Bart has never allowed Jenny out of the house. She thinks it’s high time to move forward -- but is it really a good idea?

The changing room was already empty when I got there, all the others had left, so I stripped off my sports clothes and went in for my shower. After towelling myself dry and brushing my hair I went to get my stuff to get dressed but was shocked to see that my uniform had been stolen and replaced with a girls’ set of clothes, a skirt and blouse. Obviously somebody having a big joke with me. There was nothing for it but to put my sports stuff back on again and go to look for my clothes, but while I was in the shower, someone had came in and taken that as well. I couldn’t stay in here all day, so the only option was to put on the clothes that had been left for me.

Malcolm, a child psychiatrist, helps a troubled boy who claims to see people who are trans even if they don't realize it. TG Parody of Sixth Sense.

Chapter 7

I had to sit as I was feeling quite odd, as if someone was shouting at me inside my brain. They sat down and I said “Gwen, for the couple of years I have been thinking that there are things happening that I should tell you but I don’t know why.”

I didn’t get to Haley as she was quickly absorbed into a crowd of girls who looked like extras from a Black-Veil Brides video shoot. Not that I had an issue with goths, but at that moment the spell that I was under, the one that compelled me to get up and walk through the lunchroom. The one that made me think the ocean of students would part and it would just be the two of us, faded away and instead I found myself walking to the door that lead to the lunch line. I pretended that I was looking at the price of Cheetos as Haley was cloaked in a veil of black, red and purple hair.

CHAPTER 5
Work was a new beginning for a time, as the three weeks or so of local slog kept me occupied, while the longer runs down West gave my mind the space and solitude to put things into a more sensible order than they had fallen into after the funeral. I played my music, I drove my wagon and I planned my days off, whether weekend or midweek.

 
Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash

Making Beautiful Music

 
Introduction

It's about the oldest continuous memory I've got. Sure, I can remember flashes of stuff like a toy or an animal at the zoo, but this memory is like a movie. I'm standing with my sister in the wings of a stage in a theatre, watching the empty stage as the audience waits for the performance to begin. A spotlight comes on and my parents walk on stage. Dad is in a tux, as an adult I would say he was resplendent in a tux but I was only about six at the time and such words were not in my vocabulary. He was just my father and he was smiling, doing what he loved to do most - make music with my mother.

A deal is made.
A boy starts.
A struggle unfolds
A girl finishes.
An exploit taken.

Thanksgiving was fast approaching. Despite a blisteringly hot summer, there was already some snow at higher elevations just to the west of Denver. Ma had said more than once that this was a sure sign of a hard winter ahead. I knew from bitter experience that her track record in forecasting the weather was better than any of the TV weather women.

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