I’m a trans woman who came late to the realization that I was a
woman, due to a number of factors—not the least being that society’s
views towards trans people at the time I was growing up were so warped
and divorced from reality that I had absolutely no context for what
transition actually was. So it took until Covid-19 forced all of us
indoors with nothing but our thoughts and social media for me to finally
begin to realize there was more to my peculiarities than just being
deeply neurodivergent. And another several years before I could go on
HRT and finally start to truly feel like a woman.
Like many trans people, I asked myself the question: What if I
had known from the start and didn’t have to experience cis puberty?
But I went deeper, and asked myself what I think is the more important
question: What if I grew up fully supported in my whole identity?
What changes?
Because I have seen and spoken with so many trans and non-binary
people whose transitions would be so much easier and more pleasant if
their immediate environment believed in them and supported them instead
of pushing back or actively being hurtful. The amount of trauma and
clinical anxiety disorders I’ve seen among my trans and non-binary
siblings is heartbreaking.
There are many stories out there about the effects of these traumas
and the struggles of transition. This story is not one of them. It’s a
story of what happens when a deeply neurodivergent trans girl is given a
leg up in her transition by her future self, and what happens when the
reactions of the people who care for her are supportive, and she gets
what is now seen as the baseline for trans healthcare for youth. It’s
not a story without challenges, but it is a story where the protagonist
is almost never alone in facing them.
I wrote this story as a love letter to the childhood I wish I had,
and the childhood every single one of my trans brothers and sisters
deserved to have. It is a deliberate, speculative blueprint of what
fierce community, relational shielding, and systemic family care
actually look like. If your own journey has been defined by isolation, I
hope this story can help you recognize what safety looks like, and how
to find the family you deserve.
The story is deeply grounded in the landscapes of my youth. Names of
people have been changed to protect both the innocent and the guilty,
but many of the characters are based on real people I’ve known, and I’ve
tried to stay true to what I experienced of their natures.
That said, this work is not autobiographical. Despite sharing my
name, Natalie Romana Plasbeek is not me. She’s very much her own person,
something I discover every time I’m writing down her story and she comes
out of left field and surprises me. The same goes for her friends and
family. If any of the people who are the inspirations for the characters
are reading this, I hope they forgive me for the liberties I’ve taken
with their personalities. It’s all in good fun. Really. Please don’t
kill me.
The one exception to the fictionality of characters is the presence
of the real life people who had a massive role in shaping the
development of the Christchurch music scene in the decade this story is
set in and for decades afterwards. People like Ellen Doyle, Francis da
Gouldie, and the teachers and conductors of the then Christchurch School
of Instrumental Music (CSIM) are real and had a role in the shaping of
careers of generations of Christchurch musicians, many of whom went on
to illustrious international careers. They were exactly the kind,
exacting and driven people I’ve portrayed them as, and this story is a
celebration of their work, in the hope that it is never forgotten.
If you find yourself thinking that the level of interconnectedness of
the characters in this story with others in the various communities in
Christchurch is deeply improbable and contrived? Oh boy, I have news for
you. I’m actually downplaying reality here a bit. The communities in
Christchurch of the day turned a city of 300,000 plus people into a
village where everyone in these communities knew everyone else. And
often knew others in adjacent communities. Looking back now I’m still
wondering how on earth I grew up thinking this was totally normal. I
really did have cello lessons with local celebrity David McPhail’s
daughter, and he did startle me one evening when he loomed out of the
shadows unexpectedly wearing his signature hat. This was Christchurch in
the 80s and I share it with you with affection.
So I hope you take this to heart as we accompany Natalie in her
journey towards adulthood in a city I left with regret and remember with
great fondness.
Natalie
It ended in pain, confusion, and then silence. I felt myself floating
a formless void, with a mild sense of surprise that there was anything
to feel at all. The car that had just swerved into my path and nailed me
to a tree felt like the final punctuation mark to my overly eventful
life. I’d never truly believed there would be anything after. Only it
seems like this event was a semicolon and not a full stop.
You have a choice to make
I didn’t hear a voice so much as know a thought had passed through my
brain. And that this thought was not my own.
What is the choice? I thought to myself.
Move on. Or go back for a last conversation with someone
you love
What’s the catch?
And then I knew. I could return to any moment in my past, and have a
short conversation with anyone I had a strong connection to. But doing
so would effectively end my existence afterwards. And the further back I
went, the more of my life and connections to other people would cease to
exist as I knew them. The universe would play out differently, and there
was no way of knowing how or if it would be better or worse. Also, I
would have limits placed on what I could say and do. Not huge limits,
but I couldn’t pass on future knowledge that could be used to give my
conversational partner an unfair advantage in life. And I wasn’t allowed
to directly identify myself to my conversation partner if they didn’t
already know who I was.
Okay, I could work with that. I already knew where, when and to who I
would be going. And the price I would have to pay was a small thing as
far as I was concerned.
It was a mostly sunny autumn afternoon as I walked across the playing
fields of Ilam primary school at lunch break, the day after my 10th
birthday. Normally, I’d be sitting somewhere chatting with Gav, but he
was away getting his new glasses fitted over the lunch break so I had
nobody to talk to today. I decided to sit next to the clumps of trees
and bushes that marked the boundary between the school and the
University student union grounds next door. None of us were entirely
sure how far over the boundary line we were allowed to go. Sometimes,
we’d run in circles around one of the islands of green that dotted the
lawn, but nobody ever went further. I sat down in the grass next to one
of the patches of greenery, right on the invisible line. I wanted to be
alone for a while.
As I sat watching the games being played on the school side of the
line, a strange movement caught my eye on the Student Union side. I
thought I’d seen something shimmer? I turned, and I saw an adult walking
in my direction from the student union side. This was strange. She
wasn’t a student, she was old, older than my parents. As she got closer,
I could see her better, and that was enough to really get my
attention. Because while she had long, dark brown hair that fell in
curls over her shoulders, her face was deeply familiar. She looked a lot
like my uncle Eric and Dad did. But I’d met Dad’s sister years ago when
I visited the Netherlands, and she had short, blond hair and looked
nothing like this.
While I was staring, she came right up to me, and while hitching her
skirt to sit down next to me with her legs curled under her, she started
talking.
“Hey Girl, how was your birthday yesterday?” she asked me with a
friendly, gentle smile.
“I’m not a girl, and how do you know it was my birthday? Are you
family?”
She had a knowing smile on her face as she answered. “Yeah, hold that
thought. For a boy, you’ve spent a lot of time hanging around with the
girls.”
“How do you know that? Did Dad send you to see me?”
“I have my ways, and no, I haven’t spoken to your Dad since this
morning at breakfast” she shot back at me.
What??? The only people at breakfast this morning were my family?
Mum, Dad, Mariska, Marit and me. “That’s impossible”, I told her.
“It’s not, but you’re going to have to figure out how. The rules say
I can’t tell you directly. I was definitely at breakfast with Dad this
morning.”
“Rules? What rules?” I’d have thought I was dealing with a nutter,
but this lady didn’t look nuts at all. She looked kind, and just a
little sad somehow.
“I’m glad you asked. This is a one time deal. I have been given
permission and the possibility to talk to you for this lunch break only.
I’m not allowed to tell you who I am. I’m allowed to answer
questions, but not anything about what’s going to happen in the future,
so no lottery ticket numbers or who’s going to be president of the US or
anything like that. After this conversation is done, I’ll leave, and
you’ll only ever see me in the mirror every time you look”.
The look she was giving me was intense, the kind of look people give
when they’re telling you something really important while giving a
hint.
Future. Mirror. She knows about me, looks like family, says she was
at breakfast? Only the hair is wrong? “You’re Mariska from the future?”
I say, while knowing that somehow, I was wrong.
“Oh, so close. No, but you’re bang on with the time travel.
Did Mum ever tell you what she was going to name you if you’d been born
a girl?”.
Okay, this is the most surreal conversation ever. I know this though,
Mum had mentioned it to me just this morning while telling me I was her
birthday present. “Natalie? I suppose it sounds okay in Dutch, but I
don’t like how people say it around here?”
“It will grow on you with time. That’s my name. Nice to meet you
again”. She smirked at me.
“WHAT?” was my only reaction. Because my brain had
finally caught up with my mouth and was telling me something utterly
impossible. This woman was me. Assuming she was telling me the truth and
not messing with me. I just sat and stared while on the inside my mind
was racing. “You’re me? Tell me something only I would know about”.
She leaned over and whispered something in my ear that I’d never told
anyone, and that I’d vowed never to tell anyone about ever. I wish I was
older so I could swear. Godverdomme. I was talking to an older version
of myself, and I was a girl? Out of all of this utter insanity, why did
that one fact not seem impossible? “How. How can you be
here. How can we be a girl?”
“I don’t know about the first. Call it a miracle if you like. I
couldn’t tell you if I knew and wanted to. But we’re girls, you just
haven’t realised it yet. And you’ve never read about how doctors can
help you become a girl on the outside. Part of why I wanted to talk to
you right now is because it’s so much easier and more effective if you
start treatment during puberty. So here I am. If this is all too much,
and you don’t want to hear about this, I’ll leave. This is your life
after all. But if you do want to know? Ask me and I’ll tell you what I
can.”
My head was spinning. Did I want to know how I could become a girl?
Old memories of regrets came drifting to the surface. But one thing was
clear. True or not true, joke or not, I needed, always
needed to know. So I nodded, and sat there for
the rest of the lunch break, listening to my future self tell me about
who I was, why I was that way, what it was called, and what I could do
about it. And I filed it away with more care than I’d ever given to all
of the other facts I had spent my time gathering. Because I also heard
what this would cost me, and how brave I would have to be to persevere.
And the only reason I kept listening was because of the look of sadness
and trust in my old, old eyes.
I heard the lunch bell ring, calling me to class. I looked over at
myself and asked her “What happens now?”
“The only reason I could talk to you now is because my own life was
ending. Call me a ghost, if you will. Now that you know this, everything
changes, and I will no longer ever have existed in this form in the
first place. But you have a chance to become everything I was and much,
much more. Remember what I’ve told you, hang in there when the going
gets tough, and be amazing”.
She pulled me over for a fierce, desperate hug, and then, like fading
mist, wavered and was gone.
When I walked into class just before afternoon lessons started, Mrs
Johnson asked me why I was crying.
I didn’t answer.
It’s the first Monday in February 1983, and I’m looking in the mirror
of the dresser that Dad dug up at a garage sale last year, after Mariska
kept complaining about me hogging hers. I’m in my light green checked
summer uniform dress, and I’m fiddling with my hair. Finding a style
that keeps my curls under control, out of my face, and won’t
make me look like a weirdo has had me fretting all week. Never mind that
both Marit and Mariska say that it’s fine, with Mariska muttering about
how in her day she had to wear her hair tied up with red ribbons…
Yes. Heaton. Enrolled as a girl. I did it. I’ve been living as a girl
after school and in the weekends for almost a full year now and somehow,
nobody has caught on that the boy at Ilam primary school called Nick is
also a girl called Natalie. At least, nobody likely to kick up a fuss.
It’s probably just as well I didn’t have many friends at primary school
other than Gavin, and that I never saw any of them at after-school
social activities.
Still, it’s been quite a ride from the day after my 10th birthday in
1982, when future Natalie came to talk to me, and quietly dropped the
bombshell on me that I was really a girl, and that she’d chosen to cease
to exist just to have 30 minutes with me to tell me things about myself
I’d already felt, but never really understood until then. That’s what
really shook me to the core. Her eyes. MY eyes, looking older
and wiser than I’ve ever seen anyone look. The calm acceptance that
while her existence was ending, she was willing to give up eternity just
so I would learn who I was sooner. That kind of thing has an effect on a
girl. Makes them feel like they have to earn that trust somehow. To be
what those eyes were showing me I could be.
There’s a beautifully carved wooden box on my dresser. Mum gave it to
me when we both got back from our whirlwind trip to the Netherlands the
week before last. I’m not sure if she picked it up at an antique store,
or if Opa or Tante Ingrid gave it to her, but I love it. It has a lock,
and the key is on my keychain. One of the keys. The other I gave to Mum
for safekeeping. In the box is my journal, and an old workbook from
primary school. That workbook has everything I can remember about my
meeting with my future ghost. It’s been well thumbed and pored over, and
I’ve made notes. 30 minutes is too short to cover a lifetime, but my
ghost was extremely economical with words. She knew me better than I
knew myself at the time, and while she might not have told me what the
future will hold, she did tell me more than I realised when I first
wrote it down. Or later when I made additions after waking up in shock
in the middle of the night with a new memory of a detail or turn of
phrase I had missed when I first put it down on paper. She gave me a
trail of crumbs to follow, and follow them I did. But I didn’t have to
follow them alone.
Ilam Primary School April 12th 1982. Just after
lunch.
“Nick, what’s the matter, why are you crying? Did something happen at
lunchtime?”
Mrs’s Johnson’s voice barely registered to me as I walked into the
classroom. I tried to speak, but I had no words. I just shook my head
and kept walking to my desk as I heard the titters of my classmates
spread out around the room as they all realised I was crying. Normally,
I’d have been mortified, but I was just numb.
Gavin was sitting at the desk next to mine, his grey-blue eyes
looking at me with concern.
“What happened?”
The events of the last half hour were still whirling in my head and I
felt panic rising inside of me. I had to write this down! What if I
forgot! But I couldn’t do anything while everyone was trying to
get me to talk. I wanted to run and hide. I reached into my desk and
pulled out a blank workbook, and held it and a pen tightly to my chest
like a shield.
Behind me, Mrs Johnson had given up trying to get through to me, and
was talking quietly but urgently to Gavin.
“Can you take him outside and just sit with him for a bit? I’d like
to send him to the nurse, but lets see if he’ll calm down enough that he
can tell us what happened first.””
I felt rather than heard Gavin come up behind me and put his hand on
my shoulder.
“Come on mate, lets go somewhere quiet for a bit.”
I let him guide me out of my seat and towards the classroom door. I
could feel the eyes of the whole class on me as I walked outside. I
walked along the veranda until we were out of eyeshot of the class and
sat down. Gavin sat down next to me.
“Okay, we’re alone now. What’s gotten you so upset that you still
can’t stop crying? I’ve never seen you cry before, so it must
be something serious.”
I took a shuddering deep breath, and slowly, hesitantly, I started to
speak.
“It is. I think I just saw my future self die, and she told me she
did it for me.”
Gavin blinked. Then looked startled as the rest of what I’d said
registered.
“She?”
“It’s a long story. And we don’t have time. Any minute now Mrs
Johnson will have time to come out to see how I’m doing and I have no
idea what to tell her.”
Gavin thought about this for a moment. He was always the clever one
when it came to people. Me? Not so much. I always got flustered.
“Tell her you fell asleep and had a bad nightmare?” He finally
said.
“That’s … brilliant.” I replied, suddenly seeing in my head
exactly what I’d have to say and how to say it. It wasn’t even
lying. Much.
“You still can’t just drop something this big on me and then not tell
me the rest. Can you come to my place after school?” Gavin asked.
“Your house is practically on the way home. I’ll call mum from there
to ask. I don’t have anything after school, I think?”
“Practically on the way, he says. You live three times as far from
school as I do. Most of the kids who live as far as you do get driven to
school every day.”
“I like cycling. Anyway, good idea.”
I saw Mrs Johnson come out of the class at that point and walk over
to where the two of us were sitting. She sat down next to me and looked
me over, eyes full of concern.
“How are you doing? Can you tell me what happened now? I can call
your parents if you like.”
I took a deep breath and answered.
“I’m sorry for making such a fuss. I fell asleep over by the trees
during lunchtime and I had a nightmare. I’d dreamt my sister had died
and it was all my fault. I was still really confused when the bell woke
me and I came in. I’m fine now. Can I just get back to class? I want to
forget about it.”
“Oh dear, that must have been really scary. No wonder you were such a
mess when you came in. Why don’t you wash your face and come back to the
class. Gavin, thank you for sitting with him. If you’ll go with him to
the loos to clean up, you can both come back together. We’re doing maths
exercises this afternoon, but I won’t mind if you just read a bit or do
whatever you feel up to this afternoon. Just keep it quiet, and that
goes for you too Gavin.”
After washing my face, which was looking red and blotchy, I felt a
lot better. Gavin and I headed back into the class to find everyone else
was deep in concentration in their maths exercise books and barely paid
us any attention at all. Mrs Johnson must have told them something to
keep them quiet. She was one of those teachers who was kind, but also
no-nonsense in a way that meant kids did what she asked them to do
without question for fear of her being disappointed in you. She was my
second favourite teacher ever, and miles better than Mr White, the
Standard 1 teacher who over three years ago now had hated me and tried
to convince my parents that I was retarded and should be sent to a
special school because I would stumble whenever I had to read out loud.
My parents were furious and complained to the Headmaster, pointing out
that I was so bored by his lessons that I had been reading “The Hobbit”
under my desk. And could quote the book from memory.
I’d made friends with Gavin that year. Both of us had started the
school year later than the rest of the class. Me because I’d spent
January and February of that year in the middle of one of the coldest
dutch winters of recent times at school in the Netherlands while Mum was
dealing with some kind of emergency with her mother. Gavin had just
emigrated to New Zealand from the south of England. His dad was some
kind of Professor at the University where my Dad worked. We’d ended up
together because everyone else in the class thought we were weird. Me
with my Dutch accent and Gavin with his English one. We’d quickly bonded
over our shared love of fantasy books. We both loved the very English
real-world based fantasy of Susan Cooper’s ‘Dark is Rising’ books, and
more recently had been reading other works like “The Weathermonger” by
Peter Dickenson. My Parents had gifted me a boxed set of Lord of the
Rings paperback books for my birthday just yesterday. I’d been reading
the Fellowship of the Rings all evening until bedtime. I’d just gotten
to the start of the Council of Elrond chapter when mum came in and told
me to get some sleep.
I spent the rest of the afternoon writing down everything I could
remember of my lunchtime visitation. As I wrote, I had a moment where I
started questioning if this was even real? What if what I had told Mrs
Johnson was true, and I’d had a nightmare? Then I looked down at the
notes I’d been making and shook off the feeling. If this had been a
nightmare, it was a really weird and specific one. I’d never
heard of the word ‘transsexual’ or even ‘Eelers Danloss syndrome’ or
however you spelt it. I looked down at what I’d been writing. Nope, I
would never have come up with this myself. And so much of it made sense
to me too.
Like this entry on my list.
Your mind doesn’t work like other kids, and no, it’s not because
you’re gifted. You see more, hear more, feel more and can remember
things like they are real. Hardly anyone can do that, but it also means
you get tired faster, find it harder to concentrate because anything and
everything is a distraction, and you often need quiet time alone just so
you can hear yourself think. Don’t feel bad about yourself when people
say things like “You’re so clever, but you just need to work harder”.
They can’t see how hard you are working on the inside.
Do what you can to work smarter instead. And accept that there will be
some things you will struggle with that seem silly to other people. Like
planning and organising. The next time mum is frustrated about your
school reports, tell her what you find hard to do and why. Both of you
are a lot alike in many ways.
I thought about how I was making this list in the first place. I was
replaying the whole conversation in my head. Like watching a movie
inside my brain. Was this what she had meant with my mind not working
like other people’s? I made a note to ask Gavin if his memories worked
the same way. I’d been wondering for years why nobody could see things I
thought were obvious. This could be one of the reasons why.
brrriing!
The end of school bell rang, breaking off my musings. I quickly
shoved the notebook in my backpack. I’d been completely ignoring
anything that was said that afternoon, I’d have to ask Gavin if there
was any homework, and hope he had been listening. We were a lot
alike like that.
“Coming?” Asked Gavin as I walked to the cloakroom to grab my
jacket.
“Of course! I just hope mum doesn’t mind me changing plans at the
last minute. She’s usually fine about that. Until she isn’t and gets
angry.”
“Yeah, your mum is a bit scary sometimes. I can see why you’re such a
goodie two-shoes. I wouldn’t dare cross her either.”
That wasn’t it, was it? I did what mum told me because it made sense,
and I didn’t want to be naughty. It never occurred to me to try. All of
us were like that. Except Marit, sometimes, when she was in a mood. Only
Gavin did have one thing right. The few times mum had been angry at me
when I’d accidentally done something stupid like go off somewhere
without telling her, she was terrifying. I never made the same
mistake twice if I could help it.
Gavin did’t live far from school, just a 5 minute ride down Ilam
Road, crossing Riccarton Road on to Middleton Road and turning left into
Lochee Road. We parked our bikes in his garage and headed inside
together.
“Oh hello there Nick, did you enjoy your birthday yesterday?” asked
Gavin’s mum as we walked into the kitchen.
“Yes Mrs Locke. Thanks for bringing Gavin. We had a lot of fun.”
She smiled at that. Then the inevitable follow up question came.
“Are you staying for dinner?”
“I have to ask mum if I can. Can I use your phone please?”
“Of course dear. Tell your mum we can drop you off home afterwards.
You know the way to the phone.”
I walked down the hall to the nook with the phone. Gavin’s family had
a fancy phone with a keypad so I quickly called home.
brr brr … brr brr … click
I heard mums voice at the other end of the line. “Plasbeek.”
“Hi mum, Gavin invited me to come over and play. Can I stay here
for dinner?” I rattled off in Dutch.
“Of course dear. If they can’t give you a lift home, just call us
and I’ll ask your father to pick you up. It gets dark at six and you’re
still a bit young to bike home on your own after dark.”
“Mrs Locke already offered me a lift home.” I replied. They
offered me lifts every time I was there. I think they thought I was
dangerously independent that I would bike a whole fifteen minutes alone.
“Thanks mum, love you, i’ll see you tonight.”
“I love you too schat. Have fun.” click
I walked back into the kitchen. Gavin had put together a tray with
some cordial and snacks. He knew what I liked. I turned to his mum.
“Mum says it’s fine, I’d love to stay for dinner.”
“You two have fun then. Dinner is at six. I’ll call you when it’s
ready.”
We both headed down the hall to his room at the back of the house on
the right.
Gavin’s room was the same cosy mess it had been from the moment I’d
met him. His bunk-bed against one wall, a desk against the other under
the window. A book cabinet with a combination of books, meccano and a
model of the eagle shuttles from Space 1999 parked on one of the
shelves. I picked it up without thinking and sat on his bed, my hands
manipulating the release for the passenger cabin automatically.
click … thunk*
Gavin sat down next to me. “So, what now?” was the first thing he
asked.
I handed him the notebook I’d been writing notes in all afternoon,
and started talking. Telling him every detail of what had happened over
lunchtime. After I finished talking, he read my notes intently. After a
while he spoke.
“Well I know one thing. You didn’t make this up. Even you wouldn’t
write down stuff this boringly practical. I mean, when would
you ever tell anyone to exercise more and eat healthy food? And the
medical stuff? I’m sure you’ve spelled most of the words wrong, but I
think they’re real. We’ll have to find a medical dictionary in the
library and look them up.”
He peered at me curiously to see my reaction, then frowned.
“Since when do you wear jewellery?” he asked.
“I don’t?” I answered, confused.
“Well you do now. What’s this?” he said, reaching over to the front
of my shirt and hooking a pendant out from where he had seen it poking
out. I reached down and felt a smooth stone on a cord that had been
hanging around my neck without me even realising it. It was secured by a
pair of slipknots so after lengthening the cord, I lifted it over my
head and held it up so we could both look at it.
It was a small pendant in the form of a spiral, like the kind of
thing you found in souvenir shops, only this wasn’t made of plastic. It
was clearly greenstone, in a nice translucent grass-green colour that
let the light behind it shine through. The pattern was obviously Maori.
I’d seen greenstone carvings like this before in the museum. The cord
was thin and black, and felt much stronger than it looked. I couldn’t
tell what it was made of. It might have been nylon, but I’d never seen
nylon cord this sturdy and yet this smooth before. The whole pendant was
beautiful. The stone was so smooth you could barely feel it, and it was
warm to the touch, holding my own body heat.
I remembered with a shock where I had seen it before.
“Natalie from the future was wearing this. She must have put it on me
while we were hugging goodbye. I never noticed.”
“Can I have a look?” asked Gavin. I handed him the pendant.
He did the same things I had done. Holding it up to the light,
running his fingers over the stone and the cord, and finally taking a
meccano screwdriver from his desk and gently tapping the stone. It let
out a musical clink sound.
“Thats definitely Pounamu, he said.”
“Pounamu?”
“Greenstone. It’s a nice piece. I wonder how old it is. The cording
isn’t traditional.”
“Since when are you an expert on Greenstone?” I asked.
“I’ve been into geology and history since before we met. Remember my
collection of brass rubbings?”
“Do you think it’s magic?” I asked him, a bit apprehensively.
Gav shrugged. “It’s not glowing, levitating or doing anything special
at all. Other than appearing around your neck without you noticing,
apparently. That must be quite the trick. You’re impossible to sneak up
on normally. Honestly? I think your ghost wanted to leave you a
keepsake. It looks like a high quality souvenir. How about you keep
wearing it for now. I’m sure you’ll notice if something weird happens
around it. Weirder than your lunch break already was, anyway.”
He pondered a bit longer. “There’s a book on the symbolism of the
different carving forms somewhere in this house. I know the adze
pendants mean strength. I think a spiral is meant to be a stylised koru
leaf, that means new growth. But there are probably more meanings, there
always are. Give me a moment.” he said before slipping out of the room
and down the hall. I pondered the meaning he had given me. New Growth. A
memory of a lesson on Maori culture from Mrs Wood last year intruded on
me. Gavin was right, and there was more. The Koru or silver fern was an
important symbol of New Zealand. It was something about change and
journeys. Both of which felt hugely significant to me right now. We
still hadn’t talked about the elephant in the room yet. Was I really a
girl? Because that was about as big a change as I could imagine. Yet
somehow it didn’t feel like that either. I’d often wondered what it
would be like to be a girl, but I’m sure that was something everyone
did. Imagine what it was like to be someone else.
Gavin returned a few minutes later with a book in his hands, opened
on a page showing different Maori art symbols.
“Koru. Here it is. New Beginnings: Marks fresh starts,
transitions, the birth of a child, or a new phase in life. Growth and
Rejuvenation: Reflects the continuous journey of emotional, creative, or
spiritual development.Return to Origin: The inner coil signifies
grounding, inner strength, and staying connected to one’s roots while
moving forward. Harmony and Balance: The symmetric flow represents a
peaceful state of balance between an individual and nature.”
I looked over at Gavin, shocked. My future Ghost had somehow handed
me something that perfectly described everything they’d talked to me in
a package I could hang around my neck. Gavin looked back.
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking when I found this too. Your ghost
is about as subtle as a slap in the face.”
“We need to talk about the most important thing my ghost told me.” I
answered. “How do I know if I’m actually supposed to be a girl? I mean,
I’ve thought about it, what it would be like. I don’t hate the idea. But
I suppose everyone considers stuff like that sometimes.”
“I haven’t.” Shot back Gavin.
“Really?”
“Really. I like how I am just fine. I mean, imagine this. You wake up
tomorrow morning, and you’ve turned into a girl. And everyone acts like
you’ve always been one and that this is totally normal. What do you do?
Because I would freak out so badly.”
“I don’t get it. I’d try it to see if I liked it before I started
panicking. It would be like putting on other clothes only you’re putting
on another body. I wouldn’t mind trying on another body for size. I
don’t like this one much. This one is a mess and doesn’t fit right.”
Gav just looked back at me intently. Waiting.
Oh. OH! I didn’t like this body because it didn’t fit right.
Because it looked and felt like a boys body? I had no idea, but I’d have
to think about it.
Gavin was still waiting for me to react. “I think my ghost was on to
something with her telling me I’m a girl. I’ll have to think about it a
bit more.” I told him.
“So if you’re really a girl, what should I call you? Because Nick
isn’t a girls name.”
“Natalie. You can call me Natalie.”
“I assume only when we’re alone?” he asked me.
“Until I’ve worked out how to tell my parents and we see how they
react. And I have no idea how we’re going to do this. I need books. Lots
and lots of books.”
“I’ve got an idea…” Gavin answered with a grin on his face. This was
not going to end well…
We spent the rest of the afternoon brainstorming how we were going to
get the information we needed. In the end, Gavin’s plan was actually
fairly sensible. We’d tell our parents we were working on a class
project together, which was true. We had an open subject poster to make
which we’d been putting off doing since last week. Which gave us the
perfect reason to go to the Public Library together tomorrow after
school. If we couldn’t find the information we needed there, we’d come
up with an excuse to go digging in the stacks of the University Library.
Since both of our fathers worked at the university, we hoped a couple of
ten year olds in the stacks wouldn’t be too unusual. We’d both been in
there before.
Dinner at the Locke family was the usual quiet affair, and soon
after, Professor Locke put my bike in the boot of their car and drove me
home. It was only a short drive but I nearly nodded off. This had been
one of the most intense days of my life. Mum took one look at me when I
walked into the kitchen and told me to get into my pyjamas and brush my
teeth. After kissing the family goodnight, I rolled into my bed and was
out like a light in seconds.
That night I had a vivid dream. You know, one of those dreams where
you think you’re awake until you wake up? In this dream, I woke up, and
grabbed the clothes that Mum had laid out in my bedroom to get dressed
into and went into the bathroom. Just a normal school morning. Only when
I took off my pyjamas, two things finally dawned on me. Okay, well
three. No four.
Firstly. I was older. Like 13 or 14. And I had long curled hair like
my future self had, only fuller and thicker. And my body was different.
I looked, and felt, like a girl. Which felt extremely weird and somehow
right at the same time. I didn’t miss the parts that were obviously
missing, and the parts I did have felt, well like they’d always been
there.
In my dream I turned on the shower and started washing myself, and
the tactile sensations were like nothing I had experienced before. My
sense of touch and my skin were both more sensitive than they had ever
been before. I reached up to turn off the shower, fumbled with the taps,
was hit with a blast of cold water and woke up with a shock and a deep
sense of regret.
When I was properly awake a sense of wrongness settled over me, and I
realised this was me missing what I had experienced in the dream. A
sense of certainty came over me. I was a girl. I’d always been a girl.
My body knew what it should feel like as a girl. I was Natalie. And I
had a task ahead of me that terrified me to the core. I’d have to tell
my parents, and soon. Thank whatever gods there were that I had Gavin.
I’m not sure I would have had the courage to do this alone.
I looked up to the alarm clock sitting on the shelf above my bed. I
pressed the light button and saw the dial was showing five in the
morning.
tzch tzch tzch tzch
The steady quiet pulse of the quartz clock ticking somehow filled the
room, and kept me awake. Dammit. I slipped out of bed and put on some
slippers. I might as well go do something useful. I quietly padded over
to the door and carefully turned the handle so it wouldn’t squeak.
Mariska’s room was on the other side of the second bathroom from mine
and she was a stupidly light sleeper. It wouldn’t do to wake her. I
carefully crept through the hall towards the living room door next to
Mariska’s door and across from the bathroom, and very
carefully pulled down on the handle. It had a tendency to creak.
Phew I’d made it into the living room where the bookshelves
with reference books were. Closing the door again with the utmost care I
turned to face the shelves packed with the volumes of a complete set of
Encyclopedia Britannica, a five volume set of “Geschiedenis van de Lage
Landen” that was a mandatory fixture in the home of any educated
dutchman, a stack of atlasses, and my goal: A three volume set of books
called “Knowing About Sex”. My parents had read through the first
volume: “A Baby Arrives” with me years ago, and I’d already read the
second volume, “Growing Up” that discussed puberty, earlier that year
because I was curious. I assumed they’d intended to discuss it with me
at some point. I felt a little guilty about jumping the gun, but they
hadn’t forbidden me from reading it. No book in the house was forbidden.
At worst, if mum and dad felt a book was a bit advanced they’d talk to
us about it if they saw one of us reading it. But even that was rare.
Most of mum and dad’s fiction books simply didn’t interest me yet, and
the non-fiction and art shelves in the Lounge around to the front of the
house were literally open books. I used to spend hours leafing through
the Tutankhamun exhibition book, looking at the gorgeous golden
relics.
So I reached out to the shelf, removed the box of books from their
place and carefully shook out volume III: “Achieving Sexual Maturity”
and put the box back before going to dad’s desk in the sunroom nook at
the front of the room and turned on his desk lamp.
Thirty minutes later, I closed the book again with exasperation. So
I’d learned a lot more details about how sex worked, why anticonception
was important, and why you probably shouldn’t have sex with someone you
didn’t care about, but there was nothing, not even a hint about what I
was feeling or what my ghost had told me yesterday afternoon. About the
closest thing I could find was half a page discussing how some men loved
men and some women loved women, which I’m sure was what my ghost had
been talking about when she’d told me to “Love whoever I liked without
shame”. Frankly, nothing in the book was particularly surprising, even
if the photos had been pretty explicit.
Time to pull out the big guns. Returning to the bookcase, I slid the
book back into it’s place and reached up to the Britannica Micropaedia
volume 10: T-Z. Going back to the desk, I put it down and started
leafing through it, looking for ‘transsexual’. Bingo! The index article
talked about a lot of what my ghost had been talking about, but it was
dry as dust, and all it really did was confirm what I’d already worked
out: What I was feeling was a real thing, it had been known about for a
very long time, other people had it too, and nobody really agreed on
what to do about it. It was cross referenced to “gender identity”, and
pointed to a long form article in the Macropaedia called “Human Sexual
Development”. I walked back to the bookcase again, pulled the relevant
volumes, and balanced them on my arms as I headed back to dad’s
desk.
thud
Oops. I’d been a bit clumsy in putting down the two heavy volumes. I
listened for movement, but I was across the room from the end that
Mariska’s room bordered on, surely I hadn’t been loud enough to wake
her? I started by leafing through the Micropaedia volume for “gender
identity disorder” first. Not particularly helpful either, other than
confirming that how I was feeling about my body right now was something
that doctors knew about. The term “Conversion therapy” did not sound
comforting at all. The index article also referenced the Human Sexual
Development article so I cracked open the volume with the red spine
labels and turned to the article.
It was huge. Pages of dense text. I checked the article contents to
see if I could find anything, and had just spotted both Gender Identity
Disorder and Transsexuality under the subsection header of “Sexual
Deviancies” when I heard the door to the Living room open and Mariska
walked in. Busted!
“Nick, what are you doing up so early? And why are you raiding the
Encyclopedia shelf?”
What the hell was I going to say now? I could close the books so she
didn’t know what I’d been reading but then she’d know I had something to
hide and she’d probably tell mum and dad. Best to come clean and hope
she’d be understanding. Other than being up early, I wasn’t doing
anything wrong.
“Sorry I woke you. I had a weird dream and I needed to look up what
was in it to know if it was real.”
Mariska joined me at the desk and looked over my shoulder at the open
volumes on the desk.
“Human sexual development? Nick, this is way too complicated for you.
Anyway, if you dreamt about sex, you should have tried ‘Knowing about
sex’ I know you’ve read most of that before.”
“I did. It’s not in there. I was looking for information about
feeling like you’re a girl and my body not feeling right. I think I’ve
found it, but I woke you before I could read the parts of the main
article talking about it. Look here, gender identity disorder and
transsexuality.”
Mariska’s eyebrows almost hit her hairline. “Transsexuality? Nick,
what on earth were you dreaming?”
So I told her about the dream, how I’d felt afterwards, and what I’d
worked out with Gavin yesterday, though I didn’t tell her that’s who I’d
been talking to about it. I didn’t mention my ghost and my meeting with
her at all. I’d seen the gothic monstrosity that was Sunnyside Mental
Hospital from a distance, and had no wish to see it from close up.
Mariska’s expression had softened as I talked her through what I’d
been thinking and feeling. I saw she was thinking hard before she
spoke.
“Nick, you have to talk to mum and dad about this. This is important,
and I can’t help you with this alone.”
I looked back at her, pleading.
“I know I have to tell them, but I’m scared. Mum is going to go
absolutely ballistic if I tell her this without more information and a
better idea of what we can do. Do you remember what happened when Mr
White told her I was retarded and should be moved to special education
back in Standard 1 because I’d been eating my workbooks? Dad laughed in
his face while pointing out I’d been reading the Hobbit under my desk
without him noticing, but mum barely slept for a week and was furious
about it. God only knows what she’ll think about this. Will you help me
make my case to mum that I’m serious and haven’t gone bonkers
overnight?”
“I’m not entirely sure you’re not bonkers, but you’re right. We both
need to think this through and get some better information than a
Britannica article before dropping this on mum.”
She thought for a bit.
“Put those volumes away. I’ll read them this afternoon after school.
And I’ll visit the university library tomorrow afternoon, it will be
wednesday, and I get off early because I don’t have sports. There should
be better information in the psychology shelves, I’ll ask the librarians
for help in finding any relevant journal articles. Now you scoot. You
should be able to get another hour’s sleep before we need to get up and
get ready for school.”
I walked over and hugged her. “Thanks sis, you’re the best. I’m sorry
I woke you and dumped all this on you.”
“It’s what big sisters are for. Plus you’ve just given me a great
idea for my 7th form project. I want to study psychology and this is
fascinating. Now get back to bed or I will tell mum
that you’ve been sleepwalking again.”
I quickly tidied up and slipped back under the blankets in my room.
Mariska really was the best.
When my alarm went off at seven thirty I almost wondered if I hadn’t
dreamed the whole thing, but Mariska caught up with me in our shared
bathroom and asked if I’d managed to get back to sleep again and hugged
me when I said yes had me realise that yes this was happening. Mariska
knew and we were getting ready to tell mum and dad as soon as we were
ready. I remembered then that I’d better call Gavin quickly to let him
know we only needed to work on our actual homework this afternoon in the
library.
I quickly dialled his number from memory.
“Locke household, this is Georgina speaking, how may I help you?” I
heard Gavin’ little sister answer the phone.
“This is Nick Plasbeek speaking, may I speak to Gavin please?” I
answered in my best telephone voice. I always hated this little verbal
dance. I was terrified of people going off script.
“Hey! Gavin, Nick is on the phone for you!” I heard her yell before
the headset at the other end of the line clattered down violently
against something. I winced at the sudden sound. A few moments later I
heard the headset being picked up and I heard Gavin answer in a quiet
voice.
“Natalie, is everything okay over there?” he whispered.
“Hey Gavin, everything is fine. I just wanted to say we only need to
do our regular homework at the library this afternoon. I’ll explain
later. How are you getting there?” I asked.
“Mum’s driving me there after school. Shall I ask if she can pick you
up at your place on the way?”
“That would be great. Mum and dad won’t let me bike to the Library
alone yet. Ill be home by three thirty at the latest.”
Gavin thought about this. “No need to hurry, we’ll probably be at
your place at around a quarter to four. We need to drop off Georgina at
a friends house first.”
Excellent. Gave me plenty of time to get changed out of my school
uniform.
“Thanks Gavin! I’ll see you at school!”
“See you there Natalie.”
I felt warm inside at hearing this. Gavin really was the best friend
anyone could ask for.
The rest of the morning was the usual rush to get ready for school.
Mum had breakfast ready on the table, and the whole family slid into
their seats at eight o’clock sharp. Marit and Mariska both immaculately
dressed in their Girls high school kilts and blazers, and me in my grey
Ilam primary shorts, short-sleeved shirt and jersey. I’d always hated
the uniform, but this morning it felt like I was wearing boredom
personified. I grabbed a couple of weetbix and the milk before my
sisters could beat me to it. As I poured it over my bowl of weetbix I
told mum my plans for the afternoon.
“Gavin and his mum are picking me up here after school so we can
finish our group project at the library. Is that okay?”
“Of course schat, I’m glad you’re finally learning not to
leave things to the last minute for a change. You’ll be back at
six?”
“I think so? Gavin didn’t say, but he has dinner then too so we
should be?”
“I’ll ring Daphne later to check. Eat your weetbix, you’ll be
late.”
I practically inhaled my weetbix, which had gone soggy while we were
talking, grabbed my backpack with my lunch from where mum had left it
ready by the counter, and waved goodbye as I headed out for another day
of school.
My mind wandered as I followed my usual route to school. Other than
the tricky crossing of Riccarton Road at the exit of Bartlett Street
where I was supposed to get off and use the pedestrian crossing, but
where I actually timed crossing halfway and then cycled upstream on the
median strip like a salmon before shooting another gap into Mona Vale
Avenue, there wasn’t much traffic and I could zone off as I navigated
through lower Riccarton, through Deans Bush and towards Ilam school on
the boundaries of the University of Canterbury campus.
As I cycled, I was thinking about the feeling of being a girl, and I
imagined I was wearing the blue summer dress that was the girls uniform.
I could feel the bottom of the dress ripple over my thighs in the wind
before realising I was still in my boys shorts. For a moment there I’d
felt what it was like to feel my hair tied back. I realised that I’d
ignored my body most of the time. And I knew why. It felt
wrong. Not “I want to rip my skin off” wrong, but this quiet
sensation of mismatch, like having sand in your shoe.
My life had become like one of those optical illusions where at first
you’re looking at the picture of an old woman, but then something had
twisted and now you couldn’t unsee the young woman staring out
at you. How had I been missing this? It was so obvious.
I crossed Clyde Road at the school crossing and headed down Kirkwood
Ave towards the back entrance to the school, joining the flow of kids
arriving and walking their bikes up the drive. A brief memory of the
first time I cycled to school flashed through my head and I flushed with
shame. I’d been so excited to arrive by bike I’d cycled up the path
until another kid had yelled at me for breaking the rules.
Gavin was sitting at his desk next to mine when I walked into class
and sat down next to him.
“Why are we only doing our project at the library? What happened?”
Were the first words out of his mouth.
“And a good morning to you too.” I answered, before ducking as he
glared at me.
“Sorry. I got up early and found what I was looking for in the
Encyclopedia before Mariska caught me.”
Gavin looked startled at that. “Mariska? How did you talk your way
out of that?”
“I didn’t. I told her what I was looking for and why. She’s agreed to
help me get ready to tell mum and dad.”
“You did that and you’re here and not in the back of the wagon to the
funny farm?”
“I didn’t tell her everything. Just the part about me being
you know what. Did you know she want’s to be a psychologist after
finishing high school? She promised me she’d find everything she could
in the University library tomorrow afternoon. Which means we can
actually finish our school project on time for a change.”
Gavin nodded. “You have the coolest sister ever, you do know that,
right?”
“She’s a pain in the rear when she’s taking over from mum, but she’s
always looked after me too. You know how it is?”
Gavin and Georgina were latecomers in his family, his other sisters
were years older than he was. He nodded back in understanding.
We chatted quietly before the bell rang and classes started for the
day.
Gavin and I spent morning tea break playing tag in the playground
with a random selection of kids, just burning off energy after morning
lessons. At lunchtime, after we’d finished eating our lunches sitting on
the steps of the veranda outside the classroom, he was in a quieter
mood.
“Show me where it happened yesterday.” he asked.
We walked slowly over the field towards the coppices of trees on the
open boundary line. When I got to the spot where I’d met my future ghost
just 24 hours ago, I looked around and sat down, gesturing to Gavin to
join me. The spot looked and felt perfectly ordinary in the noon
sun.
“Here.” I said, fingering the koru pendant while I tried to feel if
there was anything out of the ordinary about the place. “This is where I
was sitting when I saw her appear over there.” I said while gesturing
towards a smaller line of saplings over on the Student Union side of the
boundary.
Gavin followed my arms movement and looked around. “It’s a peaceful
sort of place. I can see why you came here. It’s a good place to just
sit and think.” he said.
“I’ve been doing a lot more thinking since yesterday. Last night, and
on the way to school this morning. I’m sure about all this. I don’t want
to be Nick any more. I want to be Natalie.”
I told him about this morning’s dream, and how I had found myself
slipping into feeling like I was a girl while cycling to school.
“So how are you going to do this?” Gavin asked.
“I need to tell my parents as soon as possible, but i’m really
worried about how mum’s going to react. I can tell she’s been worrying
about how i’m doing at school, and she gets really scary when she
panics. That’s why I’m so happy Mariska didn’t try to talk me out of
this and is going to help.”
“I hope she will,” said Gav thoughtfully. “She might have changed her
mind since this morning?”
“She’s always taken me seriously when I’ve come to her with problems
before. I do know she won’t just blab to mum and dad without warning me
first. But she’s at orchestra practise tonight so other than at dinner
tonight I won’t be able to talk to her today. I’m sure she’ll let me
know if she’s changed her mind though.” I babbled a bit nervously. This
was a little more serious than talking about Marit using me to run her
errands for her!
“You won’t be able to talk to her after her practise?” asked
Gavin.
“I’ll be asleep by then. I usually go to bed at eight thirty on
weekdays. She’s not back until nine.”
“I forgot how much sleep you need.”
“I just hope I can sleep at all. I’m going to be a total wreck
otherwise.” I replied.
“Can you tell me what you mean about feeling like a girl? How is it
different and how can you feel that?”
I spent the rest of lunch trying to explain to Gavin how I could
imagine sensations, and surprising both of us in the process. I’d always
assumed everyone could do that, and he had never imagined it was even
possible. Apparently this is another way I’m just weird. Who knew?
The rest of the day flew by. I hurried home from school, but Mariska
hadn’t gotten home by the time Gavin’s car pulled into the drive to pick
us up for our library expedition to do actual real homework. The white
angled marble facade of the Library on the corner of Oxford street was
as welcoming as ever, and we were soon immersed in books. I was dropped
off at home just before dinner, project ready to be handed in next
day.
Mariska was home by then but was in a hurry to get ready for
Orchestra so I couldn’t talk to her privately. The dinner table wasn’t
the place to bring up our conversation of that morning! Before she left,
she leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I left you a note on your bed.
Sleep well!” before kissing me goodnight as she headed out the back
door.
As soon as we were done with washing and drying the dishes, I ran to
my room. I didn’t see any note at first, until I looked under my pillow
and found a carefully folded piece of notepaper.
Hey N, I’ve looked over the materials you showed me this
morning. You might be on to something. You really do come up with the
most fascinating problems. Get some sleep tonight, don’t fret about
this, I’ll be going to the university library tomorrow afternoon, and I
had another idea I can check at the same time. We can talk before dinner
when you get home from sports. Love, Mariska
I felt a tightness I’d been holding in my chest all afternoon since
lunch unclench, and felt a deep wave of love for my sister. She really
was amazing. I picked up my copy of the Fellowship of the Ring and was
soon immersed in the story of Frodo and his friends trip to
Rivendell.
Go not to the Elves for council, for they will say both no and
yes.
I felt for Frodo in that moment. At least my own Wizard had been
blunt and direct in her council to me. Even if my own quest felt just as
scary as his was.
When mum came looking for me to put my lights out and get to sleep, I
was already deeply asleep, a smile on my face, the Fellowship lying on
my bed beside me, open to the chapter ‘In the house of Tom Bombadil’
Wednesday at school was deeply annoying. We only had half a day of
school, but we had sports in the afternoon after school, and since it
was still summer season for a few weeks yet, that meant softball for me.
I’d tried cricket, but gave it up as a bad idea after being hit in the
eye twice by a cricket ball while batting, once badly enough to have mum
take me to the hospital for x-rays. Not that softball was any better. I
couldn’t hit a ball to save my own life, so was always being pitched
out, and I couldn’t catch or throw them any better. I’d been practising
both with my sisters in our backyard for years, but I could never figure
out why I was failing. What did “keep your eye on the ball” even mean?
If I did that, I got hit. If I did the sensible thing and ducked when a
fast moving small object headed in my direction, I got yelled at. And
somehow my arms and shoulders would never hinge right so any ball I did
throw either fell short of where I was aiming, or went off in a random
direction entirely. It felt deeply unfair that most kids I knew could do
these things effortlessly before they even started school in the first
place.
So after an afternoon of mostly standing out of the way trying not to
mess up my team’s efforts to win, I headed for home.
Mariska was in the kitchen when I came in through the back door. She
glanced over at mum’s back, who was making a glass of milo for me, and
signed at me not to ask questions yet. I took the hint and drank my
milo.
“I’m going to do my homework.” I heard her tell mum as she walked out
of the kitchen and headed down the hall to her room.
“I’m going to go get changed and read until dinner.” I told mum
myself.
I quickly changed out of my sports clothes, then quietly knocked on
Mariska’s door.
“Come in.” she called.
Mariska was sitting on the nook that dad had built into the bay
window in her room. There were neat stacks of paper sitting in front of
her on the cushions.
“Close the door and have a seat over here squirt.” she said,
smiling.
I curled up against a cushion next to her in the window. Mariska
really did have the best room in the house. I could look all the way
down the drive and across to the park from here.
I turned to Mariska, full of questions. “So, did you find anything
useful?”
Mariska smiled back. “It took some doing, but I did. Most of the
stuff in the Library about gender identity disorder is old, and what the
researchers say you should do sounds completely horrible and wrong. It
reminds me of how they still talk about gay people being sick and having
bad role models growing up, and we both know that’s just wrong. So I
ignored that, and found some newer research from the US. Get this.
They’re talking about the importance of taking kids like you seriously
and not blaming the parents for not raising them right. And from what I
could find, there’s a group in Amsterdam at the Vrije Universiteit about
to start a long term study on helping kids like you by allowing them to
transition, and stopping them from going through the wrong puberty.”
“That’s amazing!” I said, while thinking score one for my
Ghost She’d said exactly the same thing. She’d also mentioned Opa
Plasbeek too. “Do you think once we’ve told mum and dad about all of
this that we could ask Opa for help?”
Mariska looked a little surprised at that. “That’s … actually a
really good idea. Assuming Dad can convince him this is real and that
we’re serious. He’s a bit old, I have no idea how he’ll react to the
news.”
She went on. “So. You’re sure about this? You want to tell mum and
dad?”
I looked at her seriously. “Of course I do. You know how much I hate
keeping secrets, and I’ll need their help anyway. And I’ve barely been
doing anything else other than think about this. Gav and I have been
talking about how I’m feeling for days now, and it’s only getting worse.
The sooner I can be Natalie here at home the better. School is driving
me bonkers. You know I haven’t been happy for months, and I’m finally
beginning to understand why.”
Mariska looked back at me, studying my face carefully.
“Tonight after dinner then?”
I nodded. “Tonight after dinner.”
“How do you want to start?” She asked.
“Can you let them know I’ve got something to tell them? I’ll tell
them my story, and you can fill in the blanks with all this.” I said,
waving at the circle of papers around us.
“Sounds like a plan.” She said seriously, before leaning over and
hugging me.
“You’ve been really brave about all this. I do have one last
question. What do you want us to call you?”
“Natalie”
I saw Mariska’s eyes widen in understanding. She’d been at the table
during that conversation on my birthday too.
“Good choice. If that doesn’t calm mum down a little, nothing
will.”
Aan tafel!
I hear mum summon us to dinner. Mariska gave me a final half-hug as
we headed for the kitchen.
I don’t remember what we had for dinner that night. I know I needed
to tell mum and dad my story after we’d finished the dishes, but my
heart was pounding in my chest all through the meal. After dinner, Mum
and Dad had moved to the Lounge to watch TV while their dishwashers
cleaned up after the meal.
I’m not sure how I got through drying the glasses and plates without
dropping one. Mariska saw I was nervous and squeezed my hand. Marit had
picked up on my tension but obviously had no clue. While I was putting
away the last plate, she mumbled something about practising her violin
and retreated to her room. Mariska, who had headed off to her room to
pick up our papers the moment she’d finished wiping down the counter,
came back into the kitchen.
“Ready sis?” she asked.
“No, but we’d better get this over with before I lose my nerve
entirely.”
“Courage. We can do this. You know they love you and they’re not
going to disown you.”
“You know that’s not what I’m afraid of.”
Mariska nodded sympathetically. Then we both took a deep breath
before Mariska opened the door to the lounge and walked in with me at
her heels.
I saw dad look over at the two of us as we came in, and saw his
expression change from the usual casual glance to an intent look. Mum
also had spotted that something was up, because her full attention
focussed on first Mariska, then me.
Mariska started talking as she walked over to the TV. “Hey mum and
dad, can we turn the TV off for a bit? Nick here has something really
important to tell you. He needs our help with something that’s been
bothering him for a long time.”
I saw both mum and dad nod, and I spotted that mums knuckles had gone
white as she gripped the armrests of the armchair she’d been sitting in.
Mariska turned off the TV, and we both moved to the couch across the
coffee table from our parents and sat down. Mariska nudged me.
Slowly, reluctantly, I started to talk.
“You know how I haven’t been happy at school since the summer
holidays? And how I couldn’t figure out why? I was doing better with my
schoolwork, and I wasn’t being bullied any more since I threw that one
guy over my head when he rushed me in the playground?”
They both nodded. This had been worrying mum a lot.
“I think I know why I’ve been feeling all wrong since the beginning
of the year. It’s nothing to do with other people or how people have
been treating me. It’s my body that’s been feeling wrong.”
I told them about the dream I’d had 2 nights ago now, and how I’d
felt afterwards.
“So that’s what’s been happening. When I try to be a boy, everything
feels bad, like walking around with sand in your shoes. The moment I
tried to imagine what it would be like to feel like a girl? Everything
clicked. What’s that long word for when you suddenly realise something
that’s been staring you in the face but you just couldn’t see it?” I
said, looking at dad. I didn’t dare catch mum’s eye yet.
“An epiphany?” Answered Dad.
“Yes, that’s what happened. The moment I realised I’m not a boy but a
girl, everything inside me started making sense again and I felt better.
But I need your help.”
Mariska took over at this point.
“I found Nick with a stack of Encyclopedia volumes in the living room
at 5 am on tuesday morning, looking like he’d barely slept. I couldn’t
get him back to sleep until I promised I’d help him look into it, and
from what I’ve found? This is real, and he’s not making this up. I went
to the university library this afternoon and found this article in one
of the latest psychology journals.”
As Mariska kept talking, I glanced over at mum and froze. Her
knuckles were bone-white on the armrests of her chair, and all of the
colour had gone from her face. My heart started racing. This was all
going wrong!
“ARE YOU BOTH TRYING TO TELL US OUR SON IS TRANSEXUAL?! DO YOU KNOW
WHAT DOCTORS DO TO KIDS LIKE THAT! STOP! STOP! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE!
THEY’LL TAKE HIM AWAY AND LOCK HIM IN A ROOM UNTIL HE SAYS HE MADE A
MISTAKE!”
The sound of mums screaming hit me like a physical blow, and I
lurched back, before launching myself off the couch, my heart in my
throat and my head pounding in terror. The next thing I knew I was in my
room with my face buried in my pillow, trying to block out the sounds of
mum’s meltdown two rooms over. I have no idea how long I was hiding
there before the noise died down.
A minute later, there was a knock on my door. I still couldn’t talk,
but I made an sound that hopefully sounded like a yes. I felt rather
than heard mum walk into the room. She sat down on the bed next to me,
and started stroking my back gently. I could hear she’d been crying.
After a while she started to talk to me in dutch.
“Het spijt me, ik had niet zo moeten reageren. Ik was behoorlijk
geschrokken en wist niet echt wat ik zei. Ik beloof je, hand op mijn
hart, geen geschreeuw meer. Ik ga alleen luisteren” [translation:
“I’m sorry, I was surprised, and I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I
promise to listen to you and not shout anymore tonight”]. Mum was
gently turning me over and pulling me into a hug. We sat there together
for a bit, holding each other until I stopped sobbing into her shoulder
and started to feel a bit calmer. “Kom maar lekker mee naar de huiskamer
zodat we allemaal de rest van jouw verhall kunnen horen”
[translation: “Do you think you can come with me to the lounge so we
can all hear the rest of your story?”], she finally suggested. 1
I shrugged, and turned to the right out of my room, heading down the
hall back towards the lounge. Marit’s head popped out of her own room’s
door, saw me, and looked like she was going to go back inside again when
I heard Mum behind me say “It’s okay, you should come and hear this too”
to her.
I walked back into the lounge, where Dad was still sitting in the
same armchair and Mariska was sitting on the couch. Dad was reading
through one of Mariska’s articles as I walked in. I hopped onto the
couch and leaned into Mariska. Marit sat down on the other armchair and
Mum sat down next to me on the couch.
Dad looked up at me and smiled sympathetically at me. Then he looked
over at Marit, who still had no idea what exactly had happened. The next
couple of minutes were spent telling Marit what I’d just told them, and
explaining that Mum had panicked because from what they already knew,
people like me weren’t treated well by both psychiatrists and most
people. He then also explained that Mariska had been very clever and had
talked to one of the psychologists from the psychology department about
me, and that they were a lot more supportive. I looked over at her in
surprise. She hadn’t even told me that!
Then he turned to me. “After we managed to calm your mother down and
she went to get you, Mariska told me you’d already picked a name for
yourself. Can you tell us what it is?”
I turned to look at mum. “I decided I’d like to be called Natalie,
because that’s the name you picked out for me. I know I said last week
that I didn’t like it, but it’s been growing on me.”
Mum’s eyes teared up as she reached over and hugged me so tightly it
felt like she’d never let go.
Marit finally said what was on everyone’s mind.
“So now what?”
By the time we were done talking, it was well past my bedtime.
Nothing had been decided, other than that we’d try out letting me be a
girl at home for the time being. Dad said something about finding a
supportive psychologist via the university. Mum walked me to bed, helped
me into my pyjamas and tucked me in. Then she surprised me by kissing me
tenderly on the forehead and saying “Goodnight Natalie.”
I woke up early on Thursday morning. When I got out of bed I saw that
Mum had laid out two sets of clothes on my chair. My usual jeans and a
sweatshirt, and a skirt and top that I recognised as having belonged to
Marit at some point. There was matching girls underwear there too. Where
mum had pulled it out from was a mystery. I’d often dug through the
cupboard in Marit’s room where mum stored hand-me-downs, but had never
found clothes of my sisters that would fit me. Apparently she had a
second clothing stash somewhere I didn’t know about? There was a note
folded on top of the clothes in mum’s handwriting.
After last night, I think we could all use a rest day. You can
sleep in if you want to. I’ll call school and let them know you’ll be
away today. Wear whatever you’re comfortable with. Sorry again for last
night. Love Mum
I took the skirt and the rest of the matching clothes to the
bathroom, quickly showered, and got dressed. After getting annoyed at
the obvious bulge in my new underwear, I worked out that if I tucked my
bits back and pulled up the panties, everything would look flat and
normal, and it wasn’t uncomfortable either. Then I looked in the mirror
and huffed. My hair, despite being at a point where Mum would normally
cut it, looked wrong. Not nearly girly enough. I went to Mariska’s room
and knocked.
“Kom binnen”. I could hear her slightly distracted voice
from behind the door reply. I went in. She was already dressed, and
reading a book while sitting on her bed. A favorite activity of mine
too. She looked at me and did the tiniest of double takes. “What’s up,
squirt?”
“Can you help me with my hair?”, I asked with just a hint of
desperation in my voice. “It looks wrong somehow”.
Mariska took a good look, and considered my appearance for a bit. “Do
you mind if I ask Marit to help too? She’s better at dealing with
shorter hair, you know I’ve always worn mine long.”
I nodded.
Five minutes later, both of them were tugging and pulling and
fiddling with hairclips until they were both satisfied. I looked into
the mirror above Mariska’s dresser. They’d changed the part on my hair,
and clipped back the distinctive “wings” my hair inevitably developed
when it had been left to grow too long between being cut, and while not
anywhere near perfect, I could see a young girl in the mirror instead of
an annoying little brother.
“You really do need to get a haircut”, said Marit. “Not to make it
short, but it needs a better style. When was the last time you’ve been
to a hairdressers?”
“I don’t remember ever having been? You know Mum always cuts my
hair.” I answered.
Mariska piped in at that point. “Mum stopped taking you to the
hairdressers when you were still a little kid. You used to scream and
refuse to sit still. So she did your hair herself, when it got too long.
This is about the longest I’ve ever seen it, you can almost put it into
pigtails”.
“Good. I want to grow it out much longer than this.” I said with a
note of finality in my voice. I remember what I looked like with long
hair, my ghost’s curls were beautiful.
“Ontbijt is klaar!” I heard mum call from down the hall.
“Natalie, race you to breakfast!” Marit called out as she pushed past
me and slipped out the door and ran down the hall.
“Hey, no fair!” I called after her, then jogged after her. No point
in running, that race was lost before I started.
Time to see what new surprised awaited me at breakfast