"She/Her" by Chrissy L

4 years ago, I made a friend named Aden.

 

I met Aden amongst the flowers of a meadow one spring afternoon, that time where the sun glowed brightest and the birds sang their lovely, quiet tune of song. Aden greeted me with curiosity and I, with starstruck eyes. It was almost impossible to believe that a human could possibly look the way Aden did. 

 

Lean and tall in stature, Aden bore soft looking, wavy locks that resembled the night sky at midnight, covering just enough of the nape but stopping before the ear. Aden’s eyes were slightly concealed by what seemed like loose bangs, but were just enough to allow me to see the dark and alluring orbs staring back at me. Right below, followed a straight and well-defined nose with pink-colored, plush lips. The sun’s rays gave Aden a sparkling glow against skin made of olive. 

 

I gave Aden a soft smile.

 

3 years ago, I invited Aden to an outing just a few streets from my own home.

 

It was a get-together of people I hardly knew, the need for a familiar face becoming more apparent as the social anxiety kicked in. Aden got out of the parked car and came in, briefly glancing over the crowd before meeting my eyes, where I waved in excitement and relief. It was no mystery that Aden had caught the attention of most of the party-goers, who, just a few years older than me, had distinctly more defined features, cat-like eyes, and a sharp jawline. My friend walked towards me with such grace and poise, hands inside the pockets of black slacks, adorned with a white, unwrinkled T-shirt tucked in, and black oxfords. I felt my breath leave me.

 

Aden was beautiful.

 

2 years ago, I witnessed Aden cry for the first time. 

 

We dedicated a day free of school schedules to go shopping at a nearby mall not far from our neighborhoods. Aden's style had started to rub off on me, one of sophistication and resemblance of dark academia. I was very used to wearing brighter colors, short skirts, and delicate dresses, which was the opposite of what my dear friend wore. Aden was understandably much more mature, an intelligent and hardworking student who had recently started college and lived alone. I, on the other hand, was much more naive and dependent—a nervous sophomore who hardly knew anything about the real world. 

 

Aden helped me choose and pick out starting pieces, basics necessary for a new transition in style. We went back and forth, one moment we’re in the women’s section and in the next we’re back at the men’s. Aden and I had a lot of fun choosing different options with countless variations. 

 

Once we were both certain about our picks, Aden led me to the changing rooms right across from the store we were in. We were greeted by a woman who worked behind the desk needed for check-ins. She handed me a number and pointed at the assigned room in which I eagerly headed towards. I opened the door and turned around, only to find Aden not behind me. Confused, I rounded the corner where the woman was guarding the entrance to the women’s changing rooms. Before her stood my friend, Aden, looking distraught and deflated. Judging from the woman’s body language alone, I was able to tell that she was giving Aden an earful. 

 

“Is there a problem?” I asked timidly, approaching the two. The worker turns around and glares at me. 

 

“Tell your boyfriend that he can’t go in with you.” She scolds. The noticeable way Aden flinches breaks my heart. 

 

I shake my head angrily. “Aden is not my boyfriend. She’s my friend,” I emphasize. 

 

The woman only scoffs, looking to the side in disbelief. “You teenagers think you’re smart,” She turns to glare at Aden. “Boys are not allowed inside the women’s changing rooms. Simply just wait outside or leave the store.”

 

Aden’s body turns stiff, mouth in a straight line indicating distress. “Ma’am, I am a girl. I’m in the right section, so please let me through.”

 

“Well, you sure don’t look like one,” the worker spits out coldly, still guarding the entrance. I feel a gasp involuntarily leave my mouth as my heart completely drops. 

 

Aden quirks an eyebrow. “Excuse me? What do you mean by that, exactly?”

 

“Take a look in the mirror! You dress like a man and expect to be addressed as a woman?!” She yells in frustration. 

 

“Clothes have no gender, miss,” I snap. “What gives you the right to judge the way she chooses to present herself?”

 

The woman groans. “I know for a fact that normal girls don’t look like this,” she sneers at Aden. “You’re clearly confused. It’s not my fault I thought you were a man.”

 

The atmosphere had then turned cold and clouded. In a fit of rage I discarded the clothing I had in my arms and led my friend out of the store as quickly as I could. I remember her stoic expression and blank stare very clearly as we exited the mall and into the parking lot, something I was not used to apart from her usual bubbly self. It wasn’t until we were fully situated in the car that Aden broke into tears, hands covering her face shamefully in the driver’s seat. A part of me had nothing to say but everything to say all at once, but my mouth refused to move as I looked at my friend in shock.

 

‘I’m sorry,’ she chanted over and over again, and my heart died each time she muttered it.

 

1 year ago, I lost contact with Aden.

 

The pandemic had hit, and from there on everything changed. She and I lived our separate lives, school was starting to become more demanding on both ends, and naturally, we drifted apart.

 

But at the same time, we grew closer. The value of our friendship never left. Aden taught me courage and strength in a world that constantly pushed us over. And for that alone, I am eternally grateful. 

 

This year, I will become her. 

“Unless we base our sense of identity upon the truth of who we are, it is impossible to attain true happiness.”

- B.S.