---

In no time at all, my life settled into something of a routine that saw me reverting to Andy during the week in order to attend class and then, as quickly as I could, assume my role as Amanda in the evenings and for the entire weekend. Having been something of a recluse and little more than another warm body in class during my first semester, Andy had few friends aside from Fred, my former roomie and Carl, who I knew only because we both worked at O’Shanahan’s. So my change in routine didn’t result in the need to sever any social ties or friendships. Nor did I see much of a need to be circumspect when attending class least someone with a keen eye and good memory for faces make the connection between Andy and Amanda. The student body was, after all, quite large and everyone more or less traveled within social circles that were pretty much defined by their majors. Even the students who resided in the dorms or belonged to frats more or less gravitated
toward others who took classes in the same departments as they did. In fact, the small group who had become involved in “The Project” and who worked at O’Shanahan’s was probably the most eclectic collection of students I knew of.

There are of course always a couple of jokers in every deck of cards, wild cards that have the ability to undo even the best hand if it is not played well. In my case the joker turned out to be Helen White, the thirty something associate professor who was working on her doctorate in psychology while teaching at the university and, as the Fates would have it, just happened to live in the same building Sarah and I did. Not long after I had my run in with her in the laundry room I asked Kathy what she knew about Professor White. At the time Kathy knew precious little about the woman since she had never been in any of her classes. But she did promise to check with some of her friends who were in Professor White’s classes and see what she could find out. In the meantime I did my best to make sure that I avoided her as best I could. I had thought that this would be easy, seeing as she lived on an entirely different floor and at the other end of the building.
What I had not counted on was an equally determined effort on her part to keep me from eluding her.

My second close encounter of the wrong kind with Professor White occurred where the first had, in the laundry room during the first week in March. It was a Saturday morning and as was my wont, I headed on down to do my laundry. With my mind on other matters I wasn’t paying much attention to anything as I casually strolled into the laundry room. Spying an empty machine, a rarity on a Saturday morning, I made a bee line straight for it least someone materialize out of no where and claim it for themselves. It wasn’t until I was in the midst of stuffing my clothes in it that a voice called out to me from the doorway. “Well, hello there.”

Startled, I spun about. Standing there, blocking the only entrance and exit and holding a basket that wasn’t even half full was Professor White. Smiling, she made her way over to a small table some of the tenants used for sorting and folding clothes. All the while her gaze remained locked on me like target acquisition radar tracking its next mark. “I’ve seen you around but we’ve never had a chance to speak.” After setting her basket on the table, she made her way over to where I was standing. “I’m Helen White.”

Unable to help myself, I stood there looking at her out stretched hand as if it were basilisk. Something about the manner with which this woman had responded to me the first time we’d bumped into each other and was doing so now caused me to become alarmed. But at the moment there was little I could do, least I give Professor White any additions reasons for being as suspicious of me as I was to her. With more trepidation than an occasion of this sort should have generated, I took her hand. “I’m Amanda, Amanda Newly. I. . . I live here.”

“Yes, I know.” Both her smile and the tone of her voice did nothing to sooth my nerves. Just what did she know, I found myself wondering as I quickly pulled my hand away and went back to what I had been doing, all the while trying to be as nonchalant as I could. It goes without saying to say I failed miserably in this. Since I had claimed the last machine and my detergent and half my laundry was already in it, there was no graceful way for me to excuse myself in order to flee. With no viable options open to me, I did everything I could to finish up what I was doing as quickly as I could. All the while Professor White stood behind me, watching my every move and making small talk that felt more like an interrogation than a congenial conversation. My crisp, almost curt replies did nothing to waylay her suspicions.

“I take it you’re a student at the college?”

“Yes”

“What year?”

“Freshman. I’m a freshman.”

“Oh, this must be so exciting to you then, your first year away at school, meeting so many new people and experiencing sooo many new and different things.”

“Yes, exciting.”

“What’s your major, ah, Amanda, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Amanda. Engineering.”

“Well, that’s quite an unusual major for a girl, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I guess.” I know I should have said no, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly as I reeled under Professor White’s barrage of probing questions and her penetrating gaze.

“Tell me Amanda, how are you finding your new life here?”

The manner with which she accentuated select words was extremely unnerving. It was as if she was telling me that she knew the truth, that my real name wasn’t Amanda. Unable to bear up much longer, I dumped the rest of my basket in the machine, closed the lid, dialed up the wash setting and prepared to beat a hasty retreat without rendering any sort of answer to her final question. Instead, I gave her a weak smile. “I’ve, ah, gotta run, you know. I’ve got lots of things I, ah, need to do. Bye.” With that, I all but fled. It wasn’t exactly the smartest way to handle this situation, but at the moment it was the best I could do.
It didn’t take long before I discovered just how badly I had blown that encounter. Even though I no longer lived on campus, I had kept my mailbox at the student union. It was a handy way of keeping my “Andy” mail from showing up at the apartment as well as giving my professors and the college a place to send all official correspondence and notices to me, the Andy me. At noon on the following Tuesday I stopped by to see if there was anything there. Mixed in with the usual trash mail and bills was a folded note with nothing more than my mailbox number on it. Opening it, I was stunned to see it was from Professor White. ‘I would appreciate it,’ the note read, ‘if you would be so kind as to come by my office when you have a free moment. Helen White.’ As disconcerting as that was, I all but fainted away when I read the P.S. at the bottom below a detailed listing of her office hours. ‘Please feel free to do so as either Andy or Amanda.’

She did know. Just how she knew and what she intended to do with that knowledge was something I felt I needed to find out. Suspecting that Professor White would go out of her way to confront me back at the apartment building if I didn’t meet her as requested, I screwed up my courage, tromped across campus to the Psychology Department as soon as my afternoon classes were over and made my way to her office. It was a small affair, not much more than an oversized closet. But it was quite private and, like the woman seated behind the non-descript desk, very orderly. Not that any of this mattered. For me it couldn’t have been any more intimidating than if it had been decked out to resemble a medieval torture chamber.

Professor White was as pleasant as she could be as I crept into her lair. “Ah, I’m so glad that you came.” My first thought was to blurt that I really didn’t have much of a choice and that she knew it. Fortunately, I sided with discretion and kept my mouth shut. “Please, take a seat, ah . . .”

Her hesitation was deliberate, a test of sorts to see what name I would give her. Since I was wearing my male attire, it seemed appropriate to render my true name. “Andy.”

I could tell by her expression that she had just made a mental note of my response before pressing on. “I’d like to apologize to you up front if my method of contacting you has inconvenienced you or caused you any concern.” I wanted to brush aside her concerns for my feelings with some sort of show of bravado. But given the nature of the topic I suspected we were about to delve into and her professional background, I decided that this would be a wasted effort. So I restricted my efforts to a simple nod as I stared down at the toes of my sneakers “The reason I asked you here is to see if there was some way that I could help you.”

Of all the things she could have said, that was the most surprising. Looking up, I could not keep from asking “How?”

“Before I answer that, it would be helpful if we took a few minutes to confirm my assumptions.”

“Okay.”

“Now, let’s start with the reasons as to why you’re cross dressing.”

Not having heard that term applied to me despite the fact that it aptly described what I was doing, it rattled me a bit. In my mind cross dressers were weird guys who dressed in female clothes in order to satisfy some sort of fetish or to attract other men. Sensing that I was offended, Professor White backtracked a bit. “You do know what a cross dresser is, don’t you?”

I nodded sheepishly. “Yes ma’am.”

“My name is Helen. Please call me Helen.”

“Yes Helen, I do know what they are.”

“When you say they, does that mean you don’t consider yourself to be one?”

Up to now this was one question I had never really needed to answer. Everyone who knew about Andy and Amanda had more or less agreed not to use any sort of labels or terms to describe what I was doing. Helen White, and the situation I found myself in left me unable to dodge her question. Confused and uncertain, I looked up at her and shrugged. “I really don’t know what you would call what I’m doing.”

“Well then, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Andy and how it is that you came to begin living as Amanda.”

With that, I opened up, describing in as much detail as I could about how ‘The Project’ had come about and what had occurred to date. About the only things I left out was any mention of any names, particularly Gabriel’s and my dates with him. If Professor White suspected that I was holding back something, she didn’t let on. Instead, she listened to what I had to say without commenting. Only when I stopped talking did she go back to pelting me with a fresh round of questions.

“Tell me, where do you see yourself in a year? Or, more correctly, how do you see yourself a year from now? As Andy? Or as Amanda?”

Like so many first year college students overwhelmed by their studies while struggling to adjust to life on their own, I wasn’t thinking in terms of years but rather what do I need to do to in order to keep my head above water and survive another week. Again I replied with little more than a shrug and shake of my head. “I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“Don’t you think you should?”

“I imagine so. It’s just that I haven’t taken the time to think this thing out.”

Before going any further, Professor White stood up from behind her desk and moved around it toward me, taking a seat next to mine in an effort to eliminate the superior-subordinate mentality and the accompanying tension that exists when one is before a person seated behind a desk. Rather than putting me at ease, however, her proximity only served to heighten my anxiety. “Like many of my peers, I detest snap diagnosis. But based on what you’ve told me so far, I dare say you’re dealing with a crisis concerning your true gender identity.”

For the first time I felt the need to defend myself. “There’s no crisis,” I all but blurted out without thinking.

“Oh? Explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Biologically, you’re male. Yet you have begun living and working as a female except for when you’re in class. Is that right?”

Confused, I looked at her askew. “Yes, I imagine that’s true. But there is no crisis.”

“Then you see yourself as a female and not as a male.”

“I didn’t say that, Professor White, I mean Helen.”

Sensing that I was becoming rattled and a bit agitated, Professor White decided that this would be a good time to change tack. “Have you thought about joining a support group with others who, like yourself, are exploring their gender identity? There’s one right here on campus, you know.”

Having checked into the organization she was talking about and read some of its literature, I’d considered attending one of its meetings but decided not to. There was something about its members and their agenda that was far too militant and in your face for my taste. Not knowing if Professor White was associated with the group or worked with any of its members, I didn’t tell her this. Instead, I explained that the issues I had concerning my gender was something that was very personal, something that I wanted to keep as private as possible until I had a better handle on them.

Professor White nodded. “I understand. But don’t you think you could probably use a little help from a professional who’s familiar with this sort of thing? Someone who could help you with the college administration should you decide that you want to expand your world beyond your apartment and your work place?”

I was stunned by her offer. Not that she was willing to help, but that she was actually assuming that I wanted to become Amanda full time. Up to now this had been little more than an experiment that had grown out of a crazy bet that hand gotten out of hand. The idea of being a girl this twenty-four / seven, of changing my entire life had never entered my mind. And yet, rather than recoiling at her suggestion, as I sat there wondering how best to answer her, I found myself intrigued by what she was saying. Of all the strange twists and turns and unexpected developments that this day had yielded up, her offer and my reaction to it was proving to be most unnerving. I think Professor White sensed this for she decided to bring out little chat to a close. “I’d like you to think over what we’ve discussed and see me again here next week at the same time. Would that be possible?”

Realizing that I was venturing further and further into uncharted waters and would need someone in a position to serve as a navigator, I readily agreed. This pleased Professor White, not that I was interested at that moment with pleasing her. Something that Henry Weir had said concerning the law, and the way Oscar always looked at me was enough to convince me I needed some sort of guardian angle who had the knowledge and the ability to intervene on my behalf should I run afoul of the legal system. While I wasn’t planning on doing anything stupid, I did appreciate the fact that since I had no idea where this was taking me, it might not be a bad idea to cover as many of the bases as I could.

**************
It was late afternoon by the time I left Professor White’s office, reeling from my emotionally charged confrontation with her. Absentmindedly, I went wandering through the deserted halls of the Psychology department searching for the nearest exit. I must have really been zoning everything out because I never heard the hurried footfalls coming up behind me. It wasn’t until I felt a hand on my shoulder that I spun about and found myself facing Kathy Shaw. “What are you doing here?” she asked making no effort to hide her concern. Anxious to put as much distance between myself and Professor White’s office, I asked if she could spare an hour or two, telling her that I really needed to talk to someone. Between my perplexed expression and her finding me here in this building, I guess she was able to put two and two together and come up with something more than the usual sum because she readily agreed. “Sure. How about we head over to The Pit.
Somehow I’ve got the feeling that you could use a drink.”

At this time of day the place was pretty much deserted and the music wasn’t cranked up as it tended to be later when the crowd swelled and the beer flowed. This allowed us to tuck ourselves away in a corner booth where I wasted no time in relating to her my latest adventure, soliciting her opinions as I did so. Wisely Kathy demurred from rendering any until she had heard everything. We’d pretty much polished off our first pitcher of beer by the time I was finished with my side of the story. Anxiously, I waited to hear what she had to say. Taking her time, Kathy mulled over what I had told her, sipping her beer as she pondered all aspects of the issue. Finally, when she was ready, she set her mug aside, reached across the table with both hands and grasped mine in hers. “Andy, do you really understand what Professor White is proposing?”

“I think so.” Then, realizing that I wasn’t exactly sure, I back peddled a bit. “Then again, maybe I don’t. Do you know what she’s up to?”

“Andy, it’s not about what she’s up to. It’s what you’re up to. Or more correctly, where you are at the moment and where this little project of ours is taking you.”

“Explain please.”

“It more or less boils down to the one question she asked you, the one that you told me you side stepped. Just h do you see yourself a year from now? As Andy? Or as Amanda?”

I had been thinking about that question a lot since Professor White had broached it. This time I was better prepared to answer it, or so I thought. “Why can’t I be both? I mean, why can’t I continue like I am?”

“Because I don’t think you can,” Kathy stated emphatically. “Going back and forth from one gender to the other isn’t like changing your T-shirt.”

“How would you know?”

Kathy didn’t flinch or hesitate, leaving me to believe that she’d given the issue of my gender almost as much thought over the past weeks as I had. Of course, given that she was a psychology major, I guess it was only natural that she would do so. “Andy,” she stated in a firm, yet gentle tone, “stop and think. Would you want to hang out with a person who showed up in class one day looking like an All American hero and the next wearing dress? Despite all the political correctness and tolerance bunk they force down our throats here, we live in a society where people still expect boys to be boys and girls to be girls. You lived in a dorm for a semester. You know what the guys say about men who’s masculinity is in doubt.” Pulling back, I picked up my mug and took a sip as I thought back to all the rude and crude things that my friends and I used to say about some of our classmates, both here and when I was still in high school. Kathy was right.

Sensing that she had hit the mark, she pressed her point home. “You can’t stay perched on the fence forever. Nor can you hope to keep your duel life a secret. I mean, look at what’s happened already in the first month. Everyone at O’Shanahan’s now knows about Andy and Amanda. And without any help from them, Professor White was able to spot you for what you are. If you try to continue on like this without a definitive plan and some serious help, you’ll find yourself having to deal with one crisis after another, some that may not have happy endings.”

Sheepishly, I looked across the table at her. “Just what am I?”
Kathy took a moment to pull back and take long sip of her beer before she responded to my plaintive question. “Now understand from the get go, I’m only a freshman who happens to be majoring in psychology. And while I’ve done a great deal of research on this subject in the past month, I’m no expert.”

“But you do have some sort of theory.”

Kathy nodded. “Okay, here goes. I’m convinced you’re not a cross dresser,” she stated as she place her right hand on her chest. “That’s someone who derives sexual gratification from wearing the clothing appropriate to the opposite gender.” Her statement caused me to avert my eyes and blush. Quickly Kathy reached out and clasped my hand in an effort to reassure me. “Now, while I’m sure that you’ve probably found dressing to be stimulating, I believe there’s more to this for you than simply getting your rocks off.”

Ordinarily I would have reacted to this sort of statement with a quick rebuff or maybe even a joke. But to have done so would have been rude and would have detracted from the seriousness of our conversation. Instead, I simply asked how she could be so sure. “Andy, I’ve seen how you behave when you’re Amanda. You’re not treating this as if it were a lark or an excursion into some sort of sexual fantasy. You take your role as a female seriously, doing all you can to fit in and be as natural as you can.”
“Well duh! I don’t want to be caught and embarrassed in public, you know.”

“There’s more to it, Andy,” Kathy countered without skipping a beat. “When you’re Amanda, when you assume your female persona you glow. I knew you before we started this. I’ve seen how you respond to people, both in public and at O’Shanahan’s as both Andy and Amanda. Once you, Amanda, managed to overcome your initial jitters, you became so much more lively, more energetic, more . . .”

Her pause and the way she averted her eyes as she thought about what she was going to say next caused me to become a bit concerned. “Yes?”

Kathy took a moment to take a deep breath. “Andy, I have no scientific way of quantifying what I am about to say. I can only tell you what I feel is based on what I’ve observed and what I know.”

“Which is?”

Reaching out, Kathy took my beer mug and placed it in the center of the table before me. She then place hers right next to it before filling both up. “These mugs are the same, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And their contents are exactly the same, correct?”

“They came from the same pitcher so yes, they are,” I stated as I waited to see where she was going with this.

“And the amount in each mugs is the same, right?”

I nodded. “Yes, as far as I can see.”

“Now, let’s say that by drinking from this mug,” she stated indicating the one on my right, “you would forever be Andy and by choosing the other, puff, you’d turn into Amanda. Which mug do you want to drink from?”

For the longest time I stared at the two beer mugs sitting before me, glancing from one to the other as my mind raced a mile a minute. As I did so Kathy leaned over the table, pushing the right mug closer to me, then the left whispering, “Andy, Amanda,” as she did so. When I opted to pick neither, I looked up at her. “What if I refuse?”

The expression on Kathy’s face was neither one of triumph or joy. But it did tell me that she was satisfied that she had made her point. Reaching out, she lifted the ‘Andy’ mug and took a sip. Finished, she looked me in the eye. “You’re already Andy. You’ve been Andy for the past nineteen years so there was never a need to pick that option. That you hesitated, that you serious thought about taking the other mug tells me that you were considering the alternative.”

I doubt if there’s a psychology textbook that recommends using beer mugs to determine a person’s gender orientation. But Kathy had managed to make her point. In doing so she stripped away any remaining illusions I had about the seriousness of what I was doing. Her little object lesson also answered, at least for now, the question that both Professor White and she had asked. For the first time I forced myself to gaze into my future and consider life as Amanda.?
In the midst of the gunshots I did not know where to go, so I ducked and covered up as best I could. This was the first time that I was involved in a shooting, I had heard about them from other
girls, though. Either their pimp or john would be involved in some skullduggery that would involve them as they were trying to get away from the violence. Unfortunately, some of the girls were shot, or get up to take the fall, instead of the real culprit.

*******************

All that I saw were flashes and then sparks and then quiet. The eerie quiet was priceless, the noise was non existent. There was not even a squeak from the rats and mice that surrounded the alley's trash cans. I lay still in the fetal position for maybe 20 minutes, it felt like a day. When I brought my head around to see the sight on the opposite corner, I saw the blood glistening as the street lights reflected off of its sheen. That was eerie, I have never seen that sight before, and never want to again, either.

There were 4 bodies in various positions laying about me, too. There was glass shattered about from car and shop windows, creating a mosaic of lights as the reflected back what
few streetlights there were. All I could hear was the sound of sirens as my head and ears began to clear. I looked at myself and I guessed I was safe from everything, I was wrong, however.

I was bleeding from my ankle. My shoes were off, my good high heeled shoes! DAMN, where were they? I located them about 4 feet behind me. My nylons were also a wreck, ripped and torn from my diving to the pavement. I looked up into the glass of a shop 3 feet from where my body lay. I saw that I looked like hell and my makeup was smeared as well as my mascara. I was shaking and very scared. My concern was, am I shot? All I remember was the shots and me going to the sidewalk. Did I pass out for a second? What was happening around me? I was not so sure anymore.

Mayhem erupted as police, ambulance and even fire personnel showed up. A lot of the girls that worked the corners had fled. But I stayed as I was shaken and not sure what was entirely happening. At
the time, I was too scared to move, believing that I was shot because of the blood that kept trickling off my ankle. My body hurt, my head hurt and I was a mess, and wanted to be back home with Jenn.

When the E.M.T.’s came across the street to asses me, I was in shock and could not speak. I remember this as it would haunt me for many years to come. They looked me over and pronounced me 'OK'. They found that I had concrete splinters in my ankle and my knee. I was cleaned up and asked to sit still till the detectives came to talk to me. I was so shaken, scared out of my wits. Would I go to jail, now? If so, would Jen be able to help me? Would she even visit me?

The detectives showed up and questioned me about what I saw. I related to them what I witnessed before I dove for cover, it was not a lot. I told them that I saw a white truck approach and drop a girl off and then a blue car sped toward the truck and stop rather abruptly. Three
people jumped out. The next thing I knew, there were shots going off like fireworks. Rapid fireworks. I told them I went down and then slowly got up when I thought every thing was OK.

Then a detective asked, "Do you know the girls names?"

"Not really, I only knew them by nicknames and by seeing them."

They scowled at me and I shrugged. I was cold and shaking. I was escorted to the ambulance and covered with a blanket and given some water. That night would change my existence on the streets for ever. I had survived for nearly 22 months living in cheap rooms and being abused, raped, "loved", and I thought I had found acceptance. A lot of burning questions arose that night for me. Going home? What was I going to do? Where was home? Will my life change? Yes, it had in a dramatic way.

******

I was shaking still when I arrived and entered my cheap room 4 hours later. I decided at that moment that I was done. I decided to
pack what meager belongings that I had and head to where ever I decided to end up. It was shame really. I look back and think to myself, 'Wow! I had a good life here on the streets. I felt loved, accepted and yes I made money. Take all the shit I endured growing up in that shit hole for a house with those "parents", this was a vacation for me. I belonged here. This was home! This was MY life! This was acceptable. OH my, I was so messed up? Or was I? Yes I was so screwed up, and I was scared of what my life was going to be. Did I have a life after this? What was I going to do?'

I packed up everything I had in my duffle bag and my small case. I went and sat on the couch and cried and cried. Mandy came in, She was one of the seven girls that lived in this tiny place. She looked very concerned.

Mandy: "What is going on? You leaving, me?"

I nodded my head.

Mandy got a worried look on her face, "What the hell went on? Where will
you go?"

I looked at her with tear streaked eyes and said, "Some asshole shot four girls and I have no idea where the hell I am going as yet, I have to get out of here."

Mandy, "What!!!! Who got shot? When? Were you there?"

I replied, "Yes, four girls were shot and I thought I was shot as well, I went down to protect myself. The cops were everywhere, ambulance and fire, I am so f'in pissed off right now I am so scared, I am going to have f'in nightmares after this, there was so much blood."

I think she saw me shaking so badly she came over to comfort me. I initially covered up to protect myself because of her quick movement towards me. I cried. She must have comforted me for a while, because I woke up several hours later, still shaking. I had decided to leave, set out for where ever I ended up. As usual, I went to the corner store and used the payphone and saw the yellow tape still around the scene. The street was still
blocked off and there were people with cameras and little things with numbers on them. I was shaking as I made my way to call Jenn. I was lucky in one respect she was out. I left a voice mail on her machine.

I told her I was OK, and that I would contact her when I had the next opportunity. I just never mentioned to her that I would be going back to see her. The thoughts ranged from school to my continued to life a prostitute, too run and keep running. The stairs to the room seemed long and endless. When I reached it I opened the door and grabbed my belongings and I left. No note, no goodbyes. I left. My future was definitely in my hands now. As unknown as it was going to be, it was MY LIFE.

******

When I stepped off the bus in my home city, I was dirty and needed a bath, so bad. I garnered a single seat near the back of the Greyhound bus so I was alone and able to sleep. The terminal was busy as I entered it and went straight to the
phones and called Jenn. This time I caught her.

Jenn, "Hello"

Me, "Hi Jenn, I am here."

Jenn, "Where are you?"

Me, "I’m at the bus station. Can you meet me?"

Jenn, "I can be there soon."

Me, "Good, I will see you soon."

I hung up and went to find a seat away from everyone. I looked like hell and I think it was noticed by those around me. I was wearing a torn skirt and top. My makeup was somewhat ok, not perfect. It was adequate. One hour and twenty minutes later, Jenn arrived and immediately saw me. She ran to me and hugged me. There was definite concern on her face. We left and went back to her place where she told me to clean up and we shall talk. That is exactly what went on. I took a long shower and dressed in tight jeans and pink cutoff top. I felt better, to a degree. I was not looking forward to talking with Jenn about this. I did.

Jenn, "What happened to you? I go scared when you called
me? I could not reach you?"

Me, "There was a shooting, I was slightly injured in that. Nothing serious I was not shot."

Jenn, "Thank God for that."

Me, "No kidding!" I replied.

I explained the whole event up to my going to the ground and protecting myself. She was perplexed and relieved I think. When I look back at our conversation, it seems too real, still. I ate and went to bed while Jenn left for work.

*****

A few weeks had passed and my nightmares never left me. I thought that I was in the open, that I was shot, not those that were. I was still scared and I knew damn well I was going to have to deal with this soon. But, there were just so many things I needed to deal with, too. First on my priority level was to get my financial situation out and then shop. That is exactly what I did. You see, when I started, I banked everything I made, kinda a "rainy day fund". Well, I was not disappointed. I had made close
to $29,000.00 for the 22 months on the road and that included interest. I felt I did well by banking this money. Now, I had the funds to something such as attend college, or even open my own business.

You see, when you are a TGIRL, you are treated extra special while on the streets. I did make good and I felt special. Those memories and those nightmares continued for the remainder of the summer, and beyond. To this day, they still exist.

I decided that I was going to enroll in school if I could for the fall. This was going to be a new challenge and a new future for me. Was it? I had mentioned it to Jenn that night as to what my decision was and she readily agreed to help me. Was this going to be "exiting"? NOT! Going to school not in the least. You see, there was no way I could attend with what I learned on the streets. Street smarts were one thing, education in a confined space not so good. The decision was made and I would follow
through. I wanted a better life for myself, and was determined to go for it.

We started looking at schools at the end of July, and settled on two that were possible. Both were technical schools and had very good curriculums as well as standings within the community. With my educational background, I was not eligible to attend a four year college. We filled out the required forms and waited for the acceptance letters. One of them I was going to attend, which one was yet to be determined. The acceptance letter arrived while I was out shopping and Jenn intercepted it and told me about it when I arrived home. I was ready for a new chapter began.

****

After my drama with the shooting and those persistent nightmares. It was suggested by Jenn that I seek some help. I reluctantly declined as I was still upset over the whole incident. The nightmares continued well into the weeks leading up to the first day of school and long afterwards. I
went and saw a Psychologist who dealt with this type of ailment. Sheila called it Post Dramatic Stress.

I told her about my upbringing: The hell I had spent at home, the life I led on the streets, and my friendship with Jenn, who I thought of as a sister. She seemed impressed with my candor as well as my dress, even though it was still short skirts and tops, with heels.

You see, I never was able to beat wearing them. They were comfortable and I thought fashionable, even when it was -40 and too cold to wear them. I guess you get used to them after awhile. Besides, I loved showing off my long legs, my body looked good. I was proud of it. After many visits to Sheila and we sorted out several issues. I was also diagnosed with being a transsexual.

That was a term I never knew about. That was an issue I was very unaware of being. I considered myself a female. Some thought I was a freak, some thought I was normal, some thought I was
pretty, I know what my clients thought of me and that was the "third gender" and they got the best of both worlds.

I loved myself for the first time. I guess being pushed into a situation as I was, it would make anyone grow up quick. I became an adult at 15, I learned street smarts, I knew the strength I gained by being there. I also never forgot the pain and the abuse. I guess that was what drove me.

Yes, there was a tragedy. Yes, there was a loss. Yes, there was hope, yes, there was no spirit. I guess you could say all these things compiled to make things worse for me. There was a glimmer of a future for me. As eventful as my life was and seems it is all true. It is a testament to I guess to the strength that was endured during my first 18 years of my life. Mine was a spirit that was lost. Will it be found?