I heard the bells on Christmas Day,
Their old, familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet,
The words repeat,
Of peace on Earth, goodwill toward men!

“I’m telling you, Callie, it isn’t a big deal.”

“Are you kidding me, Justine?” My roommate was ecstatic as we trudged up the stairs to our dormitory after a long walk in the winter’s cold.

“You’ve been named prima ballerina! That’s kind of a huge deal!”

“It would be a huge deal if we weren’t a college group of ballet dancers that anyone can join! I know we’re divided into levels and all,” I said, alluding to the Level I, II, and III classifications for beginner, intermediate, and advanced dancers, “but it doesn’t feel like a real ballet company.”

“I see your point,” Callie said, a little dejected I didn’t take our company seriously. “But you’ve at least got to concede you’re excited! I mean, every little girl dreams of prima ballerina! You can’t tell me you didn’t think of that when you were a little girl.”

I let that remark hang in the chilly, poorly heated dormitory air for a moment, as I caught a glimpse of the date on the calendar. December 24th, yes. Christmas Eve, yes, that too, and in an hour I would depart on an all-night drive to be with my family on Christmas morning.

But something of far greater significance for me, Justine Kameron Friedman, as it marked a decade since I, very much a little boy at the time, took my first baby steps into the pool of girlhood.

Now I made the fateful decision to carve a new milestone. Aside from my family, of course, and the government, I had told a grand total of zero people about my identity. No one had questioned it, so I’d never brought it up.

Here now was a prime opportunity for me to finally tell the truth to the only best girlfriend I’d ever had. I decided to take it.

“When I was a little girl,” I began, “I was a little boy.”

Callie got a confused look on her face, which contorted into about twenty-five facial expressions. Suddenly it turned ghost white. The realization had dawned on her she had a transgender roommate.

“Wow, I never knew that about you.” Five minutes of thinking had produced little more than five words.

“Well, now you know,” I said, blushing and further examining the date December 24th on the calendar. I simply could not believe such a clear event in my mind had occurred ten years ago.

“Ten years ago today,” I breathed, running my finger first down the calendar page, and then down by sides, all around my girlish figure.

“Ten years what?” Callie had her arms crossed. She knew I needed to talk to her. She always did that when a girlfriend of hers seemed to be hiding something.

“It was ten years ago I realized that I was a girl.”

“Ah, I see.” Callie motioned me over and I sat down on her bed. I needed to tell the full story, for my sake and hers. So I began my confession.

----

I can see December 24th, 2006 in my mind, even though I was only in fifth grade. I’m picturing it right now. It was warm, unseasonably warm. I was in my bedroom, reading or playing Nintendo DS or something like that.

I was very aware that next door my sisters were getting dressed. To the left of me, my older sister Karen, to the right my younger sister Katie, each by three years. Both gearing up for the performance of their lives.

I was very aware of all the inner workings of their ballet company, so I knew that instead of the traditional “Nutcracker” this Christmas Eve they would be performing a mixture of selections. I also was aware that they would both be wearing pretty, snow white tutu outfits.

Outfits that I knew I should be wearing. I was depressed, and I desperately wanted to be on stage with them, to dance gracefully and have everyone tell me how pretty I was. I had had the seeds of a plan in my mind for a while, and slowly, I began drawing up a plan to - and here I took a deep breath to realize what I was trying to do - dress as a girl.

The car ride that night was torturous for me as I simply beheld the beauty of my sisters’ outfits. Karen, who was in eighth grade, had a pancake tutu, white and sequined with all kinds of glittery patterns, while second-grade Katie had a more conventional outfit that still looked beautiful with a white tutu, pale blue leotard, and tiara.

And there I was in jeans and a jacket. I was infuriated. I couldn’t even wear cute jeans like my sisters, I had to wear boring boy jeans. This was an outrage.

I took my seats in the auditorium with my parents, smiling at the fact I would not be there for long. My plan was foolproof. All I needed was the right moment...

Now! “Mom, Dad, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I announced, assuring them I may be there for a while. Not feeling well. Ha! I was feeling fit as a fiddle. But I left for the bathroom anyway.

I should mention I was an extremely cunning little fifth grader. I was a master of plots and schemes; I often played jokes on my sisters using such techniques as I would use now.

I ducked carefully into the bathroom supply closet, once the bathroom had emptied and the show was about to start. My mom had always assumed I tagged along with her to some of the ballet lessons to support my sisters. While I loved my sisters very much, and enjoyed seeing them dance, I had ulterior motives, in that I often snuck off and learned the lay of the studio in order to prepare for this day.

This day had finally come, I thought, as I pushed the last of the bathroom supplies out of the way. The back of the closet, I’d figured out through two years of practice, was false, and opened into another closet, whose supplies I’d moved out of the way in the course of another sneaky jaunt two months ago. I found myself in one of the rooms where classes were held, a room without feature save a barre and a mirror on the wall. Those, and another door at the end of the room, which most I assumed figured was a closet.

False. A few supplies rearranged, a couple of mops and buckets switched a couple of times, and ta-da. A secret passage leading straight to the costume room below the auditorium stage (One of the benefits of a 90-year old auditorium).

Not thirty seconds later I was rearranging more supplies at the other end of the passage closet. I knew that the closet would empty me right behind the costume racks - ideally. There was always the chance that they had moved, and that would put land me in big trouble.

Fortunately they had not. I dropped down onto all fours, where the bottom portion of the oddly-built rack would obscure me. I didn’t have much time - there were girls scurrying everywhere, looking for costumes, and they would without a doubt discover me if I loitered around long enough.

I felt through the costume rack and basically just grabbed the first thing that I could find that felt like a tutu, pulled it off, and withdrew into the passage. I rummaged through my backpack, grabbed a flashlight, and shined a light on it.

The tutu was silver and shaped like a snowflake. 10-year-old me nearly died of happiness. I’d been waiting so long for this moment. I stripped down to my underwear, zipped myself into the leotard, and shined the flashlight downward.

All I could see in the dark passage were my bare legs obscured by a snowflake shaped mass of tulle, but that was all I needed to see. The leotard felt incredible on my little arms and body. I was hooked. I did a little twirl. It felt perfect. I was a girl, now and forever.

Then something really weird happened. The door to the passage flew open. I’d forgotten to re-stack the supplies in the supply closet and I was easily visible to the girl in the exact same tutu who was peering through the rack of costumes straight at me.

She looked about my age, blonde, with a confused expression on her face. We just stared at each other for a little while. I was absolutely petrified she was going to yell for someone. But she didn’t. I have never forgotten that gesture.

For whatever reason she left, and after hanging up the tutu I left, retracing my steps back to the auditorium and informing my parents I “felt better.” It was bizarre. The entire night was bizarre. But I have never forgotten it. And it remains my favorite ballet recital, of any kind, ever.

---

“It gets pretty simple after that,” I concluded. “I was hooked on dressing up for life. I dressed up now and again for two years, and told my parents in seventh grade. After dressing up at home for two more years I started into transitioning in ninth grade, and I’ve been living as a girl since the start of high school.”

Callie thought for a minute. “I don’t believe you.”

I was taken aback and expressed so. “I can show you if you’d like,” and jokingly reached for my jeans.

“No! No! No! No! I believe that part. The story about you at the ballet recital. That’s impossible. It’s absurd. It didn’t happen. You’re either misremembering it or making it up.”

Fortunately, I had a little momento of that, too. I rolled up my jean leg to reveal a little scar on my ankle. I’d cut my ankle on one of the wooden stairs in the passage that night and it’d never completely healed. Callie inspected it carefully.

“I’m not fully convinced, but I’ll roll with it.” Callie merely patted me on the back and we both put the finishing touches on our packing. I was taking her to see my family, as her folks were out in Missouri, many miles away from our tiny, rural Carolina neck of the woods.

My family was much closer, in Virginia, and was more than happy to host an extra guest, so Callie was coming with me. We were just about ready to leave when she decided to change, citing the fact the rain had made her yoga pants wet.

I was just about ready to close our door when I caught a glimpse of the logo on Callie’s sweats.

“McGuire High? That’s not far from where I live! Did you ever visit Virginia or something?”

“Lived there for three years,” Callie declared as we made our way down the stairs. “Fourth, fifth, and sixth grade. Best three years of my life. Good people, better than the folks in Missouri.”

My curiosity was piqued. “McGuire’s a fairly small town. Where’d you do your ballet?”

“The Coogan School. Something like that.”

“No way! My older sister went through the Coogan, I danced there for four years, and now my little sister’s in her last year there! That’s unreal!

“So you remember the old Boone Auditorium! Now do you believe my story?”

A few yards from my car, in the middle of the parking lot, Callie just stopped. An expression that kind of horrified me crossed her face. She was clearly thinking very hard.

“I-I-I believe,” she stuttered. I suddenly realized what was on her mind, and I, too, was stunned.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said repeatedly, as Callie screamed and burst into tears of joy. We hugged about ten times. I could not express my gratitude. “Ten years ago, you made me into the woman I am today.”

I heard, from far off, church bells. I checked my phone clock. Midnight. It was Christmas. My best friend and I jumped in my car and drove off into the mild, December Appalachian night.

Soon she was fast asleep. As I wound through the desolate roads, I looked Callie over several times. The blonde hair, the distinct facial expressions. Why hadn’t I seen it before?

Being prima ballerina was a big deal. Just getting to be a ballerina was a big deal. Just getting to be a girl, and wear makeup, and have long hair, and live my life, was a big deal. Callie’s gesture was a big deal. It meant the world to me then, it meant the world to me now, and it would mean the world to me forever and ever.

The turning point of my life had been dismissed as a strange but relatively unimportant occurrence by the person responsible for it. This was strangely satisfying to me.

Callie stirred suddenly, catching me staring at her. She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and giggled. “What?” she asked.

Like her ten years ago, I was moved to silence. I just grinned, and we admired each other for a moment. For the first time in my life I had a true friend. A girlfriend. It felt incredible. Everyone should have a Callie Elizabeth Hudson.

I thought that I needed to become a girl to be happy. And it was true. I did need that, and I was happy now. But even if I did that, I still needed people for lasting joy. And I’d found it. A person who loved me no matter what. That was the biggest deal of all.

That night, there was peace on earth, and peace in me, Justine Kameron Friedman.

Peace on Earth, Goodwill toward Men indeed! Merry Christmas, and enjoy the Holiday season. I’ll be back Monday with new content. Until then.
-Kayleigh01