musings on a (not so) flat chested girl -- part seven

Now that I had returned to Garrick's apartment even more confused than I was before, I spent the next few days hanging out with my friends taking it easy, seeing Dakota whenever she could drive into Austin. We would spend the cool, breezy fall evenings dividing our time between a couple of local coffee houses just to talk and enjoy each other's company. The fact that Garrick and Toby were already friends with Dakota made this rather easy as everyone had something to talk about with one another, thus avoiding any long awkward moments of silence - or incessant blabbering, for that matter. During one of those nights, Dakota asked me about the black band I was wearing on my left wrist. She had never seen me without it and jokingly asked if I had a problem washing myself and wished to hide something. I told her that I cleaned up quite nicely, thank you, but yes, I did wish to hide something.

I have a physical anomaly that I keep from most people due to the fact that I've never been able to properly explain it. It appeared during my high school years, for what reason I don't know. When I went to the doctor he wasn't quite able to explain it to me either, and I never really pushed for an answer. I just added it to my long list of physical problems, things that have more or less molded me into the person I am today. Aside from obvious genetic issues such as my thinning hair and poor eyesight, I was also born with a concave chest, which has always made me self-conscious. Gym class during grade school was nothing short of a nightmare, with children being the cruelest of all creatures on this planet. I would hear all kinds of ridiculous questions, none of them asked to gain any insight, only to push me down even further than I already was as a skinny, shy, bespectacled boy. "Were you a woman in your former life?" Sure, sure, I was a woman. "Oh, so now you're a fag? Ha, ha, fag!" Charming, the lot of them.

It took me years to accept my freakish nature. No matter what I was told by my father, that there were many men with my unique appearance, many strong men, in fact, I couldn't get over how different I was. Not until the very fact that I was different was attractive to a certain type of woman. The kind of woman who was fascinated by the freakish or unique. I had the feeling that Dakota was this type of woman, that she accepted me for who I was and didn't care much about anything else. I felt very comfortable around her, as she made all the things I thought of as my flaws the very things that made me special. When I removed my black wristband and explained to her, to the best of my knowledge, what happened to me, she didn't say much. She asked if it hurt, I said only if someone hit me hard, and she looked me over with a kind curiosity. When she spoke, she only had one thing to say.

"I think it gives you character."

No shock, no judgement, only acceptance. I could feel myself falling for her more and more. It was out of my control.