“Baby! They bought it. You see? It worked!”
“That was weird. It felt like they were going to figure me out.” I admit.
“I know! I was hoping you didn’t say anything because it would’ve given you away.”
Adelina rambles as we go back to the park. The encounter leaves me feeling strange and excited. I bend the visor of my hat between my hands in a fidget when a petite, black woman in a medicinal pink suit and beige loafers starts zipping through hordes of people. She’s offering us her salvation. Christian booklets get pulled from her tote bag. I’m handed one with people running from homes and cars on fire that reads:
Surviving the Rapture!
Renouncing Worldly Pleasures.
Her preaching begins before we have a chance to escape.
“No, thank you, ma’am. Now’s not a good time.”
The woman stares me down.
“My child, are you a boy or a girl? I honest to God cannot tell.”
“You see? It’s not that simple,” I blow up on Adelina.
“Jesus loves you! Repent now, before it’s too late.”
A bible becomes the woman’s armor as she waves it at me. Escaping once again, I speed walk away from both of them.
“Baby, wait,” Adelina yells out.
“You can save yourself! Rebuke these entities controlling you and turn your life over to Jesus. Repent, child!”
Her words an echo chamber to sermons I’ve been on my knees to in church – and a memory of the moment my ex-girlfriend, Camila’s mom, caught us kissing in her room.
Adelina catches up to me.
“Babe, don’t let that crazy lady ruin our day.”
“This is too much, Adelina.”
“Wait, are you blaming me for what just happened?”
“I’m going home. We’ll try this whole Tyler thing another day.”
I find refuge in the only place I can go with this feeling inside of me. Giselle opens the door when I show up at Sammy’s apartment, unannounced. Her sarcasm and jokes are usually met with matched wit or a quirky rebuttal, but I don’t have it in me today.
Sammy doesn’t hear when I knock three times before giving myself permission to enter. She’s blasting slow jams, and taking selfies in her sports bra and boxers in full flex mode.
“What the hell? Can’t you see I’m having a photoshoot here?” she grabs a pillow to cover herself.
“Oh, please. I have my own to look at.”
“Yo, I swear every time I see you, you’re like a completely different person. What’s going on with you?”
“Ever since this haircut, things have changed with Adelina. It just keeps escalating more and more.” I unload my dirty laundry onto my best friend before even taking a seat.
“And what level is this?”
The shirt comes off to show just how far we’ve gotten and to remove this damn bandage. My ribs and lungs are sore from being compressed.
“What happened to your tits? Why are you letting this girl change you?” Her indignation lingers as she inspects the binding.
My defenses go up.
“She’s not changing me. I still act like myself. I’m only helping her come to terms with this and not worry about what people are thinking of us.”
The Velcro unfastening is liberation as the compress loosens its grip on my ribcage.
“That’s still changing who you are, though.” Sammy points out.
“I guess I’m hoping she’ll stop feeling that way, you know? Like, if I do this for her, she’ll eventually love me for me, and none of this will matter.”
“This isn’t cool, at all. Dump the pillow princess, and get yourself a real lesbian.”
“Don’t talk about my girl like that.”
“Shut up!” Sammy raises her voice. “It’s true. She’s wack for even trying to change you.”
Looking from outside of the relationship, I know this must seem insane, but she doesn’t understand what we have. If pretending to be a guy means fewer confrontations, then I’m willing to do this for us.
Weeks after the talk I had with Sammy, Adelina’s plan to transform me into “Tyler” intensifies. She takes it upon herself to replace my wardrobe with loose-fitting clothes and calling me by this new name on a full-time basis. Little by little, I’m acting more masculine. We’ve even stopped drawing attention to ourselves.
On a lazy Sunday morning, we lay scattered on her bed, planning for my birthday in two weeks.
“This thing is killing me. I can’t believe I slept with it on.” I unwrap my breasts, seeking relief.
Adelina’s face goes blank when she sees me unbound. She stays quiet as tears fall.
“Are you okay?” I ask, confused. “Talk to me. What’s up?”
“Your breasts are so perky. It’s disgusting.”
“Perky breasts are disgusting? I must’ve missed the memo.”
“I’m serious, Tyler. How am I supposed to see you as my boyfriend with those? It’s weird.”
Maybe this is the talk we need for her to realize how mental this is. Then we can finally drop the charade.
“Would you get a breast reduction if I paid for it?” she sideswipes me.
“A what?”
“A breast reduction, or maybe even a full reconstructive surgery?”
“Please tell me this a joke.”
This new request was not the trajectory I was hoping for. I bury my face into her pillow, trying to keep myself together. If she notices that I’m crying, it’ll give her ammunition on how unconvincing I am as a man.
“What are you going to do with them, anyway? It’s not like I suck on them.” she gags.
The body-shaming turns my cheeks and ears red. Adelina is still crying, but her demeanor has changed. She’s now in full persuasion mode.
“Baby, if you do a full female-to-male sex change, we can move to another state and start a new life together.”
My face is still hidden. This feels like a bad dream.
“I would love you forever, Tyler.” Adelina kisses my arm. “Can we please do this? I’ll be your support system. I’ll pay for the expenses and everything.”
“How? That’s thousands of dollars.”
“I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about that.”
I pick my head up from the pillow.
“I’m not a guy, Adelina. You said this was for people to leave us alone, and they have.”
“Exactly. Imagine if you went for the full package.” her enthusiasm jumps up a few notches.
“You have it all figured out, huh? Why is it that I’m the only one making changes here?”
“That’s not true. I’ll be going through it with you. It won’t be easy when we move, and I’ll have to get used to the new you. We’re in this together.”
“This is… wow. I don’t even know what to say to this. It’s a lot to digest.”
There’s desperation growing in her. She kisses me again to keep me engaged in her proposition.
“Let’s do some research and see how you feel about the process. Then we can make an informed decision.”
“All right, look into it.” I surrender.
“We’ll go to the Center tomorrow. They should have all the information we need there.”
As soon as Adelina stops talking about it, I ask her to sneak me out. Her family is moving around all parts of the house, so it’s trickier than usual. I duck into her closet while she scopes things out.
The radio gets turned up to cover any noise coming from my hiding spot. Pink, the singer, vocalizes torment over toxic love through the speakers, singing Just Like A Pill. It feels like the song is about me, as I’m kept secret and forced back in the closet.
THE TRUTH ABOUT TRANS
The Center on 13th Street and 7th Avenue in New York City
is a safe haven for our community. Anyone from any walk of life can come here to be educated, counseled, and entertained on sexuality and identity. A muscular man in clothes that are one size too small, greets us as we walk in. His charisma makes it forgivable.
“Good afternoon. Welcome to The Center. How may I help you beauties today?”
“Hi, I’m not sure who I need to speak to, but I’d like to get information on a female-to-male transition,” I explain to him.
“The on-site counselors can provide you with that information. We also have these pamphlets you can take with you. Give me a moment to see who is available.” He gives me a few booklets that I stuff into my bag awkwardly, then picks up the phone receiver.
Adelina turns to me, “Let me see one of those pamphlets.”
A different headline has gotten my attention as I pull it out of the plastic wall mount and read the content:
BE YOURSELF:
QUESTIONS & ANSWERS FOR LESBIAN, GAY
BISEXUAL, TRANSGENDER, QUEER, INTERSEX,
ASEXUAL, & PANSEXUAL YOUTH
“You are being yourself, Tyler,” she says defensively.
I continue to ignore her. Another title stands out to me:
THE TRANSGENDER UMBRELLA
Adelina’s tension loosens when she notices the brochure I’m eyeing. It’s an umbrella with different terms listed under it. The description reads:
Transgender: An all-encompassing or umbrella term for people whose anatomies and/or appearances do not conform to predominant gender roles.
Under the umbrella are other terms:
Transsexual: One who is born into one gender but identifies as the opposite; (i.e., transitioning MTF or FTM. *May experience Gender Dysphoria.)
It makes me think of Brandon Teena’s story. Did he know any of these terms existed, or did he live without ever knowing there were others like him?
Maybe this is where I would fall on the spectrum.
Cross-dresser, drag queen/king, bigender, androgyne, agender, genderqueer, and gender fluid are all defined here. I never knew there were so many different terms and identities other than straight, lesbian, gay, bisexual, and trans. None of these other terms help to identify what I feel, except maybe a cross-dresser. Shopping in the women’s department stopped as soon as I turned eighteen.
“Remember that this is all new information. Give it time to sink in.” Adelina encourages.
“One of our counselors just returned from a Transgender Workshop and says today is your lucky day. Follow this corridor to the second door on your left to Family Services. Ask to see Sarah Stoakes.”
Inside Family Services, we’re greeted by a dazzling male seahorse rocking a squared-off beard that emphasizes their jawline, full breasts, and a gender-neutral nameplate that reads Alex Morgan. Their deep voice has a rough underbelly, but the kindness in their eyes has a feminine tenderness. This person is an enigma as I’m unable to decipher what box the world would place them in. So, why am I trying to put them in one? Alex exudes a freedom I’ve been searching for. After directing us to Sarah’s office, they give me a calendar of events for the month.
“We’re having a meet-and-greet party next Saturday, if you’re interested.” They turn their attention to Adelina. “You should come, too.”
She gives her signature fake half-smile as we turn to the next phase of this experience. The door to the counselor’s office is open. I tap lightly to let the woman know we’re here. Silver, short, spiked hair matches her trendy style.
“Hi, come in. Are you the one looking for information on FTM?” she confirms.
“Yes. I’m Tyler. This is my girlfriend, Adelina.” I shake her hand.
“Soon to be fiancé,” she adds.
“Can you tell me about yourself, Tyler?” she gestures for me to have a seat.
I’m not prepared to give any personal details. The only reason I’m here is for Adelina to finally come to her senses. Now that I’m sitting in front of a professional, I have no idea what to say. I thought I’d be the one asking questions.
“Um, I’m about to celebrate my twentieth birthday in a couple of weeks. I’m Puerto Rican, from the Bronx. I live with my parents and two siblings. An older brother and a younger sister. Yes, I’m the middle child.” I laugh nervously.
“Happy early birthday to you,” she smiles.
“I don’t think that’s what she means,” Adelina adds.
“No, it’s okay. These are things I’d like to know, as well,” she turns back to me. “And how have these experiences shaped the way you identify in terms of gender? Have you always identified as a male?” the counselor continues.
“I’ve always been a tomboy. I wanted to be like my brother and cousins growing up and would wear their clothes.”
“Well, that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re transgender. There’s a growing list of terms and ways to identify. It’s not a one size fits all thing.”
“Yeah, I got some of those new terms from this.” I hold up the Transgender Umbrella pamphlet.
“Based on what you know, what would you say your pronouns are?”
“Umm, she and her.”
“Tyler wants more information on hormone therapy and top surgery to see if it’s a good fit for him,” Adelina interjects.
“Well, the first steps would be two mental health evaluations, then they would issue a letter of transition.”
“Mental health evaluation?” I ask defensively.
“It’s based on international guidelines for transgender care when Sex Reassignment Surgery or Gender Affirmation Surgery is considered. These requirements allow for a more comprehensive, clinical view for anyone seeking a transition letter, which would begin the pre-operative preparation phase. The objective is to minimize regret once the surgery is complete, as it can impact your life in many unforeseen ways. It also addresses gender concerns and safeguarding against social adjustment post-operation.”
“Are there pills or medications that I need to take?” I don’t have health insurance, so this matters.
Adelina reaches out for my hand and places it on her lap. She’s tapping her leg anxiously.
“In this case, it would be hormone replacement therapy. It’s used to induce physical changes caused by puberty. Doctors usually start their patients with a low dose, then safely increase that dosage over a couple of months. It could be administered through injection, patches, pellets, pills, or a topical gel. It may help reduce psychological or emotional distress, and improve quality of life for those suffering from gender dysphoria.”
Sarah pulls out a handbook outlining all the changes that could happen during transition. There are pictures of naked women with parts of their bodies circled as target areas affected by testosterone. The following pages detail these modifications, which could take three to ten years to reach full potential. Within the first six months, the person will notice a deepening in their voice, clitoral enlargement, body fat redistribution, interruption of the menstrual cycle, a difference in the hairline, and an increase in facial and pubic hair.
“You will meet regularly with a specialist to document physical developments, monitor dosage, and to observe your behavioral health, as well as proper supplementation of calcium and Vitamin D, following age-appropriate recommendations for cisgender men.”
“Would I have to legally change my name and gender?”
“Of course, you do, silly. You can’t go around with a name like Solei, looking like Jose.” Adelina jokes.
“Excuse me. Please let me answer the questions.”
The counselor rolls her eyes at Adelina.
“No, you’re not obligated to do so. Every choice in this matter is yours. How far you go is up to you,” she continues. “I will say, though, that I’ve seen people have serious problems and scandals when the paperwork isn’t updated to reflect their truth.”
&nbs
p; I flip through the handbook to avoid eye contact. The following section is titled:
Chest Reconstruction (Top Surgery)
Before and after pictures show surgeries performed on female-to-male patients, where they shaped the skin and tissue to match the contour of a male chest. Scars are strategically hidden under pec muscles. The nipples and areolas get resized with new positions to look more masculine. The following page has illustrations of phalloplasty, a surgery that consists of the construction or reconstruction of a penis.
“You see this?” I show the images to Adelina, shaking my head with absolute certainty that this isn’t meant for me.
“Based on what I’ve seen and heard during our meeting, I don’t think this will solve whatever you two are going through. An uninformed decision could lead down a destructive and lonely path, especially if you’re altering to please someone else. You’d be surprised at how people, who supposedly love you, will be quick to leave when things get too real for them. This could cause alienation from everyone and everything in your life.” The counselor closes the book before I continue gawking, with a matter-of-fact look that tells me we’re done here.
An art piece on the wall draws my attention. It’s a peach that has been bitten into with juices overflowing. The words written within say:
“For a long time, I thought I wanted to be a nun. Then I realized what I really wanted to be was a lesbian.”
-Mabel Maney
I can’t help but chuckle at the timeliness of this quote.
“Thank you for your honesty, Ms. Stoakes. That was exactly what I was hoping to hear.”
This meeting has officially freed me from the trap I’ve allowed myself to be caged into. Unburdened by a cross that isn’t mine to bear, my head bows in gratitude while walking out. Adelina stays behind.
Outside of Family Services, there’s a beautiful garden that I paid no mind to on the way in. A small bridge with a pond underneath connects to another part of the garden. I decide to wait on a bench between the two buildings. The sunlight on my skin and the sounds creating an acoustic bounce ground me to the earth. My eyes open when a shadow moves in. Adelina is standing there, blocking the sun’s love.
Identity Interrupted Page 11