“What’s your favorite color? Say pink.”

 
After Mrs. Madison signed some papers and picked a pair of pink shower flip-flops for him from the jail’s grunge pile, they left the police station through a side door.

“The cops sent the clothes and things they took from the motel room to the wrong precinct, and now they’ve lost them completely,” Mrs. Madison explained while unlocking the doors of a battered-looking ten-year-old Toyota. “We’ll stop somewhere and pick you up some things to wear.”

“You don’t have to do that, -uh- Mrs. Madison,” he said. The last time he’d been in juvie, a little over a year ago, he had picked up two broken fingers and a scar above his left ear that was now hidden by how long his hair had gotten. But had it really been a good idea to let the social worker pretend to believe he was a girl? She wasn’t going to make him wear a dress, was she?

“Call me Maddy,” she said. “Everyone does. Better than Dolly, I guess.” She cleared piles of paper off the passenger seat by dumping them on the floor in the back. “Get in,” she told him.

He did, a little awkwardly as it occurred to him that he might be performing a charade for some time. Did girls get into cars differently than boys?

“Fasten your belts,” said Maddy and the car took off suddenly before he had time to comply.

*

They were headed to the suburbs he noted a few minutes later as they entered the expressway, but Maddy took the very next exit stopping them in a deserted K-Mart parking lot.

Maddy was making up a list as they got out and she locked the car. “Jeans. A shirt and a jacket, it still gets cool this time of year, especially at night. Sneakers and socks. Some underwear.”

She took his arm and steered him toward the entrance. “A girl your age should have a little shape, so a training bra padded out to an A-cup.” She looked at his face to judge his reaction.

He knew he must be blushing but said nothing. Almost any amount of embarrassment would be worth avoiding the beatings he would get if put into detention with other “youthful offenders.”

As they pushed inside, Maddy asked. “What’s your favorite color? Say pink,” she added before he could answer.

He couldn’t do that; it just wouldn’t come out, so he nodded. Maybe he would need all the help he could get to convince a foster family that he was a girl. Minutes later he was not at all sure of the strategy as Maddy added a package of girl’s pastel flowered panties to a cart already containing cheap pink sneakers, socks with teddy bears, a turquoise Little Mermaid t-shirt showing Ariel, with the slogan, “Sea Life Differently.” Blue jeans with pink seashells on the butt and a satiny pink jacket with the names of all the Disney princesses went into the cart, too.

I’m going to die if I have to wear that stuff, Les thought.

“Are you brave?” Maddy asked as she paused the cart in front of a display of training bras.

Les closed his eyes and shook his head, knowing his face was pinker than anything in the store.

“You need to be brave,” said Maddy. “Your parents are not going to be able to pick you up for days, maybe weeks.” She added two of the lacy props to the basket, one pink, one white.

“Telling the truth would be the bravest thing I could do,” said Les, thinking of the beatings he would receive.

Maddy shook her head. She pushed the cart into the accessories aisle. “Do you like this?” she asked, holding up a cheap chain necklace with a large pink crystal heart on it.

“You… I…,” Les stammered.

“Be brave,” said Maddy.

“Okay,” Les managed.

Maddy added the necklace and a set of pink and blue plastic arm bangles to the cart.

The total came to over $100 at the checkout. “I’ll never be able to pay you back,” Les protested.

“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I’ll file a claim with the city.”

Les doubted that such a claim would be paid, but he said nothing more. Still wearing his yellow pajamas and the pink flops, he followed Maddy back to the car.

“Are you hungry?” she asked again as they loaded up their treasures.

Les shook his head. Eating when he was frightened or upset was sure to make him vomit. Embarrassment would likely do the same.

“Well, I am,” Maddy announced. The car took off in another jackrabbit start and headed across the parking lot toward a McDonalds. They went in by a side door and headed immediately to the girls’ restroom, each carrying a large shopping bag.

Les’s stomach clenched as they went under the sign, but he did not protest. Beatings, he reminded himself.

They took over the accessible stall and laid out Maddy’s purchases on the fold down baby changing table. Maddy fetched wet, soapy paper towels and dry ones and washed Les’s feet, saying, “I want you to strip off completely,” after he was standing again in the flip-flops.

Les did so, down to his briefs, throwing the pajama tops and bottoms onto the table.

“Those, too,” Maddy ordered, handing him a pair of panties. She turned her back.

Les observed that the underwear, while blue, was decorated with pink and yellow roses. He took off his briefs and slipped the panties on. They were snug, and the outline of his boy parts showed clearly. He frowned, looking down.

When Maddy turned around, she frowned too and looked away quickly. “Can you tuck things in?” she asked, handing him another pair of panties. “If you wear two pairs, they should keep anything from showing.”

Les was surprised that important parts of his anatomy would fit up inside him and the second pair of panties over the first did indeed hold things in place.

He stood a moment while Maddy looked him over. He knew she could see the old bruises on his legs and arms, and the newer ones on his ribs, the scar on the inside of his left elbow and the crooked toes of his right foot. He crossed his arms over his chest.

She handed him one of the bras and smiled. Perhaps she was smiling at how red he had turned, but he didn’t get the feeling that she was laughing at him. He took the bra, and she showed him how to put it on. It had two layers of removable padding which were both left in place.

The t-shirt fit tightly, too, and the jeans were tight enough to need a bit of squirming to get them up over his hips. Then again, he was certainly not in danger of showing anything in the crotch now.

“How did you know my sizes?” he asked while musing that the jeans had no fastening front or back, held up by elastic geometry alone.

“Experience,” she said. “Thirty years of it, raising my own two then working with the city and county. I can tell a kid’s size just by looking at her.”

He sat down on the toilet seat to put on the shoes and socks. He noted the pronoun Maddy used. She gave him the necklace, and he fumbled at putting it on. The bracelets followed, and he slipped them onto his right wrist.

“You’re left-handed,” she mentioned.

“Mostly,” he agreed. “I write and eat at the table right-handed.” Thinking about that, he swapped the bangles to his left arm where they would be less in the way.

Suddenly Maddy showed a set of dimples. “Me, too,” she said. “My parents and teachers beat using my right hand into me back in the seventies.”

Les’s mouth fell open. He hadn’t expected such a connection with the social worker. He felt as if he might cry. The woman pulled him into an even more unexpected hug, and he did start crying. No one had hugged him in…he didn’t know how long.

Mrs. Madison made comforting noises but released him quickly when he tried to pull away. She handed him a tissue to dry his eyes. “Better?” she asked.

He nodded, amazed that he did indeed feel better.

Maddy handed him the Princess-themed jacket, and he put that on, too. It didn’t seem to matter as much to wear one more piece of girly clothing.

While she gathered his male discards and the removed tags and wrappers, she asked, “What do your parents call you? Lee?”

He shook his head. “No, Lee is my dad.” He didn’t want to think of some of the names his father called him, while his step-mom hardly ever addressed him at all.

The social worker nodded thoughtfully. “We’ll call you Elle,” she said.

“L?” Les was confused.

“Exactly. Spelled E-L-L-E. It’s a girl’s name, and it can be your nickname.”

He’d never heard of the name before. “Wouldn’t that spell Ellie?” he asked.

Maddy nodded. “Elle or Ellie, sure.”

They left the oversize stall, and she discarded most of the bags, wrappers, and tags along with the pajamas and boy’s briefs in the big trash can, keeping only two small bags, one for the shower flip-flops, the other for the remaining socks and underwear.

Les stopped in front of the full-length mirror by the door, staring at the slender girl who looked back at him in place of his own reflection. “Elle?” he said.