My Name is

A short story that I decided to write a few months ago. It's not quite done.

“My name is Brian.”

It was the first thing that he ever told me. Looking back on it now, I wish that it were the last thing he said to me, either. Since he appeared in my life, things have been completely mixed up and all over the place. I know that if he hadn’t sparked up conversation with me that night, I wouldn’t be here. Maybe in return, my life would be back to normal.

 

I guess this is a horrible way to begin such a horrible story. This is pretty much the end, after all. Maybe this isn’t the end at all. I have no idea what was the beginning and what is the end, or if there even is a beginning and an end. Some nights I lie awake and it feels like it’s all just a vicious circle, and then I plead with the world that it’s all just in my head.

Winter, 1999.

 

The night sky is dark, the light of the stars hidden behind mile-thick smog and the city lights. It wasn’t like all of the kids back home thought it was, but then again they didn’t spend every waking hour thinking about this. About the cracked sidewalks and road construction, and the fact that everybody feels as if they’re the best damn thing to happen to this city. It was the same way back home, only the people there were far more pathetic, and I know that none of them could stand it here. I’m not even sure why I’m thinking about them, about the a******s I had to spend twelve years of my life with.

 

I’d looked forward to this time of my life for years. I was going to move to New York as soon as I finished school, find a nice apartment, and get a nice job. Then came all of the other, much more personal plans. I would save up money, since I had no health care and probably wouldn’t ever find any, and then all of my life problems would be fixed with a nine hour surgery. So far I was following my plan, but it wasn’t as great as I thought it would be.

It’s not too horrible, going out to clubs every night with my friends while they do a couple of bumps in the bathroom. It’s not like they’re addicts, or they’re bad people. Right now I don’t know why I’m sticking up for them, because they promised they would be here with me and I’m all alone. I guess I should get used to it, though, because they do this to me all the time. I ask them to pick me up from a check up or a prescription fill of my T, and they don’t show.

It’s not too big of a deal, though. Sometimes I feel better off without them because all of their excess problems piled up on top of all of mine. I would never tell them that, though. I just smile and laugh along with them like everything is just fine. Sometimes I wish that me telling myself everything is fine would just magically make it that way, as absurd as that must sound.

It’s been an hour, and I finally just give up and walk off, deciding on where to go from here. Any other day I would go to the gym and beat the crap out of a tennis ball with a tennis racket in a sound-proof wall-ball room while screaming my lungs out as if all of the people causing my problems were there. I don’t feel like doing that, tonight. I wanted to have fun tonight, because it was supposed to be a wonderful day. If I think about it like I am now, I don’t need my friends to go to a club and have a good time anyways.

I’ve hardly even made it into the club and am about to get a water, since I’m not nearly old enough to drink yet, when a rather lithe looking male at the bar turns and smirks at me. At least I would assume it’s me, but I can’t be entirely sure because there are other, much more attractive I believe, people around me. I take a seat, smiling at the bartender who hands me my water, talking casually with me. I’m not one for small talk, but the conversation is the only thing keeping me sane as I watch the other boy stand up and walk closer out of the corner of my eye.

I turn, looking up at him as he stands next to me. Actually, I’m not looking up that much. He looks about 5‘8 at the most. I can’t talk, though, because I’m still a good two or three inches shorter than him when standing up. He offers me his hand that does not have a drink in it, and I hesitantly shake it before offering a weak smile to match his smirk.
“My name is Brian.”

“My name is Chelsea.”

“Hello, Brian.” I manage, stumbling over my words a bit. Although I love to dance (even if I’m not that good) with random people, I hate talking to random people. Not to mention there’s a man in front of me that had to be at least three years older than me just randomly sparking conversation with me. I pause to think about what I just said before blushing. “Lucas. Uh, my name is Lucas.”

“Oh, Lucas! I love that name! It’s my birthday tonight, but my friends left me alone.” He pauses to take a sip of his drink, smirking devilishly afterwards. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” I shake my head a bit, blushing more and looking down at my hands. They’re chilled to the touch due to my ice cold water. I almost want to ask him what he’s drinking, but I don’t really care.

“Awe, you’re so cute. How old are? You look about seventeen, but you must be at least eighteen if you’re here. So maybe you’re twenty.” He rambles. The way he speaks, tripping over his words and slurring them together occasionally, just helps to remind me that he’s probably piss drunk. Not to mention I don’t get how you can jump from thinking somebody is seventeen to thinking they’re twenty. I just smile, laughing cautiously. “Nah, I’m eighteen. My birthday is soon, actually, so…”

He goes on for at least an hour more, looking over his shoulder every so often. Eventually he asks me back to his house, and I bite down on my bottom lip. See, it’s not that I don’t like him. Although he’s slightly buzzed, he’s still very charming. Well, as charming as a twenty-three year old guy can get when they’re hitting on you in a club.

Suddenly I realize the danger of this, of me saying yes and following him to his house. He doesn’t know who I am, because as far as he’s concerned I’m just a guy with a slightly high voice. I mean, that’s what I want people to think, but it’s kind of difficult when they’re pretty much trying to get into my pants right there. I keep trying to tell him, but the way he’s telling me about where he lives it’s too hard to get a word in. So I just decide to drop it and follow him.

For those of you who think that New York City is just one big city that’s all clubs and Broadway all over, you’re definitely wrong. I didn’t even know a place could have so many vast places within the small amount of space it was. Until I took a walk all around the city one day. As we make our way to his house, I realize I never really paid enough attention to the Chelsea part of the city. The clubs all over, men all over each other, women all over each other-- drag queens walking about in their roles.

While I look about I see Brian watching me. He’s got a thin smirk on his face, like he’s content watching me look like a scared little kid. That’s what I am, actually. Until the summer, I had no idea what I could really be getting myself into when I made the move from a small town in Florida to the huge a*s city. Even the nickname “the Big Apple” is an understatement. And when we reach his apartment complex, it further supports my theory that New York, New York is a world of its own.

 

 

 

“My name is Honesty.”

I wonder if he heard my voice as I tried to tell him the truth. I mean, I tried to tell him who I was. Did it matter if the words were actually heard? Who was I kidding, of course it mattered because if it didn’t, then I wouldn’t be scared for what would happen if he didn’t hear them--or even if he did for that matter. I tried again; opening my mouth and trying to work the words up out of my larynx and out into the open so they could be turned into wavelengths that would be picked up by his ears.

“Uh, Brian? I uh… I should have probably told you before you uh, invited me over…” I begin, eyes roaming over the open penthouse. He’s in the kitchen, probably getting more to drink, maybe not. He comes back in, handing me a glass and smiling. “It’s water. Unless you want something else to drink? Now, what were you going to tell me?” I smile hesitantly, taking a sip of the water and staring at the floor for a minute. It’s difficult to explain such personal classified information with somebody whose intentions still are unclear.

“Well, you see… It’s kind of hard to explain.” I swallow, staring at the ground. This is the exact reason why I prefer going out with my friends, because then I’m not pressured into having to tell somebody who I really am. I wonder if they make self-help books on this type of stuff. Like Chicken Noodle Soup for the Transgender Soul. Maybe then I wouldn’t be standing in the middle of somebody’s living room against the back of their couch debating myself on how to tell them.

“What is it? You’re not some crazed psycho, are you Lucas?” He smirks, taking a sip of his wine. I’ve bee wondering what he was drinking for quite a while now, but then I realized that it was wine. Pinot Noir, which I only know because I recognize the faint smell that it gives off when you tilt the glass to take a sip. I laugh a bit, shaking my head slowly as I think about it. “No, but uh… I guess I’m a freak. Uh… I guess, uh… I’m sorry, I just really don’t know how to tell you.” My voice is hardly a whisper, but I can tell that Brian hears because he nods his head slowly.

“I get what you mean. Well, we can sit down and talk for a bit longer, if it would help? Or is it that you don’t like me, because I can understand that too. You’re free to leave anytime, you know.” He looks a bit hurt, but he still has a faint, sincere smile across his rosy lips. I just realized how full they are, and it’s hard not to stare at them while I turn around, sitting next to him on the couch. “No, it’s nothing like that. Actually, I think I prefer being with you than dancing with random people at a club. I only went because if I hadn’t, I probably would have found my friends and been pissed off.”

My lips feel dry, throat tightly shut and my hands wringing together out of nervousness. Brian is just as silent, but he’s calm and taking sips from his almost empty glass of wine. Calm is good, calm is very good. I take another deep breath, opening my mouth to speak. “Brian. I uh… I’m a transgender. Uh, I guess what I mean is that I’m a guy… I’m a guy, kind of. But uh, I was born a girl, and uh… I’m still transitioning.”

I can feel my face get hot, probably incredibly red as I turn to face the other direction. I hear him laugh, and I look back at him cautiously. “Is that all? I thought you were going to tell me you had killed somebody, or that you had AIDS…” his voice trailed off, setting his glass onto the table. He moves closer, gently pushing back strands of my hair behind my ear and kissing me lightly on the neck. I tense up a bit, but smile softly, closing my eyes under the serenity.

 

 

“My name is Serendipity.”

I used to be scared of men when I was younger, and I didn’t get used to being around them until I was incapable of telling what person was a man, and what person was a woman. It was because of a time when I used to hang around with this boy that lived down the road a lot. Well one day the mother f****r decided that he was going to teach me all about sex. Which of course was done by molesting me in front of his younger brother. His mom had been in the next room over, but didn’t seem to notice my objections to having somebody’s hands all over my lower region.

I didn’t get over the fear of people touching me until I was fourteen, just to have it reappear a few months later. Sometimes I wonder if that was the switch that told me I wasn’t supposed to be a girl. Nobody really knows how that works, but I know it’s got to do with brain chemicals and your chromosomes. Well, the whole wanting to be the opposite sex does anyways. I’m not quite sure what the discovery of such imbalances with your gender and your chromosomes has to do with, really.

Anyways. This has absolutely nothing with me being a boy or a girl, or what my brain looked like. It was more or less the fact that I was scared as hell as Brian slid his hands up my shirt, kissing me hungrily. Surely he could feel me shaking underneath him as he leaned close to my ear, whispering placid words while undressing me slowly. I bit down on my bottom lip, scared for my life. It wasn’t that I was scared of sex, more or less the fact that I was still a girl underneath everything.

So far I’ve only been able to pay for my testosterone pills and mastectomy, so everything under my pants was still feminized and a bitter reminder of why I hated myself. Brian leaned closer to me once more, staring at me with a concerned look in his eyes before cupping my face in his hands and kissing me gently. “It’ll be okay, Lucas baby.” I wanted to believe him so much, so I nodded my head and smiled sullenly. He flipped me over carefully after completely undressing the both of us. I was grateful that at least I wouldn’t have to see myself, but at the same time I wasn’t prepared for sex at all.

I don’t know how long it lasted, because the longer I stared at the neon numbers of his digital clock, the more my eyes stung. Every time Brian noticed, he would caress my cheek and tell me that it would be alright. Then he would kiss my neck, and it would make me feel better until he pounded into me again. After the first ten or so minutes, though, all of the pain faded into itself enough for me to realize it wasn’t that bad. After every grimace or whimper, Brian would rid my mind of the knowledge of all the pain behind what was going on; and after it was over and I passed out, I was glad that at least his couch was soft.

 

“My name is Love.”

I woke up around three in the morning, staring at the ceiling and under silk sheets. I look about, watching Brian sleeping next to me on his bed. It’s one of those king sized beds, but it’s circular. It gets me wondering about what the b*****d does for a living, but then I see my clothes folded neatly on the bed side stand, which brings me to look under the sheets. Well, at least he had the decency to give me pajamas to wear.

I feel foul, and when I get up I notice blood lining my underwear. Think of it like your period, only it’s coming from the torn lining of your anus. Meaning there’s no cramps, but whenever your muscles contract, it hurts like a b***h. The good thing is, that although I’m coated in my own blood and everything hurts, it didn’t get onto the pants Brian loaned me, or on the bed. Plus, I just walked into his bathroom and it’s like heaven.

I should probably point out that to have such a nice penthouse in the middle of New York City means you’ve got a lot of cash. I currently live in an apartment that equals about the size of Brian’s kitchen and living room put together, and that costs me about two thousand five hundred and sixty three dollars a month. I did live in the dorms at my college, but they had too many transfers when the winter semester started, and they couldn’t accommodate my single-room self. It’s okay, though, because I manage well enough. Not to mention I’ve got my friends living with me off and on.

So, I’m trying to figure out something about this guy. Whether he’s secretly married with kids, or if he’s a drug dealer or something. So far the best thing I’ve been able to figure out about him is that he has the same type of body wash as me-- which could mean that he’s allergic to soap just like me as well. Oh, and he has a shower and a bathtub. One of those Jacuzzi type of deals with jets, you know?

 

I’ve never actually been in one, but they always seemed so calming. So, I figure out how to work everything, and lower myself into the warmth that is a bubble bath. I haven’t had one in so long, because I’m afraid I’ll get too bad of a rash and will have to go to the hospital, which will set me back at least a hundred dollars. Plus, it’s not exactly a masculine thing to do. F**k that, though, because I never said I wanted to be masculine-- I just want, no need, to be a boy.

If you’ve ever been in somebody’s house you’ve only known for a few hours, you know how awkward it feels. Especially to be bathing and using all of their soaps and hair products, along with one of their towels. It’s kind of eerie, and to break the silence I start talking to myself. “I love you… I love him… I love Brian.” My eyes are closed and I’m crying silently, when suddenly I hear another voice. “And I love Lucas.”

“My name is China.”

It’s been days since I’ve followed Brian back to his house. I’ve left, but he keeps calling. Every time he asks me when I’ll be back, and every time I grow colder inside. You would think it’d be easy, to return my apartment key back to the landlord and move. It’s not, though, and I wonder if he just wants me for sex.

The hardest part, though, is that when we’re about to hang up, his voice gets low. He says, “I love you too, Lucas baby.” It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that he’s always drinking. It’s not like I don’t like him, because I do. However, I grew up in a house where the man in charge drank nonstop. So, alcohol plus men had always been a horrible equation in my life.

On top of it all, I’ve got my friends telling me that he’s not one of the greatest people to be with. I try not to listen to them, but it’s hard. You can only ignore six-foot tall drag queens for so long. Especially the kind that are always in your face. I love my friends, don’t get me wrong, but they’re wrong about Brian.

That’s why, for the past hour I have been walking around the city. I guess I just want a sense of stability. I wish Brian could be that, but my mind is still wandering. I passed his apartment complex twenty minutes ago. Currently I am in the middle of Chinatown, staring at an unfamiliar store.

There are good luck neko figurines on the windowsill. I recognized them because my father worked in Asia for about a year, and brought one back for me. Plus, all of the stores in Chinatown have them. The thing that struck me as off was the fact that I recognize the man behind the counter. Which is almost statistically impossible in new York.

I was on my way to work, but something is pulling me closer to the door. I take a deep breath, hearing the bell ring in the doorframe. I walk around, smiling when I see the boy watching me. I must look awkward, dressed up in my uniform for the coffee shop. On top of it all, my jacket is much too large and in terrible shape so I’ve been shivering the whole time.

He looks at me once more before walking off. He comes back with a parcel, setting it on the counter. I look around once more, deciding that a bit of luck couldn’t hurt. I pick up one of the figurines on sale, as well as a couple of packets of gummy snacks. I look out the window as he rings everything up, oblivious to everything until I turn to pay, walking out into the cold.

 

Reviews

[M.a. Benjamin]

Very interesting layout to this story. I like it your description of not only the characters but of the people and places they interact with. Good write.