Cam Girl

“I’m just cold.”

Ellis squinted. I swung our arms playfully.

“Come on, birthday nerd. They’re waiting.”

I took off ru

Ellis spun around and walked back. “I refuse to win by default.”

“Ever so noble.” I beckoned. “Come here. I need you.”

“Did you seriously trip over your shoelaces? What are you, five?”

“Just give me your hand.”

When she reached down I clasped it firmly, lacing my fingers through hers.

“Vada, what . . .” she began, and trailed off.

I opened my other palm. Her eyes went wide and bright.

Naveen did an incredible job: he’d taken the spoon I’d given him, sterling silver with a bluebird engraved into the handle, and heated it till some melted off and the rest was soft enough to bend into a ring. Triple-coiled, the bird at the center enameled with lapis lazuli. I knew her size. Thanks for the hand pic, Blue.

Never in my life had I thought I’d go down on one knee on an ocean pier beneath the stars, but life is crazy like that.

“I meant it,” I said. “I want to be your everything. Forever.”

Ellis put her free hand over her mouth, starting to cry.

Told you, pajarito.

“Ellis Morgan Carraway,” I said, “will you marry me?”

Her head bowed, a tear tracing the back of her hand. Those green eyes remained locked on mine. The tear rolled off and hung in midair for a second, a crystal thread flecked with stars, holding the whole universe. Ellis leaned close and touched my face. No fear in my heart now. We looked at each other, and she gripped my hand tighter, and her lips parted with her answer. But some part of me already knew. Like it already knew her, from the moment we first met.

(—Bergen, Vada. She Said Yes. Ink and watercolor on paper.)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

When I was a kid, I wanted to be Robin Hood. I was obsessed with him. I watched the Kevin Costner movie a million times, begged my mom to buy me LEGO Forestmen, played the crap out of the Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves Nintendo game. When my little sister and I played make-believe, I was always Robin. I made swords out of sticks and capes from towels. I saved princesses. It never seemed weird, pretending to be a boy. Because I wasn’t pretending.

Growing up, I never gave much thought to my gender. I didn’t feel like anything specific inside—just this sort of genderless being that tended more toward masculinity than femininity, whatever those words mean. Some stuff bothered me. I felt physically sick when my parents made me wear dresses, and eventually I refused. I cut my hair short in high school and have kept it short ever since. When I was allowed to pick my own clothes as a teen, I insisted on buying from the men’s section. My mom, thankfully, agreed, but if she hadn’t I would’ve found some way to get them. Because I didn’t feel right in girls’ clothes. I felt like I was wearing a costume. Like I was in drag.

At the same time, I was begi

You can put off dealing with mild gender dysphoria for a long time. How you choose your clothes, your hairstyle, your hobbies, the gender of your friends—all can assuage the slightly off-kilter way you feel inside, to a degree. Strangers called me “sir” and “young man.” Girls gave me nasty looks when I walked into women’s public restrooms. All my friends (who were mostly boys) called me a tomboy. But something about that word always bugged me. It implied that deep down, I was really just a girl acting like a boy. And I knew that wasn’t quite right. Whatever I was, I wasn’t a girl.

Say what you will about its downsides, but Tumblr is a fucking lifeline for many LGBTQIA+ people. Not until I was an adult, meeting people on social media who identified outside the gender binary, did I realize I was one of them. Everything clicked. The way I dressed, behaved, felt inside all finally made sense. Then the agonizing questioning phase began: So am I transgender? Am I a boy who was born into a girl’s body? Do I need to change my body to match what’s inside? Gender is a Pandora’s box—once you understand how fluid and endlessly diverse it is, you can never go back to the simplistic binary.

From Tumblr, I learned words that fit me better than “tomboy.” For starters, I was somewhere in the “nonbinary” category: someone who does not identify as a woman or a man. Like sexuality, gender is a wide, flexible spectrum with multiple subcategories. I knew I stood way farther on the masculine than the feminine side. But transgender wasn’t right either, because I didn’t definitely feel like a boy, just somewhere between boyish to neutral. So “transmasculine” fits, but “nonbinary” is where I feel more comfortable right now. To me it both encompasses a diverse sense of gender and also implies that gender itself is sort of an u

Because really, why does it matter that my body has two X chromosomes but that I wear men’s clothes and do stuff that’s considered “masculine”? Why are people more respectful and attentive when they see me as “sir” and more critical and dismissive when they see me as “miss”? Why can’t anyone use whichever public restroom they feel the most comfortable in? What about intersex people who destroy all our quaint ideas about sexual dimorphism determining gender? Why do stores have separate aisles for girls’ and boys’ toys? Why do we color-code babies by their sex, before they’ve had a chance to grow up and express their personality? I hated the color pink as a kid. Pink represented weakness, frivolity, stupidity, ditziness. Where do you think I got that from? Children are sponges. We readily absorb adults’ fucked-up ideas about gender. We’re taught to categorize, reduce, divide, judge. Break people down into stereotypes. Don’t see them as people anymore.

In many ways the Internet is abolishing these divisions between us. We can communicate online largely free of preconceptions that derive from a person’s sex, race, ability, etc. We can be simply and purely human with each other. And we can see examples of others like us who make us feel less alone. I didn’t have Tumblr as a teen. I had no nonbinary role models to look to for comfort and guidance. Facing these issues for the first time as an adult with a fully formed sense of self is scary and depressing and confidence-shaking. But it’s especially scary and depressing if you’re young and uncertain and in need of support.

I was in the middle of writing Cam Girl when Leelah Alcorn, a transgender girl, killed herself. Leelah was assigned male at birth and came out as trans to her parents at age fourteen. Her parents refused to accept her gender identity. They tried to “fix” it with conversion therapy. Leelah had been highly active online, posting selfies and talking about trans issues. Her final post to Tumblr was her suicide note. Hundreds of thousands of people read her last words, unable to help.

Leelah had access to a supportive online community yet couldn’t endure the hate and intolerance from her own family. Too many people in this world can’t handle the idea that who you are is more complex and beautiful than something as arbitrary as your chromosomal sex. And Leelah’s story isn’t uncommon—it plays out again and again in the news. The Tragic Trans Teen. Depression. Substance abuse. Self-harm. Suicide. It keeps happening because we as a society keep clinging to obsolete, absurd ideas that our genitals have some kind of influence over our humanity.