Angelo finds friendship and acceptance at high school, in spite of his girlish nature. His joy is short-lived as he finds Child Welfare Services has come to remove him from his foster mother's home, a prospect that horrifies him. He works out his own solution to this frightening event and finds a whole new world.

The Foster Mom’s New Daughter — Part Five

By Katherine Day
(Copyright 2007 by Katherine Anne Day)
(Dedicated to and inspired by Angelo, of Rome, Italy)

Synopsis: Orphaned at age 14, Angelo is a delicate boy, and after a miserable year living with his aunt and her family, he is placed in foster care with a woman who has always wanted a daughter. Angelo finds comfort in often living and dressing as Angela, a lovely 15 year old girl; he befriends a girl with whom they share girly ventures, with Angela’s obvious prettiness attracting the attention of boys. Yet, Child Welfare services is threatening to remove Angelo from his new foster mother, and put him in a place where he’d be forced to be raised as a boy, a prospect that horrifies him and his foster mother, who has helped him become so lovely. (NOTE TO READERS OF EARLIER CHAPTERS: At suggestion of many of you, I have Anglicized the reference to Angelo’s foster mother: He now addresses her as “mom” or “mommy,” not “mum” or “mummy.”)

Chapter Nine — A Family Affair and School Begins

Angelo hugged the fluffy stuffed kitten tightly, caressing its sleek fur daintily. He and Muffy, that was the name he had given it, had become almost inseparable in the last few weeks. Muffy was one of the few remaining links to his girlhood, as he was being forced into returning to boyhood.

“Mom,” he had confessed to his foster mother, “I’m so scared. I just don’t know how I can be a boy. How awful it’ll be when I start high school.”

Mary Elizabeth Dayton had found Angelo curled up on the davenport, cuddling Muffy, his hair flowing across his face, and looking so much like a little girl, she couldn’t resist sitting next to him, and gently running her hand down his slender, pretty arms. He was dressed, to be sure, in boy’s shorts and tee shirt, but with his long hair, fair complexion and slim body, he looked so much like the little girl he so wanted to be.

She knew that the boy would feel so out of place as a boy in the large high school where his effeminate actions would bring about bullying and teasing and snickers. She knew he felt inadequate as a boy, but she knew she had to strengthen his spirit so that he’d begin school.

“Angelo, my darling. I know you’ll do fine once you’re there. You’ll find some nice friends. People like you, my dear.” As she said these words, she began to tear up herself, her eyes moistening as she fought off sobs that would only worsen Angelo’s feelings.

Right now, she wanted to hug this tender, gentle boy and then dress him in the prettiest, most frilly frock she could find. But, she knew that she had to direct him away from such girly things, and try to make him boyish enough so he could remain with her in foster care.

“Mom, I hope you’re right, but I just don’t know. I’m so scared.” He began to cry aloud now, and Mary Elizabeth could do nothing more than hug him tightly, with Muffy tucked between the two.

“Now come on, you need to help me,” she said to him.

“Why, mom? What do you want me to do?”

“My son Dean is visiting us this weekend, with his family. They’ll be here tomorrow, and you’ll have to sleep in with me. I’ll set up a cot for you. We’ll have to straighten up the house. Dean and his wife will sleep in my office and the kids in your room.”

Angelo felt another shock of fear. He knew that Mary Elizabeth had three grown sons, and all lived out of town. He wondered what she had told them about him, and whether she had warned them that she had a foster child who might be a little different from other boys.

“Mommy,” he said. “That’s nice. You want to see them and your two grandchildren, I know.”

“Yes,” she replied, knowing how fearful he might be about meeting her family. “And I want them to meet you and know what a marvelous boy you are.”

“They won’t like me.”

“Why do you say that? I’ve told them about you, and they know how happy you’ve made me. They’ll adore you.”

“No they won’t. Your boys were big and strong and muscular and played football. And look at me?”

“No honey. I think they’ll like you. And I know you’ll like Dean’s kids. Clara is seven and Jake is four.”

“Mommy, I’ll try to make you proud of me. I want your family to like me.”

Mary Elizabeth loved this child so much, almost as much as her own boys, and she was hoping they’d like him as well. Still, she was concerned how her football-playing, masculine sons and their families would take to this sweet, delicate boy. Besides Dean, who sold insurance in Chicago, about two hours away, there was Daniel, the second oldest, who was a high school math teacher and coach. Finally, there as Derrick, who was a senior at the University of Illinois and was a varsity football player. Only Dean was married. They had all been given first names that began with a “D,” to match their deceased father’s first name (Donald).

That afternoon, they cleaned the house and arranged things to fit the needs of Dean’s family. Dean and his family arrived late Friday afternoon, and Angelo busied himself helping his foster mother prepared to feed them. He suggested Mary Elizabeth visit while he did most of the preparation for supper, but Mary Elizabeth said, “No. I know you want to help, but with you cooking, that would make you look too much like a girl. And you know I need you to be a boy now.”

He dressed in jeans, tennis shoes and a polo shirt, and drew his hair back from his face. A few days earlier, Mary Elizabeth had taken him to her beauty salon, where she told Sandra, her hair stylist, to fix Angelo’s hair in a boyish cut. “You want me to cut this lovely hair?” the stylist had asked. “He has such a marvelously light, airy head of hair.”

“Trim it, Sandra, so he looks less like a girl,” she had told the stylist.

“OK, but it’s a shame. Most girls would love to have such lovely hair,” Sandra said.

Angelo blushed. He was the only male in the salon that day, and one of the older women said, “Oh, you’d make a very pretty girl,” much to Angelo’s joy.

“Oh, mommy,” he told Mary Elizabeth later. “I wish I could go there as a girl. Sandra’s so nice.”

“Well, you’re now my foster son, Angelo. Remember that,” she replied, thinking also that Angelo would indeed be made even more beautiful after a trip to Sandra’s salon.

True to what Angelo expected, Dean was a monster of a man, though now his body had grown a bit fleshy. Yet, Dean had obviously been a strong, dominating athlete at onetime, and Angelo’s slender hand was dwarfed when the two shook hands. Dean’s grip, however, was gentle though firm, and Angelo, remembering that a man should have a firm handshake, did his best to respond in kind.

“Nice meeting you, Angelo,” Dean said. “Mother has talked an awful lot about you.”

“We’re getting along just fine, aren’t we, Angelo?” Mary Elizabeth said with a smile.

“Yes, mom,” he responded, careful not to use the “mommy,” which he knew was how a girl might speak.

Dean had a smooth, rounded face with sparkling eyes, much like his mother’s. His wife, Constanza, was a short, dark-haired woman with compact body, which accentuated firm hips and breasts. She wore loose shorts, which exposed her solid, well-tanned legs. It was apparent she, too, was athletic. Even at seven years old, Clara had all the appearances of growing up to be a tall, strong girl; she had her father’s fair complexion. Jake appeared small for his age, dark-haired and wiry, and was constantly on the move.

Angelo remained silent as the Dean’s family brought in their luggage and shared family talk, so typical of families who are reunited after several months of separation. It was apparent the family was close and loving; Angelo felt a pang of jealousy, recognizing that he had never found such warmth and love in his early life. Yet, Mary Elizabeth was welcoming him to become a part of the Dayton household, perhaps even to experience the love and warmth he now saw before him. “I must not disappoint them,” he thought to himself, vowing to try to act like a boy, a real boy.

Jake soon busied himself with the trucks and construction set that Mary Elizabeth brought out of the closet where it rested between visits. Derrick, her youngest son, had last used the toys and she kept them around just for little Jake. Angelo joined the boy on the floor, moving the construction toys around, to the glee of the younger boy. He giggled and Angelo enjoyed the boy’s laughter, purposely moving the toys in a manner to excite the child.

His attention was interrupted by the rather frantic yells of Clara: “Grandma, grandma. What happened to Barbie? She’s got different clothes.”

The young girl, now dressed in cute pink shorts and a white and cream tank top but no shoes, ran into the living room, carrying two Barbie Dolls, one wearing a long formal gown and the other a white wedding dress.

“Grandma, grandma. Last time I dressed them for the beach. They were going to meet Ken,” she explained, excitedly. “Now they’re all dressed up.”

“Oh,” Mary Elizabeth. “Are you sure Clara?”

“Yes, grandma. Somebody’s playing with these dolls. They’re all different.”

Angelo reddened, realizing he had been playing with the doll collection that Mary Elizabeth had maintained in the bedroom for her granddaughter’s visits.

“Grandma,” Clara persisted. “These are my dolls.”

“Yes, honey, but you know you must share your toys,” her mother, Constanza, said.

Mary Elizabeth was silent, and Angelo knew she didn’t want to tell her son’s family that it had been he, Angelo, who had been playing with the dolls. He felt compelled to tell the truth.

“Clara,” Angelo said, still seated on the floor, playing trucks with Jake. “I hope you don’t mind too much. I dressed the Barbie dolls that way.”

Everyone in the room, except Jake who was making truck noises, looked at Angelo in surprise.

“But you’re a boy,” Clara said.

Angelo blushed. “I know, Clara, and I’m sorry. I just felt like making Barbie all pretty.”

Mary Elizabeth was quick to the rescue. “Yes, shortly after he moved in, he was bored and the only things to play with were the dolls. He and I had lots of fun dressing them up.”

“Oh grandma, Angelo,” the child said. “That’s OK. I think you made the dolls so pretty.”

The matter seemed to be forgotten as Angelo returned to playing trucks, the family continued their conversation and Clara went back into the bedroom carrying the two Barbie dolls.

As the supper was ending, Clara said to everyone, using a loud voice, “Can Angelo play dolls with me now?”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll want to do that,” Dean, the father, said quickly.

“He played with Jake before,” Clara persisted. “Why can’t he play with me?”

“Well, I don’t think Angelo wants to play dolls?” Dean said.

“He did before. Remember how pretty he dressed them?”

“Oh that’s all right, Mr. Dayton,” Angelo said. “I can play with Clara.”

“Really, you’re sure?” asked Dean.

“I’m sure Angelo will enjoy playing with Clara for a while. Won’t you, dear?” Mary Elizabeth said.

“Yes mommy . . . er . . .er . . mom.”

Dean gave Angelo was quick, strange look, as if to wonder about what kind of a boy this slender, pretty looking child was.

After supper, Angelo ended up playing with both children, with Jake bringing his trucks and construction equipment into the bedroom, while Angelo and Clara went about dressing and undressing the Barbie Dolls. Soon, Angelo and Clara had set up a scenario with a household out of some shoeboxes and brackets.

Angelo was curled up on the floor engrossed in dressing one of the dolls when Dean entered the room.

“My, aren’t you children playing nice!” he said.

Angelo got up abruptly, realizing that he must have looked so girlish at that moment. “Oh, Clara and Jake are fun to play with, Mr. Dayton.”

“Well, Angelo, you’ve been so much fun for them.”

As it turned out, the visit of Dean’s family was a truly enjoyable weekend, until the family was about to leave. For most of the weekend, the family seemed to accept Angelo as he was. Both Clara and Jake seemed to adore him, always pestering him to play with them.

Sunday morning, Angelo slept in, not arising until well after 10 a.m. He could smell coffee and breakfast cooking in the kitchen. As he lay there wondering when to get up, he heard his foster mother, Dean and Constanza talking in the kitchen.

“But he’s such a sweet boy.” It was the protesting voice of Mary Elizabeth he heard first.

“Oh mother.” It was Dean’s voice, rising. “There’s something wrong with that boy. You see how much he likes playing with dolls.”

“Dean.” Mary Elizabeth protested again.

“He’s hardly a boy at all. You said he’s 15?”

“Yes, but he’s small for his age.”

“My god, mother, he’s like a 12 year old girl. See how weak his arms are.”

“Dean, that’s enough. He’s had a tough life. No father and his mother died last year.”

“And you, mother, seem to enjoy treating him like a girl. Having him play with dolls. My god.”

Angelo couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had so enjoyed Dean and his family. They seemed so nice, and now they were making fun of him. Angelo buried his head in the pillow, not wanting to hear anything further. He began to cry.

Mary Elizabeth would be angry with him now; he had disappointed her son, Dean. He stayed buried among the bed clothes until his foster mother sent Jake into rouse him and tell him to get up.

He dried his tears, washed his face and put on jeans and a Green Bay Packer jersey and walked into the kitchen, trying to be brave and to look more like a real boy.

“Well, that’s more like it,” Dean said sarcastically, obviously seeing the football jersey. “That’s my boy. Glad you’re for the Pack.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Dayton,” Angelo said, perhaps a bit dishonestly, since he cared little for football or the Packers. “They’re my favorite team.”

Dean’s family left in the early afternoon, with both children hugging Angelo tightly. “I think Angelo is fun,” prompted Jake. “Yeah,” added Clara. “He’s cool. We had so much fun together.”

Dean and Constanza said their “goodbyes’s” more stiffly and Angelo knew he had been a failure to Mary Elizabeth’s son and daughter-in-law.

*****
Mary Elizabeth was saddened by Dean’s reaction to Angelo; she thought he would have more understanding, but it was apparent all he saw was a weakling and a sissy, and in his masculine thinking, that made Angelo truly a pathetic being. “All that boy needs is a little discipline and some exercise. It’s disgusting to see such a weakling. Our Clara could probably beat him up,” Dean had said.

“Oh, Dean, don’t be so critical. Give him a chance,” she pleaded.

“OK, mom. I love you, but I’m worried about you being disappointed in getting too close to that boy.”

“Thank you, Dean. I think I’ll be all right. He’s really a sweet boy, and very obedient,” she said.

“I just wish he was more like a real boy,” Dean said.

The conversation about Angelo ended on that note, but it was hardly reassuring to Mary Elizabeth. Her joy at raising Angelo was again deflated.

She could tell, also, that Angelo must have sensed the disgust Dean had expressed. While the boy had truly enjoyed her grandchildren, he was obviously fearful and tentative around the adults. Could he have heard their breakfast table conversation, she wondered.

“Mommy, I’m sorry,” Angelo said after Dean’s car had pulled out of the driveway and headed for home.

He began sobbing, his slender body shaking uncontrollably, as he stood there, looking out the living room window. Mary Elizabeth felt so much sorrow for this child, a girl really, who no doubt was beginning to realize that his future would be a difficult one.

“Mom,” he said through his tears. “I’m bringing you so much shame. And I love you so much. Why can’t I be a boy like your sons were? A real boy? Instead of being like I am.”

Mary Elizabeth hugged him tightly now, letting his tears moisten the front of her blouse. “Honey,” she said finally, as his tears lessened, “We need to get you ready for school tomorrow. Let’s get ourselves cleaned up. Remember, we need to find you a book bag.”

Angelo knew he had to stop crying; he had endured much disappointment in his life, but he had always been able to stand up to it, and meet it head on.

“Mommy, let’s get a backpack with the Packers’ symbol on it,” he said. “I think I’ll have to begin to like football.”

Mary Elizabeth didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She knew that Angelo’s natural desires would be to get the girliest backpack available, complete with pink bunnies or a Hannah Montana emblem; yet, he was making a firm effort to give the appearance of being a boy.

“You’re my brave boy,” was all she could say.

*****

Angelo’s worst fears about starting school failed to materialize. True, he was one of the shortest and most slender of boys, but he was hardly noticed among the many diverse students in this Arts High School. There were both boys and girls with spiked hair, many in all sorts of unnatural hues; there were lots of boys with earrings, and some girls dressed in most macho, unflattering outfits. Among the many African-American students (at least half the school was minority), there were the extreme styles. School rules prohibited hats, largely to ward off gang symbols.

He noticed one slender, effeminate boy, an African-American, who wore a pair of tight-fitting slacks with a silvery sheen, topped off with a deep purple unisex blouse, and rows of silver necklaces. He exaggerated his effeminacy, and was always surrounded by a gaggle of girls, with whom he was giggling and using outlandish gestures. The boy performed for his admiring group of girls, but seemed to have the rapt attention of one particularly attractive blond girl.

Angelo watched him intensively, marveling how such a boy, an obvious sissy, could be so attractive to girls. Briefly, he put himself in the boy’s place, perhaps looking even more girlish and finding admiring looks.

The scene was interrupted by a group of husky, ill-dressed boys who burst into the group, roughly pushing the effeminate boy out from among his female friends, and calling him names: “Freddy the fag,” “Freddie fruitie,” and “Sissy boy.” The boy seemed to slink away from the bullies, who moved on down the hall looking for their next victim.

Angelo watched as the boy, whose name must be Freddie, moved to a small alcove and cowered up into isolation. Angelo could swear he saw tears in the boy’s face; the blond girl had moved to his side, and was offering comfort.

It was a moment of truth for Angelo; certainly he might soon be victimized in the same way if he continued to display his femininity. He had to be careful, he realized.

Being new to the school, Angelo had no friends or acquaintances there; in fact, every face was a strange face. He realized he was seeing everyone for the first time in his life, as he attended his classes, beginning with his homeroom, then on to algebra, a study hall, English, dance class, lunch break, history, and general science. In the early classes, no one talked to him, and he shyly sat in the sessions, identifying himself in his voice, which sounded to him as being girlishly high, as “Angelo Davies.” No one, it appeared, seemed to notice the high voice, but Angelo would know that anyone looking at him would see a deep red fill his face.

He had chosen to take dance class in lieu of gym, which was an option for theater program students. Since this was the first day of school, the students remained in their street clothes. They were told to sit in a circle around the floor as Miss Satterstein, the teacher, told them they would work hard in the class. “You’ll work harder here than in gym class, so if you chose this class to avoid hard work, you better leave now,” she warned the students. No one did leave.

He counted perhaps 20 kids in the class, and was surprised to see only one other boy. It was Freddie, the effeminate boy Angelo had seen bullied in the hallway. At quick glance, the class seemed to be composed of all girls, since both Angelo and Freddie had long hair and had seated themselves with their legs tucked in a most girly manner to one side.

Miss Satterstein asked students to introduce themselves and to state why they chose dance class and whether they had had any training. The introductions drowned on and Angelo day-dreamed, looking at pictures of ballerinas on the wall, wishing someday he could wear a tutu. His day-dreaming was interrupted with: “Now, Miss, what is your name?”

“Me?” He looked up startled, seeing the teacher pointing at him.

“Yes, you. Miss. And what is your name?”

Angelo was tongue-tied, but soon blurted out: “Angelo. Angelo Davies.” The voice came our high and frantic, and to make matters worse, he flicked his hair out of his face with a flick of his wrist.

“Angelo,” the teacher repeated. “Angelo. Oh yes, the other boy in this class.”

Angelo sat down feeling shamed in front of his new classmates. He turned his head down, feeling totally humiliated, knowing that his classmates were now examining him in a most curious fashion. He felt so inadequate trying to be a boy, when he could easily have been in the class as a girl.

“Well students,” the teacher went on. “We’ll start off slow and see what each of you can do. It’s too bad we don’t have any more boys in the class, since it’ll restrict some of our dances.”

Angelo knew, too, that the teacher must have lamented that the two boys she had in class were no stronger than the girls, and were too weak to do the muscular roles demanded of male dancers.

She explained that beginning tomorrow the students would have to wear shorts and tank tops for the dance class.

“Hi Angelo,” said a high feminine voice behind him as he left for the lunch period, and was about to enter the cafeteria.

He looked to see a short, somewhat fleshy girl who had identified herself as Cecilie in class. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head, and she walked up next to him. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I don’t know anyone.”

“Well, you know me at least,” she said with a wide grin on her round, freckled face.

“I guess I do. Hi.” He smiled at the friendly greeting of this girl.

“Come join our table for lunch,” she offered, pointing to a table with four other girls. There remained two empty stools.

It turned out that this table seemed to be populated by the brainiest, but hardly the prettiest, girls in school. Two of the girls, Maxine and Janet, were much like Cecilie; they were chunky, but also warm and friendly. Another, Marie, was tall and blonde, but wore no makeup and let her hair flow freely, and apparently uncombed or brushed. The last was, Henrietta, a light, dark-complexioned girl of slight stature. She had a pimply face, but like the others had dancing, bright eyes.

They welcomed Angelo without ceremony, giving him a cursory “Hi” or “How are you?” They were deeply involved in giggling over the remarks that emerged from the speaker system in the morning by the principal, commenting how inane they were.

Soon Angelo was giggling along with them, and he was adding some comments of his own, no longer trying to hide the girliness of his voice. It was obvious the girls liked him and he was welcomed into their group. It was like being “one of the girls,” he told his mom later.

Cecilie, it was obvious, was truly bright and observant. As they walked together to the next class (history), she confided in him that there were a group of bullies in the school, and they loved to pick on younger and smaller boys.

“Try not to walk alone,” she said. “My girl friends like you. We’ll walk with you, maybe they won’t bother you.”

Angelo blushed at this, realizing that girls were now offering to protect him. Was this not the most awful irony of all? A boy needing the protection of girls?

“Oh you don’t have to,” he protested.

“But we like you, Angelo. We want to walk with you.”

Angelo smiled to himself. He had already on this first day found friends. The friends, he realized, were all girls he would enjoy being with.

Chapter Ten — The Great Escape

Cecilie and Marie, the tall, blonde girl, also rode the same school bus with Angelo, though they got off several stops before he did. He found out that Marie wanted to be a librarian and the Cecilie wanted to write and perhaps be a poet. Both were on the school literary magazine, and Angelo volunteered that he did some writing too.

“Maybe you can be on Winged Verse,” Marie said.

“Winged Verse?”

“Yes, that’s the name of the literary magazine,” Marie said. “I’ll show you a copy tomorrow.”

Angelo felt like skipping to Mary Elizabeth’s house as he got off the bus. The school day, after a scary beginning, had ended marvelously, Angelo felt. He loved his new friends, and best of all, they accepted him, just as he was. He couldn’t wait to tell Mary Elizabeth.

He rounded the corner onto the street heading to his house, stopping suddenly, ducking behind bushes at the home of Bessie Simkins, two doors away. In front of his foster mother’s home were two cars; four people were exiting the cars, and they included the hateful Miss Pentecost of Social Services, Anna Simms, the social worker, and two uniformed officers.

Angelo knew immediately they must be coming to take him away. He saw Mary Elizabeth open the door for the four and saw her seem to argue with them. Miss Pentecost showed the foster mother a sheaf of papers with a blue cover. Mary Elizabeth looked at them with obvious disgust, muttered something and opened the door to let the four enter.

Angelo felt he was going to cry, but he knew he had to think fast. He knew he couldn’t go home; they’d be waiting for him. And, if he didn’t come home, where would he go? And, if they ever found him, then they’d definitely put him in another foster home or maybe a group home. And, he thought further, maybe even juvenile detention.

He buried himself deeper into the bushes, well hidden by the heavy late summer foliage. He told himself: “I must not cry. I must be strong.”

But what was he to do? His only friend was Tanya; why couldn’t he go there? It was only a mile away, a walk of no more than 20 minutes, and Tanya should be home from school. He knew Tanya’s mother worked, and wouldn’t be home and he could stay an hour or so with Tanya until he figured out what to do.

It was the obvious choice, and Angelo emerged from the thicket of bush and headed toward Tanya’s house, almost running some of the time. He was fighting back tears, but they flowed any way, as he cried about his worries for his own future and over the pain he was causing his foster mother, Mary Elizabeth, a woman who had respected him for whom he was.

*****
“Angela,” said Tanya in surprise, using his girl’s name, as she opened the door. “What happened? You look awful, and you’ve been crying.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” Angelo said after he told Tanya about seeing the child welfare people at his foster mother’s home.

“Come just let me hug you,” Tanya said. She had already changed from her Catholic Girls’ Academy uniform into shorts and a tank top, and Angelo felt a feeling of security as he nestled into Tanya’s warm, comforting hold. Tanya was taller and huskier than he was, and they cuddled for several minutes, before talking about the options Angelo faced.

“They should just let you be a girl,” Tanya said. “And you know Heather and Michael want to help you and your foster mom fight this.”

“I know, but that’ll take time,” he said. “And I know I can’t stay here.”

Tanya got two cans of Diet Coke from the refrigerator, and sat down at the kitchen table with Angelo before she answered:

“You know, I’m going to call Michael. He’ll know what to do,” she said finally.

“Thank you, Tanya. Would you? I just can’t go back to child welfare. They’ll put me in with all boys, and I’ll be picked on.”

He started to cry again. He cursed his physical weakness, his inability to relate to boys or to even enjoy doing boy activities.

Michael was not to be found, as it developed, and after a half hour of talking, Angelo said finally: “Can you loan me some of your clothes? Let me dress up as a girl.”

“I can,” Tanya replied. “But what are you going to do?”

“I’ve got $20 in my pocket,” he said. “It’s enough to buy a bus ticket to Milwaukee. I know a girl there who might take me in.”

“Who is that? How do you know she will?”

Angelo explained that the girl had lived next door when his mother was alive; she was 18 then and had once babysat for Angelo when they were both younger. The girl, whose name was Debra Jean, had, in many ways, been Angelo’s best and only friend, before Tanya. Though she was five years older, she had tolerated his interest in girls’ clothes; after his repeated urging, she had allowed him to put on pretty frocks and helped him to make up his face and fix his always longish hair.

“There, you look just like a pretty little girl now,” she had told him, to his great glee.

“I just know she’ll help me. She’s working at the big insurance company there, and going to school in drama,” Angelo said.

Tanya wasn’t so sure this was the best idea, but she could think of no other options. “Why do you have to dress as a girl?” she asked.

“Oh I think I’ll be safer,” he said.

“Safer? As a girl? How to you figure that?”

“I look like such a sissy boy. I always get picked on. I can be myself as a girl.”

Tanya had to admit this was true. She found an old book bag. It was pink, with pigtailed girls pictured on the outside, and was specifically designed for teen girls. Into it, she put several changes of panties and bras, some girl socks, a camisole and blouse and several denim skirts. “I’ve grown out of these, but I think they’ll fit you fine.”

After some deliberation, Angelo decided to wear a pair of beige Capri pants, sandals and a white shirt over a pink camisole. On his head, he wore a light blue girl’s baseball cap, with his hair poking out of the back. Tanya painted his lips a light natural, glossy pink, and highlighted his eyes in teal blue. They painted his nails a natural pink, the theory being that if he dressed rather plain he’d be less noticeable.

“You’re still cute as ever,” Tanya said when they were done.

In truth, Tanya was always jealous of the daintiness and cuteness of Angelo. She always considered herself too tall and fleshy to be beautiful, but the fact was her bright eyes and cheerful disposition had marked her as a girl who would never lack for friends. As she remembered, the boys at the mall seemed to be looking at Angelo first, before noticing her.

“If mom wants to know about me, just tell her I ran off, but that I will be safe. Tell her not to worry.”

“Are you sure you should do this?”

“Yes, it’s the only way I can survive,” Angelo said, tears coming to his eyes. “I’ll call you and my mom once I get settled.”

Tanya hugged him again, and they both stifled an urge to cry, before Tanya said: “If you wanna make the five o’clock bus, you better hurry.”

*****
Angelo was able to gain a window seat on the bus when he entered. The ticket was $14.50, leaving him $5.50 to spend until he could find his friend, Debra Jean. He had her phone number in Milwaukee, and would call her from the bus station.

As the bus was about to leave, the driver reopened the door and let a late-arriving passenger on board. It was a stunning, tall well-dressed woman, perhaps in her 30s. The woman’s eyes scanned the bus, and even though there were one or two empty double seats, she still chose to sit in the empty seat next to Angelo.

“Mind if I join you, young lady?” she asked as she put her bag in the overhead, and took Angelo’s silence to be approval.

As the bus left the city and moved into the hilly, lush Wisconsin countryside, the woman said: “Hi, I’m Wendy. And who are you, my dear?”

“Angela,” he said softly, and he had to repeat it over the bus noise.

“Well, aren’t you a pretty young lady? How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” he said, adding a year to his age. For some reason, he felt being “15” may have marked him as too young for traveling alone on a bus.

“Really?” she said. “You hardly look over 13.”

Angelo tried to look offended, and answered most truthfully: “I guess I look young for my age.”

The woman continued to ask questions of Angelo, and to show great interest. Angelo was smart enough to realize that it would be unwise to tell a stranger too much, so he merely said he was going to Milwaukee to visit a friend. The more he looked at the woman, Angelo became wary. At first he had thought she was dressed as a classy woman, but soon he realized her outfit was actually rather garish and cheap-looking. She was loaded with costume jewelry, and her language, too, seemed rather crude.

Fortunately, the bus ride was only about an hour long. Wendy never really gave up trying to push Angelo for information, but he felt he had been discreet enough and hadn’t given away the fact that he was running away.

The fact was that Angelo was frightened. He had never been to a city as big as Milwaukee, and he really wasn’t confident that Debra Jean would be willing to put him up. Would she even answer her phone? Angelo had a street address for her, and he could always go to her apartment and wait for her to come home. All these thoughts were going through his head when the bus finally reached the seedy bus station on Michigan Street in Milwaukee.

“Here’s my card,” Wendy proffered as the bus pulled to a stop. “If you need any help, call me. I can find work for girls like you, if you need it.”

Angelo took the card, saying: “Thank you, but I don’t think I’ll need it.”

Wendy smiled, though Angelo felt it was not a sincere smile. “Darling. Don’t be too sure. I’ve helped many girls like you.”

Angelo knew suddenly that this woman must have figured out he was a runaway. Would she really help him out, particularly when she learned he was really a boy? Who was she? Does she work for some agency? Maybe she was a cop in disguise, or a social worker, he thought.

His instincts told him to stay clear of this woman.

*****

Angelo headed for the phone as soon as he got off the bus. He dialed Debra Jean’s number, and got no answer, even though he waited through 12 rings. She apparently had no answering machine, because the phone just kept ringing. Well, he’d call later.

Angelo found a bench in a fairly empty section of the waiting room, putting his school bag on the seat next to him. He noticed Wendy had met a sharply dressed middle-aged man, who looked to Angelo like he was one of those crime bosses you’d see on television shows. He noticed the two looking at him, talking and nodding in unison.

Soon, they were walking toward him, smiling. Both had that same sweet, but insincere smile he’d seen on Wendy earlier.

“So your friend’s not home?” Wendy asked.

“No, but she will be,” he said, turning way from them.

“Dear, I think you may not have a friend here,” the man said firmly. “You look like you’ve got nowhere to go.”

“I do,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

“We can help you,” Wendy said, more gently now.

Angelo persisted first in trying to ignore the two, and then responding with vehement denials to all their observations that Angelo was alone with no place to go.

“We better go,” the man said suddenly. “You’re on your own now, honey.”

In an instant, the two were gone, darting out the door to Michigan Street. Angelo then saw the reason for their quick departure: a young man and his female companion, both dressed in jeans and bright green tee shirts reading “Teen Help,” appeared on the scene. They headed directly toward Angelo.

“Were they bothering you, miss?” the young woman said.

She was a husky young woman, her brown hair tied in the back. She had a freckled face, and a friendly smile.

“A little,” Angelo responded. “They seemed to want to take me with them. I was scared of them.”

“You were wise to be scared,” said the young man, an African-American who introduced himself as Melvin. “Those two were up to no good.”

“Do you need any help, miss?” the young woman said. “I’m Karen, from Teen Help. We’re a youth help group.”

Angelo looked at the two. They looked innocent enough, but he felt, they’d probably call the police and soon he’d be back in the foster care system as a boy.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, honey?” the girl said. “Where are you headed?”

“To visit a girl friend here,” he said. “Here’s her address. How would I get there?”

Angelo handed Melvin a piece of paper with Debra Jean’s address written. He looked at it, got a quizzical expression on is face and then shared it with Karen.

“This can’t be right,” Karen said. “This address puts her in middle of Lake Michigan.”

Angelo reddened. He explained the Debra Jean hadn’t answered the phone, either. Angelo finally admitted he had only about $5 left, and that he had no place to stay unless he could find Debra Jean.

In a few minutes the two Teen Help workers led Angelo into a small private room, with a small table and four hard backed chairs. The room was entitled: “Police Room.” It was a drab room, painted gray and without any pictures on the walls.

Angelo suddenly wanted to bolt away from these two workers, fearing they were actually police officers, or that they were connected in some way to authorities like Miss Pentecost who wanted him to be a boy. But, Melvin had him by the arm, and he couldn’t escape. They asked him to sit in one of the chairs, with Melvin sitting opposite and Karen right next to Angelo. She took his hand, as if to lend support.

“Now, young lady, tell us who you are,” Melvin said. He was a tall, trim boy, with a rich black complexion and closely trimmed hair. He had a gentle manner, but he also sounded firm, and with a no-nonsense demeanor.

Angelo said nothing. He had no idea what he should tell them. How could he tell them he was really a boy?

“Come on, we won’t bite,” Karen said gently. It was obvious these two street workers were used to dealing with runaway children whose only defense often is to clam up and say nothing.

“We’re not the police,” Karen continued. “Your secrets are good with us.”

“Yes, honey,” added Melvin. “We know many children runaway because of abuse at home, and we need to find out what your issues are.”

Angelo sat primly, as a proper young lady would, still refusing to say anything, but soon he began sobbing, tears running down his cheeks, with Karen reaching over to wipe them with a tissue.

“You look healthy enough,” Melvin said. “I don’t think you’ve been abused. Something’s wrong, though isn’t it?”

Soon, Angelo was crying out loud and found himself in the arms of Karen, who held him gently, patting his slender back and brushing his hair lightly. His body was shaking with his sobs.

He finally said his name was Angela and that he was 15 and was from a city about 40 miles away. They closely questioned him on his age, since they both felt he was a girl, not more than 13, given the frailness of his body, and the fact that he seemed to have not very well developed breasts.

When their interrogation of Angelo produced nothing, Melvin said, “We better take her to the shelter to see what to do about her.”

They led him to a white minivan outside the station, carrying the words, “Teen Help: Street Outreach Rescue Unit.” They led him into the van with Karen sitting with him in the back, and Melvin driving.

“Where are we going?” he asked through his tears.

“A safe place for you, dear. There, we’ll find out what’s bothering you.”

*****

They drove down a dark heavily treed street, stopping in the driveway of an old-fashioned mansion. Inside, he was led through a lounge area which at onetime must have been the living room of the mansion, he thought. Several teen girls were watching a re-run of “Hannah Montana” on television, and gave him only a glance. Two were African-American and one Southeast Asian, and at least one of them appeared pregnant.

They led him to a room that was lined with bookshelves, and Angelo figured it must have been the library of the old mansion. The dark walnut wood gave the room a dignified warm atmosphere. The book shelves were filled with papers and magazines and a few books. There was a clock that ticked interrupting the silence of the room.

“Sit here,” they directed him to a straight-backed, upholstered chair. There was a two-seat couch and another lounge chair in the room, with coffee, canned soda and cookies on a side table. Several teen magazines and National Geographics were sitting on another side table.

Melvin left the room, leaving Karen to sit on the couch. She spoke slowly, and softly: “Now that Melvin’s gone, is there anything you want to tell me? You know, girl to girl? It’s hard to talk about our problems, isn’t it, with a man around?”

“Yes,” he said, volunteering nothing further.

“You’re a very lovely girl,” Karen continued. “You have a boy friend.”

“No, my mom won’t let me go out yet with boys.”

“She’s wise. You look so young for your age.” Karen beckoned Angelo to join her on the couch, taking his hands in hers. He looked down at his tiny wrists, next to her huskier forearms, realizing how dainty he was.

“Do you love your mom?” she asked.

“Oh yes, I’d never do anything to hurt her.”

“Well she must be worried now. You were supposed to be home after school, right?”

“Yes.” He started crying again.

“You must tell me, honey. What’s wrong? Why did you run away?”

“They were going to take me away from my mother.” He finally blurted out, the words coming out in a desperate voice between tears.

“Who was?”

“Miss Pentecost and the agency.”

“What agency?”

“The child welfare people. They don’t understand. They want to take me from my mother.”

“Why would they want to do that?”

Angelo’s crying continued. He stopped to blow his nose into a tissue handed him by Karen. She had wrapped an arm about his shoulders and drew him tightly against her, and he found great comfort in her soft, large young body.

“My mother’s made me so happy. I don’t want to leave her.”

“Well they must feel your mother’s not treating you right if they want to remove you from your home and her,” Karen persisted. “Why would they do that?”

“Because they want me to be a boy,” he said, suddenly feeling he was wrong for hinting at his real gender.

“Oh?” Karen said, a questioning look crossing her brow. “Why in the world would they want you to become a boy?”

“Because I am a boy. I’m a boy but I really am a girl.” He began crying loudly, his sobs filling the room.

Karen held him as he cried onto her bosom, saying slowly, “Now, now. Let’s have a good cry and then you can tell me all about it.”

Within 15 minutes he had told Karen everything, his real male name, his foster mother’s name and the reasons he fled his home city. “I can’t live as a boy. I can’t. Don’t you see? How can I be a boy? I’m so much a girl. I am weak like a girl.”

*****

Karen got Angelo a can of cola, and told him to remain where he was. She was going to seek someone to help him, but first she asked for the foster mother’s phone number. “I’m going to call you foster mother,” she said. “As a child outreach worker, I’m obligated to see you return home safely, and I assure you we’ll stress with your County Child Welfare Agency how critical it is that they understand your concerns about rejecting your feelings of femininity.”

Angelo could hear a shriek of joy when Karen got Mary Elizabeth on the phone and explained that Angelo was in Milwaukee, safe in the hands of an agency that handled runaway teens. She explained, too, that Angelo had told her the full story of his feelings about being a girl and that she understood the concerns of the boy.

“If it’s OK with you, Mrs. Dayton,” she said. “We can keep Angelo here overnight; we have a spare room so he can have privacy. Normally we don’t keep boys here, but I think we can make an exception here.” She winked at Angelo with her last remark.

“And, we’re more used to dealing with gender confused children here in Milwaukee, and before we return Angelo to your County, I’m going to get the Child Welfare people here involved. They have a program for children who have alternate needs. I think they may be able to talk with your Miss Pentecost and anyone else there.”

Karen finally, handed the phone over to Angelo. “Your mother wants to hear your voice, dear. You scared her badly.”

“Oh mommy,” he said, holding back tears that came over the joy of hearing her voice. “I’m so sorry, but I saw that awful Miss Pentecost going into the house when I got home from school. I just knew they were going to cart me away.”

“They were, honey. I never want you to run away again,” Mary Elizabeth said. “But, in this case, I’m glad you did. She was all set to take you. She was mad as she could be, since she thought I had knew where you were. They even threatened to jail me.”

“Oh mommy, I’ve caused you so much trouble.”

“No honey, you’ve brought me joy. We’ll get through this. Heather’s boy friend, Michael, is going to intervene with the Gay Rights group to help you out, and Karen there says she thinks people in Milwaukee will help, too.”

“Oh, mom. Maybe I can still be your little girl,” Angelo said, almost ready to leap for joy.

“Let’s hope so, Angela,” she replied, using his girl’s name.

“Angela. You called me Angela, mom. I love you so much.”

“So many people love you, Angela. We all see you as our sweet girl.”

The phone call ended, and Karen took Angelo to a small sleeping space, where he’d had privacy for the night.

“You can freshen up here, and I’ll give you a nightie and robe so you can join the other girls in the lounge,” Karen said. “While you’re here, Angela, no one except me and the staff will know anything more about you, other than you’re a fifteen-year-old girl named Angela.”

“Oh Karen, you’re so good to me,” he said.

He joined the girls in the lounge and soon he was giggling with them over a foolish scene in “That 70’s Show,” just as if he belonged with them as one of the girls. He was Angela again, at least for one night anyway.
(To Be Continued)