always a part of me

a bit of fiction, a short story in the works

When I was little, I could never sleep. So much so that my parents took me to a child psychologist for it, but all I remember us doing together is getting chocolate chip muffins which was enough therapy for me as my parents were pretty strict. But maybe at her recommendation, I used to soothe myself at night by imagining myself being hugged. As I grew up, the hugging started to take form into a strong man with his arms around me. I always thought this was someone I’d grow to be in love with - this strong man - until I transitioned and finally realized the man with his arms around me the whole time had always been me. This story is a fictionalized version of that, with a man in my pocket who grew to become me. I never write fiction, so feel free to comment what you think this story needs. It wraps up a bit too neatly for my taste.

This picture below is about the age that I would have left him behind.

Every time she dropped him, she picked him up hurriedly, as if she didn’t want anyone else to see him. But the truth is, she wasn’t hiding him, she just couldn’t bear to spend even a moment away from him. But this time, as he clattered to the ground, he lifted his eyes to see her back instead of her hand reaching down to snatch him up. It was one of the only times he saw her from behind - he was normally tucked into her breast pocket, viewing the same view she saw through the soft slub of her cotton tee shirts. He lived her perspective as if it was his own. This time, he saw her newly. The soft curve of her back, sandy blonde hair in a small ponytail on the back of her head, a red and blue flannel tied around her waist. He noted the way she walked - slumped over and eyes cast down. He had never noticed this from the pocket, only feeling her gentle, soothing heartbeat and hearing the shudders in her chest as she laughed and joked. She turned to see him once more. This time, her eyes were hard and sad as they grew further into the distance. He had no voice to call out to her, and she turned a corner and disappeared, leaving him alone for the first time.

—-

To her, he had no name. To him, she had a name - the same as his, a life, a personality. He was small. Small enough to be with her so wholly and completely that only she knew he was there. Her favorite spot to keep him was in her breast pocket, close to her heart. She carried him everywhere, so that his weight felt a part of her weight, and hers a part of him. When the summer heat grew so hot that she couldn’t wear a shirt, she tucked him in the waistband of her shorts. Much less secure, but he knows that if he accidentally clatters to the ground, she will feel his absence immediately and tuck him back in. If he were to grow to her size and stand next to her, people would exclaim. Twins! They’d say. And the two of them would nod, gleaming, in unison — yes, twins! They were certainly identical. They had been together for her whole lifetime, no less.

—

She didn’t know how much she needed him until he was not there. On that day, she woke up and he was not in the pocket of her flannel Yankees pajamas. She knew before she even tapped her pocket for his familiar form - she woke in a panic. She patted around on the bed for him. She called for him, even though he had no name. She looked everywhere, until she turned and found him resting beneath her pillow, like a lost tooth waiting to be grabbed by the tooth fairy. She threw the pillow across the room. Where have you been?! You can’t do that to me! She cried. He did not answer, because he couldn’t. He never spoke. His voice was hers, and hers his. She felt anger rise in her face, reddening, until she looked at him and saw the pain in his eyes too. An accident, she concluded. He must have slipped out in the night and ended up under the pillow. But he knew the truth: she had put him there, unconsciously perhaps, as she slept. She was beginning to detach from him, and he clung closer to her breast that day, nuzzling his face in to her warmth and letting her gentle heart rock him to sleep.

—

Subtly and slowly, but surely, her shape began to change. He began to feel the drape of her shirts rise upon her breasts and observed the new perspective. He began to sit higher and higher from the ground and noticed, for the first time, he felt scared of this new height. He remembered how at night sometimes he would awaken and realize he was not as close as he had been, before pulling himself across the sheets and back into her pocket. He heard her voice change, and felt her attitude shift. He noticed that her heart beat faster as they entered a room and tried to curl himself inwards, close to her, to calm her, but it didn’t work as it used to.

—

She had a uniform at school, and it did not include a shirt with a pocket, so she put him in a pencil case in her backpack. She took him out often, and he’d find himself falling asleep amongst the woody pencil shavings pressed against the cold tin of the case. He felt their distance, and longed to be close again. From his spot in the case, everything was more muffled, but he heard bits and pieces of conversations, and the tone of her classmates when they spoke to her. Are you a girl or a boy? Why is your hair so short? Do you want to be a boy? Your boobs are growing. Boys don’t have boobs.

—

He noticed at night she would lay awake, crying. The closer he curled, the more she cried and pushed him away. Just wait, he wanted to say, it will be okay! I can see our future, and we are happy. But she never responded. She just sobbed until the sobs grew gentler and gentler and he felt her body soften with sleep. The day she dropped him, she was getting ready for school. He tumbled down, down to the ground and this time it hurt. He felt his body crack against the floor. He wanted to yell and cry out in pain, but as always, he could only be silent. He laid there helplessly for what seemed like an eternity until he heard her mom shout, The bus is here! As she left her room, she turned to him one last time and for the first time, he could not understand her face.

—

When she came home that day, he was overjoyed. He had spent the day lying in agony, on the cold hard wood floor. He thought of her soft body and couldn’t wait to nuzzle up against her once more. She looked at him and instinctively reached down to hold him, but stopped. She toed him under her bed this time. Not an accident. He felt himself shrink even further, helplessly. That first night alone he jumped as high as he could to reach her still form sleeping, to tuck himself in under her flannel sheets, to feel her warm breath against his tiny body. But it was too high. He could not reach her, and the only comfort he had was the sound of a soft snore. At least he knew she was still there. He tossed and turned until the warm light of dawn began to crack through the window and cast shadows on the wall.

—

The first few nights he thought to himself, she will pick me up again. I will be with her again. But nights turned to weeks, to months, to years, and eventually she was just gone. Sometimes he thought it was better she was gone - when she was here throughout the years he felt her immeasurable pain. He heard her cries and could do nothing but lie there, suffering and she lay above him, suffering. He heard her yelling at her parents, the buzz of a razor as she shaved her head, he felt the pain as it reverberated through the room and thought he wished she would die so he could die too.

—

One day, after what felt like an eternity, he felt her before he saw her. Her feet rested by the bed, she was sitting on it. Suddenly, she leaned over and her whole face filled the crack between the bed frame and the floor. She was grown up. She was beautiful. He gasped, tears streaming down his face. She gasped too, and quick as she could, she turned away. She left in a hurry. He could feel her heart mimic the beating of his as she walked away, footsteps receding quickly down the stairs. And then she was gone again.

—

Years passed, and he just lay there. He didn’t know if he was waiting for her, or if he was just condemned to a life trapped beneath a bed amongst the other things that didn’t matter anymore - stuffed animals, outgrown clothes, dust bunnies. Some days he cried, but most days he just waited for night to come so he could know that time had indeed passed yet again. He shrank more and more with each year that passed until he felt so miniscule that he did not know if he even existed. And if he existed, did he even want to?

–

She came home once more - this time with shorter hair again. And my god, she was still so beautiful. He smiled at her face this time when it filled the crack, and it was her turn to cry. She picked him up and kissed his head softly. She held him close and he felt her heart beat faster, faster, and faster still. He applied the same pressure he always did, and he felt it slow. She held him away from her, looked at his tiny face, and put him in the nightstand drawer. As it closed above him, he saw pain in her eyes and it reverberated through him. He wanted to fix her, as he always had. This time, she said, I’m coming back for you. He didn’t know when, but he thought, I’ll wait forever.

–

Years passed again. He waited for her, as he promised. She returned, looking harder and older and more tired, but with a familiar style of flannel shirt on and her short hair cropped even closer. She opened the nightstand and light flooded his eyes, nearly blinding him. She said, I’m ugly. Look at me. I am not who I am. I don’t know who I am. I need you. And he thought to her, I know who you are. I am who you are. She picked him up again, and this time she spoke to him directly. I need you. I need you. And he realized that this is what he had been waiting for. I’m here. He spoke and the words came out, audibly. His voice was dry and quiet - he had never used it before. She looked surprised to hear it, and he did too. And suddenly, he felt his body bursting. Am I hurt? he asked. This hurts, he said. You’re not hurt, she said. He looked at her and she seemed different - more distant. No, just smaller. He looked down at his hands and saw them growing before his eyes. And as he grew, she shrank. Should we be scared? She asked him. I’m scared, she said, as she became smaller still. There is nothing to be afraid of, he said, and realized that he was speaking from a great height. He reached down and held her in his arms. He kissed her soft hair and placed her in his breast pocket, where she fit perfectly and pressed herself against his breast until he felt both of their heartbeats slow. He closed his eyes and smiled, walking out of her bedroom and into the light of the world.