Chapter 8: Challenges

Two days later, Karen was pleased to see an email message from Mark’s mother. It was warm and friendly. It was not written in the typical email shorthand, but as a personal note:

My dear Karen,

I know you must be dying for word about Mark. First of all, he’ll be in the hospital for several more days while they run tests. It’s expected then that he’ll be moved to a rehab facility, which Mark’s father and I had inspected and found to be first-rate.

He received your letter, and to be honest with you, I don’t think he read it. He wouldn’t tell me that he did, saying only that he’ll read it when he feels like it. All he said to me was to tell you to forget about him. “I’m not worth her time,” he said; I remember those words exactly, because he started crying right after he said them, and buried his face in the pillow.

I’ve never seen Mark like this, Karen. He’s always been so upbeat, but I guess it’s natural for him to be discouraged.

I can’t tell you to continue writing your letters since right now I’m not sure he’ll read them. Do as you wish, but I think it’s important that those of us who care for him need to try to reach out to him to let him know he’s not forgotten.

You’re a sweet girl, Karen. Mark always said you were special and even though you’re not the genetic girl his mother and father might have wished for him, you’re warm, kind and caring. None of us could have wished for more.

Love, Patti Hamilton

Oh how Karen cried after reading that email message, collapsing onto her bed and burying her head into her pillow. She wanted to hop the next bus to Milwaukee and rush into his hospital room and climb up next to him to place her slender, soft body next to his hard, muscular body, and become engulfed in his loving arms. She wanted to cover him with kisses and caresses. She wanted to massage his legs — still useless and growing weaker — in the fervent hope that her loving hands would revive them into their once sturdy life.

Her sobs slowly lost their intensity as she realized that Mark’s legs might never again be his to command. Yet, that reality didn’t stifle or lessen her desire to be with him and to live her life with him. Was that too much to ask for?

*****
Later that night, after she showered, put her hair up and stepped into her cotton pajamas (light blue with yellow and pink bunnies) she sat down at her desk and wrote her second note:

Dear Mark,

I hope the nurses and doctors are treating you OK! I know how pretty some of those nurses can be so don’t get too friendly with them or else I will get jealous (he! he!).

I started my job in the Drama Department and I love it. I work directly with an older woman named Debbie and she’s so nice and helpful. I love feeling like an “office girl.” So far the campus is quiet, since the next semester doesn’t begin for another ten days.

The only drawback is that I have to walk a mile to work and the campus buses aren’t running until the students return. And it’s soooo cold. You can imagine how I bundle up. (Brrrr!) But I know that if you and I were doing the walk together, I’d never feel the cold. (Hmmmmm!)

Anyway, I’ll be writing you several times a week. If you don’t want to read my letters, it’s OK. It makes me feel good to write you.

As ever, Karen

She had an exquisite dream that night. It was a cold day, and she and Mark were sitting together on a toboggan, she in front and leaning back into him. The hill was long and the toboggan course curved this way and that and as the two swept down the hill, Karen felt a chill as they approached a tree. As disaster was about to hit, Mark moved his body and the swift-moving toboggan swerved to miss the tree. And this happened over and over. A moment of terror followed by a sense of relief and joy! Suddenly she was awake, covered with sweat and a foreboding fear. But the fear seemed pointless; the trees were passed safely and Karen was safe in her bed. She should have felt comforted, but she wasn’t. She felt so alone!

*****
A week later, just as students began returning to the campus for the start of the semester in several days, Debbie and Karen worked quietly in the office, deeply wrapped into their computers when Professor Fenstrom asked Karen to come to his office. It was the first time he had asked her to enter his office since her statement that she wished their relationship to remain professional.

“Sit down,” he said coldly.

“Yes sir,” she said, careful not to cross her legs, since that day she had decided to wear a knee-length pleated plaid skirt. She wore black, heavy tights as protection against the cold, but she realized as she walked down the halls that some of the men sneaked glances at her, indicating that her legs must have aroused their male hormones.

Karen sat primly, her stenographer’s tablet poised on her lap.

“Miss Hansson, I’d like you to draft a letter for me,” he began.

“Yes, sir.”

“Each year about this time, we send a letter out for several hundred persons who are on our donors list, and I’d like to see a letter, no more than two pages long, that will compel these folks to cough up a few dollars,” he said. He did not look directly at Karen, his eyes seeming to be focused on the Tony award he got several years earlier for a role on Broadway. The trophy was seated prominently on a shelf behind Karen’s head, in a location where the professor could readily view it.

“And you want me to write it?” Karen asked. “I’ve never done anything like that before, sir,”

“Well, you’re a creative young lady, I know, and I’ve seen some of your writing, and unlike so many of my students you can at least construct a complete sentence with a verb and a noun,” Fenstrom said.

“I guess I was always good in English, sir,” she said, continuing the practice of addressing the professor in a formal manner.

“Well, see what you come up with and put it on my desk by 4:30 this afternoon,” he said, his voice crisp and flat. “Do you think you can handle that?”

Karen nodded, then asked: “Sir, can I see what you’ve written in the past?”

“No, you can’t. Just use your imagination. I know you’re good with words.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“What else would there be? Get out now.”

She was shocked at the coldness of his voice; it had been apparent in the days following her firm statement that she wanted their relationship to be nothing more than that of an employer to employee and that he had reverted into a pouty, almost resentful mode in his meetings with her. Thankfully, their contacts were few and far between, with Debbie directing Karen on her duties for the most part. The professor spent little time in the office, though the two women were kept busy tending to the day-to-day business of assisting a dozen professors, assistants and instructors of the department, plus a growing number of visits and inquiries by students, both by phone and by email.

Karen realized, too, that she loved being a part of the work of the drama department. She found out as well that the work of an “office girl” was critically important in the smooth functioning of any enterprise, whether it was a university department or a business. Not only Fenstrom, but all of the teaching staff relied upon Debbie — and even Karen to a growing extent — to answer questions about expense reports, university regulations, important contact persons and other matters.

Returning to her desk, Karen wondered what was in the professor’s mind. How could she possibly come up with something that would please him? Surely, she’d fail in satisfying him, giving him an excuse to fire her, and return her to the work-study pool for another job elsewhere, if there was even one still available. Why didn’t he give her a hint of what he wanted?

She had been through possibly a dozen opening paragraphs, only to discard them all, and was becoming more and more frustrated. She suddenly realized she had begun biting strands of her hair in desperation, a practice she had adopted when she was troubled or worried.

“You need a break,” Debbie said, interrupting her intense thoughts.

“What?” Karen said, as if being awakened from a dream.

“I can see you need a break,” Debbie said. “I’m going to get a coffee. You want a cup, too?

“Oh? That would be nice,” Karen said. “But I think I’ll have tea.”

Fenstrom was gone from the office, having stated that he’d return about four. As was permitted under Debbie’s union contract, she was permitted a 15-minute coffee break in the afternoon. The voice mail would pick up any calls; they put a sign on the door, “Back at 3:15,” and the two went down to the second floor employee lounge.

“I see you’re having problems with that letter, Karen,” Debbie said.

“Yes, he gave me no clue as to what he wanted, and I don’t know where to start, and he wants it on his desk at 4:30.”

“Sounds like him, always likes to make what seem impossible demands on his staff,” Debbie said.

“I could see that in the way he directed plays, too, but for some reason it seems to work,” Karen said.

“He does manage to get the best out of people, even when he’s acting like a bastard,” Debbie said. Karen was shocked; it was the first time she’d ever heard Debbie say anything remotely critical of her employer.

The comment put Karen at ease with her co-worker; perhaps, she felt, she could open up to Debbie about her own thoughts and ideas. Debbie had been so close-mouthed about her own life, her family and her own feelings that Karen wondered sometimes if the woman had any personal life at all.

“I just wished I had a sample of what was written in past letters,” she said, hoping Debbie might volunteer to show her one of the past letters which likely were still in the files somewhere.

“No, Karen, I think he wants you to use your own thoughts, your own ideas,” Debbie said. “He wants something fresh, and you should be flattered he’s giving you that chance.”

“You don’t think he wants me to fail so he can fire me?”

“No, honey, not at all, and don’t let that remote way he’s been with you fool you. He adores you and he really thinks you’ve got talent.”

“Oh? He doesn’t show it.”

“Oh, forget how he is now. That’s his way,” Debbie said. “I know what you told him on the first day. And you were right, dear.”

“You know that?”

“Well, not directly, but I know Fenstrom,” she said. “It’s apparent that you told him to keep his distance, right?”

Karen nodded.

“Every year, Fenstrom brings on some young honey for this work-study position, and they’re usually pretty hot-looking creatures, too. Most want acting careers, you know, and he uses that to try to get into their panties, the old letch.”

“Oh? What does his wife say about all this?”

“She could care less, dear. They have had a professional marriage and I think any real love they had for each other went out the window when the first young girl walked into his life after the wedding.”

“That’s so sad,” Karen said. “They’re always portrayed as having such a perfect marriage.”

“But, Karen, Professor Fenstrom values talent, and you’ve got it, so forget his habits and take advantage of the opportunities he may throw your way. And keep him at arm’s length.”

Karen smiled at Debbie, realizing that she had found a new friend; though she wondered what made Debbie tick. She rarely had opened up quite as much as she did during the break time.

“Thank you, Debbie,” Karen said. “That was helpful, now I’d better get back and finish up that letter. I don’t want to disappoint the good professor.”

Debbie smiled.

As they walked back, Debbie stopped suddenly, placing a hand on Karen’s arm to stop her, too.

“I got a thought for you,” she began. “Why not write about the student actors who are helped by the donations and the theater program? You already understand that, I’m sure. That’ll be something different.”

“Yes, Debbie, that sounds like a good idea. Thanks.”

Karen charged back to her computer, eager to compose the letter. Once she started the words flowed like a waterfall and she completed the draft by 4 p.m., giving her plenty of time to edit it carefully, assuring the grammar and spelling was accurate.

“You think you’ve got something, dear?” Debbie asked.

“I think so, yes. Care to check it over for me?”

“I’d rather not, since I want this to be totally your letter.”

“Please, Debbie, just read it to assure I haven’t made any dumb errors.”

Debbie finally agreed to read it, but said she’d make no comment on the content or the format itself; all she’d look for would be obvious errors. She gave it five minutes of intense attention, then handed it back to Karen with a warm smile.

“Just one thing, Karen,” she said. “Officially it’s called the ‘University Players,’ not the ‘University Theatre.’”

“Thanks, Debbie, I’ll change that. Did you like it?”

“That’s not for me to say. Fenstrom’s the person you need to please.”

Fenstrom breezed into the office at precisely 4:30 p.m. Without so much as a hello to either of them, he went directly to Karen’s desk and said in a firm, commanding voice.

“Gimme that letter, Miss Hansson.”

“Here you are, sir,” she said, handing him the two-page letter.

“Done already?”

“Yes sir.”

“Damn,” he said, as if displeased with the fact that Karen had completed. “Don’t leave until I’ve talked to you.”

“Sir, I have to leave at 5 p.m.,” she said firmly.

“What?” he said, obviously affronted.

“I need to catch the bus,” she said.

“Oh, all right,” he said, bounding into his room and slamming the door behind him.

Debbie seemed to suppress and tiny giggle. “You’re driving him nuts, Karen,” she said quietly. “He’s never had anyone stand up to him like that before.”

Karen nodded. “I’m not trying to fight him, Debbie, it’s just that us girls need to stand up for ourselves.”

“Amen,” Debbie said.

*****
Karen was in despair that night, partly because of the aftermath of her courageous stand against Fenstrom. Despite Debbie’s praise of Karen’s response to the professor, she was still shocked at the degree to which she had found the fortitude to refuse to work after 5 p.m. She shivered at the thought of it; she had never thought of herself as courageous and felt she was more of a coward than anything else. She wondered, too, if she might find herself without a job as a result. Certainly, she must have blown any chance she had of getting a part in the spring play.

Her despair was deepened, too, by the fact that Mark had yet to respond to any of her letters; not even a short email with a “hi” came from him. Certainly he must have access to email; hospitals these days were wired thoroughly for such communications.

Daphne consoled her that night at supper, saying that she understood Mark’s feelings; during her football playing days, she had been badly injured and faced the prospect of missing the last three games of the season. It had caused her deep depression, she said, and she even didn’t want to see her mother or her sisters.

“Besides he loves you, darling, I’m sure,” the big girl said, her round pink face showing concern. “He wants you to live a full, happy life, and right now he’s thinking the worst. Give him time.”

“Maybe you’re right, Daphne, but I can’t help thinking he’s finally realized I could never be a real wife for him, even if he did recover,” Karen said, bursting into tears.

“You’re wrong there, Karen,” Daphne said. “From what I can see you’d be a great wife.”

“I . . . want to . . . be that . . . Daphne,” she said, sobbing.

Daphne let the girl cry for a short while and then arose from her seat: “Let’s get these dishes done and the kitchen cleaned up, Karen.”

Her voice was stern and demanding, prompting Karen to stop her tears. She wiped her eyes and took the dirty plates to the sink to be washed. As the two young women cleaned up, they chatted about the weather, Karen’s response to Fenstrom and a discussion as to when the rest of the girls would be returning to begin the next semester. The conversation and activity took Karen out of her torpor, at least for a few moments.

Patti Hamilton called Karen that evening, well after 9 p.m.

“I hope it’s not too late for you, Karen,” she said.

“No this is fine. I’m up ‘til nearly eleven at night.”

“Good.”

“How’s Mark doing?”

“Well that’s what I wanted to tell you, dear,” Patti said.

Karen listened closely, trying to detect from the tone of Mrs. Hamilton’s voice whether the news was good or bad.

“He’s been moved to a rehab center to see if they can restore any feeling to his legs. That’s good news, since it means they’ve ruled out any damage to his brain or his upper body nerve structure. And he’s out of any danger of blood clots, as far as they can tell.”

“Oh, that’s good news, Patti. I’m so thrilled,” Karen said, her voice showing her joy.

“There’s still hope that he’ll be able to walk sometime in the future, dear,” Patti said, her voice showing a bit a caution. “He still feels nothing below the hips and that frankly worries us.”

“Poor Mark,” Karen said, her momentary joy suddenly ended.

“I want to be very honest with you, Karen. The odds are slim that he’ll ever walk again.”

Karen sobbed. She said nothing, not sure what she could say to Patti Hamilton, whose own grief must be as deep as her own. Certainly, a mother who saw her once vibrant, lively son headed toward the life of a cripple would be devastated. Patti, however, was obviously a strong women realizing that if she showed fortitude it would help not only her son’s attitudes, but also those of the rest of her family and Karen.

“Karen, you must be strong, dear,” Patti said finally, breaking the silence.

“I know, ma’am and I will be. It’s just such a shock. I can’t stand to see him like this, but Mark’s a strong boy, Patti, and I’m sure he’ll make the best of whatever is ahead for him.”

“That’s the spirit, Karen, and I agree with you.”

“Has he read any of my letters, Patti?”

“I don’t know, but thank you for writing him. You’ve been writing something every day, right?”

Karen smiled to herself. “Yes, I have. Fortunately I have time now before school starts, since I don’t have any homework. Just work during the day, and there’s only two of us here in the house so it’s quiet. I love writing him.”

“That’s sweet, honey. I asked Mark yesterday if he’d read your letters and he barked back at me telling it was none of my business.”

“Do you think I should stop writing? Is it causing him to be sad?”

“No, as long as you’re not getting writer’s cramp,” she said.

For some reason, Karen found that funny, and she let out a tiny giggle.

“It is slow writing by hand, Patti, but it feels so much more personal. I almost want to put on a Victorian style dress and write by candlelight with a quill pen on perfumed paper as girls did in the olden days.”

Patti let out a short giggle, too. “Oh Karen, that’s so sweet.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, I love him so much.”

“I know you do and I think he loves you just as strongly, but he truly doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. Give him an extra sweet hug and kiss for me, and you don’t have to tell him it’s from me, but I’ll know he’ll feel it.”

“I will, dear Karen. I will. And you get a good night’s sleep now. We all love you, Karen.”

*****
Karen’s walk to work the next morning was in weather that felt almost balmy; yet the clock at the Capitol Bank read +17 (17 degrees above zero, Fahrenheit), still not warm by anyone’s calculations, but certainly a break from the constant below zero readings that had been standard since she had returned to the campus. The two flags on the pole in front of the bank hung limply, signifying there was little wind.

The sun was poking through clouds in the eastern sky, brightening up the day considerably. Karen’s spirits soared in spite of the apprehension over whether her boldness with Professor Fenstrom meant she was headed for greater confrontations with the famed actor and theater professor, perhaps even being fired from her job. Also, Mark’s fate and his rejection of her was a constant upon her mind.

She smiled at the concern that Daphne had shown her last night, the warm telephone conversation she had with Patti Hamilton, her growing friendship with Debbie as well as the love of her mother and brother. Karen realized she had gained so many friends, and they would soon be returning to the campus; her lovely and petite roommate, Rami, was due back in a day, and Jenny with her gaggle of girlfriends would likely be not far behind. Karen hadn’t realized it until just that moment as she walked in the quiet of the University campus morning that she was the most fortunate girl in the world!

She wanted to skip along the last few blocks to work, an impulse that she wisely stifled, realizing skipping would likely mean slipping on the frequent ice patches and falling flat upon her behind. Karen took no time to analyze the reasons for her good feelings; it was time to enjoy them. Such a change from her dour, sour life as Kenny!

*****
Debbie, too, must have been feeling great that morning, since she greeted Karen with a cheery “hi” as the girl entered the office right on the dot of nine o’clock.

“The second hand split the ‘12’ smack dab in the middle just as you walked in the door,” Debbie laughed. “One second later and I was going to report you to the good professor.”

“I’m strictly a nine-to-five girl,” Karen said, giving her co-worker a playful finger gesture.

Karen loved the teasing repartee she and Debbie had begun to practice, a sure sign that both respected the other.

“I got your donation letter from his majesty here,” Debbie said, once Karen had settled into her chair.

Karen’s heart sank; she knew she had taken a chance by writing the letter in the manner she did, but she felt that nonetheless her approach had been not only different but also effective. Debbie’s face showed no sign of whether the professor liked it or not and Karen feared the worst. To be rejected by the professor seemed almost unfair.

“Here, take a look at it,” Debbie said, handing her the two sheets of paper.

Karen took it and settled into her seat, hesitating to look at the papers, concerned it would be covered with red marks and nasty comments from the professor who was capable of the most snarky comments when he criticized anyone, whether if be the actors he was directly, the stage managers or the university administration.

Karen finally gazed upon the first page; she saw no red marks, none. As far as she could determine, the wording was just as she had written and given to him. Finally, she looked at the second page and saw two words encircled in red, “university players.” On the margin, a red squiggly note read: “capitalize the u and the p.” That was all!

Puzzled, she looked at Debbie.

The other woman smiled. “He must have liked it, Karen,” she said.

“Did he say he liked it?” Karen asked eagerly.

“Not in so many words. He’ll never give anyone any real praise, but if he doesn’t criticize your work then you know you did Ok in his mind.”

“Oh, I remember when he directed from last year’s play that he rarely said someone’s performance was good. If a scene went well, all he said was to let’s start the next scene.”

Debbie smiled: “That’s him. I’ve been with him all of his eight years here and I don’t recall he ever said ‘good job’ to me, but he’s always made sure I got good job evaluation ratings and has fought to keep me at the top rate in pay in my job. I can’t quarrel with that.”

Karen nodded her head. “Well, to be fair,” she said. “He did praise my acting and did tell me how valuable I would be to him if I took this work-study job. Of course, he was trying to persuade me to take the job then.”

“Whatever Fenstrom wants, Fenstrom gets, it seems,” Debbie said.

“Hmmmmm!” Karen worried about that, particularly if Fenstrom’s real goal was to seduce her all along. Time would tell, but Karen vowed to be ready for his advances, however and whenever they may come.

*****
By 5 p.m. in January on this university campus in the northern U. S. A., you might on a clear day view a sliver of light in the southwestern sky from the already retreated sun. Even though the temperatures continued frigid and the wind biting in its impact, Karen’s spirits were brightened by the faint hint that warmer weather and more sunshine was returning to the area.

She entered the front door of Susan’s Place, and was struck by the pleasant odor of Daphne’s baking exploits of the day. Coupled with the warmth of the place (a warmth only relative to the outside air since the economics of heating an old house called for the thermostat to be set at 68), Karen had an immediate feeling of coziness. As she took off her boots and coat, she realized that perhaps a girl would benefit from learning how to bake from Daphne. Even though Karen had become a good cook and passable baker in her own home as a teenager, she knew that Daphne had an unusual talent for baking.

She found herself day-dreaming about some day in the future in a kitchen, her hair pinned up with an apron covering the cute skirt and blouse she had put on to greet her husband (Mark Hamilton, of course) as he returned home at the end of a workday.

“You’re home, Karen?” yelled Daphne from the kitchen, interrupting her musings.

Jarred out of her lovely dream sequence, she yelled out, “ Yes, Daphne, what is that marvelous smell?”

“My sinful apple turnovers, dear,” Daphne giggled. “Baked them for you and Rami. Both you girls need some fat on your lovely bodies.”

“If I hang around here much longer and you keep baking, I’m sure I’ll be named Calorie Karen,” Karen said.

“Rami got back this afternoon, and she’s anxious to see you, dear,” Daphne said.

“Great,” Karen said and bounded up the stairs to greet her friend and roommate, Ramini Verma.

The two girls hugged each other intensely and Karen was struck by the almost desperate hold employed by her tiny friend; she sensed the girl’s body beginning to shake and realized Ramini was sobbing silently as she buried her head into the area just above Karen’s budding breasts.

“What’s the matter, Rami?” Karen said, trying to comfort the other girl, who clung onto her, seemingly for dear life.

“I’ve missed you so much Karen,” she said, her voice breaking up as she spoke.

“Me too,” Karen said. “But why are you so sad? Why are you crying so?”

The two finally separated and sat down on the old love seat that was typical of the furnishings in Susan’s Place that came from rummage sales, second hand stores and perhaps even junk piles. Karen held the other’s hand, a hand so dainty and soft that made even Karen’s hands look large.

Ramini stilled her tears and began: “I’ll have to move out of here. My father’s put his foot down; I’m supposed to live as a boy again, or else he’ll cut me off from the family and he’ll no longer pay for my schooling. Oh, Karen, what’s to happen to me?”

“What? I thought he and your mother accepted your transition?”

“Mother has, but you must remember in an Indian house, father is king,” Ramini said. “And I guess my father’s Indian friends found out about me and urged him to act like a real Indian man and take command of the house again. He was shamed into rejecting Ramini.”

“Oh, you poor girl,” Karen said.

“He’ll pay for one more semester on the condition I remain a boy and move back into the dorms as a boy by next week. He’s already got a place for me there. If I don’t quit this nonsense, as he calls me being a girl, I’ll be banished from the family. What’ll I do, Karen?”

Ramini began crying again and Karen held the sobbing girl in his arms. She knew that Ramini could never live again as a boy. Something had to be done to rescue this poor girl, Karen realized. But what?

*****
Sonja Peterson, the house manager at Susan’s Place and Daphne both joined Karen and Ramini to discuss Ramini’s situation.

“There’s no way that girl can go back into a boy’s dormitory again,” Karen said. “Those monsters will just eat her alive.”

“How do you know that?” Daphne said. “I never experienced that.”

Sonja laughed out loud: “Damn, Daphne, who would ever dare take you on?”

It brought out giggles from all four of them; as a football player, Daphne had been known for not only her size, but her athleticism and strength.

“Seriously,” Karen said. “I was beat up and nearly raped when I was in there, and Rami is even more vulnerable than I was. She just can’t return to the dorms.”

Rami had dried her tears, seeming to begin to look at her situation with less emotion.

“I just know I can’t stay here, and my dad will only pay for my tuition this semester and room and board if I go back into the boy’s dorms,” she said. “I can do it. I’ll survive.”

“You can’t do that, dear,” Karen said.

“What choice do I have?”

Sonja agreed. “She can’t stay here. The foundation that runs Susan’s Place can’t afford to provide free rent. We run on a shoestring now. And, we have a waiting list of other girls who want to be here.”

Rami looked at Sonja: “I’m not looking for charity.”

“Don’t you have a week before you have to move, Rami?” Karen asked.

She nodded.

“Well, let’s think about this and let’s do some checking. Maybe something will turn up,” Karen said.

The four agreed that was a good idea.

“Now, let’s celebrate our friendships,” Daphne said.

They toasted each other by raising their tea cups, filled with sweet-smelling herbal liquids. It was a totally girlish moment. Even Ramini smiled.

*****
Karen sat at her computer and watched Ramini, now curled up on her narrow bed, her head buried into her pillow. She was sobbing again, her tiny, fragile body shaking with her tears. She looked so helpless. She had wrapped her sari about her, but it failed to cover all of her body and Karen got an extra blanket she kept for warmth and carried it to Ramini’s side, gently placing it over her. Karen sat in a narrow space, next to Ramini, and placed her hand gently on the other girl’s shoulders, leaning over to kiss her gently. She followed that by gingerly running a tissue over the girl’s face, trying to dry her tears.

The scene was frozen for several minutes, a tableau of two pretty girls, one whose white Nordic hands contrasted with the dark bronze smooth face of the other.

“I’ve been spoiled all my life, Karen,” Ramini said finally, sitting up and looking at the other girl. “I never had even one job. Always lived off my father. It’s the way with upper class Indian families like mine.”

Karen moved tightly against the other girl, placing an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s not your fault, Rami. It’s how you were raised, but you’re smart and I think you got guts, honey.”

“I know, but what can I possibly do? I can’t go back to being a boy . . .I just can’t.”

Ramini started to sob again.

“Now, stop that crying, Rami,” Karen said, her voice becoming stern. “It won’t do any good.”

Ramini grabbed a tissue from a box and rubbed her eyes. “I know. I’ll settle down, it’s just that I feel so helpless.”

“Well, you’ve got me, at least, and I know Daphne will help too. And, more importantly, you are a strong girl. I know you are.”

Ramini looked at Karen, her eyes still moist with tears. “I love you, Karen. Can I be your sister?”

Karen smiled at the girl. “Rami. We are sisters.”

They hugged and soon were cuddled together on the bed. Even though it was not yet 10 o’clock, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, sisters together. Karen awoke, shivering and glanced over to the digital clock that said “2:11.” They had slept together for more than four hours. She got up, gently covered Ramini, kissed her lightly on the forehead (as you would a young child), turned off the light and prepared herself for the rest of the night’s sleep in her nightie in her own bed.