Falling to Forgiveness

I let out a long, shallow, shaky breath.

It had been a long drive, long enough that my butt was sore and my dress was all wrinkled. It had been long enough that I was now harbouring serious doubts as to what we were doing. Was it really worth this? Why couldn’t I just stay no-contact? I’d been so happy for years. Did I really need them back in my life?

Did I really want to risk that they’d hurt me again?

“You okay, cutie?” my boyfriend asked, glancing over at me for a moment.

“Mm,” I said, turning to stare out the window. It wasn’t a real answer, but... I didn’t know what the real answer was. So instead I just continued staring out the window. It didn’t really help much, now that the scenery was becoming more familiar. Now that we were nearing where I’d grown up.

There was something particularly anxiety-inducing about this. You spend years away from something that really hurt you, or something that really made you anxious. Trying your damnedest to let go, and for the most part, you succeed. There’s always that one last bit of stubborn trauma, though. That one last little thing holding you back. That one last part of you wishing you could truly get past it, but... you can’t get past it without confronting it head-on. And so you go back, you return, and... god, it all just comes right back, doesn’t it? All of those old feelings, all of that old hurt. With every stupid barn and every stupid house, every stupid road you recognise on the way back. It pulls you back, those dark fingers reaching out to pull you back into the darkest place of your whole life.

“I’m scared, Sal,” I murmured, shrinking back into my seat and burying my face in my hands. 

“Oh, bluejay...” he said, gently. “It’ll be okay, you know?”

I sneaked a glance at him, and he was giving me a warm smile. Those dark fingers rescinded just a little.

Then my boyfriend reached over and ruffled my hair, and my tummy got all warm and tingly. I pouted at him, then opened up the overhead mirror and fixed the mess he’d made. Distracting me from my traumas with that... how dare he!

“It’ll be okay,” he reassured. “I think any complaint they could possibly have is easily brushed off just by how... happy you are now. If they truly care about you, they’ll be on board. And I am firmly in the camp of believing that they care about you.”

Closing the overhead mirror again, and leaning back in my seat, I let out another sigh.

“I don’t know...” I murmured. “Do they?”’

* * *

“Sometimes...” I whispered. “I just want to run away.” 

“Run... what? Why?” my girlfriend said, the amusement in her tone audible even over her tinny computer microphone. “Where would you even go?”

“I... don’t know,” I mumbled. “But anything has to be better than this, doesn’t it?”

Her voice went silent in my ears for a minute. “J— J, you know that they’re just trying to look out for you, right?”

“Nat, they’re constantly talking about how worried they are that you’re not really a girl since they’ve never heard your voice.”

“They’re just trying to protect you from some creepy old guy taking advantage of you,” she said gently, then giggled. “And to be fair, that is true for a majority of the girls on the internet.”

“I think they’re more afraid that you’re just some boy I like and that I’m lying. That I’m acting funny.”

“Well, haven’t you always, J?” Natali said. “What are those genderswap roleplays you always make me do, if not that?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry...”

“I mean, you’re allowed to be a little funny, I think anyway,” she quickly corrected. Then she burst out laughing. “Hey, they’re all worried about me being a boy, and half of the time when you’re making us roleplay, I am!”

I winced. “We can stop doing that...”

“But you never get as into it when you’re being the boy,” she mused. “What if we only roleplay that you’re a girl? Lesbian stuff can be hot.”

‘It’s not the same,’ I wanted to say. But instead, I said, “Okay.”

* * *

I was completely overwhelmed with anxiety by the time those familiar roads became the roads of my quiet little hometown. Every sidewalk, every building, they all had memories attached to them, and so few of them were any good. 

The playgrounds and schools where I’d been bullied... The library I’d spent hours upon hours at, if only so I could stay away from my family... The fire station where my father had volunteered, where he’d dragged me every so often for more male role models, more huge men that would tell me I’d grow up ‘just like my old man’... The church my family had dragged me to every week, trying to save me once they’d started to notice I was effeminate, trying to save me from ‘being gay’...

“We’re almost there,” Sal said, and a particularly painful spike of anxiety pierced through my tummy. “It’ll be over soon.” 

I didn’t even respond, burying my face in my hands again, barely even noticing as my boyfriend rubbed my shoulder. 

I couldn’t help but think of all the flaws I still had. I probably didn’t look like a cis girl, even with my facial surgery and years of hormones. I’d probably applied my makeup terribly, not knowing some secret trick cis girls know. My voice probably didn’t sound girly enough, either. I hadn’t actually done any training in years, after all, just working under the assumption that the training I’d done at the beginning was good enough. 

My parents would totally see through all of it, and they’d be disgusted. They’d see it and they’d ask ‘what in god’s name have you done to yourself?’ or something along those lines. And I wouldn’t have any idea what to tell them.

* * *

“You keep saying that you’re a girl in your head, but... why?” my father asked, laughing to himself. “How could you even know something like that?”

“It’s just... wrong...” I tried to explain, utterly failing, as always, to come up with the right words.

“Okay, what exactly feels wrong?” he asked.

“Everything! I don’t know!” I cried. “I just really hate being seen as a boy. I hate facial hair. I—”

“Why don’t you just shave it, then? And girls get facial hair too, you know.”

“And I want to have long hair, and I want a prettier voice, and... you know...”

He shook his head, staring at me with a half-disgusted frown. “No, I don’t know.”

“B-boobs...” I said, quietly.

He rubbed his temples. “J—”

* * *

“Oh, little bluejay,” Sal said, hugging me close across the console. “I know you’re scared.”

“I’m terrified,” I cried, tears running down my cheeks. I was glad I’d thought to use makeup resistant to that... I didn’t want to look even worse than I already did. 

“It’ll be okay,” he said, stroking my hair. “You don’t look anything like what you used to look like. You don’t sound anything like how you used to sound. You’re just... a girl. They’re going to look at you and when they recognise you they’ll see you as you, not as the child they always insisted they had.”

“How can you know that?” I choked. “How can you know?”

“I can’t, but... look at you. You’re tiny compared to me. You’ve done so much to bring out your natural cuteness. Fuck, you realise when you smile you light up a room, right? When you laugh? How could anyone ever look at you and see anything besides...” he smiled. “Joy.”

I buried my face into his chest. 

“I know you’re scared,” he said again. “I know they hurt you. But you also told me that your mum was in theatre, and had started making friends with gay people, didn’t you?” he prodded. “Couldn’t they have mellowed out even further?”

“Well... yeah...”

“What if they regretted it? What they said? What if they regretted taking things so far that you went no-contact? What if they’ve missed you, bluejay?”

“Then they deserved it,” I grumbled.

He laughed, his chest rumbling underneath my cheek.

* * *

“I just... they won’t let me be me. They’re constantly yelling at me, trying to tell me what to think, trying to fix me. I’m always in a state of perpetual panic, terrified about what religious doctor they’re going to take me next for some fake test to confirm what they already think they know about me.” I swallowed nervously. “I need to leave. I need to be somewhere safe. Can you help me?”

“We can’t emancipate you from them without cause,” the woman said, as she stared at me with pity. But... it’s an abuse shelter.

“But... I...” Why couldn’t I just... stay here? Why wouldn’t they let me? Why couldn’t I stay here and be safe?

“Have they hurt you physically?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “Umm... I guess? Once or twice?”

She frowned. “We’ll need to call child protective services, then. You said you have siblings too, don’t you?”

“No!” I cried out. “Please don’t. Please don’t call. My siblings are fine. They’re not like me. If they get taken away from my parents because of how my parents treat me, their childhoods will be destroyed. It’s only me that they’ve...”

The woman sighed, pen hovering over her notepad. She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, then set that notepad on the bench to the side. “I have to call them, with what you’ve told me.”

“No... please... that will only make things worse...” I said, starting to actually cry for the first time in years.

“Have they hurt you physically?” she asked again.

“No.” I shook my head.

“I’m sorry I can’t do any more.”

* * *

“Take your time, little bluejay,” my boyfriend murmured, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. “It’s alright.”

I’d wanted this. I, in my infinite wisdom, in a moment of overconfidence, had brought this upon myself. I’d decided to face my trauma head-on. I’d been the one to contact them, with Sal’s help. They knew we were coming. ‘We’ as in, ‘my partner and I.’ They knew we were coming today.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pull us out of the car. I couldn’t do anything except become more and more panicky.

“It’s just going to get worse the longer we put it off, isn’t it?” Sal let out a sorrow-filled breath.

I nodded. 

“It’ll be okay, alright? Let’s take care of this now before your anxiety gets worse,” he said, squeezing me tight, then popping open his door and shutting it with a click.

I took a deep, shaky breath, trying to calm my racing heart. As terrified as I was... he was probably right. It would be okay. There really was no way they’d see me as anything but... me. They hadn’t seen any of my transition, after all, which tended to make the difference between the start and end even more startling. I doubted they even knew my real name. And as much as I still had issues with dysphoria sometimes... it was really just a me problem. My appearance had changed a lot. Usually I was fairly confident about my looks... about my voice. From any possible angle, I knew I passed. 

And like, what could they even do? I was an adult. If they didn’t accept me, I could just leave again, and this time, stay out of their lives for good. It’s not like that was much different than what I’d been doing up till now. And, like, it wasn’t as if I needed their permission to do any of this, either. I’d stopped needing that when I’d moved out. And what other permission would I even need to get at this point? I’d already done everything.

* * *

“The moment I move out,” I declared suddenly, startling Natali to attention. “I’m going no contact with them. And I’m going to get on hormones, too.”

“Wow, you sound determined,” she said, smile in her tone.

“I need to. I can’t do this anymore. And I don’t want to let testosterone do more than it has to. I already hate what it’s done. And they don’t even care.” I leaned back in my chair, thinking about the future for a moment. Thinking about what I still could be. “I want surgery too,” I murmured.

“I’m not surprised given how much you seemed to like having a pussy in our roleplays,” she giggled.

“So vulgar,” I giggled back.

The two of us went silent for a while.

“Hormones are basically magic; you’ll probably be pretty cute,” she finally said, her voice a bit muffled.

“Yeah...” I replied.

Neither of us spoke the unspoken. Neither of us brought up the fact that... as much as we’d done those roleplays... she had needs too. Needs that... couldn’t be met by me. For her I could be a fun dalliance at best.

Besides... as much as I loved her...

I’d always wanted to be her more than to date her.

* * *

A certain someone rapped his knuckles on my window. I looked up at him, with what I assumed were big, adorable, needy eyes, and he burst out laughing. “Come on, you goof,” he said, pulling my door open and offering a hand.

My dour mood finally broken as I giggled back, I swung both of my legs out of the car, before taking his hand. He pulled my right up to my feet, and I smoothed out my dress.

“How do I look?” I asked as my boyfriend pulled me along up the sidewalk.

He came to a stop, turning to look down at me. “You look,” he began, in the most pompous, over-the-top voice he had, “Utterly, undeniably, absolutely ravishing.”

I gave him a look. “Sal, I’m trying to get assurances, not get flirted at.”

He just winked.

“Also that just sounded like you were saying words because they’re words to say. I need the truth, here. Did my crying mess up my makeup at all? Is my hair okay?”

He put his hand under my chin, keeping our eyes locked together. My boyfriend looked so incredibly serious. He wasn’t even smiling anymore. And also my insides were absolutely melting.

“Okay, okay, you were telling the truth,” I squeaked.

He winked again, then put his arm around my waist and led me to the front steps, and then up them, one by one. We had arrived at the front door of my family’s house... the house I’d grown up at, and the only house I knew better than my own.

It hadn’t changed a bit. No, only I had.

“Sal...” I started, panic rising in my gut. “I’m so sc—”

“It’ll be fine,” he said, and rang the doorbell.

All other sounds went away, then. The road, the birds, the train horn in the distance. Silence.

My panic grew.

And then the door opened, and for the first time in two years, I saw my mother’s face. She had a small smile when she saw us, before it morphed to confusion. “Can I help you?” she asked, looking between us.

She... really didn’t recognise me. That... that was trippy.

* * *

“You are not getting on hormones!” my mother yelled. “And we’re sure as hell not paying for you to mutilate your body, either!”

“It’s not mutilating my body!” I cried. “I just want to look right! The only ‘mutilating’ going on is stupid testosterone disfiguring me, and I want it to stop!”

“You will stop raising your voice at us!” my father roared, and I fell backwards onto my butt, terrified. “Listen. Son. Those transgenders never look like real women,” my father growled. “You would disfigure yourself by trying to be one of them. What is the point?”

“It’s just... it’s so wrong...” I said, my voice hollow, tears failing to fall, staved away by the testosterone I so desperately wanted to remove. “I just... wish you could... see me. This isn’t who I am. When you look at me you’re seeing some boy that doesn’t even exist. I’m right here and you’re always looking past me!”

“We already got you diagnosed,” she said, my deadname crossing her lips with undisguised, loving venom. “The doctors said it was a phase. That you’re not intersex. You are literally proven to just be a confused boy.” She scoffed. “The only thing we’re ‘looking past’ is your insistence on this phase. But you know what? When you’re 18, that’s when you can make these decisions on your own. By then you will either have grown out of this phase, or, if not, you are free to move out and become some kind of transvestite nymphomaniac,” my mother said with a note of finality.

“That’s when you can turn yourself into something you’re not.”

* * *

“Hi, Mum,” I squeaked.

My mother’s eyes landed on me again, but this time her brows were furrowed, and she was giving me a much longer look. “Oh my God,” she finally gasped, her eyebrows shooting up, her eyes wide. “J—”

“Joy,” I quickly said, cutting her off so I didn’t have to hear my deadname. “M-my name is Joy.”

“I...” she sputtered, staring at me. “I don’t... what?”

I wanted to hide, I wanted to bury myself in a blanket. I felt so exposed, and I probably looked awful. I was terrified of what Mum would say to me, I was terrified that her surprise would change to anger, or...

I buried myself in Sal’s side, unable to look at my mother even a moment more.

He squeezed my shoulder. “And I’m Sal, your daughter’s boyfriend. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fall.”

“B-boyfriend? D-daughter...?” Mum continued to sputter.

“Yes. And yes,” Sal confirmed. If I hadn’t been panicking and endlessly anxious, his nonchalance would have had me giggling. “Can we come inside?”

She stared at him a moment more, then glanced down at me as I nervously stared up at her. That startled me. Before I transitioned I’d been a couple inches taller than her, and since then pelvic tilt had made me about the same height as her, except I was as thin as a pencil. I wondered if that would make me look girlier to her, for a moment, before eventually hiding my face in my boyfriend’s side again. 

“O-okay,” my mother finally said, breathing out a shallow breath.

* * *

‘I’m sorry,’ I wrote. ‘For what it’s worth.’

‘I’m guessing you’ve been silent because it’s over. Which I do understand. We don’t really fit together like we used to. It probably was a mistake to let it go on this long.’

‘I’m sorry that I didn’t contribute as much to this relationship as I could have.’

‘I’m sorry that you spent most of this relationship trying to keep me together as I figured myself out.’

‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t be what you needed. Or where you needed it.’

‘But for what it’s worth, I’m thankful for the time we did spend together.’

‘Love, Joy’

She didn’t respond to what I’d written for two weeks. Long enough that I eventually forgot I’d even sent it. Long enough that when she did finally respond, I didn’t even live in the same house anymore. Long enough that I’d already moved out and escaped. Long enough that I’d already begun taking hormones.

‘Guilt,’ she wrote. ‘I didn’t respond because of guilt.’

‘I didn’t respond because... I got a boyfriend in real life. While you and I were still “dating.”’

‘I’m sorry too.’

‘You could have just... told me,’ I wrote back. ‘I would have been fine with it.’

But she never replied.

* * *

It was strange... walking through the house I grew up in again. Old furniture that I hadn’t seen in years... The same old TV... the same old blankets... The same cups, the same knick-knacks, the same books...

The same old photos, except... where was—

None of the pictures had... me.

I scanned the bookshelf... and they had none of my old books anymore. And the Xbox I’d played hours upon hours on... gone.

Noticing my rising distress, Sal squeezed my hand. Why had they removed all trace of me? Was it because they’d disowned me? Was it because they wanted to forget?

“J— Sweetheart,” my mother said, on the way to the dining room, not even looking at me as she struggled with my name. I found myself impressed that she hadn’t said my deadname, though. Back when I’d given her names to try out, she’d vehemently refused to use any of them.

“Y-yeah?” I squeaked out, my voice barely audible.

“You’ve... become... very pretty,” she said.

I didn’t respond, not knowing how to accept her awkward compliment. But it didn’t matter, the moment passing as the three of us arrived, seeing my father sitting at the table typing away at his laptop.

“Martin,” my mother said, hand on his shoulder.

He continued typing away at his keyboard. “What is it, hon? Who was at the door?”

“Look and see.”

* * *

“Hey, Joy,” a familiar guy said, and I gave him a quick hug. “Nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too!” I replied, feeling a little guilty that I’d forgotten his name. I was pretty sure last time he’d mentioned he was trans too — though, obviously, with much different experiences than me. He was just one of many cool people I’d met going to these poetry slams.

“Salvadore,” he said, winking at me, and I blushed. “Don’t worry, I get it. I’m not any good with names either.”

“But you remembered mine!” I grumbled.

“I try to make a habit of remembering the names of the prettiest girls I come across,” he smirked, and my heart felt like it stopped.

“I’ve only been on HRT for like two months!” I said, feeling a blush rising to my cheeks.

He just smiled. “Two months closer towards showing everyone else what’s already obvious to me.”

I had to hide my face in my hands. “Oh my god.”

* * *

“So we have a daughter now,” my father said, his eyes saucers as he stared at me.

I nodded, trying my very best not to be uncomfortable at the attention. “You... always did,” I said, quietly. He winced.

“Sorry, umm... honey,” he said awkwardly.

“Joy,” I said.

“Joy?” he asked, confused.

“My name,” I mumbled.

His mouth opened to a silent O, before he nodded. “Joy,” he said to himself under his breath. 

“I have to admit,” my mother said, after a moment, as she slid into a chair next to my father. “I didn’t actually think this was possible. You really do look like our daughter. I barely see any traces of J—“

Sal covered my ears.

“—in you… What? Why did you…?”

“That name hurts her, Mrs. Fall,” he said, gently. “It hurts most trans people to hear their deadnames.”

“Oh, come on, it’s just a—” she grouched, but when I started to curl in on myself again her expression softened. “Sorry. I meant what I said though, you know. You really are very pretty now… Joy.”

It was strange.

Of all the things I had expected, this calm, awkward dance had not been one of them. I’d expected anger, or, though unlikely, acceptance with open arms.

Yet, instead… I was having trouble really understanding where they stood. Were they okay with this or not? Was this acceptance to them? Acting as though they were walking on eggshells, and getting frustrated whenever they messed up? I didn’t want their acceptance to be that. I didn’t want it to be “trying not to fight.” I wanted it to be them trying to understand.

* * *

“It’s wild, you know,” I murmured, leaning on Sal’s shoulder as we idly binged through some show.

“What is?” he asked, his hand caressing my shoulder, gently rubbing. Letting me know I was safe, that he was here.

“How much different it is, queer family... found family... compared to bio family.”

“Ahh,” he mused. “Bio family can be pretty terrible.”

“They’re the one thing I feel like... I haven’t truly overcome,” I said, my voice small. 

“I’m me... I have someone to love, someone who I know will love me back. Someone who understands me. I have so many people that understand me, now. So many people I care about. I didn’t have that before, you know? I had one person I loved, but she didn’t understand me. I didn’t have the words to describe what I was going through, and I was so caught up in my parents’... machinations. I was so caught up in all of that darkness that I lost my best friend. Because she needed better.”

I didn’t say anything for a while, burying my face in Sal’s shoulder. Eventually I pulled away, and took a deep breath.

“I forgave her for it, for leaving — my best friend. And I’m past all that other shit now, too, but... they’re still in here. My parents are still here in my head, haunting me. I can’t let go of that past. I can’t let go of the relationship I lost. And I can’t help but wonder what any of them think of me now. Whether who I am now would prove to them that they were wrong.

“I know I’m no-contact, because they hurt me, but I can’t help but...

“I can’t help but want to... be able to...”

* * *

“I forgive you,” I said, and the moment the words left my mouth, I simultaneously felt like I was about to cry, and felt so much relief I couldn’t even believe it was possible.

“You... forgive us?” my parents said, in sync.

“It’s water under the bridge. You can see me now, right?” I asked. “You’re not seeing... him anymore? When you look at me you see... Joy?”

“Yeah,” Dad said. “I... yeah. I see you... Joy.”

I gave him a teary grin, then looked at Mum, who nodded. “Joy.”

“It’s not back then anymore,” I said. “And yes. It fucking sucked. I am not going to say it didn’t, so don’t expect me to. But you know what? It’s not back then anymore. I’m older, I’m stronger, and I have an amazing boyfriend who says I’m cute all the time. I can take having had a shitty childhood in stride. What I can’t take is having unresolved garbage with you two. So... this is it. I’m resolving it. I forgive you.”

“But... you could have ended up with permanent side effects from testosterone,” Mum said, reeling at my declaration.

“Yeah, but I’m cute, right? So does it really matter?”

“Joy... I hurt you,” Dad said. “I hit you. I remember the sound it made when...”

I shivered. “I forgive you for that, too.”

“How can you possibly—” “Why would you—”

“Because I don’t want us to live our lives regretting it,” I said, tears rolling down my cheeks. “I know you’re sorry. I can see it in your eyes. In the way you talk to me. You just... don’t have the tools to communicate it. Or aren’t ready to admit it. But it doesn’t matter. You don’t need to figure it out. I’ve already forgiven you.

“My childhood wasn’t all horrible,” I sobbed, and Sal hugged me tight, stroking my hair. “I still remember cuddling in bed with you, Mum. I remember reading together. I remember making crafts. And I still remember playing games with you, Dad. I remember camping. I remember biking. I remember all the stories you told. I remember board game nights. I remember family dinners. I remember being at church, and laying on one of your laps, or leaning on your shoulders. I remember how safe I felt.

“I wish that it could have gone on for longer. I wish you could have seen that I hadn’t changed. That I was still the little girl with the same needs. I wish you could have seen me, that you could have supported me in the darkest, most difficult time of my life. That you could have tried to understand me.

“But I forgive you anyway. I will always love you anyway. As far away as I am, as long as it’s been since we’ve talked, you’ll still be my parents, and I’ll still miss you. I’m sorry that things didn’t turn out right. But I forgive you anyway.”

I extracted myself from my boyfriend’s arms and stood up. “Can we go home?”

“Y-yeah,” Sal said, giving me a reassuring smile as he began to follow.

“Wait!” Mum choked out. “W-won’t you stay for dinner?” she asked. “We’ve... missed so much of your life. I want to be... I want to do what I can to be around for you now.”

“We both do,” Dad said, and I had to blink away my own tears to confirm... he had tears rolling down his cheeks, too.

I looked at my boyfriend, and he looked back at me. “It’s up to you, bluejay. Do you feel comfortable to stay?”

I let out a long, shallow, shaky breath.