It was about 5 o’clock on New Year's Eve. Jerry was eating an easy dinner, poached fish filet, frozen spinach, microwave mac and cheese. He could have cooked something much nicer, much better. But why bother. There was no one to share it with this year. He didn’t really have any friends to invite over. His son was working, making food so others could celebrate. But most importantly, his wife was dead.

The year before wasn’t that good. A stroke had put her in nursing care. And Covid closed the doors so all he could do was talk to her over the phone while they looked at each other through the window. But she was alive. There was hope. Yet by the time she could come home, her health had declined. He cared for her night and day with some help from his son and daughter. But he didn’t have the gift of healing. She died a couple months later. And now he was alone.

He finished his dinner, put the dishes in the washer, washed his hands, and decided to go to the piano. She had bought it for both of them so many years ago. He was never very good at it. But years of playing other instruments had given him at least a feel for the music. And she was so much better. He remembered listening to her work on Scott Joplin while he sat at the couch and read the newspaper. Her playing wasn’t great either. But it was beautiful.

And now he looked at the box on top of the piano, in front of the pictures of her, next to the stuffed bunny that had been with her in the hospital. He took a moment to sigh and pray and gather his thoughts. She had known of his secret desire for things feminine for three decades. It was a surprise and a shock, but they had talked through it and decided to keep it a private matter. Sometimes she had encouraged him to open up about it. Sometimes they had fun with it. But other times she had pulled back. And for so many years, life had been too busy even to allow brief respite. And it was hard to open up after those periods.

They had a good life together. They enjoyed the same restaurants and shows and movies and TV (mostly). They both loved music, both serious and humorous. They tried playing various instruments. But the piano sat unused, out of tune and stacked with stuff. As part of preparing for her to come home, he had cleaned it up, gotten it repaired and tuned. But she never got the chance to try it again. So perhaps he could at least continue that for her.

He sat down on the bench, opened the cover and set out a book of easy arrangements. He turned to Claire de Lune and checked the key. D flat major. It was one of the trickiest keys he had played in school band, with five flats. Lots of little changes to remember. Would there be changes in his future? That was the question.

He stretched his fingers, adjusted them over the keys and carefully ran up and down the scale. A couple times in the bass, a couple more in the treble. Then he started to pick out the tune. There were a few miscues, but he worked his way through to the end. Then he went to the beginning and started again. There wasn’t much confidence yet, but he tried to adjust his playing to the sound and the feeling in his head. He remembered a video. Three beautiful women swimming through the water in a grotto, illuminated by the moon overhead. Their hair trailed behind them and the kicking of their legs gently swished the diaphanous skirts of their gowns in the water. They sat together playing a single Steinway as their arms intertwined and the tune pulsed up and down the keyboard.

He could never be that beautiful or play so elegantly. But what could he be? What could she be? And would She approve now? The loneliness, the sadness arose within him. He let it wash into him, through him and gradually ebb. He turned to the Samuel Barber Adagio. Same five flats but a different key, a different scale. His fingers ran up and down the keyboard. He worked through this piece three times. It fit his mourning and there was a lot of mourning to express, perhaps to expiate? He closed his eyes and bent his head. He felt the sadness rise into his brain and forward into the eyes. But the tears would not quite come. Something was blocking them, keeping them inside.

Begin at the beginning. He turned to the start of the book and opened it to Fur Elise. It was one of the first songs he had learned. It was in A minor, but much simpler. No flats or sharps. Just the white keys. He went through this one 3, 4, 5 times. Each time with a little more confidence, a bit more feeling. When he had first learned it, there had been hope for a much better performance in the future. Could there be such hope again?

There had been no conversations about such a future. When she came home, the stroke had left her barely able to talk. A few weeks of therapy had enabled her to say one last time, “I love you.” But an infection had cut that off. And after a brief recovery, she had died. No chance of discussing what if scenarios for the future that was now his alone. And now the pressure was still inside him. But he had made a promise. What resolution could there be?

He bent his head again and contemplated a silent prayer, a prayer for guidance, a prayer for healing, a prayer for hope. He opened a different book and turned to the Doxology. This one was short and he quickly played it once. Could there be a hope for some blessing in the future? He didn’t know, so he closed the keyboard, stood up and went to bed.

He changed into a long animal print nightgown and went to the sink, where he brushed his teeth, washed his face and applied some moisturizer. Then he slipped under the covers and eventually drifted to sleep. Sometime in the night, he became aware of a dream. Two children were running onto a playground followed by an older woman. The girl dashed ahead. “You can’t catch me, Jerry!” she called out. “Wait and see, Judy” the boy yelled back and raced after her. They ran to the apparatus and scampered up the stairs, then slid down a slide and went up again. Each hustled to catch the other. After several rounds of that, the girl headed for the swings and the boy followed.

After a few swings, Jerry called out “How do you like to go up in a swing?”
And Judy replied, “Up in the air so blue”
“Oh I do think it the pleasantest thing”
“Ever a child can do.”
As each spoke, his view and focus shifted as he looked and spoke to the other.

At the end of the verse, Judy jumped down from the swing and walked over to the woman. “May we please have some ice cream, Mommy?” she asked. The woman looked down with a familiar face, a wide smile and dark hair turning to grey. “I love you" was all she said.
The focus of the dream shifted. The children were running a circuitous path following arroyos and jogging paths through the neighborhood. But each time they changed direction to head back to the park, something had shifted and they had to go farther and take a different route. Eventually they drifted off into a deeper sleep.

The room was a little cooler and a faint glimmer of light shown through the window curtains. She woke up and went to the restroom and then the sink. She washed her hands and face and brushed her teeth. Then she picked up a brush and worked it around through her hair. It had been about a year since the last haircut. It still wasn’t very long, but it showed promise. Looking in the mirror, the face was still that of a man, but she thought she saw a bit of a girl in the smile there.

She pulled on a robe, went to the kitchen and ate a bowl of cereal. She opened her journal and wrote
“This year I resolve to be a better person, to be the best woman that I can be.”
She opened her computer and started scanning for various resources.

A Year Later

She put a pan with the lobster souffle into the oven and set the timer. Then she washed her hands and went to the piano to play while she waited. She worked through some scales, then turned to “Gentle On My Mind”. It was one of the songs she had sung during their final weeks together. Her voice still couldn’t reach the high notes where the melody was written. But she didn’t think Glen Campbell sang it up there either. And after four months of training and practice, it was getting easier. She could hear a lilt, a kind of smile in the words as she sang them. She remembered the last time she had sung it for her wife. It was a kind of private mourning. She had sung it many times along with other songs to fill the time and perhaps relieve some of the pain. And then she sat beside the body and sang it to herself.

She switched to Claire de Lune. There were still miscues, but perhaps not as many? And she played it with more feeling that came from deep inside her. Was there a light above for her? She thought of older memories and wept with actual tears on her cheeks. And then she thought of newer memories.

In January she came out to her doctor and talked about her situation. The doctor switched her blood pressure medicine to one which also blocked her testosterone. And they referred her to a counselor. Grief was a convenient excuse, but it was really about her gender. After a few sessions the psychologist had referred her to a gender counselor.

In February, she had gotten her ears pierced and bought a set of birthstone earrings and a necklace. And she started attending a support group.

In March, she got her first appointment to start the long slow process of electrolysis to clean up her scratchy face. And she came out to her daughter.

In April, her daughter had referred her to a Trans support picnic sponsored by her medical group. And she learned about a local group that organized queer friendly campouts. Her doctor consulted an endocrinologist and got her a prescription for estradiol patches.

In May, she bought gear to go camping for the first time in years. She camped with a couple friends from the support group. But she met lots of people from all parts of the LGBT spectrum. There was no need to categorize or label. They just enjoyed doing things together, hiking, cooking, singing.

In June she invited a few friends over for a dinner at her house.

In July she helped set up a large picnic to support LGBT students. She invited a few more people and her dinner became a regular thing.

In August, she made a costume and attended her first convention in many years.

In September the group had a second campout and she helped organize music for the camp.

In October, she met a woman running for the city council, put a sign in her yard, and joined the weekly canvasing to encourage the voters.

In November, she joined the election night excitement and celebrated when her candidate was elected. Her daughter invited her over for Thanksgiving and she met her daughter’s friends. A close friend whom she had known for many years greeted her as herself and they chatted about clothes and makeup and schools and the national problems for girls like her.

In December, she helped a group of her friends hold a special In Between Party for those who weren’t comfortable or even had been rejected by their families.

The alarm went off and she took the souffle out and set it on a rack to rest a few minutes. She pulled a bottle of champagne out of the refrigerator she had been saving for too many years. She transferred the souffle onto a plate and drizzled a cream sauce over it. She carefully opened the champagne and poured some into a fluted glass. She took a bite of the souffle. The lobster taste was delicious. The champagne gave a sweet tingle in her mouth.

It had been a very good year!

Clair de Lune for 3 pianists- The 5 Browns
https://youtu.be/uVzr-6_BVEs?si=yIpf8wnwKJ4T192W

Adagio - Samuel Barber (1910-1981)
https://youtu.be/cdAAeCcY9lA?si=2_e85LqGQT1c2PgI

"Für Elise" Performed by Lang Lang
https://youtu.be/s71I_EWJk7I?si=sHpayYbaXkOwpTqT

The Doxology (CU Wisconsin)
https://youtu.be/RB7WZxR-xGY?si=NHZeO2_z3q0jpsX6

Ashley Campbell - Gentle On My Mind (98.7 THE BULL)
https://youtu.be/Rb_rQ5D9_z8?si=jc8xsQnMsfGAfCS4