Leave the boy alone

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Leave the boy alone.

by

Angharad.

“Leave the boy alone,” my mother admonished my dad.

“Well, he looks like a bloody fairy.”

“So, it’s not hurting you, is it?”

My father grunted something unintelligible and stormed off with his newspaper, probably to go for a poo or something.

I showed my mother my knitting–I’d made a mistake and couldn’t work out what I’d done wrong nor how to fix it. Dad didn’t like me having such feminine pursuits while my sister was the opposite–out playing football and fighting with boys and girls if they wanted to scrap.

I was a year older and yet she was bigger. She was an inch or more taller, quite a bit heavier and much stronger. She took after my dad whereas I seemed to look more like my mum. Sometimes I wondered if we got the wrong bodies–my sister and I, that is.

Mum sorted my knitting and asked me how my sewing was coming along, it wasn’t. I’d taken it to school to do in the needlework class–yeah, I go to it after my mum asked for me to be allowed to and when they saw I was serious about it, I was allowed to sit in the class instead of doing sports, which I loathed. Anyway, one of the boys in the year above grabbed my sewing and flung it over the wall behind the bikeshed and I couldn’t get it back.

Shelley, my sister offered to climb over and get it back after she’d punched Bradley Sprugg in the mouth, but I wouldn’t let her, it was far too dangerous, although I felt like crying at my term’s work lost to a barbarian like Sprugg.

The needlework teacher eventually prevailed upon the school caretaker to recover it and he did but not until after it had rained and my stuff got all wet. Mrs Heathcote had taken it home with her to see if she could clean it up for me. I’d take her in some choccies for her help.

I was often the victim of bullying–I was small and girlish and didn’t fight back, though I was getting better at not crying quite so easily. Also I think the school was getting more aware of my plight after my mum went and spoke to the head about my torn clothes and frequent bruises. I’d also been in hospital once after being beaten up–that time I got beaten to the ground and kicked several times including twice in the groin. I was nine at the time and I think it did something to my dangly bits. I’m now fourteen and have no facial hair and my voice hasn’t broken.

Dad keeps saying I need to see a doctor to get some hormones–I don’t know what for, especially if they make me turn out like him, fat, bald and aggressive and with more hair than an orang-utan. I’d rather stay like I am even if he doesn’t like it. Mum doesn’t seem to mind, and she says she appreciates my help around the house–I especially like cooking–the only thing my dad doesn’t grumble about.

Mrs Heathcote phoned to say she’d rescued my dress–yeah, okay–well that was what the project was for this term. Each candidate had to make a dress for themselves including inserting a zip, darts, sleeves and obviously we had to cut it out and so on. I love doing it and two of the girls have got quite friendly, Lucy and Debbie and we chatter away while we sew–Mrs Heathcote is very laid back–I suppose she must be to have a boy in her class. I’ve got used to her addressing the class, including me as, ‘girls’ or ‘ladies’, and Lucy says I’m her best girlfriend–but that might be because I help her sort her sewing when she gets stuck. She calls me Allie although my name is actually Alistair, Alistair Allison. So I guess I’m a double Allie.

The dress I’m making is a knee length one in a jersey material, with full length sleeves and a tie belt. The neckline is almost cowl and the zip runs from the waist up to the back of the neck. It’s in this gorgeous dusky pink and fits like a glove, but then the material is stretchy and clingy. To get the darts right in the bust, I had to get mum to buy me a bra and some padding so we could fit it properly, she also said I needed to wear tights and proper girl’s shoes to model it. I don’t mind although some of the other girls in the class think it’s funny and talk behind my back. Mum also bought me a full length slip so the dress will hang properly. I’m so glad Mrs Heathcote managed to save it.

Apparently we have to put on a fashion show at the end of term and model our dresses for the whole school. I did think about trying to get out of that but Lucy said she wouldn’t show hers if I didn’t wear mine. So what can a boy do? I like Lucy a lot but I don’t fancy her, though I think she might have a bit of a crush on me.

Goodness is that the time? I’ll never get this knitting sorted before I go to bed.

Author's note: I had so many requests to extend this story that I wrote a sequel, 'The Proof of the Pudding,' both can be enjoyed together or as stand alone short stories.

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Comments

As Ever

You tempt us and throw the short story that is supposed to satisfy our stomachs but is mostly just a bait.
We all fall for it everytime. Hook, Line and sinker.
Why don't you offer your single post stories as a challenge for us to carry on?
I suppose it's the old addage 'Always leave them wanting More.'
So much scope for us to expand the story and to fill in the detail and take the story on.But how can we follow that?
You are such a tease.

Jules

A lovely short story

As always Angharad you paint a character so alive we are left wanting more. This was a beautiful vignette. Thanks so much for posting this story.

Love

Anne G.

Sentiments

Yes, I can most certainly identify with Allie's sentiments. I rejected the idea of being male very early on.

Thank you.

Gwen

It is evident that the boy's

being attacked has made him what he is, today. I am guessing that the child will turn out to be a gentle adult.

    Stanman
May Your Light Forever Shine

If you might note...

Andrea Lena's picture

...the child was displaying characteristics most commonly attributed to girls even before what happened. Children don't magically change their gender identification; they're born that way. The harm may have helped or accelerated her physical change but likely in no way caused the hard-wiring in her brain to alter.

I saw the title and I had a flashback; nearly word for word when my father verbally abused. "Vito, leave the boy alone." The story speaks to me of what many of us have had to deal with and how some have overcome that harsh reality to become who we were intended to be all along.

  

To be alive is to be vulnerable. Madeleine L'Engle
Love, Andrea Lena

Ok now when can we see the rest????

Pamreed's picture

A good beginning, but only that a good beginning!! We need
the rest of the story!!

Pamela

Writing

Teek's picture

One of the hardest things an author has to do is create characters that are believable and the readers can connect with. You have done that in a short two page blurb, whereas some authors can't do that after 20 pages. Congratulations!

Character development is very difficult. Giving just enough information without doing an 'info dump' is hard. I like the way you eased into things. I do understand the frustration of the other readers. You have introduced a character and we have gotten attached to that character, but now we want to know about the character's life. We just know the person. This looks like a great little assignment for a writing class, "in two pages create a character the reader can connect with". Unfortunately, it isn't a story, just a character development. I did enjoy it though. It is hard to do what you did, in so little number of pages. Thanks.

Keep Smiling, Keep Writing
Teek

Ah the memories

When I was at Junior School in the 1960's (yes such things did exist in those days), we all did Needlework. Everyone and that included all the Boys. Yes, I can sew a button on a shirt and even repair a skirt hem.

A few years later I elected to take Home Economics when boys doing cooking was certainly uncool. I nearly became a Chef.

Great story. Thanks for posting it.

Cute.

That's what it is, a cute story. Thank you for the extra "dose" today. Nice "extra" prezzy - on a day where my wife gave me an "engagement" ring of my own (33 years after the fact).

Glad Allie gets to learn these things... At that age, I was working very hard so nobody had a clue I was different.

Thanks,
Annette

Hope it's an ongoing story

It is a good beginning, it doesn't come across as a complete story and I am interested to see where it goes.

JessieC

Jessica E. Connors

Jessica Connors

Hmmmm, this makes me

remember back to when I was nearly thirteen years of age when my voice began to break. I was nearly in tears when my mother stated that finally my voice was beginning to break. I told her in no uncertain terms that I wanted my voice to break. She just laughed and said to get used to it. The last thing I wanted in life was to have a heavy voice and have to shave my face like a man! Thankfully I did not get hairy like my Daddy was. He was like a Gorilla lol!

So, what do I have for a Gorilla, I mean a boy friend? Yep, you guessed it, a very hairy man lol! He is much nicer than my Daddy was though thank goodness!

So, will you be continuing this story?

Vivien

I can certainly identify with a lot of this....

Ragtime Rachel's picture

During my senior year in high school, we had a teacher's strike that lasted six weeks. During that time, there was little for any of us to do, since most of the area teachers wouldn't cross the picket line. By that time, I'd pretty much developed a "to hell with it" attitude and brought my crocheting in from home. That got the expected reaction from just about every guy in class, but I figured I'd already been bullied so much, a little bit more wouldn't have made much difference.

It does seem as though the mother wants another daughter, because she's being supportive to an unusual degree. Even to the point of providing accessories for the dress.

I do wish every young boy who doesn't fit the usual gender norms could have a mother who's willing to stand up for her child and say, "Leave the boy alone...."

Livin' A Ragtime Life,
aufder.jpg

Rachel