To Own The Libs

 

“This is all the time we have for today,” the professor said as he looked at his watch. “See you tomorrow. Miss Suarez, a word?”

As everyone started to get up and began the slow after-lesson shuffle through the classroom door, Anna nodded, and turned to me. “Can you wait for me for a minute?” she asked. “I won’t be long.”

I nodded in turn, and left the room; I stood in the corridor for a few minutes before Anna rejoined me.

“What did the professor want?” I asked as we started down the corridor.

“He wanted to ask me how the work he’s got me doing was coming along,” my friend replied.

“Oh, so you accepted to work on the toxic masculinity project? That’s great!” I exclaimed.

Anna smirked. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“It was you. You told the professor to give me this chance.”

I stopped walking, and turned towards Anna. “How did you…?”

“When he offered me the position, the professor said that he’d asked someone else, but they couldn’t do it because they were already working on some other stuff; but they’d recommended me in their place,” she said.

I shrugged. “It could’ve been anyone in our class. You have plenty of friends.”

“But the professor really likes you, Lily, so you’re high up on the list of suspects. And also, and I’m not saying this to put anyone down, none of my other friends are as smart as you.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” I said, a smile forming on my lips.

Anna smiled back as we resumed walking down the corridor. “Good, because it was. But also, what clinched the deal was the fact that you knew what the project was about just now. I never told you.”

I thought back, and realised she was right. “Yeah, you didn’t.” I sighed. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Why would I mind?” she answered. “This is a great opportunity for me to get started on research in the field, so I’m really grateful you thought of me. Thank you, Lily.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it affectionately, still smiling.

“You’re welcome,” I replied.

“It’s amazing, though. I was actually talking about you with the professor a few days ago, and we commented on how far you’ve come. Knowing what you were like at the start of the year, mired so deep into toxic masculinity, hanging out with Joe all day, every day… And look at you now.” She rubbed my shoulder. “A top student, and a really lovely girl. I wonder what the you from back then would say if he could see you.”

“She,” I replied; when Anna gave me a puzzled look, I explained, “I mean… I’m trans, so I was always a girl, right? So it was she even back then.”

“You’re right,” Anna replied. “Sorry.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “No need to apologise. I used to be a horrible little shit, so it’s natural that you see me as a completely different person now.”

My friend nodded; by then, we’d reached the exit, so we said goodbye to each other and went our separate ways. As I walked back to my dorm, I thought about what Anna and I had both said: it was true, I had changed a lot, hadn’t I? For one, I’d been immersed in queer society for so long that referring to myself as a trans girl was natural, I did it without a second thought – pretending came to me as easily as breathing.

And what’s more, I’d completely stopped believing in that toxic masculinity stuff. I’d been completely honest with Anna, I had been a horrible little shit, to her and to several other people. But by hanging around my friends, I’d gradually come to recognise that everything which had been drilled into me by society since I was very young, everything I was told about what ‘being a man’ meant – strong; hides his emotions; always ready to fight someone at a moment’s notice – was completely wrong.

Now, if only I could bring Joe around, and make him see the light…

I’d already made some headway in that regard: I’d managed to mostly reconcile with him, and while we weren’t exactly the closest of friends, we also were no longer at odds like we’d been before. At first, we’d gotten to talking about video games – I’d shown him how to build a rocket, and get it into orbit – and then, more generally, about our life stuff. He was still quite bummed by the fact that he’d had to miss three weeks of school, and angry at the people who’d ‘made him miss’ three weeks of school; I had yet to find a way to broach the subject that what had happened had been almost entirely his fault.

But still, I was hopeful.

I walked up the three steps that led to my dorm’s front door and stepped in; Darrell, as usual, was sitting at his desk in the entry hall, and I waved to him. “Hi, how’s it going?” I asked.

He looked up from his laptop, and smiled at me. “Oh hey, hello there! I’m good, and you? Everything alright?”

“Everything alright,” I replied with a nod. “Just got done with class, now I’m thinking I’ll get some studying in before bed.”

Darrell nodded back. “Good,” he said. Then he glanced around, as if to check that no one was nearby, and beckoned me over with a gesture; I approached him, puzzled. “Listen, I… I wanted to talk with you for a sec, if you don’t mind.”

I nodded again. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“How are things between you and Joe? Everything okay?”

I tilted my head to the side, and gave him a look. “Yes, of course. Everything’s fine, why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well…” Darrell began, and then paused; he seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “See, I’m asking because I know how that guy can be. I haven’t been with him nearly as much as you have, so I’m sure you, too, know how he’s…”

He paused again; when he didn’t continue, I spoke instead. “He’s what?”

He took a deep breath. “Well, to be honest… he’s a bigot,” he said. “I’ve heard him talk with his friends a few times, and the way he speaks about queer people, or people of colour…”

He let the sentence hang in the air, and looked at me; I nodded. “Yes, I know how he is. Sadly. I’m… working on it.”

“You’re working on it?”

“Yes, I’m trying to talk to him. Reason with him, make him see that some of the things he thinks and does are out of line. That kind of stuff.”

Darrell looked at me for a moment, and then slowly nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Alright. Good. Just… be careful. Try to take it slow, and try not to do anything that would put you into danger.”

I laughed. “Hold on, what? Why would I be in danger?”

“I don’t know. No real reason, I guess,” he said, shrugging. “It’s just a feeling I get. Hey, did you know we had a boy and a girl share a room in this dorm two years ago?”

I blinked at the sudden non-sequitur. “I’m sorry?”

Darrell nodded. “Yeah, it was the weirdest thing,” he said. “They roomed together from the very start of the year, it just took us a while for any of us to notice it.”

“Really? That’s quite the feat, keeping it hidden from you. You’re usually on top of things. How did they even do it?”

“I dunno, really. Things just fell into place that way, I guess.” He smirked. “It was quite the headache for me when I found out, too, having to wrangle things so they could finish the school year without having to find another place. Good ol’ Pat and Allie.”

I blinked again. Pat and Allie? As in, Pat and Allie, two of the three moderators of the GSA, along with Lena? What?

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

Darrell looked at me for a moment, and then shrugged once more. “No real reason,” he said again. “Maybe I just wanted you to know that if you need my help with anything, I’ve got your back.” Then, after a brief pause, he continued, “And that if you want to talk to me, about anything, I’m right here.”

About anything?

I looked at him for a few moments, my mind running wildly through several possible scenarios, the small Lily up in my brain flipping through several books’ worth of information in seconds. What exactly was Darrell implying? What did he know? Why would he mention Allie and Pat out of the blue, just like that? As if they had something to do with me? I mean, they were queer, true: I knew they were both bisexual, and in a relationship with each other. (And with Lena, too, which was a bit weird, but hey, as long as they were all happy about it.) But beyond that we had nothing in common…

Wait, hold on.

Was…

Was Darrell implying I was in love with Joe?

Well, if that was the case, he was way off the mark. After all, I was straight: a completely heterosexual man. Hell, I even had a girlfriend; which was still a new experience for me, but anyway.

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Darrell.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. “Have a nice evening.”

I nodded at him, waved goodbye, and made my way down the corridor to my room. I took a moment to steady myself and catch my breath, and then I went in. Joe was bent over his bed, apparently straightening the covers.

“Hi,” I said.

Joe glanced over his shoulder at me, and gave me a brief nod. “Hello,” he said; then he turned back to the bed, and resumed making it.

“Hold on, are you tidying up?” I asked.

“Yeah?” he replied. “Of course I am, what else could I be doing?”

It was weird: ever since we’d started rooming together, at the end of September – so just over six months earlier – I’d never seen him make his bed, or tidy up his side of the room; frankly, it was a complete mess, especially compared to my side, which I liked to keep neat.

“Well, this is a first,” I said, carefully keeping my tone neutral. “What prompted it?”

Joe finished making his bed, before straightening up and turning to me. “I just thought I’d do some self-improvement. You know, work on myself. To become a better person.” He screwed his thumb over his shoulder at his bed. “This is part of it. Rule six.”

I frowned. “What’s rule six?”

“Set your house in perfect order before you criticise the world,” he recited.

“That sounds like a direct quote if I’ve ever heard one,” I said. “What’s it from?”

He walked over to his bed stand, picked up a book, and wordlessly tossed it to me; I grabbed it, and turned it over so I could see the cover.

“Twelve Rules for Life,” I read aloud. “By… Wait, isn’t this the lobster guy?”

Joe frowned at me. “Lobster guy?”

“Yeah, the lobster guy. The guy who says that human brains work on the same chemicals as lobster brains, so natural behaviour in lobsters is also natural behaviour in humans,” I replied. “My friends told me about him, apparently he has some dodgy opinions on several things.

Joe’s frown deepened; he walked towards me, and snatched the book from my hands. “Dr. Peterson is one of the foremost experts on human behaviour, as it pertains to the relationships between people, i.e. society,” he said. “And I will not have you besmirch his name.”

Before I could help myself, a bout of laughter burst from my lips. “Excuse me? ‘Pertains?’ ‘Besmirch?’ Since when do you use such words?”

“Since I started reading Dr. Peterson’s book,” my room-mate replied with a huff. “Like I said, I’m trying to improve myself.”

We looked at each other for a moment, and then I shook my head. “Alright, I’m sorry. I apologise, I shouldn’t make fun of you. My bad.”

Joe held my gaze for a few moments, then nodded. “Apology accepted. And I should apologise, too, I was getting too defensive,” he said. “I should have waited for you to finish what you were saying. ‘Assume the person you’re listening to knows something you don’t.’”

I smiled. “That’s another rule, I assume?”

He nodded again. “Rule nine.”

“That’s a good one,” I said. And I meant it: after all, I’d become aware of several things I didn’t know after I actually started talking to queer people, and listening to what they said in turn.

“Isn’t it?” Joe replied. “I’ll let you borrow the book once I’m done with it, I think you’ll like it.”

I nodded in return. “Oh, by the way, how did your physics test go?” I asked. “Weren’t you supposed to be getting the results today?”

“Oh, right!” my room-mate said, brightening up. He walked over to his desk, rummaged into his backpack for a few moments, and then came back holding a sheet of paper, which he handed me.

“A B plus?” I said. “Joe, this is great!”

“It is,” he agreed. “I was hoping for something a bit better, but it will still bring my GPA up. And look at this!” He grabbed the test from me, turned it over, and pointed to it. “I got a perfect score in the orbital mechanics section. This is all thanks to you!”

I smiled. “Well, thanks to me and video games.”

My jab prompted a laugh from him. “Yeah, you’re right. I should play games more often, really.” He paused. “Still, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.”

Joe smiled at me, and slapped me on the shoulder. “So what do you say we go out this Friday? Grab a few drinks, celebrate. Like old times.”

I thought about it for a moment, but then I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but Friday’s no good for me. I’m meeting with friends for a movie night.”

“Alright,” he nodded. “Saturday, then?”

“No, I have a date on Saturday,” I replied automatically.

And I instantly regretted it.

Joe’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open; he stared at me for a couple seconds. “A date?” he asked. “Like… a date-date? With a girl?”

I sighed, and nodded. “Yes. With my girlfriend, actually.”

“DUDE!” he shouted, making me flinch – both from how loud he was, and from the word he used. (I’d never liked being called ‘dude.’) “You have a girlfriend?!”

“…Yeah, I do,” I said. “We’ve been dating for a little more than a month. Maybe six weeks.”

“That’s great!” Joe said. “It really is. I was getting worried for you, my man.”

I cringed a bit at his choice of words again, but managed to smile. “Thank you.”

“So, what’s she like?” he enquired. “Your girlfriend, I mean. What’s her name?”

“Nora,” I replied. “And… Well, she’s tall. Taller than me. And she’s really nice.”

Joe shook his head. “No, that’s not what I meant. Is she hot?”

I frowned. After he’d learned about me having a girlfriend, the first thing Joe had thought to ask about was her physical attractiveness; he couldn’t be more superficial if he tried.

“Yeah, she’s… She is hot, I suppose,” I said. “But, more than that, she’s really warm, and caring. When we hug or kiss, it’s really nice. It makes me feel… protected. Like I could rely on her for anything and everything.” I looked at Joe, and saw that he was giving me a weirded-out stare. “What?” I asked.

“It makes you feel ‘protected?’” he said. “Really? I didn’t think you were one to have this kind of mushy feelings. What, are you turning into a girl?”

I looked at him in disbelief for a moment; then I shook my head. “You know what? Forget it,” I said. “You’re making me regret telling you. I’m going to take a shower.”

I turned around and walked to my wardrobe; I pulled my PJs, toiletry bag, and another little thing (which I’d hidden down at the bottom of the wardrobe, beneath my old hoodies), and wordlessly made my way to the bathroom. As I walked in, I heard Joe say, “What the hell, man? We were just talking! Why you gotta be like this?”

I stopped, my hand on the door’s handle. “Think about what you said, and why that could make me mad,” I said, without looking at him.

I pulled the door closed behind me, and I locked it. Then I took a breath, and let it out in a deep sigh. God, talking with Joe was exhausting. I always had to be careful about what I said, and I had to bear him being a complete idiot about things at times. I knew he had a good heart, buried somewhere in there, but that would require a lot of deep digging, and for what was probably the millionth time I wondered if he was really worth the trouble, or if I should just leave him alone on his own again.

Ah well, I’d think about it later; for the moment, I had other stuff to do.

I quickly stripped down to my underwear – my usual combination of panties, camisole, and sports bra (to keep my budding breasts hidden from any prying eyes) – and looked at myself in the mirror. My curves were really coming along now, even though it was less than a month after I’d noticed the first changes: I wondered if I could somehow manage to keep this shape (slender, but with a bit of heft in some places, like around my hips) once I went off hormones later in the year. I quite liked how I looked, it would be a shame to have to go back to my previous body type.

The only thing I really didn’t like was my face: even though it seemed to be getting a bit rounder, less rough around the edges, it was changing noticeably more slowly than my body was.

But, on the other hand, my face was the one thing I could change most easily. I’d taken to shaving carefully with a safety razor close to the skin each and every morning: I was lucky my beard didn’t really grow very fast, so I was still smooth by the time bedtime rolled around.

And, of course, there was make-up. That was the little thing I’d brought into the bathroom, along with my toiletries and sleepwear – a tiny pouch containing a small assortment of make-up implements (eyeliner, mascara, foundation, and lipstick), which I used every evening. Just to get some practice with them, and to enjoy how I looked in the mirror for a few minutes, before showering everything off.

And that was another thing I was considering keeping using after going back to being a guy; after all, make-up isn’t exclusive to girls, plenty of men wear what they called ‘guyliner,’ for instance. (Why call it guyliner, anyway? Calling it eyeliner was perfectly fine. Maybe it was to make it seem more manly? It was amazing how fragile men’s masculinity could be.)

Working carefully, slowly, like I’d done a few times before, I carefully applied the products to my face: it took only a few minutes, there wasn’t much to be done after all, but in the end I really liked the final effect. It made me look… Softer. Cuter. But more sophisticated at the same time.

It was a shame I couldn’t look like that the whole time. Because, how could I even explain it to Joe? Well, maybe I could, after I managed to get through to him, and make him recognise the pitfalls of toxic masculinity. But with how things were going, that would probably be way, way into the far future.

I sighed, and got into the shower, to wash away the make-up and the day’s tiredness.

When I got out of the bathroom, Joe was sitting at his desk; he swivelled his chair around and looked at me.

“I think I’ve figured it out,” he said, sheepishly.

I nodded. “So?”

He sighed. “I’m sorry for implying you’re a girl.”

I looked at him for a moment, then shook my head. “Close, but no cigar.”

“Wait, what?” he said, blinking in surprise. “That’s not it?”

“That’s not it.”

“…Then what?” he asked. “What is it?”

I sighed deeply. “Joe, feelings aren’t exclusive to men or women. A man could have what you describe as ‘mushy feelings,’ and still be secure in his own masculinity. Because that masculinity is not toxic.”

Joe frowned. “Dr. Peterson has some things to say about that so-called ‘toxic masculinity,’” he said. “Like–”

“You know what? I don’t want to hear it right now,” I said, raising a hand to stop him. “We’ll talk about it more tomorrow if you want, for now I have to study a bit, and then I’m going to sleep.”

Without waiting for his answer, I marched over to my desk, sat down, pulled out the day’s notes from my backpack, and got to reviewing them; after a while I heard Joe sigh, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him turn back to his own desk.

One step forward and two steps back.