text: “So how do you become a boy?” I found myself studying her with an intensity I rarely applied to children. She had my sister’s eyes, the outline of her face followed the same exact lines, but the way she carried herself was undeniably different. It was in the grit stuck between her fingernails, the defiant soldier-like puff of her chest and the way she looked at me directly in the eye with as much genuine curiosity as there was what could have been envy. She had the ready-to-pounce springiness of an anxious young lad. “What a silly question!” Maureen, my sister, interjected from across the table. “Why don’t you go find Will and Mason?” “How do you become a boy, uncle Tom?” I pretended to poke at a slice of bacon with as much idle disinterest as could be mustered while having a watching parent breathe down my neck. In truth I was hooked. “Why would you want to become a boy?” “Because girls are all about dress up and throwing pretend parties and pretend this and pretend that and boys get guns and swords and arrows and they get to build forts.” “What’s so bad about dress-up? when I was your age I loved pretty dresses.” spoke her mum while inserting a knife into a fried egg. “So you would become a boy just to get guns and swords?” She nodded. The look in her eyes was as noticeable as ever. Maureen was using her fork to stir the ruptured yolk with mashed potatoes. I could see the eyes staring at me from the back of her head “Silly girl!” I would say. “What’s there to like about guns and swords? If you’re born a lady then you’re a lady or a lad a lad. Always been that way! Now cease these silly thoughts and go find your cousins!” and I would watch as the glow in her eyes went out like a candle and gray over. But that’s not what I said. “Well, I think that’s a neat little thought you have there. While I can’t make you magically pop up in boy’s skin, I think what’s more important is that you see yourself as one. In fact, I think that’s all there is to being a boy, that you see and carry yourself like a young man, and as long as you still believe in that part of yourself, in time people would start calling you a lad.” From the corner of my eye I saw Maureen’s hand give a little tremor, barely noticeable to maybe even his husband but I knew exactly where to look after all these decades under the same roof. When Anna had left the room and was most likely out of earshot she turned to me. “I wish you hadn’t said that.” “Why not?” “You might give her ideas.” “I don’t see why that’s a problem.” “I’d like her to stay a girl.” “Your daughter would say otherwise.” “what good is there to be a boy anyway? when we were her age you and James and Charles would go hunting and one of you would be bound to come back hurt and crying.” “You can’t blame her. You ladies have been allowed to vote for only what? Ten years? If I were her I would want to be a boy too.” “You can’t expect her to understand that!” “Doesn’t change my point.” I said, spearing my own egg. “She’s just a child. Don’t entertain her silly ideas.” “Didn’t seem silly to me. You should’ve seen your daughter. Deadpan serious.” “I still don’t want you telling her stuff like that.” Sensing that there wasn’t much space left for argument I threw up my arms in mock surrender. “Yes ma’am!” It was difficult to judge Anna’s maturity, in the same way it was difficult for all children. Both her parents said that she was a silly girl who should learn to grow up, as did Mrs. Taylor, the nosy teacher who taught her things like reading and adding up numbers. In a way she knew she was acting silly herself, when she entertained ideas like going to bed in a certain position then waking up the next morning completely changed into a boy like her cousins. But then you can also say she wasn’t childish at all, that she had a certain early-for-her-age maturity about her, because otherwise how would she know she was being silly in the first place? Will and Mason were like two sides of the same coin. while they had the same eyes and nose Mason was both taller and leaner than his younger sibling, who was stocky and had a noticeably rounder face. The difference still would not have been comical if it weren’t for Mason’s ears, which were oversized like a mouse’s and jutted beyond the outline of his head. He was also the shrewder and more adventurous of the two. “You wouldn’t believe this rabbit hole I found! It’s just across the hill. last time I saw two of ‘em leave. there’s an entire den of little un’s inside I’m tellin’ you.” “I don’t want to go.” “Why not?” “I don’t know, what if it’s a fox den?” “We’ll catch some foxes ’en.” “What if one of them jumps out and bites us?” “Foxes don’t bite. We saw one at the market. Tame as a dog.” “What if we get rabies?” “I want to go!” The two of them looked at her with the same curiosity and shock as one would have while regarding a particularly strange breed of dog, and it might as well be true. Neither had spent much time around the peculiar species their parents called “girls”. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?” “Nothing. It’s just that you’re a girl.” it was Will who spoke. “I’m not a girl.” “But you are.” Mason was apparently too anxious to wait until the end of the argument. “Great! that makes the two of us! I’ll lead the way!” The two of them marched past hills and the occasional flock of sheep, dragging a protesting Will behind. It was unusually cold and windy for late June and the English countryside occasionally blasted massive gusts that forced the trio to turn around and walk backwards. At one point Mason, still leading, tripped and rolled the entire distance downhill. Much to Anna’s giggling amusement. He got up, dusting off the bits of grass and mud caking his pants, his face red. The “den” if one could call it that, turned out to be a disappointment, a dusty hole in the earth under an apricot tree. For the span of twenty minutes Anna was crouched over it, making what she thought were rabbit noises before dangling a blade of grass over the entrance like a fisherman’s lure. Her pursuits went unanswered. In time she gave up. “What are you doing?” Mason was already halfway up the tree, clumsily perched between two branches like the bear she had seen in picture books. The canopy bowed and shook in the wind. “Apricots!” he shouted, cheerfully, pointing towards the crown. Anna peered between the leaves and saw flashes of sunset orange among the emerald. “He’s not going to make it.” said his younger sibling, also glancing upwards. Indeed Mason was right. Ten minutes later he had gained barely a meter in altitude and his legs had started shaking as if they were mounting their own protest, bringing the entire tree rattling with them. Five minutes later he gave up, dismounting from the branches, his arms bruised and with no apricots to show. Somehow he still had the energy to convince his younger brother to repeat his mistake in the way only siblings could. Will made even less progress, hardly managing to lift himself to the first fork before losing his grip and falling to the ground in a graceless heap. Anna couldn’t take more of it. “I’ll go.” The two of them glanced at her with the same incredulity as before, albeit accented by exhaustion. It was Mason who spoke first. “You’re a girl.” “I told you, I’m not a girl!” “You won’t make it.” “Would you want to bet?” Neither spoke, much to her private delight. It was hard to tell if it was purely out of exhaustion. She started climbing the tree in much the same way she saw her cousins did, using stumps and forks as footholds and positioning her weight so that they didn’t give out under her. When there were no overhanging branches to step on it sufficed to use friction, Anna dug the sole of her shoe into the bark until it left green wounds starting to ooze sap, then she hoisted her other leg up onto the opposite branch, leaning on the first one for support. But that wasn’t why she did better than her cousins. If there was one thing she truly excelled at it was that she was clever in how to avoid exhaustion. She positioned her arms and upper torso in such a way so that they would never be strained. When she felt the faintest hint of a tremor start to radiate from her leg she knew it was time to reposition it in a way that didn’t require bending at odd angles. While the siblings knew that it was bad manners to laugh when misfortune befell ladies they were still expecting her to give up when she started scaling the branches. To say that such feelings transitioned to shock, then awe was an understatement, as she hoisted herself into a perching position a full ten meters above their heads. Anna scanned the treetops for the apricots she saw from the ground. A thunderhead had reared up in the distance, it’s anvil-shaped top angry and boiling. the wind had picked up considerably, the leaves clapped and rustled, the branch she had crawled on bowed under the gust and she felt her weight starting to shift as she tightened her grip reassuringly. One of the ripe fruits beamed a sunset orange smile from between the canopy. “You see ‘em?” “I’ll see if I can reach them.” she said as she extended a scratched and bruised arm. There were perhaps half a dozen in total-much less than the three of them had observed from the ground. she twisted the apricot in such a way so that it’s stem was severed and it dropped to the ground in a muffled thud. There was a rustling in the grass beneath as the siblings scrambled after it. “How is it?” “You split it open! There’s now dirt and gunk inside” “It’s not my fault! Can’t you see how high up I am?” “Can you drop them...slower?” “No.” “Can you at least try?” She ignored them as she went after the second of them, followed by the third and fourth. She was at the sixth and last when there was a gust of wind that slammed into her like a wall. She tightened her grip again. Her left foot started to slip as the branch bobbed like a horse, a sinking in her gut as it descended followed by a rebound so strong it threatened to send her sailing. And there was a joy welling up inside her she had never felt before. “Annie? Can you try getting down?” “No!” “I think we should go home. It’s going to rain soon.” They weren’t sure if they should feel more surprised or terrified when she started to whoop, as she held her face straight into the wind, it tangled up her hair, she could hardly open her eyes as the gust roared into her like a crashing wave, perched among the treetops, shouting, whooping, the sound of it carrying across the hills as the first raindrops touched the branches.