Our State Fair, by Karin Bishop

Part 5

The next small-but-life-changing event took place early the next week. Mom was at the kitchen window and in the distance could see the approaching car of her friend Betsy Swinton. There was happiness at her friend’s visit, but tinged with worry; she realized Betsy would be the first family friend to see the new Terry.

But Terry was out doing chores, and once Betsy was settled, the first thing she wanted to talk about was Alice.

“Did I see a new guy helping Frank? Kind of looked like Alice but couldn’t be …”

Mom took a breath. “It was.”

Betsy frowned. “It looked like her hair was …well …”

“She got a buzz cut,” Mom said.

“Well, she was always …I mean, we’ve talked about her, Marie,” Betsy said with compassion. “Has she finally come out as a lesbian?”

Mom chuckled sadly. “If it were only that simple.”

“Simple? Well, I suppose so, come to think of it. It’s gotten so commonplace now. To come out, I mean.”

Betsy’s uncle was gay; she had loved him dearly but he was older and had a terrible struggle growing up gay in a small rural community, before leaving for Chicago. The family didn’t have any contact with him and never allowed any of his letters to reach Betsy. Mom knew that Betsy still missed him, regardless of his sexuality. She sighed deeply.

“Betsy, you’re going to find out eventually so I’ll tell you right now. It seems that my children are transgender.”

“You mean Alice thinks she’s a boy?”

“I mean that Alice is a boy, in her identity, her sense of self. It’s only her body that says ‘female’. And she wants her breasts removed.”

Betsy gasped and a hand flew reflexively to cover her own breasts. “No!” She shuddered. “I can’t imagine …”

“Nor can I, Betsy,” Mom said gently. “But isn’t that sort of the real test? No woman … ‘in her right mind’, people always say …no woman would want her breasts removed. But a man would. As Alice says, ‘They just don’t belong there’. And I have to agree with his way of thinking.”

“His way of thinking,” Betsy said, biting her lip and staring at her teacup. Then she nodded slowly. “I get it. I really do. It makes so much more sense for Alice than your everyday, garden-variety lesbian. Well, good for her–him. Um …he’s not Alice, is he?”

“No. Frank’s taken to calling him ‘Al’ and he likes it.”

Betsy nodded. “And he’s a big help. Is he …” She waved a hand. “What about grandkids?”

Mom said slowly, her eyes on Betsy’s so she understood the reality of what Mom was saying, “If Al finds the right girl and they can adopt. He’s male, masculine. He’s attracted to girls. But not as a lesbian–”

Betsy held up a hand. “Marie? I said I get it, and I do. You just do a little mental …flip thing, and everything falls into place.”

“I hope you do ‘got it’, Betsy, because …it doesn’t stop with Alice.”

“What, you’re not …” She frowned, confused. “How could Terry want to be male? He already is, and it’s–oh, God! You said ‘children’, didn’t you?”

Mom nodded slowly. “I must have had one messed-up womb. Twice.”

“You’re saying that Terry wants to be a girl?”

Mom shook her head. “No; I’m saying that Terry is a girl. She’s …” Mom broke off because she heard the kitchen back door close. Loudly, she said, “In here, Terry!” She grinned. “Brace yourself, Betsy; you’re about to meet my daughter Teresa.”

“He’s wearing dresses, now?” Betsy asked. “Actually, I’ll bet he looks–” She froze, staring.

That morning, Mom had given Terry a halter top she didn’t wear anymore. Red with white polka dots and kind of retro, it had looked great on Terry. It was old-fashioned enough to cover Terry’s breasts but left the shoulders and tummy bare. Mom had already wondered how she never noticed before how nicely sloped Terry’s shoulders were, and once again she wondered how in the world did they ever miss that curvy waist and cute tummy? Terry had decided against the skirt he was going to wear and instead wore cutoff jean short-shorts with the ends rolled up high. His sleek legs seemed to go on forever. His hair was up in a bouncy ponytail and he wore his usual blush and lipgloss and his white Keds. He wore minimal gold jewelry but had moved to gold hoop earrings.

And this was the cute girl that Betsy was staring at.

“Hi, Miz Swinton,” Terry smiled, a little shyly.

“Oh …my …God …” Betsy said; Mom thought of a character on Friends that always said that. Betsy gasped again and said, “Let me get a look at you, Terry.” She glanced at Mom, who nodded.

“It’s Terry, short for Teresa,” Mom said proudly. “My daughter.”

Betsy did a little ‘turn-around’ movement with her fingers, and Terry obediently did a slow pirouette. Even that was graceful. Betsy shook her head. “Incredible. Even more than Alice …Al, I mean. Come on, Terry; join us.”

“Yes, ma’am. But can I give you a refill on what you’re drinking?”

“Huh? Oh, lemonade.”

“Be right back.”

Terry went into the kitchen and came back out with the pitcher of lemonade and an empty glass. He set it down on a coaster and poured a refill for Betsy and Mom and then one for himself and pulled out another coaster for the pitcher.

“To changing for the better,” Betsy impulsively toasted.

All three clinked and drank. Then Betsy surprised the Wilcoxes.

“Always knew those chickens would come home to roost.”

Even for farmers, the cliché was confusing. “Pardon me? Mom asked.

Betsy finished her drink and smacked her lips. “Great lemonade.”

“Here, I’ll freshen you,” Terry said, taking Betsy’s glass to the pitcher.

“She’s a natural homemaker,” Betsy said. “And I say that meaning the highest praise possible. Any lunkhead can drive a tractor. But to keep a home running? Clean, do laundry, feed the family, and bake a cake? That takes a real woman.” Betsy saluted Terry with her glass and then sipped.

“And she is,” Mom said, beaming.

“Thanks, Momma,” Terry blushed.

Mom said, “Betsy …what did you say about chickens?”

Betsy pursed her lips. “The Mackenzie silo? About fifteen years ago?”

Mom frowned and shook her head. “It …burned, right? Is that the one? In the dead of winter?”

“That’s the one.” There was a pause, then she tilted her head and said slowly, “Do you remember Karen Rasmussen?”

“Oh, the poor thing,” Mom said, nodding sadly.

Terry said, “Wait; I think I remember …didn’t she …kill herself about four years ago?”

“Yes,” Betsy said solemnly. “Like the Turlington boy.”

“I don’t know him,” Mom said.

“Over in Duvall. I only know because of my sister, lives there. He was like Karen.”

Mom set her glass down. “Elizabeth Swinton, you tell me right now what it is you’re going on about! Are you talking about suicides?”

Betsy held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Marie; I truly am. I thought you’d …I thought maybe you had some idea …” She looked at Mom and then Terry, frowning.

Mom, worried, looked at Terry.

Terry felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the two women and thought he had to say something although he wasn’t certain what. Nothing came to him, so he asked, “Would you like something to eat, Miz Swinton? We still have some peach cobbler …”

“Such a sweet girl …” Shockingly, Betsy gulped and a tear rolled down her cheek. “That’s alright, honey. Thank you, though. Oh, God!” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I guess I’ve got to be the one …”

Mom gently said, “Betsy, I’m sorry I snapped at you. You can tell us or don’t; but I don’t want you upset.”

“No, no; it’s just …” Betsy smiled sadly at Terry. “So pretty,” she murmured, in an eerie echo of Mom’s own comments. “Uh, I’ll pass on the cobbler, thanks, sweetie. Alright,” she sighed. “You remember I was working for the Farm Bureau until Paul got hurt?”

“Yes. You loved that job,” Mom smiled with shared memories.

“I’ll tell you this in my own way; don’t interrupt because I think everything will be answered in due time. If you think of something to ask, just remember it and ask me at the end.”

Mom grinned. “Ladies and gentleman, please hold your questions until after the presentation.”

“Something like that,” Betsy shot her a look with a trace of their old joking, and then frowned. “The Mackenzie farm was our county’s biggest success story. Most of us are at least third or fourth generation farmers but the Mackenzies came out of nowhere and bought the Stalling farm when Art got dementia …”

“Alzheimer’s, now,” Mom explained to Terry, who nodded. “Sorry,” she said to Betsy.

Betsy just nodded. “So the Mackenzies moved in and two, three seasons down the line began having bumper crops. I mean, just absolutely incredible harvests. Same soil, same weather as everybody else. We sat up and took notice–the Bureau, I mean. I’m not going into the whole back-and-forth and the investigations and accusations and everything.”

Mom said, “I remember Frank going on about it when–sorry, again!” She mimed locking her lips.

“No more from the Peanut Gallery,” Betsy said with a wink. “But, yeah, every farmer suddenly felt inadequate. They tried to figure out what was working so well for the Mackenzies. And things even got a little ugly when the Mackenzie crops affected local prices.” She paused. “But that didn’t stop the locals from buying from the Mackenzies, did they?” She fixed Mom with a look.

Mom frowned. “Oh, I can answer that?” Betsy nodded, and Mom said, “Well, yes, the prices were lower so it just made sense, and we were supporting a local farm …even though,” she turned to Terry with an apologetic look, “even though we knew we were hurting our own farm’s crop prices.”

“Not so much as rumor had it, actually,” Betsy said. “So don’t beat yourself up about it. It made sense to spend less on produce, but there was so much bad blood about it that a lot of families …most, actually, didn’t buy Mackenzie produce just out of spite.”

“I feel like a traitor, now,” Mom said sheepishly.

Betsy patted her. “Don’t, honey. You weren’t mean-spirited or scared and it really didn’t affect overall prices. We ran the numbers, so rest easy on that. But rumors get a little crazy …” She paused again, frowning. “I bought from them myself. And they had such huge harvests that they sold in the co-op in Stanwood and Ames.”

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Duvall families would shop in Ames.”

“Yep,” Betsy nodded. She sighed. “I wonder if I should wait and tell Frank and Alice …”

Mom looked at Terry, then back to her friend. “Betsy, tell us and we’ll decide.”

Betsy grinned. “The men-folk can’t handle it, huh? Not like us strong women,” she winked at Terry.

“Sweetie? You okay?” Mom asked, frowning at Terry, who had a stricken look.

“I’m guessing …something in the Mackenzie crops,” Terry said. “You said fifteen years ago or so …how long before they found out?”

Betsy gave her an appraising look. “Very smart girl. Four years.”

Mom said, “Wait; I’m missing something here. Betsy …”

“Your daughter’s already figured it out and I’ll fill in the details quickly. Turned out that the Mackenzies were no more real than Tinkerbelle. They were employees of AGM. Even back then they were the biggest agri-business around. Oh, I suppose the Mackenzies were married, probably; but they were running a pilot program to test some growth hormones and new hybrids they were developing. In the fallout, everything was hushed up because supposedly the Mackenzie farm was the first and only testing station. That’s actually what the internal documents called their farm–a ‘testing station’. They had to subpoena the documents when it was all shaking out.”

“What was shaking out?” Mom asked, worried now.

Terry said, “The growth hormones, or the hybrids, or both …I’m guessing …” His face lit up. “Pregnant women? Or nursing?”

Betsy said slowly, “Marie, I think your daughter has a bright future in epidemiology.”

“Epi …what?” Mom said.

“Study of a community’s health, illnesses, and the factors that affect both. Tracking down a virus to the first case, for instance, or discovering that one well is making everybody sick,” Terry said. “I read a book about that last year, about the 1800s in London.”

“Very smart girl,” Betsy said. “And, Terry, may I speak plainly? You have all the makings of a fine farm woman, but you may have so much more to offer. I’m just saying …” She looked at Mom, who was still frowning.

“Betsy, I …” Mom shrugged. “Maybe I’m just slow, and trying to reconcile with what I remember, but …are you saying that whatever was making the Mackenzies farm so successful was …” Her eyes started to widen.

“See? You’re not slow, Marie,” Betsy said gently. “The Mackenzie …stuff, let’s call it, to cover everything from grain to produce to dairy. The Mackenzie stuff was grown with chemicals that tested okay in the lab. And didn’t seem to have any effect on men and women who ate or drank Mackenzie stuff. So AGM cleared it for testing. But children under ten …there were all sorts of weird things going on. I won’t go into it, but it raised a public health issue, and thanks to epidemiologists,” Betsy nodded and smiled at Terry, “the source was found to be the Mackenzie farm. The company shut down their ‘testing station’ and quietly paid off the families of the children affected. You might remember a lot of families moving out around ten years ago; everybody said it was the economy but a lot of it was fallout from Mackenzie stuff.”

Mom said, “So they caught them, and bought everyone off, and it’s a dead issue …right?”

Betsy looked at Mom sadly. “Your daughter saw right to the heart of it. It was affecting the under-ten children because they’re still growing; they were easily and quickly affected and you know how the schools all have the kids get physicals each year for sports? That’s how they found out. But it was the pregnant women, or those with newborns who were breastfeeding, that are the second wave.”

“Second wave like how?” Mom asked.

“When they went into puberty, they …” Betsy frowned. “Terry, this is very important. No embarrassment, now. How long have you felt like you were a girl?”

Terry looked at Mom before answering. “Miz Swinton, it wasn’t until this month when Momma came up with the …”

“Go ahead; tell her. She knows I’m crazy, anyway,” Mom grinned.

“As a fox,” Betsy said. “Your mom came up with …what?”

Quickly, Terry sketched out the plan to impersonate a girl for the State Fair, and how it had taken on a life of its own. He finished up with, “But I can tell you that I’ve always been this way. I mean …domestic, I guess you could say. It was partly because of my size and lack of strength, but also, I just …felt better helping with the cooking and everything.”

Betsy nodded. “Because of your feminine nature. You weren’t like those poor folks on Springer on TV, screaming about being trapped in the wrong body. You just got up and made breakfast and dusted and canned and helped your mother.”

“Well …sure,” Terry said, shrugging. “I mean, it just made sense and I enjoyed doing it.”

“Same as Alice is out hefting huge bales of hay and taking tractors apart,” Betsy said.

“Exactly,” Mom said. “But I think you knew about this, Betsy …”

“Not knew about it. I knew about the families that have been affected after they announced that …well, they’ve been affected. Karen Rasmussen and the Turlington boy killed themselves for exactly the same reason–or both sides of the same reason. See, this didn’t make the news for the general public because the families wanted it hushed up, but I was still kind of in the loop, you know? Because I’d been involved in the original Mackenzie investigation.”

She paused. Terry and Mom sat quietly as Betsy gathered herself.

When she began, her voice was slow and quiet.

“The sad truth is, Karen hated being a girl; I don’t know if the family knew it or not. You might remember her mother is quite well-endowed; when Karen began developing early she was in misery. It was all in her diary at the inquest. Anyway, she …” Betsy sighed and looked at Mom and Terry, bit her lip, and then said, “Karen got all worked up in an emotional state and …took a carving knife to herself. I can’t imagine the physical agony as well as the emotional …but she cut off her own breast. She was cutting the other one when the shock and loss of blood stopped her and she was dead when the family came home. From a PTA meeting, sad to say.”

Mom’s hand was to her mouth; Terry was wiping tears with a tissue that he folded. Betsy noticed that, too.

“The Turlington boy didn’t keep a diary but he left a note. They found him in the barn; he’d hung himself. He was wearing his sister’s dress. The note said he couldn’t live as he wanted but he could die as he wanted–as a girl.”

Mom reached an arm around Terry, who huddled next to her. “Those poor, poor children …”

Betsy was nodding slowly and sadly. “Second wave fallout from AGM. Both families bought Mackenzie produce when the mothers were pregnant.” Betsy paused. “As did you, Marie.” The pause lengthened. “I don’t know about the other families, but I know that you have a very stable, loving family environment. I know Frank can seem all bluff and gruff but he’s a really good guy. He knew his youngest son wasn’t like other boys and didn’t give any hassle about Terry helping you inside. And he wasn’t stuck in some macho world where girls can’t play; he’s perfectly fine with his big, healthy daughter working alongside him.”

“He is a good man …” Mom said, sniffing. Terry squeezed her hand.

Betsy looked at the two, the mother and daughter and made her decision.“I don’t work for the Bureau anymore but the Mackenzie case had so much impact, such long term impact, that I’m going to have to call Fred and let him know about your children. I’d like you to be there, or …” Her voice softened. “However you want to handle it.”

Mom nodded slowly. “I guess we have to. We owe it to other families that might be affected and too scared to do or say anything about it.”

Terry nodded solemnly. “We have to. Especially after that poor boy, and Karen Rasmussen.”

“That was kind of hushed up; the exact nature of her …cutting wasn’t mentioned. Everybody just assumed she’d cut her wrists and bled to death. Her diary wasn’t mentioned. I only mentioned it to you because your family is affected, Marie. Your children have the gender issues they do because of AGM. You are entitled to compensation, but that’s for lawyers to deal with. I’m concerned about the health of your children. Your handsome son out there,” Betsy nodded out the window, and then smiled at Terry, “and your pretty daughter.”

After that things changed dramatically. Betsy had stayed for dinner; Dad and Alice came in from work and everyone had a pleasant dinner while a whirlwind of thoughts went on in the minds of Mom and Terry. After dinner, they sat with coffee and Betsy patiently explained about the AGM and Mackenzie connection. Dad had trouble connecting the dots but Alice let out a huge whoop of laughter and even did a little dance–but a very butch dance–and swept up Terry in her strong arms.

“We’re not freaks, Terry! Well, we are, but not because we’re the freaks!” Alice laughed over and over.

Dad said, “Marie, can you make sense of that?”

Mom nodded and chuckled as Alice flopped onto the couch with her arm around Terry. Mom smiled at the big brother and little sister. “It’s quite plain, dear. Our children are freaks but not of their own making.”

“But why would they want to be freaks at all?” Dad asked, puzzled.

Alice laughed. “Dad, we don’t want to be freaks but it’s a fact of life that we are freaks, just like it’s a fact of life that you have brown hair. You could have been born blond, but you weren’t. Same with Mom’s blue eyes. She might look and dress and act entirely differently if she’d had green eyes. But she didn’t have any control over blue eyes any more than you had control over brown hair. Anymore than we had any control over being born freaks,” Alice squeezed Terry’s shoulder and Terry put his hand over Alice’s.

Terry said, “Daddy, we know who we are, Al and me. Now we know why.”

Betsy said, “Frank, it’s important that you realize this for three reasons. First and most important, so you can love your children without thinking they were playing any games or anything like that. It’s not a choice; it was done to them. In a way, they were poisoned. You know how the Ickes boy was born retarded? And they found out the well water his momma had drunk from was contaminated? Being retarded wasn’t his fault, right?”

“Well, sure,” Frank said. “Everybody knows that.”

Mom said forcefully, “Our children were poisoned, Frank. The way they are is not their doing. Oh, the great help Al is to you in the fields, and Terry is in here with me, and how wonderful they are–for that sort of thing, we can take the blame!” Mom laughed.

Terry got up and stood next to Dad, gently laying a hand on his shoulder.“Daddy?” he said quietly. “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Betsy harrumphed. “A very sweet daughter you have there, Frank. Treasure her. Now for the second reason you need to wrap your head around this AGM mess. This is a small community. Everybody knows everybody. But people being people, everybody’s gonna think the worst or the weirdest when they see that Alice became Al and Terence became Teresa. It’s not pleasant to think that of people we know, but it’s the truth.”

“You mean people ridiculing our children,” Mom said tightly.

“Exactly,” Betsy said. “So once everybody knows that AGM poisoned your kids, and knows about the other poor kids killing themselves–and who knows how many others might be affected that nobody knows about yet–then that takes the pressure off the Wilcox kids. And the third reason is that AGM has some of the deepest pockets in the world. You work this right, they will compensate you properly.”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to go that far–” Frank said.

Mom burst out. “Yes, we do! We’re fortunate that our children aren’t birth-deformed or dead, suicides because they couldn’t handle what had been done to them, but damn it! Something was done to them and the only way to get a big corporation like AGM to stop hurting other families is to make them pay.”

“And to let the world know,” Betsy nodded.

“Hell, yeah; I’m in!” Alice nodded enthusiastically. “You, sis?”

Terry nodded. Quietly, he said, “Daddy, think of other kids, hiding in their rooms, afraid to tell the truth about …about what their bodies are doing to them. Scared to death of being punished or whipped or …” She gasped. “And think of Karen and that poor Turlington boy, their agony …” Her voice broke. “We’ve got to let other families know. If it means that …everyone will know about me, it’s worth it. I’m in.”

“Brave, sweet girl,” Betsy smiled.

Al said, “That’s my sis!”

Mom nodded, her eyes tearing at her children.

Frank sighed and said, “So what do we do?”

It was Betsy that had tipped over the first domino in the next chain of events, by informing the Wilcox family of what had happened to them. She tipped the second domino by filing a report with the Farm Bureau as a former member; and the next domino fell when she made a call to a reporter she knew. After that, the dominoes fell one-by-one.

The month of June was hectic as the Wilcox family was interviewed over and over by everybody from a single gentleman from the Farm Bureau to five representatives of the Department of Agriculture, and from the local radio station to CNN. Other families stepped forward, one after another, who had been too ashamed of the gender confusion of their children. Three other teen suicides were reevaluated and judged to be because of gender issues brought on by Mackenzie produce while they were still in the womb.

After that, there was general but grudging acceptance by the community. The second week after the news came out, Mom declared that the family was going to attend church again, both to thank God for ‘sorting things out’, but also to announce to the public that they were a united family and proud of their place in the community.

Dad wore a dark blue suit and Alice wore a dark brown one, newly purchased. Broad shouldered, already tanned through the buzz cut, Alice looked every inch an eighteen-year-old boy named Al. She even got involved in a light game of throwing a football around with three other guys before the service.

Mom wore a dark green suit and ivory blouse, very Jackie Kennedy. Terry wore a dark blue dress with tiny white dots, white turned-back cuffs at the short sleeves, and with white lapels around the neckline. His bust was girlish and his skin was creamy smooth, and he wore blue tights on his long legs with white pumps. His hair was pulled back on both sides and cascaded past his shoulders, and he wore tastefully modest makeup. Alice had joked that all Terry needed were short white gloves and he’d ‘look like something out of the 1940s’, and Terry was quite pleased.

There was an uncomfortable moment as the family walked from the car to the church. Mom had taken the initiative and called the pastor so he, at least, stood by the church door smiling at them. Other families stared, younger children pointed, and here and there a gasp could be heard. Mom had already told her children to ignore everything and to conduct themselves respectfully.

Once in their pew, they could feel the eyes on them but busied themselves with handing out hymnals among themselves. The service started and the pastor’s sermon was about Tolerance, with a touch about the mysteries of God. At the end, the family filed out and shook his hand and made their way toward their car when two shouts came out from different directions.

The first was from the boys Alice had been with earlier. “Hey, Al! Dude! You free for a game of touch later?”

Alice excused herself from the family to trot over to the clump of boys. Anybody seeing her from a distance would see a teenage boy. Alice immediately was joking with them and acting like any other guy–just a guy named Al.

The other shout was directed towards Terry. It was from Melanie Phillips, a girl in Terry’s class. It wasn’t actually a shout; “Um, Terry?” she called out tentatively and then froze up. The girl with her was shaking Melanie’s arm viciously.

Terry and Mom locked eyes for a moment, and then Terry went over to Melanie and the other girl. He knew her first name was Heather and in his school but hadn’t had any contact with her.

Melanie was a cheerful, freckled girl with russet hair, brown with some red in it. She had a very cute figure, even in a plain blue church dress.

Melanie said, “Hi, Terry! I like your dress.”

Heather, the other girl snickered, a hand at her mouth. She was shorter, with dirty blonde hair and a cream shirtwaist dress.

Terry glanced at her and then to Melanie. “Thank you, Melanie. I just got it from Charlotte Russe. Momma ordered for me.”

“I love them!” Melanie smiled. “I never bought online, but there’s a store at that new mall in the city. We should maybe go there and–”

“I cannot believe you!” Heather spat out at Melanie. She pointed at Terry. “That’s a boy!”

Melanie said, “Maybe once he was. Maybe …never. But didn’t you hear the reverend? We should–”

“We shouldn’t waste time talking to a freak!”

Terry breathed deeply, a calming trick he’d been learning from his mother. “I’m sorry; I’ve seen you at school but we don’t have any classes together. I’m Teresa Wilcox. You’re Heather …I’m sorry; I don’t know your last name …” He left it hanging.

“That’s fine with me!” the girl declared, self-righteously.

“Heather, be cool,” Melanie said, rolling her eyes.

“What, you’re all pumped up full of God right now so it’s okay to hang with a freak?”

Melanie flinched; she opened her mouth to speak but Terry cut her off.

“You’re right, Heather, I am a freak. I thought everybody knew that?”

He’d said this calmly and matter-of-factly.

“Everybody knows it!” Heather sneered.

Terry nodded. “Good. Then you know I am a freak. Didn’t want to be; didn’t ask for it and sure didn’t choose it. But you heard about the Mackenzie farm, right?”

Heather sneered unattractively. “My father says that’s just a cover-up for …” She was obviously quoting and searching for the words she’d heard. “A cover-up for sexual depravity!” She nodded, pleased she’d got it right.

Terry took another deep breath. “Sex doesn’t enter into it. Oh, wait; you’re a girl. Are you having sex all the time?”

“What? No! And that’s got nothing to do with anything!”

“Just wanted to make sure that being female doesn’t mean having sex all the time.”

“No, of course not! You’re sick!”

“For asking for clarification?”

“Heather, please …” Melanie tried.

Terry said, “Melanie, it’s okay. I understand her confusion. Um …Heather, there’s no sexual stuff involved. Let’s forget about sex for a second. Let me ask you this; did you ask to be born a girl?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, did you ask to be a boy and lost out or something?”

“What? That’s ridiculous! I didn’t have any choice. Nobody gets a choice. I was just born.”

“Me, too. And I didn’t get a choice about hair color or eye color or being born into a rich New York family or an African tribe. And I didn’t get a choice about being born looking sort of male but mostly female, and having a girl’s brain. Mind. Soul.” At the last, Terry glanced at the church. “It was done to me–and to others–by a secret experiment run by AGM. Food from the Mackenzie farm affected a bunch of us, until they were caught. It’s not a cover-up or a conspiracy or trying to hide sexual weirdness. It was in all the papers, on TV, and so on. A bunch of us–not just my brother and me–a bunch of kids all got poisoned by food from the Mackenzie farm. It killed some of them.” Terry held his arms up. “And this is how I was affected.” His dress fluttered in the wind

Heather’s forehead creased with thought. She was obviously torn between the nonsense her father had told her, and the good sense that Terry had spoken–as well as the sheer reality of the girl in front of her. “I don’t …know …”

Melanie rolled her eyes. “Well, if you don’t know, how about just dropping the whole thing?”

Heather frowned and then nodded. “Yeah. But I gotta go, anyway. See you, Mel. Um …Terry,” she nodded and left.

Terry said, “Melanie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss off your friend.”

Melanie shrugged. “She’s not …I’m not back-stabbing or anything, but she’s not really a friend. Driscoll, by the way; Heather Driscoll. We have one class together and don’t even talk then, really. She’s got a long-term boyfriend, so we never really hung out. But aside from that stupid stuff her dad told her, she seems okay. It’s just that she’s the only other girl my age at church. Until now!” She grinned.

Terry blushed and couldn’t think of what to say.

Melanie said, “Maybe we could, you know …do something sometime?”

“Uh …yeah, that’d be nice,” Terry stammered.

“What are you doing later today? Chores?”

“No. Make Sunday supper with Mom later, like usual,” Terry shrugged.

“Wanna come over to my place? Just, you know, hang out?” Melanie smiled, tilting her head.

“Um …let me check with Mom. But that sounds really …nice,” Terry blushed again.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” Terry asked, flustered.

Melanie nodded towards the church. “She’s right over there with the pastor. Go ask.”

Terry flopped back on the couch, next to Melanie. They looked at each other, then at the bags at their feet, and then both broke out in giggles.

Mom came in with lemonade. “My goodness! Did you girls leave anything in the stores?”

“Nope, Miz Wilcox!” Melanie laughed. “They’re bare as a bone.”

Terry laughed with her. “At least in sixes and eights!”

To everyone’s initial surprise–and nodding agreement, once they thought about it for a moment–Terry and Melanie had become instant best girlfriends. Terry learned so much more about being a girl by being around Melanie than he ever could just being with his mother. And Melanie had introduced Terry to other girls and Terry blossomed further. There had been a realignment in the little community of young teen girls; the sudden appearance of Terry in their midst caused new groups to form. Terry and girls like Heather became included in the tight groups of friends. Most were farm girls rather than townies and so had chores to do first, but they got together every chance they could.

In three-and-foursomes the girls attacked the tiny local mall, the McDonald’s, and the county park, where they strolled in short-shorts or miniskirts and tiny camis and giggled shyly at boys. There had even been sleepovers, and it was a mark of Terry’s physical development as well as his social development that he was included. Even Heather had decided that, however it had happened–and whether her father believed it or not–Terry Wilcox was a girl.

And then there was a midsummer dance. There was enough of a Scandinavian heritage in the area that they just referred to it all as ‘Midsummer’. It was a day-long social event for the community and outlying farms, with not one but several dances taking place in various barns. There was a square dance, a rock-and-roll band, and a teen disco; all were as alcohol-free as they could make it, with chaperones for the teens.

Terry and Melanie and several other girls were at Carlie Thompson’s house, excitedly planning Midsummer, and Terry was talking and giggling about the dance and what they’d all wear right along with the others. But then the talk swerved to boys.

“God, I hope Tom Carroll asks me!” Julie Logan blurted.

“He will, Jules; he will!” Melanie squealed.

“But what if he doesn’t?”

Terry said, “I saw him checking you out at Swenson’s. He likes you!”

Julie pouted. “He was probably checking you out, Terry!”

Terry stammered, “No! Uh …He was looking at you, Julie!”

Carlie giggled. “Knowing Tom, he was checking out both of you! He’s just a boy, after all.”

The girls nodded and giggled knowingly, but Terry was uneasy.

Carlie said, “Okay, so Julie wants Tom. Mel, you still hoping for Dan?”

Melanie sighed.“I’m not sure if he’s going to be here that week; something about football camp.”

“But if he is here, she’ll be all over him!” Heather teased.

Melanie blushed and then nodded and they all exploded in giggles again.

Claudia Jennings ticked off on her fingers, “So Julie and Tom, Mel and Dan if he’s around, I’ve already got Jay, and Heather’s still with Chuck–”

“What’s wrong with Chuck?” Heather asked defensively.

Melanie said, “Nothing; just that you two have been going together since kindergarten!”

“Nuh-uh!” Heather protested, but smiling.

Julie said, “Terry? Who do you want to go to the dance with?”

Five pairs of eyes turned to Terry. He felt trapped. Blushing, he waved a hand. “I don’t really know any–”

“What?” Carlie laughed. “Come on, Tere! You’ve known ‘em all since kindergarten, too!”

“Well …yeah …but not …” Terry frowned. “Not like I am now …”

“Why should that make any difference?” Heather asked.

Julie said, “No; I get it. It does make a difference. All those years that Terry’s been in school with us …well, you know it’s just different for boys, how they relate to each other, from how it is with us girls.”

“I’m not sure boys actually do relate to anything,” Carlie said, giggling.

“Duh. Football!” Claudia rolled her eyes.

Julie continued on. “So all I’m saying is that how Terry …uh …”

Melanie shrugged. “Just say ‘Terence’ and ‘Teresa’. Her family has to do that when they talk about then-and-now.”

Terry nodded and smiled warmly at his closest friend.

Carlie said, “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. My big brother is a total jerk with his buds, but when he’s with Ashley, he’s like a totally different guy.”

Julie nodded. “So how the guys knew Terence, and how Terence …interacted with the guys, is very different than how the guys interact with Teresa.”

“Boobs,” Claudia said.

“Huh?” the girls asked.

“Boobs,” Claudia nodded. “Remember? A few years ago, when we got our boobs? We talked about this. All the boys treated us differently.”

Carlie said, “I remember. And I was pissed because I was so slow and you were all flaunting yours!”

“Did not!” Julie said.

“Maybe a little,” Heather grinned.

They giggled. “Maybe a lot!” Julie said, and they exploded in giggles again.

Later, the topic got back onto boys, only now the girls were united, considering different pairings for Terry, who was very uncomfortable and at the same time deliriously happy to be considered one of the girls.

Something else was happening; as the girls suggested names and discussed attributes of the various boys, Terry felt a push toward one name or another, a sense of interest.

Melanie knew Terry so well now that she noticed, too. When the girls broke up and headed home, the two girlfriends walked along and Melanie said, “Terry? We’ve never really talked about boys before. I was kind of waiting for you to bring it up.”

Terry nodded. “I know, Mel. I was …I’m …” He sighed. “I don’t know …”

“I kind of do,” Melanie said gently. “I think you felt something when we talked about Steve Hampton and Derek Sommersby. Um …didn’t you?”

Terry looked at his closest friend and smiled sheepishly. A single giggle blurted out, then … “Yes!”

“I knew it!” Melanie laughed. “Teresa Wilcox, I can read you like a book!”

“It’s nothing; I just–”

Melanie stepped in front of Terry and took his two hands. “Stop that right now, Tere, okay? Between us, okay? You don’t have to do any kind of …disclaimer or anything. You’re a girl. You like boys. It’s as simple as that!”

Terry rolled his eyes. “God, I wish, Mel. But it’s not as simple as that.”

Melanie made a face. “I’m not talking about sex. I’m talking about feeling. I’m talking about attraction. Romance. Love. You are a girl and you feel like a girl toward boys. That’s as simple as that.”

Blushing, Terry nodded.

Melanie said gently, “And about sex? I mean, you know …sex? I was born a girl and I’m not having sex until I’m at least eighteen or nineteen and maybe not even until I’m married. That’s just the way I am. We’re a lot alike–it’s why we’re friends–and I think that you’re the same way. Come on, babe; we’ve talked about husbands and babies and starting our families.”

“Well …yeah, but that’s just …future stuff, you know?”

“And so is that kind of sex! And from what your folks and you talk about, you’ll have that operation when you’re eighteen and see? You’ll be right where I am–we’ll just be two eighteen-year-old virgin girls.” She grinned.

“I never …thought about it like that,” Terry said with some wonder.

Melanie giggled. “But just because I don’t want to have sex until then doesn’t mean I don’t think about it now!”

Terry giggled with her.

Then Melanie got serious. “But all the other fun stuff? Kissing, touching, hugging …feeling …I’m definitely interested in that stuff right now!”

Terry smiled, blushing.

“And you are, too, Tere!” Melanie said, shaking his hands. “Okay, right here in front of God and me, tell me the truth. You’re interested in being with a boy that you like, having him hold your hand and hug you and kiss you …and you kiss him back?” She tilted her head. “Well?”

Terry’s face was crimson as he nodded. “I …I kind of find myself thinking about it …”

Melanie dropped Terry’s hands and hugged him, laughing. “Oh, babe! We all find ourselves thinking about it!”

End of Part 5