Maybe being circumspect with my parents, or surreptitious, or coy, or shy was my being too subtle in trying to tell my parents who I really happened to be. That the facade they saw every day wasn’t who I actually was on the inside.

It was a nice warm Spring day to be sitting where I was, seeing the buds on the trees and bushes beginning to open. And those hidden from view reveal their presences as they pushed their leaves up out of the ground. One day soon this place would be a beautifully green area. But still a sad place for some to visit.

I sit here with my thoughts, thoughts like jigsaw puzzle pieces laid out on a table waiting for their companions to join them. I know those thoughts go together if only I can make sense of them all. If only it wasn’t too late to act on them. If only time could be rewound and give me another chance. If I only… But time can’t be rewound, and I can’t have a second chance.

My parents were kind, patient, and loving when I asked them questions because of things I heard kids at school talking about. They never flew in fits of rage because of my questions, they just took their time and explained their answers and made sure I understood what they were saying. And it was because of what I heard from the kids at school and from my parents that made me realize I had been wearing a costume the majority of my young life.

I continued with my questions when my parents and I were together, simply telling them other things I had heard. And each time, my loving and patient parents would smile and we’d sit down in the living room and discuss the things I heard. I’d try my best to be circumspect in my questions, not openly telling them it was me I was talking about. That it was me who had those feelings. That it was me who had been wearing a facade and knew it wasn’t my true self. And they only listened, smiled, and answered my questions.

One evening as we sat in the living room talking, I noticed something different about my mom and dad’s eyes. While they still had that patient and loving look, they now also carried a knowing look, as though they knew something but weren’t going to talk about it. It puzzled me then, but not anymore. I now understand what it was they knew. They knew the truth about me, and were waiting for me to tell them.

I’d be nice for someone to invent a time machine, a time machine that allowed people to return to a time in their lives they wished to do over. Like my life then so I could tell my parents about my real self. Like my life then so I could see that no matter what I told them, they’d love me unconditionally. But...there isn’t a time machine, and I can’t go back. And yet, it doesn’t matter now because I believe they can see the real me, the person they loved and cared for. They can see me sitting here in a black skirt suit, wearing a satin blouse with a broach at the neck, and black flats--I didn’t want to wear heels and possibly aerate the ground with the heels as I walked across the ground.

I sit here across from their headstones, believing they now had no trouble seeing my true self. I wish it could have been different, had that one gang member not have been walking down the sidewalk on main street and six rival gang members in a low rider not gone by and shot at him, killing him, my parents, two more couples, and the owner of my parents favorite mom and pop store.

But fate wasn’t kind to those six boys either. In their haste to get away from the area, the driver ran a red light, just as a cement truck, carrying several yards of concrete came through the same intersection. The car was so low that the front of that truck had no trouble plowing over the roof of the car, followed by ten wheels that pushed the top down so it was level with the rest of the car’s body. Once the authorities were able to remove the roof of that car, they found the weapon used in the shooting, but had to use dental records in order to identify the six in the car. After the truck driver saw what had happened to those boys he had to be taken to the hospital, it affected him terribly.

No, I can’t have a do over, a do over so I could tell my parents the truth about myself. I will just have to continue believing they now see the real me and when it’s my time they’ll welcome their daughter, Kathy, and not their son Keith.