I have my eye on a long, bright blue wig on a website I’ve been browsing recently for the past couple weeks. I scroll through the rest of the website on my phone to see if anything is new since the last time I searched the site, but that was just earlier today, so of course nothing new has been uploaded.

I haven’t changed out of my clothes from dance practice yet, nor have I taken my after-practice shower. I’m just tired and felt like sitting down and staring at my computer for a bit before doing anything else I need to do. 

Dance is the one thing I feel comfortable being seen and noticed during. I’ve been dancing since I was three years old and I love it. Everything else I do I tend to shrink away or fade into the background to avoid being in the limelight. There’s a sense of crippling anxiety around being perceived that I have that I can’t put my finger on.

The door to my apartment opens and I snap my computer shut as fast as I can as if I’m about to get caught watching porn instead of browsing for wigs. “Hey!” My roommate exclaims from the entryway, seeing me sitting on the couch in the living room.

“Hey Lola,” I say, sounding guilty even though what I’ve just been doing isn’t bad at all. It feels like it’s bad. I’m supposed to be a handsome male dancer and I’m spending all my free time staring at a women’s wig on the internet, longing to be a woman instead. I’m not sure how I feel about this sad, longing feeling inside me, especially because the implications of becoming a woman in the middle of training to be a professional male dancer are something I’m not sure I’m able to wrap my head around right now. 

Lola grins, dropping her stuff on the chair next to the couch. She sags into the couch next to me with a big sigh, brushing her long purple hair out of her face as she does so. “Long day at the shop today. I had back to back clients. My wrist and back hurt so bad.”

Lola is two years older than me. We used to take ballet together for years before she came out and have been inseparable since she transferred to my studio when she was fourteen and I was twelve. We stayed friends even after she came out and quit to pursue tattooing. She works full time at Altered Ego, a tattoo shop in town.

“I’m glad people are coming to you so often,” I say sincerely, plopping my laptop down on the side of me that’s not occupied by Lola, “Shows how good you are at what you do.”

Lola grins at me. “What have you been up to all day?”

I bite my lip as the feeling threatens to bubble over. I’ve only really come to the full realization that I desperately long to be a woman over the past month but it’s evolved so rapidly that now I feel like I might burst.

“Are you okay?” Lola asks. I can see the concern growing on her face. She’s good at sensing when something’s wrong with me. 

“How did you know you’re a woman?” I ask quietly, my voice wavering. Lola is a trans woman, so I’m sure she’ll have some sort of input on this. I need to know if what I’m feeling is real or not.

Lola hums and looks up at the ceiling. “It’s just this feeling I had. Everything male felt…wrong,” She says, “Like a pit in my stomach. I tried so hard to ignore it but the more I did the more depressed I became.” She wraps an arm around me. “Why? Is something wrong?” She asks softly, searching my face with her eyes.

“I don’t think I’m a man, Lola,” I blurt out, rubbing my temples with my fingers. I have a headache. “Like, is it real? Am I just a fake? I don’t know. I feel like I haven’t known my entire life. Maybe I have. I don’t know. Is that okay?”

“Hey, hey,” Lola says soothingly, running a gentle hand through my short black hair with a smile, “It’s okay, Lane.” She puts a hand on my knee. “How would you like me to support you right now?”

I shake my head and shrug. “Tell me I’m not crazy?” I say, but it’s more of a question than anything. 

“You’re not crazy, hon,” Lola says, continuing to run her hand through my hair. I close my eyes and lean into her touch. “I didn’t have my realization and come out until I was eighteen, it’s totally fine for you to just be discovering yourself now.” 

“Ballet is so gendered,” I say worriedly as I rub my face with my hands, stressed, “What if my teachers don’t want to work with me anymore? I’m going to have to rethink the way I dance completely.”

Lola chews on her lip, a gesture which generally means she’s thinking about something. “Well don’t worry about it right now,” She finally says, “How about I take you to a fight tonight to get your mind off of this? You look like you’re about to implode.”

“A fight?” I ask, confused.

“Yeah!” Lola seems excited as she talks. “I tattooed this guy a couple weeks ago for the second time and he gave me two tickets to his boxing match tonight. He’s an up and coming boxer in DC. It should be fun!”

“I guess I’m down for that,” I say hesitantly. I’ve never considered going to a boxing match before but then again, I don’t really go out much other than dance practice, class, and to the gym anyway. Lola has to basically drag me out of the apartment to do anything else.

“Perfect. Go take your shower and get changed into something cute,” Lola slaps my knee gently and stands. “I’m going to get changed as well.”