Secret origins...

I didn’t say much to Donna, just handed Fooler’s leash to her and kept running but by the time I got to the corner, I was done. One problem I had was the jiggling of my— my breasts. Even inside three layers of shirt they rubbed against the fabric with the impact of each step. It made it uncomfortable to run and impossible to think. How do girls with bigger breasts manage it?

I walked across the intersection and headed home, taking the longer route around the block. I needed time to think.

Rod had as much said everyone at school thought I was queer. Maybe some of them said gay, the new word that was supposed to not be as insulting. That I acted queer or like a girl. How I carried my books? I just carried my books, didn’t I? How else were you supposed to do it?

Lots of times I had been told right to my face that I ran like a girl. But no one ever told me what that meant. Some guys were really good runners, and so were some girls. But what was running like a girl supposed to mean? I didn’t know any other way to run.

I tried not to get mad about it. That wouldn’t do any good and besides, when I really got mad about something, lots of times I ended up feeling bad and crying. And that sure was an easy way to get accused of acting like a girl.

I sighed.

I’d almost reached the end of the first block when someone called my name. I turned and saw Mrs. Henderson hurrying out of her front door, waving at me. “Oh, Jonny,” she called. “Jonny, you’re just the person I wanted to see.”

I knew what this was going to be about. The Hendersons had five-year-old twins, a boy and a girl. I had babysat for them in the past but in the last year, had given the job over to my sister. “Do you need Donna to come watch Marie and Mike some time, Mrs. Henderson?” I asked.

She caught up with me but waved a hand. “Well, no, I was hoping I could get you to sit. Marie and Mike seem to like you better.” She frowned. “Besides, the last time I asked Donna, she told me she had things she’d rather do on a Friday night.”

“Uhh,” I blinked at her.

“Will you, Jonny?” She looked at me hopefully. “Friday nights are Benjie and I’s best time for a date night.”

“Date night?” I said. “But you guys are married,” I pointed out. “To each other.” It occurred to me that she and her husband were ten years younger than my parents or more and probably did like to get out and do things together like they were still dating. I had to smile at her at the thought.

Mrs. Henderson was a nice-looking lady in her blue Capri pants and white poofy blouse, her sandy red hair piled on top of her head, and she laughed like I had made a really funny joke. “Jonny!” she said like she thought I was teasing her. “We meet with our friends and go to a movie or out to eat, or both. So, can you, this Friday? Marie asked for you especially and Mikey agreed.”

I actually enjoyed babysitting but what I was thinking about was the doctor’s appointment on Thursday. I hesitated.

“Besides,” she went on, “Donna is only fourteen and can’t stay out as late as you.”

“I’m only fifteen,” I said.

“But your birthday is in just a couple months. November 21st, right?”

She remembered my birthday? How could I get out of this? “I’ll have to be sure we’ve not got some family thing planned….”

“There’ll be a bonus, a big tip,” she promised.

That actually caused me to laugh. “Can you call me at home later tonight?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Thank you, Jonny!” She turned to go. Knowing those twins, she was probably worried they might get up to something while she was outside.

“I didn’t say yes, yet,” I warned her.

She giggled as she hurried away. “You will. Teenagers always need money.”

Well, that was true, I reflected. Her offer had certainly changed my mood and I went on my way, smiling a bit.

But as I turned the next corner, it occurred to me. Babysitting is usually a job for a girl. Did I get offers for the task because I acted more like a girl than a boy?

* * *

When I got back home, Mom followed me into my room. Before I could let her know I didn’t appreciate the company, she spoke up.

“I called your father,” she said.

I nodded like a marionette.

“He wants you to see another doctor. A specialist,” she continued. “An endocrinologist. I made an appointment for next week.”

“Okay,” I said. I’m the eldest and a boy, so you would think Dad and I would be close. But we never had been. Perhaps because of his work; he was a chemical engineer and supervisor on several big projects and contracts with the company he worked for: Novella Therapeutic Solutions. He spent a lot of time in Mexico on things down there, too.

Mostly they built, operated and managed automated medical drug factories. So, no surprise that they might have an inside track with high-level doctors. There might actually be a chance that someone could do something to help me, but at that moment, I felt hopelessness hanging over my head like a water balloon full of despair.

“And I made something for you, honey,” Mom added before I could shoo her out of my room. She held up something that looked like a thick, beige sleeve. I realized it was made of the same material as the Ace bandages that I used to use to wrap around me to conceal my development before things got too awkward.

“Uh?” I ventured, taking the item when she presented it to me.

“I noticed you wearing one of Donna’s tight t-shirts, this ought to work much better.” She showed me the details of the construction. It really was made of the same stretchy material as Ace bandages, two layers, with anti-roll stiffeners sewn in. “Those go in the back,” she explained. She backed toward the door. “Try it on,” she urged. “Then come out and show me how it fits.”

“How do I put it on?” I asked.

“Just put your arms through it and pull it down over your head.” She left the room, smiling, and I smiled back. How funny that Mom’s thoughtful little creation had brightened my mood.

Once she was out of the room, I slipped out of my shirt and tried to put Mom’s gift on. It wasn’t easy. It actually fit kind of tight across my face and getting it over my shoulders turned out to be a job. I had to sort of scooch one arm up so I could pull it down into my arm pit with the other hand then repeat.

But wow! Just glancing down I could see it had flattened out my chest mounds, pretty much completely. And no nipples were going to show through two layers of thick fabric. I moved over to look at myself in the mirror over my dresser. I made some adjustments, being sure that the four anti-roll stiffeners were all in the back, then pulled on my regular t-shirt and the top shirt I had been wearing.

Perfect. Nothing showed that I was wearing anything extra or had any extra flesh where a boy should not be showing any. I grinned at my reflection. Then squirmed a little. The roughness of the stretchy fabric had irritated my nipples while the garment had been pulled down and adjusted. I rubbed gently but that did not seem to solve the problem.

A light knock came at the door, and Mom called softly, “Can I see?”

“Oh, yeah,” I said. “C’mon in! It’s great!”

* * *

Mrs. Henderson didn’t let any grass grow before calling to see if I could watch her twins on Friday. I asked Mom and she said okay, a little pleased it seemed that one of her friends thought me so trustworthy.

So, that was set, even if I still felt a little unsure of just why I got such an offer.

* * *

Later, while we worked on making supper, she explained to me the concept of the sports bra. “To keep things from jiggling, mostly, but they also minimize things.”

“Uh,” I grunted while cutting up veggies for salad. “But what you made for me isn’t any kind of bra.”

“No,” she agreed. “But the principle is the same.”

“I guess so,” I admitted.

Mom had frozen breadsticks in the oven and leftover roast turning into stew in a big pot on the back of the stove. “You’re always good help in the kitchen,” she commented. “Not like your sister who acts like she’s afraid to learn how to cook.”

“Looks like Donna is going to be washing dishes tonight,” I mentioned as I slid the lettuce, tomatoes, mushrooms and peppers into the big salad bowl. Whoever helped with making dinner was exempt from that chore. Served her right for dawdling in the park with Rod Pick.

* * *

Dad made it home in time to eat some salad, breadsticks and stew while Mom explained in more detail what the doctor had said about my symptoms.

He asked questions, though he didn’t sound happy about the answers. I was in the living room but I could hear them talking and every time I glanced that way, Dad was looking back at me.

I knew I’d been something of a disappointment to him. I wasn’t a jock of any sort, not even before dressing out in gym had become a problem. My Little League career had involved a lot of bench sitting and digging little pits with my toe in the emptiness of right field. He’d never been a big sports hero, himself, but he had been a three-letter-man in high school.

I wasn’t a big brain either, my grades were mostly Bs, with Cs in the subjects I wasn’t much interested in. Like math and science, things Dad did excel in. I could draw and play the piano, but those didn’t seem to impress him.

When he finished eating, he went to the bar and made himself a short whiskey-and-soda, something he did two or three times a week. He claimed it helped him fall asleep when he was wound a bit too tight. Mom kept a dish of sliced limes in the big refrigerator for various reasons and stopped him to decorate his drink with the bit of color. I looked away then as I realized he was headed right toward me.

I was sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs from the dining room, and Dad sat down next to me in his recliner. Mom called Donna in to the kitchen to finish the clean up. Linda had been put to bed as soon as Dad got home, it already being after her bedtime. So it was just me and Dad in front of a television neither of us was watching.

Dad took a sip of his drink, made a satisfied noise and sat it down on the little table between us. “I’m sorry, Jon,” he said.

I looked at him sideways without completely turning my head. “I don’t think any of this is someone’s fault,” I said. “Stuff happens. You know, it’s not like I got cancer or torn up in a car wreck. It’s embarrassing, and I wish it wasn’t happening….” I stopped.

He nodded. “I just want you to know that—that if we made a mistake when you were a baby, we’ll—we’ll do whatever we can to make it right.”

“Huh?” I thought back to what I’d learned that day. “You mean when you decided to raise me as a boy?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes, I suppose that’s what I’m talking about. We let the doctors convince us that minor surgery would put everything right.”

“And now… you think... you might have been wrong?” I still wasn’t looking at him, in fact, I had turned partly away and stared at the corner of the ceiling as far from him as possible.

He was silent for a beat. “I guess we really don’t know yet… son.”

I made a noise. “I don’t want to be a girl, Dad. I want to be me.”

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye, and I finally turned to face him. He didn’t look comfortable, as if now he was the one who wanted to look away. He looked at his drink but didn’t reach for it.

“I’m sure the doctors will be able to figure things out….”

He trailed off even before I interrupted to ask, “Like they did fifteen years ago?” I felt hot tears spring up in my eyes. “If they made a mistake then, how can we— I— be sure they aren’t going to make one this time?” My nose started to run and I put my hand up to catch the liquid.

“We don’t know,” Dad said sadly. “We can’t. We just have to get all the information we can and then make our decision. Your decision, Jon, because this time you’re old enough to make your own.” He bent forward to snag a tissue from the dispenser on the coffee table and hand it to me. “Blow your nose,” he said kindly.

“Thank you,” I said, taking the tissue and wiping my eyes with it before using it on my nose. “I don’t want to make a decision, Dad. I just want to be me like before.”

He moved his shoulders, as if shrugging some great weight to a different position. “We do what we can, Jon,” he said. “And sometimes, we do what we must.”

I nodded, wadding the tissue up in my hand, and staring at the amber and green drink on the table between us. I actually knew what whiskey tasted like from hot toddies Mom had given out when the whole family came down with colds. I didn’t understand why anyone would drink the stuff voluntarily if they weren’t sick, though.

That thought made me smile, and when I looked up at Dad, he smiled back at me.

“You’d better go to bed, son,” he said. “You have school tomorrow.”

“Okay,” I agreed. I stood up and so did he. I took a step toward him and he pulled me into a hug. It wasn’t like we never hugged, but they were rare.

And I had a hard time not sniffling again when he whispered to me, “We love you, Jonny. I love you.”

I murmured an “I love you, too,” back, and we just stood there for a long moment, arms around each other. Dad isn’t a really big guy but he’s a lot bigger than me and I realized how much his hug meant to me right then. I felt safe and protected in his arms.

Then we separated and said good night and I went to my room.

* * *