Wednesday, December 17th 2014

Jack lay in bed, his laptop balanced on his stomach, the dim glow of the screen casting long shadows across his ceiling. The RTÉ Player was finally working after freezing on him five times, but now that he had it open, he hesitated for a second before pressing play. Sissy was going to be on The Late Late Show talking about the referendum.

The video buffered for a second before jumping to the middle of her interview.

'And I suppose that's where my name comes from. The Christian Brothers tried to beat the sissy out of me in school, so I thought I'd embrace it. Times are obviously different now, but nothing has really changed. Kids may not be beaten physically as often as they used to be, but society still breaks them down. Just in quieter, crueler ways. That's why LGBTQ+ suicide rates are exponentially higher than the rest of the population. And I myself am lucky to have come out the other end of that.'

Jack swallowed.

She spoke with such composure, like she had rehearsed it a thousand times, but there was something real underneath it all. A rawness she couldn't hide, no matter how polished her words were.

He turned up the volume.

'I often hear that being gay is a choice. Now, I am a man in a dress; a pig in a wig... and that is a choice. But sexuality is not. I was once a young boy—a boy who had food thrown at him in the school canteen. A boy who was labelled with dirty words he was too young to understand. A boy who was beaten up, shoved into lockers, chased home, pelted with rocks. That little boy was tormented relentlessly for who he was. For his flamboyance. For being a sissy. And that little boy is still within me. Still wincing when I hear people attack who I am, who I love. Tell me—why would a child ever choose that torment?'

Jack's fingers curled slightly around the edge of his laptop.

'That little boy is still within me.'

For some reason, that line stuck with him.

His chest felt tight.

'When I came out, my mother lost a part of the person she thought I was. But that person was never real. It was an act I put on—at home, in school, in every aspect of my life. When I tried coming out at school, a teacher told me to hide my sexuality, because it would be 'easier' for me. And I know she meant well. But that's not the point. The point is that I spent my childhood riddled with anxiety, waiting to be caught out, waiting for someone to see through the act.'

Jack exhaled slowly.

An act.

He wondered, not for the first time, if his mother would recognise him at all if she ever saw the full picture. If she knew all the thoughts he had buried so deep he barely even knew what they meant himself.

He had spent his whole life performing.

The camera panned across the audience. Some people looked moved, some indifferent. Others sat stiffly, arms crossed. One older man whispered something to his wife, shaking his head.

Jack could already hear his mother's voice in his head, 'attention-seeker. Vulgar. A disgrace.'

'The Catholic Church preaches hate towards the gay community as the referendum looms closer. The same Church that molests children, that oppresses women's bodily autonomy, that casts their 'bastard' children into mass graves while preaching 'love thy neighbour'... unless, of course, he's a faggot. Why would that young boy choose to be cast out by the very institution that runs his country, whether you'll admit it or not?'

The studio went silent.

The presenter shifted in his seat. The words hung in the air, sharp and unmoving.

Jack let out a slow breath. He didn't agree with everything Sissy said.
But he didn't fully disagree either.

'Imagine logging onto Facebook and seeing someone in a different country being stoned to death, or hung, or thrown off a building because of their sexuality. But I guess it's their own fault for choosing to be gay, right?'

Jack's stomach twisted.

The studio remained frozen.

'Do you want to be the reason your child suppresses who they are to the point that they have a mental breakdown? Or take their own life? Because that's the reality of teaching young children that who they are is wrong. And it's simply not the case.'

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his bed as the interviewer spoke for the first time since he had tuned in; 'And what would be your final message to those watching at home about the upcoming referendum?'

The camera zoomed in. Sissy's expression was fierce, unwavering.

'This country is fucked if it thinks I don't deserve equality because of who I am. This country is fucked if it thinks I'll stand for anything less than what my straight neighbours have. This country is fucked if it thinks it can break me any more than it already has. I am going to give everything in me to make sure that when this referendum comes along, it passes. I won't be broken. I won't let the next generation be broken. Being gay is not a choice. But I'd still choose it anyway.'

The screen faded to black.

Jack stared at his reflection in the dark laptop screen.

Being gay is not a choice. But I'd still choose it anyway.

He should switch to something else. Put on Friends or The Simpsons, something mindless. Something safe. But he didn't.

Instead, he lay there, his thoughts racing.

There was still so much he didn't know. He didn't know what he was. Didn't know what he wanted. Didn't know if he'd ever be able to say any of it out loud.

But for the first time, he didn't just feel afraid.

Of course, the fear was still present. But for the first time, he felt something else creeping in.

Not certainty. Not clarity. But possibility.

A small flicker of something unfamiliar. Something lighter than the weight he usually carried.

Hope.