Admin Note: This story was originally published on Sunday December 4, 2016 at 2:50:05 pm. I just had to post this up. I know we are down, especially me. This story is one of tough love, and I would like to think Leila could teach a few of us something about it...~ a very sad Sephrena.
 
 
“GET OUT OF HERE!”, Carla, my older sister, yells standing in her bedroom with just a towel wrapped around her chest and another turbaned over around her head. She had just stepped out of the shower and mom had called us down for breakfast. I stood there debating about running out or just standing there giving her mom’s ‘invitation’. “DID YOU HEAR ME, YOU PERVERT?” She’s 14, and I’m 10 at the time and well, mom kept telling her to ‘mind her modesty’. “Xander!” mom calls out from the first floor of our ‘lovely’ two story home. “I just told you to call your sister down for breakfast! Not to gawk at her in the process!”

The memory was still vivid and I don't recall what I had just said to my therapist about it.

My name is Alexander though… for some reason instead of Alex, they call me ‘Xander’. The name stuck. Thankfully, for not long, I go by Angie now. “Angie, I thought we were going to discuss you and how this all started?” Mrs. Huffman, my therapist, rarely abides distractions and loves tangents even less. “So…” tapping her pencil on the top of her notepad, “What does this have to do with all of this?”

“Well, I guess it was the last time I saw my sister…” I say sadly. “The last thing she ever said to me was call me a ‘pervert’.” I say sadly. I feel my chest begin to tighten.

“I… I’m sorry Angie, I thought… Please continue.” Her normally, stern face softened ever so much for just the briefest of moments.

“Well, I ran down for breakfast and ate it as quickly as I could, before running off to school. She hadn’t come down yet.”

“What happened to her was not your fault.” She must be psychic.

“I never mentioned what happened to her.”

“Sorry Angie, everyone knows that part of the story. It was national news after all. I shouldn’t have interrupted, we’re talking about you at the moment.”

“I know, but she was supposed to walk me to school in the mornings.” I look up because I hear the scribbling by Mrs. Huffman. She never writes. She just taps the pencil on the notepad. I thought it was something of a metronome, keeping things on beat and on measure.

“She went to school directly instead. That’s when they must have grabbed her. If she went with me she would have taken her normal route.”

“So how does that make you feel?” She’s now chewing the pencil, hanging on my words. I’m fidgeting with the hem of my skirt, pulling in closer to my knees. Her eyes dart down to my fingers and my hem for a moment, then back up at me.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head looking down at the hem which never seems to be long enough. “Maybe if I didn’t go up… or enter her room? I might not have been embarrassed and went to school on my own?”

“Angie, listen to me. What happened to you sister was the act of two depraved men. They are the only ones responsible for what happened to her. Not you.”

Tears are rolling down my cheeks. “I can’t help it. You know, she would have been 21 tomorrow.”

“I didn’t realize that. Angie, do you think your life would have been different had this not happened?”

“It would have been nice to have an older sister to share things with. To have someone to talk to about all this.”

“And how does that make you feel?” I’m really starting to hate that question.

“It hurts mainly. I mean, every time I do something, the thought enters my head that she never got a chance to do this.”

“Is it possible you are living the life you thought she would have if she survived? I mean instead of Alexander’s?” The question stuns me.

I shake my head. “I think I’m living my life.” I say in a somber tone. “It probably would have been easier with her there.”

“How did your parents take the news of your transition?” I’m not sure whether the change in subject was for her benefit or for mine.

“I guess the best word was ‘skeptical’.” I say with a smirk that eeked out before I could contain it. Again, more scribbling. Three sessions and she had not written a single word. Now, she’s flipped two pages?

“Go on.” She says matter-of-factly. Her wrist turn gently until she realizes; there isn’t a watch there. Her eyes move towards the clock. She closes her eyes and before I could get a word out. “Actually, I think that’s all the time we have for this session. Have you kept a journal like I asked?”

“Yes, but it’s been pretty hard to write in it lately.” I frown.

“Please, try. It’s important not to have this all bottled up.” She stands, as do I. I straighten my skirt and pull down at the bottom hem of my blazer. She walks towards the door as I follow. She does something else that surprises me. She rubs my shoulder as more tears continue to trace a new path down my cheeks. “Do you have my number in your cellphone?” She asks with a hint of concern in her voice.

I reach in to my purse to pull out my phone. I shake my head that I didn’t. She grabs a card from her receptionist desk and places it in my free hand. “I want you to call me if you need someone to talk to. Please promise me that you will do that, okay?”

I look up and sheepishly nod, “Yes, thank you.” I pull out a tissue from my purse and dab at my eyes. I’ve given up on wearing mascara and eyeliner before therapy sessions. I walk out to the waiting area.
Mom looks annoyed while reading her tablet. She looks up at me, I’m a mess again. I can see it on her face. She slides the tablet into her purse haphazardly, before rushing over to me. I let out a muffled sob as she pulls me into a hug. “Baby, it’s okay.” She rubs my back. All can do is cry as Mrs. Huffman closes the door behind her. It takes me a few moments to compose myself. Mom takes a step back from me runs her fingers through my chestnut hair. “Are you sure this is what you want?” she asks in earnest. I look up at her. “I mean you were pretty sullen as a boy, but it seems much worse now that you’re a young woman. Are you sure this is really making you happy?” I can see the heartbreak on her face. I’ve learned to recognize it. It’s on her face every time someone mentions Carla. She doesn’t wait for an answer. She turns, reaches behind to grab my hand and we walk out of the office. I’m thankful she’s leading, I could barely see straight, let alone think straight.

We head out of the medical office building and to the car. “Honey, do you feel like having some lunch? You didn’t have any breakfast this morning.” I’m shaking my head. I don’t think that she’s asking. We probably already have reservations for lunch.

As expected, we set down for lunch, after the hostess shows us to our table. “Angie, please say something. All you’ve done since we left the doctor’s office is cry.”

“It’s her birthday tomorrow.” I say flatly. The questioning look on my mother’s face gives me pause.
She looks down at her menu. “I hear the chicken marsala is wonderful here. What were you going to have sweetheart?” Chicken marsala was Carla’s favorite dish. It was mom’s way of saying she hadn’t forgotten about Carla. It just still hurt too much to talk about her.

“I was probably going to have a chicken salad or something.” Not even looking at the menu.

“I’m concerned about you. You’re rail thin and skipping meals is not healthy for you. Please, eat something.” She was right. At five feet five inches, I was barely over 110 pounds. I open my menu, scan the entrees and sigh.

“You remind me of myself at your age.” She says with a smile.

I close my eyes and smile.

“There’s that smile that I’ve been missing. Now, can I have my daughter back?” Chill runs through me and my smile disappears.

She looks at me wondering what she said to make my smile vanish this time. “Angie, you keep taking things wrong. Carla wasn’t this hypersensitive.”

“Sorry mom, I can’t help it.”

“Well you certainly can’t go back to school as Angie and be that hypersensitive. It will only make things worse. Are you sure you want to do this? You could start fresh in college. It’s only two years away. You don’t have to… It’s just I don’t want to see you hurt. High School can be just so… cruel you know.”

“The principal assured me that everything would be fine. Dad had a conversation with him and they made sure there were the proper arrangements.” I’m wondering where the waiter is. “The therapist is part of the whole thing.”

“That’s another thing. I don’t like having you walk out of her office in tears. You should have seen yourself. I’m not supposed to ask but, what were you talking about in there that got you so upset?”

“Carla, I was sharing the day that she was taken.”

“That’s none of her concern.” Anger crept into her voice. “Why would she ask about that? You are supposed to be discussing why you’re a girl instead of my son?”

“I brought it up.”

“You did? Why on earth would you bring that up? The therapy is for this whole ‘transgender thing’ of yours.”

“The whole transgender thing? Is that way you think all this is? As a ‘THING’?”

“That’s not what I meant young lady and you should mind your voice!” She says in an angered whisper. “Young lady, I think an apology is appropriate at this moment.”

“I’m sorry mother.” I sigh, “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“I’m sorry too sweetheart. You have to understand that I feel like I’m losing another child. I’m trying my best to…”

“Ladies, would you care for a beverage?”

“Hot tea for me and ice tea with extra lemons for my daughter.” Mom's answer is a reflex.

“I’m sorry, I’d like a diet coke please?” Mom looks at me.

“One hot tea and one diet coke for the young miss. I'll be right back with those in a minute.”

“The ice tea was Carla’s normal drink order, not mine.” I say after the waiter leaves. Mom closes her eyes and shakes her head.

“You look so much like her too. Sometimes I forget."

We finish lunch and head back home.

A pair of police cars are parked in front of our house. Mom looks concerned as we pull into the driveway. She tells me to stay in the car with the engine running. I watch her disappear into the house and shriek.
It startles me. I grab my purse and fumble for my mace and run in after her. Mom’s there standing, hugging someone just slightly shorter than she is. A brunette whose back is towards me. Mom is crying and I don’t know why. I see my dad on the couch, he’s got his hands cupped to his mouth. There are tears in his eyes. The young woman releases her grip on my mom and turns around to see who just entered in the room.

The young woman looks like me. I’m shaking and fall to my knees on the carpet. “Carla?”

“Xander?!?!?"

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Author's note.

Okay, this is what I get for pantsing... I'm not sure whether this would be anything more than just this solo setup. It just feels like the beginning of an interesting story. I would normally bury it in my 'I'll come back to it never file' but it seems like such a waste. Nanowrimo, yielded 64,000 words of a story that would never see the light of publishing. So, I felt a bit guilty that I wrote so much without sharing.

2016-12-04 14:50:05 -0500