Alex
7:15 A.M.
The smell of microwavable sausages wafts through the air, adding a spicy-sweet twist to the otherwise dull morning. They sit on a paper towel, waiting anxiously to be eaten. Coffee brews next to them, slowly dripping into a pink, white, and blue mug. The air is stale and slow in the early hours of the day, and Alexander is one of the first people in his dorm hall to wake up. He took early classes on purpose, preferring the sleepy morning classes to the relative upset of the rest of the day.
Sleep wasn’t easy the night before, and so a dark cup of coffee was absolutely necessary to get his day going. He was awake enough, but his movements were much slower than he’d like them to be. He sat at the end of his bed, scrolling through his phone. He made his bed a few minutes earlier, despite the fact that he had no one to impress but himself. His room wasn’t neat, but it was orderly. On his desk was an open textbook, untouched except for a few highlights. Alexander— Alex, for short— preferred to work on his bed, scratching away on notebooks or typing up papers on his laptop. He lived alone, as his previous roommate… didn’t work out very well. He didn’t want to go through the roommate selection process all over again, and so, with his parents’ permission, he put up the extra money and got a room of his own.
When his coffee was done brewing, he added a dash of sugar and a tiny bit of hershey-flavored coffee creamer that he was able to get on sale. Time was ticking by, and his class was going to start soon. He ate very quickly, racing an imaginary opponent. Time was of the essence— the sooner he got to class, the better. The seats towards the back of the classroom always filled up quickly. It seemed that no one wanted to sit near the teacher, no matter how nice she was. Alex had his own reasons for sitting towards the back of the class. He was, in his own terms, “Hyper-socially aware”. Social interactions made him anxious— a nasty feeling that most people try to avoid.
Alex checked his backpack, then his clock. Notebook, pencils, pens, laptop— check. 7:30 A.M.— class starts in 40 minutes. Alex idly wandered towards his closet, picking out a graphic t-shirt and grabbing his binder. Five minutes and some awkward fiddling later, he was dressed. Pulling at the collar of his shirt, he checked himself in the mirror, facing sideways. His eyes flashed with panic when he saw that his chest wasn’t entirely flat. He turned away, feeling his breath seize at the bottom of his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinked a few times, and kept moving. It was too early in the day to feel that kind of panic. Body-image issues could wait until after lunch.
He grabbed a toothbrush and toothpaste, striding into the public bathroom. He took his time this morning, knowing that no one on his floor got up this early. He had the entire space to himself, and it was peaceful. The giant mirror in front of the sink was annoying, but for the most part, he pretended it wasn’t there. Some days it was better to avoid mirrors than it was to face reality. Today was one of those days. He could get through it, just like he always did. Life moved on, and so did he, grabbing his backpack and leaving his room with a pep in his step. His first class was easy enough— he just had to get through today. Tomorrow is another day. Just get through today, Alex, just get through today.
8:08 A.M.
Alex arrived at his classroom two minutes before the class was supposed to start. The teacher, along with the few students that were already there, were moving the desks into a circle.
This was an unusual occurrence, as this class was typically a lecture-style course— the kind of course he preferred. Alex ventured forward, cautiously, but he did not go unnoticed.
The teacher perked her head up when she saw him come in, “We are having a group discussion today. Grab a desk and help move them into a circle.”
Alex did as he was told, grabbing the desks and putting them in a circle. Slowly, students filtered in. It wasn’t long before the discussion was ready to start. Alex took a seat, taking out his notebook and shoving his backpack under the desk.
The teacher began her introduction, explaining how the discussion would work. “Because we haven’t done something like this before, I would like you to introduce yourself before you speak today. You will be receiving a participation-based grade for this assignment, so be sure to speak up. We will be discussing last night’s reading.”
Alexander froze. He hated talking during class, even if it was just to answer a simple question. He avoided talking at all costs, favoring silent observation over high-pitched vocalizations. His heart began to race. He hadn’t talked to his teacher about this problem before. It was one thing to say one one or two words when most people were out of the room. It was another thing to talk in front of a bunch of people. He looked around at unfamiliar faces, finding that the discussion had already begun. A girl with bright red hair was leading the charge, discussing themes of family and blood-ties. A few people piped in with stories, discussing how they could or couldn’t relate to the text. Alex stayed quiet. Perhaps the teacher wouldn’t notice his lack of participation, or, if she did, he could explain it away after class.
Alex began to relax back into his seat, taking notes about what his classmates said. They brought up some good points, coming up with allusions he never thought of. He didn’t agree with every comment his peers made, but he could see where they were coming from. Others asked questions, hoping to better understand the piece. It wasn’t long before the conversation petered off. The teacher looked around the classroom, then called upon the person next to Alex. For most of the conversation, he had been nodding in and out of consciousness. The teacher asked a question that he couldn’t answer, and then, to Alex’s horror, she turned to him.
“Do you think that Caitlin has any particular obligation to her family?”
Alex swallowed hard and tried to think back on the text. The story was about a young girl’s transition into adult life. Her family, in her youth, was particularly unsupportive of her hobbies and education. When the Caitlin turned 18, she bought a lottery ticket. She won a lot of money, and she wasn’t sure what to do. Alex knew what he would do if he had won that money— quit school and moved far away from this classroom. That way, he wouldn’t have to answer any questions. At least, not at this moment. Not in front of these people.
He took a deep breath, trying to force his voice into his chest. “No, I don’t think she has any responsibility to her family. They didn’t treat her like family, so why should she take care of them?”
The teacher stopped him, saying, “You were supposed to give us your name, Alexis. Start again.”
Alexander’s breath caught in his throat. It had been a long time since anyone had called him by that name. He wasn’t out at this school, so he couldn’t blame the teacher, but still— hearing his deadname hurt.
Alex bit his lip, then spit out, “Actually, I prefer to be called Alex.”
“Okay then, Alex, please repeat what you said, giving us your name this time.”
Color rose to his cheeks. He did as asked, rushing his words as much as possible. He just wanted this situation to end. Let someone else speak— he already answered the question.
The teacher nodded, satisfied. One of his classmates spoke up, expanding on his point. “Like she said, I don’t think Caitlin owes her family anything.”
She
She
SHE
Alex bit his lip and looked down at his desk. He couldn’t bring himself to correct his classmate. Pain fluttered in his chest, and he was reminded of how the world viewed him— as a she. It wasn’t his classmate’s fault— to her, he probably looked like a flat-chested girl. Alex’s eyes stung, and that one word reverberated through his head. He needed a break. He got up to go to the bathroom, staring at the floor on his way out. He didn’t want to know if anyone was watching. He tried to take deep breaths, but his binder pressed against his chest, an ever-present reminder of what was there, and what wasn’t.
He wandered around for a while, trying to find a restroom. There must be a gender-neutral bathroom somewhere on this floor. He felt his panic rising as he turned corner after corner. Nothing.
He gave up, stepping into the last place he wanted to be— the Woman’s Restroom. It felt wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be in there. He wasn’t a “woman”, no matter what his birth certificate said, no matter what other people perceived. He couldn’t go to the men’s bathroom, and there were no other bathrooms available. He wasn’t comfortable in here, but at least no one would look at him twice. He was so early in his transition that people still thought he was a girl. Ha.
He opened one of the red stall doors. He needed privacy. This was the best place available, even if the cleanliness of the space was somewhat questionable. Here he allowed tears to well up, but he never let them fall. He had to get back to class eventually. He had to regain his composure. He tried measured breathing, but quickly fell to hyperventilation. He tried to count to ten, but at number eight he realized that this wouldn’t quell the pain rising in his chest. All he could do was take some time, ride it out, and hope this feeling would go away long enough for him to sit through class.
He leaned against the stall door, choking on unspoken words, trying to remember good things. Good things that had happened to him, good things that would happen to him. He took his phone from his pocket, turning it on. He looked at his lock screen for a second— a picture of Sylveon and Incineroar, his favorite pokemon— then opened up his phone. He browsed through his image gallery, looking at pictures of people just like him. Pictures of their success stories. They hurt to see, in a way. They served as a reminder of how far he may have to go to be comfortable in his own body, but they also served as a reminder that change was possible, that you didn’t have to be stuck with things that pain you. These people were able to transition, they were called by the right name, the right pronouns, the right everything— and soon, it would be the same for him. He wasn’t ready to come out yet— he wasn’t sure how people would react. He kept his head low and tried to present as masculinely as possible, but that was seldom enough. Still, life moved forward, and he pressed on.
Alex exited the stall, head held high. He quickly washed his hands and splashed cold water on his face, trying to erase any trace of the pain he felt. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he just had to get through this class, through this moment. He could do that.
He left the bathroom, dipping his shoulders down low and diminishing his stance. There were a few other people in the hall, and he did his best to avoid eye contact. His hands were still shaking— remnants of the panic he felt earlier— so he hid them in his pockets. One moment. One moment more.
He widened his stride as he walked into the classroom, moving quickly to his seat. He kept his head down for the rest of the hour, and the teacher left him alone. He was allowed to be alone in his thoughts, and this was both a blessing and a curse. He was alone and unjudged, but most importantly, alone. His hand brushed over the phone in his pocket. Once class was over, he would reach out to someone, but for now, time moved achingly slow. Moment by moment, Alex, you just have to live through this moment.
5:26 P.M.
Alex sits alone in a red-and-white cafe booth. Crystal-smooth, casual listening music pops through unseen speakers. The beat is simple and calm, made up of natural sounds and the occasional vocalization. It adds a mystic air to the cafe, which, in its basest sense, is clean and crisp. It is full of sharp, clean lines and bright, simple colors. The white tiled floor practically sparkles. The walls are a smooth and simple shade of pink, and the booths are entirely plastic. Alex leaned on the table, eyes closed, with his head cradled in one hand. The events of the day had worn him out, both emotionally and physically. His hair was slightly untamed, as no comb could master it. He tried to clean up his appearance before going to the cafe, but he found that it just wasn’t worth it. An uncomfortable numbness had settled in his stomach. The rest of the night would be spent in careless routine, fueled by mundane repetition.
This cafe was a spot of brightness during an otherwise dull day. He had wandered in, eight minutes too early, and chosen a booth in the middle of the wall. He was waiting for his friend, Emily, with his backpack tucked by his side. This meeting was routine for them. Every Thursday, they would meet in this cafe to study. They had very different majors— Alex was a biochem student, Emily studied theater— but they benefited from each other’s company.
Alex perked up when Emily entered the relatively quiet cafe. A hesitant smile spread across his face, but the knot in his stomach wormed deeper. If she sensed his discomfort, she must’ve decided not to say anything. She sat opposite of Alex, tossing her backpack under the table, smiling as if she had never worried in her entire life. She was good in that way— no matter what happened during the day, she was always able to mask it with a smile. Alex was her polar opposite. His emotions were always painfully easy to read, as long as you looked. They bonded quickly. Alex understood that there was often more going on under the surface, and Emily found relief in his transparency. For a moment, they just sat in silence. Alex ruffled through his bag, pulling out his notes. Emily leaned back into the booth, claiming it as her throne.
Alex glanced up. “No homework today, huh?”
Emily gave him a smile that bordered on becoming a smirk. “Nope. Only vocal exercises.”
Alex’s lips perked up in one corner, forming a half-assed smile. “Lucky”
“Aw com’ on,” Emily purred, “This just means more time to focus on you!”
Alex threw his supplies on the desk— a few pencils and pens, a sketch book, and a filled-in notebook.
“What are we reviewing today?”
“Cell organelles.”
Emily perked up. “I know about this stuff! Like, mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”
Alex winced. “Not quite. We aren’t supposed to use that phrase anymore.”
“Then what can you say?”
Alex went into a long winded spiel about organelles and how High Schools tend to simplify them to the point of giving out misinformation. Emily listened half-heartedly, understanding most— but not all— of what was being said. This devolved into a conversation about modern education systems. Emily was slightly more optimistic about the future of schooling, Alex was a bit more pessimistic. They talked idly for about a half hour. Slowly, as six o’clock approached, Emily began pressing Alex to study.
“Ah, I don’t really want to.”
Emily tilted her head, knowing Alex a bit too well. “Is this procrastination talking, or is there something weighing on your mind?”
Alex retreated back into himself for a second, before saying, “I’m fine. I just don’t feel like studying.”
Emily turned away from Alex and began watching the bustling cafe. If he didn’t want her to know something, she wasn’t going to pry. She didn’t want to read his face. She didn’t want to find out what he was feeling that way— she wanted him to tell her.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but no one who says ‘I’m fine’ actually means it.”
Alex dropped his gaze, considering his options. He hadn’t told Emily anything yet. Admitting it to her would make it real and he desperately didn’t want it to be. He wanted to be acknowledged for who he was, but he didn’t want to leave the closet. Still, this was Emily, his closest friend. He knew that she had a positive opinion of the LGBT+ community. Maybe… Just maybe…
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk about it.”
Emily turned back to Alex, looking at him with a softened gaze. “What’s bothering you?”
Color rose to his cheeks, and he began to stumble with his words, spitting out terms and specificities. Emily stopped him and made him take a deep breath.
“You can tell me anything.”
Anything?Alex thought, Well, okay. This is “anything”.
“I might not be a girl.”
Emily’s eyes widened, showing her split-second surprise. She made an effort to calm her face— and her emotions— before she responded. “Okay. What do you think you might be?”
“I think… No. I am a boy. I mean, a man.”
Emily nodded, waiting for him to continue. He scanned her face, waiting for a response. For a moment, they were at a stalemate.
Emily broke the silence with a genuine smile. “You know that I’ll support you no matter what. Guy or girl, you are my friend.”
Tears welled up in the corners of Alex’s eyes. He looked away, pleased, and tried to collect himself.
He took a deep breath, then diverted the conversation. “Thank you. Can we— you know— get back to studying?”
Emily nodded. She would wait until he was comfortable enough to tell her more. They would take it at his pace, a pace that had just begun. Alex was pleased with himself for the progress he had made, and he was hopeful— hopeful that he would be able to make more.
Taylor Price is a sophomore Professional Writing Major at SUNY Cortland. Taylor hopes to promote acceptance by using storytelling as an educational and entertaining tool.