First Place: Bursting Free

Bursting Free

by Michelle Dornish

First Place

Why can’t they see beyond this mask?

I sit at the dinner table, poking my limp green beans with my fork. My body seems to be vibrating in my skin, the skin which has never felt totally comfortable  –or right. I am focused on my plate because my eyes are tired from holding back tears. I know if I meet my mother’s eyes, it will all come pouring out of me. I do not want to flood her with my truth. I want to calmly speak the words.

Mom, I’m a girl. My name is Jade. I am sorry they all told you I was a boy. I am sorry my body gave that impression, but this body has never felt like mine…

I think it still needs some workshopping. I have a million drafts scratched out in my journals. Till I get the words right, I will just stare at my plate. Get through another dinner. Let them live in their strange version of reality, where they have two boys rather than one son and one daughter.

“How was school today? Michael?” 

There is a long pause, and a kick to my shins is what has me startled enough to look up.

“Ugh, ow!” I glare at my older brother Tommy, who rolls his eyes then nods his head to Mom.

“You were far away again. Care if we come to visit?” Mom asks. Her tone has that desperate edge. That yearning mixed with worry, which makes my insides squirm with guilt. She is a good mom and she is not stupid. She knows I am keeping something from her. She probably thinks it's something awful, like I’m on drugs. Being bullied. Hurting myself. Well, I do hurt myself, but only emotionally. Every time I let them call me Michael. Every time I answer to he/him. 

Would the fact that I am trans be anywhere on that list of worries? Would it be a catastrophic thing for her to adjust to? Or would she be okay with who I really am?

“Are you feeling okay?” Mom asks, and I realize I was silent too long again.

“No, I mean yeah. I’m fine. School was school,” I shrug.

“Going for the track team this season? That starts soon, right?” Dad chimes in, looking to Tommy for confirmation, though Tommy is the teams guy. Varsity football team. Basketball team. Baseball team. I am the one too in-my-own-head to ever go for a team sport. Also, the track team is easier. No changing rooms or going to meets on a big team bus. The team is coed, so Jade could be a track kid too. If she wanted.

I often wonder what running would feel like if my body were softer and rounder in the right places. If I had anything on my chest, instead of this gross, flat stick of a body. Some of the girls say it hurts to run if you are too big. Maybe tonight I can sneak out with my training bra and those cup fillers I got from that maternity site and…

“Yeah, I think the morning announcements were saying something about trials,” Tommy finally answers on my behalf. When it’s clear I am not going to rejoin the conversation.

“Well I know you will do…”

“May I be excused?” I ask, wiping my face with my napkin and piling my utensils onto my plate before waiting for a response.

“Sure, son.” Dad turns his attention to Tommy. Probably switching to baseball talk. Dad is pretty much only good for sports highlights.

“You didn’t eat much of your…”

“Don’t coddle him, Beth. He is probably trying to keep slim for tryouts. Easier to run when you're haulin’ less weight. Am I right?”

No. Not at all right. Cutting calories, especially ignoring most of my steak, will break down my muscle and make running suck. But right now, I don’t care. I have an idea in my head and want to try this out. 

“I’m going on a run,” I say, by way of somewhat agreeing with dad while also explaining why I want to leave immediately. The days are just starting to get longer, but if I wait an hour it will be pretty dark. Mom relaxes a little in her seat. She hates when I go out too late to run, so even she will have trouble arguing with me.

“Make sure you have your phone and that the tracking is turned on!”

“Yes Ma’am,” I murmur as I put my dishes in the sink and head upstairs.

I already know what I want to wear. I pull out a set of running shorts I picked up at a thrift store with a higher waist and cut with triangle corners on the outer thigh. These have a way of lengthening my legs as well as accentuating my waist, giving my lower half an almost hourglass look. I have a pair of women's cotton underwear, but I cannot even think about putting ‘that thing’ into that pretty pair of underwear, even for a run. But I have never gone out of the house tucked before. Mostly I’d practiced that in the privacy of my room…

But this image of feeling and appearing as Jade while running, combining two halves of myself that make me feel the most me, the most in my power, is exhilarating. The whole picture is overwhelming me and I can’t even think of anything else.  

While I am running, what if someone sees me? What if they think I am a girl?

A smile comes to my face unbidden. I think it's the first time I have smiled today. It's the first smile I have not forced on my face all week. Maybe longer. 

Invigorated by this elation, by my own happiness, I do my best to stop thinking and start doing. I drag the chest from under my bed where I keep Jade safely locked away. I have the underwear and bras I have collected; The more feminine clothing I have been able to find. A little bit of make-up, and some medical tape I swiped from the first aid kit downstairs. 

Needing to wrap an ankle after training is a pretty decent excuse. Mom and Dad never really question why we need more, why we run out so quickly. Not with two athletes in the house. I have practiced enough that in five minutes or so, I have taken care of myself. Already I feel a weight lift. The illusion grows ever stronger as I pull on the soft cotton undies and look down to see smooth, round and beautiful. Myself as I know I could have always been. Should have always been.

Bolstered, my smile growing wider, I pull on the shorts and am grateful my legs are already shaved. I’ve been doing that for a while and, thankfully, I wear pants enough that no one has noticed. I think Dad has seen my legs, but he assumes it's a running thing. I have yet to tell him it's mostly swimmers who remove body hair in order to streamline. As far as I am concerned, he can stay confused on this point. 

I pull on my high school sweater, knowing that the bagginess will help shield my lack of curvature. I put on a headband and pull my hoody up. It's a cool enough night that this will be fine. I could be covering a full head of long, flowing raven locks. 

I take stock of myself in the long mirror in one corner of my room and am pleased with the effect. I am an athletic girl, but I do sort of look more like a girl than a boy. My face has always been softer, prettier. My lips are sort of flat but…I suddenly remember one of the lip glosses I got for my ‘girlfriend’ from Sephora. In my mind, Jade is the sort of girl I would want to date, so this lie is only a bit of a stretch. But the school counselor is always saying you have to love yourself, right?

I pull from the chest the pale pink lip plumper. Even the name of the shade, Daddy’s Gurl, gives me a little thrill. Back in front of the mirror, I slide the gloss over my lips and pop a kiss toward my reflection. Instantly my lips are a little fuller, and the shade is so light, it goes well with my skin tone. I could be a girl. An athletic girl wearing some chapstick to go on a run.

When I look at myself now, I don’t see Michael. I see Jade. And Jade is ready for a run.

My heart is already racing as I head down the stairs two at a time. The lights are still on in the dining room, but voices are coming from the kitchen now, as well as the sound of running water. I am pretty sure I hear Mom and Dad, their voices muffled by the water. They are probably cleaning up and, usually, they head to their room to get ready for sleep and stream some TV in bed. I should be able to make it out and back again without anyone catching sight of Jade.

I am so focused on my parents that I am already outside, the crisp spring evening air biting at my cheeks and making me shiver, before the thought really hits me. I am outside, as myself. Jade is out here, breathing fresh air.

Has the world always been this beautiful? Has twilight always been so colorful and luminous? Everything feels fresh and new and light.

That smile, which is feeling less and less strange, is still on my face as I pull each of my feet back, stretching out my hamstrings before hopping in place, shaking some warmth into my muscles. The jumping starts propelling me forward without thinking about it. A ritual and habit ingrained in me after over five years of running regularly. 

The sounds of my breathing, of each loping stride on the sidewalk, of my heart pumping blood into my ears so that it feels like my pulse is right in my skull. The rhythmic feel of my body working to propel me forward has always been comforting. It makes everything else quiet down, and clarity can come to me in easy, simple, and direct thoughts. I know how to solve that difficult math problem. I know what to do about the drama with my friend. I know that I am not just depressed or troubled, but I am a girl stuck in the wrong body.

Many things become more clear when I run. Now the thought that is pulsing inside me, as simple and obvious as breathing itself, is that this secret is eating me up inside. Hiding who I am is getting harder and harder to do. Especially at home. I need to tell someone. I need to talk to my mom.

This acceptance and clarity inject energy into my stride, and I feel a surge of renewed strength as I push myself to the crest of the next hill. The air in my lungs is sharp and cold. My lungs almost hurt, but I am also high on this feeling. Not only a runner's high, but a trans-runner's high of self-actualized euphoria. Running as myself for the first time ever, and it feels so good!

“Hey girl.” A saucy voice dripping with emphasized rizz comes from my left, and a boy, maybe a year older than myself, comes running up beside me. 

I feel my heart stutter in my chest in a manner that has nothing to do with my pace. I smile shyly and nod my head, terrified to make a sound. If I speak, I am sure he will see through my delicate facade. What would he do to me if he realizes my body is not what he is expecting? Would he get mad? Violent?

“Don’t be scared. I’m a safe male,” as if he read my mind. “You can believe me. My daddy taught me right. No means no. I believe in your bo-di-ly autonomy with all my heart,” the guy actually pumps his fist over his heart, and the way he stretches out each syllable of the word “bodily” makes me shudder. I am repulsed by the words, of course, but there is this thrill from being seen not only as a girl, but as an attractive girl. Jade had never been hit on before, well, at least not outside of Discord, but face-to-face.

I shake my head, a soft chuckle coming from my lips. I do not think he is funny. I mean, he is, but not intentionally. It is more of a nervous impulse. But his reaction tells me he is taking the laugh entirely wrong. He is now encouraged to try harder. 

“You have a cute laugh.” His smile is wide enough to show nearly all his pearly white teeth. Everything about this guy is a turnoff. I mean, his interest is flattering. I just wasn’t even sure about guys or girls. Never being out and about as Jade made it hard to picture who I felt right with. I’d fantasized about both boys and girls in the past. One thing I am sure about, however, I know I am not into this guy. 

“Uhhh...” I am stuck. Convinced more than a sound will give away my deeper voice. I am too winded to try anything soft and feminine. Any word I speak now will be an exhausted, guttural thing.

“Hey, you go to Eastmen?” He points to my sweater. “Are you on their track team? I run for South, and I think we have a track meet next month. Maybe you and I…”

“Sophie, thank God, Mom is getting worried!”

A flood of light puts this “rizzy” track star and me on center stage. The lights are coming from Tommy’s truck, and the voice undoubtedly belongs to Tommy as well. If I was stuck before, I am frozen now. Like a doe, in literal headlights. 

Did he just call me Sophie?

My legs lock, and I raise a hand to shield my eyes, which are wide as saucers. It feels like my heart, so vital and thumping a moment ago, has dropped out of me entirely. My skin feels cold as a shudder spreads down from my head to my toes.

“You told Mom you would be back before dark, remember?” Tommy has gotten out of his truck, but his lights are still bright on my face. He comes around to my free side until finally he is more than a dark shape and I can make out his expression. Which doesn’t help, because his features are a calm mask. A masterful poker face.

“No worries bro, she is safe with me,” the track star says and, confoundingly, he starts reaching an arm out, as if he is about to pull me into a side hug. I cringe away, like what the F? I just met this guy!

However, Tommy saves me from this as well by pulling on my arm and tugging me toward the passenger side of the truck. He doesn’t bother responding to the track star, but I hear a snort of derision, and he is shaking his head. Without a word, he nudges me into the front seat, unusually gentle with his hands, but still firm. Unyielding.

I hear a muffled exchange outside, but there is a roaring in my ears, all the blood rushing to my brain as I try to figure out what this means, so the words don’t make sense to me. The next thing I know, Tommy is in the driver’s seat, and I realize his truck is already on and his music, some generic grunge song, is playing at a muted volume. 

“Buckle up,” he says automatically, as he shifts out of park and starts turning the truck around. 

I do as he says, robotically. I don’t feel like my brain and my body are connected in any way. 

Then there is silence. Profound, awkward silence. Yes, the music is still on, and the truck is going quickly enough that there is the sound of wind rushing around the truck, and this is not a new truck by any means, so there is the continual sound of the metal body rattling on its frame. But still there is so much silence in the small cab between us, with no words coming from either of us. Is it on me to be the first to speak? Is it on him? Are there any right words to say at a time like this?

I am not sure how I gather the courage, but I do finally spit out the words, “How did you know to call me Sophie?”

A beat of more silence, but then Tommy slaps his hands against the wheel in a nervous gesture. His whole body adjusts in his chair, and Tommy is usually a very still person. He only fidgets if he is very angry or very nervous. But which one is it?

“I didn’t want to name you; that wasn’t my intention. I know that is your thing,” he finally starts, choking a little on his words. 

Nervous. My big brother is actually nervous, and it is around, what, offending me? This is a first. He spent most of our childhood trying to agitate and belittle me every chance he got. This new, sympathetic side of him is just strange. 

All I want is to get us back to our normal place. I shove him on the shoulder and shake my head, forcing a crooked smile on my face so he knows I am in on the joke here.

“Do I really look like a Sophie to you?”

“First name that came to my mind, honestly.” He relaxes slightly, and a small smile spreads on his lips.

“Didn’t you date some girl named Sophie in middle school?”

He rolls his eyes, “For a nanosecond, sort of.” He sighs, taking in a deep breath as he takes a right. We are entering our neighborhood now, and reality is inching closer with every second. He looks at me, and the teasing falls away. He is solemn again as he says, “What would you have me call you, sis?”

I feel a warmth surge through my chest, and my smile returns, because there is no hesitancy or awkwardness in the word “sis”. It flows as easily and effortlessly as “bro” ever did.

“You really don’t care?” I ask, worried about putting too much trust in this. It feels breakable, this new understanding between us.

He shrugs, “I figure this is up to you. It's your call.”

The warmth spreads through my whole body now, and I feel tingly. I have never told anyone my chosen name before, and if asked, I never would have guessed the first would be Tommy but here we are.

“Jade. My name is Jade, she/her.”

“Nice to meet you, Jade,” Tommy says softly. And for a moment we share a warmer silence. Then Tommy turns serious once more, his body tensing. “You have to tell mom though…”

“I know,” I try to interject, but Tommy barrels past me as if expecting my resistance.

“She has a right to know…”

“I know. I was already…”“She worries about you, Jade. Like, all the time…”

“I know!” 

My snappy tone finally gets him to shut up, and he looks hard at me, meeting my eyes and holding my gaze after he shifts into park in the driveway.

“I already decided during my run. I am ready to tell her. May as well tell dad too, I guess.” I roll my eyes, and Tommy chuckles.

“Yeah, you might have to explain things three times to dad.”

“Only three?” I scoff as we get out of the truck.

“Well, for starters. For tonight anyway.”

We head inside, and surprisingly the kitchen is still lit. Mom and Dad are sitting at the breakfast bar with half-full glasses of wine, smiling and talking softly. It almost feels like we caught them in the middle of a date night, the way they stop talking and shyly look away from one another. 

But then mom’s eyes lock on mine and, even though it's subtle, my lips are still Daddy’s Gurl pink and a little plump. I can tell she notices too. Her eyes give my whole body a once-over, and she still has that worried edge to her expression, but there is no anger or disgust. Just worry. Which, admittedly, I placed there with my secrets. But that's going to end. Tonight.

Every fiber of my being is alive. I feel every nerve ending. My stomach is tumultuous and roiling. I have no idea if I need to eat something or vomit, but I think getting the words out might be enough. But how to start?

“Mom, Dad, there is something I want…I need to tell you both.” 

“Sure, son,” Dad says, smiling easily.

“We're always here for you, honey,” Mom says, speaking in time with Dad.

“Maybe you guys should head into the living…” Tommy tries to usher us to a couch, somewhere to sit.

But I have become impatient, or really Jade has. I feel the words bursting from me, from her, before I can try to swallow them down again.

“I want you to call me Jade. That's my name. It is who I am. I’m a girl; I always have been. So please try to refer to me as she/her as well. Those are my preferred pronouns, okay?” I speak in a rush, mostly because the words have been waiting inside for so long. I kept trying to edit them and doctor them. I thought if they were more pretty or poetic they would be easier to understand. Or taken more seriously. But now I know, they just need to be said. Jade needs to be known.

My parents stare at me for a moment, and the longer the silence lasts, the more my fears try to swallow me. Is there anger in their eyes? Rejection? Sadness? Disappointment?

Getting out of my head for a moment, I have to admit Mom still just looks worried, and Dad looks shocked. His eyes are wide, and there is a hint of confusion in the way he wrinkles his brow and tilts his head towards Mom.

Before I sink entirely into my anxiety and run away into the night, I turn to Tommy. Tommy, who somehow had the perfect reaction. Tommy, who is still calm and accepting, even as he takes in Mom and Dad’s reactions. He meets my eyes, grips my elbow briefly, then nods.

“Dad, let's go on a quick walk. I want to explain something to you,” Tommy says, and before Dad can ask or say anything else, Tommy takes him by the shoulders and guides him from the kitchen. Their low voices are soft, not angry or argumentative, as they head toward the front door.

This is not exactly what I pictured, but when I meet Mom’s eyes, I can see she has a million thoughts and questions. I realize that even if it would be easier for me to have this conversation just once, maybe that is not what my parents need. I am bolstered, at least, by the fact that Mom does not seem upset or angry. Just worried. Perpetually so. 

“Please stop looking at me like that, I’m okay, Mom.” I step closer to the counter and lay a comforting hand on my mother's arm. She meets my eyes, and I can see her relax, just a little bit, because she can see it too. That I am okay, or at least better. The weight of my secret being lifted, along with Tommy’s reaction, I already feel a lot better than I have in a very long time. 

“I am your mom. I will always worry about you. Whether your name is Michael or…was it Jade?”

I nod.

She smiles, happy she has gotten it right. Then the smile falls a little as she stares off into the distance. Her thoughts are still worrisome, but not so focused on me.

“I am worried that you might have a harder life. I don’t want people to be cruel to you. Or hurt you, just because of who you are.” She shakes her head then meets my eyes again. 

I am not sure what to tell her. Nothing she is saying is wrong, but I feel an urge of anger at the idea that I should hide because others can’t handle it. This makes no sense, because this is exactly how I felt before. I was keeping my secret for these very reasons. But now that I am out to my family, I don’t want to keep hiding. Guess I’m a hypocrite. Or is this what growth feels like?

Since I don’t fill the silence, Mom continues.

“I just want to be sure that you are sure. I love you, no matter what. And I will protect and defend you as much as I can, but…” she sputters, tears brimming in the corners of her eyes as she searches for the right thing to say. I feel bad all of a sudden. I guess I never gave my mom the chance to practice for tonight, like I have.

“But what about the times you can’t be there?” I offer, and she nods emphatically, pulling me in for a tight hug. She hides her emotions in my shoulder, squeezing and rocking me like when I was a child. I can tell the movement is to hide the way her body shakes under the sobs that she is trying desperately to keep quiet.

“That's what big brothers are for, right? Protecting their little sisters from bad, horny men!” Tommy quips, coming back into the room with Dad.

“Tommy!” Mom scolds, but her chuckle undermines her correction.

Meanwhile, I speak up with a raised eyebrow, “I find that idea to be archaic and sexist.”

Tommy just shrugs, “Too bad. I’ll still be here. Whenever. Whatever.” He gives me a meaningful look and the rizzy trackstar comes back to my mind. I nod in understanding and he jerks his head, a single nod.

Dad comes up next and wraps his arms calmly and quietly around both Mom and me. He squeezes gently, and I turn my head to meet his eyes, but they are closed. His mouth is a straight line, not smiling or frowning. So I see now where Tommy got his poker face.

“Dad?” I ask softly.

He pulls away, but keeps us in his arms. This creates a small triangle between the three of us, but I can feel Tommy near the fridge, still in our orbit.

Dad meets my gaze and nods seriously. He has his pep-talk expression on, so I am not surprised when his hand comes out, and he points a finger in my face, as if giving me orders. A digit directive, if you will.  

“Here is the thing, I know trans athletes get a lot of flak, but here is what I know. If anyone tries to kick my little girl off the team, they are in for an earful from me. Maybe even a lawsuit. I am not much for lawyers, but this might be one time where–”

“Dad!” I cut him off, trying to reign in my laughter. “Track is co-ed!”

He frowns, having forgotten that for the moment. Then he nods. “That's right, but still. The offer stands,” and he claps me on the shoulder as he moves off toward the fridge and takes the fizzy water that Tommy offers him with a nod. Before he turns to leave, he glances back at me. His eyes locking on mine, then says in a softer voice, “Can I apologize now for the hundreds of times I forget to call you my daughter? Or use the wrong pronoun? I promise, I want to try and do this right.”

I feel my eyes moisten, a lump in my throat makes it hard to speak. That warmth from the truck has engulfed me once more, and I step into my dad’s arms without the words to show how much this means to me. That he is wanting to try. That he just called me his daughter in the first place. It is everything. He squeezes me gently, then I pull away and nod so he knows my answer to his question. 

I turn to Mom, and she is smiling at me. She has somehow wiped the worst of the tears from her eyes. Maybe she is where I get my own anxiety from, but I am sure. I am ready to embrace who I am. So I nod to her and let my smile grow wider. She nods back, and I know she understands. This is real, and this is sticking. Michael is dead to me. 

I am Jade.

Frankly, it is overdue.

Winning pieces are published as received.

---

Fiction Potluck

July 2026

First Place Winner:

Michelle Dornish

Michelle Dornish (she/her) is a special education teacher and fantasy & short fiction writer, previously published in The Best of SLO NightWriters (2009-2013), Twisted Laughs Anthology (2024), The Alien Buddha’s House of Horrors #7 (2024), and The Butterfly Effect: An Anthology of Broken Wings (2026). Recently she edited and contributed to a debut Anthology for Pen & Pier: Strange Yarns and Rough Tides (2025). Michelle lives in San Luis Obispo, California with her husband and sons.