Content notice for references to transphobic child abuse.


There was a knock at Dr. Suzuki's office door.

"Yes? Come in."

"Hi, Doctor. I think it's time."

Dr. Suzuki looked out his window, which opened onto the elementary school playground. It looked to be a pretty regular day. The sun was illuminating the scene, like a medieval manuscript. Children were playing on the swings, running around...and underneath the cleyera japonica was the child.

"Hm. Yes. I see he's not changed. A shame."

"Yes, we're calling his mother today. There needs to be a meeting. This has gone on too long." And the secretary left.

Dr. Suzuki turned back towards his desk, and opened his notebook. He uncapped his pen, and thought for a minute before writing.

Kenji has been monitored for two weeks now to note his social development. He doesn't play well with the other kids. He's softer than the other boys and doesn't like to rough house on the playground. He's always coloring pictures of cats and flowers. He has been developing malignantly and incorrectly.

He looked at the child in question, who was daydreaming underneath the tree, moving the grass absentmindedly with a stick. The child had alarmingly black hair that reached down to the shoulders. Whenever another child approached, the child immediately fired up a wall of steely resolve that said leave me alone. Inevitably, the other student would leave, and the child would go back to whatever they had been doing before being bothered.

He turned back to his notebook. The child must be corrected, by force if necessary, before malignant development becomes permanent.


A school caregiver approached the child. He had done so every day, like clockwork.

"Hey, Kenji."

The child looked up at the caregiver. "Oh. Hello," they responded with a soft voice.

"Are you doing okay today?"

The child shrugged. "I guess."

"Have the other kids been bothering you?"

"Not as bad today."

"Well that's good."

"What is this tree called?"

"This one?" The caregiver pointed at the tree the child was ensconced under.

"Yes."

"I believe this is a cleyera japonica."

"What is its normal name?"

"Um...it's called sakaki."

"Sakaki." The child thought for a minute. "Tell me about sakaki."

The caregiver sat next to the child and drew 榊 in the dirt. "Sakaki is a sacred tree to Shinto. The kanji means 'sacred tree'. It's a hardy tree."

"It's very pretty. I really like the flowers."

"Mm. Yes. It's known for weathering the winters and being seen as a source of strength."

The child seemed to pause for a minute. "Can you call me 'Sakaki'?"

"What?" asked the caregiver, taken aback slightly. "But your name is Kenji."

"I hate that name."

"Why?"

"I didn't get to choose my name. I feel like names should be chosen, not given."

"And you like 'Sakaki' more?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't see why you can't use that name. Although Sakaki feels more...pretty."

"I want to be pretty."

"But you're a boy."

"No, I am not."

The caregiver stopped. This was...untread territory for him. He had to be careful. He didn't want to endanger the child.

"Ken-Sakaki," he said carefully, "Think about what you're saying."

"I've never felt like a boy. But everyone calls me one. I hate it!"

"Well..." Instead of explaining why everyone called Sakaki a boy, he decided to go a different, fateful direction. "Why don't you feel like a boy?"

"I just haven't. I feel like a girl. Why is that so bad? Is that why the school counselors tell my mom to hurt me?"

"It...isn't bad, I guess," said the caregiver. "What do you mean, why do the school counselors tell your mom to hurt you?"

"They tell my mom things, and then my mom hurts me."

"How..." A lump formed in his throat. "How does she hurt you, Sakaki?"

"A few days ago, she came in with a knife and cut open all my stuffed animals. I remember her throwing the stuffing away. She said that the doctors had told her to, to stop me from becoming bad." The caregiver couldn't believe he was hearing this from a ten year old, and he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sakaki continued. "Another time, she didn't like how I was growing my hair long. She dragged me into the bathroom and..." Sakaki could hear the snip, snip, snip of the scissors even now, and started to cry.

"It appears lunch is over, Sakaki," the caregiver said quietly.

"Oh, I guess it is." And the child got up and stoically walked back to class. The caregiver was determined to get some answers.

Sakaki felt a resolute determination swell up inside as class began.


The caregiver went to the school nurse for some answers.

"Can I see the information for a specific student?"

"Why, is it a medical emergency?"

"Not physically, no."

"Well, which student?" He told the nurse.

"Oh. Him." For some reason, the nurse calling Sakaki 'him' felt extremely, violently wrong.

There was Sakaki's name, age, height, weight, date of birth...and no gender.

"Um...was there a clerical error?" He pointed to the blank gender line.

"Oh. Not on our end, that's from the hospital. They forgot to mark his gender."

"Then-" Then why don't we let Sakaki choose? is what he wanted to say, but he stopped himself.

"Will that be all?" the nurse said, tersely.

"Yes." He handed back the file.


"Ms. Yorimishi, we're so glad you could see us today."

Sakaki's mom sat across from the counselor, glaring hard. "What did he do this time?"

"His development has been getting worse and worse. We've tried everything we can."

She looked outside, where Sakaki was parked again underneath her namesake tree. "I'm working on him right now," she said. He'll like being a boy if I have any say about it. It's enough having to deal with his behavior."

"Is he speaking out and talking back?"

"I wish! No, he's just quiet all the time and plays in his room alone." She looked outside at her child sitting under a tree, reading. "I'll correct him, Doctor. You don't have anything to worry about."


The next day, the caregiver saw Sakaki and came over.

"Hey, Sakaki."

Silence.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

Silence.

"So, um...a friend of mine is a principal at another elementary school. And we talked last night."

"What did they say?" asked Sakaki.

"She said that the counselors and nurses at her school would let you choose if you wanted to be a boy or girl."

"Would I be allowed to look like a girl?"

"Yes. And you'd be protected by the adults in charge."

"I...I don't know if my mom would let me."

"Not up to her. This school already agreed to transfer you."

Sakaki thought for a second. "Call me a girl, please."

The caregiver smiled gently. "You're a wonderful girl, Sakaki."

For the first time in her life, Sakaki smiled.