Trick of the Mind — 41 & 42 by Maeryn Lamonte Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — Written From The Heart Thanks to Wren Erendae Phoenix for editing/proofing. Uncle Stan calmed his nerves and collected his thoughts, before putting down his knife and fork, and looking across the table at me.

“This isn't easy for me to say, Richard. The past four years or so, we've been unfair to you in particular, and I need to offer you, on my part especially, an apology. I know it's probably too little too late, but I thought perhaps an explanation of our reasons for reacting as we did might go some way towards fixing things.

“You see, when I was younger I was a lot like you are now; I liked to pretend I was a girl. Your mother and I would play together, and it was the happiest time I could remember. Then there came a time — I was eight I think, and your Mum four or five — when my parents told me it was time to grow up and put that kind of make believe behind me.

“I did so reluctantly, but respectfully. I couldn't understand what was wrong with what I was doing, but in our generation you did as you were told. I was still a bit undersized for a boy, which was probably why my father sent me to board at an all boys school. It certainly didn't seem to help, as I became the target of every bully there. I was utterly miserable for all of that first year, until the Christmas play came along. The drama teacher asked for volunteers to take on the female roles, and one of my tormentors pushed me forward.

“I doubt I would have had the courage to do so on my own, and I earned myself a lot of giggles and snickering from others in my class. The drama teacher, Mr Edwards I think his name was, picked out the loudest of the laughers to play the other roles, but for my apparent bravery, he gave me the lead.

“You can't imagine how that changed my life — well perhaps you can. I was in seventh heaven and couldn't wait for dress rehearsals. I loved every time I was taken out of class to be fitted for my costume, ignoring all the laughing behind my back, and I threw myself into the part. For the six weeks it took to prepare for the performance, I didn't care about the bullying and ribbing and pushing about, because there would always be rehearsals when I could push away my miserable life and throw myself into the acting. I even asked Mr Edwards if I could wear a skirt for the rehearsals, to help get me into character, of course.

“Anyway the time came for the public performances. For whatever reason, my father had business dealings that prevented him from coming to the first showings, so he and my mother booked to come to the last performance.

“I was so certain they would be proud of me taking the lead role, I kept quiet about it intending to surprise them. I remember hearing Dad complain to Mum about having to go 'just so they could see me skulking about the back of the stage in a mouse costume' I think he said.

“Anyway, they were surprised alright. 'Shocked and mortified' were the words Mum used, especially about the scene at the end where I had to kiss my prince. Jason his name was, and he hated the idea of kissing a boy just as much as I did. We'd done this wooden, not-quite-kiss thing all through the rehearsals, only becoming a little more relaxed and natural during the actual play. I think he was as confused as I was. I mean living in a single sex environment, then playing opposite me looking and acting so naturally like a girl. That last night he threw caution to the wind and gave me a...” Uncle Stan faltered in his telling as embarrassment rose to overwhelm the enraptured memory. “He gave me a proper kiss, right on the lips. There was nothing I could do but respond to it.

“The stage faded to black and Jason still had his tongue in my throat. There was this stunned silence, followed by a few claps that built to a thundering applause. Luckily it brought Jason back to himself before the lights came back on, because I hate to think how much worse things would have been had we still been kissing when they did. We took our bows to a standing ovation, and I was breathless with excitement and delight.

“The press were there that night, and we had to stay on stage for cast photographs. I didn't mind, I was floating on cloud nine, even if Jason and I shared a few uncomfortable looks. Eventually we were told to go and get changed and that's where the dream shattered.”

Everyone sat in captivated silence. Even Aunt Evie, who'd evidently heard this before, waited for the continuation of the story. I could never remember my uncle being so animated about anything, and it seemed to me that for the first time in all the years I'd known him, he was letting go of his self-control and allowing the real person to rise to the surface.

“My parents were livid of course. They were waiting for me in my dressing room and started haranguing me the moment I stepped through the door. I was made to change and clean all the greasepaint off my face as quickly as I was able, then I was dragged home. The following day there were heated exchanges with the headmaster, which resulted in poor Mr Edwards receiving a severe reprimand. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, but my parents wouldn't allow me to speak to him again, calling him a pervert and worse.

“Needless to say I didn't go back to that school after the Christmas break, which did let me off any awkward meetings with Jason in the new year. Also needless to say, that was the most uncomfortable Christmas I can remember. I was given daily lectures on how much I had humiliated my parents, and on Christmas morning I was told, in private, that the only reason I was to receive my presents, was because it would have been unfair on my sister.

“In January I was packed away to another all boys boarder, this time with a note to the headmaster that I was not to be indulged in my fantasies. This, the head took to mean that such nonsense was to be beaten out of me. You have to remember, back in those days corporal punishment was still permitted, so in addition to the bullying from the other boys, I was regularly punished for the least misdemeanour, with an added explanation that they were beating the girlishness out of me.

“Well it worked after a fashion. They didn't beat it out of me, but they did bury it so deeply inside of me that even I came out on their side. I learned to despise the feelings I had inside of me every time I saw a pretty girl wearing a pretty dress and some treacherous part of me would wish I could be her. I clamped down on them and, in time, became the sort of person you grew up to know as your uncle.

“Finding you wearing Emily's dress was more than I could take. It brought that part of me so much to the fore — if you could do it, why couldn't I? — that I overreacted horribly. It was all I could do to crush the feelings inside of me, and the worst of it came out as an attack against you. I think Evie was shocked more than anything, but sided with me, and continued to do so right up until your girlfriend's father's cross-examination a few weeks back, when he uncovered my little secret.

“Evelyn and I have had some long and, for me, uncomfortable conversations these past weeks. She's had the whole truth from me for the first time since we were married. I expected her to be angry with me for hiding such a thing, but she's a very understanding woman, and better than I deserve, although this idea of coming here and explaining matters to you was her idea. Not that I disagree with her, mind. You're owed an explanation, Richard.”

The silence stretched out for a few seconds, then evaporated as Alice spoke.

“So Mum...”

“Your mother was quite young at the time, and I don't recall our parents saying anything in particular to her, but I'm sure she would have overheard my parents yelling at me, and I know we talked about my miserable time at school when, in the latter years, I began to accept the lessons that were being beaten into me. I think she absorbed them from me vicariously, drawing in the misery and reluctant acceptance I expressed.

“So have you..?” It was an impertinent question, and I only just managed to stop myself asking the whole thing. I think it was on Uncle Stan's list of expected questions though.

“...put on a dress since the courthouse?” He give me a wry smile. “No, Richard. I'm afraid I'm too far gone with all the beatings and the many years of denial. I can't bring myself to think that it's right, and even thinking about putting on a dress fills me with a sense of overwhelming guilt. I do have an great sense of relief, though, at being able to share it. It's like a part of me has been locked away in a dark, dank dungeon for most of my life and has been allowed out in the sunlight for the first time in too many years. It is enough to be able to acknowledge that part of me and to be accepted by people I care about.” He gave his wife a soft and genuine smile, which was returned wholeheartedly.

“Evie has encouraged me to join the local amateur dramatics society, which I suspect is her idea of therapy. I've agreed, but I doubt I'll be taking on the pantomime dame role any time soon.”

“So how do you feel about Richard dressing up now?” Jen's turn for a question.

“I don't think I have any right to judge you, Richard, not after the mess I've made of my own experiences.”

“I don't think you should judge yourself so harshly either dear,” Aunt Evie said, speaking for what seemed the first time all day.

“Either way, I know it's a hard thing to come to face. I acknowledge that I haven't made it particularly easy on you these past years, and that is going to stop as of now. I still haven't reconciled it with my beliefs, but I'm not going to condemn you if you choose to put on a dress.

“Although I would appreciate it if you would stay away from Emily's wardrobe. It was something of an embarrassment to her that you looked better in her clothes than she did.”

That earned him playful slap on the arm from his wife and broke the spell the telling of the story had cast over us all. Talk over the rest of the meal was free and friendly, and shortly after we'd eaten, Uncle Stan and Aunt Evie took their leave, promising to visit again soon

Alice seemed to be setting into her new life. On the other hand, Jenny's phone calls home were getting longer, and we could both see that she was missing her parents. They were close as a family, certainly closer than we were, and it was evident that Jen used her vacations to reaffirm her ties to her Mum and Dad. Alice was the first to comment on it.

“You should go home Jen, and take this bumbling oik of a brother of mine with you. He'll be insufferable without you, and I'm pretty sure I can cope well enough on my own.”

We did the whole 'are you sure' thing with the expected response, and so with more gratitude than was quite appropriate, Jen and I packed for the trip. There were still several weeks before we were due to return to university; easily enough time to reconnect with her folks before we started the new term. I was pretty much recovered from the effects of the drugs I'd been given, but still living as Rachael full time.

Jen wanted to continue the charade, thinking it would be so much more fun riding the train with Rachael, but after I pointed out that my rail card was in Richard's name, she agreed that it would avoid a lot of awkward questions. When we left, I had pretty much everything I intended to take back to university with me, and I did have my regrets during the journey. We shared the bags between us, with me taking the heavier ones. Despite this, it was Jen who was offered a hand by kindly gents here and there, leaving me to struggle alone under my burden.

My brain had put me in Cinderella's ball gown, evidently affected by my uncle’s recent story, and informed by the only Cinderella film I knew. The full skirts, the puffed sleeves, the long, elegant gloves, the astonishingly uncomfortable glass slippers all got in the way as I hefted my excess of luggage; it was not an easy trip.

Mr T picked us up at the station, sharing a hug with Jen that spoke volumes of the affection they had for one another. I wondered how different my life could have been with such caring parents, then kicked myself for thinking such things. My parents did care. It was just that they were misguided and maybe not so free in the way they showed it.

Mr T took a fair load from both Jen's and my arms, ignoring Jen's complaints and earning the gratitude of my weary arms and aching feet. Our stuff pretty much filled the Talbot's sizeable boot, and Jen and I climbed into the back seat, me struggling with my voluminous skirts, for the short trip home. The last time I'd made this journey, I'd been running away from home and, as I watched the familiar landscape whiz by, I was struck by how much had changed since my last visit, such a short time ago.

The next few days, somewhat to Jen's disappointment, I stayed as Richard. My brain delved into some of the period dramas Jen and Alice had introduced me to over the previous weeks, and I found myself in a selection of Victorian, Edwardian, Elizabethan and similar costumes. All had long sleeves and ankle length skirts, most of which were very full and cumbersome. I found myself struggling with the clothing and getting frustrated with it all, the whole thing reaching a head when Mr T invited me to go fishing with him on the Saturday. It was my first experience with a bustle. Fortunately Mr T preferred fishing stools to camping chairs, so it was easier to sit down than I had feared.

We did catch a few, but I had to rely on Mr T to unhook them and put them back. I didn't trust myself to keep my balance with two inch heels on my boots and the very full skirts. When he questioned me about it, I described how my subconscious was dressing me. He shook his head and laughed, but not without sympathy.

“You're coping very well with it, Richard. I thought I'd noticed something a little unnatural about the way you were moving. If it's easier for you to be Rachael, I'd understand — we all would.”

The rest of the day passed in agreeable silence. I enjoyed myself immensely, except that I did overheat somewhat in the high collar, the long, tight sleeves, and the dark material of the dress. It also made it difficult to relax completely with the feeling of whalebone digging into my sides and forcing me into an upright position. I'd never actually worn clothing like this for real, but the one scene in one of the TV programmes I'd watched had gone into the discomfort in some detail, and my imagination is pretty good.

When we got home, I went straight upstairs and ran a bath. By dinner time, Rachael was back, complete with boobs and wearing something shorter and decidedly less restrictive. Jen squealed her delight and ran over to hug me, while Mr T explained things to his wife.

I helped Jen finish laying the table and we sat down to the goulash Mrs T had prepared for us.

“We were wondering if you'd like to go to church with us tomorrow,” Mrs T said. “You missed out last time you were here because we were on the boat, but it's a usual thing for us. Only...”

“You don't think it would be right for Rachael to go. No that's OK, I'd like to come, and I'll be Richard tomorrow. That way, if God doesn't want me to turn up in a dress, he can do something about this thing in my head.”

My parents would have considered that blasphemy and disrespectful, but the Talbots took it in their stride.

“It may be a little different from the sort of thing you're used to, Richard,” Mr T said, “but I think you'll enjoy it.”

That was a cue for Jen to clue me in on all the things that went on. Apparently there was a large and active youth group in the church. It was supposed to cater for up to eighteen year olds, but she still went along, more to help out now than to participate, although that was still a bonus.

After dinner, Jen and I washed up then went for a walk in the woods. After spending a hot day in a stuffy dress, it was a relief to feel the air swirling between my legs. Jen took my hand and we walked in silence until it became too dark to see clearly.

I was still sleeping as Rachael, since that didn't seem to bother anyone, and it was easier for me to drop off without putting the added load on my subconscious, so Jen found me in pink satin when she brought me coffee and toast at nine the next morning.

Out of respect for where I was going, I decided against even wearing knickers and tights under my trousers. For the first time in some months, I dug out an old pair of boxers and climbed into them. By the time I had my usual chinos and long sleeved shirt on, it was evident that subconscious was going to trump God, as it seemed that Queen Elizabeth the First herself was going to attend church in my place. Full skirts, oversized lace ruff, puffed sleeves — this was going to be awkward.

We were all ready and in the car by half past. A fifteen minute drive took us to a community centre in the middle of town, and, yes, it was very different from my experience of church. Jen did her squealy, excited thing when she caught sight of a group of her friends and, after exchanging hugs, dragged me into the circle to introduce me. I felt self-conscious as my oversized dress seemed to get in everyone's way, but managed
to hold things together.

The service itself took place in a large sports hall, with plastic chairs instead of pews. There was no organ, but a band consisting of an unusual assortment of electric guitars, violins, flutes, drums, you name it, took its place. They played a selection of short, somewhat repetitive, but upbeat songs. I recognised some of them, just, from the mangled attempts our organist had made of them on the occasional family service at my parents' church.

The whole thing seemed to be only vaguely organised, with notices here, impromptu prayers there, the obligatory sermon in the middle, which didn't do a lot for me I have to admit, and a couple of songs to end with. Then it was coffee and biscuits and a bunch more socialising.

Mr Talbot rescued me from Jenny's friends to introduce me to Pastor Mike; sort of like the vicar where I came from, I was told, but less stuffy. He gave me an appraising look as he shook my hand.

“You seem a little uncomfortable here, Richard. I guess it can be a bit daunting if you don't know what to expect, but I think there's something more, isn't there?”

It caught me by surprise. All this time amongst friends who accepted the hidden part of me, and now pretty much the first stranger I met saw through me. The rabbit saw the headlights and Pastor Mike spotted the rabbit.

“Yeah, I thought so. Look Richard, I'm not going to pry. It's great to have you along, and I'd be pleased to see you back any time. If you want to talk about anything though, I promise you a confidential and sympathetic ear. Paul here knows how to get in touch with me.”

Just then, some busy little mouse of a woman started tugging on his sleeve, and he was swallowed back up into the throng. He gave an honest and endearing impression, and I found myself inclined to trust him. There were questions rattling around in my mind, and I wondered if he might be the person to steer me in the right direction.

Eventually the organised mayhem which was the Talbot's church came to an end and we headed back to their home for lunch. With their blessing, I disappeared upstairs seeking release from my Tudor costume, returning not long after in one of the outfits that Jen's allowance had bought me. Jen had come up to help fix my boobs in place as we'd decided that Rachael would be staying for a few days.

Following a roast lunch, the afternoon passed in quiet comfort, punctuated on occasions with cups of tea. Jen and I snuggled on the sofa, each of us buried in a book, trying to ease ourselves back into thinking about our respective courses. It was only a couple of weeks until we were due to start back, and we were both feeling the need to take up the strain.

Tea consisted of sandwiches and cake, except there seemed to be more than the four of us could manage. I looked at Jen quizzically just as the doorbell rang. Mr T looked across at me in startled realisation, but before he could say anything, Mrs T opened the door.

“Mike, Marilyn. It's good to see you, please come in.”

Jen and I stood as Pastor Mike and his wife stepped into the living room.

Mrs T's hand leapt to her mouth as she realised how I was dressed. It seemed we'd all become so comfortable with me being Rachael, no-one had thought how things would work out if we had visitors. I could see from Pastor Mike's eyes that he recognised me, from the rabbit in the headlights expression if from nothing else, but he didn't skip a beat.

“Evening Paul, Jennifer. And who's your friend?”

Jen, to her credit, was the quickest of us all to recover. “Hi Mike,” the pastor obviously preferred informality. “This is Rachael. She's a friend from university who's staying with us for a few days before we go back.”

“And Richard?” The pastor's wife seemed a little confused.

“He had to leave, I'm afraid.”

She didn't offer any more information, and fortunately no more was asked. I was accepted as just another guest at the party, and even admonished by the pastor's wife for being so shy. I eventually managed to emerge from my discomfort zone and join in and, apart from the odd glance from Pastor Mike, the evening settled into the strangest sort of normal.

At one stage, I had to escape from it all. There was this part of my brain that was screaming at me that this wasn't normal. I was a guy in a dress and everyone was treating me like that was OK. I excused myself, saying I needed some air, and stepped out into the garden.

I don't know what I was expecting, what I was hoping for, but it didn't exactly come as a surprise when Mike stepped out into the garden a minute later.

“You're very convincing you know?” he said. “If I hadn't met you this morning, I would never have suspected. Marilyn, I think, may have figured it out, but only because of your collective reaction when we first arrived.

“It would seem there's quite a story behind this, but of course that's none of my business unless you choose to make it so. I imagine Marilyn and I will talk about this on the way home, but you don't need to worry about us telling anyone else. I know people can react badly to people in your position, and I wouldn't want to make trouble for you.”

“Thank you.” I didn't know what else to say.

“The offer I made to you this morning is still open, regardless of whether it's Richard or Rachael who comes to see me. As I say though, it's just an offer, and I don't mean to pry.”

He made to go back into the house. I turned to stop him.

“Actually I think I wouldn't mind talking to you about a few things if you have the time.”

“Fine. How does Tuesday lunchtime sound? I could pick you up here and take you to this quiet little café I know that does the most amazing Camembert melt.”

“Sounds great. I assume that it will be less awkward for you if Richard comes rather than Rachael?”

“That's thoughtful of you. I suppose in this day and age it's best to be above reproach isn't it?”

I followed him back inside and took my place next to Jen again. The visit didn't last much longer, which was just as well since it was now Marilyn's turn to give me the odd looks. Nobody else seemed to want to share my secret though, so we all kept our peace until they were gone.

“Pastor Mike figured it out Mr Talbot. I'm sorry if this is going to make things difficult for you.”

“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Mike's a very discrete and understanding person.”

“Yeah, I get that. He's invited me out for lunch on Tuesday. No, no. As Richard, and because I asked.”

“Well,” Jen piped up. “I guess if Richard's coming back on Tuesday, I should make the most of my girl time with Rachael tomorrow. Do you fancy going into town shopping?”

So that's how we passed Monday. Bus into town, a lot of shops and a lot of clothes and shoes tried on with not much bought, given our meagre means. We did finally find just the right perfume for me, and Jen bought me a small bottle, just because she felt like it. In return I paid for us to go to the cinema in the afternoon, where we sat at the back and cried our way through all the tissues in Jen's bag at what had to be the chickiest flick I've ever seen. I forget what it was called now, but the guy came back to the girl in the end, and everything was wonderful. It's such a shame that real life can't be like that.

Tuesday morning was spent in the bathroom with me using the last of the solvent to remove my breast forms. There was only just enough to get them off with very sparing application and more time and fiddling than I would normally have wanted. I also had to spend a fair while in the shower, scrubbing at my wrists and neck to get rid of the smell of my new perfume. I masked it with a liberal dose of deodorant, but I still didn't smell quite right.

By the time I was dressed — back in knickers and tights underneath my clothes — I was wearing an ankle length green dress. It was sleeveless, with a plunging neckline, but the skirt was full, allowing me easy movement. My trainers turned in to flat sandals and, apart from the now familiar sense of wrongness, I felt more comfortable in my own clothes than I had all week.

Mrs T caught whiff of me as I came down the stairs and directed me to the kitchen, where she made up a past of bicarbonate of soda and told me to rub it on where I had applied my perfume. It washed off easily enough afterwards, and I was declared to be defeminised, at least in smell. Having been around it too long, I couldn't smell anything, so had to take her word for it.

Pastor Mike turned up for me at the appointed hour. He noticed, but didn't comment, as I swept my long skirt out of the maws of the car door. It looked like I was in for a longer conversation than I'd planned.