Charlie.

Not Chuck, never Chuck, not Chucky Not Charles in Charge either and definitely, definitely not Charlotte.

I’ve hated being Charlotte ever since I was four, yeah four when my cousins showed me what I’d never have. How he was better than me because I was just a girl. I beat him up, smacked him with my GI-JOE twelve inch action figure. (It was Snake eyes, because he always kicks ass.) I got into trouble but that day didn’t just stick with me. It was just the first crack in my wall.

The first chip off the pink paint.

I smile at the feel of my muscles moving under my LA King’s jersey as I pick up some boxes out of the back of the moving van and carry them into the house. Dad just looks at me and I shrug try to give him a grin but it’s still hard. He’s wigged out that I’m choosing to become a guy. But I’m not really choosing it. You don’t choose to be transgendered, you don’t know matter what some people think, and some girls think it me joining this winning side thing. My sister Libby says that, calls me dyke, and a freak and she refuses to talk to me. And she’s my little sister. My brother Jeff’s the same way, a year older than me and he thinks I’m a lesbian too, says that no matter what I’m never ever gonna be a real guy. Y’know even some T-girls at the LGBT meetings have accused me of that kind of thing too. I really hate them for that.

There’s a really good chance that I’ll never really have a relationship. I’m into girls, I’m pretty sure I am. But you know that sexually my chances of being normal are pretty f-ed up? Oh I know T-girls have all sorts of surgical stuff that can go wrong too but there’s really good odds that I’m not going to get to be really as serviceable. I get to look forward to being almost a freaky lesbian who gets to pee standing up.

This is a pretty consistent thing for us the attitude, getting this much shit about it from our families. Mom and dad are actually divorced over this because she was so offended by me wanting to fix what wasn’t right it was some personal attack on her. She beat me up when she found out that I had been taking T from off the internet and she kept yelling at me that I shouldn’t be crying, that I should take it like a man over and over even when she took out one of her personal “toys” and said all I needed was a good fucking to “Put Me Straight” I was thirteen when she raped me with her vibe, then sodomised me saying that I was going to be a fag and again that I should “take it like a man.”

The cops locked her away in the nutbar hotel and her lawyer and the f-ing judge agreed that she’d been unable to measure her responses by reason of mental defect. Then she tried to have me committed before I ended up mutilating myself.

So you know when people think that it’s me trading up, that’s a crock. It’s I have to be who I really am or I’ll probably kill myself. Just what am I trading up for? It’s not as easy as people think. Don’t shave, take some hormones, act macho, dress in guys clothes. The clothes are easier, you don’t got to know as many social things and behaviors.

So it just easy to give another guy a proper handshake, or know what to do when someone stares you down. How do you stare back? What do you do when four guys are walking down the street at you/ Move out of the way, move through them, say excuse me, back off and let them pass then keep going? Will they look at me like a punk? What will I do that I don’t look like a homosexual…not that there’s anything wrong with that but I’m not gay or swishy and don’t want to come across like that. There’s just as many things you’ve got to learn because you have to. Guy’s judge and women judge you too and honestly…I’m NOT A Lesbian! I don’t want a Lesbian girlfriend! I’ll gladly be friends with one but I want a straight girl for my girlfriend.

Sorry…shit…sorry… It’s the meds, honestly it is. It’s not just being on T and the rest of the stuff I’m on. Basically I’m sort of being put on menopause and stuff before they’ll yank out all the crap I was born with that I don’t need….or want.

And you know moving to a new town. Dad’s trying, Ashley my step mom is trying and she’s actually pretty good about it. My sister blames this on me too and my brother’s not as pissed but says he’s moving out as soon as he’s able to.

As much as everything sucks I do get a few moments of peace and of clarity. I hauled stuff all day then I mowed the lawn and then moved into the last of my stuff into my room and sat outside my window on the roof of the porch watching the waves coming in off of the pacific ocean. I breathe in the salty breeze and close my eyes and enjoy the pulsing soreness in my body. This male feeling for as long as I can. It can’t last long enough, I get up once it’s dark and go into my room and take a shower.

As much as you read about T-girls that hate they’re bodies in scenes just like this. I’ve got the same problem. My skin’s too soft, that fine layer of girl fat that makes them soft just won’t go away. I hate the smoothness, the jiggling mounds on my chest that just keep getting bigger that void between my legs feels like it’s a hole all the way to my heart. I try not to look, I try to turn my mind off of it even with using guys body washes, not shaving anywhere and using these scratchy towels it’s a pain filled reminder of things.

I move some of my moving boxes around and make up my bed. I dress totally up even sleeping, Even a Speedo stuffed with a sock sewed up and two small bean bags…It helps me sleep my fake manhood to close my legs and feel it there, to roll over and feel the shape and pressure under me while sleeping.

I get ready and lay in bed trying to get some sleep and end up watching “Pump Up The Volume.” with Christian Slater or most of it before falling asleep. It’s another night of fitful sleep and bad dreams before my alarms clock buzzes at 5:20 and I head down and cross the street/highway with my board and hit the beach and paddle out.

I like surfing, it does something for my soul. I don’t think about what I am or even who I am when I’m out here or catching a wave. It’s not a bad morning and there’s just us types that’d be out here every day. Just four foot waves with a gentle roll to them, nothing flashy but I like that. You get killer surf in this area the posers come out of the woodwork and come to show off. Us real surfers, we come out every day, even flatness there’s some of us that’ll be out here drifting and bouncing on the water. Just to be away from life’s bullshit on land.

I get home and shower again and get dressed…What the hell should I wear. I can smell Libby’s cloud of cosmetic gasses drifting in from her bathroom on the other side of mine. I first get my guy part set in right and pull my boxers over that and tie the drawstring tight. The last thing I need is to get pants’ed at school being the new guy. Sport’s bra without the seams is next then a Black Lycra surfer’s tight t-shirt and a red plaid shirt over that and a black hoody. I’m a skater too, it helps to be. I can look grunge and pass a lot easier until I can do something about it finally. Black calf high cut fatigues and army boots along with my heavy diver’s watch and my I-pod. I use an extra little bit of axe body spray on my closes and head down skate board in hand to get some breakfast.

My brother rolls his eyes at my and mumbles and Libby looks already like she’s going to throw a fit. Like I said she doesn’t just hate me but she’s embraced all things girly in order to compensate for me. It’s like she thinks I’m contagious. I thump shoulders with dad as I come in the kitchen and he looks better than usual like he’s actually had some sleep and his second cup of coffee. Ashley’s good for him, good for all of us compared to my real mom. She’s got breakfast ready and she used it as an excuse to make us all BLT’s for our lunches. I make a taco out of some scrambled eggs and about a dozen strips of bacon and dump some salsa on it from the fridge. I make myself a protein shake and take my meds. Libby shudders and makes faces at my through the whole process.

Jeff takes off without us or offering us a ride in his car this old POS Cuda he’s been wrecking as much as he’s been restoring it. I could give him a hand, I’m a better mechanic that him but he’s repeatedly said he’d torch it first. Of course this sets Libby off because now she’ll have to take the bus like some loser and me. I grab my backpack, my doctors stuff about my condition and my transfer stuff take off on my Skateboard, well Roadboard really there’s different kinds of Skate boards and stuff just like anything else. This one’s not made for tricks as much as actually using it to get back and forth.

I’m actually in a decent mood when I get to Santa Monica high school and start to head up the steps getting lost in the crowd of students so far so good just some random guy.

I really hope it stays that way.