Totally Insane 14–Reflections.
by Angharad

Mrs Johnson finished her tea and I followed her into the kitchen with my dirty cup. She rinsed them both out and popped them in the washer. “Right, young lady,” she said drying her hands, “let’s go and bath the baby.”

Baby Sarah was lying in her carrycot playing with her toes and gurgling. I could hear her laughing as we entered the room. “Hello, little Missy,” her mother said, and the baby’s face lit up in recognition and began squealing with delight, begging to be picked up. Mrs Johnson showed me how to pick up a baby, supporting the head. “Look who’s come to see you, Sarah, it’s Kylie.” The little baby gurgled at me and I made silly noises back. She giggled and I made silly faces and noises. She wasn’t sure about that for a moment, then began to laugh.

Mrs Johnson asked me to hold Sarah, while she got the bath ready. It was plastic one in yellow, and she placed it on the draining board in the kitchen. She covered the kitchen table with a towel and put the changing mat on it, then she filled the bath and checked the temperature of the water with her elbow–“Old fashioned, but it works,” she observed.

She pointed at the table, “If you’d like to pop her on the changing mat and undress her, then pass her to me, I’ll show you how to bath her.”

I laid her gently on the mat on the table, I was so nervous. I gently undid her babygro and extricated her arms and legs–she was wriggling like an eel–and didn’t help my nervousness. I pulled off her vest and plastic pants, then the smelly bit–the nappy. It was yellow and stank off pee. When I undid the pin securing it, she had pooed as well–this yucky, sort of yellow brown toffee-like stuff. What did I do now? I looked helplessly at Mrs Johnson for guidance.

“Okay, Kylie, scoop as much as you can of the mess in the liner and wipe her bottom clean with a wet-wipe.” The pack of ‘thick baby wipes’ was lying on the table. The idea of how one could decide which babies were thick and which weren’t baffled me. “Wipe away from her front to the back, like you would yourself to avoid infection in your bladder or vagina.” She had obviously forgotten my slight inadequacies in that area or chose to ignore them. Perhaps she was simply giving me advice for later on, or just going with the flow, helping me to become a girl.

I did the clean up job and popped the rubbish in a bag for disposal, the dirty nappy in a bucket of soapy stuff to soak for an hour or two, and then carefully lifted Sarah and carried her across to her mother. It was a good job I had the pinny on, because as soon as I picked her up, she peed all over me. To add to the insult, she gurgled as she did it.

“Whoa,” said Mrs Johnson, grabbing a strip of kitchen roll, wiped me dry. “Sorry about that, I forgot to warn you, as soon as she sees her bath she gets excited and tends to wee herself.”

“That’s okay,” I said hoping it hadn’t got on to my jeans. I handed Sarah carefully to her mother, who showed me how gently lower her into the water and then wash her, including her hair, which was still quite thin.

“Here, you do it,” Mrs Johnson indicated for me to come and finish bathing Sarah. I gently placed my hand under her head and supported her, then carefully wiped her with a soft sponge of soapy water. As I did so she giggled, kicked her legs and splashed water all over me. I laughed too, there wasn’t anything else to do, and it was better than being weed over.

Under her instruction, I lifted Sarah out of the water with some apprehension; she was even more eel-like, slightly slippery from the soapy stuff. Then I handed her to Mrs J who was waiting with the towel in her hand. Back to the changing mat, she was carefully dried and then massaged with ‘baby softening oil’. I’d always thought babies were pretty soft already, but what do I know?

Once we’d creamed her bum and cleft in front with some baby cream, Mrs Johnson, handed me the nappy and liner and watched while I put them on. She nodded and smiled as I remembered how we’d done it the other night. Then I dressed her in a pair of plastic pants, a vest, a little dress and tights, then a cardigan thing, which her mum called a matinee jacket.

“If you lay her in the pram, we’ll take her out soon as I’ve got some shopping I need to do.” I wasn’t sure about that bit, but I could hardly protest could I? Besides, I was enjoying playing with this life-sized dolly.

Mrs Johnson checked herself in the mirror and after putting on her jacket and collecting her bag, placed them by the pram. She then put a hat on Sarah and after wrapping her up in a quilt thing, put the cover on the pram.

“Aren’t you going to check your hair and makeup, young lady?”

“Erm, yes of course,” I got my bag and pulled out my little mirror, my hair was fine but my lip gloss was messed where I’d been drinking tea and eating biscuits. I put some fresh on, and picked up my bag and my jacket.

“Are you wearing your pinny out?”

I gasped and looked down at myself, I’d had it on for so long I forgot I was wearing it. “Erm, no, erm.” I blushed as I took it off and pulled my jacket on.

She smiled at me, “At least you haven’t still got your slippers on.”

I actually looked down to check, and shook my head, “No, I don’t have my slippers on.”

“So are you going to push the pram?” She asked me.

“Oooh pleeeease,” I said enthusiastically and took hold of the handles. It was a Silver Cross, if that means anything. It looked very well made, one of the new sort, with double wheels on swivelly things, so you can manoeuvre them almost anywhere.

As we walked down our road I began to relax. This was good fun–no wonder girls wanted prams and dolls. I suppose at twelve–well nearly twelve, I was too old for dolls–besides, this real baby stuff was so much better than a lump of plastic was likely to be. I felt so grown up.

The local supermarket is about half a mile away and as we were out for a stroll, I was quite enjoying the walk, my shoes clip clopping along, making much more noise than my boy shoes used to.

“When do you have to see your doctor again?”

“My doctor? I don’t have to see my doctor.”

“My mistake, I meant the doctor at the special clinic.”

“Oh, Dr Shrinkwinkie., you mean?”

“That’s not his name is it?”

“Oops no, it’s a lady and she’s Dr Schless-something or other. I call her Dr Andrea. She’s nice but she’s so old.”

“Is she, like how old, Kylie?”

“I’m not sure but she must be thirty.”

“Thirty, that’s old is it?” Mrs Johnson was chuckling.

“Yes it is, isn’t it?”

“Do you think I’m old, Kylie?”

“No, I think you’re lovely, Mrs Johnson.”

“Well, I’m twenty seven.”

“That’s like, loads younger than thirty.”

“Thirty isn’t old, young lady. You’ll be there in no time. You’ll remember this conversation and laugh.”

“Laugh at what, Mrs Johnson?”

“How much your attitude to age has changed amongst other things.”

“Do you think I’ll be a real girl by then?”

“I think you’re a real girl now. Being a girl isn’t about having a cleft between your legs, Kylie, it’s how you view the world and perhaps more importantly, how you see yourself. Do you see yourself as a girl?”

“Yes, Mrs Johnson, “I do.”

“Well then, that makes you a girl in my book.” She put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. A few minutes later we entered the supermarket and Sarah was asleep.

We got the things Mrs J required and set off home. My phone peeped in my bag. “Hadn’t you better answer that?”

“It’s probably Philip.”

“You don’t know that, so hadn’t you better check?”

I stopped the pram and after taking off my bag, withdrew my mobile, it was still ringing. Sarah moved slightly, but stayed asleep. “Hello Daddy,” I said after I saw his name come up.

“Hello, girl, get yourself together, I shall pick you up in ten minutes. I’ll explain in the car.” He rang off, leaving me feeling confused.

“What was that about? You look confused.”

“It was Daddy, he’s coming to pick me up in ten minutes.”

“Something unexpected has cropped up by the sound of it, maybe to do with the police car earlier. Come on we’d better hurry.” We walked quickly back to the house and my father arrived a few minutes afterwards.

“Sorry to mess you about, Emma, but the police want to speak to Kylie.”

“Fine, just drop her back when you’re ready. I hope it’s not serious.”

“No, some kid’s complained, or their parents did. They got into a fracas with Brian, who apparently flattened three or four of them. They were assaulting Kylie, so he just defended his sister, like he should.”

“Quite. Bye, Stuart, see you later, Kylie.”

I waved goodbye and Daddy drove off. “The police are acting like idiots over this business. They say they want to speak to you about it, even though I explained and so did Brian. I’m afraid they’re going to ask you loads of stupid questions.”

“Me?” I felt my stomach churn, now all the police are going to know about me and within a few minutes I expect they’ll tell all their families and then their kids will know and all these people will be able to laugh at me. I felt my feet getting decidedly cold. “Do I have to?”

Daddy looked at me in an expression I can only describe as disbelief. “What? Brian is only in this mess because of you. If you can’t stand by him as he stood by you, then I am ashamed of you.”

His logic was flawed, I was in this mess because of the small mindedness of some teenagers. Brian was in it because he chose to be so, I didn’t ask him, mainly because I didn’t know he was there. I might have done, had I known. I was certainly glad he was there.

However, family loyalty is not a question of logic–Brian is my brother, he needs my help, it should be given without question. My eyes still began to fill with tears as I said, “I’ll help him, Daddy, but I’m scared.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be with you.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” My voice sounded weak and watery, my tears were salty and watery, and my legs felt very wobbly and watery as we got out of the car. Daddy, held my hand and we went into the police station. I’d never been in one before, and I hope I won’t again.

It was a ginormous place, a bit like a hospital or school. We went into reception and Daddy asked for someone by name. I was busy looking at the locking systems: electronic punch systems, plus CCTV–neat.

A middle-aged man, with greying hair and three stripes on his shoulder thingies, smiled at me. I held onto my father’s hand as if they were trying to take me away from him. “Hello, darlin’,” he said and smiled again. I noticed a colleague called him back and whispered in his ear, he looked at me again and said, “You’re jokin’!”

A moment later a woman emerged from one of the doors off the reception area, “Mr Mosse, if you could follow me.” She held the door open and Daddy walked through, pulling me in his wake. We were led down a corridor and into a room marked ‘Interview 4.’

“So this is Kylie?” said the woman.

“Yes, this is my daughter, Kylie.” Daddy held on to my hand.

“Hello, Kylie, I’m PC Joanne Armstrong.

I nodded to her and maintained my grip on my father, almost trying to climb into his clothes with him.

“I need to ask you some questions, is that alright?”

I nodded again. Daddy nudged me and said, “Speak up, girl.”

“Yes,” I said, feeling very nervous.

“Okay, why don’t you tell me what happened on Sunday afternoon?”

“Erm, I can’t remember.” I blushed with embarrassment.

“What happened before you got to the shopping area?”

“Nothing, why?” I felt a tear roll down my cheek.

She shook her head, “Look, Kylie, as far as I’m aware you haven’t done anything wrong, so there is no need to be afraid. I’m aware of your gender difficulty, and it’s okay with me. Personally, I can’t think why every boy doesn’t want to be a girl, it’s kewl compared to being a boy, isn’t it?”

I nodded and we chatted for a while, eventually she dragged the details of the incident out of me. “So the boy who was harassing you drew a knife?”

“Yes, he said he was going to cut my willie off.”

“And that was when your brother, Brian, got involved?”

“Yes. I didn’t know he was there.”

“And he knocked down this boy and another one who tried to attack him from behind?”

“I think there were three or four of them, but none of them wanted to try it on with Brian.”

“He actually challenged them, then?”

“Sort of, it was his way of making them go away. Then he walked us home.”

“So it all dispersed and he escorted you and–Philip, you said–home?”

“Yes, an’ I had to sew his jeans ‘cos he’d split them.”

“Just like a good little sister?”

I shrugged and blushed.

“But there was definitely a knife?”

“Yes.”

“And it was drawn by one of the group of boys before Brian got involved?”

“Oh yes, Joanne. The boy was threatening to give me a sex-change with it.”

“Okay, thank you, Kylie. Your father tells me you see Dr Schlessinger at the clinic?”

“Yes, she’s nice.”

“If I need to, would you mind if I spoke to her about you?”

“No.”

“Hang on a minute,” said my dad, “why would you need to speak to her? Kylie is an injured party, assaulted by these grubby little sods, why is she being brought into question? Are you trying to suggest we made her dress up like this?”

“No, Mr Mosse, I am not. Okay, let me put my cards on the table; the boy your son hit was Richard Burden.”

“Yes, so?”

“His father is a chief inspector.”

“Ah,” said Daddy, “is that a problem?”

“He reckons his son has witnesses to say that Brian produced the knife and tried to stab them.”

“No, it was his friend–he called him ‘Grunter’–who had the knife.”

“Grunter is John Hogg, his father’s on the force too.”

“So what happens now?”

“It’s going to be your word against theirs. There are more of them.”

“But they’re lying.”

“That’s what they say about your side of it.”

“This is ridiculous, this is tantamount to abuse of power.” My father was getting on his hobbyhorse.

“I can’t comment on that, Mr Mosse. However, what would normally be something we would just speak to the parents about, could end up in court.”

“This is ridiculous, those little swine deserve to be in court for their assault on my daughter.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, Mr Mosse, however, I thought you should know what you’re up against. It’s also why I may need to speak with your daughter’s doctor.”

“I see.”

“Can I bring charges against the other boys?”

“In theory, but it has more chance of going to court.”

“Hmm. I need to talk with someone.” My father squeezed my hand, “Is that it?”

“For the moment. Thank you for attending Mr Mosse, I know what a pain it is, and thank you too, Kylie. I think you’re a very brave young lady.”

“It is a pain,” said my dad, “but it needs to be sorted. Once my kids are cleared, I’m going to sue their arses off.”

PC Armstrong, said nothing but smiled broadly. I got the impression she didn’t like her colleagues.

“Who are you going to see, Daddy?” I asked as we drove back to Mrs Johnson’s.

“Our solicitor to start, and depending upon his advice, another person I know a bit.”

“Who’s that, Daddy?”

“A golfing chum of mine, Peter Holiday.”

“Is he a lawyer?”

“No, he’s the Chief Constable.”

“How d’you know him?” I asked.

“We were at uni together, he did psychology. Never thought he’d end up as a copper. We were on the university golf team.”

“They have golf teams in university?”

“Our one did, and we both ended up moving into this area, where I met your mother and the rest is history. He actually asked me to get him in the local golf club, he was just a lowly copper then although they were fast tracking him, he went off as an inspector–to London I think–then came back as assistant chief constable about five years ago; now he’s chief constable. Maybe he can sort this out?”

“I hope so, Daddy, Brian did nothing wrong, he was protecting me.”

“Yes I know, sweetie, it’s the bully-boys trying to escape their just deserts. They’re often cowards.”

“Two of them were bigger than Brian, too.”

“He’s as strong as an ox, wiry, so it doesn’t show. He’s also done some training in martial arts, although he gave it up because he wasn’t committed enough to it. Too much like hard work.”

“Maybe I should take it up, then they wouldn’t bother me.”

“I don’t know, Kylie, I’m afraid your path is likely to be strewn with obstacles until people become more understanding, because with that will come sympathy or even empathy. Once they understand gender is not something we choose–it chooses us–they might see things more sympathetically. Until then, just be the best girl you can and we’ll do all we can to help you.”

“Okay, Daddy, I’ll be the best girl I can.”

“Good girl,” he said and patted my knee.

My mobile beeped meaning there was a text. I opened it and read the message. Can u play bdmntn 2nite? I need prtnr 4 mxd dubs. Luv P.”

“Daddy, please may I play badminton tonight? Philip needs a partner.”

“What sort of partner?”

“A doubles partner.”

“Doubles or mixed doubles?”

“Oh I see, mixed.”

“If your mother says it’s okay. I though for a moment you were going to change back to a boy.”

“What to play badminton? Nah, I’m a better girl player.”

“I’m not sure I understand that remark, but I’ll take your word for it. Right, here’s Mrs Johnson’s, be on your best behaviour and remind her you have to go to the clinic tomorrow afternoon. I shall be able to take you, but I suspect your mother will want to come as well.”

I opened the car door and made to get out.

“Hey, haven’t you forgotten something?” I checked my bag, I had everything. I looked puzzled at him. “Don’t I get a kiss, then? I’ll bet Philip would.”

“Oh, yes Sorry, Daddy.” I pecked him on the cheek, and he drove off back to work. I went and rang Mrs Johnson’s bell.

“Ah, you’re back. How did it go?” I told her and she was disgusted at the way these boys and their parents were telling such lies about both Brian and me. I kept quiet about Daddy knowing the Chief Constable. I thought it might be something not to mention to too many people, it had to be our secret weapon.

We had lunch, although I wasn’t very hungry and I watched as Mrs Johnson breast-fed Sarah. “I wish I could do that?”

“Maybe you will one day, Kylie, I think they can cause male breasts to lactate with the right hormones, after all, they are the same as female ones if they grow with female hormones, aren’t they?”

“I don’t know, Mrs Johnson, but I wish I could get some hormones and start growing boobs.”

“It’ll all happen in time, I’m sure. They have to make certain it’s what you really want. Because children can change their minds, they delay things. I read some stuff on the internet the other night. I suppose I wanted to know more about my favourite baby sitter. But all these things just put icing on the cake, Kylie, it’s what you feel inside is what counts.”

“I’m a girl, at least I think I am.”

“Well, you have time to think a bit more, so don’t hurry. It’s best to make sure, or as sure as you can.”

“Yes, I know. Why do we have to make such big decisions?”

“I’m afraid that’s life, young lady. But think, if they gave you female hormones to change your body, and then you decided it was all a big mistake–and it does happen–people have gone all the way to surgery and regretted it, they might not be able to restore function to certain bits. You might then regret it.”

“I don’t know Mrs Johnson. A few weeks ago, I thought I was a boy–not a very good one, but I thought I knew. Then, the girls helped me dress up to try and recover something of Brian’s, and Mummy thought I had chosen to dress like a girl. I hadn’t, but somehow I didn’t want to rush to take them off. They were so comfy. She thought I wanted to be a girl and it was easier to do what she wanted. Then I began to like it, it was like natural to me. I wasn’t pretending, it was me, the real me. Daddy seemed to think I made a better girl than a boy.”

“Don’t let others influence you too much, Kylie. If it’s what you want it’s fine. If it isn’t, promise me you’ll tell someone, even if it’s only me. There is nothing wrong with you occasionally pretending to be a girl, but don’t do it if it doesn’t feel right to you.”

“I won’t, Mrs Johnson, I promise.”

“Kylie, would you like to call me Auntie Emma?”

“Yes, I would. Thank you Mrs John…oops, Auntie Emma.”

“I always wanted a niece, now I have one.” She smiled warmly at me and I smiled back.

~~~~~

Thanks to Gabi, for editing and improvements, any errors left are mine.

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