A moment in time with a decision to make; was it the right one? For the longest time I thought I had probably made the wrong one. Was it the best or worse decision of my life?

A Moment in Time
By Buggie

Author's note: I apologize in advance for the prejudice against therapy that I show within this story. At that time in my life that was the way I was taught to think.

Work had been a typical Wednesday. The worse crowds were always the church crowds, people who felt that somehow the time spent being holy in front of their fellow church members entitled them to be rude and obnoxious to everyone who hadn't been there. Their intolerance was a common occurrence, something I was used to. I saw most people as being that way even when they presented themselves as being far removed from it. I was happy that my immediate family wasn't like that.

It had taken me over an hour to clean up the tables, benches, and floor where they had gathered in fellowship. I stank of hamburgers and fries from working the grill during the dinner rush. My forearms had a little coating of ice cream from brushing against the container walls when I joined the front serving line during their rush. My pruned hands were recovering from washing the trays and the grill equipment after having cleaned up after the church crowd. My filth was only an outwardly thing though. Theirs was internal and stank far worse and hurt far more people then my body odor and appearance ever would.

As my little car putted up the hill to home, I was grateful that soon I'd be able to take a shower and go to bed. It was close to midnight and the house looked as if my parents were in bed. My sisters weren't at home anymore. My oldest sister who I had never really gotten to know had graduated college and I rarely heard from her. It was like she had dropped off the planet and she only showed up for an obligatory visit on Christmas when all the family got together. She never even called home anymore that I knew of. I guess she had moved on and was busy with her new life. My second oldest sister was in college now, doing whatever it was she was doing there. My parents routinely heard from her. She and I were as close as a sister and brother would normally be. We loved each other, but always ended up getting on each other's nerves if pressed too close together for too long.

I expected to come home to a quiet house and take care of my quiet business. So it was a surprise when I entered the living room and found my father quietly sitting on the loveseat by the only light within the room. I had figured it was left on for my return as a courtesy.

As I headed towards my room I tossed him a "Hey Dad." But this time something was different. Normally my father had little to do with me. His idea of parenting had always been from a distance, allowing my mother to handle the day-to-day. I had never really lived up to his or her expectations, but it didn't bother me too much. I was happy-go-lucky. Now and then I received one of his lectures about putting forth the extra effort or completing what I started, but I was confident that I would succeed no matter what. After all, I was starting out further ahead then either of them had and knew that I would be fine. Life wouldn't hold any real surprises or setbacks for me. So when he put down his book and took off his glasses I felt it was time for another lecture. It was rather late for one, but something must have happened to trigger him.

"Sit down son."

That wasn't good. The tone was wrong. This wasn't the 'you-need-to-try-harder' tone. This was the trouble tone and worse then a regular one too. He was far too grave as if he had reached a point that was distasteful and unavoidable. Then again I could be wrong. "Sure," and I took a seat on the far end of the sofa that sat in an "L" with the loveseat and angled myself to face him. "What can I do for you?"

"Your mother was in your closet..."

Instantly I froze. I knew what was in my closet. Please let it not be that.

"She was only putting some clothes away. She wasn't trying to snoop, but she noticed that there was something that must have fallen off of a hanger and picked it up. Do you know what she found?"

It was that. Okay, please God don't let it be worse then this. I couldn't answer him directly. I wasn't ashamed at what I had in my closet, but I was ashamed at having been discovered and much more then that, I was afraid. I could only nod my head in acknowledgement.

"We went through the rest of your closet. We also searched your dresser, night table, and under your bed. We found the dress, the shoes, and the magazines. We took them all out to the burn barrel and disposed of them. Is there anything we missed?"

"No sir," came from my mouth, but my mind wanted to add, 'Except...'

"Good. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" His eyes lifted upwards to search me for an uncomfortable moment. He didn't want to look at me. He was far too calm about everything which meant he had been waiting for a long time. His first emotions must have already played out, but that didn't mean he couldn't re-ignite.

My head barely shook. "No sir. I've nothing to add." I was too scared to think. The dress was a stupid looking sweater dress I picked up at K-Mart. The shoes were cheap-o ones, light pink and with a three inch heal. They didn't go with the dress, but to another dress that I had purchased and returned. It had been a nice dress in shiny pink under black lace and a large pink bow at the back. I had to fix the shoulder spaghetti strap when it detached from the front and had returned it because I figured I shouldn't have spent that much money on something that difficult to hide. If they had they found that I wonder if I would be receiving the same lecture. What if they had looked inside the Penthouse and found my lipstick kiss next to one of my favorite stories? It didn't sound like they had examined anything too closely.

"Why did you have it?"

My words sounded stupid even to me. "Because I like the way it feels. I like the softness of it." I trailed off, not wanting to go any further. I was learning it was best to shut up and not blather about things. The feeling and looks I got from the clerk when I returned the dress taught me that lesson.

"When you get older you can buy silk boxers. There are men who prefer that over the cotton ones. When you are supporting yourself and you no longer live here you can make that decision. Are we clear?"

My father didn't want to hear anything I had to say. He had accepted my inane answer of the softness feeling good even though that could never explain the shoes, the fact that the dress was a cheap cotton knit, or that the story in the magazine I had marked was about a guy like me in a situation I fantasized about. He accepted it because it wasn't what I truly felt and he didn't want to know what I truly felt. I dared not tell him the truth. I felt trapped. I was stuck here; stuck even after I left home. Silk boxers? Why would I want boxers for Christ's sake? I didn't want boxers. I wanted something far more right for me.

I felt dizzy and saw my father still talking to me. I hadn't heard anything he had been saying, but he wasn't looking at me. He didn't care to address any of this anymore then I did.

"If you want, I will set up an appointment with a psychiatrist in town."

A psychiatrist? Tell a stranger what I was feeling? How could I ever talk to someone about this? How could I admit to anyone what I was thinking or feeling? What shame would I bring on to my family if it got out I was seeing a psychiatrist? I was already an outcaste at school, could I sink any lower? What if someone found out what I was seeing them about?

Then again maybe they would do that aversion therapy thing where you get to get fully dressed with the hair, makeup and jewelry. They surely would give me a really nice makeover. I'd have to have girl's glasses so I could see myself. It might be worth the electric shocks just for that. Maybe I'd go into overtime or extra sessions? Maybe multiple outfits? Maybe they'd tried to subject me to various things to show me that I shouldn't desire to dress like a woman or to be a woman. That wouldn't be so bad. I'm sure that what ever they would try wouldn't work. I could really look like a girl too! Maybe they would set things up for me to be treated like a girl too? Accepted as one just before they delivered the jolt to fix me?

"What's your decision son?"

I felt like I was looking down a long gray tunnel. The area around my father's head had washed out to gray and at the end of that tunnel I could see him waiting for me.

My father and mother were good people, tolerant and superior compared to others out there. Surely they could accept me? I mean my mother didn't do more then give me a talking to the first two times they caught me as a little kid, right? My sisters might be shocked initially, but maybe they'd come around eventually. My extended family might never come around. I would be heading to Hell as far as they would be concerned. My father would have to hide my decision from everyone at work, but when did I come up as a topic at his work anyway?

But no, the risk of being found out that I was going to a psychiatrist was too great.

With a start I realized I hadn't taken a breath in what felt like forever. My sudden, soft gasp didn't even bring my father's attention to me. The grayness faded and I felt my body tingle as if it had come back from the precipice of a decision I would have regretted forever.

"No. No I don't need to see anyone. I'm fine. It is like you said."

He dismissed me then. I went into my room and sat there looking at my closet, afraid to touch it. Trembling, I opened to find it clean. What my parents thought was unacceptable had been scoured free from it.

They had gotten everything.

Except...

Everything except for me. My desires remained.

I remained.

Epilogue:
It was decades later that I finally approached my oldest sister. I had thought she was a lesbian, but no one else in the family seemed to notice it or speak about it. Once she saw I accepted her she gushed all over me. It had happened a year or two before the event I've detailed here. My parents came to her as she brooded at home during a break. They saw she was unhappy and wanted to know if she needed help with anything. She felt that if anyone could be confided in, it was them.

Her father and mother were good people, tolerant and superior compared to others out there.

However she was wrong. Thrown out of the house, not welcomed back except for the image of a family Christmas, her life fell apart. It took years for them to even acknowledge her outside of what they felt they had to do to keep up the appearance of a proper and normal family; to keep the secret from rest of us. Drugs and alcohol had taken their toil, trying to find solace in the escape they provided only temporarily.

All of that could have been me, only before I had gone to college and maybe before I had graduated high school.

Together we had unknowingly shared a common theme. A version of "Don't ask, don't tell" became the rule, only it was "don't speak about it, don't acknowledge it."

My only regrets are that I didn't have the courage to find that help and that I didn't approach my sister sooner.