Natural Selection

On the day of her fourteenth birthday, she would be expected to choose: Lion or Dove. She had considered this nearly nonstop for the last four years at least. Which familiar would be hers? Each time she felt the choice made, the discarded one would again resurface, clouding her thoughts.

She was told that she was merely confused. She was told that when the time came, her one true choice would become clear. Her naivety would disperse as the surface tension of a pond gives way to a diver, revealing new depths. She was told, “You will just know which one.”

One.

The day arrives. She awakes, newly fourteen, with a terrible pit in her stomach. Everyone will soon gather for the ceremony. The elders, her peers, the little ones with plenty of open space still ahead of their choices. Today is the day, and she still cannot discern which call to follow. Is it Lion’s thunderous roar, or Dove’s lilting song that pulls more deeply? She must choose, but she cannot decide.

A flash of realization: I want them both.

The thought shocks her. Abomination.

She wraps her braids high on her head and resolves to choose Lion. It’s the more expected choice for someone shaped as she is. She sighs and tries to believe that having finally chosen, Lion’s roar will at last drown Dove’s song. She assures herself that this longing she feels in two directions will fade. She cannot stay a child forever, and maturity means choosing. It seems everyone says so. Perhaps that is what this ceremony is for. Perhaps everyone feels as she does before their declaration. Her breathing eases. She is comforted by the thought that perhaps she is not so different.

A knock at her door signals that it is time. She pulls on her long ceremonial shift, embroidered with the endless swirls of shining thread she has labored over since her tenth birthday. Her initial dreams of this moment sinking to dread with each passing stitch, as time ran out, and clarity did not come. Now, she walks into the sunlight, where her community has gathered around her. The elders stand, each with their chosen familiar: Dove or Lion. She kneels in the grass, feeling near tears.

She must now bury a part of her heart.

The Selected Elder comes to stand before her and puts up a hand for silence. “This child of our own comes before us today to assert her life’s choice, with honesty and without reservation. Child, I address you in the manner of youth for the last time, rise and make your declaration.”

She stands. The Selected Elder’s words swim in her mind. Honesty. Without reservation. Suddenly, a rush of feeling floods her, blocking out everything else. She has become accustomed to shoving her own voice to the soles of her feet, sinking it underground with every step. But, now, her voice rises all the way from her feet, past the pit in her stomach, through her unburied heart, and out of her mouth into the meadow.

“Both. I seek both Lion and Dove.”

She hears the community gasp.

But then, perhaps not everyone is scandalized after all? She notices some in the circle seem to view her with particular approval. How had she never noticed those on the fringes who now smile at her? Some even have familiars not approved by the council. Surely that cannot be a Zebra, an Evergreen, a School of Fish? And there, is that not someone without any familiar at all, yet wearing Elders’ robes? Could it be that she is different and yet…not alone?

A Dove swoops down and lands on her shoulder just as a Lion nudges a massive mane under her hand. She has chosen both, and both have come to her. There is whispering, but there is also applause. There are raised eyebrows, but there are also arms circling her shoulders. On this day of choosing, she decides to lean into the arms and ignore the eyebrows.

Moments and years go by. Many still tell her that her path is an avoidance, a cheat. They warn that her opposing familiars will destroy each other. She chuckles. She has learned that she needn’t stifle her own voice to favor these others. Dove and Lion are harmonious at her side, neither more significant, neither less real. Together, they guide her always, regardless of what others may observe.

A child no longer, she is whole, and she has nothing to prove to anyone.

S Maxfield is a genderqueer, bi+, and disabled writer. Their flash fiction has been published by WinC Magazine and Voyage YA by Uncharted, and s/he has a short story featured in the anthology We Mostly Come Out at Night (Running Press, 2024). linktr.ee/essmaxfield