Audrey+F's+Final+AmEx+2015+Speech

//"She//"
 * Reintroduction **

Five.

You contemplate your mental reenactment of the Nutcracker, thinking, "No, I don't think I can be Clara." The role of the Nutcracker? A soldier, a fighter. Okay...maybe--

 //"She"//

Seven.

You immediately back away on the playground bench. You just kissed a girl's hair while braiding it, like she was a princess and you were a prince.

A prince?

That might not be so bad--

 //"She"//

Twelve.

You'd gotten a pixie cut some time ago, and someone mistook you for a boy.

"I'm not a boy!" you reiterate, laughing as you recall the story to your friends.

It's great fun, being able to flip-flop between looks, but something's stirred--

 //"She"//

Thirteen.

Your mother makes a crack at your attire when you exit the house.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Are you a boy or a girl?"

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You roll your eyes. The woman gave birth to you. She should know.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Something itches beneath your skin--

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Fourteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Mom, she's bisexual," you say.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"No, she's just confused," your mother replies. You take a deep breath and try not to snap at her. You feel like wiping at your eyes. Your hands shake beneath the kitchen table.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Fifteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"You were right, mom, she //was// confused," you say. "She's actually lesbian."

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"She just hasn't found the right guy, yet," your mother says.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Mom, that's not how it works."

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">There's that itch again.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Fifteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You think you have a crush on one of the new freshmen--

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">What?

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">No, you don't. You don't. It's not right. It's against the rul--

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">There are...rules???

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Your heart pounds. There shouldn't be.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You brush off the crush..."crush". They're just a really, really good friend, is all.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Fifteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Transgender." You're turned around in your seat at shotgun and explain the concept to your younger brother. He nods at you. It doesn't seem like he //truly// understands, quite yet, but he's willing to respect the reality.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Suddenly, your father booms from the driver's seat, "If either of you two start thinking like that, I will kick you out of the house."

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You turn to your window and feel tears start to prickle at your eyes.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">But you don't know why...

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Sixteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You lie on your bedroom floor. Your body is barely conscious, it seems, despite the fact that you're clawing at your arms in some desperate attempt to "correct" the realization that has your mind so very awake and aware.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Even though a weight has been lifted off your chest, another, much heavier one has been placed on your heart.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You think about what you will do when you're eighteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Sixteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Somebody at your younger brother's school called him and his friends "faggots".

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You are currently contemplating how well you can get away with murder.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Sixteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You change a little itty-bitty something on the info page of your blog. There, that should make it official.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Sixteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You tell your friends. <span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">They still love you.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Thank God, they still love you.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Remember that one freshman?

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Holy heck, do you love them. You don't care what they are, you love them like there's no tomorrow.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">And it kind of scares you.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Sixteen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">That one freshman, again? Well, sophomore, now, that you think about it.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Yeah, you're dating.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">In secret.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Because your parents don't seem to acknowledge their identity, just yet.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">They don't seem to want to do so.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You hear your uncle mock one of the women on TV.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Drag queen," comes first. Then, "Transgender," and his laugh sinks like hot iron into your bones.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You swallow your rage. You raise your fist and whoop, should the assumption be true.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">The room falls silent.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">No one cheers with you.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You want to tear your hair out, scream out your bedroom window, anything. Anything that will get all this anger, this sadness, this all-consuming pity for the human race out of your system.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Because there is a problem that despite marriage equality being a thing in a majority of the States, you can play, "Which state is the most homophobic?" with the map.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">And since when did the relationships between people become a political thing?

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You sniff, and think back.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Sigh, Clinton...

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">There is a problem when correctional facilities still freakin' exist for people like you. When there is absolutely //nothing// to correct.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">There is a problem when you keep hearing about children, //children//, who have been downright //murdered// by the world you live in, whether mentally or physically.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Land of the free," indeed.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You yourself feel strangled. By your parents, by your co-workers for goodness sakes, you haven't told them, but holy hell, does it hurt like a bitch when they call you

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> "She"

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">And you wish, with all your might, with all the power that God blessed you with, whatever that may be, to scream the truth into their faces. Let them see you as you are, love you as you are, without all the hatred, the disappointment, the anger and ruined relationships

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She//"

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Without all the negative repercussions that you //know// will happen because you had to get your hard-headed-ness from somewhere.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">When all you want is an America where everybody can come as they are. As they //really// are.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">And not have to face the hatred that's existed for hundreds of years, according to some previous research you did for yet another APUSH assignment some time ago, go figure.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Give me your tired, your poor

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free"!

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">"SINCE WHEN???" you scream. "WHEN YOUR OWN PEOPLE HAVE BEEN OPPRESSED FOR GENERATIONS UPON GENERATIONS."

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">And although you sound like you're only preaching for one part of the community, you just want the hatred all around to end.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You just want an America where nobody has to be a martyr for something so simple as human decency and respect for all identities, whether it be racial, ethnical, gender, sexuality, religion...

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">But you know that might take a bit of time.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">So, you decide, this speech has dragged on long enough, and you need to make a point of why you so badly want this nation to be at peace with itself and its people.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> //"She"//

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">You stand at the front of the class, and clear your throat.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;"> They.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Seventeen.

<span style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif;">Your name is //Aud// Rene Franada, and you just came out as agender to the AMEX Class of 2015.

(1) Emma Lazarus
 * Cite your sources **