If I Was Your Girl(62)

I fell back on the bed, stared at the ceiling, and crossed my hands over my heart. It was really happening. It was really, finally happening. I wasn’t going to grow hair on my chest and back. My voice wasn’t going to deepen any more than the little bit it already had. My shoulders weren’t going to widen. My jaw and forehead weren’t going to bulge. I was never going to grow a beard. All because of this moment. I heard the door open and sat up to see an older man with a thick beard and bald head examining my chart.

“Afternoon, Andrew,” he said, putting down the chart and holding out his hand. I shook it and he smiled. “I’m Dr. Howard. How are you doing today?”

“Good,” I said, and I felt a sudden, unprecedented surge of courage. “But I would prefer it if you called me Amanda, sir.”

“I see,” Dr. Howard said, still smiling. “No problem, Amanda. Let me just make a note of that in your chart.” He made the note quickly. “Let them know at the desk if anyone gives you any problems about that in the future.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve looked at your chart and gone through the notes your therapist sent us,” Dr. Howard said, “and this all seems pretty straightforward. We’ll start you on one hundred milligrams of spironolactone to block your testosterone and two milligrams of estradiol to replace it with estrogen. We’re starting at a low dose at first because you’re going to have some mood instability and the estradiol can be hard on your liver. I like to ease in so we can observe you and make sure things don’t get out of hand. We’ll bring you in for a blood test in about a month and stay in touch with your therapist and see how we want to proceed from there.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“There is one other thing I want to go over before I write this prescription though,” he said. “Your therapist doesn’t seem to have any doubts, and I don’t doubt his skill at his job, but I would be remiss if I didn’t make sure you understand a few things.”

“Okay,” I said, my throat feeling suddenly dry. I was so close, and some small, scared part of me screamed that he was about to take it all away.

“Not to be crude, but you are going to grow breasts,” Dr. Howard continued. “They’ll shrink if you ever change your mind and go off the hormones, but they’ll never completely go away unless you get reconstructive surgery.” I nodded. “And more importantly, you’re going to be sterile within a few weeks of starting the spironolactone. It might be reversible if you stop the hormones within your first year, but after that point the effect is almost completely permanent.”

“I understand,” I said, looking down at my hands.

“All right then,” he said, pulling out a prescription pad and scribbling on it. “Stop by the front desk to take care of your copay and make your next appointment, and I’ll see you back here in a month. Good to meet you, Amanda.”

“You too,” I said, feeling like I was walking through a dream as I made my way back to the lobby.

*

Later that night, after the moon had risen and Mom had long since gone to sleep, I took my bottle of estradiol and a can of Diet Coke into the backyard. The grass was cool and wet between my toes, and the frogs and crickets were singing softer than usual. I fell back in the grass and stared up at the faintly glowing crescent moon. Its points were facing to the right, which meant it was just emerging from the darkness of the new moon.

I opened the pill bottle, fished one out, and held it above me. The tiny blue oval felt dry and powdery on my wet fingers. God, it was so small, only a third the size of my pinky nail, and yet it was everything. Breasts and sterility were irreversible side effects, but I knew I was never going back.

It was going to be hard. I was going to have to pretend to be a boy for a little while longer. No matter how much I tried to hide it, classmates and family members were going to notice my body change. The bullying would probably be worse than ever, but somehow, now, I felt like I could handle it. I felt like, as Amanda, I could face things that would have kept me cowering in bed before.

I closed my eyes, placed the pill on my tongue, and washed it down with a sweet, bubbling sip of soda. Then I lay my head back down, closed my eyes, and bathed in moonlight, letting myself dream of how good life could be every now and then.





33

The girls picked me up outside Dad’s apartment for the first day of my second semester in Lambertville. I settled into the left rear seat, next to Chloe, same as always, and in the quiet moment before we would hurriedly catch up with one another I breathed and marveled at how normal everything felt. The world had ended, and yet the world was still here.

“The prodigal daughter returns!” Layla said, beaming at me in the rearview.

“It’s good to be back,” I told them honestly. “I missed you guys.” I hesitated for a moment, then asked what I’d been afraid to ask. I leaned forward so my head was between the two front seats and looked at Anna. I couldn’t help noticing she was having a hard time looking at me. “Are we okay?”

Anna started to say something, but Layla gave her a dangerous look. She looked thoughtful, and started again. “Lord knows I don’t walk the straight and narrow,” she said, very primly. “None of us is perfect except God, right? So I think it’s a sin”—there was another furious look from Layla—“but I think lots of things are sins and Jesus died so we’d be forgiven for our sins, so…”