Be a girl

James was his usual jovial self for the rest of the week, which pleased me. Although I couldn’t help but dread the upcoming weekend. I had a plan to help with the stress my little brother experienced from being treated as a girl, alongside a plan to confront our mother about her treatment of James. I had little faith in the latter plan, but I trusted the former would, at the very least, keep him distracted from his problems for a short while.

There was a sense of impending doom painted on James’ face when Friday afternoon approached. He knew what was going to happen on Saturday morning, and he wasn’t looking forward to it in the slightest. I promised him that I would help him through the weekend as best I could, but I couldn’t guarantee that I could convince mum to stop treating him like a girl.

Though perhaps I could persuade her into not putting James into a dress. That seemed somewhat possible. It all just depended on how obtuse she decided to be. And whether I could actually follow through with my idea.

“Do we have to go to?” James asked dad pleadingly when the fated departure time rolled around.

Dad placed both his hands on James’ shoulders and bent over to meet him at eye level. “Your mother has just as much right to see you as I have,” dad said, “I know you’re upset at her, but you’ll just have to be strong, ok?”

These words did little to assuage my brother’s disdain towards our mother. He squirmed himself free of dad’s grip and groaned, though he still headed out the door toward the car. “Take care of him for me, ok?” dad said to me. I nodded.

We each followed behind James and hopped into the car. The entire car ride over to aunty Miranda’s house was silent and awkward. It was beginning to become a pattern, and I didn’t see it breaking any time soon, unfortunately. I stared at my brother with a pit in my stomach while he stared out the window, depressed. It was such a stark contrast to the car ride over to our aunty’s last week. It didn’t seem like it would get any easier seeing him like this, but I had a feeling that this may become the norm from now on. It did not help my unease in the slightest.

Regardless, we arrived at our destination shortly, went through the greetings, said goodbye to dad, then went inside. Mum insisted that she hug James like last time, but he instead grunted and shoved his way past her into the house.

 I dropped my things over by the lounge before falling onto it face first. James hadn’t bothered packing any clothes this time. Why would he? He and mum had gone shopping last weekend so that she could dress him up as her daughter. In fact, the first thing she did was whisk James away to the guest room. Minutes later, they returned, with James wearing a different dress from the two he’d worn last week.

He somehow looked even more depressed than he had on the car ride over. I didn’t think it possible, though being honest, I wasn’t surprised. It didn’t hurt any less though. While I wanted to speak with mum about all this as soon as possible, I knew right now wasn’t quite the right time. There was a time and place for everything, and I resolved to talk to her tonight during dinner.

For now, it was time to try and cheer up my brother.

***

“Foolish earthlings! You dare believe that you can stand up against the might of the Glorbspodian empire? Ha! Don’t make me laugh. Now, bow down and I may spare your pitiful lives,” James monologued in his quite frankly terrible American accent.

He was pretending to be an alien commander in charge of invading Earth like he was from some C grade sci-fi movie. And since he was ‘acting’, well, naturally that meant putting on an American accent. After all, that’s what acting sounded like. He had also purposely dropped the pitch of his voice as part of his act, to make him sound more menacing. Not that his voice could go very low, but it was a nice effort.

He brandished a vaguely gun shaped object made entirely out of connector pens. ‘Vaguely gun shaped’ as it somewhat resembled one of those large blasters that often appeared in sci-fi movies and tv shows.

Before we began our play session, I pulled out the container of eighty connector pens that I’d gotten when I was about his age. And the first thing he did with them was turn them into a gun. Because of course he did. Boys will be boys, as they say. You’d think I would’ve understood why boys loved guns so much, but I never did. I supposed that was always just something that made me weird. One item on a very long list.

I made no comment about his first decision being to make a gun. After all, I was trying to cheer him up, to forget about the ongoing situation we currently found ourselves in. And part of that was letting him be himself, contrary to what mum insisted. If that meant allowing him to make a gun with connector pens, then so be it.

As it stood, he was still wearing the dress, but for the moment we pretended that it was actually ultra-advanced alien battle armour. He’d also stuck a couple of the connector pens to the head band that mum forced him to wear. These were the communication antennae on his battle helmet, the rest of which just so happened to be invisible. Because advanced alien technology.

“Please, what did we do to deserve such a cruel fate?” I pleaded, also in a terrible American accent, because acting. It’s not like I wasn’t trying to make it sound good, I just knew that it sucked. Or probably sucked. I wasn’t exactly the best judge of what constituted a good American accent. The quality of the accent didn’t matter anyway. All that mattered was that it vaguely resembled the accents present in all those American movies and tv shows that were so ever present here.

I had my own gun made of connector pens, though hardly as elaborate. Mine only consisted of about a dozen or so pens, whereas James’ was made of at least fifty. It seemed only fair to let him have the superior weaponry as I was doing this for his sake.

James began to cackle in the same manner as a cartoon villain. “Pitiful human! You deserve to die because you are too weak to be allowed to live!” He pointed his fake blaster directly at my face. “Sweet dreams.” He made a ‘pew pew’ sound with his mouth while simultaneously lifting the front of his gun upward to mimic recoil.

I pretended as though the blast hit me square in the chest. I fell backwards, a sickening gargling sound escaping my lips. I stumbled backward, struggling to keep my feet, before doing a spin and falling over. My dramatic overacted death caused my brother to giggle a little. The sound of his joy brought a smile to my face.

As I fell over, I caught a glimpse of someone standing in the doorway. I tilted my head in their direction to get a better look. Aunty Miranda stood, leaning against the doorframe with a cheeky grin on her face.

“Bit over the top, wasn’t it?” she commented.

“Maybe. But that’s part of the fun,” I responded, sitting up.

“True,” she nodded in agreement. “Anyway, your mother wanted me to tell you two that dinner is almost ready.” Had it really been that long already?

I stood up from the ground and dusted myself off. “Did you have fun?” I asked James.

“Yep!” he replied enthusiastically. He then softened his voice, “Thanks Ben.”

I smiled. “No worries.”

We both headed to the dining room together, me hanging back slightly behind James. The table had already been set, so we both found our seats opposite each other and waited for the food to arrive.

Mum set the food down in the centre of the table, and we all grabbed our fair share. Once we started eating, I told myself that now was the time to talk to mum about James. I repeated the words I wanted to say over and over again in my mind in preparation. Now was the time to do it. Now.

I looked over at mum and stared at her for a moment.

Now. Speak.

But no words came out. My mouth didn’t even move. I resolved myself to speak. To tell her about how her actions were affecting her child, my brother. I opened my mouth, but instead of words coming out, I put food inside.

I took a deep breath. I needed to tell her. I told myself. Over and over again. I just needed to start talking. To say something. Anything. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. My voice had left me when I needed it most. Gone off to who knows where. Off on a merry trip, leaving me to fend for myself. I hoped it was having a lovely time wherever it wandered off to, because I sure wasn’t.  

Mum and Miranda sparked up a conversation between each other, though I didn’t pay too much attention to them, nor did I want to interrupt them. That would be rude of me. I simply went over my script once again. Once they were done, I would talk to mum.

I finished all the food on my plate and sat silently for a moment. I looked back over at mum, who had just finished her meal as well. Alright. Now I just needed to get her attention. I willed my mouth to open, to say a word, or even just make an incoherent noise. But none those happened. My muscles refused to obey me, and I stayed staring at my mum, silent. She stood up, oblivious to the torment I was putting myself through, and began gathering up all the plates and cutlery and stacking them in the dishwasher.

Fuck. I couldn’t do it. I’d told myself so many times that I needed to. I had to. That now was the time. But that time had passed. My opportunity wasted. When it all came down to it, my voice betrayed me, and I remained silent.

Why was I like this? Why was I such a coward? Why couldn’t I even talk to my own mother about something so important to me? Why did my words always fail me when I needed them the most?

I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t manage that either. My faced remained dead neutral, like that of a robot. I wanted to scream. But that wasn’t possible for me.

Who was I kidding? I was just a worthless sack of shit. I couldn’t even stand up for myself, what hope did I have of standing up for others? Why did I fool myself into believing that I could confront my mother about this? I was incapable of even the most basic of tasks. Why try?

What was even the point anyway? I knew damn well that mum wouldn’t listen to anything I had to say on the matter. She was the mother, she knew best. Clearly. I was just a dumb teenager. What would I know? I was an idiot for thinking I could change mum’s ways. Dad couldn’t, why the fuck did I think I could?

I knew how it would all turn out. Even if I could manage to tell her my thoughts, she would dismiss me. She’d put on a sweet, comforting voice, and tell me that she knew what was best for James. Sorry, ‘Chloe’. This was for ‘her’ own good, she would say. And how could I counter that? Point out the obvious fact that James was miserable? Well, I was miserable too, so clearly it was fine to just ignore that. Like she’d done for the past several years.

God, I was such an idiot.

I dismissed myself from the table without a word. I simply stood up and left the room. I set up the sofa bed for James and me to sleep in that night and prepared myself for bed. It was still quite early, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to sleep. To escape the day. Perhaps tomorrow would be better.

Doubtful.

At least while unconscious, I’d be unable to contemplate on how much of a disappointment I was. Can’t feel terrible if you can’t feel. I didn’t even bother saying good night to anyone. Once I’d finished getting ready for bed, I laid down and closed my eyes.

Though sleep didn’t come easy due to all the overthinking, it eventually arrived, ending my stream of consciousness for the day. But not before my mind made it clear to me that I wasn’t worthy of anything. That perhaps I didn’t deserve to live. Perhaps everyone would just be better off without me. James and dad certainly would.

But I knew deep down that I couldn’t kill myself. I was too much of a coward.  

That’s all I’d ever been.

Zema

:(