Stargazer Lily

"Damnit."

I woke up feeling pretty good, too--had a dream that I was sitting in an open field full of flowers. All those reds, pinks, yellows, oranges from flowers of all different kinds and petals of various shapes. Then suddenly, petals started growing from where my neck meets my collarbone. They were the most beautiful shade of pink with white edges. I began with a panic, but relaxed as my body thinned, my hands turned deep green, and I looked up to the sky as my head thinned and spaghettified into long tendrils. I accepted it and felt happy as I quickly became my favourite flower -- a stargazer lily amongst a field full of flowers of all kinds. I woke up, tearing up in happiness, knowing what my unconscious mind was telling me. Oh, I can't wait to feel the joy when I finally feel like the flower I am.

But right now, looking in the bathroom mirror, I see nothing but an old man. Ugh, why do I have to shave every damned day? Look at this....This isn't me. I wonder if there'll ever come a day when it stops growing, and I won't have to shave anymore? I mean, far as I can tell, there are plenty of women out there who don't seem to grow facial hair anymore. Either that, or they started HRT young, and never really started growing it to begin with.

With a sigh, I wet my face, then grab the can of shaving cream I've used since I was a teenager. I guess there's some things that won't ever change. Giving the can a good shake, I release the cream onto my palm, rub it on both hands, and spread it all over my morning shadow. I remember when I used to do this as a kid, just trying to make a big, manly beard made of shaving cream in order to look like Dad.

One time, he walked past the bathroom while I did this and stood in the doorframe and gave a good chuckle.

"There's my little man! You gonna give yourself a good shave?" He said with a big, warm smile. He was always so soft spoken and kind--not just to me, but to everyone he knew. People around town back home respected and loved him. He was the kind of man you could easily talk to and feel......seen. I bet he never saw this. I guess he never had the chance. He died long before I even started this journey. I don't know what he'd think. He was a very masculine man and took a lot of pride in anything I did. "My little man"--that's what he'd call me all the time, his face brimming with a goofy smile. I don't know. Part of me feels like he'd be so disappointed. He loved the idea of having a son. We did everything together. Yeah...He'd probably have thrown me out of his house if he knew. Then again, he always had an open heart. Never judged anyone. I guess I'll have to learn to live with never knowing. I suppose that's my own fault. I never trusted him to know me like that. Wish I had.

I wash the excess shaving cream off my hands and grab the razor. I inspect it for a second like Dad taught me. Make sure the blades are good and clean from yesterday. Make sure the little green strip is still on there, so I know the blades are not dull. Then I take the first stroke -- an assault on the enemies of my gender that invade the lower half of my face. As I shave, I look down. My boobs still haven't grown much. So far just little bumps. I measured my bust last night. Not much change from last week. I bought a small bra not long after I began HRT. I was excited. I mean, I did my homework, and learned plenty about what to expect and when, even before I called the clinician for the first time. But what can I do? I want boobs so bad, and just couldn't wait to look in the mirror and see the woman I am inside looking back in the mirror at me. It's kind of funny. You can do all the homework in the world and know everything about what to expect -- but nothing prepares you for the days in between the expected periods of changes to your body. The waiting. The tears. The fucking disappointment you constantly feel with every measurement, every look in the mirror -- just waiting for that day when you finally see the two little bumps in the mirror. In an instant, dysphoria turns to the other end of the scale to an inexpressible joy. That happened a while ago for me. But right now, as I wipe the blades of my razor off before continuing my campaign against my scratchy facial foes, I just see a really weird fucking man in front of me, pretending to be a woman.

Damnit, what the hell am I even doing? Pretending?

I think shaving is when I feel like this the hardest. I know pretending. I spent so long pretending...All my life pretending. Pretending I liked baseball. Pretending I felt manly in a pair of jeans and a tee shirt. Pretending that I loved driving a jeep because cars are for sissies. Jesus, the ridiculous things we attribute to gender roles. It'd be laughable if it didn't hurt so much. No...I know pretending. This? This is just...me. I just don't look like me--yet. As I finish shaving, I manage to smile at the thought that there will come a day when I look in this same damned mirror and feel beautiful for the first time.

I rinse the leftovers of shaving cream off my face and wipe my face with the towel on the rack. I've already showered and brushed my teeth. I take a close look at my face, and up my nose, searching for enemy spies lurking from within there. I trimmed them just the day before yesterday, but I don't want to go out with people staring at any stray hairs sticking out my nose...Gross!

I jump as my phone's alarm goes off. It's Ru Paul's infectious laugh, letting me know it's time for meds. I finish cleaning up, and stroll into my bedroom, grab my purse and open my little pill case to look at my greatest treasure of little green femme-n-em's and halved pills of Finasteride--estrogen and a testosterone blocker.....sort of. These things will make it all happen. I just gotta take two titty skittles a day, and one half of the Man-B-Gone a day, and all my dreams will come true--in due time. Just gotta be patient; gotta take my meds.

I've seen posts on my socials comparing putting makeup on to applying battle armour. It's kind of true, but not entirely. For me, putting on makeup feels like daily putting on my real face. Funny how I used to put my man clothes on, and it felt like putting on a mask, hiding all of me behind a façade. You'd think the makeup would be doing the same thing. But to me, it feels like I'm brushing the mask away and revealing the true me underneath. My masculinity is the gild. Scratch the surface with a simple brush, and polish it up, and there I am in all my femininity. My girlfriends all say I'll get quicker at putting on makeup. I'm still waiting for that. It still takes me about 40 minutes to put it on. Of course, some of that could be just my perfectionism. I can't afford flaws, forgetting anything, or anything that could possibly make someone out there think that my face is not a woman's face.

When finish the makeup, I move to the closet. Some girls dress in their old clothes until they start feeling more girly. I totally get that. But I figured early on that people are going stare as I continue to transition. There's a period of time between the first day of HRT and when you finally start to feel truly pretty on a regular basis -- most of the girls on my socials call this period the "Ugly Duckling Phase" -- where changes to your face and body first start happening, and you can't quite pass as a boy anymore but still don't look quite girly enough, whatever that means for you. It's like being stuck in a purgatory phase between who you've been pretending to be and who you want to be, and you just generally feel...well...ugly. It's exactly like in the story: you feel like everybody's pointing at you and laughing or talking about you behind your back. Wondering if people are sneaking pics with their phones and texting their friends "What the hell is that?!" It's the point when you feel the most dysphoric fairly regularly and damn me if I'm not in the middle of it now.

Anyway, I figured early on -- screw that. If people are going to stare, then by the gods, they're going to be staring at the best looking me I can produce. So I started wearing makeup--badly applied makeup, I might add--within my first week of taking HRT. I started buying and wearing girls' clothes too about the same time. So I put on my tight jeans with the little rips in them. I love the way they show my booty. I may look like a dude still, but just look at that wagon, babes! I catcall and whistle as I take a long stare at the derriere in the mirr....ehre......Well, you get the point. My top is a pretty little hot pink tank top with lace on the top, then I put on a black cardigan over top it to hide the fact that I don't have boobs yet. I look at the shiny, dangly little earrings I put in earlier, and I smile as I finally feel pretty for the first time all morning. My shoes are the last thing to put on before I go. I've only had the money to buy one pair so far, so I put on the black, raised heel, pointed toe slippers I'm wearing...In the middle of February. Oh, well. They say beauty is painful. It's at least cold sometimes anyway.

I grab my purse and keys, put on my coat, and head out to the car. I've gotta stop at the bookstore before I go to the café. I look at the clock in the car as I start the engine. Oh, I've got plenty of time -- although I do hate going to the bookstore. Don't get me wrong -- it's not the bookstore itself. I've aways been a bibliophile, and that place is my favourite place in the world. No, last time I was there, I didn't have quite enough to pay for all three books I had. Luckily enough for me, the owner of the place was an old friend from high school, James. He told me to take the book, and I made arrangements to come pay for it today before my date. The problem is, James is an old friend from high school. He hasn't quite grasped the concept of my transition. I haven't had any reason to tell him what's going on yet. But the makeup, the clothes...I'm even in the process of vocal training. I know it's not there yet, but surely he can hear the difference in my higher voice and softer tone, see my clothes and makeup and just...clue in. But no. Soon as I walk in, it'll be "Hey, Miles my man! Wassup buddy?" Eww. One of these days, I swear, I'm gonna tell him. Or I'll just lose my shit, grab him in handfuls of three-day-old T shirt, and yell at him while shaking his beefy chest, "GODDAMMIT JAMES, I'M A WOMAN!" I chuckle at the thought and put the car in drive.

...

As soon as I get in the bookstore, sure enough: "Miles my man! How ya doing?"

"I'm alright, how about you James? Cold outside, right?"

As I make my way to the counter, I spy a woman and her little girl. The woman looks at me with disgust, grabs her kid by the shoulder, and guides her deeper into the book stacks where they hide out of view. "Oh my god, save us from the tranny!" I think to myself as I roll my eyes. Whatever, Karen.

"What can I do for you, buddy?" I told him that I needed to pay for the book the other day.

"Oh, sure! No problem! I'll be happy to take your money, man!" He nodded and smiled. "Hey, I heard you played at that café over on 3rd street....Uhh what's it called? Urban Grind?"

"Yeah, a friend of mine works there. She got me the gig."

"You know, I had no idea you could play guitar, Miles! You've been keeping secrets, bud! Seriously, when you playing again? I need to go over and hear you."

I sighed deeply without even realizing it. When I heard that name--that damned name that isn't mine, isn't me--I couldn't help thinking about the dream last night, and all the feelings I felt this morning just came back for one more swing at my face.

"Actually, it's Lily now. And I'm a girl." I don't know what came over me. I did NOT just blurt that out! There's no way! My heart is pounding in my chest as I frantically scan his face for any sign--anything resembling a response to what I just told him. All I see is confusion. Damnit!

"Uhh..." This is all he can manage for a second. "Okay...Lily? Sure. I gotcha." He reasserts his personal security in the swift shake of the head. "Yeah, totally, Lily! My bad bro--I mean...sis?" Why does he keep saying my name? He looks at me nervously, as if he'd just stepped in a big pile of shit on the grass and was hoping nobody would notice.

"Uhh, yeah...So, uh, how much did I owe you again?" I manage to try to break through the awkwardness by getting back to business. Miles shuffles through the pile of old receipts he's kept on one of those stabby things merchants use to hold on to receipts.

"Fourteen fifty-six," he says when he finally finds mine. I hand him my card, and he puts it in his reader and begins to check me out. "So, uh, Lily...I like it. It suits you. When did this happen?"

As he continues to finalize the sale, we continue the awkward conversation until he finally hands me my card. "Can I just say," he says as he tears off the receipt and hands it to me. "I don't quite get the whole trans thing. I mean, I just don't know anything about it. But I think you're so brave. To be honest, I've been wanting to ask, but didn't want to make you uncomfortable. This town isn't exactly known for being terribly open-minded. I just didn't want to make things harder for you."

I think you're brave--the response is almost clichéd as the thing for a cis person to say to a trans person. I hear it all the time. It's a sweet gesture, but geez. Kinda makes you feel even more weird; but I nod, and thank James for his kindness, and tell him I'd better get over to the café.

"Alright, well I'll see you around...Lily." He says my name with a wink. It kind of feels a little condescending, but I know James. He's a pretty sincere guy. I'm sure it's just his way of showing his support or whatever. He's a good guy. As I get back in the car, I sigh a deep relief. Well...I'm never going to be able to set foot in there again. Ahh, who am I kidding? I'll be back tomorrow, regardless of any awkwardness.

As I drive to the Urban Grind, I think about who's waiting for me. Her name is Binx -- a little trans cat girl with long, purple hair. We met on Bumble a few months ago and messaged for days. Turns out, she lived in our neighbouring town -- just about twenty minutes away. We started having little coffee dates like this a few weeks ago and fell in love quickly. Though I am a trans woman, I never thought I'd be all about the whole T4T thing. I've always been attracted to men. But this girl...She easily stole my heart. She's easy to talk to, super sweet; but most of all, she sees me--oh, not just the girl in me. She sees all of me inside and doesn't just accept it all. She adores it all. She likes to sit together when we watch movies and rub the top of her head into my chest like a kitten, giving a purr before she looks up at me and kisses me right on the tip of my nose. I melt every time.

I pull into the parking lot and turn off engine when I park. I step inside the café and scan the room. There she is in the back corner, her soft hands wrapped around a steaming cup of what I'm sure is a salted caramel latte--extra caramel drizzle on top. She looks up at me, smiles big, and any dysphoria I've felt all day...Like the steam from the cup in her hands, it all just evaporates.