Walsh Family Universe V2

Chapter 46
Bodies and Belonging

The sports physical notice came home in Ash's backpack in early October.

All students participating in winter sports must have a current physical on file. Please schedule an appointment with your pediatrician and return the completed form by November 1st.

"I'll call Dr. Morrison's office tomorrow," Mom said, glancing at the form. "You need this for basketball, right?"

"Yeah, and swimming starts back up in November too." Ash was already thinking ahead to winter sports season—basketball was new this year, but he'd been swimming for years now.

"Two sports again? You sure you can handle that and schoolwork?"

"I'm sure. Basketball's only twice a week, swimming's three times. I can do it."

Mom smiled. "Alright. I'll get you scheduled."

The appointment was set for the following Wednesday after school. Ash had been through physicals before—every year for baseball, for swimming, for school. They were routine by now.

But they were also... complicated in ways he never talked about.

Dr. Morrison's office was familiar territory. Ash had been coming here since he was two—since his body was two, anyway. Since the beginning of this second childhood.

The nurse called him back, had him step on the scale, measured his height against the wall.

"Four foot seven," she announced, marking it on the chart. "You're growing like a weed, Noam."

"Yeah, my pants keep getting too short."

"That's what happens when you're nine. Okay, have a seat. Dr. Morrison will be with you in a minute."

Ash sat on the exam table, the paper crinkling under him. Mom stayed in the waiting room—he was old enough now to do these appointments alone, which was good. Some things were easier without an audience.

Dr. Morrison knocked once and entered—a woman in her fifties, efficient and warm. She'd been his pediatrician for seven years now, had watched him grow from a confused two-year-old into a nine-year-old athlete.

"Hey, Noam! Here for your sports physical?"

"Yeah. Basketball and swimming this year."

"Busy guy." She pulled up his chart on her tablet. "Let's see... you're due for some vaccinations too. We can knock those out today if you want."

"Sure."

The physical was routine. Blood pressure, heart rate, listening to his lungs while he breathed deeply. She checked his ears, his throat, his reflexes with that little hammer on his knee.

"Any injuries I should know about? Soreness, pain, anything unusual?"

"No, I'm good."

"Great. Alright, I need to do the external exam now. You can leave your underwear on, just pull your shirt up."

Ash lifted his shirt. Dr. Morrison felt along his abdomen, checking for hernias or abnormalities. Her hands were clinical, professional, completely matter-of-fact.

"Good. Now drop your waistband for me."

This was the part that always felt surreal.

Ash hooked his thumbs in his underwear and pulled the front down slightly. Dr. Morrison's exam was quick and professional—checking for hernias, making sure everything was developing normally, all the standard checks for a nine-year-old boy.

"Everything looks normal and healthy," she said, making notes on her tablet. "Development is on track for your age. You can pull your shirt back down."

Ash did, feeling the familiar mixture of emotions he got every time this happened.

Relief. Affirmation. A strange sense of rightness.

Because this was normal. This was what doctors did for boys his age. This was a standard pediatric exam, the kind millions of nine-year-old boys had every year.

But for Ash, it was more than that.

It was validation that his body was correct. Was developing properly. Was male.

Every time a doctor examined him and said "everything looks normal," there was this little voice in his head that whispered yes, finally, I'm normal.

"Any questions for me?" Dr. Morrison asked as she filled out the sports physical form.

"No, I'm good."

"Alright. Let's get those vaccines done and you can head home. Tell your mom I'll have the paperwork ready at the front desk."

The nurse came in with two syringes. Ash barely flinched—after years of medical procedures, needles didn't bother him much anymore.

Walking out to the waiting room, form in hand, Ash thought about how matter-of-fact it all was. To Dr. Morrison, he was just another nine-year-old boy getting a routine physical.

She had no idea how profound those words were: everything looks normal.

Thursday after school, Ash had swimming practice. He'd been on the swim team for years now, and the routine was deeply familiar: show up, change in the locker room, practice for ninety minutes, shower, change, go home.

But the locker room still got him sometimes.

The boys' locker room at the aquatic center was standard issue—rows of lockers, wooden benches, tile floors that were always slightly damp. Smelled like chlorine and teenage boy sweat and that distinctive mustiness of a place that never fully dried out.

Ash found his usual spot, dropped his bag on the bench. Around him, other boys were changing—some from the older group who were just finishing, some from his own age group arriving.

Marcus was already there, pulling his swim trunks out of his bag. "Hey! You ready for today? Coach Sarah said we're doing sprint sets."

"Ugh, I hate sprint sets," Tyler groaned from a few lockers down. He was already in his trunks, a towel over his shoulder. "My arms are still sore from Tuesday."

"That's the point," said Daniel, one of the older boys—maybe twelve—as he walked past in just his swim trunks, heading for the pool. "Build those muscles."

Ash pulled off his school shirt and jeans, stood in his underwear for a moment before reaching for his swim trunks. All around him, boys in various states of undress—some completely naked as they changed, some in underwear, some already suited up.

Nobody cared. Nobody stared. It was just boys changing for practice, the most mundane thing in the world.

But for Ash, there was always this moment—this awareness that he was here, in this space, changing with other boys. That his body belonged here. That nobody questioned it, nobody looked at him like he didn't fit.

He was just one of the guys.

In his previous life, gym class had been torture. The girls' locker room had felt like hostile territory, a place where he didn't belong but was forced to exist. Every time he'd changed clothes, he'd been hyperaware of his body, of how wrong it felt, of how much he wanted to be anywhere else.

He'd developed strategies: change quickly, face the locker, wear a sports bra that compressed everything, never shower at school, get in and out as fast as possible.

Now? Now he pulled on his swim trunks without thinking about it. Walked through the locker room in just his swimsuit. Used the urinals in the bathroom without a second thought. Showered after practice in the open shower room where all the boys rinsed off chlorine before getting dressed.

It was normal. It was easy. It was where he belonged.

"You coming?" Marcus asked, already heading for the pool.

"Yeah, right behind you."

Practice was brutal—Coach Sarah wasn't kidding about sprint sets. Fifty-meter sprints with thirty seconds rest between, over and over until Ash's arms felt like jelly and his lungs burned.

But he loved it. Loved pushing his body, loved the feeling of cutting through water, loved being good at something physical.

After practice, the boys trooped back to the locker room, chlorine-soaked and exhausted. The shower room was an open space with multiple showerheads—no stalls, no privacy, just a communal area where everyone rinsed off.

Some of the younger kids were shy about it, would shower in their trunks or wait until everyone else was done. But most of the older boys—Ash included now—just stripped off their wet swimsuits and showered normally.

It had taken Ash a year or so to get comfortable with that. The first few times, he'd showered in his trunks like the shy kids. But gradually, as he watched the other boys treat it like no big deal, he'd relaxed.

Now it was just part of the routine. Peel off the wet trunks, rinse off the chlorine, dry off, get dressed.

Nobody cared. Nobody looked. Everyone was just focused on getting clean and getting home.

But Ash was always aware, in the back of his mind, of how significant this was. How being able to stand in a communal shower with other boys, to exist in male spaces without question or challenge, was something he'd never had before.

Something he'd desperately wanted for his entire previous life.

"My mom's here," Marcus said, now dressed and slinging his wet bag over his shoulder. "You need a ride?"

"Nah, my mom's probably outside too. See you tomorrow at school."

"Later!"

Ash finished dressing—jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, sneakers still slightly damp from the locker room floor. His hair was wet and smelled like chlorine despite the shower. His muscles were pleasantly sore.

He was tired and happy and felt completely, utterly normal.

Just a nine-year-old boy after swim practice.

That weekend, Claire brought Sophie over for a visit. While the adults talked in the kitchen, Sophie wanted Ash to play with her in the backyard.

"Can we play tag? Please?"

"Sure, but you're it first."

Sophie squealed and chased him around the yard. She was seven now, fast and giggly, her energy boundless. After tag, they moved to the swing set, then to climbing the oak tree.

At one point, Sophie said she needed to pee and ran inside.

Ash stayed in the yard, climbing higher up the tree. From his perch, he could see into the neighbors' yard, could see the street beyond.

He thought about Sophie—his niece who called him Uncle Noam, who had no memory of him as Ash, who just knew him as her young uncle who played with her.

She was a girl. Would grow up to be a woman. Would experience puberty and all its complications.

And Ash... Ash wouldn't. Ash would experience the other puberty. The one he was supposed to have. The one that was already starting in small ways—the deodorant, the way his body was changing, the hints of what was coming.

In a few years, his voice would drop. He'd grow taller. Broader. Hair would appear in new places. Everything would change in ways that felt right instead of wrong.

He was already looking forward to it, in a weird way. Dreading the awkwardness—puberty was hell no matter which version—but also eager for it. For the changes that would make his body more fully his own.

"Uncle Noam!" Sophie was back, running across the yard. "Come down! Let's play hide and seek!"

Ash climbed down from the tree. "Okay, but I'm hiding first. Count to fifty."

Sophie covered her eyes and started counting loudly. "ONE! TWO! THREE!"

Ash ran to find a hiding spot, his body moving easily, his mind quiet.

Just a boy playing with his niece in the backyard.

Later that night, after Claire and Sophie had left, Ash lay in bed thinking about the week. About the physical exam where Dr. Morrison had checked him and said everything was normal. About the locker room and showers and how unremarkable it all was now. About climbing trees and playing tag and just being a boy.

"My name is Ash," he whispered to the darkness. "I'm thirty-one years old. I'm nine years old. This week I had a sports physical and changed in the locker room and showered with other boys and nobody thought twice about it because I belong there."

The profound mundanity of it.

The everyday miracle of having the right body in the right spaces.

He'd spent twenty-four years in his previous life feeling like an intruder in female spaces. Uncomfortable in locker rooms, bathrooms, anywhere gender-segregated. Always aware that his body didn't match, that he didn't belong, that others might notice and challenge him.

Now? Now he walked into boys' locker rooms without a thought. Used men's bathrooms naturally. Got physical exams that confirmed his body was developing correctly as male.

It was normal. Boring, even.

And that normalcy was the most precious thing he had.

Every sports physical that checked his body and found it healthy was a tiny validation—you're a boy, this is right, everything is as it should be.

Every locker room where he changed alongside other boys was a reminder—you belong here, this is your space, nobody questions it.

Every communal shower where he existed as just another boy rinsing off chlorine was proof—this is who you are, this is your body, this is correct.

He'd never take it for granted. Would never forget what it felt like to not have this. Would always carry that awareness that what felt routine to everyone else was extraordinary to him.

Four thousand, nine hundred and ninety-one days to go.

But today he'd had a sports physical and the doctor said he was normal.

Today he'd showered with his swim team and nobody blinked.

Today he'd climbed a tree and played with his niece and existed comfortably in his own skin.

And that was everything.

More than everything.

It was the life he'd always wanted but never thought he'd have.

A body that fit. Spaces where he belonged. A future where he'd grow up male because he was male.

Simple. Normal. Profound.

He fell asleep thinking about next week's swimming practice, about basketball tryouts starting soon, about the routine physical next year and the year after that.

About a lifetime of being exactly who he was supposed to be.

Finally.