I was on cloud nine. There was simply no connection between my feet and the linoleum. The smile on my face went on forever.

I'd said goodbye to Shawn, and that I'd see him tomorrow, and then I'd gone back up to Dr. Sparks' office.

"I know it's already agreed, but I wanted to tell you that I'm okay with getting my surgery on Tuesday. How long will I be out of it?"

"Well, each person is different, and if I thought you were in any way sexually active, I'd suggest abstaining for at least three weeks, if not longer, but you should be able to get back to doing light exercise within a couple of weeks and be back up to your current activity in a month to a month and a half."

"That quickly?"

"Well, you will be sore for longer than that–it will be even longer before all of the nerve endings are working correctly–but it shouldn't cause any problems with physical activity after that point."

"Thank you, Dr. Sparks."

"I'll introduce you to the surgeon who will be performing your surgery on Tuesday. I've given instructions for what you can and can't eat beforehand."

"Again, thank you, Doctor."

I was much more calm as I walked out to my parents' car.

"So, when do I start learning how to drive?"

It was hilarious to see the looks of shock on my parents' faces. Yeah, I know. I should have eased into it, but I was ready for the changes that were happening to me. It was time I stopped being a mooch on every aspect of their lives. If that meant that I would need to get a drivers' license and a job, well I already had a job.

Sure, I might not be in the high end world of my parents, but it was a job, and would get me through school at the very least.

And by school, I mean college.

Another worry: which school, and for what, was I going to after I graduated from high school? I had a 4.0 after all, and I would be padding my resume with community service, but of course I had the problem of my juvenile record.

I wanted to blame someone else at that moment for the loss of options I was likely to suffer because of my need to lash out. The only one on whom blame could fairly rest was me.

"Anne-Jeanette, are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, I was just considering where I would be going to college."

"Oh, okay. You're going to college?"

"In a couple of years, sure."

"Like I said, you took your drivers' education class before your sixteenth birthday, so you're not going to need to take that again."

"Good, it was boring."

"You are going to need your six hours with an instructor, and then fifty hours with us in the car," my dad said with a bit of disgust.

"And you have to have your learners' permit for six months," mom said.

"But before, you were talking as if I would be getting the car to myself."

"That was before–before we looked into the requirements–before we learned that they want you to know how to drive before they give you a real license."

"Oh well."

"You're not giving up now, are you?"

"Course not, dad. It just means I get to inflict my driving on you two." The smile I revealed to them had a lot of teeth, and wasn't at all pleasant, or at least I hoped it wasn’t. Mom did a mock shudder, and then they both began laughing. Looks like my intimidation ploy failed.

.-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-
There was a strange car sitting in the driveway when we got home.

As soon as we pulled to a stop, a woman climbed out and waddled over to us. That's the only way I can describe how she moved. Without trying to be callous, I was pretty sure that she'd have to enter doorways sideways. She was…round.

Have any of you seen the old movie Charlie and the Chocolate Factory? No, I'm not talking about Willy Wonka with Johnny Depp pretending to be Michael Jackson.

I mean the original with Gene Wilder. For some reason he reminds me a bit of Tom Baker from reruns of Doctor Who…

I'm off on a tangent. Anyway, Violet Beauregard turns into this big blueberry. It might happen in the new one, but Michael Jackson sort of creeped me out at the time, so I never saw the new one.

If this woman had been purple, then I'd swear she was Violet Beauregard all grown up.

Well, not if you go by the 'fix' applied in the book. The method described to fix the children in the book was disturbing. If you've never read it, then I suggest you continue in the bliss of ignorance.

Anyway, she was a little taller than me, almost as wide as I was tall, and had these short arms and legs that sort of poked out here and there.

I think that she was what would be called morbidly obese.

"Louis, I hope I'm not too early."

"Not at all, Caroline. If I'd thought that you would be here before us I would have called ahead."

"No problem. I only got here about ten minutes ago, and I wanted to finish a chapter of my book anyway."

"This is my wife, Amanda."

"Call me, Mandy, please."

"And my daughter, Anne-Jeanette."

"Caroline, can I ask a personal question?"

"I'm fat because I eat too much."

"Then why not eat less?"

"Because I eat when I'm depressed."

"I have no comeback for that."

"I like you, girl. Honest and quick."

"Well, listen, if you help me with my hair, how about I help you with your depression. We can start with a workout routine and get you more active, which will help you lose weight as well as form healthy habits that will release endorphins and counter depression."

"I'm just here for a job, not a life change."

"Caroline, I need help with my hair. I am very particular about my hair. If you start working with my hair, then I'm going to want you here for the long haul. Can you see where I'm going with this?"

She shook her head, but there was a slight gleam in her eye that I took for humor.

"It means that if you die on me, I'll kill you," I grinned at her.

My mom and dad began to laugh and she joined in. She had a light tinkling laugh that just didn't fit with her external appearance. We'd really have to change that.

"Well, let's go in and get to work, shall we?"

We went into the living room, and she began to unplait my hair. She kept up a steady commentary the entire time, and eventually she got up to the final few plaits at my head.

"You have a lot of hair," Caroline said with a note of awe in her voice.

"Yes, it's taken me years to acquire."

She laughed at this.

"Stand please, I want to see the full length."

I stood and she arranged it around me.

"Nice and thick. Beautiful. So, how short can I cut it if I need to?"

I jerked away from her, and she giggled.

"Sorry, but that's about what I figured. I would like to make a suggestion, though. With the length where it is, we are limited in the styles that we can put it into. Everything has to reduce the overall length. I'd like to take off ten to eleven inches, even if I only really need to remove five to get it off the floor."

"Why so much?" I asked with a little fear in my voice.

"Well, if we're going to cut it, then we might as well make it worthwhile. Locks of Love requires at least ten inches in any of their donations."

"Of course, then. Cut away."

She went back out to her car to get her kit. Then she spent a few minutes carefully brushing out my hair. At the end, she measured from the tips and bound my hair. I closed my eyes, but I still heard the grinding snip of the scissors and the slight tug on my scalp.

When she finished, I stood to see if I could tell a difference. My hair fell around my ankles, and didn't drag on the floor. I didn't realize what a problem that was for me until that moment. The thought of my hair going to someone in need also elated me.

And I still had so much of it that I simply couldn't begrudge someone else that little bit I'd lost.

I gave Caroline a hug.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Anne-Jeanette."

We spent the rest of the evening talking styles, and workout possibilities. I think I was more excited about the hair styles she had planned for me, than she was with my planned torture of her body. We'd begin next Monday with that.

She gave me a tiara made of a French braid heading from left to right, and a more traditional braid pinned from right to left. She left a sort of pony tail loose in the back. It ended up about eighteen inches long. I know I'm not doing it any justice in my description. It felt and looked pretty, and it would work very well with my class tomorrow.

"I'll be by tomorrow morning to put it back up. You should really leave it loose when you sleep."

"Okay, Caroline."

She destroyed her work of art before she left. I was sad to see it go, but the loose weight of my hair was a pleasant sensation.

.-.. .. -. . -... .-. . .- -.-
My last Saturday as a boy, at least physically, I woke up before the sun rose and went into the solarium. I know, I forgot about it in my quick tour of the house, but I always thought of it as part of the deck. The deck extended from it, after all.

This was one of my favorite places in the house and I simply hadn't been here often enough recently. It's kind of like a greenhouse for people. I lay there on the deck chair and watched as the sky brightened in preparation for its queen to appear. The hills put on their livery, and the stars one by one fell from their beds.

The birds were trumpeting her arrival, and I looked to the spot where I knew she would surely appear. Years of practice looking at that horizon prepared me for this moment.

And there she was. The sun. The beautiful queen of the firmament. Leave it to a man to think that the sun was male. Who is the nurturer in our society? A man? Don't make me laugh. All of us still hold a place in our hearts for mother. She was the one I went to with a skinned knee or a broken heart. Dad solved problems. Mom comforted during the unsolvable.

And so the sun: it nourishes the plants with its light; it warms everything within its gaze; and heaven help the fool who steps out of line with her, because they will get burned.

After my morning devotions were over, I went in to wait for Caroline. She soon arrived and fixed my hair up the same way it had been last night.

Then mom and I were off to my class.

Felipe greeted us at the door.

"Mrs. Smith? You could sit in on the class if you like?"

"I would like that, but I don't have any clothing to change into."

"That's fine. We usually encourage our students to wear their normal clothing to class, as that will be what they will most likely be wearing when they're attacked."

"Don't you mean 'if'?"

"I wish. Crimes against women only seem to be on the rise in this country. One in five women will be the victim of rape during their years at college. More than 250,000 women are raped each year. Almost five million incidents of intimate partner abuse occur each year, 1,100 of which result in death.

"That is what we're teaching to avoid here. That is what these women need to learn how to protect themselves from."

I was floored. This was so big, and my little moves were supposed to help them with this?

"Don't worry, Anne-Jeanette. We don't expect you to protect them. We only expect you to prepare them. Evade over subdue."

I had a lot to think about. Andrew was standing next to a pretty blonde when I got out of the locker room.

"Hey, AJ. This is my girlfriend–"

"What Andrew meant to say was that I'm Sandra, his girlfriend."

"But, isn't that what I was saying?"

"No, it wasn't, but you'll figure it out," she smiled sweetly at him and then gave him a peck on the lips.

"Welcome. Felipe, what room am I supposed to be in today?"

"One, Princess Anne-Jeanette."

"Princess?"

"Sure–you're wearing a tiara after all."

I put my hand to my head, and felt the mass of hair up there. I grinned goofily at him and led the way into the training room.

"Good morning, ladies. I apologize for being late."

"Who are you?" asked a big woman in the back. By this I don't mean fat. She looked like she'd easily make two of me: her legs were twice the size of mine, her chest was twice as big as mine, and her arms were each two of mine. She looked like she bench pressed buses for fun, that is when she wasn't picking up jumbo jets and carrying them when they had flat tires.

"I'm the instructor."

"Hardly, missy. You don't look old enough to screw, let alone teach us anything."

"Well, I'm heterosexual, first of all, and yes, I am a virgin. I also have been to Juvie for a full year out of the past five for street fighting. My nose was broken before I decided that I needed to learn how to fight back.

"I'm not suggesting that any of you follow my example. What I did was stupid, if not downright dangerous. However, I do know what I am doing."

"You could have simply made that up."

"Your name please?"

"Hannah." If her name had to begin with H, I expected Helga instead.

"Well, Hannah. I planned on using Andrew here for a punching bag to showcase my skills, but since you've so nicely volunteered…

"Do you need protective gear?"

"I don't, but you might want some."

"Okay, Hannah. I didn't expect belligerence in a self-defense class, but whenever you're ready."

I stood there with my feet at shoulder width–shoulders open to her. I seemed to simply be standing there, but my legs were tense, waiting for her move.

She made the move I expected. She probably thought that if she grappled me, that the fight would be over before it began.

Not that I'm trusting her judgment on this one, but she was probably right.

That's why I wasn't standing there any longer by the time she got to me.

I'm sorry to say I really telegraphed the kick that I let fly to the back of her knee. I wanted the class to see what I was doing.

"I'd like to point out that Hannah has made a number of mistakes, but the most obvious one is this: she is attacking. This is not a street fighting class. This is a self-defense class."

She glared at me from her knees. She swung one of her hands at me and smiled when she got hold of one of my legs.

I kicked out and ripped my leg from her grasp.

"Generally speaking, your legs are stronger than your opponent's arms, let alone his, or her in this case, hands. Use your leverage against her. Also, do not kick at anything above her waist. I only refer to your opponent's waist, because the primary target on any man is his crotch. Kick him there hard enough and the fight is over."

Hannah climbed to her feet and was coming at me again.

This wasn't going to be as easy. There was determination in her eyes, and she was watching my feet. Time for humiliation.

I slapped her just as she got to me and then stomped on her instep.

"There is no such thing as a fair fight for any one of us. Chances are our opponents are going to outweigh us by a great margin. Don't forget that humiliation is almost as good as a strike to the primary target. Pain will stop most people from continuing."

I'd turned my back to Hannah while I was saying this and let her come up behind me. This was the scariest point in this demonstration, and the point where everything could just fall apart. She grabbed me and began to squeeze.

I'd crouched just a bit before she got to me, so I could push up, hard. The top of my head crashed into her jaw. I followed up by crashing the back of my head into her mouth.

She cried out in pain and stumbled backward. I kicked the back of her knee again, and then kicked the other foot out from under her. She collapsed to the floor on her back.

"Normally, if any fight lasts that long you're doing it wrong. This time, however, I was doing my best not to really hurt Hannah."

I put my hand out to Hannah to help her up.

"Do you understand now?"

She nodded sullenly at me, but took my hand and let me help her.

"You are not here to hurt them just enough. There is no 'just enough' in a life or death situation. There is alive, and then there is dead."

I let that sink in for a moment and turned toward a wide-eyed Andrew.

"Still want to give them a demonstration?"

He just shook his head at me, and put his hands over his crotch.

"You rock, AJ!" Sandra said.

I giggled at that.

"Okay, there is only one rule in this class: come through it alive, and unharmed."

One of the girls raised her hand and I nodded in her direction, "But I don't know that I can hurt him." I had to strain to hear her in the quiet of the room. It was almost as if she were embarrassed at the attention.

"What's your name?"

"Rita."

"Well, Rita, either you hurt him, or he hurts, rapes, and/or kills you. Is his well-being more important than your life?"

She shook her head, even if there was some hesitation to it.

"If he is not more important than you, then his well-being is not more important than yours."

Her statement worried me, but I finished my lesson for the majority of the class. After I finished, and the girls were making their way out of the room, I approached Rita.

"Can I speak with you for a moment, Rita?"