“Greg! The mail’s here and you have a letter from the College of the Art Foundation of Chicago,” Bob yells up to me. “Isn’t that the one you’ve been waiting for?” I barrel down the stairs and nearly trip as I stop short in front of my brother.
I’m suddenly nervous. Yes, I want to know what the letter says—but by the same token, well, I don’t! What if they didn’t accept me? Worse, yet—what if they did? How would I afford it?
I whine, “Yes, Bob. This is the one! If I’m accepted here, this is the one! But if I am—how will I afford it?” He hands me the letter and says, “Bro, if you get in—and it’s what you want—it’ll all work out!” I sigh, “Thanks, Bob. Getting in is really hard and it’s certainly what I want but it’s way more than I can afford.”
He admonishes me, “Greg! I just told you—we’ll figure it out. Now, am I going to die of old age before you open the letter? Is that it? You’re waiting on my life insurance? That’s your plan?” I know he’s kidding but it still stings. I take the envelope and tear it open. I take out the letter with a shaky hand and carefully unfold it. I start scanning it and read out loud, “Dear, Mr. Jennings… Blah, blah, blah… We are happy to inform you that you have been accepted into the College of the Art Foundation of Chicago!”
I literally scream!
Bob grins and punches me in the shoulder, then says, “See! I told you it would work out!”
I just sigh and say, “Yeah, but where am I going to come up with the tuition—let alone the room and board?” Bob grins and says, “Greg, Little Dude! Settle down! Mom and Dad have the tuition covered—Dad started a special education fund for us each when we were born and it’s specially slated for tuition. It’s done really well, so that’s covered. That’s how I have been taking classes. You will just have to cover your room and board. I know Chicago isn’t really cheap, but I know you can find something that will work. You’ll just have to get a part-time job. But, what about your other decision? I notice it’s addressed to ‘Greg’. Does that mean you decided?”
I shake my head and sigh. I look at him and hold back my tears as I respond, “No, Bob, I haven’t. It was just easier to apply this way.” He shakes his head and says, “Well, Little Dude, you can’t really stay on blockers forever…” I grimace and retort, “I know, Bob!” I instantly regret my tone and calm it down, “It’s just that things are still so complicated!”
I started on hormone blockers when I was fourteen—just before puberty would have hit me based on blood tests. I have always been confused about my gender and even though we couldn’t really afford it, Mom and Dad took me to a specialist who decided I should stay on blockers to give me time to find myself. That was back in the old administration when the world was moving in a direction that was much more accepting of the transgender community.
I was almost to the point of deciding to give living as a girl a trial period when all things ‘societal’ went decidedly south. Call me a chicken, but I don’t trust how it would go in today’s world—hate is on the rise and I really don’t want to be its stomping ground.
With all of that, I have been able to convince my doctor to keep me on blockers, but not for much longer. On top of that came Mom and Dad’s accident, which just further caused me to question things and further helped me convince my doctor. I just couldn’t find a way to commit to anything with all the confusing feelings I had.
After their death, my older brother, Bob, took over my care—putting his own college studies on a slower track. Luckily enough, he decided to go to college right here in Omaha when he started, so he still lived at home. I always felt so guilty that he had to take over my care and put his needs aside. It didn’t seem fair that I would worry about my own internal conflict.
We have enough to live on with the life insurance and other funds—but it is tight. There simply is not enough room in that budget for Bob to make the payments here and room and board for me in Chicago. But he is right—this may be my best chance to do something different with my life.
I placate him, “I don’t know, Bob. I will give it some thought. I need to go to Chicago and see if I can sort some things out, since I was able to graduate early. Maybe I can find that job and someplace to stay that will work out. I will do some real soul searching while I’m at it.” He punches my shoulder again and says, “You know we’re in this together, Little Dude—whether as my brother or my sister. I just worry about you being stuck in the middle.”
I sigh and simply say, “Me too, Bob—Me, too.” The Siren’s Song of giving in to my female side has been getting stronger and harder to ignore, but, like I said, I’m too chicken to go there. I won’t even give in to doing it in private for fear of opening Pandora’s Box.
I sigh again and think about the implications of all of this. If I seriously want to accept the admission, then I have a little over two months to find a place to live, find a job to pay for it and for food, and decide whether I want to let the genie out of her bottle. That would require having a serious discussion with the school. I shake my head and pull up the Greyhound website on my aging laptop.
It’s about a ten-hour trip from Omaha to Chicago on the bus and within my budget. I order a ticket for this coming Monday and then search out hotels that I can afford. After some digging, I find one that I can swing—barely. If I can get a job pretty quick, then it should work out. I make a reservation and shut down my laptop. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
For better or worse—Chicago, here I come!
I get off the bus after the overnight ride and stretch. After getting my bag, I figure out the best way to the hotel via public transportation. At least the hotel is within walking distance of the school, so that’s the vicinity that I’ll be looking for a place to live—and a job.
After I finally arrive, quite some time later, I look at the run-down building that is my hotel and go inside. It’s still early in the morning, but I’m hoping I can at least drop off my bag, which luckily is not a problem, so I go back out to venture into the streets of Chicago and see what I can find.
I walk over to the campus to get a feel for the lay of the land. After what seems like just a short time, I’m surprised when my stomach growls loudly and I look at the time. It’s already two o’clock!
I start walking back in the direction of my hotel and see a quaint little Bistro and Bakery with heavenly smells coming out of it. I also notice the “Help Wanted” sign in the window and sigh—I have no experience in anything they would be looking for.
I walk in the door, lured in by the smell of strong coffee and yeasty confections, and smile at the old-fashioned actual bell that announces my arrival. I look around the little shop and see that it’s empty.
There are several bistro tables set around the floor and a large wall of refrigerated and glass display cases with all sorts of cakes, cookies, and confections. Behind the cases the wall is lined with baskets filled with breads, buns, and bagels—and industrial coffee and espresso makers. Think of a quaint (i.e., non-plain vanilla) Panera’s—or a Parisian Café—and you would be close.
I walk up to the display cases and start looking at all of the wonderful delights as my mouth starts to water. I don’t even notice the young Goddess that comes in behind the counter, until she asks in a cheery voice that is as melodious as the bell over the door, “Hi! Can I help you find anything?”
I look up and ask with a goofy smile, “Umm… Is it too late to get anything for lunch?” She waves her hands towards the tables and replies, “Of course not! Take a seat anywhere and I’ll bring you a menu.”
I select a table both close to the window and the counter and take a seat so that I have a view of both. She comes over and says, “Hi, again! My name is Melody, and I’m the owner of this little shop. Welcome!”
She hands me a menu and I smile back and say, “Hi, Melody. I’m Greg and am new around here. To be honest, I don’t have a lot of money to spend, but I couldn’t resist the smells coming out of here!”
She giggles and says, “Well, I just so happen to have an overabundance of ‘Lunch Special’ ingredients left over. Do you like Club Sandwiches?” I nod and she says, “OK. Coming right up! What would you like to drink?” I reply, “May I just have some water? I think I’ll splurge on some of that heavenly-smelling coffee later.”
She just nods with a smile and disappears behind the counter to fill a large glass with ice and water. She brings it to my table and disappears again—this time through a door behind the counter. I assume it leads to the kitchen.
About ten minutes later, she comes back out with a plate piled high with a stacked bacon turkey club sandwich on fresh sourdough bread and loads of potato chips. She sets it down in front of me and says, “Enjoy!”
She seems to pause in undecided thought a second and then asks, “Do you mind if I sit a minute? It’s been crazy and I could use a quiet minute and you look like you could maybe use a friend?” I gesture towards the other chair at the table and say, “Please! I would love that!” Who in their right mind would deny this Goddess that request?
To my surprise, she goes and puts up the closed sign and locks the door. I look at the clock and see it’s three o’clock and remember that the sign said the bakery closes at three. She goes behind the counter and pours herself an iced tea and comes back to sit at the table with me. I start to protest that she’s closed and I should leave, but she just pointedly nods her head at my sandwich and says, “Eat!”
I nearly have to unhinge my jaw to take a bite of the sandwich. I moan in pleasure as I chew it—the bread is heavenly. She smiles in response to my clear compliment and asks, “So, you said you’re new around here. What brings you to town?”
I finish chewing my bite and wipe my mouth before answering, “I’m here to go to the Art Foundation. Right now, I’m looking for a place to stay that I can afford and a job to pay for it.” She nods and says, “I see. What are you going to major in?”
I shrug and say, “Well, I want to do something around painting and drawing. But I also have an interest in photography and the area of gender/sexuality that they offer. I’m still working on that.” I shrug again with a smile and take another small bite of the sandwich.
She gives me a searching look as I finish the bite and asks, “Would you be interested in a job here?” Thankfully I had swallowed the bite or I would have choked on it. I clear my throat and say, “Well, I’m not sure I have any qualifications that would apply here. And, I mean, you don’t even know me! Don’t get me wrong, I would love a job, but…”
She laughs and says, “I can see we’re going to get along great! So, tell me—what qualifications do you have. How old are you, Greg? You hardly look old enough to be out on the streets by yourself—let alone in college. I don’t mean that in a mean way!”
I blush a little and curse my looks. The fact that I graduated early, together with the effects of the hormone blockers, make me look more like I’m thirteen or fourteen and not the near eighteen that I am.
I sigh, “No offense taken. I get it. I have a…medical issue…that makes me look younger than I am. I also graduated early. To answer your question, I will be eighteen next month. As for qualifications—well, I know how to be a good student. My parents passed away two years ago and left my older brother and me enough money to live on fairly comfortably, so he made me concentrate on school and not get any jobs. I guess my tuition is also covered by some fund my father set up for me, but there’s not enough left over for my room and board here without me now getting some sort of job. I just assumed it would be stocking shelves somewhere—or flipping burgers at a fast-food restaurant.”
She nods and asks as I put a couple of chips in my mouth, “Are you good at art?” I smile and take my sketch pad out of my bag and hand it to her. I finish my sandwich as she demurely sits back and intently looks through my sketchbook—including a few quick sketches I had done this morning of the campus.
She sits quietly concentrating on the sketches as I finish my sandwich and munch on my chips. When my plate is clean, she looks up and says, “Greg, these are wonderful! Now, I have to ask… You said you have a medical issue? It’s not anything serious is it?”
I close my eyes and curse myself again—I opened myself up for that one!” What do I do now? I look at this Goddess sitting there, exuding femininity from every pore, and wonder if that could ever be me. I decide that I have to be honest with her. If it costs me the chance of any sort of working here, at least I was up front. What if somehow she were to offer me some sort of position—sweeping the floors maybe—and I actually to go through with registering and living as a girl?
I sigh and take a deep breath before opening my eyes and answering, “Well, I guess that depends on your point-of-view, Melody.” I blush and continue, “This is something that only a handful of people know, and I generally don’t talk about, period.”
I take another deep breath and the plunge, “I…I…I’ve been on hormone blockers since I was barely fourteen. That’s why I’m sort of ‘stuck’ at that stage of development. Once I make a decision on what—or who—I am, then I will either develop as my body intends, or as my mind does. That could potentially involve female hormones if my mind makes itself up to go in that direction.”
I sit back and wait for the explosion. I’m actually surprised at the next question, “You mean you’ve been on blockers for four years? And your doctor is OK with that? You’re not doing that on your own, right?”
I shake my head, “No! I’m under a doctor’s care! Honest! And, no, she’s not happy that I’m still stuck in indecision. There are many reasons for that. But I’m fairly sure that I’m going to give living as a girl a try. That would mean going in and letting the school know that I want to register as Angelique and not Gregory. I’ve been trying to get up the courage before applying for any positions, since it could be awkward.”
She nods and says, “Yes, I get that. Especially in today’s environment. So, you’re going to be Angelique? That’s a pretty name.”
I blush and say, “It was my great-grandmother’s on my mother’s side and what I would have been named if I had been born a genetic girl. And, I still haven’t fully decided. That’s a pretty big step.”
She gives me a look and nods, then says with a sigh, “Yes, it is. Look, you should know that being transgendered is not an issue for me, at all. For starters, I am bi, myself. This little piece of paradise is mine—fair and square. I own it lock, stock, and key. Now, how would a twenty-year old girl like me be able to afford something like this? My ‘eccentric’ aunt willed it to me when she died. I never knew her to be anyone but my favorite Aunt. Unfortunately, she was shunned by my mother—her sister. I never knew why as a young child and only found out when I moved in with her. I only found out why when I was disowned by my own mother because of my close relationship with my aunt. You see, she transitioned in her early twenties. She taught me to be open-minded and see people for who they really are—on the inside. Unfortunately, she passed away last year from complications of some surgery she had to have.”
I sit there, slack-jawed, and grab her hand without thinking, “Oh, Melody. I’m so sorry. What your aunt went through is largely why I never moved forward with doing what’s in my heart—after this President came in and…the world seemed to rush backwards in time in terms of tolerance…I just couldn’t!”
She nods with tears in her eyes and asks, “Well, Angelique, would you like to work for me? With your artistic talent, you could learn to be a huge asset to me in the decorating department—you know cakes and things. If you decide to go back to being Greg, I won’t mind—but I do think you should experience being the girl that I could clearly see in you the minute I saw you. How long do you have before you have to register?”
I feel dizzy all of a sudden. She saw the girl in me? What does that mean? And… I jerk as I focus back on her question and say, “I have another four weeks before I have to finish my registration. It would likely be good to talk with them before that, though, to make sure that there aren’t any problems… And… Are you sure? I would love to work here, but like I said, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
She smiles and says, “Hon, my Aunt taught me. If I could learn, anyone can! I think this calls for a piece of cake and some coffee, don’t you?” I dumbly nod, still in total shock.
She goes behind the counter and cuts two pieces of some sort of layered chocolate cake with a whipped-cream-looking frosting. She asks, “How do you like your coffee?” I smile and say, “Strong and unpolluted, as my Mom used to say.” She giggles, “A girl after my own heart! Come grab the plates and I’ll get us some of the good stuff.”
I go over and pick up the plates with the huge pieces of cake on them. On closer inspection, I can see that there are cherries between the layers. Melody brings over the coffee and sits down. She says, “That is my Aunt’s recipe. My great-great-grandmother came from Germany—the Black Forest, to be exact. This is an old family recipe that she brought with her. Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte—Black Forest Cherry Cake. The coffee is also made in good German tradition with specially dark-roasted beans.”
I eye the coffee and wonder if a spoon would stand up in it—or if you would need a hammer to get it down into it. I like strong coffee, but this seems to go a bit beyond just ‘strong’!
I take a bite of the cake and think I have died and gone to heaven! I moan again and say, “Melody, this is delicious! I thought that bread was good, but this is sooooo goooood!” I take a sip of the coffee and my eyes bug out and I feel a sweat come on from the instant caffeine overload.
I cough a little and choke out, “And the coffee is good, too!” She laughs and says, “You’ll get used to it, girl! You’ll need it working around here. The bakery side requires some early hours. I roast my own beans, so I can make sure it is done properly!”
We finish our cake as she quizzes me about my life back home and tells me about growing up with her aunt raising her from when she was twelve and her mother threw her out because of her ‘perverted’ views.
Before I know it, it’s four o’clock and I feel guilty about keeping her late. She lets me out the front door and asks, “Can you be here at three in the morning? I’ll show you some of what you would be doing, and you can decide if you want to try the job. It’s not for everyone—that’s why I have been having problems finding someone. It could maybe work for you in school, though. I would be willing to work around your hours.”
I laugh and say, “I’ll be here—as long as you have some of that battery-charger coffee ready. I can’t promise I will have bells on, though!” She surprises me when she gives me a girly hug and says, “I will see you in the morning, then, Ange!”
I walk the couple of blocks back to the hotel with my mind in a whirl. I check in and go to my room. It’s not much, but it’s clean and the bed is not too lumpy. I sit on it and get my phone. Before I can change my mind, I call my endocrinologist’s office back in Omaha. To my surprise, Gina, my doctor, is available to talk since she had a cancellation.
I tell her about my decision—the one I had somehow unconsciously made on the walk back—to give Angelique a try. She promises to get me an appointment with a local endocrinologist she knows and get back with me.
I thank her and try my psychiatrist. I don’t know what the Gods and Goddesses are up to, but I actually get her, too. After about thirty minutes, she promises to email me the paperwork I need to register as ‘transgendered’ and ‘in transition’ at the school. She also promises to give me a referral to a good clinic here in Chicago and get an appointment set up for me.
I just hang up with her when Gina calls me back and asks, “Can you be available for an appointment tomorrow at four? I have you set up and Frankie is willing to give you your first round of hormones after our discussion.”
I’m taken aback—this is going faster than I anticipated! I sigh and say, “Sure, Gina. I can be available—but you know my financial situation.” I can feel her smile as she says, “Don’t worry about that, Angelique. You just be there and give Frankie a hug for me.” She gives me the address and hangs up.
I’m lying on the bed in shock after my conversation with Gina when my phone dings. I check and find that I have an email from Dr. Wellington, my psychiatrist. It has the attachments she promised and informs me that I have an appointment with a local psychiatrist at two on Friday. I feel like I’m going to throw up from a severe case of the nerves. What have I done?
I call Bob and have a long talk with him before setting my alarm for two thirty in the morning and turning out the lights.
I groan as the alarm goes off. I think I got maybe a sum-total of one hour of sleep. I tossed and turned all night long. Between being in an unfamiliar room, the somewhat uncomfortable bed, and my mind swirling around committing to ‘Angelique’, there wasn’t much sleep to be had.
I really wish I had Mom to talk to, right now. Bob is a great brother, but he is just not Mom when it comes to heart-to-heart talks. I hope this Dr. Greenwell is as good as Dr. Wellington. A psychiatrist is a poor substitute for a mother in most cases, but Dr. Wellington has been just that to me for the past couple of years.
I rub my eyes with a sigh and drag myself out of bed to drunkenly pull on my jeans and T-shirt. I put on some socks and my running shoes, then go into the little bathroom and groan at the sight of my wild hair. I haven’t had it cut since starting blockers and it reaches down my back. Right now, it’s a tangled mess and I don’t have time to wash it. I pull a brush through it the best I can and grimace as I hit multiple snags. I pull it into a loose ponytail before heading out the door and down the stairs. The air outside is hot and muggy despite the early hour and doesn’t do a thing to help wake me up as I walk the few blocks to the bakery.
I arrive at the bakery at two fifty-five and Melody opens the door for me—coffee in hand. She hands it to me and exclaims in concern, “Ange, Hon, you look like crap! Didn’t you go to bed?” I sigh and tell her about my night as I carefully sip the piping-hot coffee. By the time I’m done, about ten minutes later, the caffeine is kicking in and I’m feeling a little more awake.
Mel, as she tells me to call her, is excited that I’m officially moving forward with living as Angie. She asks as we move to the back of the bakery, “What made up your mind?” I stumble behind her with a freshly refilled mug of coffee, surprised at how big the kitchen and baking area is compared to the retail space. It’s full of stainless-steel appliances and counters and is spotless. I look around in awe and respond, “Well, to be honest—you did.”
She stops dead in her tracks and turns around. She asks in alarm, “Me? Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like I was pushing you! I wasn’t.” After a pregnant pause, she inquires in concern, “Was I?”
I shake my head and try to assuage her fears, “No, Mel. Not at all! If anything, you gave me the courage to do something that I have wanted to do for a long time. I know you went through a lot because of your choices and you came out this awesome person that just goes out of her way to help a stranger. I realize we don’t know each other that well, but I’m looking forward to getting to know you better and hopefully becoming your friend in addition to becoming your employee!”
She gives me an unsure, nervous look, but nods and says, “OK. If you’re sure about this. At least you’ve talked to your doctors. I will drive you to your appointment this afternoon—it’s way too far for you to walk and getting there by public transit would be a nightmare! Now, let’s get to work! We open in less than three hours!” She hugs me and playfully pushes me towards the work area.
I don’t have time to think after that. She hands me a hairnet and helps me get my hair under it by deftly twisting it into a bun and putting a clip of some sort in it. Then she puts me to work. My main duty is loading and unloading baking sheets from the ovens while she finishes cakes and other confections. The smell of the baking bread and other goodies makes my stomach growl and I sigh as we finally get to sit down at five to eat a quick but heavenly breakfast that she prepares for us.
As we are eating, she says, “You did really well, Ange. Especially given that you didn’t sleep well last night. We’re actually about thirty minutes ahead of schedule. What do you think, so far?”
I take a small bite of my ham, egg, and cheese bagel and groan in ecstasy—I didn’t know I could be so hungry. What little energy I had when I got here has been completely sapped from me by the high-intensity workout I got keeping the ovens loaded—and Mel started an hour before me; I don’t know how she does it!
I say, “I don’t know where you get the energy! The day is just starting, but I have loved every minute of it! Well, aside from getting up before the birds.” She smiles and says, “You’ll get into a rhythm on that. So, from six to about eight is typically mostly getting coffee and bakery items at the counter. The tables don’t usually pick up until around eight. We have about thirty minutes before I open the doors. I will need to get you into something that is more in accordance with the store ‘uniform’—black bottom and white top.” She makes air quotes around uniform and continues, “Let’s see, you and I are about the same size—you are shorter than me, though. Hang on, I have some spare things in my office.”
She goes into her office and comes back out with a black skirt and a white blouse. She says, “Go into the office and see if these fit. I don’t usually wear a skirt, but luckily I have one on hand for business-type meetings. We’ll sort out the shoes after that. Now, go on! Hurry up!” She smiles to let me know she’s kidding—sort of. The store really is about to open.
In a fog, I go into her office and take off my shirt and jeans and slide my arms into the sleeves of the soft cotton blouse. As much as I’ve dreamed about being a girl, I’ve never really worn girl’s things. I never sneaked into Mom’s closet as a kid, or anything—and then after the accident, Bob donated her things to charity. It was hard on us both having the reminder of her around.
I marvel at the feel of the material and struggle with the small buttons that are on the wrong side. I finally get them all buttoned up and it feels like it fits—mostly. It may be a hair on the largish side. I step into the skirt with its silky lining that is refreshingly cool on my legs. I pull it up to my waste and get it clasped, then zip it up and slide it around so the zipper is in the back—not knowing what else to do with it.
Mel knocks and asks, “Is it OK to come in?” I respond nervously, “I guess!” She opens the door and takes a look at me, then giggles as she says, “Silly! The zipper goes on the side—like this.” She pulls the zipper around so that it sits on my left hip. Then she unbuttons the top two buttons of the blouse and says, “Normally, I would say one more, but that is maybe too much for you right now. Anyway, you never button them up all the way! It makes you look prudish.”
She steps back and says, “Nice!” She takes a brush and quickly brushes my hair out after removing the hairnet and undoing the bun. She only runs into a few snags and admonishes me, “Girl! You need to take better care of this gorgeous hair! Use some conditioner for heaven’s sake!” She pulls it into a tight and high ponytail and then pulls it through the hole in the back of a black baseball cap with the bakery’s pink logo on the front.
She goes to a closet and pulls out some short girly socks with pom-poms on the back and says, “We don’t have time to worry about shoes. Yours are actually pretty neutral—together with these socks, I think you’ll be OK. We’ll have to get you some dressier black safety shoes for the future, though.”
I put the socks on and then my shoes. The pom-poms stick out above the back and kind of tickle the back of my ankles as I tie my shoes. She says, “Come on. I’ll introduce you to Kim and we’ll open up. There’s already a line down the block!”
I give her a confused look and ask, “Kim?” She laughs and says, “I forgot to tell you. I do have one other helper in the front during the mornings and through lunch on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and the weekends. Kim is also a college student—this past year, she’s not been available for the baking part of the business, although she is very good at it. And don’t worry—she won’t care about your ‘medical issues’ either. She wouldn’t work here if she did since my Aunt hired her—and she knew...”
With that, she pulls me out of her office, and I see a cute little Irish pixie of a girl in black pants and a white blouse. She has her coppery-red, curly hair pulled through the back of the same type ball cap as mine and a big grin on her flawless, porcelain-skinned face that reaches up to her bright, emerald-green eyes. And I thought Mel was a Goddess!
She says, “You must be our new help! Welcome! It’s about time Mel found someone that’s up to helping us pick up the slack! I’m Kim!” A wave of kinetic energy emanates from and her hits me square in the solar plexus so hard it about bowls me over. Mel laughs and says, “You’ll get used to it, Ange. And this is before she has had any coffee!”
We don’t have time for anything else the next hour and a half as we take care of the line out front. I take turns helping Mel and Kim as they show me the ropes of getting the coffee and bakery items, how to package them, and how to ring them up—as well as take things to the few customers that actually do sit down at a table.
Around seven-thirty there is a lull and Mel says, “Good work, girls! Ange, you did great! You’re a natural at this. Why don’t you and Kim take a short break before the main sit-down breakfast crowd hits.”
Kim smiles as we pick out a scone—one that I helped bake earlier this morning—and I pour us coffee. I grimace as she pollutes hers with sugar and cream. She laughs and says, “You’re a better woman than I am if you can take this stuff straight!”
I sigh and say, “About that, Kim…” And I give her the nutshell version of my story. I finish with, “So, while I feel like a girl and really want to give this a shot—I have no idea how to be a girl!” I add with a giggle, “I mean it’s not like my brother could show me!”
She takes my hand and says, “Well, you’re in good hands with Mel and me—we’ll get you girlied up in no time! You actually could have fooled me. If this is your first time in a skirt, you’re doing great. You’re even doing a decent job keeping your legs together. You just have to get used to sweeping your skirt before you sit to keep if from getting all bunched up and wrinkled. A lot of girls don’t wear dresses or skirts enough anymore to get into that habit, so it’s not a dead giveaway—but it is bad form if you don’t.”
I blush and quickly get up, sweep the skirt, and sit back down. She just smiles brightly and says, “See! Now, come with me. We have just enough time to spruce you up a bit before you learn how to waitress! Dropping those few things off at tables earlier doesn’t count!”
She takes me to the bathroom and has me sit on the toilet with the lid down. She says, “Mel has great light in here. We both take our makeup seriously!” She digs into a small bag and takes out a couple of tubes.
She says, “I’ll explain more on the use later—and I only have time for some quick fixes for now. This is eyeliner.” She explains as she starts outlining my eyelids, “It will make you look like you have fuller eyelashes. Your eyes have a pretty almond slant to them—do you have Asian blood?”
I fight the urge to nod and keep my head still so she doesn’t mess up. I say, “My Dad was of Japanese decent—it’s partially where my black hair comes from—among other things. My mother was of Persian decent—which adds to my black hair.” She nods and says, “Well, it combined into a beautiful girl! This is lash-extending mascara—it will complete the effect. We want your eyes to pop!” She adds two heavy coats of mascara on my top and bottom lashes and exclaims, “There! That will have to do for now—but what a difference! Take a look!”
I look in the mirror and am stunned—there’s a girl looking back at me, seductively batting her long thick eyelashes. I shake my head and whisper, “I never would have guessed!” Kim just hugs me and says, “Come on, Hon! Time to get to work! You just stick with me a bit. There aren’t that many tables, but it can get quite busy. Once we get you trained on the waitressing, then you can do a stint with Mel in the kitchen. The two of us rotate out on those duties, so it will be great to have a third partner in the rotation!”
The next hour is mass chaos as we take and get orders, including grabbing baked goods from behind the counter for ‘to go’ orders. Then another hour of even more chaos as I help Mel in the kitchen making breakfast sandwiches.
Finally, about ten-thirty it dies down and we all sit down to another cup of coffee. Mel looks at me and asks, “How are you feeling, Ange?” I smile and say, “You haven’t run me off yet, if that’s what you’re asking.” Kim says, “Just wait until lunch—not to mention when classes actually start again!” Mel play slaps her on the arm and exclaims, “Kim! Are you trying to run her off?”
I laugh and groan, “Well, I’m running on pure adrenaline and caffeine, at this point. But I have to say, even though it’s crazy hard work, I can see why you two love it. Some of those customers that Kim said are regulars are a hoot!”
Mel nods and says, “Yeah, I’m trying hard to scrape together enough to buy the space next door to expand. With more space and more help, I could expand my goods beyond bread and basic confections and add to the menu. Anyway, you’re doing really great!”
She takes a careful sip of her steaming coffee and adds, “Oh, Kim, can you stay a little over today and take care of getting the dough rising for tonight? I hate to ask on such short notice, but I need to take Ange to a doctor’s appointment at four and we’ll need to leave right at three to get her there and give her time to get all the paperwork filled out.”
I’m still not used to being called ‘she’ and ‘her’. I look at Mel and say, “You really don’t have to do that, Mel…” She cuts me off, “Nonsense!”
Kim just nods and says, “Sure, no problem. I don’t have any studying to do tonight. You’re one of us now, Ange. We look out for each other. Mel may be the boss—but we’ve always been a close-knit family around here. I started working here when I was barely a teenager—of course, not officially until I was sixteen—but Auntie Annaliese took me under her wing and showed me a lot. I just haven’t been able to do the early morning shifts lately because of my school schedule, but I’m getting ready to start evening and night classes this next semester and that will allow me to pick that back up. I can come here straight from studying and still get enough rest at the end of the day.”
Mel nods and says, “Yes, right now, I need you to be able to do the early morning things, Ange. But I will need you more on Kim’s current schedule after your classes start to make up for her moving to nights. If it all works out with your schedule, we may even be able to expand hours and pick up an early dinner shift in the evenings. That could get me over the hurdle to get that space next door!”
I sit there and just stare at the two of them—I almost start crying. Finally, I can’t help it and blubber, “Thank you, both! And of course, I’ll do what I can to help, Mel. Does that mean I’m hired?”
She laughs and says, “Only if you don’t quit before the day is out! I’ll give you the paperwork to fill out later. Right now, we need to get ready for lunch. We’ll just follow the same routine as breakfast, OK?”
Kim and I both nod and I get another cup of coffee after she fixes my mascara.
Mel locks the door at three on the dot. I feel like a zombie all hyped up on caffeine, but giddy that I made it through the day. Like yesterday, the place was basically empty after about two—I must have come in right after the last customer of the day. Kim normally leaves at two, but she smiles as she goes into the back to start getting the dough ready for tonight. Something I’m told I will learn how to do in due time.
Mel smiles at me and asks, “Ready? We really should be on our way.” I look down and ask, “Like this?” She smiles and says, “Well, you don’t have too much flour on you! We’ll get you an apron on Thursday! Seriously, though, you look fine!”
I sigh and say, “I’ve never gone out in a skirt before.” She laughs and says, “You’ve never dressed in a skirt before! Are you seriously worried about it after waitressing in it all day, today? No one pointed or laughed at you, now did they?”
I suddenly get weak in the knees as it hits me like a ton of bricks that I had done just that. I shake my head and feebly say, “Let’s go before I think about it anymore!”
She takes me out back where there is private parking and we get into her very nice BMW. She smiles sadly at my appreciative look and says, “Another thing Auntie Annaliese left me…” I silently nod and we get in. I close the door and get a quick lesson on how I should have gotten in so that the world won’t see my panties—in this case, my men’s white briefs.
Forty minutes of grueling traffic later, we pull into a parking lot at a medical office building and Mel goes in with me. I find Dr. Francine Ohara’s office on the directory and we go to the third floor. I sign in and fill out all the paperwork, then am called in at exactly four.
Dr. Ohara smiles when she sees me and says, “So, you’re Gina’s favor? I’m glad to meet you, Angelique, is it?” I nod timidly and say, “Angie, for short. Gina said to give you a hug?” She giggles and opens her arms wide.
After our hug, I ask curiously, “Favor?” She nods and says, “Gina and I were roomies in college. I owe her a great many things from those days and when she asked me to take you on as a favor, there was no question. Now, if I understand it correctly, you have decided to start hormones after four years of indecision on blockers?”
I blush and say, “Well, the four years on blockers is accurate. I would have started hormones a lot sooner but was honestly scared of the potential fallout—and with my parents being killed a couple of years ago, I had a lot of other—baggage—to deal with.”
She gives me a sympathetic and pensive look and responds, “I’m sorry to hear that, Angie. The time on the blockers is not that unusual, in and of itself. It is somewhat unusual to be on them that long without at least living part-time as a girl—or better yet, full-time. The indecision is what bothers me. So tell me, what do you mean by fallout? The medical fallout? I mean, there are always potential dangers…”
I shake my head and say, “No… Societal.” She gives me a hard look, “Parents? Gina indicated that they are—or, I guess I should say, were—onboard and OK with this. She said you have a brother. Is he the problem?”
I shake my head and say, “Well, like I said my parents passed away, but they were always OK with it. So is my brother. I just mean with the current political and societal…anger…towards…us—you know…”
She smiles and says, “’Transgendered’ is not a dirty word, Hon. Don’t let anyone tell you differently! I don’t guess Gina told you. Before I went to college—or we were roomies—I wasn’t Francine. I was Franklin. I transitioned as a teen and I’m not ashamed to openly admit that I’m a T-girl!”
She winks and giggles at my surprised look. I never would have guessed!
After she lets it all sink in, she continues, “So, what changed your mind? Gina wasn’t completely sure. Is your psychiatrist onboard? She said you were going to talk to her?” I nod and say, “I have an appointment with a Dr. Victoria Greenwell on Friday. Dr. Wellington back in Omaha set it up for me. Dr. Wellington is onboard after we talked yesterday.”
I quickly outline my chance meeting and discussion with Mel from yesterday and she says with a surprised and pensive look on her face, “Well, that explains a lot. I know it’s scary—trust me! That being said, I have to know for sure if you are ready.”
I sigh and say, “Mentally, I am sure I want to try this. But I don’t know how I would pay for it—I told Gina that.” She smiles and replies, “And didn’t she tell you it would work out? I take on a few special cases for free—to help out our battered community. In this case, since Gina referred you, you’re extra special.”
She pauses for a minute as she studies me, then says, “OK, Hon. I know you say you’re ready and Gina has sent me your medical records which raise no physiological flags. I’m willing to start you on hormones based on your long medical history. I’m still a little worried that this is now moving too quickly, though. So, I will go ahead and give you your first dose. I’m not willing to move forward long-term until Dr. Greenwell assures me that she is convinced, though. Now, bend over. I’m afraid this will sting a bit.”
Before I know it, she jabs me twice. After I stand back up and rub my butt, she says, “So, a couple of things. First, you really need to get some proper panties—those things you have on are so uncomfortable! Trust me—you’ll never look back after you put on your first pair of real panties! Well, after you get used to the wedgies that thongs give you, that is. But the look is so worth it!”
She winks with a giggle, then continues, “Second, I went ahead and gave you another dose of blocker a little ahead of schedule. It won’t hurt, but it will get both shots synchronized now, so you won’t have to come in any more than necessary. Since you just had blood drawn, we won’t do that again until your next visit.”
I continue to rub my butt, wondering what I just did now that it has actually happened. She makes a good point about how fast this went. Friday’s discussion will be interesting, I’m sure. I look at her and worry, “Are you sure about this, Dr. Ohara? I mean I don’t know that I’m comfortable with not paying—short-term, or not.”
She smiles and gives me a hug, then says, “First, my special cases call me Frankie. And if you’re able later, then you’re more than welcome to help sponsor a special case yourself. If you change your mind—no harm, no foul. To be honest, you’re benefitting from a former very special case who wanted to be a sponsor herself. There are reasons for that, but I can’t divulge those.”
I nod resolutely and promise, “You can count on it, Frankie!”
I give her another hug and go out front to make my next appointment, then Mel drives us back to the bakery. It takes us over an hour at this time of day and she lets me quietly contemplate my situation for several minutes before asking, “How do you feel, Ange?”
I sigh and say, “To be honest, conflicted.” She nods and muses, “Well, a little internal conflict and confusion is good for you—it keeps you from doing stupid things. As long as it doesn’t paralyze you. Conflicted, or not—how do you feel?”
I look at her and grin, “Like a ton of bricks has been lifted from my shoulders! Right or wrong, for better or worse, Angie is here for the foreseeable future—unless Dr. Greenwell throws a monkey wrench into the works. For now, it feels…good! I’m terrified, though. I don’t know the first thing about how to be a girl—no matter how much I feel like one. And I’m still a little worried about how quickly this all went—even though, I am pretty sure it is what I want!”
She reaches over and gives my hand a comforting squeeze before concentrating back on the traffic.
When we get back to the bakery, we go inside and first check on Kim. She is nearly done and tells us to go on and leave her alone so that we don’t mess her up. Mel just laughs and takes me out front where she has me finish filling out my already approved application. She winks as she lets me know that I easily passed the quick background check that her friend at the police department ran on me for her earlier today.
I giggle at that and she just says, “The application is just a formality, but we have to do it for the funders. Now, I have two options for you. One, I can either pay you twenty dollars an hour, like I do Kim. You’ll work about twenty to thirty hours during the week and as much as you can on the weekends. Between the three of us, we should have the weekends easily covered. We are closed on Wednesdays, so that will be your official day off—together with what we can work out for the weekends.”
She lets that sink in, then continues, “Or, the other option…” She pauses and then gets up and urges, “Come with me, Hon!”
Completely overtaken with curiosity, I follow her to the back and up a set of stairs I hadn’t paid attention to before. She unlocks a door at the top and we enter the most awesome industrial-sized studio apartment that you can imagine. It has all the wonderful coffee and baked good smells emanating from the bakery below packaged into it, and the light coming in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows across the wide-open space is to die for. It’s basically an industrial loft that spans the entire bakery below.
It’s also an artist’s wet dream.
She smiles at the dreamy look on my face and says, “Welcome to ‘The Loft’. This was Auntie Annaliese’s apartment. She made it clear in her will that only someone working at the bakery—or at least very closely associated with it—should live in it. That is, if I chose not to. And she stipulated that it should be someone worthy of the space. Someone that would really appreciate it. I think that person is you. If you agree, I could pay you fifteen an hour and you could stay in ‘The Loft’, as Auntie lovingly called it, for nothing extra—utilities included. It would actually be doing me a huge favor to have someone here on the property.”
I sit down on the nearest chair and cry. The hormones can’t be working that fast, right? I do the mental math as I blow my nose into the tissue she hands me and exclaim, “Mel, you could get four or five times that in rent! That alone could help get you that space next door.”
She shakes her head and retorts, “No, Ange. I will honor my Auntie’s wishes. Besides, it enters straight into the shop, so I don’t want just anyone in here. And not too many people would appreciate the smells or understand the noises going late into the night—or starting early in the morning. Seriously, you may need to get good ear plugs!”
She giggles and asks, “So, is that a yes on the loft?” I dreamily nod, still looking around and taking it all in with tears streaming down my face.
It’s a pale pink, huge industrial—yet purely feminine—paradise and I absolutely don’t feel remotely worthy of the space. I can only give her a hug and blubber about how wonderful it is. She fixes my mascara—again—using her own supplies, admonishing me that she’s going to get me waterproof makeup if I keep this up.
Then she leaves me in stunned silence to explore while she goes to get the contract to finalize the deal. Of course, I will have to get Bob to sign it, since I’m not eighteen…yet—but she already indicated that an e-signature is easy.
I’m ready for him to sign in blood if that’s what it takes—I hope Bob has been getting his iron if it does come to that!
I just giggle maniacally at the thought as I wait for her to come back up.
I wake up and look around the bright room in confusion. Then the fog in my brain slowly recedes as I remember where I am—The Loft!
The sun is shining in, unfettered, through the large studio windows—and straight into my eyes. I shade them with my hand and blink to clear out the little dots dancing in my vision—I guess I should have pulled the heavy drapes closed before going to bed.
Wide awake now, I snuggle back into the soft silky sheets and smile. After a minute of pure unabashed luxury, I stretch and then jump out of bed in excitement and do a little dance. Since it’s Wednesday, it is our day off and I was able to sleep in. I look at the clock and can’t believe I slept until eight, despite the sun streaming in and bathing the room in bright daylight!
I still can’t believe my luck! After all was said and done yesterday, I had gone back to the hotel last evening and checked out early. Of course, I had to pay for the night, but that’s OK. It’s like I paid a cheap hotel’s price to stay in a huge luxury suite! After dragging my suitcase behind me on the short walk back to the bakery, Mel gave me the key to the studio and quickly toured me around the space. Before she left, she showed me how to wash off my makeup from earlier using some wipes from her office downstairs and then she had me apply some moisturizer.
After that, she left me to finish getting acquainted with the studio and get some much-needed rest. As she was departing, she gave me a tight hug that reminded me so much of the ones Mom used to give me that it made me cry. I don’t know what has gotten into me—I never used to cry like this. I’m pretty sure that it can’t be the hormones—yet. It’s just suddenly all so emotional!
After spending about half an hour exploring the fully furnished and very feminine giant studio, I excitedly placed a call to Bob, and we talked about my good fortune and my upcoming meeting with my new psychiatrist on Friday. Subsequently, I quickly fell into a deep slumber in the large queen-sized bed that was already made up with the most luxurious pink satin sheets. It just sucked me into its opulent and feminine embrace—and I slept like a princess!
I sit back on the bed and reflect on how amazing it is how much better I feel after a good night’s sleep. I do feel a little nauseous. Frankie told me that would be normal for a while—at least until I get used to the hormones. I look around and wonder what I’m going to do with myself now that this glorious day has started. I quickly decide that the first thing I need to do is to find some coffee!
I start towards my suitcase to get some clothes and jump in surprise—letting out a little high-pitched scream—when I hear a noise downstairs in the bakery. I blush at my girly reaction and put my hand on my beating heart in hopes it will quiet it down.
Having slept in my T-shirt and undies, all I have to do is quickly throw on some jeans and my shoes. I grab my phone and quietly open the door to the bakery. I punch in 911 without connecting the call and sneak down the stairs. I hold my finger over the little green phone icon, ready to dial the number at a moment’s notice, and peek around the corner into the retail space.
I groan—then sigh and exclaim, “Mel! You scared the bejesus out of me!” I clear the number on my phone and put it in my back pocket as Mel giggles. She quips, “Well, I feel better that you checked! But what would you have done if I had been a burglar?
I laugh and retort, “I had my phone ready to call 911. Other than that, I have no idea! But what are you doing here? I mean I know it’s your store, but it’s your day off!” My heartrate is finally starting to come down to something less than ‘warp speed’.
She laughs in return and explains, “Kim will be here in a few minutes. We usually have breakfast on Wednesdays—the day-old stuff from Tuesdays won’t be any good for sale on Thursdays. Whatever is left after we have our fill and save for supper, I take over to a local food pantry for donation. Now, get the coffee going, girl! How did you sleep?”
I start preparing the coffee and grin ear-to-ear. I gush, “I slept like a princess! It’s heavenly up there!” I am just flipping the switch to start the coffee brewing when Kim comes rushing in, once again chock-full of energy—she seems to have enough to recharge the sun if it ever runs low, I’m sure!
Kim starts grabbing things and putting them on plates after giving both of us a hug and brightly wishing us a great morning. She sets the plate of goodies on a table and looks at me in concern as she inquires, “Ange, you look a little green. Are you OK?”
I shake my head and muse, “I’ll be OK—I think. My stomach is kind of queasy because of the hormones I got yesterday. I hope eating something will help. Frankie said I may be a little nauseous for a while.”
She giggles and says, “Sorry! I’ve never experienced morning sickness—and I’m in no hurry to, either! It sounds a lot like what you’re feeling from what I understand, though.”
I nod and take a small bite of dry bread and chew it well before swallowing it. After a few bites, I’m feeling better and even take a careful sip of the coffee that Mel pours us. We start talking about plans for the day and I quickly forget all about the nausea.
Kim looks at Mel impishly and asks, “So, are we still on for Ange’s girlification?” Mel nods and I look back and forth between them both in total confusion. I stammer, “Say what now?” Mel laughs and says, “So, first—you’re getting an advance on your check so that you can get some necessities. We’re going to find some things that you can use as a uniform for work—I will subsidize those, the same as I do for Kim. Then, you need an ‘Angie’ wardrobe—or, at least the start of one. And…you need a makeover—really bad!” She giggles.
My jaw drops lower with every point she raises. Kim giggles, too, and just agrees, “What she said! I was able to get you an appointment with Jaime, my hair stylist. We’ll have to wait until next Wednesday for the full spa treatment, but that hair and your nails need some serious help! Your appointment is at ten, so we better get cracking!”
Mel hands me a bag containing an unopened three-pack of women’s panties; new thin black leggings, a new pair of the socks like I had on yesterday, only in pink; and a pink girl’s T-shirt. She says, “Put these on while Kim and I clean up, here. Then we need to go!”
She makes shooing motions with her hands when I hesitate. I quickly go up the stairs to my apartment… Wait! Did I just call it my apartment? I’m still not used to that! Anyway, I go up and hesitantly change into the clothes that Mel had provided me. I do have to admit, it was a completely different feeling putting those panties on. They are actually thongs, so I get that wedgie that Frankie warned me about and have to wonder if they had somehow coordinated on that!
I squirm as I try to get used to the weird feeling of the strip of cloth crammed up my butt-crack. I do my best to ignore the urge to squeeze my butt and squirm some more as I pull on the tight leggings. They only come down about halfway down my calves and have a braided pattern of holes down the sides that is totally feminine. I put on the girly T-shirt and feel a little self-conscious at how tight it is. I know that’s how it’s supposed to be judging by what Mel and Kim have on, but it’s certainly not what I’m used to! I marvel at how everything is so much finer and thinner than my normal wardrobe—and way softer!
I slip on the socks and my shoes and walk timidly down the stairs back to the bakery. Kim sees me and smiles brightly. She gushes, “Look at you, girl! Now we’re talking! Just wait until we really get you girlied up!” They giggle as they notice the wiggle in my hip—courtesy of the thong.
I blush and say, “What is with this torture device?” Mel laughs and says with a wink, “You haven’t felt torture yet, girl! You still have bras to experience—and who knows if you decide to go with a corset. They’re coming back into vogue, you know!” I pale and Kim just giggles.
Mel laughs at my face and exclaims, “OK. Let’s go! It’s not that far to the salon, but this is Chicago!”
We walk into the salon after a short car ride—well, at least short in distance, if not in time—at ten minutes to ten and I am totally nervous, all of a sudden! It’s not the fact that we’re in a salon—back when I last got my hair cut, Mom took me to her salon. But I haven’t had it cut in over four years and it’s really long—and I never really worried about style. That’s all about to change.
Kim introduces me to Jaime and she asks me what I’m thinking in terms of cut and style. I look at Kim and Mel, then back at Jaime, and shrug. I muse, “I don’t really know, Jaime. I haven’t done anything to it in over four years. I don’t guess I really want to get it cut—but it’s getting somewhat wild and unmanageable.”
She nods and says, “OK. Let’s get you washed and then we’ll take a better look at what we have. What types of products do you use?” I blush and meekly say, “Whatever’s on sale at Walmart?” She nods as if that’s what she expected and asks, “Shampoo and conditioner?” I shake my head and mumble, “No, shampoo only—well, I mean sometimes it is combined…” She gives me a mock glare and says, “Well, young lady, you’re going to have to change that. You’ll leave here with proper products—and you will use them!”
She takes me to the sink and has me sit, then leans me back and settles my neck into the slot in the sink. Now, I may have gotten my hair cut in a salon before—but I never had my hair washed while doing it. Jaime spends a good amount of time getting the shampoo worked into my considerable volume of hair—then massages my scalp until I nearly ooze out of the chair. She rinses the shampoo out, then repeats the process. Finally, she puts in conditioner and spends several minutes working that in, too. After another rinsing, she wrings out my hair and wraps it all in a towel. She then has me move back to the main chair with the huge turban on my head weighing heavily on my neck.
After she removes the towel and combs through my hair to get all the tangles out, she inspects the ends and says, “OK, Angie. You have some split ends, but I won’t have to take off much—maybe a quarter inch. I can just shape it up and leave all of the length, if you want. How do you feel about bangs—do you want them?”
I look at myself in the mirror, then at Jaime and say, “Yes, please leave as much length as you can—and, no, I don’t want bangs. Just please give it some style and show me how to take care of it.” She nods and replies, “You got it!”
About twenty minutes later, after some snipping and cutting, I am back at the sink for another rinse and some leave-in conditioner. She walks me through how to use the products she is sending home with me and dries my freshly styled hair with a blow dryer and a large round brush.
When she is done, I have to admit it looks much better—and very feminine. At that point, Kim talks me into letting her shape my brows. Jaime explains she is basically just ‘cleaning them up’ and giving them a ‘little shape’. I sneeze when she yanks the first one, but otherwise handle the torture of having hairs yanked from my body by the roots fairly well—with just torrents of water pouring out of my eyes. You know—nothing major!
Finally, I’m moved to a reclining chair where another girl, Genie, gives me a mani-pedi. I’m utterly fascinated as she adds mile-long extensions to my fingernails and trims them back to a quarter inch beyond my fingertip, which she says is good compromise between glamour and utility. She files them square and buffs them smooth. She then adds two coats of bright pink polish over a base coat on my fingers and toes and cures them individually under a UV light. Finally, she adds a clear coat and cures that before declaring me done. If I was fascinated with her adding the extensions, I am even more so at the look and feel of my now glass-smooth and ultra-shiny pink nails.
When all is said and done, we have spent about two hours at the salon and it actually winds up costing less than I was fearing, but it’s still a chunk of change that I’m not used to spending. Mel pays and tells me that she’ll deduct it from my advance. I leave with my hair feeling luxuriously light and feathery, my eyebrows still stinging, and my fingernails feeling really long and sumptuously smooth. I love the overall feeling and look of everything, but still have a nagging feeling that things are moving really fast—even though I am certainly committed to being Angie, for now. Mel and Kim just gush about how good I look and I can’t help but blush!
From there, Mel drives us to a huge mall. We go to one of the anchor department stores and Kim drags me to the makeup department while Mel goes off on some mission. Kim pulls me to the makeup counter and grins at the preppy-looking girl behind it. She exclaims, “Chrissie! I want you to meet Angie. She needs a total makeover and the works. But she’s not rich, so go easy on her, OK?”
The girl says, “Hi, Kim,” then looks at me and adds, “Angie, is it? Hi! I’m Chrissie and as you may have inferred, I know Kimberly, here! So, can you tell me what kind of makeup you normally use?” I blanch and timidly stutter, “Umm, hi, Chrissie. I…ummm…don’t use any…?” Kim giggles and says, “Angie has been a wee bit of a tomboy. We’re bringing her into her girly-girl phase—make her shine, Hon!”
The next half-hour is all about Chrissie matching foundation colors and deciding on a ‘basic’ look. She then gives me a full makeover and explains the whole process. I retain none of it. I mean I know the words, ‘mascara’ and ‘eyeliner’ and some of the other terminology. But when she starts explaining how to contour my face and blend three shades of eyeshadow, I blank. Sure, it’s just basic art, but my face is a different kind of canvas than I’m used to. Kim tells me not to worry—that we will practice later and she promises she will coach me.
When Chrissie is done, she puts a mirror in front of me so that I can see myself. My jaw drops and I can’t believe my eyes! With my hair styled and my shaped eyebrows, the expert makeup job makes me look…hot! The makeup makes me look several years older and more like my actual age than I have looked since starting blockers. The fact that I look as hot as Kim sitting right next to me flusters me, though. I didn’t expect that!
Kim just grins ear-to-ear and says, “Bag it up, Chrissie! I take it you like the look, Ange?” I just nod and whisper, “Is that really me?” Chrissie enthuses, “It sure is! That’s a basic daytime look and this is middle-of-the-road makeup—not the cheap stuff you would get in bargain stores, but not top-of-the-line, either. It is a good compromise, though. Kim here can show you how to do other looks and you can always upgrade your makeup, later—once you make your first million!” She giggles and winks at me.
I stand there, still shocked, when Mel comes up and lets out a little scream, “Ange! You look awesome, girl!” I blush and smile timidly. The makeup feels funny on my face—and has a strange smell—but I can’t argue the look!
Mel hands me two bags and pays for the makeup. I hiccup at the cost, but Kim whispers in my ear that it will last a long time, since it’s not cheap bargain store makeup. I take the heavy bag of makeup and add it to the other two in my hand that Mel had handed me. I still have no idea what those are.
Mel enthuses, “OK, let’s go get some lunch. It’s on me!” Kim and I both argue with her—and quickly lose the battle. She takes us to one of the chain restaurants at the mall and we each order a lunch salad and iced tea. I peek into the bags that Mel had given me and find several black skirts and white blouses to use as uniforms. Mel says, “I told you that I would cover the uniform cost and I thought I would save us time by just going ahead and getting them. I went with skirts, so you can practice more in them. Based on what I loaned you yesterday, I am confident these will fit. Later, if you want, we can get you some pants, too.”
At that point, our waitress brings our drinks and I take a quick sip. I’m still shocked to see the little ‘lips’ that I leave on the glass from my lipstick. Kim notices me staring and winks, then reminds me to just gently pat my lips with the napkin so that I don’t smear it all over my face.
When we are done eating, we go to the ladies’ room to ‘freshen up’ our makeup. It’s my first experience in a ladies’ room and not at all what I expected. I mean, I don’t really know what I expected, but it’s basically just like the men’s variety, only it doesn’t have urinals (duh!) and it certainly smells better! There is more room at the sinks with better lighting and larger mirrors, which comes in handy as Mel tells me to freshen up my lipstick. After they both inspect my lipstick repair, we go back out into the mall.
Mel first guides us to a mainstream jewelry store that has a big sale going on. I give her an inquisitive look and she mischievously asks, “How about getting your ears pierced?” I gasp. I hadn’t even considered that. I mean, it makes perfect sense that, as Angie, I would want that, but it seems like another huge step!
I act like I’m scared of getting it done to buy myself some time to think, but the saleswoman, another Kim, is quick to assure me that it won’t hurt at all. With that ploy falling flat, I agree to go ahead and have some small diamond studs put into my earlobes. The piercing is free with the purchase of the studs—and they are real diamonds. With the ongoing sale, they are actually fairly inexpensive—barely more than the cubic zirconia variety.
She quickly marks my ears with little black dots, gets Kim and Mel’s approval on the placement since all I do is shrug, and delivers on her promise of it not hurting as she shoots them through my lobes with a little gun. I admit I am surprised! I mean, I wasn’t actually scared—but I did expect it to hurt. I look at myself in the mirror and marvel at the small yellow-gold and diamond studs glittering brightly in my ears. Mel pays and we once again go back out into the mall.
Mel looks at her watch and then at me before explaining, “We have about another hour-and-a-half. Not a lot of shopping time for us girls, but I need to get the old bakery items to the food pantry if we’re going to salvage any of them. As I see it, we still need to get you lingerie and some basic clothes, as well as shoes and a purse. Since you’re just going to start growing with the full effect of the hormones yet to come, there’s no need to go crazy on lingerie, like at VS or similar. I suggest you save that money for when you’re further along. Do you agree?” I shrug and laugh lightly as I reply, “I’ll certainly trust your judgement on that! What do I know about these things?”
She smiles and we go back to the main department store where she has a saleswoman measure me. I am terrified when she tells the woman that I need to know my bra size. I had no idea that she would just measure over my T-shirt—and doesn’t care at all that there really isn’t anything there.
After confirming my size, Mel and Kim help me pick out enough sets of matching bras and panties in different colors that I have enough to last a week. They tell me they are inexpensive—but not cheap—options that are still ‘pretty’. It seems my hidden lingerie is supposed to make me feel pretty, even though no one can see the lacy underlayer. Who knew? That’s not anything Mom had ever deemed me needing to know. I doubt Bob has any idea, either—although, who knows? Maybe Amy, his girlfriend, has enlightened him. If so, he never passed that knowledge on to me!
Kim insists that I put one of the bras on to try on clothes. She unabashedly follows me into the changing room in order to show me how to put it on. While we’re in there and I’m getting used to the constrictive feel of the bra—and how it pulls back on my shoulders—Mel hands some ‘tops’ and ‘bottoms’ over the door for me to try on. Without a thought, Kim stays in the changing room with me while I change into a pair of girl’s jeans and what she calls a ‘peasant top’.
After a quick look, and exhibiting no embarrassment, she makes me tuck my undeveloped ‘package’ back out of sight after explaining exactly how to do so. I don’t ask how she even knows how to do that, and, with a red face, zip up the jeans after following her instructions. She just clinically observes and helps. It’s not like she’s getting aroused by it or otherwise…looking—it’s more like she honestly wants to just help another girl look good. When I’m done, I’m as flat as she is and the jeans fit perfectly—if somewhat uncomfortably with things tucked away, in addition to the ‘butt floss’!
She pulls me out of the changing room by the hand for Mel to see and has me spin around and model for her. Aside from the above-mentioned slight discomfort, the clothes feel heavenly. Compared to my guy’s things, they are really soft and stretchy—they make my old things feel like thick sandpaper.
Both girls critique the outfit and send me back in to try a different combination. This dance goes on for about an hour and I wind up with a small pile of bottoms—jeans and leggings—and several tops, as well as two nightgowns.
Mel smiles and states, “OK, now we need to pick out some shoes and a general-purpose purse and wallet. I think you need some decent waitressing shoes, some heels to practice in, and something comfortable to replace your men’s running shoes. We go to a chain shoe store in the mall after Mel pays for the clothes and she shows me some rubber-soled, slip-resistant, semi-dressy black shoes, like she and Kim have, that I can wear in the bakery. On top of that, they help me pick out a pair of black three-inch stiletto pumps to practice in—not that I knew I needed to practice! Finally, Kim picks out a pair of wildly colored, and clearly girly, running shoes—which I wind up wearing out of the store.
We stop at a small leather goods store and they help me pick out ‘the most adorable’ little purse and a feminine wallet that will fit in it. Then we make our way back to the original department store to exit out to the parking lot. On the way out, Kim steers us through the perfume department and has me smell several fragrances. She and Mel guide me to one very nice floral scent, ‘Jasmine Meadows’, and Kim buys me a small bottle as a welcome gift, then giggles as she mists me with the tester before we leave.
After she pays, we finally exit the store into the parking lot and go back to the car. I sit in the back seat, exhausted but sweet smelling, as Mel drives us back to the bakery. When we arrive, I quickly grab my bags from the trunk and run them up to the Loft where I throw them on my bed before going back down to help load the old baked goods in the now empty trunk. Mel insists that Kim and I keep some things for supper, and we put those on a table in the store for putting away.
After Mel takes off with the baked goods, Kim comes up to the Loft with me and we put our food in the refrigerator. After that, she helps me put my dirty things in the washer and my new purchases in the closet and dresser. I repack the rest of my ‘guy’ things in my suitcase and leave it open on the bed to put the laundered items in after they are dried.
With the clothes taken care of, Kim has me remove my makeup and I get my first makeup lesson. There is a well-lit vanity in the fully furnished studio and she first has me organize the bottles and tubes where I can find them—explaining again what each one is as I put it away.
After three times of carefully removing it and putting it back on with Kim guiding me along the way, I do nearly as well as Chrissie had. Kim giggles and says, “Well, being an artist certainly does help even when painting your own face! Now, I just need to do one final test and check your lipstick…”
She gently takes my face between both hands and pulls it towards her—and gives me a tender kiss full on the lips as I melt into a surprised puddle of goo and ooze out of my chair!
I blink dizzily as I come up for air! My heart is beating hard and my lips are tingling sensually from the sweet and tender kiss that Kim just gave me. She looks deep into my eyes and smiles, then kisses me again—a little more passionately this time.
To say that I’m confused would be a huge understatement! I taste her lipstick and saliva commingling with mine and have a rush of conflicting feelings. To be honest, this—well, technically it was the one a few seconds ago—is my first kiss ever! Of course, from anyone other than my deceased mother, that is—and those were obviously nothing like this!
I’m still adjusting to the taste and feel of my own lipstick and hers tastes so very different—and the sensation of our lips sticking together from the tacky coating on them is a very different kind of feeling. I don’t know why that is even a thought in my head right now! A girl is kissing me! For the first time! On top of that, she’s a totally hot and utterly gorgeous girl!
What am I thinking?
Why am I thinking?
I finally just stop thinking and kiss her back—at least, the best I can even remotely imagine is worthy of her Godliness. I again realize just how much of a Deity this beautiful woman is—both in body and soul. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I give it my utmost!
Suddenly, her tongue is in my mouth! Damn! What do I do with that? It’s so hot! I mean, it’s all wet and everything—but my heart is melting! I…timidly probe my tongue into her mouth and am surprised when she sucks it in! After that, we play toungsies for a little while and then she finally breaks the kiss, to my disappointment.
I take a deep breath and gush, “Kim, I…What…? That was…! What…?” She puts a gentle finger on my mouth—that I’m certain is now as covered in smeared lipstick as hers is—to quiet me and explains, “Ange, you’re just so beautiful—both inside and out! I couldn’t help myself! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have!”
My world crashes in on me! She didn’t mean it!
I feel my face fall along with my collapsing ecstasy. She looks alarmed and exclaims, “Look, Ange! I meant every bit of the feeling I put into those kisses! You’re beautiful! So, beautiful! But I don’t want to make it awkward! I don’t want to push…”
I don’t let her finish and pull her face to mine—gently taking it between my hands like she had done to me—and kiss her passionately. My heart threatens to explode out of my body as she responds in kind by once again probing my tonsils with her tongue. I slowly break the kiss and look deep into her eyes. I say, “I have no idea where that came from Kim… I’ve…never had a girlfriend. I’ve never even…kissed a girl—or been kissed… What…?”
I let the sentence drop as confused tears stream from my eyes. Kim hugs me sweetly and lets me cry it out, then quietly explains, “Ange, I’m sorry! I really don’t want to pressure you! I had no idea that you never had… I just… I mean…”
She takes a deep breath and tries again, “OK, the truth is… I really like you! I think you’re a beautiful girl! I…I…I’ve known that I’m certainly a lesbian—and very possibly bi—since I was an early teenager. Auntie Annaliese helped me with my internal struggles and put me to work here helping out at the bakery at an early age—to help me work through my ‘issues’. What I finally came to grips with is that my ‘issues’ are really other people’s ‘issues—and not at all mine! Does that make sense?”
She smiles nervously at my silent but anxious nod and continues, “I’ve never really had a true girlfriend. Yes, I’ve messed around—including with Mel—but…nothing serious.” I gasp at that revelation, but before I can say anything, she continues, “Mel and I have been besties since we were in grade school—we met around the time Mel’s Mom threw her out. My Mom had been killed in an auto accident not too long before we met, and we sort of gravitated towards each other. Her Auntie took us both under her wing.”
My anxiety and confusion turn to instant sympathy and I grasp her hands as she goes on, “Auntie was the best! Not only did she take in Mel, but she became like a surrogate mother to me. Like I said, Mel and I messed around when we both started questioning our sexuality—when we were both fifteen...”
Her eyes lose focus as she lets her thoughts wander before she continues, “Mel is very certainly bi—she has demonstrated that on numerous occasions. She’s as comfortable with her boyfriend—the one she has now—as she was with her past girlfriends. I can’t say that guys have no appeal to me, but I certainly prefer girls over them.”
I’m fascinated by her story and anxiously wondering what she is leading up to. Does she want me as a girlfriend—or just someone to ‘mess around’ with? I mean, if kissing like that is ‘messing around’, I’m not complaining and happy to ‘mess’! But I’m still confused! I mean—I’m not even sure I am a girl yet. If that is what she’s after.
She sighs as her eyes focus back on me and continues, “What I’m trying to say, Ange, is that I really like you. I mean, don’t get the wrong idea! I don’t normally throw myself at just anyone so soon after meeting them, but I just fell for you as soon as I saw you! I know that you’re just starting your journey as a new person and as a girl. I would love to really help you on that journey. I’m not trying to pressure you into any kind of intimate relationship, but I am open to giving that a try—if you are. We could just take that part slow. I know you may want to experiment with things, too…” She shrugs and gives me an uncertain look.
At that point, things are really swirling around in my head! It’s all a mass confusion of hopes, dreams, terror, and wonder. It’s really making my nausea even worse and I almost have to make a run for it! I swallow a couple of times and take several deep breaths. Finally, I get myself under some semblance of control and look back at a visibly worried Kim. I smile wanly and explain, “Nausea… It’s…getting better now…”
I go to the kitchen area and get a piece of dry bread and take a couple of bites, then drink some water. Kim sits quietly contemplating at the table while I get my stomach settled. When I’m sure that I’m not going to lose my lunch, I lightly take both of Kim’s hands into mine across the table and say, “Kim, I would love to be in an intimate relationship with you—at whatever safe speed we can manage. I don’t know what’s going to happen on my journey, as you call it, or where it might take me—or us. But I would love nothing more than to find out. Are you sure you want to get involved with someone as messed up as me, though? I mean, I do have a lot of emotional baggage that I’m still working through—not to mention the whole TG thing that I’m still not completely sure about…”
She gently squeezes my hands and says, “We’ll just have to find some deep ravine to go dump that baggage into! I’m not perfect, Hon! Trust me! We’ll help each other. Now, let’s get that mascara that’s running down your face taken care of. I swear that waterproof mascara may be the better option for you!”
I give her a double-take, wondering if she has once again been conspiring with Mel. She winks and continues, “Then we’ll work on smearing each other’s lipstick some more. After that, we can maybe go for a stroll?”
I smile and she tenderly pulls me around the table and towards my vanity…
We’re sauntering at a leisurely pace towards my soon-to-be campus and I’m trying not to break my ankles. Kim had disappeared downstairs for a few minutes after fixing my mascara and then we made out for a wonderfully long time after she came back up. Before we left on our walk, she insisted that I put on a skirt, blouse, and my heels to practice walking in.
I’m holding her hand as we walk, and she’s giving me gentle support. I do have a bag that has my new running shoes and my sketchpad in it over my shoulder—along with my new purse—just in case.
I concentrate for a bit on walking in the heels, as Kim has instructed me, and marvel at the clicking sound that I always identified with my Mother now coming from my own feet. Kim is making similar noises since she is wearing heels, too—but hers are much more confident. After a couple of blocks, I get into a rhythm and Kim starts talking more to me to take my mind off the task and to let the action sort of sink into my subconscious actions.
“So, how did you get into art,” she inquires. I get a smile on my face when I think about my passion and explain, “I don’t know that I ever got into it as much as it’s just always been a part of me. I was always good at painting things. I’m decent at sketching—not as good as I would like, which is why I’ve been practicing more—but I can paint with a vengeance! I’m also an avid photographer, but I never had the money for decent equipment.”
She gushes, “I can’t wait to see more of your work!” Then we click-clack in close synchrony for half a block without talking as I fully concentrate on maneuvering the uneven and cracked sidewalk, before I ask, “So, what are you studying? Mel never said and I haven’t had the chance to ask.”
She giggles and retorts, “Nothing as exciting as art! I’m finishing up a business math and accounting degree, then I want to get my MBA. I’ve actually been keeping the books for Mel’s bakery for a couple of years now.”
I look at her in surprise and nearly trip as my heel catches on a crack in the sidewalk. I stumble forward and she catches my arm to help steady me. I sigh as my heart stops racing and I shake my head as I wryly laugh and quip, “What are the odds of me tripping while wearing high-heeled stilettos for the first time—on an uneven sidewalk?”
She giggles and says, “Maybe we should find a bench and you can change into your running shoes. We’ll continue the practice later.” I nod and say, “There’s a nice place not far from here that I found the other day. I want to do a quick sketch there anyway—if you’re OK with that?”
We continue on for a couple of blocks and I’m really starting to feel my calves and where my toes are being crammed down into the pointy front of the shoes. No wonder women are always complaining about these things—although, I don’t really remember Mom ever complaining about them. Neither is Kim, come to think of it. I have to know…
“Kim, I can already feel my calves, and my toes are killing me! You don’t seem to be bothered in the least—and your heels are at least an inch taller than mine!” She laughs good-naturedly and responds, “Well, I’ve been wearing them for years! I bet your bra is more uncomfortable on you than mine is on me right now, too! You’ll get used to it—the trick is to get good-quality shoes and wear them. Really! Price does make a difference—as does practice. Plus, I just love heels!”
Right then is when we arrive at the spot I had been thinking about. I nod at her response at the same time that I gesture towards a bench and reply, “OK. That makes sense, I guess. This is the spot I was thinking about. The view of the campus is great, and I would love to get a sketch of you sitting on the bench with the campus in the background—after I change my shoes!”
She gives me a shocked look as I sit and take off the heels to rub my sore feet. She asks in a perplexed tone, “You want to use me as a model?” I look at her seriously and say, “Yes!” After a pregnant pause, I add, “I can’t wait to get you up in the Loft for a nude modeling session!” I wink and giggle as I take out the socks and put them on my aching feet, followed by my running shoes.
I spend a few minutes situating Kim on the bench—enjoying the exquisite comfort of the running shoes—and then pull out my sketchbook and pencil. I move around until I get the vantage point that I want and settle in. I quietly take in the scene for several minutes without lifting my pencil to let it burn into my memory. Then I quickly start roughing out the sketch.
After I get the rough outlines put down on paper, I close my eyes and let the image once again burn itself into my memory and I say, “OK! Thanks, Kim! This is great!”
She giggles and quips, “Yeah! That’s me—the super model! So, can I see it?”
I shake my head and say, “No! It’s just a rough sketch at this point. I want to take it back to the studio and do a watercolor from it. I have to get some supplies first. Before you move, let me get a back-up picture, though! Normally, I wouldn’t do that—but I don’t know when I will be able to get anywhere to buy the paints.”
I take out my phone and take a couple of quick shots. I won’t rely on them unless it’s absolutely necessary, though. I already have the finished picture floating in my head, and I know just how I want it to look.
I pack up my sketchbook and Kim surprises me with a worried look as I close it up. I start to worry myself, when she finally sighs deeply and whispers, “I have something that I have to admit to, Ange. I hope it won’t change your mind about me.”
She’s nervously sitting on the bench, with me leaning on her, and she has her arms around me. I look up into her eyes with my curiosity—and worry—clearly outlined on my face. She sighs nervously again and says, “I… well… I got hooked on vaping a while back…”
I feel a weight lift from me—if that’s her only concern! I was worried it was drugs, or something!
I shrug and smile, “Mom and Dad never smoked, or anything—at least not that I know of. I’m sure Bob has experimented… I can’t say that I wasn’t curious when kids did it at school but was always too chicken to suffer the consequences if caught. Like drinking, I don’t have anything inherently against it. I’m not sure that I’m OK with smoking, per se—but vaping doesn’t really bother me.”
She opens her purse and digs in it a second before timidly pulling out her device to show me. She says, “I keep my habit low-key—as does Mel… She actually got me started…” I nod—I guess I’m not surprised, although I didn’t know that Mel vaped either. She continues, “Auntie Annaliese did smoke. Mel picked up vaping instead… It sort of bled over to me from there… Do you mind?”
Well, that makes sense, I guess. I shake my head and she turns on the device and inhales deeply from it. She says as she exhales the white vapor, “This is why I disappeared downstairs for that short time earlier. I’m sort of ashamed of the habit—I actually only got hooked after I started college. I didn’t want to admit it to you, yet. But, one—I was really craving it, right now. And, two—you deserve to know…if we’re going to be together…”
I hug her as she inhales again deeply and say, “It doesn’t matter to me, Kim. Like I said, I was always curious about it, myself—so, how could I hold it against you?”
She just gives me a funny look, that melts into relief, then she inhales one more lung full and turns off her device before putting it quickly back in her purse. I can see the calming effect it has on her and I smile at her—but wonder about her reaction.
We get up off the bench and we slowly walk around campus, hand-in-hand, for half an hour—with me much more comfortable in my running shoes—and Kim walking in her heels as if she had running shoes on, as well.
We talk about little things, just getting to know one another better and I find myself falling for her more and more.
Before long, though, my stomach starts growling and Kim giggles. She quips, “Not hungry, are you?” I laugh, “Just a little! That salad we had for lunch wasn’t big to begin with—and with my nausea, I couldn’t even finish that. I could go for a drink, too!” I curse myself for not thinking about bringing a water bottle!
She gives me a funny look and smiles, “Well, come on then! There’s plenty of food at the Loft for us to put something together—and I just happen to know about a little secret!”
I give her an inquisitive look—my curiosity quite apparent—but she just smiles wider and pulls me back towards my apartment. On the way back, we continue talking about ourselves.
She finishes telling me a little about her Dad and suddenly changes the subject, “So, Ange—when’s your big B-day? You turn eighteen, right?”
I blush and respond, “Actually, two weeks from today. I had planned on going back to Omaha to be with Bob, but now I guess I won’t make that. I’m not sure if he will be able to come here, so I may be on my own.”
She punches me in the shoulder—hard! I yelp and she says, “You will not be alone! That’s the bonus of having a girlfriend! Plus, even if I wasn’t, when I said that you’re part of the family now, did you think I was kidding? Mel would never let you celebrate something that important on your own—and neither would I!”
She pulls me into a hug and gives me a tender kiss—oblivious to anyone that may be watching. I melt into the sidewalk and don’t care who’s watching!
Then she drops the bomb!
“So, would you mind celebrating our birthdays together? I…umm… Well, mine just so happens to be the day before yours!”
I let out a little shriek and don’t care about the looks I get as I wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her back. Then I ask, “Wait! You already knew, didn’t you? Mel told you, right? My application!”
She blushes and giggles as she bites her bottom lip and nods contritely. I giggle and reprimand her, “You little minxes! So, how old will you be—oh, girlfriend of mine?” She blushes more and answers sheepishly, “Twenty-one. I’m not too old for you, on top of my other issues, am I?”
I giggle and retort, “Oooo…! An older woman! I don’t know! My brother may object! But I’m intrigued!”
She giggles back and pulls me into another kiss and says, “OK, let’s get back to your Loft!”
I start pulling the things out of the refrigerator and Kim comes up the stairs after going back down. I’m going to have to make sure she knows she doesn’t need to go down to vape. She was only gone for a few minutes, and I start to tell her, but she has her hands behind her back and an uneasy grin on her face.
She comes over and pecks me on the cheek—her hands still behind her back. She says, “You said you wanted a drink…” I nod, wondering what she’s up to—I already had a huge glass of water. She continues, “Auntie Annaliese was brought up in the German way—through and through. She sort of raised Mel and me to honor those ways, too. Technically, we are both still too young for this…”
She unveils a bottle of red wine as she brings her hands around from behind her. She says, “Mel and I keep a stash hidden away downstairs. Of course, it’s easier now that Mel actually is twenty-one and can legally buy it.”
I give her a questioning look and she explains, “We don’t have to, if you don’t want. In Germany, it’s totally legal for anyone to drink wine or beer at sixteen… Mel and I have been… I mean, we’re not drunks, or anything! But we do occasionally enjoy a glass, or two, after a long day on our feet.”
I shrug and reply, “I’m not against it, Kim—anymore than your vaping. Mom and Dad would drink on occasion—and Bob is now twenty-one and drinks when he is out with his friends, too. I can’t say that I haven’t wondered, but never really enough to try and sneak anything.”
She smiles and says, “It’s up to you, Hon. I’m OK with just iced tea, too.”
I look at the bottle in her hand and ask, “You’re sure Mel won’t mind?” She giggles and gives me a kiss before saying, “I’m sure.”
I start making us some sandwiches and she opens the bottle of wine to ‘let it breathe’. She helps me finish the food and pours two glasses of the deep red liquid—one only about a quarter as full as the other. She hands the one with the smaller amount to me with a grin and says, “It’s an acquired taste—you can certainly have more, if you want.”
She clinks my glass and looks deep into my eyes as she says, “To a beautiful girl and to a beautiful friendship!”
I smile back at her and timidly put the glass to my lips. I take the smallest of sips and grimace. It tastes like moldy dirt! She actually laughs and says, “I told you it’s an acquired taste! I would have started with a sweet white, but we only had Cabernet and a Cotes-Du-Rhone downstairs. This is the Cotes-Du-Rhone—my favorite, by the way.”
I look at the lipstick imprint on my glass and shake my head, then retort, “Well, if you’re into moldy dirt, this is the thing! Umm…how long exactly before this will taste…good?”
She giggles and says, “Baby steps, Hon. Baby steps! I’m not trying to make you into a wino! Let’s eat, though—I’m hungry, too!”
I take small sips of the wine as we eat, and it does get less…distasteful with each one. I’m not ready to have a full glass yet, by any means, though! Kim smiles and corks up the bottle for later after finishing off her one glass.
After we clean up the kitchen, Kim looks at the clock and says, “I know you have to get to bed, soon, Hon!” I groan as I realize that three in the morning is rapidly approaching. She smiles and says, “But, if you want, we can cuddle for a few minutes before I leave?”
I smile and look into her eyes as I nod. She pulls me to the couch and then into a cuddle. We settle in with me leaning on her, my legs up underneath me, and her arm around me.
I look at her seriously and say, “Look, Kim. I told you earlier that I’m not mad, or disappointed, that you vape—or drink, for that matter. It’s part of college life and growing up that we try things. Now, if you tell me that you do drugs—including weed—we will have to have a discussion!”
I smile at her sticking her tongue out at me and shaking her head to emphasize that I won’t have to worry about that. I continue, “Now, there is absolutely no need for you to go downstairs to vape! Really!”
She sighs and asks in an unsure tone, “Are you sure, Hon? I mean I know that Auntie used to smoke up here, so it must be OK from that perspective, but…”
I shake my head emphatically and she finally nods. She reaches into her purse and takes out her device and turns it on. She then puts it to her mouth and sucks deeply on it. She gives me another embarrassed grin and lets the vapor slowly escape her lungs. She laments, “I never intended to get hooked, but it just feels so good!”
She inhales deeply from the device again, and I pull her head down into a deep kiss before she can exhale.
This time her kiss has the added flavor of the red wine mixed in with it as I suck in the minty vapor she exhales in surprise…
I feel a dizzying tingly sensation as the vapor hits my lungs and Kim pulls away from my kiss. She exclaims in alarm, “Ange! Be careful! You don’t know what this can do! It’s really strong stuff!”
The tingling takes over my body and feels wonderful. Between the slight bit of wine that I had, which already loosened me up, and the euphoria of the kiss—this is just the icing on the cake of all-out ecstasy.
I smile as I shake my head and let the second-hand vapor out of my lungs. I say, “I was curious, Kim. I know it was stupid, but you’re right! It does feel good!”
I’m disappointed as she turns off the device and says, “I know! That’s why you have to be careful! It’s so easy to get addicted. Now, give me a goodnight kiss—I need to let you get some sleep!”
Thirty minutes of kissing later, I walk her out the external entrance to the studio—the one that also serves as the fire escape and doesn’t require going through the bakery and messing with the alarm.
She gives me one final kiss and walks away with one last look over her shoulder. I sadly go back in and take a shower—carefully keeping my hair dry—after removing my makeup and disinfecting my earrings.
I finally crawl into bed about eight and fall asleep in my luxurious bed with the feeling of that ‘vapor-enhanced’ kiss caressing my mind and sweetly calling to me for more such kisses…
I slap at my phone and groan at its insistence that I get up. Even though I’m literally right above the bakery and have a ‘zero commute’, I had set it for two-thirty, since I know I have to spend time doing my makeup.
Thankfully, I get it right on the first try—or I’m just still so asleep that I don’t see the mistakes! When I’m done with that chore, I put on the skirt and blouse over my panties and bra, then my socks and new ‘waitressing’ shoes.
Shortly before three, I stumble down the stairs to the bakery below and see Mel on her way out the back door. She waves at me says, “Good morning! Grab some coffee and come out back with me!”
I pour myself some of the ‘private’ stuff and slip out the back door—only to be hit with the oppressive early-morning heat. I wonder why Mel wants to meet out here, when I see her contentedly sipping on a hot sup of coffee and vaping.
At least I now know why she and Kim would disappear for short periods on Tuesday—never at the same time, though. She gives me a semi-embarrassed grin and raises her cup of coffee in salute. She blows out her vapor and says, “I’m sure you noticed Kim or me coming out here on occasion on Tuesday. It also explains those times that one or the other of us would disappear while shopping yesterday, too… I know not everyone agrees with this…choice.”
I smile and say, “Well, Kim already beat you to telling me. We… ummm… Well, we may have also borrowed a bottle of wine last night?”
She laughs and says, “Oh, really? Kim really is going to corrupt you! I don’t care about the wine, in the least! That’s what it’s there for—and you’re over sixteen. That’s old enough in my book. Was it your first?”
I nod and giggle, “Like Kim said, it’s an acquired taste! Her kisses were much better!”
She almost drops her coffee and nearly spills the steaming liquid onto herself. She chokes out, “Really, now? I see! Well, good for you! Both of you!” I blush and say, “I still don’t know how it happened. Suddenly, she was kissing me—every bit as much of a first for me as the bit of wine I drank—and I was kissing her back. We’re going to see where it goes… But I like where it has taken us, so far!”
She pulls in another lung full of vapor and nods in understanding. She blows out her mist as she says, “Kim is a good person, Ange. She’s as insecure about some things as you are—please be careful with her. Believe it or not, she’s very fragile—as I know you are. I honestly think you will be good for each other.”
She looks at me eying her device and asks, “I guess I didn’t ask—or give you permission… Do you smoke or vape? I’m not a fan of the smell that smoke causes out here, but we can live with it. If you need a break to do so, we’ll certainly work that in!”
I shake my head and say, “Well, I sort of snuck a try last night when Kim was vaping…” I giggle and say, “I stole her breath with a kiss—and along with that a lung full of vapor! I’m not sure what was better, the kiss—or the feeling from the vapor. The tingly feeling was certainly very nice, but it was all mixed in with the euphoria of the kiss!”
She smiles knowingly and giggles. Then she says, “Well, we do need to get to work! But do you want an independent test, first? Independent of the kiss, I mean? No kisses from me! I have a boyfriend!” She adds with a giggle, “And it seems you have a girlfriend!”
She offers her device to me with a wink.
I hesitate and then take it. I am still curious… And that feeling was really nice!
She says, “To get the best results, inhale deeply, hold it for a count of around ten seconds, and slowly let it out your nose. But do understand that this is on you! It is highly addictive—and it seems that you’re already getting attached. I’ve known people to actually get addicted after their first try! I don’t want this to be on me—I already know that Kim blames me for her addiction.”
I close my eyes and wonder if it’s worth it—I know I will eventually give in to the temptation with Kim and her both doing it around me, so I may as well get it over with. Besides, it will make it less awkward with Kim—in the end, anyway.
I follow her ‘instructions’ and pull in a deep lung full of the vapor and immediately feel that dizzying, tingly feeling from the kiss—only much stronger since this isn’t second-hand.
I also know that this won’t be my last as I slowly let it out my nose.
Mel sees the look in my eye and says, “I have a spare that you can have. We just pool our resources for cartridges—and wine.” She giggles.
I pull in another lung full and hand it back to her. She follows suit and we both exhale before going in to start the actual workday.
Of course, I do catch shit from Kim later on when she finds out. But it’s much too late to do anything about it by then. It’s clear that I’m hooked—the same as they are. At least I’m catching on in the bakery and it’s fairly easy for one of use to sneak out for a short break even when the crowds hit, since there are now three of us.
She still lets me know that we will be talking about it later—after work…in the Loft—while kissing!
I feel terrible as I climb into my Uber. I have an hour to get to my two o’clock appointment with Dr. Greenwell. It’s Friday, and Kim doesn’t work today, so that leaves Mel alone for the last couple of hours.
Sure, the last hour is usually really slow, but it’s just one o’clock, and it was still pretty busy when I came out. Mel had just complained that she can’t drive me and told me that she’s used to being alone all day on Fridays—that she’s just happy to have me.
I arrive at the office about twenty minutes early and check-in with the receptionist. She gives me a ream of paperwork to fill out and says the doctor is running about fifteen minutes behind. I sigh—I could have helped Mel at least another half an hour.
I spend the next ten minutes filling out the paperwork and then sit there for a minute before I tell the receptionist—after I confirm that things are still behind—that I will be right back and I’m just going outside for a few minutes.
I ride the elevator back down and exit to the street, where I pull out my e-cig, turn it on, and inhale deeply. I reflect on how things have been going this week as I feel the tingly calming sensation of the nicotine take effect.
Kim is still mad at me for allowing myself to get hooked, but I made it up to her by making more of an effort to ‘acquire’ the taste of her favorite wine. It still tastes like dirt—but at least not as moldy anymore.
I’m getting better at mastering the basics of the bakery—I have the part behind the counter and the serving piece down pat. I’m still struggling with the kitchen part during breakfast and lunch, but I will get there—it’s just basic sandwiches and not gourmet meals.
It’s the early-morning part that’s going to take the most time, though. I can load and unload baking sheets with the best of them! But getting the mixing of the batters and preparing the doughs—and turning those into something not only edible, but works of edible art is still a long reach for me.
I look at the clock on my phone and sigh. I take one more pull on the device and turn it off. I place it in my purse as I exhale the lung full of vapor and go back inside to enter the elevator.
The receptionist looks up as I enter the suite and smiles. She exclaims, “Perfect timing! Dr. Greenwell just called for you! Please go back through here and just knock on the door at the end of the hall. She’s waiting for you.”
I nervously thank her and follow her instructions. I’m not nervous about seeing a shrink—like I said before, Dr. Wellington has sort of been like a mother to me—but I am a little nervous to bare my soul to a new shrink.
I lightly knock on the door and wait for the invitation to enter. I open the door and walk into an office not dissimilar to Dr. Wellington’s at home. It is a typical office, comfortably furnished—with a feminine flair, but not overly so. It has a seating area with several cushy chairs and a table on the side opposite the desk and bookshelves.
Dr. Greenwell is getting up from behind the desk and smiling at me. She’s nothing like Dr. Wellington, however. Dr. Greenwell is very young, comparatively—she looks to still be in her twenties or early thirties at the most. She certainly can’t have been out of medical school for long, however old she is.
Dr. Wellington, on the other hand, is much older, probably closer to fifty. While she could easily be my mother, Dr. Greenwell would be more of an older sister’s age—or a very young mother had she had me.
She comes over to me with her hand extended and maintaining a bright smile. She says in a gentle voice, “You must be Angelique! Welcome, I’m Vicky. Come in and have a seat!”
I give her a nervous smile as I limply shake her hand—I think that’s what girls do, right? I answer, “Yes, Ma’am. Please call me Angie, Dr. Greenwell.” I take a seat in one of the cushy chairs.
She takes a seat across the coffee table from me and says, “OK, Angie—but only if you call me Vicky. Otherwise, I’m afraid I’ll have to call you Ms. Jennings.” She smiles in a way that lets me know she’s serious but in an easy manner.
I sigh and nod, “OK, Vicky. I’m just not used to calling my doctors by their first names.”
She giggles a little and says, “Well, don’t think of me as your doctor—think of me as your friend and confidant. Now, would you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, soda…?
I say, “Well, maybe just some water?”
She nods and elegantly gets up to go to a refrigerator in the area. There’s a coffee carafe sitting on top of it, and she pours herself a cup—leaving it unadulterated—and opens the refrigerator to take out a bottle of water. I see it is fully stocked with all sorts of soft drinks.
She hands me the water and sits back down. Then she sits back, crosses her long legs, and looks at me silently for a minute through the steam rising from the coffee she is cradling between her hands—as if to warm them.
After she takes a first careful sip, she says, “If you change your mind on the coffee, just let me know—or please just pour your own. Some people complain it’s too strong, so fair warning!”
She uncrosses her legs and crosses her feet at the ankles as she leans forward to put her cup on the table. She grabs a pad and pencil on the table, along with a digital recording device, then explains, “I will take a few notes here and there, but I want to fully focus on our discussion. Do you mind if I record it?”
I open the water bottle and take a small sip, leaving a light ring of lipstick on the mouth of the bottle. I fight a nervous giggle—it looks like the bottle has lipstick of its own. I pull myself together and reply, “No, that’s fine. I don’t mind. I’m used to that with Ging… er… Dr. Wellington.” I blush.
She smiles, and I can see the good-natured ‘gotcha’ in her eyes. She doesn’t pounce on the fact that I have long called Dr. Wellington by her first name, Ginger. She likely knew that from any discussions she had with her about my case, though.
She turns on the device and begins, “So, Angie. I understand that you just came to Chicago to study art. I have some second-hand knowledge about you, but can you fill me in? Give me a little background about yourself, please.”
I sigh and force myself to sit upright and cross my ankles, with my hands folded around the bottle of water in my lap. It’s not easy in these cushy chairs, but she’s doing it! At least I remembered to sweep my skirt when I sat!
I cringe at all of these thoughts running through my head and try to focus on what to tell her about myself. I don’t want to bare my soul—at least not yet. I need to know her better first, too.
I finally open up with, “Well. There isn’t too much to tell, to be honest. I graduated a little early from high school. I’m not a genius or anything—I just planned my credits well, so don’t get the wrong idea. That allowed me to come here early enough to seek a job to pay for my room and board for college after I got my acceptance letter. My parents were killed in a car accident a couple of years ago, and my older brother has been looking out for me. My Dad set up a college fund for me to pay for tuition, but it won’t cover anything else, hence the job search.”
I take another nervous sip of the water and lightly rub my finger on the lipstick ring around the bottle’s mouth. I shrug and look back up at her before I continue, “That’s about it, really. I grew up like most kids that have lost their parents—for whatever reason. Bob, my brother, was great—but no substitute for Mom. So, I learned to lean on Ginger—Dr. Wellington—more.”
She doesn’t say anything, so I continue, “Anyway, I got here on Monday and lucked into a job my first day—along with an awesome studio apartment. Now, I just have to finish registration…and get on with college life.”
She nods and prods, “As Angie?”
I sigh. Now, we’re getting down to business. I nod, “Yes, I hope so. I’m not sure how registration will go… I applied as Greg.”
She sits silently for a moment, then prods some more, “And I believe you came to Chicago as Greg? You’ve told me about his life—or at least some of it. I would like to come back to that later, but can you tell me a little more about Angie?”
I shrug and just stare off into space for a minute. I focus back on her and take a deep breath before admitting, “I don’t know that there is much to say there…yet. After I decided to get over my issues—for now—and give myself the freedom to let Angie come out to play, things have been great! Not only am I learning a whole new profession—only as a side-gig, though—I also now have a girlfriend.”
I blush and add, “Well, we’re taking it slow, but I certainly have two girl friends, one of which is interested in us becoming girlfriends.” I giggle.
Vicky nods as if what I just said made complete sense. I’m glad it did to her because I just confused even myself!
She asks, “So, when you say, ‘After I decided to get over my issues…’, what did you mean by that? Issues?”
I shake my head—now she’s starting to dig into the meat of the matter. I wish I could vape right now…
I sigh and say, “As Greg… Well, I wanted to try living as a girl years ago—back when I first started blockers. Things were different then, though. We had just changed presidents… Things weren’t perfect for…transgendered people like me under our last president, but they seemed to be looking up. Then, well…we quickly backslid—I think to levels much worse than they’ve openly been for a long time. It seems people are getting the idea it’s OK to be male chauvinistic, pompous, pseudo-pious bigots again.”
I take another deep breath and forge on, “I…I…I chickened out.” I don’t tell her the real reason why, “I just didn’t want to become the poster child for a ‘cause’, and then become the stomping ground for another. So, I punted and just went on blockers. When I got here this week, I kind of figured I could start fresh, and no one—or at least a very few—would know my history. It still scares the life out of me, and I can’t say that I’m completely convinced I should do it. I’m still basically a chicken.”
She prompts, “But…?”
I bite my lower lip, “But nothing, really. I can still back out of this, no harm. Mel won’t care if I’m Greg—or Angie. It might complicate things with Kim; I don’t know. The only ‘but’ is that if I register as Angie—and start classes—then I’m stuck. For better or worse. And I need to talk to the powers-that-be there to find out what that would take, if you don’t talk me out of this, altogether.”
She looks surprised and takes a sip of her no-longer steaming coffee. She asks, “And why on Earth do you think I would do that?”
I give her a shallow grin and say, “Well, I don’t know if you would—or should. Frankie—Dr. O’Hara, my new endocrinologist—said she would only move forward long-term with hormones if you are convinced that I’m not crazy.”
I giggle, “She didn’t say it in those words, but she wants your endorsement that you’re convinced that I’m convinced this is what is supposed to happen. So, unless we figure this out today, then you’ve effectively talked me out of it!”
She looks at me thoughtfully and sighs, “Gee! No pressure on a first visit! It’s a good thing we have two hours! So, why does it have to be figured out today, when you’ve had four years to figure it out? What’s the hurry, all of a sudden?”
I shake my head and wish I could go vape to calm my nerves! I sigh and reply as I fidget, “This is the one chance I have to make a break and try this without anyone knowing my history. It scares the bejesus out of me—what if someone figures it out? I really don’t want to get beat up—or worse! I know, I’m a chicken!”
She scowls at me and admonishes, “Angie! Don’t even go there, girl! I know Frankie well, and I’m sure she probably told you that ‘transgendered’ is not a dirty word—and she’s absolutely right! But that doesn’t mean that it’s not a scary world for transgender individuals.”
I nod and fidget some more. This is really getting to me. I never told Ginger the truth… No one knows the truth…
She gives me a hard look. I almost think she’s on to me! She finally says, “You seem a little on edge, Angie. Is there something…you need?”
I sigh and admit, “I…ummm… Well, I sort of got hooked on vaping this week…”
She nods and says, “OK. And now you’re craving the nicotine to soothe your nerves—which means that you’re nervous about something. So, spill!”
I know I’m caught, but I’m not ready to talk. I mean—how do I know I can trust her? I didn’t even tell Ginger, and I’ve known her for years!
She gives me another hard look and says, “Come with me, Angie.” Surprised, I follow her out to the elevator and wonder what’s going on as she pushes the button for the top floor. We exit, and she takes me to a door that has stairs behind it—leading up.
We go up the stairs and exit on the roof. There is a gazebo and a roof-top garden with several benches. It’s hot, but not too bad in the shade of the gazebo. She sits down on one of the benches and pats the space next to her for me to sit.
Then she surprises me as she takes out a cigarette and lights it. She looks at me as she inhales deeply, then blows out her smoke and says, “OK, so…vape. But tell me, Ange. Why did you let yourself get hooked? What are you compensating for? Ginger told me that she has long suspected that you were holding something back. Can you please tell me what you’re so afraid of?”
I sigh and take out my device and inhale deeply after turning it on. I let the nicotine soothe my nerves and consider how to answer her question. Finally, I decide there’s no sense burying this anymore.
I breathe in another lung full and hold it for longer than usual, then let it out as I say, “I…I…I witnessed something. Back when I first decided to try living as a girl… I knew someone else that was transgendered. She was open about it—people seemed to be getting to be more accepting of the idea of transitioning. So, she decided she was going to live her life and be happy. We became best friends, and I talked to her a lot about my wish to transition—and she had almost talked me into it. I wasn’t going to be open about it or anything—and that was my struggle. How was I going to do that without changing schools—or even neighborhoods, for that matter.”
I pause to try and pull myself together, and then cry, “I let her down! One day, outside of school, they…beat her. I thought they were going to kill her! It was awful! I started to run for help, but someone called 911, and it was nearly too late. She lived but was broken after that—her will to live was beaten out of her. The bastards that did it to her—they got off! Since everyone was under-aged, the records are sealed, and I don’t know how—but they got off.”
I break down and cry. I blubber, “She…she…she nearly ended things after that. And I…distanced myself from her—I told myself it was to protect her. It…was just me being chicken! That’s when I decided to just…wait…”
I take a shaky breath and whisper, “I never told anyone about it—not even my parents. It terrified me—and I never trusted anyone after that about even thinking of transitioning.”
She takes another drag on her cigarette and asks, “Do you know what happened to your friend?”
I shake my head and hang it in shame. I admit, “I don’t. She moved away with her family after that… She had no friends left—and no one seemed to care about her. I mean, I did—I just didn’t know how to relate to her anymore.” I take another deep lung full of the numbing nicotine and let it out as I say, “I’m so ashamed of what I did back then! I was just so scared—I still am! Especially now that things are getting so out-of-hand with this president and the dark forces he’s stirring up! I mean, I’m just waiting for white hoods and burning crosses to be normal on the streets again!”
She nods silently as she blows out her smoke and puts out her cigarette. She says, “I first started smoking when I figured out that I was a lesbian, and it freaked me out. I rarely smoke anymore, but I will when the situation calls for it. It’s a coping mechanism that I don’t need anymore since I’m at peace with myself. Let’s see if we can get you there, too.”
She takes me back down to her office and says, “Angie, I want you to know that you’re not to blame for what happened to your friend. You know that, right? You’re smart, so I know you do. That won’t lessen your guilt—but talking about it will help. Do you want to find out what happened to your friend? I have some sources that might be able to help.”
I sit back down in one of the chairs and fold my hands in my lap. I think about that for a minute, then reply, “I would like to know what happened to her. She was such a bright spirit before she was attacked. I just don’t know how I would ever be able to reconnect to her—how she would ever forgive me?”
She makes a few notes on her pad and then says, “OK. Let me see what I can do. We’ll put that on our long-term list of things to conquer. Now that we have that out in the open, though…” She pauses before continuing, “It seems your biggest impediment is still your fear of being found out. Is that right?”
I nod with my eyes downcast.
She asks, “So, if you didn’t have to worry about what others think—or might do—what would stop you from being Angelique? The main question is, who are you?”
I sigh and think about that. Finally, I respond, “If I didn’t have to worry about anything else—what others think or would do, the cost, the fear of not knowing how to be the girl that I know I am, then…well, there is no question. I am Angelique!”
She smiles and nods, “And I believe that, too. Now, we can work on some of those fears. You have two wonderful friends, it seems—one of which is your girlfriend—that can help you figure out how ‘to be a girl.’ Although I have to say, there’s not really a secret to that. Sure, you’ll have to practice some things to be more feminine, maybe—but that’s what the girls can help you do. And I’m pretty sure Frankie has the cost thing covered.”
I nod and sigh. When she puts it that way…
She continues, “So, shall I fill out the rest of the paperwork for your registration? I think you already have some of it from Ginger?” I slowly nod and say, “Yes, I have a letter from Ginger that states that I’m under a psychiatrist’s care and that I’m transgendered and transitioning. What else would I need from you?”
She smiles and says, “Well, I will confirm that you’ve transferred your care to me and that I support Dr. Wellington’s diagnosis. I will also state that I support your transition. Is that what you want? Like you said, if you start as Angie, it will become much more difficult for you to go back—if you are worried about people knowing, that is. Something that I think may be less of an issue at your arts college than you may think.”
I hesitate, not sure what to do. Finally, she says, “Why don’t you go back up to the roof for a little bit while I write out the letter. Come back in about fifteen minutes, and we’ll finish up today’s session. Sound good?”
I nod and go back up to the roof, where I sit back in the shade of the gazebo and fall into deep thought. I don’t even realize that I’m vaping until I let out my final lung full. The cartridge is empty, and I don’t have anymore.
I take that as a sign that I need to make a decision. I look at my phone and see that I’ve been up here for over ten minutes. I pull myself together and go back to the elevator, still on the fence about what to do.
As I enter her office and she looks up, I make the choice that I need to…woman…up. I can’t let these idiots and their fear tactics rule my life. I just hope I’m not being naïve and don’t wind up regretting it if someone does find out!
I take a deep breath and ask, “May I have that letter, Vicky?”
She just smiles and comes to give me a hug. She hands me the signed letter and two copies. She says, “You should also seriously consider getting your gender and name officially changed. Since you haven’t been here in Illinois long enough—plus you aren’t of legal age yet—you need to have your brother take care of things in Omaha. I talked to Ginger, and she’s happy to help walk him through what needs to be done. It will take a few weeks, but you can let the school know that you’re working on it. Once your name change is official, you will have to decide whether you want to make Chicago your primary residence and get a driver’s license here with your new name and gender—or go back to Omaha to get a new one there.”
I nod. In for a penny, in for a pound… I say, “If you talk to Ginger, please let her know I’ll talk to my brother to get going on this ASAP. Thanks, Vicky. I’m still scared senseless—but I feel better about my choice. I just hope I don’t wind up regretting it!”
She smiles and says, “Welcome to adulthood, Angie!”
We set up weekly appointments for me on Thursdays at four to better work with the bakery schedule, and I go back outside to wait on my Uber, still unsure that I made the right choice. But at least I feel better that I confirmed a choice!
I lay back on my bed after hanging up with Bob. He promised to get with Ginger tomorrow to find out what he has to do to get things rolling for my official name change to ‘Angelique Marie Jennings’—Marie after Mom. We decided that depending on whether I have to come back to Omaha for a court appearance or not, would decide on what to do with my driver’s license—either change residence and get it here or do it when back in Omaha for court.
Kim comes in through the outside door and rushes over to give me a kiss. She opens a bottle of wine and pours us a glass as I tell her about my session with Vicky and what the next steps are.
She promises to support me in any way she can—and to prove it, we spend the next hour making out. After we eat, I don’t want her to go, but she has to study, and I have to get ready for bed since I have to be at work at the usual three a.m.
She gives me a goodnight kiss and leaves me with a tantalizing promise, “If you’re a good girl—and you want—I could spend the night here, tomorrow. Would you like that?”
I feel like I just won the Mega-Trillionaire’s Lottery as I respond, “I would love that, Kim! Are you sure…” She kisses me and says, “If you are. I don’t want to pressure…”
I shake my head and say, “No pressure! I can’t wait! Go study so that we can be together tomorrow! I’ll see you downstairs at six! I…I…I love you!”
She looks taken aback, then kisses me and says, “I love you, too, Sweetie!”
And she hurries down the stairs and around the corner out of sight.
All Rights Reserved.
(Cover image designed by Shauna J. Rousseau and Joyce Melton.)
(Image Source: 193656564 © Parkpoom4 - Dreamstime.com)
I sit nervously in the registration office. I have all of my paperwork and the letters from my doctors. Bob also got things going on my name change on Monday, so I can report that, too.
After sitting there for about ten minutes, a diminutive white-haired man in his sixties or seventies comes out of his office and reaches out his hand. He says, “Hello. I’m Dr. Jones. Ms. Richards is tied up, so how can I help you? Do you have questions about registering?”
I take a deep breath and say, “I…umm… I’ve been accepted for this coming semester and…well, I need to make some changes to my registration.”
He gives me a questioning look and asks, “Did we make a mistake on your paperwork? Come in and let’s see what we can figure out.”
I follow him into the office and timidly reply, “No, Sir. You didn’t make a mistake. I’m afraid I did. I…well… I registered as Greg Jennings and, well, I need to change that to Angelique Jennings.”
He gives me an incredulous look and says, “So, you’re telling me that you’re a girl that thought she wanted to be a boy and registered as such? And now you’ve realized that’s hogwash like all of those so-called ‘transgender’ cases. Or you thought you had better chances as a boy? Help me understand this, Ms. Jennings.”
I sigh and just hand him the stack of papers.
He shuffles through them and gets a red face. He nearly shouts, “I don’t appreciate being made a fool of, Ms. Jennings! April Fools is over. Who put you up to this?”
I pale and say, “I don’t understand. This isn’t a joke! I’m really transgendered and was born in a boy’s body. I’m in the process of getting my name officially changed to Angelique. I will also get my gender changed when I can. I’ve been on hormone blockers for years and am now on hormone replacement therapy to develop as a woman.”
I take a deep breath and continue, “To be honest, I’m still on the edge about this—but I want to officially start as Angie—not Greg.”
He blusters something unintelligible—I think I catch something about the world coming to an end, or something. Thankfully, at that moment a pretty, young woman walks in and says, “I’m free now, George, and can take over. Hello, I’m Grace. And you are?”
I sigh and say with as much confidence as I can muster, “Angie Jennings.” She smiles and replies, “OK, Ms. Jennings, please come with me and we’ll see about getting this all straightened out.”
I follow her into her office and try and ignore the mumbling Dr. Jones as I retrieve my papers from him. Hopefully, this Grace will be better to deal with—she seems nice enough.
She takes the papers from me and shuffles through them. After a minute, she says, “OK. First, just ignore Dr. Jones. He’s a little behind the times. So, if I understand correctly, you’ve been accepted as Gregory and you want to register as Angelique? You also want to be officially recognized as female for any facilities usage?”
I nod and say, “Yes, Ma’am.”
She laughs and says, “I’m not that much older than you, Hon! No Ma’ams allowed! That makes me feel old!” She winks, then pulls up a screen on her computer and starts clicking and typing. Finally, she says, “OK, I have you in provisionally as ‘Angelique Marie Jennings’—pending your official name change.”
She looks at me and adds, “For now, I have to leave you as male—until you get that officially changed with documented proof. I’m afraid that’s school policy and since we’re a private school, we don’t fall under associated laws that apply to state schools.”
My face falls and I ask, “So, what does that mean?”
She sighs and says, “As ridiculous as it is, it means that you will be required to use the men’s restrooms and other facilities until you’re officially a female on your paperwork. Preferably, you need to get your birth certificate changed, but I can also work with certain other forms of proof.”
I shake my head and ask, “But I can go by Angie and dress as I like?”
She giggles and says, “Of course! And any credits you receive will be under that name. But we do need proof of that name change ASAP to maintain that going forward.”
I nod and then ask about signing up for classes and she shows me how to download the college software package and register online. I thank her and quickly take my leave after packing up my papers.
I walk back to the bakery in deep thought. That didn’t go exactly as I had planned! I’m not sure I trust that old dinosaur, Dr. Jones. Grace seems OK enough, but the rules about having to use the men’s room are disturbing. There’s no way I can go in there as Angie! I’ll just have to hold it while on campus.
As I’m about to leave the grounds, I notice a little café right off campus—maybe I can use that in dire emergencies. The Loft isn’t that far, but the several blocks it is away will be too far if I’m desperate.
I make it back in good time, despite my musings, and go up the outside stairs to the Loft. I quickly change clothes and go back down the inside stairs to the bakery, where I make it just in time to help with the lunch crowd.
Mel, Kim, and I are relaxing in the Loft enjoying a glass of wine after work. Well, I’m relaxing as much as I can. My mind is still in a swirl.
I give them the full breakdown of how the meeting with Dr. Jones went and Mel exclaims, “Bullshit,” when she hears about the bathroom rule.
Kim says, “But you can’t go into the men’s room as Angie! What are they thinking? Isn’t there some State gender neutrality law, or something?”
I sigh and say, “All I can say is Grace said the State laws don’t apply at the Foundation because it’s a private school. I don’t know—I’m not a lawyer.”
Mel retorts, “You should fight it! I think you could win that one easily.”
I shake my head—this is exactly why I couldn’t bring myself to transition before. I don’t want to be noticed. The more invisible I am, the better!
I sigh and say, “No, Mel. That’s not me! I don’t want to be out on the front line fighting for our rights. I know I’m a chicken and am happy to benefit from those that do—but…” I blush and hang my head in shame.
Kim takes my hand and squeezes it. She looks at me and says, “Hon, tell Mel what you told me after your session with Dr. Greenwell. She needs to understand—and she won’t judge. Or tell.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then tell Mel what I had told Vicky last week and then later told Kim when she spent the night with me. These two and Vicky are now the only ones that have heard that story.
Mel slowly nods in understanding and says, “That does make more sense, Sweetie! Don’t mind me—Auntie was a spitfire and I kind of got that from her. I get that not everyone has that drive to change the world that was instilled in me, but that doesn’t mean that you can just let them step all over you. Let me talk to some of my contacts and let’s see what we can do.”
I nod and bite my lower lip. I feel all warm and gooey that I have their support. But I also have a bad feeling about how this could all go.
Just last night on the news there was another story about the President—who has refused to condemn white supremacist groups in the past. He was calling for so-called ‘militias’ to go out and protect the people’s voting rights and ensure that ‘the liberals’ don’t ‘steal’ the upcoming election. Anything LGBTQ is considered at the very least ‘liberal’ by these idiots—if not as just plain freaks that need to be exterminated.
If I hadn’t already started the ball rolling at the College, I would seriously rethink things again! As it is, I still am!
I shake my head and say, “Mel. Maybe we shouldn’t rock the boat? I can just hold it or use the restroom at your competition right off campus!”
I giggle at her look and she retorts, “I’m just going to quietly check. Don’t worry, Sweetie.”
I take a nervous sip of wine, and thankfully Kim changes the subject.
I look over at Kim snuggled up in some cushions on the bed and studying. She has books strewn all around her and is deep into it. I can’t help but smile at my luck in meeting her. I’m at the desk and return my attention to booting up my laptop to navigate registering for classes.
After I enter my student ID and the default password provided to me in my packet, I notice that it logs me in as Angelique Jennings! That both thrills me and scares the bejesus out of me—especially after our discussion from earlier. The system first makes me reset my password, then it takes me to the student page.
I download and install the software package, then look through the course catalog and mark down the classes I want to register for. The system lets me know that it has reserved the classes for me, but that I will have to get my student advisor to approve them before I will be officially enrolled in any of them.
I sigh. Student advisor? Nobody mentioned anything about a student advisor! I have no idea who that even is!
I check my school email and sure enough, I have a message from a Clarissa Wheaton. She is introducing herself as my advisor and providing her contact information. I’m just about to email her back when I get a video conference request from her. I hiccup in surprise at the sudden melodious prompt and click on the accept button—I didn’t even realize that I had the software set up on my computer!
The video window opens up to a mousy brown-haired girl that looks a little stressed. She makes an effort to smile though and says in a tired, but cheery voice, “Hi, I’m Claire. And you’re Angelique?”
I nod and say, “Yes, but please call me Angie. I didn’t even know I had this on my computer!”
She giggles and says, “When you downloaded the ‘student’ software package onto your computer, it installed all of the software you will need for your courses—including software for virtual meetings and classes. As you now know, I’m your student advisor and we will coordinate your academic journey together.”
She takes a sip of something steaming and continues, “So, I would like to set up a more detailed meeting for later, but I got your requests for approval of several classes for this semester. I appreciate the enthusiasm. Normally we would discuss this prior to you reserving the classes. Can you tell me why you picked those? I’m not saying there is anything wrong with your choices, I just want to understand your thinking and what your plans are…”
I spend the next half hour discussing my class choices and she winds up approving my schedule.
I sit back with a sigh—I feel completely drained. Kim surprises me with a glass of wine and a kiss. She breaks the kiss and giggles, “Student advisors!” She takes a sip of wine and says, “They can be good—and they can be a real pain. You did that really well, though. It shows that you totally were on top of your credits in high school. She couldn’t argue that you didn’t have a plan!”
We chat a few minutes and she goes to finish studying—wine in hand—while I go to fix us some supper.
The rest of the week—for me anyway—is pretty quiet.
The news however is getting more and more disconcerting. There was a foiled plot to kidnap and kill the governor here in Illinois by armed ‘militia’. The president is not denouncing any of this behavior—if anything, he seems to be egging it on. I’m almost to the point that I don’t even want to watch the news! This is really messing with my head!
On a more positive front, Bob called me on Friday and let me know that he has a court date for my name change. In Nebraska, that means he now has to have this announced in the newspaper for four consecutive weeks. That, of course, settles it for me—I won’t be going back home anytime soon!
To be honest, I know that not that many people even read the paper anymore. But my paranoia won’t let me believe that there’s not some psycho out there scouring that part of the paper just looking for someone to go after.
The real problem, it seems, is getting my gender changed. I have to get my birth certificate modified in Nebraska, since that’s where I was born. In order to do that, I have to have a physician sign off that I’ve had ‘gender-correcting’ surgery!
Bob said he’s looking into it and that Ginger has some connections on that front. It seems I may not have to have full SRS to qualify, but there is no away around some sort of permanent ‘correction’ to qualify.
I will talk to Frankie and Vicky at my next appointments about this, as well. Hopefully, they will have some ideas to add—this was…unexpected. I do want to go the whole way, but this is just pushing things really fast again.
On top of everything else, Mel has also poked the proverbial bear—and got the expected reaction when you do that. I begged her not to, but she promised she would keep me out of her pokings. She contacted the ACLU about the Foundation’s bathroom rule and now there is some attorney that’s going to visit them next week.
The problem that I see is that if there aren’t any other TG students in the same boat I am, then it will be clear that it is connected to me. Even if there are, the timing will be suspicious. I know that Frankie told me that the hormones could affect my mood in a number of ways, so this feeling of dread could be because of that.
Somehow, I don’t think so, though. I just have this feeling of impending doom. Like I’m going to be the poked bear’s dinner!
I take the Monday morning breakfast sandwich special to one of the regulars and hurry out back to take a quick break. It’s a typically busy Monday morning and the store is hopping, so I don’t have a lot of time. I glance at my phone as I vape and notice that I have an email from Grace Richards at the registration office.
I open it up and nearly faint as I read it.
Incredulous, I read it again, “Angie, it has come to our attention that a lawyer from the ACLU is coming to visit because of our bathroom rules for transgendered students. Dr. Jones would like to see you in his office this afternoon at two o’clock to discuss how this will affect your status at the Foundation. Please let me know if you have any questions.”
I pull in a deep lung full of vapor—repeating the action twice in rapid succession—to try and calm my nerves, and then check the clock on my phone before I hurry back inside to finish out the breakfast shift. Mel notices right away that there’s something wrong, but we get momentarily slammed with customers. It’s not until after the breakfast rush that we get a chance for another quick break and I tell her about the email.
Her face gets as red as Kim’s hair and she cusses, then she pulls out her phone and makes a quick call. I’m afraid to ask at this point. She tells whoever it is about the email and then nods resolutely and hangs up after some discussion.
She sighs and explains, “I’m so sorry about this, Ange. I know you didn’t want to get involved in a cause—and this may still be nothing. That was the lawyer friend of mine, Harry Blume, who contacted the ACLU. He advises that I should have you forward the email to him and he will just ‘happen’ to be on the campus at two today, in case you need him.” She makes air quotes around ‘happen’.
She goes on to tell me about the plan to have him on standby, just in case. If it looks like the College is going to make any moves that will jeopardize my enrollment or take any punitive action, then I’m to call him and he will come in to represent me.
Of course, with it being an educational facility, there is the whole academic government and judicial system to worry about—but they still can’t illegally discriminate. He is also going to check the College’s bylaws and student code of honor to see if there is anything in there he may try to use in pulling something.
The lunch hour drags by and my sense of dread increases with each second virtually ticking by in my mind. I just focus on delivering sandwiches and drinks and try not to think about the meeting.
Finally, at one thirty, I once again abandon Mel during the day to go to an appointment—at least this time, it’s not as busy. After the quick walk, I arrive at the campus administrative building ten minutes early and wonder where Harry is at this moment. I have no idea what he looks like, so he could be right next to me for all I know.
I steel my resolve, take a deep breath, and go into the building where I take a seat outside Dr. Jones’s office.
I jump when I get a text and quickly check it. It’s from Harry just confirming that he is waiting right outside the building. I text back that I am outside the office waiting to be called in. I then prepare a text to him that states I need him ASAP—all I have to do is hit ‘send’, if needed.
At that moment, a pale, but very pretty young Black girl comes out of his office—obviously fighting tears—and Dr. Jones pokes his head out behind her. He sees me and says, “Ah… Mr. Jennings. Please come in.”
I take a deep breath and try and calm my nerves as the young girl finally loses it and runs down the hall in tears. This is already not going well.
He has me sit down and then he stares at me for a moment before shaking his head and stating, “I don’t get you people—like that boy in here before you. Why do you insist on defiling your own existence? No matter.”
He glares at me and continues, “It has come to my attention that there is to be an inquiry tomorrow by a lawyer from the ACLU, a certain Gidgit Rosewater, to look into our bathroom policy. You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?”
I hold my breath. First, there is at least one other TG student here, it seems—so he can’t know for sure I’m involved. Even though I’m really not, I get that implicitly I am, so I have to be careful.
I shake my head and say, “No, I do not. And it’s Ms. Jennings, by the way.”
He looks at me curiously, with his head cocked to the side, and sneers, “Oh, so you’ve had your gender changed? Not that it matters in my mind—that won’t change who or what you are.”
I shake my head and say, “No. I’m still working on that.” I don’t know where it comes from, but I add, “And what you think really doesn’t matter—what the laws and policies say, do.”
He smiles dangerously and snipes, “Well, that’s the thing—as the head of this Department, I set the policies. Now, I will ask again—did you have anything to do with this investigation?”
I sigh and say, “No, I have not contacted anyone to have your stupid policies investigated.”
He smiles again and says, “Remember the student code of honor. Lying is terms for expulsion.”
I fight my own tears now and once again firmly state what Harry had told Mel to have me say, “No, I have not contacted anyone to have your stupid policies investigated.”
He nods and says, “OK then, Mr. Jennings. I have recorded our session and your response. You may go.”
I stalk out of the office in near tears and see a boy sitting in the chair outside the office. I overhear Jones say, “Ah…Ms. Thornton. Please come in,” to that next person waiting for an ‘audience’ as I hurry past a guy loitering in the hall and playing on his phone. I rush down the steps—I really need to get outside and vape.
As I blow out the first frustrated dose, I text Harry that I’m outside. About a minute later, a very nice-looking middle-aged Black man comes up to me and asks, “Angie?”
I hiccup in surprise and nervously nod. He smiles and reaches out his hand as he says, “Hi, I’m Harry. Why don’t we walk to Auntie’s and we can talk over a cup of coffee and a scone?”
I limply take his hand and shake it, then say in relief, “Thank goodness! I don’t know who to trust or what to think right now! Sure, that sounds wonderful. But…Auntie’s?”
He laughs and says, “That’s what all the locals call the bakery—well the ones that have been around long enough to know Mel’s aunt. So, how did your meeting with this Jones go?”
We start walking and I give him a quick rundown of the ‘conversation’ and explain that there must be at least two other TG students. He nods and says, “Good job holding steady! I know that can be tough. They can’t have anything on you and he’s just fishing. I just am not sure for what purpose—other than if he can somehow prove you were lying about contacting the ACLU. But that’s not academic fraud.”
We walk into the bakery just as the last customer is leaving and Mel pours us all a cup of coffee while I go to get the scones.
Kim and I are snuggling on the couch after I helped Mel do the after-hours preparations for in the morning. It’s close to time to start thinking about making something for supper and I’m feeling better after my talk with Harry, but still very nervous about what may be coming.
Nobody can figure out what Dr. Jones is up to. Harry is still looking, but so far has found nothing that makes any sense on what his motives could be. Calling all of us into his office that way is certainly suspicious, though!
Kim and I are just about to get up and start something for supper when my phone rings. I look at the caller ID and see that it’s Bob, so I put it on speaker. “Hi Bob, you’re on speaker with Kim here so watch what you say about her,” I announce with a giggle.
I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “Thanks for the warning, Sis!”
We get over the basic pleasantries and I fill him in on the day’s news, which he can’t believe either, then he gets down to business.
He explains, “OK, here’s the deal—according to what Ginger knows and based on some other research, it seems it depends a little on the bureaucrat you get, but full SRS has not been required in any case to qualify for a gender change on your birth certificate.
He takes a breath and continues, “But there are discrepancies in what has been required. Bottom line, it has to be something permanent that would signify your…dedication, I guess is the best word. Something like removing your family jewels has been sufficient in some cases. In others, it has had to go a little further, like they can do something to also make you sit to go pee.”
He takes another deep breath, and I can tell this is rattling him. It’s not doing my nerves any better!
He continues, “In any case, Ginger seems to think, the further that you do ‘go’ to show that commitment, the better your chances are of not being rejected. At least that seems to be her experience.”
I nod numbly and Kim squeezes my hand in support.
I reply, “Thanks for checking, Bob. Let me check with Frankie and Vicky here, too. Maybe they have some ideas.”
We talk a few more minutes, then I disconnect the call and sit there in exasperation. This just got even more complicated—and very real…
I’m cleaning up a table after a scary-looking bald-shaven guy, covered in ugly tattoos, leaves. It’s Friday morning and I’m still reeling from all of my meetings this week. I’m afraid my mind isn’t totally on work.
Both Frankie and Vicky announced their dismay when I outlined what I have to do in order to have my gender changed—and they totally can’t believe the stupid bathroom policy. It’s a Catch 22 for me. If I don’t have the ‘correction’, I can’t get my gender changed. If I don’t have my gender changed, I can’t use the correct bathroom. I’ve committed to being Angie at school, now—so, I either quit or go through with it. I can’t really quit and go home, because my intention to change my name is already in the paper.
Then, the options that I seem to have for the ‘correction’ totally freak me out. I mean, ultimately, at some point, I do want to have full SRS, I think, so it shouldn’t be a big deal, but…
All of this is swirling around in my head when I notice the bastard that just left stiffed us on a tip. Then I notice the little note that he left behind.
Curious, I pick it up and read it, “Mr. Jennings – We know who you are. We know what you are. We are watching you. Freak!”
I drop to the floor in a dead faint.
All Rights Reserved.
(Cover image designed by Shauna J. Rousseau and Joyce Melton.)
(Image Source: 193656564 © Parkpoom4 - Dreamstime.com)
“So, you fainted. That’s certainly understandable, Hon,” Vicky announces.
We’re under the gazebo on her roof and she’s smoking while I vape. She had made it clear that this won’t be a regular part of our sessions—that I need to get my nerves under control, so that I can control the ‘need’ for the nicotine.
While she has made it clear it is a coping mechanism that I really don’t need, I have come to rely on it. She’s right, though… I need to find a better way to deal with my stress. There’s just so much of it!
I sigh as I try and focus on the session. My head still hurts from where I hit the table when I passed out. It took ‘just’ ten stitches, but the doctor promised there would be no scar! At least nothing readily visible.
Vicky takes me back to Monday and my head starts hurting even more.
When I came to, Detective Alice Moreau was in the bakery, as well as the EMTs treating me. I wound up going to the hospital to get my stitches, then to the precinct to give my statement.
It seems that Detective Alice is no stranger to “Auntie’s”.
I refocus on Vicky and sigh, “Yeah. It was intense. Alice seems to think that Dr. Jones called us all into his office to expose us to some nefarious group—like some ‘militia’. So that they could…mark us…”
She nods and blows out her smoke as she says, “That’s certainly terrifying! How are you coping? In this circumstance, I can’t really blame you for vaping! Like I said earlier, we’re still going to work on your overall need, though.”
I sigh and blow out my vapor as I say, “Yeah… But only if I can do it together with Kim—and maybe Mel. Otherwise, it won’t stick… Anyway, April is now looking into what’s going on at the college with Dr. Jones. But I’m still terrified! This group is certainly not controlled by Jonesy, and no one knows what they may be up to!”
I take in another deep breath of vapor and blow it out as I feel the semi-calming sensation. It’s no longer what it once was. What’s worse—this is the last cartridge that I brought with me and it’s now empty. I forgot to grab another one.
I add, “Mel is semi-used to this and April is no stranger to it. I guess Auntie attracted the filth long before she died. I’m still a chicken, but I’m starting to understand… The problem is, I’m still a chicken!”
She stabs out her cigarette as she blows out her smoke. Finally, she responds, “Ange, I don’t think you’re a chicken. Not looking for trouble is not the definition of ‘chicken’. Now, avoiding trouble at all costs, might be. And, even then, that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. It all depends on the circumstances.”
I sigh—and she lights another cigarette. This is the first time I’ve known her to smoke more than one cigarette. She notices that my cartridge is empty and offers me a cigarette.
I hesitate but take it and she lights it for me. It’s at a whole other level than the vapor. I cough and she smiles. I think she did that on purpose! I’m not sure this is for me.
I finally say as I choke on the smoke, “I don’t know what to say, Vicky. I don’t want to get hurt for a stupid reason. To me, it’s stupid to get hurt for being me! I’m not hurting anyone—so, why can’t they just leave me alone and let me be me? What did Renee do to anyone?”
I take another drag and choke again—finally stabbing out the half-smoked cigarette.
I shudder as I continue, “Why did she get beat up to within an inch of her life? Why would our president support the scum that does crap like beat up innocent people?”
She sighs and inhales deeply on her cigarette before putting it out, herself. It’s clear she doesn’t have an answer to that one either…
I watch the news in disbelief!
A ‘militia’ is advancing on the capitol and the governor is barricaded in the capitol building. The National Guard is being called in, but the armed conflict is spilling out into the streets.
I look out the window of the Loft and see a large group of individuals coming this way with torches lit on fire. It sounds like a war zone outside. Scarier than that—there are white-hooded pockets of people in the crowd!
I hear a noise downstairs and take my heart in my hand as I rush downstairs to see what’s going on. I nearly faint when I run into Mel trying to shore up the bakery. I yell at her, “You scared the shit out of me, Mel! This whole thing scares the shit out of me!”
I take a deep breath to calm myself and ask shakily, “What can I do?”
Mel shakes her head and says, “I don’t know, Hon! This is bad—and we’re going to be a target. Unfortunately, I’ve made you a target! I’m so sorry!”
I shake my head and say, “Well, we’ll worry about that later. What do we do? We don’t have anything to board up the store.”
She says, “I know… I talked to April and she’s going to try and see if they can send someone this way, but it’s a long shot.”
I’m about to respond when Kim comes rushing in and hugs me. She exclaims, “Oh, Love! I was so worried—I mean, I still am!”
Right at that moment, the store’s front wall of windows shatters into a million shards of glass and we all scream loudly! Luckily, none of us is hurt.
Mel shepherds us all into the back of the bakery and locks the door between us. She places a call on her cell phone and shouts into it, “We’re under attack and are barricaded in the back—or upstairs in the apartment if that fails. Help us!”
She shakes her head as there is loud beating on the door, and we all hurry up to the Loft as it’s clear the door to the bakery won’t hold! There’s nowhere else to go. Out on the streets would be suicide. Hopefully, the Loft won’t be, too!
We carefully watch out the windows in the Loft—from behind the heavy curtains—and it’s clear that it’s bad out there. The sound from below is not any better!
The news that we can catch on our phones makes it clear that the president is not condemning what’s going on. He blames it on corrupt liberals that have polarized voters and driven them to violence.
It makes no sense. It’s scary as Hell!
I smell smoke from downstairs as the noise is deafening. It’s chaos down there! There is pounding on the door downstairs—and the one on the outside.
They’re trying to break in!
I clammer onto Kim as hard as I can. And then, all three of us hug.
It’s clear it’s about to be our end.
Then the noise becomes deafening—and it quickly becomes completely quiet.
It’s so quiet it’s eerie.
We all look at the devastating damage done to the bakery. The store after it was burned and the bakery itself is a disaster zone from wanton destruction. Thankfully, the fire was contained to just the store and a very small part of the bakery.
There are spray-painted ‘messages’ everywhere in the building warning about what will happen to ‘faggots’ and ‘perverts’ and those that support them.
We’re lucky to be alive!
The National Guard came in, just in time and is shutting down the idiots out there in the streets. There have already been hundreds of arrests, but there is no misconception that all of the militia has been shut down—it’s just the tip of the iceberg.
The president is still not condemning the actions, once again claiming there are ‘good people on both sides’. He’s actually blaming the governor for sending in the National Guard—saying that escalated the violence.
Unfortunately, there have also already been dozens of deaths. That, of course, will just invite a federal response—that the president can orchestrate.
Alice comes in and hugs Mel, then Kim and me. I get the impression that there used to be more than just friendship between Alice and Mel. Maybe there even still is?
Anyway, the intact part of the bakery becomes a makeshift joint headquarters for the police and National Guard. The police precinct has been completely destroyed and Mel offered up the bakery since it’s in such a central location—and not far from the actual precinct.
It’s frightening that this is happening, but it’s also comforting to have protection onsite—even if it couldn’t prevent the police precinct from being destroyed.
Mel has us focus just on cleaning up what we can and surveying what will still function. Then we go to work making coffee and baking what we can for our guardians now working out of the bakery. It would go to waste anyway, since there is no way the bakery will be back up and running anytime soon.
I can’t help but focus on the painted messages on the wall—I know that they are targeted at me. Sure, the bakery has a history—but I’m the only actual TG person here. And they know it!
It doesn’t matter that Mel started it all—I’m the reason that the bakery is in ruins!
Well, OK… I’m a reason it was targeted.
The looting and burning in the city is out of control—but the messages in here are for me.
There’s no telling when the bakery will be back up and running. At least the Guard has already boarded it up—we would have never gotten that done!
I open my eyes and rub them. They’re full of sand from lack of sleep. The only positive is that when I can finally sort of focus, it’s on Kim in the bed with me. Mel is on the couch. I carefully twist around to look at my phone and see that we’ve only been asleep for an hour. We had all just crashed from exhaustion, but there’s no way I can get back to sleep.
Both Kim and Mel are stirring wildly in what little sleep they’re getting.
I look out the window and the sun is just starting to come up, and there is a lot of smoke visible on the horizon—giving the dawn a spooky aura.
I carefully disengage myself from Kim’s embrace and quietly get up.
I quickly put on some clothes and go down the steps to the ruined bakery. The National Guard has left the building, but there is still a contingency of police in the building—including April.
I make a fresh pot of coffee in the one commercial maker that we could salvage. It’s strong and I need it—I assume they do, too.
I pour a cup for myself and go outside to the atrium to vape. Alice comes out behind me and sighs. Her eyes are as red as I’m sure mine are. She’s cradling a cup of steaming coffee.
She takes a careful sip and says, “I’m sorry, Angie. I apologize for our city. You deserve better than this!”
I take a deep breath and shake my head. I take a sip of my own coffee after blowing across the top to clear out the steam. Finally, I respond, “If it were just your city—which is mine now, too, by the way—then I would almost feel better. This is a national issue, April. And it scares me to death!”
She nods and sips some more. After a pregnant silence, she says, “I know. Still. I’ve known Mel since before Auntie passed. As you’ve probably surmised, Mel and I once were more than just friends. And we are still more than just sisterly friends—it’s complicated. Anyway…”
I nod and she goes on, “The bakery has long been a lightning rod for LGBTQ opponents and neither Mel nor her Auntie shied away from that. So, don’t blame yourself for this—I know you are.”
I sigh and slowly nod, “Yeah. I was pissed at Mel for dragging me into her fight. But when all of this happened, I couldn’t help but blame myself for focusing the whole thing on the bakery.”
She shakes her head and says, “You haven’t seen outside, yet. I know the ‘messages’ are seemingly targeted towards you, but this goes way beyond just you!”
I nod and ask, “How bad is it?”
She shakes her head and says, “They almost got the governor this time… I’m pretty sure your Dr. Jones is heavily involved. I just wish you knew who else he may have implicated as TG. I’m honestly worried for them.”
Kim, Mel, and I are carefully wandering the streets in shock. It looks like a bomb has gone off in downtown Chicago. It seems that it was not just Chicago, though. Several Midwestern States were targeted by ‘militias’.
Thankfully, Omaha—and Nebraska as a whole—was spared, so Bob is safe.
The president is just tweeting crap about how the police are not doing their jobs to reign in the looters, but the ‘militia’ are just out to protect people and exercising their rights. And his threats to send in active military to ‘help’ the National Guard are increasing.
I just shake my head. When did we join the list of authoritarian countries, like Russia and China?
We make it to the campus, and it’s largely untouched. It seems that April is right—someone must have some sort of connections to protect it. But Pandora’s box has now been opened. It remains to be seen whether those protections will be enough now.
The city has a nine o’clock curfew, although that hasn’t really been effective in other conflicts the president has egged on…
We walk back to the bakery and make sandwiches from what we can safely salvage. The commercial freezers and refrigerators were not damaged, and luckily power was never lost—it’s just a miracle that the vandals didn’t actually open them up and destroy their content.
We hand the sandwiches out to the police onsite and then congregate back up in the Loft.
Mel sighs and says, “I’ll have to see what the insurance says about all of this, Ange. But it’s likely that you may have to move out temporarily while they fix the place—and I have no idea how long we’ll be down. I won’t be able to pay either of you.”
I hug Kim and say, “Kim—well her father—has offered to let me move in with her until this is over. So, it will be close quarters, but it will be OK in terms of a place to stay. We’ll figure out what to do while we get the bakery back up and running. Don’t worry!”
Mel nods and says, “Yeah. If only I had the space next door. Now would be the opportune time to fix both!”
Then she adds with a grump, “Not that this is really an opportune time for anything!”
The weekend has gone by in a blur. It’s Sunday afternoon, and things have settled in the city—mostly. The National Guard has quelled the “militia’s” activities, for now—but there is a charged feeling to the air. You can just feel the tension—not only in Chicago, but across the country.
It doesn’t feel like it’s over. The election is still months away and there is no telling what will happen then. Before or after for that matter!
The Rainbow community is mustering its troops to start peaceful protests across the country. It remains to be seen if they can remain peaceful in the face of the promised opposition by several ‘militias’.
We spend most of Sunday deep cleaning the bakery as best we can. Mel has put in an insurance claim, but with all of the damage done in the city there is no guarantee of how soon an adjuster will get here. The first estimates for the city as a whole are in the hundreds of millions.
The lawyer and executor of Auntie’s estate will stop by tomorrow to discuss options with Mel.
Kim and I are going to hole up in the Loft until the insurance throws us out—assuming they do. Other than some smell from the smoke, there really isn’t any damage to the apartment.
We have the windows and doors open and fans blowing to help air it out.
Thankfully, the zoned water sprinklers only went off in the store and a very small part of the bakery, where the actual fire was or everything in the Loft would have been a total loss!
Kim and I give Mel a hug around nine o’clock as she leaves and then I give Kim an exhausted kiss. I gripe, “I still can’t believe all of this!”
She hugs me and says, “I know, Love. But you do have to get it out of your head that this is somehow your fault.”
I shake my head and say, “Yeah, but April did mention that businesses and properties that were hit hardest seemed to have a pattern to them. Her theory is that it’s tied to the militia’s agenda. Which would make sense. I seem to be on their target list. That note confirms that.”
Kim adds, “Maybe so, but the bakery would have been anyway based on its history—and Mel’s. I’m afraid that you’ve been cast onto the front lines of this war with society now, whether you want it or not. Unless you bury your head in the sand or pull back into your shell, you’re now a part of this.”
I sigh and grump, “Why can’t people just mind their own business?! What did I—what did we—do to hurt anyone?”
She shakes her head and pulls me into a deep kiss, before answering, “We didn’t do a thing, Sweetie. Not a thing!”
I look around nervously. I feel like I’m being watched. I know it just has to be paranoia, but I can’t shake the feeling.
Classes are going to start in two weeks and I’m back on campus just getting the lay of the land since there’s nothing to do at the bakery. Mel is there now, meeting with the people from Auntie’s estate.
I walk around the campus and can’t help marvel at the fact that it’s largely untouched. I mean, you would think that a liberal arts college would be on an anti-liberal group’s list of targets.
I spin in terror as someone touches my shoulder from behind and nearly faint. It’s the young black girl that was coming out of Dr. Jones’s office when I arrived for his inquisition. I take a deep breath to settle my nerves and calm my heartbeat down to something even remotely close to normal.
She smiles awkwardly and apologizes, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you! I should have known—we’re all on edge, right now!”
I take another deep breath and say, “I saw you the other day—coming out of Dr. Jones’s office, right?”
She nods and says, “Yes, sorry. I’m Lucille Strong. Lucy to my friends. I know we’re not friends, yet—but I hope maybe we can be. I think we may have some things in common?”
I hedge my bets as I say, “Hi! I’m Angelique Jennings—Angie to my friends. Things in common?”
She wanly smiles and says, “When Dr. Jones called me into his office before you, he addressed me as Mr. Strong…”
I nod. I had surmised as much and reply, “OK. Yes, I’m transitioning, but I’m not openly transitioning. I take it you are?”
She sighs and says, “Not at all! But then I received this…note…”
I gasp, “A warning that someone knows who and what you are?”
She bites her lip and timidly nods.
I ask, “Did you let the police know? Please tell me you did!”
She shakes her head ‘no’ and I take a leap of faith as I gently ask, “Do you have a few minutes to walk back to my apartment? You really should report this to the police. I can call my contact and see if she’ll meet us there?”
She pauses and thinks about it. Finally, she says, “I really don’t want to get involved in anything! I just want to live my life, you know?”
I ruefully smile and reply with a nod, “Sister, you’re preaching to the choir! I was just saying the same thing to my girlfriend last night. Unfortunately, she’s right, though—we’re involved now. Whether we like it or not! No matter how you look at it, though, we can’t let the bastards cow us into submissive fear.”
I take a breath to slow my rage, then continue, “I’m not saying we need to start crusading, but we are going to have to make a stand. I’m afraid, at this point, it’s up to us to look out for us. Do you know any of the others that Jonesy called into his office?”
She looks shocked, then busts out laughing, “Jonesy? Oh, girl! You have no idea who you’re going up against—or what he can do! But I’ll give it you, you have chops! And yes… I know a few of the others of us that are now seemingly in the ‘underground opposition’—I feel like a chapter in Schindler’s List!”
I genuinely laugh at that, “You have no idea! I’m the biggest chicken in the universe! Chicken Little was a superhero compared to me!”
She gives me a searching look, then sighs with a nod, “OK. Give your contact a call. Assuming they even have time to talk in all of this mess!”
I nod and lead her in the direction of the bakery as I try April’s personal number—she had given it to me for emergencies. She answers on the first ring and I explain the situation. She promises to meet us at the Loft within the hour.
I smile at Lucy and say, “OK, April, my contact, will meet us at my apartment. I get that you have trust issues. Believe me, I get it! So do I! But April is OK.”
She doesn’t seem too convinced until I start to lead her up the outside stairs to the Loft and she suddenly stops dead in her tracks. She exclaims, “You live above Auntie’s bakery?”
I stop and look at her. Finally, I shrug and say, “Yes. Is that a problem?”
She gives me an incredulous, almost reverent look and states, “No. No problem at all! She’s just such a legend. If you live here, then I implicitly trust you, Angie. And so would anyone else in our ‘opposition’. If Mel trusts you…then there is no question!”
I sigh. I appreciate the trust—but I don’t deserve it!
I say, “Trust in Mel—she’s battle-hardened. Me? I’m a as new to this as you or anyone else dipping their toes into the waters. But let’s see what we can do to help our cause—even if just at the Foundation. I don’t think I’m up to taking on the president or his cronies just yet! You?”
She just shakes her head and giggles.
I get Lucy settled in the Loft when Mel taps on the internal door and comes in. She exclaims. “Oh! I’m sorry, Ange! I didn’t realize you had company!”
I smile and say, “Mel, meet Lucy. Lucy—Mel.” I look at Mel and add, “She’s like me. TG and happy to keep that under the radar—she also was targeted by Jonesy and received a note similar to mine. April is on her way over.”
Mel shakes Lucy’s hand and says, “Welcome to the fold, Hon. I’m sorry that you’re experiencing the same crap from these fecal balls as Ange. April is good people, though. You can trust her.”
Lucy kind of fawns over Mel and gushes, “I can’t believe I’m actually in Auntie Annaliese’s inner sanctum! This is so awesome! I’m just terribly sorry that they ransacked the bakery. You are going to rebuild? Right?”
Mel smiles and says, “Well, actually—that’s exactly what I came up here to tell Ange. I just finished up a meeting with Auntie’s lawyers and executor. I never had any idea what Auntie was actually worth. I mean, I will take over her foundation, but…”
She pauses and refocuses, “Anyway, she owned the space next door! She bought it years ago to be able to control whatever business might come in. We had talked about maybe expanding at some point, but she was happy with the smaller space…”
She giggles, “Anyway, there’s a clause in the will that it will become mine early for expansion if I can make the business case—and show the appropriate commitment. It would have become mine at thirty anyway, but now all of the work that I’ve been doing to save up for it—and my business plan—has paid off! Ange! We’re going to expand! I can start that part while waiting on the insurance company to evaluate this side.”
I jump up and give her a huge hug. Lucy is confused but smiles at our enthusiasm.
We all jump in surprise, though, when there is a loud knock on the outside door.
I get up and open the door—only to run into a hug from April!
I smile and sigh as I say, “Come on in April! I’m afraid we’re all still very much on edge!” I bring her in and introduce her to Lucy as I make some coffee.
Lucy sighs as we sit at the table while the coffee brews, and she explains the situation to April. It’s very much the same situation as mine—only Lucy got her note stuck into her purse when she wasn’t looking at the grocery store.
April finishes taking down Lucy’s information and statements then the two of them leave together just as Kim comes up the stairs. She had gone home to check on her Dad.
After we hug and passionately kiss, Mel brings us more up to speed on the details of her meeting with the lawyers.
It seems I won’t have to move out for now—unless the insurance company insists on it, which doesn’t seem likely. Of course, construction may make it impossible to live here, too—but we’ll just wait and see.
Mel has already contacted a contractor to move forward with the build-out of the site next door—there’s no need to wait on the insurance for that part.
If only my nerves were as easily fixed as the building!
All Rights Reserved.
(Cover image designed by Shauna J. Rousseau and Joyce Melton.)
(Image Source: 193656564 © Parkpoom4 - Dreamstime.com)
I look at Frankie and sigh.
We’ve just spent a few minutes talking about last week’s events. The medical building also sustained some damage based on the fact that TG individuals are treated here—and Frankie makes no secret about her past. Even though, it wasn’t to the level of the bakery, there was damage. Mostly a few smashed windows and spray-painted messages. Being more on the outskirts of town seems to have saved it from the larger crowds of vandals.
When we’ve caught up on that, I spend several minutes explaining my birth certificate issue to her and she nods her frustrated understanding.
She blows out her cheeks in exasperation and says, “I know that many States have that sort of statutory language and there’s just not a good way around it, I’m afraid. You can certainly talk to Vicky, but we have discussed this before, and unless she’s come up with something new, there’s nothing either of us can offer you outside of the options that you already have on the table.”
She pauses, then adds, “I can set up an appointment with Dr. Zuber here in the building to do an outpatient procedure to take care of either of the procedures you have outlined. In my opinion, though, it’s best if you go ahead and have both done at once. They’re part of full SRS anyway, so neither will interfere with that when you’re ready to complete the surgery.”
She puts a finger on her lip in thought and taps her fingernail against it, then goes to the phone and makes a call. She asks for Vicky then has a quick conversation before handing me the phone.
I give her a curious look and Vicky says, “Hi Ange, you need to talk to me?”
I sigh and say, “Well, it could have waited until Thursday, but…”
I outline the issue and she concurs with Frankie, “Well, on the surface, I agree with Frankie. I don’t have a better alternative for you. It all comes down to how ready you are to permanently commit. And I think we both know you are. You just have to fully admit it yourself—but ultimately, it’s up to you, Hon! You have my support, either way.”
We chat a couple more minutes, then I hang up.
I look at Frankie and shiver. I can’t believe what I’m about to say.
I take a deep breath and then take the plunge, “OK, Frankie. Can you make that appointment with Dr. Zuber? The sooner the better.”
Frankie nods and asks, “For…?”
I take another deep breath and let it out slowly, then squeak, “Both…”
I say a quick prayer and hope that I haven’t just completely lost it!
I sit nervously in the waiting room. Kim is holding my hand and bouncing her foot with an anxious energy.
We both desperately want to go out to vape, but I’ve started working on her that we need to cut back—well, ultimately quit.
I picked a bad time to get all serious about that—but that cigarette that Vicky gave me sent the message. Vaping is easy to get into—smoking is really bad but easy to transition to from vaping. Bottom line, neither is good…
I really want nicotine right now, though! Vicky has told me there are some medical options to help and Kim has agreed that we can look into those—later.
Anyway, Frankie was able to get me an appointment with Dr. Zuber today—as in the day after my appointment with her!
Now, I’m waiting to have my ‘commitment’ to becoming a girl be made ‘permanent’. After today, I will never have genetic children of my own—and I will never stand to pee again. Well, not without making a huge mess!
I giggle nervously at that thought and Kim gives me a funny look. I tell her my random crazy thought and she giggles with me.
Caught up in trying to deflect my nervousness, we both jump when the nurse comes out and announces, “Angie? Dr. Zuber is ready!”
Dr. Zuber is a urologist that practices in the outpatient center that Frankie works out of, and he just happened to have an opening created by last week’s…goings-on. He was more than happy to get me scheduled right away at Frankie’s request.
So, here I am.
I take a deep breath and Kim squeezes my hand. We go back together and the next hour and a half is a blur that I don’t want to get into.
Thankfully, everything goes well and Dr. Zuber pats me on my thigh when he is done. My legs are still in the table’s stirrups and splayed wide apart.
He simply says, “OK, Angie. Nurse Emma has explained everything to Kim on what your follow-up care is. I will see you in a week for a check-up. Your stitches and the catheter will come out a few days later—in plenty of time to not be an issue as you go to class. Kim also has the paperwork you need for the College.”
When all is said and done, I gingerly get out of the wheelchair and into Mel’s car. She loaned it to us—with Kim driving—since she’s tied up with the contractor.
I have the precious documents secured in my lap that prove my ‘permanent commitment’ and finally give in to my need.
I vape.
Desperately!
Reality is setting in! I just did something that cannot be undone! Like ever!
Angie is here to stay!
Pain and all…
I wake up in Kim’s arms. I didn’t sleep well, but Kim was sweet and kept me filled up with pain meds throughout the night.
I carefully move trying not to disturb her, but she wakes up anyway and smiles at me.
She gives me a long kiss and reluctantly breaks it to say, “Stay here, Hon. I’ll make us some breakfast, then we’ll get you moving around. How are you feeling?”
I gingerly move again and feel a dull ache in my groin. I grimace and say, “Well, I won’t be running any marathons, anytime soon! But it’s not too bad, right now.”
She hugs me tightly and gives me another passionate kiss before getting up and going to the kitchen.
I stay in bed—honestly afraid to move too much. Although, I know I will need to get up soon. My bladder is letting me know.
Reality hit hard last night about what I had done. If the Nebraska bureaucrats don’t accept what I’ve done as ‘commitment’ then I have no ‘Plan B’. I’m screwed!
That reality is no less jarring this morning—or any less painful. My last dose of meds is starting to wear off and the pain is starting to also once again make itself known!
I grimace because of a sharp pain just as Kim comes back in and she gets an empathetic look on her face as she grabs my meds and a glass of water. She hands me the pills and the water and I down them with a shudder.
We wait a minute before she helps me up. Of course, the pain has not lessened yet, but my stomach lets us both know that it doesn’t care about the pain, at the moment! The growl could probably have been heard by the workers over the beginning construction noise below!
We make a quick stop to relieve my bladder in my newly required sitting position, and I curse the catheter that I will have for the next several days. I do my best to make everything work and keep it clean, then she helps me to the table.
A cup of strong coffee and some fresh scones later, I’m feeling much better! I mean sure, the non-opioid painkillers and the nicotine have helped, too.
Kim smiles at me and says, “OK, Love. Time to get you moving! Doctor’s orders!”
She then makes me walk around the Loft for thirty minutes. At first it’s really painful, then I get into a rhythm and it’s not too bad, then the pain starts growing again. She finally relents and we sit down just as Mel knocks on the inside door and comes in with April.
I notice right away that something is…different.
Mel comes straight over to me and gives me a careful, but firm hug. She inquires, “How are you, Hon? Are you feeling OK?"
April follows suit with a hug, then puts an arm around Mel when she disengages.
I give Kim a knowing look, then answer Mel’s question, “I’m sore—and still questioning my sanity—but otherwise OK.”
Mel nods and simply says, “I wish Auntie were here for you to talk to. She has…had…the experience that you need. But so does Frankie!”
She kisses April and then adds, “As you’ve probably surmised…April and I have rekindled our…fire. It never really died, to be honest. The…happenings…last week just reminded us that we need to live in the moment and trust in our gut feelings!”
I laugh and say, “Yeah… Tell me about it. I’m certainly living in the moment! I’m still not sure that I’m not insane for doing this. But you and April are just so cute together! Like Kim and me!”
I blush and Kim gives me a passionate kiss—with more than just a little tongue.
We all go into the living room and Mel and April cuddle on the loveseat, while Kim and I sit on the couch. I carefully bend my knees and tuck my feet under me as I lean on Kim.
April says, “I’m so glad that you’re doing OK, Hon! I wanted to let you know that we’re no further along with our investigation into Dr. Jones, but things are largely settling down in the city. For now.”
She takes a sip of her coffee and continues, “You should be safe enough starting school if you stay in a tight group. I talked to Lucy after we left here, and she knows most of the others that Dr. Jones targeted. She’s going to get them all together for a group discussion.”
I sigh and say, “Well, I’m not getting out for a day or two. Maybe we can just have the meeting here? I mean, the cat’s out of the bag for all of us now, anyway. Right?”
She sighs and agrees, “Yes, I’m afraid so. While your transitioning may not still be public, a certain…element…is aware of who all of you are now. At least you will be able to go to the proper restroom now.”
Mel changes the subject, “And with the construction started on the new addition, we’ll soon be back in business. Which reminds me. Since you’re kind of stuck in here and school hasn’t started yet, I would like to teach you the basics of cake decorating and then you can start using that artistic talent of yours to amp it up. That way, we can start taking special orders right away.”
She takes a breath and continues, “With the expansion, I’m going to have to hire a couple of full-time bakers, so there will be less need for you and Kim to do that work. I would really like you two to be more on the customer service side and helping with the waitressing. Kim will still do the books and you can do the artistic stuff.”
She smiles and adds, “If that’s OK with the two of you, that is.”
We both exclaim, “Yes, Ma’am,” at the same time, and we all laugh.
I ask, “So, what’s the timeline on the buildout?”
Mel shrugs and says, “It still depends on the insurance company. The adjuster is supposed to be here tomorrow. The new part should be done in about six weeks—another two to get the original side fixed once they get started. So, best case—a couple of months.”
I look up from the cake I’m attempting to decorate with something halfway acceptable. I’m beginning to figure out how to use the food dyes like watercolors and paint on fondant. Mel has taught me how to get the fondant tight and smooth and it makes a decent surface to paint on, but it’s still very different that painting on actual canvas—or paper.
Kim is going to the outside door to answer the knock that had startled us both. We weren’t expecting any company.
Harry is waiting outside and quickly comes in when Kim invites him.
I wash out my brush and smile at him as he comes over to the table to see what I’m doing.
He exclaims, “Angie! That’s beautiful! Of course, you have a beautiful model to work off of, too.”
I blush and look at the nearly finished ‘portrait’ of Kim on the cake and then smile at him. “What brings you here on this nice day, Harry? It can’t be to inspect my work and it’s much too nice to want to spend it indoors. Believe me! I want to get out so bad, but I’m not quite up to long hikes, just yet!”
He shakes his head and says, “I can imagine. I just wanted you to know that my lawyer friend, Gidget, from the ACLU contacted me and they’re going to sue the College on their bathroom policy.”
I feel the blood drain from my face and almost screech, “You mean I may have done this for nothing?”
Kim squeezes my shoulders and Harry winces as he says, “Well, the school wasn’t your only reason. Right? I mean that’s what I understood—that you wanted to…”
He lets the sentence drop in confusion.
I take a deep breath and sigh, “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m trying to cut back on nicotine. Together with the hormones that I’m still trying to adjust to, I can get a little…emotional. You’re correct in that I wanted this. But I may not have hurried it along quite as much given other options.”
He nods in understanding and says, “Well, just because they’re going to sue, doesn’t mean they’ll win. Even if they did, it likely wouldn’t do you much good unless you plan on going to the college for a long time. This could take years to litigate. At least you’re now guaranteed to be able to use the bathroom of your actual gender now.”
He takes the cup of coffee that Kim offers him and adds, “Thank you, Kim! Anyway, I filed the paperwork with Dr. Jones’ assistant, Grace Richards. She was very considerate and said that the doctor’s notes are sufficient until your birth certificate is changed, since she knows you’re pursuing that.”
He takes a careful sip of the coffee and looks at me to see if I have any questions.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, then nod. “Thank you, Harry. I appreciate you doing that for me. It would have been tight if I had to go down when I’m well enough. I still want to pay you for your services, though!”
He shakes his head and says, “Don’t worry about it. It’s taken care of.”
I give him a funny look and he just says, “I can’t divulge more than that. But your bill is paid in full. Plus, you have a healthy retainer on account, so don’t hesitate to call me if you need me!”
I look around the Loft in wonderment.
I’m feeling much better now that most of the swelling has gone down. I still have a few days before I can get the stitches or catheter pulled, though.
In the meantime, Lucy contacted me and we set up the meeting for this evening.
The Loft is currently occupied by a varied crowd. Aside from Kim, Mel, and myself, Harry and April are here, as is Lucy. Then there is Greg Thornton, the guy that came after me at the inquisition, Sam Reynolds, Cindy Hollenbeck, Lisa Wellington, and Breana Ginger.
As far as we know, this is the group of students ‘outed’ by Jonesy to the militia. Each of the transgender individuals in the room are not transitioning publicly, but each received a threatening note. Besides myself, only Lisa has successfully navigated the bathroom issue. The others avoid using the restroom at all costs while on-campus.
We spend some time getting to know each other and April gathers the information she needs for her investigation into Jonesy.
It was actually a relief to all of us to know that we’re not alone in this. But it’s also terrifying to know that we’re all up against this irrational...bigotry.
We vow to band together and support each other.
The Loft will become our weekly meeting place.
When everyone but Kim and Mel have left, Mel says, “I know you’re still unsure about this part of your new life, Hon. Auntie would be proud of you using the Loft for a support group, though. And so am I! Now, how about some wine?”
I look between my splayed legs at Dr. Zuber. I’m laying on an exam table with my legs once again in stirrups like I’m having a gynecological exam. He’s giving me my one-week post-op check-up.
It’s hard to believe it’s been a week. The pain is mostly gone. I’m still a little tender, but nothing like those first few days.
He pokes and prods and finally says, “Well, Angie. It seems you’re a fast healer! There’s absolutely no reason that I can’t remove the stitches and your catheter. That’s the reason that I set up this exam. Some people heal in a week—others take two. I can relieve you of your torture devices now.”
He does something and I can feel a strange sensation. He smiles at me and says, “Well, that was your catheter. It’s vitally important that you follow the hygiene instructions I gave you and wipe correctly. You’re as prone to UTIs as any other woman now. Do you have any questions on that?”
I shake my head. Kim has firmly beat that mantra into my head—wipe front to back. It’s been academic up until now, though. With the catheter gone, I will now have to actually wipe after I pee.
He then busies himself removing the stitches, which sort of tickles, itches, and pinches all at the same time.
When the last one is pulled, he says, “OK, Ange. You’re official now. When you decide to finish this up, let me know. I know a very good SRS surgeon that can work miracles. Ask Frankie—she did hers.”
I blush again and say, “Thanks, Doc. So, that’s it? I don’t need to come back?”
He shakes his head and says, “Not unless something unexpected crops up. You look perfectly healed and ready to go. I wish all of my patients did this well!”
He helps me get my legs out of the stirrups and leaves me to get dressed.
My panties feel tons better without the catheter getting in my way. Tucking is a piece of cake without my…other…assets getting in the way. Not that there’s much to tuck—and he seems to be getting smaller, now that I’m on hormones.
I know that has to be my imagination, though. I haven’t been on them long enough to cause any change like that. Not that I was ever on my ‘natural’ hormones to cause any growth, either…
I make a note to talk to Frankie about it, none-the-less.
When I’m dressed, Dr. Zuber comes back in and says, “OK, Angie. I’ve updated your records and Frankie has full access. By the way, just for your information. You not only are a fast healer, you also seem to be responding to your new hormones on a faster than normal pace. That’s nothing to worry about. The bell curve is set by the average—and there are always those on both sides of the norm. You seem to be on the ‘faster-paced’ side.”
He sees my confused look and says, “I don’t mean to seem crude; this is just medical jargon. Your penis has shrunk. That’s completely normal with what you’re going through, so don’t worry if you notice it. Now, I’m a urologist, so I can talk about that. You might want to seek out a gynecologist, though. I’m sure you will be developing in other areas, too. Frankie can help there, since it’s good to have someone that’s familiar with TG needs. I’ve made a note in your file for her to bring it up at your next appointment.”
He smiles and says, “Good luck, Angie. And don’t forget—when you’re ready, just let me know and I’ll refer you to have that full SRS done.”
“Look at you crossing those legs, Hon!”
Vicky and I are on the roof. The weather is unseasonably cool, and she thought it would be a good idea.
I’m sitting like quite the lady, my legs completely and tightly crossed—with no discomfort whatsoever. I even bounce my foot like I’ve always dreamed of being able to do—one foot on its toe and the other loosely hanging over my tightly crossed leg.
I feel like such a girl!
She asks, “OK, Hon. Are you sure you’re ready?”
I sigh and say, “Not really. I’ve really gotten to like the feeling. I know that’s not a good thing, though. How do you smoke and not be dependent on it?”
She shrugs and says, “Well, nicotine always has a physical addictive component. But there is also a large mental addictive piece—usually as a coping mechanism. Although some have…other addictions, like sexual. That’s a whole other story—I don’t see you doing this as a fetish and I certainly don’t!”
She smiles supportively and continues, “I don’t have the need to have it to cope. And I guess I’m not hugely prone to its physical addictive properties. Anyway, once you start this medication it will decrease your physical cravings and its effects on you.”
I nod and sigh, “I Really like the feeling of comfort it gives me. But I get I need to not rely on that. Kim has agreed to go through with this with me. We both kind of let ourselves get hooked out of curiosity and not out of some desire. Sure, we’ll miss it—but we have each other.”
Vicky smiles and pulls out a cigarette, then says, “OK. Well, then enjoy it while you can. Cigarette?”
She grins knowingly and I shake my head in horror. “No thanks! Those things are evil!” We sit there in peaceful silence while she smokes and I vape. When she puts out her cigarette, I turn off my device and she ceremoniously hands me the written prescription for Kim and my medication to help us quit.
Then we go down to her office and finish the session.
Just as I exit the building when we’re done, my phone rings. I pull it out of my purse and see it’s Bob before I answer.
“Hey, Bob. What’s up?”
He quickly says, “Hi, Sis! I know you’re busy. Just a quick update. I just got off with Jim and he says that the paperwork is perfect!”
Jim Sawyer is our lawyer and the one navigating my legal issues back home.
I sigh and say, “Thanks, Bob. Any idea how long?”
He muses, “Well, we have two more weeks of announcing in the paper. We have a court appearance set up for three weeks from today—you won’t have to be there, so don’t worry. Jim says we’ll be able to take care of both the name and the gender change at once. If all goes well, you’ll be official by the end of the month!”
I smile into the phone and say, “Thanks, Bob. I love you!”
He says, “Love you, too, Sis! I’ll call you later. I have to run!”
We hang up and I order my Uber in deep thought.
It will be so nice to have my papers in order so I can get a driver’s license.
Of course, Kim’s going to have to teach me to drive first! I never had time to learn back home and hopefully Mel will let us borrow her car.
I sigh as my Uber pulls up—as if that were my only problem!
All Rights Reserved.
(Cover image designed by Shauna J. Rousseau and Joyce Melton.)
(Image Source: 193656564 © Parkpoom4 - Dreamstime.com)
I open the door and nearly drop on the floor!
“Happy Late Birthday, Sis,” Bob exclaims. He gives me a big hug and says, “Surprise!”
I look at my brother and exclaim, “Bob! What are you doing here?”
I pull him inside and give him another huge hug and a sisterly kiss on the cheek. He blushes, not at all used to his ‘brother’ doing that.
He missed my actual birthday—not that there was really much to miss with all the things going on. It was just a quiet evening with Kim and Mel. Then we partied a little more the next day for Kim’s birthday and went to a restaurant—with a bar—since she turned twenty-one. And we had some wine in the Loft after that, to make up for the fact that I couldn’t drink anything while we were out.
Fast forward to today—it’s Saturday and two days until classes start, and Bob coming to visit is the last thing I expected!
I have him sit and say, “You caught me without my makeup, or anything! I must look like a mess!”
He laughs and says, “Ange! The last time I saw you, you were still Greg! You hadn’t even considered makeup at that point! You do look good, though—all things considered.”
I sigh and say, “Yeah, I’m all healed up and things in the city have settled, for now. The construction below is coming along great—and is ahead of schedule. We may be able to open up again in a couple of weeks!”
I shake my head, then add, “Now, if things only go so well when I start classes on Monday…”
He smiles and says, “Well, I wanted to bring you your birthday present personally!” He hands me a large manilla envelope and I take it with a shaky hand.
I ask, “Is this what I think it is? Could it be?”
He smiles and says, “Only one way to find out!”
I carefully open the envelope and take out the official document and four copies. It’s my new birth certificate! I feel tears start to flow down my face as I read, “Angelique Marie Jennings” as the name—and “Female” as the gender.
I jump up and down and scream, “I’m official! I’m official! I’m official!”
He laughs and I wipe the tears from my face after I settle down. I sigh, “I guess it’s a good thing, I don’t have makeup on! But…how? I thought this was still a couple of weeks away?”
He shrugs, “We have a good lawyer. It also seems you’ve made some powerful friends that know how to pull some strings. This way, there’s no way those idiots at the Foundation can pull anything!”
I hug him again and say, “Well, normally I would take you to the best bakery in the city for lunch. But unfortunately, we’ll have to postpone that until your next visit. Give me thirty minutes to get ready, then we can go out for something.”
I start to go to my vanity, but turn back around when he says, “Why don’t you invite your girlfriend and your boss? I would love to meet them!”
I smile and grab my phone to send the texts, then quickly sit down to put on my face. Something that’s now completely second nature to me.
I walk into the restaurant, holding onto Bob’s arm. While putting on makeup is now second nature, I still sometimes have trouble with really high heels.
The restaurant that Mel suggested we meet at is fairly upscale, so I’m dressed nicely—including the heels. Bob had thankfully packed some nice clothes—just in case—so, here we are.
We find the table that Mel, April, and Kim are already at and I introduce everyone after giving Kim a quick kiss.
Of course, I have to show them a copy of my birth certificate and they both have to stifle their screams. We order and Bob tells embarrassing stories about me while we eat. Of course, I do get him back with a couple of my own about him. After getting dessert and Bob insisting on paying the bill for everyone, we all decide to meet back at the Loft for some wine.
We relax and just enjoy each other’s company for a couple of hours before Mel and April head home around ten. I pull out the hidden bed in the couch for Bob, but am still not ready for bed with the excitement of seeing my brother and getting my present.
Kim decides to spend the night, as she has being doing a lot lately, so the three of finish another bottle of wine and finally crash around one.
I blissfully fall asleep in Kim’s arms and have the most wonderful dreams!
I take a deep breath.
Then I take another.
There’s really no reason to be nervous, but I am. I bypass Jonesy’s office and go in to see Grace. She smiles and says, “Good morning, Angie! How are you doing this fine first day of classes?”
I smile nervously and respond, “I’m doing OK, Grace. How about you? I have something here for my official records…”
I hand her a certified copy of my new birth certificate and she takes it with a smile.
She smiles wider as she takes the paper to the copier. She replies, “Just let me make a copy of this for your files—we don’t need an original if I make the copy. Congratulations!”
She seems genuinely happy for me.
If only Jonesy were as accommodating!
She hands me the certificate back and says in a low voice, “I see you glancing towards our old dinosaur’s office. Don’t worry about him, Hon. He thinks he’s a big shot—I’m pretty sure he’ll get what’s coming to him, though. That lawyer from the ACLU was here and asked some very pointed questions. It seems that Dr. Jones’ policies are now the subject of a lawsuit!”
She winks as I pale and say, “I’m just afraid that’s going to make it even worse for everyone…like me…”
She sighs, “Hon, I know it’s tough. But hang in there. You have more people on your side than you know! Now, you better hurry! First class starts in fifteen minutes—I assume you have one?”
I smile and say, “Yeah. Art History 101…”
She grins, “Dr. King! You’ll love her! She’s the greatest!”
I smile less nervously and say, “Thanks, Grace! Let me know if you need anything else for my records. I’m…OK to well, you know… Right?”
She just nods and winks, “You’re official, Hon! As far as HR is concerned—well, the HR that matters—you’re just another girl on campus!”
“So how were your first two days, Hon,” Frankie asks full of curiosity.
I smile and say, “Well, when I wasn’t looking over my shoulder because I still don’t know what Jonesy has up his sleeve, they were great! Classes have been very stimulating. I didn’t really think I was going to like art history, but Dr. King is the most awesome professor—she really makes it interesting!”
I blush, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on about it!”
She laughs and says, “I asked, Hon! It’s great to see you enthused about it again!”
I sigh and say, “Yeah. I just hope it doesn’t all come crashing down again. I don’t want to be a pessimist. I’m not really one at heart, but these past weeks have been hard. But something that Bob said has me wondering.”
Frankie looks at me, once again with curiosity written all over her face, and asks, “Oh? What was that?” She pulls the needle out of my arm, having filled the vial with my precious blood.
I hold the cotton swab while she puts the bandage over it and say, “He said that I had made some powerful friends while I was here. I don’t know who he was talking about! I mean, I know I’ve made enemies. I also know I’ve made good friends. But I have no idea who was powerful enough to reach across the state line into Nebraska and help expedite my birth certificate!”
Frankie giggles then gets a mischievous look on her face. Finally, she says, “OK, Hon. If I tell you something, you have to keep it completely to yourself! TG girl’s honor! Can you do that? You especially can’t tell Kim or Mel!”
I feel my face take on a look that mirrors my shock at that condition. I can’t help but be totally curious now, and I know I’ll have to pay the Devil his dues and find out.
I nod and say, “OK. As long as it’s not anything illegal…”
She laughs in that melodious tone of hers and says, “No! Nothing like that!”
I shrug and she laughs some more, then adds, “So, you know I said you’re the recipient of funds from an anonymous benefactor? Well, that doner is none other than Mel’s Auntie Annaliese! She left a huge foundation that Mel will take over in a few years. Mel has no idea… Many beneficiaries have added to that fund later in life, when they can afford it—so it just keeps growing.”
She winks and adds, “I helped Auntie set it up and am the main screener for current recipients.”
I gasp.
She continues, “The foundation is also paying your legal bills with Harry. There is a lot of money in the pot—and Auntie had way more contacts than most people know. She had a lot of sway, and that carries forward—even under this administration. Money talks. Mel is going to come into a lot of money—she just doesn’t know it.”
I give Frankie a perplexed look and ask, “Frankie, why are you telling me this?”
She smiles, “Well, I have a proposition for you, Hon. I just know you and Auntie would have seen eye-to-eye…”
I’m sitting in the small classroom with ten other students. I’m looking forward to this one—it’s my first drawing/painting class, and it focuses on drawing and painting human subjects.
To all of our surprises, it also includes nude modeling—of class participants!
When Dr. Elliot asks for a class volunteer to be that model for the first project—in exchange for an ‘A’ in the project—all eyes turn to me!
I turn bright red and say, “I appreciate the vote of confidence guys, but that’s not going to happen!”
For whatever reason, there are only two girls in the class—me being one of them.
Edwin, one of the copious guys says, “But Ange, you’re perfect for this!”
Renee, the other girl says, “Dr. Elliot, I think Edwin just volunteered!”
Dr. Elliot laughs and says, “I think you’re right, Renee! Edwin, you have your ‘A’. The rest of you will turn in your sketches of Edwin—in the nude—in two weeks! You can use class time and the room next door for the project. If you need time outside of that, you’ll have to work that out with Edwin. And don’t think this is the only chance the rest of you will get to show off your birthday suits!”
I groan internally. There’s no way I can get naked for modeling! How do I get out of this?
When the rest of the class has left, I go up to Dr. Elliot and say, “Ummm… Dr. Elliot, may I have a minute?”
She looks at me and says, “Sure! What’s up, Angie?”
I sigh and mumble, “I…can’t be a naked model…period!”
She gives me a searching look and asks, “And why’s that, Angie? Are you too good to do it?”
I blanche and say, “Well, no! It’s not that. I mean sure, I would be more that mortified with embarrassment! But…I have a birth defect that I don’t want to expose…”
She looks hard at me and finally states, “So, you’re pre-operational? I would never have pegged you for TG, though. You’re quite convincing.”
I sigh, “It’s not a matter of public knowledge. The proper paperwork is filed in the front office, but…yes… I really don’t want to broadcast my…status.”
She nods and says, “I’ll see what I can come up with. But it’s up to you to figure out how to keep the class at bay. You’re one of two girls in the class. With nine guys and five nude projects, how do you think that’s going to go?”
I groan, “I have no idea. But thanks for your understanding, Dr. Elliot.”
She smiles and says, “We all have things about our bodies that we’re ashamed of. Aside from learning new artistic techniques, part of the class is to reconcile yourself with those. But I think you have more than most. Good luck, Angie. I mean that!”
I sigh as Vicky and I sit in our usual spot on the roof. She’s not smoking and I’m not vaping—it’s an experiment to see how I cope.
She asks, “So, how are classes going, Hon?”
I sigh again and tell her about the issues with my painting class. She giggles and says, “Well, that is an enigma! I mean I agree with your professor, but I also know that’s not an option for you—just yet. Have you thought about how you’re going to handle it?”
I shake my head—suddenly with an increased desire to vape that I try and shove aside in my mind. I finally say, “Well, yes. I’ve thought about it a lot. But, no, I haven’t come up with anything yet. I would simply drop the class, but I need it for my degree. Besides, I want to take it.”
She pats my leg and says, “I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Hon. Just keep thinking about it. Sometimes just playing things by ear works out best, though.”
I give her a wan smile.
She changes the subject, “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
I want to talk about what Frankie told me. I also want to talk about what I agreed to.
I’m just not sure that I should.
Vicky gives me a curious look and asks, “Is there a problem, Ange? You know that’s what I’m here for.”
I sigh and say, “Well, there is something I would like to talk about, but I’m not sure I…can.”
She nods and says, “Well, when you’ve processed it and are ready…”
I shake my head and interrupt her, “No, it’s not that! I’m not sure that I’m allowed to…”
That does get a curious look from her. She says, “Well, we’re bound by patient-doctor confidentiality. I can’t talk about what we talk to about to anyone else. But if you’re bound by something similar, then…”
I sigh and say, “It’s nothing in writing… Just an…understanding, I guess…” I sigh again and probe, “Vicky, what do you know about Frankie’s…side work?”
She gets a knowing smile and simply says, “She asked you?”
It’s my turn to get a curious look on my face! I ask in an incredulous tone, “You knew…know?”
She giggles, “Yes. I’m part of the foundation, too. How do you think your bills are being paid? It’s the same as with Frankie. I’m one of the evaluators. I guess that means we’ll be working together on that front, now?”
I nod and say, “It seems weird to not be able to talk to Kim or Mel about it. I mean it’s now Mel’s foundation and she doesn’t know half of what it does—and I do! At least, I’m learning.” I shake my head and add, “It doesn’t feel…right…”
She nods and says, “I know, Hon. But Mel’s Auntie set it up that way for a reason. Mel will find out in due time what the foundation is truly worth—and what it’s been doing. You’re now a beneficiary and a benefactor of the foundation. That should make you proud!”
I nod and simply, “Yeah. It does. It’s a little overwhelming to be a decision-maker in giving out money like this. How in the world did Auntie amass that amount of money, to begin with?”
Vicky shrugs and says, “She was an astute investor. You would have to talk to the accountants on that, if you’re truly interested. I just know it’s worth hundreds of millions. You never would have guessed that she had that kind of money, though. I mean, look at the bakery—it’s just a down-to-earth, homey place to get great baked items.”
She sighs and adds, “I’m told that Warren Buffet was her idol—and you being from Omaha, should know how he is with his money. She was very similar.”
I shake my head in wonderment and then I have a sudden thought, “But, if I’m now a part of the evaluation board, isn’t a conflict for me to be a beneficiary?”
She smiles and says, “Well, it’s a perk of the board, so no. You’re just getting compensated in ‘product’ rather than money. Didn’t Frankie tell you it’s a paid position?”
I shake my head and say, “No, she didn’t mention that.”
Vicky just giggles and changes the subject again…
I look around the Loft. The weekly TG group has assembled, and Harry and April are here again to let us know what’s happened over the last week.
Harry starts, “OK, gang. I have some good news—of sorts. As you know, the ACLU has decided to sue the school on its bathroom policy. The board knows it’s on shaky ground and may be willing to settle. We should know more in a few weeks. Whether they will simply reverse the decision and allow for anyone to use the bathroom of their choice, or something in between that option and where they currently are, is up in the air.”
Lucy asks, “What would something like that look like? In between, I mean?”
Harry shrugs and says, “Well, they could require a doctor’s certification that a person is transgendered and allow them to use the bathroom of their true gender—without the whole ‘permanent commitment’ clause.”
Everyone nods and Harry adds, “Of course, Dr. Jones is the major holdout on this. It seems that he does have some others on the board that are on his side—or are at least open to his side.”
April steps in at that point, “Yes, and our investigation of Jones is moving along. We have him squarely tied to one of white supremist militias. But we can’t tie him to anything illegal—yet. The fact that you all received threatening notes after he called you to his office is certainly damning—but only circumstantial. We’re trying to find the guy that was videoing you as you left, but he doesn’t seem to be a student.”
She sighs, “What Dr. Jones doesn’t know, though, is that we have now security footage of the guy and we’ve sent that to the FBI for facial recognition. Maybe we’ll catch a break and find out who he is.”
I feel a shiver run through me.
I’ve sort of reconciled myself with the fact that if the ACLU wins and I made my commitment ‘permanent’ for the wrong reasons, that it was still not the wrong decision. That’s one of the things that I extensively talked to Vicky about at the end of our session.
But this whole thing with Jonesy—and an entire organization that has it out for people that are just different from them—is truly unsettling. I mean, I’m not naïve. It’s not anything new in world history. You just don’t really think about that being a huge issue in the US.
I don’t know, I guess maybe I am naïve?
We all spend some more time brainstorming on some things, then Harry and April leave and the group just hangs out and talks about classes for another hour.
I’m sitting in my ‘artist’ area of the Loft.
I’ve set up an easel and a stool by one the banks of windows where the light is perfect. I’m trying to do some sketching and it’s turning more into doodling than anything useful.
I’m not sure why I can’t concentrate.
Well, I think it has to do with Kim. She was kind of…weird…last night. I can’t explain it. She spent the night like she’s increasingly been doing. I really want to ask her to just move in with me, but I don’t know if she’s ready for that kind of commitment.
I smile ruefully. I’ve learned what I have to do to make those ‘permanent commitment’ decisions—how to really evaluate how I feel about something…or someone.
I know I’m ready. We may have only known each other for a couple of months, but I feel like I’ve known her my whole life—like she is my whole life.
She completes me and I want to spend the rest of my life with her.
I just don’t know how she feels about that.
And then the way she acted last night. Like she was nervous to be around me. Like she wanted to tell me something.
My heart falls to my stomach.
I get the sinking feeling that she’s getting ready to break it off with me!
I jump when there’s a loud noise from the construction crew below! I curse the fact that I spilled coffee all over me—thankfully it was nearly cold.
I go and change into something more comfortable. I’m not going anywhere today, so there’s no need to dress up. Kim said she had something to do this afternoon…
I start to cry and quietly weep into the coffee-stained blouse in my hands.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel someone put their arms around me from behind! I quickly turn with my heart beating a thousand miles an hour! And see…Kim!
She says, “I’m sorry, Sweetie! I thought you heard me! I didn’t mean to scare you! Are you OK? Why were you crying?”
I sob, “Oh, Kim! I didn’t think you were coming today!”
She smiles and hugs me. She whispers in my ear, “I said I had something to do. I didn’t say I wasn’t coming.”
I shake my head and say, “I must look a fright!”
She giggles and says, “Well, you do need to fix those raccoon eyes! But why were you crying, Love?”
I sigh and lie, “I don’t know… It just sort of hit me.”
She smiles and says, “Well, I wanted to wait until later, but… Maybe now is the best time for this…”
Before I know what’s happening, she gets down on one knee and pulls out a ring box, opens it, and asks, “Angie, Hon, I know we’ve only been together a couple of months, but I love you with all my heart! Will you marry me?”