A/N: This'll probably be the last daily update because I'm taking a trip for the holidays. This chapter has content warnings for bullying, references to alcoholism, underage drinking, and a drunken confrontation.
Chapter 3 Theme Song: Get It On (Bang a Gong) by T. Rex
Maybe it was from finally letting out so many of my feelings on that essay, but I woke up the next day refreshed for the first time in recent memory. I even felt myself smiling as I got ready in the bathroom. I could almost sing, but that would have been going too far. Feeling especially cheerful I picked up a tighter pair of dark blue jeans that I doubted my mother would approve of along with a equally tight black t-shirt. Looking out the window I figured it'd be a bit chilly today, so I added a red and black checkered flannel.
I dug through my CD shelf to find my copy of T. Rex's "Electric Warrior" album, one of my go-tos for when I was in a good mood. Getting my backpack, double-checking that the essay was in there, I practically skipped down the stairs to the kitchen. I knew my mother went to work for the opening shift today, so I didn't have to worry about her seeing me. I almost wouldn't have cared if she had. Almost.
I filled my travel mug with warmed-up coffee (the grey-white striped mug had "Raw Power" scribbled on it in black marker), grabbed an apple (by now my jaw didn't hurt as much from the dodgeball incident), put on my shoes, and headed out the door. Before I went too far, I hit a few buttons on my Walkman to get my favorite song on. I just had to have the perfect soundtrack for as long as this good mood lasted.
Well you're dirty and sweet,
Clad in black don't look back and I love you.
You're dirty and sweet, oh yeah.
Well you're slim and you're weak,
You have the teeth of the hydra upon you.
You're dirty sweet and you're my girl.
As dreary as the cloud-covered days often were here I still sometimes found an understated beauty in the scenery around me, especially on my good days. For as much as I hated the dull colors of my mother's living room, seeing all the dark greys and greens around me outside had an entirely different look. It probably also had to do with the absence of people around me, given that most everyone else drove to school or were already at work.
After walking for a while, it occurred to me how concerning anyone who read my essay might find what I wrote. It sure as hell didn't read like it was coming from a well-adjusted person. I quickly put a stop to that train of thought by turning up the volume on my music and going back to my favorite song. Nothing was going to get me down, not while I felt better than I had in a long time. Nothing.
Get it on, bang a gong,
Get it on.
Get it on, bang a gong,
Get it on.
Eventually, and far too soon, I found myself nearing the school property. My mood dipped again, and I desperately forced myself to smile hoping it would help. I started shivering a bit and once again went back a few tracks to repeat the song. It couldn't be over already. The song or my good mood. It was too soon and I wasn't ready to let this go. I checked my watch and I was running earlier than normal, so I slowed my pace down. Anything to prolong the inevitable.
Well you're an untamed youth, that's the truth,
With your cloak full of eagles.
You're dirty sweet and you're my girl.
Get it on, bang a gong,
Get it on.
All good things must come to an end, especially when you're begging whatever powers that may or may not be for them not to. Despite looking like I put a bit more effort into my appearance than normal, I slipped by my classmates into the school. They were all too busy talking excitedly about the travel agency presentation. Either it was the seniors talking about how they were entering or the younger students talking about how envious they were (I wasn't sure if any of them even knew of the word "envious", but it summed up their sentiments).
I also heard mention of how startlingly beautiful the presenter had been the day before. Evidently, she had a "tall, flawless figure" that all of the guys had been "falling over for", or that the girls "were so jealous of", to use a few quotes. I idly wondered if everyone else at this school was as cisgendered and heterosexual as they purported themselves to be, or if I had served as a cautionary tale for those secretly in the closet.
I barely understood statistics but 1 in 340 students seemed like steep enough odds to me. Even if there were others similar to me, though, I was long past the point of extending forgiveness or understanding. Anyway, what I wouldn't give for a figure like they were describing.
I suddenly came to a halt by my locker. Female presenter? I had only seen the one male who spoke to me (I tensed up a bit thinking about the conversation) and the others with him. Maybe I had been hit in the head harder than I thought because I didn't remember seeing a woman matching that description at all.
Hearing about how all of the other seniors were entering the contest did take another shot at what remained of my good mood. We were a small school in a small town (with 86 seniors in this year's class), but I still figured my chances were pretty slim.
I tried to think of how writing the essay had at least made me feel better for a while, but to my shame I felt my eyes tearing up at how unlikely I was to get picked. That hadn't happened in a long time because if any of my classmates caught me at school crying I was really in for it.
Now fully in a bad mood I went and shoved my folded-up essay into the drop-off box by the main office. So entrenched in my shitty feelings I barely noticed what I thought were a red set of eyes staring at me from an empty classroom across the hall. I looked back to where I thought I'd seen them, but nothing was there. The classroom still had the lights off because it was only used for study hall during a few periods later in the day, so I must have imagined it.
Trying to get a grip on myself I drank the last dregs of coffee from my travel mug before heading to today's 1st period class, which was Biology. Given that I was trans this class could have been a hell of a lot worse than it normally was, given that the subject was one that a lot of self-proclaimed "experts" in this town had tried to "educate" me on.
However, the teacher Mr. Hanover clearly didn't care about teaching. He tended to give us a chapter to read, written questions to answer, and instructions to shut up for the whole period.
I felt a little better sitting in Biology because the quiet always allowed me to calm down and mentally focus on whatever song happened to be stuck in my head. Mr. Hanover got pissed whenever anyone caused any sort of disturbance (given that it required him to actually interact with students), so I was generally left alone in one of the back desks.
Well you're built like a car
You've got a hubcap diamond star halo
You're built like a car, oh yeah.
T. Rex managed to get me through the rest of the day, despite getting smacked over the head when I was too slow entering and exiting the locker room for gym, and verbally threatened by a few people. While not fully intact, my good mood was somehow resuscitated by the end of the school day, regaining its pulse. A weak, thready pulse but a pulse nonetheless. I'd felt at times like I was being watched but had never seen anyone other than the usual degenerates I called schoolmates.
Out of an especially morbid bit of humor I wondered how I might sneak antifreeze into the Gatorade jug at the next school sports event. I paused briefly, having managed to disturb myself a little. All of the feelings that were now swimming around in my conscious mind thanks to the essay were messing with me more than I had anticipated.
Distracting myself with a sense of daring I didn't normally possess I decided to not only skip school tomorrow (I didn't have a chance in hell at getting this Stockholm trip invitation so it didn't matter), but also steal from my mother's liquor supply tonight. Given her early shift today she was going to go to bed early in order to once again work the opening shift tomorrow. All I had to do was make sure not to wake her up and I'd be fine. She tended to tow the line between functional alcoholic and full-on drunk when she was stressed (which was almost all of the time) so she likely wouldn't notice a bit of booze missing.
I should have known that it would go to hell.
I'd managed to all but avoid her after school and through dinner time (I only came by and got a plate of warmed-up, leftover casserole while she was at the table. We didn't speak to each other.). I heard her go to bed not too long afterwards, waited for about 45 minutes, and then quietly went back downstairs.
She kept her booze in a cupboard above the refrigerator. I'm not sure why she didn't keep it locked, although I'd never stolen from it before so maybe she figured I didn't have the guts to. I guess until today I hadn't. There were a few bottles of wine and, better yet, two mostly full 5ths of whiskey. It was the cheap shitty kind that comes in a plastic jug but what the hell did I care.
Once again making sure I didn't hear anything from her bedroom down the hall I filled my travel mug halfway full of whiskey, grabbed an empty glass, and a couple cans of ginger ale from the fridge. Sneaking back to my room I was almost giddy with anticipation. Why hadn't I done this before? I practically had the key to happiness (or at least my mother's key to whatever approximated happiness for her) in my kitchen this entire time.
I set down my stolen goods on top of my dresser, changed into the same sweatpants I'd worn the night before, and turned on "Electric Warrior" in my Walkman. Pouring myself the first mixed drink of my life (way too much cheap whiskey, way too little ginger ale) I had to stifle the coughs as I started to try and drink some it down. I'd never drank before so I was fully unprepared for how it'd taste. That didn't matter to me though.
In what felt like only a little time but was likely an hour or two, I'd finished most of my whiskey and was feeling more euphoric that I could ever remember. Was this what normal people felt when they were happy? Was I so broken that this is what I'd been missing out on the whole time?
In a rush of anger and self-loathing at that thought I chugged the rest of my current drink and made a decision. Stumbling off of my bed I got down on my knees and reached as far underneath it as I could. My fingers grasped a ratty, old duffel bag and I pulled it out. Inside were a few dresses, skirts, bras, and other feminine clothing items that I had surreptitiously collected over the past year.
I'd never had the courage to try anything on, my mother's words from years ago still ringing in my head, but tonight that was going to change. I decided that in defiance of her, this town, and God I was going to dress the way I'd wanted to since I was 12 years old dammit.
Pouring another drink with the rest of the whiskey and ginger ale for as much liquid courage as I could get I took out a black sports bra, black knee-length skirt, black stockings, and a tight white t-shirt. Clumsily putting them on I then picked up my red and black flannel from earlier today and put it on.
I couldn't have told you if the outfit worked all that well, and frankly I couldn't have told anyone much of anything in the state I was in by that point. My thin body, rapid consumption of liquor, and unpreparedness for being drunk was really starting to hit by this point. As a further act of defiance, I started to loudly (and badly) sing along to my CD.
Get it on, bang a gong,
Get it on.
Get it on, bang a gong,
Get it on.
I didn't get much further than the first chorus before my forgotten-to-be-locked door slammed open and my mother looked in with an expression of pure fury. "What in the hell are you...oh my God are you drunk?! And what are you…"
Between the time of night, the singing, my obviously drunken state, and current outfit I had fully rendered her speechless. At this point had I seen her expression sober I would have stood absolutely still with my eyes glued to the floor expecting the worst.
However, I was not in the least bit sober, nor could I even see clearly given how much I'd had to drink.
Slurring out various obscenities and getting close enough to her face that she visibly recoiled from my breath I laid into her something fierce. I even started to get physical shoving her back out into the hallway. Another thing that I would have seen were I sober was that for the first time she looked scared of me.
Maybe in that moment I reminded her of my father or her father, both of whom liked to drink cheap whiskey (I guess it ran in the family). I don't know, and by this point I didn't care. I hated her. I hated them. I hated most everyone because even though I had only ever wanted to find acceptance, I'd found loathing time and time again.
The things that I'd written in the essay now found release again as I screamed them into her face. Every little horrible thought that had been building up as my innocence had rotted away spewed out. When I'd finally found myself unable to speak we stared at each other in silence. Even in my drunken state the potential consequences of what I had just done started to creep back into my mind. Her look of horror gradually shifted into the coldest glare I'd ever seen on her. I imagine that my own face had begun to mimic her previous look.
"I'll deal with you in the morning." And with that she slammed the door again and I heard her muffled steps head back down the stairs.
Get it on, bang a gong,
Get it on.
Get it on, bang a gong,
Get it on.
Chapter Theme Songs Used So Far:
The Passenger - Iggy Pop
Grinnin' In Your Face - Son House
Get It On (Bang a Gong) - T. Rex