Label Crisis

A young girl with long straight black hair with crimson red and hot pink tips stepped slowly in a grey shadowy tree and bush-like background. It was like she was intertwining herself with a singular bush covered in thick silver webs. Then suddenly she would be so close then back into the background in a blink. It was hard for Rhea to distinguish the world other than the weepy trees and thorny bushes with bright pink flowers.

A small boy with similar black hair, but cut shorter to his chin, appeared and started to a low rumble hum of a bass note which didn’t match his tiny frame. He was sitting on a branch of a dilapidated tree. The girl’s small, sickly sweet voices echoed. They began singing a song- no, two songs in a round interweaving the lyrics into one song. The little girl’s voice took on three different pitches at the same time like a piano chord whereas the boy beatboxed his mouth and hands into different percussion noises. When it came time for him to sing a lyric, the background noises he had created previously kept playing as a loop. “Come Little Children and The Hanging Tree” made an eerie combination.

Rhea wanted it to stop. Their heart pounding in their ears. “Stop.” It came out as a whimper. Rhea covered their own ears pressing so hard a headache twanged into life. Rhea’s mind flashed with migraine speckled lights. “Stop it. Shut up.” The unnerving voices haunted Rhea’s brain promising to become a permanent memory.

“Come, little children,” the little boy sang with a deep rumble.

The vision flicked and throbbed. A searing pain clouded Rhea’s sight until all they saw was blackness. Rhea felt their world, no... their shoulder being jostled.

“Rhea.” Mom’s voice sounded worried.

Rhea groaned from their throbbing head. When they opened their eyes, Mom looked right at them with her sad honey doe eyes. She was standing in her pjs in the car’s door in the parking lot. “You okay sweetie?” Mom asked.

It took Rhea a moment to focus. A dream. “Sorry.” Rhea rubbed the sleep from their eyes. “Was I talking in my sleep again?” Rhea asked.

Mom nodded.

“Sorry.” Rhea tried to stretch but failed from the cramped station wagon backseat. Rhea settled for rubbing their temples instead.

“I thought your nightmares only happened when I am deployed?” Mom asked. She slung her big bohemian fabric purse over her body. Rhea noticed Dad walk over to Rhea’s side as well carrying multiple reusable bags.

“Wanna grab some grub?” He asked, as he would, to cause a distraction from actually having to talk about it.

Rhea nodded slipping on their worn flipflops taking the distraction offer. They didn’t want to talk about it. Mom’s arm hooked into Dad’s elbow, but Rhea didn’t miss Mom mouthing, ‘We’ll talk about this later.’ Rhea rolled their eyes and chose to speed up their walk to ensure they were in front of the two adults. The air outside was hot, heavy and muggy. It felt like a living breathing sauna was blowing arid stank at Rhea to get them to stay far away. Maybe it was just the dream residuals being added to the real world because Rhea still was half asleep. Regardless, it meant Rhea’s lungs felt like it was working in half capacity.

Inside the convenience store, a welcome blast of dry cold air finally gave Rhea a full deep breath. They all found the bathrooms and it didn’t disappoint. It was a classic side of the road ‘you-might-get-hepatitis-if-you-sat-down’ quality of restroom. The walls littered with scraps, old, faded paint, and graffiti. The stall doors didn’t quite close nor lock so if one wanted privacy, they would need to use a foot to hold close the door. The pale green-grey walls of the stalls were covered in writing from the various travelers. Taking time to wipe off the seat with a huge wad of toilet paper, Rhea then laid a seat cover over the toilet.

While taking a dump, Rhea pulled out their ionized metal Kershaw pocketknife carving a heart-shape. Inside Rhea cut a line cutting the heart in half and a line leading to the two humps making an upside-down peace sign. Along the lines, Rhea etched music notes. Rhea made the middle stem longer and included a bass clef and treble clef on either side of it and signed their initials R.Z with a wave in the background of the whole design. Rhea cocked their head to the side, could be a good tattoo. Rhea took a pic of it and then finished up to find their parents. They were whisper-arguing. “We need to figure out why Rhea is having nightmares, Jackson. It’s happened every night since we started the move.” Mom’s voice said while she inspected the past due apples for one that was least bruised.

“He’s just stressed out from the move.”

“They.” Mom corrected.

Dad groaned. “Sorry. It isn’t easy for me like it is for you. This isn’t something that happens in our family.”

She glared at him. “Rhea is your child. It does happen in your family as it is occurring right now. It’s not unusual for a child to experiment at this age. Boy. Girl. Whatever. We love them the same. Your family-,” she said ‘family’ with a grimace. “Thought I was a heathen and didn’t think I was marriageable. Remember your mom trying to threaten me if I didn’t at least pretend to convert? She threated to boycott the ceremony if it wasn’t up to their Mormon conservative standards. It’s no wonder this doesn’t ‘happen’ in your family. If your mother knew about this, Rhea would be cut off from everyone and for what? Rhea is literally no different than a year ago all they want is for us to use a different pronoun as they figure out who they are.”

Rhea wanted to both scoff at their Dad for not understanding and hug Mom for getting it. Rhea just didn’t want to be pigeon-holed into anything because they literally didn’t know. Maybe they were male and gay. Maybe they were female and straight. Maybe they were nonbinary and pansexual. Why did they have to choose right now? At fourteen- almost fifteen, how could they be expected to know? It’s not like they have ever kissed anyone nor really had a crush. It just wasn’t fair to be forced to decide.

“My statement stands,” Dad said interrupting Rhea’s thoughts. “They,” he emphasized like an ass. “are just stressed from the move. We knew this was going to be a big adjustment especially since this move is literally across the country. It’s going to be a culture shock to us all and Rhea is going into high school- pretty much the worst time to be a new kid.”

“We talked about this. Teaching at the Tracen is a big opportunity and will ensure that when I get out of the military, I can stay home and teach pilots instead of being forced to be away from my family.” Mom sighed.

“Yes, but Rhea is already gonna get picked on. The pronoun thing is just gonna make it worse.”

“It’s not a ‘thing’ Jackson.”

“I know.′ He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

Rhea made an act to throw open the refrigerator door and grab a bottle of water. Then let it slid close. It didn’t thump like Rhea wanted, but it did get their attention. Rhea kept their face neutral like they weren’t just eavesdropping.

Mom spoke first. “Want some fruit, Rhea?” She held up a semi-bruised apple.

Rhea shook their long blonde wavy locks, snatched a bag of Fritos, and dropped them on the counter to be rung up. It was then that Rhea even noticed the clerk who spit brownish black bubbles into a Mountain Dew bottle. The smell of Skoal made bile threaten to crawl up their neck. Cringing, Rhea pleaded to their parents to hurry up with their hazelnut eyes. Dad saw and hurried Mom to make her selection.

“You’s a purty one ain’tcha.” He spit again keeping his voice down and smiling at Rhea. His voice even more cringy than the staring but not by much.

“Can we get $20 on number five?” Dad put his hand on Rhea’s shoulders.

The old ashy man pushed buttons to ring up the items. Rhea didn’t wait much longer. Grabbing the water and the bag of chips, they went outside to wait by the family’s packed to the brim station wagon. It was ancient, but Dad obsessed over the 1989 Pontiac with its fake wood grain overlay and beige fabric seats. He was convinced that it would be considered a classic. Rhea was just happy it had rails on the top to attach their surfboard safely for the long cross-country trek.

Rhea leaned on the back passenger side door and opened the bag. Rhea’s stomach rumbled softly as a reminder they didn’t eat lunch and it was almost dinner time. The saltiness instantly made them moan. This was not an allowable food to their diet, but then again who stays on their diet during car rides?”

“You gonna make love to them chips?” A deep, but young throaty voice said behind them followed by a quick chuckle.

Scaring the bugger out of Rhea who dropped their chips. The bag spilled into an oil slick making Rhea cry out. The chuckle turned to full-on laughter. Rhea glared at the direction of the laughter seeing a bright cherry red pickup. Its driver, currently pumping was still laughing. The driver towered to at least six feet and had nice wide shoulders, but his face looked really young. He was a light-skinned African-American with the yellow lights of the gas station giving him an orange-reddish undertone glow. Rhea dropped to the ground to pretend to pick up the chips- okay actually picked them up too, but also looked under the car noticing his worn-out black sneakers. Rhea took a deep breath. It’s been long enough. They would try to play it off.

Rhea snuck another look when dumping the oiled bag into the shared trashcan between the pumps. The stranger wore black jeans and a faded army green t-shirt giving him a vibe of comfiness while showing off his toned arms. Rhea then found his face, his dark brown eyes narrowed as he made his assessment of Rhea- the amusement gone from him.

He looked behind him and then back at Rhea.

“What? Is there a bug on me?” He pretended to wipe off his arms. He smiled showing off his perfect teeth and plump lips. “- or is my handsome face bugging you?” He chuckled at his own terrible pun.

Rhea rolled their eyes and went back to the car door. Mom and Dad showed up, Rhea silently thanked their parents for unlocking the door so Rhea could escape the weird chuckling stranger.