A conversation with Jake (Part 1)

“Oh. So how long have you known you were a guy?”

After a pretty short day of lectures and a quick trip to the local supermarket, Jake and I were relaxing in our flat kitchen. We were happy with ourselves for managing to avoid the rain which we could hear chucking down outside the fogged up window. Jake bought fresh salmon on our run, so it wasn’t weird that walking back, our conversation was about fish. But somehow, by the time we’d packed away our things, that fish talk led to discussions on gender. And talking about gender, that was how I found out Jake could be deadnamed.

“I think I always knew.” He said. “I was just different when I was a kid. Even when my parents tried forcing a different gender down my throat.”

“They tried to force it?”

“Yeh.” Jake nodded.

“But you knew you were a guy. The least they could do was let you live your life.”

Jake shrugged.

This was my second year knowing Jake. We were quite lucky to be housed together in the campus flats last year, so sticking together for second year wasn’t even a question. We knew each other well enough and didn’t need the stress of getting along with new random flatmates. If I didn’t already know the type of guy he was, I might have pitied Jake. Living with his dark, self-deprecating humour for almost two years was all I needed to know that he was being vulnerable with me now because he trusted me enough not to feel sorry for him. And even if I did pity him, he’d be strong enough not to care.

“I think they were trying to do what they thought was best but… obviously they were idiots.”

“Yeah.” I sighed through softly gritted teeth. I didn’t want to curse out my friend’s parents but I could at least agree with how he felt about it. “They should’ve known better. They’re religious, right? Christians?”

“Just my dad.” Jake said as he got up to fill his mug of soup with freshly boiled water from the kettle.

I shook my head wondering how someone could believe in God and then try to play God by forcing their child to fit a mould that wasn’t made for them.

We sat in silence for a while. Silence except for the buckets of rain drumming on the outside window sill. Leaning forward to minimise the risk of getting any red stains on his white wool turtleneck, Jake sipped from his mug. The smell of warm tomato and onion tickled my nostrils.