One Word and One Year, by Karin Bishop

Part 3

Chapter 6: She Knows!

We were just teen girls browsing through teen girl magazines, showing each other fashions and articles. At one point I was showing Taylor a dress selection and she looked at me, her eyes narrowed.

“What?” I asked. “Don’t you think it’s cute?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s cute. Better for you–‘with your coloring’–but that’s not it. You’re going to have to talk with her.”

“Who, Ashley? I did say something and she didn’t recognize me.”

“No. I mean your mom. When the guys are out shooting hoops or painting the garage or doing something manly. You’ve gotta talk with her.”

“Um …”

“No ‘um’ about it. You’ve got to, Allie! You’re too … naturally a girl to go on doing the Mark thing.”

“And tear my family apart? No, thank you.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t …” she said tentatively.

“Oh, sure; of course it wouldn’t,” I said sarcastically. “Mom, Dad, Jake? I’m not your son, I’m a girl. Say, does my butt look big in this skirt?”

She gave me a wounded look. “I’m serious. I don’t want to get into it, but … your family … Mark’s family … is kinda apart already.”

I glared at her, but she went on.

“Think about it. Jake and your dad, you and your mom. You’re already in two different camps. I remember you used to do things with your dad, like when you were taking swimming lessons. But now it’s like …”

“Like he only wants to hang out with Jake,” I finished her thought. It hurt, but it was true and I had to nod. “Yeah, I already told Mom that I felt like I was an embarrassment to Dad.”

“And you’re so close to your mom! Really close, not just because your dad doesn’t do things with you anymore. I’m sorry; that just sounds really mean.”

I put my hand on Taylor’s arm and squeezed gently. “No. It’s the truth. You’re not saying it to be mean. It’s just the way it is.”

“Look at it this way,” Taylor said, glancing around and then nudging me over toward an empty corner. “If you come out to your family–I mean, the whole thing, not just play dress-up but really start living as a girl–things might not be as bad as you think. You already do girl things with your mom, and I bet there are things you’d like to do but don’t because you’re afraid the guys will think you’re a sissy.”

I nodded, amazed that Taylor had come up with that, because of something that happened only last week. Mom was doing some sewing at her machine, mending our clothes, and keeping up a running commentary on the technique. Then she was hemming a skirt of hers and held it up and gave me a strange look. I realized that she was thinking of me trying it on so she could hem it better; I kind of swallowed and thought that if Jake walked in right now I’d never live it down. I mumbled something about having to go to the bathroom and disappeared for twenty minutes. When I came back, Mom was done sewing and was balancing her checkbook. I felt terrible, but thought it was better than being called a sissy.

Or was there an alternative? I’d only been ‘a girl’ for about four hours, but it felt right, it felt natural, it felt like me. I knew that if I told Mom that I wanted to be a girl, I’d probably survive, but how could I tell Dad and my brother? Nice as they were, it seemed like to them females were kind of second-class as people, like not good enough to be male, like they’d somehow failed to have a penis. If I told them that I didn’t want my penis–because somehow I knew instantly that it was the truth–they’d never understand. They’d wonder how could I not want to be male?

Because somehow–without pondering, without soul-searching, but with absolute sudden clarity–I already knew that I didn’t.

And how strange was that? To be certain of something so life-altering so soon? I’d only been wearing a skirt for a few hours, yet I knew–to my core–that I wanted to wear one the rest of my life. Or at least be allowed to.

It wasn’t the thrill of wearing a skirt–because it wasn’t exciting–it was the thrill of not having to put up a ‘boy front’, a façade, a mask. Not having to worry about being called a sissy; not having to worry about the fact that I thought, felt, moved, and spoke like a girl.

“Earth to Allie,” Taylor said.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, and realized that she was on her cell phone telling Monica we’d be right out. I followed her to the car–we were Jake-and-Ashley-free–and we got back to her house. I realized that I’d have to call Mom anyway, because Jake now knew that Monica and her sister hadn’t gone to the movies like I’d told Mom.

Back in Taylor’s room I told her of my dilemma.

“So tell her. I mean, tell her,” Taylor said.

“Not over the phone; are you crazy?”

“Not over the phone; you’re right. In person. As soon as you can. Don’t wait for the right moment. I mean, if she’s pissed about something, like bills, no, but … you’ve gotta decide.”

“I know …” I said.

“Well, what if …” she paused and started nibbling at a thumbnail, the mark of Taylor Thinking. “What if you can spend the night and we’ll think up plans and maybe talk to her tomorrow? I mean, both of us?”

“It’s my battle, Tay, but thanks. I think it’s going to take some time. But I will call and see what’s what.”

It was too early to call; Mom’s bridge game had probably ended but there was usually coffee afterward, and one or two would stay to put away everything. So Taylor had a teen movie for us to watch, something about a girl finding out she was adopted and her natural parents are spies and, as Mom says, hilarity ensues. Taylor nuked some popcorn and we had more Pepsi and watched and giggled and everything was fine.

And then there was a knock on the door and then silence. Frowning at me with confusion–because Monica would have immediately stuck her head in and started talking–Taylor got up to answer it.

“Hi, I’m Ashley, we met tonight. Can I come in and ask you something?” said a familiar voice.

Taylor turned quickly to look at me and was shaking her head ‘no’, but I sighed and nodded. God, I was so dead …

Ashley came in and said, “Neat room. I love that mirror!” which was probably obligatory. She saw the freeze-frame on the TV and said, “I liked that movie, the one with the spy parents?” She nodded at her own statement and looked around again.

Taylor got the hint and gestured to the vanity bench and Ashley sat, perfectly poised, her legs just so and her hands folded on her lap. She was so pretty, I thought. And I was so dead.

“Um …” she began, and then chuckled nervously. “Does anybody want to tell me what’s going on?”

Taylor jumped in. “Allie and I are having a sleepover. That’s it. Oh, and we’re plotting Total World Domination.”

Ashley gave a little laugh at the line and looked at me. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

It was the strangest thing; I had been more worried about if Ashley recognized me than I was, now that she obviously did. There was a strange calmness to me. Taylor started to leap to block the question but I held up a hand and said, “Tay? I’ll explain to her. Thanks, though.” I smiled.

I had been sitting in a beanbag chair, my legs in front of me. Now I scooted up to a sitting position, keeping my knees together and my skirt down. I could be as ladylike as Ashley.

“Ashley, Taylor is my best friend in the world. My only friend, when you come down to it. I was here this afternoon and Monica came in and yelled at her for something and said ‘bye, girls’ when she left; she hadn’t really seen me.”

Taylor jumped in. “And I realized that I hadn’t really seen her. I mean,” she made a face. “I really hadn’t seen the girl inside of Mark. The real person inside. So I asked Mark, ‘do you trust me?’ and pulled out some things for him to try on.”

“Not forced, or anything,” I quickly said. “I discovered I wanted to. I wanted to know. Because …” Deep sigh. “Because it’s been bothering me for years.”

“Years,” Ashley said.

“Once it became obvious that I wasn’t Jake, Rev-Two.”

“Jake, Mark-Two,” Taylor said.

“Tay, you’re not helping!” I teased. “But she’s right. Jake, Mark-Two. But I’m a disappointment to my family, as far as that goes. “

“No, you’re not!” Ashley protested. “Your family loves you! You should hear the nice things your mom says about you, all the time!”

“My mom says them, and I don’t doubt it. Because you know Jake and Dad are always at games together, and playing ball together or shooting hoops together …”

“You could, too,” Ashley said.

I shook my head and marked things off with my fingers. “A) I’m not good at it, and B) I don’t want to, because C) I don’t feel it. I don’t get the buzz they do. And, D) I do feel good with Mom, baking or sewing or just talking. So I’d rather be with her.”

“She’s a neat lady,” Ashley smiled.

“Yes, she is, but it’s more than that. I used to think I was just a sissy–”

“Oh, that’s not …” Ashley ran out of steam.

I let the silence hold for a moment, and continued. “I used to think I was just a sissy, and I’m sure that people think I’m gay. But that’s not it.”

“She’s a girl,” Taylor said proudly.

“I’m a girl,” I said, but looked daggers at Taylor for interrupting. “Inside, in my heart, in my soul, the way I feel about the world and the way the world feels to me.”

“A girl …” Ashley said, like she’d never said the word before. “But how do you know?”

“It’s like being colorblind to green, and you go along in your life thinking that everything looked perfectly normal. Then maybe the doctors do something or you get hit in the head and suddenly you can see green. And it’s beautiful! And it’s everywhere! And of course the trees are green and not gray, and of course my mother’s eyes are green and not gray. So I can see green now, and my gray life as a boy is over.”

Taylor’s eyes widened and she gave me a smiling nod of approval at my metaphor.

Ashley, however, frowned. “Your life is over? Mark, you aren’t thinking about … suicide or anything?”

I laughed. “Ashley, it was a figure of speech! My life of thinking that I was a poor excuse of a boy is over; my life as a girl trying to come out and be recognized to the world as a girl … that’s the start of my life.”

Taylor stared at me.

I shrugged. “Pretty eloquent when I get going, huh?”

Taylor grinned and turned to Ashley. “Let me ask you this. Other than the fact that you put two and two together and have seen Mark a zillion times, was there anything about Allie that made you think she was a boy? Any pretending or anything?”

Ashley started to answer and then stopped, her mouth open. “No. No, I’ve gotta be honest. In every way, I thought you were another girl. It was only because I knew you were with Monica and her sister tonight, and then we’re at the ice cream place and there’s Monica and her sister and one other person … so that’s what made me look closer. And your eyes gave you away.”

“My eyes?” I just remembered that I had on makeup.

“You always look at Jake a certain way–I mean, Mark does. I always thought it was really sweet, like a hero worship kind of thing. So the girl I met tonight looked at my boyfriend with the same sweet eyes. And to tell you the truth, because I thought you were a girl, I was about to tell you to knock it off, you little twerp! But there was this flash of thinking ‘Mark looks at Jake like that’ and everything just clicked. But I’ve got to say that nothing gave you away other than that.”

“Well, that’s something,” I said.

“Told you that you were the real thing,” Taylor said to me.

Ashley was looking at me with that head-tilt thing again, and then grinned. “Hey, girl!”

Taylor spun on Ashley. “So you believe us! You believe her!”

She nodded. “I think I have to. It explains a lot.”

Taylor started up, “Well, yeah, because–”

I cut her off. “Wait a minute, Tay. Explains a lot of what, Ashley?”

She pursed her lips, and I thought she did even that prettily. “Well, I mentioned the way you look at Jake. It’s kind of a hero worship look for a little kid, but getting a little weird when you’re your age. As a boy, I mean. But it makes perfect sense for a little sister looking at her big brother that way. Okay, that’s one. And the way you and your mom are … I mean, like at last Thanksgiving dinner, when you were serving and clearing, and the apron?”

“Apron?” Taylor said.

I shrugged. “You work in a kitchen, you wear an apron.”

Ashley said, “I don’t know any guy that would wear an apron, outside of some macho thing at a backyard barbecue. My dad’s got a greasy thing that says ‘Grill Sergeant’ when he does those. But to wear a serious apron to do serious cooking? Maybe to make Mom happy in the kitchen, but he’d whine and complain and then take it off before anybody could see him in it. You came out with platters and served us, wearing your apron.”

“She’s got a point,” Taylor said.

“And at Christmas, I just remembered,” Ashley said, then stopped herself. “Don’t get the wrong idea, okay? I don’t spend all my time at your house looking at you. But when my family came over for presents, you were giving me these really intense looks. I thought, oh good, he’s not gay, he’s just starting to get interested in girls … but there was this weird undercurrent to it. And now I understand.”

“What was up with the intense looks and the weird undercurrent?” Taylor asked me with a straight face.

I nodded, remembering. “She had the prettiest dress. A deep royal purple, in velvet velour, I think, with white lace at the sweetheart neckline and at the cuffs, and white patterned stockings. I really thought those looked great. Plus, her hair was up and she had a sprig of baby’s breath and … what?” I stopped because of their looks.

Ashley grinned at Taylor. “Geez, if I didn’t know she was a girl before, I sure do now!”

“No kidding!” Taylor said, kind of stunned as she looked at me. “You were thinking all that, all the time, and yet you never thought that ‘gee, maybe I’m not thinking like a boy?’”

“Um … no,” I said sheepishly. “I thought everybody thought like that.”

“Jake doesn’t. Your dad doesn’t, my dad and my brother don’t … and other than flaming gay guys–which you’re not–the only people that think that way are girls.” She shrugged. “Which you are.”

I just thought of something. “Oh, God! Does Jake know?”

“About you tonight? No. He’s a guy–totally clueless.” She grinned. “And you’re right; I did look pretty good in that Christmas dress!”

I nodded, agreeing with her and relieved that my brother didn’t suspect the blonde girl was his brother.

Ashley said, “So, now what?”

Taylor laughed. “That’s just what I was asking her.”

“You’ve got to make a decision pretty soon. You’ve got to tell your family; at least your mom. Although I think she knows,” Ashley said.

I stared. “You think she … how? Why?”

“Just a … vibe around the two of you. It’s a mother and daughter vibe, easy to see, now that I know about you. But it was always a little weird.”

“There’s that ‘weird’ thing again,” Taylor said. “But I know what you mean; I’ve known Mark for … what, seven or eight years? And I guess I took our friendship for granted because I never really thought about it, but once Monica called him a girl, it was like all these doors opened in my head and sunshine poured through.”

“Always knew you had holes in your head,” I teased.

“She’s right, though,” Ashley said. “Now that I know, I can’t conceive of you as a boy. Even if you’re dressed like Mark, to me you’ll be a girl in Mark’s clothes.”

Now that was a weird thought.

Ashley went on. “You really have to tell your mom–and I think the guys, too–as soon as possible. You’re running out of time.”

“How so?” I asked.

“Yeah; we’ve got all summer,” Taylor said.

Ashley shook her head. “Couple of reasons. And I actually know what I’m talking about. First, you’re just about to start puberty–a male puberty. It might be delayed, it might be mild–but you will not be as pretty as you could be. That’s if you decide to be female.”

“No ‘decide’ about it; I feel female,” I said.

“Yeah, I figured. Okay, that’s one reason. Another is that it’s summer, no school, time to get things together, talk with your family, start with doctors, whatever. Pretty difficult during the school year. And that leads to the fact that you guys are, what, eighth graders? Thought so. So you’ll be starting high school next year. If you are going to live the rest of your life as a girl, that would be the time to start. And finally, because you’ll blow it.”

“Excuse me?” I said, shocked.

She nodded. “You’ll blow it, or she will,” she pointed to Taylor, “or any number of people. You might say the wrong thing, or walk like you did today, and somebody else will put two and two together. It might not be as friendly as we’ve been today.”

“She’s right,” Taylor said. “I mean, I’m going to have to tell Monica because she’s entitled to know, but she’s going to be pissed at me for keeping it a secret. But that just adds one more person that could accidentally blow it for you. Ashley’s right. You’ve gotta talk to your mom as soon as possible.”

I nodded, faced with their logic.

Ashley said, “If there’s anything I can do, let me know. And if you need me to talk with your mom with you, I’ll do that.”

“Me, too,” Taylor said. “You know that.”

“Thanks, both of you,” I said. “I just don’t know when–”

There was a rapid knocking and Monica walked in. “What’s going on? I wondered where you were, Ash.”

Ashley covered beautifully. “Ah, my bad. I just stopped by for a second to ask Allie about that skirt at Wet Seal, and I saw the movie they were watching, you know, with the spy parents? And we just got to chatting. Sorry.” She seemed much simpler and more of an air-head than she had while talking with us. Oddly enough, she rose even higher in my estimation because of that.

“I think the guys are finally winding down. I guess they ran out of leagues or something,” Monica grinned. “You guys just getting up whenever?”

Taylor said, “Yeah. We’re going to finish the movie and then hit it, probably.”

Ashley gave us a ‘special look’ and a smile as she followed Monica out.

Taylor let out a whoosh of air. “God, I thought she was gonna–”

“I gotta call Mom!” I suddenly remembered.

I told her about us at the mall instead of the movies, asked if it was still okay to sleep over and she said sure and would see me ‘some time tomorrow’. I asked how bridge went; she’d won so she was feeling good, and had asked Dad to bring home some ice cream. Enough with the ice cream, I thought!

Chapter 7: Sleepover

Taylor told me what to do. “All girls–all smart girls–have a beauty regimen; that’s what it’s always called, a regimen. Don’t know why it’s not a routine, or a process, or protocol …” She shrugged. “Basically, cleansing and moisturizing.”

She demonstrated, using a hair band to keep it out of her face; she applied various Noxzema and Clinique products, explaining as she did. Then she said it was my turn.

I followed her example; I was already in the habit of washing my face before bed, so it was just the moisturizer that was new. What was new was that I was wearing a hair band–and a nightie! Taylor had tossed me a pretty white lacy short one with ruffled shoulder straps and light blue trim. I had to undress, which was different–unzipping and stepping out of a skirt–but when I removed the bra, there was the strangest feeling of emptiness, of nakedness. I don’t know why, but as soon as I released the bra onto the bed, my arms flew up to cover my chest.

“Yep. You’re a girl, alright,” Taylor grinned.

I thought about that while we washed up. Already I had gotten used to the unusual sensation of having the weight of breasts on my chest–courtesy of Monica’s Little Helpers–and looking at Taylor’s breasts under her thin nightie, I suddenly realized how terrible flat-chested girls must feel among their peers. I had an excuse, of course, besides just being ‘slow to develop’, but the other odd thing was that I couldn’t get used to seeing my own tiny nipples under the nightgown. I wanted some curves there, and with a flash of certainty I realized that I did want breasts of my own. How and why that thought came with such certainty was a mystery, but I wanted breasts.

The other odd thing, come to think of it, was that I wasn’t excited by seeing Taylor’s breasts. I’d already seen them completely; when she was getting ready for bed she’d taken off her top and bra and walked across her room to the hamper, her breasts free and loose and rubbing under them where her bra had been. And I wasn’t turned on; I was startled to discover that I was jealous. I envied them, and their gentle motion as she moved. It made me swallow a lump of envy. I realized she was treating me like any other girl, and I loved her all the more for it.

The fact that I wasn’t excited by a girl’s breasts was on my mind as we got under the covers–Taylor in her bed and me on an inflatable air-bed thing–and in the dark, there was that moment of suspension, of being between worlds.

Taylor’s voice softly floated down to me. “What do you think about boys, Allie?”

Oh, God. Oh, oh, God …

“Um … I haven’t really, Tay.”

“It’s something that … well, you might want to start. Thinking about them, I mean. I’m feeling kind of guilty now; I know I asked you to trust me today, and now look at everything that’s happened to you and all the … the stuff you’ve got to think about … but …” She was still. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I mean, I understand why you said that, but … Taylor, you showed me my true self, so don’t ever be sorry for that, okay?”

Her voice was small. “Okay.”

“As complicated as my life has just gotten, it might have been a colossal train wreck if I didn’t discover this about myself until later. You know, it’s funny. I was so scared about somebody finding out about me. I thought I’d die. And when Ashley came in, it was like my worst nightmare. And it turned out to be the best thing.”

“Because she’s on your side? She’s pretty cool.”

“Yes, she is, but that’s not why. I mean, it’s great and all, but the real reason is that it wasn’t until talking with her that I really put it all together. Before it was just kind of vague and … possible but not solid. But talking with her, I suddenly and absolutely understood myself for the first time, ever.”

“I liked what you said about not seeing green.”

“I’d never thought that out; it just came out of my mouth. But I thought of something else. Kind of a Robinson Crusoe thing. All alone on that island–okay, forget Friday for a moment–but all alone, what language did Crusoe speak?”

“Huh? Well, he was an Englishman. So, English, I guess.”

“Okay. Now, other than trying to keep from going crazy–or already gone crazy–why would Crusoe speak at all?”

“I guess he wouldn’t. I mean, that Tom Hanks movie, he talked to the volley ball. Or was it a basketball?”

“Yeah, Wilson. But that was a movie so they had to have dialogue. Or monologue. Or–never mind; it’s off the point. Okay, if Crusoe spoke at all, he spoke English, because he was born in England.”

“Right.”

“What if the island was off the coast of Spain?”

“What does it matter, because he’s alone, there’s no flag, no signs or anything.”

“Yes. But understand this: Crusoe doesn’t belong on that island because he isn’t Spanish. He speaks the wrong language because he comes from England. He doesn’t know he’s on the wrong island, a … what’s that line? A stranger in a strange land? But he doesn’t belong.”

“Okay, it’s late, I’m sleepy, you’re sleepy. But if I understand you, you’re … let me use the names. Okay, Mark is an Englishman all alone on an island. Until it’s proven otherwise, he thinks everybody speaks the language he does because that’s all he knows. But then somehow he discovers that he’s in a foreign country that doesn’t speak English.”

“Pretty much it. So, assuming he can’t get off the island, and is going to be there for the rest of his life, what can he do?”

“I guess all he could do–assuming some contact with the citizens of the island, the parent country–would be to learn Spanish and become a Spanish citizen. Otherwise he’s going to be miserable. Pretty obvious where you’re going with this, Allie.”

“Is it? I thought it was marvelously literate,” I teased.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But you didn’t think about this. A baby floats onto a deserted island, kind of like a Moses-in-the-bulrushes thing. Baby’s smart enough to survive, learns what fruit to eat and all that, and is growing up. The only thing on the island is an old wrestling magazine that washed up.”

“A wrestling magazine? Really?” I snorted.

“Hey, you’re so literate and you killed off Friday! I can have a wrestling magazine! Shut up.”

“Shutting up. Yes, ma’am.”

“So the child sees nobody else but the dudes in the magazine, all bronzed and oily and hugely developed. And as the child grows, it becomes obvious that there ain’t no way the child will grow up to look like the wrestlers. The child is small and thin and delicate and can get tanned, sure, and oiled, yeah, but no muscle bulk is ever going to happen.”

“Okay, obvious time. The child is–”

“Not done! Alright, obvious or not, the child is thirteen years old and finally a boat sees the island and maybe smoke from a fire and comes to rescue the child and guess what? They’re all from Amazonia, all women, and they tell the girl child that she’s a girl, but all she’s known is trying to be a wrestler, which is never going to happen.”

“I like it. I’m never going to be a wrestler.”

“Exactly. So stop oiling up, get out of the ring, and put on a damned dress.”

I giggled at the image. Robinson Crusoe and wrestling? We were getting pretty sleepy!

There was silence for a moment. Then her voice floated to me … “So … what about boys?”

I’d been starting to doze and I snapped awake. I treated the question much more seriously this time. “I don’t know, Tay. I mean, yeah, there were some cute guys in our school, but I never–”

“Ah-ha! ‘Cute guys’, she says! Alright, girlfriend, spill! Which cute guys?” Oh, now she was awake!

I swallowed. “You gotta understand this is really difficult? And I’ve never thought it before?”

“I know that, babe, but just go with your instincts. Let it flow. I bet you’ll surprise yourself. So, which cute guys?”

“You first.”

“Argh! You’re making me mental! Alright. Um … Tommy Bledsoe. Jake Martin. Ryan Daniels.”

“You think Jake’s cute?”

“Yeah! You don’t?”

“Okay if you like kinda dumb ones.”

“Well, missy, who’s smarter and better looking? Because Jake is a hottie!”

“Yeah, he is. But Dan Curtis is better looking and smarter.”

“I was getting to Dan.”

“Half the girls in class are trying to get to Dan.”

“I know! And that Jennifer Shaughnessy thinks she’s got him! Geez. So, who else?”

“You’re right about Ryan. Tommy doesn’t do it for me. Um … oh, Kyle Arm, Amburst, something like that.”

“I know the guy you mean. I think it’s Armbruster. New kid, tall and dark curly?”

“Yeah.”

“And the hair on his head is dark and curly, too!”

“Taylor! God!” I blushed in the dark.

She giggled. “Who else?”

“That guy that got hurt in football and they transferred him out? Derek Howell.”

“Oh, God, he was incredible! What happened to him?”

“His leg was fractured and during the rehab his dad got transferred. But he was … omigod!”

“What?”

“This is embarrassing, but everything is with you, Taylor.”

“That’s my job.”

“I just got all warm and kind of squishy inside thinking about Derek. Oh, God. I think I know what you mean …”

“Yep. You’re a girl, alright!”

Even in the dark, I could hear the smile in her voice.

End of Part 3