Part 2 of TG Highschool story 'Blossoming'
Kdarling (kdarling111@gmail.com)
Transgender - Highschool
*PART 2: *
*`*MISSHAPES, MISTAKES, MISFITS'
It was sometime in the mid-2000s. Myspace and early social media was beginning to explode. Arctic Monkeys had just broken the UK pop charts, guitar music was back with a bang. Britain was booming again. The NME was worshiped by a generation of adolescents like a weekly bible. A new wave of British cinema, gritty and realistic, splashed across TV screens and music videos. A barrage of trendy comedians, some controversial and some androgynous in their appearance, were cracking jokes a little too close to the bone, and frightening conservative house wives half to death. Middle aged men groaned that they had seen it all before, first Punk then Britpop - it was just another rehash.
But to be 16, and in the final year of St. Edwards Secondary, it was an exciting time.
I won't hear anyone say otherwise.
I'd hit puberty like a ton of bricks. It kicked the ever-loving-crap out of me. I was bullied relentlessly, I felt awkward and shy around pretty much everyone. Fucking-goth-tosser' had become more of a greeting than an insult. Chavs roamed in packs as the alternative' were hunted for sport.
The first four years of Secondary School were a living nightmare, I had few friends and such low social standing that even the teachers would occasionally question my existence. `Ben Robson? Who's that? Are you supposed to be on my register? Which class did you come from?' Mrs Matherson once blurted out during a morning Maths class register. It would have been slightly funny if it was the first week of term. It was February. And I had attended that class 5 days a week for a full term and a half.
I guess I didn't help the situation. I just kept to myself and stayed quiet. I lingered in the corners. Crept silently through the corridors. Head always down, hair always covering my face.
I hung around with a kid named Gary who wanted me to call him Gizmo' because he loved computers and gadgets' so much. I never once called him that. He wore a PacMan backpack, brought a GameBoy to school and his pencil cases -- yes cases, plural -- were all Star Trek themed. Mikey Davids would sit with us at lunch time because he smelled like wet dog and nobody else would talk to him.
We were the lowest of the low.
Social outcasts.
Those two didn't seem to mind much. They swapped sandwiches at lunch, argued about WWF and ate bags of pickled onion Space Invaders that left their blazers crusted with yellow corn dust. I often flicked my hair out of my eyes and glared at them for being so lame. I couldn't exactly talk though.
I sat out of every PE lesson, forging notes, forgetting kit, turning up late.
I read poetry. Listened to music. A tortured soul.
My one link to normality was that I knew Riley.
We had grown up together, our families went on holiday together. The Parkers and the Robsons were inseparable. `I wonder if they wife swap' Riley would often tease, both of us grossed out and laughing hysterically. We would spend whole Sundays at each other's houses. Riley and I were actually pretty close, and she seemed to genuinely like me. But not at school, she knew my association was social suicide, and I didn't blame her for that. Not one bit.
We lived three houses apart in a quiet, leafy suburb in northern England. After school we would spend all of our time together. She'd encourage me, chastise me for not standing up for myself, and listen to my teenage anguish. We'd listen to music and make top 10 lists of favourite bands. She was always in to the newest and most exciting scenes, informing me of the dos and don'ts of mid-2000s cool. It sounds pathetic, but I looked up to her so much. I just didn't get how she made everything look so easy. Top Grades, lots of mates, boys gushed over her gorgeous looks.
Teachers never forgot her fucking name.
We sat in Riley's bedroom one afternoon as she began to unravel a plan she had hatched. One that would change everything for ever.
`I'm going to stay over at Beth's this weekend. And you're going to come too' she informed me, it was an imperative, not a request.
`Umm.. why?' I enquired in a mumbled response.
`Because it's about time you got out of this rut and escaped this place for once' she grinned, that mischievous smile I had seen before. That look always led to trouble.
`I don't follow... why go to your sister's?' I asked. Beth Parker was three school years older than us, and had already flown the nest to live in the bright lights of the city centre. She was like an exotic creature, rare and dangerous looking, strewn in tattoos, piercings and studded jackets. Fiery red hair, sexy as hell, and she scared the absolute shit out of me. She stopped being part of the Robson/Parker family outings some time ago, her appearances back home fleeting and rare.
Because she can get us in to bars and clubs, she knows all the bouncers' Riley responded, nonchalantly. We stayed over the other weekend, me and Amy' she continued.
Amy Pearson was a tall blonde haired girl from school. Riley was good friends with her, although she had a reputation for being a lot more `wild' than Riley. That's a nice way of saying most boys thought she was a bit of a slag. She was known for her escapades with older boys, the ones who used their newly acquired driving licences and second-hand bangers to impress younger girls. Bigger boys and stolen sweethearts.
`It was fun, we went to this bar were all the NME bands hang out' she dangled the carrot in front of me, knowing it would pique my interest.
`Like who?' I asked, my attention fully grabbed.
`Well, when we went there wasn't anyone really, but Beth said The Cribs sometimes go there'
`Oh, but you didn't see anybody?' I said deflated.
Well no, but it was pretty cool though. We had a blast' she stated, matter-of-a-fact-ly. This band played and they sounded like The Smiths, if they'd had a fight with The Strokes.'
And with that the plan was finalised. We planned to get the train into the centre that coming weekend. Neither of us knowing how life-altering it would turn out to be.
(Comments and feedback welcome. Email keldarling111@gmail.com)