I know this post is a self-indulgent, and I hope any readers will forgive the impertinence. Inspiration can come from anywhere and I feel confident saying my latest story, 'Kissing Cousins', has a weirder origin than most posted on this site. It is also an apology of sorts, but you'll have to read to the end to understand.

(and just to be clear, I did not kiss my cousin. Well, that's not entirely true. It was a different cousin, it only happened one time, and she/I were both five years old. It happened when we were both petting a baby lamb at the zoo. My Mom and Aunt claim it was the cutest thing they ever saw.)

My paternal grandfather and I were never close. Something happened between him and my grandmother after they married, and it ended in divorce. My grandmother hated the man so much she moved my Dad to the other side of the country. I saw my grandfather a total of five times.

I was out of college when my step-grandmother called my Dad to tell him his Dad (my grandfather) was sick. My Dad wanted to see him a final time, so the whole family got flights to Arizona and crowded into my Grandfather's house. Walking in, I realized my grandfather wasn't sick, he was dying. My first thought was he looked like those pictures of Lenin in his mausoleum. Cancer is a horrible way to die. The hospice nurse said she expected him to last a week.

My work was understanding and my brother/sister were home from college, so we suddenly had an unexpected 7-day family vacation in Arizona. That's when I met my 'cousins'. My grandfather married a woman with a daughter who had five kids. These 'cousins' were in the same predicament, so we did what most twenty-somethings would do in our situation. We partied our asses off.

I'm not sure who brought up the fact we weren't really cousins, but it became a running joke. The oldest boy seemed to get along well with my sister. My brother and I decided the younger brother, Danny, was gay the moment we saw him. Danny didn't say much and sat at the end of the bar the whole time. I spent most of my time talking to the three girls, all of whom were younger, and we got along well. They took us to parks during the day and their favorite bars at night. It was probably a good thing my grandfather passed quicker than expected, or the title to my story might be more apt.

The rise of the internet meant it was easier to stay in touch, and I stayed in touch with my cousins. We didn't talk often, but we were able to follow each other's lives. I hadn't spent much time with Danny on our 'vacation'. He'd been standoffish the whole time, so I didn't give it much thought when he stopped posting.

As for me, I had my own issues. Like many on this site, I started dabbling with a different side. I read a couple of stories. I started experimenting with my manner of dress. I felt the thrill of buying makeup for the first time and seeing myself in a whole new way. I started asking myself uncomfortable questions.

My step-grandmother had a heart attack and died ten years after my grandfather. My visit to Arizona would be a three-day affair. There would be no parties this time.

My 'cousins' looked similar to the last time, with one exception. Danny showed up wearing a dress.

It shocked me, even though I sensed something different about 'him' the first time we met. Now he was a she. Given all the time I'd spent reading about gender dysphoria and dabbling around the edges myself, I would have thought I'd be more prepared when I saw it face to face. As you might imagine, her appearance brought all sorts of whispers from other family members. She'd cut herself off from them for a number of years. She'd started taking hormones about three months earlier, so the effects were barely noticeable. She wore no makeup. She wore hiking boots and a ratty looking dress. Her hair was a mess.

Looking back, I realize she might have picked this look on purpose, but I don't really know. I do know it's easier to deal with life when you know what's coming. It's the hope that gets you.

My aunt looked embarrassed. My uncle looked furious. My oldest 'cousin', her brother, openly mocked her. Every time I looked, I felt something in the pit of my stomach, mostly confusion. I approached the eldest of my female 'cousins'. She told me Danielle had come out to the family a few months earlier. She asked me to be nice. I mis-gendered Danielle in the very next sentence.

It bothered me. It bothered my 'cousin' too. She yelled at me and I apologized. Then I mis-gendered Danielle in the very next sentence and deadnamed her the sentence after.

I don't know if others have this problem. To this day, I struggle to call Caitlyn Jenner by the right name. Bruce Jenner was a hero of mine growing up. I ate Wheaties for years after seeing the picture on a box. When kids in my neighborhood declared they were going to be firemen or astronauts, I said I was going to be a decathlete.

Sitting in the church, I told myself mis-gendering was like when people are learning a second language. At first, you have to translate the words in your brain until one day you are able to say 'Como estas?' without thinking 'How's it going?' first. You first need a willingness to learn a different language, but you also need repetition and practice until it sticks. For some reason, that hasn't happened with Caitlyn for me, and I hadn't had enough time for it to sink in with Danielle.

My Step-grandmother was Catholic, so we were in the church for a long service. Watching the rosary beads one by one numbed my brain, and as the priest droned on, a germ of a story began to percolate. I think many of us do that. We like to see ourselves as heroes in a massive play, and so I created a story in my head where Danielle and I faced down the angry mob together.

I wish I was as brave in real life. After the funeral, I saw her sitting on a curb next to a pile of spent cigarettes. She was on the phone talking to someone with tears on her face. I wanted to say something, but told myself it would be rude to interrupt.

We buried my step-grandmother the next day. Danielle stood about 100 yards from the group, smoking one cigarette after the other. I listened to comments from the crowd and said nothing. When the funeral ended, Danielle was gone. I've never seen her again.

When I got home, I wrote Chapter One of a nameless story. I wasn't sure how to process my feelings, and soon the story fell into a hole with my other unfinished stories. I wish it were as easy to rid yourself of feelings of guilt.

When I saw the recent announcement for the Holiday Contest, I looked through my unfinished stories to see if one might fit. I tend to be wordy (as the above paragraphs attest) and saw I'd barely started the story about my 'cousin' even though I've wanted to finish it for years. I think about her more than she'd ever believe.

Shields are often necessary for those who are different. Society presses us to conform. Those who step out can expect slings and arrows. As I've gotten older, I realize most things in life aren't black and white. We mock the things we don't understand because most of us are lost ourselves.

A few years ago, I asked my eldest 'cousin' about Danielle. She told me the family hasn't heard from her in years. Danielle cut herself off from them and changed her name. They have no idea where she lives. My 'cousin' said she hoped her sister was happy with her life. I told my 'cousin' I hoped so too.

I doubt Danielle sees my story, but I wrote the story for her. I do hope she gives her family a second chance someday. I hope they surprise her with their response.