Part 01 From the Depths of Despair by Kim EM Copyright (c) 2000 by Kim EM All rights reserved

With humor and empathy, Kim tells the story of Billy, an 11-year-old whose life has reached a low point. Weaving in some autobiographical details, Kim follows Billy's journey toward becoming accepted as the girl he has always been.

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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. If you're reading this and you disagree, maybe you have a guilty conscience about what happened thirty-four years ago.

The story may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to
legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.

Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.

I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. Email me at [email protected] Other stories are available at WWW.KimEM.net

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I'm not sure that what follows will be easy to read. God knows, it was hard to write.

This part of the story is dedicated to John McBride, Tim O'Donnell, and Jim Pendergast, without whom this would not have been necessary. Oh, yes, please sue me. Please.

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Prologue: THE BELLS OF NOTRE DAME
 
When did it start? You might say in 1954, when I was conceived, or 1955, when I was born. In the years following, as I developed, so did my understanding that there was a problem, but it really wasn't until I was eleven, in 1967, that all hell broke loose.

It was early June, the day after I was finally out of school. Sixth grade was over. Finally. I was home, recovering from my send-off the day before.

I lived in a small town in northern Indiana, right on Lake Michigan, about 60 miles from Chicago. My parent's house was only four blocks from the lake, which was kind of neat. The school I went to, a Catholic school that will remain nameless, was four blocks away in the other direction. In between was a pretty-much deserted area where a developer was draining a swamp to build a new subdivision. That's a no-no today, but back then it was pretty much standard.

On the last day of school, when the final bell rang and the teacher dismissed the class, most of the boys took off like rockets, happy to be free for the summer. I didn't really want to head out with them, so I took my time gathering up my stuff.

I started for home, taking my time so there wouldn't be any chance of my catching up to them... even the girls from the class were out in front. When I passed through the construction site I suddenly felt my books pulled from my arm by someone who had come up from behind. It was Tom McAddams, my biggest tormentor. We'd briefly been friends back in third grade, when he'd joined the school, but he rapidly distanced himself once he learned how the other kids treated me.

When I felt the books leave my arm, I spun around, only to find myself suddenly on the ground, flat on my back. "Look at the little sissy now!" exalted Tom.

I started to sit up, only to have him leap at me, pushing me back to the ground, and punching me hard in the gut, hard enough to leave me without any air. Laughter came from all around. I was surrounded... Tom's buddies, the kids who my parents thought were my friends, were all around me, laughing their heads off. Tom kept hitting me, over and over, calling me names all the while. I tried to push him off, but I couldn't budge him.

As he climbed off me, I lay there bleeding, curled into a ball, bawling my eyes out.
 

Chapter One: THE TRUTH? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH.
 
I knew what was wrong. The other kids in school could see it. My parents, blessedly, were clueless. I had no idea what to do. I had no idea that anything could be done.

I sat there, on the back porch, thinking about it. What could I do? This couldn't go on. My life was already hell, and it promised to only get worse. I couldn't run away. I was smart enough to realize that I had no place to go, and no way to support myself even if I did think of a place. There were some fleeting thoughts of ending the pain by killing myself, but I was raised Catholic and, well, let's just say that wasn't an option.

My mom came out to the porch and saw me hunched over, lost in thought. She sat next to me and took me into her arms, and I melted into her, tears starting again at the thought that I was trapped in the wrong life, and there was nothing I could do about it.

She held me in a fierce hug and told me "Shhh. It's all right. Your dad and I won't let them hurt you again."

I clutched her, sobbing. "I can't go back there. They'll do it again and again." Panic rose in my voice. "It won't stop until they kill me!"

Mom took me by the chin and turned my face up. She looked me in the eyes and said firmly, "That's not going to happen. You have to trust us. We're not going to let them hurt you ever again."

"How? What can you do about it?"

"Your father is down at the police station now, meeting with their parents. Everything will be okay."

I sniffed a few times and pulled away a few inches. "Mom, it will never be okay. Even if they never touch me again, do you think anyone in school will ever have anything to do with me again?"

She sighed, looking out into the yard. "The truth? I don't know. All I can tell you is that you're our only son and your dad and I are going to protect you."

*Only son. Great.*

I slumped back down in the chair, trying to work up the nerve to start what I thought would be my last conversation of this life. Mom sat there, watching me, seeing that I was still upset. "Mom, I... can you... I'm sorry, can I have a few minutes to think about some things?"

Mom slowly rose to her feet, looking worried. "Are you going to be all right?"

I laughed, what must have been a bitter-sounding bark. "I'll be okay. I just need to think things over."

She turned and went into the house, leaving me to sit there and brood. I knew that it was the time to tell her the truth, but I had no idea where to begin. The truth would kill both my parents. I was their only son... rather, their only child. They had been married since 1940, but had been unable to have children. After years of trying they finally gave up, and they adopted me as an infant in 1955. I knew I was lucky in being theirs, and I hoped they felt the same way about me, but I knew that once I told them my secret they would be ready to send me away.

How could I do this to them? I had to do something, though. The day before, when I'd dragged myself home, I told them what had happened, but when they asked why I'd been beaten, I lied and told them I didn't know why. Even when they pressed me, and later, when asked at the emergency room, I kept saying that I had no idea, that there had been no reason.

That might not hold up, though. The other kids had figured out that there was something different about me, and someone might have figured it all out. They'd figured out enough to treat me like an outcast, enough to make them want to beat me up when they thought they could get away with it. From what Tom had screamed while beating me, he might know. And he might have told his parents, and they might be telling my dad right now.

I didn't know how, but I was going to have to tell my mom. I didn't know if either one of us was going to be able to handle it, but I didn't see any choice.

I go up slowly, painfully, and went into the house. Mom was sitting in the living room, a book face-down on her lap as she stared out the window. I could tell she had been crying, her eyes red and a crumpled hankie in her hand.

I sat facing her, and quietly asked "Mom? Are you okay?"

She pulled her attention back into the room, and smiled wistfully at the book in her lap. It was an old, battered copy of Dr. Spock's book on baby and child care. "I've used this book since we got you, but it doesn't seem to have much useful to say about this."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause so much trouble"

Mom got a fierce look, one that I'd never seen before. "None of this is your fault. They are picking on you. You can't be blamed for what they do."

I sighed. "I hope not."

Silence, as we looked at each other.

"Mom, I had a question. I know this sounds kind of dumb, but what's the difference between boys and girls?"

Mom kept looking at me as I stared at my lap. I think the question caught her completely off guard.

"That's, well, I'm not sure you're old enough for that yet."

"Mom! I'm not talking about their bodies. I've been to the library often enough. I know what people's bodies look like."

Mom squared off her shoulders a bit. "I really don't think you're old enough for the other part... and when you are, I think you should talk with your father."

This was going to be harder than I thought. I don't think mom had any idea what I was getting at. "No, Mom. I'm not talking about sex."

"Then what?"

"When a baby is born, who decides whether the baby is a boy or girl?"

I could tell that mom was really puzzled now. She didn't know where this was leading. I wasn't in much better shape. She tried, though; I'll give her that much credit. "God does, Honey. Before the baby is born, He decides whether it will be a boy or girl."

"Does He ever make mistakes?"

"Is this something they told you about in school?"

I returned to staring at my lap. It was getting close to the moment of truth, and I didn't know if I could do it. I had to tell her but I couldn't. The silence grew. Mom threw me a questioning look. "Honey?"

I drew in a big breath. "I was... I was supposed to be a girl."

No screams. No sobbing. No sound of a body hitting the floor. I raised my head to look at Mom. She just sat there, mouth open, staring.

"Mom?"

No reaction.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

"I... I don't think I heard you right. It sounded like you said that you were supposed to be a girl."

*I don't believe this. I finally get it out, and she's trying to give me a way to back out!* "I did. Mom, I'm really sorry, but I have to tell you the truth. I know my body's a boy's, but I'm really a girl."

I did it. I finally worked up the nerve to tell Mom the truth. I could hardly believe it. I was shaking and scared, but I'd told her. I just hoped I could handle the consequences. But nothing happened then. Mom just sat there, silently, looking at me. What she was going through, I knew she had to be hurting and angry. The explosion was coming, I knew that. It was just a question of when it would come, and what kind of fallout there would be.

It never came.

Very quietly, very gently she asked me "How long have you felt like this?"

"I think I always have. When I was little I didn't really know the difference, but as I got older, I knew I wasn't a boy. I just couldn't tell you and Dad. I didn't want you to hate me."

Mom lunged at me, and I flinched away, but she scooped me into her arms and held on tight. "Oh Honey, Honey, we could never hate you. We love you and you'll always be ours."

I held her at least as tightly as she held me, and we both started crying. After a while the tears ended, and we just held each other.
 

Chapter Two: TRUE CONFESSIONS
 
After a while we split, and went silently to different areas. Mom went down to the rec room, I suppose to sit and think. I went upstairs to my bedroom, to lay down and think. I don't think I got much thinking done, though. The next I knew the shadows were long and Mom was sitting on the bed, looking sadly down at me.

"Mom? Are you mad at me?"

She reached down and gently stroked my forehead. "No, Honey, I'm not mad. I can't pretend I understand this, but I'm not mad at you."

"What about Dad?", I quivered.

"I don't think your father will be angry. It's going to take a bit for him to accept, but I'm sure he will once he understands."

"Are you disappointed in me? I don't want you to be sorry that you got me. I love you and I... I..." I couldn't go on, and curled up into my pillow, sobbing.

Mom sat there, leaning down and trying her best to comfort me. From downstairs, I could dimly hear the back door slide open, then closed, and I knew the hardest part was upon me. Dad jauntily called out, "I know you're here somewhere, your car is in the driveway."

Mom got up and went to the bedroom door. "We're up here."

Dad's voice took on a worried note. "Is everything okay? Do you want me to stay down here for a while?"

"No, I think you should come up. We all need to talk."

I could hear him hustle up the steps. When he came into the room he took one look at me and moved right to the bed and sat down, leaned over, and took my crying form in his arms. "Don't worry, it's over. I had a long talk with their parents. It's not going to happen again."

Dad seemed a bit surprised when I didn't react to this news. He turned me in his arms so I was facing him, and as I looked into his concerned face, I burst into a new round of tears. He looked up at Mom. "Am I missing something?"

She nodded silently. He looked back to me, reached out and gently took me by the chin. "What's wrong? It can't be all that bad." He looked back at Mom. "Can it? He wasn't crying this badly when he came home last night."

"He's frightened. He had something to say today that scared him a lot."

"What? Is he in some other kind of trouble?"

"It's.. He's.. I think he needs to tell you himself."

They both turned back to me. I stared helplessly up at Dad, then at Mom. "I can't. It's... ". I burst into tears again. Sobbing, I tried to continue. "I'm sorry. I'm bad... a bad person. I'm a..." and that's as far as I got before I completely dissolved into hysterical tears.

Mom took a seat by my side, opposite Dad. Soothingly she leaned over me, once again stroking my forehead. "It's okay. You just rest for a bit, and then we can talk." While I tried to calm down, Mom looked up at Dad. "He's been just this side of hysterical all afternoon. There's been a... problem, and the attack brought it out in the open."

"He's not sick, is he? Do we need to call the doctor?"

Mom smiled sadly. "Um... well, yes. But it's not an emergency. And I'm not sure it's anything Doctor Harding is qualified to handle."

"Then what...?"

"Dad," I managed to croak out, "It's not like that... I'm really sorry. I wanted you to be proud of me...." My throat caught up again, and I fell silent. Dad was looking more and more puzzled, and starting to get a bit peeved.

Mom reached out and took Dad's hand. "It's okay. He'll tell you as soon as he's able."

I started laughing painfully. "He'll... He's..."

Dad was really starting to look baffled.

Mom tried to help out. "I told you, he's on the edge of being hysterical."

"But you know what the problem is?"

"Yes. I got him to tell me this afternoon."

"SOMEONE needs to tell me what's going on!" Dad was starting to look a bit hysterical himself.

"I'm... Oh, hell."

"Billy!"

"Couldn't I just go on hiding it from you?" I sniffled as I tried to make a joke. Okay, it was feeble, but I think I was starting to get cried out.

Mom tried to help again. "He's afraid that we won't love him any more."

"It can't be _that_ bad. Billy, It doesn't matter what it is, your mother and I love you. We've told you how much we wanted a child, and how much it meant to us to get you. We couldn't love you any more than we do if... well, we couldn't."

"Dad, did you just want a boy, or did it matter to you if you got a boy or a girl?"

"We would have been happy with either, but we were delighted to get you."

*Sigh* "Dad, you don't have any brothers, and I don't, and you've told me a lot of times that you're counting on me to carry on the family name."

I think a light must have come on at that point, even if the wrong one, because his eyes widened just a bit. "Billy, are you... do you like other boys?"

I sniffed a bit, but kept myself from crying. "It would be easier if I did."

"Then _what_?"

"Dad, I don't know a good way to tell you... I'm sorry... but... I'm a girl." I hung my head and stared at the bedsheets.

Dad looked blankly at Mom. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?"

I started crying silently. Mom nodded at Dad, and said "Let's go downstairs and talk. I think Billy needs some rest." She helped me back to a comfortable position and told me "Now you go to sleep and everything will look better in the morning."

She and Dad quietly went out into the hall and turned out the light. I know I was supposed to sleep, but I just lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the murmur of voices from downstairs.
 

Chapter Three: ONE FLEW EAST...
 
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next I remember I was stretching in the sunlight, thinking that I wasn't as sore from the beating. The beating. *Shit.* I told them both my secret. Now my life was over.

I lay there for a while, and finally decided it was time to face the music. I padded down the hall to the bathroom and took care of what I had to. Coming out of the bathroom, I peeked into Mom and Dad's room, and they were still in bed. Dad sleepily rolled over and looked at me, and then asked, "Do you want to climb in with us?"

I rolled right over Dad into the pocket in the middle, where I'd get cuddled from both sides.

Mom was still waking up, so I faced Dad and quaveringly asked, "You don't hate me?"

Dad looked at me, and gave me a bearhug, a tear running down his cheek. "I'll never hate you. You're our child. Son. Daughter. Whatever. You're our only child." I was in shock. Never, I mean _never_ had I seen Dad cry.

"Dad, what do I do now? My body is a boy's, and I'll grow up into a man. I can't. I just can't."

Mom's voice came from behind me. "Monday I'm taking you to see Doctor Harding. I'm sure he will be running some tests. We have to find out what's right for you."

"What's right?"

"Maybe you need to become a girl. But maybe you're just confused about what you should be. The doctor will know how to tell."
 

~*~
 
The rest of the weekend was a bit strained.
 
~*~
 
This was not going well. The first thing Monday morning, Mom had called and managed to get an emergency appointment with the doctor. I suppose she used the beating as a pretext. Once we were in to see the doctor, and Mom had started to explain, he could barely contain his laughter. "He thinks he's WHAT?"

At that point, Mom turned and asked me to go out to the waiting room. I went.

I could see it already. The doctor didn't know about these things, didn't want to, and would tell my parents to ignore it. I waited, and waited. Fifteen minutes, half an hour, forty-five minutes. I just sat there, getting more and more wound up, staring at the clock and waiting.

Finally Mom came out, tight-lipped, and collected me in the waiting room. She silently escorted me to the car, and we headed for home. I tried a few times what the doctor had said, but she remained silent and stone-faced. It only took about fifteen minutes to get home, but they were fifteen of the longest minutes of my short life.

Once home, I headed up to my room and buried my head in the pillow. I could hear Mom downstairs, talking angrily on the phone. The call ended abruptly, and then there was silence.

I lay there, thinking. I didn't know for sure what the doctor has said, but I had a pretty good idea. And Mom had come out of there as angry as I'd ever seen her. What I couldn't tell is whether she was mad at me or the doctor.

If he's messed things up, convinced her that it was nothing, I didn't know what to do. I wasn't going to grow up to be a man, I knew that for sure. If it came to that, I'd rather die first. But I couldn't kill myself. I'd grown up in a Catholic household, gone all my life to a Catholic school, and firmly believed that people who killed themselves were headed straight to hell. So that was out. But what other choices did I have?

To stay, made to act the role of man for the rest of my life, I couldn't face that. I could run away, but there was no place I could go. And even if I did run away, that wouldn't stop me from growing up into a life I detested.

What _could_ I do? There were no options left to me. I couldn't let nature take it's course, and there was nothing I could do to change it. As I lay there I grew angrier and angrier at fate for putting me in this position. Could I convince my parents to forget about the doctor and let me become a girl? And if I could do that, how could I prevent my growing up from changing me?

*Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.*

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear Dad downstairs. He must have set a new speed record coming from his office. He and Mom were talking, and the talk was getting louder.
 

~*~
 
"He's a small-town doctor and doesn't have any experience with this!"

"Doctor Harding has been our doctor since we married. He's the one that was able to pull strings to let us get Billy. Now you want to ignore him? He knows a damned sight more about this than either of us do." Dad was certainly sounding worked up.

"You didn't hear him _laugh_ at Billy. He wasn't acting like a doctor. He was acting like an as.. jerk! I don't know whether Billy is right about being a girl, but _NO_ doctor is going to laugh at him when we go looking for help!"

*Way to go, Mom*

"He's our doctor and the least we owe him is to try his advice. If that doesn't work, then next year we can look at doing something else."

*Uh Oh.* I had the feeling I'd better get involved before it was too late. I started down the stairs at double-time.

Mom didn't like this any more than I did. "Next year?"

"Could someone explain to _me_ what the doctor said?" I stood in the doorway, tense with anger.

Dad stepped right in. "You're only eleven years old, and I don't think you'd understand."

"Try me. You know I'm ahead of where I should be in school, and I practically live at the library. I think I'll understand a lot more than you think."

Mom looked at me for a long moment and then turned back to Dad. "He might be right. You remember those tests that the school asked permission to run last fall? Did you ever look at the results?"

Dad looked blank for a moment. "Um.. I remember signing the permission, but I didn't know we got any results."

Mom sighed. "We did. I got a full copy of the report from the sister." She turned to me. "Honey, why don't you sit down. You can hear this, but I don't want you to get any wrong ideas."

"Who, me? Wrong ideas?" *This should be interesting*

"The school said the tests were for a college student to get some practice in test administration. It was actually a means for the school to try and get some idea why Billy wasn't fitting in with the other students. What it showed... well, he gets top grades in subjects that interest him, and barely passes the rest. It's not a problem with intelligence. According to the results, his IQ is 141, which is borderline genius. At least, it's a lot higher than either of us." Mom laughed ruefully. "He scored at the top of the charts in the verbal scores, but only marginally above average in the math scores. In the personality scores, he ranked low in aggression and competition, and high in problem-solving."

"What does that all mean, Mom?"

"It means that I think you'll be able to understand what the doctor had to say, and what it means."

Dad grumbled, "I don't think this is a good idea."

Mom sat facing me, and gently started. "The doctor doesn't think you have a problem. He says it's just a phase, probably brought on by something you saw on television. He wants us to have you join the Boy Scouts, and to enroll you in sports...."

I was on my feet in a flash. "I am _not_ going to be a _BOY_ scout, and there's no way in hell I'm going to get into any sports. That's just a quick way to get me killed!"

Dad was on me instantly. "Billy! I don't want to hear language like that from you."

I smiled tightly at him. "I'm sorry, my language was unladylike." *Let's see how you like _that_.* "I know what I look like, but that's wrong. I. Am. Not. A. Boy. Trying to make me into one is just going to get me hurt. Why do you think I got beat up last week? Because the boys in class needed the exercise? _Hell_ no! They may not know what's wrong, but they can tell that I'm different. That makes me a target."

This time Dad didn't bother to complain. He was too busy thinking about what I'd just said.

"Dad, I know I'm only eleven. You and Mom have to make all the decisions. But I'm not a little kid any more. I don't have any friends. The closest I have in school is people who tolerate me. I've had to grow up fast, maybe too fast. And I know I'm not the same person on the inside as I am on the outside. I'm a freak. I know that, but I have to be what I am." I was starting to run out of steam. "Please don't force me to be someone else."

I sank back onto the sofa, as limp as a wet dishrag, starting to sniffle as the impact of what I'd just said hit me.

Dad and Mom sat there, looking silently at each other as they thought. Dad finally looked back at me and said, "I'm not going to force you into anything. But I can't forget what the doctor had to say. We're not going to do anything to feed your idea about being a girl until I'm convinced that it's the right thing to do."

*Crap. My life was over*

"But..."

"No buts. I feel like I'm making a mistake in not making you join the scouts... but I'll respect your fears. And I want you to think hard about what you want, and where you think you should be." I knew that tone of finality.

"Yes, Dad."
 

Chapter Four: ...ONE FLEW WEST...
 
Things went on for a while, tense but fairly stable for about two weeks. Then one day Mom took me to the new mall with her. While she went off shopping, I was given some money and set loose in the Hall of Cards and Books. That was definitely my favorite store in the mall.

I was in hog heaven until I felt a hand at the back of my neck. I tried to turn, and when I saw who was there, I knew that this time I was really in trouble. Holding me was Tom McAddams, and behind him were his buddies Chris Libby, and John Truman. They swiftly surrounded me and pulled me out of the store. As I was half-dragged through the mall, there were a few glimpses of curiosity from the shoppers, but nobody thought enough of it to get involved.

I had a major lump in my throat, and though I tried to cry out, no sound emerged. They took me down a side passage and through some gray steel doors to the back area where the dumpsters sat.

Chris and John each took hold of an arm, while Tom stood in front of me, hands on hips, looking smug. "You little homo, do you know how much trouble you got us into? You should know by now that you can't get away with that. We're going to teach you a lesson, and this time you're not going to tell _anyone_ what happened!"

Tom took a backswing, and sank his fist deep into my gut.
 

~*~
 
I'm not going to recount the second beating. It was painful to live through, and I'd prefer to not dwell on it.
 
~*~
 
I woke up, on the asphalt between two dumpsters, and I knew right away that I had to get out of there. Not just away from the mall, but away from the town. I knew I was hurt bad, and if my parents saw me, they would know right away who had done it. If I went to the hospital, there was no way I could hide it from my parents. And then the trio would kill me for real.

I had to leave town. Now. With only the money in my pocket and the clothes on my back.

First, I found a water faucet near the dumpsters, and cleaned up the blood and dirt as best I could. Then I started the long and painful walk to the train station. I had ten dollars in my pocket, the money I'd been given to buy books. It would be enough for me to catch a train to Chicago, and once there, I would... um...

I had no idea.

I wasn't going to be able to grow up as a woman, and without that I had nothing to live for. But there was no way I was going to give the trio the satisfaction of killing me. I wasn't going to be able to kill myself, but, well, Chicago had some dangerous places. Maybe somebody would save me the trouble, and then it wouldn't mess up my chances for Heaven.

Okay, it's dumb. I was only eleven years old at the time, and as smart as I like to think I was, I really hadn't thought that through.

During the sixty-mile trip to Chicago, I stared out the window, and knew I was seeing the dunes for the last time. One way or another, within the next day I'd be dead.
 

~*~
 
Too soon, the train got to Chicago. The South Shore station was right on the lakefront, right downtown. I left the station, and headed into the loop. I had no idea where I was going, but it didn't really matter to me. A few blocks in, I came to the "L".

For those who don't know Chicago, the downtown "L" structure is in the shape of a huge rectangle, and marks the boundaries of the loop. Oh, and it's "L". The "el" is in New York. Chicagoans need something to be fussy about.

I saw the structure, and had the bright idea to take the CTA out of the loop, and maybe find some outlying area where I could find a mugger or something. Well, so it wasn't much of a plan.

Instead of the loop, though, I went down into the subway. Somehow it seemed darker, more dangerous. I hopped onto the next train heading out. It turned out to be heading north. I rode, and rode, and finally it emerged from the subway onto an elevated structure. After a few more miles, I realized that this was not working out. I got out at the next station. I looked west, and there was a big brick structure. Wrigley Field. I could hear the roar of the baseball fans, and turned the other way. I liked watching baseball, my only sports interest, but just then I wasn't in any mood to deal with people.

I walked a few blocks east, and then took a bigger street south, walking slowly, head down, while I cursed the unfairness of the world. Other kids didn't have problems like this. Boys were boys and girls were girls. They didn't have to be half and half... where nobody would believe that it was real and nobody could help me.

Why did I have to be the one born a freak, the only person like this? I kept walking and thinking, but it was becoming more difficult. I'd been pretty badly beaten earlier in the day, and I was really starting to stiffen up. I looked around, and didn't see any good place to stop. On a lamppost at a nearby corner, I saw a small red sign that said "Emergency", with an arrow pointing down the side street.

I knew I needed help, I'd been going too long since the beating. Maybe if I went here, I could get patched up without having to let them know who I was. I turned down the side street, walked about a half block, and came to the emergency entrance of a large hospital.

I wondered if I should go in. They might be able to fix the bruises and clean up the blood, but they couldn't help with my real problem. I sat on the curb near the door while I thought. Maybe I should just leave, and find that bad neighborhood. Or... I wasn't a good swimmer. I was only a few blocks from the lakefront, and I could go for a swim, a bit farther out than I had the strength to return from.

I just wanted the pain to stop, both outside and inside. The pain inside was the worst. I could live with the cuts and bruises. The other... no. No, I couldn't. I struggled to rise, determined to go to the lake, but my left knee gave out and I fell heavily to the pavement.
 

Chapter Five: ...ONE FLEW OVER THE COOKOO'S NEST
 
From behind me I could hear a shout, "Kid, are you all right?" A man ran up to me and knelt at my side. "No, you're not. God."

I looked painfully up at him and sniffled "I'm.. it hurts."

He helped me to my feet, and supporting my arm, he said "Let me help you. My name is Wayne, John Wayne."

Even in my pain, I gave him a quick look at that. "Um..."

"No relation. My parents had a strange sense of humor." We neared the doors. "I'm lucky they didn't name me Bruce."

As we entered, a nurse bustled up to us. "Doctor Wayne... What happened?"

"I don't know yet, I found him outside. What's open?"

She led the way to a curtained alcove. "Right here."

The nurse started peeling off my shirt while the doctor began looking at a cut on my forehead. He took some gauze and gently started cleaning it, then did a double-take as he saw the partly healed cuts beneath. "What the h... who did this to you?" he demanded.

It didn't take him long to work the story of the beatings out of me. We talked as he patched me up. I wasn't exactly happy, but he seemed like he cared. I managed not to cry, until he asked the question I was dreading. Why had they beaten me up? That set me off, clutching him and bawling into his shirt.

I told him everything. My being a girl, and how nobody would do anything to help me. My plan to swim out into the lake and end the pain.

"I.. we might be able to help you, but we'll need to get your parents to agree to treatment for you. Can we find a safe place for you while I talk to your parents and arrange things?"

Sniffling, I nodded. God, if he could only find a way to make things better. Please, God. Please.
 

~*~
 
I didn't know that 'find a safe place' was a medical code phrase.

The nurse and an orderly escorted me through a maze of passageways and up an elevator to sterile-looking hallway. At a locked set of doors, they were buzzed in, and they escorted me through, down another short hallway, into a small, plain room. The nurse gave me a hospital gown, and waited while I put it on and took off my own clothes. "Don't worry", she said, "I'm sure your parents will bring you come clothing that's in better shape."

I looked around at the room. The bed had a bare mattress with no bedding, and the room contained nothing else. "Where am I? What is all this?"

The nurse looked a bit embarrassed. "This is a special room to make sure that you don't hurt yourself until you've had a chance to think things over. "

"What? Where am I?"

"This is the Mental Health Unit. You'll be staying here until the doctor has had a chance to talk with your parents and can make sure that you'll be safe."

She and the orderly backed out of the room as the door closed with a firm click.

Things had gone from bad to worse.
 

~*~
 
There was nothing to do. I lay there, staring at the ceiling.

What could I do? Nothing. Nothing would make me physically a girl. They weren't going to let me end the pain the other way. I was stuck. Maybe I was already dead, had died before, and this was hell. There was no way out. No way out... the words rang and repeated in my mind. Stuck in a life I hated, stuck, stuck.

I had an idea. I could pretend to cooperate, play along, and make them think I wasn't serious about hurting myself. They couldn't keep me there forever. And when they let me out, there would be plenty of chances to end things.

I wasn't going to live a life without hope.

And that's the last thing I remember before morning.
 

Chapter Six: BRINGING OUT THE DEAD
 
When I woke, Doctor Wayne was sitting on the bed, peering down at me, frowning.

I looked up at him, trying to figure out the look.

"Good morning, Billy." he finally said.

"Please.. can you call me Bill?"

"Sorry." He looked a bit embarrassed. "I've spoken with your parents. They were frantic until they heard from me. They had the police out looking for you."

I looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do... I didn't want to hurt them, but..." I couldn't go on.

"I know. Your parents have given their permission for you to stay here for a bit, while we start treating you."

"Here?" Acid dripped from my voice as I looked around the barren room.

He surveyed the room as if he's never seen it before. "Oh, here in the hospital, not in this room. This was just to make sure you didn't do something foolish last night. I'll be having you moved to a regular room later this morning."

"A regular room... in the mental health unit?"

"Well, yes. Aside from a cracked rib, a twisted knee, and some cuts and bruises, there's nothing physically wrong with you."

I had to laugh at that. "Nothing physically wrong! Hah! Everything is physically wrong."

The doctor had a wry smile. "I see your point."

"Are you going to laugh at me too? That's what the doctor in Michigan City did. He said it was a phase and that my parents should make me do more 'guy stuff'."

His face darkened just a little bit. "No, I'm not going to laugh at you. I don't know yet whether you are really a girl inside or not, but I know that it's real to you, and that's the important thing."

"If you find out that I really am, then what?"

"We'll decide that when the time comes, but despite what the moron... what the doctor in your home town said, there are things we can do to make someone's body feminine. But, well, let's not talk about that until we determine whether it's an option."

Things were starting to look brighter. "You can do that?" I sighed in relief. Maybe I wouldn't need to do something evil to end the pain after all. Maybe. "Why... why are you the doctor who's seeing me? Don't you work in the emergency room?"

"No", he laughed. "I was just coming in to work when I saw you. I'm a psychiatrist, and this is my unit. That's why I sent you up here last night."
 

~*~
 
We talked for quite a while, the doctor gently probing into the story of my childhood, and how it had all gone horribly wrong. Finally he stood up and told me, "I have to go." He saw the frightened look in my eyes and added, "No, don't worry. I have to make my rounds and talk with some other people. I'll see you again this evening."

As he neared the door, he turned back to me. "By the way, I never did ask. If... no, _when_ you are accepted as a girl, what name did you have in mind for yourself?"

That didn't require any thought at all. "Kimberly. I'm Kimberly."

He came back, took my hand, and said, "Kimberly, I'm glad to meet you."

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To Be Continued...

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Author's Note:

It should be pretty obvious that there is a lot of autobiographical material buried in this story. The beating really happened, many of the thoughts of the narrator correspond to mine at the time. This is fiction, though, and, as dark as the story is so far, it is at it's root a wish-fulfillment fantasy. How so? In the real word, I never worked up the courage to tell my parents about my gender issues. I was too afraid of their reactions, that I would hurt them. Now, my Dad has been dead for over 20 years, and Mom for more than 10. I'm truly ashamed that I wasn't able to be honest with them, because I think that after a period of shock, they would have come to accept me for who I am.

I spent too much of my life being afraid of people's opinions of me, and as a result, wasted decades pretending to be who I wasn't. I bitterly regret the wasted time, and this story is, in part, my fantasy of what might have happened if I'd been honest about myself the first time the issues came to a head.

And don't worry, the story will get more cheerful. Life is a journey, and as a wise person once said, there are many risings and advancings of the spirit.

- Kim