This was something that was in my mind and I wrote it up as an Easter present for both my readers. Happy Easter.

What's in a Name.
by
Angharad.
Ever since that bloody American singer my life has been hell, Taylor Swift, or whatever her name is, I'd had enough trouble before, but when she hit the headlines and became famous my life really dived. Okay my name is Taylor as well, Taylor Ruth and that was bad as well, but I could just about survive with taunts of Babe Ruth from my classmates, at least he was a bloke I think a baseball player or something. Then Taylor Swift became a household name and I was doomed. As soon as I'm old enough I'm going to change it to something more masculine.

An example of the sort of thing started after I went to middle school, there they call the boys by their surnames and when they saw mine the bullies had a bonanza. It was a mixed school but the girls were as bad as the boys, especially the older ones who should have know better. I suppose I could make life easier for myself, but I like long hair, it's blond a sort of red-blond and my mother says it it wasted on a boy. I can't help it if I take after her for my genes, she has long, thick, luscious hair and mine's the same. Normally it's tied back in a ponytail, but occasionally the elastic breaks or loosens and it sweeps over my face.

I'm scrawny too, no muscles to talk of, narrow shoulders and little if any body fat. I haven't weighed for ages but then I was less than six stone or 84 pounds, less than my friend Victoria who is also taller than I am and I suspect has more hair on her top lip too. I was sick of the joke about standing sideways and disappearing because at times I'd like to.

Victoria share the same birthday, she lives down the road, and we started school on the same day and had been friends ever since, it helped that she knew my elder sister from Brownies and Guides and seemed surprised they wouldn't let me join too. I tried to point out that it could be because I was a boy, not much of one, but one all the same. We used to play with dollies and tea sets, running imaginary cafes and houses and she used to insist I was a waitress as well as her. I gave up trying to explain that boys were waiters not waitresses but she wouldn't have it, so we played waitresses.

My name was Taylor because it was my mum's maiden name and my sister Susan was called after my grandmother. We don't see her too often because she lives the other side of the country, but we make a fuss of her when we do and she does the same to us.

She knows I don't particularly like sports except a bit of badminton, my sister is the sports nut, taking after my dad apparently, playing soccer for the school and also tennis. I'm useless at either as both require levels of strength I don't possess, but with badminton, it's speed and wrist flicks and I can do those alright and was a semi-finalist in my age group at school. For five minutes, that earned me some respect but it was soon forgotten and I became a victim once again. Mum complained to the school when I got some clothes torn while being beaten up but it actually made things worse.

Once my sister moved up to senior school things got worse and it was only then that I realised how much she had protected me. She was one of the tallest girls and towered over me as I'm nearer the shortest boy, but not quite, there's a boy two years younger who rejoices in that title. His nickname is Shrimp, mine for what it's worth, is Girly. I know, I hate it too.

I'm aware that I tend to walk a bit like a girl, it's not deliberate but if I try to stride about like a boy it isn't very comfortable. I'm also very flexible so I'm about the only boy who can do the splits, for someone so thin my hips are quite wide, maybe that's what makes me walk like a girl. I hadn't thought of that and come to think of it I have a pair of my sister's old jeans, and they fit me in the bum. I never wondered why, I was just grateful that they fit me and because she hardly wore them, they look quite tidy, except the zip is on the wrong side but no one seems to notice that unless they are a girl. Victoria picked up on it straight away but then she'd seen my sister in them and they were also red, but I wasn't worried, they fit.

Puberty has yet to visit me, when it does I'll bet I turn out like my dad. I hardly remember him as he died in a car smash when I was very young. He was a dental surgeon and had just made the big time, he'd also had an accidental death insurance which paid out nearly half a million and the person who collided with him, his insurance paid out over a million. It mean the mortgage was paid off and we were secure financially. Mum didn't have to work but she was a part-time lecturer in law at the local university. She liked doing it because it meant she met people and it also exercised her mind more than housework would have, in fact, we employ someone to do the housework because she no longer has time. It was only when Victoria told me that most families do their own housework that I began to appreciate that we were a bit different.

We nearly got sent away to school when Dad died but Mum was feeling so alone she passed on it and we still go to the local grammar school which has a good reputation, for bullying and it was only when Sue told me how I'd fare in a boarding school being as girly as I am, that I realised I had to count my blessings. I also didn't want to turn out like Boris, he sounds a nasty piece of work, although I don't think Eton was on the cards, thank goodness.

It was in the sports period that it happened. I was playing soccer, well, trying to when two of the bullies decided to set me up. I used to be stuck out on the wing most of the time, where I could do least damage and if it was the right time of the year I could pick wild flowers. I think I like botany, perhaps that's what I'll do for a living of flower arranging when someone passed the ball to me. I was away in a dream thinking about the flowers I'd picked when the shouting of my nickname made me realise what was happening. I kicked it on a bit and started running behind it, they all just stopped and laughed, except Morrison, he was the opposing defender and suddenly it felt like I'd been poleaxed and everything started to hurt.

I hadn't been to hospital since I fell off my bike, I hit my crotch on the handlebars and broke my arm. I had put my hair up in a top knot to keep out of the way while I pretended to play football, and my football jersey was longer than my shorts and looked like a minidress, so what the paramedics thought when they saw me, I hate to think. I was only semi-conscious, so they thought I was a girl. To make matters worse when they asked my name, they were told Ruth, Ruth Taylor. The rest thought it was funny and I suppose, if they thought it was terminal, they'd have laughed even more. I was carted off on a stretcher and I fainted when one of the paramedics tried to straighten my leg. I'm told I gave a very girlish scream before I swooned.

Of course, I was admitted with a suspected broken leg and put on a gurney awaiting x-rays. I was labelled as Ruth Taylor and my jersey still covered my shorts, both were cast offs from my sister, only they fitted her, also I suspect she wouldn't have been clattered by Morrison like I was.

I was still woozy when seen by a doctor, "Hello, young lady, I'm Dr Gibson, we'll soon have you running about again. He touched my leg none too gently and I screamed again. They reckon they heard it in the eye clinic, the other side of the hospital. I had a broken femur and required surgery. My mum was called and consented to the emergency operation. I was well out of it. It was nearly a whole day later before I could make any sense of things.

I was in a bed in the girl's ward in a flowery sort of hospital gown and they had my name down as Ruth Taylor. It was Sue who spotted it but she thought it was funny and said nothing. The hospital assumed I was transgender or something, being a girl with something extra, so just humoured me as they thought. Of course, being called Ruth by all and sundry at school it didn't strike me as anything unusual, and girls in the ward, I just assumed it was mixed children's one.

It was a day later when one of the other patients came to see me, she was being discharged the next day, so she was ambulant. "Hi Ruth, how are you?"

"I've felt better," I replied.

"What happened to you?"

"I got injured playing soccer."

"Ugh, I hate soccer," said the girl.

"Yeah, so do I, especially now."

"It's a boy's game I don't know why girls are made to play it."

"My sister likes it," I replied not being fully with it.

"Well, Ruth, I think you were very unlucky to have to play it."

"My name is Taylor," I said.

"Oh right, mine's Letitia, but I get to go home tomorrow."

"Lucky you, I've got screws in my leg, so can't weight bear."

"Oh, bad luck, anyway I have to socialise, hope it heals okay."

"So do I," I replied.

"See you later, girl," was her parting shot and I wondered how she knew my nickname but my thinking was quite muddled, probably the anaeswhatever they call it. I drifted off to sleep.

"I was awoken by a nurse who checked my blood pressure and helped me to change. I had tried some form of pyjamas but I couldn't bear to move my leg, so they plonked one of Sue's old nighties on me with a sort of nappy thing underneath.

I assumed I was on the girl's ward because the boy's one was full. I was mobilised after about a week and yelled during the whole of it, but was told if I managed to walk to a wheelchair I could go home. I had to laugh at myself in Sue's old nightie but it did the job of covering me.

I got home two days later and decided I wasn't going to wear any more nightdresses, I was a man, well, might be one day, but I still couldn't bear any clothing on my leg. Sue suggested I wear one of her old skirts. I protested but she asked who was going to see me. I reluctantly agreed and I was soon attired in a flowery tee shirt and matching skirt with my leg resting on a leg rest with an old pillow on it. I fell asleep and when I woke up, it was two hours before I realised Sue had painted my toenails. She thought it was hilarious and my Mum didn't seem to worry too much. I couldn't reach down to remove it if I wanted and Sue said she thought I had very elegant feet compared to her size sevens. I took a four.

She even persuaded me to shape my nails and those were painted to match my toenails, now I was very elegant. I did draw the line at wearing makeup because that was beyond a joke.

However, it was with painted nails and wearing a skirt and top that I was bedecked when the headmistress came to visit me. I nearly died. As well, Sue had washed and blow-dried my hair that morning and I hadn't bothered to tie it back. My mother was teaching leaving me in the care of our help, Mrs Smith, who was busy with the housework so left me to it, having given us a cuppa when the headmistress arrived. Mrs Smith accepted us as we were and although she had also laughed at my nail varnish she said nothing else about it. The headmistress wasn't like her.

"Oh Taylor, do you usually dress like this at home?"

"For the moment, I can't wear trousers."

"I see, I like the nail varnish."

"That was Sue's idea of a joke and I can't reach to remove it."

"On your fingers as well?"

"No that was Sue again."

"I've noticed you're not the most masculine of boys, would you prefer to be a girl?"

"Not really, why?"

"The hospital have said you can come to school in a wheelchair from next week, one with a leg rest."

"But I can't wear trousers yet my leg is very swollen and sore."

"That's okay you can wear what you are wearing now, I shall say it's only temporary until your leg is better."

"I don't know, I get bullied enough now."

"We'll keep an eye on you so that doesn't happen."

"I don't know," I said and showed her the screws and wires in my leg which wouldn't permit trousers, not without ruining them and would be painful as well.

She was still there when Mum came home and she thought going to school would be a good idea as I was missing too much education. I tried to protest but they didn't listen did they and I was to wear Sue's old skirts, longish ones to cover my legs, I also wore some old boots they found in the attic amongst a load of old clothes from several years ago. It would have to be to fit me.

And so it was that I attended school, they sent a special taxi for me, wearing a long skirt and matching top, leather women's boots to keep my feet warm, and nail varnish, Sue insisted. I protested but she thought it would be funny and it matched the blue background of my outfit. She also washed and dried my hair and put it up for me. I gave up, no one was listening.

So that's how I spent a month in skirts during year seven. I was teased mercilessly and some of the girls persuaded me to wear some light makeup as a joke. I think I was the joke, but at least I was not physically bullied though Victoria heard the boy who broke my leg bragging about how he and Peterson set me up. She reported them to the school, who suspended them for a term, which meant they'd have to work like mad to make it up or resit the year. I suspected the latter would happen and just to cheer me up, I learned that Sue had played soccer against both the bullies and both had broken bones to deal with as well as their suspensions. She being a better player than either of them had injured them legitimately. The one was in goal when she blasted the ball into his face and broke his nose and jaw, he was wired up for ages. The other she slide-tackled and he landed awkwardly and broke his arm and dislocated his shoulder.

Mum told the parents of the boys that she was looking to sue for my injury as it was deliberate, she had no intention of doing it but it frightened the brown stuff out of them, before she started to teach she worked for the CPS (crown prosecution service) so it would frighten anybody. Instead of suing them they got Sued and met my avenging sister, although she'd never admit it.

As for me, well we had a laugh over the skirts and nail varnish and I got so used to them, I still have several that I wear at weekend or evenings, though it took me a while to walk in heels with my injured leg, but I managed it. Mum, she is so laid back she says nothing and Sue is talking about taking me out in them one of these days. No fear, but it's tempting just for a laugh.