Writing

Short Story: Jack

“I don’t want to wear it.” His hands balled into fists beneath his pits, hidden from all to see. “I won’t!” His muscles bulged faintly under the rims of the shirt, his breath puffing in frustrating.

His mother could see the pain, she hated forcing him too but needs must. She couldn’t be seen with him outside wearing what he wanted, she had once before and had been forced back inside purely from the laughter. He was an embarrassment to them.

“Jack.” Desperate to keep a pleasant tone she dragged her hands over her face. “Please. We cannot do this every time.”

“It’s not me mom-” His plea bitten off by the whimper in his chest.

“They don’t care.” Her hands tugged his elbows begging him forward, at sixteen he already stood much taller than her and not as easy to guide as before.

“Jack, please don’t make this any harder.” She began tugging at his clothes. “They are expecting us.” Eventually his arms fell and his clothes disappeared.

He stayed silent as his mother worked, until his mother pointed awkwardly to the chair, her face contorted into a weird resemblance of a smile. A painful grunt escaped his lips in disgust; straddling the chair he held the back for support as the lace of the newly placed corset reaffirmed a figure. His mother cursing almost silently with each tug,

“Mom- I don’t want to be Jackie today.” He whispered before securing the sharp pins of the wig. She muttered her anger of finding him with shorter hair than his father only a few weeks before, barely audible past Jack’s grunts and flinches with every pin.

“You have to be her today.” Her fingers taking over from his. “They don’t understand you Jack.” She planted a soft kiss on his cheek before leading him from the room. “But I do.”

“I’m going back to Jack when we they leave.” His mutterings lost to the sound of music seeping from the floors below.

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