Pride logo

Your Little Girl...

by Indie Warren 3 months ago in Relationships
Report Story

I have a confession that I know I'll never make.

Your Little Girl...
Photo by Álvaro Serrano on Unsplash

Hey mum...

I’ve never told you this.

I know that I still could. It’s not like I don’t have your number, or like I can’t just walk 20 minutes down the road and knock on your door. It’s not like you’d be mad. It’s not like you wouldn’t still give me a hug before I turned to leave.

But I won’t.

I know that I won’t, even if it continues to simmer in the back of my mind until it boils over and inevitably comes out in a rush, spitting and bubbling like the butter melting for brownies.

I’ve never been good at keeping secrets. I talk too much without the aid of a filter for that. I’ll just keep on rambling until at some point I’ve said what I didn’t mean to say.

So maybe I will tell you.

Sometimes I almost do.

You smile with your eyes, eye-shadow dusting the lids, and I think about telling you that I’m not so sure I like makeup.

You’ll mutter that it’s ‘your time of the month’, and I think about telling you just how much I hate mine.

You mention it’s almost pride month, because we know that we're both about as straight as the lines on wrapping paper I’ve tried to cut up, and I think about telling you that there’s more than one reason for me to go.

Why was telling you that I don’t like boys and I don’t like girls so much easier than telling you I don’t like being a boy and I don’t like being a girl?

(You make a joke; ‘Maybe you’ll find someone else who thinks they’re aromantic and you both'll fall in love!’ and my teeth snap together with a little click.)

(You tell me you’re glad I’ve always been so comfortable in my body, oblivious to the nights spent in tears, to the years spent wondering why other girls actually like having their chests like… that, to my uncomfortable face when we went bra shopping, and the words die in my throat.)

(You call my cousin by the wrong name again, even though you’ve known he was a man even longer than I have and it's been years, and I let myself forget the halfhearted dream of finally saying something.)

Instead, I tell you other things.

Hints, maybe.

Clues to unlocking a deeper part of me.

(A small part of me finds my lack of discretion amusing. The rest of me finds it a little sad, like a child hinting at a Christmas pony they know they’ll never get.)

I mention how much I love my name, the name you choose, because it could just as easily be for any gender. I don’t tell you just how much I revel in this fact, something warm in my chest when I realise I can hide behind the visage of being ambiguously nothing when making an account on social media.

I remark that I like wearing skirts and dresses; I like the way I can spin and I love the uncommon thrill of finding pockets, but I stress that I think everyone should be allowed to wear skirts, no matter what their gender is, because they’re really missing out if they don’t.

I’ve called myself a sibling or child when referring to myself in third person, because the words sister and daughter go bad on my tongue, dried hard and sticking like old paint to your carpet.

I know that you’d still love me. I’m lucky in that respect. So lucky that I sometimes wonder why I even let it hurt in the first place. Couldn't I just tell you, and let it all go away?

But I know you, and I know that you’d always look at my face and see your baby girl. I know that you’d never quite understand, like how you don’t understand that I don’t want a partner, like how you don't understand my friend who uses they/them pronouns. I know that you would tell Grandma and your friends, and my aunts and uncles, and I’m not ready for that. I know you would wonder if it was just a trend. I know you’d bring up that a lot of autistic people have problems understanding gender, and I really should get tested. I know that you would wonder if I was wrong, because I know that I wonder if I'm wrong.

I know you’d have questions, questions that I don’t have answers to because it doesn’t always make sense to me either.

There is too much riding on this.

So I’ll be your little girl for now.

And maybe I’ll never stop.

Love,

Your daughter.

Relationships

About the author

Indie Warren

(They/she)

A small human being who loves cats and enjoys writing fiction for other humans.

Reader insights

Nice work

Very well written. Keep up the good work!

Top insight

  1. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2022 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.