"Momma?" I ask. "Is Santa actually real?"

She blinks before answering: "Of course darling"

She looked startled and unsure. 

That was the first time I knew something wasn't quite right.

That maybe Momma's answer wasn't all true.

But it was only the first time, so I brushed it off and forgot about it.

The news had come on after the cartoons I was watching.

Momma told me not to look, but I heard loud noises and I peeked.

It didn't look very pretty, not at all like the happily ever afters I had imagined.

That was the second time I doubted what I was being told.

That maybe I wouldn't grow up and live in a castle and be a princess.

It was a bigger crack, but it was only the second time so I didn't notice.

My friend in class had a new little brother.

I asked my teacher where babies come from and he told me to ask my parents.

After school I went up to Momma and asked "Where do babies come from?"

"They come from their mommies and daddies love" She replied.

I wasn't sure about that so I asked another question.

"Where did I come from then? Mommy-cause I don't have a Daddy."

She looked away before answering. "You came from mommy's love."

That was the third time I suspected she wasn't quite telling the truth.

I had been in school long enough to realize something didn't add up, that momma was leaving something out of what she was saying.

But she looked sad, so I just said okay.

It was the third time though, so it left me thinking.

Number four came later that year. 

I overheard some girls talking in the bathroom.

They mentioned a word that I had never heard so I decided to ask Mommy about it later.

"What's 'sex' Mommy?"

She looked so startled when I asked and whispered under her breath. "shit."

"What's 'shit' Mommy?" 

She just closed her eyes and sighed. "Grown-up words darling, grown-up words."

That was the fourth time I realized that something was being kept from me because of my age.

I didn't understand how words could only be for grown-ups. Not when I had been talking since I turned 6 months of age.

It left me confused, number four did.

Someone was knocking on the door. 

Momma was home so I answered it.

It was a strange looking man with brown hair and a bit of a beard.

"Momma" I called. "Someone's at the door"

She walked down the hall with her hair still wet and I saw her face pale as she got closer.

"Darling" She said. "Come here please"

I walked over to her because she seemed worried and sad and angry and I didn't want to get in trouble.

But she just clutched me to her and looked at the man. "You are not welcome here" She had said angrily. "You lost any right to come see me or her or us when you walked out that door ten years ago."

At this point I was even more confused. 

But, Momma shut the door in his face and I heard an engine roar and a car go down the street.

"Momma, why didn't you let him talk?"

She just pulled me closer and tighter.

I wiggle some. "Momma?" I ask again.

She just shakes her head. "Not right now darling,"

I think it was the fifth time when I knew that something had changed for real. 

When I realized that life wasn't butterflies and sunshine and rainbows. 

I had figured out answers to many of my questions over the years just by looking and listening. 

I knew that that man was important. That by what Momma had said and how he sorta looked like me that he was probably my father.

But I didn't care-I just wanted Mommy to be happy again.

So I just said ok and hugged her back.

Number five was when I knew that nothing would ever be the same.

I wasn't lost in a world of fantasy anymore. 

I was just lost in the real world.

-In sixth grade I cried because I started to develop underarm hair. I shaved it, not knowing you needed shaving cream, and it burned for a week. I haven't loved myself since.

-In seventh grade I told myself I was skipping school so I wouldn't have to change in front of the other boys. I didn't, and ended up changing in the bathroom stall for half the year. Kids made fun of me, so I stopped and changed in front of my locker. Every time, I stared st the wall and hated myself a little bit more, lost a little more dignity every time. I haven't loved myself since.

-In eighth grade I took a trip to Washington D.C. to learn more about our country. Naturally, I had to stay with another boy in the hotel rooms, because a boy and a girl cannot be trusted together. The first night I stifled sobs under the bed covers because, however little bit of intimacy it was sharing a room, I was not comfortable with it. I haven't loved myself since.

-my freshman year was a repeat of my eighth. My band took a trip to Dallas, Texas for a biannual competition. I had to stay with three other boys in a two-bed hotel room. I cried because I couldn't even confide in my female friends in private, because I wasn't even allowed to enter their rooms. I haven't loved myself since.

-my sophomore year I told my mom I was transgender- a quivering fact I'd known about myself for a while. She'd always said she'd support me no matter what, so I was taken aback when she said I was on my own because she didn't want to have anything to do with it. We never talked about that night again. I haven't loved myself since.

-this year, now a junior, I wore the guard makeup for my color guard performances, and a lot of people complimented me on how good I was at cosmetics. I know it was a little heavy and i mainly looked like a drag queen- not the girl I wanted to be- but I felt beautiful and was ecstatic.

-this year, now a junior, I know that me being transgender is not a phase. It is a fact about me- like that I have brown hair or love Taylor Swift- and it will never change. I am not open or presenting, and I'm not sure I ever will be, but i do know i will do everything in my power to help other minorities and people like me.

-today, I am a closeted trans teen. I have had to grow up a little quicker than the other kids, but it has only made me more mature and more versatile than the other kids. When we're pushed down, I am the first to stand up. When we are abused, I am the first to fight back. And when we are oppressed, I am the first one to riot.

-today, I am trans. And I will not let you walk on my rights as a human being.

It was the night before Christmas morning, and all through the house, not a creature stirred - except for a mouse-like girl.

Brooklyn was eight years old. She had brown hair, and brilliant blue eyes. Her long hair went down her back and was often in a pony tail, two pigtails, or a braid. 

Brooklyn crept down the stairs, her eyes flitting back and forth as she took each step. Finally she reached the end, and turned to the living room's archway.

Finally, she thought to herself. I'm going to catch Santa! The living room was dark, but the soft glow from the Christmas tree illuminated her features. The Christmas tree was lit up, even at the late hour, and decorated beautifully. Brooklyn had spent hours working on it the day before.

Brooklyn's eyes darted from the Christmas tree to the table beside the tree. Sure enough, the cookies were gone - only crumbs remained - and the milk had been drunk. She smiled widely, and whirled around when she heard another sound. However, this was no weird sound. In fact, it was rather familiar.

It sounded like when her mama kissed papa.

Brooklyn peered forward, noticing two figures pressed together as if they were kissing.

"Santa?" she called. "It's me, Brooklyn."

The two figures pulled apart.

"Mama? Why're you kissin' Santa Claus?" Brooklyn demanded, rushing forward into her mother's waiting arms.

"Brooklyn sweetheart, why aren't you asleep?" Mama asked, in a scolding voice. "I was hoping to keep this up for another year."

"Keep what up mama?" Brooklyn frowned. Mama pressed a hand into Brooklyn's cheek affectionately, and Brooklyn smiled giggling a little.

"Um, the truth is..." Mama said slowly, gesturing to Santa.

Santa took off his beard, making Brooklyn gasp. Then he took off his glasses, and his red hat, as well.

"Papa!" She exclaimed. "Where's Santa? How'd you do that?" She asked in shock.

"Erm," Papa and Mama both shifted uncomfortably. "The truth is, darling, you're a wizard."

Brooklyn's mouth dropped open. "I'm a wizard? Then how did papa... Oh, is papa a wizard too? Mama, are you?" Brooklyn asked quickly all in a rush.

Mama opened her mouth to respond, when all of a sudden, a green looking monster came into the living room.

Papa and Mama both hurriedly hid Brooklyn behind their bodies, forming a wall of anger.

"This would have been easier, Erin, if you'd accepted my suit." The green monster said angrily.

"I didn't love you." Erin, who was Brooklyn's own mama, said just as angrily. "It's not my fault Aaron stole my heart, Greyson!"

Greyson, who was the green monster, yelled in fury as Aaron lurched forward, trying to hit Greyson.

It didn't work.

Greyson ended up killing Aaron.

"Are you feeling any different now towards me?" Greyson asked Erin angrily.

"Murderous." Erin assured the monster.

Brooklyn was stood there, in shock.

"What a shame."

Erin wrapped her arms around Brooklyn and Brooklyn was then teleported into a safe room.

What a shame that meant Erin's death.

It was just like every other Tuesday I had been through since I started school that year. I woke up late that morning, having snoozed my alarm one too many times. Hurriedly I threw my hair into a ponytail, got dressed and ran down the stairs. No time for breakfast. Jogging down the street, I pulled on my backpack and tried to remember if I had done all of my homework the night before. There had been a raid in EverQuest the night before, and that had taken most of my focus for the night. At the time, I was not the greatest of students when it came to homework.  

A flash of yellow.

Crap, my bus was pulling up. I sped up into a full out run, barely making it to the bus before the doors closed. My breath was coming hard, but I grinned as I made my way to an empty seat. I remember being elated that I had made it, even if I was stuck on the seat right above the wheel. After a time, we arrived at the school and I made my way to my locker. I dumped my bag into it carelessly and grabbed the two books I would need for the day before lunch. 

My first class, social studies, was up on the second floor. I remember grumbling as I went up the stairs, dodging other people who weren't paying attention as they walked. At the time, this was one of the biggest irritants in my life. I was not one to enjoy touching people that I was not acquainted with properly. 

I made it. I slipped into my seat and started to pull out my homework. It was wrinkled and crumpled from being shoved in my book, but I had gotten it done at least. The bell rang and the teacher moved to the front of the room.

" I pledge allegiance, to the flag..."  I mumble my way half-heartedly through the recitation. Up to this point, I had never really given any thought to the words we were saying. It was just a chore every morning before class started. Once the Pledge was finished, everyone sat down to begin class. The teacher was writing a review on the board from the day before. Honestly, I can't remember what the subject matter was anymore, but I do remember another teacher from down the hall bursting in and whispering to mine. 

The chalk dropped and my teacher turned on the television in the room, fiddling with it until the channel changed from the school announcements to a news channel. On the screen, there was the horrible image of  the Twin Tower, burning and breaking apart. It felt like my heart stopped beating. All breath in my class stopped for what seemed like forever. No one said a word, eyes riveted to the screen. After a few moments I heard some sobs behind me, but I did not have time to acknowledge them fully. 

Something inside me was broken. I felt a new fear that I had never felt before wiggle into my heart like a worm. Safety had always been a given for me. My parents were kind, my home and school secure. I had never run into any true dangers that I could remember in my life. In my child's heart, I had projected that safety to the country, the world around me. Surely nothing could really go wrong in the United States. We were strong, and even though we had our problems we were safe. 

My child's heart shattered that day. The new adult beating in my chest suspected unseen danger around every corner. Years later, I still live more cautiously than some, fully aware that danger could be lurking. Anything could happen without warning, so the only thing to do is be cautious, be vigilant, be safe. 

We snuck fizzy boozy punch from his parents’ party bowl and then walked out into the autumn air, hand in hand. A cool breeze tossed leaves around my boots. Too old to trick or treat, but doing it anyway. He, a convincing skeleton and me a naughty cowgirl. Two other couples trailed behind us.

We rang and rang, grabbed fistfuls of candy, laughed and sang the wrong words to songs, topping each other. Rude and loud about it. The boys scuffling, the girls slapping. All of us happy. It was all a goof. Wanting to be young again at the ripe old age of fifteen.

Nobody answered the door at a three-story house, but the lights were on inside, so we hid in the bushes and spied through a crack in the window shutter, six of us huddled into too small a space behind the hedging. We shoved and giggled and finally found a spot to stack up. So we saw a fat middle-aged man leading an elegantly dressed blowup doll in a pattern on the plush carpet. A waltz maybe? We gasped, hands over our mouths, stifling hilarious snorts, but then grew quiet and serious one by one as we watched the intricate turns, the twists, the dip. He, so intense and she, well, don’t they always seem surprised? The creepiness stole over all of us and we stood there staring, quieted, horrified.

Wanting out of the Twilight Zone dreary, I grabbed his hand and we took flight. We ran hard and far. Away from the sad man and his doll. Away from our friends. We stopped, hunched over, hands on knees, panting and spilling laugh tears from the outer corners of our eyes. Glad to be alone.

It was a clearing where the leaves had not fallen. The grass was hanging on to green. The night was warmer just there and the moon so large, it seemed lofted low, staged just for us. So bright it blotted the stars. He laid down with one arm outstretched, asking. And he looked at me with those clear yellow eyes, searching my face. As if boneless, I collapsed onto him. I was warm, you understand? Whether from the dizzy silly escape or because he was just what I wanted in that moment, I was flushed, heat radiating from my chest to my eyes and back down. All the way down.

And we lay there, me with my head on his bony chest, his face in my long hair until he asked me from painted skeleton lips, whispered yet sweetly formal, whether he could and I said yes. Because we were alone. All around us on every side street there were kids and dogs and parents and flashlights, cars and doorbells and laughing, but somehow we had escaped and were isolated, impenetrable, unpredictably alone. We couldn’t hear them or see them. Just our hot breaths, closer to each other than we had ever been, than I’d ever been with any boy. Just that, the unlikely green grass underneath me and the moon so large at my back.

He was everything I wanted just then and maybe I was too. I don’t know because he didn’t say anything. My skin was dark and his so very white in the moonlight. He shook, but I did not. And it was too cautious, painfully slow, in fits and starts, silly and tender.

And when it was done the spell broke all at once. I could hear cars and kids again, the moon sped away from us and chilly air filled the gap. We pulled clothes on, shivering, and twisted them back into their original shape or close enough. We walked, hand in hand, through a night darker than it had been before. Back to his home. And his parents, too drunk to notice how different we were. It was magic. It was over. It was what I wanted.

Bought a new façade at Store 93 today.

I’ve only seen about 80 people wearing it,

So I had to get one myself before word got out.

Was only 120 UNibucks and it’s so sexy!

Wish we were allowed persistent ones like the old days, though.

Now, only patrols and regulators have them.

This one is a ten-pacer,

So the transformation from drab grey jumpsuit

To pearlescent cocktail dress and boots

Happens at five paces, but continues for five more paces,

If you dare to look back.

I hope the twenty pacers come down soon.

They’re so stunning! And the resolution!

Got another e-Mind warning today for dwelling.

Can’t stop thinking about the Ancients.

I mean, they had to fight for everything.

So glad those days are over—must’ve been a nightmare.

People even had to find their own jobs.

I wonder why it took so long for people to figure out

That the government means well and just wants to provide for us.

Guess they weren’t so evolved back then.

"It is better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all", Neil said.

"FUCK THAT hopeless romantic bull shit!" Carl says before spitting and passing the blunt back to Neil.

Neil inhales the blunt twice while he holds the mind altering smoke in his lungs until he coughs roughly. Carl tries to pat Neil on his back while laughing but Neil shrugs away and goes to the corner of the building to lean over and regain some air. Once he is breathing normally again he asks, " Do you believe in love? Like do you think it's real?"

Carl busts into a clown like laugh. " Are you fucking serious bro?", he asks Neil.

Neil looks at the ground then into the sky. Carl studies the look on Neil's face then leans back against the wall and then puts the blunt to his mouth. He turns his focus to the redness of the blunt's end as he inhales and says, "No, I don't believe in love." He exhales the smoke and passes the blunt to Neil. " But I do believe in obsession and attachment. Those two things create the illusion of love. So yes I hate the hopeless romantic shit because it is better to not love at all. I don't see the point in losing an obsession that I've become so attached to." Carl said before taking the blunt in his hands again.

     "Y'know, Neil." he dragged the cannabis smoke deep into his lungs. His friend's name came out suppressed, in a low frequency. He paused while holding his breath to fully infuse his bronchial capillaries with the full gamut of Mary Jane's combustion, none the least being, the elements of THC.

     Neil stared at the cranberry red ember perched near the tip of Carl's fingertip. The roach's abdominal end was nearly extinct. He wondered how his friend's index finger and thumb tolerated the heat. His mind went off on tangent from the subject of stars's phenomenon of innumeracy to the theoretical aspect of man's inventions involving the ubiquitous roach clip and related paraphernalia. "Carl could sure use such an instrument now," he thought.

     "Dude, y'know, Neil, . . . " He exhaled lengthily. Smoke followed his words. "It's not so much about numbers as much as it's about infinity. There's really no end number that's fully quantifiable. You and I both know we're fairly close to the actual number of stars within our own galaxy, but what about dark matter, string theory and alternate universes?How many stars there?"

     It wasn't a question begged of his fellow colleague, as much as a quantum physics exercise to play mental bridge.

     "Hey pass the joint, or what's left of it," Neil pleaded. "I get your point - but what's your point?" He pulled the bit of roach to his mouth holding it precariously between a pair of forceps and sucked ever so gently. His lips were puckered forward into thin mandible-like lines of dexterity.

     "My point is - cool forceps . You always carry those things? - Ooodles of stars! That's what our known universe contains, oooooodles of 'em."

      Hysterical laughter erupted from Neil. His characteristic broad grin matched the breadth of his forehead. Each time he attempted a rebuttal, his frame quaked. They'd been sitting on the concrete steps of Cornell's deep space telescope observatory when overcome with laughter. "Dude, my side hurts oooodles. The weed's inspired a numerical term of value. Ooodles huh?"

     "Oooodles on my noodle. Twinkle twinkle little oooodles, . . . Hey Neil check it out." Carl stood up abruptly and pointed skyward toward the Orion Constellation. "The hunter's armpit, the red giant, it makes me wanna light up another blunt."

     "Why's that, 'cause of the red tip on my roach?"

     "Yeah, that's ponderous thinking. Our own sun will become a red giant in 4.5 billion years. Then we're gonners." 

     Neil bit into his pizza. "Hey Carl, say Billions again!"

"Is it possible, Neil," I began, as I rolled

The weed in the browned paper sold

By the man at the nearby corner store

"That the religion is something we can't ignore?"

"Well, Carl, good question." Neil inhaled the essence

"Perhaps all can't be explained (away) by science."

"Yup," I took my hit. "Too much beauty to be

quantified by science." I nodded, happy to be free

from science's restrictions.  Neil's face broke to a grin.

We passed the blunt between us in silence then.

And, as he stifled the blunt's flame of clarity out,

Neil asked a single a question to the air, "what now?"

I sit back and look into the horizon sky. I dream, I wish for the grasses to be greener and the presents to be bigger. I sigh. I sit quietly, thoughtlessly about the season. Never really been religious so I wonder about the differences in the world. I whisper so gently, "Will we ever be able to celebrate life the same." The wind blows and the wind chimes sing. I am content. My grass is as green as I'm going to make it. My pockets are full of wealth as empty as they are. So I wish for the sun to rise tomorrow and fill our eyes with a shining light to dawn the world in a different flight.

~ADayDreamWriter