ALEX
“I don’t understand, Momma,” I look at her totally exasperated. Sure, I am just thirteen, but I am no idiot. “I really think it’s time to find a new psycho…um shrink,” I spit. I see the look on her face and relent, “OK,…’counselor’, if you insist. But she is bat-shit crazy!”

“Alex! Language! And don’t bad-mouth Dr. Smythe,” Mom admonishes me.

I blush—more at my use of sub-par language than the fact that Mom admonishes me—but I don’t relent. “Momma,” I exclaim, “did you hear what she ‘prescribed’ as my ‘treatment’ for the latest bullying that ‘The Monster’ subjected me to?”

She just shakes her head and says, “Look, Alex, I know you don’t believe she knows what she’s doing, but not everyone has your IQ—and her ‘treatment’,” she uses air-quotes to emphasize the word, “as you denounce it, is much more than that. Jesse McCarthy will get her dues—the recording you have will ensure that. But following April’s—Dr. Smythe’s—prescription will have more far-reaching implications. It will show that you’re not afraid of bullies—and could help others that are being bullied, right? We both know that you’re all about that…”

I shake my head and sigh. I look at her in pity—she really does not get it. OK, I may have an IQ of 165—not genius, but enough to not be an idiot… “Momma,’ I sigh again, “the recording you’re referring to is not enough to even embarrass ‘The Monster’, let alone call for any punitive actions by the school. It wouldn’t qualify as ‘bullying’ under the school’s statutes, so, nothing will happen other than embarrass me, so how is this supposed to help? I will just become even more of a laughingstock!”

I fight the tears forming in my eyes. I will not give in to them! I shudder at the thought and do not even know why I have the sudden feeling of abject fear.

It is Momma’s turn to sigh. She gives me a hug and tussles my long hair, “Go get a Dr. Pepper from the machine. Lord knows how you can drink that stuff… I need to talk to April for a minute and then we will head out.”

I give her a ‘look’ that I know is meaningless—but she does not seem to notice. Keeping her on edge is my only defense at times like this. What else am I going to do? I nod and make my way to the cafeteria for a Dr. Pepper. I drop in the money and select my choice. Without thinking, I pop the top with a sigh and take a deep drink of the liquid nectar of the Gods.

MADDIE
I give April an exasperated look as she enters the exam room after Alex leaves. I sigh and complain… OK, I whine, “April, are you sure about this? Jeremy was a bastard and I’m nowhere near physically—or mentally—past his abuse… My poor Alex… Are you sure about this?”

April looks at me, “Maddie, I can’t even imagine the pain you and Alex went through. Am I sure? How can I be? I only have my education, training, and experience as a psychiatrist to go on. Do I truly believe this to be the best course of action based on those same qualities? That is an emphatic ‘yes’! We have to take it slow. Alex is extremely smart—some would call him a genius. I don’t trust that last test—I believe it is off on the low side. Never-the-less, Alex is extremely smart—and extremely vulnerable. Your ex-husband did a lot of damage—like a bull in a china shop. It’s our job to very carefully undo that damage. Alex’s IQ will not only not help us there, it will be a huge hindrance…”

ALEX
I sip my Dr. Pepper and stew while staring at the table in front of me. I go through the facts of the situation and don’t rely on the feelings that Dr. Quack wants me to. Fact one, I am a slightly—OK, more than slightly—overweight thirteen-year-old boy that is otherwise healthy. Facts two and three, I am fairly smart and like to spend time to myself, so OK—I am introverted and like to study, which makes me sound a lot older than I am. Fact four, I don’t remember my Dad—he is in prison for beating me and my Mom up. Fact five, since I do not remember him, there is no sense in talking about my feelings about him or him being gone. Unverified fact six, I guess he was supposed to have bullied me, too—like I said, I do not remember.

I pull out my phone and scroll through to the video library. I start the video in question and fight the tears that want to form in my eyes as I watch. Fact seven, I also do not remember moving here—even though it was just last year. I really do not recall much of anything until about a year ago. Bits and pieces of Momma crying about Dad’s trial and memories of hospital smells. I feel a tear roll down my cheek and see it hit the screen on my phone. I shudder and look over my shoulder in fear. Fact eight, I am terrified of crying and I do not know why.

I quickly dry the trail the tear left on my face and wipe the droplets off my phone. The video is still playing and Jesse McCarthy is surrounded by her posse of mean girls taunting me, “Look at the new girl with her boobs! Look girls, they’re bigger than mine! Why don’t you get a bra like a good little girl?”

I focus on the facts to clear my mind. Fact one, I am not a girl. Fact two, my gynecomastia does not make me a girl—it is a symptom of being overweight. Fact three, girls wear bras and fact one established that I am not a girl, ergo I will not be wearing one. Fact four, I do not want to do any sort of aerobic exercise with Dr. Quack’s daughter to lose weight and “take care” of my gynecomastia. Final fact, I want nothing to do with girls—any girls!

I sit there petulantly and almost throw my phone at the vending machine in front of me in exasperation. I jump and almost drop it when it signals I have a text. I look at it and groan. Momma is ready for me to come back up.

APRIL
I look at Maddie and shake my head. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly then add, “I’m not sure if Alex will ever get over his amnesia. It’s both a function of the physical trauma from his head injury and very likely from the mental trauma that built up over time. Like I said, we’ll have to move slowly, but I think if we can get him comfortable working out with Jewel, we can start making some progress on his issues with girls in general. Getting him over the deeper trauma his Dad caused and to open up to his true self is going to be a hard road. But you’re totally correct in worrying that him keeping that bottled up is just a ticking time-bomb waiting to go off. If we can’t defuse it, we need to let it explode under controlled conditions, where we can minimize the damage as much as possible.”

She looks at me in exasperation but only nods. Then she again asks the question she has repeatedly asked, “And you are sure about the medication? I mean it’s been hard enough having to remove basically all photos from the house because they were of Lexi and Alex wouldn’t understand. That already feels like I’m lying to him in a way, and this…” She lets the sentence drop and fights back more tears.

I patiently answer, “Yes, Maddie, I’m sure. I was Lexi’s doctor before her Dad beat her to within an inch of her life just for being who she was. I’m now Alex’s doctor because he can’t remember ever being Lexi. That doesn’t mean that he isn’t still her. I don’t know when he will remember—and when he does, I’m not sure what the long-term impact of the mental and physical abuse your ex-husband subjected him to will be. He may have literally beaten Lexi out of Alex to the extent that she has ceased to exist. There are still doctors that believe that is possible. In my professional opinion, that is hogwash—even if those that are subjected to such extremes vow off anything that has to do with conforming to their true gender doesn’t mean there aren’t still gender-conformance issues buried down deep. Of course, Lexi was still young and Alex is too. I honestly believe that Alex is transgendered, and Lexi is buried in there somewhere screaming to come out, but Alex is going to have to let her out on his own terms. We just have to make sure he knows it is safe to do so. It is a true balancing act. If he never lets her out, delaying male puberty a while won’t make that much difference—it is the same argument I made when I said delaying Lexi’s female puberty until we were sure wouldn’t make that much difference.” I give her a penetrating look and finish, “We just need to be sure whichever way this goes is the right way. Unfortunately, we can’t let Alex in on what we’re doing like we did Lexi.”

She still does not look fully at peace with the answer but seems to accept it. I know she knows it is the right answer, she just still blames herself for everything that happened. I sigh and strongly reiterate, “Maddie, what happened isn’t your fault. There was no way you could have known the lengths that he would go to. You left him and he tracked you down. He admitted to that in court. It was the calculated and pre-meditated act of a deranged man. He is where he belongs and he won’t get out. Unfortunately, you are left with picking up all of the little pieces—both Alex’s and your own.”

I hand her a box of tissues to dry her eyes and continue, “Now, let’s bring Alex back up here and finish this up. You need to stay strong and hold the line with him on working out with JuJu. They used to be best friends and it’s tearing Jewel up that he doesn’t remember her. This time together will be good for both of them—whether Alex knows it or not. I have stressed to JuJu what’s at stake. She doesn’t have the IQ that Alex has, but she more than makes up for it in EQ.”

She finishes drying her eyes and nods. She digs in her purse and pulls out her phone to send a text. When she is done, she sighs and visibly makes a determined effort to pull herself together. She simply says, “He’s on his way up.”

ALEX
I exit the elevator and enter Dr. Quack’s office suite. I am sure my face reflects my mood as I storm past the receptionist’s desk and back to the exam room I had exited only a few minutes before. I open the door and sit down without a word, a scowl on my face and my arms crossed in front of me. I know I am the picture of a petulant kid, but it is not fair what they want me to do!

Dr. Quack looks at me and smiles. I am sure it is a fake smile. She says, “OK, Alex. I have talked it over with your Mom and we have agreed on what you need to do. I know you don’t remember it, but you used to take pride in your appearance. We need to get you back to having that pride. It could help trigger some memories if you get back into some of your old habits. You do want your memories back, yes?”

My scowl gives way to a dumfounded look—just for a beat. Of course, I want my memories back! What a stupid question! I hate not remembering things that happened before a year ago. The first thing I can remember is waking up from my coma in the hospital and Momma calling me Lexi—or I think she was. I was pretty groggy from the drugs and she was pretty disturbed. Anyway, I slip back into my scowl and kind of growl, “Of course, I want my memories back; what do you think? But I don’t want to work out with some girl—even if she is your daughter! When ‘The Monster” finds out that I’m working out with a girl—and she will—it will be even worse on me! I can hear it now, ‘Look at the new girl with the boobs that wants to be a cheerleader’!”

She looks at me and asks, “You like ‘just the facts’, right? OK, fact one, Jessie McCarthy is a typical mean girl. Yes, that’s pretty much the female definition of a bully. Fact two, you are correct that it’s highly unlikely that the current school administration will take any action against her, given who she is. Fact three, she can only hurt you if you let her. By showing her that she can’t bother you, you win and she loses face. Fact four, we know she is bothering you, so the best way to remedy that is to eliminate the fuel for her fire. Bonus fact five, you get in better shape and gain self-efficacy and confidence. Did I miss anything?”

Before I can say anything, Momma speaks up, “Alex, Hon, you are going to do this. No arguing. Like Dr. Smythe said, you used to take great pride in your appearance. We are going to stop on the way home and get you some workout clothes and some nice clothes to wear to school. I have also made an appointment with Joyce to take care of that mess of hair you have. You are going to give this a shot. Of course, it won’t happen overnight. I’m getting rid of all the junk food and you’re going to start eating right again. It’s as much my fault as yours that you have let your body get so out of shape. You have always been really smart, Hon, but you used to also be smart about your body. You need to relearn that.”

I feel my eyes bugging out and my head is about to explode. I have had issues with headaches ever since my coma. Fact one, I do not remember my Dad kicking me senseless. Fact two, I still feel the after-effects. Fact three, I think I am going to throw up.

I cannot help myself. I whine, “Momma! I really don’t care that I ‘have let my body get out of shape’! I’m fine with just staying in and reading—OK, with a snack, or two.”

She gives me a look that I cannot fathom, but I am sure it does not bode well for me if I keep on. She says, “You can stay in and read after a good workout and you can snack on something healthy!”

Dr. Quack looks at me and says, “Before you go, we need to go next door and have some blood taken. They will also give you a quick shot.”

My head snaps around and I ask with a little more venom than I intend, “And why would I need blood drawn from an endocrinologist—or a shot for that matter?”

Dr. Quack gives me another sweet, but fake smile. She answers as if talking to an idiot, “Because your Momma doesn’t want to go across town to the hospital to get it done. Dr. Green’s office is the only one in the building qualified to do it. Any more questions? No? Good! Let’s go.”

MADDIE
I look at Alex brooding in the passenger’s seat rubbing his arm where he got the hormone blocker that he has no idea that he got. I feel terrible about deceiving him but I have to trust April. A little over a year ago, my same child was looking forward to knowingly getting that shot. At that time, I had a happy-go-lucky, care-free daughter sitting in that same spot. Now I have a brooding son. I admit that I am conflicted and confused. It was hard enough realizing that my son, Alex, was my daughter, Lexi—something that Jeremy, my maniacal ex-husband could never process. Now, I am having to figure out a way to make my son realize that he is my daughter—not because I want him to be, but because deep in my heart I know she is in there hurting and needing to come out.

Jeremy brutalized Lexi and beat her nearly to death and put her in a coma for four months. According to April, Alex’s coping mechanism after waking up was to bury Lexi deep and lock her up where she is ‘safe’. It was hard for me to agree to the hormone blockers that will prevent Alex from developing as a boy so that Lexi can develop as the girl she is meant to be. If for some reason Lexi truly is gone forever, then we will simply let nature take its course and Alex will just be a ‘late bloomer’. At this point, I do not care if it is Alex or Lexi that survives—as long as my child is happy and healthy. I am not sure that Jeremy has left us that option, though. I know that I will never be the same after he brutalized me—I cannot imagine what is going through my poor child’s mind.

I do not say a word. There is no need. Alex knows that I am serious. Neither of us may be happy about it, but he will toe the line. I pull into a parking spot at the mall and push the shift lever into park before I speak. I blow the air forcefully from my lungs as I say, “OK. Let’s go. We have some shopping to do…and I know you aren’t a fan.” What I do not say, but think is ‘anymore’…

I grab my purse and open the door.

ALEX
The shot didn’t really hurt, but I try and get some sympathy, anyway. OK, so it is not a smooth-move, but hey I am only thirteen and hopefully soon I can blame my moods on puberty and my hormones. Who knows, maybe I already can. But the fact is that there is not really anything developing to support that hope.

I put on a good show of sulking as I get out of the car and follow Momma into the mall. She leads me into Bloomfield’s, the anchor department store that she is the manager of. She subsequently drags me around and makes me try on hundreds of outfits. OK, fact is that it was only ten, but it sure did seem like hundreds. I slap my head. Dr. Quack is getting to me. She has made me focus on my feelings so much that I am actually obscuring the facts.

I square my shoulders and focus on the facts. The final fact of the evening is that I appreciate the supper we get at my favorite restaurant, that just happens to be at the mall, as my reward for being a ‘good sport’ and ‘hanging in there’ while we get my ‘outfits’ for working out and school. I even appreciate it with the ‘healthy’ restrictions Momma places on my available menu choices.

On our way out, we pass by a Claire’s and Momma smiles impishly at me. She asks in a dead serious tone, though, “You know Alex, not so long ago, you begged me to take you in there and get your ears pierced. I promised when you were officially a teenager, I would. You’re thirteen now, should we go in?”

I gasp, “Momma! Get a grip!”

The funny thing, though, is that, somehow, I do have this dark memory—more like a nightmare—of wanting just that and picture myself with pierced ears. I pinch myself when it does not freak me out.

Momma grins and says, “OK, come on then, let’s get home and put your things away. Your hair appointment is at seven in the morning. I’m sorry to get you up early on a Saturday, but it was the only appointment that Joyce had available this weekend.”

An hour later, all of the tags are cut out of my new clothes and they are hung in my closet. I am ready for bed and let Momma know, “I’m beat, Momma. I’m sorry I was cantankerous today, but I really am not enamored with the solution proffered.”

Momma grins at me and says, “Tough cookies, Love. Big words won’t change the outcome. Sleep good!”

I get ready for bed and lay down. I look around my room and still cannot shake the feeling that this is not really my room. Sure, Momma told me we were just getting ready to fix it up for me when I was put into my coma, but the overly girly guest room still gives me weird vibes and I have found myself nearly running into it on several occasions instead of my room when I was not thinking.

I shake my head and close my eyes—praying that the nightmares do not return tonight.