Paya

By the time he was twelve he knew for certain he despised the name Stacy. It reminded him of the person he knew he wasn’t, the person his parents wanted him to be- their perfect little girl.

In 7th grade Steve’s older brother caught him in his room, trying on his clothes. He had tears in his eyes and was trying desperately to flatten the fat on his chest. Chris had taken the bandages from his hands, “These will hurt you,” he’d said, “Let’s find something better, okay?”

After that it didn’t matter that Steve’s parents seemed to despise him now. It didn’t matter when one Saturday night at dinner he told his parents he’d like to be called Steve, and they told him he might as well pack his bags. Chris has stood up for him and by the end of the night, begrudgingly, his parents called him Steve for the first time. It didn’t matter because his big brother knew, and he accepted him.

It wasn’t an issue, save the constant tension amount his parents and brother. Steve continued to go by Stacy outside the safety of his home, knowing he had to play it safe. It didn’t last long.

By the end of 8th grade it had gotten out, no one knew how. But when the picture surfaced of “Stacy” wearing boy clothes, hair pinned to appear short and boyish, he was mocked relentlessly for weeks. The final straw being when a group of high schoolers decided to jump him, behind the school, where no one would see. And if they did, it didn’t matter anyway, he was just a freak to them.

When Chris heard, he had searched out the kids who did it, he found he knew two of the three. If Steve had known what he planned to do, he would’ve stopped him, but how could he? Chris told him it was just a party he wanted to go to, a girl he liked was there.

It was a flat out lie.

Steve never saw Chris again.