Page 84 - North Star Magazine 2022

Chosen Name
by River Ashe
It’s not that hard to use a name.
It’s hard for me, okay? I’ve known you by [xxx] for twenty-one years! That’s not even my full given name, you know that!
It’s a nickname! You picked it!
Yes, and you used it, so why won’t you use the one I’ve picked now? You know full well why.
Right, right, how could I forget your aggressive transphobia?
You’re not transgender, are you?
Don’t sound so panicky about it, for fucks sake. I’m non-binary. If you snort at me one more time, I’m leaving.
Watch your mouth. You were born with a vagina, you’re a woman, end of story. I will never call you River. You will be [xxx] until the day I die.
It’s a common conversation, that. Every other time I pick up the phone to give her the attention she demands, she makes a point to remind me that I am just a child acting out on a whim. Gender doesn’t exist, or rather if it does it is a strict 1-2 binary that can’t be escaped. You’ll get thumped over the head with a Bible that her four degrees can’t read if you say otherwise, which is so funny it hurts.
I’m staring at the order from the judge that arrived in the mail today and all I can think about is the satisfaction I’m going to get when I wave this little piece of paper in front of her face. You’ll have to call me by name now, I’ll say. You’ll have to respect my independence and adulthood.
The angry grandmother in my mind’s eye rips it up and stomps on it and I stop staring at the paper.
Last Christmas, I went home to see my family. I missed them, especially my little sisters, who don’t understand the name change but think that River is more badass than [xxx] any day. My grandparents have a tradition of hanging up stockings for everyone, and each one has a special patch on it to represent something about that person. Mine, for as long as I can remember, has had a scroll and quill, to represent my writing. It’s the only thing they’ve ever been proud of me for.