Chapter 3 Karen's Story

It was dark when Tamar woke from her nap, what with the short winter days. Consciousness returned slowly, battling with the feeling of warmth from the quilted bedspread that covered her. Her... How many times had she wished to sleep in a nightgown, to feel like the girl she knew she was. If her father had found her wearing a nightgown again it…

She wasn't going to think of that, not now. It was tempting to believe that Karen was her shining knight who would rescue her, but the innate distrust of the adults in her life made that an uncomfortable thought. Then again, she just might be no more than a crazy old lady. As Tamar lay there, the warm cloud of feminine comfort dispersed as cold reality intruded.

What was she going to do? There was trouble ahead. School, finding a job, getting a license to drive, doctors... The list seemed endless. Why would this old lady want to do that for her?

But right now she could be Tamar - she was Tamar and that had to be enough. Hesitantly she removed the quilt and stood, realizing that she needed to find a bathroom soon. At least that should be within her powers. Slipping into a fuzzy robe and wondering at the bunny slippers Karen had provided, she followed the hall to the open door and relieved herself.

She padded her way to the living room where she found Karen curled up in an easy chair, fast asleep. While she waited she picked up the photo album on the coffee table and paged through it. The photos were obviously old, black and white but hardly faded.

There were a few shots of a family group that looked to be from before the Second World War. History wasn't her strong point, but they had to be pretty old. There were several pictures of really old airplanes, wooden things with two sets of wings. Some of them had a young woman with curly hair in the pilot's seat - obviously Karen - and some of them had a pretty good looking guy. They were the same airplane, so they must have been friends. Maybe her husband?

Then there were several of her standing in front of old fashioned warplanes with those crazy cartoons they used to paint on them; one of them even had her with her head poking out of the cockpit. Anyone who had watched the old movies late at night would know these came from WWII. Great grandpa liked to tell stories about that war, but her grandfather wouldn't talk at all about Viet Nam. Her father hadn't been in the service and she had zero interest in claiming any war as her own - the military was completely off her radar screen.

After a while there came some color pictures of newer, smaller planes - She knew one was a Cessna because the name was painted on it. That had to be the same man standing with her in front of the plane, it must be her husband.

"Looking at my past, Tamar?"

"Oh! I hope it's all right to look at these. I didn't want to wake you up."

"I wouldn't put them out if I didn't want folks to see them. Those planes are as much my family as the people in the pictures."

"Was that your husband in the pictures with you?"

"That's George. He was a barnstormer. You know what that is?"

"No."

"Back in the stone ages, when airplanes were so new that most people had never seen one, we flew our own plane. We would buzz a town somewhere and land in a farmer's field by his barn and talk him into letting us use it for a show. We'd sell short rides to the locals and do a few tricks for anyone who paid to watch. It was a good life, but when planes got more common and they started making safety regulations that sort of thing died out.

"Oh."

"It was fun, but we did some really stupid things, things that would give any modern pilot with a lick of sense the willies. Sometimes regulations are a good thing; sometimes they are a major pain - like now. You can be sure some bureaucrat somewhere is going to object to having you stay with me."

"I - I..."

"Don't worry, hon. I've been outfoxing bureaucrats since I was a little girl. You don't think they wanted to let me fly one of those planes when I was younger than you are now? I was thirteen the first time I soloed."

"You were?"

"I was. Scandalized the town, I did. Scandalized 'em again when I joined the WASPS and started flying military aircraft around the country all by my lonesome. Women just didn't do such things back then, but there was a war on and they needed more pilots than there were men. They dumped us pretty quick when the war was over, but for a while we flew the big stuff."

"You walked on the wings while the plane was flying?"

"Yup! Back then airplanes were brand new, my boyfriend and I made a pretty good living flying around the country. Don't look so skeptical, those old planes couldn't go more than 50 miles an hour so you could walk on the wings while it was flying if you had the nerve. Hell, I even skipped rope and stood on my head."

"You're crazy!"

"No crazier than you. I was never afraid to try something new and do the things they told me girls couldn't do. Our best trick was when George got up out of the cockpit and jumped off the plane with a parachute, then I danced my way to the controls and did loop-the-loops and barrel rolls all the way to the ground."

"I still say you're crazy!

"I do believe that at this very moment you're doing something that most people would say is crazy for a boy."

"Oh."

"Don't look like that, Tamar. You do it well enough that I didn't know out there in the snow. I bet that took a lot of courage."

"I try to think of how Tamar would do things when I get confused."

"Good notion, honey. You'll need to be a strong woman if you decide that's what you want to be. I never let some man tell me that I couldn't fly, and I spent years flying in the WASPs during the war. That's World War II, Tamar. When I say 'the War' that's the one I mean. Anyway, there weren't enough pilots back then, so a lot of women volunteered to ferry planes around the good ol' USA so the boys could go overseas and get themselves into the war. Honey, believe me there were a whole passel of macho jerks who got upset, but they needed us and we flew every stinkin' plane the military had and did it just as well as any man. You ever heard of Rosie the Riveter?"

"No. Who's she?"

"The things they teach kids these days! During the war there were women in all the factories, welding, driving trucks and doing whatever needed to be done so the men could go off and fight. Rosie the Riveter was sort of a recruiting tool to get more women to do the work, she was on posters and advertisements urging women to work. When the war ended they kicked us all out and did their damndest to forget we ever existed, but we didn't forget. My brother didn't come back from the war, but a few of us girls got together and had our own flying circus. Those were fun years."

"I'll bet. Why did you stop?"

"Planes got better, commercial flights came along and there just wasn't the audience for the old fashioned barnstormers any more. I flew a crop duster for a while and things like that because the jerks that ran the commercial airlines wouldn't even let a woman apply as a pilot. If you ever wonder why women's lib came along look no further than that kind of nonsense. No matter where you go there's always The Authorities.

"Speaking of The Authorities, you realize they are going to have to be involved with you. You say your folks don't understand you're a girl. I suspect The Authorities are going to be just as skeptical, and I have to admit I don't understand it much myself."

"Nobody does! I try to explain but nobody listens!"

"I'm listening. Try to explain it to me."

"Nothing's ever been right. I don't like the things that boys are supposed to do. Sometimes it seems like everyone in the universe knows all the boy rules except me. Kicking balls around a muddy field, getting all sweaty and bragging about how strong you are, talking about fast cars. I just don't care about that stuff!"

"Then what do you care about?"

"I want to just read a book without somebody telling me I should do something more manly. I'd like to be able to embroider like my mom does, I want to have pretty clothes. I don't know! I sounds silly when I try to put it into words."

"Honey, all my life people have been telling me what girls should be doing and I thought it sounded just as silly. Why my own father figured that educating a girl was a waste of time, she should get married and let some big, strong man take care of her while she has babies for him. I was even younger than you when I ran away from home."

"You did?"

"I surely did! He told me it was time to stop with this airplane nonsense and start acting like a proper girl. This whole 'boys must not cry and girls must bake cakes' business never made sense to me and I wouldn't put up with it. Now, I have to say I don't understand why you want to be a girl, but I can understand how you feel when people tell you that you can't do something just because you are a boy."

"But I'm not a boy!

"Then the both of us are going to have to learn what we can do about that. We have to work something out or The Authorities will be knocking at my door and accusing me of kidnapping or some such thing.

"Then there's school. You have to go to school, but I can just see what would happen if you showed up at your old school in that miniskirt after the break. We have to do something about getting you into a different school. And you're going to need clothes and, forgive me for saying it, a more convincing wig until your hair grows out a bit.

"I... I... I..."

"Yeah, it's a tall order. I can maybe pull in some favors to get you into school and take you to Mary's Closet for clothes. You're going to have to see some sort of doctor who knows about such things, but that's going to be a problem. I don't see any way around getting your parent's permission for that until you turn eighteen."

"Like that's going to happen!"

"Have you heard the expression 'Old age and treachery will triumph over youth and inexperience?' This whole Authority crap works two ways. I intend to wave the threat of 'The Authorities' over your parents and scare the pants off them - or the skirt off your mother, I suppose. You ever watch that social worker show on TV, Tamar? Want to bet I can channel my Inner Nasty Social Worker and lie my head off until your parents sign the right forms to emancipate you?"

"You wouldn't?"

"I would, and I'll enjoy the hell out if it while I'm doing it! Now, are you feeling hungry? Challenging Authority always makes me hungry."

"Now that you mention it, I kind of skipped lunch..."

"Well, that's one way to keep a girlish figure, I guess."

"If only it were that easy!"
 

Heading for the kitchen, Karen firmly put the future in the future and concentrated on the present.

"Since you're still in your nightgown, what say we have breakfast for dinner? Up for bacon and eggs?"

"Sure. Can I help?"

"Yup. Grab that skillet over there and put it on the stove, I'll raid the refrigerator. Do you drink coffee?"

"It's a little late for caffeine if I want to get to sleep."

"Well I have juice and milk and maybe a bit of soda around here somewhere. Name your poison."

"Milk is fine."

"Fried, scrambled poached? You got a preference?"

"Whatever you're having. I don't want to be a bother."

"No bother, it will be nice to have some company. When you hit my age your friends keep dying off and you have to keep finding new ones or it gets lonely."

Not sure how to respond to that, Tamar asked where to find dishes to set the table. Karen, deciding something a little bit fancy was in order for her first meal with company in some time, set about making a spinach and feta omelet.

"There's some jam on the door of the fridge and bread in the freezer. Want to get a couple of slices out and pop 'em in the toaster. Let them thaw while the bacon fries and put 'em down when I turn the omelet over."

Companionably, the two women worked together in the kitchen and then sat down to eat. There wasn't much conversation for a while, but when the plates were clean Karen decided it was time to figure out what to do with the waif who had ended up at her door.

"So Tamar, are you willing to stay here with me while you figure out what to do with your life?"

"Yes, Karen. I can hardly believe how kind you have been to me. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

"Then we have to do something to make it at least semi-official. That means I have to talk to your parents and get them to cooperate, at least far enough to get some of your clothes and stuff. I want you to make a list of the things you need so I can be sure to get all of it."

"I'm not sure I want anything from them after the way they treated me."

"Well, I can see how you could think that way, but you still have to go to school, do homework, read, whatever. I bet you have a tablet and a cell phone and a couple of those beepy-bloopy games that you don't want to give up. I know you want to be Tamar but we can't just up and change that overnight. I promise you we'll find a way to get you where you want to go, but right now you need to be patient."

"Yeah, patience is a virtue. But why are you helping me?"

"Because a lot of people helped me over my life. You have any idea what people in the thirties thought of a girl that wore trousers and wanted to be a pilot? Tamar, everybody just plain knew that I wanted to be a man if I wanted to fly. Women didn't wear trousers, women didn't work on engines or get themselves covered with oil. I suspect you've heard a lot of 'men do this and don't do that' because you don't feel like a man. In some ways I know what you're going through.

"I'm not saying I understand, I never wanted to be anything but a woman, but the news is full of gay rights and I know that LGBT includes you. Comes with being an old woman who doesn't have the energy to change the channel, I guess. Never thought it would have any real effect on my life, but here we are. You're old enough to have a pretty big say in how you live your life, but young enough to need some help and guidance to get there."

"Now I don't know your parents, but if they threw you out in a blizzard dressed like you were there is a mighty big problem there. For now I'll take your word that your problems are real and I'll try to help you find a way to make things better. The only thing I ask is you try not to lie to me or just tell me what you think I want to hear. The truth always works out best in the long run, even if sometimes you have to bend it in curlicues for the short term."

"That sounds like a great excuse for lying."

"Caught me. What I mean is only lie when you have to, then make the lie simple and get the hell out before you get caught. Always remember there are better liars than you out there who will not be fooled."

"I'm tired of lying, Karen. I've had to lie to everyone and tell them I'm a boy. I'm not, no matter what anybody else says. I never felt like a boy, I want to cook and sew and wear pretty clothes. I want to dance and read romances and..."

"Tamar, boys can do all of those things. Men can do all of those things and so can women. I've spent my life doing what most people think men should do and I'm very much a woman."

"But I feel like a woman. Inside. I want to be a woman no matter what body I was born with. Even if I can't wear pretty dresses I want to just be a girl. I get scared that it may be too late to see the right doctors before my body decides to grow into some grunting hulk but my folks won't let me see anyone because they don't understand. I know that there are drugs that can stop puberty until I'm old enough to tell them what I want, not what some damned gay basher wants me to be."

"That's a heavy burden, Tamar."

"I can't stand it, Karen. I've been hiding dresses and bras and panties ever since I got a some money doing yard work and such for neighbors. I can only wear them when my folks are gone and for those few hours I can feel like the girl I am inside. They came home early because of the storm and we had a big fight and threw me out. Not grabbing my winter coat wasn't the smartest move I ever made, but I couldn't stand another lecture on how I had to be a man. I'm not a man and I never will be!"

"Well, you know you're really a girl and I know that's your choice - now all we have to do is convince the rest of the world.

Chapter 4 – The Social Worker

Pulling up in front of the nondescript suburban home Karen took a moment to ready herself. Just what was she doing here, skirting the law for a kid she had found walking in a snowstorm? Simple - she was pissed off at the kind of parents that would treat a kid like that. So the boy wanted to be a girl - when she was that age she wanted to be a pilot and everyone told her that girls just didn't do that! So she did just that, and so would Tamar if that was where she wanted to go.

Karen didn't have too many dresses in her closet, but there were always times that she needed to act like a lady. She found the most official looking piece of clothing that involved a skirt, put her hair up in a prim bun, and added a few touches of makeup. Looking back in her mirror was a no-nonsense civil servant that looked like every TV show's idea of a dried up old prune who just loved to take children away from their parents.

Yup, look the part and you're halfway home. Too bad she didn't have a boat of a Buick with tailfins to bolster the image of an old woman who never caught up with the times, but the little Honda was much more her style. She would just have to keep her victims – er clients – too busy to notice what she was driving.

She got out of the car, clutched a briefcase filled with mostly nonsense meant to be impressive, but holding several forms she had gotten off the Internet after consulting her lawyer and her friend Sarah, who was a by-gosh real social worker.

Sarah was upset about the parents when she heard the story, but had advised Karen to stay out of the family court if she could. "Sure the parents would be indicated for child abuse, but what would happen to the kid? Some judges might actually help the boy to realize his dreams, but if you ended up in front of someone like Judge Kohut the poor kid would be remanded to his father's custody and probably end up in psychiatric treatment. Kohut never met a father who ever did anything wrong. Remember when she was seconded to a normal courtroom and let some guy off after he beat his kid half to death because the prosecutors couldn't produce the belt he beat him with? Never mind the scars and bruises - no belt, no crime. Believe me, she has done much worse in family court, but no one knows about it because family court is confidential."

Well, if all went well, she would have signatures on forms assigning her as a temporary guardian for Tamar, allowing Karen to take her charge to doctors, talk to her teachers, and other vital tasks needed to raise a teenager in the modern day world. They probably weren't worth the paper they were printed on, but she had decades of experience getting what she wanted from officialdom; a firm attitude of competence and authority went a long way.

It was a good thing the storm had abated, she would have a hard time exerting authority looking like a half-frozen Eskimo seeking shelter from the elements. She rang the doorbell and waited until it opened.

"Mr. Nathaniel Phillips, I am Karen Walters. I am here to investigate a report of felony child neglect and abuse. We have information that your son Timothy was forcibly ejected from this house in the recent blizzard without adequate winter clothing and his life was placed in jeopardy as the result of these actions. Before we press charges I would like to confirm these allegations. May I come in?"

Hit 'em with both barrels, and to hell with the actual law. I want the bastard reeling and confused.

Nathaniel stood there looking confused and angry. He made no noticeable effort to open the door to admit her.

"Mr. Phillips, if I am not admitted immediately I shall have no choice but to have you and your wife charged with felony child abuse and let the courts decide who is responsible. Open this door now."

"What?"

"You heard me, let me in or you get arrested."

"You're crazy!"

Pulling out her cell phone, Karen pushed a few buttons and faked a call. "Sergeant, this is Case Worker Karen Walters. Would you send a car to 23 West Street? I am pressing felony child abuse charges against the occupant."

"Nate, let her in!" came a voice from behind the man blocking the doorway.

The man reluctantly moved aside and Karen entered. It was a pretty typical home, nothing unusual but Fox News was playing on the TV. Not hard to figure where their troglodyte attitudes came from. It was scrupulously neat - Karen would have gone mad living in such rigid order.

"Sergeant, it appears my clients have decided to cooperate, If I have any further trouble, I will call back. Thank you for your time." Karen ostentatiously put the phone back into her official looking briefcase.

"Mrs. Rachael Phillips? She queried, looking at the woman.

"Yes. What is going on?"

"Your child was picked up in clothing completely inappropriate for the blizzard and told us that he had been forcibly ejected from his home. This is clearly child abuse and we will not tolerate such actions in this community. He has been placed in a foster home pending court action. I have come to retrieve his clothing and personal effects and to inform you of your rights and responsibilities pending prosecution."

Any real social worker or cop would be apoplectic at her high handed actions, which were completely bogus, but since most people only knew what social workers did from bad novels and hyped up TV shows and, from what Tamar had told her, she was pretty sure the Phillips were not exactly knowledgeable. Fox News indeed!

"The little pervert ran out the door in a miniskirt. We didn't throw him out!"

"Nonetheless, you are responsible for him until he reaches his majority; allowing him to leave in clothing unsuitable for the weather is clearly child abuse, which I am here to investigate. You have clearly neglected your responsibilities as parents."

"The damned pervert deserves whatever he got!" Screamed the father. "He's no child of mine any more!"

"I see. Are you relinquishing your parental rights over Timothy?"

Was it going to be this easy?

"Lady, you can take your rights and…"

"Nathanial! Keep your mouth shut! I don't want to end up in court or go to jail!" cried Rachael.

"I believe you should listen to your wife, Mr. Phillips. I am an officer of the court and will not tolerate any abuse from you, sir. Disregarding your invective, am I to understand you are prepared to sign a document relinquishing your parental rights and freeing your child to be cared for in a foster home?"

Silence greeted her inquiry. She thought to herself, 'Go for broke, Karen, you got him on the ropes!'

"We are prepared to see that Timothy is placed in a loving foster home where he will be respected and nurtured. It is obvious from your statements that he is not safe in your care, but We are prepared to forgo any legal action so long as you cease your abuse and allow him to develop without interference."

Hit 'em with the 'royal We.' It works every time!

"I don't know…"

Karen again pulled out her cell phone and began to dial. Marvelous tool, the cell phone. It can be quite intimidating."

"No! No… He refuses to listen to the word of the Lord, defies us at every turn. She can take the little pervert and be done for."

"But he's our son! We can't…"

Looks like the parents can't agree about the kid. Karen was almost sorry for these people. Almost. How is it that supposedly Christian people were so quick to hate and hurt people who didn't agree with them? This time they gave up when the phone reached her ear.

"Look, lady, put that thing away. You want him, you can have him. He isn't ours any more, Nathan. We'll sign your papers."

And so they did, but Karen was finding it a trial to maintain her pickle face through the process. It was not an expression that came naturally.

"In that case, I would like to retrieve his clothing and personal effects. Timothy has told me he has a suitcase in his bedroom closet…"

"Just get it over with and get out. His bedroom is back here."

"I appreciate your cooperation, Mr and Mrs Phillips. I will also need his birth certificate and Social Security card."

Little did they know that that suitcase already contained Tamar's wardrobe. Karen hefted the suitcase and found it empty. Oops, I guess they did know. Well, whatever the kid had accumulated was gone now. Karen had come prepared with several garbage bags in her briefcase, and they were soon filled with whatever was left of Tamar's boy clothes. Karen bid the couple an icy goodbye while maintaining her pickle face.

'Thank whoever that's over,' thought Karen as she climbed into the car, suddenly weary with the effort she had put in. Her heart thumped and she was breathing harshly. She was old, much too old for this.