1. Goodbyes Tabby

T he old me was dead . She’d never be seen again.

It wasn’t like I didn’t have a good life. I did. But so much time was spent trying to figure out what I wanted, once I knew, it was too scary to do anything. Prissy makeup, frilly dresses, well-done hair and nails—all the shit that made up who I thought I was supposed to be, how I was supposed to look—was icky like caked Vaseline on my skin, impossible to wash off.

No, I was more than that. Different.

It started with a few books and my counselor. Some art and scattered conversations with people online. An LGBT message board or two, which I used late at night after Mom went to bed. All my confusing, impossible questions were answered in a resolute yet painful truth: my body didn’t feel like mine. It didn’t match who was inside. To be happy, I needed to show off the person screaming at the top of his lungs to get out. If not that, he wanted to at least be acknowledged. I’d have to come clean and stop trying so hard to be the pretty girl everybody else saw.

But putting that thought into action? No way.

Mom and I moved around the country a few times, landing in Colorado when I turned fifteen, at the start of my self-exploration. In school, I fit the bill for the good girl next door: debate team and high honors, though I didn’t like sports. Time in gym class only highlighted my dysphoria and discomfort spending time around girls, who didn’t match me at all. The sign on the locker room door, a stick figure in a dress, represented me just as poorly. I never changed clothes for class in the open, even though we all shared the same parts. Teenage life was a prison of secrets.

Things changed when I met him: the skinny, shy boy who came out of his shell to tell me he liked the Akira anime pin on my backpack. We met in an after-school club for students who stood out for being a little bit strange; kids known for being heavily into art and out-of-the-box hobbies. Among the others, despite my private love for online gaming and obscure movies, I was still the odd man out. Jax appreciated the things no one else knew about, like my obsession with all things Japanese and the part of my eye that looked like a keyhole. I masked the coloboma behind heavy makeup and fake glasses, but he loved that part of me. He loved everything.

I loved him, too.

His dirty blond hair and his metal mouth charmed me, though it didn’t really matter what he looked like. Beneath it, he was a hopeless romantic, a boy who gave his heart away to anyone who’d take it. It sat pinned to his sleeve, just waiting to be crushed. If not by me, then by the next pretty girl, who would surely take him for granted. Jax never missed a phone call and bent over backward to invent new ways to have fun. He lit the world with his presence.

My care for him complicated things all the more. Now I was gay, too. Two closets to leave.

Against all of Jax’s love and perfection, my fractured self longed for a clean slate. Mom’s new job in San Francisco became an opportunity for escape. I would start a new school, a new name, a new life. Coming out around people I knew was too hard and too terrifying; what if everyone rejected my new identity? What if they hurt me? What if I chickened out and detransitioned just to please them all? I was a determined boy, ready to sacrifice what I wanted now to get what I needed for the rest of my life.

The first casualty was my love for Jax. I had to leave him behind.

Pretending to be adults, we discussed our breakup. Very practical. Long distance wouldn’t work because we both hated the phone, knew we were young, could appreciate what we had for what it was...and other bullshit we recited to make ourselves feel better.

For our last date, in a final gesture of romance, Jax took me to see the Nutcracker ballet on winter break. A cheesy tradition with my mom for years, I knew every note and tapped my fingers to the music. He didn’t bother trying to stop me, and I savored his warm presence at my side. Just us, one more time.

Afterwards, hand in hand through the flurrying snow, we walked down the cobblestone street of the 16th Street Mall to The Cheesecake Factory. He looked like his father in a black suit and tie, finished off with an oversized wool coat. The green and black scarf I crocheted him for Christmas finished the ensemble nicely. I matched him in a forest green sparkly dress that itched terribly. Jax was worth every second of discomfort if it helped him remember me fondly. Even if he eventually forgot my bleach-blonde hair, my love of chewy candy, and my awful off-key singing, he’d remember how his first sweetheart was everything he ever wanted. At least, that’s what he told me then, and I complied.

We spent an hour in the restaurant pretending we weren’t falling apart. It dragged. He made no mention of how he was feeling—a gift borne of our last talk about the future.

“Promise me you won’t make this some big deal, Jax. Please. It’ll just make it worse.”

He sighed. “If that’s really what you want, Jamie. Okay.”

If we ripped off the Band-Aid, it wouldn't hurt. We’d move on. Happy memories alone.

But after dinner, Jax stopped on the sidewalk, tugging my hand to turn around.“I have something for you.”

“Yeah?” I sucked in my cheeks to rein the threatening tears.

Shaking, he knelt on one knee, sniffling as he pulled a velvet box from his front pocket.“This is a promise. No matter where you are, you’re everything to me.” He opened the box and held it up toward me, letting the creak of the hinge fill the space where his emotions wouldn’t let him speak at all.“I’ll never stop loving you, even if you say no. Please...will you stay with me? Stay mine, even when you’re far away?"

“Jax...”

“Try it on. It has to fit. It has to.” He fumbled and slid it around my left ring finger, trembling from nerves that ignored all the snow.

Like him, the ring was perfect. It had no jewels that made it look like an engagement ring or anything like that—he knew me too well and found something akin to a tree branch made of bronze and dark silver. It wrapped around my finger twice and made me feel like I belonged inside one of our D I shouldn’t have said yes to dating him at all, but our year as a couple was so wonderful. It was filled with late nights in my basement watching movies, dates to the sprawling bookstore downtown, even the few times we’d anxiously had sex. Regardless of who I became, he’d never be replaced. This tragic end was all my fault because I chose to avoid telling him the truth over having the hard conversation.

“I’ll always love you, too, Jax. No matter what.”

“Then if you can’t do long distance, promise me the future. Say you’ll give this a chance if we meet again. Please, Hwa. Promise me you won’t disappear out there. Swear you’ll look for me, and I’ll look for you. When it’s time, we’ll know it, won’t we?”

How could I say no when I hoped for the same? I didn’t really believe he would still want me when the makeup was off, and I lived how I wanted. He might’ve thought nothing was insurmountable; he was wrong. It was a sweet gesture and a nice thing to say. Nothing more.

Still, I said the words. “Yes, Jax. I promise.”

He kissed me under the falling snow. One last kiss that bid me farewell. The salt of his tears and mine lingered on my lips when I left him at the light rail station downtown. He was gone, and I never expected to see him again.

Such was the end of my teenage romance and the beginning of a new chapter.

Coming out wasn’t a problem for my tiny family. Mom and I already talked about it at Thanksgiving. She didn’t tell me she had her suspicions, but I guessed by the way she nodded when I told her that it wasn’t exactly a surprise.

I was glad to leave the snow of Colorado for the sun and became a new person as soon as we stepped off the plane at SFO. In the bathroom by baggage claim, I pulled a black wool beanie over my head and tucked in any loose strands of my long hair—I planned to chop it before starting school. Foundation didn’t cover my freckles anymore. Mascara in my brows made them look thicker. I ditched the fake glasses despite my coloboma; Mom said I could get contacts to cover it instead. Comfortable with how things were going, I was ready to say things aloud and move forward.

“Mom, I thought of a name,” I said, not looking away from my reflection.

She tenderly put her hand on my shoulder.

A wish to honor Jax in my transition made my decision easy. I thought back on all the games we’d played, and warmth washed over me. I’d never felt more like myself than when Jax and I lived in our fantasy, rolling dice and being whatever we wanted. My favorite roleplay character was a cat-like creature, one that was curious, steadfast, and agile. Aware of everything around them, they were prepared for anything. Just like me. Lost memories of my father, who affectionately called me tiger moth before he died, made for the perfect choice beyond any other.

“Tabby. Call me Tabby. And I like masculine pronouns. You can also use they and them, okay?”

Mom showed her support by not letting love—or sadness, or disappointment—spill down her cheeks. It wasn’t about her. I could be reborn. “Okay, Tabby. Son. Whatever you want, I love you.”

I inflated my lungs with the sea-level air. My first breath in the world.

Goodbye, Jamie. You’re dead to me now.