Driving to work this morning, the traffic sucked, as it usually does in the Metroplex. I made up some time once I got past the inevitable fender-bender that had slowed everybody down; and arrived at work only a few minutes late. Joe, my supervisor, was waiting for me when I walked in.

“My office, please, Sharon.”

As soon as we got in and sat down I started to apologize. “Look, Joe, I’m sorry I’m late, there was an accident on the LBJ that slowed things way down. You know I’m normally on time or even a bit early . . .” I wound down when he held up a hand.

“Look, there is no easy way to say this, I’m letting you go.”

“Why?” I was stunned, I’d always had good reviews, and got along with the customers.

“Well, with the economy slowing down, advertisers are cutting back. Several of your accounts have taken hits.”

“There is nothing I can do about that, Joe. You know I work damn hard keeping those people.”

“Yes, I know,” he replied. “But I just can’t afford to keep everybody. Somebody had to go, and you’re it.”

“But I’ve been here longer than some of those guys,” I said, waving my arm to indicate the room outside, “Why me?

“You’re single, they’ve all got families to support.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, I’m sorry. Look here’s your paycheck, I paid you through today; plus two weeks severance pay.”

“What about my vacation time? Don’t I get paid for that?”

“I’m sorry, no. With all the time you’ve been out sick and for medical treatment, I can’t pay you that.”

Just then there was a knock at the door and Donna, our receptionist came in carrying a box with the stuff from my desk. “Here’s your stuff, Karen,” and thrust the box at me.

“What, just like that, and I’m out the door?”

“It’s better this way, quick and painless. I want to remind you of the non-competition clause in your contract . . .” He fell silent as I glared at him, too upset to say a word.

I walked out of his office and headed for the front door, noticing I was the object of furtive looks. Very little pity or sympathy was evident on their faces, so I held my head high and choked back the tears that were trying to force their way out. “Painless” — hah!

“So he let you go, huh?” Steve, one of the nicer of my (former!) coworkers asked.

“Yeah,” I grunted while trying to shift the box and my purse around enough to get the door, which none of them even offered to open for me.

“Well ain’t that too bad,” Kenny, the office asshole snickered. “Maybe next time we can hire a real woman.”

I glared at Donna, in whom I’d confided my transsexual status some months before. She looked a bit embarrassed, and mouthed a “sorry” to me. Dragging what was left of my dignity up from around my ankles, I fired back at him, “Sure, then they can hire some real men!”

Leaving the rest laughing at him, I quickly walked to the parking lot, put the box in the trunk, and headed out.

Traffic leaving the city was much lighter, and in next to no time I was pulling into my driveway. That was one thing I didn’t have to worry about, I owned the house free and clear.

Going in through the garage I dumped the box by the door, I’d sort it later. Looking around, I decided it was time to do some serious cleaning, something that needed doing and would keep me occupied.

By mid afternoon, the house was clean, and I was not, so I stripped off and took a shower. While I was toweling off it occurred to me that I could head down to the restaurant, Melissa ought to be working. Melissa was an attractive woman who’d started at the restaurant about two months before. We’d become pretty friendly with each other and often when I’d go in she’d take a break and we’d sit and talk. We were very similar in many ways, and I suspected she was secretly a lesbian like myself, but I’d been too afraid to find out.

She’d often commented how lovely my hair was, so I took some extra care to make it look good. I pulled back the sides and secured them with a matching tortoiseshell comb set, then braided them together in the back. The rest I left hanging down, almost to my waist now, just giving the bottom some curl and bounce. A little of this, some of that, and I was ready to go. I thought perhaps tonight I would finally talk to her frankly, see if she shared my feelings.

As I walked out, I grabbed the mail and quickly thumbed through it. One piece that caught my attention was a letter from the attorney handling my mom’s affairs. “Better look at this,” so I ripped it open and pulled out the letter. A few seconds later I’d ripped up the letter and tossed the pieces on floor, than pounded on the steering wheel in frustration. It was short and to the point. Acting on the instructions of my brother, who was the new executor and held power of attorney for mom since my oldest brother died in a car accident, I was instructed not to attempt to visit or contact my mother or step on the grounds of the nursing home where she was living. If I did, I would be charged with trespassing and harassment.

I knew this hadn’t come from my mother. Her once sharp mind was just a shadow of what it had been, and most days she couldn’t even remember I’d been born her son instead of her daughter. Well, the BFH (Brother From Hell) had finally gotten his way, and succeeded in foisting off his narrow, bigoted views on the rest of the family. No doubt anybody else who took my side would suffer the same ostracism that had been imposed on me.

I ranted and raved for several minutes, then decided this would be better done on a full stomach, and with maybe a few drinks, so I headed for the restaurant.

My eyes were still adjusting from the bright sunlight when I heard my name called. I turned and saw Melissa smiling and waving at me, motioning me to a booth in the back of the restaurant. My heart went “thump” as I waved back and headed towards her. By the time I got to the booth there was a cold glass of ice tea waiting for me.

“You’re early today, get the day off?” she asked as I sat down.

“You could say that, I got let go.”

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry!”

She reached across and took my hand as I tried to stifle the small sob that escaped me. Up to now I’d been running on nerves, but seeing her and feeling her hold my hand, I just wanted to break down in her arms and bawl.

I pulled myself together after a moment and told her, “I’ll be okay, it’s not the first time I’ve been laid off. I’ll find another job.”

“You could always work here, we need good waitresses. We could work together!”

We chatted for a few more minutes, all the while she was holding my hand; it felt so nice. I decided to go for broke.

“I was thinking of maybe going out this evening, catch a movie, have a drink or two. Would you go out with me?”

“Go out with you . . . you mean like the two of us . . . you and I . . . like a date?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean.“

“You think that I’m . . . you . . . you like me . . . like that!” She pulled her hand back so fast it was like she was touching a flame. I nodded.

“That’s just disgusting! What do you think I am, a pervert? Oh my God, you are one, aren’t you!”

She jumped up from the booth and quickly moved away while I sat there in shock. I was still sitting there a few minutes later trying to figure out how I could have been so wrong when the manager came up and asked me to leave and “please don’t come back. It will save you a lot of embarrassment.”

I don’t even remember driving home. I went inside and sat down at the computer, numbly going to my favorite website. But nothing there was even remotely appealing, all the stories right now seemed to be about children, or women like me who fell in love with men. Ugh! That thought was revolting.

Then I saw the new email icon pop up, so I opened my mail account. There was an email from the BFH, I wondered what now.

It’s still here if you want to read it, but he just had to crow about finally getting the better of me and putting me out of the family. After calling me an abomination and a few other crypto-christian names, he said that he’d already taken steps to erase me from the family tree. He bragged that he’d gone through the family albums mom had and removed every single picture of me. “With her memory the way it is, she won’t even know you existed a month from now!”

I got up and walked away from the computer, and wandered around the house for a bit before deciding to get the laundry done and things picked up. I even washed the clothes I was wearing, slipping on a nice nightie that came down to mid-thigh, nothing too sexy but comfortable.

Then I stepped into the bathroom and carefully removed my makeup and scrubbed my face until it was clean. Restoring everything to its proper place, I pulled out my bottles of medication, Halcion and Prozac. Sleeping pills and anti-depressants, the modern girls’ little helpers. I washed them down with a glass of water from the tap, then came back in here to the computer.

I’m starting to get sleepy now; funny, they say most women who kill themselves use pills or poison. At least I’d gotten something right. Either one should be a lethal amount, I wonder how long it will take?

I’ll save this, and then go in to bed. I’ve got The Carpenters on my MP3 player, and I know just what song I want to listen to.

I'll say goodbye to love

So I've made my mind up . . .