Departure
I glance back and watch the house recede behind me. I turn to look at my brother as we drive away. His facial features show he’s in no mood to talk, not after what he said to our father. We weren’t expecting to make this trip, but it became a necessity.
My name is Ross Montgomery, and my life is a mess.
To begin with, you could say my life has never been easy. I was this tall, thin child with ADHD who rarely got along with anyone in school. An effeminate artistic nerd turned athlete who can only emotionally connect with people on a computer or a canvas. My older brother, Dave, is my only real friend. He’s five years older than I am, so I’ve always looked up to him for guidance, and he has always done his best to look out for me. Then he graduated from high school, and the bullies moved in on an easy target.
My father decided it was time for me to ‘man up’, and sent me to weight training, swimming, cycling, and high-impact sports — anything to build muscle, aggression and competitiveness. I have to admit, it was a good way to deal with my excess energy, learning to use my adrenaline effectively. Unlike most people who black out during an adrenaline rush, I use it to my full advantage — with micro-second thought. Once I learned how to apply math to sports, I’ve gone from a useless wimp to an Olympic contender. Not to sound like I’m boasting, but I excel at whatever I apply myself to. My quick rise from hopeless geek to muscle-bound jock hasn’t helped my attitude, though. I went from being bullied to being the bully; hanging around with my swim team and pushing the weaker kids around.
I’m not exactly what you call a team player. My father’s constant push for me to be top and win gold has made me compete with my teammates as much as I do with my opponents. As a result, I’m not a nice person. Still the anti-social loner, only now I can defend myself. I hate myself; I hate my life. All that’s keeping me going is the push to win. I argue with everyone: my classmates, teachers, teammates, even my father — when I feel I can get away with it. Maman and my brother are the only ones who seem to understand me.
After Dave left for college, I didn’t think my life would get any better. I’ve hit some pretty dark moods since then, and have been in therapy for a few years since the first time I cut myself. It started with this clueless twit trying to figure out where my depression comes from. Seriously, like they didn’t see it building up?
My first therapist was no help at all! He would ask me where my anger came from? Why didn’t I get along with anyone? Why do I have trouble crossing a bridge without being tempted to jump off of it? Why do I feel my life was no longer worth living? Why am I sneaking drugs, alcohol, and fighting with everyone? It just made me more upset. Outside of the constant pressure of having to be first, I didn’t know! If I had the answers to these issues, I wouldn’t need a therapist! It wasn’t resolving any of my issues, it just made me hate life more.
When my parents caught me cross-dressing two years ago, having accumulated a collection of my mom’s old clothes and stashed them in my closet, they asked me if I was gay — which I wasn’t. My father blew up when I told them I just wanted to feel pretty, and I ran away that night to avoid his beatings. I stayed with my aunt for a week until my mother promised me that my father wouldn’t hit me. Under my aunt’s recommendation, Mom sent me to a new therapist.
Joyce differed from Dr. Whats-his-name. She asked me why I wanted to wear female clothing? Why did I want to feel pretty? The way she asked was not condescending, so I disclosed that some of my online friends thought I was female. I thought I would see what it might be like to feel like a girl. This led to other discussions about my dreams and my personality. She had this quiz on how I would react in some situations. The quiz was emotion-based; she asked me to be honest, to not hide how I feel.
Upon my insistence, Joyce doesn’t talk to my father -- as my mother had hired her. We’ve spent the past two years exploring my feelings and talking about what I would want. I let her confide in the school councillor. I asked her to share her findings with my brother, and they encouraged me to explore my feelings more by building a feminine online alias. While building a female profile online and being a girl in games was a good start, it didn’t help in school. I just got teased more when some of my classmates found out. My only break in the bleakness of torment in school, hardships in sports, and pushing my body past its limits… has been my brother coming home on holidays.
He saves me. He takes me out of the house and drives me to the Villeneuve side of my family. We talk and have hidden my collection of pretty clothes away from my parents. My Aunt Mary is the only other family member on my father’s side who’s known I want to be a girl. Being a lesbian, most of the family already disowned her, so she's understood my plight. As my mother’s family lives too far out of town to cycle to, whenever I could get away, I spend time with Mary and her girlfriend Kim.
Dave had been home for three days now. We were going to celebrate that night. He said he was expecting some fantastic news. Joyce had given me a letter to give to my brother. As I was handing it to Dave, my father snatched it from my hands, wondering what I’ve been so secretive about.
The letter contained Joyce’s diagnosis: that my anger, solitude and feminine demeanour indicate that I possess a female personality and am most likely transgender. Because of my heightened depression, she’s recommending I start hormone therapy and transition early, seeing as other techniques were not helping without full immersion in changing my gender.
My father tore the letter of recommendation up and turned on me in a fit of rage. Had my brother not blocked his blow, I don’t know what would have happened. My brother pinned him to the wall until he could push him out the door. They exchanged some ugly words that I will not repeat here. We wouldn’t let him back in the house until my uncle Sean showed up to take him some place to cool off.
Soon as he left, my mother and brother packed as many of my things as his Mazda could hold. I won’t be going to any family. San Marino is no longer safe for me as long as my father can reach me. Dave’s going to take care of me now. It broke my mother’s heart, but she agreed this is for the best.
So, we’re going to one place my father can’t reach easily: Foxgrove University in Rivercrest. My brother saw this as an opportunity for both of us. This would give him access to resources and the lab during the summer, so he can further his robotics research and gain extra credits for his degree. Meanwhile, the LGBTQ+ group that his friend Jane is involved in can help me get the support I need to start my transition.
I hope they’re right about this because I’m afraid this is going to be the worst failure of my life if it doesn’t.
