Refuse by Elliott DeLine

Author:Elliott DeLine
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: lgbt fiction, morrissey, satire, transsexualism, the smiths, indie rock, sex, transgender reassignment surgery transsexual mtf ftm prejudice, indie musician, queer lit, queer, trans gender, satirical fiction, gender identity, depression, suicide, satirical humour, lgbt studies, transsexual students, existential angst, mens secrets, freaks, suburban noir, indie books, gender bending, ftm, gender confusion, wilde gay, transgendered, gay, gay literature, lgbtq, gender switch adventure, transsexual, college graduate destiny, lgbt, gay catholic, wilde, transgender youth, sexual depression, transgender, james dean, men studies, lgbt paranomal lgbt shapeshifter, lgbt youth, sex and sexuality, transgender sex, gay mens fiction, satirical novel, gay shapeshifter romance, lgbt romance, queer fiction, sex makes people stupid, sexy vampires, queer literature, gay adolescents, trans, genderqueer
Publisher: Elliott DeLine

Then, if I wasn’t already immature enough, I start to cry. Not politely either. Loudly, blubbering. To my mommy.

“I can’t do it, they’re going to look at me weird, they won’t know if I’m a boy or a girl, I’m so ashamed, I’m so hideous, I’m a freak, I hate Syracuse, Wah!”

Oh yes. It is all Syracuse’s fault.

This is probably something of a panic attack. I can’t breathe, and the car seems to be getting smaller. I feel like my body is bloated and disgusting. I want to cut my way out of it, like the real me is a tiny Jonah and my physicality is a giant fish that swallowed him whole. This is absurd, because a quick look at my twiggy limbs confirms that I am no whale. But such a mindset is as stubborn as the Old Testament character himself. There is no way I’m leaving the car.

My mom just sighs. She tries to rub my shoulder and I cringe at the slightest touch. I am apparently a toddler, or just evil like one. I can’t turn off the waterworks, so she drives me home.

We park in the driveway. I get out of the car and see my dad is working in the yard. I try to creep by so he won’t see my tear-stained face.

“Why are you back so soon?” he asks my mom.

“She’s going to New York instead,” my mom says, accidentally using the wrong pronoun. I cringe as I bolt for the door.

“Why?” my dad asks.

“She’s more comfortable having her blood drawn down there.”

My dad snorts. “More comfortable? Certainly don‘t mind spending my money.”

“FINE” I yell from the porch, “FINE I’LL GO BACK TOMORROW. LEAVE ME ALONE.”

I slam the door behind me. I imagine I’m the spitting image of Jim in Rebel Without A Cause, in that embarrassing scene where he yells, “YOU’RE TEARIN ME APART!”

I go up to my room and I scream into my pillow like a teenage girl on television. I go on a rampage in which I tear the sheets off of my bed, and then lunge at my book shelf, in search the most worthless piece of shit I can find that isn’t myself. I go with my high school yearbook. I chuck it on the ground and spit on it. I break the spine and rip out all the pages of smiling seniors and their obnoxious hopes and dreams. Die, die, die! I rip up the almost empty page of signatures (“No! I will not have a good summer, Jamie Peters!”) Then I remember my parents spent forty dollars so I could have that thing (even though I insisted I didn’t want it). I’m overcome with guilt and I fall on the floor in a dramatic heap.

“I wonder if the fall from my bedroom window would kill me,” I wonder absently, lying face down on the bedroom floor, “No, it probably wouldn’t…what if I dropped one of those ten pound free weights on my head? No, no, too messy…”

There’s a knock on the door.

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