unfurled

JACKSON HEIGHTS — Last night, at approximately 11 PM, residents of the Jackson Heights area heard screams coming from an apartment around 84th St. Multiple people called the police, but their arrival was too late.

The police were shocked to walk into a bloody bedroom scene, the two parents containing multiple stab wounds all over their bodies. They both appeared to be wearing women’s clothing, but police have identified 25-year-old Tenzing Passang to be male. The other body was identified to be Lupe Jimenez, a 26-year-old female.

The only survivor was their 11-month-old daughter left crying in the crib…

  Riley felt himself grit his teeth beneath the mask of his lips. He told himself that he wouldn’t fight with her today. But he was running out of options, and the father figure in his life was at work.
  “Are you going to eat the breakfast I made, or are you just going to look at it?” Pema Lhakpa was Riley’s most recent foster “mother.” Being a mother for him often involved nitpicking everything he was doing, trying to change who he was, and trying to guilt trip him. She barely held a small space in her heart for him. She smacked his violet hair-covered head with her newspaper. Not even a small room, he thought to himself sourly. “Eat! I worked hard on those eggs.” How hard can you work on eggs? Especially ones as plain as the ones in front of him. Just salt, pepper, and the smallest hint of cayenne. The yolks jiggled like buttocks when he poked them.
  Riley lowered his eyes and looked into the eggs’ souls. Were they his allies? He sighed and shoved a spoonful of yolk-covered egg whites into his mouth to appease her. He heard Pema grumble about children these days and how they didn’t respect their elders anymore. He tried to tune her out. After all this time he had spent with her, Pema still didn’t remember he was vegan. Either that, or she just didn’t care. The latter was more likely, to be honest. “You will eat whatever I make for you or you’ll have to prepare the food yourself.” Her words faded into his mind, clear as ever. In the same irritated tone. He was fine making food for himself, but today he woke up late. And Pema took that opportunity to make him breakfast. How kind of her.
  When she finally crossed into the living room, he spat the egg into a paper towel and threw it in the trash before sliding the plate’s remains in the bag after it. He threw out two paper towels to cover his deed just for good measure. His mouth still felt gooey from yolk and pieces of egg whites, so he washed his mouth out with tap water.
  “Why do you need tampons? You don’t get periods.”
  When Riley told Pema that he did in fact bleed out of his vagina on a monthly basis, her face darkened. All she could do then was yell. Yell about how deceived she felt, about how Riley was “not a real boy.” About how he stole her chance to finally have a son in her life. She wanted to give him back, but her husband said she was being shallow.
  Riley scrubbed at the sticky yolk on his plate with the back of the sponge. He heard the TV run in the other room, stuck on the news channel.
  “I can’t believe they would trick me like this! They just want to rid themselves of responsibility, make us take her because we thought she was a boy! They took advantage of our situation.” Pema’s eyes flickered in anger.
  “I am a boy, though.” Riley’s nails were digging into his palms.
  “What?” Pema’s index finger shot up and remained steady underneath Riley’s nose. “You let them brainwash you.”
  Her husband, Chodak, pushed her hand down. “That’s enough.”
  “This girl and whoever was in charge tricked me. Whose side are you on, eh?”
  Chodak put his hands on her shoulders. “I know you were devastated when we couldn’t have more kids together.”
  “You don’t know how I felt!” She swiped his hands away. “You’ll never understand because you never had to carry children in your womb. You’ll never have that feeling of purpose.” Her nostrils flared and all Riley could think was, “Asian rage.” And he knew the outbursts were scary. “You never had that horrible feeling knowing that you can never do that again. You don’t know how hard it is. I wanted a daughter and a son. And knowing I could have one but never the other, at least not biologically, broke me.”
  “I will never know how hard that is. But you wanted a boy. And here he is.”
  Pema craned her neck to look at Riley. He flinched at the fire in her eyes. “That’s a girl, just like Amrita was. I know what a girl is. I carried one in my womb for nine months. I was a girl. We have the same parts.”
  Riley felt the presence of his body. It was so painfully there. And it hadn’t felt so present in a while. For the first time in months, his breasts were throbbing against his binder. His face was achingly round, his upper lip achingly bare.
  “I know what I want. And that’s not it. We should give her back.”
  “No,” Chodak said sternly. “We are not giving him back. You’re being superficial right now. So what if he doesn’t have the parts you expect? And why do you insist on this perfect dream of yours, a daughter and a son? I told you I was content with Amrita but you wanted more! And now, you’re angry because he’s not what you expected? What kind of a mother are you?”
  “Don't you dare question my motherhood.”
  The argument continued as Riley slipped into the bathroom.
  After flushing the toilet, Riley washed his hands and avoided his reflection on the medicine cabinet mirror. He viciously wiped his hands on a towel.
  He locked the door and hastily pulled off his shirt and binder. The reflection of his rounded breasts stared back at him, the brown nipples like mocking eyes. His lungs felt constricted all of a sudden and he pushed his breasts down as far as he could. Maybe he could eliminate them from existence himself, no top surgery required. But pushing them down only made him more aware of their presence, of the angering flesh beneath his hands. He took a deep breath, then another. And another. And another. Until he was certain he was hyperventilating.
  Sometimes time taunts you. As you suffer, you feel it slow down. Slow motion destruction is the worst kind. The gradual burning of your insides, a structural collapse from the inside out. Like someone committed arson from within your walls.
  Riley’s eyes were darting for the nearest form of escape. The door felt like a gate to hell with his “mother” out there, yelling against his existence. His hands were moving on their own, knocking down the container of toothbrushes in the process of his frantic flailing. They grasped his own neck and tried to close off the intake of air, but fear prevented him from going all the way. He grabbed a barber scissor and cut his arm instead. Nothing was making him feel any better. Nothing was helping him.
  If he couldn’t go all the way, he was stuck. Flying into a window all his life, like a pigeon in a maze of Manhattan skyscrapers.
  “Riley?” His new father was yelling for him. He had heard the toothbrushes fall.
  But Riley couldn’t say a word. Even as Chodak knocked on the door. Even as the knocks turned more frantic. Even as he heard Pema tsk, “What is that girl up to?”
  “Say something.”
  He sat on the rim of the bathtub and tried to control his breathing as the cut on his arm gaped up at him stupidly. After a few minutes of breathing and slight crying, he was finally able to speak. “I’m fine.”
  He heard Chodak sigh in relief. “Open the door, eh?”
  Riley frantically wiped his tears, put the scissors away, and tugged on his binder and shirt. He then reluctantly unlocked the door and swung it open.
  The bathroom door swung open and he retreated to his room, where his luggage bags were waiting eagerly. Today is the day. Riley took a deep breath. He whipped out his phone and looked at the train schedule for the day, even though he knew there would be delays anyway.
  “Gotta love the MTA,” he muttered to himself.
  “Do you want me to drive you?” Pema yelled her question from the living room.
  “No, thank you. I’m taking the train.” He didn’t want to spend a long-ass car ride trying to awkwardly avoid her gaze in the rear-view mirror. Also, who knew what would come out of her mouth while waiting in traffic?
  Pema didn’t respond. She probably shrugged it off and went back to her news. Riley went to Google Maps and typed up the name of his university. He clicked the first route under the train icon and studied it briefly before planting his face on the bed.
  “Your arm. What happened?” Chodak held Riley’s bleeding arm gently.
  “Nothing.” Riley pulled his arm back towards him.
  Pema stepped around the two and grabbed gauze from the medicine cabinet. She waved her husband away and held Riley by the elbow as she wrapped his wound. “Tch, I forgot the tape.”
  “I’ll get it.” Her husband grabbed the tape, ripped a piece, and put it on the gauze to hold it together.
  As Pema walked away without a word, Chodak turned to Riley. “You did that to yourself, right?”
  Riley instinctively pulled on his sleeve to cover his scars. His hazel eyes drilled into the floor, but he didn't snitch on himself. “Why do you stay married to her?” he asked instead.
  The question caught Chodak off guard. His eyes flickered. “I know she hurt you, but I love her.”
  Riley took that to mean “more than him.” More than this gauze-covered intruder. What is there to like, let alone love? He couldn’t tell if the question was directed towards himself or his foster mother.
  Chodak made him see a therapist briefly after the incident.
  When the train doors opened, Riley quickly rolled his bags into the car and identified a seat in the corner where he wouldn't bother anyone. As he sat down on the bright baby blue seat, he released a sigh. It was partially filled with exhaustion and partially with relief. His tired limbs thanked him.
  Soon, his limbs chastised him again. Why didn't you just let her drive you, asshole? Because the car was swaying quite a bit, he had to use all four of his limbs to control the luggage bags and keep them from rolling away. He mumbled curses under his breath as people glanced at him. He was pretty sure some of them were questioning his sanity.
  He had decided to take as much as he could this time around so that when he came back to his apartment, he would only have to take a couple more things. Unfortunately, that meant he had to control three large bags filled to the brim and carry a backpack that was almost bursting with books and clothes. Sweat broke loose at his temples. He quickly wiped his skin at a station before the train began to move again.
  “I’m so glad I have a beautiful son and daughter.” Pema wrapped her arms around Riley and Amrita, one on either side of her on the couch.
  “Aw, Amma, don’t be cheesy.”
  Riley just sat there with a sheepish smile.
  “Riley doesn’t think I’m being cheesy, does he?” She kissed him on the forehead twice.
  “Haha, maybe just a little.”
  “See? Ry agrees.”
  Pema pouted jokingly.
  “But I kind of like it,” Riley whispered.
  A puddle of milky coffee surrounded the pole nearby and Riley watched blankly as it crept closer and closer to his bags’ wheels, his eyes glazed over from the memory. As he realized the existence of the light brown stream, his face scrunched up, but he tried to pay no mind to its approaching trickle.
  His trip involved a transfer and a short walk from the station to the Campbell dormitories. When he finally reached the front door, he felt like collapsing.
  The elevator clanged open. Riley’s worn black Vans sneaker peeked from the opening, watching the hall of doors silently. He dragged his bags out and fumbled for the keys he stuffed in his jeans pocket. The ones he received from the perky, red-haired receptionist. A quiet whooshing sound filled the hall as he pushed his bags through it.
  Riley reached his room. 535. The key turned in the lock and clicked.

  Round hazel eyes peered out from between the crib bars. Chubby infant fingers clutched the prison rods tightly. A digital clock glared in the darkness, a menacing 10:45 PM staring ahead in bright red.
  The baby knew more than he should. He knew that the 15-minute countdown meant dread, that the rustling of sheets could very well be the last sign of normalcy. Feet whispered across the floor. A silhouette moved stealthily.
  If you see something, say something. New York subway ads haunted the baby’s vision, turning them into a collage of inexplicable memories. The image of a grin struck the infant. His knuckles turned white. No voice exited from his agape mouth. Silence numbed it as he tried to get a sound out. But it only looked pathetic, as if he was reaching for a nipple—made of rubber or flesh—for milk.
  Got milk?He knew more than he should. Words shouldn’t pierce an 11-month-old in this way. In the form of familiar advertisements and slogans. But he didn’t question it. He couldn't because he was stuck believing in this weird, blurred logic.
  He finally saw the glint of the knife through the plastic bars.
  11:00 PM in blaring red.
  Ghost white knuckles, nearly transparent.
  The streetlight glowed in sharp yellow across the street.
  Cars whooshed. Rushing to where?
  A siren pierced the night.
  Firecracker. The neighbors grumbled about the noise through the thin walls.
  When one of the women screamed, the disproportionately large hazel eyes widened. When the other woman screamed, the room collapsed into a flash of images. They both lay in bed with the comforter thrown on the floor. A fishmonger slammed a cleaver just beside a salmon’s head, causing blood to erupt from the body. A platter of gourmet salmon rolls. They were lifted one by one between two chopsticks, dripping with soy sauce and wasabi. They lay in bed like fish. Their torsos were dotted with wounds.
  Dripping with blood.
  Their eyes were wide open, bulging out. Their hair snaked across the sheets.
  Salmon. Flounder. Trout. Perch. A fisherman held them up like trophies.
  The glint of the knife. The cleaver whacked the counter. A siren pierced the night. Someone help.
  The cleaver. The knife. The crushing sound of bone against sharp metal. The rice. The wasabi. The blood. Dripping from teeth. The baby tasted it.
  Someone help.
  Someone.
  Stay.
  Away.
  Someone stay away.
  Umbilical cord. Snipped. Severed.
  The blood.
  The placenta.
  Vernix.
  One wrinkly, sticky baby crying in Lupe’s arms.