Counting Seconds

You don't do it consciously.

Counting, you mean. The first time you can recall counting was in the doctor's office, patiently waiting for the nurse to bring you the testosterone, the climax of your adolescence. When the needle filled with the clear liquid, a thought flashed in your head. 16 years, 5 months, 1 week, 3 days, 12 hours, 31 minutes, and 10 seconds. That's how long you've lived so far. That's how long you've lived without this.

"You ready?" She asked.

"I've been ready." You smiled.

You're not the smartest out there and you're hardly considered a genius and numbers aren't usually your thing. You only know the multiplication tables to 11 and you're always off tempo without a metronome so you know it's not numbers you're retaining. It's time. Subconsciously you're counting down the hours and minutes and seconds of everything important to you without even realizing it. It's a strange talent and you're a little proud of it, although you've never bragged. It's your little hidden skill and the only thing you hate about it is that you can't control when it happens; you can't control when you begin subconsciously counting down in your head and when you try, you always end up messing up the numbers and cursing to yourself.

But when it does happen, you can feel it in the pit of your tummy and lately, you've taken to counting along with yourself. It's ridiculous and you're probably delirious but it's exciting and it's nice knowing what you're subconsciously considering to be important.

Like 2 years, 11 months, 2 weeks, 2 days, 7 hours, 2 minutes, and 35 seconds.

That's how long it took you to grow big enough balls to ask her out. Your friends wouldn't stop talking about how she changed from a bible-thumping bigot to the LGBT club's chief straight ally, and Eli in particular wouldn't stop wiggling his eyebrows whenever she hugged you in the halls. You were too scared back then because even if she did accept you, you thought she probably didn't see you as a man. You were insecure and you were nervous but she was beautiful and senior prom only came once.

A rose behind your back and a knock on fair Juliet's window later, you had a prom date.

The petrifying climb up Eli's rickety old ladder was worth every creak because seeing her blue dress match with your blue bowtie made your heart thump and your mouth dry up. There was one condition; you promised Eli that you would ask her out, officially, after the slow dance.

You don't remember what song they were playing but you do remember her grabbing your hand and pulling you to the dance floor and you do remember your eyes looking everywhere else but her and you definitely remember how long that dance was.

2 minutes and 52 seconds.

Nervously, you caught her eye and finally opened your mouth.

3 minutes and 2 seconds later, you had a girlfriend.

3 minutes and 7 seconds later, you had your lips on hers and her hand in yours.

It would take another 5 years, 8 months, 1 week, 4 days, 14 hours, and 9 seconds to put a ring on it.

But by then, you had already finished college and had undergone multiple surgeries. Becky wanted to live in a suburban area with a lot of trees and roads and you were happy to oblige. The two of you flipped through hundreds of magazines until you found it. The perfect home. Leaving Canada was both exhilarating and terrifying but you agreed with Becky when she said there were more job opportunities in the small town you were looking to move to. A beige colored beautiful house, a pet husky named Joey, a young couple with high-paying jobs, and a lovely garden in the back yard. You thought you couldn't be any happier.

Arguing with Becky was a rarity; you were willing to calm down and listen and she was willing to change perspective. Fights usually lasted less than an hour and compromise came easily to the both of you. After all, the whole relationship started on a compromise. You gave her all your love and a home and a heart and she gave up her name and her views. She was still Christian, and devoutly at that, but the day she cut ties with her parents, who condemned you from the moment they discovered your transgendered status, she sniffed and shook her head. You remember asking her if she wanted to break up. 3 seconds felt like 3 hours.

"Never. All I need is you."

That's why it caught you by surprise when you found Becky in her room, arms wrapped around her legs and eyes focused on a small album in front of her.

"It's your family album. I found it in one of those boxes we never opened since we moved here."

"Oh, that's nice. Was it from the wedding?"

"Yep. I think it's the present your mom gave us."

The album was opened to one of the pages, a picture of a younger Mrs. Torres smiling in a hospital gown, holding a newborn baby Adam in her arms on the left and a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Torres smiling next to a Christmas tree, a younger Adam and Drew wrestling underneath it. You smiled at the pictures but frowned when you looked up to see an upset smile on Becky's face.

"Becky…"

"I'm being greedy and irrational, I know-"

"You're not, Becky. I know you miss your family-"

"It's… it's not my family I miss right now."

Her voice was filled with so much emotion and you almost didn't want to ask her the next question.

"Then whose family do you miss?"

"Ours."

"If you want, we can call up mom and-"

"Not your family, Adam. Ours."

The two of you move on from that conversation and one month later you found yourself sitting on a park bench, arm draped over your wife as she rested her head on your shoulder. The weather was nice and the park had beautiful trees sprouting out of the ground, filling your sight with an overabundance of pink, yellow, and green. Normally, those colors weren't your favorite but against the baby blue of the sky, you were enraptured.

You were so absorbed in the sheer magnificence of the flowers drizzled along the trees that you almost didn't see the soccer ball fly through the air towards you. Before it could contact you, your wife's hand shot up and grabbed it and you felt immensely grateful. A small boy who looked no older than six ambled up towards the two of you and stared at your wife.

"Is this your ball, little guy?" You asked with a smile.

"Yeah." He replied, rubbing his nose on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Here you go!" Your wife was practically radiating when the boy flashed a wide smile and thanked her before another couple ran into view.

"There you are! Charlie, please stay close to your mommy and daddy, okay?"

The young couple thanked you and Becky and before walking away, they shook both your hands, happy to see another young couple in town.

"New to town, huh?"

"Yep. Moved here from Canada just a few months ago."

"Maybe one day your child and our Charlie can have a play date or something! It's good to see another young couple around."

"We don't have a child." You quickly said.

"Oh… well, we understand! Just married and just moved; it wouldn't make sense to have a child just now! But that's perfect! When you have a child, we could give you some of our baby items Charlie's outgrown!"

"That's kind of you. Thanks." The couple was generous and you didn't want to offend them.

"No problem."

"You gotta have a boy 'cause girls have cooties and I don't wanna play with a girl." Charlie whined, "And I don't like playing with Johnnie. He's mean. So you gotta get a boy fast."

"Charlie, kids don't just come out of nowh-" The embarrassed father tried to interject.

"So a boy, okay, ma'am?"

"Well, of course, Charlie."

There was a faint smile on her face as the words left her lips and you could see the bottom of her lip quiver for a split second.

She cried for 2 hours, 37 minutes, and 11 seconds that night.

You counted.

Becky Baker doesn't cry much. She's always smiling but you couldn't help but think she was only smiling for you. There was something missing in her eyes and it was missing since the day of the wedding. You wonder if she's unhappy but you know her smile is genuine and you wonder if she's angry but you know her laughter is real. A week after the incident, the moment you came home from work you grabbed her gently by the arms and in her shock, your lips caught hers. She melted into your touch like she always did and when she reached out for you, you gently pushed her hands above her head. Today was for her.

Sex was about pleasure and love and you wanted everything and anything to be felt by her because you wanted to fill in whatever the hell was missing and you wanted her to be happy, completely happy, like she used to be. Naked, you straddled her and kissed her neck and made her feel. Naked, stripped bare, cold, you made her feel because you didn't want to.

And when you felt yourself penetrating her and when you heard her moans get louder, the knot in your stomach felt tighter and tighter. How am I so, you felt yourself wonder, so incomplete? How much things, you felt yourself think, do I take away from her? That knot in your stomach felt a lot like sadness and just before the climax, you could see tears on your wife's face. Surprised, you slowed your tempo and wondered to yourself why she was crying. It wasn't until you tasted salt on your tongue that you realized she wasn't.

You lowered your head on her chest and your limbs grew sore and weak and as she came down from her high, her eyes opened and silently, she wrapped her arms around you. Naked, stripped bare, cold, you wept like a child, the rise and fall of your wife's chest your only comfort. Your body shook and you could feel your eyes overflow and you could hear yourself babble on, trying to say words that even you couldn't understand. Silently, your wife held you and you wished you could understand why you were breaking down.

"I'm sorry." You repeated over and over again, "I'm sorry."

For 26 minutes and 2 seconds you repeated that same phrase, trying to make sense of yourself and trying to push back down that immense sadness that lingered above you and below you and inside of you. And still she held you and kissed you on the top of your head over and over again, and finally you could feel sleep overtake you.

"You would've made a great mother." You whispered right before sleep grabbed you away.

And again, she said nothing because she knew something you didn't. Today was for you.

It was exactly 2 years, 2 months, 1 week, 2 days, 3 minutes, and 19 seconds into your marriage the day the papers you filed for came back with a stamp marked approval. Your wife was ecstatic and anxious and you were too the moment you pulled into the driveway of the hospital. The building was a bit on the small side, almost the size of a big house, and your wife nervously grabbed your hand as the both of you walked in.

"You're Mr. and Mrs. Torres, yes?"

A short, young woman with red hair and freckles smiled at your wife and looked through the documentations you held, a bit damp from the amount of sweat on the surface of your palms.

"Follow me."

The two of you followed the young woman past a few doors, reaching a small room marked A202.

"Here's the baby. She was abandoned at birth and she's only a few months old. We've reviewed your application for adoption and you both seem like the perfect fit. Please take good care of her."

"T-thank you so much. We'll love her with everything we've got. Does she have a name?" You remembered stuttering out.

"Well, we call her Jenny, after the woman who found her, but she hasn't got an officially documented name yet."

"Jenny… Jenny's fine. It's a beautiful name." Your wife was smiling as the nurse gently placed the baby in her arms and when you hugged the both of them, that knot in your stomach untangled and you felt like that missing something was filled.

"Jenny Torres." You laughed, loving the way it rolled off your tongue.

"The start of our family." Your wife whispered, looking up at you with a bright smile and tears in the corners of her eyes.

Before you knew it, the both of you were crying, crying in the middle of a hospital two miles away from home, in front of a slightly worried middle-aged nurse, holding each other and the baby and laughing at how ridiculous this must look but crying at how amazing this felt.

Your wife turned to you and smiled, really smiled. Despite everything the two of you overcame and everything the two of you had yet to overcome, she had and still has a sparkle in her eyes you would have died to see, and it hasn't left for the past 3 years, 6 months, 3 weeks, 4 days, 11 hours, 4 minutes, and 8 seconds… 9 seconds… 10 seconds…

You're still counting.