THE POWER OF DIFFERENCE
It is a general given that the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries were not the best times to be different, especially with regards to your gender or your sexuality. Even today, this divergence can cost you your life, a truth that forces many into hiding. In a perfect world, this fact would be mere fiction, a myth, something easily debunkable. But unfortunately, everything is not perfect. Fear can be a catalyst for change at the best of times, allowing people to embrace the trepidation that clutches their beings and rise up to oppose oppression. However, this fear can also be the cause of such abuses, forcing the line that separates the two to become blurred. And during Elizabethan era Ireland, these maltreatments only added to the already astronomical levels of repression.
“Patrick,” a husky voice called from a distant window. The voice was usually gentle, warming even. But for the past number of weeks, its owner had become weakened by the winter breeze. The husky voice repeated itself.
Patrick kicked the muck beneath him as his name was called. He always hated his name, he never felt like a ‘Patrick.’ The name never felt like it truly belonged to him.
“Coming,” he grunted back quickly. He feared the name would be shouted again if he did not swiftly reply. He threw the rusted shovel to the ground and headed back to the house.
Inside the cramped house, Patrick’s mother wheezed in her bed. Patrick’s father had been long gone, sadly taken out by a bacterium that couldn’t be seen. His sister suffered the same fate months later, leaving only Patrick, his mother, and their little farm. Patrick loved his mother, he always had. He had never felt a love like that for anybody else in his entire life and he always thought that this fact would remain a constant. He watched helplessly as his mother wretched from side to side, desperate to find a position that allowed her to breathe. Her lungs were filling with the same terrors that had taken Patrick’s father and sister, and Patrick felt close to tears every time he thought of this. His loving mother didn’t have long left, and Patrick knew this.
“Patrick?” she whispered.
He rushed to her bedside with a pot of boiling water. The water danced inside the pot, spilling from its metallic constraints along the way.
“Yes?” he replied. The remaining water rested at the bottom of the pot. The amount that remained was insignificant, useless.
“We both know that I haven’t got long left.” She paused to let out a bark that ferociously ripped through her throat. Patrick winced at the sound.
“Everything will pass to you. It is up to you to take care of everything. But…” She gripped his strong hands with her slender, weakened fingers. “Be who you are, never let anyone or anything change you. It is my biggest regret that I didn’t support you whole-heartedly and I am sorry for that. I hope that in death I can be more supportive than I was in life.” She squeezed his hand tightly. “And I will always be so proud of you.”
Patrick wrestled against the turmoil stirring inside of him. He had never expected his mother to say such a thing. Heck, he never even suspected that she was aware of his inner battle. Patrick thought that he was in this alone, this difference was solely his to bare. But now, he had encouragement as well as the support of the person he loved the most. Patrick was ecstatic, he had never felt so delighted. A gleaming smile formed across his lips whilst tears of joy escaped from his eyes.
“Do what you know is right.”
Upon his mother’s instruction, Patrick knew what needed to be done. He strolled to the end of his house feeling purely elated, the thatched roof grazing against his happy head along the way. Patrick was full of excitement, his stomach bursting with flapping butterflies. Yet, nerves were also evident therein. A slight reluctance travelled throughout his being as he opened the tall wooden wardrobe. This one moment would change his life forever. Whether that be for better or worse, only time would tell.
Just take this one baby step, he whispered. Show how strong you truly are.
With a sense of pride, he studied the fabric in front of him. The cotton felt pure against the skin of his fingers, it felt as if it belonged to him. Something that had always been destined to be the sole property of Patrick. He gripped the white cotton with his two hands and gently removed the dress from its hanger. The musky smell that escaped comforted his olfactory system, stirring up more excitement within Patrick. When the dress was finally put over his body, the true magic happened. Sparks flied around his body and a gentle tornado of joyous fire wrapped around him. A sense of fullness took over as the flames travelled around the room. Most importantly, Patrick perceived something tremendous when scrutinizing the being in front of the mirror. Patrick finally felt like the person he had always wanted to be.
Walking out the front door would be the next challenge he proposed. If he could do this, the lion inside of him would be ready to roar. Although, before he could open the door, a moment of hesitation halted his roar.
Just open the door. That’s all you have to do. You don’t even have to step outside.
Breathing in a puff of air, his shaking hand opened the thin door. A sigh of relief was quickly let out thereafter. The lion inside was roaring and Patrick had never felt stronger. And now, he wasn’t going to sit back and be afraid anymore. He was ready to make that perfect world he had always dreamed of. His power would become everyone’s power.
R. N. Cogley is an Irish writer and Masters student. His work has been featured in The Wexford Bohemian and Undead Press, and he is the author of The Elemental Witches series.