Joy -- A Home That Love Built Tale

By Asche

Copyright 2016

Part 1

Janet was sitting in her office, enjoying one of the rare quiet days at the Home That Love Built, when the phone rang. After a few rings, she concluded that no one else was in the office, so she picked up. She didn't recognize even the area code on the caller ID.

"Uh, is this the place where, uh, girls who used to be boys go?" The voice sounded young, pre-teen or early teens, probably a boy.

"I suppose you could put it that way. It's more for trans girls and women who have nowhere else to go. Our founder, Cathilynn, won a lot of money in the lottery a number of years ago, and spent it to set up this place." Probably more than he wanted to know, but Janet felt a deep pride and gratitude to the Home and enormous gratitude to Cathi on her own behalf and on behalf of all of her trans sisters for creating this place. It felt like a never-ending miracle, and, like a new convert to a religion, she couldn't help telling everyone about it.

"Oh." There was a brief period of silence. "Uh, do they have to prove they have nowhere to go? I mean, is there some kind of admissions process, like college or something?"

"Well, not exactly. Most of the time, we already know about someone before they come here. Or it's obvious, like if they've been beaten up or been on the streets for a while. May I ask if there's something in particular you're trying to find out?"

"Oh, no, just curious.... but--" The word just hung there.

"Yes?"

The voice got really quiet. "Uh, how do you know if you're, you know--"

"How do you know if you're trans?"

"Uh,..., yeah."

"Are you thinking because you think you might be trans?"

"Oh, no!" he answered, too quickly. "Uh, I have a -- a friend who -- who thinks he might be trans. You know, like that foxy black lady in that TV show."

"Could you give me a name? It doesn't have to be your real name, just a name so I don't have to call you 'hey you'. I'm Janet, by the way. Janet McGuire."

More silence. "Let's say it's, uh, Mark."

"Well, Mark, there's no one answer for everyone. Every trans person's experience is different. Some people just know, often when they're as young as two or three. Others just feel a sense that something's not right, that who they are just isn't working. And then they somehow get the idea that it might have something to do with their gender. Maybe they have the urge to dress up or do themselves up like the opposite sex, or just pretend they are, and it feels right. Maybe weird, too, but also right. And there are lots of other ways people can come to realize it. It's really about finding a way of living your life that works for you."

"Uh, what if, say, you're a boy, but a girl you know says she wishes you were a girl, so--"

There was a noise in the background. "Woops! My brother just got home, gotta go!" She heard a clunking, then the sound of the phone being hung up.

Janet couldn't help smiling at the transparent awkwardness of youth, even though she knew that dealing with emerging transgender feelings was no laughing matter at any age.

Cathilynn poked her head in. "Not rushing around?"

"No, a quiet afternoon. I got a call from a boy, around ten to fifteen I'd guess. Wanted to know how to tell if you're trans."

Cathi laughed. "That's a question we'd all like to know a good answer to. My best 'elevator speech' answer takes about ten minutes."

"I got a name: Mark, no last name, not sure if it's real. I didn't get very far, he hung up when his brother got home, so I'm assuming he doesn't want anyone at home to know. He might call back. Oh by the way, any idea where area code 704 is?"

- - - - -

The next time Mark called, a week later, Cathi was the one who picked up. She'd been on and off the phone all afternoon with people who'd required a certain amount of heavy-handed persuasion, so her rote greeting was a little more abrupt than usual.

"Uh, is this the --?" responded the uncertain pubescent voice.

"Is this Mark?"

"Uh, yeah, how did you guess?"

"Oh, just a guess. I'm Cathi. What can I do for you?" Cathi tried to shift to a softer demeanor.

"I hope I'm not bothering you?"

"No, that's what we're here for. I'm guessing you called to ask something?"

"Uh, yeah, um, I was talking to the other lady, and she was telling me -- so I could tell my friend -- how to figure out if you're, uh, like ...."

"Trans?"

"Yeah."

"The best thing is to find a good therapist with experience with gender issues and especially with transgender people."

"Therapist? That's, like, uh, a shrink?"

"Yes, usually a psychologist or psychiatrist."

"I don't think that would work. Shrinks are for crazy people. At least, that's what everybody around here says. My brother had to go to one, but that was because he tried to kill someone at school; at least, that's what everybody says. He had to stay home for two weeks and had to see the shrink for years. He pushed me around even more than usual. And we share a room, so it's not like I can get away from him. Anyway, I'm saying, I don't think my par- -- my friend's parents would go for that. And even if they did, I'd be dead if anyone found out."

"Another approach is to find a trans support group. That's a group of people who are trans or think they might be trans who meet regularly to talk about their experiences. Does your school have anything like a gay-straight alliance?"

He laughed hollowly. "Nobody'd dare. There was a kid at my brother's school, people found out he was gay, he got hassled so badly, his family had to move away. The school did nothing to help him, in fact, some of his biggest harrassers were the teachers."

"I guess that's out. Have you looked for on-line support groups? Websites with message boards and chat rooms. I don't use them, but some of the people here might know of a good one."

"Yeah, I sometimes visit one, it's for cross-dressers. But I don't want to ask there. It's full of old guys who are into dressing up and acting really gay. And some of them are really creepy. But they did talk about your place. They said people should donate to it. That's how I knew about you. I mean, your place."

"Why don't I take your number and call you back when I find out more?"

"Oh my God, no! You can't call here. If my parents picked up, they'd find out and, no, that would be awful. Or if my brother picked up! I'd be dead."

"Do you have a cell phone?"

"No. My parents say I can't have one because I'm doing too badly at school."

"How about if you call back in a few days? I'll put something together and put it out here in the office, so whoever answers the phone can give it to you?"

"Okay. I'd better say goodbye, my brother's karate class is over and he'll be home soon."

Cathi knew just the person who would know about web resources: Sonya Frasier. She'd grown up in a strict fundamentalist Christian family with extremely restricted access to the Internet, so when she escaped at age 17 (or was thrown out, depending on how you want to look at it), she made up for lost time by getting involved in practically every social medium and web blog and forum she could find. She'd get Sonya to put together a sheet of paper with information that anyone who ended up taking Mark's call could rattle off in the brief times that he seemed to have to make calls.

- - - - - -

As it happens, Sonya was in the office the next time Mark called. Connie picked up, but when she found out who it was, she signaled to Sonya to use the phone in Irene's office, as she was out for the day.

"Hiya, Mark!" she said when she picked up.

"You know my name?" he said anxiously.

"Sure! You're kind of famous around here. The kid who keeps calling up to find out if he's trans."

"But it's not me that--"

"Hey, chill out, it's not like it's a big deal either way. You or your friend. Why don't we just pretend it's you, and you can tell your friend later?"

"Uh, okay. I'm not sayin' it's me, you understand."

"Gotcha. Now, are you on Facebook?"

"No. I don't even have E-mail."

"What do you do on your computer?"

"I don't have one. I use the ones in the school library, or I sneak onto my brother's computer when he's not home. He never bothers to log out, so I just turn on the monitor and run the browser."

"You know about clearing the history, right?"

"Yeah, I picked up that much."

"How come you don't have a computer?"

"My folks say I can't have one because my grades are too bad. Plus, I keep getting detentions."

"Detentions? What, are you some kind of JD? Just kidding."

"Mostly for 'being disrespectful.' Sometimes I do mouth off, everybody thinks I'm some kind of queer and they're always hasseling me because they don't like queers, even the teachers, and sometimes I lose it and talk back. But sometimes I'm just like asking a question or saying what happened and I don't even know why it's supposed to be 'disrespectful.' Like, if I don't have my homework, and they say, why not? And I say, because I didn't hear about it. Bang! Instant detention."

"That sucks." She said it in a way that made it all too obvious that she was still getting used to saying it.

She continued. "How about I see if I can set you up on a website for trans kids. I'm support staff on one, tgteens.org, so it's easy. You don't have to be trans to join, you can be just wondering, or maybe have a friend who thinks he or she is trans or might be. It's got talk boards, chat rooms, information pages, and on-line support via IM and PM twenty-four hours a day. We keep a close eye on things to discourage creepers."

"Creepers?"

"Grown-ups who pretend to be kids so they can perv on the kids or worse."

"Ew, gross!"

"So, what do you want as your screen name?"

"Huh?"

"The name you want to log in as. You know, like 'Mark' or OzTheGreat, or whatever."

He thought for a minute. "Can I use somebody's initials?"

"Sure. Mine is SFF -- Sonya For Frasier."

"Your middle name is a number?"

"No, it's a preposition. 'For' like in 'Sonya for president'." She giggled for a bit. "Somebody already had SF."

"How about 'MT'? The letter M and the letter T. Capital letters."

"Hmm ... No conflicts ... looks like it's yours." She finished setting it up and talked him through logging in and looking around the website.

"Uh, if I have questions, can I PM you? I might not want to post my dumb questions for everyone to see."

"No problem. I'd love to answer your questions, or find answers. Lots of people helped me on my way, now it's my turn. If you want to talk to me via IM, just look at the support IM page. There's a list of which support people are on. If you see SFF listed, you can IM me directly. Or if it's an emergency, you can just IM to 'hotline' and everyone who's on will see it. Otherwise, just PM to 'SFF', and I'll see it when I log on."

"I better get off now. It's almost time for my brother's karate class to be over, and if he catches me on his computer, I'm in deep doo-doo."

"'Deep doo-doo'?" Sonya giggled.

"He'd probably beat me up. Punch me, twist my arm, make me call myself names. And threaten me." She could hear him shudder. "It's bad enough even when I don't do anything."

"Don't your parents do anything?"

"They tell me I just have to be tougher. Hit him back, my Mom says. He tried to kill a kid, he had to go to a shrink, he's bigger than me, too, and I'm gonna 'hit him back'? Yeah, right. And he's taking karate. Brown belt. That stupid shrink was the one who had that stupid idea. He said it would 'help him get his aggressions out'. He's getting them out, all right. On me. He's already practicing his kicks and punches on me, all he'd have to do is let one go a little too far and then my neck would be broken or something and he'd just go, 'so sorry, it was an accident.' And if he found out I was hanging out with 'trannie queers' -- that's what he says when he sees stories about transsexuals on the news -- if he found out, I'd be dead. I'd be literally dead. Oh, shit! He'll be home any minute. Bye!"

Two days later, Sonya found a PM from "MT".

Cant use the computers at school there Net Nanny thing wont let me connect. got a screen saying inappropriate content. I'm at the library. I tell parents Im gonna study lol. tell me if u get this.

She replied:

Got your message. If you tell me when your at library, maybe I can be online and we can chat. If you have questions about schoolwork I can try and answer then you won't be lying about studying.

The next week, Mark didn't call. The next day, she got another PM.

Parents got phone bill. Saw calls to u. Big mess Now can't call ANYONE. Plus brother locking computer. Library 2morrow chat at 4:30?

She made a point of being on at 4:30. About fifteen minutes later, she got an IM:

	MT:	SFF?
	SFF:	Hiya kiddo. Parents still mad?
	MT:	sorta. stupid. phone calls were maybe $50. I mean, whats $50? Dad buys golf clubs for $1000, and he doesn't even like golf.
	SFF:	Plays golf?
	MT:	yea. guys from work. always complains about how stupid the game is.
	MT:	at home, not to guys he plays with.
	SFF:	how long can you stay on?
	MT:	15 min, more if no one is waiting.
	SFF:	how late?
	MT:	9:00 parents are out with sis til late, bro is home, tho. Ugh!
	SFF:	do you need help with school?
	MT:	lol. yeah, lots, but not with homework. school sux.
	MT:	PE teacher called me a girl cuz I couldnt get a basket in 2 tries.
	MT:	plus the usual: calling me fag, queer. didnt steal my lunch, tho, so good day.
	SFF:	did you talk to teachers or staff?
	MT:	no. when I do, they say no tattling.
	SFF:	how about parents?
	MT:	ha ha. dad says no whining. mom says too busy. theyre answer to any problem.
	MT:	wups, my fame is done. gotta go.
	SFF:	fame?
	MT:	15 mins of, lol. (warhol) bye.

Things continued this way. Mark would PM once or twice a week to say when he could get to the library, and they would chat.

	SFF:	any brothers and sisters?
	MT:	Kurt he's a senior. and a meanie. Lisa is 7. parents spoil her rotten. me, but I don't count. ha ha.
	SFF:	you count.
	MT:	you have brothers sisters?
	SFF:	2 little brothers, 2 littler sisters, 1 don't know.
	MT:	dont know??
	SFF:	father banished me while mom was pregnant. won't let me talk to them
	SFF:	I'm a "bad influence." Devil's snare, that stuff. might even be more siblings I don't know about.
	MT:	sux.
	SFF:	agreed.
	MT:	you miss them?
	SFF:	and how. never had friends, only family.
	MT:	like me.
	SFF:	no. father wouldn't let me. home schooled me so I wouldn't have temptations like friends.
	MT:	wow.
	SFF:	now I have friends. mostly at HTLB.
	MT:	htlb?
	SFF:	the Home That Love Built. The place you called.
	MT:	wish I had friends.
	SFF:	you have no friends?
	MT:	nope
	SFF:	you got one now. :)
	MT:	?
	SFF:	me!

A typical IM conversation from few weeks later:

	SFF:	why do you think you're trans?
	MT:	my friend not me
	SFF:	why does your friend think he's trans?
	MT:	wants to know how girls do it. clothes, makeup, hair, talk.
	MT:	sees girls, wonders: what if I were a girl
	MT:	crazy weird stuff. going crazy.
	SFF:	not crazy. normal for trans girls. like seeing a big pizza with all the toppings when you're starving.
	MT:	yeah like that
	MT:	scary. other boys say, your a girl, maybe their seeing something.
	MT:	so dead if they find out. time for witness protection program ha ha
	SFF:	sux. you can't be yourself.
	MT:	nobody wants my self around anyway. when they see me
	MT:	theyre like ew gross! like I was dog doo.
	SFF:	oh god that is so awful! so wrong. you're cute & funny

A PM that came in the spring:

We just had spring break, and i was home like always, I remembered your idea that I should try to make friends with my bratty sister. I played dolls with her. Kurt picked on me for being girly, I said I just want to make friends with my sister. they were going to take her to the beach but she got sick just before they were going to leave. I brought her water and red to her and snuck cookies. she gave me a hug. Ill probably get sick, but that's okay. if I get sick, I won't get to go to school, that's so awful. not. oh and she said she wishes I were her big sister. I wish to. shes spoiled rotten but I love her. wish I could see you you ever get to NC?

In May:

	MT:	I wish I were a girl. girls are so much nicer.
	SFF:	not always.
	MT:	they dont steal your lunch or dump your underwear in the toilit or hit you with a towell.
	MT:	being a boy sux.
	MT:	whats it like at htlb?
	SFF:	just about everyone is a trans woman. the residents do most of the stuff to keep things going,
	SFF:	like cleaning, minor repairs, shopping, office work.
	SFF:	there's pretty much everything you'd need for a shelter, except people have their own rooms.
	SFF:	residents are expected to work or study. I just got my GED and am working on a pre-med degree.
	MT:	so being trans is normal there?
	SFF:	exactly.
	MT:	sounds like heaven.
	SFF:	yeah, except I miss my brothers and sisters. Dad won't let me even say hi on the phone until I give up 'sinful ways.'
	MT:	I wouldnt miss big bro. starting to like bratty little sis tho.
	MT:	hey I rymed
	SFF:	people here are like family. Maybe you too?
	SFF:	You can be my adopted online little brother. or is it sister?
	MT:	kewl!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2

It was a Friday in June and things were crazy at the Home that Love Built. The Home was nearly at capacity already and today a few more women were expected. Irene and Sandra were trying to figure out where to put them, and were about to consider getting camping cots when the doorbell rang. But instead of a trans woman with all her earthly posessions in shopping bags, Irene found at the door a boy who looked to be around 12 or 14 with an overstuffed school knapsack, a mop of unruly dark brown hair, and a nervous smile.

"Can I help you?"

"Um, is Sonya here?"

"I'm afraid before I can tell you who might or might not be here, I'll have to know who you are and what you want."

He shrank into himself a little and shifted his feet. "Um, I'm a friend of hers from on-line, and -- and I thought maybe I could visit? Um, I go by M-T online--"

"'Empty'?" asked Irene.

"Uh, no, the letters M and T. Actually, my real name is, uh, Mark." He added in a nearly inaudible mumble, "I'm hoping it will be Amanda or something someday."

"Oh, so you're Mark! Well, come in. Wait here in the office, I'll see if I can track Sonya down. We're pretty busy right now, we're full up and we're trying to find space for a few more that are expected. That's who I thought it was when you rang."

"You're full?"

"Yes. Were you hoping to stay here?"

"Um, it's okay. I just want to see Sonya. If she's not busy. She's like my only friend."

"Take a seat, then." Irene gave Connie a look so she'd know to keep an eye on the boy and then bustled off into the labyrinth that the Home had become over the years. Connie worked on the accounts, glancing every minute or so at the folding chair where the boy sat, but other than fidgeting, he showed no sign of going anywhere.

About ten minutes later, Sonya burst into the office, followed by Irene. When she saw the boy on the chair, she stopped and stared at him.

"Amanda? Is that you?"

"Yeah. M-T, Mark, whatever." He looked anxious, like he didn't know if he would get hugged or hit.

"What are you doing here? I mean, it's great to see you. It's -- a surprise, though."

"Uh, yeah. I thought I'd drop by."

"I thought you were in North Carolina. How did you get here?"

By way of answer, he put out a fist with his thumb pointed up, accompanied by an embarrassed smile. "Uh, if it's a bad time, I can go. She said you all were busy, I don't want to make trouble."

"No, don't go." She looked questioningly at Irene.

"Yes, stay. But we have to get a few things cleared up first." Sonya moved the chair next to him so she could see him and Irene pulled over an office chair. Sonya put out her arms and asked, "do you mind if I have a hug first? I've often wanted to give you a hug, and this is my first chance." He had already stood up and she had taken him into her arms before she finished talking. She was a good head taller than him, so she ended up picking him up in the process. When they were finally done, she set him down in front of his chair and they both sat down and looked at Irene.

Irene spoke. "First of all, what should we call you?"

"Amanda's fine. So is Mark. I'm still not sure what I want to be called."

"Now, where are your parents?"

"Um. I'm not sure. Probably back home. In North Carolina. But sometimes they go away."

"Do they know you're here?"

"Um, ah, well, maybe ... but, uh, probably not?"

Irene sighed. "I'll take that as a 'no'." When it rains... "So, first of all, we need to contact your parents. They're probably sick with worry. When did you leave?"

He looked at first like he was going to make something up, but then gave up and said. "Wednesday."

Irene thought for a minute. "I don't think you hitchhiked here from North Carolina in two days." She gave him her best penetrating stare.

"Uh, well actually, I took the bus, and I walked from the bus station. Well, gas station where the bus stopped."

"I'll need your full name -- your legal name -- and the names and telephone number of your parents. And then, we'll need to figure out where to put you, since I doubt we can get you back to North Carolina today."

"She can stay in my room," said Sonya. "I've got that trundle bed. It's too small for an adult, but I think Amanda would fit. And I could keep an eye on her."

"Is that okay with you?" said Irene, looking hard at him. "You'll do what she says?" He nodded.

"Okay, let's contact your parents." The three of them went into Irene's office. The boy dictated his full name -- Mark Tindall -- and gave his parents' names and home telephone. After ten rings, the voice mail picked up, and Irene left the number of the Home, told them it was about Mark, and asked them to call back. Irene looked at Sonya and said, "okay, he's your responsibility now. Just make sure we can find you all when his parents call back." Sonya agreed and led the boy off, and Irene went back to trying to figure out how to fit two quarts into a one-quart bottle.

In all of the busyness involved in sorting out the arriving women and girls, the problem of Mark Tindall slipped Irene's mind. It wasn't until late afternoon, when she and Sandra and Janet were relaxing with cups of coffee, that a reminder came in the form of a commotion in the hall. A second later, Sonya came in with what Irene eventually recognized as Sonya's friend.

She (it looked like it was "she" now) was dressed in a sundress in a wild print with garish colors that made Irene's eyes hurt. She had on girl's white ankle socks with pink-edged ruffles and navy blue boat shoes. Her hair had been washed and brushed and tied in short pigtails and the bangs held back with one red and one blue barrette. And her face was split by the world's biggest grin.

Sonya announced, "she has her true name now: Joy!"

The newly named Joy looked like she was about to burst. "'Cause when Sonya dressed me up like a girl, I cried, and she asked, what's the matter, and I said, nothing, these are tears of joy. And we both said, 'Joy!' So now I'm Joy! Joy Wilson!"

The three of them clapped, not knowing how else to react. Janet gave Sonya a look and whispered, "who was the fashion consultant?"

"She picked them out. We were down in the spare clothing storage, and when she saw the dress, she had to have it. Same with the socks. The shoes were the only ones we could find that fit her. I figured, there's plenty of time to teach her how to coordinate. Or match your figure and color. The main thing is, she has clean clothes and she's happy. Oh, I got her to take a bath and I washed her hair and got her clean underwear. Girls'."

"Isn't this a little hasty? He just got here."

"It wasn't my decision. As soon as I got her out of the office, she wanted to know when she could start being a girl. It was easiest to just go along with it. How long do we have before I have to get her back into boy mode?"

"Nobody's called yet," said Irene. "Why don't you take her with you to help with dinner. I'm sure Jackie could use the help, and it would be good to give Joy something to do."

Sonya beckoned Joy over and headed out the door with Joy bouncing around her like a hyperactive puppy.

"I guess we'll have to get used to calling her Joy," said Sandra after they'd had a chance to recover from the excitement. "She does seem happier than she was when she arrived."

"Actually, Sonya looks more alive, too," added Janet. "I'd been a little worried about her. Being cut off from her siblings was getting to her. Now she has someone to take care of and take her mind off of what her family's doing to her."

Later, as Janet was walking to the kitchen to get some more coffee, she heard singing. Jackie, the retired cook who volunteered to come in to make dinners and keep the kitchen in some semblance of order, usually brought her boom box to fill the kitchen with music while she cooked and today's selection was an album of Beatles songs. When Janet walked in, she saw Sonya and Joy wearing full aprons and sitting at the kitchen table cutting vegetables, Jackie at the stove, and the three of them loudly singing along to the music. Joy didn't seem to know all the words, but that didn't stop her from 'la la la'ing through the parts she didn't know and belting out the refrains.

After dinner, Joy insisted on helping clean up and was set to work scrubbing the pots and pans. She required a little instruction, but Jackie later said Joy was quite a help and she'd only had to rewash one pan. Considering Joy had, as far as anyone knew, never washed a dish before, that was quite an accomplishment.

Around nine, Janet peeked in on Sonya and Joy. Sonya was at her desk studying and Joy was on the trundle bed in a long cotton nightgown, reading a book.

"How is it going?" asked Janet. Joy looked up with a worried expression.

"No problems. She's happy to do what I tell her. She does seem to require a lot of hugs, though," she added, grinning at Joy, who grinned back. "She said she wished I were her big sister, so we've taken to calling each other big sister and little sister."

The next day, when Irene went into the kitchen to make her lunch, Joy and Sonya were there. Joy was wearing a denim skirt with a pink short-sleeved blouse over a white camisole, and her hair, long for a boy but short for a girl, was held away from her face with a tortoise-shell hairband. It made her look a lot more like an average girl, if a flat-chested and rather girly one, and it was honestly easier on Irene's eyes than the outfit she'd worn the previous day.

"What kind of sandwich would you like?" asked Joy.

"Do you know how to make tuna and cheese?"

Joy looked at Sonya, who nodded. "Sure!" Irene sat down and watched as Joy, following Sonya's instructions, pulled food out of the refrigerator and made the sandwich. She added some sandwich toothpicks which Irene didn't know they had and some potato chips and brought the plate to the table. Sonya brought a cup of coffee, and she and Joy joined Irene at the kitchen table.

"Your parents still haven't called back," Irene told Joy. "Joy, don't your parents have a cell phone?"

"Yeah -- I mean, yes, Sonya's trying to teach me to be a proper girl, and proper girls don't say 'yeah' -- but I'm not supposed to call it unless it's a real emergency, and I never have. It's on a piece of paper on the refrigerator back home. Besides, it isn't really an emergency, is it?"

"They don't seem to have reported you missing. At least, you're not on any of the national missing persons databases. I guess you're stuck here for a while longer." Joy just grinned and leaned against Sonya. Sonya put her arm around her. "So how is it going?"

Joy said nothing, so Sonya answered. "I've shown her around to the regulars. They all think she's cute and say they can't imagine her as a boy. She's soaking up the attention." Joy started to look upset. "Joy, there's nothing wrong with wanting attention. Everybody needs attention."

"My family thinks I want too much. They alway say I'm just looking for attention."

"That's probably because you haven't been getting as much as you need," Irene put in. Sonya thought of Irene as being only focused on the practical, so it always took her by surprise when she showed her empathic side.

"That's right, sis," said Sonya, "you're just getting what you need."

"Anyway," she continued, "I went back to studying, and she was looking for something to do, so I set her to sweeping and vacuuming the halls and entry. When she was done, Nellie got her to bring the new girls fresh sheets and towels, and when she did, she showed them the supply closets in case they needed more. Vicky -- that's one of the new girls, or should I say ladies, she's old enough to be my mom" -- a look of sadness crossed her face when she said 'my mom' -- "anyway, Vicky went along with Joy and started telling Joy her story, and when they were done bringing the sheets, Joy sat with her and kept listening."

"Yeah -- oops! -- yes. It was really sad," said Joy. "How can people be so mean?"

"So then Nellie asked her to do some loads of laundry and Vicky showed her how. Actually, they did it as a team, but Joy thinks she could do it herself next time. Right?" Joy nodded, positively glowing. "What else?"

"Vicky and I went to the living room and I sat on the couch and vegged out, but that other lady -- what was her name?"

"The chess player? Roseanne."

"Anyway, they were playing chess, and I asked them about it and they explained their strategies, and Roseanne said if I stayed, she'd show me how to play winning chess. And then Vicky asked if I was here because my parent was here and I was with her, and I said no, I was here alone because I was a boy who wanted to be a girl, and she said, you already are. I didn't tell her that I was probably going to have to go home because my family wasn't mean enough to me."

Irene said, "'mean enough'? Young lady, I think you and I are going to have to have a talk." Joy looked properly abashed for a few seconds, but her expression then dissolved into a grin, and Irene smiled in spite of herself.

Sonya picked up. "I came by to take Joy to the kitchen to make sandwiches for lunch, and she took it into her head to ask the women in the living room what kind of sandwiches they'd like. So we've spent the past half-hour making sandwiches."

"This doesn't sound like the shy boy who called me up months ago," said Irene, "or the shy boy who I saw at the door who looked like he was scared of his own shadow."

"I think I'm going to send her over to the hospice this afternoon. Janet's crew could use the help, and her patients might appreciate Joy's -- well, joy. And to be honest" -- she glaced at Joy -- "I wouldn't mind having her out of my hair for a few hours." She gave Joy a hug. "I don't want to get rid of you, but you don't want me to overdose on you, do you? I'd be lying on the floor comatose, and Janet would be shouting, 'quick, bring me a shot of Sadness, she's had a near-fatal overdose of Joy!'" Joy could barely contain her giggling.

That evening, Janet went by Sonya's room again. Sonya was sitting on her bed reading and Joy was lying down asleep with her head on Sonya's lap. Sonya put her finger to her lips, then gave the OK sign. Janet watched for a while and noticed Sonya distractedly stroking Joy's head and playing with her hair as she read.

Irene was off on Sunday, so it was Sandra who tracked Joy and Sonya down at breakfast. Joy had a new outfit: a white puffed-sleeve blouse, a knee-length navy-blue pleated skirt, white knee socks, and the same shoes as before. It looked like someone had located a training bra, too. "Joy, still nothing from your parents, sorry." Joy didn't seem upset by the news. "Also, Nancy's coming by today, she'd like to see you this afternoon."

"Who's Nancy?"

"Nancy Kane. She's our psychiatrist."

Joy looked uncertain and anxious. "Does this mean you all think I'm crazy?"

"No, it doesn't. But you might be a little mixed up about things. You've gone awfully quickly from asking how you'd know if you were trans to trying to live full-time as a girl, and we thought it would be a good idea for you to talk with someone about it. Nancy has a lot of experience with gender issues."

"She's really nice," added Sonya. "You'll be safe with her."

Nancy found Joy at lunch and took her to her office. The office looked like a small living room, despite the desk in the corner. It had a sofa, an overstuffed armchair, a coffee table, a plain wooden chair, and some folding chairs in the corner. She sat Joy on the couch and sat down herself in the armchair. She gave Joy a smile, but Joy still looked ill at ease.

"How was your day?" she asked Joy.

"Wonderful!" said Joy, with slightly forced enthusiasm. "Sonya took me to her church. I was afraid people would figure out I was really a boy, but they didn't. I was scared they'd want me to go to Sunday school, but it turned out the kids my age stayed in church and did youth group at a different time. It looked kind of like my church at home, you know, with songs and prayers, and everybody -- well, most people -- dressed up, but not too dressed up. I thought I fit right in."

"Sounds like you like being a girl."

"Yeah!" she said enthusiastically. She suddenly noticed her posture and sat up a little straighter and pulled her knees together. "I mean, yes. I keep forgetting."

Nancy decided to plunge ahead, since she didn't have time to wait for Joy to open up on her own.

"I'm told you asked us how you'd know if you were trans. You're the only one who can really answer that question, but I'd like to help you answer it. First of all, what made you think you might be transgender?"

"Um, what got me thinking was what a girl said to me. She was my lab partner in science, none of the boys wanted to partner with me, so the teacher assigned her to me. That's because they -- the boys -- all think I'm weird, they call me queer or fag or sometimes sissy, because I'm no good at being a boy. Well a lot of the girls think so, too. Anyway, after the first few labs, she said she wished I were a girl so I could be her girlfriend, maybe even her BFF. I wished I could be her BFF, too, she was so nice. I started, you know, thinking about the idea, but not like it could ever happen. That's when I started looking at crossdressers and stuff on the internet. God, some of that stuff is weird! Anyway then I was hearing about people like that lady on the prison show, and she didn't look gross, and I started to wonder if maybe I really could be a girl."

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Really weird. Scary weird. I mean, I know I'm supposed to be a boy, but sometimes -- you know, my Mom is alway saying, 'it's so nice that Mark can take care of himself, I don't need to do anything for him,' but my sister -- she's seven -- my parents are always taking care of her, like, driving her everywhere, and getting her nice stuff and saying how cute she is. And I'm kind of jealous. Sometimes I wish I were a girl so they'd spend time with me and do stuff for me."

"And think you were cute?"

Joy -- now more 'Mark' than 'Joy' -- blushed, but after a second he nodded. "I wish I didn't have to take care of myself all the time. I know I'm not supposed to, being jealous is a sin and I'm supposed to be proud I'm a boy, but not too proud, that's a sin, too."

He laughed, but it was a hollow laugh. "You know that joke, 'first prize, one week in Philadelphia, second prize, two weeks in Philadelphia'? It's like 'first prize one year as a boy, second prize, two years as a boy,' or something like that. I feel like I'd rather lose. Uh, that doesn't make any sense. More like being a boy means I'm losing. Or am a loser. Oh, I don't know what I mean."

He stopped and looked nervous. "Does this sound stupid? Everybody says I talk too much and say stupid stuff."

"No, I don't think it's stupid at all. It's interesting. Please go on."

"Maybe that's why I'm so bad in school. Rather losing, I mean. It's not like I can't learn stuff, it's more that I'm always screwing up, so I get C's and D's. My parents won't get me a computer or cell phone like my brother until I do better. Except last year in science, when I had that girl as my lab partner, I got all A's on the lab reports and B's and A's on my tests. But just in science. I even got all the homework done. I guess because she was working with me.

"I remember one time, I went over to her house to work on our lab reports together. I rode on the bus with her and we sat at the dining room table and talked about the experiment and stuff and worked on our reports and I didn't feel weird once. And her Mom brought us both a snack. I can't remember when my Mom brought me a snack. I mean, if she's making dinner, she'll make some for me, but I always have to make my breakfast and lunch. It was so nice. I mean, at the girl's house. It was so comfortable, I didn't want to leave. Being a girl is so much nicer than being a boy.

"Oh, and she showed me her room, I don't remember why. It felt so nice. It was girly, but not too girly, she mostly wears pants and jeans, but sometimes a skirt. The bed had a bedspread, and the curtains had flowers, and there were stuffed animals on the bed, and she had a nice dresser and there was a mirror on top and a brush and a hairband. Oh, and the closet door was open and I could see a pink satin dress hanging there with all the other stuff. I kind of wanted to go over and just feel it, but I knew she'd think I was weird. And when we were done, I didn't have to hitchhike or find a county bus, her mom drove me home. And she rode with me." Mark started to tear up. "She didn't need to, but she wanted to." He stopped talking while he fought back sobs. "Her name was Jeanne. Jeanne Miller." A few more sobs escaped. "I wish she was my lab partner this year."

They both sat in silence while Mark none too successfully tried to stifle his sobbing and hold back his tears. Mark, because even though he was dressed as Joy, his face and his posture showed Mark, the nervous, confused Mark who'd called and the shy, awkward Mark who'd shown up at the door two days earlier.

"You know what's really weird," he said, still crying. "When I saw the dress, after I thought about touching it, I wondered what it would be like to wear it. I wished I could be her twin sister and we'd both be wearing identical pink satin dresses. Then I felt ashamed, I felt like some kind of pervert and I was afraid maybe she could tell I was thinking these perverted thoughts. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe I do need a shrink. You're the expert on crazy people, am I crazy?" He tried to make it sound like he was just kidding about being crazy, but the worry showed around the edges.

"No, you're not crazy. And your thoughts aren't perverted, not at all. You've just got some feelings you don't know what to do with."

"Am I trans, like Sonya and the ladies here?"

"You definitely could be. You should really spend a number of sessions with a good therapist who can help you figure out what you feel and you want to do about what you feel. You might decide to transition and live as a woman, like Sonya. Or you might crossdress occasionally. Or you might live as a man, but let yourself do some things your friends would call 'feminine.' When we finally get in touch with your parents, I'd like to talk to them about setting you up with a good gender therapist back home."

"Uh, I don't think they'd be too keen on that. When my brother Kurt got suspended for fighting, they didn't want to take him to a shrink, they only did it because the school wouldn't let him back in unless he was seeing a shrink. And the one they took him to, I don't think he was very good. He got my parents to put Kurt into a karate class 'so he can get his aggressions out.' But I don't think it helped. He was mean to me before he went, and he was mean after he finished. Except now he has lots of karate attacks to threaten me with."

"Do your parents know about him being mean to you?"

"Yeah, I told them, lots of times. They just told me I had to be tough and to stop being a tattle-tale. I'm supposed to be able to take care of my self, see?"

"That sounds hard."

"Yeah." They sat quietly for a few minutes.

"Can I ask you how you feel about dressing like a girl and having everybody treat you like a girl?"

"Right now, it seems weird, but if I don't think about it, it's just fun. No, not just fun, it feels right, like it's just what I want to do and what I should be doing. Usually I feel like I'm weird no matter what I'm doing, but here I don't feel like I'm weird at all, even though I'm wearing girls' clothes. I feel like I'm being me, and it's nice. Isn't that weird?"

"Not weird at all. You're in a supportive, affirming environment and you're getting to do something you've wanted to do for a long time. I'd expect you to feel good. I'd be more worried if you were feeling weird. It's been great talking to you. Now, are you planning to do anything fun?"

She grinned and suddenly she was Joy again. "I'm going swimming tomorrow, maybe even this afternoon if we can find someone to lifeguard. Sonya found me a nice bathing suit -- a girl's suit! You know, a one-piece one that covers your" -- she suddenly got quieter -- "breasts." She continued. "It's pink and purple and has a ruffle on the top and the bottom. It makes me look kind of like a little girl, but I like that. Sonya told me how to push things around so I don't look so much like a boy."

Nancy couldn't help smiling. "I think I've found out what I wanted to, it's time for you to go out and enjoy yourself and and to keep on feeling not weird."

They both got up. Joy reached out for a hug, and after a second of hesitation, Nancy gave her a big hug. When they were done, Joy got thoughtful. "At home, we don't hug. I mean, not much. I think I've gotten more hugs since I've been here than I get in a whole year at home. Maybe longer." She thought again. "And I like it!" She gave Nancy a big smile, then another quick hug, and then scampered out the door.

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Part 3

Cathilynn got the call late Monday afternoon. Joy had been at the Home for three days and already she was becoming a part of the life of the Home. She continued to entertain with her energy and enthusiasm and to help with whatever she could find to occupy herself with. There was a part of her that had irrationally hoped that Joy's parents would never call and she could just stay. But it was not to be.

"The Home that Love Built, how may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Margaret Tindall. I got a message on my voicemail asking me to call you. I'm sorry not to call back sooner, but we were away for the weekend and I just got around to checking my voicemail. What is this about?"

"We called about your son Mark--"

"Oh, yes, let me get him on the line."

"Mrs. Tindall--" But Mrs. Tindall had already put the phone down and could be heard in the background shouting, "Mark? Mark?"

It was almost five minutes before she came back. "He doesn't seem to be home, he's probably over at a friend's house."

Cathi recalled that Mark had said he had no friends, so she wondered where exactly Mrs. Tindall thought he'd be. "Mrs. Tindall, we know he's not at home. He's here with us."

"Oh, then, is there a problem?" She sounded puzzled. "Is he acting up? Has he worn out his welcome?"

Cathi was getting frustrated. "Do you know where here is?" She proceeded to explain exactly where the Home was and how far it was from Charlotte, North Carolina. "That's where your son is."

"Goodness, how did he get there?"

"By bus. He left your home last Wednesday. Were you aware that he's been gone for five days?" It was a little blunt, even for Cathi, but she couldn't figure out how else to get through to the woman.

"Five days? No, I --" It seemed that the seriousness of the situation, or at least how bad it would make her look, was finally getting through to her, because she then said. "Maybe I'd better talk with my husband when he gets home. We'll call you back this evening, is that okay?"

"I can arrange to be back in my office with Mark by eight o'clock. Please call then."

Cathi found Joy and Sonya in the kitchen. Joy was wearing a white T-shirt with a kitten on it and the denim skirt. She was kneading dough for dinner rolls while Sonya peeled potatoes. "Joy, I'm going to need your attention." Joy stopped kneading and Sonya came to the table and pushed the dough to one side. "Your mother called."

"Was she mad?" asked Joy anxiously.

"No, I think she was confused. She thought you'd been home the whole time. When she couldn't find you, she thought you were at a friend's."

"She didn't know I was gone?" Joy looked dismayed.

"I don't think she knew until I told her. She said she'd need to talk to your father and they'd call back."

But Joy wasn't listening any more. She seemed to slowly crumple. Sonya quickly sat next to her and held her head against her shoulder as tears started to roll down her cheeks. Her face fell and she began to silently sob. She pushed even tighter against Sonya and buried her face in Sonya's shoulder and her body began to shake. Sonya stroked Joy's back and head and tried to comfort her. Only after several minutes did Joy's crying become audible. She gave long, anguished sobs and occasionally said things that were too broken up by sobs and muffled by Sonya's blouse to be understood. Jackie put down her utensils and came over and patted Joy's shoulder. "Poor kid."

Jackie went back to the stove and Cathi took over peeling the potatoes. She'd peeled a potfull before Joy's face emerged, red and wet with crying. "She didn't notice I was gone," she moaned. "I could have been dead and nobody would have noticed." She sobbed some more and repeated, "she didn't notice." After a few more sobs, she sat up and grabbed the dough and started pounding it with big, angry blows. She stopped and started sobbing again. "How could she not notice?" she whimpered as Sonya put her arms around her and held her. "How?"

Dinner was a somber affair. Joy just picked at her food. Word had gotten around of how upset Joy was and why. A few came by to commiserate. Vicky and Nellie gave her a hug. Even Claudia, one of the girls from the hospice wing who Joy had read to and who had been given only a few weeks to live, came by in a wheelchair to say, "I care, and when I pass on, I'll be looking down and praying for you." She gave Joy a kiss.

By eight, Cathi's office was crowded. Cathi, Sonya, Joy, Nancy, Janet, and Sandra sat inside, and Irene said she was coming but would be late. As it happened, the Tindalls didn't call until eight thirty, by which time Joy's nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She was fidgeting and clutching Sonya's arm to the point Sonya had to ask her to stop because she was starting to bruise.

"Hello, Home That Love Built."

"This is Fred Tindall. I understand my son Mark is there?"

Cathi looked at Joy, who looked at the floor. Sonya whispered, "you've got to say hi."

"Hi, Dad," said Joy listlessly.

"Have you been behaving yourself?"

"Yes, Dad."

"I'm sorry my son has imposed on you."

"Oh, it's been no bother, we've loved having him here," said Cathi.

"If you can arrange to send him home, we'll be happy to pay the cost."

Joy interrupted. "Dad, can't I stay here? At least, can I if they say I can? Please?"

Mr. Tindall was silent. "I think you've imposed on them enough, I want you to come home."

Janet spoke up. "It was no imposition, we enjoyed having her -- him -- here."

Mr. Tindall replied, "son, I'm sure they're just being polite. Now, get ready to come home. You know we've all missed you. Ms. --"

"Michel."

"Ms. Michel, I'd like to arrange for Mark's trip home."

"I'll have to see what is the nearest airport with a direct flight to Charlotte."

"Didn't you say he took the bus to get to you?"

"He did."

"I think he can take the bus home, he's already shown he can manage it. If he doesn't have enough money, let us know what we owe, and we'll send a check. Oh, and let us know what we owe for his stay there."

"We don't charge people to stay here," said Cathi a litle indignantly. "But aren't you concerned that something will go wrong? That he'll miss a bus and get stranded?"

"We've always been proud of how well Mark can take care of himself."

Nancy Kane spoke up. "Mr. Tindall, there's another issue. We've had a chance to observe your -- son -- over the past few days, and in my opinion as a psychiatrist, he has some gender issues and would benefit from sessions with a gender therapist."

"I don't see why. I know my son, and I don't see any 'gender issues.' He's a perfectly normal boy. And if he does need to see a therapist, I'm sure Kurt's former psychiatrist will do just fine."

"Fine," said Cathi, "I'll let you know when Mark is due to arrive in Charlotte."

"Oh, that won't be necessary. He can call from the bus station when he gets in. Just put him on the bus." With that, he hung up.

As soon as they heard the click of the phone hanging up, Janet exploded. "What an awful, awful man!"

"Unfortunately, it looks like Joy is going to have to live with them for the next few years," said Cathi.

Joy had been quietly sobbing for a while while Sonya held her. "I don't know -- I don't know if I can," she sobbed. "Now that I've been Joy, I don't think I can go back to being Mark. They'll kill me. My brother. The kids at school. The teachers. It was bad enough being a queer and a sissy. Now they'll know I'm a girl. I'm dead. I am so dead."

"They want to go on pretending everything is fine," said Janet. "They refuse to see her, they insist on seeing what they want to see. How stupid --" She ran out of words to express her anger.

Cathi went on, "I'll talk to Sam to see if there's anything we can do legally, but I don't have a lot of hope. We'd have to show abuse, and I don't think CPS would see this as abuse. Otherwise, we'd have to convince them to give us guardianship, and it doesn't sound like they'd be willing."

"Couldn't we just keep her here?" asked Sonya. "What if she just doesn't go back?"

"We'd get in big trouble. Legally, where she stays is up to her parents, not to her. It would count as kidnapping or something. We would be lucky not to get arrested. They'd probably shut the Home down. And she would still have to go back to her parents."

Joy stuck close to Sonya for the next day, rarely letting go of her hand. Sonya didn't even try to study, but followed Joy around as she did her self-appointed chores. Her face was a mask of misery and her eyes were rarely dry. People would come up to her and hug her, and she would mumble thanks.

Cathi found them late in the afternoon. Joy had found a girls' black T-shirt and a long black skirt and looked like an avatar of despair. "Joy, I've made the arrangements. Tomorrow morning, we'll be driving you to the bus to Chicago, and someone will meet you there and you'll spend the night there. The same thing in Columbus. If you want, I'll see if I can find someone in Charlotte who you can talk to."

Joy clung to Sonya as Sonya put her arm protectively around her. "I don't know if it'll do any good. My parents might not even let me talk to them. They'll probably ground me."

Cathi privately thought that her parents weren't likely to be willing to go to that much trouble, but said nothing.

Wednesday morning, Joy, dressed as Mark and carrying his overstuffed knapsack, got into Irene's car. Sonya and Janet had insisted on joining her for the hour and a half drive to the bus station for the bus to Chicago. "Anita Ross will be meeting you in Chicago," said Irene. "She'll have a sign saying 'Joy.'"

"Better make it say 'Mark'," she replied. "I may as well start getting used to not being Joy any more. I am so dead."

As Joy was waiting to board the bus, Irene pressed a pile of bills into her hand. "In case you need anything." Janet gave her a hug and a kiss, and Sonya took her in her arms and cuddled her until it was time for her to board the bus. Her eyes were red with crying as she waved from the steps of the bus.

Cathi got a call from Anita in the afternoon that Mark had arrived safely, and another the next morning to say that she'd put her on the bus to Columbus and had contacted Vince in Columbus with the number of the bus.

That afternoon though, just before dinner, she got a call from a worried Vince. "He didn't get off the bus in Columbus. The driver and I searched the bus. His knapsack was gone, too. I asked the driver if he'd seen him get off the bus at an intermediate stop, and he said, no. Anita had asked him to look out for Mark, and he swears he would have noticed if he'd gotten off."

Cathi stomped out of her office saying, "shit! Shit! SHIT!" Irene and Connie came out to find out what was the matter.

"Joy has disappeared. Somewhere between Chicago and Columbus. She evidently decided she'd rather take her chances on the street than go home. Stupid, but she doesn't know any better. That man! Why did I listen to him? I should have insisted on a direct flight! I should never agreed to the bus."

"Should we report her as a runaway?" asked Irene.

Cathi's eyes got big. "Oh, God, I should have realized. She was already a runaway when she came here. She ran away from what she considered an intolerable home situation. I am so stupid! If I'd thought of her that way, I would never have thought of letting her take the bus. I would have even demanded that they come and get her."

"I guess we'll have to call her parents," said Irene.

Cathi waited until after dinner, in the hope that she would have settled down a little. Irene and Janet were with her. Sonya wanted to be there, but Janet said no. Mrs. Tindall picked up.

"Mrs. Tindall? This is Cathilynn Michel, about your son."

"I'll go get my husband."

"I want both of you on the line. I won't start until both of you are on the line." When Mr. Tindall picked up, Cathi got them both to confirm that they were listening.

"Your son has disappeared. We had someone put him on the bus in Chicago, but he wasn't on the bus when it got to Columbus. He must have gotten off at an intermediate stop. You need to file a missing person report."

"Why would he run off?"

Cathi wanted to scream. "That's not the point. The point is that he is 14 and has no one to look after him. We need to find him."

"I don't understand why it's so urgent. I'm sure he'll turn up after a few days. Mark can take care of himself."

"Mr. Tindall, do you have any idea what happens to runaway children? That's what your son is at this point. There's no place he can legally go, so he'll be living on the streets. We know what happens to kids on the streets because some of the girls who come here were living on the streets before they came. It's not pretty. Living in abandoned buildings, culverts. Or they get picked up by a pimp or someone who wants to abuse them. They get raped, beaten up, killed. They die in accidents, they drown, they get sick from exposure and die."

"Oh my God!" cried Mrs. Tindall. "Fred, please, do what she says! We've got to find him! We'd feel awful if anything happened to him."

"Don't we have to wait for a few days, in case he turns up?"

"He's already been away from home for a week. If you describe the situation, I'm certain they'll file one right away. The sooner you file one, the greater the chance that we'll find him alive. And when you do file it, be sure to include his aliases. Joy Wilson. Possibly Amanda Wilson."

"Why would we say Joy Wilson?" said Mr. Tindall. "That's a girl's name."

"That's the name he insisted we call him when he was here. Please, just file the report. And include those names."

"Fred, please do what they say!" said Mrs. Tindall. "I can't bear the thought that he might be dead."

"We'll be doing what we can, Mrs. Tindall. But make sure you report him. Anyone who deals with runaways checks those databases. Once he's in the databases, they'll know to contact you."

A week later, Sonya rushed into the office. "I got a PM from her," she told everyone. "She says she's fine. She wants to get to New York because everyone says it's a trans-friendly place. She didn't say where she was, just that she'd found a library where she could get onto a computer with Internet access. She said she wasn't Mark any more, Mark was dead, she was a girl named Joy and she was never going home, she'd kill herself before that. Oh, and she explained how she got off the bus. She'd had a complete set of girl clothes in her knapsack and she changed in the bathroom in the back of the bus. She sounded proud of herself."

"Can you PM her back and tell her to at least call us?" said Irene. "Tell her we'll find a safe place for her. We won't make her go home." She hoped she wasn't making a promise she couldn't keep.

The weeks dragged on with no more word of or from Joy. They worried she was dead. It was over a month later that Irene got an unexpected phone call.

"This is Mercy Hospital in Cleveland. We have a boy here, dressed as a girl. All we could get out of him was the name 'Joy Wilson.' We found a card with your name and number in his pocket. The people from a local soup kitchen brought him in, he'd shown up for lunch at their place feverish and barely coherent."

"Joy? You found her? She's alive? Thank God! She disappeared several weeks ago, and we've been worried sick. How is she?"

"I really shouldn't say, but.... He's in the ICU. He's got severe pneumonia, it looks like he's been sleeping outside for quite a while. It's summer, but some of the places homeless people sleep are pretty unhealthy."

"Is she okay?"

"I wouldn't call being in the ICU 'okay,' but it looks like he'll pull through. By the way, why do you keep calling him 'she'?"

"She's transgender. You know, girl in a boy's body? She ran away from home and came to us, we're kind of a shelter for trans girls. She was on her way home when she disappeared. Her legal name is Mark Tindall. By the way, didn't you run her name through the missing persons database? Her parents filed a report weeks ago. I'm surprised her name didn't pop up."

"We ran his -- her name, the only one we had: Joy Wilson. Nothing came up."

"Can we see her? I'm sure someone here will want to fly out and see her and make sure she's okay."

"We'll need a medical authorization from his next of kin. I assume they'll want to come, you can probably get it from them when they come up. He'll need someone to take care of him when he's discharged, anyway. He won't be in any shape to be left on his own for quite a while."

Irene got the doctor's name and the name of the people who ran the soup kitchen, a local church group. She checked the missing persons database. 'Joy Wilson' brought nothing up. 'Mark Tindall' brought a report up, but there was no mention of any other names. "Damn that man!" muttered Irene.

She let Connie know, who put the good news onto the grapevine.

Cathi was on a week's vacation, ordered by her doctor. She wasn't to be contacted except in case of emergency. Irene decided this counted as an emergency. She called Cathi's cell and got her voice mail.

"Cathi, it's Irene. Joy has turned up in a hospital in Cleveland. I'm going to try to extract a medical authorization from her parents and one of us will fly out to be with her. You don't need to do anything, but I thought you'd be relieved to know. Oh, and I'll see if we can get them to agree to make us guardians. I assume we agree that she'd be better off here than with her parents."

When she called the Tindalls' home, she got their voice mail. Fortunately, the missing person report had a cell number, and when she called that, she got Mrs. Tindall.

"Mrs. Tindall? They've found your son. He's in a hospital in Cleveland, in the ICU."

"Oh, that's good news. Do you know how long he'll be in? I'd fly up, but, ah, I have a busy week, do you think he'll still be in the hospital next week?" She sounded like she was trying rather hard to sound like everything was fine.

"We'd like to send one of our people to be around and visit him, but we'd need a medical authorization. Our lawyer can fax you a letter that you could just sign and send back."

"Oh, that sounds good. You all are so kind." She gave Irene the fax number.

"Mrs. Tindall, are you sure you don't want to come up now? To be honest, part of his problem is that he thinks you don't care."

"Oh, all right. I guess you're right, I should rush right up. It's just so hard to think of Mark needing anything, he's so self-sufficient. I'll see if Fred can book me a flight."

Irene contacted Sam about faxing the letter to the Tindalls. She was relieved to hear from Sam a few hours later that he'd received the authorization back with her signature. She had been worried that her husband would balk, but evidently she had signed it without consulting with him. She asked Sam for a guardianship letter covering them legally in the case that the Tindalls would agree to Joy staying at the Home; whoever visited Joy would take a few copies and see if they could get her parents to sign it.

As Irene was about to go and see who might be free for a couple of days, Janet came in.

"I heard you need someone to go to Cleveland to stay with Joy. I'd like to go."

"Don't you need to stay here to handle the hospice?"

"I think things are pretty much set up, I've got people to handle almost anything, and besides, since Claudia died, we don't have anyone who is close to the end. If anything serious comes up, I'll have my cell phone and my laptop. Also ...."

"You feel as if she were your daughter, don't you? You can't imagine not being there for her." Janet nodded. "Go. Bring her our love. And yours."

A little under 24 hours later, a nurse was leading Janet through the ICU to Joy's bed. "She's still pretty out of it. She's on high doses of antibiotics and she was undernourished and dehydrated. I don't know if she'll recognize anyone." Even though Janet had some idea what to expect, it was still a shock to see how the child that had once been so full of life was now lying motionless and full of tubes and monitors. Janet sat next to the bed and put her hand on Joy's. "Joy, it's Janet. I'm here, honey."

Joy turned her head to Janet and opened her eyes. "Mommy?" she croaked. Janet felt herself tear up. "I'm here." Joy managed a weak smile. She closed her eyes, but the smile remained. Over the next hour, she turned her head occasionally and one time opened her eyes and looked briefly at Janet and smiled. Then the nurse came to say, "her mother's waiting outside. She'd like to see her -- son."

"Of course," said Janet. She found Mrs. Tindall in the ICU waiting room. "Mrs. Tindall? I'm Janet, Janet McGuire. From the Home."

"Pleased to meet you. Call me Margaret, please." The well-practiced Southern charm could not hide that she was so anxious as to be barely functioning. "How is he doing?"

"She's in serious condition -- she wouldn't be in the ICU if she weren't -- but they say she's improving. She's pretty out of it, but she did seem aware that I was there."

"Do you think it would help if I sat with him? I -- I really don't know what I should do. I'm afraid of getting him upset. Oh, raising children is so complicated! Especially boys! I don't understand them at all! I just have no idea what to do!"

"Right now, it's easy. Just sit next to her. Maybe say something, like 'hi, honey,' so she'll know you're there. She seemed to like it when I laid my hand on top of hers."

"How do you do that?"

"Like this." Janet gently laid Margaret's hand on hers. It felt surreal, teaching a mother of three how to be a mother.

"And say, 'hi, honey'?"

"'Hi, honey, Mommy is here.'"

Margaret repeated, "'hi, honey, Mommy is here.' Do you think it will help?"

"I'm sure of it. The important thing is to show you're there and you care. Remember, no matter what happens, you're still her mom."

After Margaret had gone, Janet pulled out her laptop, but her mind was not on the documents and memos. She was beginning to think that the problem with the Tindalls' parenting, or at least Margaret's, wasn't deliberate neglect so much as simple ignorance and lack of confidence. She simply didn't know how to mother, which made her so anxious that she simply withdrew from her son. Janet couldn't help wondering what Margaret's growing-up had been like.

An hour later, Margaret emerged from the ICU. Her face was wet with tears and her make-up was streaked and blotchy. She was daubing her face with a wad of tissues. Janet took her into her arms and Margaret started sobbing.

"I put my hand on his and said, 'hi, honey, it's Mommy,' like you said. And he smiled and said, 'Mommy.' He looked so small and helpless lying there, sick and full of tubes and wires. I couldn't help thinking: what have we done to you? What have I done to you?" She broke into a bigger fit of crying. "I started petting his hand, like a kitten. I know it wasn't what I was supposed to do, but he smiled in his sleep and I felt my heart --"

"You're doing great, Margaret. Small steps."

Later, over dinner in the hospital cafeteria, they talked. "Why do you keep saying 'her' when you talk about Mark?"

"When she stayed with us, almost as soon as she got there, she announced that her name was Joy, and she dressed and tried to act like a girl the whole time. We just think of her as a girl, because that's the only way we've known her. Margaret -- we got a communication from her after she ran off. She said Mark was dead, she was Joy and wouldn't answer to Mark any more. I suggest you not argue with her about it, at least not at this point."

"I don't understand. Why did he suddenly decide he was going to be a girl? And how?"

"I think it's been brewing for a while. She contacted us over six months ago, asking how to tell if you're transgender."

"Why you?"

"Do you know what our Home is? I mean, the Home That Love Built."

"I don't know, a home for runaways?"

"Do you know what a trans woman is?"

"Are you talking about people like Bruce Jenner? Men who pretend they're women? And even get their --" Janet winced.

"I wouldn't put it that way, but I think you get the idea. A lot of trans women get cut off by their families, lose their wife and children, lose their jobs, get shunned and beaten. Our Home is for trans women who have nowhere else to go. We keep a low profile, because there are people out there who hate trans people and would attack us, even physically, and we don't want to attract their attention. Mark somehow found us, which means she'd been doing a lot of looking around. My guess is that she'd been thinking about her issues around gender for years, and when she came to us and saw that we really would accept her as a girl if she wanted, she dived right in."

"I feel like such a bad mother. I thought I knew all about my son, but now I see I didn't know him at all." She sighed. "Maybe he's better off with you than with us."

"I think you're right, at least for the moment. She trusts us, and unfortunately she doesn't trust you and your husband. She was pretty adamant that there was no way she was going to go home. Even if we forced her, she'd probably just run away again. Or kill herself. Roughly half of all trans people try to kill themselves at some point."

"Oh, my God! Kill himself?"

"That's only if the people around her refuse to face up to her transgender, well, transgender nature. If she gets acceptance and support, she's no more likely than anyone else. She's a wonderful, loving, joyful, compassionate, helpful, cooperative child; that's who we saw while she was with us. She was a joy to be around. And she loves you. But she's convinced you don't love her, and she's horribly hurt by that."

"I feel like a horrible mother. He has every right to hate me."

"Not that horrible. You rushed up here as soon as you found out where she was. That's going to mean a lot."

"I only did it because that woman at your place shamed me into it. I was going to wait."

"But you did come, that's what matters. Margaret, I think you can repair your relationship with your son. It will be a long and hard road, I won't lie to you, but there are people -- professionals -- who can guide you and Joy. We have a lot of contacts, and I believe we can find people to help you."

Joy's father and her sister Lisa arrived on Saturday. Kurt had elected to stay at home, not wanting to be subjected to "my faggot brother." Joy was out of the ICU and in a room by then. The fever and the mental fog were gone, but she still tired easily and was seriously underweight.

Lisa had fully and enthusiastically adjusted to the idea of Mark being Joy: when they arrived, she rushed into the hospital room, jumped on the bed, and practically smothered Joy with a big hug. "Oh, I'm so HAPPY you're my big sister now!"

"Uff! I'm going to be your dead big sister in a minute if you don't get off and let me breathe," Joy protested, but smiled to show she wasn't mad. Lisa slid to the edge of the bed and sat, twisting to face Joy. "Don't worry, I'm not mad. I'm glad to be your big sister." Lisa smiled. "I love you, little sister."

"And I love you too, big sister. Ooh, we're going to have so much fun! You're going to play with me and do all kinds of sister things and you'll tell me all kinds of big girl things."

"Leese, I'll play with you, but I can't tell you any girl things. I've only been a girl for, what, two months? I'm just a two-month-old, how much can I know?"

"If you're a two month old baby, can I feed you a bottle?"

"Goo goo gah gah. Look, I'm a baby!"

"Ooh, you're so much more fun now that you're my sister. You were always so grumpy and no fun when you were Mark."

Joy's father was less thrilled. "Marge, I still don't get it. Why do we have to pretend Mark is a girl named Joy Wilson? It all sounds like nonsense to me. And I don't like the idea of him being halfway across the country instead of at home where he belongs."

The two of them were sitting in the waiting room outside the ward. Janet had brought them coffee and sandwiches from the cafeteria and was sitting a few seats away from them, trying to look like she was busy with other things.

"Fred, I know it's strange. It's still strange to me. But we don't have a choice. We know if we try to make him come home, he'll just run off again, and this time he might really die. We're lucky he didn't die this time. We know he'll stay if he's living at the Home, and they'll take care of him. We can't make him be Mark. And I don't want to any more. He -- well, really she -- is so much happier now. I hadn't really paid attention before, but when I think back on it, I realise that he -- I mean, she -- wasn't doing so well. It was like he -- she -- wasn't really there. I don't remember her having any friends, and she never seemed to do anything. I don't remember her ever smiling. She's completely different now. I've got my baby back, my baby that I hadn't noticed I had lost, in spirit I mean and then almost for real, and I don't care if my baby is my son or my daughter, I'm just glad to have her back."

They sat in silence for a while. Finally, Fred heaved a big sigh. He reached over and held Margaret's hand. "I guess you're right. You usually are. I'll just have to get used to saying 'she' and calling -- her -- 'Joy'. It's going to be hard, though. We'll have to drag ourselves halfway across the country if we want to see her, so it won't happen often. Lisa won't like that."

"I think you'll miss her too, Fred. I think you love her more than you want to admit. Try spending time with her and listen to her. Forget what you think she should be and see who she is. Maybe if we get better at that, we'll be able to be together again."

"Where did you learn to talk like that?" asked Fred, trying to sound stern and failing.

"Some from Janet. Some from the nurses and the hospital social worker. But a lot from Joy. She picked a good name."

Fred Tindall had to fly back Sunday night, so Tuesday late morning found the rest of them at the Cleveland airport. Joy was in a wheelchair on doctor's orders. Though it was still summer, she was wearing a denim jumper over an orange T-shirt, black tights, and a light blue cardigan. Janet and Joy's flight west back to the Home was first, the Tindalls' flight to Charlotte was an hour later. Lisa and Margaret had tearful goodbye hugs with Joy.

"I'll see if we can visit for Thanksgiving," said Margaret. "At least Lisa and me."

"I'm going to miss my big sister so much!" mourned Lisa. Margaret hugged Janet, and then it was time for Joy and Janet to board.

Joy looked out the window as they reached cruising altitude, but her mind wasn't on the patchwork landscape far below. "Janet?" she asked anxiously. "Do you think someday my parents will be okay with me being Joy? And maybe I'll -- I'll have a family? I mean, I know I have a family, but will they feel like a family? My Mom was so different at the hospital, it was like she really wanted to know how I felt. Like it mattered to her whether I was happy or sad. God, it would be so weird. But a nice kind of weird. And maybe -- I wonder -- could Kurt even be nice to me, like, be my big brother the way Sonya is my big sister."

Janet just let her talk. She could see Joy's eyes mist up.

"I'll be seeing Sonya soon. I can't wait to get home. To The Home, I mean. I can't believe how different everything is now." Her eyes and her cheeks were wet with tears, but she was smiling. Just then, the stewardess came by to take lunch orders. "Honey, is something the matter?" she asked.

"No, these aren't sad tears. They're happy tears. They're tears of joy."