by Arin Andrews
“I don’t really think in terms like that anymore,” I said. “I mean, I definitely thought you were cute when I first saw a picture of you, but now I understand that I’m attracted to a person’s spirit first, then their body. And by that time it doesn’t matter what that body is. Does that make sense?”
He nodded. “Totally. I’m gay, but I think I’m sort of gender neutral. Like, I know the outside of my body is a boy, and I’m happy with that. But inside I’m something else, at least in terms of how society expects a boy should be. I just happen to be stuck in a form that represents something different to the outside world from what I feel in my soul.”
I totally understood, and I felt my heart speed up a little.
We talked for a while longer. He told me he was from a tiny town nearby outside of Muskogee, and he was a freshman at a local college, studying to be a nurse practitioner.
“I like the idea of helping to heal people,” he said.
He had read stuff about Katie and me in the news, and I told him the truth behind all the stories about us.
“I’m really sorry you got hurt so bad,” he said.
“Thanks. We’re always going to have a connection, but I’m really starting to come out of it now.”
It was getting late, and I had to get back home, so we said good-bye and promised to stay in touch. I felt giddy the whole drive back.
We texted back and forth over the next month, and each message I got from him made me like him a little bit more. He was so self-deprecating and funny and smart—veering from a rant against the death penalty one moment to moaning about his chocolate addiction the next. But I kept my mouth shut about my feelings. I didn’t want to mess up our new friendship, so I just joked around and kept him up to date about random things happening in my life—and then something huge happened.
My mom got a phone call from Toby Jenkins, the head of the Equality Center, and he told her that they were awarding me the Carolyn Wagner Youth Leadership Award at the Equality Gala that year. The same award Katie had been given the first night we’d ever spent together.
“This is incredible, Arin,” Mom said when she broke the news. She was starting to cry a little. “I’m so proud of you! The ceremony is on April twenty-sixth, so you have some time to prepare your speech.”
April 26.
The date of my second birthday—it would be my two-year anniversary of starting testosterone. The universe was telling me that I was on the right path.
I started laughing and told her about the coincidence. “And you know what else? That’s the same night as my senior prom. I guess I’m gonna miss it, and I can’t say I’m too upset, after what happened at my first prom.”
• • •
Spring break was coming up, and despite the disastrous trip to Colorado the year before, I really wanted to go back, but to go mountain climbing instead of skiing. Mom agreed to let me take a couple of friends. Jamie couldn’t make it, so I asked Katie and my cousin Amanda to come along. Katie was understandably hesitant at first, but we’d been getting along as friends so much better since the whole Bruce Weber and Barneys campaign. We were also flown back to New York for the launch party at the beginning of February, and while it was bizarre to get thrust into the spotlight once again, there was such an outpouring of love and support from the trans community that I let myself fully enjoy it. There was a huge picture of my face in one of the windows at Barneys, and it cracked me up to wonder about what all my former child pageant judges would think of it—if they’d be proud or horrified. At any rate, maybe all of that ridiculous training had paid off after all.
I met up with Austin for dinner at a Panda Express to catch up after I got back from the New York trip, and I was riding so high on self-confidence from that and the upcoming award that before I even knew what I was doing, I blurted out that I liked him.
I watched his face for a reaction. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and accidentally kicked the base of the table so that everything on it shook.
“Sorry. I just don’t think I’m really in a place to get into anything,” he said.
I felt myself crash a little inside. I couldn’t help but think that it was really because I was trans—that once again I was getting rejected for not having the right thing between my legs. But I wasn’t going to let it get me down. I’d come too far for that.
“I really want to stay friends, though,” he said quickly.
“I do too. Hey, actually, I’m going to Colorado for spring break with a bunch of friends, to go mountain climbing. Want to come along?”
“Sure,” he said. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”
I felt really proud of myself for not letting the rejection affect me more. Sure, it stung, but I felt like I was growing up and getting a better handle on my emotions. I could totally be just friends with Austin. No problem.
I got a text from him the following night: I can’t really keep this back anymore. I do like you. More than just friends. I want to grab your face and kiss you.
His initial hesitation had nothing to do with me being trans. And it had nothing to do with him not being ready to get into a relationship—it turned out that he was worried that I wasn’t. He knew how much Katie had meant to me, and he didn’t want to be a rebound fling. But I knew that what I felt for him was something that had nothing to do with my past with Katie. I couldn’t wait to get to Colorado.
• • •
The trip seemed like a dream. Everyone got along with one another so well, and we climbed huge mountains, taking tons of pictures of the almost alien landscapes, full of jagged points that tried to puncture the sky. I never got any alone time with Austin, since Katie and Amanda were always with us, but that was okay. Everything felt right.
The four of us shared a hotel room, and on the last night there, Brokeback Mountain was on TV. I was in one bed with Katie, and Austin and Amanda were in the other bed across from us. Katie and Amanda eventually drifted off, and through the flickering light of the television screen, I saw Austin watching me from the other bed. The movie was nearing its heartbreaking end, and the beautifully sad and simple guitar music floated through the room. Austin slowly reached his arm out toward me, and we fell asleep holding hands across the open space between us.
• • •
I sat with Austin in the backseat during the second half of the nearly ten-hour drive back to Tulsa. I wanted to kiss him so bad, and I could tell he wanted to as well, but we both understood that it wasn’t the right place. We wanted to be respectful of Katie. Even though she had broken up with me, it still seemed rude to flaunt our feelings in front of her. So we relied instead on dumb games like Jell-O, where we’d pretend we had no bones in our bodies and couldn’t stay in place whenever we rounded a curve in the road. It’s a really immature—but super convenient—way to snuggle up to someone you like while pretending you’re just fooling around.
Once it grew dark, I leaned over all the way and rested my head in his lap. The outline of his face was reflected in the moonlight and he absentmindedly played with my hair. I turned forward to face the front seat, and when Katie wasn’t looking, I felt him quickly but gently kiss the back of my neck.
Hours later, I woke up and stretched. The whole horizon line was pink, and the sun was just starting to rise.
“We’re home,” Austin whispered, and squeezed my hand.
• • •
One month later I found myself in a rented black tuxedo, walking across a massive platform toward a podium. There were huge spotlights creating white spots in my eyes, but I still managed to glimpse my mom off to the side, and I waved to her, just like I had when I’d been dressed as a baby duck as a three-year-old—my very first time on a stage. I remembered how incredibly uncomfortable I had been in that blindingly yellow leotard, feathers flying everywhere, getting in my eyes. My mom had stood and cheered for me as Emerald then, and she was still standing and cheering for me now as Arin.
Katie was standing on the stage too, alo
ng with all the other past recipients of the Youth Leadership Award, and as I passed her, we shared a small smile, silently acknowledging everything we’d been through together. As supportive as my mom had been, and as incredible as Taylor Burns was, I’m not sure that without Katie I would have come to terms with who I am as fast as I did. Despite the fact that she’d moved on to want something new, we’d still lost our virginities to each other, and there is no way that experience would have been the same if it had been with someone who didn’t implicitly understand all of the tangled feelings that come with being trapped in the wrong body, but still wanting to use it to express love. She’d taught me how to not be afraid.
But our relationship was also bigger than that. It was bigger than either of us. We’d been given a chance to tell the world who we are, and it was something that neither of us ever would have accomplished just on our own. We’d been able to give hope to other trans teenagers out there. And even though, by the end, we’d been just going through the motions, it had been our union that had helped humanize us to some people who hadn’t understood what it means to be trans. If nothing else, people can relate to love.
And love is messy. It can hurt so deeply that people kill over it. It can be so overpowering that you forget that everyone else in the world around you even exists. And maybe the only truth about love is that you can never, ever know where it will take you. None of those ideas are new. But nothing compares to the pain of first comprehending them.
When I reached the podium, I felt an incredible sense of calm take over. Somewhere out there in the crowd, I knew Andi was clapping, and that Austin was watching me and sending strength. We’d been dating since the Colorado trip, and he’d been nothing but caring and sweet. My body dysphoria disappeared when I was with him. What we felt for each other transcended my physicality and made me as comfortable as I’d been in the beginning with Katie. Just the day before, he’d hugged me and said, “I like you so much, I’d climb a mountain for you. Oh, wait. I already did!”
Austin had even transferred to the same college that I’d just been accepted to, where I’d be studying psychology. I know that we’re still young, that anything can happen, but everything was perfectly balanced in that one moment onstage.
Maybe I’ll end up with him for good, though. Or maybe I’ll end up back together with Katie one day when we’re older, like she once said. Maybe I’ll end up with another trans woman. Maybe I’ll end up with a trans guy, or a cisgender man or woman. Maybe I’ll adopt kids one day, with a husband or a wife, or even on my own.
All I do know is that I live in a fast-changing world of increasing trans acceptance, where so many options and doors that were never there before are suddenly opening. I’ve been blessed with a crazy amount of love in my life, and I’ve got so, so much to give back in return.
I looked out at the sea of people, took a deep breath, and began to speak.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
You know how some toys come in a box that reads SOME ASSEMBLY REQUIRED? I can relate to those toys. That phrase—“some assembly required”—really resonates with me. It captures this sense that I’ve had for a long time, that if I were going to be who I wanted to be, I was going to have to literally put myself together piece by piece. I had been given a physical body that didn’t match my gender identity. So, I found a “manual” (thank you yet again, Internet!) and started the assembly. Most people are given a body that matches how they feel on the inside. I was not. Over the past few years I have slowly made some of the physical changes needed so that my body matches who I am on the inside.
The first and most important person who helped me do this was my mom. It is hard to articulate just how important she is to me and my journey. She gave me the support I needed and pulled me through the darkness. Without her love and understanding, this book would not be in your hands. I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for her.
My dad taught me how to ride everything I rode, starting with my first electric four-wheeler, with full helmet and chest protector. I thank him for being my protector and for always making things fun, no matter what.
My little brother Wesley . . . where do I even start? The comedian and entertainer of the family. Even on the darkest days, he could always put a smile on my face. He has taught me how to laugh at myself. He’s the person in my family who accepted me the fastest, and I love him infinitely.
My Gigi and Papa were part of my core foundation and gave me unconditional love through it all, constantly reiterating the values that my mom taught me, and giving me tons of encouragement to be who I am, to hold steady and always do the right thing. Always and forever, I will love them both.
Then there is Aunt Susan, my second mom and number one cheerleader. Oh, and my “agent,” too—I almost forgot. I could always count on her to bring some sparkle to my day.
Of course, I need to thank Katie. She understood me when no one else could. She was there at the beginning of my transition, and we shared all of the happy and triumphant moments of watching my body change into the one I have today.
Thank you, Darian, for being there for me and making me feel human when no one else did.
I would like to also acknowledge Skylar Kergil, aka Skylarkeleven. I found him on YouTube, and he is the guy who introduced the transgender world to me. He gave me the answers and hope I was searching for. He has helped so many people with his channel and inspired me to video blog my journey as well. Many thanks to my new friend.
I don’t want to leave anyone out, so I will just give thanks to the following people who taught me about how to be a friend, a survivor, a leader, and a bro: Samuel, Kennedy, Hannah W., Butch, Kelsey, Hannah C., and my cousins Dewayne, Amanda, and Cheyenne.
I haven’t mentioned my best friend yet. Andi Ullrich gave me something growing up that no one else did, and that was acceptance. She never made me feel like the weird kid, and I love her for that more than she will ever know.
My transition would not have been as smooth without the help of my therapist, Taylor Burns. Thank you for leading the way, Taylor.
A big thanks must also be given to Toby Jenkins and the Dennis R. Neill Equality Center for all that you do for the thousands who come to you yearly for support.
Christian Trimmer, my editor—without him this never would have happened. Thank you for believing my story was worth telling and for making a difference in so many lives. Thanks also to Justin Chanda, Laurent Linn, Michelle Leo, Katy Hershberger, and all of the other awesome people at Simon & Schuster.
Last but not least, my friend and cowriter, Joshua Lyon. He has given me a voice to tell my experiences with color. He has been there for an important part of my journey and has become the big brother I never had. So, Josh, thank you.
HOW TO TALK TO YOUR NEW TRANSGENDER FRIEND
(A VERY BRIEF GUIDE)
Talking with someone new is always a little tricky. But chatting with someone who is transgender can feel intimidating—we’re not taught the words or “rules” to handle these conversations. I’ve learned that a lot of people will avoid talking to someone who is transgender because they’re worried about being disrespectful. That’s actually really nice. But if we’re going to bridge gaps, we need to have the conversation. Hopefully, this little guide will help.
1. Don’t refer to me as a “he-she” or “it.” Do accept me as a full-fledged member of the gender with which I identify.
2. Don’t ask me what my previous name was or say “Back when you were Fred . . .” or “When you were Linda . . .” Do use the name I go by now when speaking to me and referencing stories.
3. Don’t keep using the wrong pronouns and name during someone’s transition. Do try your best to remember and just correct yourself if you mess up. It happens sometimes, but as long as we know you are trying, that means everything to us.
4. Don’t ask me what is in my pants, and I won’t ask what is in yours. Do understand that not everyone who is a trans guy or trans girl wants sex reassignment surgery.
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5. Don’t talk about when I “switched” or “changed” genders. Do use “transition” to describe what I am going through or went through.
6. Don’t assume I am here to shock anyone or get attention. Do believe that I just want to live a healthy, happy life and one that is true to my honest gender.
7. Don’t assume that if I’m a trans guy, then I like only girls, or if I’m a trans girl, then I like only guys. Do know that gender and sexuality—which is about who you are attracted to sexually—are completely separate issues.
8. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. For real, please ask questions! Do make sure the person is an openly trans person before doing so in public.
9. Don’t call me every time you see that a documentary about transgender people is going to be on TV. I already know what being transgender is about! Do call me if you see a listing for something you know that I’m genuinely interested in.
10. Don’t ever call a non-transsexual guy a “real guy” or “complete guy.” Do know that a transgender person has done a lot of soul-searching to figure out if he or she is male or female. As such, we consider ourselves very real and totally complete.
Please use this as a general guideline; everyone experiences gender a little differently, so do your best to respect the wants and needs of the person you’re hanging out with. Remember, ask questions! (See number eight above—for real!) And don’t worry about messing up—everyone does at some time or another. If you can believe it, even trans people say the wrong thing to one another every now and then. Everyone’s journey is different, and we all have varying degrees of openness about that journey.
RESOURCES
Books
Admittedly, I’m not a big book reader. Once I figured out I was transgender, most of the reading and research I did was online. But the following books were really useful to me.