After getting my nephew back to his room and into bed, 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!

The Beneficiary, by Karin Bishop

Selected entries from the Journal of Donna Everton

Part 3

4/18 (more stuff)

Okay, I wrote that all in the morning. Here’s the rest of the day. And, oh my God, what a day!

I tested things when I walked into the kitchen mid-morning to find Steve eating a half a melon and some toast. I said, ‘Good morning, Stef’ and he smiled happily at me. I rubbed the back of his head on my way out of the kitchen and said we should look into getting his hair cut. He almost choked on his food and said that he liked it long. I leaned back in the kitchen and said, well, okay, not cut it short, but maybe take off the split ends? Maybe a little style? He nodded, relieved, and I went to find Tim.

Tim had stuck a post-it by the coffee maker, where he knew I’d see it, that said he had the camera. I found him thatching a portion of our small lawn area and he was glad for the break. He handed me a black canvas camera bag and said we could keep it a week if we needed. If we damaged it, we owned it and would have to buy a new one, so handle it carefully. I don’t know who he got it from.

Back in the kitchen, Steve was just rinsing his dishes so we sat down and discovered quite a nice Canon camera, a Rebel something or other that made Steve’s eyes go wide. He looked in the bag and said everything was great and he’d get right on it. I carried the bag for him while he got dressed.

On the matter of Steve’s clothes …

His clothing had been boxed up at Debbie’s house and was now in a storage unit in town. I knew that it was mostly grubby jeans and black t-shirts with grunge rock band logos or insulting statements. I particularly remember one that said, ‘What the fuck are YOU looking at, asshole?’ and knew that I wasn’t going to return that shirt to him. But he hasn’t needed many clothes so far because he was sleeping and crutching around between his room and the toilet. Now that he would be in public areas, shooting pictures for the website, it was a different matter. But I didn’t want to just rush out to the storage unit and get all of his old clothes back. And the CDs seemed to be working so well, so when Steve came out in the blue scrubs–he has three sets that we rotate washing–I told him that we’d have to look into finding some other clothes for him.

Steve asked if I had anything, and shyly said that the Rolling Rock tee had worked out pretty well. I decided this would be one of those CD reinforcement-testing things. I led him into my bedroom again and selectively sorted through my clothes. I knew exactly what I was looking for, and exactly what I was passing up, of course. Obviously I didn’t go to my lingerie drawer, and there are a few items of Mark’s clothes that I saved–but I wasn’t going to bring them out, either. I have an old stash of t-shirts and plopped a bunch of them on the bed for Steve to root through. Then I thought of drawstring pants and found nearly a dozen candidates. Most were girly pajama bottoms but I also remembered some loose cotton pants from a trip to Cancun that Mark and I had taken, and I put them on the bed, too.

I made to leave but Steve asked if I’d stay, because he had something to talk with me about …I sat on my vanity bench. Steve looked at me, swallowed, and pulled off his scrub top. I didn’t have to fake the gasp I gave when I saw his breasts. For that’s what they are; they’re beyond budding and into blossoming. That term had always made me giggle; I remember the old show and the announcer saying, ‘Tonight–on a very special episode of Blossom’. I did say, ‘Oh, my!’ and Steve nodded. His voice was thick when he said he didn’t know what was happening. I said, ‘Oh, sweetie, it’s probably just an imbalance, you know? Your whole system is out of whack–I mean, you were hit by a car–and teenagers are a chemical soup anyway. You know; you’re happy, you’re sad, you’re happy and sad …’

Steve giggled a little bit–but it was a giggle–and then said that ‘they’ really didn’t belong, did they? I looked him in the eyes and said, ‘No, not for most boys, I guess’ and we held the look for a long time. Then Steve looked down and said, ‘Out of whack …maybe …but, Andonna …I kind of …I kind of like them …’

I couldn’t help myself; without thinking I said, ‘Oh, sweetie!’ and launched myself off the bench and hugged Steve. Over and over I said, ‘It’s okay; it’s okay. You can like them …they’re very pretty.’

He said, ‘Really? You think so?’ and I said, ‘Oh, Stef, they’re so very pretty!’ and he gulped and said, ‘So …it’s okay?’

I said, ‘What’s okay?’ and he blushed furiously–I realized that his face was mending because this was the first blush since the facial surgery–and, beet-red, he said, ‘Can I …can I keep them?’

He gulped again and said, ‘I mean, can we …not tell Dr. Bunting? He might make them go away …’

I asked gently, ‘And how would you feel about that?’ and Steve, bless his heart, said, ‘I’d miss them. They’re part of me, now. I want them.’

I asked, ‘What about Carla?’ even though I knew what she’d said.

Steve said, ‘She’s seen them and just shrugged. She’s okay with them, I think.’

Time for truth. I was still hugging Steve but we’d managed to get near the vanity bench, so I sat, but kept both hands on his arms. I slid them down until we were holding hands, still looking in each other’s eyes. I said, ‘Steve–’ and he smiled a little and said, ‘Stef!’ and I smiled back and said, ‘Stef …they are pretty. And no, we don’t have to tell Dr. Bunting, and I think you’re right and Carla is okay. But I’m going to ask you a couple of questions now. You don’t have to answer me right now if you want time to think things over, okay? Alright. You’re saying that they’re pretty and that they’re part of you and you want them …’

Steve nodded, wide-eyed. I went on. ‘But you can’t keep calling them …them. You have to put a name to them. Oh, I don’t mean a name like Elvis or something,’ and he giggled and I chuckled with him and it was a lovely moment and then I continued. ‘But Stef, you need to …to honor them by saying what they are. I think it’s very important that you do that, that you acknowledge them that way.’

We continued to look at each other, holding hands, and the universe was still and quiet, just the two of us in the moment.

He swallowed and nodded. ‘Breasts,’ he said raggedly. ‘They are my breasts.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, they are,’ I smiled. ‘Thank you for that. I think it’s important because we need to be honest with each other, you know?’ I brushed a lock of hair from his face. ‘You’re all I’ve got. You’re my family now, and I’m yours.’

He nodded and solemnly said, ‘Just the two of us against the world.’

I smiled and said, ‘Maybe not against the world; how about ‘just the two of us in the world? A world that we make, that we get to decide who we’re going to be?’

Steve nodded, and I had a shocking thought that I’d never had before–and I immediately confessed it. ‘Stef, all my life I’ve been defined by other people. Sometimes that’s good, but sometimes you fall into …a category or stereotype or something …I went from a college student to a young bride to a widow in just ten years. And I haven’t known what to do with myself, who I wanted to be. But I know now, that I want to be your aunt. And protect you and help you grow healthy and into a wonderful person.’ I chuckled and shrugged. ‘And I want my inn to be successful!’

Steve laughed at that, a pretty, lilting sound that was nice to hear, and he nodded again. ‘I want to help you, Andonna, and I’m sorry I’m so banged up–’

I put my fingers to his lips–I’d never noticed the gentle curve of them before–and told him to hush; it wasn’t his fault, but it was a time for us both to discover who we wanted to be and not who we were. It sounded kind of mushy and New Age-y to me, but Steve nodded. Then he shivered–he was still topless, wearing only the scrub bottoms–and I saw his nipples harden to the chill. So they’re reactive already, I thought. I hugged him again and rubbed some warmth into his shoulders and said I was overdue for a phone call–true, actually–and to help himself to whatever of my things he wanted to wear. It had been a chilly morning but was warming up, I told him, and I’d be back after my call and we’d see about the photos.

I had to call a local farmer who might be a good source of greens, better than the grocer that supplied in past years but who was retiring. We finished that call and I was just double-checking email when the lawyer, Ketchum called. The safe-deposit key had been identified by a fluke; the bank where it belonged was being taken over by a larger bank and all files were being fine-tooth-combed before the transfer. An alert young staffer was matching up depositors and Debbie’s name had pinged something that linked to the notice of her death. The staffer followed it up and found that Ketchum was handling the estate and called him, out of the blue. It turned out the bank was in the next town from Debbie’s; she’d been leaving no chance that Dave might return–from the dead?–and search local banks if he found the key.

Ketchum said documents were going back and forth and that it should all be sorted out by tomorrow, but that I was required to sign a release for him to obtain the box’s contents in my behalf, or I could do it myself. I vaguely remembered something about lawyers being legally required to report suspicious …things to the law, and I knew that if I knew my sister, Ketchum was likely to find several thousand dollars and maybe some other stuff and might be forced to alert the police. So I told him that I would fly out as soon as I could and open it myself. I made it sound like a ritual or something, rite of passage, whatever, that I wanted to do for my sister.

Damn; I hope there’s enough in there to cover the cost of the ticket!

I walked back into my room and was startled to find Steve sitting on the vanity bench, waiting for me, because I’d been thinking so hard about booking the flight. And I was startled that he’d chosen a yellow t-shirt that said Cancun on it, and the white linen drawstring pants. I had worn that combination in Mexico! He was wearing flip-flops that he’d found in my closet and said he hoped I didn’t mind. I smiled and told him that he looked great but that I’d recommend against flip-flops and crutches. But, hey, I did have some other choices, and I produced some old sandals from the back of the closet and held them out. I noticed he was looking at my other shoes, particularly the section of my shoe rack with flats. I improvised and said, ‘Naw; these tie around the ankle but might not be that sure-footed as an actual shoe’ and I looked at the flats and I looked at Steve and he looked at me and I said, ‘Which ones?’ and he said, almost squeaked, ‘The light brown ones?’

I took the brown pair of flats and said, ‘These are really nice, a great choice, but I hope they fit …’ and to my amazement, they pretty much did! They were a little big–a tiny hit on my ego there–but with the natural linen color of the slacks, they looked great. Plus, for some reason Steve’s instep looked really nice, dainty, almost. I could hear him breathing shallowly as I slipped them on his feet and patted his ankles. ‘Very nice’, I said. To lighten the moment, I joked like a salesclerk, ‘And we have these in a dark brown and maroon, on sale.’ He chuckled.

No, he didn’t. He giggled, and it was musical and natural and I giggled with him and it was another lovely moment. My heart clenched, thinking how my sister should be sharing these moments with Steve.

Steve stood up on his crutches, looking down at his feet, slowly and stiffly holding his leg out to see his foot and then the other leg. ‘You don’t mind?’ he asked nervously and I said, ‘Not at all, sweetie!’ and hugged him. And for the first time–maybe it was the t-shirt–but for the first time, I could feel his breasts against mine. I was a little startled–or a little more startled–and covered it by asking what he’d like for outerwear since it was still nippy out? Also to cover his …breasts and the woman’s tee he wore, but I didn't say that. I tossed him a heather gray hoodie; he zipped it up most of the way and he was ready. Well, after I brushed his hair several times. It was marvelously thick and long.

I carried the camera bag as we crutched around. He shot so many pictures, the interior, the exterior, the deck, the view from the deck, and after awhile was obviously tired and wobbly. So much so that Tim, who was trimming bushes, dropped his clippers and ran to us to steady Steve on his crutches as I fought the other side. ‘There, there, young ‘un, I got you,’ Tim said gently, gave me an unreadable look, and then we both helped the exhausted boy back to his bedroom. We lay him on the bed, and he thanked us as he unzipped the hoodie.

Desperate to get Tim out of there before he saw Steve’s chest, I smiled big and thanked him and began pulling Tim out of there. But Steve called back, ‘Tim? Thank you so much. I probably would’ve fallen back there.’ Steve had risen up on his elbows, his small breasts straining against the tee. Tim just nodded and said, ‘Any time …but you’re going to be healthy so there won’t be another time, am I right?’ That earned a smile and nod from Steve who dropped back onto bed. I said I’d be back and closed the door.

Tim and I walked silently back outside; the dinner crew was just arriving to start prepping for the few reservations we had. We walked past the deck and back to the fallen clippers. Tim turned to me. ‘I have a few questions, you understand.’ I nodded. He said, ‘You are my boss, and it’s not my place, but …’

I put my hand on his upper arm and said, ‘Tim, you are my rock. I consider myself lucky to be able to pay you to stick around and help me.’

He frowned and said, ‘It’s not that. It’s what I do …You and Mark …sorry to bring it up, but you and Mark reminded me of me and Sophie. And cancer got her, too.’ He swallowed and I had a lump in my throat. ‘I’ve been worried about you, since Mark …and …well, I’m worried about you.’ He looked towards the inn and I knew he was looking towards Steve’s bedroom.

There was nothing else I could do. I told Tim of Debbie’s letter, of Steve’s already being on the pills, the reasons I’ve continued them, Debbie’s custom-programmed CDs, and so on. I told him the doctor didn’t know, the therapist did, and I didn’t know where it was all leading.

‘Yes, you do,’ he said softly. ‘Steven is becoming Stephanie.’

I hesitated and then nodded, feeling so guilty that I wished the earth would swallow me up.

‘How do you feel about that?’ he asked, still in a gentle tone, so I told him that I felt guilty as hell in principle, but I was learning that Steve was a better person–and seemed happier, too–and then I told him about watching the movie last night.

Throughout it all, Tim nodded here and there, listening carefully. Then he said, ‘Hear me out, okay, Donna? Don’t …jump to conclusions about anything I’m saying, but …hear me out.’ I nodded and he asked, ‘I have a few questions for you, and just take them one at a time. Don’t answer one and say, ‘But ..’ okay? Just the one question, one answer. Alright. You’re turning a boy into a girl without his knowledge. It’s the ‘without his knowledge’ part I’m asking about. How do you feel about that?’ and I restated my decreasing guilt and the positive signs I was noticing.

His face was neutral. ‘There will be no chance of returning to being a boy if you continue. Do you understand that?’ I paused, and then nodded. He sighed. ‘Donna, you will have a young girl, without years of living as a girl, training to be a woman in the world. Are you prepared to take that on?’

I was surprised that I hadn’t truly thought of it that way, in such matter-of-fact terms. Then I knew the answer; it was a strong feeling. I nodded briskly and said that I was prepared. And that I was worried that it was for purely selfish reasons, but I was looking forward to it. ‘Oh, Tim, if only you could have seen Stef last night! And we just got along so great …’

‘Stef, is it?’ And I explained about the nickname and he chuckled. ‘And you won’t always get along so great; every teen girl begins to resent her mother–or the nearest thing, which would be you.’

I hadn’t thought about that but flashed on my own teen-girl rebellion, and I said sadly that it was true but based on what I was seeing, compared to the boy described in Debbie’s letter, Steve would be and already was much happier.

Then he floored me with something I’d never even considered in the slightest. ‘Donna, do you think it’s possible that …maybe Debbie was wrong? That Steve wasn’t as bad a kid as she said in the letter?’ I pointed out that his grades were atrocious, but I hadn’t checked the police for his juvenile record, but the truancy and fighting were included in his school report. Tim thought silently a moment and then said, ‘Donna, I’m certainly not going to tell you what to do. And I’m not going to tell you what I’m going to do, until I have a talk with …Stef.’ He smiled at me, picked up the clippers, and returned to his clipping.

I was kind of shell-shocked when I returned to Steve, who was just slipping into sleep but roused when I knocked. I asked him if he wanted me to get his things to change into to sleep and he shyly asked if he could have the Rolling Rock shirt? I smiled and got it and helped him change and for the first time I saw his pelvic area. ‘You don’t mind?’ he’d asked, before removing the linen pants. I’d said no, but stifled a gasp for two reasons. There were sutures all over his hips, and huge bruises going from the purple to the sickly yellow and brown, and I gasped also because there was a little tiny penis only two inches long, maybe. I looked up and found him looking at me as he handed me the pants and I swallowed. I apologized for my staring. ‘I know you were terribly injured, but seeing the sutures, and thinking about how much pain you were in–that you are in …oh, sweetie; I’m so sorry for you!’

‘That’s okay, Andonna. I just …’ His pretty face twisted. ‘Any time I hurt real bad I think about Mom and I ...God, I hope she never felt any pain …’

My eyes brimmed with tears and I gulped. All I could do was gently squeeze his shoulder. Then I said, ‘Excuse me? You’re ready for sleep and I’m keeping you waiting’ and left for my bedroom, my eyes blurry.

I came back as quickly as I could with the Rolling Rock shirt–and several panties. I laid them on his bed and said, lamely, that he ‘might want to consider’ …and left it at that. He gulped and pointed at a yellow pair of tap-pants and said ‘those look comfortable’ and I smiled and said, ‘Oh, they are!’ and I took them and kneeled down; he put a hand on my shoulder and stepped into them and then I let him pull them up. Still sounding lame to my ears, I said, ‘They should be loose enough for comfort and not irritate your sutures, and warm enough …’

He just nodded and said, ‘They feel wonderful, Andonna. I think …I’m going to sleep now.’ I told him that I’d check on him later and bring him dinner when he felt like it, and as I pulled the covers up, he said sleepily, ‘Feels good. Can I have …a nightie …’ and was out. How much of that was him and how much were the CDs, I don’t know.

I went back to my office, thought deeply about things, and then put on the next of the CD set. He’d had the last disk for about a week and a half. Thinking about how wonderful last night was, laying on my bed with my …niece’s head on my shoulder as we watched the movie, made up my mind. I pushed Play.

In the evening, Steve was sitting in bed and I brought him soup and sandwiches and we talked about While You Were Sleeping and how much he’d enjoyed it, too. I kissed him on the forehead again and went down to the restaurant. One of our reservations hadn’t shown up but two walk-in couples were a bonus and I watched over my sad little empire and wondered how I was going to keep it all together.