Choice / 選択

I stared blankly at the outside from the car’s window as we returned home. Some people rushing down the sidewalk, some walking down the street without a care in the world. Some cars flaunting their horns, some calmly traversing the roads at their own pace. It was all the same to me.

I recalled the rest of the appointment.

After a much-needed break, my psychologist intervened.

“With the condition you have… I’m sure you know what this means for your future. No endocrinologist will approve you for hormone treatment or surgery. I'm… very sorry, Ishida.”

“It… it’s okay…,” I muttered, crying, “I… knew how impossible this was to achieve. But, you know, I thought things would turn out differently. I never imagined it would come… to this.”

I knew. I knew my father’s branch of my family had a history of prostate cancer. My grandfather was affected by it and later passed away. His brother still lives with the same illness. My father however never had any issues. I was just unlucky. That’s all there is to it.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” she slowly reiterated.

“You did your best, Satou,” the urologist comforted her, “We all did.”

“Still,” he added, “one option remains on the table.”

Upon hearing that, Natsuko rose her head up, holding onto the tiny shard of hope left.

“I told the doctors I talked with about your wish to transition sex. We investigated and discovered something extremely recent within the circles of endocrinology, more specifically targeting people like you, Yuki. In the past years, foreign countries have tested a new transitioning method for transgender individuals. However, due to the strain it imposes on the human body, it has been only approved to be used in extreme cases, such as yours. This is your second option.”

“What… do you… mean?”

“Let me explain. This method consists of taking special drugs that work similarly to those conventionally used in the typical hormone therapy treatment. The difference, in this case, is the intensity and velocity of the changes in your body. In conjunction with a handful of surgeries, it produces far better results than conventional hormone therapy. But, as I mentioned above, this implies an equally greater strain on your body. The results are… well, exceptional. Those who have undergone this process look identical to same-sex people, so much so that you could only find out they’re transgender if they told you. The degree of satisfaction is high with most patients.”

He made a brief pause.

“If you choose to go this path, my colleagues and I estimate you’ll have only four months left to live from when you start the transition. After the process is complete, roughly one month.”

He also explained how things would play out going forward, regardless of my choice.

“No matter which one you choose, the same base measures will be taken to ensure you live for as long as physically possible and to provide you with the best quality of life we can offer you. In fact, we've already begun. The medicine atop this table is meant to stagnate the worsening of your health condition and to ease any pain you may feel. You’ll take it twice a day. I’ll also give you this button for any emergencies, plus a spare one,” he handed both of them over, “Needless to say, you’ll have appointments with us both each week too.”

Before we left the consulting room, he stated one last important thing.

“Best of luck.”

That was the end of it. When we arrived home, Natsuko and I sat on the couch, unsure what to do. My parents were walking around the living room, clueless as to what to do or how to react—much like us. My father lit the fire in the room.

“Yuki, what are you… going to do from now on?”

“I don’t know,” I answered with a desolate voice.

“Daughter, I think you shouldn’t endanger yourself any further. I want you to live longer,” my mother remarked.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I'm sure… it's what either of us would want.”

“I see…,” I continued, still as lifeless.

“What do you think, Natsuko?”

“H-Huh…? I… don’t know what I want. I prefer to let Yuki choose,” she muttered, nearly as lifeless as me.

“I understand,” the older female figure in the room recognized.

“Whatever it is… it won’t matter. I… am dead already.”

“What the fuck are you mumbling about? Get yourself together, goddamn it! Are you going to give up before you even reach the finish line, is that it?”, my father angrily shouted.

“Yes.”

He strode across the room towards where I was sitting and grabbed me by the collar.

“And so, you’re going to act like a worthless piece of shit and back down? After all the work, all the motivation you put into everything?”, he put his other arm below my armpit and pushed, making me stand on my feet, “You’re willing to throw it all away and just… do nothing? Then fine, give up and die, die as a man!”

At that moment, I—

“Do you fucking think I wanted this?”

I—

“That I signed up for this shit?”

Lost control and leashed out, forcefully removing his arms from me.

“Get off of me!”

I swiftly breathed in and out, huffing and puffing.

“I got one year to live. ONE! What do I do, you wonder? Well, I die! I die, but pridefully and happy! So, if you’re asking me what I’ll choose, I’ll tell you what you all want to know that much! I choose to live as myself! I choose to live for one more month! I choose to LIVE!”

He smiled, knowing his efforts paid off. My mother wasn’t as satisfied though.

“You intend to cut your life in less than half for one month?”

“Yes.”

“How can you make a decision that quickly? Do you think you're the only one who cares about yourself? Me, Ryūga, and Natsuko all care about you! We're all just as shocked as you are! Think about us, think about your friends!”, she raised her tone, shedding some tears.

“Darling, please, calm down, we were given days to think about this.”

“So what if I choose it? It’s how I always wanted to live! Don’t I at least deserve a chance to do it?”

“It’s as I said, dear. She’s hellbent on it and doesn’t want to change her mind,” she rephrased, disappointed.

“You don’t get it! None of you does!”

“Yuki!”, my mother tried to impose herself, “Think of us!”

“Damn it, I know! I…, I'm trying!”

Crying, the otherwise silent and downcast Natsuko stepped into the conversation, but not to add anything to the fire.

“I'm... I'm going to my bedroom upstairs.”

“W-Wait...!”, I stretched my arm out, eventually giving up and letting it fall back to the idle position.

“Yuki… what Rika’s trying to say—”

“I know. Sorry.”

Disheartened, I quietly climbed the stairs and closed myself off inside my own chamber. My peaceful, lonesome bedroom. I sat atop my bed and covered my ears, fearful of the future. Nonetheless, I was still able to hear the ongoing thunderstorm roaring mercilessly.

I didn’t eat dinner. I remained cooped up in my room.

At some point later in the day, after the sky had been entirely submerged in black, someone knocked on my door. I wasn’t sure what time it was then as I had turned off my digital alarm clock. Lacking the will to do so, I didn’t bother inferring who stood on the opposite side of the door. I was still too demotivated and crestfallen to use up whatever energy I had left in me to do so.

They knocked again.

I didn’t move an inch.

Arriving at the conclusion I wasn’t exactly in the mental state wherein one typically expects the other to open the gates of their private quarters and successively roll out the red carpet, she got ahold of the handle, turned it, and gradually stepped inside, finding me in just as gloomy and miserable of a state as she expected.

“Hey,” she greeted me, using the opportunity to have a good look around the place.

“It’s been a while since I last set foot in here, yet everything never really changed.”

It had been exactly thirty-two days. Not exactly what I’d define as “a while”, but I’ve come to realize the perception of time itself varies from person to person, from circumstance to situation to situation. Maybe that was purely how much she missed my room. Or, perhaps, she simply missed being here, next to me, on top of this bed, just the two of us. I prefer to go with the latter.

“Can I?”

I nodded. She took a seat beside me.

“I can wait until you want you’re ready to—”

I rose my otherwise inactive left arm and placed my hand on her face.

“Feeling aggressive tonight, are you?”

“Just wanted to remember how your skin feels like,” I said gently, “Was I too greedy?”

“Not at all,” she replied, with an endearing tone.

“Then,” I leaned to her side and let myself land comfortably on her pleated skirt, “am I allowed to lie on your lap?”

“The better question would be ‘When am I not allowed to lie on your lap, Akira?’.”

“Ah, then I need to start asking it more often.”

“Yes, yes.”

She noticed a lonely instrument in the corner.

“Yuki?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you pick up the violin since the concert?”

“No.”

“Do you plan to?”

“Who knows. However, if you want me to, there’s always the winter concert.”

“Will I have to go through all the work of convincing you again?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I’ll give it some thought.”

I smiled.

“Looks like the storm passed,” she noted, looking out from the window.

“Hey, Akira,” I grabbed her skirt to draw her attention.

It worked. She turned to me and wondered, quizzical, what it was this time that required her attention.

“Is it selfish of me to sacrifice part of what I have left to fulfill one of my desires?”, I let a few tears exit the confines of my eyes.

“Yes. But I don’t think you’re making the wrong choice. We all make selfish decisions in our lives. Ultimately, it’s a matter of whether we make the most out of them or not.”

“I… see. I look in the mirror and I don’t see myself… it’s like there’s someone else there, a bad taste joke, a permanent costume I can never take off. But…,” I fell from the bed and landed on my knees. What were occasional tears evolved into an incessant childish crying as I desperately clang onto her, completely exposing my vulnerable self, “I want that to change so bad. I want to wake up, look in the mirror and be proud of what I see. I… want to be cute and wear cute clothes and live like you do.”

Hey, Akira—

“You get it, right? How I feel.”

“Mhm,” she caressed my hair, “I get it all. How you’re always trying really hard to keep up a strong act, as you did earlier downstairs. How, in spite of being the one in the worse state, you still choose to help others. I know it all. But you don’t need to be like that with me. You can lay bare your fragile self when you’re with me. Your sadness. Your jealousy. We’ll carry that burden. Together.”

“Which means we have work to do. I’ll help you convince your parents. Just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

She waited until I was in better shape and helped me get back into a proper sitting posture leisurely.

“Let’s go,” I said with a more confident tone, sketching a slight, even if negligible, smile.

“Then, come.”

She dragged me downstairs the same way she did back in early June, except this time I went along with it, offering no resistance and not showing any signs of surprise.

On that day, we stayed up past midnight. As promised, we had a serious and heartfelt conversation with my parents. In the end, though it proved to be challenging, we succeeded.

You’re probably wondering what my other three esteemed friends were up to during these dreary Ishida-less days. Ever since that Tuesday afternoon class, they were very worried, never fully aware of the full picture. Natsuko put it upon herself to relay information to them, despite others having offered to do the same work for her. As mentioned beforehand, they paid me a visit—one each day I was interned, as many as they were allowed to. Since I was discharged from the hospital on Sunday morning, I suppose that makes it four.

I returned to school on the following Tuesday of my own volition. Kimura was the first one to address me, rushing to the doorway of the classroom, nearly beating the hundred-meter Olympic record in the process and jumping to hug me tightly.

“You idiot! Who gave you the right to disappear like that?”, she muttered, wiping the tears off her face.

“Sorry.”

“One apology isn’t going to be enough, you know…,” she remarked, unusually needy.

“I know.”

She slowly unwrapped her arms and let go of me. Yokoyama, seizing her chance, strode across the room, and—to my shock—jumped to where I was. Turns out being Kimura’s best friend enhanced her athletic abilities. She remained quiet while she held dearly onto me.

“You’re not going to say anything?”

“Mhm,” she nodded negatively, “Let me stay like this for a bit, ok?”

Fortunately, within less than a minute, she drew away from me and let Naoto, who was waiting, have his moment.

Unlike the previous two, he wasn’t as ecstatic. Calm and collected was closer to how he honestly felt. Still, that didn’t mean he missed me any less than them. When we were face to face with each other, he also hugged me.

“Good to see you back, Yuki.”

“Right back at you.”

“Feeling better?”

“I don’t know, to be fair…”

“Well, we can talk about that later.”

“Mhm.”

I assumed that was it, so I prepared to step forward, toward my desk.

“You didn’t really think this was the end of it, did you?”

“What do you mean?”

I saw all that coming. What I didn’t expect was for the whole class to greet me with such enthusiasm. To be specific, all of my classmates got up and a certain individual approached me, stretching his arm out, with the palm of his hand meaning to make contact with mine.

“Welcome back, Ishida,” the class rep stated, greeting me with a firm handshake.

“Thank you, Kohei.”

I heard a good share of “Welcome back” coming from the students. Some livelier than others. A few clapping along too. It was nice to have a caring class.

With that done, one last painful task awaited me. My friends needed to know the full story behind the week when I was away. For the better and for the worse, I had to tell them.

And so, when we were all free from classes and club activities, we met outside school, as the Sun prepared to say its goodbyes for today.

With Natsuko’s help, I filled them in on every detail, from my terminal illness to the choice I had to make. This was also when they got to know I was transgender. As anyone with an IQ greater than five could predict, they were shocked to hear it.

“You're joking, right?”, Kimura asked, refusing to believe it.

“Unfortunately, no,” I replied, downhearted.

“No way…,” Yokoyama desperately hoped none of it was true.

Naoto chose to remain silent.

Kimura rested on my shoulder, putting her hands on my back, powerless to do anything, “And… what are going to do?”

I was about to speak up, but that was when I realized… I didn’t know how to respond.

Why?

I had already answered that same question multiple times recently, yet I wasn’t capable of pumping out a definitive response.

Say something!

Answer!

Gather up some courage and do it!

I can’t. I had come across a hurdle.

I recalled the discussion I had with my parents.

Ah, I understand. I understand all of it. Until now, I hadn’t been put on the line by any of my friends. I hadn’t been forced to decide in front of them. I hadn’t witnessed their despair.

But, I can’t say it right now. I can’t face them afterward. I can’t put them through more pain.

So, please forgive me.

“I will live.”