Ainsley's Story
When I was a tiny fetus I realized that I had to make a decision that would change my life forever; one that would determine everything down to my eyebrows. That decision you ask... was my gender.
I could be male. I would be a gay guy. That would be cool; all the girls would want to be friends with me. But there would be a slight setback. My name would be Beauregard. That's right. Little "Bo."
That's what people would call me. Bo. And until the first day of kindergarden no one would have to know my secret. That that was my name. Until attendence.
When damn Mrs. Domin would go down the list in alphebetical order, starting with Joel Abramson, winding down to the V's, then the big moment. My palms are sweaty, knees week.
My social life takes a huge plunge. She reeds the name. "Beauregard Woolridge." I can practically hear it in slow motion. All the kids laugh. I, trying to be cool, look around for this "Beauregard," pretend I never heard such a name.
And even give a little giggle to make me look cool. Until I realize everyone's looking at me. They know I'm the only one not called. There's a lump of fear in my throat, and I fumble over my tounge as I try to spit out that devistating word.
"Here." Another loud burst of laughter rings in my ears, and as my face turns beet red I regret the moment I chose a penis over boobs.
That was my fetus self's one choice... or I could take the double-x chromosome way. So I look at my life through the eyes of a woman, when it hits me; my name would be Ainsley.
I walk into school on the first day of preschool. I meet Hannah. "My name's Ainsley." It's out there for the world to see, no hidden identity, no nickname, no sudden, quick embarassment. No.
Much worse. Everytime I meet a new person it would be: "My name's Ainsley." "AANSLEY? How do you spell that?" "A-I-N-S-L-E-Y." Every day would prove the name to be, in itself, a man repeller. That's right, I was picking up guys in kindergarden.
And by kindergarden, when Mrs. Domin rhymes everyones' names with something, she can't rhume anything with "Ainsley." But then, by 8th grade, things take a spin for the better.
Just when people are getting used to the teachers stumbling over my name, a nickname presents itself. It was staring me in the eyes but I never once saw it coming. It becomes a new fad. Everyone calls me that. People write it in my yearbook.
I write it in other people's yearbooks. Not only is it completely necessary that everytime a teacher reads attendence and stumbles over my name and people laugh and everything, now people shout out "ANUS!" ar "ANUS-LEY!"
Or in causual everyday conversation I get "Anus." Or when people shout "Anusley" down the hall. Or when people tell their cousins from California that my name is Ainsley, they are completely surprised, but even moreso when they say that my nickname is "Anus."
So I came to my fetus's decision. I chose the life of wet dreams, boners, and Beauregard. But then I lookd down, and noticed th absence of a particular necessary part to be a male, and I realized my life as a gay male has somewhat come out short. Or nothing at all.
And that's when it hit me. I began calling myself Ainsley, to get used to it, because I knew that for the rest of my life I would be "Anusley," a gay man stuck in a Pamela Anderson look-alike's body.
