Stranger Than Fanfiction(16)
In the sixth grade, the beginning stages of puberty felt more like a hijacking than a natural progression. His body wasn’t growing as much as it was betraying him. Every day he was altered a little more into something he wasn’t meant to be. It didn’t matter how many health videos he watched in preparation, the thought of emerging from his teens as a woman seemed foreign and improbable, like a caterpillar emerging from its cocoon as a spider.
Sam thought if he ignored the changes, his body might reject or reverse them. Instead of asking for a bra, Sam wrapped an ace bandage around his developing breasts until his chest appeared flat. The more they grew, the tighter he’d suppress them—sometimes the bandage left bloody cuts around his torso. Eventually he purchased a sports bra that gave the same effect, but it strangely felt like a moment of defeat; he was losing the war with his own body.
It was all so difficult for Sam to grasp; he didn’t expect anyone else could possibly understand. He was afraid his friends and mom would treat him like Frankenstein’s monster if they knew the truth, so Sam put up a strong guard, preventing anyone from getting too close and preventing himself from letting anything telling slip out. Sam thought this prevention was the only way he could protect himself, but sadly it sent him into an asphyxiating isolation. Even when surrounded by his closest friends, Sam felt completely alone.
It wasn’t until middle school that Sam even heard the word transgender. Of course he had read the word once or twice before, but something about hearing it opened his eyes to its meaning. He was flipping through television channels late one night and came across a rerun of an old talk show. The headline read Transgender in America and the host interviewed two trans women and one trans man. Sam was on the edge of his seat as he watched the program. The trans guests talked about the struggles of growing up as the opposite gender, the frustration of living in a world that didn’t understand them, and the freedom that came with their transitions.
As if the dust had been cleared off the windshield of his mind, Sam realized for the first time that he was trans, too. He couldn’t be a freak of nature, or God’s mistake, and he certainly wasn’t a monster when there were millions of people just like him around the world. Sam was embarrassed it hadn’t clicked before, but transgender wasn’t a term used regularly on the streets of Downers Grove.
By the time Sam reached high school, he wasn’t tormented by questions about who he was, but was besieged with questions like: What should I do next? What are the steps of transitioning? How many do I want to take? Do I tell my friends and family? Will they accept me for who I really am? Am I strong enough to get by if they don’t?
The information Sam found and the people he spoke with online were helpful, but many recommended he find a counselor he could talk with in person. Besides covering his share of the road trip (and wanting to leave for college with a little cash in his pocket), one of the reasons Sam got a summer job at Yolo FroYo was to pay for sessions with a therapist. He made his first appointment with Dr. Eugene Sherman, a clinical psychologist whose office was walking distance from his work.
The psychologist was older than Sam was expecting, he had more hair growing out of his ears than his head, he didn’t make eye contact with his receptionist, and he displayed a framed picture of himself with George W. Bush in his waiting room. There were plenty of warning signs, but Sam was so thankful to finally have someone to talk to, he ignored them.
“So you believe you’re a man trapped inside a woman’s body?” Dr. Sherman asked.
“Oh gosh, I hate it when people put it that way,” Sam said. “That sounds like dialogue from an eighties’ sitcom. I’d just say I’m a female-to-male transgender person—it sounds much more factual and less like a punch line.”
“Have you shared any of this with your friends?” Dr. Sherman asked.
“No,” Sam said. “My friend Joey comes from a really religious family, so I’m not sure what he would think. Mo can be really dramatic, so she’s not the first person I want to tell. And Topher—well, the news might be hardest on him.”
“You don’t think he’ll accept you?”
“It has nothing to do with acceptance,” Sam said. “Don’t get me wrong—Topher’s like a saint. He could have gone to any college he wanted, but he’s staying in town to help his mom take care of his disabled little brother. Telling Topher the truth will only be difficult because… well, because he has a crush on me.”
“Is the feeling reciprocated?”
“You mean, do I have a crush on Topher?” he asked. “I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it. I’m definitely attracted to men, if that’s what you’re asking. But I’ve been so focused on being myself that being with someone else hasn’t really been a priority. Does that make sense?”
The psychologist made a note of it.
“And what do your parents think?”
“My mom couldn’t handle it,” Sam said, and shivered at just the thought of telling her. “She cries at every episode of Grey’s Anatomy—I can’t imagine what this would do to her. She’d probably take me to a witch doctor or hide estrogen pills in my food.”
“And what about your father?”
“Oh, I’ve never met my dad,” Sam said. “He was long gone before my mom found out she was pregnant.”