Tony has a choice to make. He can demand that he be what he wants to be, or life can simply go the way everyone else thinks it should.

Freedom of Choice
by Angela Rasch

“In ancient Rome, there was a poem
About a dog who found two bones.
He picked at one.
He licked the other.
He went in circles.
He dropped dead.”

Freedom of Choice – Devo

It seemed uncomfortable for everyone in our classroom to listen to Brandon’s voice tremble as he questioned the essay topic he had been assigned.

“Could you check again, Miss Karing? There must be some sort of mistake.” His muscular frame quivered in a way that granite shouldn’t.

Miss Karing smiled so that her eyes glistened and opened a file folder jammed with papers. “I don’t think I made an error, Brandon,” she said softly and without any of the bitterness another teacher may have used when challenged. She was perfectly suited to teach our sociology class, especially our current unit, which was about how human behavior is shaped by public opinion.

If there is one teacher I want to try to be like, it’s her.

“I don’t mean to be troublesome, Miss Karing.” He tried to disguise what he was doing -- but his right hand had definitely wiped away a tear.

Brandon crying? I never thought I would see the day. All of us guys wanted to be as strong and tough as him, but there could only be one Brandon.

“The thing is, Miss Karing.” His voice broke. “I’ve always tried to be nice to everyone.”

“You are,” Miss Karing said. “You wouldn’t have been elected homecoming king last month, if you weren’t so nice. If I’m not mistaken, you’re the first sophomore in Oakmont High history to be elected either homecoming king -- or queen.”

Everyone murmured their approval and admiration of Brandon, including me.

He had never, ever bullied me, which placed him in the vast, silent minority. People in my high school seemed to hate boys who are much too small for their age.

Brandon cleared his throat. “But — then — why? Why did you guys say I’m ‘intolerant?’”

Miss Karing had given us a list of twenty adjectives and had asked that we match them with the twenty people in our class. She’d asked that we not discuss our matchings with our classmates so that we would get twenty individual decisions.

We had to write at least two sentences justifying each of the matches. We had turned in that assignment a few days before. She had used the tabulated results to give each of us a topic for an essay that would be due in a week.

The class had decided that I was “confused.”

Whatever that means.

“Confused” is almost flattering compared to what many of my classmates have called me over the years.

I looked around and saw quite a few red faces. It was easy to figure out who had accused Brandon of being intolerant. Just as obvious, was their remorse for having caused such a wonderful guy so much pain. I felt that same grief as I had been one of those who had matched his name with “intolerant.” I had written in my remarks that he was very rigid in his judgment of people, but not nasty about his feelings.

“Being ‘intolerant’ wouldn’t be within my Christian values,” Brandon stated, trying to set his face in what had to be the sexiest smile in school.

He can be a bit of a Jesus freak.

I’d heard him say at lunch one day that his best friend had been born in a manger.

“Being intolerant doesn’t mean you’re a bad person,” Kayla said, with a helpful grin.

It didn’t surprise me that she would be the first to overtly try to make Brandon feel better. If Brandon wasn’t the nicest kid in our class -- and the best-looking -- she was.

If I had the guts, I would ask her out. But guys like me don’t go out on dates with anyone, let alone with girls like her.

“Quite a few people matched your name with ‘intolerant,’” Miss Karing said to Brandon, “but everyone wrote something to the effect that your intolerance really didn’t make you any less likable.”

She closed her file and looked around the room. “Does anyone else want me to double-check their assignment? Remember, I want at least two hundred and fifty words about the steps you’re going to take in your life to overcome the negative word you have been matched with -- by your peers.”

I looked down at the sheet of paper she had given to me — at my name at the top and the word “confused.”

No one else asked Miss Karing for clarification. They apparently either agreed with their designated adjective or wanted to put off into the future the embarrassing disclosure of what people thought of them.

***

“Honey, could you work a little late tonight?” Mom’s voice carried the weight of her twelve-hour workdays. Ever since Dad died, she had been struggling to make the payments at the bank.

She had purchased her salon just before Dad got sick. Even though we had some insurance, it wasn’t enough to cover all the medical expenses. Mom said we had spent ourselves down to the waterline and then started swimming for our lives.

I looked up at her, from the hair I had swept together, from around the four chairs she leased to Greta, Marcy, Jan, and Yvonne. They paid Mom a percentage of their gross for their rent. “What’s up?”

“I need your help looking over the books. It’s been a slow month. I need to find a way to pull another silly, old rabbit out of my hat.” She grinned at me and reached to run a hand through my hair. “I’d love to put a highlight, or two, in that patch, on top of your head.”

For some reason, she seemed to want to treat me like a girl when things were financially rough. It was her way of escaping from life’s grim reality.

I let her cut my hair any way she wanted. As small as I am -- people are going to tease me whether I have bangs or not. “I can work on the books for thirty minutes, but then I need to write a first draft of my essay for Miss Karing.”

If I was going to go to college, I would need to qualify for scholarships and my grades had to stay at the top of my class.

Mom pushed several strands of hair off my face and then sprayed around my head with a lilac-scented hold. “That’s better,” she sighed with satisfaction. “Thirty minutes should be long enough to rob a little from Peter-the-not-so-demanding-wholesaler, to pay Paul-the-ever-insistent-banker.”

We laughed at her gallows humor.

I caught our reflection in the mirror. Marcy had told me earlier in the afternoon that Mom and I were starting to look like twins, after she saw how Mom had just cut my hair.

Although Mom was almost thirty-five, she had kept herself in pretty good shape. Her face still spelled f-u-n.

***

“I’ve learned a lot during the last week.” Brandon stood at the front of the classroom shifting his weight, in what appeared to be a futile attempt to make himself comfortable.

“At first I was angry.” His face seemed more sheepish than irritated. “I didn’t want to believe it was possible that I could accurately be described as ‘intolerant.’ I wanted to find out which of you had said such a thing -- and have a talk with you in private.” He stopped and waved his hand to make sure we didn’t think he wanted to throw a punch at anyone. “I wanted to get to the bottom of this.” He nodded his head and set his square jaw.

In contrast to his jaw, Mom had recently told me how “lucky” I was to have an apple face. She said I would always look sweet. When she said it -- I had wondered just how bad things were with the bank.

Brandon tapped his essay with his finger. “I started my research by going to Weaver’s Grill and having a strawberry yogurt swirl. I wasn’t really hungry, but I needed to talk to Stanley.”

Stanley had been the counterman at Weaver’s Grill forever. He was the smartest person any of us knew -- and had an answer for everything.

“I asked Stanley,” Brandon said, “if he thought I had a tendency to be intolerant. He surprised me by stating that when it came to me judging people who had made different lifestyle choices -- that I could be ‘a little jerk.’”

Some of the other guys shook their heads in disbelief, while others nodded slightly.

“I thought a lot about what Stanley said -- and came to the conclusion that my religious beliefs required me to withhold my fellowship from those who make improper lifestyle choices. It has long been my goal to keep myself right with the Lord, by staying away from the wrong people. I don’t want to invite temptation -- by putting myself in the near occasion of sin.”

I was about to tune out his obvious witnessing when I realized who it was that was talking. Brandon is a leader. Brandon is the boy most likely to succeed. Brandon could even date Kayla, if he wanted to -- but he normally hung out with senior or junior girls.

He continued. “I decided to revisit lifestyle choices -- and I’m glad I did. I went on the internet and found that recent scientific discoveries have proven that most of what has been termed ‘lifestyle decisions’ are caused by genetic make-up that we are born with. One article I read really knocked my eyes out.”

He stopped and looked directly at me. “This article talked about boys who think they were born in the wrong bodies. Those boys think they should have been born a girl. Australian and American scientists have examined three sex hormone genes. They found male-to-female transsexuals tended to have a longer version of the androgen receptor gene, which could reduce testosterone action. One of those scientists said, ‘It is possible that a decrease in testosterone levels in the brain during development might result in incomplete masculinization of the brain in male-to-female transsexuals.’”

He continued to stare into my face. “So, you see — people we think are making poor choices and living a lifestyle that we might think is ‘sinful’ -- simply are being who they were born to be.”

He bit his lip and rocked from his toes to his heels for several seconds, before going on. “I’ve been wrong in being too quick to judge people. I’m going to make reparations and offer my complete friendship to those people I’ve avoided in the past. Tony — you and I are going to be best buddies, from now on.”

Please let me disappear.

Then he got a little preachy. “I vow to show all of you that I can be just as tolerant as anyone. In fact, I swear by all that is holy that from now on I will be a changed person. I’ve seen the light -- and will go forth accepting that which I previously condemned.”

I shook my head trying to understand what he had said — and what it all meant.

The bell rang, and then everyone left the room in complete silence -- as they all obviously, tried to put together the weird pieces to Brandon’s puzzle.

Miss Karing touched my arm. “If you would like to talk to someone — about anything, I’m here.”

***

When I emerged from school -- there was Brandon standing next to his car -- waiting for me. “Tony, do you need a ride home?”

“What did you mean?” My question had come out a little louder and a little more sarcastic than I had wanted it to.

He laughed. “Do you want a ride from here — the school — to there — your home? Is that too hard to comprehend?”

I stepped back from the door to his car, which he had opened. “No. . .. What did you mean in sociology?”

“We don’t need to talk about that,” Brandon said. He placed a large and sinewy hand on my shoulder and gently moved me into his car. He shut the door on me, and then ran around and got in behind the wheel. “I meant what I said about us being friends.”

“What if I don’t want to be. . .?” I almost kicked myself. Who in their right mind doesn’t want to be friends with Brandon? I looked around -- hoping Kayla would notice me hanging out with him. Maybe being seen with Brandon will raise my stock enough in her eyes, for her to consider even talking to me.

Brandon pulled out into traffic before turning toward me. “I can understand how you’d be mad at me, but can’t we put all that in the past?”

I watched the world speed by and marveled at how great it was to be getting a ride home. I lived two miles from the school and only the dorks took the bus. Well. . .okay. . .most days I take the bus -- but only so I can have more time to help in the salon.

“How long is this going to last?” I asked. “This new friendship. . .. How long are you going to play this game?”

He looked over at me, with pain in his eyes. “For as long as you want to be friends. I know I’ve been wrong. I want to do the right thing.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “I don’t need your pity.”

He pulled his car over to the side of the road and then turned to me -- speaking evenly. “If you want to get out, you can. I’ve thought this through. You and I have a lot in common. We both study a lot. We both go to a lot of the same movies.”

I have seen him at the cineplex -- quite a bit.

He smiled. “I’ll bet if we give our friendship a chance, we’ll find out that we can have a lot of fun together. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me? People say I’m a pretty good guy, once you get to know me.”

“I’ve got to get home,” I said. “I live on Stonewood Drive.”

“I know. I looked you up last night in the student directory. You live in the apartment building that faces Lindenwood Park.”

“Let’s go.”

We drove to my home in embarrassing silence. When we got to my apartment complex -- I directed him to the right door.

He touched my arm as I opened the car door. I looked back toward him and saw him reaching under the seat.

“I got you something,” he said quietly. “Call it a friendship gift, or whatever.”

It was a small oblong box wrapped in blue foil paper. I didn’t know what to say or do, so he stuffed it in my hand, which seemed delicate compared to his.

“I’ll call you later tonight, to see if I can pick you up tomorrow morning. You actually live right on my way to school.”

We both knew everything that needed to be said had been, so I unfolded myself out of his car and hurried in to get ready for work. I put away my books and set the package Brandon had given me aside.

***

“Wow,” Mom whistled, “I’ll say Brandon wants to be your friend.”

Mom and I had just finished our late dinner after closing the salon and walking the eight blocks home together. It always made me feel good to walk with her in the dark, even though I wondered how I would ever protect her, if someone attacked.

I stared at the small glass bottle that had been in the blue package. It was filled with yellow liquid. Its black label simply said, “Coco.”

“A bottle like that costs over one hundred dollars at Macy’s,” she continued.

“Here. . ..” She took my hand, turned my wrist up, and sprayed a small amount on me. “Rub your wrists together -- very lightly. And then rub each wrist along your jawline, under your ear.”

I blushed but did what she said automatically -- as if she had just asked me to pass the salt.

“Mmmmm,” she said. “Its aroma agrees with you. You’re lucky — Coco is the kind of ‘classy lassy’ perfume that only the most elegant people can wear.”

“Will it wash off?” I asked, terrified of smelling “elegant” in school. Although its scent is heavenly.

“Why would you want to wash it off?” She asked in horror. “That stuff goes for about a dollar a good sniff.”

I closed my eyes and wondered just how bad things were going at the salon. What is it she wants to escape from?

“Mom. . .,” I whispered. “I’m a boy. Remember?”

She looked at me with a blank face before breaking into a grin. “Of course, you’re a boy. But boys today wear cologne. You said Brandon feels remorse for not having been your friend and wants to make it up to you, by giving you a gift. The least you can do is wear a little cologne, once in a while, to show him you appreciate his chivalrous gesture.”

“I can’t. . ..”

She cut me off. “To err is human. . .to forgive. . .divine. In this family, we always find a way to open our hearts, to forgive people. Don’t we?”

Later, while I was going through the flashcards I’d made for Spanish vocabulary, our phone rang. We still had a landline because individual cell phones were beyond our budget.

“It’s for you, Honey.”

I went to the living room, picked up the phone and then found myself reaching within myself to find a way to forgive Brandon -- and accept his offer of a ride to school, in the morning.

***

The next several weeks went by without incident, unless you call suddenly finding yourself part of the kewl crowd an “incident.”

Brandon turned out to be as good a friend as anyone could ever hope to have.

He was at my house every morning, thirty minutes before the opening bell. Every afternoon, he waited for me in front of the school and either took me directly home, or we went to Weaver’s Grill.

Brandon managed to pay most of the time. He and I had a frank conversation about how things were on the home-front and he found a way of making it seem right when he picked up the check, for everyone. I never ordered anything too expensive, so as not to take advantage of his generosity.

Whenever I could find some loose change, I had him take the two of us to Ben & Jerry’s where I would buy us a dish of ice cream, to share.

I became convinced he actually did want to be best friends -- and wasn’t pulling some sort of horrible trick on me. I started to realize how privileged I felt. I couldn’t find words to express my appreciation for his friendship, so I decided to communicate non-verbally.

One day, after we pulled out of the school parking lot, I placed my hand on his upper thigh. I always felt special when Mom went out of her way to touch me and wanted him to know how special he had become to me.

He smiled when I did it, so I didn’t take it away. He also seemed to like it when I would give his leg a soft, little squeeze, every once in a while. After that day, whenever we were alone in his car, I put my hand on his thigh and left it there.

We seemed to be able to talk about anything. One afternoon, he took the time to drive us leisurely through the park.

“What do you think of that?” He pointed toward a couple sitting on a bench -- kissing passionately.

“It would be better, if they didn’t do it in public,” I answered honestly.

He nodded. “If they’re in love -- it’s okay. Too many teenagers seem to think that kissing is some mild form of amusement. They don’t seem to understand that a kiss is a statement of undying love.”

I looked at his handsome face and wondered at his wisdom, which was far beyond mine.

I had been right about getting to know Kayla through Brandon. She was part of the same crowd. However, we seemed to be more like friends than potential lovers.

I’ll just bide my time and let her get to know me, before taking a chance on ruining everything by asking her out.

***

I had to get home from school as quickly as possible because Mom was planning a birthday meal for me. I was lost in thought -- when Brandon reached in the back seat and pulled out a package wrapped in that same blue foil he had used for my cologne.

“I hope you like it. Kayla helped me shop for it -- and with the size.”

Size? “Should I open it now?”

“Sure,” he said. “No time like the present. . .for a present.” He seemed uncharacteristically awkward.

The box was from a store I had never heard of. It contained a bright blue sweater.

“How did you know that I’m a Dodger fan?”

“Dodger. . .? Oh, I guess it is Dodger blue. The saleslady said it’s cobalt blue. It’s cashmere.”

It was made out a very soft fabric and had long, thin sleeves. Luckily it had a crew neck, or it might have seemed almost feminine. “It’s really neat. The only thing is that it looks a little too nice for school. It almost looks like something I’d wear on a date.”

Maybe I should ask Brandon how to approach Kayla. I could wear this sweater on a date with her.

“I’m not sure if it would be a date,” Brandon said. He gulped before continuing. “I was thinking maybe we could go to a movie Friday night. You could wear the sweater then. . .if you want.”

“Who else will be going with us?” We had gone to movies, in a group, with our friends -- several times.

“Zach and Kayla.”

Good! They’re fun to be with. I can work on Kayla some more. She isn’t one of those country club snobs. Maybe I’ll find just the right moment to ask her out. “What’s playing?” If I get to choose, I’ll want to see that documentary about the fabulous and forgotten silent film stars.

“I haven’t checked. . .but you can pick what we see.” He stammered. “I’ll look tonight. . ..”

I laughed. “What’s the big deal? I’ll check online. We can talk about it tomorrow at school.”

He broke into a huge grin. “Great. Happy birthday.” For some reason, he gave me a hug.

Dad had been a hugger, so I was used to it. And, it felt nice.

At that moment it started to rain — just enough to create that lovely rain smell.

***

“Do want me to help you with your hair?” Mom asked, about an hour before Brandon was scheduled to pick me up, to go to the movie.

I wrinkled my nose at her. “What?”

“It’s okay, Tony. I know exactly how you feel. You don’t want tonight to be a big thing. But at the same time -- you want it to be special.”

“What?”

“Aren’t you the mysterious one? But, I understand — I was your age once. Let’s go into my bedroom. There are some things I’ve been dying to try with your hair. You’ve only got an hour, to get ready. Where’s that lovely sweater Brandon gave you?”

Mom’s been really stressed about work. I’ll let her do some things. I was going to watch a little of the ballgame, before Brandon gets here. But I can do without that.

“My sweater is folded over the back of the chair in my bedroom. I don’t want to put it on, until right before I leave.”

“Good idea. Sit here, I’ll be right back.” Two minutes later, she was fiddling with my hair -- when she obviously noticed my hands. “Good heavens, your nails are a fright.”

I looked at my hands. There was a tiny bit of dirt under a couple of my nails. They had gotten a little long. “They’re okay.”

“Not for someone whose mother owns and runs a salon. What would people think?”

I shrugged. I don’t consider myself a walking advertisement for her business.

She had cut off a little hair and finished by spraying it with something that smelled like flowers. “I’ve got just enough time to give you a proper manicure.”

I pulled my hands back. “No. . ..”

“It’s okay, Tony. Men get manicures all the time.”

“I’ve never seen a man in your salon.”

She sighed. “Not in my salon. It’s about as girly as they come. But men do get manicures -- and you need one.”

Her tone told me everything would be okay -- and that I was being silly.

She had me soak my fingernails, for a few minutes, in something that smelled like her salon. Then she filed my nails for a bit. “I don’t have the clear polish that men normally get — but I’ll use this, which has just a tiny bit of pink in it. No one will ever see the difference in a dark, old movie theatre.”

The lines on her forehead have relaxed, which is good. Lately, she’s been looking too tired and much too troubled. “Okay.”

“Oh my,” she said. She had been using a hairdryer on a cool setting, to dry my nails. “Brandon will be here in two minutes. He’s always so prompt. Such a nice gentleman caller.”

My nails looked pinker than I had anticipated -- but there was no time to do anything about it. I ran to my room and pulled on my sweater. . .which Mom had sprayed with my cologne.

“Mom!”

“It’s okay. . .. He expects you to use the cologne he gave you,” she said, cooing behind me. “Brandon did such a good job buying that sweater. It matches your eyes.”

I was trapped. I had to wear the sweater. I like it when Mom uses the presents I give her, so I can understand how he would feel, if I didn’t wear it. At least, it doesn’t smell super flowery, just a little like the shampoo/conditioner Mom always buys for me.

The doorbell rang. I had always been ready and waiting outside when Brandon came to get me. This would be the first time he had ever come in.

I opened the door and attempted to step out, but Mom stopped me with a shout.

“Brandon, come in. Let me get a picture of you two, with Tony wearing that gorgeous sweater.”

Gorgeous? “Oh, Mom,” I begged. “We have to go, to pick up the rest of the guys.”

“They’re already in the car,” Brandon said. “We have plenty of time for a picture.”

I sighed.

Mom posed us in front of the sliding glass door that led to the small deck where we cooked hot dogs on our hibachi. “It would look more natural with your arm around Tony,” she suggested.

Brandon gave a small, nervous laugh, but circled my waist with his arm and pulled me toward him.

Two minutes later, we were in the car with Kayla and Zach. They sat in the back and Brandon and I were in the front.

“Do you like your sweater?” Kayla asked, in a high-spirited tone.

“It’s nice,” I said, and then realized I sounded a little less than grateful for receiving such a nice gift. “Thank you for helping Brandon pick it out. It really fits good and the color is perfect.”

“It was fun shopping for you,” Kayla said. “Maybe you and I could go shopping next weekend. I could help you find. . .things. . .. Things you wouldn’t want to. . ..” She seemed not to know what to say and faded off instead of finishing.

Going to the mall with Kayla sounded like a good idea, even though she had slid over close to Zach and seemed pretty interested in him.

I can understand how she feels, because he’s almost as good-looking as Brandon.

She smiled. “I think shopping with you would be fun. Let’s do it.” She then turned her full attention to Zach.

When we got to the movie, Brandon insisted on paying for me. Apparently, Zach got into the spirit of things, because he paid for Kayla.

Kayla had insisted that we see a romantic movie, not the special effects kind of thing I liked -- but I could live through it.

About ten minutes after the feature started, Brandon leaned over and whispered in my ear. “You smell great. Is that the perfume I gave you?”

Perfume? I nodded.

“Could you move over to this side of your seat, so I can enjoy it fully?” He asked.

We were sitting with Zach and Brandon on the outside, and with Kayla and me in the middle.

I had been pleased when Kayla sat next to me -- but couldn’t think of a good reason not to do what Brandon had asked. After all, he had given me the cologne and such a great sweater. I had noticed several girls staring at it, in a way that told me I looked pretty good wearing it.

Just as soon as I moved a bit closer to Brandon, Kayla snuggled closer to Zach -- and he put his arm around her.

I’m going to have to work fast before things get too heated between the two of them. Next week when we’re shopping, I’ll talk to her about going out with me.

Brandon sighed and draped his arm across the back of my chair. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not,” I answered with enthusiasm. It was great to have such a thoughtful friend.

A few moments later, Brandon moved in that way that boys do -- when they have a boner and need to find a position that doesn’t pinch it.

The movie’s pretty hot. I suppose if I think a lot about the starring actress, I’ll get one too.

“She’s really pretty,” I said, in a theater whisper.

“Who is?” he asked in surprise.

I pointed toward the screen.

“I hadn’t noticed.” He moved again in that same pained way, which told me he must be really having some erotic thoughts.

I laughed -- aware that sometimes my laugh sounds like a giggle. Mom had said I would probably go through puberty before college. She had taken me to a doctor when I was twelve, who had prescribed pills for me to take daily “to help me develop.” But they hadn’t kicked in -- yet.

It was cold in the theater, so when Brandon’s arm fell on my shoulder and he pulled me closer to him -- it felt nice.

***

“Drop us off at my car, in the school lot,” Zach said, while we were leaving the theatre.

“Are you going to be okay alone with Brandon?” Kayla whispered in my ear. “I feel like I’m abandoning you.”

Abandoning me? Maybe she does want to go out sometime?

I put my arm around her waist while we walked toward Brandon’s car, and then took a chance. “Do you want to go out with me next weekend?”

“Sure,” she said, with some wonder in her voice. “We’re going shopping, remember.”

Apparently, she considers that to be a date. Great!

After we dropped them off, Brandon wiggled around on the seat, again.

He must be one of those guys who gets hard-ons at strange times. We sat and waited until Zach had driven off. Brandon is so considerate, waiting to make sure they get safely on their way.

“You really do smell wonderful,” he said, not putting his car in gear. “Do you mind getting closer again, so I can get a good sniff.”

I nudged over. He once again made sure I was warm enough, by wrapping an arm around me.

“Do you want to listen to some music? I made a mix especially for you.”

He pulled his arm from around me and fiddled with something on his steering wheel, until music started.

It wasn’t the normal stuff he listened to, but it was kewl. Billie Eilish was singing in her street-wise, sexy voice, even though I was sure that under it all -- she remained school-girl sweet.

His arm was once more around me and there was a small package in his hand wrapped in that familiar blue foil. “This is for you. I picked it out myself, once I realized how cheesy it was to have had Kayla pick out your sweater.”

“What’s this for?” I asked, feeling strangely pleased to get another present — almost like I had dreamt I would feel, if Brandon won a giant, fuzzy, teddy bear for me at Valley Fair.

“It’s a belated birthday gift.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said -- but I was already unwrapping it.

It was a gold chain with a small heart hanging from it. The heart had been inscribed “Toni.” It’s too bad they misspelled my name. But I like the idea of wearing gold chains -- like all the pro wrestlers.

“Do you like it?”

I nodded. “I love it.”

He reached for the chain and helped me put it on. When I turned to thank him, I found myself in one of his hugs, which had become quite familiar.

“You feel so soft,” he said in my ear as he extended the hug, far beyond the time when we normally would have parted.

“It’s my sweater that’s soft,” I explained, “. . .which I also really do love.”

He gently increased the pressure of his hug. I would have to either put my arms up around his neck, which seemed strange, or. . ..

“Eeep!” My hand, which had been in my lap, had fallen into his lap -- and I had accidentally touched his. . .. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. . ..”

One of his hands went to mine and gently replaced mine on top of his. . .very large and steel-hard boner.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s natural for you.”

“I’m not homosexual,” I explained quietly.

“Of course, you’re not,” he said, with what sounded like amazement. “I’m not either. I read all about it when I did my studying for that essay we had to write for Miss Karing. When you do this. . ..” He ran my hand across his boner, “. . .it’s a heterosexual act, because of how your brain is wired. And, because you are the way you are, it’s a heterosexual act -- for me to like it when you do this.” While he explained things to me, he continued to run my hand along his engorged penis.

I looked down and saw the moonlight shining off my pinkish nails which my mother had filed into perfect ovals. I glanced at the mirror and saw my bangs and the curls Mom had somehow fashioned that framed my face. My hand seemed well-placed in Brandon’s lap.

“Oh god,” Brandon prayed.

He’s so religious, I marveled.

For a moment I considered what I should do as Brandon undulated on the seat, under my hand.

If he keeps that up, he’ll hurt himself. “You should open your zipper.” He must be chaffing his whatzit.

He groaned as he zipped his pants open and his penis popped out.

I didn’t mean he should do that! Trying to be helpful, I grabbed it to put it away -- gliding my hand up and down it, so that I could find a non-sensitive spot that wouldn’t hurt him when I stuffed him back in. . ..

He shuddered and suddenly shot a load into a handkerchief that he luckily had produced from his pocket.

“Thank you,” he said huskily.

“What are you thanking me for?” I asked. “It was that actress in the movie that got you all hot and bothered.”

“Not really,” he argued. “You’ve got a lot to learn about this girl thing. I’m glad you’re going to start hanging with Kayla.”

Kayla! “Did she say anything to you about me?” Maybe she secretly has a big crush on me?

He frowned a bit. “She’s hard to convince. She wants to run you through some tests, at the mall, to check your dedication to your lifestyle, before she commits to being your girlfriend.”

I hadn’t really understood him, but Kayla becoming my “girlfriend” was all I needed to hear. Whatever kind of tests she gives me, I’m ready.

He walked me to my door -- because he said Mom would expect that he protect me. Once again, he gave me one of those hugs that he seemed to enjoy so much. It felt okay.

***

The next week at school the girls in my class treated me like one of the family.

They demanded that I sit with them at lunch, even though I would have felt better sitting with the guys like I always had. At least, I had been sitting with the guys during the last few weeks -- when I had become someone who actually sat with people.

I quickly learned from the girls how great it was just to laugh at silly stuff, with my friends.

Every day, Brandon gave me a special huge hug in the morning and one in the afternoon. He kept telling me what a great time he had last Friday night and how he couldn’t wait, until we did “it” again.

The girls at the salon loved what Mom had done with my hair and nails and insisted on piercing my ears and putting in gold studs.

They’ve all been so loyal to Mom, I can’t say “no.”

Every day was one more day less, until I would be with Kayla in the mall. . .shopping.

***

Saturday finally arrived. Mom had decided to take a day off from work and made me a special breakfast.

“Shopping for your very first outfit is a big day,” she said with more enthusiasm than I could muster. She had given me two hundred dollars in fives. I knew they had to be her tips -- for heavens knows how long -- for the nails she had polished. “You should wear your sweater.”

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the mall,” I said.

“Of course, it is. Oh -- you’re nails are chipped. We should have fixed those three days ago.”

She got out her utensils and worked on my hands again. Her eyes scared me, so I didn’t argue when she painted them, with an even pinker lacquer.

Kayla will understand when I tell her I let Mom do it, so she can relax after all her hard work at her salon.

For some reason, Mom had sprayed more cologne on my sweater. When I asked her about it, she had an answer ready. “Kayla picked it out. She expects you to smell good in it.”

Kayla and I took a bus to the mall. On the way, I got at least a half dozen compliments on my sweater from the older ladies we met. We saw and then heard a bunch of unruly guys, who Kayla told me to ignore when they whistled and made obscene gestures.

Once in the mall, Kayla took us straight to Macy’s where she insisted that we needed makeovers.

Brandon’s warning had prepared me to expect something strange from Kayla.

This must be how she tests her dates, to see if they’re good sports. “That sounds marvelous,” I said clapping my hands, to show excitement I really didn’t feel.

A half-hour later, my face felt like someone had put goo all over it, which someone had. My eyes felt especially funny, with all the stuff they put on my lids and eyelashes -- but Kayla and I were getting along wonderfully.

“Is Brandon a good kisser?” She asked, over the salad we were sharing in the mall food court.

“I can’t really say,” I said feeling strangely sad.

“Oh — I suppose you don’t have anyone to compare him with.”

I nodded and stared at the store window next to us and wondered who thought the willowy dummies they used were good-looking.

Kayla had obviously followed my eyes. “Do you like that dress?” She asked, in that conspiratorial tone girls use.

I wanted her to think of me as a positive person, so I nodded enthusiastically.

Actually, it was a really cute dress, something a girl would only wear on special occasions. It reminded me of the time when Mom had taken us to the museum to see the exhibit of gowns that had been worn by First Ladies. We had taken turns closing our eyes and imagining ourselves wearing each dress and describing how it would make us feel.

That had to have been one of the best days of my life. It had also been one of the only days when I was ten, that I was truly happy.

“Let’s see if they have it in a size two.” She stood and took my hand, which seemed to be a move in the right direction. In seconds, we were in the store.

“I can’t wait to get you in the dressing room,” Kayla said, “but to get the right fit we’ll need to have some lingerie. You go into the dressing room and take off your clothes. I’ll pick out a few things and join you in a jiffy.”

Things seem to be moving a bit too fast. I didn’t expect Kayla to want to have sex with me on our first date -- and in a public location!

But perhaps I’ve said all the right things.

I went into the dressing room and eagerly stripped. The dress Kayla would try on hung next to me -- as I shivered both from anxiety and the cold.

When Kayla came in -- she continued to give me some sort of test by having me put on panties and a bra. The bra pulled together the fat deposits on my chest and created. . .breasts.

They’ve been right there all this time!

Finally, she had me pull on that dress.

“It fits you perfectly,” Kayla said. “Let’s double date tomorrow night, so you have somewhere to wear your new clothes.”

It appeared she had changed her mind about having sex in the dressing room.

But she wants to go out, on a date.

Because I had tried on the dress, and the other things, I had to buy them.

At least, that’s what the saleslady said. “You look darling in that dress. You just have to buy it.”

I wore the panties and the bra out of the store. My breasts made my sweater look even better than it had before.

After what turned out to be a fun afternoon with Kayla, I realized she liked to hug almost as much as Brandon. She said we would be the best friends ever, which raised my spirits and my hopes.

Then she amazed me by insisting that we call Brandon, to pick us up at the mall, so we wouldn’t have to ride the bus home.

***
When he arrived, he made a huge commotion about how I looked. He kept saying things like how I had a future in Hollywood, if I wanted it.

I have to tell him that Kayla and I are going to be dating. He’ll be excited for me.

He dropped Kayla off at her home -- and then instead of going toward my apartment building he drove us to the park. “There’s something I’ve wanted to do for too long,” he said.

He asked me to close my eyes and keep them closed until he told me to open them. Shortly after that, his car stopped, and he helped me out. He led me by the hand, and then positioned me before telling me to open my eyes.

I was staring at a park bench.

“Remember?” He asked.

I shook my head and laughed that little laugh of mine that sounds so much like a girlish giggle.

He also laughed, but it rolled around in his massive chest before coming out. “It’s the bench where we saw that couple kissing, a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, sure,” I said -- trying to grasp the significance.

“Let’s sit for a while,” he suggested. After we sat, he made sure I was warm enough by encircling me with his arm.

I snuggled in -- because that always made him smile -- and placed my hand on his thigh and gave him a squeeze.

He placed a finger under my chin and then turned my face toward him. Before I knew what was happening, he kissed me fully on the lips.

His lips felt softer than what I would have thought they would -- being as how he was a boy. Perhaps my lipstick made them feel that way. One of his hands brushed against my new bra, but he didn’t leave it there.

Nonetheless, I tingled all over.

His kiss continued long after. . ..

His kiss! I suddenly remembered what Brandon had said about a kiss being an expression of undying love.

An urge came over me to run. . .run away as fast as I could. . .but I didn’t move.

I need time to think, but there was no time to do anything, but. . ..

If I kiss him, he will think I love him. I can’t to that to him. He’s so wonderful. I have to. . .. I opened my mouth and slid my tongue into his.

When we finally broke, all I could think of was writing Brandon and Toni on all my book covers with little hearts over the “i” in Toni.

***

Our apartment smelled strangely like smoke when I got home.

“Mom,” I called from the front door.

“Out here, Toni,” she answered from the deck. “Your face looks sweet,” she said when I joined her, “but I would have used a deeper blue liner on your eyes. I’m just tidying things up a bit.” She was standing over the hibachi, with what appeared to be the remains of a pair of my jeans. “I made room in your closet for your new things.”

As it turned out, she had destroyed every bit of clothing I owned. When I asked her why, she said, “Because I love you.” and then became “catatonic.” That’s the word the emergency room doctor used to describe her condition.

***

“It’s okay, Toni,” Kayla said for all the girls.

I had just explained how totally screwed I was. No money, no clothes, and Mom in the hospital.

“What are friends for?” She took my hand and brushed it with her lips. “We’ll take care of you. First, don’t worry about clothes. I have tons of things that I’ve outgrown. So do all the other girls. You’re lucky being so tiny.”

The girls began chirping about all the really neat stuff they had in the back of their closets that would fit me.

“Then we’ll take care of your mother’s business,” Kayla said. “We’ll start going to her salon and make sure all the girls from school go there as well.”

“That sounds great,” I said. “Mom always said if she could just increase her traffic by twenty percent everything would be okay.” I sighed. I would finally be a hero for my mother. When I tell her how great the business is going, she’ll pull out of her trance and things will be okay.

“There’s a condition you need to accept,” Kayla said. “We girls think you need to take more affirmative steps to embrace your womanhood. We’ll all go to your shop — if you take over your mom’s position evenings and weekends as the nail girl. You’ll need to dress appropriately every day -- and forget all about acting like a boy.”

There might be other boys who would have rejected such a solution -- but I’m not someone to let my mother down when she needs me. Besides, my being feminine makes Brandon happy.

Two days later, Mom came around -- and within days she was totally recovered.

The girls made due on all their promises, even though I found it strange that none of them had jeans or shorts, only skirts and dresses for me to wear.

I found I had a real talent for giving manicures and decided to get my business degree, before attending a year of beauty school. I would find a college close by wherever Brandon went for his engineering degree.

As it turned out, I never did get to have sex with Kayla. Brandon convinced me that having sex with a woman would be “an abomination” for me. He showed me how sex with him was the Christian thing to do.

Miss Karing and I did have several long conversations, in which she convinced me that “confused” was the right adjective for me. She helped me understand how the pills my doctor had prescribed for me had paved a path toward my current life, a life I could certainly tolerate.

The End

Thanks to Gabi for the review and help.

I have donated a group of stories to BC to help generate revenue for this site. Erin has said that these stories have raised tens of thousands of dollars in revenue for BC. I don’t receive any of that revenue.

If you buy a book from this list, you’re supporting this site.

Stories available through Doppler Press on Amazon:
Shannon’s Course
Peaches
Sky
The Novitiate
Ma Cherie Amour
Molly
Texas Two-Step
All Those Things You Always Pined For
Uncivil
Swifter, Higher, Stronger
Basketball Is Life
Baseball Annie
The Girl Who Saved Aunt T’s
Her
She Like Me
How You Play the Game
Hair Soup
Perfectionists
Imperfect Futures
The Handshake That Hides the Snake