Purgatory: Relife Chapter 3 by Aurum Copyright © 2016 Aurum All Rights Reserved.

Author’s Note: I had some people ask why I switched to 3rd person. This is to show a difference in characters. Chris and the protagonist share a body, but are not the same – think of Chris as the 4 year old and the protagonist as the ReLife'r.

“You realize that being a girl isn’t like play. Trust me, it’s better to be a guy.”

“Which is why you don’t want to be a girl, you want to be with a girl.”

The brilliance of my dad’s line rivaled Johnnie Cochran’s, “If the glove does not fit, you must acquit.” It was such a logical position that I couldn’t argue the first time I’d heard it. After all, how is a four year old supposed to know gender identity and sexual orientation are different?

I’d spent years in therapy trying to cope with not pressing the issue, but still couldn’t. Anytime I thought about it for more than a moment I’d have suicidal thoughts, which could only be chased away by drugs and alcohol. Of course that wasn’t a healthy long-term solution, but I didn’t care, if I were lucky they’d kill me.

Four was the last chance I had to experience the childhood my birth stole from me. Afterwards, I put a mental block on the idea and began to act like a proper boy should. That meant feeling only one emotion – anger, which led to fighting and hate. Sure there were moments of happiness, but they were drowned out by the constant need to prove I was a good son.

“Hello. Son are you there?”

My thoughts were bashing to escape. ‘No they’re not the same. I am a girl!’ I was screaming with all my might, but couldn’t force the words. It was obvious my opinion was being considered, but I realized that I couldn’t control his thoughts.

“Are you ok son?” He asked obviously concerned. Although I couldn’t say if it was because of the silence or because of the nature of the conversation.

“Yeah I’m fine I was just thinking about it.” Chris paused before he added, “I really feel like I want to be a girl, why can’t I do both?”

It wasn’t what I hoped to say, but this was different. I remembered submitting to his twisted reasoning; acknowledging that I liked girls so I “must” be a boy, but now he was arguing back, even if it wasn’t as forceful as I wanted.

“Listen son, this isn’t a decision you should be worrying about now.”

“Then would should I?” He was getting into the argument; he was starting to take a stand, even if he lacked resolve.

“When you’re older, for now you just need to focus on school and enjoy your friends.”

“How old?”

I could hear him breathing, as he thought about what to say. It was obvious he was coming up with an argument to end this, instead of thinking up some arbitrary age. There was a long silence before he said, “Look son, I would rather wait until you’re older to have this conversation, but I can tell it’s important to you. Why don’t we wait until I get home to discuss it?”

I begged for him to push the issue, to not give my dad time to think of a list of arguments. He was a brilliant man with a lot of free time, so if he was given another three days to plan his speech and counterarguments, I knew he would convince the four year old. ‘Say no, it’s important and we need to discuss it now’ I pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.

“Sure dad, good night and love you.”

“I love you son, good night son.” He said putting more emphasis on the word son than he had any other time.

After the call ended I was furious, he’d made a point to call me “son” seven times after I told him how I felt. Sure you can attribute it to believing it’s a phase or a little confusion, but he didn’t have to emphasize I was his male child like that. My thoughts raged on, but it wasn’t the four year old who was thinking them. He was just worried about getting ready for bed.

The next few days I tried to figure out the details of the phone call. Why did I suddenly have the thoughts and memories of my past self? Had this knowledge always been there or did it come from somewhere? And why could I not make the child say what I so desperately wanted?

Although I only had the one experience, I assumed that it was because of how important this event was. After all, this was a more traumatic experience than the accident that put me in the hospital for two-weeks.

By Friday, I noticed that my thoughts had become murky and difficult to control again. Although, that doesn’t accurately describe it, it was more like our thoughts were melding, where I no longer had my memories of the past or the independence of an adult mind. Instead, I was becoming one with the ignorant, innocent child.

“Son, are you finished with dinner?” Chris’ dad said.

“Yes sir, what do you need?”

“Good, then let’s talk outside.”

Chris’ tried to guess what it could be about as he made the short walk from the table. He knew he’d been well behaved and done well at school the past week, so he shouldn’t be in trouble. “What is it?” Chris asked, practically anticipating a reward.

“Do you still want to talk about it?” His dad said uncomfortably.

“About what?”

“What we talked about on the phone.”

“When I told you I want to be a girl.”

“Exactly son, so how did you even decide this?” His dad asked, likely another leading question.

Chris went into vivid detail; he talked about what caused him to try on the dress, what he did while he wore it, and what emotions he felt during all this. By the end Chris was grinning from thinking about how fun it’d been, and more importantly how it just felt right.

“Have you worn girls’ clothes since?”

“No.” Chris answered without explaining why not. Even if I weren’t able to control his thoughts and actions, I was a part of them. That’s why I knew he wanted to, even if he hadn’t.

“And have you played house with the girls since then?”

“No.”

“Don’t you see son, you just want to play around, which is normal for your age.” Chris’ dad was beginning to act excited. I don’t believe it was genuine excitement, but a trick to help manipulate the child into agreeing. By using a positive energy after he got the desired responses it felt like he was trying to get Chris to feed off of the energy instead of thinking critically.

“But only James wore a skirt and he took his off right away.” Chris said confused.

“And you haven’t worn one since either. Trust me son, if you were meant to be a girl, God would have made you one.”

The mention of God’s perfection riled me from our merged thoughts. I had grown to despise God throughout my previous life. I remembered when I prayed every day to wake up as a girl the way I was supposed to have always been. During this time my prayers started something like, “Dear God, please make me a girl when I wake up, and I will spend the rest of my life sharing your love and happiness.” Yet, every sunrise surprise, surprise, I was still a guy. By my last prayer it had devolved into, “God, I know you’re not real, or you are the biggest asshole in the world, but still I pray you can fix your mistake. If you fix your mistake I’ll repent for my sins and spread your word for the rest of my life.” That was the 365th day I prayed in a row; that was the last day I prayed.

‘God doesn’t know shit! He’s either imaginary or an asshole, either way he won’t help you.’

“Then why did God make me want to be a girl?”

“Son, God gives us free will so he didn’t make you do or want anything. Besides, you don’t want to be a girl, you’re just a bit confused is all.”

The dismissiveness of that was infuriating, how was I stuck with such a shitty birth and conservative parents not once, but twice. ‘No. Just fucking

“Nooooo!” The small voice yelled out. Not only was my dad surprised for being screamed at, but I was surprised. Had I made the child yell or was Chris just feeding off of my anger?

“Next time you yell at me like that I’m going to spank you.” He didn’t say it angrily, but the seriousness of his tone was obvious. “So, no what? No you don’t believe God gives us free will or no you don’t want to be a girl.”

I thought it was funny that both of the choices were leading statements. If I said the latter then I lost, but if I said the former then he would twist it somehow. Although he wasn’t a manipulative man, he was very persuasive, especially to me. Therefore, I decided to go with the safe answer, if I said ‘neither’ then he’d have to make a new argument instead of continuing from there.

“Sorry for yelling I don’t know why that happened, but I guess I just don’t understand why God would let me feel this way.” Chris said.

Just like I expected he turned Chris’ comment into a very convincing argument. He claimed God works in mysterious ways to help us grow as people and my confusion was just a lesson to help me relate to women better. They discussed it a little more, but with his powerful one-liners and my knowledge stuck in the background, there was nothing to be done.

Within just a few minutes, our talk was over. Within just a few minutes, my happy childhood was over.