His First

When the final bell rang to end seventh period, I already had my notebook and worksheets shoved into my backpack and ready to go, ready to bolt out the door and off campus. I didn’t linger in the parking lot with my friends like usual. I just ran home, unable to think of anything but what was waiting for me there.

I’d been thinking about it since seeing the delivery notice on my phone at lunch, spending my last two classes of the day buzzing with energy. It was supposed to have come in non-descript packaging, but could I rely on that? After my dad’s latest rant the other day about the recent election results and the “liberal snowflake agenda,” I wasn’t taking any chances. I had to get home before he woke up for his night shift at the local dive bar and before my mom got back from her day shift at the hospital.

The walk to our apartment building usually took fifteen minutes; I made it in under ten, slowing down and getting ahold of my ragged breath before turning the corner into the courtyard. Mr. Jacobean was there in his camping chair, smoking his cigarettes, so I said the obligatory “Hey, Mr. J,” but didn’t slow to chat as I hurried to my front door.

There it was on the porch. A small, rectangular package, wrapped in brown paper. It was generic, with a simple label: N. Richardson. 1408 SE 160th Ave, Apt C.

Internally I was squealing with glee, but I was trying so hard to be quiet that I held my breath as I unlocked the front door and slipped inside, careful not to wake Dad. If he saw, he would want to know what I’d ordered.

I tiptoed down the unlit hallway as fast as I could. My bedroom, which I shared with my older brother, was blissfully empty because on Mondays he always worked swing shift at the local Walmart. Some people thought it was strange that I still shared a room with my older brother, but I always argued that they wouldn’t say that if I was his brother. It was just stupid gender-binary bullshit.

Dropping my school bag softly on the stained, old carpet, I crossed the room and placed the box on my twin bed, opening it one thing at a time. Under the brown wrapping was a white, equally non-descript box. That opened easily after I removed a little tab of clear tape, and there it was: my first chest binder.

A medium nude color, so it would hide under most of my clothes. Hopefully the right size, but there was only one way to know. I pulled off my sweater vest and button-down shirt eagerly, tossing them on the bed, then ignored a couple of things while I pulled off two women’s sports bras. I’d been doubling up for quite a while, and that sort of worked, but a proper binder was the ultimate step in the right direction.

For a moment I just stood there, holding it, and feeling guilty. This huge secret I was keeping from my family… I wanted so badly to tell them, especially my brother, but I was desperately scared of how they would react.

I took a deep breath and pulled the binder over my head, then tugged it down little by little, alternating sides, and back and front. It fit. It fit. I ran to the mirror and looked at myself from the side—miraculously, I was flatter than ever before. With my size of chest, total flatness was probably impossible, and the twinge of longing for top surgery someday flooded my mind. My eyes teared up for that thought and for the gratitude that at least I had this much. I put my hands on my chest and rubbed up and down, feeling the smoothness. Some bumps here and there, but overall, it looked better than I expected.

I’ll never forget that day because looking in the mirror, binder on, and button up shirt over, I finally felt like Nathan for the first time. Neither my parents nor my older brother knew me as Nathan; I’d still be Natalie to them for now, and probably always. This person I didn’t want to recognize in the mirror. A little sister, a daughter that I didn’t want to be. But with this binder, I felt more like my true self than I had in years.

In my excitement, I danced around the bedroom. I texted Cameron to see if he wanted to get a coffee, and grabbed my wallet and keys, heading back to the front door. Only after, I popped my head into my dad’s room and said quietly, “I’m going out to meet Cameron, be back in an hour.” Thankfully he just snored and rolled over. For now, I was free.

At the coffee shop, we sat at a tall bistro table surrounded by happily chatting folx, and I could barely hide my excitement. Cameron knew exactly why.

“You got it?” he asked eagerly. “How does it feel?” His gentle hands clutched around an oversized coffee mug, resting on the table.

“Amaaazing,” I said truthfully between sips of mocha. “It was expensive, but I’ll make it work. Took a few extra shifts at the store.”

“Nate, I’m so happy for you!” Cameron squealed, and gave me a small tap on the shin with his sneaker under the table.

We sat for a while talking about the usual subjects; Kristin McGowan’s new haircut (horrendous), the varsity softball team going to state (overhyped), and which team members we suspected are lesbians (also Kristin McGowan, funnily enough). Cameron went on a bit about his less than desirable home life; apparently his mom was still praying at church for him to be a ‘heterosexual’ again. Despite their beliefs, he managed to continue to have a good relationship with his parents while still being true to himself. For that, I was proud of my best friend… Maybe a bit envious, too, that he was the kind of queer that had always been ‘out’ and flew his pride flag high.

It was almost perfect: cozy atmosphere, best friend, way too much caffeine. But moments before we left, Chad Tilton and his gang came into the coffeeshop.

“Hey,” he nudged his buddies, “there’s that dyke and her beard.” They all snickered and walked up to the counter to order beverages. I swore one of the cronies whispered the ‘F’ word under his breath.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Cameron insisted. “People will see the truth someday, and those idiots are going to be losers their whole lives.”

“It’s fine, it’s really fine.” I knew Cameron knew, he got his share of harassment, too, but I added, “Unfortunately, I’m used to it.”

With that, we decided to leave, not out of shame but out of pity. Pity for those that couldn’t see right from wrong when it came to something as simple as treating others with kindness. Pity for the bad karma in which they were dealing. I knew in my heart that Cameron was right. Someday, everyone would see Nathan.

© Jasper A. Flintsmith 2021