Chapter 14. The Gender in the Mirror

I

Ren came to Life Compass on an afternoon in a lull of the rainy season, when the wet wind had stopped.

I showed him into the consultation space on the ground floor. Not the Circle. I did not yet know whether to use that room. In my pocket Contura grew faintly warm. But Coh did not speak. A Reader begins by listening. That Law Coh, too, seemed to keep.

Ren, I learned later, was twenty. But sitting across from me, the impression was of someone both older and younger than his age — a strange air. Close-cropped black hair. A loose grey T-shirt and baggy cargo trousers. A way of dressing that folded the body’s lines away beneath the clothes. The eyes were good eyes — black, clear, direct, but a little downcast, as if holding something down.

“Himuro-san, isn’t it.”

Low, slightly hoarse voice. Reticent, but with a core.

“Yes. Seri is fine.”

“Seri-san. — Um, I.” Ren cut off there. His fingers laced and unlaced on his knees. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“There’s no hurry.” I said. “There’s no order here. From wherever you’d like.”

Ren let a shade of tension out of his shoulders. And dropped his eyes to the back of his hand.

“When I was born, they — made me a girl.”

The first sentence fell quietly. I nodded. No further reaction. I waited for Ren to spin the next words.

“But it never fit. Every time I looked in the mirror, I thought — that isn’t me. The body isn’t me.”

II

Ren’s words came up slowly, like water drawn in a bucket from a deep well.

About childhood. About school uniforms. About the borderline air of the gym changing room. About the terror, in adolescence, of the body ripening in a direction different from the inside. About beginning to avoid mirrors. About changing with a towel held across the front of the shirt.

“In high school, I learned the words. Transgender. Non-binary. I’m — probably closer to male. I can’t say decisively man or woman. But — male is closer. To me.”

Ren raised his face.

“Seri-san. Am I saying strange things.”

“You aren’t.” I said. “Please go on.”

“But the body won’t follow. Every time I look in the mirror — the chest, the line of the waist — they come into my eyes, and I can’t breathe. Not mine, like that. I’ve hidden it and hidden it and somehow managed, but lately — I’m at the limit. I’m tired of hiding, too.”

“The mirror is hard, isn’t it.”

“It is.” Ren said it with decision. The strength of it was, itself, painful. “So I want to bring my body closer to my story. I don’t know everything about what to do. There are things I can’t put into words yet. But — going on avoiding the mirror for the rest of my life, that — I won’t.”

In my pocket Coh’s presence shifted, faintly.

“Seri.” Coh’s voice behind my temples; only I could hear. “A Reader begins by listening. Don’t rush. Listen to wherever he can put into words.”

He, Coh said. Of Ren. I tucked that chosen pronoun somewhere inside my chest.

III

I listened for about ten minutes. About the stretches of school he’d missed. About how he’d told his family, or not yet. About clinic visits. About the name. Ren was a name he had chosen himself, he said. The registry office hadn’t changed it yet, but inside himself — this was his name.

I listened to each of these carefully. It was not a matter of measuring a body. It was Ren’s story.

“Seri-san — I heard you could measure the body here. But honestly, I was afraid. The body I haven’t wanted measured — turned into numbers. As if I were being confronted.”

The words pricked my chest. The me of before had been the same. The number on the scale had looked like a verdict. The mirror had looked like an enemy.

“Ren-san.” I said. “Before we measure, let me check one thing.”

“Yes.”

“Today, do you want to be measured? Or would another day be better? It’s all right if today is only talk.”

Ren thought.

”…I want to be measured. If I run, I’ll just go back to avoiding mirrors.”

“All right. Then — will you tell me where you want measured. It doesn’t have to be everywhere. Only the places Ren-san wants to know.”

Ren looked at his own body, tracing it a little over his clothes.

“The shoulders — I want to know. Whether they might spread more. The chest — I want measured, but seeing it might be hard. Waist too. Hip too. But — all of it. I want to know what my body is now. Because if I don’t know, I can’t know where I want to go.”

“All right. One more thing. After the reading — how will you use it? What I read is yours. I won’t pass it on to anyone in any form you don’t wish.”

”…Thank you.” Ren’s voice shook. “What you read — will you give it back to me. As my story.”

“Of course. That is the Law.”

“Then, please.”

IV

I brought him down to the Circle.

I dimmed the lights. Only the indirect light along the walls faintly lit the floor. In that dimness Coh’s light surfaced more crisply.

“This is the Circle.”

Ren stood at the centre of the room. And looked around a little.

”…It’s a calming place.”

“Is it.”

“I suppose — because there’s no mirror. There’s no mirror.”

Now that he said it — the Circle had no mirror. The luminous outline rises in the air, but there is no reflecting surface. A room for seeing the self as an outline, not as a mirror image.

“There is no mirror.” I said. “What you see here is Ren-san himself. Not the Ren-san reflected in a mirror.”

Ren let out a small breath.

“Then, I’ll measure.”

I raised Contura. Coh’s light came down as pale blue particles around Ren, standing at the centre.

The light drew rings and circled the body. Shoulder. Chest. Waist. Hip. Thigh. The rings made one circuit; the measurements surfaced. And into the air — Ren’s outline stood up.

A pale blue luminous body. Unclothed, an outline only. Twenty years old, in straight lines.

I looked at that outline honestly.

The shoulders were still a little drawn in. The line of the chest was as Ren had been hiding it — matching what I had imagined beneath the clothes. The curve from waist to hip was soft. The thighs were slender, but with a presence of muscle.

But these were only shapes. They ought not to be judged by anyone’s standard. Only — an outline, there.

Ren looked up at his own outline. For a long time he looked.

”…Ah.” Ren said. “So this is me.”

“Yes. Ren-san’s body, now.”

“It’s strange. More than in the mirror — it’s like watching from far away. I can see it objectively. Even though it’s my body, it’s like looking at someone else’s, calmly.”

“That is the Outline Sight. A mirror can easily become a tool for judging yourself. But an outline is only a shape. There is no judgement. No praise. Only — what is.”

Ren let his shoulders down a shade.

”…When I look in the mirror, I stop breathing. That’s me, the shock comes. But with this, I can see. My body as one shape.”

A little light came back into Ren’s eyes.

V

“Then, Ren-san.” I said. “Shall we draw, together, the outline you want to become.”

“The outline I want to become.”

“The Goal Outline, I call it. On top of your current outline, we can draw, faintly, the shape you want to become. A distant goal is fine, a near one is fine. From your words, let’s give it form.”

Ren looked once more at his own outline in the air.

”…The shoulders, I want broader. A little more than now. The chest —” Ren stumbled a little. “This line — I wish it were a little flatter. The waist, too, a little straighter.”

I took in each of Ren’s words, one by one. I did not deny. I did not prettify. I only tried to shape what Ren wished for, as it was.

“Anything else?”

“And — overall, a little more muscle. A core, I suppose. The feeling of standing on my own feet. Right now my body feels coreless. Unreliable.”

“All right.”

I typed Ren’s words into Contura’s goal field. Shoulder, a little broader. The line of the chest, toward flat. Waist, toward straight. Overall muscle, by degrees.

And then — across Ren’s outline in the air, another line ran.

The shoulders sprang a shade wider than the current outline. The line of the chest went, by the smallest degree, flatter. The curve from waist to hip gained in straightness. Overall, the lay of muscle increased a little.

The two outlines overlapped and glowed. The present, and the place wished for. By the difference between them — shoulder, chest, waist — the light took on colour. But it was not the blinding white of Rin’s Goal Outline. Ren’s Goal Outline was a softer, water-blue light.

”…It’s close.” Ren said. “Closer than I thought.”

“Because the goal was not far. Ren-san’s body is already, by degrees, moving toward Ren-san’s story. That’s why the light isn’t strong.”

Ren looked hard at that line.

”…This isn’t a line for cutting away, is it.”

“No. It’s a path. For showing where you’re going. There’s no hurry. You can cut it one step at a time.”

Ren narrowed his eyes. I watched him, for the first time, attempting to make peace with his own body.

VI

The numbers in the air burst at once into particles.

The particles swirled, gathered, drew a single thread, became letters. Coh had read the story of Ren’s body.

Your body is trying to catch up to your story. Do not rush — you can rewrite it.

Ren read the words. For a long time.

”…Rewrite.” Ren repeated. “Rewrite, huh. I always thought this body was a finished punishment. Something unchangeable, pushed onto me. But — I can rewrite it.”

“You can.” I said. “Not all at once. Slowly. But Ren-san’s body will, by degrees, catch up to Ren-san’s story. The tools for that are here.”

For the first time, Ren smiled. Small, quiet. But certainly, smiled.

“Seri-san. I — for years I avoided mirrors. Every time I looked, this isn’t my body. But today, for the first time, I think I saw my body — as my body. Not as the bad parts, but as a draft I can keep writing.”

“Draft.”

“Yeah. Not a finished punishment. A draft I can rewrite. When I could think so, I could breathe a little.”

A single drop spilled from Ren’s eye. He wiped it hastily with his sleeve.

”…Sorry.”

“Nothing to apologise for.”

Coh spoke, only for me to hear.

“Seri. This person has lived for a long time with his body as the enemy. The mirror was a punishment. Today, that person called the body a draft. That is not a small step.”

I nodded.

VII

When Ren came back changed, his face was a shade brighter than when he’d arrived.

“Seri-san.” Ren turned at the door of the Circle. “Um — may I take a photo. The Goal Outline.”

“Of course.”

Ren photographed the screen — his current outline, the wished-for outline, and the soft water-blue line between them.

“Looking at this — it’s reassuring. A goal, or — a path. Because I know where I’m going.”

“Knowing is reassuring.”

“Mm. …Up to now, I don’t think I wanted to know where I wanted to go. Because if I knew, the gap from the present me would hurt too much. But today I could look, properly, at my body’s story. And the gap wasn’t a punishment — it was a path. That was — the best thing.”

Ren pocketed his phone and looked at me once more.

His eyes were no longer downcast. They were looking straight at me.

“Seri-san. May I come again.”

The question rang straight in the dim air of the Circle.

I did not hesitate.

“Anytime.”

Ren nodded. And climbed the stairs. His stride was a shade straighter than when he had come.

VIII

Alone in the Circle, I watched the light in the air go out.

Coh spoke quietly.

“Seri. How did you feel.”

I searched for words.

”…I have listened to many people who suffer over their bodies. Size, weight, ageing, injury. But Ren-san’s suffering was, again, different. The body at odds with the inside — that pain. When I had an eating disorder, I may have felt something similar. My body isn’t me. But Ren-san’s was deeper, and longer, and rooted further down.”

“Mm.”

“And yet Ren-san had not given up on his story. He could have gone on avoiding mirrors. But he said he wanted to bring the body closer to his story. That strength — I respected it.”

“Seri.”

“Yes.”

“Gender, and the way a body is, are each their own. There is no single correct shape. What the Reader reads is the person’s story — not whether the person measures up to someone’s standard. Ren-san’s story is Ren-san’s. What you did was to give that story back to him. That is all.”

”…Yes.”

“And yet — that alone, sometimes, saves a person. When the person has not yet noticed their own story, especially.”

I nodded. Coh’s words soaked into my chest.

Gender. Body. Story. Mirror. When those fall out of step, how a person must suffer. I cannot understand all of that suffering. But one thing I understood.

The right to live one’s own story.

It belongs to everyone. Whatever the body is. Whatever the gender. The story is the person’s. And to bring one’s body closer to one’s own story — is permitted. Without rushing. One step at a time, rewriting as you go.

Ren’s journey would be long. The Goal Outline drawn today was only the doorway. But Ren had cut the first step. On his own feet.

I slipped Contura into my pocket.

Out of the Circle, up the stairs. From the studio above, Sono’s laugh came distantly.

Outside, the Aoyama evening sky was dropping a single shaft of light through a break in the clouds.

The body is a story. It can be reread. It can be rewritten.

That, I learned again, more deeply today. So that one day, the words might reach someone standing in front of a mirror. As a Reader, I held tight to another story I had been given.

—