All quotations from Holy Scripture are from the New American Bible as quoted in the Lectionary for Mass.

Gretchen looked intently at my face.

“Jamie,” she said. “Your own mom won’t even know it’s you.”

I looked at myself in the mirror. Although I was a fourteen year-old boy, the face of a cute teenage girl stared back at me. I watched my right hand in the mirror as the teenage girl in a white turtleneck and forest green pullover brushed my beautiful long, and dark wavy hair behind my right ear. The girl’s lips moved as I opened my mouth, and when I licked my lips, the tip of her tongue traced her pert, full lips as I tasted the strawberry lipgloss. That her long, curled eyelashes had batted whenever I would blink, had mesmerized me.

I didn’t even recognize myself. This was eerie, seeming more like Hallowe’en than Christmas Eve.

“I’m scared, Gretchen! I’m not sure I can do this.”

“It’s okay, Jamie,” she assured me. “If you do go tonight, it will be a big step. But I’ll be there with you. Mom’s coming with us, too.”

“I just wish I could have asked my own mom to help me with this first.”

“Give her a chance. I’ve always liked your mom. She’s sweet. She has to be to have a son like you.”

“But I’m so afraid.” I so wanted Mom to see what I looked like as a daughter, but I didn’t think I could ever show up like this in front of her. And Dad? I didn’t even want to imagine his reaction, but I’d know soon enough. It helped that Gretchen’s mom was a social worker, too.

“I know. But it’s all kinda silly. I mean, why should it matter so much if a boy wants to wear a dress or a skirt now and then? It doesn’t make sense to me that some people can get so bent outta shape by a boy in a dress and high heels. You’re just so pretty, it’s wrong not to let you dress up. Heck! It’s wrong not to make you dress up!”

“There are guys out there who’d beat me up or worse if they knew what I was doing.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody is gonna know until it’s time but us. And Mom.”

“I just wish I knew why I feel I gotta do this. It’s never made sense to me. Why do I wanna dress like a girl?”

“I think it’s because you just like us a lot and you wanna be one of us. Or maybe you just like—me!”

Gretchen stuck her tongue out and I tried to throw a small pillow at her, but she dodged it and flicked her tongue again. We both giggled. Boys don’t usually giggle, although I seem to have learned that girlish skill from her. Maybe it’s strange, but I’m only able to giggle when I’m dressed like a girl. In fact, I almost can’t stop giggling when I’m dressed like this. But giggling makes me feel really good.

“What makes you think that I’d like you more than any other girl?”

“For starters, the fact that you trust me with your secret and that you’re always asking to try on my clothes or to go shopping with me.”

“Well, I guess there is that.”

“Oh! You—you—boy!”

“You—girl!” I said giggling and then ducked as she threw the same pillow back at me. It bounced harmlessly off the wall of her room, beside the vanity.

“James Pendergast!” Gretchen addressed me, scowling. “The one and only reason I’m not gonna flatten you is that I’ve worked too hard to make your face pretty. I don’t wanna hafta do it all over again!” With that, her lips sputtered into another fit of giggles, unable to maintain her air of mock indignation towards me. Clearly, Gretchen Mueller liked me more than—well—any other boy dressed like a girl. Like there were that many crossdressing teenage boys around…

I don’t know why I feel the way I do when I’m dressed up, but I love the way these clothes feel and the way the perfume smells and how I look in wild colors and how it feels to teeter on a pair of high heels. I love to hear the cadence of those heels on the pavement and the swish of my nylons while I walk and how they stretch so softly against my legs. But most of all, I love the feeling of being a boy dressed like a girl.

“Are you girls ready yet?” Gretchen’s mom yelled up the stairs. Did she just call us both girls? Me a girl?

“Almost, Mom!” her daughter yelled back down the stairs.

“Jamie, I think that these boots should fit you fine. They’re Mom’s, but she said you can wear them. Mine are too small for your feet.”

The boots were soft, black leather with four-inch heels. Walking in these would be a challenge, but they seem to fit very nicely. They came all the way to my knees and when I zipped them up, they felt warm and snug, worth the challenge that I would face walking in them.

The cadence of the heels of my boots clicking-clacking on the stone tiles of the cathedral floor delighted me, as if every step proclaimed that I were a girl. I felt the woolen pleats of my red and green tartan skirt swirling around my nylon-clad legs. Gretchen had said that I was lucky to have a slightly girlish build, as my hips were just barely enough for the pleats to swing a little.

Gretchen’s mom found a pew for us on the left side of the nave. She waited for Gretchen and me to enter first, then sat next to the aisle. I sat down and smoothed my skirt under me. Gretchen sat between her mom and me, so I kept my purse in my lap. We held hands, since I was still scared. But also, she and I really did like each other. Gretchen looked so very cute in her Dirndl. Then I wondered how I would look in one? We squeezed as close together as we could. Not only was it because we liked each other, but also because it was cold. Big stone cathedrals are hard to heat in these cold midwestern winters.

“You kids behave, now,” Gretchen’s mom said. “And enjoy the music. They always do beautiful music for Christmas Eve here.”

I wanted to relax and listen to the music playing. It was the Christmas Concerto by Arcangelo Corelli. But this was one of the faster, more agitated movements. As I listened, I felt the conflict between myself as a boy and how I felt crossdressing. Should I be doing this at all? I should be sitting with my parents. But here I am in the cathedral for Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, dressed in Gretchen’s clothes, sitting next to her.

Then the music became softer and calmer. Gretchen and I were both wearing the same fragrance and it too was helping me relax more. Not only was she squeezing my hand, but Gretchen also was resting her head on my shoulder. She had never done that before. Geeze! Were we going to kiss tonight? Suddenly I felt myself tingle all over, so I took a deep breath and exhaled.

My folks had been so understanding to let me go to church with Gretchen and her mom and we agreed to meet after the Mass. They knew that I was going to present them with a surprise of sorts. And I’m sure that they think it’s just that Gretchen and I would be dating. But they don’t suspect this.

“ ‘The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light…,’ ” the reader proclaimed the First Reading from the book of the prophet Isaiah. “ ‘…Upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom, a light has shone. You have brought them abundant joy and great rejoicing,…’ ”

So I thought about what that meant and then what it meant for me. I smiled to myself and again squeezed Gretchen’s hand. She looked at me, smiling too.

The cantor was next, chanting Psalm 98: “ ‘Sing to the Lord a new song,… The Lord has made his salvation known…’ ”

I wasn’t all that sure why I was feeling so good. For a moment, I forgot about the clothes I was wearing and that Gretchen and I were holding hands. All I knew was that Jesus was there for me.

Another reader ascended the stairs to the lectern and he began the Second Reading from the Letter of Paul to Titus: “ ‘The grace of God has appeared, offering salvation to all…’ ”

Somehow, I knew that I belonged.

Everyone suddenly stood for the Gospel procession.

“Alleluia!… Alleluia!… Alleluia!”

The deacon ascended the stairs to the pulpit and began chanting: “A reading from the Holy Gospel according to Saint Luke!”

“Glory to you, O Lord!”

“ ‘In those days Caesar Augustus…,’ ” he began. I was standing as close to Gretchen as possible. I felt her arm and hand twist with mine so that our arms were further entwined from the elbows down. The deacon continued, “ ‘The angel of the Lord appeared to them: “You have nothing to fear!…” ’ ” And with those words, I felt the chill of a cold sweat break as all my remaining inner tension was released. I didn’t even know why I had felt so tense before. Oh! I forgot! I was dressed like a girl! Here in church! In my girlfriend’s clothes! Omigosh! I just thought of Gretchen as my girlfriend!” ’ ”…Glory to God in high heaven, peace on earth to those on whom his favor rests.” ’ The Gospel of the Lord!”

“Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ!”

I was in a dream world during the bishop’s sermon. Sermons were always hard for me to listen to and to understand and a bishop’s sermon was even worse. But I was now focused mostly on Gretchen. How could she possibly be into me? I was dressed like a girl—in her clothes!

The Eucharistic Prayer had begun and I was now poised on the kneeling board next to Gretchen. It was getting especially hard for me to focus on the Mass. I’ve never had this much going on at church before.

Suddenly, Gretchen was pulling me up, leading me by the hand to Holy Communion. I couldn’t receive like this! I’m in drag and thinking about Gretchen and how totally afraid I am that everyone here knows who I am.

Gretchen went in front and her mom behind me. Then I felt Ms. Mueller’s steady hand on my right shoulder as we moved forward in the line and all the chatter cleared from my mind. Once again, the tension dissipated and I felt warm and calm inside as we approached Fr. Larry who was giving Holy Communion to our queue.

Not judging myself worthy of Holy Communion I crossed my hands over my chest to receive a blessing. But Fr. Larry seemed just slightly to grin and extended a Holy Wafer to me. My eyes widened in surprise as I was unaware that my mouth had opened my tongue was extended.

“James, receive…,” Fr. Larry placed the Holy Wafer on my tongue.

I turned and moved on and then stopped for a moment before I felt Gretchen and her mom ushering me back to our pew. We returned to our places sat down. Then I thought for a moment. Fr. Larry had recognized me. He knew who I was, yet didn’t seem to mind how I was dressed. But he did seem to know what was on my mind. He had given me Holy Communion, even though I had only gone to receive a blessing. Maybe I should talk to him. I didn’t expect him of all people to accept me.

“We should just wait by the main doors,” Ms. Mueller said. “That’s the best chance to find them.”

“They’ll be looking for me,” I said. Looking down at the dainty watch that I’d borrowed from Gretchen, it was half past one o’clock in the morning.

“But they won’t recognize you,” Gretchen replied.

“Father Larry did,” I reminded her.

“But he’s a priest,” she protested, implying that his role somehow gave him an additional insight into what I was doing. [Note to self: See Fr. Larry to talk soon.]

“If he can figure it out, so can Mom,” I continued. “I just know I won’t fool her like this. Besides she knows we’re all together. If she sees you and your mom, it won’t be too hard to guess who I am.”

“There they are!” Ms. Mueller pointed out. She and Gretchen began walking toward them.

I stood my ground instead of following them over to where Mom and Dad were. Gretchen and her mom looked back at me and could see me there, my feet motionless, but all else trembling from my high-heeled boots up.

Gretchen walked back to me and took my hand. Then I felt her kiss me on the cheek. But I was staring at Mom and Dad approaching with Ms. Mueller.

For a moment, there was silence. There had to be at least a thousand people milling about the cathedral, but I heard nothing. I was not sure how I could make eye contact with Mom and Dad and Ms. Mueller and Gretchen all at the same time but somehow I seemed to do so. Nor did I understand how or why I was the one to speak first.

“Mom, Dad, it’s me!” I said. “I know this is a surprise. I don’t know why, but this is me. I’m sorry if you’re too disappointed, but I needed to do this.”

“Surprised? Maybe,” Mom answered. “Disappointed? Jimmy, you look too pretty for me to be disappointed. You always do your best at anything and if you’re trying to look like a girl, you’ve done it very nicely.”

“That’s right, Jim,” my father spoke up, chuckling just a little. “It’s just a little shocking to see that my son makes such a cute girl!”

“Honey, I thought you were over it long ago.” Mom admitted to me. “Then I became afraid that you might be dealing with it again when I found that package of pantyhose that you had hidden away in your desk. But I also knew you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“In my desk?” I recalled. “That’s where I put those. But that was months ago! So you knew?”

Mom smiled at me. “Your mother always knows. It’s my job.”

My Dad was smiling—or smirking—at me with his half-smiled, half-smirked, tight-lipped expression. So I knew that while he didn’t approve of me dressing like this, he wasn’t going to make so big an issue of it. He might enjoy teasing me about it, or he might not even say anything at all about it. Besides, I knew that this would be Mom’s domain to manage.

“Over it long ago?” Dad asked Mom. “When did this start?”

“Don’t you remember when he was in fourth grade? Mom prodded him. “Sister Magdalena punished him by making him wear a girl’s uniform for two weeks. Did you forget that?”

“I guess so,” he confessed.

“She had punished him for only a week at first,” Mom recounted. “But then he discovered he liked dressing up, so he engaged in other naughtiness just so she’d extend his punishment. I had to call and tell her that as an attempt to discipline Jimmy, petticoating had backfired.”

Dad looked at Mom. “I do seem to recall something about that now. Didn’t he ask you to buy him a girl’s uniform after that?”

“Yes, but he seemed to forget about it, so I thought he was through his ‘girlie’ phase—until now.”

“No, Mom,” I spoke up again. “I really did want one, but I was afraid to remind you. I was too embarrassed.”

Dad chuckled at that—fully, no half-smirking at it. Then together Mom and Dad both hugged me and I knew from it, that my fears of being sent away into the cold, snowy streets were ill-founded.

“Merry Christmas!” Fr. Larry greeted us. He was one of the staff priests at the cathedral. We all returned the greeting, but in something less than full unison.

“James,” he addressed me, “you can pass well enough for a girl, but your anxiety gave you away. Do you have anything you want to tell me?”

“Yes, but I’d prefer to talk in private, if that’s okay?” I answered him. He looked at my parents who both nodded to him.

“Certainly. Call the main office Monday and ask Connie to find you some time on my schedule to meet with me. We’ll talk. And do feel free to come as you are,” he laughed. “Just don’t tell the bishop!”

With that, Fr. Larry moved on to talk to another group of parishioners on their way out.

“Let’s all meet back at our house!” Ms. Mueller offered. “You can stay overnight if you wish. I don’t think we should separate these kids tonight by more than their own rooms.”

Mom and Dad nodded at each other and consented to meet us again at the Muellers’ home. Gretchen’s house was large and they had two guest rooms. A house that big can be lonely without guests, so I figured that Ms. Mueller was looking for any excuse to get more people there at Christmas.

It wasn’t too far to Gretchen’s house from the cathedral and we walked back in only a few minutes, as the snow mostly had been cleared from the sidewalks. Mom and Dad would drive back home to get their overnight bags and meet us in about half an hour.

Inside the house, Gretchen and her mom had beckoned me to enter their den where their Christmas tree was set up and all the gifts were arrayed beneath it. As I entered, I wasn’t ready for what happened because I hadn’t noticed the sprig of mistletoe fastened over the threshold of the den.

Gretchen pulled me into a tight embrace as I felt her moist, glistening lips press against mine. Hers were peppermint. Was it special lipgloss for Christmas?

A camera flash popped.

So there I was having my first kiss, dressed like a girl under the mistletoe with Gretchen. On camera. Just how any boy wants to remember the moment!

She whispered very quietly to me, “Merry Christmas, Jamie!”

“Merry Christmas!”