Chapters 1 - 3
Chapter 1: Opportunity only knocks once
"Fa, a long, long way to run..." Ow. I can't fucking hear myself sing over this lady standing next to me--can't even tell if that's me or her hitting the note flat. Does she have to do that right in my fucking ear? I stop, get this confused/annoyed/apologetic look on my face, shrug and clean out my right ear with my pinky, hoping I'll regain my hearing on that side someday.
"OK, that'll do. You sing better than your dad," the musical director comments to me, glancing over at him with an inscrutable expression. I'm not sure if it's praise for me or a dig at my dad, or maybe both. Or something else.
Whatever it is, it gets a bit of a laugh from the other hopefuls. "Hah. Yes, I guess so," Dad admits. I can't tell if his expression is sheepish, or proud, or maybe both. Or something else.
I'm not sure how to take it, either. I mean, I've never thought of my dad as having an especially good singing voice, but then, he does seem to get a lot of lead roles in musicals so I guess he can't really be all that bad. Maybe other people--people who don't live with him and don't have to listen to him rehearsing over and over and over and over and fucking over, people who can listen to his singing more or less objectively--maybe those people can hear something I can't. Or maybe that was just a dig at my dad's singing. You never can tell. That's the trouble with good actors--you can never be sure what they're really thinking, only what they want you to think they're thinking. Unless you're their offspring, of course; then you learn pretty quick to see right through that shit. Not that I know any of these actors well enough to know if they're really that good anyway, but still, you never can tell.
How the hell did I end up here? I'm kind of shy, introverted, and completely terrified of public humiliation. Stage fright doesn't even begin to cover it--blind panic is more like it. When I stand in front of a crowd of people expecting me to do something my mind goes utterly blank, if I try to speak I only babble incoherently, and all I want to do is run screaming.
On the other hand I really love my dad, and between his work and the theatre, I almost never get to spend any time with him. Once in a while when he directs a children's production he'll have me work backstage, on sets or props or whatever, but even then I won't actually get to spend a lot of time with him. I agreed to come along for these tryouts because I wanted to be more a part of his life and it seemed like a good way to do that, but now in the glare of the fluorescent lamps in the school cafetorium in front of all these fucking weird theatre people the reality of what I'm doing is starting to sink in. I try to remind myself that I wouldn't ever be alone on stage, that the part I'm trying out for only has a couple of lines and no big solos, that I've managed to sing on stage in large groups before without dying of terminal social mortification. I'm not convinced but it helps a little.
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"That was the casting director. He's decided to cast Jack as Kurt. He says you sing better, but they know Jack is a good actor and you've never acted before so it'd be too big a risk. I'm sorry." Dad's hand that was holding the phone a minute ago is now gently gripping my shoulder.
"'Sokay." Part of me is truly disappointed, but mostly I am just immensely relieved not to have to go through with it. "But you got the part of the Captain, right?" I know he did; no one else trying out even remotely looked the part, and even I could tell he was the best singer of the bunch.
"Yeah, I got the part of the Captain. I'm sorry, kiddo. Maybe next time."
Like there'll be a next time. Whew. Close call.
I'm glad he got his part, though. Not that I ever imagined he wouldn't. I'm proud of my dad's talent on the stage and have been as far back as I can remember, which is actually pretty far--my earliest memory of him acting is from before I was two years old. People think I'm some kind of fucking freak for being able to remember shit that far back. Which is cool; I kind of enjoy freaking people out. Anyway Mom told me once that he'd given up dreams of an acting career in New York to start a family with her. Knowing how much the theatre means to Dad, that kind of choked me up.
I think the casting director probably made the right decision about me, though. Acting really is all about lying convincingly, and I'm a lousy liar. I went through a "pathological liar" phase a few years ago and Dad beat it out of me. Well, psychologically rather than physically, but that just means the scars are less visible.
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"What? You're kidding, right? ... No! ... No, absolutely not, and you won't either. ... He's--no, that would be too embarrassing! He's--" Dad glances over when I walk into the kitchen. He gives me a piercing look for about half a second and then glazes over. What the fuck? "No, I mean it. ... All right, see you then. 'Bye." He looks kind of baffled as he hangs up.
"What was that all about? Ask who what?"
"Nothing, just... nothing." He rolls his eyes. "Just Tim being an idiot." He shakes his head and walks out, muttering something I can't quite catch.
What the fuck was that all about? I guess he doesn't want to tell me, but I suspect it involves me somehow. Tim who? Who's Tim?
Oh well, I'm a growing boy and tuna salad on toast is calling my name, which I remember is why I came in here in the first place. That, and a Coke.
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"Mr-r-row?"
"Bonjour, Charbon. Garder vos pattes de mon... tuna." Charbon is my cat. Or maybe I'm his human; it's hard to be sure. Anyway we've been together since we lived in Geneva so I always speak to him in French. No sense making him learn a whole new language now. The French word for tuna escapes me at the moment though, so I just say it with a French accent.
He just looks at me patiently. I give up and drop a forkful of tuna salad in his dish. He accepts his tribute without comment.
I draw the line at sharing my Coke, though.
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"Out, dork!" That's my sister.
"Gladly." I don't let the door hit me in the ass on the way out, but just barely.
"Don't slam doors!" That's Mom's catch-phrase. She says it like a hundred times a day. You'd think she'd get tired of repeating herself. Apparently not, though.
Oblivia and Felicia were in her room hanging out, with the door open I might add so it's not like they had any expectation of privacy, when I walked by, and Felicia saw me and called me in so she could meet me.
Felicia is Oblivia's new friend. Well, her name is Olivia and she prefers to go by Liv, so naturally I call her Oblivia, making sure to enunciate the 'b.' Anyway, we moved here like less than a month ago so clearly they didn't meet at school 'cause it's August, duh, and I think they just met like today or something. Don't ask me where; Oblivia isn't the type to hang out in malls. She doesn't seem to care all that much about clothes and make-up and shit, which is one of the few not-uncool things about her; I hate that superficial bullshit. Other than that, I have no idea what your typical not-quite-fifteen-year-old girls do with their free time. Christ, I'm thirteen and I live to annoy my sister--you think they hang out with me? Think again, Einstein.
But apparently Felicia doesn't have a brother so she doesn't know about thirteen-year-old boys and get this, I think she thinks I'm cute or something. Well, she's not what I'd call a total fox, but she does seem to have a good sense of humor and a sharp wit, and that's definitely worth hanging out with. Oblivia was clearly annoyed at the whole scene but didn't do anything until I started telling Felicia an embarrassing story about her. That's when I got the boot. Literally; that's why I was so concerned about the door hitting my ass on the way out. The toes on those damn things are kinda pointy. Ow.
Anyway it turns out I'm right, 'cause I can hear Felicia saying through the closed door, "But he's so cute!" By the time Oblivia replies I am, thankfully, too far away to make out what she says but it doesn't sound very nice. Heh. Mission accomplished. I high-five myself, which is admittedly kind of lame but I haven't made any friends here yet so there's no one else around to do it.
I'll have to try not to annoy Felicia too much, though. Because, A, she seems pretty cool; B, she thinks I'm cute; and especially C, it will make Oblivia look like an idiot trying to convince her I'm a total loser dweeb when I'm so clearly not. God, how I love to mess with her mind. Trust me though, the feeling is mutual and she's no slouch herself at psychological warfare so I gotta be subtle.
Listen to me, I sound like fucking Rudolph the fucking Red-Nosed Reindeer. "I'b cuuute!!" Blech. Let me be clear here, I do not have the hots for Felicia's bod. Her brain, OK. But it's always pretty cool when an older chick thinks you're cute. Bodes well for the future, you know?
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In a couple of weeks I start at a new school. Van Helsing Junior High. No, not really, but that's much cooler than the real name so I'm gonna go with that. In sixth grade, which is like three years ago now, my teacher read Dracula aloud to the class. Which says something not too flattering about the state of public education in this country today, that he felt it necessary to read aloud to fucking sixth graders. But still, it was pretty damn cool of him to read Dracula, you have to admit.
Seventh, eighth, and ninth grades at Van Helsing. The cool thing is, my old school was only seventh and eighth grades, so I get two years in a row of being an "upperclassman" and lording it over the lower grades.
What's that you say? "Thirteen, and about to start ninth grade? Are you some kind of grade-skipping ultra-nerd or something?" First off, fuck you. Some of my best friends are nerds. But I'm most definitely not one, in spite of what my sister may have told you. Just 'cause I own a soldering iron and a telescope and have a darkroom set up in my closet, jeez. Second off, yeah, I fucking skipped a grade--Kindergarten. We moved to Switzerland just before I started school and I was too fucking old for Kindergarten there because they don't treat kids like retards there just because they're kids, unlike here. Third off, I'm still fucking smarter than nearly everyone in my grade, which sucks a lot because I'm also younger and less physically developed which means, of course, I get the crap beat out of me on a regular basis in spite of how cool I am. Or maybe it's because of how cool I am--yeah, that must be it; they're jealous, the fucking bastards. Which doesn't make it suck any less.
Anyway I'm kind of looking forward to starting at a new school again where nobody knows me. I usually get at least a couple months' grace period before the local Mediocrity Enforcement Squad notices me and the beatings commence. Maybe if I play it right I can avoid their notice entirely this time. I'm not optimistic, but I can dream, can't I?
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"They'll be organizing the crew tonight, sorting out who's doing what. You sure you don't want to come? They're always short-handed. You might meet some friends."
"Nah, I've got some pictures I want to develop." That I took through my telescope last night. Of Jupiter and Mars. OK, so maybe I am a fucking nerd. So fucking what? Shut up.
Anyway, A, most of the people on the crew are not going to be anywhere near my age, and B, people my age that seriously into theatre tend to be weird in ways that are off-putting even to nerds. I've sometimes brought friends with me to work on one of Dad's productions, but I've never met anyone at one that I'd want to be seen associating with in public. Either they're complete theatre dorks, or worse, they're fucking popular. Ugh. Now that's a crowd I just don't care to be a part of. Rampant conformity.
"OK. Well, if you change your mind later I'm sure they'll be able to find something for you to do."
"Yeah. Well, have fun."
"All right, see you when I get back." A funny look crosses his face for a second, like he's concerned about me or something, but then it goes away and he's off.
"See ya." I'm glad I waited until he was out the door to say that, 'cause for some reason it came out sounding kind of nasty. I didn't mean it to.
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The pictures of Jupiter are coming out pretty cool. You can definitely see the cloud bands, and that off-center gray blob might be the Red Spot. It's just black-and-white film, pan-x; I can't afford the chemicals and equipment to do color, are you kidding? You can see all four Galilean moons, too, and they're not even blurry, just nice sharp dots. Really good seeing last night. I might just try blowing this one up to eight-by-ten and see how it looks. The ones of Mars sucked though--just washed-out gray featureless blobs. By the time it cleared the low clouds on the horizon the morning twilight had started to creep in. Oh, well.
There's also a really good one I took of Oblivia through her bedroom window when she wasn't looking the other day. It looks like she's just picked her nose and is intently examining what she found. Actually I think it was a piece of lint she pulled off her dark t-shirt, but that's not what it looks like in the picture. Heh. If and when she ever starts dating, I stand to make a fortune in blackmail.
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I guess I conked out early, what with being up all last night and all, but I'm wide awake now. Dad just got home, seems to have brought someone with him, and they're making a godawful racket considering it's, what, fucking one oh six in the morning? Jeez, they must have stopped off at the pub after or something. Good thing I didn't go; I'd have hated to have cramped Dad's social life. Mom by some miracle seems to be sleeping through it, though--at least I don't hear her screaming for them to keep it down for godssake, people are trying to sleep here. Another of Mom's catch-phrases. I swear we're like our own fucking sit-com.
Well, as long as I'm awake I might as well go join the party. Dad's pretty OK when he's had a few. In fact he can be a fucking downright scream sometimes. 'Course if he's had too many then he's just totally lame and it's kind of sad, really. I hope he hasn't had too many this time.
When I walk into the living room the noise suddenly stops and they get real quiet for a few seconds. The one he's been having the loud conversation with is that guy, whatsisname, the musical director from the show.
"Come in come in, me boyo. Have you met Tim? Oh, a' course you have. What'm I sayin'." Dad sounds kind of borderline on the blood alcohol levels. Plus he's doing his bad fake Irish accent, which is never a good sign.
"Hey, Tim," I acknowledge and nod to him out of courtesy. Wait--Tim? I remember something. "Is this who you were arguing with on the phone the other day? What was that all about, anyway?" Dad's pretty loose-lipped when he's in this state so I figure I'll be able to get it out of him even if he doesn't want to tell me. He looks kind of confused for a second, then annoyed, and gives Tim a dirty look.
"Oh, come on, let me just ask him, OK?" Tim looks a little irritated in return. "It can't hurt to ask, can it?"
Tim seems sharp enough. I don't think he's as plowed as Dad.
"Yes, it can, you..."
"Hey, come on Dad. Whatever it is I can take it like a man," I joke. Dad gives me this really strange look that kind of scares me and I'm almost thinking of backing off, but now I'm dying of curiosity about what it could be that could hurt me even to just ask it. So I calmly hold his stare until he looks down and says "Oh, hell. Ask away."
I look over at Tim expectantly.
"Would you still like to be in the show?"
That's it? What's hurtful about that, unless it's some kind of sick joke and he's just stringing me along? Is Dad thinking I don't really want to go through with this? 'Cause maybe at the time I didn't, OK, but the more I'd thought about it the more bummed out I'd gotten that I wasn't going to be doing it after all.
"Uh, sure. What happened to Jack?"
"Nothing; you wouldn't be playing Kurt."
Something else opened up? "Friedrich?" Well... maybe, but I am kind of young looking for my age. Rolf's definitely out--I'm a few inches shorter than the girl they've got for Liesl.
"No, not Friedrich. We need a..."
"Then what..." I interrupt. Dad looks kind of sick. Jeez, just how many did he have anyway? He's not exactly a lightweight...
"Louisa."
"WHAT?" I was not expecting that. Now I feel just like Dad looks; I see him wince. I can hear the blood rushing in my ears, and I get the metallic taste of fear in the back of my mouth. Adrenalin. I want to run and hide, but I can't move. I just stand there, shaking a little, turning either bright red or white as a sheet, I can't really tell which. Maybe it's both, and they're canceling each other out. He couldn't possibly know, could he? How could he know? Did I slip up somehow?
My scream woke Mom up. "Will you keep it down out there for godssake, people are trying to sleep here!"
That hits me like a bucket of cold water in the face and kind of snaps me out of my panic. I pull what's left of my wits back together and manage to ask again, as a stalling tactic, more quietly this time, "What?" I hope like hell I didn't wake Oblivia up. Oh my god, what would she do if she knew about this? I'd be dead meat. But nobody knows. How could he have found out? How? I've never done anything or said anything to anyone. Does it show somehow? Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. As all this goes through my shellshocked brain I miss most of what Tim says.
"... can sing worth a damn, and your voice is perfect for it, and you're even the perfect height."
Calm down. Maybe he doesn't know anything, in which case for fuck's sake don't do anything to give yourself away now. Thinkthinkthink. What would a normal thirteen-year-old boy say to that? Uh...
"But... I'm a guy." Close enough. I hope. Anyway it's the best I can come up with on short notice. My heart is pounding and I'm starting to hyperventilate and in a minute here I'm going to either pass out or blow chunks. I'm trying desperately to look like I think he's nuts rather than terrified of being exposed, which is actually the case. I can't possibly be succeeding. Focus! Slow, deep breaths....
My point doesn't seem to hold much weight with Tim, judging by his expression. "Wardrobe and make-up will take care of that." He gets up to leave. "Just think about it, OK? I know you two were hoping to do this together. And your voice. It'd be a damn shame to let that go to waste. Just ... think about it? Well, I guess I'd better get going. Tomorrow, Steve?"
That last bit was directed at Dad and anyway I can't think of anything to say, so I don't.
"Tomorrow," Dad manages with a nod. As the door closes behind Tim he looks a little more sober. And a lot sorry. It doesn't look like he has a clue, anyway. And I probably don't have to worry too much about him noticing some subtle thing and catching on, in the state he's in.
I relax just enough to be able to think a little more clearly. I'm still terrified of being found out; as if I don't take enough grief already for being who I am even without people knowing my deep dark secret. Crap, that would just multiply it by a hundred. No, a million.
But... what if I wasn't found out? What if there was a way to do it with relatively low risk? Shit, this is the perfect excuse, this could be the opportunity of a lifetime; I might never have another chance like this. Before I can talk myself out of it, I jump at it.
"Dad? ..."
"Jus' forget about it, he's lost..."
"... D'you think I could pull it off?"
"..." Dad makes a funny little noise in the back of his throat but he isn't saying anything, he's just staring at me goggle-eyed with his mouth hanging open. Apparently whatever kind of reaction he was expecting from me, it wasn't this.
I think a little rationalization is in order. Luckily I'm good at that. "I want to do it, Dad. I don't want anyone to find out. Not even Mom and especially not Obli- uh, not Livy." That's what our parents call her. "She'd make sure everyone knew and I'd never live it down." Actually I'd never live to see my fourteenth birthday, is what I'm thinking, but he'd think I was being overly dramatic so I don't say that. "But I really want to be in the show with you. Can you help me pull it off?"
Jeez, I wish he'd stop staring like that and fucking answer me.
I see the gears starting to turn. One expression after another crosses his face as his ethanol-impaired synapses try to decide what to make of me. Finally, after what seems like forfuckingever though in reality it's probably just a few seconds, he's worked it out; the corners of his mouth twitch up and his eyes get kind of watery. "That's my boy. I love you too, son." He stands up surprisingly steadily and holds out his arms for a hug. "Don't you worry, we'll find a way to pull it off without embarrassing you. It's a brave, brave thing you're doin' and don't think I don't appreciate it."
Yeah, he's had one too many tonight. God, that fake brogue is so lame. OK, he is half Irish, but his mom was born here and I'm pretty sure his grandparents were born here too so it's not even something he could've picked up from them; it's just out-and-out fake. I give him his hug and roll my eyes where he can't see.
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I'm lying in bed when it finally hits me. Oh dear god, what have I fucking gotten myself into?
###
Chapter 2: Be careful what you wish for
"Well, I don't see how we can get around it. They're going to be coming to see the play."
Oh. Why didn't I think of that? Duh. ...Damn. It'll never work.
"Livy will ruin me." I shove the last spoonful of Cheerios with milk and lots of sugar into my mouth. Mom won't buy us anything good that comes with sugar already in it, like Froot Loops or Cap'n Crunch, so I'm forced to add my own. "She'll tell everyone and I'll never be able to show my face in public again." At least that's what I'm trying to say; it's kind of hard to form the words without dribbling milk down my chin. Look at me, I'm Eliza fucking Doolittle--the rine in Spine sties minely in the pline.
"Look, I understand"--oh good, then I won't have to repeat myself--"but if you want to do this we don't have a choice. We'll just have to find some way to make sure she keeps it quiet. I have an idea about that. Now let's go talk to your mother about it."
"Yeah, well, she's going to freak out." This is not just a guess, it's based on experience. Just one incident, half a lifetime ago, but indelibly etched in memory. Luckily it had been Livy's idea; not that I'd resisted or anything, but at least I could act all innocent when we got caught.
"No she won't; she's very open minded. Trust me."
About most things yes; about me wearing girls' clothes, nuh-uh, I don't say. Instead I just roll my eyes and shrug. His problem this time. "Yeah. Well, what about the rest of the cast? Won't they remember your son from the tryouts?" Especially since I was singled out in front of everyone by Tim, I don't think I need to add...
"They won't care. They're theatre people; they're used to that sort of thing. Most of them probably won't even think it's weird. Actually it's not any weirder than most of them...."
"All well and good, but I still don't want them blabbing it all over town."
"I can see where that might be a tad embarrassing. ... If you really don't want to do this, I'll understand. If you want to back out, now would be a good time, before we tell anyone else."
Frankly, I'm starting to get scared kind of shitless about it in the cold light of day. But I can't imagine ever having another opportunity like this, to have a chance to be myself (OK, myself in a costume and playing a role, shut up, you know what I mean) in public, in front of hundreds of people, with none of them thinking I'm a freak. Even if I wasn't looking forward to that, I'd still want to do it just for the chance to spend more time with Dad. "No, I'll still go through with it." I hesitate before answering and try not to sound too enthusiastic so he doesn't start wondering about my real motives.
"Well, I'll talk to Tim about it, and he can make sure everyone knows not to say anything. I should probably have a word with Bob about it too, just to be sure."
"Bob?"
"... The director?"
"I thought Tim--"
"Music director. Bob's directing the play."
I give him a blank look.
"Tall, thin, graying hair?" Nothing. "I think he was standing on Tim's left when you were singing."
Tim's left, let's see, that would be my right... "Oh, Bob." I'd wondered who that guy was, actually.
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"Well, I don't see why not. He does have a beautiful voice, and it hasn't changed yet so I can see why they want him." She's smiling as she turns from Dad to look at me.
Wait, now I'm confused. Is this the same Mom who went apeshit over me in a dress when I was six?
"And playing a girl is nothing to be ashamed about. I don't see why you want to go to all this trouble to hide it."
Now that I think of it, I remember the last time she was kind of freaking out about what Dad would think if he found out. I guess she realizes that won't be a problem this time. ...Wait, what was that about not hiding it? And how can she say that, after how she handled it? Maybe she feels guilty about it or something.
"Uh... oh, I'm not ashamed, Mom." Which is true; it's not shame that motivates me, but fear. "I just, well... you know, school? Being different? Getting beat up for being a 'fag?'" I don't know what Pollyanna school Mom went to, where nobody kicked the shit out of 'fags' for amusement, but I go to school in the real world, you know? And the technicality that I'm not actually gay doesn't change anything. You're a guy, you dress like a girl for any reason (or do pretty much anything else 'unmanly'), you're automatically a 'fag.' Unless you're big and mean enough to beat the crap out of anyone who dares suggest such a thing, which I'm not. On either count. "Um, so, I'd just rather it didn't get around, before I even start at my new school, OK?" Skinny, unathletic smartasses like me are automatic targets for bullies anyway, but the 'fag' label seems to crank their enthusiasm level up a notch or two, as well as turning some people who might otherwise be sympathetic against you--guilt by association, and all. I can do without that.
"I just don't understand why they tolerate that sort of thing in the public schools." Ooh, she sounds angry about it. Well, you shove a bunch of same-aged kids together for six-and-a-half hours a day and give them plenty of opportunities to be out of the direct line of sight of the jackbooted thugs known as the staff, it's not like you have to tolerate it for this sort of shit to happen. I mean, didn't these people ever read Lord of the Flies? Or at least see the movie? It's more like, you couldn't stop it if you tried. Which is why they don't, I guess. Try, I mean. "Oh, well, all right, I guess I see your point. I don't want you being picked on in school."
Picked on, she says. Yeah, that would be horrible. Yeesh. I roll my eyes at Dad, where Mom can't see of course, and he grins back. He knows what it's like.
One down.
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I can't believe Mom's being so cool about this.
Have I been keeping this from her all these years for no good reason? Should I take a chance and open up to her about it now?
Whoa, let's not be hasty. She did freak out about it once upon a time and I'm not really sure yet why that time and not this time. I'll have to think about it though.
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"Because, I don't trust her."
"What's this family coming to, when you can't trust your own sister?" I almost laugh at the irony dripping from his voice, until I realize it's directed at me so I keep my mouth shut. "Well, if it's kept us and the Soviets from blowing each other up for thirty years, it should be good enough for you two." M.A.D.--Mutually Assured Destruction. Trouble with that strategy is, it assumes both opponents are sane and rational. I'm not as sure about this as Dad seems to be. Plus, how the hell did he find out about the little dossier I've been putting together on her? The one he's holding in his hand now and waving at me as we head for her room?
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Two down. Sort of. I hope...
Well, she did go a little pale when she saw some of the pictures, so that's a good sign.
"Before you ask, you're not really getting these back if she breaks her word. That was just for motivation."
Damn.
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"You know, if you got on her good side, she might be willing to help."
"How? It's not like she knows anything about acting like a normal teenage girl. And anyway I don't think she has a good side." She was actually kind of OK, sometimes, until she hit thirteen and turned into a psychopathic fire-breathing harpy, like overnight.
Dad rolls his eyes. I can tell this sibling rivalry shit is getting kind of old for him. "You could try sometime. You might be surprised."
At what? That she had a good side, or that she could help me get into the character of a 1930's Austrian girl? Yeah, admittedly either way I'd be pretty surprised.
I roll my eyes back at him. This parental Pollyanna shit is getting kind of old for me.
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"Where did all these cars come from?" The school parking lot's gate was padlocked, apparently for the summer. We passed it a block back and haven't seen an open spot on the street yet.
"Must be a big wedding or funeral or something." I point out the packed parking lot of the church as we pass it.
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"Finally."
"Oh, man. We have to walk from here?"
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"Ah, the Captain and Louisa have decided to grace us with their presence, everyone! You made it just in time. We were about to give your parts to someone else." I guess you have to expect actors to be a little overly dramatic at times, but it's still kind of annoying. If this lady wasn't cast as the Baroness someone missed a trick.
Well, I see a couple of 'knowing' smiles but otherwise, except what you'd expect from showing up late, no one's looking at me too funny. So I guess Tim explained things and Dad was right about these people after all. We take the scripts they hand us, find a spot to sit down and start thumbing through to find our first lines.
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Wow, that was pretty lame, especially without the music. I guess that's why we meet to rehearse every Saturday and Sunday for the next two months. Huh, if they all suck that bad at this stage, reading from the fucking script, maybe I can do this.
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"Hi, you must be Joy. I'm Linda Thorsen, I'm playing Liesl?"
Yeah, I kinda figured that out when you read her lines in the read-through, I want to say, but unfortunately my parents raised me to have better manners than that so instead I just smile and nod. "I figured they'd pick you 'cause you sang so well at the tryouts."
She gets this funny look on her face, like she appreciates the compliment but maybe she's not sure I'm being sincere. After a second it kind of melds into this look of puzzlement or curiosity. "Tim told us he talked you into taking Louisa instead of Kurt, right?"
"Uh, right." Wait, why did she call me Joey? Nobody outside the family ever calls me that. My name is Laurence, but I usually go by Larry. Joey is just a weird nickname I got saddled with, that everyone in the family but me seems to like--Livy's fault, now that I think of it. It's a long story.
"So, uh... Joy, do you mind if I ask you a, a personal question?" The way she asks it, sort of sotto voce (having a theatre nerd for a dad gives you an unusual vocabulary), makes it sound like she thinks I'm not going to like it. And why is she pronouncing it like that? If you're going to use my family nickname, at least get it right--Jo-ey. Jeez.
"You can ask; I might not answer." My standard response to that question anyway, but it seems especially appropriate today.
"So, why did you want to..." Oh man, I thought Dad said these people wouldn't blink at stuff like this. I guess I look kind of annoyed, 'cause she rushes the rest of it: "... try out for Kurt?" My facial expression is now, and I'm guessing 'cause I can't actually see it of course, one of puzzlement. I'm not sure what she's asking, or why, and can't come up with a response so after a brief but awkward pause she continues: "I mean, I can see how you could easily pull it off; I mean, dressed like that," she gestures at me, and a confused look flits across her face for an instant, "you really do look the part, and you're obviously a good enough actor because at the tryouts, at least until you started singing anyway, I actually thought you were... well, but I mean, Kurt's not an especially meaty role, at least, not any more so than Louisa. So I was just sort of wondering why you did it. Was it, I mean, was it for the challenge? Or to make a point about equality or something? Or..." She seems to change her mind about going on, shrugs, and looks questioningly at me.
"Uh--what do you mean, until I started singing?" I'm stalling to avoid acknowledging to myself what I'm starting to think she might be going on about, because it's just too ... weird.
She gives me an apologetic smile. "Well, I mean, you really had me up until then. It wasn't just the clothes. Your walk, posture, mannerisms--even the way you talked--I mean, you're good. You've clearly worked on it. I think you had us all fooled. But when you opened your mouth to sing--oh my God, you have the sweetest voice. No boy could sing like that." Um, excuse me? I think my brain may have just blown a fuse... "It was a dead giveaway. I mean, even that kid from the Jackson Five, what's his name, you know, the little cute one?"
"Michael," I supply, on autopilot.
"Yeah, I mean, he's like only a little kid and I mean he does have a fantastic voice, but I mean, he still sounds like a boy when he sings, you know? You, I mean, you just, you don't." Again with the apologetic smile.
"Uhhhhhmmmm, huh. Hang on, I need to talk to my dad about something. DAAAD!" Liesl, or Linda or whatever her name is, looks confused and maybe a little upset by my reaction. So our expressions probably match at the moment.
He's talking to Bob a few yards away and his head snaps around. Bob looks really annoyed at the interruption, and so does Dad, a bit. Well, tough shit. This is important.
"Need to talk. Alone. Now."
----------
"What, exactly, did you have Tim tell these people? About me?" I'm whispering--well, actually it's kind of a stage whisper, appropriately enough, 'cause it has to be loud enough for Dad to hear over all the other conversations going on, even though we've found a relatively quiet corner. Actors project when they speak.
His face tells me I need to elaborate. "Liesl, Linda thingy whatsername, her, over there," I point, but not too emphatically so she hopefully won't notice we're talking about her, "seems to think I'm some kind of weird girl who tried out for a boy's part. And she keeps calling me Joey, only it sounds more like Joy when she says it." OK, now I'm getting the kind of reaction I want to see. Eyes wide, mouth narrow, you know--the 'oh shit' expression. "And, she said I, I ..."--now I'm really whispering, right in Dad's ear, and I can feel my face getting red--"I sing like a girl. Whatthehelldoesshemeanbythat?" OK, not what I was expecting; now he looks kind of guilty or something.
"I didn't... we'd better go find Tim and beat a confession out of him." He starts to get up so I do, too.
"But what about the other thing? Do I? Sing, like..." My voice sort of fades out.
His look and his silence tell me what I need to know. Or rather, what I really, really don't need to know.
"But--how come no one ever..."
"Said anything?" I nod. "You have a beautiful singing voice. We didn't want you to be self-conscious about it."
"But--" That seems to be my favorite way to start a sentence at the moment--"if it's that obvious..."
"It's not, really, especially when you're singing in a group."
"But she said it was like a dead giveaway at the tryouts." Like no matter how convincing as a boy I might have been before, that had been enough to remove any doubt as to my real sex. I don't say that part out loud. It scares me to even think it, to tell you the truth.
He gets this kind of "Hm, yeah" look on his face. "Not usually, but that time I guess it was. You sounded just like a younger version of Julie Andrews." Now he's smiling apologetically. This is getting old already.
Sadly, that sort of makes sense, though. We have the movie soundtrack album, and I learned to sing all the songs by listening to it when I was little. And I have an embarrassing tendency to unconsciously mimic the accent and speech patterns of whoever I happen to be talking to--well, when you've lived as many weird places as I have, it helps a lot if you pick up the local dialect quickly--so maybe I do the same thing with singing.
Now where the hell is Tim hiding?
----------
Apparently Tim left shortly after we got here since he wasn't really needed; the sing-through isn't until tomorrow.
I figure I'd better find Linda--I'm pretty sure she said her name was Linda--if she hasn't left already too, and apologize for rudely leaving in the middle of our conversation. I'm not sure I really want to continue it, but if I'm going to be working with her for the next eight or however many weekends it is, I can't just blow her off. I don't see her right away, which is OK, because I need time to think.
Where did she get Joy from? Dad has an annoying habit of calling me that--I mean, Joey--in public, which usually leads to tedious explanations. I hate when he does that. So, probably Tim heard him calling me that at the tryouts and assumed it was actually my name, like a reasonable person might.
But where did she get the idea I was a girl in the first place? Oh yeah, the singing. How embarrassing. Why didn't anyone ever fucking tell me before I humiliated myself in public? And then, if Tim told everyone my name was Joey, in his quaint Kentucky drawl that stretches all one-syllable words into two anyway, and neglected to mention I was Dad's son, well... I guess it seems a lot less unlikely for a teenaged girl to try out for a boy's role than the other way around, and since I apparently sing like Shirley fucking Temple or something I guess one might just naturally assume.
So, is it just Linda, or does everyone here now think I'm a girl?
----------
"Oops! Wrong door. The girls' room is at the other end." Rolf--I mean the guy playing Rolf; I have no idea what his real name is--anyway whoever he is he's smiling at my embarrassment, but in a sympathetic way, as he pushes out past me.
Well, fuck, I guess that answers that question.
Not sure what to do about the restroom so as not to freak anyone out, myself included, I decide I can hold it for now. If I get truly desperate I think I saw some bushes out back.
This is just getting too fucking weird for me.
Oh, look, there's Linda now. Just perfect.
----------
"If you didn't want to answer my question, all you had to do was say so!" She has her hands on her hips but she's grinning, so I assume I'm being teased and not really berated. I give her back an embarrassed smile, and no, I'm not acting.
"Sorry, I just..."
"No, don't explain, private family stuff, right?" Well, close enough. I nod and my relief that she's not going to dig further probably shows. "I know. My dad can be an idiot sometimes too."
I guess that's what our little discussion looked like from the outside. I laugh at the thought. I guess she thinks I'm laughing at what she said 'cause her grin turns into a genuine smile.
"I'm outta here. See you tomorrow, 'kay?" She gives me a little pat on the arm as she continues on to the door.
"'Kay, see ya." Ack. Could I have sounded more like a girl? I'm doing that damned mimic thing again.
Ack, I'm even standing like a girl! Do I unconsciously mimic postures now, too? Quick, before anyone sees--oh, fuck it, they already all think I'm a girl anyway; it'd just confuse 'em.
Oh, great, Dad sees me. He looks ... 'confused' doesn't quite cover it.
----------
"I'll tell you in the car, OK?"
The thing is, embarrassment over the failure of my apparently all-too-thin veneer of masculinity aside, it feels good, I mean it feels right, to be thought of as a girl by other people. Since I've always thought of myself that way. I mean, since I got old enough for it to matter and to give it any thought. You know, in a way, Linda was right. I mean, about the whole boy thing being just an act. And I have worked on it--for years, in fact. As a matter of self-preservation.
Anyway, it's not the same as actually having the girl body I feel like I'm supposed to have, but it feels kind of nice to at least have other people treating me as if I do for once. I don't think I want to give that up.
I'm not ready to explain any of this to Dad, though. He frequently lets me know how proud he is of his "number one son" and I don't want to let him down.
----------
"...so at this point I don't know which would be more embarrassing--trying to continue to pass myself off as a girl to these people, or trying to convince them I'm really not one."
"The first option could turn out badly if you were ever found out. People don't like being lied to." And I know you're not real keen on the idea of lying to them in the first place, Dad. But they started it! I don't say any of that out loud of course.
"On the other hand," I counter, "if I go back tomorrow and tell them I'm really a boy, they'll all be as embarrassed as me, maybe more." I'm kind of pissed about it; it'd serve them right. But... "I guess it would make it incredibly awkward and uncomfortable for everyone unless I left the show. So, I guess the answer is, if I want to go through with this, I have to go with plan A. And make sure I don't get caught."
It's like Dad's skull is transparent or something; I can see the wheels turning as he ponders this.
"I really don't like the idea of lying to them." See? Told ya. "But they all seem to have made an unjustified assumption, jumped to conclusions, and in a way it would serve them right." Huh? Didn't see that coming. And he seems kind of pissed about it.
I can see the wheels turning some more so I sit quietly, patiently, staring out the window at the houses going by while he figures out what he wants to say next.
It turns out to be a question. "Do you want to go through with this?"
I think about it for a few seconds, just to be sure. "Yeah."
"OK, then here's how we're going to handle it. We'll let them continue to believe you're what they assume you are. Try not to do anything that would make them question that, but avoid coming out and directly saying you're a girl, either in words or by your actions. That way if the truth comes out, they'll have been hoist with their own petards." Some literary reference he's fond of. I'm not sure where it's from--knowing Dad, probably Shakespeare. What the hell is a petard, anyway? Sounds kind of painful. But I get what he means--they'll have no one but themselves to blame. They'll feel stupid and embarrassed, rather than deceived and angry. Hopefully.
Actually this plan sounds pretty reasonable. Mostly people see what they expect to see anyway. Except--"Restrooms?"
He looks at me.
"Which restroom do I use?"
He thinks for a minute.
"We'll try to find a restroom somewhere away from the rehearsal area that you can use if you need to."
It might just be crazy enough to work, as they say in the cartoons.
----------
Wait a minute. Now I have to pass myself off as a girl not just on stage in front of complete strangers for a few nights, but also up close and personal in a big group of chatty people who will be trying to get to really know me for a couple of hours every Saturday and Sunday for the next two months. Without getting caught. Without actually outright lying about my sex with words or actions, or even doing anything that could be taken as trying to deliberately fool anyone. Without letting anyone from Van Helsing Junior High find out, and by the way school starts next month (I don't like to think about the actual date; it's too depressing). And without letting on to anyone "in the know"--so far just my immediate family, Tim, and presumably Bob--that I'm totally comfortable with being taken for a girl and actually enjoying it.
What have I fucking gotten myself into?
###
Chapter 3: Confession is good for the soul
I guess Dad's going to wind up telling Mom anyway, if he hasn't already, so I might as well have her on my side in this. "I have a problem and I need your help."
"Of course, sweetie. What is it?" Normally I cringe when she calls me stuff like that, but I actually am kind of scared about how I'm going to survive the next couple of months and it's strangely comforting.
"Um, well, apparently when Tim told everyone about me playing Louisa, I don't know what he said but--now they all think I am a girl, not just a boy who's going to play one."
"And you didn't want to embarrass Tim by correcting him?"
"Uh--something like that."
"I'm sure if you mention it to Tim he'll be willing to straighten it out for you."
"Well..." This part is a little tricky; Mom's kind of touchy on the subject of sexism and stereotypes and rigid gender roles in our society. But she's my mom; I think I know which buttons to push by now. "I don't exactly want him to do that."
I can see she wasn't expecting that. I don't usually pay too much attention to what society expects of me in general, 'cause fuck 'em, who are they to tell me who I have to be or what I have to like? But I do tend to get bent out of shape if someone openly mistakes me for a girl, just on account of the risk of being labeled a 'fag' and the physical dangers that go along with that. So this is a little out of character for me.
"You don't?"
Good, she's off balance. Now for a gentle nudge in the right direction... "No, well, like I said we don't know for sure what Tim told everyone, but near as I can figure, I don't think it's his fault. I think I kind of unconsciously did a Julie Andrews impression when I sang at the tryouts," again with the apologetic smile, all right already, "and then he told people my name was Joey, which sounds kind of like Joy--at least it does the way he'd pronounce it..."
"...And they couldn't imagine a boy ever willingly taking a girl's role, and with his father's blessing, so they all assumed..." And down she goes, under her own momentum. She's annoyed, almost mad, and on my side. And now the coup de grace.
"Right. So Dad and I thought we'd have some fun with them, and without coming out and actually lying to them, just let them keep believing what they want to believe. If they want to let themselves be blinded by their own preconceptions, serves 'em right." I can see by the wicked gleam in her eye she approves.
"So then, what's the problem?"
"Well, it occurred to me that if they ever do catch on, it would all be too embarrassing and awkward for everyone and I might have to quit the show. Well, I wouldn't want to ruin it for everyone else."
She starts to object, but sees my point. "I suppose you're right. It would be awkward."
"But we can't actually come out and say I'm a girl, or do anything that would be like deliberate deception, 'cause then if anyone ever caught on they'd be mad about being lied to and it would be like our fault instead of their own stupid prejudices. I just want your help coming up with ways to kind of steer their thoughts in the right direction, you know, keep them from catching on without actually lying." Here's another tricky part. "You know, stuff that wouldn't be totally unexpected from a boy but that fits their preconceived notions of how a girl should look and act?"
"Well, I don't like the idea of reinforcing stereotypes." That's why I said it was tricky. "But this is more like subverting them, and I'm all for that." Good, I don't have to explain that to her.
Now she's a woman on a mission--my mission. "Hmmm. Well, luckily this is 1975, not 1955"--she says it like it was the Dark Ages or something--"so clothes shouldn't be too much of a problem. Livy and her friends wear mostly jeans and t-shirts too; some of them are cut a little differently to fit a girl's body, but a thirteen-year-old girl's body isn't that different from a boy's yet so you should be able to get away with your own clothes." For a second there I thought she was going to have me borrowing Livy's. "Your hair is longer than mine, so you don't have to worry about that. It has been a while since you had it cut, hasn't it?" She's playing with it, combing her fingers through it. Normally I'd act annoyed and make her stop but now I just let her keep doing it. "We might want to trim it so it's not so uneven, and a girl would be expected to comb or brush it more often, and more neatly. You're young enough--and except for your height, you look even younger than you really are--I don't mean to embarrass you, but it's true." Grrr. She's right, though. "Anyway it wouldn't be that unusual for a girl your age not to need a bra yet, and a lot of them don't wear one anyway these days. And no one's going to see your underwear. So you should be able to get by with your own wardrobe. No need to worry about make-up, either--that's another thing girls aren't wearing a lot of anymore. Livy doesn't wear any, and you can always just say I won't let you. Besides, you're pretty enough without it."
Hey! I am not... um, in this situation, that's actually not a bad thing for a change. I'm confused. Should I be trying to cover up that I liked hearing that, or not? I bite my tongue and hope she doesn't notice me blushing. Oh good, she's looking down at my feet.
"We'll have to get you some new tennies, though." That's what she calls sneakers for some reason. Like you'd only ever wear them to play tennis or something. Weird, huh? "Lots of girls wear that style too"--Converse Jack Purcells; the flat, gum-rubber soles grip good on polished hardwood or linoleum for quick getaways, plus they don't collect so much mud and track it into the house all over Mom's clean floors--"but a girl would be expected to take better care of her shoes than that. You certainly need a new pair before school starts anyway."
"But these are comfortable!"
"They're filthy, and they have holes in them. And the rubber's hanging off the toe on that one. They practically shout 'boy.'" Which is kind of the point, usually. But I guess that's exactly the kind of thing I'm trying to avoid at rehearsals.
Looks like we're going shoe shopping this morning. Oh joy.
Shut up.
----------
"Are you guys going to the mall? 'Cause I need to get some stuff for school."
"Oh, that's a good idea. We can get your back-to-school shopping out of the way too, Joey."
Great! Not only do I get to shop with my sister and my mom, I get to spend all morning looking forward to starting school again! Life doesn't get any fucking better than this.
----------
I can't believe mom just told her.
"Ha! No way!" Yeah, laugh it up, Livy. Just don't forget our deal. A little reminder wouldn't hurt...
"Two words, Oblivia. Manila. Folder." Gotcha.
"What does that mean?" Uh-oh, Mom sounds suspicious.
"Nothing!" Livy shouts it at the same time as me. Like a fucking sitcom, I tell ya. All we need's a goddamn laugh track.
"Mm-hmm." Mom's not buying it, but she's not going to pursue it--for now. Yes, I can hear all that in a nonverbal grunt. It's the way she says it.
"But you? A girl?" Well, that derisive snort you just let out wasn't terribly feminine either, Oblivia. "I can't believe anyone would buy that." See? I am too macho to be mistaken for a girl. "I mean OK, you have kinda long hair and no muscles." Hey! It's all muscle; I'm just wiry. "But... you just are so not a girl."
OK, well, I'm all confused now. Do I argue with this? 'Cause I know I really am a girl, on the inside, but I also know I've put a lot of effort into hiding it. And I'm glad to know it's been working, at least on her. But then what happened with all those people last night?
"What do you mean?" Mom saves me the trouble of deciding whether to ask. There's a hint of an accusation or a trap behind the way she asks it--what she really means is "what unfair and artificial gender stereotype are you basing that judgment on?" Which I'm kind of wondering about myself.
"Oh, just... I don't know, I never really thought about it. He's just not. I mean... look at him. He looks like a little juvenile delinquent." Why, thank you, Sis. I never knew you cared.
"Girls can be juvenile delinquents, too." She has a point. Sitting right next to me, in fact.
"Mom! You know what I mean. Of course boys and girls can be anything they want to be nowadays. But people still judge you based on how you dress and act. And he dresses, and acts, like most people expect boys to, and like they don't expect girls to. Everything about him, I mean, it's almost like he's going out of his way to say 'look everyone, I'm not a girl, I'm a boy!'" Oh, jeez, let's don't follow that thought to its logical conclusion. Redirect, quick....
"Hey, I just do what comes naturally." Second nature, anyway, after so much practice.
"Yeah, because you're naturally a pig. I just don't get how anyone could look at that"--she's looking at me like I'm something distasteful--you know, like she usually does--"and think 'girl.' Let alone a whole roomful of people. It's like, an insult to girls."
"That's because you weren't there to hear my angelic singing voice." I don't think she notices the slight bitterness beneath the Bugs Bunny impression. Why didn't anyone tell me? Why? Why?
"Yeah, right. Like your squeaky pre-pubescent voice is enough to get people to overlook that."
I guess it's been a long time since I've sung by myself in front of her. Well, let's see what she thinks when she hears it.
----------
"...bring us back to Doe..."
"Enough!" She's looking at me like I've sprouted a second head or something. "You are a freak of nature."
"Don't be mean, Livy. That was beautiful, Joey."
"Yeah, but... euuhrhgh. That was just creepy. Kind of like that episode of Gilligan's Island where they all switch bodies and like Maryanne's voice is coming out of the Professor's mouth or something. How do you do that? Why would you even want to?"
I don't know what to say. I hide it pretty well but I am a freak. I know that. It's not like she's never called me one before, either. I don't know why it bothers me so much this time. Maybe because for once she's actually hitting close to home. "I didn't even know I was doing it. Nobody told me."
"Oh god, you're not going to cry are you? You little wuss. Maybe you are a girl."
I'm on the verge, but that makes me mad enough to fight it back. "Just, fuck you."
"Joey! Livy, will you just stop?"
----------
"I take back what I said before."
"About me being a freak?"
"No, not that, freak. About nobody buying you as a girl because of how you look. After hearing you sing like that, I'm having a hard time buying you as a boy. But--man, looking like that, and singing like that, it just doesn't go together. It's creeping me out just thinking about it. You definitely need to tone down the 'boy' thing around those people if you don't want to give them all the heebie-jeebies."
That's what I love about Livy--always looking out for me. They didn't seem to have the heebie-jeebies too bad last night though. Maybe Dad was right about theatre people after all.
----------
Damn, these shoes feel so stiff after my old ones. And they're so fucking white. Oh, well. That can't last.
----------
"Oh good, they take drop-ins. Livy and I can go do her shopping while you're getting a trim, so you won't have to be dragged around with us."
"Uh, OK." This ain't no barber shop. But I do see a guy getting his hair cut, so I guess it's OK. Or maybe he's getting a perm. I hope not. Afros are cool but on white guys they just look stupid, if you ask me.
----------
"Joey?"
I hate when they use that name outside the house. But I guess they don't know my real name here so at least I don't have to explain anything. "That's me."
"Here you go. Put this on and go sit in the chair on the end by the sinks. I'll be there in a minute."
"OK." What she gave me is something like one of those smock things they give you to wear at the doctor's office when they have you take your clothes off, only in pinky-orange instead of greeny-blue. I kind of nonchalantly look around at other people to figure out what I'm supposed to do with it. Luckily it doesn't look like I'm supposed to take off my clothes first, and I guess I wear it like a bathrobe, so it ties in front. Why all this fuss just for a haircut? Just sit me down in the chair, tie the sheet around my neck, and start cutting. Jeez.
----------
Wow. They don't wash your hair first in the barber shop.
"So, are you going somewhere special this evening?"
Huh? Oh, because I'm getting my hair cut. "No, just rehearsing for a play."
"How nice." She squirts something into her hands and starts rubbing them together. Shampoo I guess. "What's the play?"
"Sound of Music." Definitely chattier than the barber I used to go to, but she seems OK.
"Oh, I loved that movie! I must have seen it at least a dozen times." Mmm, now she's massaging the shampoo into my hair. That feels nice. Smells nice, too. I could get used to getting haircuts here.
"Yeah. I only saw it twice though."
"Where will your play be? And when? I'd love to come see it. Close your eyes."
I have to speak up a little to hear myself over the spray as she rinses my hair. "Um, it's gonna be at the Royal Playhouse, down in Kingswood? We just started rehearsals so I think it's gonna be opening in October or something."
She puts a towel over my head and pats my hair dry. "OK, now let's go over to my chair and have a look."
----------
"Um, I want to keep it this long, just sort of evened up a bit so it doesn't look so sloppy, I guess. It's been ages since I've had it cut."
"Hmm, I can see that." She spins me to face away from the mirror. I guess they do that so you don't freak out at how it looks when they're in the middle of cutting it. "So who're you going to be?" She has one hand on top of my head and is staring intently at my forehead from arm's length as she asks that. She pulls up a lock of hair with a comb and the scissors start snip-snipping.
"Um--what?" I'm all relaxed from the hair-washing and it takes me a second to figure out what she's asking. "Oh--you mean in the play?"
"Uh-huh." More combing, more snippety-snipping.
"Louisa." Then I realize what I've just said. Oh, shit. The snipping stops--because of what I said, or because I tensed right after?
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" Phew.
"Uh. No, I just got a hair in my nose and it itches," I lie. I scrunch my nose around a bit for effect.
"Well, just take your hand out from under there and scratch it if you need to. I'll wait until you're done."
"Thanks, it's better now."
"All righty, then. So, Louisa you said?" The snipping starts again.
"Uh-huh." Sounds like she's gonna come see it anyway, so no use trying to cover my slip-up.
"She's the one who lies about who she is, right? Well, you should have fun with that."
"I hope so." Was that just something to keep the conversation going or is she trying to tell me something? "I'm looking forward to spending lots of time with my dad. He's playing the Captain."
"Oh, how fun for you!" Well, that's the theory anyway. We'll see.
----------
She turns off the blow-dryer, runs a brush through my hair a few more times, and spins me around to face the mirror.
Holy crap! I look like a girl. Oh, I am going to get the living shit kicked out of me the first day if I go to school looking like this.
"Is something wrong? You don't like it." She sounds dejected.
I can't tell her why I don't like it, and it's not really like I can totally blame her anyway; our conversation did kind of lead her in this direction. The polite thing to do is lie through my teeth so I can get the hell out of here and figure out what to do next.
"No, no, it's... it's very pretty." It really is. That's the problem. "I'm just, uh, not used to having such a ... feminine hairstyle." Also completely true. Well, except for the part about not being happy with it, I didn't even have to lie.
"You don't like it. You wanted something more unisex, like you had before. Oh, I'm sorry. I should have asked before making this big a change when you just asked me to neaten it up. I just thought, for your role as Louisa, you'd want something more..."
Oh. Then... this really is pretty much my fault. I should have watched what I said. I feel bad for her; she seems honestly upset about it. I don't have the heart to do that to her.
"Oh, I hadn't really thought of that. You're right, it's... perfect. For Louisa. Thank you." I smile at her and try really hard to make it look sincere. She seems willing to buy it, anyway. God, maybe it won't look so girly if I don't brush or comb it after washing it. Or maybe it's long enough to pull it back in a low ponytail, like some of the older stoner dudes wear. That'd actually be kinda cool. Or maybe I could get a crew cut and wear a wig for the play. You know, you think of that as kind of a traditional 'good boy' haircut, but a ninth grader with a crew cut would actually be pretty non-conformist in this day and age. Nah, that'd give me away to the rest of the cast. Well, I have a couple of weeks to figure something out.
----------
I keep seeing my reflection in the storefronts as I look in each one for Mom and Livy. I mean, my reflection always looks weird right after I get a haircut, like that's somebody else, but there's something extra weird about it this time, you know? I mean, for a second I was checking out some cute chick in the jewelry store window until I realized it was me. Now that kind of fucks with your head. I try messing my hair up a little but it keeps falling back neatly into place.
"Larry?" That voice is familiar. "... it is you. Oh my god!" Oh, it's Felicia.
Oh, crap, it's Felicia.
Fuck.
"Um... hi?" So, maybe she won't notice?
"Hi. What's with your hair?" No such luck. She's looking at me like she doesn't know whether to be mad at me, or at whoever did this to me.
"Uh, I just had it cut." Her eyes get big, like you did that on purpose? Oh god, now she's going to point and laugh and tell everyone and my life will be over. I feel my stomach twist in a knot and get the familiar taste of adrenalin. I'm tense and shaky and starting to hyperventilate a little. I think I need to puke.
Apparently she sees the look of panic on my face. "You OK?" No, can't you see I'm fucking not? I can't get any words out; I just shake my head and try to hold down my breakfast. My instinct is to run away and hide but I can't seem to move. "Come with me. We'll sit and talk, OK? It's going to be OK. Just come on." She takes my hand and starts gently pulling me.
----------
I'm getting pretty good at explaining this, I've done it so many times now. Felicia just seems to accept it, not like Livy. I guess the haircut makes it more believable. Maybe the new shoes help a little too. Anyway, she's been sitting there across the table from me thinking for a minute, so I've been patiently sipping the Coke she bought me. You wouldn't think Coke would settle a nervous stomach, but it seems to help.
"So can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."
Well, she's ruined my punchline so I just say "OK."
She takes a sip from her Dr. Pepper--I hate that stuff, but to each her own--I think to give herself time to carefully phrase what she wants to ask.
"Well.... I didn't recognize you at first, you look so different like that. I only noticed you because you kept checking out your reflection. I was thinking, 'well somebody's into herself.'" I look up at her face, trying to keep my expression neutral. "I thought you looked a little familiar but I couldn't place you. Then I noticed your t-shirt. It's the same one you were wearing when I was over the other day." I don't really even like Kiss that much, but their t-shirts are cool and they project a certain image.
She takes another long sip, gathering herself for the final assault, I guess.
"So, you didn't seem self-conscious at all. About looking like that, I mean. Until you saw me anyway. Do you... do you do this a lot?"
"Do what?"
"Go out as a girl."
"What? No! I've never--I'm not--no!"
"OK, OK. You just seemed ... kind of comfortable with it. More than most guys would be I think."
"Look, I just know who I am and I don't much care what other people think, OK? The haircut wasn't my idea, but it works for what I need for now so I wasn't going to freak about it."
"Yeah. But then how come you freaked when I recognized you?"
Uh. I did, didn't I.
"So are you... I mean, are you gay? It doesn't bother me if you are and I won't tell anyone," she hastens to add.
"No. No, I don't go for boys. I'm into girls."
"But you like to dress like one?"
"No, not particularly." Never tried it, really. Well, once, and yeah--I did like it, but that was different. That was a game.
"But ..." She looks baffled, like she believes me but she's not hearing what she expected. Back to sipping her drink.
It's like something snaps in my head. I'm completely vulnerable to her now; but I'm getting a really strong feeling that I can trust her. My instincts about people are usually pretty accurate. Before I can really think through the possible consequences, I find myself confiding what I've never told anyone. "I am a girl." There, it's out. I feel a little light-headed.
Her eyes bug out. "But--no, you're not. Are you? Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, not on the outside. I have a, you know, a penis," I whisper the last bit. She snorts.
"Then what do you mean--like you have girl parts on the inside?"
"No, I mean, not as far as I know. It's just, I don't know, all I know is I'm supposed to be a girl. It's my body that's wrong. I don't know if that makes sense."
"But--huh." She clearly has no idea what to think about this.
I've never had to try to explain this to anyone before, but I have an idea. "So, when you think of yourself, if you think of your sex at all you think of yourself as female, right?"
"Uh, well, yeah."
"Yeah. Me, too. I mean, I make an effort to think of myself as male so I don't, you know, slip up and give myself away but it doesn't come naturally. I have to work at it. And when you think of people like you, or people you want to be like, you think of mostly girls, right? And women?"
"Uh huh. And you...?"
"Yeah. I mean, I think it would be cool to do all the stuff James Bond does--"
"Well, yeah, who wouldn't--"
"--but I never wanted to be him. I wanted to be Emma Peel. You know, from The Avengers? Did you ever see that show?"
"Oh, yeah, she was so cool. Wow. You really wanted to be her?"
"Oh yeah. So cool." Sometimes thinking about it makes me kind of sad 'cause when I really think about it I know it can't ever really happen. Not that it would be much more likely if I was a girl, physically, but at least then it would be sort of possible. I can't help a resigned sigh.
"Yeah, me too." You know, I knew she was cool. "So, wait. If you're a girl, but you like girls--does that make you, like, a--you know--a lesbian? Or something?"
"I dunno. Never really thought about that." Huh. Am I? Good question.
"You haven't?"
"I mean, it's not about sex. Uh, sexual intercourse--I mean, it's not about who I want to fuck." She snickers. "Or, really, about anything else I want to do. It's just about what sex I am, mentally, as opposed to what sex I am physically."
"Oh. I guess I didn't realize that wasn't the same thing."
"Trust me, it's not. Um. Can I ask you a big favor?"
"Sure."
"Livy and my mom know all about the theatre stuff, but can the rest of this conversation stay just between you and me?"
"Of course. My lips are sealed." She mimes the obligatory zipper.
"Thanks. For letting me talk about it, and listening, and not judging me, and not freaking out. I've never told anyone before. I don't know why but I feel like I can trust you."
"Oh, I'm so honored." She says it with dramatically exaggerated formality, in a Scarlett O'Hara voice, but I can tell by her eyes she's sincere.
----------
"Shit, Mom's gonna be wondering where I went."
"Where were you supposed to meet her?"
"Um, she didn't say, but they were going back-to-school shopping for Livy."
"Livy's here? Mind if I tag along? I can help you look for them."
"Sure, thanks. Ohhhh, fuck."
"What?"
"I don't feel like taking shit from Oblivia about looking like this. I can't deal with it right now."
"Well, maybe we can do something to make it look less girly." She digs around in her purse and pulls something out. "Turn around."
"Huh?"
"Turn your back to me." I do and she starts pulling my hair back. Aha, a ponytail. Cool, it is long enough. I can feel her putting on the rubber band. "There."
I look at my reflection in the chrome on the napkin holder. Still less scruffy than my usual look, but definitely not so blatantly girly. "Thanks. Hey, can you show me how to do that so I can do it at home?"
"Sure."
----------
I just thought of something. "Hey, um... is my, you know, my dick," I mouth the last word without actually saying it, "um, is it noticeable?"
"What?" She looks embarrassed, glances briefly downward. "Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean, if you look for it, you can tell it's there. Why? Worried about your manhood?" She tries to cover up her embarrassment by making a joke a my expense, but it doesn't get a rise out of me; I've got other concerns on my mind.
"No, worried about it blowing my cover, you know? At rehearsal?" I'm leaning in close and talking low so we're not overheard.
"I don't think anyone's going to be staring at your crotch, looking for signs of a dick."
"You'd be surprised. Guys spend a lot of time checking out girls' pants, especially right there."
"Oh. Really?" She seems a little shocked. She didn't know this? I thought everybody knew this.
"Yeah, really."
"Do you?" She's looking at me like she thinks this is a bit perverted.
"Yeah, only... I think it's a little different for me."
"How?"
"I start out fantasizing about getting in there, like every other guy, and end up wishing I could look like that, down there, myself. Like I'm supposed to."
"That's ... confusing."
"Tell me about it."
She gets thoughtful, leaving me to work out how to keep the guys at rehearsal from noticing I have parts a girl isn't supposed to have. Everybody with any sense of style wears tight pants that leave little room for guessing as to sex. Only total dorks and old people--like really old, over thirty--wear baggy pants. I don't want to look like a total dork if I don't have to.
"Larry?"
"Yeah?"
"Is this... something you always knew, or did you figure it out at some point?"
I think about it for a minute. "Both, I guess. I mean I guess I always knew on some level, but I don't remember really caring much one way or the other until I was like five, or maybe six."
"Wow. That long ago?"
"Yeah."
She goes all quiet again for a while. So, if I try to arrange things down there so it looks female in tight jeans, that would definitely fall into the "deliberate deception" category. So would wearing dresses or skirts. Baggy pants would just be too dorky, and anyway there could still be telltale signs, like say if I got a boner or something, which seems to happen like every five minutes or so these days. Hm, my untucked t-shirt only hangs down to my pockets, but if I wore one a couple of sizes too big...
"In here."
"What? Did you find them?"
"No, I want to try something."
----------
"X-Large. Yeah, that'll do the trick." I'm holding the tops of the sleeves up to my shoulders and it's hanging down well past my crotch.
"Yeah, I guess that'll solve your little problem." She giggles.
"Hey!"
"Sorry, I didn't think you'd be sensitive about that."
"Uh. Conditioned reflex. I still have to keep up the guy thing outside of rehearsals. So I can survive school, if nothing else."
"Yeah." She sounds a little sad about it. Well, so am I, but such is life.
----------
"There you are. We've been looking all over for you."
"'We?' Oh, hi, Felicia! Nice haircut, dork."
"Fuck you too, Oblivia."
"No, I'm serious, you twit. It's a definite improvement. Of course anything would be." She ducks as I try to smack the top of her head so I get nothing but air. "Gonna hafta be faster than tha-OW!" While she was gloating I snuck my left hand over and poked her in the ribs. She smacks my hand away and rubs her side. That kinda stings, but I hold in my reaction so as not to give her the satisfaction.
"None of that now, you two."
"None of what, Mom?" I ask all innocently.
"Look who he brought with him!" Livy says. Nice diversion, Sis! I mentally high-five her as I give her an appreciative glance. Hey, we may act like we hate each other's guts, and mostly we kinda do, but we always stand united against the common enemy of parental authority.
"Hi, Miz L!"
"Oh, hi, Felicia. Were you keeping Joey out of trouble for me?"
"Who?"
Groan. Not again. "That's me."
"Wha... Joey? I thought Larry..."
"That too. It's a long story. Later, OK?"
"Oh-kayyyy...."
"Hey, Mom, can I have some money to buy some t-shirts?"
"Don't you have any left from what I gave you for the haircut? Oh, it looks very nice. They did a good job. And I think it'll work for tonight. It'd look fine on a gir... oh, shi-oot." She puts her hand over her mouth, her eyes get big and she looks at Felicia, then me.
"It's OK, Mom, she knows. Everything." More than you, in fact, I refrain from saying aloud. She looks very relieved. Felicia looks amused. Mom is kind of a nut case, and I mean it, she really does belong on a sitcom. "No, I left a big tip. I've only got two bucks left." Felicia's glaring at me--for making her pay for my Coke, I guess. Well, it's not my money. And Mom's glaring at me, 'cause she's what you might call a cheapskate. She has a lot of trouble paying more than the legal minimum, even for good service. Now Livy looks amused. "Well, you said yourself, they did a good job."
"Oh, all right, here. Just shirts, and bring back the receipt and the change." She hands me a couple of bills.
"Thanks! Back in a flash." I turn and run back to the shirt store before she changes her mind.
----------
Five shirts ought to be enough. It had better be; that's all I have money for.
Let's see. I need shirts that at least suggest 'girl' without saying 'not a boy, nuh-uh, nossir, no way.' Probably rules out anything pink, or anything with unicorns or butterflies or fairies. Hm....
----------
This is trickier than I thought. There doesn't seem to be anything that fits what I'm looking for. It's either totally 'guy,' completely neutral with not even a hint one way or the other, or totally 'girl' that no self-respecting guy would be caught dead in. I guess I could grab some of the neutral ones, but I'm going through the 'girl' ones again first to see if there isn't something a normal red-blooded boy wouldn't be afraid to wear in public.
Hm, this fairy is mostly naked, and she's pretty hot. It's kinda sparkly and flowery, though. I dunno--am I just being overly sensitive about it, or...
"Hey, check out the fairy lookin' at the fairy shirt."
Uh-oh. Asshole at six o'clock.
"You sure that's a fairy, dude? Could be a chick." Asshole number two says it kind of quietly, like what he really means is "Don't embarrass me in front of a girl, asshole." I turn just enough to see them out of the corner of my eye; they look like the type who usually kick the shit out of people like me. God, I hope they don't go to Van Helsing.
Why I think of doing this, I don't know; I should be trying not to panic and trying to come up with a cover, some reason I'd be legitimately looking at a girly shirt. Instead, I nonchalantly turn toward a mirror, reach up...
"Nah, that ain't no chick..." ...pull off the rubber band and shake out my hair, then hold up the shirt like I'm seeing what it would look like on me. "...oh." I glance over and give them a dirty look.
"See, I told ya." He shoves the other one. Kinda hard. Out the door of the shop.
"Sorry, dude. She just looked...." He's rubbing his shoulder where he got shoved. Heh.
Yeah, definitely a 'girly' haircut.
----------
"Will that be all today, Miss?"
"Yeah." I don't think I'll be getting the fairy one, thanks. "Um, you wouldn't happen to have a rubber band I could have? Mine broke when I pulled it out."
"I must have one here somewhere... ah, here you go."
"Thanks." I do that thing Felicia showed me, a little awkwardly, but I manage to get my hair back in a decent ponytail.
"You know, it's so much prettier down. You look a little boyish when you pull it back like that." Only a little? That's disturbing. She looks at my clothes. "But I guess you're a bit of a tomboy anyway, aren't you?" She smiles at me.
"I guess." Or something. I smile back automatically, to be polite.
----------
"So, they were going to get school supplies and I already got what I need, and I'm out of money now anyway. So I told them I'd go find you."
"You didn't want to hang out with Oblivia while she shopped?"
"Yeah, but I didn't know if maybe you wanted to talk some more about... stuff. And she hates it when you call her that."
"Cool."
"Well, she's my friend so I'd rather you didn't."
"Oh. OK, I'll try to remember." Well, I don't want Felicia to think I'm a jerk.
"So what's the story with Joey, anyway?"
Sigh. "I hate when they call me that. It's a stupid nickname."
"It's not stupid, I just don't get why they call you that."
"It's stupid because nobody gets it and I always have to explain it. I hate that."
"Oh. Then I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry."
"No, no, I can't leave you hanging like that. It's--well, it's Livy's fault."
"Oh." She says it like clearly, that must be the real reason I hate it.
"When I was born she could just barely talk, and when she tried to say 'Larry' it came out like 'Yowie' or something."
She snorts. "Well, at least that's not your nickname."
"Yeah, well. At the time we lived in Australia, and the nanny or housekeeper or whatever decided it sounded like she was saying Joey, which is a baby kangaroo, and she thought that was cute so she started calling me that. And my parents thought it was cute too, and it just sort of stuck."
"Wait, so you're an Aussie?"
"No. Yeah. Sort of. I was born there, but my folks are Americans so I am too. Anyway Livy was born here in the States and we moved back here before I was a year old so I don't remember any of it."
"Wow, that's so cool!"
"I guess." I don't get why people are impressed by that. It's not like I had anything to do with picking where I was born. But if it somehow makes me cool, hey, I'm not complaining.
"So, did you get some shirts?" I pull one out of the bag to show her. "Ooh, put it on, I want to see!"
----------
"You did not!"
"Did."
"And it worked?"
"Yeah, I mean it was almost spooky, how that one little thing got them so convinced I couldn't possibly be boy, even a fag, I had to be a girl."
"Yeah. Weird. I still can't believe you did that. I mean what if it hadn't worked?"
"I dunno, I didn't think about it. It just popped into my head and I was sure it would."
"Why? I mean, how did you know?"
"I dunno, I just knew."
"Oh, c'mon."
"I guess I can try to reason it out and put it in words." I talk slowly so I have more time to think as I go. This is a trick I learned from Dad. "I mean as a nerdy, kind of underdeveloped guy, 'cause I'm a year younger than everyone else in my grade, it's like I have to go to great lengths to act macho enough not to get picked on and beat up, you know? And I just can't take any risk of being labeled a fag 'cause that would make it impossible. And even then it doesn't always work. It's like, you can do all the guy-type stuff you want day in and day out, but if you mess up and do anything that's considered girly just one time, that wipes it all out. So, there I was, this guy was already labeling me a fag; for a guy like me that's like a death warrant. It was like, I had nothing left to lose, you know? And I also knew they would realize that no guy would ever risk doing what I did openly, fag or not, 'cause it's such a girl thing to do and you could never come back from something like that. I mean, obviously I didn't think it out like that at the time, but this stuff is all such a part of my life every day that I didn't have to think about it; I just knew it would work as soon as I thought of it."
"Wow. So, guys are like, totally afraid of being thought of as girly..."
"Yeah."
"But you're not."
"What? Yeah. No--what?"
"Is it because you are a girl so it wouldn't bother you to have that pinned on you?"
"No, I mean, I am afraid of being labeled 'girly;' that would make my life hell. More than already, I mean."
"Your life as a guy, you mean?"
"Well yeah; that's the only life I have."
"Is it? I mean..."
"Oh yeah, like I'm going to start living as a girl all the time. What happens when I have to shower after P.E.? What happens when my voice changes and I start to get hair on my chest and stuff? Not to mention the boobs I don't grow when everyone else does?"
"You've thought about this a lot, huh?"
"Yeah. I mean, it's frustrating but all I can come up with is, this is the life I have; I might as well make the best of it."
"Couldn't you have The Operation? You know, like whatsername, Christine something-or-other?"
"Jorgensen." She nods. "Yeah, I guess, but I mean, I'm the same height my dad was at this age and I wouldn't want to be a woman built like him. At six-foot-two I think I'd, you know, kind of stand out. Kind of look like a freak."
"Well, maybe if you did it now, before puberty really kicks in..."
"Gee thanks, I'm not sensitive about being underdeveloped or anything." She looks guilty. I wave my hand to brush it off; it's not that big a deal. "I'm not sure it works that way. Anyway, it wouldn't really be real; I mean I might be able to look female but I wouldn't be really."
"Oh. So, you want to have kids someday?" I nod. "Couldn't you adopt?"
"I guess I don't just want to raise kids, I want to reproduce. I've always kind of unconsciously pictured myself growing up to be a mom, but since that's not possible I suppose being a dad wouldn't be so bad. Better than nothing anyway."
"So then, why are you doing this, with the play, and now in the shirt store? You just want to enjoy a small taste of the life you wish you had, while you can?"
"I don't know. I haven't really sat down and thought about what I'm doing or why. I just saw a chance I might never get again, and went for it without thinking too much about it. Both times, really. Whoops! In here." I pull her into the shop we're passing.
"Why, see something you want to try on?"
I look around. It's a dress shop. "Very funny. The assholes I was telling you about? That's them. Over there." I turn away and gesture with my eyes so they don't see me staring and pointing.
"Oh." She follows my glance. "Oh, those assholes."
"You know them?"
"The bane of my existence at school. They're starting at Addams this year too." Morticia Addams High School, again much cooler than the real name. Where Livy and Felicia will be going. And next year, me. Shit. Well, a year is a long time; they'll have probably forgotten me by then. Why is Felicia looking like that?
"Uh, hi?" Shit, it's the voice of Asshole Number Two. I turn to look, and sure enough it's him.
I'm about to piss myself. I can't think of anything to say, so I don't.
"Hello, Dick. What brings you here?" Felicia doesn't make any attempt to sound friendly, but she doesn't sound exactly hateful either.
"Hey, Leash." As in Fe-Leash-a? As in dog leash? Now that's just mean. But it sounds more teasing than nasty. "I came over to apologize to your little friend." Hey, who you callin' little? I'm almost as tall as you are. Taller than Felicia, anyway. "Dave was kinda rude to her earlier. So how 'bout it?" He turns to me. "Can you ever forgive me for not pounding his sorry ass into the dirt then and there?" He's smiling at me? What the fuck?
A, I'm just relieved he's not over here to pound my sorry ass into the dirt, and B, I can't help myself; when someone smiles at me I want to smile back. So I do. "I'll think about it," pops out of my mouth before I can think about it. Don't look at me like that, Felicia.
"Dick's" smile brightens a bit. What, he actually meant it? Did I just rush to judgment on him because of his Neanderthal friend? But no, Felicia agreed he was an asshole...
"I'm Richard. My friends call me Rich." He extends his hand as he looks daggers at Felicia. But they're just toy rubber ones, I can tell. Is there something going on there? She has kind of a funny look on her face.
I accept his offered hand and remember just in time not to try to do a 'manly' firm grip. He gives it a brief shake and doesn't let go right away but I quickly pull my hand back out of his. "Niceta meetcha, Dick." Out of the corner of my eye I can see Felicia flash a satisfied grin. Rich is giving her a dirty look. "I'm Lee. My friends usually call me things that aren't nice to repeat in mixed company." OK, now she's giving me a really funny look. Maybe kind of mad, even.
He laughs at my little joke, probably out of politeness. "Niceta meetcha, Lee. Listen, don't mind Dave, OK? He's kinda backward in the manners department, and he talks big but he really wouldn't hurt a fly."
"If you say so, Dick." Was that a wince? I'm not trying to be nasty so I flash him a grin to let him know I'm just yanking his chain. He looks relieved when he smiles. I'm starting to wonder from the 'vibes' Felicia is giving me if I've crossed some kind of line somewhere. What? I ask her with my eyes. Like you don't know, her eyes answer. No, really, I don't, I reply. Yeah, right, comes her rejoinder. It's like facial telepathy or something. I didn't know I could do this with anyone outside my family.
"Cool. Well, I gotta go, so ... see ya 'round, OK?"
"'Kay. See ya." I sound like such a girl. And I'm standing like one too. Well, this time at least I'm doing it intentionally.
When he's out of sight Felicia whacks me on the back of the head. "Ow! What was that for?" She stalks out of the dress shop. I almost have to run to catch up.
----------
"'Lee?'" She says it low, practically hissing it out of the side of her mouth as we're walking.
I respond the same way. "It's my middle name. I was on the spot and it popped into my head. ...Well, I couldn't very well tell him my real first name."
"What about Joey?"
"I hate that name. Plus I didn't think of it."
----------
The bench is somewhat secluded. I gesture for us to sit.
"Look, I said I'm sorry, OK? And I mean it. I didn't know you liked him liked him. I mean I kind of picked up that you didn't actually hate him. But you called him an asshole and told me he was the bane of your existence."
"Yeah, well, that should have been your first clue, Lee." She wields that name like a deadly insult.
"Sorry. And I was most definitely not flirting with him." Eeughh. The very thought. I need to go home and take a long hot shower now. With lots of soap.
"Were too."
"Was not. I was just trying to be polite."
"Yeah, well, being polite like that is going to get you in some serious trouble, girl."
"Shit. Sorry. I really didn't know. And I really wasn't trying to flirt." Shudder. "I may have been a girl my whole life, but I'm still completely new to acting like one." I guess I really was born yesterday.
"Yeah, well you seem to be picking it up pretty damn quickly." She looks at me and her anger kind of slowly deflates into ... sadness? What did I do now?
"What's the matter?" I make an effort to switch from defensive to concerned.
"Nothing, never mind." She looks away and takes a deep breath.
I look at her and something clicks. She turns back and I guess she sees the look of dawning comprehension on my face 'cause she seems a little panicked that I've figured out her deep dark secret. "He doesn't know, does he?" I can be slow sometimes, but eventually I get there.
"No. And don't go telling him, OK?"
"OK." I put my hand on her arm to reassure her. She puts her other hand on top of mine and squeezes a little.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have gotten mad at you."
"No, it's understandable. I was just being a clueless idiot."
"Well, yeah."
"Hey, you're not supposed to agree!" That gets a smile out of her. "...Ooooh, nooooo. Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"What?"
"I am so screwed."
"What?"
"I was counting on them not remembering me by the time I start at Addams next year."
"Oh, my god. You are screwed. No way he's going to forget you now."
"Fuck. Maybe I'll get lucky and we'll move again before then."
"You can always hope."
How do I keep doing this to myself?
To Be Continued...
Comments
Very nice ...
... certainly makes me want to continue reading!
"All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show
BE a lady!
seconded
Nice set up for an ongoing series. There were a couple of spots where the belief wavered slightly, but only slightly. On the whole believable and true. Very nicely done.
Looking forward to more.
Kristina
A Jo(e)y to read
Ah, the tangled webs we weave...
I only wish I could have had a confidant like Felicia.
I certainly hope the rest of this story will be posted before I burst from repressed anxiety.
Great job!
Thanks.
with love,
Hope
with love,
Hope
Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.
KABLAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Too late.
with love,
Hope
Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.
Ewww
I had no idea my holding back would have such messy consequences. I hope it wasn't too painful for you.
I have a confession to make. I can't post the rest of this story because I haven't finished it yet. I've been kind of lacking inspiration, or maybe just procrastinating, for several months now. My plan, or scheme, or self-delusion if you prefer, is that committing myself in this fashion will force me to get off my butt (or on it, as the case may be - I usually write sitting down after all) and finally do that.
These three chapters only represent a fraction of what I've already written though, so there will be plenty more for the near future; how near is 'near' will depend on how often I decide to post them. I intend to put up at least a chapter a week going forward. I may do more; I'm still trying to work out the proper balance between having a looming deadline to motivate me and giving myself enough lead time to keep up a steady flow of chapters once I do get going again.
Yay...
Nice start. Looking forward with baited breath to more.
I like the hero/ine reminds me of myself. I hope his life ends up better than mine.
JC
The Legendary Lost Ninja
<shame faced> Sorry </shame faced>
Dear Justme,
I have to appologize and confess, I didn't blow-up or anything like that. I was only trying to hurry the next chapter to be posted and maybe pique enough curiosity to provoke a response to my comment.
Thank you for your concern and answer to my post. Also thanks for explaining your position on future posts to the extent that you have.
with love,
Hope
with love,
Hope
Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.
No apologies necessary
I'm glad you didn't really blow up though. The clean-up would have been a chore. ;) Actually I was looking for a good place to post that explanation and you gave me the perfect spot. And I'm quite flattered that you're already anxious for more. I'll have to take that into account in deciding on a posting schedule for future installments.
Sorry if I came off sounding anything other than thrilled about your comments or your level of interest. My sense of humor can sometimes be rather dry and this medium does nothing to temper that. I guess that's what emoticons are for; I'll have to learn to make better use of them. :D
Funny isn't it
So much of humour is in facial expression, voice inflection and body language. It is just completely lost in transcription.
I so often try to make my posts or emails humourous and far too often people take my words EXACTLY the wrong way.
Oh well, my only choice is to either give-up or keep trying, I'll leave it to the readers to try to figure out which way I'll go on that decision.
with love,
Hope
with love,
Hope
Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.
I would never do that, okay, so I did, several times, hope
With only words, one needs to be careful and be more descriptive and precise than when inflection, posture, tone and body-language are available.
Great story so far, believable, funny, serous, and good. I hope your muse is kind to you.
John in Wauiwatosa
John in Wauwatosa
Dear John
I have copied your post below so there should be no question about this comment.
Dear John,
I'm sorry but "I" can't be in Wauwatosa. "I" just doesn't belong there. "I" feels out of place in Wauwatosa. If "I" felt at home anywhere it would surely be in Winnipeg. "I" feels badly for not wanting to be in Wauwatosa and "I" is sorry if that breaks your heart dear, but that is just the way it must be.
with love,
Hope
I would never do that, okay, so I did, several times, hope
Submitted by John in Wauwatosa on Sat, 2007/03/31 - 9:25pm.
With only words, one needs to be careful and be more descriptive and precise than when inflection, posture, tone and body-language are available.
Great story so far, believable, funny, serous, and good. I hope your muse is kind to you.
John in Wauiwatosa
with love,
Hope
Once in a while I bare my soul, more often my soles bear me.
"I" think...
...that wayward "I" isn't from Winnipeg at all; it appears to have fallen out of "serious" in the line above.
Unless you meant to compare my story to a bodily fluid, John. I'm not sure how I'd feel about that. :O
I carumba!
One little typo and you folks go bezerk!
You have me chuckling.
John in Wauwatosa
P.S. It is a good story.
John in Wauwatosa
Very original!
It's great that you've put this in the mid-70s, it makes for a very nice change from other stories.
And I love how you don't hit the reader over the head with Larry's secret... he's doing the best he can in his life day to day, until, wham!, his reaction to Tim's statement. This really resonated with me deep down.
I'll be checking BC each day, hoping for the next installment!
-- Michelle
Great
That was good enough I'm now sad, because there isn't any more of it to read yet. ;-) Thanks for posting it!
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens...
This story could become one of *my* favourite things. It is well-written, with an especially nice touch on the dialogue, and the characters are sketched in well. There's ample realism to aid suspension of disbelief, and what I can only call the "tone" of the story is enjoyable. I certainly look forward eagerly to future episodes.
Best wishes, Andrea.
Best wishes, Andrea.
A very promising start.
A neat premise, great dialog -- both external and internal, some well-turned early complications. I think this will be a fun ride.
I think that if I was writing this I might have set up the '70s dating a bit sooner, but that's minor.
Overall, I'm impressed.
Amelia
"Reading rots the mind." - Uncle Analdas
"Reading rots the mind." - Uncle Analdas
Leeway
Justme,
Very nicely done. I am looking forward to more chapters if they are forth coming.
Very nice start on a possible tangled road to confusion.
Looks like Lee, Larry, Joey, one of them, will be living as a girl before to long. He may have to for his own self defense. IT sounds like Feleasha is right to assume that Rich is sweet on Lee, and she is getting upset because of it. Of course Lee had no idea what he was doing.
Very interesting start
Hugs
Joni
Justlee
Just,
I agree with the above; this is a great story, and I too will be waiting as patiently as I can manage for more.
I do have one complaint, however. Your nom de plume is much to self-deprecating for someone who writes so well!!!
Jan
Great writing JustMe...
I'm glad I waited to read this one, now I can read more right a way! Giggle, giggle...
I love your style and the dialogue, the characters are alive, you give each a personality and that really makes this story so enjoyable to read.
The 70s, the kids that reap all the benefits from the battles won by the kids of the 60's! Really cool, and I'm going to read chapters four and five now!
Huggles JustMe
Angel
"Be Your-Self, So Easy to Say, So Hard to Live!"
Justme, Please Find it Within Your Heart
to continue your awesome tale? Pretty please? I can safely say I am not the only one yearning to see it continue... it is heartwarming, enjoyable, and very uplifiting.
please...
Hugs
BigCloset TopShelf
Agreed
Justme,
I hope your muse/RL or whatever gets better soon and this series resumes after this unfortunate break..
Oh, Sephrena, nice looking avitar. Whether or not that is really you, your avitar looks like I suspect my sister Ann would have looked if she'd not been crippled with severe mental retardation and cerebal palsey before birth and never developed normally. From what she did become if she had been healthy she would have been a mid five foot brunette pixeish woman. Mom kept her hair much like your avitar and if not for the palsey her face was much like your avitar.
Thank you for posting it, now I can imagine Ann whole and complete.
I should post my Stardust avitar here as Norman Lovett -- Red Dwarwf's Holly one and three -- is remarkably similar to me, hair wise.
John in Wauwatosa
John in Wauwatosa
Hi Justme, I found your cute
Hi Justme,
I found your cute and clever little story by accident as I was scrolling thru the various serials.
I just love how you place the reader(s) into "Joey", "Joy", "Larry", "Lee"s head and let us all know what she/he is thinking while she/he is also talking or doing something.
This makes the her character more complete as it fills in the surrounding story wonderfully. J-Lynn
What *has* she gotten herself into?
A very enjoyable story. The characters are all believable and human, though the teens seem a little more insightful than I remember being at that age. :-) The stream-of-consciousness approach not only makes our heroine's feelings come through more, but gives us a front-row seat as her male persona and her ability to present it start to unravel. I really love the way we see her go from someone who seemingly has no gender issue at all (in the first few scenes), to maybe expressing a little of her true self, and then starting to slide down that slippery slope. The subtle way her internal dialogue starts to change through this set of chapters is great.
I also loved all the little 70's throwaways, like "that little kid from the Jackson 5." :-D