Author’s note: The amazing Maeryn Lamonte recently posted a lovely short story entitled “I Have a Secret,” as a bit of a counterpoint to recent stories she had posted that included nasty, rigid, or unacceptable fathers. If you missed it, you should go back and read it, even though it has nothing to do with THIS story. Really. It’s right here: https://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/99271/i-have-secret. Go on, now. Scoot! I'll wait. :)

You be the judge.

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Logan’s Ride

“Dad, will you let me drive the side-by-side this summer?” My twin brother Aidan’s fascination with engines, machinery, and anything that made lots of noise was endless. Legendary, even – at least in his own mind!

Dad chewed on the request silently as he merged smoothly into traffic on the Mass Pike. We were on our way to the campground cabin where we spent every summer, up in the Rangeley Lakes region of Maine. The “back of beyond,” as Dad sometimes called it.

We knew better than to push once we’d made a request; Dad’s standing rule was well-established. “If you need an immediate answer, ‘no’ will do.”

But Dad was always fair. If you gave him space, and a bit of time to think it through, he’d almost always grant any reasonable request. If he stuck with ‘no,’ he’d have good reasons for it and he would explain it all in as much – or as little – detail as we might want to hear. So even my boisterous brother kept his mouth shut while Dad pondered, and drove east.

Eventually he came to a decision. “Pretty sure there’s a course you’ll need to take. Do that, and I’m good. But if I see you doing something stupid – or even hear about it – and you’re done for the summer, eh?”

Aidan beamed. “I won’t, Dad! Thank you!!!!”

Funny thing is, I knew Aidan wasn’t shitting him. It’s hard to describe, but Dad’s just one of those people that you don’t want to disappoint. Not because he’ll yell or scream or anything. I’ve never heard him raise his voice. He’s a decent, thoughtful guy – loves us in his own kind of quiet way – and we both wanted, more than anything in the world, for him to be proud of us.

Which wasn’t going to make the next few minutes any easier, I knew.

“How ’bout you, Logan? I’m guessing that ATV’ing doesn’t rev your engine, so to speak. Anything special you want to do this summer? Are you going to write that great American novel?” His questions were delivered with a smile, though he kept his eyes firmly on the Massachusetts traffic. We can’t have a good vacation if we don’t survive the car ride.

“Yeah. I want to learn how to be a girl.”

There. I’d said it. Sure as hell, I didn’t know what to expect. I knew Dad wouldn’t throw a fit, of course, even though the request was going to be a long, long way from his comfort zone. Throwing a fit would be as foreign to him as . . . I don’t know. Transcendental meditation or something.

I had a sudden vision of Dad levitating six inches above our lawn in the lotus position, and almost choked.

Aidan was giving me a “good luck” kind of look. He’d known what I was thinking, of course. No way I would have worked up the nerve to talk to Dad without talking to Aidan first. We might not be very much alike – shit, we aren’t really anything alike, inside or out – but we are fraternal twins.

We fight, like, all the time, but we don’t keep too many secrets from each other. And when it comes to big stuff . . . . Well. Like Dad always tells us – and I mean, ALWAYS tells us – “I won’t be here forever. If you don’t have each others’ backs, there’s no-one else that will.”

Near as I could tell, Aidan’s view on what I was suggesting was, “You do you, bro.” “Bro,” in this instance, being kind of loosely defined and humorously delivered.

Aidan also thinks he’s funny.

Dad continued to drive, looking as unperturbed as ever. I don’t think I’d ever seen him look surprised. Maybe he looked a touch more thoughtful, but it was hard to say. Dad’s usual range of expression stays within a pretty narrow band. He only opened his mouth to ask if either of us needed to use the facilities as we passed the Charleton Service Plaza. We didn’t, so he drove on.

It was so hard to keep quiet! I was dying to know what was going through his head! Was he angry? I didn’t think so, and I wasn’t really worried about it. But maybe – I steeled myself against the horrible possibility – he was disappointed? The thought was too hard to bear.

When we had almost reached the 290 cut-over, he said, “I assume this isn’t one of your fortunately rare attempts at humor?”

“No, Dad,” I said quietly. I wondered whether he would ask me if I was trans – Dad reads a lot; he had to be familiar with the concept. And I didn’t really have a good answer for that question. I mean, yeah . . . I didn’t feel right, as a boy. It bothered me. A lot, sometimes. Does that mean I’m trans, though? I just don’t know.

But Dad always says labels are just a lazy man’s substitute for thinking, so I didn’t get that question. Instead, he said, “Huh. Well, you’re a thinker, so I’m sure you didn’t just come up with this idea out of the clear blue summer sky. I’d kind of like to hear a bit more before I commit, one way or another.”

He didn’t sound disappointed, which was a huge weight off my shoulders. “Now?” I squeeked.

“A car ride’s a good time for talking. It’ll help keep me awake. Besides . . . Aidan should know what you’re thinking, too. You go down this path – even at camp, and even for a few days – it’s going to affect him, too.”

Aidan piped up before I could say anything. “Logan already talked to me, Dad. We’re good.”

Yay Aidan!

Dad nodded approvingly. “Good. Sensible. But you’re still going to have to explain this one to me, Logan. Being a girl isn’t like being a plumber or a doctor. It’s not something you do for a living, or even for fun. It’s not something you do, period.”

I took a deep breath, and tried to lay it out like Dad would, if our positions were reversed. Not that they would be, I mean . . . he’s such a guy! But . . . orderly. Logically. Like that. “Umm, yeah. So, I’m . . . I’m not like you, Dad. Or you, Aidan. I, ah . . . I’ve never fit in with the boys. You know that.”

Dad nodded. “Of course. Not like we haven’t discussed it.”

“Yeah, well . . . I mean. Don’t take this wrong. I know you’ve tried to help me develop strategies to fit in better, and I’ve tried them. Honest! But it always feels like so much work, and it never gets me anywhere. Kids . . . they just know, okay? They know I’m faking it. And that makes it way worse.”

Dad took the criticism in stride, with no evidence of annoyance or irritation. No visible evidence, anyhow. “You think you would fit in with the girls?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. But . . . I think so? I’ve always felt kind of like I was a girl. You remember when I used to play with Kaitlin Hunter, back when we lived in Albany?” At his nod, I continued. “It just felt really right. We’d do things together – girl things – and I felt like, this was who I was supposed to be. I’ve never felt that anywhere else.”

His right eyebrow moved up a quarter of an inch. “What sort of ‘girl’ things?”

There was no hint of disapproval in his voice. Just a simple question. He might have been asking what I wanted for dinner. Still, it made me squirm. “We, uhh. Well. Sometimes, we’d play with her stuffed animals. Or her dolls. We’d have tea parties.” My face was getting redder and redder. Finally, I got out, “And dress-up.”

Still no evidence of disapproval from the paternal visage. I shot a terrified glance at Aidan, who now had all the ammunition in the world to destroy me – not that he didn’t already, like, a trillion times over. But this went way further than the conversation the two of us had had on the subject.

Aidan came through again. “Bet you looked cute, too. I like the blush, by the way. Suits your delicate complexion.”

“Asswipe!” My response was affectionate, not angry. He was teasing me, but in a good way.

Dad ignored the byplay. “That was, what? Four years ago? Back in grade school, anyhow. Mrs. Hunter talked to me about it, of course. I didn’t see any harm, and I still don’t.”

“You knew?”

He took his eyes off the road just long enough to give me a look. “Logan, I’ve had to be your mom as well as your dad. Your mother would have known all about your friends, so I made sure I did. She probably would have known how to help you, too. I did the best I could, without her.”

My eyes stung at his words. Dad almost never mentioned Mom, who’d died from an infection she’d acquired after giving birth to me and Aidan. When he did, it was usually a backhanded apology for flaws he perceived in his parenting. “You did fine, Dad! But . . . why didn’t you say anything?”

“Within the bounds of safety, I want you to explore things on your own. Since I didn’t see any harm in it, I didn’t say anything. I figured you’d talk to me about it if you wanted my input.”

I looked over at Aidan. Judging by his expression, he agreed completely with my own assessment. There’s no figuring Dad. Ever.

“I just . . . I was too embarrassed, I guess. I knew it wasn’t the sort of thing boys did. I didn’t want you to think I was . . . .” I stopped, unable to finish the thought.

“Not manly?” Dad asked gently. But he didn’t wait for an answer. “Logan, you were nine. Even your gearhead brother wasn’t ‘manly’ at nine. Besides, what do you think it means, to be a man?”

Again, I looked to Aidan for guidance, but this time his look was pure Pontius Pilate, washing his hands. I was going to need to come up with an answer for this one myself.

“Well . . . a man’s strong, right? And . . . ah, I don’t know? Physically active? Likes sports? Outdoorsy? And, I guess, kind of takes charge? Ahhh . . . . Not, umm. Emotional?”

Dad shook his head. “You have been spending too much time filling your head with stereotypes, I think. But go on.”

“Well, but . . . I mean, come on! You’re strong. Aidan’s strong already. You don’t play sports, but you like watching them. You go hunting when we’re in Maine, and hiking and all. And . . . ah. Well. You’re always really logical, even when we’re all screaming. So, it’s not like I got my ideas from YouTube!”

“Logan. Listen to me. I’m just one guy. There are lots of different ways to be a man. Or a woman, for that matter. Just like there are lots of different ways to be strong. Your mom, now, was the strongest person I’d ever met. Carrying the two of you at the same time was no Fourth of July picnic. For whatever it’s worth, she could also out-hike and out-shoot me any day of the week.”

I was getting irritated. Not at Dad, but at myself, for not having the words to get through. I tried again. “I do know that, Dad. Honest. And, I guess I’m getting side-tracked. What I wanted to say was, when I was with Kaitlin, I felt right. Like I was able to be myself. Most of the time, I feel like I’m trying to be someone else, just to fit in. And I suck at it.”

He was nodding slowly. “Let me go at this a different way. When you’re being yourself – completely yourself – what are you like?”

I suddenly wished with all my heart that I hadn’t started this conversation. That I was somewhere else. Anywhere else, really. Sixth period math, even. Shit. It didn’t help that the question was fair. Of course it was fair – it was Dad, after all. It was still so embarrassing!

But I’d come this far. Might as well make sure my grave’s so deep no-one will even be able to find the body. “I’m . . . kind. Gentle. Supportive. I cry a lot. Shit! I’m sorry! I do, though. When I’m happy. When I’m sad. Sometimes just ‘cuz something is just so beautiful! I care about people. About how they’re feeling. Like, I’d give Kaitlin big hugs when she was feeling sad, and it helped. Helped us both, you know? I care about how I look, and how other people look. I don’t know. I’m just different!

I couldn’t go on any further.

Dad’s expression didn’t change. Did it ever? But he asked, “You don’t think you can be you – the person you just described – and still be a boy? A man?”

“I don’t know.”

But as soon as I said it, I knew that was a lie. I did know. Everyone knew! “Come on, Dad! Boys like that are despised. If they’re lucky, they just get called sick names. Sissies. Fairies. Fags. But sometimes they get the shit kicked out of them.”

Dad gave me another look, no doubt seeing the glassy sheen of my eyes as I fought to control my tears. He turned back to traffic, which — this being the 290 at some time other than 3:00 a.m. – required pretty complete attention. Eventually, he said, “Will the reactions you just mentioned change if you tell people that you’re a girl?”

“I . . . don’t know. Maybe? If I’m not trying to fit in with the guys anymore, they’ll be more likely to ignore me?”

He gave a grunt, sounding unconvinced. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that thirteen-year-old girls aren’t generally as nice – even to each other – as they were back when you were in grade school. You might not fit in with them, either.”

“Yeah, I know,” I sighed. “And maybe my time with Kaitlin’s just some great, golden memory that I can’t ever have again. I don’t know. But I’d like to try. Anyway, it’s not just about fitting in with other people. It’s about, I don’t know. Feeling right myself. Being me.” I gave up, with a disgusted noise. “Gah!!! I can’t even explain it!”

As usual, my frustration didn’t phase Dad. The sun going supernova might not phase Dad. “There are a whole lot of ‘I don’t knows’ in your answers, Logan. But it doesn’t sound like you’re presently proposing to do anything drastic, much less permanent. Do you have a plan?”

He kept his eyes on the road, but his voice was even. An invitation?

That sounded like progress, so I’d take it. “Well . . . I mean, we only see the kids at the lake in the summer, right? I thought maybe I could try being a girl this summer, just to see what it might be like. If it didn’t work, I’d just . . . well. I don’t know. Get on with it. Go back to trying to be a boy, I guess.”

“You don’t think word would get back to your friends back home?”

“What friends? Anyway . . . I don’t do Tick Tock or Instagram or any of that stuff. As long as Aidan didn’t out me, I don’t think anyone back home would know.”

Dad mulled that over, then said, “Okay. So tell me what would happen if you decided the experiment did work?”

“Well . . . I thought . . . maybe . . . if it did work all right, maybe I could, like, talk to a doctor when we got home, and see what they might recommend.”

“What kind of doctor?”

I squirmed again. “Well, I’ve been doing some research. Online. It sounds like I should talk to maybe a psychiatrist or psychologist or something. Someone who knows about gender issues. You know, just to find out what they think. Get options.” Fuck. What’s he going to think about a SHRINK!

But he just nodded. “Talking to a doctor sounds sensible, if you’ve been dealing with these feelings for a while. But you understand, since you’re a minor, I’ll have to be part of those discussions, even if I’m not in the room.”

“Of course, Dad! And . . . I’d want you to be. I’m just . . . I mean, this is kind of embarrassing, you know?”

He grunted, noncommittally. But he kept the conversation going, as we made our way up the 290, merged onto the 495, and continued up to the New Hampshire border.

He probed gently and I responded as best I could. How long had I had these feelings? Did I dislike my body? Did I think about this frequently, or just off and on? What did I think it would mean, to act like a girl for the summer? What things would I do differently? How much of a difference would it make? Was it just a question of wearing different clothes?

I felt like I was trying to explain color to someone who was blind from birth. But at least, it was like explaining it to a blind person who really wanted to understand color!

Back and forth, back and forth. I wasn’t getting any closer to my goal, but it felt good to talk it all out. And Dad was really good at getting me to think more clearly about the issues that had been bothering me for so long. I thought, I should have talked to him a long time ago.

Aidan kept quiet, but every time I looked his way, his expression made it clear that we were still good, however weird I must be sounding. Dad had been right about that, too. This was all stuff Aidan would need to understand, if I ever tried presenting as a girl. I was going to get shit, but he would, too.

As we were merging onto I-95 south of Portsmouth, Dad asked, “How do you think the kids at the lake will react, if you show up dressed like a girl?”

I started going through their faces in my mind, kids I had known for a long time. Played together, the sorts of games gangs of kids play on their own when adults are mostly in the background. “I think most of the girls will be okay. One or two might even be willing to help me some. I’m not sure about Beth Myers or Trish Silver. And . . . I might catch some shit from some of the guys. I don’t know.”

“Don’t worry about them,” Aidan said in a mock-growl.

Dad couldn’t give Aidan a look, since he was sitting directly in front of him. But he said, “Well, Aidan – I don’t much want you having to spend all summer defending Logan’s honor or whatever. What do you think about all this?”

Aidan looked thoughtful, which wasn’t exactly his resting face. I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with his gray matter, when it isn’t consumed with gears and engines and things that go “boom.” But he prefers doing to thinking. Still, I trusted him.

Mostly.

He said, “Dad, this just doesn’t seem all that weird to me. Or to most of my friends, really. We hear about trans kids all the time, and everyone knows one or two – even in our hick town. Sure, some guys are retro on all this, but they’re just assholes. Who cares what they think?”

Aidan gave me a look, challenging at first, then . . . something else. “Logan’s saved my butt a million times. I’d have flunked frickin’ fourth grade if Logan hadn’t helped me. So it’s like you’ve always said. I’ve got Logan’s back. It doesn’t matter whether Logan’s a he, a she, or a they. What matters is, it’s Logan. Okay?”

Dad didn’t say anything. He just drove. A mile passed, then five. Then ten. I could have sworn, though, that I saw . . . . No. No way was Dad crying.

No. Freaking. Way.

He didn’t say anything until we got to the Piscataqua River Bridge. Maine, and summer, and everything it would bring, were just on the other side, waiting for us. His voice didn’t sound right; it was choked up, kind of husky. “Well. We’re going to make a stop in Kittery. I need a coffee . . . and it looks like Logan’s going to need some new clothes for the summer.”

The end.

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