By the time my appointment finished, there was no sign of Mike-san in the waiting room. I picked up my prescription at the front counter and made my way to the local pharmacy, which was crawling with people. Turning in my prescription, I received a number virtually eons from the one currently displayed on the monitor. I was mentally preparing for the long wait ahead when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.
I turned around to see Mike-san. “You’re Tono-kun from the information session, right?”
I confirmed this, and Mike-san furrowed his brow as if contemplating something. He’d brought two cups of water from the cooler, so he handed me one, and we sat together on a bench. As he pulled down his mask to take a gulp from his cup, I got a better look at his profile. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.
When he noticed me looking at him, Mike-san raised his palm to cover his face. “I’m a little embarrassed when people see me without makeup on.”
I quickly apologized and averted my gaze.
“I never thought we’d meet in a place like this,” he chuckled softly.
“Sorry. I just happened to recognize you.”
“Don’t worry. I struck up our conversation in the first place.”
The sweatsuit-clad version of Mike-san had a low, gravelly voice. I was sure that was partially due to his cold, but obviously, he’d been adopting a feminine tone at the school. Maybe he was so worn out from fever that he lacked the energy to worry about how he sounded.
Mike-san was male. I’d picked up on it during the information session—I’m sure most of the attendees had—but no one had said anything. He’d worn a wig and makeup and dressed in women’s clothing, including a skirt and heels, but the veins that bulged at his collar and the muscular calves peeking out below his skirt spoke to the body he’d been born with. And although makeup made his well-defined features gorgeous, his face lacked the soft roundness of a girl’s.
My jaw had nearly dropped to the floor when I saw him dressed like that. He reminded me a lot of myself when I wore makeup—maybe because we wore a similar wig style.
“I wanted to hear more about your cross-dressing café,” Mike-san told me. “City schools sure are something, huh?”
The corners of his eyes creased as he smiled; I recalled noticing the same catlike expression during the info session. “City schools? Are you not from around here?”
“Nope. I grew up in the middle of nowhere.”
People from all over Hokkaido gathered in Sapporo. It was particularly common for young people to flock here to attend vocational schools and universities. Mike-san wasn’t even from Hokkaido, though. He was originally from a town in Honshu, across the Tsugaru Strait.
“Why’d you come all the way to Hokkaido?”
The beauty school he attended covered a wide range of subjects, but vocational schools with similar curricula were located throughout Japan, and it wasn’t like Mike-san’s school had special classes or famous instructors. If the school had a valuable reputation, I would’ve understood why he enrolled—that was the case with some Hokkaido University students. To be frank, though, it wasn’t the kind of institution that would entice students from across the strait.
“There was no chance of anyone I know seeing me walking around in a skirt,” replied Mike-san, who’d apparently given up everything to come here.
Miyake Atsuhiko had been born in one of Honshu’s many small towns. His family owned a barbershop, and he told me briefly about how he’d grown up watching his father cut hair.
“As a kid, I always had a buzzcut,” he said. “And I had the same style in junior high since I was on the baseball team. I tried to grow it out in high school, but my school was strict. They kept forcing me to cut it short again.”
His hair was pulled back in a ponytail not for style, but because he was finally growing it out. He generally wore wigs now, he said, but hoped his own hair would be serviceable one day.
“Did you dress up for your class’s café, Tono-kun?”
“No. That kind of stuff isn’t for me.” Lying about my former hobby was second nature.
Mike-san just grinned. “I see.” He studied my face. I got the feeling he wanted to say something like, “It would probably look good on you,” but he managed to swallow his opinion.
“The first time I wore a skirt was at my high school culture festival,” he told me. “It was for a baseball team presentation. I borrowed a girl’s uniform and danced around onstage.”
All he’d done was switch his uniform for a girl’s—he hadn’t worn a wig or any makeup. He smiled bitterly as he added that he hadn’t shaved his legs or anything, either. Even I could envision the crudeness of the scene.
“But at that moment,” he told me, “I realized that was what I’d wanted my whole life.”
“Your whole life…?” I echoed.
“As a kid, I somehow got it into my head that, when I grew up, my penis would vanish, and I’d grow breasts.” Mike-san reclined on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “After that performance, I started looking into ways to become a girl. I bought women’s clothing and makeup online, but I couldn’t try any of it on. I lived in a small town, and it would’ve caused my family a lot of grief if rumors that their son was ‘queer’ went around, so I had to keep everything under wraps until I graduated from high school.”
Mike-san’s voice was almost a hoarse whisper from his—no, her—fever. She told me she’d originally planned to train as a barber and take over her father’s shop, explaining how hard it had been to convince her parents to let her attend beauty school instead. It was a common misconception that barbers and hairstylists did the same work, but really, their jobs were completely different.
“I only started dressing as a woman and wearing makeup after I moved here. I’m still not great at it. The girls at school practically mob me trying to give me pointers.”
“Aren’t you scared of what other people think when they see you…?”
“Of course I’m scared.” Mike-san stroked her underarm uncomfortably. Her parents were paying her tuition, but she wasn’t getting any money from them beyond that. To support herself, she worked jobs that required physical labor. Even through her sweatshirt, I could tell how muscular she was.
“I got teased for dressing like a girl at that school festival until I graduated. These days, drag queens are on TV more often, but people still look gobsmacked when they see a man cross-dress in real life. I always used to change into women’s clothing after getting to school, but now I’m comfortable leaving the house in it. I’m scared of what people think,” she concluded, gaze still trained straight ahead, “but I’m more afraid of hiding who I truly am.”
There was nothing I could say to her. We sat there in silence until the pharmacist called her to get her prescription.