If You Could Be Mine (13 page)

But I never feel like my body is a trap.

If anything, I feel like my love is a trap.

I don’t mind having to change, if that’s what it takes to be with Nasrin, but I
do
mind watching her live a lie.

“Where can I get hormones?” I ask, and the eyes in the room turn to me. I suppose it was an insensitive time to ask. They don’t understand. I need this now.

“Well, you’d have to visit a doctor for those,” Behrooz says. His suit this week fits him a little better than the sweater he wore last time. It makes him look less lumpy.

“Not necessarily,” Shahab interjects. “You could get some from a dealer.” That sounds good. I bet Ali could get me some. I could subtly ask, though I’m not sure how one subtly asks for hormones.

“Yes, but illegal hormones can be dangerous,” Goli
khanoum
says. “You can never be sure what’s actually in them. You remember poor Shahnaz and how sick she got.” Shahnaz is one of Goli
khanoum’
s past children.

“It’s just, I was wondering how long it would take to have the operation. I’m ready, and how long do the surgery and recovery take?” Maryam raises an eyebrow at me in amusement, and Jamshid looks at me in the most condescending way.

Parveen takes her arm away from Katayon’s shoulders and places her hand on mine. Her soft, and very large, hand. “
Joonam,
it isn’t so simple as just popping into a doctor’s office,” she says gently.

“What do you mean?” They were supposed to be happy about this. They were supposed to let me be a part of their group. Goli
khanum
looks at me with mirth in her eyes, but I also see understanding there.

“You have to visit a surgeon,” Jamshid explains. “Before they can even begin to operate, you need to have psych evaluations. It can take up to six months before they deem you as transsexual.” I feel like I am being choked.

“But I need this soon. I need this now!” I stand up from the plush sofa, and the room suffocates me. “I can’t wait that long. It will be too late.” I need to tell Nasrin before the wedding when my surgery date will be. Then she’ll call it off. She will wait for me. She
must
wait for me.

“Too late for what?” Parveen asks. I need to be careful. Don’t say too much. Don’t say anything about
her
.

“It’s just . . . It’s difficult not knowing where I belong.”

Jamshid takes a sip from his teacup, and even the way he does it is so masculine, holding it from underneath. How does he know how to do that?

“Well, after a few visits with a psychiatrist they will know that about you,” Goli
khanum
says. “Then you will have to prepare. Register your status with the government, take hormones, and the surgery is not easy. It’s painful, and the recovery period keeps you in bed for quite some time.” I should have thought of this earlier. Of course you cannot walk around Tehran as though you just had a nose job. Maybe if I had spent less time on school I would have thought of this plan sooner. I would have met Parveen earlier, and the seed would have been planted.

“Plus, you aren’t quite yet an adult,” Parveen says. “You would have to have your father’s permission.” It’s the last nail in the coffin. I was naive. I wasn’t thinking. Everything has gone wrong.

“What’s your rush?” Maryam asks. She now sits at the edge of her chair in the far corner of the living room. Her eyes are fierce with passion, and it’s the most engaged I’ve ever seen her in a meeting.

“I’m just ready. That’s all. It’s important that I change as soon as possible.” The young men on the couch in front of me nod in understanding. They know what it’s like to be trapped. Maryam, however, is unrelenting. She eyes me, donning a vicious smirk that recognizes something in me. She’s figured me out.

“It’s a change. Of that you can be certain. One you would never want to take lightly. Especially if you had a choice.” Maryam’s arms are folded. She’s so smug.

“I don’t have a choice. This is all I have. I need this, whether you will help me or not.” I address the group as though I’m going to war. I am, in a way. With my body, my feelings, my circumstances—these are things I want to fight for.

Parveen looks up at me, her sad expression letting me know that my dreams won’t come true. “There is no fairy godmother, Cinderella. Life doesn’t work that way. If you’re patient and go through the steps, you will be able to change. But there’s a lot of energy that goes into a transformation,” Parveen says. I slump back onto the sofa. Everyone is staring at me. I can feel it, and my face grows hot.

“I can get you hormones,” Katayoun says in a quiet voice.

“Yes. Please.”

Parveen rubs my back, and I’m so tired. So very tired.

“Prepare yourself, child,” Maryam says. “You have no idea what’s in store for you.”

I see their faces, sympathetic, worn, and beautiful. They will help. They know what it is like to be desperate to change.

13

KATAYOUN AGREED TO MEET
me for lunch at Restaurant Javan. I’ve been waiting for her for a half hour, and I’m getting worried. The wedding is a month away, and nothing has changed. Reza is still handsome. Nasrin is still in denial. And Mrs. Mehdi is still fixing up her father’s estate for the wedding. Nasrin’s grandfather has a huge house with a big basement. The plan is to turn the basement into a subterranean dance party for the reception. I imagine it will be a tamer version of one of Ali’s parties. Dariush is upset that he is not allowed to play DJ. Mrs. Mehdi has sense enough to limit her son’s musical opportunities.

I asked the funny-looking man in the orange suit who runs the restaurant for a private table. He was more than accommodating, just like last time, but when he asked if Ali would be joining me, I lied and said he might show up. It’s early enough that Ali is probably still in bed. At last Katayoun enters meekly, and I wave at her.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she says, sitting down across from me. She glances around the room, a light sweat blooming on her upper lip.

“That’s all right. Were you able to—?”

She answers by handing me a large paper bag. There it is, the start of my new life. I put the bag in my book bag and smile gratefully. “How much do I owe you?”

Katayoun shakes her head. “It’s been paid for.”

“Who . . . um, I mean, who paid, so I can properly thank them?”

“We all pitched in. Goli
khanum
and the rest of our group. Except for Maryam.” I could die from embarrassment. Katayoun tells me how often I should take the drugs, explaining that I should insert the syringe in my thigh or my rear end. I should avoid veins, bones, and nerves. She emphasizes not to take more than I should, one cc a month. That gives me time for only one injection before the wedding. Maybe a beard will start to sprout, and Nasrin will see that I’m serious. It’s scaring me a little.

“How long have you been taking them?” I ask as Katayoun continues to look around the room.

“A little over a year.” Her eyes lock onto mine with a nervous intensity. “Why did you pick this place?” Her expression is like that of the cat I see by the schoolyard, skittish and fearful of everyone and everything nearby.

“I just thought you’d be more comfortable. There’s a diverse crowd here, so—”

“
A diverse crowd?
Is that how you would put it?” Her tone has turned icy. Katayoun’s face is scarlet, and her hands are clenched in fists on the table as if she is about to pound on it.

“It’s safe to . . . Well, to be one’s self in here. I mean, there is less of a chance of judgment or, I don’t know, more of a chance for people who, I imagine, are sympathetic.”

“I’m not like them! You hear me? What they do is unnatural.” She whispers as her eyes train on a table of two men giving each other affectionate glances. It’s the seething rage I don’t understand. In meetings Katayoun is usually so demure and easily startled, especially when Maryam throws a verbal barb her way.

“I’m sorry. I just thought—”

“Thought what? That I am the same as these . . . these
perverts,
just because I am different?” Some lady she turned out to be. She at least has the courtesy to whisper these hurtful things. They’re hurtful because she’s talking about me. I’m a pervert. Even if I change, my feelings for Nasrin have always been there.

“I thought by being someone who is different, you might sympathize with others who are also different.” I don’t want to argue with her. She was kind enough to bring me what I need, even if she is being an absolute bitch. Katayoun leans in, her face close to mine, and I can’t will myself to move my head away for fear she might attack me.

“My illness is treatable. Their malady is a bargain made with the devil. The Republic knows that, the Koran knows that, and you damn well better know that if you are to survive in this society.”

I slap Katayoun.

I should be apologetic. I’m not. I don’t know where that came from—but it came, and a part of me is glad. My hand burns with shame as Katayoun begins to cry. Before I can apologize, she stands up and reaches for my book bag. She wants the hormones back. Like hell am I going to give them up. She beats her bony fists on my shoulders, calling me a liar and a degenerate. I grip my book bag tightly, blocking Katayoun with my body, though I’m still planted in my chair. Two servers arrive to break us up, but neither of them is allowed to touch us because we are women, so they waddle back and forth in between us like limping penguins. One of them tries to puff out his chest as big as he can to keep me from Katayoun, his hands behind his back.

“Give it back!” Katayoun shrieks. “You don’t really want them! You’re one of them,” No! She’s trying to take away my only hope. I slap her again with the back of my hand—I’ll show her how manly I can be—and doing so feels good.

“Don’t you dare judge me, you piece of trash.” Oh my god—I said that out loud! Good! She had it coming. I clutch the book bag to my chest, hugging it like a life vest.

“What’s all this?”

Oh no. Ali. He sounds so calm. I was stupid to think I wouldn’t run into him, even though he’s never out of his apartment this early. We should have met at Max Burger, but after the way Parveen was treated there, I didn’t want Katayoun to face the same ugliness. I didn’t expect her to be such a judgmental donkey butt.

“She took something of mine and won’t give it back!” Katayoun shrieks. Now she’s accusing me of stealing.
Ajab gereftari
—what are the odds? When did this become my life?

“She did?” Ali turns to me. “Well, give it back. I’m sure I can buy you whatever junk this poor creature is peddling.” He doesn’t even defend me. He knows I would never steal.

“No. I need it.” I’m not going to just roll over because he says so. He’s used to people doing that, but I won’t. This is none of his business! It’s my body, my life, my love, and I will do with all of it what I can. Ali shoos away the two servers and the sad bald man in charge, all of whom have been hovering around the edges. They oblige and retreat, while others in the restaurant watch our display with great interest. I always manage to make a scene at this stupid place, with its cheap decor and mediocre food. Ali motions for Katayoun to sit. She refuses, shaking her head and with her arms folded across her chest.

Ali doesn’t bat an eye. He sits across from me and extends his hand. “Whatever it is, I can get it for you in abundance. Just hand it back and she—I’m sorry, your name?” Ali asks smoothly, grinning at Katayoun in the way he has learned from the movies. He channels Fardin, an old, Persian movie star, and a bit of Cary Grant. He loves black-and-white movies. I like some of them, too, but never watch them because Nasrin falls asleep.

“Katayoun,” she says, calmer.

“Lovely. Won’t you sit down?” He pulls over a chair from the next table. “I promise you what is owed you.” He’s actually flirting with her, and he’s believable at that. She sits next to Ali. He smiles at her again before directing his attention toward me. “Now, what is it that you need so badly, Sahar?” I don’t answer. He’s getting annoyed. He turns back to Katayoun. She’s melting under his gaze.

“I was delivering hormones for before her operation,” Katayoun confesses. I shut my eyes. When I open them, Ali looks at me like I have just told him I have killed Britney Spears, Madonna, and Lady Gaga.

Ali extends his hand again, but I refuse to hand him the bag. His jaw clenches. “Give it to me, Sahar. Or I will have you arrested.”

“You wouldn’t! You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly.” His tone is chilling and stirs such fear in me that I know he is serious. He has the power to do it. A call to Farshad, and I would be detained for a day, possibly beaten. I could risk prison. What’s the worst they can do? I don’t have much else to live for. I don’t even study these days. I do my homework and take the tests, but it means nothing. I feel absolutely alone. “Give it to me, Sahar. We’ll figure something out.” I don’t know if he’s lying, but the way he says it reminds me of Maman. Damn him and his strong genes.

I plop my book bag on the table, and Katayoun rifles through it, procuring the coveted treasure. Ali just stares at me.