nosce te ipsum.

     We went to Eastside High School.

     We were the Lions.

     But none of that mattered then, and none of it will ever matter.

     All that mattered then, and all that matters now, is her.

     She was a pre-op transgender, although some in her situation described it as ‘born in the wrong body’. This meant, of course, that she had the heart of a boy fighting the world and the body of a girl beaten by the world. I don’t know what it makes me, but I loved her, I love her, with every cell of my being. And she must've loved me too because I was the only person in the world that she ever let call her a girl.

     Everything started as nothing but turned into everything, spreading like wildfire through every vein and every capillary in our body. Not our bodies, oh no. We weren’t separate in any way. Everything about us was one, everything about us was together. We never left each other, not once, since the whole crazy ride began.


     “Class, this is the new girl. Her name is Samantha Ran-“ the teacher smiled as she said it, but her eyes flared with discrimination and hate. It made me sick.

     “It’s Sam, and I’m a boy.” That was all she said, no fake smile, just bones and balls and strength. She was prepared to be hated, and she met thirty cold gazes. Her emerald eyes settled on me at last, and I smiled. I could see the shock ripple through her from the back of the room. I laughed, she smiled. I knew we would be something.

     “Why don’t you go sit by Nina? Her tastes are. . .alternative You two should get along.” I laughed again, only this time at the teacher.

     “Just say it, Mrs. T, I’m gay therefore I don’t discriminate. It’s okay, I know that and so does everyone else in here. You can stick your face in your bible now and ignore us. I think Sam cares as much as I do that you hate both him and me. Big freakin’ deal. There will always be people that will hate us for who and what we are. Get over it and teach us something we already know.”

     That was the first time I heard Sam laugh, and in that moment I knew I would fall in love with her one day.


     The sun was dull, but shinning. The air was cold and there was snow in the eyes of every narrow-minded hate-filled person that stood anywhere in the school. Everyone was watching the queer and the he-she like they were a train wreck, so horrible and evil you can’t pull your gaze from their peaceful world.

     “So, where you from?” I asked, taking a bite of a sandwich that tasted like burnt cardboard.

     She smiled. “Small town in Jersey, so close to New York that I could taste the city lights at night. You always been here?”

     “Naw, used to live in Dallas with my dad. You can imagine what great friends I had. They even left me with a present.” I grinned, pulled away my sleeve.

     She gasped when she saw it, a bold scar stating my sexuality. “Lesbian,” she murmured, eyes shinning sadly as the sun, “I’m sorry. . .I have something similar, but not as deep, not as bad.” She lifted the back of her shirt, and I stood up to take a look.

     Across her spine was carved ‘TRANNIE’, not that deep but deep enough. “At least if we get murdered, the cops would know who we were.” I smiled, and her face mimicked mine.


     In class we passed notes, trapped in our bubble of love and acceptance, free from the sharpened voices of those outside, our hate-filled peers and narrow-minded classmates.

Just curious, did you ever date boys?

yeah, but it was stupid and pointless. just a tool to keep my denial intact.

Oh. How bad was yours?

spend the night some time and i’ll show you, but it’s not pretty.

This weekend?
I’ll show you mine, too.

fine with me. the bitch is always plastered so she won’t care.

Okay. Where do you live?

green street. you’ll know it when you see it.

     Johnny grabbed the note from her hands, read it, laughed. “The queers are having a sleepover! How cute! Any gay sex in that plan?”

     “Lots, actually. Your mom wanted to join, but she’s so fat she’d break my poor Sam, and we haven’t even gotten to play yet. Tell her to call me and reschedule, I’m free tonight.”

     Even though they hated us, everyone in the room laughed and laughed. The look on his face was worth the beating I’d soon receive.


     We sat on the floor, just bras and underwear and socks, admiring each other’s battle scars.

     “And here’s a mess from grade six. I did the three on the left, the other were gifts, from classmates and their siblings and their friends,” she said, pointing to her left thigh, tangled up in lines, “Pretty, aren’t they?”

     “Yeah, they bring out your eyes,” I smiled, pointing to the back of my neck, “All that was from some punk when I was eleven, I didn’t even know him. Aren’t the surprises from strangers the best?”

     “Totally. There’s nothing better,” she smiled back, pointing to a very deformed roller coaster track on her stomach, “I got that from a stranger. Last year. Almost killed me. Cool, eh?”

     “Very. They only want to break what’s beautiful, anyways.”

     “I’m glad they didn’t break you.”

     “Baby, they’ll never be strong enough.”


      School was like magic with her there, milk white skin shinning, short black hair combed nice and neat like rain. Her gaze followed me like a hawk, longing obvious in the gems of her eyes.

     It happened at lunch, in the field, beneath the cherry trees.

     We were lying on the grass together, so close our atoms intertwined. We said nothing, there were stars in the air and we let them cast their spell upon us. The bell rang, she began to get up, but changed her mind and fell on top of me, lips meeting mine and hearts exploding in a mass of fireworks so bright they blotted out the sun.

     “Sam,” I whispered, “be mine.”

     “Until the end of time.”

     When we finally made it back to class we walked in holding hands.


     “Favorite color?”

      “Sam, what are you painting? Can’t you just tell me?”

      “I could. Favorite color?”

      “Rainbow. I don’t like to discriminate.”

     “Predictable.” She smiled, flecks of paint on her angel face. “Sit still, darling. Please.”

     “Only for you.”

     “Good.” Her gentle grin grew and her eyebrows scrunched up together, paintbrush sweeping across canvas like sunshine, almost beautiful enough for her face to be envious. Almost. I lost myself in that dance, the Painter’s Ballet, and before I knew it the brush took her final bow. “Done. Want to see?’

     “Of course, cupcake,” I responded with a smile, standing up. When my eyes fell upon her masterpiece I was left without a single word, as if the entire English language had been ripped from my fingernails.

     “Do you like it?” her voice bled with pride as she gazed upon the image, a perfect portrait of us and the cherry blossom sunshine we held so dear. I was in her arms, childish rainbow dress and happy smile, her in a pinstripe suit, plastered with laughter.

     “My god, Sam. . .”

     “You hate it, don’t you?” I could hear the tears in her voice.

     “It’s beautiful.”

     “As the subject.”

     “I agree.”


      We lived like that, whirlwind storybook romance, in my room. My mom, or lack thereof, was either too drunk or too high to realize or care she’d been living with us for a month. We went to school one morning, same as always, and were ambushed.

      It was all a blur. One moment we were holding hands and laughing, and the next we were holding hands and screaming. I felt blade after blade slice through me, rip me open. I could feel the blood oozing from the wounds. I heard an unnatural crack, Sam’s scream. We never let go.

      The principal expelled two kids, suspended five, called our parents. My mom was unconscious in the basement and her parents said they quit. We laughed as the ambulance came, holding hands even as the stretchers carried us away from the world.

      In the hospital we shared a room, beds pushed together to create one. The doctors kept moving them, but they knew that they could never win. Not now, not ever. Nothing would separate us. We dared anything to try.

      We both had broken ribs, me a broken left wrist and her a broken right left. We both had bruises and cuts all over our bodies. We were almost killed. The doctors dropped their dewberry jaws in shock when they saw us there together, holding hands and laughing and standing at the window to watch the sun rise.

      I heard the doctors talking one evening, when Sam was asleep and they thought I was, too.

      “These girls are amazing. They have such drive, such passion, such optimism. It shocks me every time I see them.”

      “You’re telling me. They have so much fight, so much courage. They’re heroes.”

      “No doubt. It brings tears to my eyes, the way they inspire me.”

      “Same. I wish the world could see what we do.”

      “Mhm. Maybe we’d see less patients of their circumstance.”


      Sam moved in officially, permanently, when we got out of the hospital. We celebrated by getting keys made and coloring them every color under the sun. We made necklaces for each other, to hold the keys on, before climbing onto the roof to watch the sun set.

      “Sunsets are so sad.”

      “How do you figure, darling?”

      “They symbolize ends. They are the death of the greatest light in the universe.”

      “Second greatest. Nothing beats you, Sam.”

      We slept together like we had so many times before. Literally, of course. We lay tangled up together in pajamas made for six year olds beneath six year old sheets. When the sunrise was on her way, we rolled out of bed and climbed back atop the roof, hearts on fire and skin numb.

      “Sunrises are hope.”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Look at it, Sam. It’s rebirth. New beginnings. Tabula rasa.”

      “As long as you’re my tabula rasa it’s all good.”

      “But I wouldn’t be blank for long. You’d paint all over me.”

      “Touché, darling, touché.”


      We went back to school holding hands, smiles all around our wrists. Nothing could stop us. Our eyes dared them to try again. they stared and snickered, threw rocks and moldy sandwiches.

      We paused in the hallways to kiss, you against the wall. They screamed “QUEER FAGGOT DYKE FREAK DEMON” as I stole your gum, faces red as ash when we skipped off singing, serenity in our pupils and happiness in our ligaments. Peace pranced through our tendons, danced on our bones, even as they pulled the triggers on their empty guns and screamed their empty words.

      “Hey Mrs. T. We’re back and demonically us as ever. How cool is it to be teaching a lesbian and her transgender lover? I bet all the other teachers are so jealous that everyone fights about it at lunch in the teacher’s lounge because everyone wants to teach the duo that is Sam and Nina.” We laughed as her face blew up, inflating and going bright red at the sound of my voice and the sting of my words.

      “Actually, you stupid fucking faggots, they all laugh and rejoice that they don’t have to deal with all your fucking dyke shit.”

      “I guess I’ve been too busy being in love to notice how ignorant the teachers here are, thanks for the heads up Mrs. T. It’ll come in handy when we’re fucking each other’s brains out in the lounge and squeezing all the leftovers into your lunch. Mmmmm, lesbian. Tasty, eh?”

      We were expelled for having sexual intercourse on campus, and we laughed our way out the door.

      “I love how we’ve never had sex but did it at school. We must be magic or something.”

      “Seriously. But at least we got what we wanted in the end.”

      I smiled, nodded. “Libera te.”


      At eighteen we could have anything. Society held the world and dared not let us have it, promised a change in ‘lifestyle choice’ would be all it took for us to gain everything. We laughed and grew a garden of roses, every color of the rainbow. Every color of love.

      I proposed to her on our five year anniversary and she said yes with tears in her gemstone eyes.


      We married where we began, beneath the cherry blossom trees. Only, this time, they were in full bloom and you caught pastel pink petals in your eyes.

      “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

      As we collided, arms snaking around each other, happy tears fell from our eyes and a masked stranger pulled a gun. Everything was silent as we fell, slow-motion as the bullets made love to our flesh. Our last words were our first words, and we let petals and rain wash over us.

      “I love you.”

      “I love you, too.”