The Film

It’s that feeling when a man opens the door for you, just to be polite. Or when someone compliments how long your hair has gotten. Or when your favorite shirt suddenly makes your breasts too obvious. Or when you get your period and you’re reminded every time you shift of how wrong it all is.

I imagine those first two sentences made some people smile. Then, with the next two, it faded, maybe realization sunk in, maybe it makes you unsure. Or they made you nod, say “Oh, yeah, that. I know that.” That feeling when you meet someone for the first time and they assume the wrong pronouns. That feeling. I know that. A lot of people don’t, and I am often reminded of why I have to speak about it so that everyone can at least understand.

Today, I sat in a classroom and watched a movie about a trans boy, knowing I was the only person in that classroom that actually got it. The only one that understood why he was leaning forward slightly, curling in his shoulders, wearing long shorts and baggy clothes, keeping his friends away from his family because each group uses a different name for him. Sometimes I forget that not everybody understands me, because of the people I choose to surround myself with. Safe people. Today I remembered, because a classmate asked why the boy was even upset. He was young, after all, and could pass as a boy with little effort. So, why then? Why be uncomfortable?

Why be uncomfortable, knowing that someday the inevitable will arrive? Why be uncomfortable, knowing that you’re lying, but not knowing which direction is the lie? Why feel uncomfortable, seeing everyone be so natural while you have to try to hard to seem that way?

Why be uncomfortable with a skin or name or role that isn’t your own?

The conversation is what made me uncomfortable. It made every insecurity I’ve ever had flood forth. They crawled under the skin around my breasts until I wanted to claw them off. They thread through my too long hair until I tugged, knuckles white, trying so hard to be subtle as I resisted tearing it out. I sat there, jaw shaking, and couldn’t make myself defend that boy on the screen that I understand so well. I kept my mouth shut in an effort not to scream.

(I always end up being too aggressive when I go on the defense. But is it better to stay silent?)

What I know is that today I felt uncomfortable with another’s confusion because it was a reminder of how little I am understood, and what hurts is that I’m not sure I can even blame him. How would he have known, when there is nobody explaining it to him?

To all those folks that understood those first sentences, to those that understand the young boy in the film I watched: I understand you, too. We can understand each other at least.

To those that don’t understand at all, I pose this question: Have you ever tried to? Talked to a trans person, watched a video, read a book, took a class, I don’t care. Anything with which to learn? Sometimes, in the world we live in, we have to take our learning into our own hands. Don’t wait for someone to tell you what to do or think or know— find it yourself.

-Atticus G.