The Invisible Boy

Crying Boy

Once upon a time, there was an invisible boy. For a long time, he didn’t even realize he was invisible because he was only a baby, and babies don’t know much. His little brother was a boy too, and they loved playing Star Wars and Indian Chief and Walk on the Ceiling together. Then, one day, he noticed that everyone saw a boy when they looked at his brother, but they saw a girl when they looked at him.

Why couldn’t they see him?

He tried to tell his mom that he was there, but she couldn’t see him.

He tried to tell his dad that he was there, but he couldn’t see him either.

Then he tried to tell his grandmother, his friends at school, and his teachers, but everyone saw a girl when they looked at him.

That’s when he realized he was an invisible boy.

“You have to wear dresses.”
“Girls don’t do karate. They do ballet.”
“You have to skate like a girl!”
“No baseball! Take jazz dance instead.”
“Stop acting like a boy.”
“I don’t care that you wanted a Transformer for Xmas. This doll is just as nice!”
“You’re not a boy.” “Yes, I am.” “No, you’re not.”
“You’re not a boy.”
“You’re not a boy.”
“You’re not a boy.”
“You’re not a boy………….”

By the time the invisible boy was seven years old, he was very tired of trying so hard to be seen. So, he looked at himself in the mirror for a long time, thinking.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll pretend to be a girl, but the joke is on them because I’m really a boy… and maybe, just maybe, one day, someone will see me for who I am and, I won’t have to be invisible anymore.”

Years and years went by, and sometimes people did see glimpses of the invisible boy hidden inside the girl shape, but some of them got angry at him, and some of them were confused and said it was impossible. Still, no one really saw the invisible boy, even though he was there, right in front of them.

A funny thing happened: he started seeing others who had been invisible when they were children but who weren’t anymore. There were glamorous women who were once mistaken for boys and dashing men who had been hidden inside girls and all sorts of wonderful variations in between.

So, the invisible boy looked at himself in the mirror for a long time, thinking again.

“Fuck it,” he said. “It hurts too much to continue pretending I’m a girl, and I don’t need someone else to see me for who I am to make me visible… I just need to be myself, and I won’t be invisible anymore.”

What’s in a name?

This is where it starts.

Call me Max.

My name is Max.

I’ve always been drawn to the name Max. My first memory is of Maximillian, the robot from Disney’s The Black Hole.

Then there was Maxime, my father’s friend’s son. He was tall and blond. I wanted to be him. We watched Predator together in French.

I lost my virginity to a Max.

Maximus… I like the Latin meaning: greatest. I am great. I can be great. I want to be great.

The desert wasteland and the mad man. Mad Max. I am mad… in both senses.

Furious. Torn apart from the inside by wrath and rage and resentment.

Crazy. Barely holding onto sanity at times. Lost in my own head. Apart from the world.

The name fits, and thus I have chosen it as my own.

My name is Max. Maximillian, to be exact.

There. I’ve said it. And that is a big step.

My name is Max. My pronouns are his/him/he. Call me Mister. Better yet, call me sir.

That feels damn good.