Our State Fair, by Karin Bishop

Part 7

The next day they all found out just how complicated Terry was. The three Wilcoxes drove up early; when they arrived Terry had just taken a shower and Mom had brought a change of clothes. Then, Dad and Alice sat in the room while Mom brushed Terry’s hair and added some makeup and jewelry. Finally they left the room and went to the nurses’ station, as agreed, and then were led to a conference room and supplied with water and coffee.

Doctors and suits filed in. Mom noticed they either stared at Terry and Alice–but more at Terry–or they sort of averted their eyes. She wondered which doctor was the one that Alice had overheard making snide remarks; Alice must have read her mind because she leaned over and murmured, “Second from the left, thinning hair. That’s the jerk.” Mom could feel Dad tense up; she put her hand on his leg to calm him.

The conference ran pretty smoothly, considering how many were involved. Test results were in, consultations had been concluded, and now was the time for information and then decisions. Mom knew that it was because of AGM’s involvement that things moved so quickly, but she grudgingly accepted this deal with the devil if it would help her children.

It was rather startling that there was no beating about the bush, no safe words like ‘alleged’ or ‘possible’. It was stated right up front: AGM had run an experiment, initially thought to be completely safe and even beneficial, that had unforeseen long-term effects on the population, and was now making amends to those affected. As Betsy had said weeks ago, the Wilcox children and others were poisoned in the womb. The only thing that could be said in AGM’s defense was that their experimental substances had cleared extensive testing ….it was just that nobody ever tested on pregnant women; to do so was unethical. It left a gaping hole in evaluating the true nature of new drugs and chemicals.

The chemicals tested were designed to give each type of produce a better survival rate, and to increase the growth rate and yield. ‘More bang for the farmer’s buck’ was the way somebody said with a chuckle. The problem of the pregnancies was not discovered in the first year, of course; Betsy had mentioned that the effects had first been noticed in children under ten during their yearly school physicals–in very mild forms, but still noticeable by pediatricians because of the relatively small, close community. Primarily the effects had been societal, with aggressive tomboys and a much-higher-than-average percentage of sissies. There had been enough masculinized females and feminized males whose blood and urine showed unusual chemical traces that doctors had compared notes and the investigation began.

The reason there had not been a wider knowledge of the contamination was due to embarrassment and fear of ridicule, so the affected families had not compared notes. Some were paid off by AGM but some had moved out of the area, in disgrace, before the true cause was discovered. What happened to those children and families was anybody’s guess; there had been an effort to track them down. AGM probably hoped they’d caught everybody affected. But the Mackenzie produce was big, abundant, and cheap, and word had spread and there was no information on how many families were affected long-term but it had to be dozens. Thanks to Betsy’s contacts with the Farm Bureau–and the media contacts she’d called–the Wilcox family were the first to come forward although others had in the meantime, the first of the ‘second wave’, the contaminated pregnancies.

The general explanation was that the chemicals, collectively, either simulated naturally-occurring hormones or artificially stimulated the embryo to begin manufacturing hormones and enzymes that hadn’t been contributed by the parents’ genes and weren’t part of a natural development.

They began by discussing Alice, both because she was first-born and least affected. There was a recap of the ‘train track’ analogy, and then Dr. Benson, the woman who had spoken with Alice, continued.

“Alice is genetically female. XX. If the embryonic development had not been interfered with, she might have been a typical female, well within statistical norms for height, weight, and so on. And she would, most likely, have been a happy, heterosexual girl.” She looked at Alice. “I’m sorry, Al; I know you don’t like hearing this, but you probably would have been into Barbies and wearing pretty dresses.”

“Not necessarily, but I get your point, Dr. Benson,” Alice nodded. “Is there any indication that I would be this size? I mean, if I was unaffected and still playing with Barbies and all that?”

“We can’t say for sure, but your family has average growth statistics on both sides for several generations, based on the information your parents provided. You might have been the odd girl that becomes a professional basketball player, but in comparison to females in your family, I’d say you’d have been 5'5" or so.” Her eyes went to Terry and back to Alice.

“But you were affected, and it’s pretty clear how. Your MRI shows complete female genitalia and internal organs; your menstruation is within norms although I understand your last two have been difficult. Breast development was normal. But skeletal and muscular growth was stimulated, and your metabolism is much closer to a male’s. You eat like a guy and put on muscles like a guy.” She grinned.

“But with boobs and periods,” Alice said, watching the doctors shift uncomfortably. “And my mind?”

Another doctor spoke up. “As we discussed with you yesterday, it’s not completely proven but there is a substantial body of evidence that transgender individuals have brain chemistry similar or identical to the brain chemistry of their identified sex. That means–”

“We actually understand what it means, doctor, thank you,” Mom said.

Dad spoke up for the first time. “So you’re saying Alice and Terry are transgender? Transsexuals?”

The doctor held his hands up, palms out. “Yes and no and no and I know that that’s an aggravating answer but don’t bite my head off until I explain. First of all, leave Terry out of things for now; we’re just discussing Alice. Each of your children has similar causes but also very different circumstances.”

“Right. Sorry. Go on,” Dad nodded, but anybody could tell he was still miffed.

“If we posit for a moment that an individual possessing opposite-gender identity is by our definition transgender, then Alice falls within those guidelines. It’s entirely possible that if Mrs. Wilcox had never ingested Mackenzie produce, that Alice might be transgender. Now, Mr. Wilcox, I can see you getting a full head of steam going. Hear me out: If the only thing that indicated opposite-gender identity was Alice’s thoughts and feelings, that would have been a valid statement. But we know Mrs. Wilcox was exposed, we know that Alice’s development and growth and brain chemistry is not within norms for the Wilcox family, and we know absolutely that Terry was affected. Therefore, it renders any other suppositions moot. Compounds from AGM corrupted the gestation of Alice and Terry.”

One of the doctors said, “Could we not use the word ‘corrupted’ and instead just say ‘affected’?”

Alice leaned over to Mom and whispered, “He’s gotta be an AGM guy.” Mom nodded.

The first doctor said, “Corrupted, affected, altered, interfered with …semantic terms aside, we are talking about AGM accepting culpability?”

The doctors had a stare-down and the second doctor nodded and held his hands up and then crossed them over his chest.

Mom cleared her throat. “Okay. That’s what was done to her; what’s to be done for her?” To Alice, she murmured, “Sorry about ‘her’.”

“S’okay, Mom; I get it,” Alice whispered back.

The doctors then laid out the same three operations that Alice had talked about, and with her approaching her eighteenth birthday, it ‘rendered moot’–the doctors seemed to love that phrase–any problems with Alice obtaining the surgeries.

Dr. Benson said, “The only questions, really, are do you want them done one, two, three, or in combination; and when do you want to start?”

“How about all of them, and this afternoon?” Alice chuckled, to general laughter.

The discussion switched abruptly to Terry.

“Alice and Terry have a fundamental similarity in the root cause,” Dr. Benson said, “But from then on, it’s wildly different.”

The AGM doctor said, “I’m not comfortable with the word ‘wildly’.”

One of the silver-haired doctors, obviously from the hospital, said, “Again with semantics. Don’t like ‘wildly’? How about ‘hugely’? Or ‘staggeringly’? Or ’catastrophically’ different?”

Dr. Benson actually put her hand on her colleague’s arm at that point. “I withdraw the term ‘wildly’. How about ‘vastly’ different?”

AGM nodded acceptance.

Dr. Benson began again. “As to the vast difference, it’s due to two factors. First, Alice was exposed at some point in the second or third trimester. Since there’s no research data, we don’t know exactly what the time frame was from Mrs. Wilcox’s initial ingestion of Mackenzie produce to the time it crossed the placental barrier. However, Terry’s embryo was steeped in a womb and placenta saturated with Mackenzie chemicals.”

Mom cleared her throat. “Plus the fact that I’d been eating Mackenzie produce, grains, dairy, and beef, for three full years before conception and pregnancy.” She smiled at Alice, who nodded grimly.

The doctors, some of them anyway, obviously hadn’t taken that into account, which made Mom all the prouder of Alice’s insight. There were some raised eyebrows and hushed mini-conferences.

Dr. Benson said, “That’s an area that hasn’t been …explored; our main focus was on the chemicals crossing the placental barrier. But three years’ ingestion …” She nodded. “A factor that has to be examined.”

The AGM doctor nodded. “If I may? Our research has shown another factor that …wasn’t taken into account in earlier studies. You understand that this is all terra incognita for researchers …”

There was general nodding and a sense of ‘Enough disclaimers; just get on with it’ around the room.

AGM cleared his throat and said, “Recent studies have shown that different compounds affected different plants and animals …uh …differently.”

There were some snickers.

“I’m just trying to keep this on an even footing,” he snapped. “We’re all hunting around in the dark with a penlight and one eye closed, so …bear with me.”

The silver-haired doctor nodded and said, “Our apologies. You understand …”

Apparently, the AGM doctor did, because he calmed, nodded and continued. “I’ve read the original protocols for the compounds, and in addition to Mrs. Wilcox’ three years of ingestion, I don’t believe anyone else has taken into account …the variety of compounds. The compounds were designed for the specific produce or animals. With dairy, the concern was high yield. With grains, hardiness. With livestock, disease resistance, yield, growth …” He shrugged. “It’s pretty basic, if you think about it. You want more eggs per chicken. You want stronger, bigger crops. You want more meat on your cattle, more milk from your cows. And so on. And all of them more disease-resistant. So the compounds were …custom-tailored, if you will for each. The problem was …or is …” He frowned and trailed off.

Mom beamed at Alice. My brilliant son figured it out before all these fancy doctors!

Dr. Benson said, “May I? The problem was that Mrs. Wilcox did not ingest just beef or just dairy. Most likely she ingested all of the items that the Mackenzie farm marketed. It stands to reason, due to the abundance and low price. And at different stages of the pregnancy she may have ingested more of one kind than another. Not that she depended entirely on Mackenzie produce; her own farm’s produce and store-bought products were also elements of her diet during pregnancy. And, finally, the new factor that she brought up, that she had three years of Mackenzie produce in her system between her two pregnancies.”

Even knowing it wasn’t her fault, the sting was still felt. Mom said, in a small voice. “I know it’s not my fault, but I feel so …responsible.”

Dad squeezed her hand. “It’s not your fault, honey. It made sense at the time and nobody knew.”

The AGM doctor pounced. “Exactly! Nobody knew!”

The silver-haired doctor said tiredly, “We’ve been through all of that; my concern is our patients.”

One of the doctors who had been silent, a thin, curly-haired fellow, spoke up. “Hear, hear. I would like to get us moving in a different direction and away from the blaming and evasion. I would like to focus on our patients, too. We’ve discussed Alice, and stated that the case with Terry is …vastly different. I would like to pose this question to Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox, regarding Terry: Other than the birth certificate, based on the delivering doctor’s statement, what would indicate the gender of your child?”

The silver-haired doctor said, “A little unorthodox–”

“But a valid point,” Dr. Benson said quietly. “I think I see where he’s going.”

Dad said, “You mean, forgetting the fact that Marie gave birth to a son?” He sounded almost confrontational.

The doctor nodded placidly. “That’s exactly what I mean. Forgetting the piece of paper and the statement of the doctor, what made you think you had a boy?”

Dad frowned and looked at Mom. “I don’t know …maybe the fact that he had a penis?” He seemed to throw that in the doctor’s face.

The doctor was unruffled. “Yes, yes; it was the same penis that led the delivering doctor to make a diagnosis of male.”

“Diagnosis?” Mom asked, looked at Dad and then the doctor.

Several of the doctors looked uncomfortable. Dr. Benson said, “You must understand it’s a medical term only; we diagnose an illness from how the patient presents symptoms; the symptoms are a form of evidence, if you will. A fever, sore throat, and so on. Or an accident, and we can see a bone projecting from the forearm, we can make a diagnosis of a compound fracture. Strictly speaking, the dictionary definition is ‘to recognize from signs and symptoms’. From the evidence of a visible penis at birth, a diagnosis of male is made. From the absence of a penis and the presence of a vagina, a diagnosis of female is made.”

“Oh. Well …” Mom looked at Dad. “We understand.”

Dad nodded, too. “So your question is …forgetting the birth certificate and what the doctor said …and his penis …how did we know–”

Mom said, “His words were ‘What made us think Terry was a boy?’”

“Right,” Dad nodded. “Well, he …”

There was silence. It was strange to watch Dad’s face work, as if he was trying different scenarios. He was remembering Terry growing up. Seeing him skipping with a chicken feed bucket. Hearing him making little cooing sounds to newborn farm animals. Seeing him curled up on the couch, his legs tucked under him, his head resting on Mom’s shoulder. Hearing his giggle at something on TV, covering his mouth with his fingertips. Tucking hair behind his ears with his fingertips, too. Or happily tying his apron to start cooking …

There had to be something that proved Terry was a boy …

The silence grew.

The doctor that posed the question said, “We can set that aside for the moment.”

Dad sputtered, “Is this a trick? Because of course he’s a boy–was a boy–until Marie put him in a dress and put boobs on him!”

Mom gasped and there was a startled reaction to his declaration from everyone in the room. And then to everyone’s surprise, Alice exclaimed, “Hey, everybody? Um …we’re all supposed to be here for this, but nobody said anything about breaks and I’ve got to take a leak really bad. How about we all take five? I know I’ll feel better!”

There was a general agreement for a fifteen-minute break and everybody filed out of the conference room, heading in several directions. The Wilcox family stood and, surprisingly, Alice didn’t rush off to the restroom. Instead, she looked down the corridor, checked a door, checked another, and motioned the family in. Bewildered, the other three followed her into the empty room, a small meeting room with a large whiteboard and projector around the desk.

Alice turned and leaned against the door. Dad started to say, “Thought you had to take a–”

Alice held a hand up. “Ma, we forgot something.” She looked at Terry. “Terry? This is going to be embarrassing, maybe, but you’ve got to take off your top and show Dad.”

Mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh, my God! Of course! I completely …” She turned to Dad. “Frank! You don’t know!”

“That’s why he said what he said back there,” Alice nodded.

Mom smiled. “And you jumped in with asking for a break …” She shook her head in admiration. “You are so smart, Al; you make me proud.”

Dad sputtered, “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Mom said to Terry, “Sweetheart, your brother’s right. You know why. And you’ll have to tell him.” She turned to Dad. “Frank? Terry is not wearing the breast forms.”

“What? Of course she is! I can see ‘em …” He broke off.

Terry was taking off his camisole top, his fingers trembling. “Daddy, about a year and a half ago, my breasts began budding. You know? Where the, uh …nipples harden and then the mound starts, underneath them?”

Dad just stared at Terry in his bra.

Terry swallowed. “I went to the library and there’s this condition that affects a percentage of boys. Normal boys, I mean. It’s called ‘gynecomastia’, and it means that, for a time, a boy grows little boobs. Not just the fat boys, either. It’s because of all the hormones that teenagers have, all sloshing around at once; sometimes it causes the start of breast development in boys. It goes away when their system stabilizes, in months, usually.”

Dad frowned. Then he said, slowly, “I remember …Pat Clark when I was growing up. Got kind of …little boobs. And we kidded him and he never went swimming anymore, and then, one day, there was Pat at the lake with no boobs.”

Terry said, “Exactly. I thought they’d go away. I wasn’t taking any pills or anything. They were just there and …” He shrugged.

Dad turned to Mom. “You showed us the breast things, the forms …”

“I lied,” Mom said. “Sorry to say it, sorry to have to do it, but we thought that you would be so shocked by the truth, and it was all so new to us, that I made the decision to show the breast forms to …kind of soften things for you, make them easier to accept. Frank, what Terry showed me …they weren’t little temporary boobs; they were obviously female and they were obviously still growing and she–”

“Wait a minute!” Dad frowned at her and then turned to Terry. “You said a year-and-a-half ago? And she says they were growing and …” He shook his head as if it could negate things. “But nobody saw anything.”

Mom put up a calming hand.“She was embarrassed and she knew that a trip to the doctor’s would cost money we couldn’t spare–so thoughtful!–and she truly thought they’d go away by themselves, like she’d read about. So to save money and embarrassment all around, she wore a couple of extra-small t-shirts to kind of bind them down. But you have to understand, Frank, that she wasn’t trying to lie, only to spare us any worry until they went away–but they didn’t go away; they were still growing.”

“Because it wasn’t a boy with gynecomastia,” Alice explained calmly. “It was a girl developing her breasts.”

“A year …and a half …” Dad said, still dazed.

Mom said, “I only discovered them that first day, when you suggested she dress up as a girl. Seems silly to say that now, but that’s when I found out. I’d already bought …” She looked at Alice. “Sorry, Al; I don’t think you know this. I’d bought the breast forms years ago to help out Alice when she was slow to develop. I thought she’d stop being a tomboy and start liking being a girl if she had breasts like other girls.”

“It’s okay, Ma; I understand,” Alice said, and then grinned. “Wouldn’t have worked, anyway!”

Mom grinned back weakly. “Well, we know that now. So I was faced with a dilemma. I discovered my son not only made a naturally pretty girl but his body was a girl’s, and nobody knew why. But I knew it would have been just too, too bizarre for us all to handle. Even I was absolutely floored when I saw them. So I did a little misdirection, like a magician does. I made Terry bind down her breasts with her little t-shirts so you saw her flat-chested. I waved around the breast forms that had been in the back of my closet for years. She took the box and left us, if you remember. She didn’t put them in; she just undressed, removed the t-shirts and let her own breasts fill her bra.”

Dad was stunned. “So from Day One, all the …um …” He waved his hand around his chest. “Has been …that’s all been Terry?”

“Yes,” Mom said. “I’m sorry that we deceived you, but I hope you can see why we kind of had to.”

“I’m sorry, too, Daddy,” Terry said, his eyes downcast.

Dad frowned and looked at Alice. “Did you know?”

Alice nodded guiltily. “Not at first. But then I saw ‘em.”

“The breast forms?” Dad asked, confused.

“No, Daddy,” Terry said, unclasping his bra. “I had to bend over and Alice saw through my blouse. These.”

Shyly, Terry pulled the cups away from his breasts, swallowing and breathing shallow with nerves.

Dad stared. And stared.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Mom quietly and gently said.

Terry clasped his bra back in place and quickly and smoothly adjusted his breasts back in the cups. “I was …I was getting pretty desperate because they weren’t going away. At first …” Then the nerves fell away somehow. He looked his father in the eyes. “And I’m so glad they didn’t!”

Mom said, “Do you understand how brilliant your son is?”

Dad’s eyes swiveled to Terry.

Mom barked, “Your son Al! Do you understand, Frank? Back with the doctors, there? Al realized that we had forgotten to tell you about Terry’s breast development before this conference. So he faked having to ‘take a leak’ so we could update you–and really, Al; couldn’t you have come up with something a little nicer?”

Alice shrugged, grinning. “Worked, didn’t it?” She turned to her father. “Dad, I saw Terry’s breast in her bra when she leaned over to pick something off the floor; she wasn’t flaunting it or hanging out or anything. But I’ve seen enough breasts to know that it wasn’t a breast form. That’s how I found out. We weren’t trying to fool you–”

“I guess I was,” Mom said with shame.

“Well, like you said, Ma, it was all so new and Dad was already kind of freaking out that his son was in a dress.”

“I wasn’t freaking out!”

“Daddy, you were freaking out,” Terry grinned, and Dad finally nodded agreement.

Mom said, “It was just going to be for a week or so, as you got more used to …the new Terry.”

Terry went to his father. “Daddy? Can you not blame Mom? We never thought any of this would get to this point. It was just …” He frowned. “They’re part of me. I can tell you, I’m not a boy that grew breasts; I feel like a girl whose breasts came in right on time. Can you …accept that?”

All of them watched Dad, who put all the pieces together and then nodded. Sheepishly, he tugged on an earlobe. “So I guess I …I guess I sounded pretty foolish back there, in the conference room.”

“It’s probably all forgotten, thanks to Al’s quick thinking,” Mom beamed. “But now you know, and I suggest we all …uh … ‘take a leak’ and get back in there!”

As she passed Alice, she playfully swatted her on the butt.

Dad’s outburst did seem forgotten when the meeting resumed. It was agreed that the railroad track switch analogy was more or less acceptable for explaining Alice’s situation, but Dr. Benson was chuckling as she said, “Now I’d like you all to do a little experiment. For the Wilcox family, do you see the flagpole?”

There was an American flag on a stand in the corner behind the doctors. The Wilcoxes nodded.

Dr. Benson said, “For the doctors on this side of the room, do you see the far corner by the window?” There was a general nodding. “Anybody left handed?”

The silver-haired doctor was the only one.

Dr. Benson grinned, “Everybody close your left eye–Tom, probably close your right eye–and now everyone, raise your right index finger and place it over the object, over the flagpole or in line with the corner.”

She demonstrated and everyone’s hands went up. The Wilcox family had their fingers aligned over the flagpole.

“Got it covered? Okay. Now, switch eyes. Close your right and open the left. Tom, the opposite. What happens?”

“It moved!” Mom said.

“Right-eye dominance,” Dad said.

“What?” Mom said, turning to him.

Dad shrugged. “Learned it in the Army. For sighting down a rifle.”

“Yes, Mr. Wilcox. Right-eye dominance–or left-eye for southpaws like Tom. We can also say that the right eye is dominant. Now everybody open both eyes, keeping your finger in place.”

“Double image,” Alice commented.

“Right. Okay, everyone relax,” Dr. Benson said. A smile was twitching her lips. “Ladies and gentleman, I give you Terry Wilcox!”

“Huh?” Terry gasped as everybody looked at him.

“Can we all grasp that the perception of the finger over the object changes depending on which eye is open and which is closed?” There were general nods. Dr. Benson said, “Terry was exposed to a variety of chemicals over the entire period of gestation. As stated, some chemicals were for growth, some were for hardiness, some were for dairy, some for livestock, and so on. Obviously, if Mrs. Wilcox ate eggs for breakfast and a steak at dinner, she was ingesting different quantities and varieties of AGM chemicals.”

The last two words seemed to pain the AGM doctor, but he nodded, however reluctantly.

“And over the nine months, there were most likely periods where Mrs. Wilcox ate more dairy than grains, or more produce than meat, and so on.” She looked around the room. “All of which means that, since we know that the placental barrier was breached, the fetus was exposed to chemical A, then chemical B, then maybe a lot of chemicals C, D, and E, then a few weeks of chemical A, then chemical F, and so on. Agreed?”

“Alphabet soup,” Alice said, grinning at Terry.

“Like the finger and dominant eye demonstration,” Dr. Benson said, to cover the chuckles from Alice’s overheard comment, “they had the effect of keeping the finger aligned or knocked sideways. And that took place as the fetus continued to develop. The same chemicals that had no effect in the first trimester may have had a great effect in the third. Agreed?”

There were general nods, but she was mainly concerned that the Wilcox family understood; they did.

“And at some point–we can only guess–chemical stimulation prompted the altered internal organs of the fetus. And the external alteration resembled a penis.”

“Resembled?” Dad frowned. “It was a penis–is a penis–because he’s a boy! Was a boy!”

“Stop tying yourself in knots, Frank,” Mom said soothingly, rubbing his arm.

“Resembled,” Dr. Benson said firmly. “You know, it’s become fairly standard these days to perform DNA tests on newborns. Those tests probably weren’t available when either of you were born,” she said, looking at Alice and Terry.

She stopped talking, and nobody else seemed ready to take up the slack. Dr. Benson was studying the Wilcox parents. Finally, she said, “Earlier, I said that Alice and Terry have a fundamental similarity. It’s not just that they were exposed to AGM compounds.” She looked at Mom, and then zeroed in on Dad.

“As I said, DNA testing at birth wasn’t around, but we can certainly do it now and have. You understand that DNA genotypes can’t be faked? That your DNA is unique to you from embryo until death?”

“Yes, of course,” Dad said.

Dr. Benson looked at him but spoke to the room. “Alice is XX. Female. And we have agreed that, in fact–I stress those words, ‘in fact’–Alice should be regarded as transgender physically as well as psychologically.”

There were general nods. Alice just shrugged.

Dr. Benson smiled at Alice and then spoke to the others. “And as such, we should no longer refer to Alice as female or use feminine pronouns when addressing this individual. With the Wilcox family’s understanding, I strongly urge that we all address the eldest Wilcox child as Al, a male, and use masculine pronouns.”

“Sounds good to me,” Al shrugged, but everyone could see his smile.

Dad nodded. “Makes sense.” He reached over and gently punched Al’s shoulder.

Mom nodded. Terry beamed at his brother.

The doctors all seemed to accept it; yes, yes, go on, they seemed to say.

Dr. Benson knew she still had the floor and her nod ended the discussion about Al. Her mouth twitched for some reason and laced her fingers before her. She looked around the room and had their attention and cleared her throat.

“Now, remember that I said that the siblings have a fundamental similarity? Terry is also XX. She is female.”

All four Wilcoxes–and several doctors–shouted, “What?”

Dad was loudest. “Terry’s a girl?”

Mom said, “Of course she’s a girl, Frank!”

“I’m a girl? Really?” Terry gasped.

“Told you!” laughed Al.

It took several minutes for the uproar to die down.

The doctors took great care and some time to explain, as well as using diagrams on a white board, but it came down to the fact that both Wilcox children were girls, born genetically female. Both had been masculinized by AGM’s Mackenzie produce, but in different ways. Al was genetically and anatomically female, internally and externally, but with masculine growth, metabolism, and brain chemistry. The amount of brain masculinization was actually measurable by the brain scans as well as the psychological studies.

Terry’s case was, as hinted by Dr. Benson, similar but opposite. Terry was genetically female but had external genitalia that resembled a boy’s penis. It was really a distended clitoris and fused urethra; except for urine flow, it was non-functional–Terry had never had an erection–but at birth would have presented as a typical penis, upon which the diagnosis of ‘male’ was made.

It was internally that was vastly different. There were all these specialized terms thrown about: Wolffian structures, Mullerian ducts, anti-Mullerian hormones, and more. The doctors took pains to make sure the Wilcox family understood each element; it was all so new–and some of the doctors reminded them of those boring high school biology lectures–that Dad was getting restless. Mom noticed his arms crossing and jaw tightening and was worried about him. When he was just about to explode, Mom took action.

“Doctors, I would like to pose a question to you all. What is the proper planting, fertilization, and crop rotation schedule for a farm of twenty four hundred acres in this state?”

That stopped them cold! They harrumphed and looked at each other uneasily; only Dr. Benson had a grin; she nodded at Mom. Mom returned the nod and then turned to Dad. “Frank? You want to tell them?”

Dad then took two minutes to give a concise and precise enumeration of the facts.

Mom finished up with, “Just so everybody knows that we all have our areas of specialty and our areas of ignorance.”

It cleared the air in the room and Dad was immensely satisfied; Terry marveled again at how skillful Mom was with people. Things lightened considerably when the AGM doctor surprised everybody by showing a sense of humor; he began describing embryonic development in terms of ‘Brad’ or ‘Angelina’, to laughter all around. But it did make things much easier and the other doctors picked it up. One of them stopped using the black dry-erase marker on the white board and used a blue marker for ‘Brad’ and a red one for ‘Angelina’–pink wasn’t available and would be too hard to see.

The startling facts continued to be revealed.

Terry’s testicles had never descended because they weren’t testicles. In normal development of a Y-fertilized fetus, what could be the ovaries would ‘morph’–everybody chuckled at the use of the popular, non-medical term–into testicles. In Terry’s case, the ovaries remained as ovaries. However, the uterus seemed to be pretty much nonexistent. Most shocking, perhaps, was that it was the firm belief that the ovaries contained eggs, and that they were being released down Fallopian tubes and into the abdomen. In other words, Terry was partially menstruating but without a uterus. Without a uterus, there was no blood involved to discharge; the released eggs were treated as foreign substances and absorbed and dissolved.

Everyone was stunned when that was revealed.

One doctor, silent so far, cleared her throat. “It must be pointed out to the Wilcox family that only Al is producing eggs and can be considered fertile, as she–he–possesses a uterus. It is …his stated goal to have a total hysterectomy performed, and he also mentioned the possibility that his eggs could be removed and frozen, prior to the hysterectomy.” There was general nodding, and she pressed on. “I would like to point out that Terry also is producing eggs.”

There were thoughtful frowns all around; then a single person laughed–Al.

All heads turned to her and she grinned.“Hey, it’s really simple. Just give her mine!”

“Your what?” Mom asked.

“My uterus, Ma!” Al was almost choking with laughter. “I don’t want the thing, and she’s the one that wants babies!”

Mom chuckled politely at the silliness, and Dad said, “Al! Don’t be joking about things like that!”

But Terry saw that all of the doctors looking at them with laser eyes. There was a tension in the room.

Finally, Dr. Benson cleared her throat. “That …is something to consider …”

“What?” three Wilcoxes shouted. Al looked smug.

“That’s why we’re all here, isn’t it?” Terry said in the silent room.

“Smart girl,” Dr. Benson grinned.

Dad looked at Terry and the grinning Al and then at the doctors. “Will somebody tell me what’s going on?”

The silver-haired doctor then launched into a speech about how the next advance in surgery involved uterine transplants. Doctors in England had announced they were close to a transplant back in 2009, although they hadn’t quite come through with a success yet. To be blunt, these doctors were excited at the possibility of being the first in the world to successfully transplant a working uterus. They had already taken tissue samples from Al and Terry in the wave of tests they’d performed; it was a match. They were sisters and transplantation was theoretically possible. It was obvious that AGM felt they could generate a great deal of good press by backing the attempt. It all boiled down to …the Wilcox family.

Al seemed to be in the driver’s seat, after his flippant remark had uncovered the truth. He made an announcement.

“Everybody? Mom, Dad? I am formally declaring that I want a full hysterectomy. It’ll probably be past my birthday when all of this comes down, so I’m making the decision as an adult. And I would like to donate my uterus to my sister Teresa, if she’s interested.”

Mom said, “That’s a …gracious offer, honey, but we really have to discuss it–”

Al shook his head. “Sorry to interrupt, Ma, but discuss it? Not really. I’ll be an adult when it happens and it’s mine to donate so there’s no discussion about that. And I don’t think there’s really any discussion that Terry wants to be a mother to her babies, is there, sis?”

Al and Terry locked eyes. Terry nodded. “Absolutely. I want to be a mother.”

Al spun back to his parents. “You and Dad have to give approval for any surgery that Terry gets, but we know she’s going to have surgery anyway.”

“We do?” Dad asked.

Mom nodded. “Yes, Frank; to remove that piece of flesh that was mistaken for a penis.”

Al jumped in. “You’ve gotta get it straight, Dad; it’s not a penis. It never was a penis. They are not taking off his penis. It’s like she had …a sort of third leg or something, growing out of her hip. Everybody laughed at her and her clothes didn’t fit right…you wouldn’t hesitate to remove that thing, would you? After all, it was just useless flesh. Would you freak out about them taking it off?”

“Of course not,” Dad said, almost indignant.

“That’s just the same as with Terry. Useless flesh that defined her wrong,” Al said with some force.

Terry loved Al very much just then.

Dad frowned, considered, and nodded. “Makes sense.”

The family knew what that phrase meant.

Al turned to Terry. “So how about it, sis? If these good doctors can make my big strong uterus fit in your tiny little body, wanna go for it?”

Terry felt weightless and smiled warmly at Al–now and forever her brother–and said breathlessly, “Absolutely, Al! Oh, God, yes!”

After everybody calmed down from the stunning turn of events, there was a discussion and then a general agreement that the surgeries would proceed. Since Terry was already female, her surgery would not be considered sexual reassignment surgery and therefore the requirement that she be at least eighteen was, once more, moot. Still, the anticipated recovery time was four to six weeks for either a hysterectomy or SRS, so there was a scheduling problem. School would start in September. Plus, the Wilcox family had to deal with losing the labor of the children, in the kitchen and in the fields, during any surgeries and recovery. And Terry reminded everyone about the State Fair.

Mom said, “Sweetheart, that’s the least of our problems. I don’t mind missing it this year; you and Al are much more important to me.”

Terry shook her head. “No, Momma; it’s not fair that you lose out on what you want to do.” She turned to the doctors and said, “My mother is going to win a blue ribbon this year.”

“Terry!” Mom laughed. “Don’t count your chickens!”

“Not counting chickens,” Terry shook her head. “I just know that you’re going to win.”

A sad smile crossed Mom’s face. “I’ve already won a bigger prize than I could ever hope for–my children’s happiness.”

Dad was frowning, trying to sort through how he could cope on the farm with just him and Mom, when the AGM doctor stepped out of the room. He came back in later and harrumphed.

“I’d like to offer the Wilcox family the services of AGM. I just alerted the home office of your situation …” He looked around the room. “Both of the approval for the surgeries, and your pressing needs.” Back to the Wilcox family, he said, “I’ve been assured that AGM will send a team of fully capable, professional farm workers to assist you for the duration of Al’s surgery and recovery.”

“A team of farm workers …” Dad frowned, more with confusion. “It’s just Al and me doing just fine.”

Mom knew there could be negative connotation with the words ‘a team of farm workers’ and said, “One or two men would be fine. I can certainly handle the cooking and cleaning for them; I’ve been doing it for a family of four.”

The AGM guy said, “We don’t want any hardship for you, and you will be wanting to spend as much time as possible with your children in the hospital.”

Mom’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t thought of that!” She blushed and turned to the kids. “I’m so sorry!”

Al chuckled. “Don’t worry, Ma; we get it. The farm comes first.” He looked at his father, who nodded.

“Family comes first!” Mom said fiercely. Even Dad nodded.

“Mrs. Wilcox?” the AGM doctor said gently. “I agree completely. Please understand that your family is our priority too, and–”

One of the doctors snickered.

The AGM doctor’s shoulders drooped. “Okay, shoot the messenger? Listen, I’m an endocrinologist; I’m not a suit and I’m not …” He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I just want to say to the Wilcox family–personally, not as an employee of AGM–that I am very sorry that your family has had to suffer. I will do everything in my power to make things right for you. We also …” He looked around the room. “All of us, collectively, have the chance to make medical history, sure, but most importantly to help thousands of women, maybe more. If we can successfully transplant a uterus, then, combined with new research we could …” He sighed deeply. “My mother died of uterine cancer. If we get to the point where we can remove a uterus and remove the cancer–maybe replace with new growth from stem cells–and replace or transplanta healthy uterus …” He swallowed.

There was silence in the room. The silver-haired doctor cleared his throat. “The implications are staggering. And I, for one, would like to apologize for any …discomfort our professional relationship might have caused.”

Their eyes met and the AGM doctor nodded. “Thank you for that. Okay, um …” He cleared his own throat. “Wilcoxes, pure and simple, AGM will foot the bill for operation of your farm. An arrangement will be made to assist Mrs. Wilcox win her blue ribbon. The reason for the ‘hurry up’ is that both of children could be healed enough to start their school year in September.”

Terry gasped and squeezed Al’s hand. He patted her little hand and held tight as he said, “As long as the farm’s taken care of, to Dad’s approval, I’m ready this afternoon.”

There were chuckles, but Terry said, “That goes for me, too. My mother’s got to get to the fair.” She turned to Mom. “For both of us.”

Mom’s eyes shone as she said, “I should inform the doctors that my daughter …my wonderful, lovely daughter Teresa …did most of the work.”

“Did not,” Terry grumbled, blushing.

“Did too!” Mom grinned. “And she came up with new ways to display …” She shook her head. “Oh, sweetie, you should be there!”

“Next year, Momma,” Terry smiled.

“I know, honey. And this is so important to you.”

“To Al, too, Momma,” Terry said, putting her other hand over Al’s big one.

Arrangements were made; Dad and Mom each spoke at length with AGM representatives in New York and workers were dispatched, arriving at the farm the next day in a large motor home with a small car attached. There were two men and a woman; a husband and wife and her brother. They usually worked in different farming crews but were delighted to be all together. Dad walked the men through the fields as Mom spoke with the woman, a cheerful redhead who casually mentioned, while chatting with Mom, that she was barren. Mom thought instantly of the medical possibilities with uterine transplants and it strengthened her resolve that the Wilcox family was contributing something to the world.

Al and Terry gathered their things for a long hospital stay and felt like third wheels. Al walked the fields with his Dad, reminding him of things as they discussed the needs of the farm with the AGM guys, and later gave his approval of the two guys. Terry puttered with making sure the canned jars were ready and carefully packaged for transport. The redhead seemed nice; the explanation given to the workers was that both children had a congenital condition and that doctors were going to attempt something to help them both. She shrugged and talked about her sister’s bone-marrow transplant, and wasn’t it a wonder what the doctors were coming up with these days?

The next day, three boys drove up in a pickup and wondered why Al had missed a football game; and the four of them roared off for some sort of mischief.

“Probably gonna get him drunk,” Dad chuckled.

“Frank! Do you think that’s …” Mom cried, shocked, and then shrugged. She had to adjust to the fact that she had a teenage son now.

Melanie came over and the girls chattered along happily; when Melanie heard the news, she was jumping up and down.

“I knew it! I knew it!” she laughed. “You are a girl! I knew it!”

Terry was laughing with her, delightedly and sadly, thinking of so much of her life that had been lost; she should have been growing up a girl alongside her best girlfriend Melanie.

Julie stopped by as well, alerted by Melanie, and the three walked down the road and watched the group in the fields.

“I can’t believe how big Al is!” Melanie said.

“Al,” Terry said. “His name is Al now.” Then she giggled. “You know, we’ve never decided what Al is short for! Alan, maybe?”

“Albert?” Julie giggled.

“Aladdin?” Melanie guffawed.

Julie shaded her eyes, watching the men in the distance. “Still …he is kind of hot …”

“Jules! That’s my brother!” Terry cried, shocked.

“Hey, I’m not saying I’m gonna …” Julie waved a hand. “Look, I know he lived as a girl named Al and all that, but …you can’t tell, because he’s family and you’re too close to him. But just looking at him out over in the field there …he is kind of hot!” She grinned. “And the other guy, with the bandanna, too.”

“Yuck! Too old!” Melanie giggled.

“Yeah, probably, but six-pack abs, definitely …” Julie made an appreciative whistle.

Terry realized she was now fully a member of this strange new world where girls talked openly about sexual things and feelings about boys. Which, of course, made her think of Derek.

“Derek’s hot, too,” Melanie said, reading her friend’s mind.

“You know me too well. Now I’ll have to kill you,” Terry tossed back.

All three then burst in giggles.

But Terry called Derek that night, to tell him that she was going to be gone for the rest of the summer. He asked if he could see her before she left; she told him they were leaving early the next morning.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the Wilcox door. Derek had his brother drive him over and apologized to Dad but asked if he could speak with his daughter for ten minutes. Dad was startled for a moment, and then nodded.

“Take fifteen,” he grinned. “Terry!” he shouted. “Someone to see you!”

Terry came down in a pink camisole and tiered denim skirt and gave a little gasp when she saw Derek.

“It’s late and we have to leave early, but you can spare ten or fifteen minutes to say goodbye,” Dad said.

“Thank you, Daddy!” Terry said, impulsively kissing his cheek.

After they left, Mom said quietly, “It’s not so difficult now, is it?”

“What? Oh, having a daughter? Or knowing that she’s a girl?”

“Well, both; but knowing that she’s interested in boys. And that boy is definitely interested in her!” Mom chuckled. “I know it’s been tremendously difficult for you, honey, and you’ve been wonderful, no matter how hard things got. When you thought that Terry was boy that felt like a girl, you did a great job dealing with it, but …dating …” She shook her head. “I don’t think that would sit well. But now that we know she’s a girl …” She sighed deeply with happiness. “It’s not so hard now, is it?”

Dad smiled and sat next to Mom on the couch. “No, it’s not, but there’s …” He looked up at the ceiling. “Usually, fathers of daughters have time to come to terms with their daughter dating. I never had that with Alice–with Al–because …he never …” He shrugged sadly. “Poor guy. Anyway, I never had to deal with boys. And suddenly Terry is so pretty and cute and boys want to …” He shook his head. “Just tough to tell how much of what I feel is what the father of a daughter usually feels, and how much is because of Terry’s unique situation.”

“It’s all evening out now, correcting,” Mom said calmly. “We have a hard three months and after that we get on with our lives.”

“Three months? They said it should be four to six weeks.”

“Surgery and recovery, yes. Both Al and Terry have some new friends who accept them, thank God, but there’s going to be a tough first month in school. I figure by Homecoming, mid-October or so, things will be running smoothly.” She chuckled. “As smoothly as things can be with a senior boy and a pretty freshman girl!”

Other than a minor infection after Al’s mastectomy, the many and various operations went very smoothly. The actual uterine transplant was triple-tiered with doctors and even a film crew, to document the event but also as a learning tool for future transplants.

Since Al was very strong, the doctors felt comfortable performing every procedure for him in a round-robin of surgeries. The trick was dovetailing the hysterectomy in sync with Terry being opened up to receive the organs.

All together, Al had a double mastectomy and a full hysterectomy, standard female operations. With a bit of nudging from the Wilcox lawyer–and Al playing a bit of hardball to get what he wanted–AGM agreed to pay for phalloplasty, the construction of a penis for Al. It was quite an expensive procedure, and they had a legal hoop to jump through; he wasn’t quite eighteen and it could be considered sexual reassignment surgery. But as they’d discussed in the conference room, if AGM was responsible for the alteration to Al’s embryo, it threw all normal protocols out the window. They still had the awkward fact that Al was genetically an XX female, but managed to declare him male and the surgery as ‘re-construction of a malformed penis at birth’.

The upshot was that a deliriously happy Al woke –after being unconscious nearly two days–to discover that he had a flat, rugged manly chest–“Pecs!” he yelled. “Not boobs!”–and a penis. Al would never have a period again, plus the fact that with his female plumbing gone, he would not have estrogen coursing through him. It would take a few months of adjustment before settling on his proper hormone balance–a regular male’s testosterone and androgen balance. The last bit of Alice was gone–along with her eggs, which had been removed before the hysterectomy, to be frozen and possibly used when Al was married and starting his family.

Three weeks after the surgeries, Al was put through his paces. He began physiotherapy to build up pectoral muscles and account for his changed body mass. One of the finest plastic surgeons had been present during the mastectomy and Al’s chest was cosmetically unremarkable from any other rugged male’s; once the testosterone kicked in, he’d begin to grow chest hair and the surgery would be completely unnoticeable. They even had him spend time on a tanning bed to even out his skin tone so he could go shirtless–a long-held dream of Alice’s, now possible as Al.

At the same time, he was instructed in how to use the pump that could create an erection. He certainly would never be able to spontaneously have an erection, but he grinned that he knew how embarrassing that was for buddies of his; he would be spared that. He also joked that he’d never need Viagra! His only serious comment on all of this was to his sister. He told Terry that he hoped he could find a girl as sweet and strong as Terry and their mother; one that would understand his past and accept him as the man he was.

Terry listened and nodded and hugged her brother, adding only, “Yeah, but she has to have dirt in her blood, too!”

Terry’s surgeries were more complex and yet simpler. There were no transgender legal hoops; as far as everyone was concerned, she was a female that was having a birth defect corrected. But any work in that area was secondary to the uterine transplant. Rotations of surgical teams worked on her for eleven hours after the actual transplant took place. Some specialists stood by observing and would spring into action for five minutes of delicate work and then return to the viewing gallery. Some of the older doctors joked that it was like their days as interns–sleeping on available cots and beds and being roused back into service.

To put it bluntly, Terry’s insides were a mess. The human body has a fantastic ability to heal itself; but its adaptability is even more astonishing. Where things didn’t work, other parts sprang into action. Where things worked, they provided support so other, compromised systems could adapt.

One doctor said, “It’s like your body is supposed to have A, B, C, and then D. A goes to B and B goes to C and so on. But your body was missing B, which should have caused everything to fail. But your body figured out how to get to C without the bridge of B; your body figured out how to get to D which shouldn’t have worked at all without B, but your body manufactured sort of ...Q to tie them all together.”

“What can I say? I’m alphabet soup,” Terry had commented, using Al’s joke.

It was speculated that the pliant, adaptive nature of the AGM chemicals played their part while embryonic; if they hadn’t, there was every chance that Terry might have been born dead, died in infancy, or at least have spent the first few critical days of her life undergoing surgeries. It was also speculated that if her body had not adapted and still retained a uterus, it was also possible that when she had her first period–an internal event that seemed to have occurred over a year previously–she might have ruptured and bled to death internally.

The plain truth was that the surgical teams had to install a uterus and hook up the Fallopian tubes, using grafts to construct or patch as needed. What had been referred to as Terry’s ‘penis’–really just an extended urethra and tissue–was skinned and inverted to serve as vaginal walls, a standard technique in sexual reassignment surgery. However, the doctors discovered what would have been Terry’s vagina, somewhat atrophied. The decision was made to monitor for twenty-four hours once they’d reinstituted blood flow. A plastic surgeon worked to give Terry perfectly normal external labial lips and external vagina, with no scars whatsoever–he’d worked from inside out, reversed and then set in place.

They kept Terry in an induced coma for thirty-six hours to monitor the work so far and then continue. They found that the vaginal walls–from Terry’s birth–were restoring with the new blood, and went ahead attaching the vagina to the uterus and then generally ‘tidying up’, as one doctor put it. Terry was closed up and monitored for another eight hours before being brought out of her coma.

After that it was a matter of pain suppression. Terry did remember coming out of the darkness and seeing Mom’s happy face, then seeing Mom and a surprisingly tanned Al, then Melanie and Julie, and then Dad and Mom. She was shocked to discover those flashes had occurred over a three-week period! Finally, it was her turn for agony with the physiotherapist.

And then it was time to go home. She was able to move slowly through the house, helping Mom with small chores. She’d missed the State Fair, of course; Mom had been given a very nice agronomy major named Dinah, who helped Mom with setting up and manning the booth, while the woman from AGM took care of the household for the week. Al wasn’t 100% yet but helped where he could, mostly driving. The two AGM workers were a huge benefit to Dad; having an extra set of hands allowed him to take on some extra projects he’d wanted to do. Al had a little bit of resentment at being seemingly replaced, but Terry calmed him. The two children grew even closer, if possible; often each of them was the only person the other could confide in.

The transplant hit the world news. Caution had been taken to protect the identities of the Wilcox family; all of the paperwork that stated the children’s new, proper genders was taken care of and quietly sealed by court order. Nevertheless, it was inevitable that the event would leak, and great care was taken to control the spin. Therefore, the reports came out of New York and to most people the uterine transplant seemed to be something performed in an unnamed Manhattan hospital. A tiny percentage of the medical community knew a bit different, but Al and Teresa were still referred to as ‘Patient XA and Patient XB’ and information about the actual hospital location and doctors involved was purposefully obscured.

The British doctors involved in earlier transplant attempts were incensed that they’d been beaten to it; after a discussion with the Wilcox family it was agreed to open up a few more details about their history. The British were mollified a bit when they understood the chemically-induced alterations of the embryos, and the sister-to-sister nature of the transplant. Still, they clung to the hope that they might eventually beat the Americans on a uterine transplant between non-family strangers, though!

Both Al and Terry started school; despite the anonymous nature of the medical news, all of their classmates were aware that something had happened. Alice was already a known ‘butch’ girl, who was now breast-less. It was assumed that ‘she’ was binding them down and nobody seemed to care. Al was exempt from PE as he was still undergoing physiotherapy and although he had the usual group of male buddies, he didn’t date.

“All the cute girls know me as a girl,” he shrugged to Terry, and then grinned. “Got to find me a stranger …”

Terry’s case was different, of course. There was some stigma at first, of being ‘a boy that was pretending to be a girl’. Then that became ‘a boy that became a girl’ and finally became ‘a girl that was thought to be a boy’ and that, oddly enough, was okay. Terry and Al often talked about how screwed-up people were about the sexes; they felt it spoke to the true inequality that it was okay to go from A to B but somehow perverse to go from B to A. But Melanie and Julie and the others all spread the news that Terry Wilcox was a girl, from birth, XX and everything, so there.

Or almost everything …until the first week of October. Terry was in Biology, learning about gametes and suddenly felt a cramp that almost doubled her over. September had been so blissfully free of problems that she’d almost forgotten the doctors’ advice. She thought she could wait until lunchtime to hit the girls’ restroom but by then she was already being rushed to ER. And at that point, it got silly, because the Emergency staff didn’t know anything about her, and she came in and was diagnosed …as a fifteen-year-old girl having a period. Doctors and administrators were yelling at each other until Dr. Benson arrived, thank goodness, and pulled everybody in for a conference and then there was a weird sort of pride among the ER staff that they got to be part of history–the first successful uterine transplant.

Because Terry was menstruating.

Everything was working as it should; eggs had been released down the Fallopian tubes to her new uterus; the eggs had embedded themselves and in the absence of viable sperm, had sloughed off and the resultant mix flowed down her vagina and out and there was a lot of blood but it was all as it should be.

Terry went home, had a hot bath, and cried and cried and was also ecstatic.

Mom, of course, gave her the Birds and the Bees lecture from a girl’s perspective.

By Christmas, everything had evened out for both kids. Al was doing well in school for the first time–because he could concentrate on his studies and not sit in misery, thinking about the life he wished he led–and had started dating Susan, a girl he met at a McDonald’s in Duvall when he’d driven over to pick up some truck parts. Anyone looking at the two of them could tell that the Duvall girl adored her big strong farmer.

Meanwhile, Terry was doing as well as ever in school, even with a steady boyfriend in Derek. Anyone looking at the two of them could tell that the Sommersby boy adored his pretty girlfriend–and that she adored him right back.

All through the painful surgeries and recovery, Terry used a piece of advice given her by one of the nurses–go to a ‘happy place’, a place or time or event that brought her much happiness, and revisit that spot to ease the pain.

For Terry, it was that night of the midsummer dance, after the non-fight, when Derek came out to see Terry and Melanie talking. Terry had taken Derek’s hand and they had walked down the road, away from the barn with the disco. They walked out towards the fields, and the farther away they got from the lights of the barn, the stars burst overhead. At some point with no discussion, they stopped walking and faced each other, holding fingertips. Terry could feel her heart beating and her breathing felt shallow. Derek leaned down and his lips were so soft, so gentle, and they kissed and their lips fit and she opened her mouth to receive his tongue and teased him with hers and it was the greatest kiss in the history of the world.

And that was Terry’s happy place.

The family sat for a professional portrait; there was some stubble on Al’s cheeks that he refused to shave off. Mom would have made him shave for the photo but she knew how very proud he was of his new body and its ability to grow hair, so she let it go. He wore a dark green Pendleton and jeans; Dad wore a sport coat over a white turtleneck and khaki slacks. Mom wore a dark green shirtwaist dress and the gentle smile of a woman at peace with her world. Terry wore a white cami under a light pink fuzzy sweater, and a dark pink skirt. Her hair was back in silver barrettes and her smile was that of a girl that knew that miracles can happen.

They put the family photo on the mantel over the fireplace–right next to the three blue ribbons that Mom had won at the State Fair.

The End