What I’m writing down now is neither a diary nor a journal. I write it for myself, for my possible references in the future. If someone reads this has to know doing it against my will.

December 21^st. It’s time of preparation for Christmas so Granny and me have visited retirement home not on Saturday or Sunday as usually but today, on Monday. Some other girls from our school with their mommies are visiting too but they usually are communicating with lonely elder people while I as usually do those nurses helping jobs: changing sanitary napkins, bathing and talking with them afterwards. I’m a boy so I help elder men but probably because of that weird red and white uniform and my longish hair I am constantly mistaken for a girl. I don’t mind it though it’s weird when people call me Courtney instead of Kurt.

December 24^th. Christmas eve and there is a waiting in silence at home for miracle of COMING. I am waiting for my Dad to come home for the first time in three years. I’m waiting for my Gramp to come home. Sure there is a plenty of other people I want to see with me at Christmas Eve’s table. Unfortunately there are only two of us at home today: Granny and me. I haven’t seen my Dad for years. Is it my fault he doesn’t want any more to come home?

December 26^th. It’s a day of the winter dance at our school this year. I’ve said to myself earlier I’d not attend it and I’d not change my mind. But there was Willy who wanted me to teach him the waltz. I’ve taught him to dance in a leading role while I was in the role of the girl and there was a wrap-on skirt and shoes on heels and tights and leotard and that wonderful music and the dance ended then Willy bowed and I curtseyed and he kissed me. On lips. I was shocked though I’d enjoyed it. And now I hate myself for it. I hate myself for the kiss. Not for the kiss but for me enjoying the kiss. I hate myself not Willy while Willy is a boy and boys don’t think they act according to instincts and I’m a… o shit I’m the boy too that was my instinct to take a kiss and enjoy it so I’m right to hate myself while I hadn’t to enjoy it or I had to do something not allowing Willy to kiss…

Willy has called the same night after the dance and he said everything went smooth and girls said he was perfect but he had called to say me no one girl was as perfect as I was. I guess he was talking about the waltz and not something else.

January 1^st. What made my days last few weeks? Not a bunch of events as Christmas or New Year rather a lack of them. I was expecting my dad and Gramp for Christmas at home first for Christmas and later for New Year. Alas! Granny and I were at home these days alone. Later I was expecting Willy to say something about the dance not by phone. Silly one! I’m a boy and if I want to go to the dance I have to go. It’s not a prom and everyone attends the dance evening by oneself. I’m not a girl and I’ve just pretended to be in girl’s role couple of times as Willy’s dance partner. Where those thoughts about being a girl come from? Is that my dad?

Well. Let’s talk about my parents. My father is a seaman now. He tries to come home at least for Christmas. I hope so; I haven’t seen him last two years already. The weirdest thing is that in the nowadays of Skype Google and i-phone the only way he communicates with us are ordinary postcards and letters. Dad never calls. There is my mother too (I hope) since I haven't seen her and Granny don’t talks about her a lot. My mother got pregnant when she and my Dad were fifteen. She was ready to go for abortion but Granny paid her for pregnancy and labor. Granny doesn’t say how much I’ve cost her but Gramp mentioned once it was more than ten thousand dollars.

So back to my dad. He’s a seaman now but he worked in the Mall of America few years earlier and when I was nine the new Girl of America shop in Boston was opened. Dad bought me that girl of the year doll Mia St. Clair who’s like me just her hair is a bit longer. He said she’ll help me to grow into a caring parent. The same year I met Audra who has the girl of the preceding year doll Nicki Fleming. Granny taught us how to sew dresses for our dolls while Audra’s dad showed how to build furniture and other useful stuff for the dolls. Then there were other girls with their dolls too but Audra and I were BFF. I’m fourteen and will be fifteen in a couple of weeks but I have no girlfriend though Audra is my BFF and bunch of the girls are my friends. We don’t talk about our dolls anymore but about fashion, make up, bands and boys. They all (ok almost all) have their boyfriends or have been on their dates already but not me. I’m with girls but I’m not a girl: I never dress up, I don’t do my hair or make up.

Have I to blame my dad for what I am and what I feel? I don’t think so. One single doll can’t change the one’s (in this particular case - mine) life in so radical way. Who else? Dad was adopted by Gramp and Granny when he was twelve so he is the only my relative and the only way to blame the genetics. I don’t think my girliness is related with genetics anyway.

Who else? Gramp! I see him just a little more often than my dad. He’s a trucker. He isn’t related with me and I don’t see him a lot so…

Granny. Like Gramp she’s not my relative but she had paid for me. I spend with her all the time when I am out of the school. She’s giving dance and aerobics lessons and I’m attending almost all of them. She’s yogini and I’m with her doing and eating the same. I guess her diet made those bumps on my chest to grow. They are not breasts, though they are clearly visible and sore. And all those movements I am taught at her classes make my figure a little girly. OK. I have to admit that living with Granny may make a boy tender. But it can’t change the boy into the girl. NO WAY!

January 2^nd. So there was a day of my musing or rather rambling about my girliness a day before without any appreciable result. Some result there was anyway just it wasn’t a reason just me hating myself more and more for being not right. Right and wrong aren’t those words that could describe me. It’s rather freak. Exactly. I’m not a fag anyway while I don’t fancy boys. I don’t fancy Willy too. The kiss just happened.

The same day Audra comes to our home and I can say I’m a human again in her presence. She doesn’t say something special to feel me better. Anyway while she’s here I have someone to share my worries with. Night comes and Audra has to go home. I’m alone again.

There I catch it. Nothing will change and I’ll be still musing and rambling without coming to any reasonable conclusion again and again until I’ll change something. Anything. I am back to the statement that I’m wrong. Not that I’m thinking wrong but that I’m wrong myself as a person. I have no future. I have to be real boy or real girl to have any future while I’m none so I have no future consequently. My mother was right. There is the saying ‘Mom knows best’. Exactly. Mother did know best. There is no way for me to be here. I have to disappear. ‘Puff!’ and there is no Kurt. I’m not talking about how to kill myself and make a mess at home and later all possible interviews and examinations for Granny: what happened, why happened, what have you done to prevent it etc and etc. I have to confess to myself I’m coward – suicide isn’t my way.

But I can’t leave it as it is. I don’t want to live a life that’s just rubbish. The life has to be real. There has to be a clear certainty here. Otherwise there will be no real life. I don’t want my life to be virtual: be a boy and be mistaken for a girl by almost everyone myself inclusive. So what’s my plan? I’m at the north end of route one and now in January temperature drops below zero only in the morning before the dawn. After Granny goes to bed I’ll drive my bike no less than ten miles away till I find some place for sleep. I have to get as tired as possible then the rest will be cared by the nature if I succeed to fall asleep.

I have only to write a card for Granny that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. There is just no other acceptable way.