Young Writers Society

Right, so this is my first shortstory since wild world. It's been years! I'm open towards all kind of critics, be it grammar, writingstyle or time-tence errors, whatever. Just one small favour. I won't be changing the contents of the story, as it is autobiographical and therefore cannot be changed. It's quite a personal piece and I would therefore be grateful if you don't like the story itself, not to comment. I don't need someone telling me it hasn't got enough feeling, because trust me, it has. Enjoy :)

A tomboy reconciliation

She sat slightly uncomfortably on the edge of one of those sunbathed rocks that line the shore to protect the village from the break. The waves slapped gently against her feet, enveloping them with cool, clear water before seeping down into the dark sand. There was a rhythm to it that made her calm and a little nostalgic as she gazed out into the endless blue. A fly was buzzing irritatingly around her knees and she swatted at it absentmindedly, brushing her shin, feeling the soft hairs beneath her fingertips. Drawing her legs closer, as if cold although the sun was blazing, she glanced down to where in a crevice of the rocks, a pool of water had gathered. It was shaded from the sun and with the dark sand at its bed it was quite easy to make out her distorted reflection gazing back at her from its smooth surface.

It was a thin face with a set mouth, small with thin lips and red as if she had been eating strawberries. In truth she had been chewing around on them for the past minutes, making them seem redder than they normally were.

Her nose was fairly straight and when she wrinkled it, she used to think it looked a bit like an over ripe banana, the freckles fusing together to represent the brown spots on the yellow skin.

She had short messy hair that would often fall into her eyes. Sun and seawater had turned it from its original dirty-blond into a much lighter shade, some strands almost white-blond. They clashed slightly with the dark, thick eyebrows, set over her large, ever so slightly protuberant eyes. In the sunlight they were a bright green.

Unconsciously she traced her prominent jawline with her thumb and studied her androgenic features.

Her steady gaze seized quite abruptly from being a curious examination and became a seemingly intense, almost longing search. A search that was quite apparently futile.

But the tranquility of her surroundings seemed to be calming the turmoil that she had been feeling for the past few weeks and ever so slowly the chaos of emotions and memories were untangling themselves and surfacing one by one, clear in their meaning.

Closing her eyes she saw the young maybe six or seven year old boy wrinkling his nose into a banana, suddenly uncomfortably aware of his brightly red painted toenails. The sharp smell of chlorine in his nose, he curls his toes beneath his feet. They press painfully into the wet tiles of the water-park. Tugging impatiently at his beloved blue billabong swimming-trunks he looks up the long line leading to one of the more exhilarating water-slides. The queue advances slowly, forcing the boy to uncurl his toes, to take the necessary steps forward. A rowdy group of boys, just a few years older, look down at him from the steps of the water-slide. They nudge each other, giving each other sidelong glances, then, grinning in that malicious way that kids can, because they haven't yet learnt the polite etiquette of hiding their enjoyment when being hurtful, they start laughing, pointing and commenting loudly and openly.

The boy looks fixedly at the floor, his insides squirming as he feels the many probing eyes boring into him from all directions. Then after some seconds that seem to stretch into eternity he steps quietly out of the queue and walks away.

Opening her eyes again, she sighed heavily as she studied her now unpainted nails. Her mind delving deeper into long forgotten memories.

First grade. Dress-up day, theme Kings and Queens. The boy had prepared a magnificent costume with his mother the night before. It was the bushy white beard that really transformed him into the wizened old King, though his cardboard crown with the plastic gems had taken him a good part of the previous afternoon to make. He wore it as proudly as one can expect a king to wear his crown.

That morning he is made to lineup with the girls, whilst the other boys pick their Queen for the day. His best friend David is first to choose and already feeling slightly uncomfortable at having to stand in the "princess line", the boys heart sinks right down to around his midriff when David chooses the pretty princess standing next to him. David later explains quite matter of factually that it would of been silly for a King to chose another King.

A solitary white cloud drifted across the sun and her eyes turned darker, more brown in the shade. They had a glazed look as she stared blankly at her reflection.

She was remembering the time when he had become more conscious of not exactly being a boy. His shame of having to wear the spring-uniform. A dress and pink to boot.

The time when a Spanish waiter had lead the scrawny boy straight into the men's lavatory, and he hadn't been sure if he should feel pleased or embarrassed.

Public lavatories had always posed a bit of a problem. It was a choice between a lot of sidelong looks or the obvious handicap of not being able to use the pissoir.

And then came a turning point. The chance for a new beginning. New country, new people, new school. It seemed to be the perfect time to become a girl. No more need for lavatory problems. It was a now or never decision. And the boy took it radically, unwittingly, naively. Not knowing that he was preparing his own goodbye.

The short haired girl with the freckled banana nose's first school day after the big move is an utter disaster.

It starts going downhill from the second she enters the classroom. She's nearly the last to arrive and there are only two seats left. One near to the front where it seems all the girls had congregated and one right to the back where the boys lounged lazily in their seats. Naturally she heads straight for the latter, but halfway there her new teacher calls out, pointing out the chair she must have obviously missed. Awkwardly, ruefully the girl doubles back, playing along by pretending she had indeed not seen the free chair in beforehand.

Later that same day they have their first swimming lesson. And predictably the swim teacher sends her to the boys changing-rooms. Red faced she shakes her head violently and without catching anybodies eye, hurries into the girls locker-rooms, ignoring their slightly scandalized looks and scathingly whispered comments.

The frustration and confusion she had felt that evening, whilst swallowing the bitter tears she longed to shed. How carefully she had chosen her outfit for her first day of school and as a girl, purposefully picking one of her sisters old t-shirts to make sure one would not confuse her for the boy she had been. Once.

For she hadn't foreseen that becoming a girl wasn't just a change of outer-appearances. Even after her hair had been long enough to be tied up at the back, there was still that time when she heard a first year whisper to his friend: Ha! Look, a boy with pigtails.

In retrospect, had she of known how drastically she would have to cut the boy out of her new life, how much she would have to become another person, extinguishing a part of herself almost completely to be perceived as the girl, her sex told her she was, she wouldn't have bothered. She hoped not anyway.

The cloud had moved on and dazzled by the sudden bright light she blinked, coming out of her reverie. Picking up a small pebble she threw it into the clear pool, shattering the reflected image, causing ripples to spread out into ever lager rings before diminishing. Leaning in closer this time, the tip of her freckled nose almost touching the surface of the water, she searched again avidly and this time with a touch of desperation. And as the water stilled to resemble a mirror once more, a thin freckled face blinked back at her. At first glance one might of thought it hers, but with a sigh of relief, she recognized him and they grinned sheepishly at each other and at their long overdue tomboy reconciliation.