Dear Zach

"Shit!"

Zach cursed as he tripped over another box. A cloud of dust swept into his face, and he coughed, wiping at his eyes and mouth. Once cleared, Zach frowned at the box; messy, sprawling sharpie declaring it was "High School Stuff." The question was: whose?

Zach poked at the box with the tip of the pocket knife he carried, thinking. Molly was still in high school, so it couldn't have been hers, and whatever the name above the title was, was too long to be Jack or Sarah's based on the amount of marker it took to scratch it out. That just left--

His breath jerked out of him like he'd been hit with a bat.

Oh. Zach felt a flush take over his neck and cheeks as the room spun and his eyes stung again.

"This is why I didn't want to take the attic," Zach hissed as he kicked the box and stomped further into the room, ignoring the clatter of it hitting the nearby wall. He focused on the rest of the boxes for the next hour, everything from baby stuff to family trinkets passed down from some great-grandmother or another. Back and forth, up and down the rickety attic ladder, he took each box down to the main floor for further handling.

"How's everything going in the attic, Zach?" Sarah smiled as she took a suitcase from him, handing it over to Jack. "I know dad left a lot of stuff up there."

Zach snorted softly, noting that Jack still refused to look at him and focused on his sister, "It's as dusty and creepy always. Found one of my old boxes from back then, think I might just toss the whole thing out."

"Don't do that," Sarah frowned, crossing her arms. "At least bring it down? I'll go through it, so you don't have to."

"Sarah--"

"Please, Zach? I don't want to miss out on something important."

Zach rolled his eyes, cursing his sister and her puppy eyes. Promising nothing, he trudged back up the ladder to his post. Another hour passed with more heaving, dust clouds, and generally avoiding the family members down in the majority of the house until, eventually, he was looking over an empty attic. It was so quiet except for the low hum of people below, and Zach let himself stand there, looking, for a second, enjoying the sudden calm.

The floorboards and exposed beams glowed in the late afternoon light coming through the small, round window at the end of the room. Zach huffed softly and muttered as he lifted the hem of his t-shirt to wipe his face, "I've been reading too much if I'm fantasizing about some dirty attic."

After pulling his shirt back down and tugging at his binder to straighten it back out, Zach stopped when he saw the box from earlier still sitting next to the wall. He'd forgotten about it in the rush to finish the attic. With a sigh, he went to pick it up. Crouched by it, Zach saw that the box had popped part-way open, probably from colliding with the wall when he kicked it. He went to close the top when a small, black notebook on the top of the pile caught his eye.

"What is that?" He muttered, setting the box back down and flicking his pocket knife out to finish opening the top. When he grabbed the notebook, he noticed two envelopes tied to the back of it. They looked ready to burst, Zach frowned as he looked the whole package over. The notebook itself was plain, but far newer than anything he would've had in high school. A quick look into the box confirmed that everything else was what he expected, so Zach sat back and crossed his legs. He untied the shoelace holding everything together and separated everything, then twisted his hand to shake the notebook gently.

Instead of dust or bugs dropping out of the notebook, a slew of papers dropped into his lap. Far more than what should've been able to fit in the thin notebook. Zach put the notebook down to rifle through the pieces--a mess of magazine articles, handwritten notes, and photos. The notes were references to different groups like Parents and Support for Transitioning Adults and Science of HRT; the articles talked about artists and athletes, and celebrities that had come out in the past decade.

Zach felt his throat close as he looked through them all. Then he choked when he separated the photos. They were his profile pictures from the past few years. He picked up the most recent one--he had been out at a local coffee shop with a friend, and she snapped a photo of him looking out the window. Zach had loved how he looked, so he uploaded it. There was no note on the back, or any hint as to who had all this, so he scrambled for the notebook.

Dear Kath Zach,

Zach slammed the notebook closed again, wheezing through his grit teeth and clenched jaw. He knew that handwriting, his dad's cursive was as long and looping as it had been since before he was born. That'd never changed.

Neither did his refusal to lose the deadname, either. Zach felt his eyes sting as he stared at the notebook in his hand, a heavy feeling in his gut.

Zach scrubbed his face with a hand and took a breath. Dad was on his way out as it was, he reasoned. Maybe this could be the last bit of closure he needed.

He opened the notebook. Almost every single was only partially filled with the starts and stops of thoughts and letters. The first letterhead was dated from only a couple of years ago.

Hey Ka Zach,

We haven't talked in years, buddy, but I miss you.

Zach,

I read about that singer that came out like you did, and I thought about how I reacted and I hate myself for it.

Zach swallowed hard as he flipped through several more pages, reading through the strikes and the scribbles. Most just had the date and "Dear Zach," or "Hey Zach," at the top before everything else was scribbled out, or left blank. Years worth of letters left unfinished.

One of the last pages was simply Zachariah written over and over until filled from edge to edge.

And on the backside read:

I refused to call you by your name for so long, I had to make up for it somehow. You put up with so much from me and your mom when you told us you were a boy and, after you left, it must've been so hard.

I know you had your sisters, even if your brother was a dick like me. But it must've taken so much to tell us, and I still acted like a nightmare. I don't know if I can ever say it to you in person, but I'm so sorry, kiddo. You're one of the best things to ever happen to me, and I tossed you away just because you told me something I didn't understand. I'm so, so proud of you and so ashamed of myself.

I've been learning so much over the past couple of years, especially since the diagnosis. I didn't know the kind of shit you'd be going through to transition. Your mom says you're doing okay. But Sarah told me about how you got refused surgery because of your insurance. And you don't work a job where you get the time off for stuff like that, so bills have to be an issue, too. I remember that, remember when I'd tell you about working at the local corner store when Jack was just a baby? Didn't even have all four of you yet, and it was still a struggle.

I don't know if I'll ever get the balls to give this to you before I go, but I started saving up a little bit for you over the years. I guess it was supposed to go towards your wedding. You know, the one with the big, white dress and a husband to walk you down the aisle to. But, I think it'd be better if I just give it to you. Because I love you, and even if what your life is, isn't what I thought it was going to be, I need to support you as much as I can.

This isn't making much sense. I guess that's what happens when you write letters while doped up. I hope your life is wonderful, bug. Please never forget that I do love you, even if you never get this.

Love, Dad

Zach gasped and dropped the notebook to press his palms to his eyes. A soft whining noise broke through, and he curled over his knees. This couldn't be real; Zach clearly remembered his dad's face when he came home with his hair cut short, an extra-small sports bra flattening his chest as much as possible. How he screamed when he told him, "Call me Zach," and how the tears wouldn't stop coming when he fled to a friend's house that night to escape the silence that fell after.

This didn't fix the years of pain. It didn't fix the rift that sat in the family since. But his dad had apologized. He was sorry.

It was more than Zach thought he'd ever get. He hiccupped and scrubbed his face, struggling to find the envelopes and open them. When he did, sniffling and blinking, he stared for a long moment. Both envelopes were packed to the brim with money--more than Zach thought you could fit in normal envelopes.

As he pulled all the bills out and began to count, Zach felt like he was wearing that extra-small sports bra again. His chest was tight and hot, and he couldn't seem to pull a full breath the whole time he handled 100, 20, and 10 dollar bills.

"Twenty thousand," He breathed after several minutes of counting, "There's twenty thousand dollars here. I--I could--"

He could pay for his surgery and still have enough to pay his bills for the entirety of recovery. He could focus on his blog and art instead of working himself dead for a couple of months. He could even pay off one of his credit cards!

Zach hurriedly shoved the money back in the envelopes, then packed those and the notebook into the pocket of his hoodie. He was so lost in his own grief-relief-wonder that he didn't hear anyone else until a soft, strong hand landed on his shoulder. Zach startled and whipped his head up, eyes locking with Sarah's.

"Zach?" She knelt next to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. "Did someone say something? What happened?"

Zach took a long moment to process what his sister said, then barked out a soft laugh. He shook his head and tucked his face into the crook of her neck, still hiccuping quietly. "Wa-wasn't anyone here." He managed while her free hand started carding through his hair. Sarah didn't say anything, and they sat there for a while as Zach continued to cry.

Eventually, Sarah coaxed him out from her arms and made sure to look him in the eye. "You're sure? Jack wasn't an asshole again? It wasn't Aunt Jo, either?"

Zach shook his head again and swallowed. "No, neither. I... I found something. From Dad. Good thing!" He hurried to add when Sarah's face grew alarmed, "Very good thing. I, uh--I want to call him."

"Are you sure? You don't owe him anything." Sarah still looked alarmed; Zach guessed it was fair; the last time he'd seen their dad, it had only led to Zach cutting off contact for over a year.

But Zach felt the weight of the gift in his lap and looked up at his sister with a shaky, growing smile.

"Yeah, I'm sure. I just want to say hi."