Love, Life & Liberty

by Jackie Matthews

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Iturned the corner and proceeded down the path towards school. I was twelve, maybe thirteen. It was 8:15 in the morning. I got to school and headed straight for the toilets. As I approached them I could hear giggling and talking. This was usually enough to scare me into looking for another unoccupied block, but I proceeded in. The door shutting behind me alerted the girl at the hand basins to my presence. Their staring chilled me. Immediately my head dropped and I proceeded to the furthermost cubicle. I knew I was on their territory, I feared they might comment. I had boys mannerisms, I felt like a boy, I played only with boys toys and when I could I wore boys clothes. I wanted to be a boy. The girls toilets always stopped me from dreaming, they bought a bitter truth home. Feeling unsafe made me feel a victim, but thankfully cubical walls allows you privacy.

The first period of the morning was over and P.E. was next. The teacher that took this class was far from understanding when dealing with me, a student that didn't want to concentrate on their body. Not only did I not want to be reminded of the form I took, I went to great lengths to hide it. Myself and this teacher were at odds, she wanted an attitude that was blocked by a big part of me that said my body doesn't feel, look or behave right and I dread what it may turn into. She tried concentrating on me, forcing me to twist, turn and flex my muscles without fail. This clashed with my will to sculpt myself into a stance that revealed as little as possible of the more obvious female growths. Her class and attitude noticeably terrified me. I believe she was always aware of my sense of self but nothing was ever said. Eventually, out of anger, I screamed an un-retractable obscenity at her. I was an average to good sports player so she allowed me to remain absent from the class.

Going home from school was the time I got to meet the general public, in forced drag (school uniform). This happened in the mornings too, but there was lots more people around in the afternoons. While at school I felt somewhat protected and I spent time with my friends. But outside of those walls I met unfamiliar personalities. Some of them I feared, and rightly so, some people believe you can change a difference such as mine and find it desirable. Of course if I resist, that is to be expected. This only demonstrates one of a number of arguments I have heard over the years. I believe you can't function at your premium without honesty. I went home by bus. It was always crowded. Usually my bus stop was my own, I shared it with no-one. When the bus driver's reach it, I always thank them as I stepped onto the side of the road. This proved to be testing ground that confirmed my suspicions. Even in a dress, driver's would commonly call me son or mate. My head gave me away, my body was overpowered.

At home I was Jackie or Jack and my parents loved me. They let me wear the clothes I wanted to, do what I wanted to, be who I was because I wasn't happy doing or wearing anything else (no parent wants to see their child unhappy). It's not that they wouldn't have done anything to change the situation, they feared the world reaction. Whenever questions that started in "why" were asked, I never had any reply. I thought to myself, "I just do it, it's not even conscious." But I allow it, pursue it and encourage it because anything else goes against me.

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