Jude

i.
The clothes sat there in the small cardboard box: three t-shirts and a pair of cargo shorts. Trapped deep inside their threads was the heavy incense that always lingers in the back of old hippie stores. The scent leaked over me, familiar, comforting.
Material: soft. My fingers rubbed over them. Smiled.
Each tag had the title of: man.

ii.
I can't hide anymore. When I first cut off 18 inches from my scalp, I thought it meant that I couldn't hide from them, the people I used to act for. No. It means that I can't hide from me.
When I look at old pictures of myself, that girl with the long hair doesn't seem to resemble me. She looks almost invisible with the locks reaching like vines to cover her eyes, her smile, her body.
She used those dark strands to cover everything. And they're finally gone.
I can't hide from me anymore.

iii.
The clothes fit my body better than any of my skirts or fitted shirts ever have. These new shirts seem to flow over my skin like the clear water we lost ourselves in that one day, light and almost invisible. Dressed in shorts, I can finally move.
When I wear them, it's so easy to lose the effeminate side of myself.
Or am I really just finding myself, finally?

iv.
Playing the guessing game today? he asked as I walked down the long hallway towards the 500 wing. He was smiling. I think he might have been proud. I grinned and pretended to punch him, my fist grazing over his flesh. Muscles I wish I had.
I know I was proud, too.

v.
Wow, she almost-whispered, her voice falling like a medicine into my ears. Her eyes looked me up and down. I pulled the cap down lower. Stuck out my jaw. You make a pretty hot guy. Really! You do. She giggled.
I looked in the mirror. He looked back at me, and I sighed.

vi.
He and I have decided that we fit all three of the main categories.
Lesbian: the way we think. He has the brain of androgyny, and I am a girl.
Straight: what we come across as to everyone who knows our actual genders. The classic (cliche?) couple.
Gay: what we can easily be mistaken for. His obvious masculinity and my short hair, lanky body.

Sometimes I feel like I'm in a gay relationship, he said to me, smiling as I hovered over him, looking down at his unshaven face and his long hair splayed across the pillow. In the moment our lips pressed hard together, I felt like I was both types of gay. But not at all straight, even though that's technically what him and I are.
Strange, huh?
No. Beautiful.

vii.
She ordered all boys' clothes! my sister exclaimed after she examined them, a confused smile tugging at her face. I pretended to be annoyed, but I've never felt more free in my life than I do these days. Sometimes I wonder why they still can't tell.
I wonder if they'll be worried when they read this. When really, none of this actually matters.
At least, it shouldn't.

viii.
C... : the name my parents gave me.
Jude : the name I sometimes wish I had.