It’s different working with sculpture. Like drawing in 3D. On the side of the block the sculpture starts out thin (side of the womb) and gets wider (base of sculpture).
Clare’s first memory was playing with Adam in the backyard. He was teaching her soccer. She told the teacher we were probably about two. The teacher believed her.
I’ve finished tracing the design now. I put on the goggles, which make it very hard to see, and pick up the file. After standing the block on its side, I follow Ms. Nguyen’s advice and slide the file away from me. I’m surprised to discover that the sandstone strips away almost as easily as the bar of soap. Only it doesn’t smell as good. It feels kind of like skinning a rectangular apple.
I remember Clare’s first memory too. It was a sunny day. Adam was running around the backyard kicking a ball. Mom asked if we could kick it too. Before that he’d never really played with us.
After that he played with us all the time.
We were lucky. Adam was a really good big brother.
A week after the funeral, Clare and I got in a fight. She was angry that I was in the basement. She thought it was his area and that no one should go there.
He wouldn’t like you better than me if he knew it was your fault, she yelled.
He didn’t like me better, I told her. He liked us the same.
No he didn’t. He always took your side, but he wouldn’t anymore.
Tears streaked her face. I picked up the remote and threw it at her. Then I stomped on a Nintendo controller and ran upstairs.
A tear hits the soapstone and I wipe it away.
Eleven months. Eleven months Adam’s been gone but it feels like yesterday. What would he be doing if he were still alive?
Another tear hits the sculpture. And then another. I file faster like I’m racing the tears.
There was an accident.
Adam was driving to pick up Audrey.
Adam will never come back.
I wish I’d never been born. If I’d never been born, Adam would still be here. Why do I even exist? The extra baby no one wanted. It was only supposed to be Clare.
I ditch the file and pick up the chisel I’m not supposed to use yet. Filing will take forever. I lay the block on its side and line up the chisel, lightly hit it with the hammer. Then harder. A chunk of rock falls away.
Sometimes I wish I could find a time machine. I wish I could tell my parents I don’t want to take karate. If they made me anyway, I would sit on the bench outside and not call home. I’d just wait for Mom and Dad to pick me up. I would do anything to have a second chance.
Lining the chisel up on the opposite side of the stone, I take off the entire corner. Dust flies up into my face and I’m glad I’m wearing the goggles. It lands on my lips and my tongue instinctively darts out. Takes it in.
There is no time machine and there are no second chances. There is only regret.
I’m hitting harder now. I forget to let the tools do the work. Hit and miss. Hit and miss. I file a stubborn chunk of rock off but accidentally nick a finger, put it in my mouth and taste blood.
I’m not done. I have hours to go. But I flip the block over. Scratch the words I cannot say into the base.
Please forgive me, Clare and Adam.
Clare
For the first time in three weeks, I wake up feeling very feminine.
When I look in the bathroom mirror, I no longer feel free with my short hair—I feel plain. I dig around in the vanity drawers until I find a headband. Much better. Next I apply lipstick and eyeliner the way I used to and put on my black sweater and black-and-red plaid skirt.
Mom almost drops the coffeepot when she sees me. “Clare! Hi. Are you okay? I mean, you look . . .” Her mouth continues to open and close but she doesn’t finish her sentence.
I glance around. “Where’s Audrey?”
“She’s not down yet.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re up early.”
I look at the clock. So I am. Mom hasn’t even started making breakfast. She sits down at the counter, coffeepot still in hand, and motions for me to do the same.
“Clare, did school go okay yesterday? I know you said it did, but we didn’t have much time to talk about it. And now you’re dressed like this, and I can’t help but wonder . . .”
“Wonder what?”
Mom shifts on the stool. “Well, you were so brave cutting your hair like that, and wearing the bracelet. I know kids can be mean. Were they mean to you?”
Now it’s me who shifts uncomfortably. Maybe it’s pride, maybe I’m embarrassed; I don’t know. “Some of them. But I’m making new friends too.”
“Okay, that’s good. But just to check because I’m your mom and that’s what moms do, you’re not changing how you’re dressed today because you got bullied yesterday?”
Oh. Now I get it. I’m not going to explain to Mom, just like I’m not going to explain to the other kids who will assume the exact same thing as her, so I go back upstairs and change into jeans and a black T-shirt, take off the headband, and wipe off the makeup. It feels wrong, I feel itchy, so I slip a toe ring on under my sock and an anklet on under my jeans where no one else can see them. I still don’t feel as confident as I did five minutes ago, but it’s worth it today. I can’t let people like Billy think they’re scaring me into dressing differently. Mom and Audrey are already in the car when I go back downstairs. Mom doesn’t say anything, but she smiles at me in the rearview mirror. I smile back awkwardly. I’m still not used to this new supportive version of my mother, but I like her.
After they drop me off, I walk into school and practically smack into Kyle. “You’ve been missing our weekly appointments.”
“Sorry, I’ve been busy working on a project.”
Kyle smiles tightly. “Now, we both know that’s not true. Come on, let’s have a quick chat.” A casual suggestion, but I wouldn’t put it past him to have been waiting at the front entrance for me.
“I’ll be late for class.”
“I’ll give you a note.”
Great. I sink down into the chair. Kyle squeezes through the sliver of space between his desk and the wall to get to his own chair, and it’s not as uncomfortable to watch as I thought it would be. Today is full of surprises.
With everything I’ve been going through, all the time spent browsing forums instead of working on a school project, or any school project for that matter, my marks have plummeted further than they did last semester. I failed an English exam because I didn’t read the book. I didn’t even read the Internet synopsis of the book because I entirely forgot about the exam. I also skipped a science lab because I couldn’t summon the urge to care.
Apparently Kyle heard about both incidents. Worse, he called Sharon in one day to find out how I was doing.
“You talked to Sharon about me?”
“When you failed to show up—again—for our meeting, yes, I did. She says you’re not acting like yourself.” He gives me a once-over. “You cut off all your hair.”
“Is it a crime to get a haircut?”
“She’s concerned about you.”
“If she’s so concerned, she would talk to me instead of you. Instead of avoiding me. What Sharon is actually upset about is the way I’ve been dressing. Weeks ago she told me I’m starting to look emo, because it embarrasses her to be my friend. It’s all about image for her.”
“Ah, I see.” Kyle sits back in his chair. “You’re in the process of reinventing yourself. Trying the emo label on for a bit.”
“There’s no label. I’m not labeling myself.”
“I understand. Teenagers feel like they have to belong to a group. It makes you feel safe during times of uncertainty and change.”
Here I assume he’s referring to my brother’s death.
“It’s great to reinvent yourself,” he continues. “Do you know the average person reinvents themselves multiple times over their lifespan? I once read that to not reinvent yourself is like being resistan
t to life itself. Don’t you think that’s true?”
“Well, yeah.”
“There’s a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson that I like to share in times like this. I’m sure you’ve heard it before. ‘To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.’ I’m proud of you, Clare.”
“Thanks?”
“However, I don’t want all this self-discovery to get in the way of your schoolwork. It’s not like you to fail exams. Next week is the last day of classes, and grade nine achievement exams are coming up the week after that. They’re worth twenty percent of your grade. Normally students complain about how unfair that is, but I’m sure you’ll be jumping at the chance to improve your marks, am I right?” He laughs and I smile back weakly. “I’ve spoken with Ms. Dunphy, and she’ll give you an extension on the bio lab. I’ll try to organize a rewrite for the exam as well. Everyone understands you’ve had a tough year, but this will be the only special treatment you get. Understood?”
“Okay. Thank you,” I say because it’s what I’m expected to say. I’m about to leave, but instead I decide to try something. Kyle is old, so he must have some answers. Maybe he can help me.
“Clothing doesn’t have to be gender-specific, right?” I ask him.
“I agree clothing isn’t inherently gendered.”
“Okay, well, what if I told you that some days I feel more like a guy?”
“Are you saying you’d rather be male, Clare?”
“Sometimes, maybe. Not all the time.” Here it comes. “Maybe I’m a girl and a guy and it changes with the day.”
“Changes with the day?” Kyle’s eyebrows shoot up and he actually strokes his beard. For a few moments we’re just looking at each other, and then he says, “That must be very confusing.”
I get up to leave.
“Clare, wait.” Kyle stands. He’s stroking his beard with such intensity now, I’m worried he’ll pull it off. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just trying to learn all the new lingo. This new trend with you young people, it’s all new to—”
“It’s not a trend. We’ve always been here. We just finally feel safe enough to make that known.”
“Right. You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ve been trying to educate myself and the other teachers as well. I think the best thing I can do is tell you about the gay-straight alliance we have here at school. Have you heard of it?”
I feel myself smile. “I have. I’m actually going to the meeting at lunch today.”
“Good.” Kyle nods and then repeats himself. “Good.”
“So . . . I guess this is our last meeting before summer.”
“Last official meeting, but my door is always open.”
As I walk back to class, I realize I kind of like Kyle. Unlike some of the teachers who only use Taylor’s pronouns because they have to, Kyle is an adult who actually cares.
I spend my morning classes thinking about the alliance meeting. This week it’s going to be at a coffee shop a few blocks from school. Tamra knows the owner and she lets them use the upstairs area where it’s a bit more private. The group is larger than I expected it would be, with students from all the grades. Most people I recognize but don’t know by name, but I’m surprised to see a guy from my grade named Stefan. He gives me a friendly wave, which I return.
As the leader of the alliance, Tamra welcomes everyone and then introduces me, asks if I have anything I want to say. This makes me even more uncomfortable. I stutter out a no and turn bright red. She explains that they usually go around the circle and give everyone the opportunity to share their experiences, but I don’t have to share if I’m not comfortable, so I just nod.
Tamra begins by telling us that her grandmother is coming to visit and that she’s nervous for the visit. “Grandma no longer pretends Abigail and I are just really good friends, but she doesn’t want to meet her just yet. Maybe on her next trip.” Tamra pauses and then adds, “But to tell you the truth, I don’t know how much longer she’ll live, and it makes me really sad to think she’ll never get to know Abby.”
“You can’t change other people,” Stefan responds. “All you can do is hope they accept you, and be ready to accept that they might not.”
Tamra’s story makes me think of everything I’ve been through to get to this point, how nervous I was, and still am, to confide in my parents, and the conversation we had after I cut my hair. I’m lucky to have the family I have. So when it’s my turn to speak, I square my shoulders and tell myself I can do this. I can open up to people at school about who I am.
“Hi, my name is Clare. I’m Taylor’s friend.” Taylor gives me a reassuring smile and I continue. “I’m not really sure how to explain what I’ve been going through, but I want to.”
“There’s no pressure,” Tamra tells me, and everyone nods. “Say as much or as little as you’d like. We’re glad you’re here.”
“Okay. Well, I actually woke up feeling like a girl today.” The words slip out of my mouth and I let them. “That’s kind of weird for me because for the last few weeks, I’ve been feeling like a guy. I know I don’t have to choose, and for the moment at least I’d like to keep using she/her pronouns. I’ve been doing a lot of research online and joined some chat groups and stuff, and there are people who feel the same way I do.” So that I won’t panic and stop talking, I look at my fingers in my lap, but I can feel Taylor’s eyes on me. “I’m terrified of labels. I’m scared of hurting other people by trying to label them, and I’m scared of using the wrong label on others or myself. The other night I watched a YouTube video about someone who is gender-fluid but who used to tag Tumblr photos as both ‘gender-fluid’ and ‘trans’ and got comments from people who didn’t think they should use both labels, or that they don’t mean the same thing. Sometimes it feels like you can’t make any mistakes.”
“I know what you mean,” a girl I don’t know says. “That kind of thing happened to me too. I didn’t mean to offend anyone else; I was just trying to define my own experience.” There are murmurs of agreement, and then everyone goes silent again as they wait for me to continue.
“I do think labels can be helpful sometimes. Until I heard that term, I didn’t feel like I could even describe what I was going through. Learning about other people who are gender-fluid helped me finally understand myself.” I still haven’t looked up. I’m afraid that if I do, I won’t finish my story, and it’s something that needs to be said. “I wanted to dress how I feel today, but I was worried that if I did, the kids who have been making fun of the way I’ve been dressing would think I changed because of them. So in order to not give them that idea, I dressed like this, and now it feels like I’m living in somebody else’s body. I just want to go home. I thought I was taking some sort of stand today, but I guess I’m still living my life for other people and worrying about what other people think.” I finally risk a glance up to see Taylor looking at me the way we looked at each other during their bio presentation, like for the first time we’re truly being seen.
“So, going forward I’m going to try to stop doing that. I’m going to make an effort to like myself for who I am and to be a better person to others.” I take a deep, steadying breath, still looking at Taylor. “That’s it, I guess. Thanks for listening.”
When everyone starts clapping, I finally break eye contact with Taylor and feel the heat rise into my cheeks. Just like the other day when we were on the wrestling mats, all my secrets spilled out of me, but I’m okay with that.
On the walk back to school, Taylor slings a casual arm around my shoulders as we joke around with their friends, and I feel something inside me change. I feel lighter. Spending time with Taylor feels like spending time with Adam, learning to skateboard or playing Nintendo. Like we’ve been doing this for years rather than days. As Taylor lets out a loud laugh, I risk a glance at them, trying to decipher what they’re thinking. Was putting their arm around me a friendly maneuver, or are they trying to tell me how they fee
l?
When we enter the school, their arm slips off my shoulders, and I feel an urge to pull it back around me again.
“I’ve got maths now.” Taylor sticks their tongue out in disgust.
I laugh. “I love that you call it maths.”
“That’s what it’s supposed to be called.” With a wink, they head away down the hall.
I realize I’m watching them like a weirdo and quickly dart into the stairwell. Maybe I’m completely misinterpreting things, but it seems like Taylor’s and my friendship is shifting. I think I might really like them—scratch that, I know I do—but I’m not sure they feel the same way. How am I supposed to figure that out without scaring them? I’ve never been through this before.
I’m completely in my head as I make my way to the second floor to grab my books and almost trip over my own feet when I see Sharon & Co. waiting for me beside my locker.
“Hey,” I say warily as I approach. What are they doing here?
“Where have you been?” Sharon asks.
“Uh, do you mean just now, or since you stopped hanging out with me or texting me?” I move to open my locker and Sharon takes the hint, steps aside to lean against the next locker.
“So I’m dating Billy now.” I’m focusing on my combination instead of looking at her, but I can hear the smug tone, which implies I’m supposed to be jealous at this news.
I yank my locker open. “What happened to Jeff?”
“He was boring.” She laughs. “In bed, if that’s not clear. Then Billy asked me out. I guess all it took was for him to see I was single. Or maybe he was just majorly turned off by all of that.” Here she waves her hand in a circle, encompassing my wardrobe.
“Oh shit!” Charlotte and Rhiannon bust out a laugh.
I grab my books and shove them into my bag, wanting to get out of there as fast as possible, but then I think better of it. Time to finish this for good. I face them again.
“Why do you care so much what I wear?”
Under Shifting Stars Page 17