At last, I had the confidence to show this to you guys. It is my short story. I know it is not yet polished for I know there are some grammatical errors in it, but still, I know this is the best I can do for the moment.
Before reading my story, may I warn you guys that first, it is a bit long and it contains words not suitable for young readers. Readers discretion is advised. There are also seemingly racist sentences, which I intended for character definition.
Also, the story doesn’t necessarily reflect my views about sexuality and other related topics, so live with it. Okay.🙂
This is my work and no one should, in any way, repost and use it without my sure permission. You know the laws, I hope.🙂
DAYTIME with TRIXIE
A Short Story by Jessehyro Tito Aguinaldo
October 24, 2003, 8:25 pm.
To be inside a small, dimly lit, and unventilated room seems more of a suicide to others, but for beautiful Trixie, it is something that a loaded girl would want to call her own. She had much of her private moments in this four-sided box, and it was worth the heat and discomfort. The place isn’t much, but for her, it is the best place to keep all her fears and miseries. The walls of this minute dwelling shared its rigid strength when she needed confidence, like a mother who shares her warm hug to comfort her sobbing child. It is perfect, a place like no other.
And this night, her box again served as a nice hideout for a very prepared and scheduled night-out. The fragrance of her newly bought perfume was in the air, never left her nose for there aren’t much holes in the place enough for the scent to go through. She knew she was in a little bit of cologne overdose, but she didn’t mind at all for she believed that this delicate scent is just suitable for a perfectly fabulous night.
With the skills of an expert makeup artist, she drew lines on her slightly corrugated forehead, making every curve a simple enhancement of her already plucked eyebrows. To create a lavish look on her eyes, her perfectly shaped eyebrows must be paired with thick, curling eyelashes now brushed with glittery inks of mascara. It made the eyelashes protrude in an impossible angle.
She wasn’t much gifted with a high-bridged nose, but it wasn’t much of insecurity to her for at least, she believes, that still, her nose is a far cry from those other people who only had slits above their mouths for noses. She can just simply put lines on hers to produce the effect of a Caucasian-like nose.
It was fabulous. Trixie was in some sort ecstatic to try on her newly-bought wig. The hair strands are of waist-length, a length she believes she would never reach herself because of the boy-like haircut she had a month ago. She was amused with the wig’s golden blonde radiance, a color she would never achieve through dyes.
If there’s one thing Trixie is very proud of herself, it is her naturally-pouted lips. It is so Angelina Jolie-ish. Her Aunt Antonina may describe her lips as “lips bitten by a thousand ants” and even one time “pus-filled”, she never mind it at all. All she knew is that it is one of the most seducing lips of all, and her lips, like Helen herself, could launch a thousand ships. To dab a thick amount of red tint on it then to layer it with a thin amount of dazzling gloss was her final gesture to her lengthy sacred ritual.
She was having fun watching herself in her mirror when suddenly, her mobile phone rang.
September 11, 1996
Patrick lowered the booming sound of his stereo. His heart banged to an unexplainable intensity, causing a little rush of blood in his head. Nervousness, excitement, he doesn’t know the thing he was feeling. His veins pulsed in rhythm to his heart. To the left, right, then out of the window, he looked. Satisfied with the presence of nothingness, he let loose of his craziness. He turned his king-sized bed to a trampoline, and moved his hips in accordance to the music’s orders. He waved his arms sideways, as if they are in a kind of a revolt.
For maybe a long time, since his mother’s death months ago did he had this kind of emotional explosion. It was in a way, different. He was in ecstasy, full of energy. He felt his hips move to his heart’s desire, his hands wave to his mind’s will. To satisfy his craved celebration, he pulled his blanket out of his dresser and wrapped it around his body. He let loose, made somersaults, spins, twirls. He sang in chorus to the song, shouted the lyrics that showed his intense feeling and admiration to his own self, own body. For the very first time in his young age, he felt marvelous.
His seemingly never-ending elation was soon replaced by a troubling fear as he saw someone standing in front of his doorway. He didn’t notice the doorknob shudder.
October 24, 2003, 9:03 pm.
“Hello? Yes this is Trixie.”
She didn’t expect the voice on the other side of the line. It was something familiar, yet unknown. She knew she had listened to the voice years ago, had a chat with it, or even had an argument with it. Though she really would love to play a guessing game with the voice, she didn’t dare to do it for she is in some sort of a rush.
“Yes, who is this?” She asked the plainest question.
“Hey, it’s me Annie.”
Annie, she recalled, was her high school classmate.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” It was a bit formal response for a relaxed statement, she thought.
“Trixie, what’s happening to you? Are you in some kind of a trance or something? Gone loca? Or I go for Trixie gone wild. Yeah, wild. Whatever.”
“Fuck you. So, what do you want, hag? My time is precious, dear, don’t dare waste it.”
“Wanna go somewhere else? I’m fucking bored.”
“Bitch, I have to go somewhere. Bother someone else, I’m not interested.”
“Fuck it! I’ll come with you! I’m just in front of your house, sucker, I brought my sedan. I can give you a free ride. I know you are short of bucks there.”
She had her own plans for this night, had someone to meet in a bar, had someone to visit for the midnight, and had someone to make love to. Everything is planned for this night, and a girl in the past would seem to ruin it all.
“Oh, shut up”
“I’ll introduce you to a hot chap I know. He has a humongous boner, mind you.”
This faggot’s car is classy, Trixie thought. It is brand new and definitely has new design. Silver, glossy, convertible-type, sleek, only three meters long, two-seater, mirror-like tire caps, sharp yet very classy side mirrors, crystal-clear wind shield, huge, circular and powerful headlights all lighted up. Doors open automatically. A very expensive car, she thought. It was just very ironical that it belongs to someone monstrously ogre-like. And she is her high school best friend.
“So, what do you think?”
The shit is talking. Annie is talking.
“Oh gosh. You got a great car, you ass-beater, yeah.”
She is still out of words.
“C’mon! Jump in! The clock is ticking, girl!”
“Ummm, yeah. I’ll just fix my hair.”
“Retarded! You even bother fixing that sham hair? You’re so…vain!”
Annie snickered. And so did Trixie. It was a long time ago since they enjoyed laughing together. And that was in high school, when together they haunted the whole school with their crazy antics. It seemed just days ago, but Trixie had a feeling that it happened more or less half her lifetime.
Trixie hopped in the handsome car, and dropped on its soft seat. She felt a little jealous of her friend’s wealth, though she had her money all this time. She just don’t have the capacity to spend them. With all these stuffs, she could surely draw hot boys easily. But of course, she still remembered that her best friend still lack a huge chunk of beauty.
“So, how’s your life? Gone bottomed?”
Annie was driving the car and yet, still bothered to initiate the conversation.
“Fuck that bottomed part! Oh well. Life’s a mess, whore. But it is so damned exciting, though. With these pressure and challenges, it keeps me on the go!”
A confident answer.
“Earth calling Trixie.”
“Does your hunky father know about these things?”
“What things?” Trixie wasn’t sure if she was prepared in this kind of conversation.
“These things. You go out this late, you fuckin’ guys here and there, and you wearing those sexy stuffs.”
“Of course, not! I am not that ignorant to reveal it!”
“When would you admit it to him, then?”
“I will. But not now. Maybe tomorrow. The next day. I don’t know. When I am prepared. Fuck it! Stop this nonsense! So Oprah-ish! I hate Oprah!”
“Okay, okay. No niggers here please. I hate her too. More on Paris, please! Haha. She’s so sexy. Okay lost control, back to the topic. Maybe you should tell him A.S.A.P. Being free is the next biggest thing you can have now. Look at me, and what freedom did to me. My father didn’t even mind at all. He even bought me this car!”
“Oh, gosh! Here’s Oprah again! Is this an issue of having a car as a result of the ‘freedom’ you call? Annie, cut it out. It doesn’t work like that for my father. And besides, I am happy this way.”
“M’kay. Just don’t charge me of not advising you regarding that matter, girl. I’m just concerned.”
Trixie didn’t hear Annie’s last sentence. She was more conscious on what she was seeing. The feeling was déjà vu, it was like he felt it sometime before. It was a police car, parked. She suddenly saw a figure emerging from it. It was a policeman. It looked someone very familiar.
“Oh my God! Oh my! Shut this thing off, you slut! Shut it off!”
“What are you sayin’?”
“Put the roofs on!” She wasn’t even sure what that thing is called.
Automatically, the roofs are on.
“Drive faster!” Trixie is now feeling in some sort, a feeling of fear and regret. The regret thing, though, she doesn’t know where the hell it came from.
“My father’s just there, bitch!”
Annie glanced sideways and saw the cause of Annie’s panic. Annie got it. She zoomed her sedan right away. Faster than she had ever did. Even faster than her car ever did. It went crazy, turned sideways. The tires screeched.
Trixie, on the other hand, smelled the fume of burning rubber. She was in a state of confusion where she didn’t know what to be afraid of, if she would fear more of the impending danger of dying in the hands of Annie’s car or if finally, his father will find out her secret.
After some seconds of deep struggle, they thought they’d lost him. Annie slowed the car for a while to cool down her already steaming engine.
Annie saw a familiar car beside them. It was the same police car that was chasing them.
“Oh fuck! It’s dad!”
“I think your Dad’s monitoring the speed limit. And yeah, we over speeded. We fucking over speeded.”
September 11, 1996
It was the most horrifying thing he felt ever. His heart still pumped the same way minutes ago, though he recognized that it was in a way painful. He stood still, petrified, yet his knees tremble. A monster was in front of him, and it is ready to eat him alive.
The man in the doorway surely looked more or less shocked but at the same time, angered by what he saw. From his emotionless face it seemingly morphed downwards into a very horrifying creature. His smooth forehead changed to a very crumpled figure. His mouth, straight before, was pulled downward by an invisible force, and then tended to open in an evil and grumpy smirk. His fists looked as if he was to grip a very slippery rope.
The silence was painful. The man didn’t say any word nor produced any sound, but he attacked his child like a fierce hawk seizing a trembling rodent. It was brutal. On the eyes of Patrick was the most horrible sight he ever had. He saw a demon possessing of something capable of creating havoc. He picked poor Patrick on his neck and slapped his young face without any prohibitions. He slapped the child’s back, threw a punch to the child’s abdomen. He pulled Patrick’s hair to make him fall down from his already scrunched up bed sheets. Patrick fell to the floor, headfirst, and was almost unconscious. He could have passed out if not for the continuous kicking and beating on his back. The kid pleaded for mercy, but the man seemed not to hear his own son’s sobs. He forcibly pulled Patrick out of his room, towed him like a trolley, and his body sliding in the house’s wooden floor. Patrick tried to break away from his father’s constricting hands but as he tried to do so, the more his father strengthened his grip on his weak wrists.
Patrick’s loud wails didn’t melt his father’s heart; it just increased the man’s annoyance. His screams soon faltered as he saw no hope for his father’s pity. He was partly unconscious of the fact that he was brought out of the house. The next thing he knew was that he was in a small, dimly-lit, and unventilated room.
When he regained of the memories that had happened to him hours ago, he can’t help himself but to cry. It was, at an immature age, that he felt like dying. Lying on the floor, he wept for the happiness he had lost. He knew at that instance that it would take a long time for him to regain his freedom. Seven years, perhaps.
October 24, 2003, 9:39 pm.
Trixie was helplessly frightened as she saw her father approach their car. She didn’t care if Annie’s car over speeded or if they would spend the rest of the night behind bars. All she wanted to is to keep herself away from her father’s eyes. At that very moment, she wished she had invisibility powers.
“Oh my, I’m so sorry officer!” Annie apologizes to the approaching police, who was writing some notes on his notepad.
“You exceeded the speed limit, and ran away. I need your license. Give it now.”
“Sir, can we like, talk about this?” Annie tried to engage a conversation to at least drive the attention of the police away from Trixie. But she knew she failed, for the police started to gaze upon Trixie’s face.
Trixie tried to bow down to hide her face but it was too late for her to do.
“Son of a bitch.”
“Sir, no! Stop!”
“Trixie! Trixie! Sir, stop it! Don’t hurt him! STOP!”
“Daddy, don’t! Have mercy…Ahh! Don’t!”
“STOP! This is what I want! This is who I am! I’m TRIXIE!”
A slap on her face awakened her. She was shouting to the wrong person. A person who doesn’t listen when in intense anger. Then, everything turned to black.
It was déjà vu. The same experience. She was kicked, punched, slapped. She was beated repeatedly until she was turned into pulp. A never-ending agony. She was all bleeding as she curled on the same spot she was in seven years ago. It was just seven years ago when she was on the same small, dimly-lit, unventilated room. But in those seven years, this room had become her fortress, her hideout when she felt like violated, when she felt as if the society was against her. In this awful place, seven years ago, she made a decision, a decision which she kept for herself, a decision which would only take effect when the sun sets. For when the sun sets, she was free to do everything. For when the sun sets, no father would look after her.
When she woke up, she knew it’s already dawn. She was like Cinderella; she had a 12-hour period to change from one personality to another. She was he now. And she should be a he for the rest of her life for his father’s happiness and for her own peace.
October 25, 2003
He stood up in the same small, dimly-lit and unventilated room. It was the same room that caressed her wounded heart seven years ago. Nothing much changed after these years. There are a couple of bottles of whitening cream in the corner, reminding him of his life during night. But still, everything is on their place seven years ago. There are still stains of blood on the floor, just like seven years ago. The pain is still intact. Seven years of solitude.
Feeling a little nostalgic of the place, he gently stroked the walls of the small room, hoping that on that moment they could talk to him to explain everything he needed to believe. The feeling made him suicidal. He was like a lost soul, ripped from his own body. His soul is now in the midst of wilderness, of uncertainty.
But in his mind, he knew he can’t change every little bit of him. He was like this and will always be like this. Gay. No matter how he try, no matter how others want him to be. Yes, in every minute of his life, he felt very disappointed, because people around him made him feel it, maybe because he failed to act on the particular role they expect him to part in. A role he can never play. Tears flowing, he knew he was grieving for something he never had. For something that others thought he never deserved.
With no warning, the doors of her prison opened. A silhouette of a male figure arose. Fear came out from nowhere, and for the third time around, Patrick felt the sadistic love of the man who made him human.
“Come in. Breakfast’s ready.”
To dodge the issue. That was a father’s specialty.
From out of nowhere, from intense desperation, words of inquiry came out of Patrick’s mouth. They were a part of his heart, of his intense desire.
“Dad, do you have any idea of what clothes will we wear when everyone leaves this world and go to the Afterlife?
“What’s that question all about? Nonsense! Go up before I lose my temper, boy.”
“Will you wear the same police uniform, that macho police uniform when you are in heaven, dad?”
“Let us make it simple. Dad, do you remember my kindergarten drawings?”
“Yes. So,what about those drawings?”
His father seemed to feel the whole conversation pointless.
“Are they great.”
The man in front of him curled his lips.
“I was really afraid that time, to draw, because I don’t know if I’m doing it right, if I’m using the right crayons, and I was really worried because I really can’t draw. I remember what my teacher said during my first drawing session. You can make zigzags, you can make curls, you can color it, and you can make it plain. You can do anything with it. No one will care, for still; after all, it is still a drawing. Your drawing,”
“So, what’s the point?”
“It was just exactly like me. I can be stupid, I can be poor, I can be rich, I can be ugly, and I can be everything! I can be gay, dad. And it doesn’t matter. For no matter what I do, I will always be Patrick. I will always be human. I will always be your son.”
“Fuck it! Can’t you understand? God created Adam and Eve! Not Adam and Steve!”
“But, does that work with Him? For what I believe, God never sees everyone by their gender. He sees us as souls.”
It was the first time that through words, he had overpowered his strong and masculine father. Everything was silent, only the barking of the dogs from the neighborhood can be heard. Patrick knew that for once, he had impressed his father. He had beaten him for the first time.
It felt the best thing ever. The best feeling he had in the past years. He was about to cry when he felt like he had to add up something. It was the first time he had the courage to tell him, now that he had beaten him, and he was in some way excited to say it.
“Dad, I’m no Patrick now. I’m Trixie, your daughter. I am Trixie. Whatever I do, or how much I try not to become like this, it’s me and it’s me. It would never change how much you try.”
It took much time for a response. Long silence. It took hours; they just stood there, watching each other’s watery eyes. But the long wait was worth it.
A nod ended it all.
It was the most wonderful thing ever. The warmth of his father’s hug, the smell, it was the very thing he wished to have. He was on the seventh heaven, and he wished it would never stop. The acceptance, the freedom, the trust that he craved for the past years, now, he earned it well. And on the same spot, the same small, dimly-lit, an unventilated room, he was liberated from captivity. He was reborn to a totally different person. He was free.
It was the first time, daytime with Trixie.
October 25, 2003