Jameka Brown - My Name Is Saved

Mama says I am not a boy and am not a girl. She says, ‘Saved, you are a gift from God and you are my child.’ Then mama hugs me tight to her soft contours as if she wishes to mold me to her. Mama doesn’t understand; she doesn’t see the way others sneak a snicker, or announce a whisper. No, Mama doesn’t understand, God forgot to make me usual.

Long vines hang from trees that rise to the yellow sky. Water trickles along the cracks creating a sound of tranquil possibilities. Animals roam freely over the array of multicolored rock fields that make up the wilds of Garden Home.

Sitting on a large rock I watch the water crash into the power wheel below. It spins and the twelve stone houses and the small village along the river bank become alive with electricity.

Fields of flowers followed by large mountains separate the three villages. Each village is responsible for harvesting specific grains and vegetables that grow in the walls of the darkest corners. On this morning the people I see arriving from over the rock formation do not come for trade, not today, families arrive for the marriage ceremonies and celebrations of all eighteen year olds.

Blue rocks form a path across the river. I hop on them as silently as I can, attempting not to disturb my parents. Our blue and black stone house sits on the side of the rushing water. I race past the stone walking path and run into the high grass. My chest heaves with life, my legs rotate with meaning. I breathe freely and keep running. Then I stop and crouch low, Trit, my white tigress friend, slinks through the grass, her back is raised on high alert. Her attention isn’t on me, but any sudden movement and she might mistake me for breakfast. Trit’s strong muscles dance to an unconscious rhythm. She crouches, I inhale, in a blink, she pounces; I exhale, perfection. Trit snaps the neck of the startled deer and down it goes.

The bushes rustle and her four white cubs appear fighting each other for the first bite of Trit’s kill. I move to the pond separating us, sit on one of the rocks, and watch them survive. A quick wave of pain pulses my veins. I’ll never give my tainted blood to another; no children will ever come from me.

My hand with no color rises to sight, and then I drop it and let the rippling water reveal my sin. My eyes are a brilliant lavender shade, my shoulder length hair has no color, my skin is white, but even that is being nice.

A splash draws me away from the trail of brimming tears. Trit is walking towards me with blood splatter all over her muzzle. She greets me with a rub of her body, and in a moment of absolute surrender I latch my arms around her neck and burry my face into her fur. Her aroma of copper blood and fresh turned earth pull me slowly from the brink of despair.

“Saved?” I hear my name, but I don’t move. Why should I go back to the village? Everyone hates me except Mama, but she has to love me. It’s in the bible. “Saved?” Mama calls again. I ignore her, I am eighteen now, the law says I do as I please. I don’t have to participate in the mating ceremony, it’s not like anyone wants to spend the rest of their days with me anyway. Trit pulls away and nudges my chin. She’s the only one that truly loves me; she’s the only one besides Mama that can even stand to touch me. Not even God touches me, and he created me. “Saved?” Mama’s honey brown figure pushes through the thick bushes. She puts her hand on her hip and shakes her head. Her hazel eyes blaze with anger and her chest rises against repression. Mama is wearing her favorite silk sheer turquoise dress with a lighter shaded shawl. “Did you not hear me calling you Saved?” She asks.

Trit walks away, leaving me to fend off the angry woman on my own. “Sorry Mama,” I say standing up and hopping over to her.

Mama swats me on the arm. I rub it and try for a smile. “Sorry, isn’t going to work.” She captures my eyes with hers and holds onto them. “You are beautiful, Saved. I want you to know that. You are my beautiful baby all grown up.” She shakes my shoulders. Her repetitious words never quite hit home; maybe if she wasn’t the only one uttering them, then I might believe her. “Forget the words of the villagers. You are God’s creation and therefore perfect.” Inside I tremble, but I make sure it is below physical perception so she can remain in the fog of her beliefs. Mama wraps her arm around my shoulder. At equal height she leans her head into mine and we head home. “Have you come to a decision?” All I want is to have Trit hold me again. Or maybe a gator from the swamps can drag the fist size pump from my chest. Yeah, that will work great, that will save me from answering her question. She shakes me. “Saved?”

I run a hand over my face. Why must I choose my gender? Why can’t everyone just accept that I am both? Mama’s eager face along with the memories of her grace wars inside of me. “I want a wife,” I say. My head lulls, I want a husband, I want a wife, I want a husband, I want a wife. My God, I have no idea, at all what I want. She needs an answer, so I give her desperation. God, dear God, what have you done to me?

Mama hugs me and a skip forms in her step. “I always thought you favored the fairer sex,” she hurries us over the dead log and through the flowered bushes. “Your chest is so small, and you’re too strong for a man to be at your side.” We pass the swing Papa made for me when I could barely walk. “You’ll be a good husband, you’ll see.” Mama squeezes me tighter. “My boy, my baby boy all grown up, and about to begin his own family.” Mama directs us into the two bedroom home and pushes me towards my room. “Get dressed in the trousers and silk top. Please tie your hair into a ponytail.”

My feet drag the rest of me inside my room. I freeze when I see Papa’s long dark face hunched over in a chair. He’s staring at the clothing on my bed. “What did you choose?” He asks.

“I want a wife,” I say, not looking into his eyes. Papa stands up and pushes his blue silk shirt into his white suit jacket and nearly hits his head on the ceiling. His massive hands snatch my favorite dress off of the bed.

“God has spoken, son,” he says. He pulls me into a hug that I cannot return, and then he exits leaving me more than hollow. I touch my arms, I touch my chest, and I relish the lingering feelings of being held. It’s so foreign; Papa’s never hugged me before.

Like the robots on the screen, I mechanically pull on the white trousers and blue silk shirt. My hands tie my hair back. There is no need to look in the mirror I already know it will show a highly unusual human being. So I walk out to Mama’s smile and Papa’s sight and hope, no pray, that I can be the man they dream of; even though I am not a man.

Voices reach us as we near the village. We round the tree and step into the heated light emitting from the tiny glowing insects on the ceiling. The village square has a wooden stage in the center with six girls and five boys standing on it. The small area is littered with the one hundred and twelve inhabitants of Garden Home standing shoulder to shoulder. Complexions of pale to shades of dark brown compile our home.

Someone shouts. “That creature is a sin to our children.” A resounding agreement from the crowd pierces me. I knew I should have stayed with Trit.

Papa stops, and I shrink into Mama’s side. “Saved.” Papa pauses, knowing that they are referring to me. “Saved is God’s creation.”

“No, the monster is a child of the fallen and should return to the hell on Earth they have created. The child is not natural.” Breathing is not so easy anymore. I want to get angry and shout I’m human, but my belief is buried underneath layers of swirling doubts. For years they have chanted against my body and soul, maybe there is truth in their words; maybe I am a mistake.