There was a time in my childhood where I tried to embrace the dream of being a girl. They had the better clothes, they were, for the most part, more refined and they seemed to be ‘with it’—having the knowledge needed to live.
I would dream what I thought I looked like…not like a princess—too many petticoats—but a simple girl. A simple girl who loved to read, art and wanted to one day be an actress or an author. But then I would see my image in a reflective surface; ice, a window, a glossy metal surface, or a mirror and only the reflection of a boy with curly hair stood before.

In junior high, the girl would sneak her way into my mind, wanting to dictate how things were going to be: we would wear the dress, we would grow out our hair and we would be a part of the secret drama class. We planned it to happen on a Friday—to allow everyone to wonder about it over the weekend. They would marvel at the transformation, admire the bravery, and honor the course of life that I wanted to take.
Of course, still being a kid, I was blocked by my family and told in conflicting points. Parents are supposed to encourage and talk with their children and instead, on that morning, with maybe ten minutes before the bus arrives, they blasted into my brain how ridiculous I looked and how I must have been crazy.

I envisioned what I thought I looked like…not like a superhero—too little body armor—but a simple girl. A simple girl who wanted to brave school and show the world who she was. But right when she was about to beg for someone to listen, the family who said the loved me want only the best for me as they pointed at a family photo and once again, there was a boy with curly hair staring at me.

In High school, I feared she was gone. Not a glimpse or gander of her for over three years of life. It was just the skinny kid. The awkward child. The young adult who time reading VC Andrews, admired the works Vincent van Gogh was also in the drama club, as a part of a play called “Hairspray”. I was only one who took the role of “Edna”, the mother of the main character. The drama coach was almost about to give the part to one of the “real”—her words—girls but I shot my hand up. No, I was going to play the part. The role was supposed to be done in jest, but I took it seriously.
On the night of our first show I came to the school already in character. There were some laughs but for the most part everyone saw me as a character and that was kind of sad. They saw an act, a faux fille like Divine, playing the part like it had been played on Broadway, on film, and now in the Ours Rose Auditorium. No matter how many laughed at me or with me for the sake of the production, for the next four hours she girl I thought had left me stood by my side with a knowing smile on her face.

I desired what I thought I wanted to be like…like that anime character with flowing hair —let’s not forget the Japanese sailor uniform—a confident girl. A proud girl who was ready to make that step into a brave new world of college and work but the ties and bonds, and gags of family crept in before I could walk out that door of opportunity. I could endure the physical aches and scars, but I could not take the emotional and mental stabs, the ones calling the boy with the short hair.

I awoke to find myself lying in a hospital bed with a bowl of neutralizing charcoal and my right wrist bandaged. The doctors said nothing beyond their medical training. Demanding that I drink that mixing bowl size of what looked and smelled like putrid chocolate pudding. I didn’t want to do it. I had the choice to take that bowl and throw it up like a Michael Jordan free-throw and I almost did until I looked at the mirror and I saw the girl with auburn-tresses.
She stepped lightly into the room, wearing the envision dress with her hair cascading down. She stood in front of me and placed her hands behind her back.
“We almost lost each other.”
“I can’t be like you.”
“Not here we can’t.” She walked to the side of the bed and placed her hands above my bandaged arm. “But there is a place out there for us. We can show our art, show our vision, and feel the friendship of others who won’t lock us up in our mind. We’ve there too long.”
I nodded.
And we found our place, it’s where you’re reading this missive, where the author feels they’re not being judged and where the girl with auburn tresses steps into the light.