A New Year's Promise

I promised her this year would be different from all the others. That this year would be the year she could finally come out from hiding in the shadows, up till now she had only been allowed to come out. This year I've finally worked up the courage to allow her to spread her wings and soar high into the heavens. To walk the freshly tilled earth, to feel the gentle breath of spring, the warm of summer sunshine, the cool crispy of autumn air and to feel the sting of winter's breath upon her rosy cheeks.

This year I promised her that her long exile was finally over. And I plan on keeping that promise, because long last I've grown tired of her living in the shadows. I've grown tired of her only peeking through the fog when I felt it was safe enough to invite her out in the open. And in those rare times, as rare as they were, I had to keep always at arms length. I've grown tired of the hollowness that seemed to engulf me when she was not around.

This year, I will invite her out of the shadows and herald her return to all the living mortals. In fact, when the clock strikes midnight tonight it will be time for her to claim her birthright.

I have long known myself to a woman born into the body of a man. My heart and soul are that of a woman, and yet I've been forced for twenty one years of life to hide that side of me. In silence I've suffered and endured the cruel sling of arrows of gender dysphoria. I've been afraid, afraid to let others know how I feel deep inside, afraid of the judgment that will be passed upon me,afraid of the scorn of my peers. But most of all I have been afraid of being ridiculed and disowned by family and my community.

But that was the old, or I should say the old version of me, that I went into the grave tonight at the stroke of midnight. After all, as some old poet once said, 'The length of a human life is a mere eighty years.' If that poet's words are true then I've only fifty nine more years left to live. And I refuse to waste another second of those years living a lie. 

And so, my new name will be Katherine Joanne Johnston. The name of my late grandmother, and selected to honor her memory and her good name and to keep her memory alive. I mean the woman did teach me to read and write my own name when others had written me off as too slow to learn, because of an undiagnosed case of dyslexia.

I mean how can I not honor a woman who opened the treasure box that is the English tongue. Who believed in me, who helped me escape from the living hell that the city's schools were. She was also the first one to catch a glimpse at the true me. And it was her gift to me, her small, rustic, humble cottage located here in rustic, rural Benton and leaving to me the lion share of her estate to me that has finally given me the financial freedom to pursue this path of being true to myself. No matter how daunting or fraught with danger it might be. 

And so, with all this racing like a race horse through the racetrack that is my mind I somehow managed to take a deep breath as I walked toward the old closet door. I smiled and tossed open the wooden and then drawing in another deep breath I dived right now. Soon I would need to purge my closet. Purging is common for those who are questioning their gender. Often purging would entail somebody throwing  their female clothes. Into the trash would go their skirts, their panties, their bras, high heel shoes and such. I'd often purged myself through my stormy and troubled teenage years. But this time, purging would be casting shackles of the past twenty one years.

I will start my own emancipation by getting rid of all the clothes I've been forced to wear for the first twenty one years of my life. Soon, very soon only skirts, dresses, and blouses will hang from these plastic clothes hangers. No, even those must go, the clothes hangers were blue, they must be pink. But in the meantime, I have something special, a special outfit I must wear tonight.

In the back of my closet, hidden there hanging from a special kind of hanger, I could find a sparkling red, strapless dress. A dress I bought on clearance from those fancy dress bazaars found in the mall. It was the kind of dress one would wear to their prom or to a Las Vegas Casino. The kind that would make a girl feel like a celebrated movie star when she slips it on. The kind of dress that would turn heads of all the guys, the kind that would make guys lose their heads as well as their minds.

Complementing the frock, I had this adorable pair of red, faux leather heel shoes and matching sexy clutch. I'm sure you've noticed a certain trend here, yes the color of everything here is red. Ruby red, a lush, sexual red. Red in my personal opinion the color red looks stunning on brunettes.

When I was still in the egg, my long, wavy brown hair that was often tied into a ponytail with a ribbon of some kind  that made me look dashing. Poetic maybe, in the old Edwardian kind of way, indeed often I tried to pull off this old scholarly look with my glasses. But as Katherine, I noticed my long, wavy brunette hair and around hazel nut eyes that never failed to remind me of the color of Nutella. Kind of hand a down home to them. A kind of earthly charm to them. The down home southern look, the kind that would be your best friend no matter what, but would sass you the hell and back without even hinting at it. The kind of girl who would sandwich her insults between such remarks as “Oh, bless your heart.” or “Oh, honey I'm so sorry.” Plus, I could have never fully mask my accursed southern accent. 

Yes, that type of accent that marked me as a creature of the Southern United States, high, pitched, with some words spat out and others drawn out. A tone of voice that might have at one point in time been romantic and cause the listener to conjure up images of moonlight roads, vast sprawling cotton fields, and of course magnolia trees. Now tainted by my poor, feeble attempts to infuse the charm and refinement of the British Isles into it through a steady reading of the many works of such renowned writers as Charles Dickens, John Reuel Tolkien, and last but not least those many wonderful scholars who poured pounds of flesh, and buckets of blood into to the writing and careful editing of the Book of Common Prayer.

The accent that had been produced from all this torment kind of suited me, it was more like a classic 'Southern Belle' accent. The kind of charming, British-Southern American Accent that was often heard in the drawing rooms of older, families and in the tea rooms of the local Episcopal Parishes, America's answer to the Anglican Church and the church favored by all well to do Southern American Families, mostly due to the prestige and social connections one would get from attending such a church. 

With that smile still firmly on my face, I quickly started to strip myself. First starting with my white button-up shirt with brown buttons, once I'd unbuttoned the last button, I tossed the shirt to the side, only a few more days I told myself and I'll never ever have to wear that damn thing again. Then I came to the white undershirt, it joined its brother on the floor. Then off came my fake, brown leather, lace up dress shoes, followed by black socks, and then my brown leather belt, and then my tan colored trousers and finally my white boxers.

A sudden sense of joy, of total freedom seemed to come over me as I stripped myself of those hated garments. Soon, soon if I could work my will, which I knew I would, it would only frilly, and lacy bras, panties, skirts, stocking, dresses, blouses, headbands, with ribbons, and soon I will have the total freedom to wear my hair in more than just a long, hanging ponytail. I would be free to add curls, to add ribbons, to add hair bows, and to add anything my little heart desired! I would be free to explore.

And so with that in mind, I rushed headlong into the bathroom and quickly I filled the old claw tub with clear, warm water. I knew I should not rush, but the mental image of an hourglass appeared in my mind, and the remaining time I had to get myself ready and sorted out was like those tiny grains of sand pouring from the top of the glass to the bottom. Each minute I stood there daydreaming was another minute I'd tossed away. A minute more I could have used. Once the tub was filled with water, I crawled in.

Settling into the warm water was a long, drawn series of deep breaths and sighs, that was finally followed by a long sigh as I leaned my back and allowed the warm water to just soak into my bones. Small white clouds of steam seemed to hover above my head. The inside of the bathroom seemed to turn from frigid to hot and humid. As the seconds melted into minutes, I felt the tension and dress of the day starting to melt away. I closed my eyes and tried to push all thoughts of the day out of my mind. I needed to focus now, focus now on getting ready.

And so, with my mind refocused on getting ready, and with a steady hand I reached over to the side of the tub and picked up my new razor. I knew it was my new razor because it had a pink gel-like handle. Unlike my old razor that had a blue gel like handle. And then with a steady hand and an eye trained on detail I started to shave my legs, starting at the top I slowly worked my way down to my feet, taking my time, and when I finished my legs were smooth as silk. I then shifted my attention and turned my whole attention to the hair of my chest and the hair under my arms and good measure, I even shaved my nether region till at last I was hairless from the neck down.

I then washed and conditioned my hair after that was done, I climbed out of the tub, drained the water and patted myself dry. And then I went onto the next step, applying my breast foams. Now, a few months ago, in a fit of courage I'd asked to be measured for a bra at a local Victoria Secrets, the sales woman a little confused did and said I would need something like an 'C' Cup size bra. She then pointed out several ones. Blushing, I picked out two that were trimmed in lace and one that was plain. I also brought a matching pair of panties to go with it. 

Of course the breast foams were just for show, soon I planned on growing my own. A trans friend told me that you would expect a cup size down from what your mom or sister was once you start. I never knew my mom's cup size, that would have been an odd conversation. Anyway, I'd just hoped for a Goddess of the breast would bless me as she had my mom and my late grandmother.

Putting that conversation away, I patted myself dry and started to get dressed. My outfit for this evening would be a cream colored bra, cream colored panties, because you know you had to match. You just had to match, and that dazzling red party dress. I'll go easy on the make-up, I still needed to learn how to properly apply make-up and with this being my first social debut I decided to hold off on the make up for now. No sense in showing up for my first major social event looking like something that seemed to leap from the cold, dead pages of a Steven King novel, or worse yet, show up looking like a Memphis Street walker. 

And so with that in mind, I slipped on my shoes, picked up my purse and headed out the door. It was a warm night, and in spite of the date being December thirty first two thousand and twenty three it was warm and muggy outside. God bless the Southern United States and its bipolar weather pattern. If you ever doubted that God had a sense of humor you only needed to look at the crazy weather that the south was known for. Freezing cold one minute, hot and dry the next, and the next day, thunderstorms with golf ball size hail stones, and the next, perfect grill weather. If I'd not spent twenty one years of my life down here, I would have not believed it. My European friends on Bonfire don't believe it though, they think it's a myth. 

Anyway I ramble. Once I was dressed I called for a taxi, yes, Benton is kind of behind the times. I'm very much aware that in the rest of the civilized world, Uber has replaced taxis but not here in Benton. DoorDash was making some headway though, the local's still did not really trust it. Anyway, once I pulled into my driveway. I had little time to waste, so thinking quickly I snatched my keys off the hanger, got my coat from the closet, it was red just like my dress, snatched up my clutch and out the door I bolted. Why did I need a coat? Because despite the hot, muggy, humid night air, come tomorrow the weather was to change yet again. There was frost predicted tomorrow morning. And I did not fancy catching a cold.

The Benton Country Club was the playground to the “Aristocratic” Families of Benton. Families that had been in Benton since the town was called “Hannah's Landing”. These were families that pulled the strings behind the scenes. Who controlled who was elected mayor,  controlled who was appointed chief of police, who controlled who was appointed the local school board. Families that such surnames such as “Potter”, “Brewer”, “Croft”, “Bell”, “Percy”, “Goldsmith”, and “Jeweler”. These were the families that had first settled in Benton in the wild, frontier days. Who had raised the first humble homesteads, who had built the first roads and opened the first business. Who had scorned the state of Mississippi for moving the county seat from Benton to nearby Yazoo City. Thus robbing of the title of 'County Seat'.

They were in short the bourgeoisie of Benton. Many were Episcopal and many were considered wealthy and owned large tracts of farmland. It was here among the older, more established families I moved. My own family was among the older families, but we had moved to Benton following the American Civil War and had moved in with the coming of the railroad. Thus many of the old guard considered us outsiders.

I will not dull you of what happened, for nothing happened. The women of the older families turned their noses up at me, and I was cut out of many conversations. I did flirt with a few older gentlemen, nothing more than a few flattering remarks on how they were dressed and how I loved a man in a well tailored suit. These gentlemen only smiled, many were married though. And thus my advances were in vain. But none of that mattered. And as the last few hours of twenty twenty three slipped on by, I hung back and watched the crowd.  And of course I raised my glass with the others, as we all watched some big ball drop in far away New York and tried to follow along as dozens of the leading citizens of  Benton tried to sing 'Auld Lang Syne' and well that it.

Nothing else to report. Then what else could expect from a crowd of mostly middle-age, wealthy, folks. Though I'm told by various others that during the warmer months the younger, twenty-something folks flock to the pool, and dance and drink the night away, so that was something to look forward too. But could I afford that on a teacher's salary? I'm sure I'm could.

And so as the morning sun dawned over a hushed landscape, one covered in frost, I smiled. Today was the first day of the year and it was the first day of my new life. 

The End.