Yesterday

I’m sure I’m a woman, though now I say that without conviction.

But some confidence in my being a woman remained, because not only did I retain my feminine features, I was also devoid of a penis. 

Which is a good thing. 

Aside from that, I wish I knew why the people here grew inquisitive all of the sudden.

I drew curious glances more so than usual, and some even shot me looks of, dare I say, revulsion. That’s certainly something one could do without.

Perhaps it’s the bed hair jutting out of me like a flimsy needle. Or maybe it’s my eyes shot through with streaks of red, but I guess I’ll never know.

“I’ll never know” is my motto, and I’m never one to ascertain.

But for the life of me, I wish it weren’t, and I wish I were.

For on that fine day in March when the sun hung low and the mild heat was pleasant on my skin, for the first time in a lifetime, I was at the receiving end of the word "pervert".

It happened so suddenly I couldn’t quite discern the meaning of the word “pervert” itself.

It eluded me for sixteen and a half years, and for it to strike me now as hard as a hammer blow to my shins, nothing crossed my mind but to stand still. Maybe if I stand so still like a sentinel, I’ll blend into the bathroom wall as if I belong. 

But such is life.

And the mousy girl with the short hair and the quivering lips standing before me started to lift her index finger, outstretched - accusatorily so. She bellowed her exclamations and whirled on her heels, racing for the hallway beyond.

I could make out the words “There’s a pervert in a dress snooping around the girl’s bathroom!” screeched from afar, followed by shouts of the same vein.

And to think a tampon was tucked on the back of my dress.

I felt as if my feet weren’t anchored to the ground. My entire being felt floaty, and I’ll bet my life that if someone were to prick my skin right then and there, I would zip around the room like a deflating balloon.

Something changed.

And for the first time in a lifetime, I jumped out the bathroom window.