by Dune Adams
If this were a fairytale, I’d be the dragon. Something unknown, something frightening you were taught to fear before you ever saw it. I’m haunted and hunted, hiding in my cave trying to exist while they keep sending out scouts. It’s only a matter of time before I’m discovered; before the knight scales the mountain, guns drawn, sword blazing, his eyes full of hate, though this is the first time we’ve met. I will open my mouth to explain, but he will cut me down, mistaking my words for fire, believing he is a savior when he was never in danger. He will return to the village a hero, and I will bleed out alone.
But this is reality, and even so I’m walking through it like a ghost. I’m showering with the lights off again, so I don’t have to look at myself. There's only a thin sliver of light bleeding through the crack in the doorway and it’s hardly enough to see by, but clumsily fumbling through the darkness is better than fighting the aching urge to claw out of my own skin, trapped in a body that’s been stripped of the rights to itself. Mirror, mirror on the wall, why are they worried that I might regret the way I present, when this is the one thing in my life I feel most sure of?
The stepmothers and statisticians claim the source of my pain can be solved with simple solutions, but I don’t think sunlight and proper sleep will cut it as a quick fix when the real issue is an exhaustion that has settled itself deep in my bones, the result of many days spent validating my existence, constantly fighting just to receive the same level of respect others are given without question.
You’re asking why my grades are dropping, and I shrug, but I know why. Maybe because I’m unable to call my friend by their name for fear of them getting unwillingly outed by school staff. Maybe because it’s hard to focus on algebra when I’m in a constant state of fight or flight, carefully guarding every word that comes out of my mouth. Maybe because my safety has been compromised in favor of “parents’ rights,” and I’m more worried about where I might sleep tonight if something goes wrong than I am about understanding imaginary numbers.
I’m a jester swinging on a tightrope, Jack clinging to the beanstalk praying he doesn’t fall, while all the princes and peasants gather beneath. Bless your heart, they say, and we all know that’s not what they mean.
They’re claiming it’s grammar when in reality it’s fear. They say my pronouns will take them a while to get used to, but they’re not trying at all. They’re hiding their hate behind a mask of compassion, oppression rebranded as protection. Arms open wide, they draw us in closer, all the while restricting even tighter, until we have no choice but to choke on our words in favor of oxygen, until we’re bursting at the seams and bleeding from the wrists like so many of our peers who got tired of pretending.
I wish I could make this my own fairytale. One where I was greeted with curiosity instead of repulsion. Where I wasn’t denied access to equal existence – restricted from medical care, forced to hide who I am – just because I’m queer. I wish I was the dragon, so I could unfurl my wings and soar unafraid above the gorgeous fields and forests that fill this state. I wish I was the knight, so I could climb down to the podium where all the kings and witches could see me. Where I could tell them my dreams and my favorite color, remove my armor and show them that we are all made of the same blood and bones. I wish I could understand why they refuse to see me as anything more than the false narrative they’ve been fed – one made only of myth and misconceptions – when I’m standing right here before them. Here, with my sword down and my hand outstretched, my heart beating, lungs breathing, full of life and hope, begging them to listen.
About Dune Adams, first place winner
Dune Adams is a senior at the South Carolina Governor’s School for the Arts and Humanities and participates in the creative writing program. Dune enjoys swimming, listening to music, and reading. While the question of a college major remains to be settled, Dune has determined to continue an engagement with creative writing.