Walsh Family Universe V2

Chapter 42
Growing Up (For Real This Time)

Fourth grade started with Mom holding up a stick of deodorant at the breakfast table.

"You need to start using this," she said, setting it next to Ash's cereal bowl.

Ash looked at the deodorant, then at Mom. "Why?"

"Because you're nine years old and you're starting to... mature." Mom's voice had that carefully neutral tone she used for uncomfortable topics. "After gym class yesterday, your shirt smelled pretty strong. It's time to start thinking about hygiene."

Ash picked up the deodorant. Old Spice. The same kind Dad used.

He'd been through puberty before. Remembered the gradual changes, the awkwardness, the mortification of his body doing things without his permission.

But that had been different. Wrong. A body changing in ways that felt alien and uncomfortable and fundamentally incorrect.

This was... going to be different.

This was going to be right.

And that was terrifying in its own way.

"Okay," Ash said quietly.

"After your shower every morning, before you get dressed. Just a swipe under each arm." Mom smiled. "It's normal, honey. You're growing up."

Growing up. Into a boy. Into the body he'd always been supposed to have.

At school, the boys' bathroom had started to smell different this year. Not bad exactly, just... stronger. The fourth and fifth grade boys all had that distinctive odor now, that not-quite-child-not-quite-teenager smell.

Ash noticed it on himself after gym class. Nothing terrible, but definitely present. The smell of a body starting to change.

In the locker room after PE, some of the boys were already making jokes about it.

"Dude, you stink!" Marcus said, waving his hand in front of his face dramatically.

"You stink worse!" Tyler shot back, throwing his gym shirt at Marcus.

Their teacher, Mr. Davis, intervened. "Alright, that's what deodorant is for. Everyone should be using it by now. If you're not, talk to your parents."

Several boys nodded sheepishly. A few looked confused, like they hadn't noticed yet.

Ash was somewhere in the middle—aware of the changes but not entirely sure how to feel about them.

Lunch period in fourth grade meant more freedom. The fourth and fifth graders ate in the same cafeteria session as the second and third graders. Ash sat with his usual group: Marcus, Tyler, and a couple other boys from the baseball team—Daniel and Chris.

"Did you guys see the game last night?" Daniel asked, mouth full of sandwich.

"The playoffs? Yeah, it was insane," Tyler said. "That home run in the ninth—"

"Uncle Noam!"

Ash looked up to see Sophie weaving through the tables toward them. She was in second grade now, seven years old and missing one of her front teeth.

"Hey, Soph," Ash said as she approached their table. "What's up?"

"I wanted to show you!" Sophie held up a drawing—a rainbow with what might have been a unicorn. "We got to use the good markers today! Mrs. Patterson let me use the glitter pen!"

"That's awesome."

"And look—" Sophie pointed to her mouth. "My tooth finally came out! The tooth fairy brought me five dollars!"

"Wow, inflation," Marcus said under his breath, making Tyler snort.

"Sophie, honey, you need to eat your lunch," a lunch monitor called over.

"Okay!" Sophie waved her drawing at Ash. "I'm gonna hang this on the fridge! See you after school!"

She ran back to the second-grade section of the cafeteria where her friends were sitting.

Ash returned to his lunch to find his friends grinning at him.

"She's your niece?" Chris asked. "That's so cool that she goes here too."

"Yeah. She's in second grade."

"Does she always show you her drawings?" Tyler asked, amused.

"Pretty much. She's proud of her art." Ash took a bite of his sandwich.

"My little brother's like that," Marcus said. "Wants to show me every single thing he makes."

The conversation moved back to baseball, and Ash relaxed. These moments happened occasionally—Sophie spotting him and running over, calling him "Uncle Noam" in front of his friends, creating questions he had to carefully navigate.

But mostly it was fine. She was just his niece who happened to go to the same school.

In the bathroom between classes, Ash washed his hands and caught his reflection in the mirror. He'd grown over the summer—was taller now, his face starting to lose some of that round toddler softness. His hair was darker. His shoulders were getting slightly broader.

He was starting to look like a boy instead of a little kid.

Another fourth grader came in—Jake from his math class. Went to the urinal, washed his hands, checked his hair in the mirror.

"My mom says I'm going through a growth spurt," Jake said, noticing Ash looking. "I grew like two inches this summer."

"Yeah, me too," Ash said.

"It's weird, right? Like suddenly my pants are too short and my voice sounds different sometimes."

Ash had noticed the voice thing too. Not full-on voice cracking yet, but occasionally his voice would do this little dip, get slightly deeper for a word or two before going back to normal.

It was strange. Exciting. Scary.

This was the beginning of male puberty. The real thing. The one he'd never experienced before.

"My older brother says it gets weirder," Jake said, drying his hands. "But at least we get taller."

After he left, Ash stood at the mirror a moment longer. Studied his face. Tried to imagine it older, more angular, with actual facial features instead of the soft kid-face he still had.

Tried to imagine going through the next few years. The changes coming. Growing into a teenage boy, then a young man.

In the right body this time.

That thought settled in his chest, warm and terrifying.

Right. This was right. This was what he'd always wanted.

Even if it meant going through puberty again. Even if it meant awkwardness and smell and voice cracks and all the mortifying things that came with growing up.

At least it would be his puberty. The one he was supposed to have.

After school, at baseball practice, Coach Williams pulled the team together.

"Alright boys, couple announcements. First, some of you are starting to grow, which is great. But it also means your bodies are changing, so we need to talk about hygiene."

Several boys groaned.

"I know, I know, embarrassing topic. But listen—you're working hard, you're sweating, and you're starting to hit the age where that sweat smells different. Everyone needs to be wearing deodorant to practice. And everyone needs to be showering regularly. Got it?"

"Yes, Coach," the team chorused.

"Good. Now, second announcement—tryouts for spring league are in two weeks. I expect all of you to try out for the upper division. You're ready for it."

After practice, in the car, Ash asked Dad, "Did you play baseball when you were my age?"

"I did. Not as well as you, but I played." Dad glanced at him. "Why?"

"Just wondering. Did you... like it? The whole growing up thing?"

Dad was quiet for a moment. "You mean puberty?"

"Yeah."

"Honestly? It was awkward as hell. I was clumsy, I smelled weird, my voice cracked at the worst times." Dad smiled. "But it was also exciting. Feeling yourself get stronger, taller. Becoming who you were supposed to be."

Becoming who you were supposed to be.

"Does it feel weird?" Ash asked. "Watching me go through it? Knowing that I've... done this before?"

"A little," Dad admitted. "But this time is different for you, isn't it? This time it's the right changes."

"Yeah," Ash said quietly. "It is."

"Then that's what matters. You're going to go through the same awkward stuff every boy goes through. But at least it'll be in the right body this time."

That night, after his shower, Ash stood in front of the bathroom mirror with the deodorant. Pulled up the stick, swiped it under each arm like Mom had shown him.

It felt weirdly significant. This small act of growing up. Of maintaining a body that was starting to mature.

Starting to become what it was always supposed to be.

He flexed his arm experimentally. The muscles were more defined than they'd been last year. All that baseball and swimming was building actual strength, actual mass.

He was going to be tall, he thought. Taller than he'd been before. This body's genetics were different—Dad was 6'2", Mom was 5'8". He'd probably end up somewhere around there.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Male.

The thought made him smile.

His old body—the wrong one—had been small, soft, curved in ways that had always felt incorrect. Even after transitioning, even with hormones, there were things that couldn't be changed. The fundamental bone structure. The shape of his hips. The width of his shoulders.

This body was different. Was being built right from the beginning. Would grow into exactly what he was supposed to be.

Even if it meant smelling weird and needing deodorant and going through all the awkward in-between stages.

"My name is Ash," he whispered to his reflection. "I'm thirty-one years old. I'm nine years old. I'm starting puberty. The right one this time."

All of it was true.

All of it was strange.

All of it was somehow... okay.

He went to his room, where his homework waited. Fourth-grade math (still annoying with all the showing work, but at least the concepts were getting slightly more interesting). Reading comprehension (the books were finally at a level that didn't bore him to tears). Social studies (actually kind of interesting when they weren't just coloring maps).

On his bookshelf: trophies from baseball and swimming. Photos from tournaments and meets. His all-star jersey. His medals.

Evidence of a life being lived. Not just survived, but actually lived.

He was Noam Walsh, nine years old, fourth grader, athlete, big brother to Sophie (technically uncle, but who was keeping track?), son to parents who loved him, friend to Marcus and Tyler and Daniel and Chris.

He was also Ash, thirty-one, living in a nine-year-old body that was finally, correctly, starting to mature.

Both things. Always both things.

But increasingly, it was the first one that felt most real.

Five thousand and four days to go.

But today he'd started using deodorant. Had hugged his niece at lunch. Had talked about growth spurts with a classmate. Had been told by his coach to try out for the upper division.

Today he'd been a normal nine-year-old boy starting to grow up.

And that was enough.

More than enough.

It was actually kind of perfect.

He finished his homework, brushed his teeth (and his new deodorant smell hit him again—stronger, more mature, more male), and got into bed.

Tomorrow Sophie would probably ambush him at lunch again. Tomorrow he'd have gym class and smell like sweat afterward. Tomorrow he'd be a little bit taller, a little bit older, a little bit closer to the person he was supposed to be.

Growing up.

Finally, completely, correctly growing up.

He fell asleep thinking about it—about the years ahead, about the changes coming, about puberty and high school and eventually being eighteen again, but this time in the right body.

It wouldn't be easy. Puberty never was.

But it would be his.

And that made all the difference.