A literary fiction novelette about a transgender man (ftm), Lou, who reflects back on the first month of his transition. A story of what happens when a crush on a coworker leads to deeper self-reflection and an opportunity for deeper self-love.
Excerpt:
When I look back on the early days of my transition, I don’t think about hormone replacement therapy. I don’t think about surgeries or hormonal changes. I don’t think about trans rights or politics. After a number of years in the game, I like to look back to the beginning and remember how I’ve changed. I like to remember the uncertainty, the lack of confidence, and the heartbreak that got me where I am today…
June 2022:
I’d been waiting on my friend Sam for ten minutes. He was always late, and I was always early. I hated waiting on others. For each moment that passed as I sat at this bar alone, my heart beat grew louder. Like it knew I was waiting, and it couldn’t stand being alone in my chest.
The bar at which I sat was a half-circle of mahogany wood, a cold, hard friend on a Thursday night. A few feet down, the bartender was talking with a group of people, all of whom I assumed were cisgender. Tillie’s was a well-known gay establishment in the heart of Northside. It irritated me that straight, cisgender people infiltrated “gay” spaces. It wasn’t that I had any issues with straight or cisgender people. By all definitions I was a straight man, after all. What I wanted to know was why no one had established a bar for transgender people. Maybe they had, but not here in Cincinnati. I loved our queer spaces but not all lesbians and gays accepted us, either. We had to carve out our community within the community. Find our little niche to call home.
The door opened to expose the summer evening sunlight that hung along the brick buildings across the street, leaving a golden array of light that reminded me how alone I was. It was the type of evening sun that left me wanting someone to share it with. Someone to sit beside while watching it set.
Sam entered and approached me with an incriminating cringe on his face. He had this thick, full head of hair I envied. It was wavy and tempting, like that of Harry Styles, but with onyx eyes that anyone, even I, could get lost in. He was attractive in a non-traditional way, as I found most trans people to be.
“Hey Lou, Lou what’d ya do?” Sam sang. He always had a way of turning my name into song lyrics. I found it endearing. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, taking the bar stool beside me.
“If one of us is going to be late it may as well be you,” I replied, smiling. I picked up my black Russian and swirled it around. The melting ice cubes huddled together inside the glass. I had drunk most of the alcohol, down to a few last drops.
Sam waved to the bartender, asking what was new on tap and ordering a local beer. When the bartender stepped away, Sam turned to me. “Did you get my text?”
“About the job?” I asked. I’d been seeking new employment for a while now, and Sam had sent me some information about an open position at his agency, a non-profit that assisted adults with developmental disabilities. But the last thing I wanted was to work with more people.
He nodded. The bartender returned with his drink. In the low light of the bar, Sam’s five o’clock shadow revealed itself a dark stranger I wanted to know. I had no facial hair. It was too soon to tell whether I’d grow any.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t pay enough per hour,” I replied.
“I get it,” Sam said. We both went quiet. The television above the bar displayed music videos, the current one, “Bleeding Love” by Leona Lewis. Victoria came to mind. She was the reason I had been seeking new employment. Working with her was torture.
Victoria was the supervising manager at my workplace, a marketing firm specializing in healthcare. I’d worked there the last four years. She started four months ago. I was a supervisor alongside her, and we worked closely together. I was attracted to her the moment I saw her. She had shoulder-length black hair, shiny and straight and completely desirable. Her eyes were light hazel, the color of an amber ale. I was a stout guy at only five feet, and she stood about five foot three. She was adorable. Her energy was open, smooth, free, like an airy bird that would never land. We had great chemistry, but her sexual orientation was a question mark. She was single, but was she queer, or straight? You’d think straight women were off-limits for a trans guy like me, but I was still early into my transition. I’d only started testosterone one month ago. I still had my breasts and I had no interest in getting bottom surgery.
Much of the world would always see me as a woman.
“How was your date?” I asked.
“It was great until he opened his mouth about health and fitness and blah, blah,” Sam replied.
“What did he say?” I asked. I couldn’t help but smile. Sam was a 32-year-old gay trans guy. He was round like a muffin and had these sad, dark eyes that pulled me in whenever he spoke. In all the years I’d known Sam, he was consistently amusing. All my trans friends were the best friends I’d ever known.
“He started talking about his exercise routine, which he called a regimen, and I think I might have cringed because he was like ‘what?’ and I had to cover my mouth.” Sam laughed. “He’s way too strict and cares way too much. Imagine dating someone like that.”
I nodded. The group of cis straights got up and exited the bar. I could breathe again.
“Any strides with you?” Sam asked. He took another sip of his drink, set it down on a napkin, and looked at me. His eyes looked into mine and I could tell I had his 100% undivided attention. The music video switched to “Holy Ghost” by Omah Lay.
“I don’t know anymore.” I shrugged, looking up at the video. “Victoria and I were talking last week about relationships.” I paused. Victoria was one of the first persons I told when I began transitioning. She had been affirming from day one. “I don’t remember how the conversation started, but she started it. I can’t tell if she likes me or not.”
“Aw, yeah?” Sam said. His voice dropped a level, as if he were sympathizing.
“Sometimes I think I should just wait until I’ve fully transitioned before I start dating again.”
“Then you may as well never date.”
I glared at Sam. I knew where he was coming from.
“You know transitioning could take years before you become who you want to be.” He continued. “You can’t put your life on hold.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Why don’t you ask her out?”
“Because we work together and I think it’ll be super awkward.,” I said. “Not to mention I’m not sure my boss would think too highly of it.”
“Man. . . You’re coming up with every last excuse not to date, aren’t you?” Sam laughed and patted me on the shoulder. He took another swig of alcohol while I let out a deep exhale. He was right.
The music switched to a techno song by Miike Snow. I loved Miike Snow. The beats dropped into my chest as I gradually grew tired. Alcohol always did that to me. It wasn’t even worth drinking anymore.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone who will accept me,” I finally said and rested it there.
Sam did not reply. We sat in silence and watched the music videos pass by on the screen, the minutes falling into darkness. We sat until it was necessary to go home and sleep because we both had to work the next day.
When I left the bar that night I checked my phone for the first time in hours. There were no messages. The heat stopped the air from moving. The sun was on its way past the buildings behind me, where all the local businesses had closed down for the day. The sidewalks were empty and up above I could see no stars.
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