daughter.
But my dear Best Friend—she’s never said it in those terms. She’s always been here at my side, catching me when I stumble, cleaning my wounds. She makes me feel strong and weak at the same time. Because through it all I sense her disapproval, her judgment. How ecstatic she’d be if I turned around tomorrow and said, “I was wrong. I’m a girl after all.”
Sometimes I think she’s fucking toxic. That she’d rather destroy us both than let me be happy without her.
And sometimes, part of me wants to let it happen. To self-destruct with her.
What a couple of fuckups.
———
[Caption: Day Thirty]
[Ren stands in a friend’s apartment, shirtless. His surgery scars have faded to thin red lines. Vada sketches tattoo plans on his chest with a marker while Blythe and Ellis watch. Ellis scowls.]
REN: Is all of this touching necessary?
VADA: Oh, I’m sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable?
REN: I’m enjoying the hell out of it, actually. But I don’t think Ellis is.
ELLIS: It’s fine. Vada’s a professional artist. This is—
VADA: [Under her breath.] Part of her process.
ELLIS: —part of her process.
REN: [Laughs.]
ELLIS: What?
VADA: Nothing, nerd. Don’t be jealous. I only have eyes for you.
ELLIS: And Ren’s torso.
REN: Hey, male torsos need love, too.
BLYTHE: Bloody hell they do. They could put yours on a romance novel cover as the main character.
REN: That’s the dream.
ELLIS: How are you that buff?
REN: Girls give me a good workout.
BLYTHE: Sex is cardio, you manwhore.
REN: Not when you’re lifting them against a wall.
VADA: [Laughs.]
BLYTHE: Don’t encourage him, V. We’re trying to mold him into a decent bloke.
VADA: I thought you said there were no decent men.
BLYTHE: Yes, but he needs something to aspire to.
REN: Ladies, you realize I can hear you, right?
BLYTHE: Be quiet and flex.
REN: [Flexes his chest.]
VADA: Whoa.
BLYTHE: Be still my bloody heart.
ELLIS: I don’t get it. It’s just muscle. What’s the big deal?
BLYTHE: You’re a lesbian, love. It’s like giving a fish a bicycle.
ELLIS: [Narrows her eyes.]
VADA: What about here? [Taps the center of Ren’s chest.] This one should be special.
ELLIS: Aren’t all tattoos special? They’re permanent.
VADA: I mean extra-special, pajarito. Like the one I gave you.
ELLIS: [Blushes.]
BLYTHE: Oh, there’s a story there.
ELLIS: No there isn’t. And don’t you dare tell them, Vada.
VADA: [Grins.]
REN: Blythe doesn’t have a tat there yet.
VADA: Wait, has everyone seen Blythe with her shirt off?
BLYTHE: Yep.
REN: Yep.
ELLIS: [Bites her lip.]
BLYTHE: And yep. Anyway, I’m saving my heart.
REN: For what?
BLYTHE: For whom.
REN: Some poor girl who’ll never know what hit her?