It looked like the ‘girl meds’ were kicking in. I could see the gentle swell of a breast when he was sleeping. It could be the healing process, or the enforced indoor time, but his skin is marvelously smooth and clear–where it’s not scarred and healing, of course.
But the big change has been Steven’s demeanor. He hasn’t snapped or been surly for days and days. It was like the best day that he had, and the next one and the next one are just like the best day. He’s not high or giddy; he’s just not a jerk–and believe me; that’s a big difference!

The Beneficiary, by Karin Bishop

Selected entries from the Journal of Donna Everton

Part 2

3/26

Some news–Steven is tolerable. Yay! More than tolerable, actually. He actually crutched into my office and said he was going a little crazy; was there anything he could do? From Debbie’s letter, I have a feeling he’d never said those words before. He was all caught up on his schoolwork–and that itself speaks volumes. He said I should call him ‘Steve’; no surprise there. As to what he could do, I asked if there was anything that he knew how to do, since his previous school history was so dreadful. He said the only thing he knew were video games and ‘some web design’. I asked about that and he seemed to know what he was talking about. I showed him the website for the inn and he had trouble keeping a straight face. I told him that I had put it up in the months after Mark died and I was …kind of distracted. To my surprise, he got tears in his eyes and said how sorry he was, poor me, he never meant to hurt me and went in for a hug!

As I patted him on the back and thanked him, I realized that he was on the second CD. I was supposed to change them once a week, but since he was half-drugged with pain meds some of the time, I’d decided to do two weeks per disk and move on from there. Of course, he was also getting the CD stuff through the EQ setting on his iPod; there wasn’t anything in the instructions that said it was one or the other, but he could be getting a double dose.

I couldn’t tell how much of Steven’s personality change–from Debbie’s description–was the girl meds or the CDs. Or finally being away from Dave’s influence. But right then I felt that Debbie had been on the right track. He wasn’t smoking, drinking, or hanging out with punks, sure, because he was still crippled. But he was smiling, he was positive, he was helpful, he was caring, and he was doing well with his schoolwork, according to the tutor. In fact, Mr. Haynes told me yesterday that he’s beginning to think the problem wasn’t Steven; it had been Steven’s school just ‘didn’t know how to teach’. I think he implied that it was also because of his superior tutoring capability, but I also knew that these particular CDs contained a bunch of positive-reinforcement programs, including anti-smoking, healthy eating, and attention-focusing programs to get work done. As well as whatever were in them that Debbie had custom-ordered.

I set Steve the task of making our inn’s website ‘cool’, with a list of things that I wanted viewers to have access to, but had never known how to install. He frowned when he saw the pictures on the site, some snaps I’d taken and scanned, and said we needed more. He said he’d take them because he knew what we needed but didn’t have a camera. I made a note to ask around for a good quality digital camera.

After he left, I jumped on the website for the CDs. I don’t know why I haven’t done that until now! I looked at everything they offered and quickly realized that Debbie had custom-ordered a full ‘mix’. That’s why she’d added the things like the anti-smoking program. There was a code number stamped on each disk that seemed to be her account number. I tried to access that but there I didn’t have enough information to open her account, so I sent an email to them explaining the situation. I was concerned because the next disk had a warning on it. If I understood correctly, the first two discs were sort of general purpose behavior-modification programs. But the third disk was the jumping-off place, where we ventured into Debbie’s custom design. I sort of had no choice but to follow her last request and forge ahead with the CDs, but I wanted to know what to expect. The boilerplate on the website said I’d get a response within 24 hours.

My other concern was about Steve’s girl meds. He’s seeing Dr. Bunting tomorrow, and I’m worried that he’s going to see the softening of Steve and check closer. If so, they’d probably discover the girl meds in him. So I’d better come up with some alternate excuses if that’s the case …

3/27

A major day! First, Dr. Bunting arrived in the morning and just focused on the fracture sites, legs, pelvis and fingers, and the sutures in Steven’s scalp. Nothing about the chest; he did blood pressure and pulse at the wrist and a stethoscope on the back and man I was breathing easier when he closed up his bag! The best news was that Steven was healing fine and Dr. Bunting gave me a list of things to watch out for, but without them appearing, Dr. Bunting didn’t need to return. He’s going to email me some physical therapy materials because he wants Steven to start working the muscles that have been slack during all the recovery.

I have to think about this some more, because I was so elated when Dr. Bunting said he wouldn’t need to come back that I actually thought, ‘Yay! Thank goodness!’ and then wondered why I was so happy. Okay, relieved because I wouldn’t be accused of dosing my nephew with girl meds, and there was also the fact that I am doing what my sister wanted. I’m doing what my sister would have done if a drunk named Art Howard hadn’t T-boned Debbie’s car and killed her. So on the one hand I had a kind of Holy Task, a charge from beyond the grave, so to speak, because Debbie definitely knew she was dying when she wrote that letter imploring me to proceed with her plans.

The other thing is, well …Steve’s a whole lot easier to take now and it’s only been, what, barely six weeks since he got here? But Debbie had already started him on the girl meds sometime last year; I don’t really know how long he’s been on them. Long enough to start developing breasts, and for some reason I find that really, really touching. I’m …I was Debbie’s big sister, and I remember that she came to me first when she was budding, before she told Mom. I helped her with her first bra, and I still remember the day she ran into my room and shouted–quietly, because Dad was home–‘I can jiggle!’ with such ecstasy. And now it looks like I’m going to go through that experience again with her son …very weird, and definitely going to get weirder.

But I’m touched, and surprised that I am. I don’t know yet how far along Steve is going to go, but I’ll support him every step of the way. After all, he is my only living relative.

About ‘how far along Steve is going to go’ …it might be quite a distance. I got an email back from the CD people asking for clarification about Debbie’s death. When I checked my email just before bedtime, I saw that they’d gotten back to me. Apparently they’d done an on-line search that verified that I was Debbie’s sister and verified that she was dead. They supplied the log-in information to me and told me I could change it if I wanted–and then they detailed the complete plan that Debbie had ordered. I almost fell on the floor for two reasons. First, it was incredibly detailed–and extensive–and second, because it had cost her over $5,000! Before her letter, I wouldn’t have believed that she had that much money, or that she would consider changing Steve the way she wanted, but now I know that she had the money she’d been pilfering from Dave all of those years. That reminds me; the lawyer had said something about ‘another account’ that was being transferred; that must be her secret account. I’ll have to call to verify that.

Reading the full report of Debbie’s order, it was all I could do to keep my eyes in my head. The company was amazingly thorough with their instructions–way more than the introductory pamphlet in with the CDs–and I noticed that they had a legal disclaimer not unlike the manufacturers of guns and ammo. ‘We only make the guns and bullets; if you choose to put the bullet in the gun and shoot somebody, it’s not our responsibility.’ Oh, and, something that meant, ‘We make these things for ‘adult entertainment purposes’ only, and we’ll deny all knowledge that you were going to do what you were going to do when we made them for you to do it.’

I had a zillion questions when I was done, and my sister can’t answer me. Does she still want me to follow this to the letter? How much legal trouble would I be in if it were discovered? Was it really for the best for Steven?

As soon as I asked; I realized I already know the answers. Yes, lots, and probably. Not the best Trifecta for pleasant sleep …

4/12

Got the damn taxes filed, so that’s a relief. And so depressing to take significant business loss deductions! But Tina came back to ask for her old job back, and I didn’t care about whatever story she had. It’s a small inn on a small lake near a small town and I’ll take anybody I can get. Besides, I always liked her. She’s had the Real World slap her ‘upside the head’ as some around here would say. She was a Golden Girl in high school, the head cheerleader going steady with the star quarterback, Darryl McClure. Only thing was, Darryl wasn’t good enough for a college scholarship, and he’d never worried about his grades because he was the Big Man On Campus. Tina was sweet but not terribly smart; she was focused on a wedding ring, babies, and a life with Darryl. Well, she’d gotten the ring, the babies had yet to appear–thank God, I think–but Darryl was spending more time with his buddies hunting and fishing–or drinking–than with Tina. So I welcome her at the inn anytime. Besides, it never hurts to have a pretty blonde girl in the restaurant!

I’ve been doing some experimenting with Steven, using the CD instructions as a guide. And I’ve got to remember to call him Steve; maybe it’ll be easier to think of Steven the patient and Steve the new guy. Of course, if the CD people are to be believed, Steve may be a new something but ‘guy’ might not be the best description …

The instructions have suggestions to reinforce the ‘lessons’ being instilled in the sleep cycles. Things to talk about that are normal, everyday topics that normally a fourteen-year-old boy–or any normal male–wouldn’t be talking about. It was a way to reinforce the lessons and to test how firm the new connections were. The instructions described it as ‘re-wiring the hard-wired brain’. I realized that Steve’s brain chemistry was being slammed in a new direction by the girl meds, and the CD lessons were designed to establish new, feminine connections rather than leave the subject (Steve) adrift. I’m not saying that very well; but as I understand it, without the CDs, Steve–or any guy soaking up girl meds–would start to freak out. ‘Why do I love pink?’, for instance. Okay, that’s a silly one, but, ‘Why am I crying all the time? Boys shouldn’t cry!’ is a better example. So the CD lessons are like, ‘Crying is good; it’s an emotional release. You feel better after a good cry. It’s a silly macho belief that boys shouldn’t cry. It’s perfectly natural, so relax and let the tears come; you’ll feel so much better’ or words to that effect. Then when Steve cried, I could reinforce it with, ‘There, there, honey; have a good cry. You’ll feel better afterward.’ That’s the kind of reinforcement they meant.

So, the experimenting. I tried colors, coming into Steve’s room–knocking first, of course–with two blouses on hangers and a white camisole on. I asked him how the website design was coming and he said fine but he really needed photos to place. I’d forgotten to tell him that Tim has a line on a digital camera that should work; we’ll get it tomorrow or the next day. Then I frowned and held up the hangers like I didn’t remember I was holding them. I said something about being so scatter-brained lately. I was meeting with a new meat supplier this afternoon and wanted to look nice. Which did he think looked nicer? And I held up the two tops to the side, and then one at a time over my chest. He studied them critically and said the lavender was much prettier with my eyes by itself, but the dark green would look more business-like if I was wearing a blazer. I asked what color blazer and he said brown, maybe a tweed. I thanked him and told him he had a great eye for color.

And at the meeting I wore the green with a brown tweed blazer and slacks and got a thumb-and-forefinger ‘OK’ sign from a grinning Steve when I passed by him afterward. I’m certain that Steven-before-the-accident wouldn’t have said anything about the blouses or colors.

Oh, and the meat supplier wants too much for steaks, but I’ll get poultry and pork from him. Maybe.

4/13

I got a hell of a scare today. Two of them! A strongly-built older woman appeared in the parlor and announced she was Carla and where was Steven? I had no idea who or what she was but it turned out that I’d missed an email from Dr. Bunting. He’d attached some Acrobat files of exercises for Steve but also that he’d arranged for a physical therapist to begin regular visits to work with Steve because Dr. Bunting was concerned about muscular atrophy. So Carla was the therapist.

She’s German, or at least from Hamburg originally, and lives in town now, near the hospital. She has a patient lakeside, old Charlie MacGregor, who was partially paralyzed in a fall he took when he was shingling his roof two springs ago. Swinging by and having PT with Steve is very convenient. She has a German accent still, although she said she’s been here twenty-two years. I didn’t ask and she didn’t tell why or how she got here. She says things like, ‘haff’ instead of ‘have’, and called him ‘Stiffen’ until he said to call him ‘Steve’, and it still comes out half-way between, ‘Stiff’ and ‘Stef’. He didn’t mind.

He did mind what she put him through; I could tell it was painful and I heard him whimper a few times. ‘Ranch off motion’, Carla said. I was confused until I translated it to mean ‘range of motion’; she had to test Steve’s current limitations and made careful notes so she’d know what to work on next session, in two days. She was very thorough and I felt that he was in very good hands. Literally!

Steve was sleeping with a heavy pain pill that Carla had dispensed at the end of the session, so I gave him another hour of the CD. Meanwhile I got a call from Debbie’s lawyer, Thomas Ketchum, and that was my second shock of the day. The extra account that he’d turned up was just a school account set up back in third grade for Steven, one of those things where the kid brings pocket change or lawn-mowing money once a week? It contained a grand sum of $14.63. Ouch. I was so hoping it was the pilfered money that Debbie had supposedly stocked away, because my regular bills were drowning me and now I had Steve to care for as well. Debbie’s insurance and their combined medical insurance was paying for things so far, but I wasn’t even sure if they’d cover Carla’s PT visits. Funny joke came to mind: I could call Carla ‘the PT Bruiser’, like the car. Okay, maybe not so funny.

Mr. Ketchum did say that there was one troubling item, and other than that, Debbie’s estate–such a wrong word for her situation–was complete. Ketchum had a safe-deposit key but no indication where it belonged. He was sending out inquiries to local banks but so far had gotten negative or unresponsive replies, but he’d continue. I guessed that the key must be to the secret stash, or Secret Stash, I should call it. So it might be lost forever; I knew that every year, thousands of safe-deposit boxes around the country are opened by the banks because of lack of rent payment, or dormancy, or whatever. I surely didn’t want the Secret Stash to be one of them!

4/17

This must be the shocking season, for me, anyway. Carla appeared for her PT session, and after medicating Steve she asked to meet with me. At first she told me exercises that she wanted me to have Steve do between sessions; she circled the ones on the pages I’d printed out from Dr. Bunting. Then she sat there silent and frowning. Something was on her mind, and she finally apologized for being blunt, but asked if I was aware that Steve’s body was feminine? I didn’t have to feign my shock–only it was about her noticing, of course, but how could she not?–and Carla went on to describe his physical situation.

She went silent for awhile, looking at me, and then asked point-blank, was Steve being given female hormones? I side-stepped at first and said, shame-faced, that ‘I discovered that his mother had started him on the pills last year sometime’, never mentioning that I was continuing and hoping that Carla would drop the subject.

There was some silence again, and Carla nodded and then came the big shock. She said that she had no problem feminizing males, if they desired it or required it. She pointed out that we routinely spay and neuter pets and geld horses and actually approve of the gentling, so why should we be so squeamish about neutering male troublemakers? I stared at her; I think my mouth was actually open. Then she gave me a direct look. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. She asked if I was continuing the process. I sighed and dug around in my drawer and pulled out Debbie’s letter and handed it to her, saying that I’d received this after her death and it was all news to me.

I looked out the window towards the lake and thought that Carla was going to turn me in to the sheriff, I was going to lose the inn, lose Steve, and might as well put rocks in my pockets and walk out into the lake and be done with things. I caught a glimpse of movement; Carla was folding the letter and putting it on my desk. I turned back to face the music, and found her nodding.

She said she understood and congratulated me for continuing with the process, to not be deterred by small-mindedness or political correctness. She told me to remember I was doing it out of love, love for Debbie and love for Steve, the newer and better life that Steve could have. She said she would not report me or Steve’s condition and would recommend a change of doctors. Dr. Bunting was an orthopedic surgeon and concerned with the setting and healing of broken bones. They were healing well, and Steve could be passed off to a general practitioner. She knew of a woman who would fit the bill for the hand-off, and would understand the delicate situation, and might even assist. At the very least, she could be counted upon to keep him healthy and keep herself quiet.

I was so relieved that I teared up. Carla patted me on the back in a surprisingly awkward manner, and told me that she knew of two other males in the area that were being ‘gentled’, as she put it. For some reason, my mind flashed that Darryl McClure would be a great candidate, for Tina’s sake. Carla was in her frowning thoughtful mode again, and we stood there in silence. She licked her lips and then asked how far along was I determined that Steve go?

I was struck that she used the exact same words–‘how far along’–that I’d thought about. The words were vague, because they never said how far along what. The path? The road? Away from what? And towards what? But I knew now, once the CD people cleared me for Debbie’s custom program. My sister had planned that my nephew would become my niece. So, looking Carla in the eye, I answered her question. ‘All the way’, I said. She nodded and then said that she would tailor the PT along those lines. She explained that she would not work on muscle groups prized by males, and would structure the exercises so Steve would get fit but not bulk up. We looked in on the sleeping Steve before she left and she nodded and pronounced him, ‘a good candidate’, both physically and from what she’d learned about him in Debbie’s letter.

4/18

Okay. I’m writing the rest of this the morning after last night. Does that make sense? This is what happened yesterday night.

After Carla left, I found I was shaking with relief and anxiety and guilt and everything all rolled up into one. I got a bottle of my favorite Chardonnay from our meager cellar, and curled up in my favorite comfy clothes to watch a DVD of While You Were Sleeping, one of my favorites. I was two glasses into the Chard and feeling kind of smiley when Steve knocked and came into my bedroom, swinging gingerly on his crutches. He saw the wine, the movie, and asked if he could join me. I said yes, but first I had to do something. Well, I had to pee, but then I quickly made a big mug of hot cocoa for him, and grabbed some extra pillows from our linen locker. I propped them up against my headboard after setting down the mug, and got ready to help Steve climb on.

Steve was wearing his Velcro scrub things that he usually wore and nothing else. He was hesitant and I realized that I was in a light pink shorts and cami sleep set with my old yellow robe. I asked if he’d like a robe for warmth; he said, ‘Yes, please’–something else he probably hadn’t said a lot last year!–and I pointed to my closet, directing him to an old pink chenille robe. He sort of cradled it in his hands and put it on with a smile that quickly turned to a frown when he looked down at himself. It did look odd, the comfy, cheerful robe against the green utilitarian scrubs.

So it was time to test the CD lessons, I suppose. I gently said I might have something that might be more comfortable …

Steve said, ‘Yes, please’ again and I almost teared up at how meek it sounded. I didn’t believe that he’d go for a nightgown, but I remembered an old Rolling Rock Beer t-shirt I might still have, a huge light green thing with a V-neck that I’d used as a sleep shirt a few times but felt too collegiate and had put it away. I held it up and saw him smile. He said he was too young for the wine so he was probably too young for the beer t-shirt, too, but, he teased, if I’d vouch for him ...I smiled and handed it to him. To my surprise he immediately removed the robe and made to undo his scrubs with me standing there. I pretended I needed to pee again and went into the bathroom to give him time. God, I wondered, just how far along–that phrase again–is he? I flushed the unused toilet, washed my hands, and came out.

Steve stood there in the beer shirt and robe, balancing on his crutches. The hem of the t-shirt came down to mid-thigh, leaving his poor battered legs bare. He gave me the strangest look and said that he liked the shirt; the Velcro scrubs were too confining and scratchy and sometimes kept him awake. I thought the colors were quite nice, too, but didn’t mention it.

I helped him onto the cocoa side of the bed and climbed back on my side. I toasted him with the wine and said, ‘A pleasure to have you here, Steve.’ To my surprise–I say that a lot–he smiled and said, ‘Stef. I am Stef, you haff to remember,’ in Carla’s accent. We both laughed and got on with the movie; he hadn’t seen it so I restarted it and made sure I didn’t drink too much more. Only half a glass, really!

Partway through the movie there’s a touching scene with the family–several, actually–and I felt Steve lean his head on my shoulder and sigh. It was a happy, contented sigh. When Sandra Bullock’s character felt betrayed towards the end, Steve gripped my sleeve tightly, and at the end, he was openly crying. As was I, from the movie–even the zillionth time!–and from the wine, and from the relief of how things were going, and from the sheer happiness of sitting here on my bed with Steve. Who hugged me after I helped him off the bed and back onto his crutches, and said shyly that ‘it was okay if I wanted to call him Stef’ and I said I’d be glad to. After getting him back to his room and into bed–he really didn’t need that much assistance; his bed is much lower than mine–I brushed his hair back from his face and for some reason said, ‘Good night, Stef; I love you’ and kissed his forehead and I actually meant it and then he knocked me out by saying, ‘I love you too, Andonna’–the name he’d used for me when he was little! I almost couldn’t see my way back to my bedroom for the tears!

End of Part 2