several sizes too small


Ah… What can I say. I feel like a mother whose son has just told her that he wants to live as the girl he’s always felt he was. So, here I am watching him toss out his worn out pair of work jeans. He’s stopped wearing that ridiculous baseball cap and shaken all his lovely long locks free. He…, or rather, ‘she’ is putting on her first dress–just something I used to wear, several sizes too small for her. She peeks into the mirror, half scared and so unsure of what to make of herself, saying to me with a mirthless laugh, how hideous and ridiculous she must look, while I am thinking that she’s the most beautiful and brave girl I’ve ever met. She turns a few times, scrutinising her reflection, holding her shoulders up in an effort to make herself appear smaller, less masculine. She catches me looking at her, and almost immediately her eyes cast down. “I wish I wasn’t so tall,” she smiles meekly. “It’s hard to get a date.” Her gaze returns to the mirror and with a tired smile she mumbles to herself; “Will this get any better?”