TRANSMISSION #7
ATMOSPHERE:Ā 2
SEASON:Ā 5
MOON: WAXING GIBBOUS 62%
YEAR: 2018
LOCATION: CA
RECIPIENT: THE LOST
MESSENGER: DRACO_1
Sup. Iām Draco. I hope you guys like my contributions to the page and are interested in what I have to say. Some things you should know about me: I play guitar, I love sushi, the beach, Fall Out Boy, and Marvel movies, Iām 16, Iām a junior in high school, and Iām a transgender guy.Ā
Today Iām going to talk about love.Ā
Love is a best friend. For me, she takes the form of someone I met years ago and have grown closer and closer to. The reason I love the things I love? Because of her. I see her everywhere. My freshman year was when I realized it. Every time I heard her laugh, it just made life feel like it was twice as radiant as before. Every touch on the shoulder or hug or elbow bump sent tremors through me. Love was a taste of bliss when I least expected it, every now and then, like a moth to the flame, I always wanted more. But I pushed it down. I didnāt want to ruin the friendship we had. And I certainly didnāt want to out myself yet This was before I started to dress and accept myself as a guy. I called myself a lesbian around close friends. The summer before 10th grade, my parents let me shave down my dark curls, so I felt a lot more comfortable. But I could never actually transition. Not as long as Iām under that roof.
They say I wonāt turn out to be aĀ āugly little f*ggotā, as if it has already been decided that it just wonāt happen, like someone forbade it long ago. They tell me, if we ever go into San Francisco one weekend, watch out for those devil-worshipping queers. As if theyāre monsters for how they love. It pisses me off. Every time. Iām not numbed down by how often they talk like that. The way my parents talk? Itās not love.Ā
The way my father hits my cheek whenever I come home late, or get a C in Math? Thatās not love.
The fact my mother says Iām a disappointment and threatens to kick me out of the house if I ākeep talking like thatā? Or if I hang out with anyone she disapproves of? Thatās not love either.
Small towns like mine never have anything fun. We have a drive-in movie theater and about two and a half restaurants (I donāt consider the McDonaldās as a full one), but thatās it. So during the summer, kids go to the beach about 2 hours away. Itās hard to go anywhere when you have parents like mine, but one day, miraculously, they were in a good enough mood to let me out.
Sort of. Technically I lied. I did tell them I was leaving. I just didnāt say where. Oops.
I hang out with the art kids. Iāll talk more about them later. But my best friend, who we will call Sarah for simplicityās sake, sheās one of them. My mother calls herĀ āthe blue attention seeking oneā. Sheās probably one of two people in a 100 mile radius that has bright dyed hair. But sheās not attention seeking. I think itās cute. Point is, the parents donāt approve. What I told them was that I wanted to spend the day driving around (another fun thing us small town people like to do) and hanging out with a very responsible not blue-haired friend of mine.
Instead, that June morning I hopped in the car at 10 am with four art kids, one of them being Sarah, and the driver being a 6ā3 āopenly faggyā punk who no one would shut up about last year for spray painting a pride flag heart on the school front (no one could prove it was him, but we all knew it).
It was great. I was finally free. I could sing along to my favorite songs on the radio as loud as I wanted, with friends. I could finally get a chance to be alone with Sarah. I could talk to her without worrying what anyone would think. I wouldnāt have to flinch at the sound of someoneās loud scolding.Ā
But spoiler alert: it didnāt go as planned.
I could talkmore about love and what I felt there and what happened at the beach and how happy I was. Instead, Iāll make the rest of this story short.
My mom just happened to call the mom of my responsible friend I told her I was with. Being completely oblivious, she said that her daughter was sitting in the living room right there with her and had no plans to go driving with me.
So after I got about a million phone calls and texts from her about what a terrible, awful, lying child I was, I went home. The drive was silent, completely different from the lighthearted mood just minutes ago.
I did have a crazy thought inspired by love, though. At some point on the beach when I was paralyzed with fear and stammering out what was going on to my friends, I saw the real concern in their eyes. I saw the caring they had for me, and just for a moment, I wondered if an alternate reality was possible, and had an idea.
Have you ever had an idea so strong with hope that you werenāt even sure what it was, and all you know is the feeling of the idea? That may not make any damn sense, but I really donāt know what I was thinking. Maybe I was considerong running away. It could have been anything, so long as it was powered by defiance. I felt Sarahās palm on top of my hand and looked in her eyes. First, I felt the hope grow stronger. But then? My idea fell apart as I realized she was all too real. Life was all too real. And I had to go home and face my reality that was expected.
She was standing there, on the porch, in the dark. Completely still with barely contained rage, she looked like a statue.
But she was all too real. And so were the bruises and red marks I woke up with the next morning.
Iām still trying to find love, in places other than beach trips that end too soon and a disastrous crush that might destroy me. I hope I reach it.
