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 25: Making up
Chapter 26: Plugging Leaks
Chapter 27: Stopping to Smell the Flowers
Chapter 28: Long Lost Relatives
Chapter 29: Blossom and Wither
Chapter 30: Reunions

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 5 of 8

Chapter 25: Making up

Mrs. Flaherty embarrassed me just before class ended. It didn't bother her that I didn't do what she assigned. She brushed that little detail aside and gave me an A+ on the letter. None of the other students had been graded yet but she wanted to rave about me to the class. She wanted everyone to aspire to reach my level of writing skill, and at the very least, read with more emotion like I'd done. She also told me to make sure my mother got a chance to read it.

Great. Thanks, Mrs. Flaherty, I muttered to myself. I had no choice but to take credit for the letter. No one would believe that a figment of my imagination actually wrote it.

"Who are you calling a figment?" Michelle piped up as I walked to the gym for my next class.

The halls echoed and squeaked with the sound of hundreds of shoes scuffing the dirty gray floor. I heard all that, but I filtered out the usual babble of voices. I only heard one voice.

"Hi Michelle," I said in a calm, steady voice as I strained to keep myself from mentally screaming.

"Hi yourself, cupcake," she chirped. Her exuberance was deafening. "Nice reading."

"You could've warned me," I growled.

"Right. You wouldn't have read it. You would've read your own drivel."

I tried very hard to resist being baited just then, and I succeeded by the barest of margins only because I was emotionally exhausted.

"You really did read it very well," she said in a serious tone. "I think it sounded better unrehearsed."

"Thanks ... I think."

"I bet you wouldn't have put as much emotion into it if you'd read it before. It wouldn't have had as much impact."

I wanted to smack her. She was right but it still wasn't a nice thing to do, and the more I thought about it, the more upset I got. I didn't want to bite someone's head off when I played volleyball, so before my mood got too sour, I tried to turn things around on her.

"Yeah, but what about the spirit of the assignment?"

"What about it?"

"It was supposed to be an essay, not a letter. Why did you write it in letter form?"

I got her on the defensive. She started trying to justify herself, and I soon noticed a curious trend.

"Careful, Michelle," I teased. "I can't help noticing that you're starting to use big words. I think I'm rubbing off on you."

"What?! That's stupid."

"It's true! And I must say, your letter was very well written. You did get an A+ after all. Good job, girl."

She disappeared then. I knew she hated English, and she especially hated being called a girl. I'd pushed a little too hard, but I'd feel sorry about it later. For the moment, I had P.E. to deal with and I didn't want any distractions.

***

I played volleyball with a vengeance. I showed the other team no mercy and it made me wonder if I was channeling Michelle. Either that or the surprise letter I'd read last hour still had me upset. It was probably a little of both, but if someone asked, I figured I could blame it on my period.

I suddenly giggled. Blaming my period struck me as humorous for some odd reason, though I couldn't understand why. My behavior seemed rather immature to me, even if I was barely into my teens. Periods were nothing to be laughed at. Luckily, I quickly shrugged it off and returned my attention to volleyball. I still had some serious butt to kick.

After the game, I welcomed a shower, and I needed it, for various reasons. Relieving my guilt by sneaking some peeks for Michelle topped the list. I felt guilty for treating her so badly.

She really did mean well, and she crafted a wonderful tribute to my brother. I hadn't planned on showing my mom when Mrs. Flaherty suggested it, but after I thought about it a little more, I realized it would be a nice thing to do. I'd silently give credit to my inner tomboy writer and have a good cry with my mother after she read the letter.

So I snuck in a few very long looks at some of the curvier girls in the locker room for Michelle. Most of the views were from behind but that was the only way I could get away with it. I hoped she appreciated my effort. I know I certainly had a good time.

***

My inner friend didn't speak to me again until I walked home after school. I preferred to be alone when speaking to her so I didn't mind the wait.

"Apology accepted," she suddenly told me before I'd made it more than a block from school.

"I haven't apologized yet."

"Yes you have ... in your own way. Thanks for the sneak peeks."

"You're welcome." I smiled as I took in the recent memories.

"Angie sure is a babe," Michelle ventured.

"She's a little tall for my taste. I'd like someone closer to my own height."

"Yeah, but she's got great ...."

"Don't say it!" I warned. "Please. Don't get crude on me now. We were just having a moment."

"Dang. You're such a ...."

"And don't call me a whiner baby! Can't you think of a better insult?"

"Well ... yeah. But I don't think you'd like it."

"Fine," I grumbled. "Call me whatever you want. Just don't forget my name is Beth. Okay?"

"Well ... duh."

I had a good long talk with Michelle, all the way home. She'd written a lot of nice things about my brother so I tried to be nice to her. She didn't make it easy for me.

My inner tomboy went out of her way to tease and even anger me, but I have to admit, she did get me to think about things, and she helped me out a lot. I could call her a lot of things but I could no longer call her an imaginary friend. She acted more like a sister than anything else. She really grew on me.

And I did the right thing when my mother got home. I let Michelle take control of me while my mom read the letter. It was only fair since my inner sister wrote it.

After she stopped squealing -- like a girl I wanted to say but held my tongue -- I relaxed and faded away to let Michelle have her moment with our mother.

Chapter 26: Plugging Leaks

"I can't believe that letter," my mom gushed. "It's beautiful."

"Thanks," I told her for the umpteenth time.

"It's so much better than your earlier essay," she said, and then sighed.

Ouch.

My battered ego couldn't take much more. She'd been talking about that letter all morning and continued to talk about it on the way to see Doctor Franklin. I'm sure Michelle appreciated the attention. I know because I could feel her glowing with pride. But I was getting tired of it. I needed a change of subject.

"Did I tell you about my memory conflict?" I asked.

"No, actually, you didn't. Do you want to talk about it now? I'll understand if you want to wait and discuss it with Doctor Franklin."

"No no. It's okay. I want you to know."

I told her all about my baseball daydream and how I imagined myself playing on a boys team. I started thinking about softball but it morphed into baseball and exploded into a very vivid and detailed series of games, leading to the state playoffs. It really disturbed me. It seemed more like something my brother would dream up.

When I mentioned my brother, the color drained from my mother's face. "I don't know what to say to that," she said, her lips tightly drawn.

The subject obviously made her uncomfortable so I dropped it, and we lapsed into an awkward silence, though it wasn't long before someone else started a new conversation.

"Are you sure I can't talk you out of going to see the doc?" Michelle asked.

"Yeah. I'm sure." I knew she didn't like Doctor Franklin but I had to plug the leaks in my mind. I wanted to be normal. I just wanted a normal life.

"What is normal?" she asked, reading my thoughts. It finally occurred to me that she'd been reading my thoughts ever since she first popped into my head, yet I couldn't read hers. Sometimes I couldn't understand her at all. Life could be so unfair.

"I just want my memories to stop getting mixed up with my brother's. I want to be all girl."

"You are a girl," she said carefully. "But what's wrong with a girl liking baseball?"

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong with liking baseball. It's just that I've never played before. It's ... upsetting. It just upsets me! Okay?!"

"Okay okay. Sorry. Don't get your panties in a bunch," she said.

I was pleased to note that she didn't call me a 'whiner baby' but that actually worried me. There was a tinge of despair to her voice that I hadn't noticed until that point, and I knew it had to do with my impending hypnotherapy session. Hypnosis really rattled her.

I took a deep breath and said, "Don't worry, Michelle. I'm sure everything will work out."

She didn't respond to that. Instead, she faded away to her little hideout and peeked through the shutters of my mind like a frightened young child in a war zone.

***

"Think back to when you had the memory conflict," Doctor Franklin told me after she'd hypnotized me. "Think about how it made you feel about your brother."

I did as she asked and it upset me. A single tear dribbled down my cheek.

"It made you miss your brother, didn't it."

"Yes."

"You're still having trouble letting go of him. You need to move on, Beth. Would you like me to help you?"

"Yes."

"Did you plan on playing softball at school?"

"Yes."

"Playing softball will only confuse you and cause you pain, Beth. It will keep reminding you of baseball and your brother, and you'll keep having the memory conflict. You need to avoid softball."

"But I want to play."

"You don't like pain, do you?"

"No."

"Softball will only cause you pain, Beth. You must avoid it. Your brother loved baseball but you never have."

"I'm ... afraid."

"Of what?"

"I'm afraid of losing ... him."

"He's dead, Beth. But you won't forget him if you don't play softball. You'll still have memories of him playing baseball, and you won't confuse your memories with his. It's the perfect solution."

"No."

"You've never played softball. Isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

"That's because you don't really like playing softball. The only thing you like about it is that it reminds you of baseball and your brother. When you watch softball or baseball, you'll be reminded of your brother. There will be no confusion or pain, only happy memories. You will be content to watch others play and let it remind you of your brother. You only want happy memories, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you realize now that you don't want to play softball. Isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"Good girl," she told me, and I smiled.

It still made me happy when she said I was a good girl. I wanted to be good. I wanted to please her and be happy so I'd do as she asked. It was an easy decision anyway. I suddenly couldn't understand what I ever saw in softball. I mean, I'd never played it before so I must not like it.

Just as Doctor Franklin began to bring me out of my hypnotic state, I shifted in my seat. My pad suddenly made me uncomfortable. That made her pause and ask me what was wrong.

I told her I'd been menstruating and that it had been bothering me a lot. It was the first period I could remember having so I wasn't used to it.

She extended the session then, and helped me realize how silly I'd been. Menstruation was a normal, natural process, and it meant I was growing into a healthy young woman. It should be accepted and even embraced.

She was right once again and I continued to marvel at her feminine wisdom. I only wished I could be half the woman she was when I grew up, and perhaps, with her ongoing help, I could be.

Chapter 27: Stopping to Smell the Flowers

My heart never felt lighter than it did that early Saturday afternoon. I'd had a wonderful session with my psychologist, the sun was shining and my mother and I were on our way to visit my brother's grave.

Thinking about my brother's death no longer saddened me. I'd moved on with my life, and I'm sure my brother would approve.

I wouldn't forget him of course. I'd save a special place in my heart for memories of my dear brother. I'd always remember how much he loved baseball and I vowed to watch several games a year. Every time the shortstop made a good stop, I'd think of Mike and smile.

"You seem happy," my mother noted. "Did you have a good session?"

"I most certainly did. I think I'm going to be okay now."

"No more memory conflicts?"

"Nope."

"That's a relief ... I mean that's good. Right?" She gave me a sheepish grin, like she was up to something. It made me a little nervous but I shrugged it off and reminded her to stop by the grocery store to pick up some flowers.

After we left the store, we drove in silence the rest of the way to the cemetery, each of us no doubt thinking about Mike. It was our time to keep his memory alive. The drone of the road noise mesmerized me and sent me back to his first double play. It seemed like only yesterday. He stopped the ball after a single hop and threw it sidearm to his best friend, Gary. Gary then flung it to first base for the second out and they both jumped in the air and got together for a quick high five. I'd never seen Mike so happy.

When the car finally stopped, it only vaguely registered and my mom had to gently shake me out of my reverie. We got out of the car and cut across the short grass to my brother's resting place, careful not to step on any graves.

The sun shone brightly, sending up short, steamy plumes as it evaporated the morning frost on that cold winter day, and when my mother and I approached, sunlight reflected off the gold lettering of the grave marker. My brother's name glowed and my heart soared. I took it as an omen that he was happy for me.

I spoke to him in my thoughts as I stood there next to my mother. I told him about my vow to watch baseball as a tribute to him. I told him about how much I missed him and loved him. I even told him about my therapy and how much progress I'd made the past week. Then I placed more daisies in the plastic holder and smiled, with only one tear escaping my left eye the whole time. It was a good visit.

***

My mother and I returned to the car, still lost in our own private memorials. She started the engine and I barely noticed. I just kept thinking about Mike playing baseball until I ran out of memories. It took quite awhile. Then my thoughts turned back to a certain someone else that I suddenly missed.

Michelle normally didn't say anything for a long time after a session with Doctor Franklin. I expected that, but I grew concerned when I didn't sense her presence at all. She really moved deep under cover. Wherever she ended up, I hoped she was okay.

I kept thinking about how she and I had shared a special moment last night. The letter she wrote for English broke though my reluctance to accept her presence, and it made me think of her as a sister. The only problem was, after a good night's sleep and some quality therapy, I no longer experienced those same feelings. She suddenly struck me as being cold and distant, hiding away in the dark recesses of my mind. I liked having someone to talk to, but I found myself falling back into an awkward, uneasy relationship with her.

She seemed at times to be a bad influence on me, like she purposely encouraged me to be less like myself. She also had something against Doctor Franklin and hypnotherapy. I'd been making good progress and Michelle held me back. Perhaps she was a symptom of my troubled mind, and as my emotional scars faded, she'd fade along with them.

When we passed the store where we bought the flowers, it distracted me enough to snap me out of it. My brooding had lasted far too long. I didn't like suffering in silence. It was too quiet during the last trip from the cemetery and I didn't like it. I took several deep, relaxing breaths and suddenly felt like chatting up a storm, and since Michelle kept to herself, I'd choose another victim.

"So ... Mom. When are we going house hunting?"

"What? Oh! Didn't I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I thought it better if we keep renting and invest the money we got from the insurance company."

"Oh," I said with obvious disappointment.

I'd hoped to have a house again, and a garden. I planned on having a flower garden so I could grow daisies for Mike's grave, and a vegetable garden would also be nice. Nothing tasted better than fresh vegetables.

"I'm sorry, Beth."

"It's okay." I told her about my dashed dreams and she gave me a sad smile.

"It's just the two of us now, honey. We don't need a lot of room ... but I agree with you about a garden. I'll miss having one."

"Can't we get a small house?" I said, trying not to whine and failing.

"I told you, Beth. I'm investing the money. You'll be off to college in no time and college isn't cheap."

"Right."

The thought of going to college sounded crazy to me. College seemed so far off in the future, like forever even. I couldn't imagine high school, let alone college, though that might have been because the years dragged by much more slowly when school sucked. I could only hope that high school would be a big improvement.

"Say ... I have an idea," my mom said with a gleam in her eye. I loved that gleam.

"Yeah? What? What is it?" I bounced a little on the car seat, making my mom laugh.

"Stop it, Beth. You'll make me have an accident."

"Sorry." I said, my bouncing slowly came to a stop.

"Here's the idea .... How about a deck garden?" She flashed me a big, cheesy grin and we both cracked up.

A deck garden sounded a little silly, given our small deck, but it was her funny face that made me laugh. She could always cheer me up with a goofy smile.

The conversation drifted to other subjects after that, but my thoughts kept returning to the deck garden. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. We could get stacking shelves and maximize what little space we had. It was certainly better than nothing.

When my mother finally took a breath after a long winded explanation of how to select a ripe cantaloupe in the produce aisle at the grocery store, I couldn't take it any more. I started shoveling out the ideas about how we might grow all manner of vegetation on our little deck. I refused to give up on my dream.

We explored every possible area for a deck garden. I ran with the stacking shelves theme and she wanted to hang long narrow hanging boxes over the deck railing and grow herbs to use for cooking. We even came up with a good way to grow morning glories -- one of our favorite little flowers. We'd let them curl up and around the vertical posts of the railing all along one end of the deck. There's no way they could take over that way. Back at our old house, the lovely little white trumpets looked nice but they grew faster than weeds and quickly became a pest.

The idea of having a garden excited us both, and we soon detoured to the nearest nursery to gather supplies for the coming spring. My mom would have her herbs and I'd have my daisies for Mike's grave, and we'd both have various other flowers blooming all throughout the year, even our favorite little morning glory.

I wondered what, if anything, Michelle might like and made a mental note to ask her. Or perhaps I wouldn't have to since I was sure she still lurked within range of all my thoughts. I imagined her wanting to grow something unusual, and impossible on a small deck, just to be difficult, something like a pumpkin. That would be just her style, and it made me giggle.

Chapter 28: Long Lost Relatives

Setting up the deck garden had been fun. We pretty much finished everything, cleaned up and had a nice quiet dinner together. Then we sat at opposite ends of our large comfortable couch and chatted the rest of the time.

The casual conversation flowed well enough and kept us occupied, but the evening dragged as I thought of a way to bring up a seemingly touchy subject that occurred to me earlier. I wanted to ask about my grandmother and why I hadn't seen her since before the fire.

I didn't have many relatives. My father, 'he who shall not be named', divorced my mother long ago, giving up all custody and visitation rights to my brother and me. According to my mother, he couldn't handle the responsibility of fatherhood. He moved out of state and out of mind. She collected child support but otherwise had no contact with him or any relatives on his side of the family. It was a sore subject.

Then there was my uncle Mick. He'd left his parents, my grandparents, long ago, citing a long list of reasons, but really he just didn't get along with them and wanted to get as far away as possible. So far, he hadn't married and showed no signs of ever doing so. He was another lost cause.

My living male relatives all bailed out of my life and lived well beyond my social radar. Only Mike and my grandfather left any fond memories, though I was too young to remember much about Gramps before he died. That only left Grams.

"Mom? Can we visit Grams tomorrow?"

"No, honey. I'm sorry but I think she's got plans ... a garden show or something."

I'd asked about visiting my grandmother several times since I got out of the hospital but my mother deftly put me off each time. She kept putting me off until her behavior eventually struck me as being evasive. It didn't make sense. Grams retired ages ago. She lived in a small house about 20 miles away, so she should've been more accessible. We normally visited her at least once a month.

"But I haven't seen her since ... well ... you know." I still had trouble mentioning the word 'fire.' "Is something wrong?"

I thought my loving grandmother would've been happy to see me finally escape from the hospital. Mike and I both got along very well with her. We were her only grandchildren, and now I was the last one. So where was she?

My mother suddenly looked like she'd swallowed something very bitter, just before she put her hands over her face and cried.

I quickly slid forward over the cushions towards her to hug her, but the way she hunched over made it awkward, so I resorted to words.

"What is it, Mom? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

When she finally stopped crying, she sniffled a response. "No. You didn't do anything wrong, sweetie."

"Then what?"

She stifled a quick response and sat back on the couch, looking thoughtful. Her silence lasted far too long for comfort though, and my patience wore thin.

"Mom? Talk to me, Mom."

"Sorry, honey. I'm okay. I was just thinking about ... Mike."

"Okay. What does that have to do with Grams?"

"Well ... Mike's death really hit her hard ... hit both of us hard. We cried together a long time when I was staying with her ... you know, until I got this apartment."

"So we should go see her then. She needs us!"

"No, honey," she said in a very quiet voice.

"No?"

"I'm sorry but she can't see you right now."

"What?! Why not?!" That got me crying. The thought of my grandmother rejecting me was too horrible to contemplate.

"I'm not sure if I can explain it, Beth."

"Try!" I pleaded between sobs.

"I think she's afraid. I think she's very afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Confusion momentarily made me forget about crying.

"I'm just guessing, but I think she's afraid of facing Mike's death, and seeing you would be too painful a reminder."

That shocked me. Grams always seemed so strong, like nothing could faze her. She'd even lost her husband, Gramps, with grace from what little I remembered. My mother didn't tell me much about my grandfather's death so I only had my own memories to go on, such as they were.

"Hasn't she been to his grave?" I asked.

"No, honey. She hasn't."

"Oh."

At that moment, I couldn't think of anything worse than being a walking, talking reminder of my dead brother. I imagined myself dressed up as a tombstone and walking in on my grandmother, scaring her half to death.

"Please, Beth. Give her time. She just needs a little time."

My grandma was like, ancient. I didn't know how much time she had left but I imagined it wasn't a lot. I wanted to see her! But I couldn't. I couldn't even if I wanted to. My mother obviously wouldn't drive me. There were no bus routes and I was sure I didn't have enough money for a taxi. I'd just have to wait Grams out and hope she didn't die before I could see her again. I couldn't take another death in the family.

It seemed as though death wasn't handled well in my little family. That wasn't hard to understand though. We only had three members left, one for each generation, and all female. We lost some much needed balance in our lives. Men and boys have their flaws but they left a large void in our family, a void that appeared impossible to fill.

Chapter 29: Blossom and Wither

Spring came early that year, and the new growing season spurred nearly everything on to blossom in one way or another. Only a certain somebody bucked the trend and slowly withered on the vine.

"Come on, Michelle," I said. "Talk to me."

I'd tried everything to get my inner tomboy to communicate. I read over the letter she wrote several times, I set her up to tease me about my growing love for Tracy, and I indulged in some serious ogling of the girls in the locker room. Michelle wouldn't budge.

She crawled around the edges of my mind, edging forward into the light of consciousness and flinching back lest she be burned in some horrible fashion.

I remembered what she'd said about feeling drained after hypnotherapy. She felt like she'd lose a piece of herself after each session, like the therapy was slowly killing her. I thought she was just being melodramatic, though I wondered about it myself. My last therapy session with Doctor Franklin really did hit Michelle hard.

Losing Michelle should've been a good thing. It should've meant that I was getting better. I'd be normal again, though I had to admit I'd miss her a little.

I suddenly heard a giggle then. My inner tomboy finally managed to gather enough energy and nerve to address my latest musings.

"You'll never be normal," she whispered. "Give up." She giggled again.

"You sound awful. Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" she said with a little annoyance.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Just promise me one thing, Beth."

"What's that?"

"Promise you'll never stop sneaking peeks in the locker room." She said, and laughed.

"You're hopeless," I said, smiling.

"Yeah yeah." She lapsed into silence then. I could still sense her so I waited several minutes until I tried again.

"You still there?"

"Yeah. I'm still here. You know what else?"

"What?"

"I noticed you've been peeking at yourself."

"What?!"

"It's okay. Don't get your panties in a bunch. You're getting boobs. That's cool."

"Yeah, well you just leave my boobs out of it," I growled. I'd been very excited to see myself develop, but I didn't feel comfortable discussing it with her.

She laughed a little and faded away.

Michelle had bounced back a little but the fire went out of her. She sounded tired and sick. She must be sick if I couldn't liven her up with all the peeks I'd been sneaking of the girls in the showers. It had taken her several weeks to show up after my last session with Doctor Franklin.

With Michelle substantially weakened, I decided my state of mental health must be pretty good. My psychologist had done a good job on me. So why did I feel so bad?

***

As the weather turned warm, the deck garden showed signs of life, starting first with crocuses, tulips and daffodils in their stacked array of terra-cotta pots before moving on to later flowers. I also planted romaine and red leaf lettuce in a large rectangular planter box that had a water reservoir in the bottom. My mother and I could harvest the lettuce over several months, and we'd add some fresh herbs to serve as the foundation for some tasty salads.

I sat out on the deck in a lawn chair next to my mother one nice Sunday. We'd set aside a little area that just had room enough for two chairs. Plants and their various containers of soil covered the rest.

The two of us inhaled the lovely scents of the flowers and enjoyed the sun on our faces while we occasionally chatted about inconsequential things. I loved it all, but there was something missing.

Since I got out of the hospital a couple months ago, I'd only needed two therapy sessions, and Michelle had only surfaced once after my second session. That was a few weeks ago, when she teased me about peeking at myself.

I thought I'd be able to recharge her and talk to her a little more often, but I was wrong. After all that time, I still couldn't figure her out, and I didn't have much of a chance of doing so if I couldn't talk to her more a little more.

I knew exactly what she didn't like, and what sapped her strength. Hypnosis, Doctor Franklin and overt femininity were the main culprits. I'd try to avoid those subjects when talking with her.

The thing she liked the most had to be shapely girls, preferably with few or no clothes on. She also liked swearing and teasing me. I tried swearing, and I religiously ogled girls. I even flashed myself in the mirror to give her a reason to tease me. Still nothing. I wouldn't give up though. I just had to put it all together.

I thought back to our past conversations and how they started. She frequently teased me but that always came later. Then it hit me. I thought I had it figured out. I thought I knew how to motivate her to talk to me. When my mom and I had a lull in the conversation, I tested my theory.

"Please, Michelle. I really need you. It's been pretty lonely for me. I don't have a lot of friends, and I'm sure you know all about Grams avoiding me." Sadly, it was all true, but I had to bare my soul to get her attention.

And it worked. I could sense her approaching, but she still couldn't be coaxed into the light. I kept trying though.

"I miss you, Michelle. Please talk to me, just for a little while."

"Hi Beth." Again, she sounded weak and tired, but she answered me, and her voice made me smile.

That had to be it. She generally showed up when I most needed her. She was like a protective older sister keeping watch over me. My vulnerability drew her out of hiding.

"Thanks for talking to me," I said.

"Sure," she said.

She didn't offer many words, but she was there for me. I wasn't dishonest when I said I needed her. I just didn't realize how much I needed her until I hadn't spoken to her for so long. We had a nice little chat that was only cut short when I made the mistake of forgetting about the femininity rule. I started talking about all the beautiful flowers in the deck garden and how my mother and I arranged them in vases around the apartment. The somewhat feminine conversation slowed my inner tomboy down, and it ground to a halt after I asked her which flowers she might like me to grow for her.

"Daisies are okay," she whispered, and that's all she said on the subject. Then she faded away again, most likely needing another few weeks of rest before I could call her back for another sisterly chat.

Once again, I found myself thinking of her as a sister in spite of how unhealthy it might be. I wanted to heal and move on after all the tragedy in my life, but I also couldn't help wanting a sister, even if I could only talk to her every few weeks.

Chapter 30: Reunions

My medical checkups continued to show me to be in perfect health, so the doctors reduced the frequency of my checkups from monthly to quarterly. I didn't understand what they hoped to find, or not find. They only told me that whatever strange new therapy they'd performed on me worked slowly, over the span of months and years, so I needed monitoring over that time.

I felt good, physically. I got enough exercise and ate well. My mother noticed and said I had a healthy teenage glow. My body developed nicely that spring, and my mother and I celebrated when I was finally able to fill out my first real bra. I'd graduated from wearing a training bra so we had a private little 'coming of age' party on the weekend.

My mom left me alone for the morning while she collected things for the party. I didn't know why it took her several hours but I shrugged it off and spent the time reading. As long as she came back with vanilla ice cream, I'd be happy.

When she finally got back, she gave me a faint grin and the party started immediately. She turned up the heat, drew the shades and drapes and the two of us removed our tops, leaving only our bras. Then she played an old song on our portable CD player.

I'd never heard of the song before. It was called "I Am Woman" and it was written by two people I'd never heard of: Helen Reddy and Ray Burton. They must be fairly old if I'd never heard of them, but I liked the song, especially the lyrics. It was a special moment.

The festivities continued with soft music playing in the background and a big bowl of ice cream, which I drowned in chocolate syrup. I needed the chocolate to cheer me up. I'd started missing my grandmother again.

I tried to keep a happy face, but I missed Grams terribly at my party. It was a family event, and it was the sort of thing I thought she'd love. I didn't quite understand why she continued to avoid me after so long a time but I respected her wish. I'd continue to wait, and hope she came around soon. My birthday was next month and I didn't know what I'd do if she didn't show up for that.

My mother and I sat at the kitchen table, not really saying much. The music and dessert set the mood well enough that words weren't really necessary. The party wasn't exactly wild but I could almost call it pleasant, until something really wonderful happened.

With my ice cream half devoured, we were interrupted by a knock at the door that made me squeak in surprise and alarm. I didn't like the idea of any strangers seeing me in a bra, and I instinctively held up my hands to hide myself.

"It's okay, Beth," my mom told me, grinning. "I'll get the door."

Well that was odd. She wasn't appropriately dressed either, but I noticed she made no move to cover herself. She did peek through the peep hole but then she opened the door wide. The door blocked my view so I still couldn't see who it was.

"You made it," my mom said. "Good. Come on in. We're right in the middle of ice cream. Would you like some?"

"That sounds lovely," a very familiar voice said. Then the woman who spoke entered and the door shut behind her.

My mouth hung open for a brief moment, just until a certain word came to mind.

"Grams?" I whispered, almost immediately followed by a squeal of joy. "Grams!"

I sprung from my chair and attacked my grandmother with a hug. She came to my party. She came to see me and I couldn't be happier.

We talked a little over ice cream, and my grandma even joined in by removing her top. I got to see two generations of fully developed breasts and I couldn't help comparing sizes. It gave me hope that I'd fill out a lot more before I was finished.

The conversation got livelier and lightened considerably with my mood after that. I became a chat monster. I wanted to ask Grams so much. We'd been apart for so long. But then I noticed my mother giving me a warning glance. I suspected there was one subject that was still taboo so I steered clear of anything having to do with my brother. I stuck to girl talk with my two favorite older girls in the world.

***

"Thanks so much for coming, Grams," I gushed as the party wound down. "It wouldn't have been the same without you."

"You're very welcome, dear," she told me. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world. You're becoming quite the lovely young lady."

I blushed at that, but I loved hearing every word. I loved hearing her. I got my grandmother back and I was on cloud nine.

"Well, Mom," my mother said. "Thanks again. I think you made Beth's day."

I smiled to confirm it and we all shared a group smile. Then we all put our tops back on and piled into the car to take Grams home.

***

On the way back from taking Grams home, I couldn't help thinking about her. Of course seeing her cheered me up, but during my party, we couldn't really discuss any serious current issues. With her back at her house, I could give the matter more thought.

She didn't seem her usual self to me. It wasn't just having to avoid talking about Mike. Her discomfort carried over into her whole visit. She hesitated several times when saying my name, and she gave me some funny looks when she thought I wouldn't notice. My mom must have been right about her. I was a constant reminder of Mike's death. My grandmother's normally strong personality definitely waned during my party, and I know it wasn't caused by any physical health problems. My mother would've told me if that was the case.

So what do I do about it? I worried over that question for many miles until I started feeling a little nauseous. It made me sick to think that my presence could cause Grams any pain. I had to change the subject, before I got any worse.

There weren't many subjects I could think of at the moment that wouldn't lead me back to Mike's death. I had to think long and hard before I stumbled back to the living. There was one thing stronger than anything else I'd never encountered, and that was love.

My relationship with Tracy had been up and down over the past couple months, as we tried to rekindle our friendship. It had been hard on both of us to get know each other. My Swiss cheese memory frustrated both of us. I really wasn't the same girl I'd been before the fire.

I just couldn't find myself. I'd hoped more memories would slowly come back to help me out, but they didn't. There was more to it than missing memories however. Even though I forgot so much, I should've had the same personality, and I should've been comfortable getting back into the same routine, but I couldn't. I could only move forward. The past was gone and I was a new girl.

Tracy and I had our share of fun. We sat together at lunch and shopped at the mall every other weekend or so. We also talked on the phone several times a week, but there was one thing we didn't do that I knew we used to. We didn't go over to each others' house.

I hadn't been inside her house. I couldn't remember ever having set foot in her home, and it bothered a little. One thing bothered me more however. She rarely visited me at my apartment and I know she used to visit quite frequently. I remembered that much.

We lived a lot farther apart now but that was no excuse. I could've walked home from school with her or she with me. Then one our moms could take the visitor home around dinner time or even later if we wanted to eat together. It'd be easy, if we ever decided to start doing it.

I wondered if Tracy held back for some reason. I know I did. I held back because I was afraid of moving too quickly. I was afraid I'd finally give in to my desires and try to kiss her. I knew about crushes and lust. I'd certainly experienced my fair share of such juvenile behavior, but my feelings for Tracy were stronger than that. I knew it in my bones, and my heart. My whole body ached for her. She had me body and soul, if only she'd accept me.

Perhaps she knew about my feelings. Girls were good at sussing out feelings. Had I been too obvious? Did I make her uncomfortable? I couldn't be sure, unless I asked her but I wasn't ready to do that. All I could make myself do was take it slowly. I took everything slowly, and tortured myself with unrequited love.

I accepted at least some of the responsibility for the state of our friendship. It advanced at a glacial pace because that's how I wanted it, even though I wanted so much more. I knew I was attracted to her, and I accepted my feelings for her with dread. I saw no signs that she felt the same way. I didn't think she liked girls the same way I did. If I took things slowly enough, I might never tell her how I feel, and there'll be no chance of rejection. It was safer that way.

I changed direction then, and thought about boys. So far, I hadn't found one I liked. They all seemed too pushy and crude for my taste. I couldn't understand what other girls saw in them, but perhaps I might still find salvation in a boyfriend. Perhaps I just needed to find the right boy. With my faulty memory, maybe I already had and didn't know it. That begged a question.

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Have I ever had any crushes I told you about ... you know ... before?"

"Beth!" She gave me a quick goofy smile before turning her attention back to driving. "What brought this on?"

"I dunno," I lied. "I'm just curious I suppose."

"Right." She didn't believe me but she let it go, and I silently thanked her for it.

"So? Got a name for me?"

"Let me see ...," she paused a moment to think. "There was one boy in seventh grade that struck your fancy."

"Struck my what?"

She laughed. "Never mind the phrase. I meant there was one boy you liked."

"Yeah ... and ...?" I prodded with a gleam of hope in my eye.

"His name was Bobby. Bobby Hanson. Whatever happened to Bobby?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe we just had ... irreconcilable differences."

My mother laughed again. "Where did you learn that?"

"I heard it in a movie."

"Right. It figures."

"So I like movies! Big deal!" Grownups could be so condescending. What did it matter if I learned something from a movie? It's possible to both enjoy a movie and learn something from it.

"Anyway", I continued. "I don't remember him at all."

"I figured that." She paused then and got a certain mischievous look that always made me nervous. "Maybe you could look him up and try again."

"Maybe I will," I said, keeping my eyes straight ahead, staring out into space through the windshield. "Maybe I will."

*** 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.