Chapter 7: New Horizons

Brian finally got to tell Amanda about the tryouts at lunch time, as they gathered and we alone for a few minutes in the cafeteria before the others arrived.

“Did you get chosen?” she asked eagerly.

“I don’t know yet, but they’re supposed to call Friday and let me know,” he answered.

“I’ll bet you made it. That Claire lady was so excited about you.”

He blushed. “Well, she whispered to me that I was the prettiest girl, if that means anything.”

“I think you are.”

“Oh, and I met the nicest girl there, one of the other girls trying out. We just hit it off so well. Her name’s Kelli and I hope you can meet her sometime. We’d have so much fun.”

“Does she know about you?” Amanda asked.

“No, and I don’t know if she’d still be a friend once she finds out,” he confessed.

“If she’s as nice as you say, I think she will.”

“I hope so.”

“Maybe she’d like to come over a work out at my place with us sometime?”

“That’d be cool. She thinks she’s too fat but I think she’s pretty.” Brian smiled.

“She sounds like she’s just like you and me in a way.”

“She is,” he giggled.

Janet was the next to join them, and soon the table was full of girls, except for Brian, of course.

*****
Brian tried to hurry home from school on Friday, eager to await Claire’s call from Fashion Girl to see if he was chosen to be one of the models for the store’s new “Teen Plus” line of clothes. That day, however, Marietta was dawdling with her girl friends when he went to pick her up at School. She and Tamara stood with three other girls, giggling and pushing each other around, until he interrupted and told his sister to pick up her book bag and start for home. She scowled at him, but did as she was told and they hurried home, his sister wondering what the rush was all about.

He was saddened when he got home to find a voice message from Claire for his mother, telling her to return the call after she got home from work, even if it was evening. Claire left her home phone number, with instructions saying “I don’t mind being bothered at home, Mrs. Kendall, up to about 10:30. So please call.”

“What does that mean, Amanda?” he said, calling his friend immediately.

“It could mean anything, Bailey,” Amanda said, reverting to his girl’s name. It was a habit of hers to use “Bailey” when they were alone.

“I suppose, but you’d think Miss Claire would have at least said whether I was chosen or not.”

“You said everyone, even some of the other girls, thought you were the prettiest one there so maybe Miss Claire just has some legal stuff to talk over with your mom first.”

“I guess so, but I’m worried about it anyway.”

“I think you made it, Bailey,” she said.

Amanda’s words temporarily stifled Brian’s anxiety, and, after assuring that Marietta was settled down, he began preparing for dinner, still wondering what Claire would be telling his mother.

“At least let me get my clothes changed, Bailey,” his mother said when she returned home from work. “It’s been a tough day.”

It was already 7 p.m., and Brian had finished preparing dinner about an hour earlier; he was worried about the chicken pasta dish he prepared might be getting too dry before they ate. Mostly, though, he worried about what Miss Claire would be telling his mother and in that anxiousness he had dipped repeatedly and nervously into a half gallon of ice cream for large scoops of the marvelous substance, enjoying its smooth, cool texture and heavenly vanilla taste. He had consumed at least half the container, he realized, but couldn’t help it. It seemed his thighs and tummy must have thickened as he ate.

His mother waited until after dinner to call, reasoning that Miss Claire may not want her own dinner interrupted.

He watched while his mother talked with Claire, nodding her head, saying an occasional “yes,” or “ok” and finally, “Yes, I understand.”

As the phone conversation appeared to be ending, his mother’s face took on a grim expression, and she said:

“I know she’ll be disappointed, but I understand, of course, Claire. I appreciate everything you have done. You tried.”

She hung up the phone.

“What, mom? I didn’t get chosen.”

He wanted to cry and his mother gathered him in her arms, drawing him tightly against her own ample breasts, patting his head from behind. And his tears began, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“Actually, honey, you did get chosen,” she began, after he had quieted down and both were seated opposite each other on kitchen chairs.

“But what’s wrong then?”

“Well the judges all unanimously wanted you, as did Miss Claire, but when she went to the Human Resources Department to begin the paperwork, they vetoed it.”

“Why, if everyone liked me? I thought I did a good job, too.”

“You did and the photographer thought you were the easiest of the girls to get into the proper poses. All of that counted. But, it’s your gender, the fact that you’re a boy underneath that Human Resources didn’t like.”

“Oh mom, it’s so unfair.”

“I know honey, but in some people’s eyes you are too different, and the store was afraid if the fact got out that you were actually a boy and not a real girl that would be wrong and a bad influence on teen girls and boys.”

“Mom, mom, what can I do? Can’t we fight this?”

“I don’t see how, honey. The store has a point. Not everyone would look kindly upon you. I know they’re just narrow-minded, but that’s how it is.”

Brian nodded, his tears drying. He looked at his mother, her squat chunky figure slumped in the chair, obviously fatigued and sad. He loved her so much.

“I’ll do the dishes, mom. You can rest.”

“You’re so sweet Bailey,” his mother said, “A mother couldn’t have a better daughter.”

She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. For some reason, Brian felt better.

*****
The sting of not being selected dominated his feelings that night as he stood before the bathroom mirror applying the facial cream that he did nightly. He loved that part of preparing for his bed, dressed usually in a nighty with thin straps over the shoulders. He brushed his long hair slowly and deliberately, reflecting upon how totally lovely he looked in the dress he’d worn for the tryout.

Kelli’s mom had taken pictures of Kelli and some of the girls in the tryout, and Brian hoped that she had also recorded how he had looked. Everyone said he made one of the prettiest and most photogenic of the girls trying out, and he was eager to see if Mrs. McBrady had photographed the girl Bailey as she modeled the dress.

“I don’t see why they couldn’t have chosen me, mom,” he had said to his mother. “You never see the girl’s names on the model pictures in advertisement. Everybody thinks I’m a girl anyway. Who could tell the difference?”

“Oh honey,” his mother replied. “You should start realizing that everything in this world is not fair, and so many people can’t understand why a boy like yourself might feel more like a girl.”

“Oh mom, am I . . . ah . . . ah . . .some freak? Or something weird?”

“No honey, you’re just a bit different from most boys,” his mother replied, looking directly at him. “You may be what is called ‘transgendered,’ that is, a boy who feels he should be a girl. You’re not alone; there are lots of men who feel that way.”

“How do you know that, mommy?” He had asked.

“Mrs. Henderson and I have been doing some research,” she replied, referring to the mother of Tamara, for whom he baby-sat for two days a week. “You were born physically as a boy, but something in your genes is telling you that you really are a girl in side.”

“Really, mom?”

“That’s what it looks like, anyway, and I’ve made an appointment with a doctor at the Vincent Medical Center for you two weeks from now to see if your feelings are real.”

“You mean to see if I’m crazy, or something?”

“No,” she had laughed. “You’re not crazy honey. You’re just a special and very beautiful child and Dr. Benedict is a specialist trained to work with boys and girls who may be confused about things. He will help us figure out what is best for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, dear, whether you really feel you are a girl, or whether it’s just a passing phase.”

“Oh, mommy, I know I am a girl. Look at me.”

She smiled at him, her eyes becoming bright with tears. “Come give mommy a nice hug, my darling sweet daughter.”

As he stood braiding his hair for the evening sleep, he reflected on that conversation with his mother. What it meant, he realized, was that his visit to Dr. Benedict would perhaps take him down the road to becoming a girl for real. It would be a fearful, but exciting, journey, he felt.

*****
True to his word, Mark came over to the Kendall house to jam a bit on Wednesday after school. It was an afternoon in which he had to pickup both Marietta and Tamara and get them home, but since the two girls were easy to oversee and needed only occasional checks to see if they were not getting into trouble, Brian felt it was OK for the two boys to try playing their musical instruments at the same time. Both his mother, pleased that Brian had found a boy to befriend, and Mrs. Henderson, Tamara’s mother, had felt the arrangement was OK.

When Mark rang the doorbell, Brian was in his room desperately trying to hide evidence of his feminine side in case Mark should venture into the room. He had cosmetics on a table, which had to be placed in a box and placed under his bed, and a pink floral skirt around his student desk in order to create a lovely vanity, which had to be removed. He could do nothing about the pink drapes and bed covers. Several pieces of female clothing had to be hidden in his closet, which was stuffed with dresses, skirts, and other lovely items.

Marietta and Tamara rushed to the door to meet Mark and usher him into the house. Brian heard the bell, realized it was likely to be Mark, and finished his “cover-up” chores as best he could. He got into the living room just as Mark was removing his jacket; his trumpet case was sitting at his feet.

Marietta excitedly said: “Here’s your friend, Bailey.”

At first, Marietta’s words didn’t sink in, but Brian realized that with Mark’s surprised look that his sister had used his girl’s name.

“Bailey?” Mark queried.

Brian grew red, but quickly recovered. “Oh that, she calls me that sometime. It’s my middle name.”

“Oh, I just wondered what she meant,” Mark said.

As it turned out, the best place for the two boys to play their music was Brian’s room. There they were able to listen to several jazz CDs on a portable player, and seek to transcribe the music, which meant, in essence, to copy the playing of the jazz master. In this case, it meant trying to duplicate the music of Miles Davis’ “Night in Tunisia.”

“Gosh to play like that would be so hot,” Mark said after listening to several rifts of the trumpet master.

“And I wanna play like Sonny Rollins,” Brian said.

“We got a lot of work to do,” Mark said.

The boys tried to play a few duets together, and after some false starts began to find their notes meshing harmonically. They also took turns doing improvised solos, which their music teacher encouraged, since he was trying to set up a small jazz group among his better music students.

After about 45 minutes, the boys took a rest; Brian invited Mark to go to the kitchen for a soda.

“But first, I need to check on Marietta and Tamara,” he said.

“I’ll tag along,” Mark said.

They found the two little girls playing with Marietta’s dollhouse, fussing over how to dress one of the Barbie Dolls. Marietta wanted to dress the doll in some of Ken’s clothes to express a tomboy nature of the doll, while Tamara, always the more girly of the two, wanted her in a pink baby doll dress.

“We’re tired of playing dolls,” Marietta said. “We wanna play house and maybe we can have both a mommy and daddy.”

“Yes, Bailey is mommy and her friend could be daddy,” Tamara agreed.

Brian was horrified that the two girls would bring up the practice of him being “mommy” in their play-acting of “house” while calling him “Bailey” in front of Mark.

“No, Marietta, Mark doesn’t want to do that. He’s just here to play music with me.”

Marietta began to pout, but Tamara spoke up:

“Oh that’s all right, Bailey, we can play dolls.”

“Thank you, Tamara.”

But Mark taking all this in finally said: “Why not? Sounds like fun. My lips are tired anyway. And this other girl calls you Bailey, too. What gives, Brian?”

Before Brian could answer, Marietta shouted, “Oh goody, Bailey can be mommy as she always is and now we have a daddy, too.”

“So you play mommy for them, Brian?” Mark asked.

“Yes she does and she acts like a real mommy, and she dresses in mom’s clothes, too,” Marietta said quickly. Brian wanted to shove a towel in the little girl’s mouth; he felt so humiliated before Mark.

Mark looked at Brian and quickly broke into a big grin.

“Bailey gets into her dress and then you and she come in here and we play house,” Marietta explained.

Brian grew red with humiliation, as he heard his sister tell this handsome boy that he wore dresses. Mark looked momentarily puzzled, but appeared to quickly understand the situation.

“You mean you wear dresses sometimes?” he asked.

“Oh she does all the time at home,” Marietta said eagerly.

“Oh shut up, Marietta,” Brian barked at his sister. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

Mark smiled. “That’s cool, Brian,” he began. “I bet you look nice in a dress. Show me.”

“No, you don’t wanna see that,” Brian protested.

Finally, with the pleading of the two girls and Mark, Brian agreed to put on a dress so that they could play house with the two girls.

Brian excused himself to change, while Mark stayed with the two girls, helping them clear Marietta’s room of the dolls, the dollhouse and other accessories. Brian chose a matronly print dress that he usually wore for playing house. The dress had a tight bodice, and with the push up bras created a cleavage for his breasts. He wore white ankle socks and ballet flats, hoping to create a modest housewife look.

He noticed the dress was fitting more loosely, and he took pleasure in the fact that his dieting and exercising was slowly trimming some of the ugly fat off his body. And, he felt, his body was growing more and more girlish, too.

“You’re beautiful, Bailey,” Mark said, using his girl’s name, when Brian emerged from his room.

Brian flushed, even doing a modest turn to express his femininity to his friend.

“You do look like a mommy,” the boy said with a giggle.

“You think it’s weird, don’t you?” Brian said, suddenly feeling foolish acting like a girl in front of this athletic boy.

“No, Bailey, really I don’t. I can’t wait to be your husband.”

Playing house with the girls turned out to be lots of fun, for all four of them. Mark acted like the gruff, old daddy, threatening to spank the little girls if they didn’t obey. In turn, they expressed fear over his threats, thus sparing the “spanking.” For his part as mommy, Brian squealed in his high voice to be kind and nicer to the girls. Mark’s response was always something like: “My darling wife, Bailey, you’re such a pushover for the girls.”

Then he’d reach over and with a caring gesture gently caress Brian’s bare arm; the touch of the boy thrilled Brian.

There was lots of giggling in the 45 minutes of playing, but nothing of an untoward nature occurred, to Brian’s relief. He felt a strange attraction forming for the older boy, whose brief touches and become more and more lingering, turning into caresses.

It was after five o’clock when Mark decided to go; he thanked Marietta and Tamara for their role and gave Brian a quick kiss on his cheek, explaining: “I’m just playing at being a daddy kissing mommy goodbye as he leaves for work.” The girls giggled in delight; Brian merely smiled, strangely wishing there was more to the kiss than just play-acting.

“I like Bailey,” Mark said softly, as the two talked briefly before Mark left.

“You mean you like me like this?” Brian said, surprised.

“As Bailey? I never thought I would, but you look so much like a real girl.”

“Oh my.” Brian was speechless and a bit embarrassed. Yet, he felt pleased.

“Do you have any outfits for a girl your age? I bet you’d look cute.”

Brian was silent again, not sure how to answer. What was going on with Mark? He could have any girl in the school. He was so handsome and strong and athletic. Besides, he was nice. What would he want with a boy like himself who was pathetic as a boy? Why would he want such a fake girl?

“Really, I’m serious, Bailey,” Mark said, using the girl’s name. “I have to admit that I’ve sometimes thought of you as a girl, even when you were a boy. I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings.”

Brian thought for a moment before answering. “Maybe sometime I can dress for you in girl clothes if you really want me to.”

“Cool,” the boy said, grabbing his bookbag and bolting from the house.

That night he pictured himself dressed not as a mommy, but more as a girl of his own age, maybe even wearing tight shorts and a cami, looking plump and cute. In his thoughts, he was walking hand-in-hand with Mark, a blonde-haired hunk of a boy. What a tempting picture! Wouldn’t any girl wish to be the girl in such a scene?

*****
The sign on the door of the doctor’s office of the 9th floor in the 100-year-old Commerce Building read:

“He comes highly recommended, darling,” Amy Kendall told her son, as they prepared to enter the office.

For the appointment, Brian wore an androgynous outfit of pants, socks, sandals with short heels, and a loose plaid blouse. He tied his longish hair into a ponytail, so that he could have been taken for either a girl or a boy musician type. He wore only an almost neutral tint of lip gloss and slightly darkened both his eyelids and brows. He wanted to wear a skirt and to look more feminine, but his mother thought he ought to be in more neutral clothes for the first visit.

Brian was unsure just what this appointment was all about. His mother said it had to do with his desire to be a girl, but he worried that the doctor was there to see if such a desire was a sign of mental illness. Then, maybe, he figured, the doctor would want to give him “treatments” to make him more of a boy. That might be OK, he thought; certainly he wanted to be accepted more by others, but it seemed he felt more at home being a girl. It just seemed so nice to be a girl, doing girly things.

Amy Kendall had to ring a doorbell for entrance into the doctor’s office, her buzz was met with a door being opened by a balding man in a brown suit and wearing simple wired-rimmed glasses.

“Hello, Mrs. Kendall and Brian,” the man said, beckoning them to enter.

“Dr. Benedict?” his mother said, thinking the man might have been the doctor’s assistant.

“Yes, that’s me, ma’am, come on in to my inner office so we all three can talk.”

The office was long and narrow, with a desk, computer and other office paraphernalia occupying the far end, up against some ancient, huge sash windows which looked like that hadn’t been washed since Teddy Roosevelt had been president. The office had an old, musty smell to it, with heat still coming from ancient steam radiators so common in older office buildings.

He led them to a sitting area at the other end of the room, where the three upright, upholstered side chairs were grouped around a love seat and a coffee table. On the sideboard was a pot full of what looked like fresh-brewed coffee; an office-sized refrigerator occupied the floor. He offered them something to drink, “coffee, tea or soda,” sounding like an airline flight attendant, Brian thought.

His mother took black coffee, while Brian said, his voice reaching a high tone, “tea please, but without milk or suger.”

“Coming right up, my dears,” he said. His tone was kindly, almost submissive.

Brian began to wonder: if this doctor was so good, why didn’t he have a secretary and a staff and be located in a more fancy office?

Once coffee and tea were served, he apologized for his ancient office, saying merely that he liked it since it was a quiet place, and, he added, “I think you’ll find this most comfortable.”

And Brian realized the setting was indeed comforting; the chairs while they looked like they might not be comfortable proved to be most accommodating. He crossed his legs in a most feminine fashion, a gesture both the doctor and his mother seemed to acknowledge.

At first, Brian was somewhat put off by the doctor, a very ordinary appearing man, wondering why this man was held in such high regard for his skills. He didn’t look very commanding at all. Yet, as the preliminaries began, he found himself looking into the doctor’s grey eyes, growing more and more comfortable with the man.

“Now, dear,” the doctor said softly, “For now I’m going to call you Brian, just so you know.”

Before Brian could object, the doctor held up his hand to stop the comments. “Don’t be alarmed, Brian. For me the name means nothing at this point, just a way to address you. Let’s not put the cart before the horse, dear.”

His words were kindly, and Brian nodded in agreement. He looked at his mother, who seemed to shrug, but nod slightly in agreement.

“Now,” the doctor began. “I’m going to ask each of you why you came to me and what you hope to get out of these sessions? You first, Brian.”

Brian thought for a moment, and doctor, noting the hesitation. “Take your time in answering if you wish.”

It seemed like an eternity, and Brian finally answered: “It’s . . . ah . . . just that I think I should be . . . ah . . . er . . . a girl. And I need you to agree with me, I guess.”

Dr. Benedict merely nodded, making what appeared to be a one-word note into a pad he held on his knee. Without expression the doctor turned to his mother, and looked to her for her answer.

His mother was ready for the question, her answer seemingly rolling off her tongue as if rehearsed:

“First of all, doctor, I love my son very much. You have to understand that as we talk, since I may have not been the best mother I could have been.”

“Mrs. Kendall, Amy, this is not about you or whether you did a good or bad job in raising him,” Dr. Benedict said, his voice growing stern and scolding for the first time. “This is about him. Why did you bring him here and what to you want to see happen? What are your goals for him?”

“OK, doctor,” his mother answered, now less sure of herself. “I think we came here because in the last few years Brian has been acting more and more girlish and has most recently said he wishes he was a girl. Maybe I was wrong, but I haven’t done much to discourage that, even letting him dress as a girl at home. The fact is, too, that he truly seems so much happier when he’s in, what shall I say . . . ah . . . his girl mode.”

“OK, Amy, but what goal do you have for him now?”

“Doctor, we need to find out if this desire to be a girl is real, or just a passing fancy, that’ll go away as he gets a bit older. And, quite frankly, if this is real, we need your support to begin to transition him to begin living as a girl.”

“Thank you, Amy,” the doctor said, his tone, more kindly. “What we need here is honesty. From both of you. I don’t look to find fault or to blame anyone for anything. And, Amy rest assured, I’m sure you love Brian and want the best. I only hope I’m going to be able to help you, but most of the decisions that’ll be made will be your decisions, yours and Brian. Not mine. You’ll have to find the way; maybe I can be your road map, offering you several routes. Understand?”

They both nodded. Brian looked at his mother. He was beginning to like this man.

“Now, Amy, I want you to let Brian and me talk alone and you can sit out in the waiting room for about 15 minutes,” Dr. Benedict said. “Then you and I can talk alone, and then we’ll finish up with both of you here together. OK?”

Brian looked apprehensively at his mother, saw her nod in agreement, rise and leave the room.

Dr. Benedict began by assuring Brian that everything he said would remain totally confidential and that even his mother would never know what he said; his mother would be given the same assurances.

“Now tell me about how this came about, Brian?” the doctor began.

“It just came, I don’t know when, maybe when I began playing house with my little sister and she always wanted me to be the mother,” he began. “I even began wearing mom’s stuff then. That was last year. And we had fun.”

He explained that he enjoyed baby-sitting for his sister and her friend Tamara. He also talked about preparing dinner for the family, wearing an apron and feeling so happy doing so.

“Don’t you want to be out playing football or baseball?” the doctor asked.

“No, I hate those sports,” Brian said almost defiantly.

“Why, Brian? All boys like those sports,” the doctor said, his voice taking on a challenging tone.

“I guess,” Brian said, growing sheepish.

Suddenly the doctor said, “Here, let’s do a little arm-wrestling, you and I. Put your right elbow on the table here opposite mine.”

The doctor put his own elbow on the table, awaiting Brian to follow suit.

“Do I have to?” Brian said. “You’ll beat me ‘cause you’re a man.”

“Oh but you’re a big boy, as tall as I am and so young. Come on.”

Brian began to feel like he was about to cry and as he fought back the tears, the doctor finally took his elbow off the table, reached over to pat Brian’s knee.

“There, we don’t have to do that, Brian.”

He gave the boy a tissue to wipe his eyes.

“Thank you, doctor,” Brian said, his gratitude aimed more at avoiding the arm wrestling competition than for the tissue. He knew the doctor would find out how weak he was.

After a moment, the doctor said kindly. “Brian, let’s suppose you were big and strong and could hit home runs and run for touchdowns, would you still want to be a girl?”

The question surprised him. “What?”

The doctor didn’t repeat the question, but waited patiently for an answer. The silence grew threatening, and Brian finally felt compelled to reply:

“But I’m not big and strong, doctor. How could I know if I’d still wanna be a girl?”

“Thank you, Brian,” the doctor said. “Now it’s time for you to leave so I can talk with your mom for a few minutes.”

Brian got up, leaving the room still puzzled over the arm-wrestling incident. What was Dr. Benedict getting at? He was worried, thinking the doctor maybe thought he wasn’t a girl after all. Maybe he thought he was just a pathetic fat boy.

*****
As he waited for the interview to end, Brian’s thoughts wandered all over the place, from the joys of believing he’d be a girl within a few months to the horror that Dr. Benedict would want him to become a real boy, with muscles and manly desires. He tried in vain to concentrate on a Time magazine he found in the waiting room, re-reading the same story about the fighting in Afghanistan, looking at pictures of U. S. soldiers in heavy fighting gear. If he were to remain a boy and eventually a man, he knew he’d be a disaster as a soldier; he would never be able to carry a heavy pack on his back for miles or endure the lingering expectation of death.

For a moment, he reflected: was he being just a selfish child, worrying only about his own comfort? Should he not be willing to serve others as soldiers do in defending their country? Was his desire to be a girl making him so selfish that he forgot about other people and their needs?

He and his mother didn’t go to church, and he often wondered whether a god — like his friend Amanda’s Catholic Jesus or his other friend Janet’s Jewish prophets — offered answers. Was there some Supreme Being that was steering him into girlhood, or would such a Supreme Being look with disfavor over this unholy idea of switching from boyhood into girlhood? More likely, he conceded, it would be the latter, that such a Supreme Being would condemn him for blasphemy in damaging his boy’s body that, he was told, was born as the “image of God.”

Even though he was only 12 years old, Brian’s mind often moved like this, racing through random thoughts and introspections. It was all so confusing.

After 15 minutes of these reflections, with the Time magazine still turned to the same page containing the Afghanistan story, his mother emerged from her session with Dr. Benedict. His mother’s face seemed grim, although Dr. Benedict had a smile. He said simply, “We’ll see you, Brian, two weeks from Wednesday at 4 p.m.”

“Come on, dear,” his mother said simply, leading the puzzled Brian out of the doctor’s office.

His mother said nothing until they were in the car. She put her key in the ignition, but paused before starting the engine. Brian sat quietly, knowing his mother would tell him what she learned when she felt ready, and not before. He felt his mother’s hand fall over his, which were folded primly on his lap.

“I think there will be a time soon, dear, when I’ll be calling you Bailey,” she said, a tentative smile filling her face.

“Mommy, really? What did he say?”

“He didn’t say much, darling, but asked me a lot of questions about our family, about my observations and about my feelings,” she began. “He told me to be brutally honest with him. He really wanted to know my feelings. Would I have preferred you to be more of a boy?”

“What did you say, mom my?”

“I told him I only wanted you to be happy, that what I thought wasn’t important.”

“Oh mommy, I love you.”

“But he pressed on, Bailey, pushing me to say whether I would have you be more of a boy. Finally, I said ‘yes,’ but quickly added that you’ve never been much of a boy, nor did you seem to want to ever be one. I told him I only saw the girl in you. In fact, I think you’re more of a girl than your sister.”

Brian smiled, and leaned over to kiss his mother on the cheek. He particularly enjoyed hearing her last comment, saying that he was “more of a girl than his sister.” Certainly, he acted more girlish; Marietta seemed to be turning into a regular tomboy.

“So he’s agreed to see you and get things started, Bailey,” his mother continued. “It’s not for sure yet, but I think he’s going to be OK for you.”

She turned the key, the motor turned over, and they returned home. Brian couldn’t wait to change into his prettiest dress, a pink baby doll.