Come As You Aren’t

Halloween is the time to “come as you aren’t,” Lilia always says. For the shy girls to dress as sexy vampires and the sweet girls to cosplay the Sanderson Sisters and the pretty girls to try their hand at grotesque zombie make-up. For a girl like me, who lives “come as you aren’t” every day at school and at home, and, quite frankly, everywhere else, the last thing I’m interested in is the Halloween dance.

But Lilia’s dead-set that we’re going. “I need someone to be Jack Skellington to my Sally. To be Flynn Ryder to my Rapunzel. To be Gomez to my Morticia.”

I inwardly cringe at each suggestion. “I’m not any of those people,” I say softly.

“Of course not. That’s the point. Nobody’s expecting you to be them. They’re not expecting us to be a couple, either. Just don’t make me go alone.” She gives me those tear-filled puppy eyes that I can’t say no to. Jared the Jerk broke it off with her last week. I know why she wants to go, why she wants me to be by her side. And I’m totally there for her. Always. I just wish her “couple” costumes were more gender-neutral.

Or more gendered towards who I am.

Give me She-Ra and Catra, Elphaba and G(a)linda, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy. Two minions from Despicable Me. An angel and a devil. Pink and purple crayons. A milk carton and a chocolate chip cookie. I don’t know. Anything that doesn’t scream, Lilia is a girl, and I am a boy!

I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from pulling at my hair. I need to tell her. That would fix everything. I have faith in Lilia, that she’ll accept me for who I am, not who everyone thinks I am. Not the face I’ve had to put on for the school that has no gender-neutral spaces, forcing me to hold my bladder until I get home so I don’t have to figure out which is the wrong bathroom. Not the person the guys in my class see when they look at my hulking figure and ask why I haven’t tried out for their teams. Not the lie my parents told themselves for years while I let them sign me up for Boy Scouts until I finally said I had to quit because it was taking away from my studies.

Lilia would get it. She’d be the one to stand in front of whichever bathroom I chose to use and make sure nobody’d come in who’d give me trouble over it.

But how do I tell someone I’ve been friends with since we were sharing crayons in preschool that she’s been misgendering me all along? How do I explain why I didn’t tell her before? How does she get over the mortification of knowing that each of these suggested costume ideas is a dagger to my heart?

So, yes, she’d love and support me. But I don’t know how to begin.

“I wish I could show him I’m totally over him. I don’t care if it’s ‘come as I’m not.’”

Maybe I can use “come as you aren’t” to both of our advantages. Even if it’s a lie.

“Let’s go shopping together,” I say. “I know just the place.”

##

Lilia’s stunning in her blood-red gown, the satin corset fitting her torso perfectly. The A-line dress was made for her body. Jared’s going to choke on his regret when he sees her. As he should.

She pulls off the matching gloves, finger-by-finger. “I think they’re too much. The gloves.”

“No, they’re perfect,” I say, peeking out from the changing-room door. I’m building up the courage to exit. Unfortunately—or rather, fortunately, since I need that kick in the butt to leave the safety of the changing room—there’s no way I can tie the back of this corset alone. “But take them off because I need your hands.”

She places them on the bench outside the dressing rooms and dances her way behind me. “I can’t believe they had something your size.”

I’d been eyeing this dress in the Shredded Threads window for weeks. The vintage dress shop had been advertising plus-sized “masquerade dresses” for Halloween, and the purples and pinks of this one were so bright, they called to me like neon sign from the CVS across the street. All I needed was an excuse to be brave enough to come in and try it on. Entering the store with a friend made it easier.

She finishes lacing me in, then spins me around. “Problem with plus-sized corsets is they expect plus-sized chests. Here.” She grabs the gloves off the bench and stuffs them into the bust. “We’ll do better for the dance, but you’ll get the idea. Ready?”

I nod, and she turns me towards the triple mirror.

There I am, in the ballgown of my dreams. Silver beading adorns the bust of the violet corset, making a V down my chest, as if to accentuate what should be there, and with the gloves pushing between my chest and the fabric, it does give the illusion of a bosom. The gown sweeps out from my waist, shimmery pink and purple ruffles that would make any Disney princess jealous.

I can’t help the sigh that releases from me as I turn from side-to-side, the skirt swishing around me while I examine it from different angles.

Lilia watches me in the mirror, sizing me up like those guys who want me on their teams. “You know, because it’s Halloween, they’re going to say you’re in drag.” Her expression softens. “But you’re not, are you?”

I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

“I’m such an idiot, huh?” She takes my hand, shaking at my side. “I’m sorry for misgendering you, but I’ll do better. And if I ever make you uncomfortable, just let me know.”

I squeeze her hand. “Thank you.”

“By the time I’m done with our hair and make-up, we’re going to be the two prettiest girls at this dance.”

I could never imagine how much joy would fill my heart just by being seen for once.

Still, I laugh and grab the mask on the stick that comes with the dress. “Oh, you don’t have to do my make-up.” A giant pink feather rises from the center of the purple mask with the silver embellishments. It will hide my face perfectly, so none of the faculty will complain. “They’re masquerade ballgowns.”

I lift the mask to my face, but Lilia puts her hand on my arm and lowers it.

“No, you’ve worn a mask long enough,” she says. “This Halloween, why don’t you come as you are?”