NELLY by dave deveau * Nelly first appeared as part of Theatre Direct Canada’s “The Demonstration.” NELLY, a thirteen-year-old androgynous boy, stands in front of a mirror. He has a backpack on his back. The mirror is such that his reflection is not visible to the audience. He studies himself for a long time before beginning to speak, then turns to the audience as though seeing the events unfold in front of him.

NELLY  They nearly butchered a boy at the mall today, you know. A whole group of them. I didn’t see it exactly, I was a floor up and when I glanced over the railing all I could see was frantic movement. And security got called. Not that that really means anything because they get called for whatever, whenever anything happens, really. But this time it seemed a bit more serious.

The cops arrived too. Yeah, the pigs, the real thing, not just the rent-a-cops, cuz it’s not like they’re a threat. And that’s when I left. Not because I’d done anything wrong, but because I just didn’t want to be involved. Or at least be perceived to be involved, you know, “perception rules over intent” according to the gospel of my father. No, I left because, you know, what if they wanted witnesses? Not that I was even a witness because all I saw was a group of people all gathered around this guy. A lot of pushing and pulling, I don’t know. But I could tell that something wasn’t right. You know, like a gut instinct. So maybe it’s not fair to say that he was getting butchered, or even that it was a boy, but sometimes you can imagine the way things play out and just feel confident that that’s the reality.

But, like I said, I don’t know what it was about, so it’s best that I don’t say anything about it. Because then they’ll want to know more and they’ll have to take down my information in case they want to contact me. Like they have some notebook where they write these things down—just the basics, name, address, gender. Which seems easy enough, probably, you know, by the book, just the basics that don’t really even require any thought, but then they’d get this look of panic on their face as they’d trying to assess, you know, boy, girl, boy, girl. It would create this awkward silence between us. They’d be unsure of what to say and I’d just keep my mouth shut for the time being, right? I guess just to watch them squirm. Finally they’d give up and ask me for ID which normally I wouldn’t even have on me because I don’t carry it around. So then they’d get suspicious and it’d look like I’m involved somehow. And I don’t want that. So I just avoided the whole thing and took off as soon as I saw the pigs. 

NELLY removes the backpack.

NELLY              That’s how the whole thing happened. Frankly I think I’m old enough to be able to dress myself. Ultimately it’s my body and my decision, right? If my body is my temple, then I can decide how to adorn it. I don’t know if my body is a temple or what, but at the very least it houses me. And therefore I can choose how I want my walls, my exterior, my shell, if you will, to be received, and perceived, and believed. It’s not any different than the close attention Father Dearest pays to his tie selection every morning, depending on who he’ll be negotiating with that day. That decision is all in the name of presentation. And I just think “What, Dad? What’s so different about your clothing in a meeting compared to my clothing in life. Which one’s more real?”  Who’s more real?

NELLY looks through his backpack.
Earlier I was staring at those boys in the food court and I could tell that they’d put a lot of thought into what they were wearing. Not necessarily effort, but they certainly have thought about what their clothing says about them. Like, “Oh, my big pants and my skater shoes, I’m such a boy.” Like this subversive commentary about their gender, subconscious as it may be. And yeah, actually, I do know how to use subversive in a proper context. Don’t even. But with those boys in the food court, sitting there eating their A&W, that was the first thing I noticed you know? Not the food, but their existence as boys. I didn’t even control it. It was completely instinctual to want to identify that. Because, you know, without a gender we don’t know what to do because it toys with one of the absolutes that we believe. That some people believe. That I can’t believe.

And that is what was in the back of my mind while my family gathered outside the Walmart Portrait Studio. My mom, bless her heart, thinks it’s so great having a Walmart in the mall because then we never have to leave in order to find everything we could ever need. Like this is the embodiment of innovation. So we gather outside there, my mother in some kind of summery getup and my dad with a carefully chosen tie and his usual suit. Katie, my sister, is wearing what I remember as her prom dress and Katrina, her twin, in Katie’s prom dress from last year (she would have worn her own, but during her desperate-to-be-political phase she focused all of her energy on hating the very idea of prom and never got one). Dad had picked the twins up from their school, but as I don’t go to their school, lucky me, I told them I’d just take the bus and meet them at the mall. The bus isn’t glamourous, I know, but there’s less bickering that way. Unless the driver wants to give me hell. And he doesn’t. Believe me.

So I end up changing in the family washroom because there’s privacy there and it saves the whole “which door’s safer” routine that I’m always going through at school, and I take the time to really, you know, get ready with Daddy-O’s haunting “If we’re going to do the photo, we’re going to do it right” at the back of my mind, thinking “Dad, why do you speak in colloquial catch phrases?” Wishing he’d at least pick up on my use of alliteration.

So I meet them, freshly schooled, freshly changed in the bowels of the mall bathroom, and as soon as they see me I hardly even have reaction time. I can just see it in their eyes immediately, this twinge of disbelief that they don’t know if they should let out or repress. It stifles the “Hi” I’m attempting to get out and I end up just standing there. 

Dad looks at Mom as Katie and Katrina share one of their looks that they always share whenever they don’t approve of something, which is all the time. And everyone’s silent, just for a moment. And it’s so clear what all of this is about. Because Dad had actually sat me down the previous night in order to make sure that I wouldn’t cause a “scene.”
                                  
FATHER           Go with your gut, but in doing so, respect your elders. That’s me and your mother. And your grandparents. But they’re not here, so that’s a moot point. So think before you speak. Is that clear?   

NELLY              Yeah, sure dad, practically layman’s terms. It would seem he’d just wanted to clarify the dress code for us to get our family portrait done and how I’d have to think carefully about what I wanted to look like in the photo, like I said the usual tirade about “perception etc etc etc” and that we would be sending them to both sets of grandparents and to my various aunts, all of whom are old maids. Who’s more real there? And he was really firm in leading me to believe that it was ultimately my choice, but that I should think about it… And I did. A lot. And it led me to certain decisions.

And thus I showed up… dressed to the nines. In a dress. A real dress.

       MOM                NELSON!

NELLY              There’s a finger waving in my face and it’s already getting attention from other patrons wandering around the mall, they’re gawking as they divert their children’s eyes, thinking they don’t want them to grow up to be like me and so if they don’t see me then maybe I don’t exist. But they’re so wrong—because even if it’s just the very idea of me, I do exist and I want to challenge their children to look at me.

NELLY takes a dress from his backpack and stands in front of the mirror, holding it up and admiring his reflection.

It even had a crinoline. Maybe that’s what the big deal was, maybe it was that I looked far better than Katie or Katrina could ever hope to, because certainly everyone had already seen their grad dresses, even the grandparents because they’re always asking for pictures of the twins.  But at that moment Mom finally parts her lips and out it comes. It’s beyond expected at this point and I just want to know how explosive it’s going to be. I’m edgy with anticipation. And her lips part further and sound comes out and I notice Katie and Katrina reacting but I’m not really hearing it; I’m sort of frozen mid-thought, on the brink of reacting and then it lands.

MOM                Nelson...

NELLY              She says, in that firm, “I’m taking control as the family matriarch and you will obey everything I say” tone.
                                                                       
MOM                Nelson, you will take off that dress and put on something                                      appropriate.
                                                                       
NELLY              I don’t want to respond because she knows that I never answer people who address me with my full name, and so until I hear the word Nelly come out of her mouth she may as well just stop. “That’s not my name, Mother!” And then it’s the eye-roll and I know that the war’s just begun. The mothers are milling about and I can hear wisps of conversation from the expecting mothers, and the grandmothers talking about growing up in their day and how that never would have happened.

MOM                Nelson, how dare you…
NELLY              And those are the magic words that just make me shut right off.

Mom’s still talking and I’m making it clear that the conversation’s over, half of me wanting to head back to the family washroom just to admire the dress in the privacy of the dirty mirror under bad neon light, but at least somewhere. Somewhere that isn’t here in this moment. I even consider sprinting through the mall, making everyone gasp at the sight of me, showing off to the A&W boys.

And then it happens. Mom’s right in front of me, really close and she begins grabbing at the dress, seemingly trying to tear it off as if my nudity wouldn’t be more of a scandal. Then my father’s moving and I think he’s coming to my help, to calm her down, drag her off to the McDonald’s beside the portrait studio just to ease her mind or something, buy her the two sundaes for two dollars that she loves so much, but he doesn’t. He joins her. The look in his eye echoing the look from our meeting last night. Then Katie and Katrina aren’t far behind.

There’s other people, the gawking mothers who have joined in, no longer hiding their children’s faces, but encouraging them to join in and they’re trying to tear off the ribbon around me, and then the outer layers, the sleeves, starting at the seams and continuing deeper and deeper, past the crinoline. And it doesn’t stop. They’re trying to tear me apart, limb from limb. More and more of them join in, a sea of them. I’m being swarmed. I’m completely surrounded and I don’t know what to say or do. And I can feel my joints and ligaments starting to separate. Hear the severing of my body. And I could swear that I’m floating out of it. I can see in my peripheral vision that mall security has shown up, and the police are arriving too, they’re not far behind. The real ones, the pigs, not the rent-a-cops.
In the midst of all of this I stare up, looking in a final desperate attempt, for a way out of this, of all of this. And I see it. Standing there observing with this touch of concern, this look of not really being able to discern what’s happening, but feeling some sort of compassion for the victim there, unsure of where to look, where to focus…it’s… it’s me. And I stare into my own eyes, pleading for support. And once again it’s like time is standing still. I await some sort of response and then it seems like it’s coming. And I start to see myself move my feet, a step forward, and then leaning on the railing, trying to get a good look, but not really being sure of what’s being seen, and this look of concern coming over my face, I see my eyes shift to the cops and back to me, and then… then… I’m running away so as to not have witnessed it. And everyone is all around me, and I catch my father’s eyes. And who’s more real now, Dad? Who’s more real? And then I’m gone. I’m gone in all regards.