Though I posted this as an answer to a comment on my story, I decided to also post it as a blog.

Though I have written many heart wrenching, emotional stories that have a lot of drama and conflict in them, that is not what I intended for this one.

My real reason for writing this was in some way to honor my aunt. It is Christmas and I miss her greatly. There will be no Christmas card in the mail this year, no check that says use this to buy yourself something and not for bills. There will be no phone call on Christmas day, and that is drama enough for me as I sit here with tears streaming down my face.

I wanted a story that answered the question, what if, for just once, everything was perfect. I purposely picked out the scenes, having thought this through ever since I finished re-tooling The wishing blanket. I would drive on my paper route at night and just envision certain things. Perhaps that is why the words I love you appear so often in the work and i wouldn't dare dream of editing them out. How I long to hear those words just one more time and know that I won't. So the tears don't show up in the story for you, my dear readers, but they flow endlessly for me. I have never felt so alone, and part of me wonders if maybe breathing my last would be better than feeling such loss, yet I endure.

There is a reason I picked age seven for this story. It wasn't that it was convenient. See, the summer when I was seven was when my mother kidnapped me (and you think my stories are rough). I can still see my aunt standing on the top step of 1816 Himrod street calling out to me. "Keith, keith." But I didn't stop. My mother had me by my hand and i just know if i paused i would wind up being dragged. i was so confused, torn between the woman who loved me (my aunt) and the woman who should have loved me but didn't (My mom). I was only taken for 2 days, but in those 2 days my mother bombarded me with so many lies that I had no chance against her. "Your Aunt stole you from me," she told me (I learned the truth later on). "You belong with me," "It will be me, Ritchie who will be your father, and you and we'll be a real family and you can have a normal life." With such words floating in my head i was returned to my aunt. It was me who asked my aunt to let me move back with my mother, and for that i deserve death. But my Aunt loved me, really loved me, and oh how i must of hurt her, but she wanted me to be happy and maybe she feared that if she didn't I would hate her.

Me and my aunt both suffered for that decision. Ritchie wound up being abusive and 2 years later I was removed by the police. But how can I not cry now as I think back on that insult. So I rewrote things. I rewrote that christmas in a way that I never asked to move in with my mother. This is what I view perfection as, and it may show how warped I really am. But this is the best way I felt I could deal with the loss of my Aunt and honor her. I know, that if she was aware of my gender confusion, that she still would've loved me, even if she didn't understand it. And maybe, just maybe, something like this could've really happened.

I am going to cry now. Sorry.

K.T. Leone

My fiction feels more real than reality