Alex as Well (8 page)

I HAVEN’T MADE an appointment, but Crockett agrees to squeeze me in. When I go into his office, the desk is deeper in files. There is now a pile on the floor. There’s a dead pot plant on the filing cabinet. His eyebrows look even wilder. There’s a ladder in the corner, and the door to his office has been painted in a fresh coat of exactly what it was before. He has paint on his knuckles. He sees me noticing.

‘Renovating,’ he says, rolling his eyes, or maybe he’s looking at the ceiling or at the rooms upstairs. I can’t tell.

‘I’m glad you came back. It should be fairly straightforward. I will apply to the court to have a new birth certificate issued. The judge may want to talk to you.’

I nod, taking a seat.

‘There is law in this area. It has been successful in the past when the judge felt that denying the application
would put the applicant’s life in danger.’

How could their life be in danger? ‘What do you mean?’

He folds his hands. ‘When the judge felt the applicant may self-harm,’ he clarified. ‘The questions from the judge may tend in that direction. You might need to see a psychologist.’

I lean back in my chair. ‘You mean I should tell the judge that if I don’t get a new birth certificate that says I am a girl I will top myself? Isn’t that, like, holding the judge to ransom?’

‘Would you?’ He tilts his head to the side like a bird. ‘Self-harm, I mean?’

‘It hasn’t even crossed my mind.’

It has, though. Just between you and me. You know that expression, ‘dying from embarrassment’? After the thing that happened at the other school, it did cross my mind. I can’t even bear to think about it. Think about something else, quick. Think about Amina.

I try smiling, but my lip twitches.

Crockett feels sorry for me. He pretends to be writing notes, but I think he is doodling. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that,’ he says. ‘When I looked it up, I saw there have been several cases where applicants needed to have their new sex on their passports because they were going overseas specifically to have their gender reassigned surgically. Do you think you will be pursuing surgery when you’re older?’

I blush, ‘I um, don’t need to.’

‘You what?’ He is surprised. ‘I’m sorry to pry, but I need to know the particulars.’

‘The particulars?’

Crockett is asking about our noodle, Alex explains.

‘I have…’ I’m struggling. ‘Well, I don’t have a scrotum. At all. I have…More of…What I mean is, what I refer to as…’

Crockett waits, biting his lip. He is pulling the yicky face. Weirdly fascinated, the way he would look at road kill.

‘And I have started to grow breasts, I think. Since…’

Since you stopped taking the medication, Alex finishes. I go redder, but not because I am embarrassed. We’re putting two and two together. I think again about my parents and what they told me.

Because
she
called it my noodle, when I was small. That’s her word. They sat me down and said I was a bit different to other boys.

You think? Alex drawls.

But don’t worry about it, she said. Everyone has parts that are different. Some people have more hair than others, some people have different-coloured eyes, or harelips, or birthmarks. My noodle was like a birthmark. I have to take the medication because I am a bit different to other boys. Lots of people take pills or tablets for lots of reasons. Daddy takes them for his blood pressure. Most people take some kind of medication, they told me.

I just hadn’t joined the dots before. Medication… and…being…a…boy.

I start again. ‘Let me just say that I have looked up normal parts, and what I have is a…foot in each camp.’

‘Right,’ he says, blankly. ‘But, where do you…’

‘Where do I…’ I wait.

He’s clicking his pen against his teeth. ‘Where do you urinate from, I mean. Because if you wee from an appendage, then you would be male, and if you wee from not your appendage then you would be female, right? I mean, it’s kind of, physiologically, kind of…’ He trails off again.

I sigh. ‘It would probably be easier if I showed you.’ I stand up, putting my hand on the fly of my shorts.

‘No!’ He pushes back from the desk.

‘Want me to draw you a picture?’ I offer.

‘No, please!’ His eyes are wide with panic. His cheeks have gone red.

I peel a post-it note from off his desk. ‘I’m going to draw you a picture.’

‘Alex! Please don’t. It’s not appropriate.’

‘Not appropriate?’ I keep talking while I draw. ‘It’s appropriate, because I’ve always been told not to talk about it, and that’s how things—important things—got missed, like that I am a girl. So it
is
appropriate, Mr Crockett.’

He is holding up a manila folder in front of his face like a shield.

‘I know I’m a freak,’ I continue. ‘That’s not what this is about. The reason I am here is not because I
want
to be a girl. I’m here asking for your help because I
am
a girl.’ I slap the post-it on the desk.

Crockett holds the picture at arm’s length, squinting, his lips turned down. ‘And this is to scale, is it?’

I narrow my eyes. ‘Are you trying to be funny?’

Crockett freezes. ‘No, I…I…’ he stammers.

I laugh. ‘Anyway, like I said, I don’t think I need surgery. I don’t think what’s there really needs changing. I don’t know if it would help my case, but there would probably be medical records or something, because I went to doctors when I was younger. But then there was this one time there were so many people looking, and my mum cracked the shits, and after that I didn’t have to have the examinations anymore.’

Crockett is mortified by this whole conversation, but he’s doing his best. He clears his throat and writes notes.

While we’re going to embarrassing places, ‘I can’t pay you,’ I tell him.

He looks up from his notes to the piles of crap on his desk. ‘Can you paint?’ he asks.

I’M SMILING TO myself on the train. I have a job. I’ll be painting Crockett’s place for four hours every Saturday afternoon until it’s done. It’s not glamorous, but it’s a job. My first job.

Rrroxanne.

I can’t wait to tell the girls. I’m wondering if I should ’fess up and say I’m just painting, or whether I could tell them I am doing work experience at a solicitor’s office. Amina would be more impressed by that. She will assume it’s because I want to be a lawyer.

But now I’m going home, and I get an unpleasant rumble in my guts because I think my parents know a lot more about me than they’ve been telling me.

For example, says Alex, if you don’t take your medication you’ll turn into a girl.

Because that would suggest that ‘girl’ is the default setting, wouldn’t it? I mean, what the hell is going on here?

I shift in my seat. I need to prepare myself to ask them.

What are you going to say? Alex says.

Hey, Mum, am I supposed to be a girl? Did you know that all along? So why are you totally freaking out, now that I want to be a girl? Shouldn’t you have been expecting this?

Why are they insisting that I’m a boy? Why can’t they just let me be a girl? I don’t get it.

There is sweat on my upper lip. My heart is beating too fast. I pull my sleeves over my knuckles and curl my fists into a ball. I’m not sure what is happening to me.

I’m frightened, I tell Alex.

Me too, he says.

It’s sprinkling a little. I can see my reflection in the window. I’m pretending to look outside, but I’m actually looking at me, and then I blink because I’m not sure at first, but it looks like there is a hair growing from the end of my chin. It’s thick and sharp. I slap my hand over it.

Has that been there all day? Longer? Shit, man!

Pull it out, Alex suggests.

But I can’t, because what if it doesn’t come out? And people will see me tugging on my chin. Dammit!

Calm down.

Calm down? I look like friggen Gandalf!

Ok, then keep your hand over your chin all the way home.

My phone trills and I pull it out of my pocket. ‘Whoolia!’ I say, plastering on a grin, because I heard
somewhere that you sound more confident if you smile when you answer the phone.

I’ll tell her I’m an intern. That’s what I’ll say.

I keep my thumb on my beard.

It’s not a beard, it’s one hair.

It’s a goddamn beard!

‘S’up?’

‘Are you a lesbo?’ she asks.

I breathe in sharply. I put my hand over my chest, willing my heart to slow down, but I can still feel it thumping.

Ty.

I can imagine them sitting around in the playground. Ty would have told one of his mates who would have told another one of his mates and soon everyone would have known. I
knew
he would. Why did I tell him?

Because you wanted the attention, Alex says. You’re different. You wanted Ty to know you’re different. And it’s like the canary in the coal mine. If he can care about you anyway, even if you’re different, then maybe they can all love you despite the other thing. The ones that matter, anyway.

Amina. Except she won’t. Everything is black and white for her. It’s like she doesn’t even see the Earl and Lady of Grey. Her brain doesn’t work that way.

Amina would say it was none of their business. Julia would say, ‘I’m going to ask her,’ and then she would have pulled out her phone while the others protested.
She would have held it out of Sierra’s reach. Sierra would have clawed at her arm, laughing. Amina would have been embarrassed and looked the other way.

‘Well, is she?’ Sierra asks in the background.

From the seat opposite Alex nods at me. Because it will make me sound more honest, he argues. Because the truth is that I
am
into girls.

‘Yes, I am,’ I say. ‘Is that a problem?’

I’m a lesbo.

There is a pause. ‘I guess not,’ she says.

When Julia hangs up I sit with my eyes closed waiting for my heart to slow into a steady rhythm. I’m still sweating. I feel like I’ve had three double-shot espressos.

I’ve lost Julia. She says she doesn’t care but she does. I don’t know about the others, but Julia cares big time. She’s got the whole Catholic thing going on.

What the hell is this, anyway?

You’re having an anxiety attack, Alex says.

Oh, of course. I’ve had these before. I take deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. When my heart and my temperature finally come down, I send a text to Ty.

Ur a tool.

Quick as a flash he texts back.

So what? Ur still a rockstar.

Which makes me smile. Lyrics from the Pink song. See? Ty doesn’t care. We could be friends. We
are
friends. He gets me. Should I write back?

Alex shakes his head slowly. He looks so sad.

Why?

Because Ty’s not your friend. You asked him to keep a secret—a big secret—and he let you down. That’s not what friends do.

But I knew he wouldn’t keep it.

That’s not the point. He let you down.

I think for a moment. Who hasn’t let me down? Everybody lets you down eventually.

AT HOME I don’t want to be with
them
. I’m not ready to have that conversation yet. I go straight to my room and, inspired by Ty, put on some Pink. I lie on my bed kajinking around the pockets of my jacket. I think about texting Amina, just to find out if we are still friends.

I tap compose about a million times, and then freeze.

What are you going to say? Alex asks.

Not something that could be misunderstood.

My mother knocks at the door at five-minute intervals to tell me my dinner’s ready. I have told her I’m not hungry. Finally, I whisk the door open and she takes a step back. She has a plate of French toast smothered in maple syrup and powdered sugar.

She’s holding the plate to the side and looking at me in this weird way, as if I am kind of amusing and manageable only from a distance, but close up, a bit bigger than she was expecting and with potential to be dangerous,
like a zoo animal.

Pink shouts at her from over my shoulder.

(So what? I’m still a rockstar. I got my rock moves. And I don’t need you.)

‘I said I’m not hungry.’

‘Why don’t you just try a little bit?’ she asks, trying to hand me the plate, but I don’t want it.

‘I’m fine,’ I tell her.

‘Take it, or I’m going to drop it,’ she says, holding the plate out at arm’s length.

‘Mum,’ I begin.

‘Quick, I’m going to let it go.’ The plate wavers in the air for a moment, and then she drops it. I watch it as if it’s in slow motion. It flips in the air, and lands facedown on the carpet.

‘Now look what you’ve done!’ she says, shocked and fretful.

It crosses my mind to say, I told you I didn’t want it. But what’s the point? Instead, I shut the door.

My mother hammers on it. ‘You’ve hurt my feelings!’ she shrieks. ‘Alex? I made that special dinner for you, and you’ve hurt my feelings! And now you can clean up this mess, young…’ There is a pause. ‘Just clean this mess up!’

I turn the music up. And sing, ‘Guess what? I’m having more fun. And now that we’re done, I’m going to show you.’

I heart Pink, I tell Alex, picking up a belt and kajinking silver studs along the edges. You know why? I
feel like I know her. Don’t you feel like you could hang with Pink? She just lays it all out, and she doesn’t care what people think.

Alex has his head in his hands.

What? he says.

I dunno, I say. Sometimes I feel like I have no control over anything, you know? Like Julia. I don’t know why I care. We’re not even that close, but I wanted her to like me. I enjoyed the Whoolia high-five, air-kiss thing. It made me feel like I belonged somewhere.

At last my mother goes away. I open the door a crack. The upturned plate is still there on the carpet.

Are we going to clean it up? I ask.

He shrugs. He is more worried about what will happen when I go to school tomorrow. Maybe they won’t even care.

I tap compose again and I write,
hey you,
pressing send quickly before I can change my mind.

Then I stare at the screen for the next ten minutes. Ok, two minutes, but it feels like ten minutes.

Nothing.

That was stupid, Alex tells me. Isn’t it worse knowing that she doesn’t want to speak to you?

Twenty real minutes later Amina still hasn’t answered.

I feel awful in my guts, as if I have eaten a bad hotdog. Because we’re really alone, Alex and I. At least I used to have my fantasies about Amina to keep me company.

I hold up my ka-jinked jacket against my chest.

Alex snorts. That’s so lame. It’s pathetic. It’s like something a five-year-old would do.

Maybe he’s right. You know what it looks like? I say, giggling. It looks exactly like I have attacked my clothes with bedazzler’s cheap-arse cousin!

Alex looks away from me. He’s embarrassed because he’s crying.