Mary-Jane Elizabeth III
All happy families are alike;
each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. No family has the same problems;
even if they are the same, individuals treat them differently. I was my
family’s problem.
Mary-Jane Elizabeth III, what a God awful name for a boy. I
refused to use it and insisted everyone call me MJ, for the most part they did.
My family however, was a different story.
“Mary-Jane, look at me baby.” I obeyed my mother, I could tell she
was analyzing every inch of me. From my curly auburn hair, to my striking green
eyes and freckled cheeks. She crossed her arms over her bosom and scowled at
the dress I was wearing, making a great fuss about my appearance. “Ma, I would
really rather you call me MJ. And for the last time, I will not wear a dress in
public!” She gave me the look of death and lowered her voice to a chilly
whisper.
“Honeybunch, God made you a beautiful young woman. You haven’t got
the parts of a man.” She poked my chest at this and chuckled coolly.
“Besides, I won’t have my daughter make a fool out of me at my
sister’s wedding.” She pulls the corset of the dress tight at the waist until
my bust is practically spilling out of the top. Alabama born and Christian bred,
my mother is a faithful woman with and unshakable will.
I sighed and mumbled to myself, “God gave me the mind of a man and
the personality to boot. The lord loves all his children, why don’t you love me
how I am? “I had dealt with this woman and the rest of my narrow minded family
for 18 long years, I was at my wits end.
She pulled my long locks into a pony tail in one practiced motion
as she hollered for my brother Joseph to start the truck.
“Now then Mary-Jane, I expect you to be on your best behavior. The
very definition of femininity and sophistication.” She marched out of the room,
her hips swishing and heels clicking all the way down the hall. I trotted
clumsily after her, everything about my attire forced and unnatural.
“Lookin’ like a real fine lady today Miss Mary-Jane!” My dad caged
me in a bear hug before heaving me into the truck after my perfect mother.
Mary, Jane. Miss Mary-Jane. The syllables grated against my mind almost as
rough as the fabric of my yellow bridesmaid dress.
I gazed out the window as we kicked up dust along the winding
country roads that led to St. Franc Chapel. House after house, street after
street, person after person. Each faded into the next in this little town. I
was a splotch of color in their monochrome world that needed to be blotted out.
My mother could sense my uneasiness and rubbed my hand with her
thumb.
“Don’t be anxious Puddin’ Pop, you look like a lovely delicate
flower.”
I didn’t move as we pulled into the churchyard, just glanced at
her from the corner of my eye. She had that porcelain smile plastered on her
rosy cheeks.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
My brother and father made their way to their seats and my mother
and I found the other brides maids. Naturally, she was the maid of honor. Once
everyone was in their proper places and had quite settled down, the ceremony
began.
Father Jacob stood on an elegant podium next to the dapper groom.
The organ played the fateful tune and the bride walked gracefully down the
aisle; her aged father at her arm and her dress glistening in the sunlight
streaming in from the windows. I held my breath and stood very stiff, this was
the stuff southern dreams were made of.
That’s all I remember before everything went black and a crackling
broke through my mind.
I awoke surrounded by women in pale yellow dresses just like mine,
except mine was stained crimson with my blood. I had locked my knees and fallen
backwards into a mirror, the remnants of which were scattered about me. I heard
fragments of voices all around me.
“Mary-JaneDarlin’, are you alright?” My mother.
“I told you, thosegaychildren are the problematic ones.
Trying to ruin the happiest day of my life, what abastard!”
The groom, tears now.
“The poorgirl!Get
this child some water.” My aunt.
“She’ssuch an
attentionwhore. I betshedid it one purpose, always was a
rotten child. Sexuality this and gender, what a bunch of malarkey!” My
grandfather, I couldn’t take it.
I reached down in a haze and picked up one of the jagged shards,
gripping it firmly until trickles of blood flowed from my hands. I reached up
and in one swift movement, severed my shimmering hair.
A hushed gasp rippled through the crowed, no one breathed. I kicked
off my heels and tore the hem of my dress. I stood flat on my feet and looked
directly into my mother’s emerald eyes.
“I am not Mary-Jane, call me MJ or almost anything else. I’ve been
a boy since the day I was born and I will die a boy, regardless of what any of
y’all think. So go ahead and say those awful things about your own flesh and
blood if that’s the kind of person you want to be. I know who I am and there
are people who love me for me even if none of y’all will!”
I turn to the bride, who had since broken out in tears, and offer
my sincerest apologies. Then I march out of the building, hotwire the truck,
and drive off into the sunset. It was the happiest day of my life, I could
finally be me.
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