In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 13: The Little Dutch Girl
Chapter 14: Saying Good-bye
Chapter 15: Do-over
Chapter 16: New Friend
Chapter 17: Where Angels Fear to Tread
Chapter 18: The Friend Zone

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 3 of 8

Chapter 13: The Little Dutch Girl

After another week, Sarah declared me ready for the world. Doctor Franklin still wouldn't release me though. I'd been having nightmares about my brother and I needed more help.

As long as my psychologist insisted on keeping me, Sarah decided to give me extra training. It would help with my Physical Education class so it wasn't just for play. She took me to a large room with padded walls and a hardwood floor to practice during the afternoon.

"Keep your eye on the ball," Sarah told me as she tossed a softball my way.

I swung a blue metallic bat and connected beautifully, right on the sweet spot of the bat. The bat made a ping sound, followed closely by a thud as the ball struck the far wall.

"Very good! Have you played before?"

That made me stop and think. I remember Mike playing, but I never had.

"No, but it must run in the family. My brother was pretty good at baseball and softball."

An image of my brother's face suddenly popped into my head, reminding me of my latest nightmare. In the dream, he'd been trapped inside our burning house, pressing his face up against a closed window. I watched in horror as flames slowly consumed him. He smiled the whole time.

I dropped the bat and tried to hold back a sniffle.

Sarah hurried over to me. "Oh Beth. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I fended her off. "I need to get over it and move on." Those were Doctor Franklin's words, not mine, but I tried to heed them and focus on my sports training.

Given my aptitude for softball, we quickly moved on to badminton and volleyball. They gave me some trouble. I felt like such a spaz, like I'd never played volleyball in my life. That couldn't have been right though. I knew girls played volleyball in P.E.

I struggled for several hours, and just started to get the hang of setting for a spike when it was time to quit for the day.

"You did pretty well," Sarah assured me. "I'm sure you'll do fine. We'll go over bumps and digs tomorrow. Okay?"

I agreed and thanked her. Then I waited for Doctor Franklin to escort me to the cafeteria for dinner. I didn't have to stay in bed for meals any more and I loved it. It also gave me more time with my psychologist. I needed the extra time to get rid of my nightmares.

***

Doctor Franklin sat across the table from me in the hospital cafeteria so we could speak face-to-face. Her eyes bothered me but I tolerated the seating arrangement. She helped me to understand that it was better to look at someone's face when speaking to them. It allowed you to read emotions and help determine the person's sincerity and honesty. Body language helped too. There was so much to a conversation that I never considered before, and it made me wonder why it took me so long to figure that out. It must be part of growing up.

"Tell me about your nightmare." My doctor wasted no time with small talk, even though she insisted that it helped with bonding. Her professionalism allowed no room for trivial matters. She was paid to help me, so that's what she did.

In spite of her cold detachment, I could see that she cared about me. She spent long hours helping me get over my brother's death and grow into a young woman. Even during the chat over our meal, she corrected my bad manners.

Before I could begin to speak, she had my elbows off the table and suggested I take smaller bites so I could swallow more quickly and be ready to speak. She made sure I never spoke with my mouth full. That wasn't just wrong, it was gross. Yuck.

The etiquette lessons finally ended and I was able to describe my bad dream in horrible detail. The flashbacks almost made me lose my appetite. Luckily I'd had a very active day. My stomach wouldn't be denied.

If Doctor Franklin was shaken up by my dream, she didn't show it. She'd brought along a file and wrote a few notes in between taking bites of her dinner, but her face displayed no emotion. I wondered what went on behind those cold blue eyes. She must have been holding it in. She must have been keeping up a brave front for me. She was a professional, and I respected and loved her for it.

"That's a very interesting dream, Beth. Do you have any idea what it might mean?"

I shook my head no. I tried my best not to think about it so of course I didn't know what it might mean. I didn't want to know.

"I think it's actually a very good sign. I think you're very close to healing your emotional scars and it's only your subconscious that needs a little more time. Dreams are the language of the subconscious and I think yours is telling you that it isn't quite ready to let go of your brother."

She got a faraway look on her face then. It was the first time I saw her like that and I rather liked it. I thought it flattered her. She wasn't all that old for an adult. I imagined she'd still be able to have a child if she wanted.

She suddenly snapped out of her little daydream and looked at me expectantly. I didn't know what to say to that except, "Good! I take it that means I can go home soon."

"Yes," she said with a rare smile. "That it does."

***

Early next morning, I'd just finished a long round of bumping a volleyball back and forth with Sarah when Doctor Franklin made an appearance in the large padded room. She'd come to give me good news. I was going home.

After I'd stopped bouncing up and down and squealing, Sarah grabbed me for a hug and we laughed and cried and shouted ourselves silly. We both chanted, "Home!" a couple dozen times before we ran out of steam.

My psychologist maintained her dignity at a distance. She also saved herself from getting soaked with our perspiration, and she reminded me that we needed one more last important therapy session before I could leave. She also asked that we start it as soon as possible.

I knew that last session must have been important to interrupt my volleyball practice. She knew I loved volleyball. It grew on me once I started getting good at it.

I went back to my room with Doctor Franklin in tow. Though it was only a couple hundred yards, it felt like I arrived in an instant. My head was in the clouds so I didn't notice the passage of time. I daydreamed about shopping and going to school and ... everything! I was finally leaving the hospital. It was a dream come true.

My psychologist waited quietly in a chair, taking notes until I finished showering. She stayed seated when I came out wrapped in a towel and said nothing while I dressed. If it didn't bother her, it didn't bother me.

When I'd finished dressing, I wrapped the towel around my head even though my hair was short enough that I didn't really need to do it. I just liked doing it, and I planned to grow my hair out very long so I figured I might as well get in the habit.

Though I'm not sure exactly why, my hair had been cut very short right after the fire. It made me look too boyish for my taste so I mostly ignored it. The only time I couldn't was when I took a shower and had to shampoo it, but at least the towel turban made me look more feminine. It also made me seem a little more grown up so it was no contest.

"I'm ready!" I smiled, proud that it hadn't taken me too long. Of course I didn't have makeup and all the wardrobe accessories that I'd soon be digging into. That made things much easier.

"Okay. Good. I didn't really have much to discuss. I just wanted you to make sure you watched yourself for those little memory conflicts that have been cropping up. It's important that you tell me about them as soon as possible."

"Right. I understand. I don't like them any more than you do."

"I also thought we'd just have a nice, relaxing chat for once. I know I've been a bit hard on you and I'm sorry. I was just trying very hard to help you."

"I know, Doctor Franklin. It's okay. Really it is."

"Thanks, Beth. Now then. I have a little story for you that I think is both cute and relates to your circumstances. I guess it's as close to small talk as I can get." She smiled and I returned it. She really had a lovely smile, and I loved the way her ice blue eyes sparkled.

She told me about an American writer named Mary Mapes Dodge who wrote a story called "The Little Dutch Boy." In the story, a little boy walks to school and notices a small leak in a dike. He stops the leak by sticking a finger in the hole until help can arrive to fix the dike. She then went on to change the story. Instead of a little Dutch boy, there was a little Dutch girl. The little girl goes everywhere and watches out for little problems that spring up in her mind like little leaks. When she finds one, she writes it down as soon as possible and then tries as hard as she can to block it. She also has her mother make an appointment with her psychologist who soon helps her fix the leak.

I smiled at the story and couldn't help but see the thinly veiled therapy. I'd carry a notepad with me wherever I went and do as she asked.

Chapter 14: Saying Good-bye

Doctor Franklin called my mother into the room right after our little talk. That surprised me. I expected to have a little time to pack up my few possessions and sneak outside somewhere to be picked up.

I heard they have to take you out in a wheelchair when you've been in the hospital but I planned to avoid that if I could. It sounded so stupid. I just went through several weeks of physical therapy. It was obvious I could walk on my own.

"I'm not quite through with you yet," my psychologist told me. "I wanted to have a last talk with both you and your mother before you go home. I'm sure it won't take long."

My mom and I greeted each other in our customary way with a long, quiet hug. Then the three of us skidded the steel and white plastic chairs together in a small triangle and sat down to have a talk, except it was more like Doctor Franklin talked and my mom and me mostly listened.

"Mrs. Wagner, I'm sure you realize your daughter suffered some brain damage the night of the fire."

I yelped when I heard brain damage.

"I'm sorry, Beth. That could've been phrased better. I should've said that you have partial amnesia caused by hypoxia. In other words, you've got some holes in your memory because your brain didn't get enough oxygen."

I watched my mother give a single, solemn nod before I looked back at the doctor.

"You'll probably recognize a lot of your friends, but you'll have to spend some time getting to know them again. You've probably forgotten things like what you liked to do together and where you liked to go. You've lost a lot of memory. I'm very sorry, Beth."

I gulped but let the doctor continue.

"Going home and starting school won't be easy but I feel that you've recovered as much as possible here. It's time to go." We all smiled at that thought.

Doctor Franklin told my mom that I'd have to have a physical examination once a month at the hospital for the next six months. If all was well after that, they'd be able to reduce the frequency of exams, and eventually, I'd be free to pick my own doctor.

"There's also the matter of possible mental emergencies, or what I call leaks." She winked at me to remind me of the little Dutch girl story and handed a business card to my mom.

"This card has my cell phone and emergency beeper numbers. You can call my cell any time of day during daylight hours, and you can use the beeper number at all other times. I just ask that you please call my beeper sparingly."

"Of course," my mom said. "Thank you." My mother sounded sincere but she looked agitated, and I couldn't understand why. She should be happy about me being released.

"You're welcome. Now then. It's time to say good-bye."

"Good-bye Doctor Franklin," I said. "Thanks for all your help. I don't mean to sound ungrateful but I hope I don't need any more."

She actually laughed a little. It was the first time I heard her laugh and I loved the sound. She had a lovely laugh. It was too bad she didn't laugh more.

We all left the room and ended up in a large waiting area. My mother signed some forms and then the dreaded moment came. I had to ride in the wheelchair.

I wasn't embarrassed like I thought I would be but I was annoyed. I still thought it was stupid. I watched the fake potted plants go by and counted floor tiles to distract myself. I couldn't wait to be free of that chair and run to the car. I was finally going home.

***

I sat on the cold vinyl car seat and squirmed. I didn't remember having such a sensitive butt. My mom didn't seem to be enjoying herself either. She still seemed agitated and lost in thought. We were supposed to be filled with joy about my homecoming but we sure didn't show it.

We pulled out of the parking garage and turned towards home, driving several miles in silence. I didn't like the lack of conversation but I didn't know what to say, at least not until I saw a road sign that marked where someone had been killed by a drunk driver. That's when I remembered something very important.

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"I'm sorry, but can we drop by the cemetery? I think I'm long overdue for a visit."

"Are you sure?" She didn't look crazy about the idea but I persisted with a vigorous nod of my head. "Okay." She sighed.

We changed direction and drove in silence another mile or so until I remembered something else that I felt was very important.

"Oh! Can we stop and get some flowers too? Please?"

"Yes, of course. That's a good idea ... very thoughtful."

We stopped at a grocery story and I picked out a bouquet of daisies. Mike wasn't fond of flowers but I knew he tolerated daisies. He liked plucking the petals off them anyway. Mike and daisies had a ... history.

I almost giggled at that thought and silently chastised myself. It certainly wouldn't be appropriate to giggle on the way to visit my brother's grave.

My mom parked and led me to the grave marker. Then she left me alone like I requested. I wanted to have a little brother-sister talk.

My eyes drifted to the plaque that read, "Michael Edward Wagner beloved son and brother". It made me cry just looking at it. I hadn't even been able to say any final words yet.

When I composed myself, I gently set the daisies in a little plastic vase that had been stuck in the ground and stood back up, brushing bits of leaves off my hands.

"Hello Mike," I began, with tears rolling down my cheeks. "I miss you so much." I hadn't written a eulogy so I hesitated after that. He deserved something dignified, something better than a rambling dialogue.

I dug deep down inside myself and forced myself to remember my brother's love and feel the pain that his loss brought me. I gave him an emotional eulogy. No words could ever bring him back. No words could ever satisfy my aching heart or adequately honor his memory. The only thing of real value I had to give at that moment was my love.

I stood in the cold winter air, my breath clouding my eyes along with my tears, and I remembered. I remembered Mike's easy going nature and the way he always helped me when I needed it. I remembered the occasional show of ill temper too. He loved baseball and math, and did very well at both. He never had to be asked to do his chores and never complained. He was a great son and a great brother. I'd miss him forever.

When I felt like I'd tortured myself with grief long enough, I tried a few parting words, and I decided to make a solemn vow.

"I'm sorry you had to die saving me. You were very brave and I will always be thankful. I'll always remember you and honor your memory. Always."

With that, I dragged myself back to the car. My head couldn't hang any lower that day. I should've been happy. I was going home. But how could anyone be happy after their first visit at their brother's grave?

Chapter 15: Do-over

My mom and I sniffled the rest of the way to our new home, a small apartment about five miles away. I wanted to run to my bedroom, slam the door and fall face first on my bed to cry my eyes out. I couldn't do that though. My mother had to show me the way and let us in with her key.

As soon as the front door was open, I bolted for the hall to look for my bedroom.

"Beth!" my mom called to me from far away. I barely heard her. "I have a key for you here! Beth? Are you okay?"

I checked the first door I came to. It was open to reveal a bathroom. The next room contained a small desk with a computer on it and not much else. That only left one door at the end of the hall.

Going through that last door, I saw the master bedroom, with a queen size bed, vanity, dresser and various other small pieces of furniture. It was my mom's room.

I turned sharply to find her and ask about my room when I almost ran into her.

"Hey!" I cried. She startled me, and it didn't help when she reached out to put her hands on my shoulders. I thought she was going to shake me or something, but instead, she pulled me close and hugged me.

"Where's my bed?" I said, my voice muffled by my mom's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Beth. I wasn't sure when you'd be released from the hospital. Doctor Franklin said it might take months, and she gave me very little advanced notice so I wasn't prepared."

"It's okay, Mom."

"Oh, honey. No it's not. I was trying to save money and kept putting it off. We can go shopping for a bed now if you like."

"Thanks. That'd be better than sleeping on the couch."

"You silly." My mother pulled away and shook her head. "You wouldn't have to sleep on the couch. You could always sleep with me."

"Huh?"

"Hello!" She said in a silly voice. "Queen size bed here. Lots of room. Two slender gals. Duh."

I laughed. I always loved it when she talked that way.

"Okay then," I said, trying to match her voice and mood. "Like, it's slumber party time."

I rushed over to the bed and fell back on it. "Ah. This is so sweet." I went back to my normal voice. "We'll have to get you another bed. I think I'm going to steal this one away from you."

"Oh no you don't, girl. Move over." She came over and flopped on her back next to me.

We laid there near each other, not saying a word. I could feel her breathing as much as hear it, and it felt nice. Even though we weren't touching, I felt close, and loved.

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Can we visit Mike's grave once a week?"

"Of course. I'd like that. We could make it a tradition."

I nodded and we lapsed back into silence for another long while.

"I really miss him." I suddenly said, and started to cry. "I miss him so much."

"I do too, honey. I do too."

She rolled over and hugged me again until we cried ourselves out. I'd have thought that she'd already been through her worst period of grief, but now she had me to force her to go through it all over again. My presence transformed it though. Being together made it easier to bear. We had each other for support. We'd share our grief and our strength, and move on.

***

I sat on my bed and took everything in. I had a real bedroom, with furniture and wall hangings and everything. I still wanted my mom's bed -- I was serious about that -- but I settled for the pretty twin bed I ended up with. Life was good.

The best part of the day was that my closet and dresser were full. My mom and I went power shopping and went mad with her charge card. That meant the card was full too, as in we hit its maximum limit. Ouch.

"Sorry," I told her, even though I wasn't really sorry. I felt a warm inner glow that I swear could melt the largest iceberg. It was an odd feeling because I didn't know where it came from. I had no idea why shopping had affected me so strongly. I don't remember it ever feeling like that before.

"It's fine, honey. You did well today. I'm proud of you." Her words of encouragement only reinforced my love of shopping, but I didn't think it was just the shopping itself. It also had something to do with being with my mother. It was a team effort and we both knocked the ball out of the park.

My mom managed to buy herself a few things, like a little makeup. At least I thought it was all for her until she handed me a little tube of cherry lip gloss.

"Is this for me?" I asked her.

"Uh huh. We sort of *glossed* over makeup during our mad dash through the mall."

I groaned. I hated it when she started using puns. Once she started, it took a force of nature to stop her. Puns should be illegal.

"Now now, Beth. We can *makeup* later." More groaning. I think it was both of us that time. "But for now, it's time for a make over."

"What? With lip gloss? How hard can it be?"

I popped the cap off the tube and quickly smeared the tip back and forth over my lips a couple times.

"There. See. All done."

My mom giggled.

"What? What is it?"

She lost it then. She started laughing, and all she could do was point at the mirror on my dressing table.

I moved to look in the mirror and the sight horrified me. I looked like I'd been eating a huge slab of watermelon, like I'd stuck my face down in it and slurped with reckless abandon.

"Help!" I squeaked.

"It's okay, Beth. I wasn't always a professional makeup artist." She winked to tell me what I already knew. She worked for an insurance agency, not a movie studio.

After grabbing a wet washcloth, she came back and cleaned my face thoroughly so I could try, try again. I needed a lot of tries, but with her help, I did get the hang of it.

I didn't understand my problem. I hadn't used makeup before but I thought it would be easier somehow. Luckily, I had my mother to keep me from embarrassing myself in front of my friends. She ran me through the basics, though she'd only let me use mascara and lip gloss until I was 16. That didn't bother me a bit. I wasn't sure I liked makeup.

When she finally left, I sat back on my bed, slightly stunned. It looked like I still had a lot to learn about being a girl. I must have forgotten more than I thought after my accident.

Chapter 16: New Friend

I had a few days before I got back to school. The hospital released me late Friday morning so it was too late to start that day. I needed the time to shop for my clothes and bedroom furnishings anyway. My mom and I shopped till we dropped, and then I had the weekend to prepare for my return to middle school.

I had enough clothes, makeup and accessories. That only left school supplies and the one little item no girl in her right mind would be without: a cell phone.

The phone store left me disappointed. No matter how much I pleaded, the guys who worked there couldn't come up with one in pink. After spending far too long in a bland and dreary hospital, I found myself starved for color, especially pink. Why couldn't those guys realize that? The more they denied me my chosen color, the more I wanted it. I developed an extreme fondness for the color pink and couldn't get enough. I suddenly wanted to surround myself with everything pink. I wanted to swim in a sea of pink.

My patient mother rolled her eyes and casually mentioned that they made faceplates in all different colors. All I had to do was make sure I got my phone in a color that didn't clash with pink. That settled me down a little.

"Honestly, Beth," my mother said as soon as we were in the car. "What came over you?"

"I dunno." I sulked. I didn't really like or understand my behavior, but I felt powerless to stop it.

"Should I phone Doctor Franklin?" my mom asked with a worried expression on her face.

That made me think. Didn't all teenage girls throw a fit now and then? Wasn't I normal? Everyone in the hospital insisted I was normal in every way, except for some memory loss.

"I don't think so," I smiled when I thought about my psychologist. It would be nice to see her again, but my little fit didn't really seem to be anything like a serious memory conflict. I just wanted something I couldn't have. That's all it was.

"Okay. But if there are any more incidents, I'm going to call her."

I just shrugged and reminded my mom to see about finding some pink faceplates for my phone.

While we drove, I gave the matter some more thought. The craving for pink did come on rather suddenly. My clothes were a good mix of colors and my bedroom had been decorated with a more androgynous theme of blue and white. Blue had always been my favorite color, hadn't it? Why pink?

"Because pink is a girl's color," a girl's voice suddenly answered, startling me. "And you're a girl." It wasn't my mom and I didn't think it was me. My lips hadn't moved.

"It's me, silly," the voice continued. "I'm Michelle, your inner tomboy, and we're going to have such fun."

"Whoa!" I shouted, causing my mother to suddenly jerk the wheel and narrowly miss a parked car.

"Shit, Beth! What the hell was that for?!"

"Sorry! I was just thinking. That's all. I'm sorry." My mom glared at me for a second but had to turn her attention back on the road. I was spared her wrath, at least until we got home.

"Good girl," Michelle cooed. "Don't you dare give me away. Don't let old Doc Frankenpoo get her hooks into me like she did you."

I wondered what my new friend meant by that but she wouldn't answer. Still, I could feel her presence, like she was watching me, and waiting for something.

***

Michelle didn't make any more appearances for the rest of the weekend. Apparently, I'd satisfied her enough with the cell phone incident that she could wait before trying something else. But what the hell? My state of mental health worried me. I just got out of the hospital. I didn't want to go back so soon. It was Monday morning and I wanted to go to school.

Yikes, I thought. What was I thinking? I hated my school.

As soon as I started asking myself questions, I knew my thoughts were being monitored. I knew it as surely as I do when someone is reading over my shoulder, or watching me from a distance. Even with my back turned, I always knew.

"I know you're there, Michelle," I said.

"Yes, I'm here. Are you sure I can't talk you into skipping school today?"

"I need to go if I'm going to pass my classes, and ...." I tried to finish but Michelle interrupted.

"And if you don't pass, you have to rot in the hell hole school another year. I know. I know. Don't be such a whiner baby."

"Well it's true!" I whined.

"Yeah yeah. It still wouldn't hurt you to miss a few classes. You'd still pass easily enough. You're so uptight."

"I'm uptight? Then what does that make you? Yeah. Just what the hell are you?"

"I love it when you swear." She did too. She practically purred.

"Please. Answer the question. Am I really losing it? Is this the end?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Beth. To answer your question, I'm not really sure what I am, and I don't really give a rat's ass. I'm just here to help us have some fun."

"Did you call that fun at the cell phone store?!"

"It was fun for me." She giggled.

"Fine. Have some fun ... at my expense. See how far it'll get you. My mom will call Doctor Franklin and you'll be drugged to death in no time."

"You're such a party pooper. You and that quack. She's the one who created me. Her and her precious hypnosis. Did you ever consider that?"

"No! She only meant to help me. She did help me!"

"She created us. She molded you into her ideal girl and out I popped. What do you think that means?"

"So she's not perfect. Big deal."

"She fucked up, Beth. You're fucked up. Face it. Deal with it. Get over it." She giggled, more from her choice of words than my shocked reaction I think.

"We are going to have such fun," she said in a steady voice to show she was serious. Then I didn't hear from her for another three days.

***

Johnson Middle School jutted from the top of a large, round hill on the edge of town. The buildings looked far older than their age with all the cracks and chipped paint. The bathrooms reeked of urine and cigarette smoke. Swearing and taunting echoed down the long hallways. I didn't remember everything since my accident but I remembered that I hated that school.

It wasn't quite a hopeless case. Most of the teachers managed to create a decent learning environment in the classroom. They made it possible to get a good education, for the few who wanted one. All the place needed was a few zillion dollars for a makeover and I'd be happy with it. Yeah. Right. It was no wonder I insisted on continuing my studies in the hospital. I couldn't wait to leave that school far behind and go on to high school.

I hesitated at the base of the hill and looked up to see my school glaring back down at me, daring me to approach.

"It's just a school," I repeated several times. "It's just a crummy old school and I've got ... Michelle running around loose in my head. How bad can it be?"

The crunch of gravel underfoot seemed unusually loud in the still morning air as I trudged up the path.

Chapter 17: Where Angels Fear to Tread

First period. English. My favorite subject. I sat at my desk and flinched at every sudden noise. I must have looked like a rabbit running for its life from a fox. Most of the girls stared at me. They all knew me and knew what I'd been through, yet they rudely stared at me. I pretended I was invisible.

"Class!" Mrs. Flaherty called. "Take your seats. That means you, Ms. White." She looked disapprovingly over her bifocals at a girl wearing a crop top and a mini skirt. The girl showed as much skin as legally possible and still took every opportunity to bend over and flash the boys.

I stared at the girl along with most of the boys. Her slender, toned body distracted me like nothing else had that morning. I couldn't stop looking at her until she sat down and stopped squirming suggestively in her seat. When I finally did look away, my face felt hot, and I had a strong urge to slide in my chair as I'd just seen her do. Did I like girls?

"Okay everyone. Listen up." Mrs. Flaherty got my attention like she did everyone else's. She was a large older woman with a voice that grated like a cement mixer full of gravel.

"I'd like to make an announcement," our teacher continued. "Beth Wagner is back from the hospital. She's been through a lot so please welcome her back."

"Welcome back, Beth," the class mumbled halfheartedly, somewhat in unison.

I smiled and nodded. Then we all turned our attention to the day's lesson, and the minutes flew by in a blur.

Towards the end of class, we all talked about the essay assignment, and I was pleased that I'd already finished mine. I'd already read it over several times, and I read it aloud to both Doctor Franklin and my mother. I'd be sure to get an A, and it gave me a warm, happy feeling in my tummy.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class and interrupting my little moment.

"Don't forget," Mrs. Flaherty said loudly as we all scrambled for the door. "The essays are due on Friday."

That made me chew my lower lip in frustration. I hoped we'd get more homework during the week so I'd have something fun to do. I hated to imagine myself doing nothing but math and science the whole week. At least I didn't have to worry about History. We never did anything in there except read the textbook and take quizzes. It was so boring.

My next class was Physical Education, or P.E. as the teachers liked to call it. The less active girls like myself just called it torture.

Of course I didn't have a problem with physical therapy in the hospital. I needed to work hard to get myself able to walk and move. I needed to get in shape so I could get home. That didn't mean I wanted to exercise all the time. To be honest, I much preferred to read a book in some quiet, out of the way place.

I was still grateful to my physiotherapist for helping me practice volleyball and badminton. Sports were more tolerable for me when I wasn't a complete klutz. They'd be a lot less embarrassing too. I overheard the other girls mention we'd be playing volleyball and I couldn't wait to show off what Sarah had taught me.

As I got dressed, I wondered about how Sarah was doing. She'd helped me so much and we spent so much time together, but we didn't exchange contact information. I really missed her.

It's just as well, I thought. She'd be after me to exercise all the time.

I wasn't usually a slow dresser, but my memories had me preoccupied. By the time I finished getting dressed, all the girls had already filtered into the gym. I had to hurry to keep from being late.

***

"You're late, Beth!" Mrs. Wilson shouted, even though I had a minute to spare. "Give me 10 pushups. Now!"

I groaned but tried my best, much to the amusement of my classmates, many of whom giggled. Didn't Mrs. Wilson know I'd just been in the hospital? I guessed that she did. P.E. teachers were known to be a sadistic bunch. I'm sure they took special courses learning how to torture their students. They had a special smile they used while they worked too. It made the pain that much more unbearable.

After finishing my ordeal, I stood up and suddenly realized something amazing. The pushups weren't bad. They actually got me warmed up and ready to go. I suddenly felt anxious to play. Wow. That was a surprise.

Two of the taller girls in class played on the varsity volleyball squad. They were chosen as team captains and then took turns choosing players for their team. I felt a little shame when I was picked last, but I made up for my shame with some determination that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me.

I idly wondered if Michelle, my inner tomboy, didn't have something to do with my new attitude but I didn't have much time to think before the ball came screaming at me. The other team got first serve and I'd been positioned in the back corner as a perfect target for the sadistic server.

Out of pure reflex, I clasped my hands together and held my arms straight out. I absorbed the shot perfectly with my forearms and sent it sailing lazily up and towards the middle of our side for an easy set and spike, but my teammates didn't move and the ball bounced several times and rolled under the net. Everyone was stunned by my technique, even the teacher.

"Nice bump, Beth." Mrs. Wilson said, recovering first. Then she turned to the class. "Now let's see if the rest of you little *boys* can play like Beth." She blew her whistle and the game resumed.

The ball was again served directly at me. The varsity player who served it so well evidently thought I was lucky the first time and hoped for another easy point. She was wrong, but at least this time my team handled my bump and got an easy spike.

The rest of the game went fairly well. We still lost but it wasn't due to any lack of effort or skill on my part. I served, bumped and set very well. My digs weren't the best and the only thing I couldn't do was spike. I wasn't tall enough.

"Nice game, Beth!" several classmates told me, even the varsity players.

"Thanks," I said with a wide grin. "Volleyball practice was part of my physical therapy in the hospital."

I practically trotted into the locker room. I'd never felt so good and so proud in P.E. Earning respect from your peers does wonder for a girl's self-esteem.

All of the girls worked pretty hard and worked up a good sweat. Skipping a shower wasn't an option. So why was I nervous about taking a shower? It certainly wasn't because of modesty. I hadn't had any problems undressing in front of Sarah or Doctor Franklin at the hospital.

Before class officially started, I'd been distracted. I didn't see all the scantily clad girls around me. That all changed after we got back to the locker room. I gulped when I saw the clothes peel off and heard the showers start.

I managed to find a far corner and shower in relative privacy. It also helped keep me from staring at some of the girls, though I was tempted. Luckily, I was left alone and ignored. I hoped they'd think I was just being shy.

My budding sexuality took me by surprise. I didn't remember feeling so uncomfortable in the showers at school before the fire. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd liked girls for a long time. It seemed like it might be another of the little memory conflicts that Doctor Franklin warned me about. I hoped I was wrong, but I'd think about writing it down later and try to stall until the end of the day before deciding whether to contact my mom and Doctor Franklin about it.

Chapter 18: The Friend Zone

I had to drag myself to my first school lunch since I got out of the hospital. I recognized a lot of faces but couldn't tell the difference between friend and foe. I had Swiss cheese memory to go along with the sandwich and banana I brought, so I sat alone. Sitting with the wrong crowd could be the kiss of death so I found an empty table and sat there, hoping my friends would come to me.

Eventually, two black-haired girls approached me but they didn't sit. They looked unsure and uncomfortable so I tried to set them at ease with a smile. It always worked in the hospital.

"You're right, Becky," the taller one said. "So sad."

They turned and walked away, leaving me scratching my head.

As I watched the two girls walk away, I didn't notice another girl come up behind me.

"Beth? Why are you sitting alone?"

I quickly turned to see someone standing over me. It was someone who I was sure I'd seen before at my old house. I desperately sifted through my memories and within seconds, I had a name.

"Tracy?" I asked, holding my breath until she smiled to confirm my guess. "Tracy!"

I remembered her, and I realized she must be a good friend if she'd been in my home. My arms reached up and out to her before I knew what I was doing, and she lowered herself into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Tracy. I don't remember too well after the accident."

"That's okay. I figured it was something like that."

"I'm afraid I don't remember much about you, except your name and face and ...." I closed my eyes and tried to remember more. I managed to grab one more little tidbit about her, but it was kind of embarrassing so I lowered my voice. "Oh yeah. I remember you sometimes snort when you laugh really hard."

She turned beet red and lightly slapped my arm. "You didn't have to tell me that."

I giggled.

Tracy and I chatted the rest of the lunch period. We had a lot of catching up to do. It amazed and saddened her to learn that I'd also forgotten a lot about my own likes and dislikes. I'd be depending heavily on her to help me get through school for at least the next couple weeks.

"Just until I can fly on my own," I told her with a big grin plastered on my face. "Right?"

We exchanged smiles to seal the deal. Then it was off to the restroom to touch up what little makeup we used -- part of the bonding ritual that boys could never appreciate and rarely if ever experience.

We stood next to each other in front of the mirror and Tracy laughed when I told her my thoughts about boys wearing makeup. She laughed so hard she even snorted once. Her hand flew up to her mouth and I quickly covered for her by coughing. A couple girls sat in the stalls but no one said anything.

"Thanks," she whispered in my ear. "You remembered to cover for me. That's good. There's hope for you yet, girl."

I couldn't smile. I'd relaxed my lips and focused on applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. But inside, I had a thousand watt smile waiting to flash as soon as I was done.

After we exchanged smiles again, Tracy left ahead of me while I lingered to take care of unfinished business. That's when a wave of anxiety hit me. As soon as I was left alone, memories came back to haunt me. I suddenly remembered that I only associated fear and hatred with the restrooms at school. I actually did remember them reeking of urine and cigarette smoke, but there was no smell of urine at all, and only a faint trace of smoke. The strongest odor by far was perfume followed by a little air freshener and strong mint.

I stumbled into a stall and plopped down on the toilet, trying not to hyperventilate. Sarah's deep breathing exercises came in very handy at that moment. The deep breathing calmed me until I could think straight again.

A memory conflict really did pop up inside my head that day. I definitely had to record the conflict in the minutes before my next class, and I had to have my mom make another therapy appointment. It greatly upset me to think I couldn't make it a full day at school without one of those little mental leaks popping up in my mind. I'd just have to try to remain calm and play the little Dutch girl, plugging each leak as best I could until Doctor Franklin could fix it.

***

I breezed through the rest of my classes and marched home, determined to get through the week. I'd spent a lot of time on my English essay and no one, not even Doctor Franklin, was going to stop me from reading it. I knew it sounded silly, but I didn't have much else to motivate me. I still felt oddly detached from my new life.

The unicorn key chain in my pocket felt unusually cold when I fumbled for it in my coat pocket. It reminded me that I'd be alone in the apartment. I never thought about it before, never considered myself to be a latchkey kid. I used to have my brother to keep me company when I wasn't entertaining friends. I couldn't say that any more though.

The door opened and closed behind me. I was in the apartment, and alone.

"Not for long," I said aloud. I remembered my plan. I reached in my small backpack for the notebook that I kept for memory conflicts. Then I went in search of Doctor Franklin's business card. There was no sense in bothering my mother if I could help it.

The bright blue color made the card stand out. I found it stuck to the fridge by a magnet. A quick push of seven buttons and I had the doctor on the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi Doctor Franklin. It's me. Beth."

"It's nice to hear from you again, Beth. How is everything?"

"I ... sprung a leak already."

"Oh dear. Are you okay?"

"Other than being deathly afraid of going in the restroom at school, I'm fine," I said with a little sarcasm.

"Is your mother home from work yet?"

"No, she doesn't get home for another three hours."

"Okay. Good ... I mean ... that doesn't matter. I'll be right over. Just stay there and wait."

I hung up and did as the doctor ordered. I waited, or I should say I finished up my stupid math homework while I waited. Then I contemplated a couple serious issues.

I had to decide whether to talk about more than just my restroom problem. I did feel a little uncomfortable taking a shower in the girls locker room, but I wasn't sure if that was really anyone else's business. Besides, I thought I might be a little young to worry about sexuality. The more serious issue was what to do about Michelle, my inner tomboy.

Michelle seemed to be more than just the usual imaginary friend that I've heard people joke about. She seemed so real, and though she mentioned not liking my psychologist, I detected an undercurrent of fear. There was something important that she wasn't telling me.

Doctor Franklin arrived, just as I made my decision. She knocked quietly on the door until I let her in. We exchanged greetings, skipping a hug as usual, and then she got right to work hypnotizing me.

*** to be continued ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.