Read Online Alex as Well by Alyssa Brugman - Free Book Online
Authors: Alyssa Brugman
Tags: Juvenile Fiction
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against such a narrow definition of what is an acceptable way of being, it should be me.
What do you think they’re going to do if… when they find out you’re a boy? Alex asks. Why are you giving people reasons to hate us?
But I’m not a boy, I counter.
I beg to differ, Alex says.
You just keep on begging, I reply.
16
AT HOME MY mother serves me a tiny individual vegetarian cannelloni for dinner. I inspect it. There is no meat in it. ‘Thanks!’ I say, smiling at her.
‘You eat it all up now,’ she says, patting my hand.
She and Dad are having a meat one, but that’s ok with me. We sit at the dining table together. The telly is on in the lounge room, and we all look towards it. Dad is being fussy with the condiments, grinding the pepper and sprinkling parmesan. I push the cannelloni around my plate. It’s nice, but I’m working my way up to telling them about my day.
‘You can use the side of the fork first, and then you should push the fork into it, like this.’ My mother demonstrates.
‘Huh?’
‘You’re using your fork like a shovel.’ She scoops the air.
‘What’s the diff?’ Alex asks.
‘You should hold your fingers softly, and point your index finger. You should—’
I interrupt her. ‘Can we just eat? Please?’
‘I’m just saying, that’s all. The tines of the fork should face down. If I don’t tell you these things, then who is going to?’
‘There’s a fashion parade on at school,’ I tell them.
They look at me.
‘And I’m going to…umm, be a model,’ I say.
‘As a girl?’ my dad asks, still holding a pinch of parmesan above his plate—frozen in time.
I shrug. ‘I haven’t seen the clothes yet, but I guess. Since I am enrolled…going there as a girl.’
You need to bring up the thing about the enrolment. About the birth certificate. Alex whispers in my ear. Do it now.
I know, but it has taken all my courage to tell them about the fashion parade. I push the crumpled permission slip across the table. ‘One of you will need to sign this,’ I say, as if I don’t care.
They trade a look. The form is closer to Dad. He picks it up and reads it. ‘Dear Parent, please give permission for your son slash daughter to participate in yada, outside school hours, yada, images will remain the property of the boutique, yada, collect your child from the school grounds…’ He quotes on one exhaled breath. He pulls a pen out of his breast pocket, ready to sign.
My mother places her fork on the edge of the plate and stares at him. ‘Shouldn’t we discuss this?’
‘What are your objections?’ he asks.
She opens her mouth and glances at me. I study my meal.
I am afraid of her the way you would be if you were in the path of a demented grandmother swinging her shopping bag. It’s not her power—it’s her unpredictability.
‘It’s just clothes, Heather,’ he says softly.
‘It’s NOT just clothes!’ she shrills.
‘Honey, there is no one right way to eat cannelloni,’ he says.
‘Of course there is!’ she says, thumping the table. ‘How do children learn not to be pigs at the table if their mother doesn’t teach them? This is not about now. When he is older he is going to want to know how to eat at the dinner table in polite company. He doesn’t understand that now.’
They glare at each other in silence.
‘You said we were going to support each other,’ she adds.
Without looking at her he signs the form. I slip it back into my pocket.
About the birth certificate, Alex reminds me.
Shut up already. There’s always.
17
www.motherhoodshared.com
I can’t tell you how relieved I am! I have made a discovery, and it explainms everything! Ever since he was little, Alex has been on hormone therapy. Well, I was in his room and I found a little stash of his medication in his bedsidetable drawer. He hasn’t been taking them! That’s why this has happened. We’ve been through all of this nightmare for the last few weeks. He just needs to start
What do you think they’re going to do if… when they find out you’re a boy? Alex asks. Why are you giving people reasons to hate us?
But I’m not a boy, I counter.
I beg to differ, Alex says.
You just keep on begging, I reply.
16
AT HOME MY mother serves me a tiny individual vegetarian cannelloni for dinner. I inspect it. There is no meat in it. ‘Thanks!’ I say, smiling at her.
‘You eat it all up now,’ she says, patting my hand.
She and Dad are having a meat one, but that’s ok with me. We sit at the dining table together. The telly is on in the lounge room, and we all look towards it. Dad is being fussy with the condiments, grinding the pepper and sprinkling parmesan. I push the cannelloni around my plate. It’s nice, but I’m working my way up to telling them about my day.
‘You can use the side of the fork first, and then you should push the fork into it, like this.’ My mother demonstrates.
‘Huh?’
‘You’re using your fork like a shovel.’ She scoops the air.
‘What’s the diff?’ Alex asks.
‘You should hold your fingers softly, and point your index finger. You should—’
I interrupt her. ‘Can we just eat? Please?’
‘I’m just saying, that’s all. The tines of the fork should face down. If I don’t tell you these things, then who is going to?’
‘There’s a fashion parade on at school,’ I tell them.
They look at me.
‘And I’m going to…umm, be a model,’ I say.
‘As a girl?’ my dad asks, still holding a pinch of parmesan above his plate—frozen in time.
I shrug. ‘I haven’t seen the clothes yet, but I guess. Since I am enrolled…going there as a girl.’
You need to bring up the thing about the enrolment. About the birth certificate. Alex whispers in my ear. Do it now.
I know, but it has taken all my courage to tell them about the fashion parade. I push the crumpled permission slip across the table. ‘One of you will need to sign this,’ I say, as if I don’t care.
They trade a look. The form is closer to Dad. He picks it up and reads it. ‘Dear Parent, please give permission for your son slash daughter to participate in yada, outside school hours, yada, images will remain the property of the boutique, yada, collect your child from the school grounds…’ He quotes on one exhaled breath. He pulls a pen out of his breast pocket, ready to sign.
My mother places her fork on the edge of the plate and stares at him. ‘Shouldn’t we discuss this?’
‘What are your objections?’ he asks.
She opens her mouth and glances at me. I study my meal.
I am afraid of her the way you would be if you were in the path of a demented grandmother swinging her shopping bag. It’s not her power—it’s her unpredictability.
‘It’s just clothes, Heather,’ he says softly.
‘It’s NOT just clothes!’ she shrills.
‘Honey, there is no one right way to eat cannelloni,’ he says.
‘Of course there is!’ she says, thumping the table. ‘How do children learn not to be pigs at the table if their mother doesn’t teach them? This is not about now. When he is older he is going to want to know how to eat at the dinner table in polite company. He doesn’t understand that now.’
They glare at each other in silence.
‘You said we were going to support each other,’ she adds.
Without looking at her he signs the form. I slip it back into my pocket.
About the birth certificate, Alex reminds me.
Shut up already. There’s always.
17
www.motherhoodshared.com
I can’t tell you how relieved I am! I have made a discovery, and it explainms everything! Ever since he was little, Alex has been on hormone therapy. Well, I was in his room and I found a little stash of his medication in his bedsidetable drawer. He hasn’t been taking them! That’s why this has happened. We’ve been through all of this nightmare for the last few weeks. He just needs to start
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