Summer's End Part 5 By S.L.Hawke It was shaping up to be a very memorable Halloween... or Samhain, "Summer's End" festival, as some would call it. It had all started a few "interesting" months back... of the, "may you live in interesting times", Chinese curse variety. Interesting times, that kept getting progressively more "interesting" -- both the good parts, and the bad -- up until this disturbing weekend. Sometimes, you must pass through a little darkness, before you can come into the light... Copyright © 2011 S.L.Hawke. All Rights Reserved.
Have you ever wondered what a "Halloween horror" story would be like, from the witch's perspective? Meet Crystal, a transgendered witch who has big reasons to not be happy with some particular guys. A woman with her own difficulties... whose life turns many conventional story elements completely upside down...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

This is an (almost) true Halloween horror story -- loosely based on reality, it is semi-autobiographical in places... although the 'Autobiographical' tag has not been used, as poetic license has _definitely_ been taken. Which parts are true, and which are pure fantasy? "Truth is stranger than fiction...". Names have been changed to "protect the innocent"... and many events have also been deliberately scrambled a bit, to further obfuscate things -- so that if someone *does* recognize an actual person despite the name changes, they won't know who really did, or said, what. [And of course, some parts are purely imagination -- things *no one* actually did.]

There are many tales out there, about dressing for the first time... or early transition. This is something just a little different. Life, long after the dust has settled... but in unusual circumstances, where nearly forgotten gender issues once again come back to the surface...

CAUTION: This is an entry in the "TG Terror" contest: don't expect it to be entirely 'sweetness and light'. (Although, hopefully, the good times outweigh the bad). Contains mature adult content and themes -- reader discretion is advised. Occasional (rare) use of strong language, when it is appropriate. Occasional (rare) use of what some may consider 'explicit sexual' references or content, when necessary to the plot development.

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PART V: Learner

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

I knocked on the open door to Amber's little office, down by the MAR building's front door. "Hi... you left a note in my mailbox, that you wanted to see me?"

"Oh, hi, Crystal. Yes, I did. As you probably know, I am also a social worker... and I wanted to ask you about a program that is starting up in a couple weeks, early in September. You don't have to decide right now, but I have a brochure here that I wanted to give you -- so that you can think about it and get back to me. I would need to know in the next couple days, though, as there are not that many seats available in the program..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Chapter 10:

Late August, Monday, 09:45.

"Hey Crystal, Angela. Have you heard the news, yet?"

Sensing from her body language that whatever it was, was not good... I questioningly tilted my head, and raised an eyebrow, cautiously offering, "No...?"

"Marc died last night. Carrie finally got him to go see a doctor in a walk-in clinic yesterday morning... who sent him straight to the hospital... but it was already way too late. Less than five hours later, he was dead. Pneumonia..."

"Oh, goddess, Michelle. How are Carrie, and the little ones, taking it?"

"I don't really know... she has just been locked in her apartment all last night and this morning, telling everyone to go away... to leave her be..."

After she left, I found myself thinking back. It had probably been about ten days since I had last encountered Marc in the laundry room downstairs... and he had not been looking good, even then.

 «Fool. You should have checked on him, to see how he was doing. You *knew* he wasn't well, even if he was denying it and refusing help. Mea culpa... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Tuesday, 11:35.

I tentatively knocked on the doorframe by the open door of Amber's office, having already noted that she was inside doing some paperwork at her desk.

"Umm... hi. Do you have a minute?"

Spinning her chair around to face me, she gave me a sad smile. "Sure. What can I do for you?"

"Well... I just didn't really want to bother Carrie, and I was wondering if you knew, perhaps, if there were going to be a funeral?"

The sad look on her face merely intensified. "Actually I was just talking with her about that. Although I told her about the government program that covers basic funeral costs, a casket, and cemetary fees... for those who can't afford it... she still is afraid that she is somehow going to end up with a huge bill that she simply can't pay."

She paused, staring off somewhere over my shoulder. "She didn't really say it, but I got the feeling that she's not going to claim the body. That she is going to just leave... probably in the night... and take her children home to her parents, back East." She sighed. "It won't be the first time I've seen that happen, around here..."

Closing the distance between us, I reached out and squeezed her hand... almost causing her to shed the tears I could see lurking in her eyes. Death, of those you have come to know, is an all too frequent occurance in the shelters. He would be missed. A good, decent man, with a gentle and kind spirit, he was only forty-one years old... with a wife who had loved him very much -- despite what her fears might drive her to do -- and three wonderful young daughters, the youngest only two.

They had all struggled hard the last year, slowly pulling themselves back from the brink... to being a shelter 'success' story. Almost ready to leave the subsidized shelter, and rejoin mainstream society. And now, this...

Forcing a fragile smile, she gave her head a slight shake... obviously changing the topic to something... anything... less depressing. "Oh! Before I forget, there are some papers here for you, accepting you into that program we talked about. And in case you forgot, acceptance into that 'counselling and training program' officially changes you from the basic Income Assistance funding, to Learner status. In practical terms, that means almost double the benefits, plus you get to keep all of any extra earnings you make. If you want to fill in the forms that are in with the other documents, then get them back to me as soon as possible, I'll take care of that for you..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 13:15.

 «That's odd... Amber usually just talks to people as they go by her office. I wonder what's up? »

Opening the door, I greeted her with a slight smile. "Hi Amber, come on in..."

"Hi Crystal. Is Angela in?"

Turning away towards the bedroom, I started heading that way, before Amber added, "Umm, you may wish to stick around for this, though, as it will affect you too."

Giving her a tilted head and raised eyebrow, I responded, "Oh? That sounds... ominous."

She gave a tiny, short lived laugh. "Not really. Angela and her former roommate had applied for a larger suite a couple months back... and her name's now at the top of the waiting list..."

Softly biting my lower lip, I said, "Carrie and the girls left, then?"

She just nodded, sadly.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 09:10

Angela looked around the clean white walls of our new home. Excited, and at the same time, sad... what with just how we had come to live here.

The unit was completely empty... stripped, although Carrie had abandoned many things in the night. Marc had died of a possibly contagious illness... so everything left behind was gone, and the unit scrubbed down by a volunteer cleaning crew. Well, sort of 'volunteer', in the sense that the residents involved had volunteered to do the work -- they were paid by the shelter for their time.

Pneumonia is not normally contagious, for a healthy person... but, many people in the shelters are far from 'healthy'. Poor diets due to inability to afford healthy food, harsh working and living conditions... frequently bodies weakened by disease or drugs... as in hospitals, it was a legitimate concern, here. One the shelter preferred not to take a chance with. If Carrie were still living here, among her own things, I doubt anyone would have said a word about the risk... but with new clients moving into the shelter suite right away, someone had obviously been concerned about potential liability, in the unlikely event something *did* happen...

"I sorta hate just how we got this place... but the timing is wonderful. I've been clean for three months, now, and now that we have the space for them, they may let me start having my children back for occasional overnight stays. At least, so long as I keep testing clean on their random drug tests."

She turned to me, nibbling on her lip. "Umm, are you okay with continuing to share a room with me? I mean... there are only two bedrooms, and I think it would go over better with the social workers, if I could put the children in a room of their own. I know you are paying for most of this place, though... so if you don't want to, if it's too much to ask...?"

"It's not a problem, Angela. Besides... we only have the one bed mattress, right now, anyway."

"Great! Thank you s-o-o-o much, hon."

For a moment, she squeezed me with a massive hug... before turning back to more practical problems.

"Once the kids start staying overnight, I should be able to get a funding increase, from a single woman to a single mom with kids. That should help with buying a few things around here... and in the meantime, I'm sure I heard something about a program that provides beds for the homeless. A local furniture place, that donates any mattresses damaged in shipping. They usually have minor cosmetic stuff wrong with them... minor tears, shipping dirt ground in that they can't get out... stuff like that. But they're basically brand new. We would have to go get them ourselves... but... you *do* have a car. Umm, would you be okay with strapping something to the roof of that?"

I winced, but what the heck. A mattress wasn't likely to do much harm... and it already had paint damage, anyway.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 06:05

Real curtains can be expensive... but Angela had somehow managed to find enough spare cash to buy some cheap "sheers" from the dollar store, for at least _most_ of the windows... although not all. While there was very little else in our new living room at present, it was still nice to sit on the hardwood floor by the open corner window. Enjoying the slight breeze, which was countered by the warmth of the morning sun streaming in... watching the translucent white fabric of the curtains billow gently in the sporadic breeze.

A peaceful moment, to recharge my spirit... and take care of some necessary 'maintenance'. It had been more than a month since the 'incident', and my 'injury', now... so I was only dilating a few times a week... but it remained a necessity. At least until I saw my gynaecologist again, anyway... which wasn't scheduled to happen for a few more weeks.

Actually, there was another item of business that I needed to take care of, today... my HRT injection.

I suppose I should mention that I hate pills, of any sort. A legacy of my childhood problems, only made worse by recent events. Any medication that even potentially 'messes with my mind'... even such simple things as the caffeine in coffee or tea, or drinking more than a very little alcohol... and my hackles start raising. Many years ago, when I used the pill form of hormone replacement therapy, that pill phobia had been a problem -- one I had overcome mostly by sheer will-power, and determination to *fix* my body, no matter the cost. Still, I had shed no tears when I developed problems with the oral med's, and had to discontinue them. An unusual complication... but then, there was very little "usual" about my body.

Another thing I should talk about, maybe. I have long since completely lost track of how many doctors, and other people, have suggested I should be tested to see if I am intersexed... something I have never bothered with. I am what I am, and I see little point in worrying about that sort of thing. True, there *are* some intersexed conditions that can result in serious medical conditions later in life, if not treated earlier... and I know I face the risk of dying "someday" of some weird cancer or whatever... but... I would just rather not know. Silly of me, I guess... but there it is. I just hate doctors poking and prodding at me... and as for the thought of someone "invading" my body... even if well intentioned... well...

Shrug. "Thou art goddess." Something those who are not wicce may not understand... but, whatever. My body is my temple, and I do not tolerate lightly any messing around with it.

Strange, the paradoxes inherent in my life. On the one hand, I desperately needed my body "fixed", as a child... but on the other, I would not willingly take so much as an aspirin. I suppose it is a commentary on just how strong gender dysphoria can be, that I am the way I am today... but I digress.

Long story short, I currently take my hormone medication in the form of a simple self injection, usually into one of my thighs. While putting a needle into myself was also something I had to psych myself up to do, what with my phobia's, after so many years it was routine enough now that it was not something I gave much thought to, under normal circumstances... other than to plan my day so that I have some time to take care of it, once every few weeks. Officially, my prescription calls for it to be administered every two weeks... but after so long, many times I just forget. Eventually, I start having "hot flashes"... menopausal symptoms... which reminds me to give myself a shot. But until that happens, I usually don't worry about it.

Usually. But then... time had been something I had too much of, lately, as my shoulder oh so slowly heals... and being bored, I had been reading free stories online...

I smiled, at a stray thought.  «Where on Earth did the silly writing convention of transsexual HRT always starting with a big shot in each hip come from, anyway? I mean... adverse reactions can and do happen, even with 'human bio-identical' hormones. *Every* currently used HRT protocol that I am familiar with, calls for starting a new patient on half (or less) of the eventual target dosage... and *most* of them recommend against injection HRT entirely -- ESPECIALLY for those new to HRT. What can you do, if you give a massive injection to someone... and they have an adverse reaction to it? Not much, of course. Which is why that particular plan of action is so strongly recommended against... and most places start new patients on ORAL medications, where the doses are much smaller -- and can be flushed out of the body in a matter of hours, rather than weeks, if it becomes necessary for some reason... »

I shrugged.  «Ah, well. It is only fiction, right? Except... there are a *lot* of "do it yourself-ers" out there. People who ask questions on TS forums (sometimes) that make it obvious that they are getting their -- real world, actual life-depending-on -- information from some of those fictional stories. Yikes... »

With a shake of my head, I returned my straying thoughts to my own injection. Between my unusual enzyme issues -- which result in the break down of many medications (including oral hormones) ridiculously quickly, making them fairly useless for me -- and my sensitive skin (allergic to most adhesives... including those on hormone 'patches'), I actually was one of the few people for whom injections were a practical necessity, rather than a fictional plot device. Although in my (post op) case, the dosage was small enough, that a single injection to one of my thighs, was the usual regimen that I followed.

Not a double shot in the hips. Grin.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 08:30

The pamphlet sitting in front of me read "WELCoS"... which I gathered stood for 'Women's Employment and Life Counselling Services'...

The address on that pamphlet had lead me to what looked to be a small, old fashioned elementary school... except that the former school name had been removed, replaced with a tiny sign by the door with this acronym on it. On venturing inside, I had found pretty much what I had guessed -- an obsolete school, converted for use as something else... although that conversion mostly seemed to be in the form of replacing children's desks with adult sized tables and chairs. A few minutes of wandering around had quickly led me to find the particular classroom I wanted, whose number was on the letter accompanying that pamphlet.

Glancing around, I found myself in a small group of about a dozen women... ranging in age from late teens, to early forties, at a guess, with most in their early to mid twenties. Pretty ordinary women, at first blush... although the group *did* seem to include a higher percentage of thin, nervous looking women, than one would expect... plus a couple with old bruises, as well as one with a cast on her arm...

The package I had received had included a packet of free city transit bus coupons, so I had decided to save gas money by taking the bus -- almost to my regret, as I had nearly been late, what with the first two buses that drove on by without stopping -- being already packed full to peak capacity with morning commuters. Which is to say, I had little choice about where I sat, merely scrambling to get to the last remaining open seat -- in the back row, center, oddly enough. For some reason, I would have expected the back row to fill up first... but then, these *were* all adults, who actually wanted to be here -- not school children.

Considering the nature of the group... women on the run from sexual or physical abuse, for the most part... I was also somewhat surprised to see a male staff member enter the room... although, admittedly, he gave off very heavy "gay" vibes, so maybe that wasn't so surprising. Even the most nervous seeming women barely reacted to his presence. He just felt "safe"... although I admit that isn't exactly logical. I am well aware that abusive relationships are extremely common among lesbian couples... although I wasn't sure if that was also true for gay guys...

I won't repeat the opening speech... which was the usual pretty boring orientation sort of thing. "We will be spending this much time studying this topic, that much time covering that"... yada, yada, yada. About the only thing that really stuck in my mind, was the part where he had us introduce ourselves to the group. Besides the expected name thing, and a request that we tell a little about what brought us here, and what we were looking to get out of the program... he also had us tell "what was the most challenging thing you ever did in your life."

As I listened to the others talk, one at a time, a part of me was glad I was in the back row -- and that he had started from the front. You see, I had some serious thinking to do... as I listened to the other women talk about the abuses that had resulted in them being here. Some really serious issues, and ones that I could really relate to... except, if I were going to get much out of talking about similar issues, I would pretty much have to talk about some things I *never* usually talked about. Things involving my unusual past. Things that normally were not things I even thought about... but which *were* all tied together in my mind, with the issues I was currently having... and if I were going to get the full benefit from this program, I would pretty much *have* to take even that small influence into consideration...

Around and around, my thoughts went... as my turn approached ever closer...

Taking a deep breath, and staring straight ahead, I made my final choice, for better or for worse, just as my time ran out.

"Hi. My name is Crystal... and I suppose the hardest thing I ever did, was to have a sex change operation..."

You could have heard the proverbial pin drop.

Well, other than the sounds of people turning in their seats to stare. If I had wanted reassurances that no one had read me beforehand, I would guess from the utterly shocked expressions around me that I had just gotten it. Big time.

The instructor was the first to recover, although even he seemed like someone had just punched him unexpectedly. His eyes shifted around the classroom, as he obviously tried to assess the reaction of the group.

Finally, he spoke. "Umm. I think this would be a good time to remind everyone that this program has a zero tolerance policy on abuse of anyone, and that we have an official policy of GLBT acceptance..."

With another glance at me, he added, "And perhaps I should also remind you all that what is shared within these sessions, is intended to stay within the group..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 10:05.

Heh. If we were little children, I suppose they would call this "recess". As it was, it was called a coffee break... but it felt like much the same thing, given the surroundings. Especially since I don't actually drink coffee...

Actually, apparently neither did a whole lot of people in my group... or at least, they did not seem in any hurry to get coffee -- despite there being a free dispenser in the corner of the classroom.

Oddly enough, they seemed to want to talk with me. It would seem my gamble had paid off...

At first, right after my little announcement, there had definitely been more than a little tension in the group... which had shown up in a reluctance to talk about what had brought them here. But to give credit where it is due, the instructor seemed to see that... and managed to draw out of me more and more details about my own recent troubles. A discussion that gradually relaxed the group, as it became more and more apparent that I really *did* belong there, in that group. That I had similar life experiences to theirs, and similar problems. That I was one of them... and not whatever they had first assumed.

Strange. In retrospect, I had been noticing things like that a lot, in the last month. How being assaulted had given me a 'common bond'... an ice breaker, with many women, that caused them to open up with me, in a way I had not seen previously. Women at the shelters. My female doctor. Others. And now, here it was again, in the support group...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 12:35.

"Hi Michelle," I casually greeted her in passing, as I noticed her at the sinks while I headed more or less straight into an open cubicle, from the washroom doorway.

I had seen her around the WELCoS facility a few times in the last couple days, though we had not really spoken. There were several different programs being run here, including one intended to help former prostitutes get off the street, by providing them with alternate job training. I had vaguely known she was in that other program... but it was based in another wing of the school, so our paths rarely crossed. Actually, I had heard that there were three or four TS in that other program, although Michelle was the only one I even remotely knew.

Or perhaps I should say, "obvious TS"... since technically I was a TS too -- although the program I was enrolled in was not aware of that when they signed me up. I did not really think of myself as such, usually... but then, having "outed" myself here, deliberately, to the dozen women in my group... I was being reminded of it a bit lately, in occasional tiny ways. Little things, that another person might not have noticed... but which, having lived for years *without* that sort of thing, just served to remind me of why I usually live completely stealth. The difference between 'tolerance', and 'acceptance'... although at least things were slowly going back towards true acceptance for me. An advantage of being truly passable, I suppose... people tend to forget, unless you do something to remind them.

While I was in the stall, I was reminded of why I prefer stealth yet again. I heard Michelle leave... and a minute later, two other women come in -- talking about Michelle, behind her back. Not voices I recognized... but then, there were half a dozen different programs in this facility, and several hundred women in total, in those programs.

"Jesus, I can't believe that they let *things* like that in here. I thought I was gonna burst, waiting for it to leave..."

Another woman's voice replied... in fairness, sounding more than a little ill at ease from her friend's remark. "Umm, I heard that legally she is considered female, so she does sorta hafta use the women's washroom, rather than the guy's..."

"'She'? Please... gimme a break. 'It' has a penis. It's a guy..."

Exiting my stall, I was almost tempted to create a scene... but they were already in other stalls by then, and... well... what can I say? I hate confrontations. Especially _those_ sort of confrontations -- which many years of experience have taught me rarely accomplish anything. You can only teach someone if they are *willing* to listen... which people with attitudes like _that_ rarely are...

I did not feel particularly good about myself, though, as I quietly washed my hands, then left...

I did make a mental note, however, to go out of my way to be publicly friendly with any of the school's TS that I encountered... whether I knew them or not. Sometimes, the only way to reach people like that is through example -- and as I was *not* being read as TS by most people there (other than the women in my group, who 'knew'), perhaps I could use that. Set an example, as a 'natal female', of how other women *should* be acting. It might not work -- especially if the women in my group let it be generally known that I was TS... which had not happened *yet*, but might easily yet happen. Slightly risky... but... still... I thought it was worth a try.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 18:35.

It was chilly out this evening... quite a change from the heat-wave of only a week ago, but then, that was weather in northern Canada for you. Sunny and warm in the morning... and a blizzard in the evening. Or vice versa. At least this year, it was already early September -- and we had not had any snow, yet. Although that felt like a distinct possibility, this evening...

Wednesday night was "Food Bank" night, according to Michelle... at least, for people living in our part of the city. The doors would open around seven, for those who could not make it during the day. As a full time student "Learner", that was the time slot I was eligible for... again, according to Michelle.

As you might guess from how I phrased that, I had never actually been to a food back, before, though... so I really wasn't too sure of what to expect. Fortunately, the food bank was within walking distance of our shelter, and while it was not a great neighbourhood, I felt at least marginally "safe" in walking over there with another woman from the shelter. I had dressed warm, though, thanks to the current temperatures. A form fitted white, three quarter length winter jacket, although I had detached the fur trimmed hood -- it wasn't *that* cold, yet. Or at least, not by northern Canadian standards... where winter temperatures are occasionally well below minus forty degrees. Tonight was just a slightly "brisk", chilly fall evening... still a least slightly above freezing. A refreshing chance to stretch my legs, after sitting around in a classroom all day.

Actually, as I stood in line outside the food bank -- Michelle had recommended being there at least half an hour early -- I almost wished I had not bothered digging out my winter jacket. Not because I did not appreciate the warm, but rather... because the bright white, _clean_ coat, made such a contrast with the other people standing in line...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 19:15.

Sadly, the entire contents of the small food bags they had given me easily fit in the small daypack I was wearing. And that was it... all the food I was eligible for, for the entire month of September. Mostly items already past their expiration date, or very nearly so -- items that stores could no longer sell, donated as in 'still usable' condition... in theory for immediate consumption, although in practice we had to try to stretch them out for the whole month.

Slipping the light pack onto my shoulders, I climbed up the stairs from the food bank basement where they were dispersing their limited donations, to one person at a time. Outside, I paused for a moment, fixing in my mind the best route home. Not the *shortest* route... but the *best*, for a single woman walking alone in this area... as the woman I had walked over with appeared to be already gone.

"Did you have any problems?"

Startled, I glanced off to my side, noting that Ron... a guy I had been chatting with earlier, while waiting in line... was apparently waiting for me.

"No, thank you. It took a little longer for me, since it was my first time here and there was some paperwork to fill out... but everything worked out fine. How about yourself?"

He just twitched a single shoulder, in a sort of lopsided shrug. "I'm a regular here, so it's pretty much a routine..."

He hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. "You know, you really seem out of place, here. An angel, from the other side of the tracks... you just don't belong here. I'm worried about your walking home alone, even if it is still daylight. I know you don't really know me, but -- would ya mind if I accompanied you?"

It was my turn to hesitate, as I tried to remember what he had shared earlier. As best as I could recall, he done some time for 'pandering'... but claimed to have learned his lesson, and been out for a year now. He was working as a driver for a local charity... a job that didn't really pay much, at all. But as the same charity ran this food bank, he was allowed to supplement his income by drawing food from it. Not exactly sterling qualifications... but, he also had not struck me as a 'violent' person, in our earlier conversation. Quite the opposite, actually -- and from my talks with various sex trade workers, I *did* know that not all pimps are animals that beat up their women. Some of them are fairly decent people... little more than business managers. Not all, by any stretch of the imagination... but some.

For a moment, I seriously considered whether or not to accept his offer -- only to feel panic welling up inside me, at the thought of trusting a guy. Any guy. Strangely enough, it was that very panic that decided me -- as I knew that I needed to face my fears, if I was ever to get past them.

"Thank you. I would like that..."

At first, I was so tense that I could barely manage to keep up my end of the conversation, as we walked. But by the time we arrived at my shelter -- completely unharmed, as he had been a perfect gentleman -- I found my anxieties subsiding enough that I actually entered his phone number into my cell phone's memory, when he gave it to me. I don't know if I will ever take him up on that date offer... but... just maybe...

Someday. Not right away, though. I may be able to consciously override my fears, occasionally... but there *are* limits to what I can do...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 00:51.

I tried to gasp silently, as I struggled for breath... not wanting to wake Angela. After a few minutes, my shakes subsided enough that I could slip out of bed.

 «A bad one. Okay, what did you expect, spending time around a guy like that? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 06:10.

"...Ina zumri ya la tetixxi ye
Ina zumri ya la taqarruba
Ina zumri ya la tasaniqa
Ni yish shammash kabtu lu tamatunu..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 11:

Early September, Thursday, 12:05.

Rochelle paused, as she was about to enter the washroom... hesitating, as she belately remembered about me from the group.

She blushed, as she said, "Umm, do you... I mean... are you allowed in here...?"

I rolled my eyes at her, with a trace of a smile dancing about my lips. "Yes, Rochelle. I am female -- physically and legally. It's not like I am allowed to go into a men's room or something, anymore..."

To give her credit, Rochelle had obviously never met anyone remotely like me, before this week. From what she had shared outside of group, I gathered she had lived a rather sheltered life, growing up in an intensely religious, Roman Catholic family... before marrying right out of high school, and being a 'stay at home' mom to the two children she quickly had... before finally leaving, after the _latest_ time her abusive husband beat her up and put her in hospital. A bit on the naive side, about some things... but basically a really good person. Unlike that other woman, the previous day, I had hopes that Rochelle *could* learn... and hence, was quite willing to talk to her about all sorts of stuff, that I don't normally talk about.

Even when she made the occasional social blunder, as now...

After pausing for a second or two to think about it, she just nodded acceptance... then continued leading the way into the washroom, picking up our earlier conversation where she had left off.

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 19:25.

"Yes?" I asked, opening the door to Nasrine, our neighbour down the hall.

"Uh, hi Crystal. I was just wondering if you could watch my daughter again next Friday evening, from six-ish to around ten or so?"

I blinked in surprise at being asked... but then, I *was* one of the older women currently in the shelter, and I suppose the fact that I had no drug problems, or whatever, *would* be something a single, teenage mom might consider a big plus around here -- even if I did not have a lot of experience with kids...

"Umm, sure, I guess. Although I had been thinking of going to that "Reclaim the Night" march then... but I suppose I could skip that."

"Oh, don't do that! I have a stroller you could use... and little Zahra loves it when I take her out in that -- the vibrations usually make her go right to sleep, even if she has been fussy earlier. I promise, she won't be any trouble at all..."

"O-kay... Well, in that case, I suppose I would love to take care of her for you..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Monday, 10:35.

Most of what is talked about in group, is not my story to disclose... but, there are a few things that can be shared, without betraying confidences. Generally speaking, the women in that group were there because of 'abuse' issues. Women on the run, from battering significant others... rape victims... and similar stories. One of the frequent characteristics of abusers is that they often tend to be very 'controlling', in many cases attempting to isolate the victim from others, so that she can't tell anyone. That often results in women on the run being poorly equipped to support themselves... as they may have not worked in many years, if ever (depending on how young they were when they enterred that relationship).

Consequently, while much of the time we were talking about personal relationships... and things like 'red flags', by which we could recognize falling into similar relationships in the future... a fair amount of time was devoted to 'non-confidential' things, too. Basic schooling, on things like how to write a résumé. How to be a good employee. What sort of jobs best fit our individual personalities, so that we could go out to find not just *any* old job, but one we might actually enjoy doing. Jobs that did *not* just pay minimum wage, but enough that we would be financially stable in the future...

Simply, giving us the tools we needed, to start life over... overcoming the fears that the abuse had (in some cases) literally beaten into us. A way to make us functional, useful members of society, again. Not really mentioned, but obvious if you read between the lines... teaching us how to 'get out of the system', and stand on our own... so that we could stop being 'drains' on taxpayers' dollars, and start paying taxes. A little detail that no doubt explains why the government was willing to pay for all this -- it costs a *lot* less to teach someone how to fish, once, than it does to *keep* giving them fish every day for the rest of their lives...

This particular morning was one of many where, rather than talk about our individual problems, the focus was on more "general purpose" personality profile testing... things intended to help us know ourselves, so that we could relate better to others -- since many participants in these programs have "issues" with either personal, or professional (work) relationships...

While I suppose there are arguments for and against the assorted individual tests we took... such as the "Meyer-Briggs Type Indicator" tests we were doing today, or the four quandrant DiSC [Dominance, Influence, Stability, and Compliance] Graphing and similar four "True Color" personality types that we were to take later in the course.

 «Tests that were obviously created down south in the States, what with the strange spellings of words like "Color" and "Counselor"... »

They are just tools, however... things intended to help us understand *why* people do what they do. What the different types of people want... how they are motivated... how they learn, and understand things. Tools that help one to understand just *why* it is that we might, for example, keep running into problems dealing with a particular boss, or husband, or whomever. Things to help us realize, just why we sometimes might end up in conflict with our loved ones -- since, to use another example, some people are verbally oriented, and want their partner to constantly *tell* them that they love them... while other people might be action oriented, and prefer to *show* someone that they love them, *without* using words -- which can result in both parties getting rather annoyed with the other side, if they don't realize what is going on...

A grossly simplified approach to psychology -- but then, this was not some four year university program. We only had a small fragment of one year in which to learn this stuff... so of necessity, simplification had to happen. Despite that 'crash course' approach to complex issues... and despite the fact that I actually already had many years of formal psychology training... I must admit that I found some of this "simplified" stuff rather interesting.

Take my own case, which I can talk about without betraying anyone else. My MBTI scoring is "INFJ"... which according to Dr Keirsey's books, translates as "Idealist Counselor". A rare bird... less than three percent of people are like me, according to these tests. Whatever. The part of that particular profile that I found most amusing was, "They are highly private people..." and "...they value their integrity a great deal, but they have mysterious, intricately woven personalities which sometimes puzzle even themselves."

Grin.  «Got that right, fer sure. That's me in a nutshell... confused as to who I am... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Wednesday, 12:55.

Class had not started yet after the lunch break... but a few of us were already back, idly chatting while waiting for the others. I was hanging up my coat, when suddenly one of them asked me something.

"Umm, sorry, what was that?" I blinked, sure that I had not heard her right.

"I said, are your boobs entirely fake? You know... like silicon implants..."

My mouth opened... but nothing came out.  «Too weird, or what... where did *that* question come from? »

Before I could gather up my fragmented thoughts, she added, "Oh, wait! I remember now... you said something, back when we were talking about nursing babies, about how you had never really done that... but *had* experienced lactation before. So, your boobs are real, right?"

She didn't wait for a reply, just nodding decisively as if agreeing with herself... then turning away to talk with another group-mate.

 «Wait, what just happened here? Is it just me, or was that a *really* strange conversation? »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 12:05.

I paused in the middle of changing clothes, looking closely at one of my group-mates. "Umm... can I ask you something *really* strange?"

She froze for a moment, before continuing to change into her own running clothes. "Sure, I guess. What's up?"

"Well... you have about the same physical build that I do... and... well... before I came here and you talked a few of us into running on the track with you at lunch every day, I never really was much for running. Mostly cycling, walking, skiing, swimming, or whatever... but never really jogging or running."

I chewed on my lip for a moment, before continuing, "Anyway, you know about my 'unusual' past, right? So... there are some things that come 'naturally' to me... and others that I actually have to study people, to figure out. I noticed yesterday that while my wide hips cause me to not really run like a 'guy'... I don't really run the way you do, either. Not surprising, I guess, since the last time I really did much running was as a school kid, where people kept beating me up because I ran or walked 'like a girl' -- and hence, I learned to tighten up various muscles, to try and avoid that. But..."

I paused again, before adding, "Well, I don't really need to worry about that sort of thing anymore, but I *do* like to just blend in with other women. All of which is a roundabout way of asking... would you mind if I ran behind you today, so that I could study *exactly* what you are doing when you run... and try to mimic it?"

Her eyes got a bit bigger, and she froze again -- as she often did, whenever I did *anything* that reminded her that I was not, quite, like her. One of many reasons why normally I try very hard not to do that... although, unfortunately, learning to "blend in" sometimes involved being obvious, at least once.

Usually, I try to figure things like this out just by quietly doing some "people watching", from a distance. But in this case, I encounter women about my own height, about my own build, and *running* -- as well as close enough to myself, for long enough, that I could actually see exactly how they were moving -- so infrequently, that I had just given up on "subtle", and gone for openly asking. I suppose I could have just tried "stalking" her, following her around the track without telling her what I was doing or why... but... she *was* in a program for recent assault victims, which made *that* a _seriously_ bad idea...

"Uh... sure, I guess." She laughed, then continued. "Just don't follow too close -- knowing that you're watching may make me so self-conscious that I'll probably trip over my own feet..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 12:45.

While looking around the cafeteria for a place to eat my lunch, I casually said, "Hey Michelle, how's it going?"

She glanced up from where she was chatting with someone... from apparances, one of the other TS in her program.

"Hey. Pretty good, actually. I wish I had seen you yesterday -- I was gonna ask you if you wanted to come over for a bit, to wish Kristine luck on her trip."

"Eh? Oh, right... she was leaving for her surgery this morning, wasn't she..."

"Yeah. Umm, sorry, this is Jennifer. Jennifer, this is..."

"Sherry," I interjected quickly but firmly, slightly flaring my eyes and tilting my head at Michelle... who seemed startled for a brief moment, then smoothly went with it.

"Right. Sherry is a friend of mine that I know from the shelter, Jennifer."

"Nice to meet you, Sherry. Sorry to just say hi and run, but I've a couple things I need to do before classes start again..."

I gave her a smile and nod in acknowledgement... ignoring Michelle's own good-byes, while waiting for her to ask the question that I could see in her eyes.

"Umm, 'Sherry'? What was that all about?"

I sighed, although I had known the question would probably be asked. "I just thought there might be a chance you would want to share with her that I used to be 'TS' at some point... and as I live stealth, normally, I prefer to keep my real name out of conversations like that. Remember how I kept you in the dark about my name, for so many months? Same thing... unless someone really *needs* to know my name, I simply prefer to use an alias, with anyone who knows about my past..."

"Uh, yeah, okay... but... didn't you tell me that you 'outed' yourself here, anyway?"

"Yes... but only to those in my group -- who have shared a lot of secrets of their own with me, as well. Someone may say something, someday... but..."

I shrugged. "It was a calculated risk, of sorts. One that may come back to haunt me, eventually... but also one which I would rather not compound, by adding in unnecessary other parties to this..."

I smirked, rolling my eyes to indicate I wasn't serious. "Besides, then there is the whole other thing, about me being wicce. You do know that true names have power, right? Most of the people in that group only know me by my first name... a couple syllables. A few more people know my first and last names... which is a couple more syllables. Only a very few, closest friends, know my legal first, middle, and last name... which is something like eight or nine or ten syllables -- I forget which, at the moment."

She just rolled her own eyes back at me.

I gave her a slightly more serious look... although there was still a trace of a smile dancing around my lips. "Virtually no one, besides myself, knows all fourteen syllables of my true name. I may not take 'spells' too seriously, most of the time... but I *am* careful about things like that..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Thursday, 13:10.

For whatever reason, the instructor was late. I suppose I should mention that the gay guy from the first session was just an administrator, there for the first day -- Shyla, our group instructor, was a young woman in her mid-to-late twenties... or possibly, a bit older than that. A nice woman, I got the feeling she might have been a graduate of this program herself, at some point... as she was constantly coming up with very real, *practical* examples, that just felt like she actually *knew* _exactly_ where we were coming from...

Anyway, we were in the classroom... but class was not in session. So I wasn't really surprised when Rochelle leaned forward to chat with me, from her spot at the next table over.

"Hey Crystal, can I ask you something kinda personal?"

"Sure. I may not answer... but you can always ask."

"Why do you hang out with them, anyway? The ones you were talking to, at lunch. They are so obviously men, and you are so feminine... you just don't seem anything like them..."

From someone else, that comment might have seriously annoyed me. Especially the 'men' part, although in fairness I doubt she had any idea how hurtful that sort of thing can be to a TS. But I could tell from her tone of voice... her body posture... that the remark wasn't intended in any sort of catty way -- she was obviously genuinely puzzled. And she is a really nice young woman, usually very friendly with everyone. Someone who was quite willing to chat, or whatever, with the other TS whenever she encountered one of them. But... I *had* noticed, previously, that her behaviour *did* alter when she was around them. Not as much as it did when one of the few men at the school came by, but not completely how she is around other women, either...

Unfortunately, her attitude was fairly typical of the other 'natal' women around the school, that I knew. It wasn't the first time I had been asked something like this, and probably wouldn't be the last. My previous attempts to talk about this with others hadn't really gone all that well, actually. Usually, my comments defending my associating with them, or encouraging the 'natal' women to be a little more accepting of the TS... well... it just tended to alienate the natal women. Made them 're-classify' me, in their minds, from 'one of them', to 'one of those others'. At least for a while, until they forgot about it. Something cautionary that was in the back of my mind, as I tried once again to formulate a response...

"You know, I 'transitioned' a long time ago, right? That I have been living as a woman for decades, rather than just a few months or years, as is their case? While I suppose you are right, in one sense, about my being a bit 'different' from them... well, you have to keep in mind, that, whatever their actual calendar age, they are still quite 'young'."

I smiled with half of my face. "A lot of trans folk have a real problem when they hit puberty. They *feel* like a girl inside... but their outer shell is turning unmistakably into 'something else'. And if they make the mistake of letting other people catch even a _glimpse_ of the girl inside that shell... well, 'harsh' things tend to happen. So... a *lot* of trans folk create 'walls' around their core persona... their inner child. Protective walls, that hide the child within from the ridicule and hurtful actions of others, while their outer, 'false persona' -- the pretence they put on for the benefit of the rest of the world -- deals with things for them."

I frowned, thoughtfully. "A sort of split personality often happens, although not in the classical sense. There is only one true personality, but often two distinct personas. And the important part, at least for what we are talking about, is that the 'inner girl' is shielded away... never really interacting with the world, and consequently, never really growing up."

I gave a sort of tilted nod. "That is what you are seeing, with the others. Someday, they will be mature women... and act like it. But right now, however old they may look on the outside, they are closer to teenage girls, inside. *Troubled* teenage girls, struggling to find their way in the world -- often without a whole lot of guidance. They are not really teenagers, of course... and their actual former life experiences mean that they will 'mature' very quickly... but 'quickly' is often measured in months or years, rather than days or weeks. Usually, about a year of 'fast maturing', for every decade of 'real age'... until their inner and outer ages align. In the mean time... you sort of have to cut them some slack..."

I made a face, rolling my eyes. "Yuck. Listen to me babbling away... I make it sound like they haven't a clue at all... which isn't the case. Most of them do fairly well -- they just have a few rough edges... and that isn't really my point, anyway. Mostly, I just meant... give them time. They may seem very different from me, right now... but in even a couple years, you might be surprised just how much they will change..."

I shrugged. "It's not even remotely the same, of course, but you might try thinking about your own young daughter. How well do you think she would do, if something happened to you and she ended up being raised by your jerk of an ex-husband? Treated more or less as a boy, until she was in her teens... and then tossed out to fend for herself? Sure, I could ignore the others, if I wanted to. But... is that what you would want for your own daughter, if *she* were the 'odd one out'? The young woman, who, simply because she mised out on a few things while growing up, doesn't really know *how* to 'behave properly' with other women. Would you want *her* isolated, ignored by her peers? Or would you hope that people would ignore her mistakes, and give her a chance to learn?"

She didn't say that she agreed with me... but, at least, she *did* seem rather thoughtful, as the instructor arrived and called for the attention of the group...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 12:45.

One of the nice things about the WELCoS school, was that they were very much 'realists'. They *knew* that many of the people in their various programs had all sorts of 'complications' going on in their lives -- case workers that they had to meet with, for some... parole officers for others... children that needed daycare arrangements made... financial instabilities that might cause them to move frequently -- all kinds of things. So rather than fight with that unavoidable fact of life, they made allowances for it -- by scheduling into the timetable afternoons "off", when we could take care of "other business".

All of which is to say, I had the afternoon off... and had some errands to run. In particular, one errand that I was not really looking forward to, but which needed to be done.

I had been tested for HIV once, at the first shelter... and would need to be tested again in late October, regardless of any other tests I had done... but, if I was going to have that little fistula problem taken care of by my gynaecologist next week, I really needed to be tested yet again before then. She had been willing to do the first repairs without a test, what with it being so soon after the 'incident' that it was unlikely any infection would have spread yet... but would not do further surgery on me without such a test -- that first test in the shelter didn't really count, since it was too soon after the 'incident' for the test to be reliable.

While it had only been a bit over six weeks, now, meaning a test still would not be one hundred percent reliable... most people develop detectable anti-bodies with twenty-five days, and I was well over that. After discussing the matter over the phone, my doctor had agreed to operate now, if I tested 'clean'. Actually, I think she would rather have waited the full three months -- but she knew my problem was slowly getting worse, and that time was a factor in successful treatment...

Even three months wouldn't really have been 'one hundred percent'. In less than three percent of cases, the antibodies may take up to six months to show up -- which would have been *way* too long to wait, without compromising my health. A calculated risk... and perhaps not one all doctors would take, but, well, I guess I was lucky. Although if I had *really* been lucky, I wouldn't be in this mess in the first place...

"Crystal? Can you come with me, please? The examination room is down this hall..."

Funny. It really wasn't that long of a hallway, in an absolute sense. But... just knowing it I was in the local Rape Clinic, and what I was about to be tested for, made the hallway seem a *whole* lot longer...

 «There should be a sound track playing right now... something suitably eerie and ominous -- not the classical music that is actually coming out of the ceiling speakers... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 13:08.

Casually looking through the little, plain paper bag that I had been given at the end of my 'visit'... I was rather amused at some of the contents.

 «Cute. I have *heard* of female condoms before... but this is the first time I have ever actually *seen* one. I wonder if I could even use one of these things? The instructions say that the inner ring needs to be up against the cervix -- and I don't actually *have* a cervix. Not to mention how *big* that inner ring looks... although... it *does* say _that_ is removable. Hmm... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 14:10.

 «Apparently, 'yes'. I think. If I am reading this right. Weird, some of the useless information you can find on the internet... who *writes* this stuff, anyway? 'Hey, honey, what did you do today at work'... 'Oh, just wrote and produced a video about how to insert a female condom' -- NOT. »

 «Well, at least I can't imagine doing that myself. Maybe. Although... I suppose it *is* something that *someone* needed to do. Just glad it wasn't me... »

 «I think I will pass on actually trying to use one, personally, though... even if I *do* now have some free samples. »

 «Well... probably. I think... »

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 18:25.

"Thanks again, Crystal. I really appreciate your taking Zahra for me, this evening. I just fed and changed her... so with any luck, once she settles down you won't have any problems at all. The stroller is locked up outside, chained to the front door stairs' railing... and the key is here, clipped to the side pocket of diaper bag. Bottles in the other pocket, that should normally go in the fridge... but as you won't really be able to heat those if she gets hungry on the walk, maybe just let one of them warm up to room temperature -- it should be okay for a couple hours like that, I hope..."

Trying to gracefully transfer the baby from her arms to my own... without a lot of success, although at least I did not drop her... I replied. "No problem, Nasrine. You said you would be home around ten or ten thirty?"

"Yeah, should be something like that. I should be done by nine thirty, actually... but bus services at that time of night aren't the greatest, and it's too far to walk. I *think* there's a bus that gets here around quarter after, though..."

"Okay. Do you have a cell phone where I can reach you if there is a problem?"

She winced. "Umm... sorry. It's on a pay-as-you-go plan... and I'm outta minutes right now, and can't afford to buy more until my next cheque. But really, there shouldn't be a problem..."

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Friday, 19:45.

Well, for a wonder, Nasrine was actually right, this time. Zahra had settled down in a couple minutes, without a peep since then -- even when I carried her downstairs, and put her into the stroller.  «At least that little cold snap is over, and it's warmed back up to something a little milder... »

Glancing around, I found that most of the small group of women from the shelter, those who had said they were likely to come tonight, were already outside. After waiting just a couple more minutes for any stragglers, we set off together. I suppose there is a little irony in that -- the five of us were on our way to a 'Reclaim the Night' walk... which in theory at least, was about making it safe for women to walk the streets alone... and here we were, walking to it in a group... for safety reasons.

Zahra had fussed just a little a couple times on the moderately short walk downtown, as the stroller bumped over occasional obstacles (my fault... rookie driver, what can I say?), but always quieted shortly afterwards. At the rally point itself, most of the others split up into groups of one or two, and although I noticed Michelle not too far away, I found myself caring for the baby by myself... at least, for a minute. It did not take long, however, before a couple strangers noticed the baby and came over...

 «Still sleeping peacefully... she looks so angelic, like that... »

"What a beautiful baby! How old is she...?"

Not the most scintillating of conversations... but it was one that I would have repeatedly, as the evening progressed. Eventually, I gave up on telling people that I was just babysitting... it was simply a lot easier to just say "yes, she's mine", than to keep answering the same questions over and over again, about how her mother had given me permission to bring Zahra here, tonight.

For those who have never been to one, the "Reclaim the Night" walk that I was at is a rather interesting experience, in some ways. At least at the particular local one that I was at... and I think at others, since I gather this thing is hosted in many cities around the world, at various times of the year. The format is simply a gathering of hundreds (sometimes, thousands) of women, a presentation involving several speeches, and then a candle-lit walk along a pre-selected march route.

Being outdoors, the inexpensive white candles had little paper cups mounted on them, to shield the flames from the wind. Although you did have to be careful not to set the cup on fire, it really wasn't a problem -- I think I only saw one woman manage to make that mistake, and all she had to do was hold it out by the very end of the candle until the paper finished burning away.

I suppose, since Michelle was here and drawing the attention of more than a few people, I should mention that the event is specifically intended to be for "all women" -- which is explicitly inclusive of "trans women", to use the organizers terminology. I wish I could say that she was being welcomed whole-heartedly... but from what I was noticing, it seemed a mixed reaction. Some people approaching her, being friendly... but others, behind her back, doing things like rolling their eyes, or shrugging, in silent communication with others, when they saw her. Small victories, I guess. I have heard that in the past, at some of these events, "trans women" were asked to leave -- and at least now, *most* people were being friendly... with the dissenters at least keeping quiet about it.

Sometimes, for her sake, I really wished that Michelle passed better... there were so many little things like tonight, where, being "not read", I was able to see one reaction from people... while she had to deal with a different one. Sad, really. I do genuinely admire her strength and courage. Though... I honestly don't know if I could handle it, having to cope with that sort of thing all the time. She made it seem so easy to do, but I suspect it hurt her, inside...

It's funny, really. Most of the time, I don't really think about being a woman. I just am one, busy with my everyday activities. But... sometimes... like at this "women only" event, intended to raise awareness about violence against women -- a subject rather close to my heart, at present -- you can't help but stop and think about it. The good parts. The bad. The little things, that make you proud to be a woman...

And then there was the other matter, of being out with Zahra. Not really my baby... but... being around so many women, most of whom assumed she *was* my baby... talking with them, exchanging all the little stories about their own children... it really stirred something, within me.

In some ways, it was just a walk. Push baby stroller to the rally point... stand around for a few minutes listening to speeches... collect candle, then form a line with hundreds of other women... follow the pack more or less single file, along the several kilometre long route back to the staging area. Then go home again. A casual evening stroll... except, well, there *were* all those other women there, and we talked. Sometimes about nothing much... sometimes, all sorts of little things. Plus there were the thoughts roaming through my head, as we did all this.

I am rather glad I went. Even if my shoulder was killing me, by the time I got home...

~ ~ 0 ~ ~