Shape Of Love

  Sam shook his head.

  “I can't believe how stupid I was. I told him that I was trans and that's why they jumped me. People can just be so hateful sometimes. They pulled up next to me and at first I thought that they were just gonna hassle me a little. They were yelling stuff out of their windows at me and throwing empty soda bottles. I ignored them and kept walking. But that just seemed to piss them off more. They all got out of their car and started attacking me. First, one guy punched me really hard in the head, and I went down fast. I hit the pavement and then the rest of the guys came at me. I was getting kicked and punched and spit on from every direction. I couldn't really do anything, so I just curled into a ball and waited for it to be over. Eventually, I must have blacked out, because I don't remember the beating ever ending..”

  “Sam, that's horrible,” his mother whispered. “I'm just so sorry that you had to go through all of that. It must have been terrifying.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “But I'm alright. I'll just be more careful of who I divulge to in the future.”

  His mother nodded, her expression pained.

  The door to the glass room opened then and Brad and Mr. George stepped inside.

  Mrs. George turned to them beaming.

  “Look who's awake!” she gushed.

  “Sam! How's it going, dude?”

  Brad rushed over to the bed's opposite side.

  “Seriously, guy. You had us all terrified. It was scary watching you just laying there in a coma like that.”

  “I'll try not to let it happen again,” Sam quipped.

  Brad laughed and gave Sam a gentle pat on the shoulder.

  Sam's father approached his bedside with a nervous smile playing out across his lips.

  “How you feeling?” his father asked.

  Sam attempted to shrug, but this cause such an intense pain in his shoulder, that he ended the gesture with a wince and releasing a hiss of air through his teeth.

  “Well, I guess that answers that question,” Mr. George said brusquely.

  “I guess so,” Sam replied feebly.

  “Oh, dude,” Brad said. “It's so good to see you up and moving it really is.”

  Sam smiled.

  “Thanks for being here, Brad.”

  Brad nodded.

  “Anytime, guy. Listen though, I've got to get to my Anatomy class. I was actually just coming to check one last time and see if you were up yet.

  Brad gave a short laugh here.

  “I'm glad that I did! What timing!”

  “Guess so,” Sam agreed.

  “Hey, I'll see you later man!”

  Brad gave an exuberant smile and short wave, which Sam returned, before spinning on his heel and leaving the way that he'd come.

  After he was gone, Sam's mother turned to him and smiled.

  “What a nice young man,” she said. “I always liked that Brad. You two have always been such good friends.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sam replied. “We've always been really close.”

  Sam's father coughed, as he settled himself down in one of the chairs next to Sam's bed.

  “We did think that the two of you would be married one day. I didn't think that I'd still be calling him your 'friend' at this point.”

  Sam rolled his eyes

  “That's gross, Dad,” he said. “I'm not attracted to men and neither is Brad.”

  “Oh please,” his father snapped. “Don't be an ass. You know what I mean. I didn't know that I was going to have a son either. When you and Brad left for this city, we figured that something romantic might be happening between you. I mean, you've always been very mannish for a woman, but Brad never seemed to mind that. We thought that he might appreciate you despite your lack of femininity.”

  “Dad,” Sam said tersely. “I don't have any femininity, because I'm not female. I'm a man. I also don't want to talk about this anymore.”

  Sam watched his father's brow furrow and his body tense.

  “Whatever you want,” he muttered. “Glad you're up and moving.”

  Sam took a deep breath.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

  His mother coughed.

  “Well, the doctor will probably be around soon. He's been coming by to check you at the same times every day. He comes every couple of hours. He's due to be here probably in the next ten minutes or so.”

  “Cool,” Sam said. “Do you think that they might let me leave today or tomorrow?”

  His mother shook her head.

  “Probably not, Sam,” she said. “They told us that they were going to start lowering the dosage of your painkillers and that you would probably wake up today or tomorrow, but then they're going to be moving you upstairs. You've got another week at least. They have to monitor you to make sure that bleeding in your brain doesn't start up again. Your head sustained the majority of the trauma. That's serious business, so they need to keep an eye on you. Plus, you've got those broken ribs and you're not going to be able to do very much walking. It'll be better if you stay in the hospital until you can at least be up and moving around.”

  “Ugh,” Sam groaned. “I really just want to get home.”

  “Not in that condition,” Mr. George stated. “Just listen to the doctor. See what he says.”

  “Can I at least make a phone call?” Sam asked. “Since I'm not going to be able to leave, probably.”

  Sam's mother knit her eyebrows together.

  “Who do you want to call?”

  “Kristy,” Sam said. “She's probably worried sick about me. She's such a sweetheart and I don't want her to stress.”

  His parents turned to look at each other, and odd and conspiratorial expression on each of their faces.

  “What?” Sam asked. “What's going on?”

  “It's alright, Sam” his father said. “We can talk about it later, but it's probably best if you don't call Kristy right now.”

  “Why wouldn't I call her?” Sam asked.

  Sam's mother sighed.

  “Sam, we called Kristy. She didn't want to come see you.”

  Sam felt a weight drop down into his gut.

  “What? But that doesn't make any sense. Did you tell what happened to me?”

  Both of his parents nodded.

  “We told her that you'd been attacked,” Sam's father said. “We told her that you were in really bad shape and had to undergo surgery. We told her that you were in a medically-induced coma in the ICU. She said that she was busy.”

  Sam shook his head and winced as a terrible vertigo overtook him. It seemed that he was going to have to talk without the use of any gestures or movements of his head, at least for awhile.

  “Okay,” Sam said when he'd regained some control of his equilibrium and he didn't feel that he was in immediate danger of becoming sick.

  “Okay,” he continued. “Just that doesn't make any sense. She's busy? Is that really all she said? She just said that she's busy?”

  “Well...” his father trailed off.

  “What?” Sam demanded.

  “Kristy said that she was planning to break up with you anyway,” his father said. “She said that she shouldn't have to come hang out at a hospital for someone that she didn't even want to be with anymore.”

  Sam closed his eyes, taking all of this in. what his parents were saying just didn't make any sense. Even if Kristy had been thinking of ending the relationship, she wouldn't ever do it this way. Kristy was much too sweet and thoughtful. If anything, Sam would have thought that Kristy was the type of person to post-pone a breakup because of a serious injury, maybe even rethink it.

  Then again, he hadn't known Kristy for very long. Maybe he was wrong about Kristy. Maybe he'd been wrong about everything.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Kristy drifted through the next few days as if in a trance. She had come to terms with the fact that she just wasn't going to get to see Sam until he was out of the hospital. It was just so hard not knowing what was going on. She didn't dare go back to
the hospital. Brad hadn't called her again and she felt much too deflated to reach out to him.

  Being rejected by Mr. George had been humiliating. He had called her a him. Kristy was glad to see that despite the George's close-minded nature, they did love their son. Mr. George had looked disheveled and harried, when he'd accosted her in the ICU. He looked as though he hadn't slept all night. Kristy tried to convince herself that this was the only reason that he had been so angry with her. Obviously Mr. George wasn't a fan of the trans community, but if he hadn't been in the midst of such a stressful situation, maybe he wouldn't have treated her with such derision and fury. Then again, he hadn't acted much differently at the dinner party. Maybe he was just a hateful man. Then again maybe he was just a product of his upbringing and he was just trying to have a relationship with his child, who was doing something that he couldn't understand.

  As Kristy always did, she tried to see all sides of the situation. Her own parents had their troubles dealing with her transition as well. Kristy wondered if it hadn't been more difficult for her parents. After all, she had been assigned the male gender at birth. Maybe it was just her feminist way of thinking, but she often thought that it was more difficult for people to deal with a male-to-female transition. Women are treated as the lesser gender and a male transitioning into a female role is seen as taking a step down.

  Kristy wondered if it wasn't the same as cis-women being able to wear male clothes and take male names. When they wore pants or pant-suits, or when they had names like “Ryan” “Billie” or “Charlie”, they were raising themselves up in the eyes of the world. An added degree of masculinity made them tougher and they could be taken more seriously. Then again a male couldn't wear dresses or makeup or have a name like “Susan” or “Alexis”. At least not without opening themselves up to ridicule and attacks on their masculinity; a questioning of their very male-ness.

  Then again, maybe it was equally difficult for Sam's parents. Maybe Mr. George was angry to watch his daughter step into a male identity. If he was old-fashioned then he might feel that women are inherently different, maybe even inherently weaker. Maybe he saw it as an attack on his own masculinity, to watch a female step into a male role. Maybe it angered him to see someone of the more delicate “fairer” sex, take on masculinity. Maybe he felt that a woman had no right to claim male-ness as a part of her identity.

  Kristy paced her room as she allowed these thoughts to tumble through her mind. She had always been interested in feminist theory, even before she had realized that she identified as female. She remembered reading Jean Kilbourne's “Killing Us Softly” during lunch period in ninth grade. Reading about the objectification of women in the media during lunch, hadn't exactly made Kristy popular.

  Kristy remembered that she'd first become interested in feminism in sixth grade, when she'd seen her mother get harassed while they were walking home from the store. Two men passing them on the street had made a series of lewd remarks about her mother's body. Kristy's mother had been dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. It wasn't even a particularly low-cut t-shirt, but Kristy remembered thinking that they shouldn't have the right to make such intimate comments about her mother, even if she had been wearing something revealing. As it was, her mother was just wearing clothing that was appropriate for the weather. It had been a sweltering ninety-six degrees that day.

  Kristy's mother had held her head high and ignored them. The two of them had kept walking, although her mother had quickened her pace. Her mother's refusal to acknowledge the men made them angry and they began to follow them through the park that they crossed on their way home. They began to yell threats and insults.

  Finally, Kristy's mother had spun towards them with a red-face and screamed at them.

  “What response do you want from me? Do you want me to say 'thank you'? Okay thank you! Thank you for what was meant to be a compliment. Can you stop following me and my child now?”

  “Damn, bitch. Calm down,” one of the men had laughed. “Yo mama, let me get a feel of those jugs.”

  “No thank you,” her mother had snapped. “I'm not interested in sleeping with either of you.”

  “Fucking bitch!”

  Her mother had thrown her hands up in exasperation.

  “What is the correct response here?! When men like you scream at me, what am I supposed to do? What reaction will keep you from continuing to harass me or threaten me with violence? What do I do?!”

  It was then that a man on bicycle rode past and noticed the commotion.

  “What's going on here?” he demanded.

  He turned to Kristy's mother.

  “Are these guys bothering you?”

  “Yes!” her mother had cried, throwing her hands up into the air. “They're following me and my son.”

  The man stepped towards the men and the two of them stumbled backwards, although they were laughing derisively.

  “I'm an off-duty cop,” the man spat. “Move now or I'm going to arrest the both of you.”

  The men had sobered then. They each shot a last look of anger at Kristy's mother and then turned on their heels and cantered off.

  Kristy's mother had sighed.

  “Thank you officer,” she's said.

  The man threw his hands up and shook his head.

  “I'm not really a cop,” he said. “I just thought that would be the fastest way to get rid of them.”

  Her mother had nodded, seriously.

  “Good thinking,” she said. “Thank you for stopping. A lot of people would have just kept going.

  “No problem,” the bicyclist had said. “It's just a shame that woman can't even walk through a park without having to fear for her safety. Sometimes it seems like this country is becoming Saudi Arabia or something. A woman can't walk along without a male escort...”

  The man shook his head in disgust.

  “I have three teenage daughters and it makes me sick the way some men think they have the right to harass and frighten women.”

  Kristy remembered how she'd felt that day. She'd felt somehow as though the way that her mother had been treated affected her. She felt as though it was a part of her struggle, and as she started to immerse herself in feminist literature, reading everything from Mary Wollstonecraft to Susan Brownmiller, she felt as though she were innately connected to the systemic oppression of women.

  It was difficult not to view what had happened to Sam through a feminist lens. He was beaten by people that were trapped by their own stringent views of gender. They didn't know how to accept a person who refused to remain in the box that society had placed them in. They couldn't deal with a person brave enough to label themselves. They felt that it was an attack on their own power, and Kristy was sure that they had so little. All they could do was gang up on people who lived in a way that challenged their own worldviews. They punched and kicked and raged against those who were different than them. They felt somehow that the actions of others could discredit their own actions.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Well, Sam, you're looking good,” Doctor Maltoy said. “Your cat scan came back clear. The cranial bleed has completely stopped and there aren't any residual side effects from the head trauma you experienced, or the heavy doses of painkillers. Your ribs are starting to heal nicely, although the bones will take awhile to completely heal. The nurses tell me that you were able to get up and make it to the bathroom this morning, with minimal assistance. Am I hearing this right?”

  Sam grinned and nodded.

  “That's right, Doctor. My chest still hurts a ton, but it's getting better. A few days ago, I couldn't even sit up. Now I can walk across the room to use the toilet. It was excruciating the whole way, but I made it.”

  The doctor looked down, giving his clipboard holding Sam's chart a cursory glance.

  “Just be careful when you're moving,” Doctor Maltoy said. “Broken ribs are tricky. We can't exactly wrap your individual ribs up in casts. If you're not gentle with yourself, you could re-fracture them
as they start to heal. You could even puncture a lung. So don't rush yourself. Be easy.”

  “I know, Doctor,” Sam said. “Trust me, I want to get better as soon as I can. I don't like being in pain. I'm gonna do whatever you tell me I need to.”

  “That's good to hear, Sam,” Doctor Maltoy said. “Listen, I think it's gonna be just a couple more days in here for you. Maybe Friday we'll talk about letting you loose. You could be home for the weekend.”

  Sam groaned.

  “What?” the doctor asked. “You don't want to go home?”

  “Oh no, I definitely do,” Sam said. “It's just that I'm not gonna get to go to my actual home. I have to go stay at my parents house. There's no one who lives with me who has the spare time to help me around. All my buddies have class.”

  The doctor tisked and shook his head.

  “Tough break, kid,” he said. “I know that stinks to have to move back home, when you've just started living on your own. You're in college, right?”

  Sam nodded.

  “Just take it in stride,” Doctor Maltoy said. “You're lucky to be okay. Considering what could have happened a few weeks with your parents isn't all that bad.”

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “You're right. Thanks, Doctor.”

  “No problem, kid,” the doctor said with a smile.

  He gave Sam a nod and then walked briskly from the room.

  Sam braced himself and sat up higher in the bed. He winced as he adjusted the pillows behind his back, setting himself into an upright position. He was really hurting, but laying on his back for days was giving him a terrible sense of fuzziness and vertigo, on top of everything else that he was dealing with.

  Once comfortable, or at least as close to comfortable as he could be in his current state, Sam reached onto the chair beside his bed and retrieved his phone. His mom had gotten it from the hospital staff. When he'd been brought in his clothes and belongings had been placed into a bin, as they changed him into one of these terribly undignified hospital gowns. His mom had had the consideration to track down his clothes, and Sam had been elated to find out that his phone and wallet were still in the pockets of his jeans. He found it incredible that he hadn't been robbed, on top of being beaten.