In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 1: Saving My Sister
Chapter 2: Vital Signs
Chapter 3: Smoke Signals
Chapter 4: Options
Chapter 5: Honoring My Sister
Chapter 6: Skin Deep

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 1 of 8

Chapter 1: Saving My Sister

Friday night and I was in bed by 11. Being 13, I didn't have many other options. It was too cold to do anything outside, and besides, the earlier I went to bed, the sooner I'd wake up and the more time I'd have for tomorrow's activities with my best friend, Gary. I drifted off to sleep while thinking about all the fun to be had with Gary after helping my sister with chores. Young teens had to get their fun when and where they could.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up while it was still dark. That never happened, unless I was sick, or it was the end of the world. I slept like a rock. I kept my heating vent closed to keep it cool in my room and hibernated under several layers of blankets. Nothing ever woke me up until I got my usual nine hours of sleep.

At first, I had to shake off a strange dream. My sister and I had been attached by the ankle, forcing us to do all the household chores like a three-legged race. If that wasn't strange enough, we'd finished the chores and I'd celebrated by roasting marshmallows over a camp fire. The really strange part was that the camp fire was in the middle of my bedroom. As I was lying in my bed, I thought about the smell of smoke that continually drifted my way in my dream, even as I shifted one way or the other to try to avoid it. The situation reminded me of a saying: Smoke follows beauty. That made me laugh. How stupid is that?

When I finally burrowed out from under all my blankets, I sniffed, wondering if I was still dreaming. I really did smell smoke, though it took several minutes before the importance of that fact forced its way into my groggy brain. The house was on fire!

I sprang from my bed and immediately started coughing. I forgot that you're supposed to stay low in a fire. Then I made a second mistake, taking hold of the door knob and throwing open my bedroom door.

A wall of fire blew in my face, singeing all my facial hair. Only young reflexes saved me. I jerked back and fell on my butt. I was on the floor where I should be. There should be a layer of breathable air near the floor.

It just started to register that the door knob had burned my hand and the pain actually helped. It made me think clearly. Everything snapped into sharp focus and I began thinking my way through the emergency.

My mother was away for the weekend at a seminar, leaving only my sister and me in the house. We lived in a one story house so I could easily escape through my window. But what about my sister? Beth was a very sound sleeper, like I was, and she might still be asleep, or worse!

As I thought about her, I got a bad feeling. I was sure that she was still in her bed, and she was in trouble. I don't know how I knew. I just did. My sister and I had always shared a special bond, like what a lot of identical twins claimed to have, even though we were fraternal twins.

Our mother always joked that we should've been identical twins. We looked very similar, and both of us had wavy, dark brown hair. We were also the same height and build, though puberty would soon change that. I was a boy, and I didn't appreciate my mom's sense of humor. When she said identical, she meant I should look like my sister and not the other way around.

Of course with the house on fire, it wasn't time for jokes, or reminiscing about them. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't make sure Beth was okay, and I'd gladly give my life to save her. I had to act.

I could try to go outside and go around to her bedroom window, though I doubted there'd be time to try knocking on the window to get Beth's attention. I'd have to break the window to get in ... except that wouldn't work well either. I didn't think there'd be time to get dressed and broken glass and bare feet didn't mix. Crap!

I heard sirens in the distance. That meant neighbors were probably outside, watching. What if someone tried to stop me? I couldn't let that happen. I had to brave the burning hallway, the fastest way to my sister. I grabbed my down comforter off my bed and wrapped it around me for some protection. Then I rushed into the flames.

The hallway was an inferno and my choice of protection was unfortunate, as was the fact that I didn't have an adjoining bathroom like my sister's bedroom. It would've helped to wet the comforter and myself. As it was, the comforter was old and worn, and the feathers in it caught fire. So did my pajamas.

I screamed in pain and quickly shrugged off the burning comforter as I staggered to my sister's bedroom door. The flames hadn't reached that far but it was clear it wouldn't be long before they did.

My instinct for self-preservation told me to go straight through the room and jump out the window. Saving my sister was a suicide mission, but my love for her overcame my fear of death. Besides, I couldn't live with myself if I didn't try. I'd rather die.

I fumbled with the door knob and rushed in, slamming the door behind me. Then I stayed low and crawled towards the bed while patting my smoldering pajamas.

Through the thick smoke that filled the room, I could just make out Beth's form, lying under her covers. Even with my coughing and the noise of the fire, she wasn't moving, and I started to panic.

I quickly scrabbled over to the window and choked from the smoke that billowed out of a nearby heating vent. I closed the vent but smoke still seeped in so I pulled the comforter off my sister's bed to cover it.

As I reached up from my low position to open the window, I wondered if the gas furnace started the fire and had to shake myself. I didn't have time for idle thoughts. I had to get Beth out as soon as possible. I sat on the floor and shouted as I pulled the rest of her covers off. "Beth! Wake up! We have to get out! Beth!!"

That was all the shouting I could manage. The smoke made it impossible to keep it up. It was just as well because my sister still hadn't moved. All I could do was cough and hope for the best.

I made a desperate lunge for Beth's body and managed to grab her arms and pull her off the bed without losing consciousness. I wasn't very strong but a short burst of adrenaline can work wonders.

With both of us sprawled on the floor, I looked up at the window and sighed. It was so high and I was so tired. I needed help. So did Beth.

The room sucked in cold fresh air through the open window. A draft blew over us, giving both of us goose bumps, but it brought some welcome relief from the smoke. I sat with my back against the wall and breathed deeply while I tried to summon the strength for one last attempt to get us both out.

As I sat there, I lightly grasped my sister's wrist and found that her pulse was erratic and weak. I also checked her breathing but couldn't feel anything. If she was breathing, it was very shallow.

I tried a little CPR -- I had to try something -- but I worked myself into a rage when it didn't seem to help. I couldn't live without my sister. I wouldn't!

I fumed along with the burning house and watched helplessly as smoke filled the room faster than it could escape out the window. In spite of the poor visibility, I could see the glow of flames on the far side of the room, and I could hear ominous creaking noises coming from above. It sounded like there wasn't much time before the ceiling collapsed.

I scooped my hands under my unconscious sister, and with a last burst of energy, I heaved her limp body up to the window sill and stuffed her outside before I slumped back to the floor.

I sat on the comforter over the heating vent with my back to the wall and looked down at myself. My pajama bottoms were burned off and I could see my legs, hairless and red with with blisters. Shock must have settled in because I no longer felt any pain. I watched passively as the fire quickly spread across the floor until it reached me. I didn't bother to try moving my legs back. I couldn't find the energy.

Flames licked at my lower body, leaving me with two thoughts before everything went black. I thought about how much I hated the smell of burning flesh, and I thought about my sister. I hoped she'd be okay.

Chapter 2: Vital Signs

An incessant beeping and the smell of antiseptic annoyed me enough to bring me back to some semblance of consciousness. Those sensations seemed normal enough, but I couldn't see or think clearly, and random flashes of light and bursts of heat gave everything a surreal tinge.

I found myself lying on my back so I tried to get up to get some answers, and immediately regretted it. Intense pain burned with a fire that reminded me of how I ended up in what I suddenly realized was a hospital bed.

The harsh memories of last night's disaster added to my distress, but I kept myself from hysterics by wondering and worrying about my sister. As long as I focused on her, I could distract myself from my own problems and endure virtually anything.

I relaxed and took deep, calming breaths while I listened to the rate of beeping slow back down to its original rate. I knew then that it was my heart monitor, and it sounded like beautiful music to my charred ears. It meant I was still alive. My pain and everything else I sensed proved I was alive.

Being alive might please my mother but I couldn't celebrate yet. I needed to find out about my sister. If she died, I didn't think I could face my mom or myself. Every time I saw my reflection in the mirror, I knew I'd always think of Beth and wonder if I could've done more to save her. Guilt would eat away at me until there was nothing left. My body would die and my spirit would drift away to join my sister, wherever death had taken her.

My eyelids fluttered but I saw only blackness. I occasionally heard people around me so I knew there must be light. I worried that I might be blind until I realized that gauze covered my eyes and virtually every other square inch of my body. I could feel the bandages along with a dull pain that throbbed with every heart beat. The pain spread throughout my body, from my head to my toes. Everything hurt, and it gave me a sudden feeling of dread, just before I sank back into the painless realm of deep, dreamless sleep.

***

Throughout the day, my head swam with images of smoke and fire. Lucidity came and went, and I began to doubt my conclusion that I was still alive until I heard a familiar voice. It was my mother. Her voice, along with my doctor, kept me from dwelling on my pain and fear, or at least they did until they started discussing my state of health.

"Are you sure there's nothing you can do?" asked my mom. I could tell she'd been crying. I knew from her tone of voice.

"He has third degree burns over more than 90 percent of his body," a man said. "I'm very sorry but he's not expected to live, not with injuries that severe."

"But there must be something." My mother refused to give up. Her voice rose in volume and pitch and she ended the sentence with a sob.

I couldn't take it. I could handle the cold facts and figures, but when my mother got upset, I wanted to comfort her. I wanted to shout that I wasn't dead yet and spend whatever time I had left with her, and I tried. I tried so hard.

The heart monitor beeped out a faster and faster rhythm as I struggled to raise my head. I think I opened my mouth but no intelligible sounds came out. My tongue felt huge. My lips stretched tightly and throbbed with pain. I couldn't even say good-bye.

"Nurse!" I heard the doctor shout. "Get in here! Now!" He demanded some amount of a drug that soon had me swimming in images again. I lost myself in a sea of fire and wondered if there really was a hell. Then I lost consciousness for the umpteenth time that day. As long as I was out, I was safe.

***

The steady beeping was back, giving me a sense of the passage of time. I counted beeps for awhile and thought that the time between each one approximated one second fairly well. That meant I could estimate the minutes and hours if necessary. I had nothing better to do so I stubbornly counted.

Approximately nine minutes and 37 seconds went by before a nurse came into my room. She actually greeted me, but it didn't sound like she knew I was awake. It seemed more of a way for her to pass the time. She played the same sort of game I did except she counted patients instead of beeps.

The nurse talked to me for a short time and then spoke to someone else. That someone turned out to be my mother.

"I don't think he's in any pain," the nurse said.

"How could he be? He's asleep." My mother sounded a little angry. I don't think she appreciated the nurse's efforts to give her some comfort.

"I suppose he is now. It's hard to tell. But if he was awake, I think he'd moan if he was in pain."

"Didn't the doctor say he was kept sedated?"

"Well sure. Doctor Blake increased his medication after he woke up two days ago. It probably keeps him sedated most of the time but I think he's come around before. I visit quite often and I've see him move a little and heard him make sounds."

"Even if he did wake up, how could you tell?"

"You can sort of tell by his heart rate. It's only 55 beats a minute now so I'd guess he's asleep. But if it climbs much higher, like say 70, it's more likely he'd be awake."

"Thanks," my mom said, sounding much happier than she had a moment ago. "No one pointed that out before but it makes sense. I'd like to be able to talk to him when he's awake."

A moment of silence passed, marked by 48 beeps. I wished so much that I could speak, or move, or do something to show I could hear them. I couldn't though. I didn't have the energy, and I could tell my tongue was still swollen. It nearly filled my mouth completely.

"I know the prognosis is bad but please don't give up hope," the nurse suddenly said. "This hospital has some pretty good specialists. I've seen some pretty amazing recoveries here."

"Oh really?" My mother's voice suddenly turned bitter. "I know you mean well, but can your doctors fix partially cooked eyeballs? Can they heal my son's skin and replace his genitals? I'm guessing not."

"I'm sorry." The nurse spoke quickly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

Anger and sorrow permeated the room as thick as the smoke in my sister's bedroom the night of the fire. Some of it came from me after hearing how badly I'd been burned. It also choked me up to hear my mother respond in such a negative manner, and my mood must have shown. The heart monitor started beeping much more quickly.

"Oh! Look there. His heart rate shot up ... 70 ... 75 ... 80 beats a minute."

"You mean he heard us?" My mother sounded concerned. "Is he awake?"

I could hear the swishing of fabric, like someone was talking wildly with their hands and arms, and I counted another 23 beeps before the nurse responded. "Probably."

I tried to hum out something that sounded like, "Uh huh," but it came out more like two indistinct grunts.

"Mike? Honey? Can you hear me?" My mother's face hovered over mine.

"Remember that his throat was very badly burned," the nurse said. "It's not likely he'll be able to talk."

My mother backed away and cried out in frustration, but luckily, the nurse didn't give up on me.

"Mike? My name is Cindy. Grunt three times if you understand."

I managed to grunt three times.

"He did it! Did you hear that, Mrs. Wagner? He answered me."

The excited nurse got through to my mother, who was soon asking me all sorts of simple questions about how I felt. Was I in a lot of pain? One grunt for no. Did I feel a little pain? Three more grunts for yes. Did I want more pain medication? No. It would've been nice if I wasn't asked the same question in so many different ways.

I wished I could've said how good it felt to be able to answer. If only I was asked the right questions. What I really wanted was to find out about Beth, but that was impossible. My mother was understandably focused on me for the moment. She wouldn't ask me what I really wanted or volunteer the information I sought any time soon.

After only a dozen or so answers, the process got a bit tedious and I started getting tired. I faded out, but I was satisfied that I could finally communicate.

Chapter 3: Smoke Signals

I heard my heart monitor again, and mercifully, the antiseptic odor was masked by flowers so I was in a much better mood.

I thought about how I could increase my heart rate to get someone's attention and tried imagining that I was running. It worked. Just thinking about exercise made my heart race and I soon had a nurse talking to me.

"Hello Mike," said a pleasant sounding woman. "Are you feeling okay?"

I grunted three times.

"Ah. That means yes. Good. Cindy told everyone about how you communicate, and your mother left a note just in case. She's sitting with your sister now."

I knew she didn't mean to do it but the nurse's careless comment agitated me and I started a long series of grunts. My sister was in the same hospital. That meant she could be in trouble.

"What is it? Was it something I said?" The nurse was clueless but I resolved to keep grunting until she asked the right question, or until I exhausted myself.

"Please. Stop. I'm sorry. Whatever I said, I'm sorry."

I kept grunting.

"Is it about your mother?"

I stopped a short time, grunted once for no, and then resumed my grunts.

"Okay. No, it's not about your mother. Is it about Cindy?"

I stopped and grunted once for no again. Then I tried to continue my series of grunts, but I got tired and sounded feeble.

"Oh, you poor thing. Please stop grunting. I have an idea. It will take some time but we can communicate better than this."

I stopped and waited for her to continue.

"You form a short simple sentence in your mind and then I'll run through the letters of the alphabet. I'll also add a space at the beginning of the list to separate words. When I get to the first letter of the first word, grunt once. I'll ask again to confirm the letter with another single grunt and then we can start over and do the same thing until we get all the letters and spaces between words. Okay?"

I grunted three times to show I agreed. I'd finally be able to ask about my sister.

It went slow but I kept my sentence simple. I simply asked, "Is sister okay." It wasn't good grammar and I couldn't add a question mark at the end, but the wording was plain enough for the nurse to understand.

"Oh dear. No one has told you yet? I better get your mother."

I heard the nurse's footsteps as she left me alone with my unpleasant thoughts. I feared for my sister's safety more than my own, but the worry took its toll and I couldn't stay awake. I'd used up all of my energy for the day. I listened to my heart rate slowing as I quietly slipped back to the land of Nod.

***

More beeping, more flowers, and something else this time. I smelled perfume. Was it my sister's? Did she even wear perfume? I didn't think she did but I allowed myself a wild hope and my heart rate increased.

"Mike? Are you awake?" my mother asked. The perfume I smelled must have been hers.

I grunted three times for yes.

"Oh Mike. I'm so sorry. I heard you asked about Beth."

I grunted three times again.

"She's not doing well, honey."

I made another sound, but it wasn't a grunt. It was more a horrible wail, so horrible it scared me and I managed to control myself and stop.

My mother sat on the edge of the bed and sniffled a little before she spoke. "I know. I'm quite upset too." Then she told me all about my sister and what happened the night of the fire.

It had already been a little over a week since the house caught fire. Our home was a total loss and my mother had been staying with my grandma, her mother, when she wasn't at the hospital. She let my grandmother deal with the insurance and everything else that had to be worked out, leaving her free to deal with my sister and me.

She told me I'd been a hero that night. The emergency crew figured out that I'd pushed Beth out the window at my own expense after seeing her condition. They thought she must have had help getting out. A fireman braved the flames then, and peeked in the open window where he found me, horribly burned but amazingly enough, still alive. He pulled me up and out and cradled me in his arms. Someone draped a blanket over my severely burned body and an ambulance took me away.

The story had us both sniffling, but the worst was yet to come. My mom finally told me about Beth.

My sister hadn't suffered any burns, but she'd been overcome by fumes as I feared. She'd breathed in so much smoke for so long that her brain had been starved for oxygen and stopped working. She was brain dead. The only things keeping her body alive were the respirator and feeding tube. She'd never wake up again.

"I'm so sorry, Mike. I know you tried your best to save her. Please don't feel guilty."

She knew me all too well. I did feel guilty. There must have been something I could've done better that night. I made too many mistakes, took too long to open the window and get her out. If only I'd gotten her out of bed right right away and pushed her outside sooner. If I tried harder, she might have been there, helping my mother keep watch over me instead of wasting away in a hospital bed.

I wailed again and my mother started calling for a nurse to sedate me. I didn't want that so I forced myself to breathe deep and calm down.

"Good boy," my mother soothed. "Take it easy. Please."

I listened as she continued to talk about Beth.

"I was hoping to keep her on life support until you could see her one last time. I know you'd like that."

I grunted three times.

"I don't think that's going to happen though. You're in pretty bad shape too. I'm sure you heard Dr. Blake and I discuss it earlier so I'll tell you again. You're not expected to live."

I grunted three times again. I accepted my fate. I felt it only fair. If my sister had to die, than I'd gladly follow her to keep her company. There was only one little problem.

My mother started crying and choking out words. "I don't want to lose both of you. Please. Try to hang on. For me? I know it's hard. But I don't know if I could go on without at least one of you."

She broke down and leaned against me, soaking my bandages with her tears. The pressure on my skin hurt but I didn't care. She needed the cry, and I needed the contact. It was nice in spite of the pain.

Chapter 4: Options

My constant companion, the heart monitor, greeted me. I'd live to see another day, but I was steadily getting worse. Most of my skin wasn't healing and I had a strong chance of getting a fatal infection. The doctors were getting desperate, along with my mother.

I grunted to save some time and show that I was awake. Then my mother called in a group of doctors to tell us about a radical new therapy that had a good chance of saving me. It sounded crazy though because they said it would involve my sister.

Barring a miracle recovery, the doctors said I had no chance of surviving without some new body parts, especially skin. Then they reiterated that my sister had no burns, but no hope of recovery. They thought the solution was clear.

"You want to give my son a skin transplant using my daughter as a donor?" my mother asked, figuring out what the doctors had in mind easily enough. "Is that possible?"

"In essence, that is correct, and we think it is possible. We'll want to transplant all the skin though, as well as some other organs. It would work out much better that way. It helps that the donor and recipient are siblings and are virtually the same size."

"But even the face? Does that mean ... will my son have Beth's face? Will he look like Beth?"

The doctors ignored my mother's questions for the moment. They wanted to cover all aspects of the treatment before they discussed the implications. I just took it all in, not believing a word of it. It sounded impossible.

"With a new gene therapy, we have a way to eliminate tissue rejection. The therapy could be discontinued after a relatively short period of two or three months. The transplant would take hold and your son could live a normal life, with no further need of drugs or therapy."

"That's wonderful!" My mother shouted, hurting my ears. She seemed to forget her earlier questions for the moment. They still haunted me however.

"We wanted to make sure you understood that there was more to the treatment than just the skin transplant, Mrs. Wagner. We believe it would be the best and perhaps only course of action to transplant everything damaged by the fire. There's a much greater chance of tissue rejection otherwise."

"Well that sounds fine," my mother said, not thinking things through. She only saw the bottom line: I'd be alive.

"That means we'd include the eyes and larynx." The doctors continued.

"Of course," my mother said and then hesitated for several beeps of my heart monitor. "Wait a minute. Does that mean he'd not only look like Beth, but sound like her?"

"Yes," Dr. Blake admitted. "But there's still more to it than that."

My mother's train of thought finally caught up to mine and she gave a nervous little laugh. If I could, I would've joined her.

"His genitals were destroyed," she said quietly. "You can't possibly mean to transplant Beth's ovaries."

"It would be in the best interest of the patient if we transplanted all of your daughter's reproductive organs, Mrs. Wagner. That way, your son wouldn't need any hormone replacement therapy. It's really the only way the gene therapy will work anyway."

"So you're telling me, my son has to become a girl to live?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wagner. Your son would be a girl, with no chance of transitioning back to a male. We're not sure how testosterone would affect the gene therapy but we're pretty sure it would cause severe complications. Your son would have to remain female for the rest of his, make that her, life."

I felt my mother slump heavily on my bed. She must have been in shock, as was I. It was crazy, but it looked like the only option I had for life.

I thought I heard someone talking to me then, extolling the virtues of sedatives and pain medication, but I wasn't sure. All the excitement wore me out and I slowly slid back into slumber. The heart monitor sounded miles away as it registered my slowing heart beat, making me think one of the doctors had upped my medication. I'm sure everyone decided it was in my best interest to sleep on the idea of being remade in my sister's image.

***

I felt a presence near me. I could hear the person breathing over the sound of the heart monitor. It sounded like a woman, probably my mother. My hearing was really getting better, or maybe it was just my ability to listen. I'd heard that if you lost your sight, the remaining senses would get more sensitive to make up for the loss. It was true.

I gasped as I fought my way back to full consciousness. The pain had increased, even though I was sure the dosage of pain medication had been increased as well. I really was getting worse. I needed to seriously consider becoming my sister. I hadn't forgotten what the crazy doctors had said.

I didn't catch the attention of who I was sure was my mom, sitting in a chair next to my bed. She needed prodding so I imagined I was running through a corn field to speed up my heart. Between the increased beeping and a few grunts, I roused her.

"Mike? Are you awake?" She sounded groggy, like she'd been asleep for a long time in that chair. It must have been uncomfortable.

I responded with the usual three grunts. Then I imagined being chastised for being so unladylike, and I had to suppress a laugh. It hurt when I laughed.

"Are you okay?"

I gave her another three grunts. I suppose she misunderstood my stifled laughter.

Another 72 beeps sounded before she spoke again.

"So do you remember what the doctors said ... about the transplants?"

I grunted three times.

"Are you okay with that?"

I mostly heard concern in her voice, but I also heard hope. This sensitive hearing really came in handy. She had to hope that I'd agree to the procedure. She already told me she couldn't stand to lose both of her children.

If I accepted the transplants, it wouldn't exactly be like she was getting a new child. To me, it seemed more like she was getting her son back along with some of Beth thrown in as a bonus. It would certainly be better than having me die, and assuming I live, it might even seem like a better choice to her than having a son with horrible burn scars over virtually all of his body. At least I wouldn't blame her if she thought that way. Still, it wasn't a decision to be made lightly.

I wanted to think about it a little more. I hadn't had much time so far. I'd been drugged too much and hadn't been able to think clearly. So instead of grunting yes or no, I threw her a curve by grunting only twice.

"Two grunts? What does that mean? Does it mean maybe?"

Good guess I thought, as I grunted three times again.

Chapter 5: Honoring My Sister

I was pretty much left alone to think about my fate. My mother occasionally asked how I felt and asked me whether I'd made a decision yet, but thankfully, no one pressured me. At least no one did until an unidentified man came to visit.

The man came in to talk soon after my mother went off to sit with Beth, and I guessed he made sure my mom didn't see him.

"I know you're awake," he said by way of introduction. "I heard you grunting with your mother."

His shoes squeaked noisily until he'd moved next to my bed where my mother had been sitting moments ago. I felt his eyes on me, and I counted over a hundred beeps of the heart monitor before he spoke again.

"Are you through feeling sorry for yourself?" he asked. His deep, emotionless voice projected with the ease of someone who did a lot of public speaking. I disliked him immediately. His horrible bedside manner made it easy.

"Why don't you just agree to the treatment? Do you like making your mother suffer?"

The man was a prick. He completely misread me. I wished I could've told him to leave but unfortunately, I was a captive audience. I committed his voice to memory and made a mental note to make sure I let him know how I felt about our conversation if I ever met up with him again.

Then he startled me when he spoke again. He'd moved his face a couple inches above mine and spoke much more quietly.

"I've read your profile, Mikey. You're a sweet, sensitive kid. You loved helping your sister and you almost burned yourself to death trying to save her life. Now she can help you. Take the treatment."

I could smell stale coffee on his breath. That was another strike against him. I hated coffee. I hated it almost as much as I hated being manipulated.

"You're too much of a wimp to ever be a man, but you'd make a great girl. Do everyone a favor and be a girl. I'm *sure* you'd like it."

I didn't like the way he emphasized the word "sure". I didn't like anything about the man, and I'd had enough. Though my balls had been burned off, my body still had enough traces of testosterone to fuel my anger. I imagined beating my tormentor with a baseball bat until my heart rate went through the roof and the monitor pinged an alarm.

I heard the man hurry out just before a stampede of nurses came in to attend to me. They broke out the happy drugs and my brain soon fogged. I lost consciousness with my imaginary baseball bat still held tightly in both hands.

***

The faithful heart monitor and my mother's perfume greeted me for another waking period. I wish I could say I was happy about still being alive, but every part of me ached. Even my teeth hurt. I was tired of the pain, tired of lying in a hospital bed, all wrapped up and nowhere to go.

I didn't want my mom to know I was awake yet so I stayed relaxed and kept quiet. I still had some thinking to do.

I'd pretty much decided to accept the treatment before my unwelcome visitor showed up. I didn't like the idea of living with my failure to save Beth, and I have to confess I wasn't crazy about being a girl. My instinct for self-preservation was still strong however, as was my love for my mother. If she wanted her son to live as a girl, I'd be a girl. I'd do it for her, and I'd do it to honor Beth. I imagined seeing my sister's face every time I looked in the mirror. That would certainly keep her memory alive.

I thought about letting my mother know my decision as soon as she came back, but then that prick of a man showed up. He really shook me up, but he actually did help reinforce my decision in his own way. He gave me motivation. I hoped to live so that I eventually would meet up with him and put him in his place.

Just thinking about him elevated my heart rate again. It increased enough that my mother didn't wait for me to signal her.

"Mike? Are you awake?"

I gave her the usual three grunts and yearned to be able to speak again.

"Have you made a decision?" My mother's voice overflowed with hope and love and my heart melted.

I grunted three times and I heard a sharp intake of breath. Then a hard, slow swallow.

"Will you accept the treatment?"

I loudly grunted three times to make sure there was no mistake. I decided to choose life, even though it would never completely be my own. I'd never be Mike again.

My mother responded in predictable fashion. She laid her head on my chest and cried, soaking my bandages with her tears as she had once before. The weight of her head caused excruciating pain but I bore it well. I was going to live.

***

The group of doctors returned and went over the treatment with my mother and me once again, and they were more thorough. They wanted to make sure we understood what to expect.

I'd be getting a full skin transplant, including all hair and my sister's face. I'd also get my sister's eyes, larynx and all of her female parts. I'd even be having some work done to feminize my pelvis and I'd be getting Beth's floating ribs. My mother asked if that was necessary but the doctors brushed her off, saying it would save me some embarrassing questions whenever I had x-rays for a physical examination.

They also covered the gene therapy treatments but that part went right over my head. The only part I understood was that I'd have to stay at the hospital and be closely monitored until my body completely accepted Beth's body parts.

My mother signed a bunch of paperwork right there in my hospital room. I could hear the pen scratch across the surface of the paper.
Then I was wheeled away to be prepped for the long surgical adventure ahead of me. I'd be out for three days, and when I awoke, I'd be living in my sister's skin and literally walking in her footsteps for the rest of my life.

I stopped moving and soon heard the snipping of scissors as someone cut away my bandages. A woman with a German accent stood off to the side and made a few comments to the doctors who prepped me. She mentioned starting the anesthesia. It wouldn't be long before my new life started.

It was ironic that I could've saved myself from the burning house and ended up with roughly the same result. I would've lived and my sister would've died, but that wasn't acceptable. I would've felt much worse, wondering if I could've saved her. It was worth it to trade my gender for the certainty that I at least tried to save her.

My badly burned skin stretched too tightly on my face for a proper smile, but I imagined smiling. I knew it wouldn't be much longer before I'd be smiling again and I was anxious to get started.

Chapter 6: Skin Deep

I thought I knew pain before, with my third degree burns, but that was nothing compared to what I felt when I woke up that day. To be fair, my new body gave me a different kind of pain. My burns had given me a dull, throbbing ache that was easy to get used to and filter out as it became familiar, as long as I didn't move. After my operations, I felt sharp, prickly hot spots flaring up all over as nerves introduced themselves to my new skin. Dozens of hot spots hit hard and fast, and left just as quickly, giving me no chance to acclimate. Medication was my friend.

Once I struggled past the pain, I found my vision blocked by bandages. At least I was used to that. I reached out with my ears, listening for any sign of a warm, friendly body to either distract me from the pain or increase my medication.

I couldn't hear anything, not even my friend the heart monitor, nor could I smell anything but that oppressive, harsh odor of antiseptic that hung in the air of hospitals everywhere. I found out later that exposure to perfume or flower scents might have interfered with my treatment. The doctors took no chances.

It seemed I was alone so I sighed ... and made a pleasant discovery. Though my throat hurt, I made a sound other than a grunt. I tested my new voice by groaning. That's when I found out I wasn't alone.

"Stop that!" a woman suddenly hissed.

Her command startled me. I flinched and searing pain erupted all over my body. The woman didn't have to worry about me obeying her. I was too busy gritting my teeth to be any trouble.

After the pain abated, the woman realized what had happened and apologized. I wasn't supposed to use my vocal cords until they had more time to heal. She only shouted because I surprised her. She didn't notice that I'd woken up.

The woman identified herself as Sarah, a physiotherapist assigned to help me through my coming ordeal. She jokingly used the word "ordeal" but with all the pain I'd felt so far, I reserved judgment. The doctors had discussed all of the possible side effects so at least I knew what I was getting into. The pain didn't scare me. In fact, I embraced it. I'd accept a lot of pain and suffering for the chance to speak and see and live again.

Bandages no longer covered every square inch of my body. Only my eyes needed protection while they healed. The rest of the surgery had been performed while I was skinned to eliminate the need for incisions. I was free of scars. Not even the skin transplant itself required any cuts. The doctors stretched Beth's flesh over me using a natural opening and some drugs to increase elasticity of the skin. I didn't want to think about it.

Except for my temporary lack of vision, I felt free, and I reveled in the feel of cool air on my face. It amazed me that I could feel anything so quickly after my surgery. Sarah explained that the gene therapy included something to help regenerate nerve tissue. The pain would be more intense from the rapid nerve growth, but it wouldn't last long. I hoped she was right.

My physiotherapist was very nice but also very demanding of me, as I soon found out. Right after she introduced herself and told me the agenda for the day, she ran me through a series of light exercises to help keep my new skin from forming adhesions. Normally, massage would be used, but for the time being, my skin was too sensitive to be rubbed.

I started by making different facial expressions. They were easy. As I did one, the pain immediately sent me to another. I slid from smile to frown to scowl without thinking. Sarah couldn't help but notice my discomfort and adjusted accordingly.

She worked my fingers and feet next. She focused on them for two reasons. Getting patients back on their feet was always a high priority, and being able to use my hands was important for me. I needed some way to communicate. With my vocal cords still sore from surgery, I wasn't even supposed to grunt.

My physiotherapy progressed quickly and well. Within minutes, I could tap different fingers to say yes or no, and before the end of my first session, I could write short messages on a notepad. The first message I wrote was to ask about my mother. I knew I had a lot of work to do but I missed my mother.

"She isn't allowed to see you yet."

"Why not?" I quickly scribbled on the notepad.

"We don't think that's a good idea just yet."

"Who's we?" I wrote. Sarah's comment made me nervous for some strange reason. Something sounded fishy to me.

"Uh ... I meant the doctors of course."

Good save, I thought, but I was still suspicious.

"I want my mom," I wrote.

"I'm sorry but that's not possible."

"Why?"

"I ... I'm not sure how to explain it."

"Please try." I'm sure my handwriting was a mess. I ran the pen off the edge of the paper in my haste. Sarah got the message though.

"Doctor Franklin thinks your mother might hinder your ... progress."

"Who's Doctor Franklin?"

"She's the psychologist in charge of your mental therapy. She was afraid you might have trouble adjusting after your accident."

I stopped and tried to give that some thought, but Sarah wouldn't let me. She didn't want to stop my therapy session so she pressed on, and I obeyed. We ran through a few leg and arm exercises before I could take no more. I was exhausted.

"Mercy!" I wrote on my notepad.

Sarah laughed, but she saw how tired I was and relented.

"You did very well," she told me. "We've spent nearly four hours already today."

"Wow!" I wrote.

"Wow indeed. Someone will bring you some juice in a moment and I think you'll even get to try some yogurt and a banana. I know it's been a long time since you've had solid food so I want you to take it easy."

"What's food?"

Sarah read my message and laughed again.

"You've got a good sense of humor," she said. "I think we'll get along fine."

Before she left, she told me I'd probably need a nap after my lunch. She'd be back later in the afternoon though and see about resuming my physiotherapy if I was up to it. I had a long way to go and she was anxious to push me as hard as she could.

***

A nurse named Carrie arrived to serve me lunch. She'd been briefed about my finger tapping and notepad so things went very smoothly. She raised my bed very slowly and helped me drink and eat for the first time in ... I don't know how long.

"How long since the fire?" I wrote after I finished my lunch.

"I'm sorry. I don't know anything about what happened to you. They said it was best that way."

"They?" I wrote. I was getting very concerned about the lack of names and titles.

"Oh. I don't know. Bureaucrats and military doctors I guess. This place is full of 'em." She left it at that but I wasn't satisfied.

Carrie cleaned up and left me alone with my thoughts, and I found that I still had a lot of company. I wondered about how well my surgery went, worried about the hospital I was in, and I missed my mother. I couldn't believe she wouldn't insist on seeing me as soon as I woke up.

My thoughts and concerns wound me up a little, but as Sarah predicted, I did soon fall asleep. I needed the rest.

***

I must have stirred as I woke up because Sarah spoke up immediately.

"Hello sleepy head. How do you feel? Ready to start again?"

I tapped my pinky finger to mean no. Was she insane?

"Okay. You did just wake up, but I still recommend a little stretching. It'll help get the blood flowing and wake you up more. Would you like to try some stretching?"

I hesitated for a minute or so, but eventually she got the answer she wanted and the physiotherapy session officially began.

***

Only two more hours went by before I called it quits for the day. Sarah congratulated me on my progress but I could tell she wanted more out of me. I could hear the disappointment in her voice. At least she truly seemed to care, I mused, and she was much better to talk to than Carrie was.

That reminded me. I still wanted an answer to the question I'd asked Carrie.

"How long ago was the fire?" I wrote.

"I'm sorry. I don't know anything about a fire. All I know is that you've been bedridden for about two weeks. That's why we're taking it slow."

"Slow? Are you kidding?" I wrote.

She laughed, and the sound made me smile, even though it caused a little pain. I loved the sound of her laugh. There was no malice or deceit in it at all. I was sure I had nothing to fear from her, but I still felt uneasy.

I might have shrugged off my growing suspicion, but it didn't help when a different nurse checked my vital signs and served me my evening meal that day. I never heard from Carrie again. My inner paranoid self whispered that she was removed because she was careless about what she said. Shadowy figures don't like people to be careless with words.

I fell asleep that night thinking about my mother. I hoped I could see her soon. She'd make everything okay.

*** to be continued ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.

In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 7: I'm a Girl
Chapter 8: Losing Myself
Chapter 9: Pleasant Surprises
Chapter 10: Identity Confusion
Chapter 11: Momma's Girl
Chapter 12: Confusion Therapy

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 2 of 8

Chapter 7: I'm a Girl

Six days after my surgery, I woke up. Since my eyes were still bandaged, I waved my right hand to make fairly sure I was alone. No one spoke. It must be early but it's hard to tell without a clock. Over the past three days, my waking hours had blurred into a mixture of exercises and meals. My mother still wasn't allowed to visit.

I used the free time well. I hadn't had a decent moment to myself since I first woke up three days ago. I was well overdue for a little introspection ... and exploration.

My skin felt loose, though I might have imagined that, and I think it was a little softer. My male skin hadn't had much hair so it was hard to tell.

I let my arms flop back to my sides and gently rolled from side to side without any problems. It felt good to move without pain. I wouldn't push it by trying to get up. That would hurt, as it had last night when I'd managed to walk around the bed from one side to the other. It took me over an hour to recover from that little trip.

I thought about all my physical changes but my body didn't really feel any different. Wasn't it supposed to? Was I really a girl? Of course I didn't have any previous experience to compare to, and being so young, the raging hormones of puberty hadn't had time to work their magic. I hadn't looked all that different from Beth. Our eye color was different. I had gray eyes. Hers were brown. Besides that, our faces were virtually identical, even the chin and jaw line. Bullies had sometimes called me a girlie boy. I wondered what they'd call me when I got back to school with my new look.

There were a couple important differences that I knew of, the ones hidden behind laws of common decency. Did I dare check those? If I did, would I suddenly feel like a girl and have overpowering urges to shop for clothes and talk about boys? It didn't matter because before I could work up the nerve to touch myself, a voice interrupted me.

"Does it feel good?"

The prick was back. It was the same man who'd harassed me before my surgery. His squeaky shoes were either fixed or he wore a different pair, but I knew that voice anywhere.

I instinctively folded my arms over my chest, worried that he might be a pervert and try to tweak my nipples. He gave me the creeps.

"Don't be shy," he purred. "I've been watching you. I know you want to feel more of your cute little body."

I was really glad I held off and didn't explore my body further. I hated to think that I almost gave him a cheap thrill.

"How does it feel to be a girl? Are you happy? You should be happy. You'll be shopping and trolling the mall for boys in no time."

I quietly simmered, waiting for someone to rescue me from the jerk. I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of a reaction if I could help it, but I couldn't hold out much longer. I just hoped I didn't hurt or embarrass myself too much if I did lose control. If he touched me, I was sure I'd scream, and I'd probably shred my fragile vocal cords. Please. Don't touch me.

"You think about it. Think about touching yourself some more, and think about how exciting it'll be when you start getting boinked by boys."

I couldn't believe what he said, or the stupid slang he used. He needed to be taught a lesson ... in vulgarity if nothing else. I reached out for my side table and fumbled for the notepad and the pen that was tucked into the spiral binding.

"Fuck you!" I scribbled hastily, and then threw the notepad in the direction I last heard him speak. My mother wouldn't have approved but I believed the situation called for it. I'd learned the offending phrase just last year. It was impossible to go to my middle school and not know the meaning of what I'd written.

The creep didn't get angry like I hoped. Instead, he clucked his tongue, and I could hear him rip the page from the notebook.

"That is so unladylike." He said with mock disappointment. "But thanks for the souvenir. I think I'll take this home and frame it. I'll look at it and always think of you, lying helpless in bed, wearing nothing but a skimpy hospital gown."

I was livid. I had no doubt he'd do exactly what he said. I imagined him hoping for just such a reaction, and I gave it to him. I seriously considered getting out of bed and going after him, pain or no pain, when Sarah finally arrived at that moment to save me from further humiliation.

"Who are you?" she asked the man. "Do we have a problem here?"

"No ... no problem at all. I was just leaving. Good-bye ... Beth."

He called me my sister's name! That made me shake with anger. I wanted to thrash him. I wanted to slowly kill the bastard and grind my foot into his crotch as he took his last breath. Sarah couldn't help notice my mood.

"Goodness, girl. Take it easy. He's gone. What did he do?"

She called me a girl. That was odd, and it calmed me down a little. As I took a moment to think about it, I realized that she'd never used my name or gender specific pronouns. I had some serious writing to do.

I held out my hand, palm up to signal that I wanted the notebook and Sarah handed it to me.

"If you ever see that man again, kick him in the balls," I wrote. First things first. I wanted to answer her question. It was a long sentence to write without being able to see but it felt so good. I held it out for her to read.

"Wow." Sarah laughed. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"Seriously." I wrote on a new page after flipping over the previous one. "He's a creep and a pervert. Please don't let him near me."

My physiotherapist stopped laughing when she read that. I'm sure she was sensitive to the problem I alluded to. It wasn't a laughing matter.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I'll ask about it and see what I can do."

Thank goodness. Now came the really hard part.

"Why don't you call me by name?" I wrote, being careful not to give away my real name. I had a strange feeling about my current situation.

"I'm not supposed to, and I'm not supposed to talk about it," she said. I could almost feel the tension in her body when she spoke.
It was obviously a touchy subject.

"I'm sorry," I wrote. I was still curious but I backed off. I didn't want to get Sarah in trouble, especially after she saved me from the prick.

As I held up my apology for her to read, she suddenly leaned down near the side of my face. I could feel her breath on my ear. "It's okay," she whispered. "Doctor Franklin is supposed to talk to you this afternoon. I'm sure you can ask her about it then."

That made me feel better. I vowed to ask Doctor Franklin a lot of things. As a psychologist, she should be able to help me. I'd ask her about the apparent secrecy surrounding my name and gender, ask her about why she felt my mother couldn't visit me, and I'd make very sure I'd ask about the prick who'd already harassed me twice. If he had such easy access to me, there was a good chance he'd try again.

***

My morning therapy went well, and I got a pleasant surprise after I made a few easy laps around my room. It almost made up for the prick's visit. I got to start using my voice.

Sarah handled my vocal cord exercises like she handled all of my other physical therapy. She pushed hard, but not hard enough to do any damage or cause any setbacks. The woman was quite the professional. By lunchtime, I could speak quietly with no pain or discomfort. I could talk, and I couldn't wait to meet with Doctor Franklin.

Chapter 8: Losing Myself

I don't remember much about lunch. Someone held a glass of liquid up to my lips and fed me little pieces of something edible. That's about it. I was too busy thinking about my upcoming meeting with Doctor Franklin to pay any attention to my meal.

When my psychologist entered my room, I knew it before she said a word. She had a slow, hesitant walk quite unlike any of my other visitors, and I could tell she held a book or file with papers in it because of the sound of pages being flipped. I decided to test my powers of observation and try to impress her.

"Hello Doctor Franklin," I said in a quiet voice.

"Hello." Like everyone else, she didn't call me by name, and guessing her name didn't get a reaction. Curiosity battled anger, and won. I had to know what was going on, and I figured being nice would make it easier to get some answers.

"I have a lot of questions I'd like to ask you if I may."

"My my," she said with very little inflection. I got the sense that she was reading whatever papers she flipped through. "You're such a polite little thing. I have some questions for you too, but first you should know a couple things."

She proceeded to tell me that my vocal cords were weak but mostly healed. I'd be able to speak normally in a couple days. That was great news, but even better in my mind was the fact that they'd be removing the bandages from my eyes tomorrow morning. The brightness level of the light in my room would be lowered and a vision specialist would test me. If all went well, I should be able to see and speak normally very soon.

I wish my physical therapy would progress just as quickly. Sarah had told me earlier that it would be at least another two weeks before I'd be fit enough to go home, wherever that was.

Just as I did when Sarah first mentioned it, I wondered where I'd be living, and that naturally made me think of my mother. I had planned to first ask why no one called me by name but that could wait. My mother was definitely more important.

"I miss my mom. When can I see her?"

"I'm sorry but your reunion will have to wait. Both you and your mother need time to adjust to your new ... situation."

"But she was fine before my surgery," I whined. "I really want to see her."

The doctor paused and cleared her throat. I felt her eyes on me, studying me, and it made me very nervous. I needed to get out of that place. I needed my mother.

"I didn't want to upset you but it seems you leave me no choice. Your mother isn't handling your new look very well. She keeps referring to you as your sister. It's as if she believes Beth is the one who survived the fire."

That revelation took me by surprise. So did what she said next.

"My colleagues and I think the best course of action would be to have you pretend to be Beth for the next couple weeks, both for your mother's sake and yours."

"What are you talking about? That's crazy." I said, trying not to raise my voice.

"It'll be easier to fit in at school if everyone believes you're Beth. They'll be sympathetic that you lost your brother in the fire and they'll treat you as a normal teenage girl."

"But I'm not a normal girl!" I raised my voice and grabbed my throat right afterwards. My outburst didn't cause any pain but it worried me nonetheless. I just called myself a girl.

"Please. Calm down." Her words had to opposite effect of what she intended, and it didn't help that I could tell she was smiling as she spoke. "I'm just trying to act in your best interest."

It suddenly occurred to me why no one had used my name so far. They must have all been briefed by Doctor Franklin to keep quiet until she could talk me into changing my name. I still wasn't sure I believed everything I was being told but I was sure of one thing. I didn't want to pretend I was Beth.

"My name is Mike," I said as I folded my arms. "That's the name my mother gave me and I like it."

"I understand your feelings but that name doesn't fit your new gender. As you must know, you are a girl now. I've been assured that you'll be menstruating soon to prove it. Boys do not menstruate."

"Huh?" I hadn't had Health class yet so I didn't know what she was talking about.

Doctor Franklin gave me a quick summary about menstruation and all things related. When she started talking about pregnancy, my mind froze. I stopped listening. It took her several minutes for her to get my attention again.

"Messy business, menstruation ...," she started to say, but I interrupted.

"You're not making me feel better."

"You didn't let me finish. I was going to say that menstruation is unpleasant, but it's not nearly as bad as what you've already been through. If you can handle the burns you received and the surgery you've just been through, you can handle anything."

"Okay. Fine. Physically, I'm a girl," I conceded the obvious. "But my name is still Mike." I refused to budge.

"I'm sorry you feel that way. I sense great inner conflict."

"I feel fine," I insisted.

The two of us continued butting heads for a long time. We were at an impasse. Then she tried something different. She told me I needed hypnosis to relax before we could resolve any issues, and I was sure she was right about that much. I felt very tense all over my body. That didn't mean I was crazy about her suggestion though. Hypnosis made me a little nervous, and I resisted, but she eventually got me to try it for my mother's sake.

The doctor began speaking to me in soft, soothing tones, and she soon had me enter another world. My body melted into the hospital bed and I felt great. My discussion with Doctor Franklin could resume, and this time I was sure I'd be able to convince her to let me keep my name.

"Can you hear me?" The doctor asked.

"Yes."

"May I call you Beth?"

"No. My name is Mike."

"Won't you consider letting your mother call you Beth?"

"No. She named me Mike. I like my name."

"Okay. Let's go back to something else. You accept that you're a girl, correct?"

"Yes."

"You'll need to learn what it takes to be a girl. You'll need to learn how to care for your body."

"Yes."

"As you develop into a young woman, male clothes won't fit you well. You'll need feminine clothing. You'll need a bra."

"I don't want a bra."

"You don't want your breasts bouncing free. That might cause pain. You don't want pain, do you?"

"No."

"Then you'll wear a bra?"

"Yes."

"Your mother and girlfriends at school will help you be a girl. They'll like helping you. Your sister would appreciate it too, if she was here. You want to be a good girl for your mother and sister, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You could honor your sister's memory by minding your mother and being a good girl. Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"Would you temporarily change your name to honor your sister's memory?"

"I don't know ... maybe."

"I can make the name change easier to accept. If you'll let me."

"Okay."

"Imagine that whenever anyone calls you Beth, you hear the name Mike. Whenever you see your name written or typed as Beth, you see it as Mike. You look and sound exactly like your sister. Everyone will see you as your sister. Everyone will know you as Beth. But you'll still be Mike. Everyone will be happy. Is that acceptable?"

"Yes."

"Good. Repeat after me then ...." Doctor Franklin went on to slightly rephrase my hidden name change. She spoke one sentence at a time and had me repeat each one after she finished it. She did it several times until the directions were firmly implanted in my mind, but she didn't stop there.

"I have one more thing to help you, Beth."

She confused me at first. I thought she made a mistake and called me Mike. Then I remembered my mental conditioning. It worked.

"Whenever you hear someone call your name, or see your name displayed anywhere, it will make you very happy and you will smile."

"Okay."

"Good. Let's test it then, shall we, Beth?"

I heard my name and felt great joy. I couldn't help but smile.

"Excellent. I'm going to have you wake up very shortly," Doctor Franklin told me. "And when you do, you'll be completely refreshed, and you'll forget everything about this therapy session except for your acceptance of being a girl and your name change conditioning. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

She woke me up and I never felt better. I heard her scribble something and then she told me good-bye as she left my room. My therapy session had ended abruptly but I didn't care. My future never seemed brighter. I couldn't wait to continue my physical therapy and get home to start my new life as a girl with my mom.

Chapter 9: Pleasant Surprises

The next morning, I had a big surprise. Sarah adjusted the bed so I could sit up and then I had the bandages removed from my eyes. No one told me that was going to happen.

"Don't worry if you have a little trouble seeing anything," my vision specialist told me. His name was Don and he was very nice. "The lights in the room have been dimmed to make it easier on your eyes."

"Okay," I said. I didn't care how dark it was. I just wanted to see again.

As expected, various objects slowly came into focus after the bandages were carefully pulled away from my eye sockets. I couldn't see any color but of course that was normal for the low light level. I was so excited I didn't wait to be asked any questions.

"I can see!" I shouted at who I thought was a man standing very near my bed. Then I recognized Sarah's voice as she reminded me to be careful of my vocal cords.

"Right," I said quietly. "Sorry. Why didn't anyone warn me about this?"

"I thought you already knew," Sarah said as she approached my bed. She seemed shorter than I imagined her. She was much shorter than Don. "Didn't Doctor Franklin tell you yesterday?"

"No," I heard the doctor's voice coming from the direction of a silhouette in a doorway. "We never got around to that. We had more important things to discuss, didn't we, Beth."

I heard my name and smiled. "Yes, we certainly did," I said. It felt so good to finally hear someone call me by my name, and I hoped that meant everyone else would do the same.

"Well, Beth," Don said. "If you're willing, we'll turn the lights up a little now. I'm sure you'd like to see a little better."

"I certainly would," I beamed. That made two people who used my name and I anxiously waited to see if Sarah followed their lead.

The lights got a little brighter. I still couldn't see any color but I could make out faces. Don was clean-shaven and wore glasses. I think he also had a receding hairline. Sarah had her hair tied back in a pony tail. That's all I could see of her, but it was more than I could see of Doctor Franklin. My psychologist stood well away from me and remained a slender silhouette.

"Let me know if you feel any pain," Don said. "We'll wait another five minutes and then brighten the room a little more."

"Okay," I chirped. I could barely contain my excitement.

The lights soon brightened again and I could see a little color. Don wore one of those long, white lab coats, and then I looked at Sarah and gasped. She was dressed in a light blue sweat suit. I'll never forget such a beautiful sight. She wore my favorite kind of clothes in my favorite color, and she looked so young and beautiful. She was a goddess in my eyes. If only she'd call my name, the morning would be perfect.

The brightness continued to increase in five minute increments and I was soon seeing everything normally for the most part. Colors seemed unusually vibrant but Don assured me that was normal for someone who'd been blind for over two weeks.

My eyes were tested and found to work perfectly. I once again had 20/20 vision, and I casually mentioned that I couldn't wait to see a movie.

"Spoken like a true teenager." Don laughed, and it was contagious.

Sarah laughed but it didn't last long. She was too busy working me over. She'd been massaging my legs during the vision testing to get me ready for the grueling exercises of the day.

Don pronounced me ready for movies and even books if I still remembered how to read.

"Ha ha," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He smiled and apologized. Then he had to go, leaving me with Sarah and Doctor Franklin, who still lurked over by the door. The doctor finally approached me after she had to move so Don could leave the room.

"Well, Beth," my psychologist said. "It looks like you're well on the way to a full recovery."

"Yes," I smiled. "Thanks to some dedicated doctors and my sister." I was giddy. It felt so good to be alive, and to speak and see.

"I don't think now is a good time to discuss your sister," she warned. "I'm still concerned about the long term effects of the fire. We can talk about it this evening. I have another session scheduled after dinner at 7."

"Okay," I agreed. Her concern confused me a little but I didn't give it a second thought. I was too happy about making such good progress. My eyes followed her out the door and then quickly scanned the room to find the small clock that hung on the wall above my bed. I'd make sure I was ready with the zillions of questions I had in the back of my mind.

Sarah went to work right away after Doctor Franklin left, except she embarrassed me a little when she helped me slip into my first pair of panties. She hiked up my hospital gown and slowly pulled the panties up my legs. That wasn't so bad but I really didn't like it when I had to raise my butt off the bed to get them all the way on. I had nothing to worry about though. My therapist was all business, and we were both female. I had to keep reminding myself of that fact.

She helped me out of bed and dressed me in a loose-fitting black yoga outfit. Then she started my exercises, and I accepted and attacked every challenge. I walked around the room, performed a few calisthenics and tried some yoga poses, all while managing to resist the temptation to stop and look at every little thing. Getting my vision back that morning still had me very excited.

I took advantage of every opportunity to speak and ask questions, and I made sure to include Sarah's name as often as possible. I hoped she'd get the hint and return the favor, but I had a long wait to hear much of anything except one word answers. My physiotherapist would never be accused of being a chatterbox.

Finally, after several hours, the moment of truth came.

"Good-bye, Sarah." I called to her. She was leaving me to have lunch and wouldn't be back for two hours. I needed that long to eat and recuperate.

"Good-bye, Beth," she responded.

I smiled after she said my name, and she looked back at me with a silly grin. Smiling and laughter really is contagious, unless your heart is frozen solid or something.

***

After lunch and a short power nap, I was ready for more exercise, and I got it. The sweat poured off me and Sarah opened up for some much better conversations. She uttered my name several times and the smiles were plentiful in spite of my pain.

The hours of physical therapy took their toll but I felt good afterwards. My heart rate elevated and my blood flowed liked a mighty river through my body. Most importantly, the pain was almost all gone. I just hoped I'd have the energy to take a shower in the little bathroom that connected to my room.

Every little change since my surgery had been a step forward, and they all lifted my mood. I'd started taking showers yesterday and that was a big step towards my independence, and one less embarrassment. Don't get me started on sponge baths.

Sarah stayed to make sure I didn't have any trouble but she let me clean myself. Then she gave me yet another surprise after my shower. I'd just dressed myself in a clean hospital gown and she gave me a long wonderful hug. My day was full of pleasant surprises.

"You're doing so well, Beth," she said, keeping me in her embrace. "I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks," I whispered in her ear, torn for the first time between smiling when I heard her say my name, and crying tears of joy.

The hug lasted a long time but not long enough. I loved the smell of Sarah's hair, the feel of her heart beating, the sound of her breath. I never wanted to let her go, but with all good things, it had to end. She told me she'd see me first thing tomorrow morning and left so I could start my dinner and be ready for my appointment with Doctor Franklin.

Chapter 10: Identity Confusion

I had my usual evening checkup. A nurse checked my vital signs and took a small sample of blood. Then Doctor Franklin arrived, stepping foot into my room at 7 o'clock sharp. I suspected she'd been waiting outside my room, out of sight to make sure she'd be exactly on time. She just struck me as that type of person.

She pulled up a chair next to my bed and we started my therapy. There was no greeting, only what sounded like a carefully prepared script, with very little emotion. I wondered if she could use a little therapy herself. Her cold blue eyes disturbed me.

"I think you've done very well today, Beth."

I felt good and smiled, but I felt a twinge of anxiety about what was coming next.

"Now I want to take you to the next level and get you ready to see your mother. Would you like that, Beth?"

My mother! She was first on my list of questions. Of course I wanted to do whatever I could to see my mom as soon as possible.

"Sure!" I said with a big smile on my face.

"Excellent. Let's start with a little hypnosis then."

The promise of seeing my mother overrode all of my common sense. Doctor Franklin hypnotized me and I eagerly let her, ready to do whatever I needed to do to see my mom.

"Everyone treated you as a girl today. They knew you only as being a girl. Did you like the way you were treated?"

"Yes, except for getting dressed."

"What didn't you like about getting dressed?"

"Sarah helped me and I felt a little embarrassed."

"That's understandable. It happens to a lot of girls. Do you think it would embarrass you to dress in front of your mother?"

"Yes."

"That could be a problem when your mother helps you learn to be a girl. You wouldn't like that, would you?"

"No."

"Would you like me to help stop you from being embarrassed?"

"Yes, please."

My psychologist directed me through several visualization exercises and thought experiments, making me realize how wrong it was to be embarrassed about undressing in front of my mother as well as any girls. The shame I felt appeared to be a body image problem and was linked to low self-esteem. I had to be shown that I had the body of a perfectly functioning teenage girl and had nothing to be ashamed of. Doctor Franklin helped me to love my body.

When she'd finished, I couldn't understand how I ever could've been embarrassed about dressing in front of Sarah. I was a cute teenage girl and Sarah was a beautiful young woman. Girls and women dressing together struck me as very natural and normal.

"Very good, Beth. You've done well."

I smiled.

"Now I have one more issue to cover. It's about your mother and it's very important. Are you ready to address it?"

"Yes."

"Your mother is confused about your gender. I've been helping her and she's made good progress, but she might still get upset by your name. You want everything to go well when you meet your mother, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Everyone here has been calling you by your sister's name, even though you hear the name Mike. Everyone here knows you as your sister. That might upset your mother. You don't want to upset her, do you?"

"No."

"In the interest of helping your mother, are you ready to correctly hear your sister's name when people call you by that name?"

"Yes."

"You will still feel great happiness and smile when you hear or see yourself referred to by your sister's name. That will help you accept it. Is that okay?"

"Yes."

"Excellent. Now there's only one more thing we have to do to help your mother. This might be difficult for you to accept but it must be done in order for everything else to work. Will you please consider doing it?"

"Yes."

"Since you will be Beth for your mother and everyone else, that means everyone else will believe that Mike died in the fire."

"No!"

"Mike died saving you. He was a hero. Everyone will remember and love him."

"I didn't die!"

Doctor Franklin suddenly held a small hand mirror up to my face and asked me to look in it. It was the first time I'd seen my reflection since my surgery. There were no mirrors anywhere in my room or the adjoining bathroom.

"Who do you see?"

"Beth." Even though I was the one saying my name, I still smiled.

"And who are you?"

"I'm Beth." I smiled again. I was happy being Beth. I was a girl and my name was Beth. I was proud of who I was, and if any boy or girl gave me any trouble about it, I'd smack 'em.

"There was a fire at your home. It was a terrible fire, and your sibling died saving your life. You're Beth. Who saved you?"

"I ... Mike saved me."

"Good. Mike saved you. I'm very sorry he died but you can be proud that he saved you. He's a hero. Isn't that right?"

"Yes. Mike's a hero. He saved me and he's a hero."

I started to cry. I missed my brother. I missed him so much! Why did he have to die?!

"There there." Doctor Franklin said in a quiet, emotionless voice. "You might feel a little guilt but you shouldn't."

She was right. I did feel guilty, but I couldn't figure out why. It didn't make sense. I felt like I should've done something to save Mike but there was no way I could. I was unconscious in my bed.

"It wasn't your fault. You were overcome by smoke. You couldn't help that, and you couldn't help that your brother sacrificed his life to save you. He did it out of love and you should honor him for it."

"Yes. Thank you, Doctor Franklin. I will."

"You're welcome, Beth."

She brought me out of my hypnotic trance with her cold, steady voice, and even though I was smiling after just having heard my name, I felt a chill go down my spine.

"You did very well today, Beth. Now it's time to be reunited with your mother."

Chapter 11: Momma's Girl

My smile couldn't possibly have been any wider, and it stayed on my face the whole time I tried to get out of bed. Of course I still had a little trouble moving. I'd been unconscious for three days after I'd had what my psychologist called minor cosmetic surgery -- it didn't feel minor, but I couldn't find any scars to prove otherwise. My medical doctors had administered sedatives to keep me unconscious and give me a chance to heal, and after three days, I woke up and suffered through the four days of therapy that I needed to get my brain working with my body again. According to Doctor Franklin, my brain had been starved of oxygen and needed to relearn how to control my motor functions -- of course I also needed to recover my voice and sight, but that was the easy part. I'd gone through all that and yet I was giddy with excitement, even as I struggled and strained to get out of bed. That's because after a week of hell, I was finally going to see my mom.

My mother and I both had trouble accepting the death of my brother, though for very different reasons, so the doctors kept us apart, telling us it was for our own good. It wasn't until that day that my mom had shown enough progress to allow her to visit with me. Of course I'd adjusted very well. I just had to wait for her. Doctor Franklin warned me I might have to be strong for her, so I steeled myself and waited.

"Mom!" I shouted as soon as she stepped into the room. "I missed you so much!" She didn't have a chance to respond before I slowly walked over and hugged her. She seemed too busy worrying. I could tell by the way she chewed her lower lip.

"I missed you too ... honey." She briefly patted my back but stopped when I tensed up. It was something she always did with Mike, and that got me started thinking about him.

"I'm so sorry, Mom." I pulled away and started crying for my dead brother. I missed him terribly, but I'd never be able to hug him. I'd never see him again.

My mother matched me tear for tear.

"Don't be sorry ... Beth," she said, choking over my name. "It's not your fault. The fire isn't your fault. Nothing is your fault."

I smiled as usual when I heard my name, but I felt awkward about it, and I started trembling from fatigue and sorrow. My mom noticed and helped me back to bed. Then she explained what had happened the night of the disaster.

As far as anyone could tell, the fire started from an electrical short. The wiring was old or rats chewed on it or something. It was just a stupid accident. I'd been overcome by smoke and Mike fought his way through the burning house to save me. He pushed me out of my bedroom window to safety, but he wasn't pulled out before he'd been horribly burned. He was so badly burned that there was no way he could survive.

"At least you weren't there to get hurt," I told her, my eyes brimming with tears. "I'm happy about that."

"I still wish I could've been there. I might have been able to do something to save both of you."

"Don't feel bad, Mom." I try to smile but my heart wasn't in it. "Mike sacrificed his life for me. He's a hero! We should honor his memory, not beat ourselves up over it. Right?"

"Oh honey!" My mother hugged me from the side and we cried our eyes out.

Doctor Franklin had been waiting in the background, watching our emotional display before she finally spoke.

"It was a tragedy, but we grieve and move on," the doctor said after the tears slowed to a trickle. "When's the funeral, Mrs. Wagner?"

"Oh yes," my mom sat back in her chair and sniffled. "The funeral is next week."

"Right. I'm afraid Beth won't be able to attend. She's still too weak."

I watched Doctor Franklin and when she said my name, I smiled ... and she flinched. I thought it an odd reaction for both of us. I certainly didn't have anything to smile about.

"I'm sorry, honey," my mother said, turning her head to face me. "It's just as well. The body will be cremated and the ashes will be buried in the old cemetery."

"It's okay, Mom."

"We'll visit the grave once you get out of here. I promise. We'll bring flowers and ... and ...." She broke down and cried again, hanging on my shoulder and pressing her face into my arm.

I looked over my mother's head and noticed that my psychologist looked slightly uncomfortable -- with good reason. My mother and I were having what should've been a private family moment.

"Can we please have a moment alone?" I asked Doctor Franklin.

She hesitated a moment, like she was actually thinking about refusing me, but she turned and left without a word, quietly closing the door behind her.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked my mom.

She slowly nodded and continued to hang on my shoulder. Her hands dug into me and it started to hurt a little, but I didn't say anything. I just sat quietly and waited.

"I'm anxious to get out of here," I said after several minutes.

"I imagine you are," she mumbled into my arm.

"Do you know how much longer I'll be here?"

She lifted her head and removed her arm from my shoulder, and I sighed with relief.

"I'm not sure ... at least a couple weeks I think," she told me.

"What'll we do for a place to live?"

"I'm staying at your grandma's until the insurance company pays out for the house. You can help me look for a new house after that. You should be out of here by then. Would you like that?"

I nodded vigorously.

"We might have to stay in an apartment if we can't find a house right away."

"That's okay," I said. "I'm more concerned about clothes." That got me a curious look from my mother.

"We lost all our clothes in the fire," I said. "We'll need to go shopping. Right?" For some reason, I felt a strong compulsion to go shopping, and I couldn't wait to get a training bra. I really hoped I started developing boobs soon. I couldn't wait to fill out a real bra.

"That's right, honey. I took a few things with me to the seminar but most of my wardrobe is gone. I've shopped for a few things for both of us already. Would you like me to wait so you can go shopping with me to get your clothes?"

I smiled and nodded vigorously again, and my mother couldn't help but return my smile.

"That's my girl," she said, though her smile quickly turned into a frown. She tried to hide it by lunging forward to hug me but it was too late. I saw it, and I began to believe Doctor Franklin was right about my mom. She did seem to be having trouble accepting me.

I thought back and remembered that she always seemed to favor Mike. She hugged him more and took him shopping a lot, leaving me alone to play video games. It made me a little jealous but Mike always seemed to make up for it somehow, bringing me gifts from the mall. He was always thinking of me so I couldn't help but think of him. I will miss him so much.

Chapter 12: Confusion Therapy

My mother couldn't visit me more than twice during the week and once each day of the weekend. Doctor Franklin thought I needed to minimize time spent with my mom so I could concentrate on my therapy. I thought I'd do better with more family support but I was just a girl. A psychologist would surely know better than me.

Sarah worked on my body by day, and Doctor Franklin worked on my mind by night. They had me mentally and physically exhausted, but I was happy. I progressed faster than they expected.

The promise of leaving the hospital motivated me more than anything. I wanted my life back. I wanted to get back to school before I had to go through 8th grade again. Girls who had to be moved back a year were never popular.

At the end of my second week of therapy, I had a minor setback. I suddenly discovered that I'd actually been hospitalized for four weeks instead of just two. It came up when I asked to have textbooks and home assignments sent to me, and it really upset me for some strange reason. I couldn't resolve the missing time.

Apparently, I'd been misled about the seriousness of my condition. I was in a coma for those missing two weeks. That explained why I needed so much physical therapy. I'd been bedridden longer than I thought.

Luckily, Doctor Franklin helped me a great deal. She helped me get through a lot of conflicting memories that had apparently been created by my severe trauma and the death of my brother. That's how she explained it anyway. All I cared about was getting my head straight. I really wanted to get home and get back to a normal life.

***

I sat up in bed with a lap desk over my stomach, doing my math homework when Doctor Franklin knocked. She made a habit of knocking to try to give me some measure of privacy and make me feel more independent. It was a nice gesture.

"Come in!" I called to her.

"Hello Beth. How are you? Are you ready for our session?"

"Oh!" I said, twisting around to look back up at the clock. "I'm sorry. I lose all track of time when I'm doing math. I love math."

"Right." She had a file with her and wrote a few notes while I moved my lap desk aside. "It was such a good idea to have you catch up on your schoolwork here. I'm very pleased you thought of it."

"Thanks, Doctor Franklin."

"Now then. Are you ready to begin?"

"Ready!" I vaguely remember feeling a little uneasy about my psychologist when I first met her, but that soon changed once I really got to know her. I can be such a silly girl sometimes. Only her eyes still bother me. That'll never change.

The doctor hypnotized me as she always did, and our session began.

"How do you feel about your English class?" she asked me.

"I'm not very good at writing so I don't do well."

"Does that mean you don't like English?"

"Yes."

"How do you feel about mathematics?"

"I love it."

"Would you say you like math because you do well in it?"

"Yes."

"And do you do well in math because you like it and try hard to do well?"

"Yes."

"If you worked harder in English, you'd do better, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"Would you like English more if you did well in it?"

"I think so ... yes."

She then showed me my transcripts for 7th and 8th grade, pointing out my grades in English class. I had nothing but A's. I was much better at English than I remembered!

"I'm afraid you have another conflict, Beth. You do very well in English. You must like it. Here's the proof." She pointed to my transcripts. "Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"You've convinced yourself that you don't do well in English and therefore, don't like it. You've confused your skills and preferences with your brother's. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

"No."

"So if you still have trouble with English, you need to remember that you can do well in it and like it. You need to try harder and spend more time on it to make sure you do well. Will you do that?"

"Yes."

"You also need to devote less time to math so you can spend more time on English."

"But I like math."

"You'll still do well in math, but you need to make sure you do better in English. Look at this."

She pointed out my math grades. They were a mix of A's and B's.

"You're better at English than you are at mathematics. Isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"So you'll spend less time with math and more time with English. Right?"

"Yes."

"Good girl."

As soon as she said I was a good girl, I smiled. I always felt good whenever anyone reinforced my femininity in any way. Doctor Franklin told me I had problems with self-esteem before and I needed to get over it, so she helped me. She cared so much about me. I loved her almost as much as I loved my mom.

My psychologist ended the session, bringing me out of my trance, but she didn't leave right away. She said she wanted to observe me for awhile first. It made me a little nervous but I kept it to myself. She knew what she was doing.

I pulled the lap desk back over my stomach and looked down to see my math homework. It was nearly done but I wasn't in the right mood to finish it so I folded it up and stuffed it in my math book. I had more interesting things to work on. I had a short essay to write.

My English teacher, Mrs. Flaherty, gave me a special assignment, asking me to write about my physical therapy. She thought it would be interesting to read in front of the class so they could appreciate how difficult it can be for some people after they have an accident. Even teenage girls like me sometimes had to go through a lot of pain and work to get healthy again.

I scribbled some thoughts until I filled a sheet of notebook paper. That wasn't too difficult. Then I organized them on a second sheet and reworked them until I was happy with the way it all flowed. Putting it all together was a struggle but I stubbornly kept at it. I read over what I'd written several times, scratching out parts and adding new ones until it sounded really good.

When the essay was finished, I looked up and was surprised to see Doctor Franklin still in the room. She'd sat on a chair across from me and was looking down at her files, writing notes.

"Doctor Franklin? As long as you're still here, would you do me a favor and listen to this essay I wrote for English? I really want a good grade on it and I'd appreciate some feedback."

She agreed and I read the essay out loud. I even put some emotion into it, thinking how much I liked it when I heard other classmates read that way.

"That's excellent, Beth." She smiled and I smiled back. "I think you captured the experience very well. You might want to work on your grammar a little bit more though."

I thanked her and then started reading ahead in my English book, looking for ways to improve my grammar, and my essay. I studied so hard, I didn't even hear Doctor Franklin leave the room.

*** to be continued ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.

In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 13: The Little Dutch Girl
Chapter 14: Saying Good-bye
Chapter 15: Do-over
Chapter 16: New Friend
Chapter 17: Where Angels Fear to Tread
Chapter 18: The Friend Zone

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 3 of 8

Chapter 13: The Little Dutch Girl

After another week, Sarah declared me ready for the world. Doctor Franklin still wouldn't release me though. I'd been having nightmares about my brother and I needed more help.

As long as my psychologist insisted on keeping me, Sarah decided to give me extra training. It would help with my Physical Education class so it wasn't just for play. She took me to a large room with padded walls and a hardwood floor to practice during the afternoon.

"Keep your eye on the ball," Sarah told me as she tossed a softball my way.

I swung a blue metallic bat and connected beautifully, right on the sweet spot of the bat. The bat made a ping sound, followed closely by a thud as the ball struck the far wall.

"Very good! Have you played before?"

That made me stop and think. I remember Mike playing, but I never had.

"No, but it must run in the family. My brother was pretty good at baseball and softball."

An image of my brother's face suddenly popped into my head, reminding me of my latest nightmare. In the dream, he'd been trapped inside our burning house, pressing his face up against a closed window. I watched in horror as flames slowly consumed him. He smiled the whole time.

I dropped the bat and tried to hold back a sniffle.

Sarah hurried over to me. "Oh Beth. I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I fended her off. "I need to get over it and move on." Those were Doctor Franklin's words, not mine, but I tried to heed them and focus on my sports training.

Given my aptitude for softball, we quickly moved on to badminton and volleyball. They gave me some trouble. I felt like such a spaz, like I'd never played volleyball in my life. That couldn't have been right though. I knew girls played volleyball in P.E.

I struggled for several hours, and just started to get the hang of setting for a spike when it was time to quit for the day.

"You did pretty well," Sarah assured me. "I'm sure you'll do fine. We'll go over bumps and digs tomorrow. Okay?"

I agreed and thanked her. Then I waited for Doctor Franklin to escort me to the cafeteria for dinner. I didn't have to stay in bed for meals any more and I loved it. It also gave me more time with my psychologist. I needed the extra time to get rid of my nightmares.

***

Doctor Franklin sat across the table from me in the hospital cafeteria so we could speak face-to-face. Her eyes bothered me but I tolerated the seating arrangement. She helped me to understand that it was better to look at someone's face when speaking to them. It allowed you to read emotions and help determine the person's sincerity and honesty. Body language helped too. There was so much to a conversation that I never considered before, and it made me wonder why it took me so long to figure that out. It must be part of growing up.

"Tell me about your nightmare." My doctor wasted no time with small talk, even though she insisted that it helped with bonding. Her professionalism allowed no room for trivial matters. She was paid to help me, so that's what she did.

In spite of her cold detachment, I could see that she cared about me. She spent long hours helping me get over my brother's death and grow into a young woman. Even during the chat over our meal, she corrected my bad manners.

Before I could begin to speak, she had my elbows off the table and suggested I take smaller bites so I could swallow more quickly and be ready to speak. She made sure I never spoke with my mouth full. That wasn't just wrong, it was gross. Yuck.

The etiquette lessons finally ended and I was able to describe my bad dream in horrible detail. The flashbacks almost made me lose my appetite. Luckily I'd had a very active day. My stomach wouldn't be denied.

If Doctor Franklin was shaken up by my dream, she didn't show it. She'd brought along a file and wrote a few notes in between taking bites of her dinner, but her face displayed no emotion. I wondered what went on behind those cold blue eyes. She must have been holding it in. She must have been keeping up a brave front for me. She was a professional, and I respected and loved her for it.

"That's a very interesting dream, Beth. Do you have any idea what it might mean?"

I shook my head no. I tried my best not to think about it so of course I didn't know what it might mean. I didn't want to know.

"I think it's actually a very good sign. I think you're very close to healing your emotional scars and it's only your subconscious that needs a little more time. Dreams are the language of the subconscious and I think yours is telling you that it isn't quite ready to let go of your brother."

She got a faraway look on her face then. It was the first time I saw her like that and I rather liked it. I thought it flattered her. She wasn't all that old for an adult. I imagined she'd still be able to have a child if she wanted.

She suddenly snapped out of her little daydream and looked at me expectantly. I didn't know what to say to that except, "Good! I take it that means I can go home soon."

"Yes," she said with a rare smile. "That it does."

***

Early next morning, I'd just finished a long round of bumping a volleyball back and forth with Sarah when Doctor Franklin made an appearance in the large padded room. She'd come to give me good news. I was going home.

After I'd stopped bouncing up and down and squealing, Sarah grabbed me for a hug and we laughed and cried and shouted ourselves silly. We both chanted, "Home!" a couple dozen times before we ran out of steam.

My psychologist maintained her dignity at a distance. She also saved herself from getting soaked with our perspiration, and she reminded me that we needed one more last important therapy session before I could leave. She also asked that we start it as soon as possible.

I knew that last session must have been important to interrupt my volleyball practice. She knew I loved volleyball. It grew on me once I started getting good at it.

I went back to my room with Doctor Franklin in tow. Though it was only a couple hundred yards, it felt like I arrived in an instant. My head was in the clouds so I didn't notice the passage of time. I daydreamed about shopping and going to school and ... everything! I was finally leaving the hospital. It was a dream come true.

My psychologist waited quietly in a chair, taking notes until I finished showering. She stayed seated when I came out wrapped in a towel and said nothing while I dressed. If it didn't bother her, it didn't bother me.

When I'd finished dressing, I wrapped the towel around my head even though my hair was short enough that I didn't really need to do it. I just liked doing it, and I planned to grow my hair out very long so I figured I might as well get in the habit.

Though I'm not sure exactly why, my hair had been cut very short right after the fire. It made me look too boyish for my taste so I mostly ignored it. The only time I couldn't was when I took a shower and had to shampoo it, but at least the towel turban made me look more feminine. It also made me seem a little more grown up so it was no contest.

"I'm ready!" I smiled, proud that it hadn't taken me too long. Of course I didn't have makeup and all the wardrobe accessories that I'd soon be digging into. That made things much easier.

"Okay. Good. I didn't really have much to discuss. I just wanted you to make sure you watched yourself for those little memory conflicts that have been cropping up. It's important that you tell me about them as soon as possible."

"Right. I understand. I don't like them any more than you do."

"I also thought we'd just have a nice, relaxing chat for once. I know I've been a bit hard on you and I'm sorry. I was just trying very hard to help you."

"I know, Doctor Franklin. It's okay. Really it is."

"Thanks, Beth. Now then. I have a little story for you that I think is both cute and relates to your circumstances. I guess it's as close to small talk as I can get." She smiled and I returned it. She really had a lovely smile, and I loved the way her ice blue eyes sparkled.

She told me about an American writer named Mary Mapes Dodge who wrote a story called "The Little Dutch Boy." In the story, a little boy walks to school and notices a small leak in a dike. He stops the leak by sticking a finger in the hole until help can arrive to fix the dike. She then went on to change the story. Instead of a little Dutch boy, there was a little Dutch girl. The little girl goes everywhere and watches out for little problems that spring up in her mind like little leaks. When she finds one, she writes it down as soon as possible and then tries as hard as she can to block it. She also has her mother make an appointment with her psychologist who soon helps her fix the leak.

I smiled at the story and couldn't help but see the thinly veiled therapy. I'd carry a notepad with me wherever I went and do as she asked.

Chapter 14: Saying Good-bye

Doctor Franklin called my mother into the room right after our little talk. That surprised me. I expected to have a little time to pack up my few possessions and sneak outside somewhere to be picked up.

I heard they have to take you out in a wheelchair when you've been in the hospital but I planned to avoid that if I could. It sounded so stupid. I just went through several weeks of physical therapy. It was obvious I could walk on my own.

"I'm not quite through with you yet," my psychologist told me. "I wanted to have a last talk with both you and your mother before you go home. I'm sure it won't take long."

My mom and I greeted each other in our customary way with a long, quiet hug. Then the three of us skidded the steel and white plastic chairs together in a small triangle and sat down to have a talk, except it was more like Doctor Franklin talked and my mom and me mostly listened.

"Mrs. Wagner, I'm sure you realize your daughter suffered some brain damage the night of the fire."

I yelped when I heard brain damage.

"I'm sorry, Beth. That could've been phrased better. I should've said that you have partial amnesia caused by hypoxia. In other words, you've got some holes in your memory because your brain didn't get enough oxygen."

I watched my mother give a single, solemn nod before I looked back at the doctor.

"You'll probably recognize a lot of your friends, but you'll have to spend some time getting to know them again. You've probably forgotten things like what you liked to do together and where you liked to go. You've lost a lot of memory. I'm very sorry, Beth."

I gulped but let the doctor continue.

"Going home and starting school won't be easy but I feel that you've recovered as much as possible here. It's time to go." We all smiled at that thought.

Doctor Franklin told my mom that I'd have to have a physical examination once a month at the hospital for the next six months. If all was well after that, they'd be able to reduce the frequency of exams, and eventually, I'd be free to pick my own doctor.

"There's also the matter of possible mental emergencies, or what I call leaks." She winked at me to remind me of the little Dutch girl story and handed a business card to my mom.

"This card has my cell phone and emergency beeper numbers. You can call my cell any time of day during daylight hours, and you can use the beeper number at all other times. I just ask that you please call my beeper sparingly."

"Of course," my mom said. "Thank you." My mother sounded sincere but she looked agitated, and I couldn't understand why. She should be happy about me being released.

"You're welcome. Now then. It's time to say good-bye."

"Good-bye Doctor Franklin," I said. "Thanks for all your help. I don't mean to sound ungrateful but I hope I don't need any more."

She actually laughed a little. It was the first time I heard her laugh and I loved the sound. She had a lovely laugh. It was too bad she didn't laugh more.

We all left the room and ended up in a large waiting area. My mother signed some forms and then the dreaded moment came. I had to ride in the wheelchair.

I wasn't embarrassed like I thought I would be but I was annoyed. I still thought it was stupid. I watched the fake potted plants go by and counted floor tiles to distract myself. I couldn't wait to be free of that chair and run to the car. I was finally going home.

***

I sat on the cold vinyl car seat and squirmed. I didn't remember having such a sensitive butt. My mom didn't seem to be enjoying herself either. She still seemed agitated and lost in thought. We were supposed to be filled with joy about my homecoming but we sure didn't show it.

We pulled out of the parking garage and turned towards home, driving several miles in silence. I didn't like the lack of conversation but I didn't know what to say, at least not until I saw a road sign that marked where someone had been killed by a drunk driver. That's when I remembered something very important.

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"I'm sorry, but can we drop by the cemetery? I think I'm long overdue for a visit."

"Are you sure?" She didn't look crazy about the idea but I persisted with a vigorous nod of my head. "Okay." She sighed.

We changed direction and drove in silence another mile or so until I remembered something else that I felt was very important.

"Oh! Can we stop and get some flowers too? Please?"

"Yes, of course. That's a good idea ... very thoughtful."

We stopped at a grocery story and I picked out a bouquet of daisies. Mike wasn't fond of flowers but I knew he tolerated daisies. He liked plucking the petals off them anyway. Mike and daisies had a ... history.

I almost giggled at that thought and silently chastised myself. It certainly wouldn't be appropriate to giggle on the way to visit my brother's grave.

My mom parked and led me to the grave marker. Then she left me alone like I requested. I wanted to have a little brother-sister talk.

My eyes drifted to the plaque that read, "Michael Edward Wagner beloved son and brother". It made me cry just looking at it. I hadn't even been able to say any final words yet.

When I composed myself, I gently set the daisies in a little plastic vase that had been stuck in the ground and stood back up, brushing bits of leaves off my hands.

"Hello Mike," I began, with tears rolling down my cheeks. "I miss you so much." I hadn't written a eulogy so I hesitated after that. He deserved something dignified, something better than a rambling dialogue.

I dug deep down inside myself and forced myself to remember my brother's love and feel the pain that his loss brought me. I gave him an emotional eulogy. No words could ever bring him back. No words could ever satisfy my aching heart or adequately honor his memory. The only thing of real value I had to give at that moment was my love.

I stood in the cold winter air, my breath clouding my eyes along with my tears, and I remembered. I remembered Mike's easy going nature and the way he always helped me when I needed it. I remembered the occasional show of ill temper too. He loved baseball and math, and did very well at both. He never had to be asked to do his chores and never complained. He was a great son and a great brother. I'd miss him forever.

When I felt like I'd tortured myself with grief long enough, I tried a few parting words, and I decided to make a solemn vow.

"I'm sorry you had to die saving me. You were very brave and I will always be thankful. I'll always remember you and honor your memory. Always."

With that, I dragged myself back to the car. My head couldn't hang any lower that day. I should've been happy. I was going home. But how could anyone be happy after their first visit at their brother's grave?

Chapter 15: Do-over

My mom and I sniffled the rest of the way to our new home, a small apartment about five miles away. I wanted to run to my bedroom, slam the door and fall face first on my bed to cry my eyes out. I couldn't do that though. My mother had to show me the way and let us in with her key.

As soon as the front door was open, I bolted for the hall to look for my bedroom.

"Beth!" my mom called to me from far away. I barely heard her. "I have a key for you here! Beth? Are you okay?"

I checked the first door I came to. It was open to reveal a bathroom. The next room contained a small desk with a computer on it and not much else. That only left one door at the end of the hall.

Going through that last door, I saw the master bedroom, with a queen size bed, vanity, dresser and various other small pieces of furniture. It was my mom's room.

I turned sharply to find her and ask about my room when I almost ran into her.

"Hey!" I cried. She startled me, and it didn't help when she reached out to put her hands on my shoulders. I thought she was going to shake me or something, but instead, she pulled me close and hugged me.

"Where's my bed?" I said, my voice muffled by my mom's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Beth. I wasn't sure when you'd be released from the hospital. Doctor Franklin said it might take months, and she gave me very little advanced notice so I wasn't prepared."

"It's okay, Mom."

"Oh, honey. No it's not. I was trying to save money and kept putting it off. We can go shopping for a bed now if you like."

"Thanks. That'd be better than sleeping on the couch."

"You silly." My mother pulled away and shook her head. "You wouldn't have to sleep on the couch. You could always sleep with me."

"Huh?"

"Hello!" She said in a silly voice. "Queen size bed here. Lots of room. Two slender gals. Duh."

I laughed. I always loved it when she talked that way.

"Okay then," I said, trying to match her voice and mood. "Like, it's slumber party time."

I rushed over to the bed and fell back on it. "Ah. This is so sweet." I went back to my normal voice. "We'll have to get you another bed. I think I'm going to steal this one away from you."

"Oh no you don't, girl. Move over." She came over and flopped on her back next to me.

We laid there near each other, not saying a word. I could feel her breathing as much as hear it, and it felt nice. Even though we weren't touching, I felt close, and loved.

"Mom?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Can we visit Mike's grave once a week?"

"Of course. I'd like that. We could make it a tradition."

I nodded and we lapsed back into silence for another long while.

"I really miss him." I suddenly said, and started to cry. "I miss him so much."

"I do too, honey. I do too."

She rolled over and hugged me again until we cried ourselves out. I'd have thought that she'd already been through her worst period of grief, but now she had me to force her to go through it all over again. My presence transformed it though. Being together made it easier to bear. We had each other for support. We'd share our grief and our strength, and move on.

***

I sat on my bed and took everything in. I had a real bedroom, with furniture and wall hangings and everything. I still wanted my mom's bed -- I was serious about that -- but I settled for the pretty twin bed I ended up with. Life was good.

The best part of the day was that my closet and dresser were full. My mom and I went power shopping and went mad with her charge card. That meant the card was full too, as in we hit its maximum limit. Ouch.

"Sorry," I told her, even though I wasn't really sorry. I felt a warm inner glow that I swear could melt the largest iceberg. It was an odd feeling because I didn't know where it came from. I had no idea why shopping had affected me so strongly. I don't remember it ever feeling like that before.

"It's fine, honey. You did well today. I'm proud of you." Her words of encouragement only reinforced my love of shopping, but I didn't think it was just the shopping itself. It also had something to do with being with my mother. It was a team effort and we both knocked the ball out of the park.

My mom managed to buy herself a few things, like a little makeup. At least I thought it was all for her until she handed me a little tube of cherry lip gloss.

"Is this for me?" I asked her.

"Uh huh. We sort of *glossed* over makeup during our mad dash through the mall."

I groaned. I hated it when she started using puns. Once she started, it took a force of nature to stop her. Puns should be illegal.

"Now now, Beth. We can *makeup* later." More groaning. I think it was both of us that time. "But for now, it's time for a make over."

"What? With lip gloss? How hard can it be?"

I popped the cap off the tube and quickly smeared the tip back and forth over my lips a couple times.

"There. See. All done."

My mom giggled.

"What? What is it?"

She lost it then. She started laughing, and all she could do was point at the mirror on my dressing table.

I moved to look in the mirror and the sight horrified me. I looked like I'd been eating a huge slab of watermelon, like I'd stuck my face down in it and slurped with reckless abandon.

"Help!" I squeaked.

"It's okay, Beth. I wasn't always a professional makeup artist." She winked to tell me what I already knew. She worked for an insurance agency, not a movie studio.

After grabbing a wet washcloth, she came back and cleaned my face thoroughly so I could try, try again. I needed a lot of tries, but with her help, I did get the hang of it.

I didn't understand my problem. I hadn't used makeup before but I thought it would be easier somehow. Luckily, I had my mother to keep me from embarrassing myself in front of my friends. She ran me through the basics, though she'd only let me use mascara and lip gloss until I was 16. That didn't bother me a bit. I wasn't sure I liked makeup.

When she finally left, I sat back on my bed, slightly stunned. It looked like I still had a lot to learn about being a girl. I must have forgotten more than I thought after my accident.

Chapter 16: New Friend

I had a few days before I got back to school. The hospital released me late Friday morning so it was too late to start that day. I needed the time to shop for my clothes and bedroom furnishings anyway. My mom and I shopped till we dropped, and then I had the weekend to prepare for my return to middle school.

I had enough clothes, makeup and accessories. That only left school supplies and the one little item no girl in her right mind would be without: a cell phone.

The phone store left me disappointed. No matter how much I pleaded, the guys who worked there couldn't come up with one in pink. After spending far too long in a bland and dreary hospital, I found myself starved for color, especially pink. Why couldn't those guys realize that? The more they denied me my chosen color, the more I wanted it. I developed an extreme fondness for the color pink and couldn't get enough. I suddenly wanted to surround myself with everything pink. I wanted to swim in a sea of pink.

My patient mother rolled her eyes and casually mentioned that they made faceplates in all different colors. All I had to do was make sure I got my phone in a color that didn't clash with pink. That settled me down a little.

"Honestly, Beth," my mother said as soon as we were in the car. "What came over you?"

"I dunno." I sulked. I didn't really like or understand my behavior, but I felt powerless to stop it.

"Should I phone Doctor Franklin?" my mom asked with a worried expression on her face.

That made me think. Didn't all teenage girls throw a fit now and then? Wasn't I normal? Everyone in the hospital insisted I was normal in every way, except for some memory loss.

"I don't think so," I smiled when I thought about my psychologist. It would be nice to see her again, but my little fit didn't really seem to be anything like a serious memory conflict. I just wanted something I couldn't have. That's all it was.

"Okay. But if there are any more incidents, I'm going to call her."

I just shrugged and reminded my mom to see about finding some pink faceplates for my phone.

While we drove, I gave the matter some more thought. The craving for pink did come on rather suddenly. My clothes were a good mix of colors and my bedroom had been decorated with a more androgynous theme of blue and white. Blue had always been my favorite color, hadn't it? Why pink?

"Because pink is a girl's color," a girl's voice suddenly answered, startling me. "And you're a girl." It wasn't my mom and I didn't think it was me. My lips hadn't moved.

"It's me, silly," the voice continued. "I'm Michelle, your inner tomboy, and we're going to have such fun."

"Whoa!" I shouted, causing my mother to suddenly jerk the wheel and narrowly miss a parked car.

"Shit, Beth! What the hell was that for?!"

"Sorry! I was just thinking. That's all. I'm sorry." My mom glared at me for a second but had to turn her attention back on the road. I was spared her wrath, at least until we got home.

"Good girl," Michelle cooed. "Don't you dare give me away. Don't let old Doc Frankenpoo get her hooks into me like she did you."

I wondered what my new friend meant by that but she wouldn't answer. Still, I could feel her presence, like she was watching me, and waiting for something.

***

Michelle didn't make any more appearances for the rest of the weekend. Apparently, I'd satisfied her enough with the cell phone incident that she could wait before trying something else. But what the hell? My state of mental health worried me. I just got out of the hospital. I didn't want to go back so soon. It was Monday morning and I wanted to go to school.

Yikes, I thought. What was I thinking? I hated my school.

As soon as I started asking myself questions, I knew my thoughts were being monitored. I knew it as surely as I do when someone is reading over my shoulder, or watching me from a distance. Even with my back turned, I always knew.

"I know you're there, Michelle," I said.

"Yes, I'm here. Are you sure I can't talk you into skipping school today?"

"I need to go if I'm going to pass my classes, and ...." I tried to finish but Michelle interrupted.

"And if you don't pass, you have to rot in the hell hole school another year. I know. I know. Don't be such a whiner baby."

"Well it's true!" I whined.

"Yeah yeah. It still wouldn't hurt you to miss a few classes. You'd still pass easily enough. You're so uptight."

"I'm uptight? Then what does that make you? Yeah. Just what the hell are you?"

"I love it when you swear." She did too. She practically purred.

"Please. Answer the question. Am I really losing it? Is this the end?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Beth. To answer your question, I'm not really sure what I am, and I don't really give a rat's ass. I'm just here to help us have some fun."

"Did you call that fun at the cell phone store?!"

"It was fun for me." She giggled.

"Fine. Have some fun ... at my expense. See how far it'll get you. My mom will call Doctor Franklin and you'll be drugged to death in no time."

"You're such a party pooper. You and that quack. She's the one who created me. Her and her precious hypnosis. Did you ever consider that?"

"No! She only meant to help me. She did help me!"

"She created us. She molded you into her ideal girl and out I popped. What do you think that means?"

"So she's not perfect. Big deal."

"She fucked up, Beth. You're fucked up. Face it. Deal with it. Get over it." She giggled, more from her choice of words than my shocked reaction I think.

"We are going to have such fun," she said in a steady voice to show she was serious. Then I didn't hear from her for another three days.

***

Johnson Middle School jutted from the top of a large, round hill on the edge of town. The buildings looked far older than their age with all the cracks and chipped paint. The bathrooms reeked of urine and cigarette smoke. Swearing and taunting echoed down the long hallways. I didn't remember everything since my accident but I remembered that I hated that school.

It wasn't quite a hopeless case. Most of the teachers managed to create a decent learning environment in the classroom. They made it possible to get a good education, for the few who wanted one. All the place needed was a few zillion dollars for a makeover and I'd be happy with it. Yeah. Right. It was no wonder I insisted on continuing my studies in the hospital. I couldn't wait to leave that school far behind and go on to high school.

I hesitated at the base of the hill and looked up to see my school glaring back down at me, daring me to approach.

"It's just a school," I repeated several times. "It's just a crummy old school and I've got ... Michelle running around loose in my head. How bad can it be?"

The crunch of gravel underfoot seemed unusually loud in the still morning air as I trudged up the path.

Chapter 17: Where Angels Fear to Tread

First period. English. My favorite subject. I sat at my desk and flinched at every sudden noise. I must have looked like a rabbit running for its life from a fox. Most of the girls stared at me. They all knew me and knew what I'd been through, yet they rudely stared at me. I pretended I was invisible.

"Class!" Mrs. Flaherty called. "Take your seats. That means you, Ms. White." She looked disapprovingly over her bifocals at a girl wearing a crop top and a mini skirt. The girl showed as much skin as legally possible and still took every opportunity to bend over and flash the boys.

I stared at the girl along with most of the boys. Her slender, toned body distracted me like nothing else had that morning. I couldn't stop looking at her until she sat down and stopped squirming suggestively in her seat. When I finally did look away, my face felt hot, and I had a strong urge to slide in my chair as I'd just seen her do. Did I like girls?

"Okay everyone. Listen up." Mrs. Flaherty got my attention like she did everyone else's. She was a large older woman with a voice that grated like a cement mixer full of gravel.

"I'd like to make an announcement," our teacher continued. "Beth Wagner is back from the hospital. She's been through a lot so please welcome her back."

"Welcome back, Beth," the class mumbled halfheartedly, somewhat in unison.

I smiled and nodded. Then we all turned our attention to the day's lesson, and the minutes flew by in a blur.

Towards the end of class, we all talked about the essay assignment, and I was pleased that I'd already finished mine. I'd already read it over several times, and I read it aloud to both Doctor Franklin and my mother. I'd be sure to get an A, and it gave me a warm, happy feeling in my tummy.

The bell rang, signaling the end of class and interrupting my little moment.

"Don't forget," Mrs. Flaherty said loudly as we all scrambled for the door. "The essays are due on Friday."

That made me chew my lower lip in frustration. I hoped we'd get more homework during the week so I'd have something fun to do. I hated to imagine myself doing nothing but math and science the whole week. At least I didn't have to worry about History. We never did anything in there except read the textbook and take quizzes. It was so boring.

My next class was Physical Education, or P.E. as the teachers liked to call it. The less active girls like myself just called it torture.

Of course I didn't have a problem with physical therapy in the hospital. I needed to work hard to get myself able to walk and move. I needed to get in shape so I could get home. That didn't mean I wanted to exercise all the time. To be honest, I much preferred to read a book in some quiet, out of the way place.

I was still grateful to my physiotherapist for helping me practice volleyball and badminton. Sports were more tolerable for me when I wasn't a complete klutz. They'd be a lot less embarrassing too. I overheard the other girls mention we'd be playing volleyball and I couldn't wait to show off what Sarah had taught me.

As I got dressed, I wondered about how Sarah was doing. She'd helped me so much and we spent so much time together, but we didn't exchange contact information. I really missed her.

It's just as well, I thought. She'd be after me to exercise all the time.

I wasn't usually a slow dresser, but my memories had me preoccupied. By the time I finished getting dressed, all the girls had already filtered into the gym. I had to hurry to keep from being late.

***

"You're late, Beth!" Mrs. Wilson shouted, even though I had a minute to spare. "Give me 10 pushups. Now!"

I groaned but tried my best, much to the amusement of my classmates, many of whom giggled. Didn't Mrs. Wilson know I'd just been in the hospital? I guessed that she did. P.E. teachers were known to be a sadistic bunch. I'm sure they took special courses learning how to torture their students. They had a special smile they used while they worked too. It made the pain that much more unbearable.

After finishing my ordeal, I stood up and suddenly realized something amazing. The pushups weren't bad. They actually got me warmed up and ready to go. I suddenly felt anxious to play. Wow. That was a surprise.

Two of the taller girls in class played on the varsity volleyball squad. They were chosen as team captains and then took turns choosing players for their team. I felt a little shame when I was picked last, but I made up for my shame with some determination that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me.

I idly wondered if Michelle, my inner tomboy, didn't have something to do with my new attitude but I didn't have much time to think before the ball came screaming at me. The other team got first serve and I'd been positioned in the back corner as a perfect target for the sadistic server.

Out of pure reflex, I clasped my hands together and held my arms straight out. I absorbed the shot perfectly with my forearms and sent it sailing lazily up and towards the middle of our side for an easy set and spike, but my teammates didn't move and the ball bounced several times and rolled under the net. Everyone was stunned by my technique, even the teacher.

"Nice bump, Beth." Mrs. Wilson said, recovering first. Then she turned to the class. "Now let's see if the rest of you little *boys* can play like Beth." She blew her whistle and the game resumed.

The ball was again served directly at me. The varsity player who served it so well evidently thought I was lucky the first time and hoped for another easy point. She was wrong, but at least this time my team handled my bump and got an easy spike.

The rest of the game went fairly well. We still lost but it wasn't due to any lack of effort or skill on my part. I served, bumped and set very well. My digs weren't the best and the only thing I couldn't do was spike. I wasn't tall enough.

"Nice game, Beth!" several classmates told me, even the varsity players.

"Thanks," I said with a wide grin. "Volleyball practice was part of my physical therapy in the hospital."

I practically trotted into the locker room. I'd never felt so good and so proud in P.E. Earning respect from your peers does wonder for a girl's self-esteem.

All of the girls worked pretty hard and worked up a good sweat. Skipping a shower wasn't an option. So why was I nervous about taking a shower? It certainly wasn't because of modesty. I hadn't had any problems undressing in front of Sarah or Doctor Franklin at the hospital.

Before class officially started, I'd been distracted. I didn't see all the scantily clad girls around me. That all changed after we got back to the locker room. I gulped when I saw the clothes peel off and heard the showers start.

I managed to find a far corner and shower in relative privacy. It also helped keep me from staring at some of the girls, though I was tempted. Luckily, I was left alone and ignored. I hoped they'd think I was just being shy.

My budding sexuality took me by surprise. I didn't remember feeling so uncomfortable in the showers at school before the fire. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd liked girls for a long time. It seemed like it might be another of the little memory conflicts that Doctor Franklin warned me about. I hoped I was wrong, but I'd think about writing it down later and try to stall until the end of the day before deciding whether to contact my mom and Doctor Franklin about it.

Chapter 18: The Friend Zone

I had to drag myself to my first school lunch since I got out of the hospital. I recognized a lot of faces but couldn't tell the difference between friend and foe. I had Swiss cheese memory to go along with the sandwich and banana I brought, so I sat alone. Sitting with the wrong crowd could be the kiss of death so I found an empty table and sat there, hoping my friends would come to me.

Eventually, two black-haired girls approached me but they didn't sit. They looked unsure and uncomfortable so I tried to set them at ease with a smile. It always worked in the hospital.

"You're right, Becky," the taller one said. "So sad."

They turned and walked away, leaving me scratching my head.

As I watched the two girls walk away, I didn't notice another girl come up behind me.

"Beth? Why are you sitting alone?"

I quickly turned to see someone standing over me. It was someone who I was sure I'd seen before at my old house. I desperately sifted through my memories and within seconds, I had a name.

"Tracy?" I asked, holding my breath until she smiled to confirm my guess. "Tracy!"

I remembered her, and I realized she must be a good friend if she'd been in my home. My arms reached up and out to her before I knew what I was doing, and she lowered herself into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Tracy. I don't remember too well after the accident."

"That's okay. I figured it was something like that."

"I'm afraid I don't remember much about you, except your name and face and ...." I closed my eyes and tried to remember more. I managed to grab one more little tidbit about her, but it was kind of embarrassing so I lowered my voice. "Oh yeah. I remember you sometimes snort when you laugh really hard."

She turned beet red and lightly slapped my arm. "You didn't have to tell me that."

I giggled.

Tracy and I chatted the rest of the lunch period. We had a lot of catching up to do. It amazed and saddened her to learn that I'd also forgotten a lot about my own likes and dislikes. I'd be depending heavily on her to help me get through school for at least the next couple weeks.

"Just until I can fly on my own," I told her with a big grin plastered on my face. "Right?"

We exchanged smiles to seal the deal. Then it was off to the restroom to touch up what little makeup we used -- part of the bonding ritual that boys could never appreciate and rarely if ever experience.

We stood next to each other in front of the mirror and Tracy laughed when I told her my thoughts about boys wearing makeup. She laughed so hard she even snorted once. Her hand flew up to her mouth and I quickly covered for her by coughing. A couple girls sat in the stalls but no one said anything.

"Thanks," she whispered in my ear. "You remembered to cover for me. That's good. There's hope for you yet, girl."

I couldn't smile. I'd relaxed my lips and focused on applying a fresh coat of lip gloss. But inside, I had a thousand watt smile waiting to flash as soon as I was done.

After we exchanged smiles again, Tracy left ahead of me while I lingered to take care of unfinished business. That's when a wave of anxiety hit me. As soon as I was left alone, memories came back to haunt me. I suddenly remembered that I only associated fear and hatred with the restrooms at school. I actually did remember them reeking of urine and cigarette smoke, but there was no smell of urine at all, and only a faint trace of smoke. The strongest odor by far was perfume followed by a little air freshener and strong mint.

I stumbled into a stall and plopped down on the toilet, trying not to hyperventilate. Sarah's deep breathing exercises came in very handy at that moment. The deep breathing calmed me until I could think straight again.

A memory conflict really did pop up inside my head that day. I definitely had to record the conflict in the minutes before my next class, and I had to have my mom make another therapy appointment. It greatly upset me to think I couldn't make it a full day at school without one of those little mental leaks popping up in my mind. I'd just have to try to remain calm and play the little Dutch girl, plugging each leak as best I could until Doctor Franklin could fix it.

***

I breezed through the rest of my classes and marched home, determined to get through the week. I'd spent a lot of time on my English essay and no one, not even Doctor Franklin, was going to stop me from reading it. I knew it sounded silly, but I didn't have much else to motivate me. I still felt oddly detached from my new life.

The unicorn key chain in my pocket felt unusually cold when I fumbled for it in my coat pocket. It reminded me that I'd be alone in the apartment. I never thought about it before, never considered myself to be a latchkey kid. I used to have my brother to keep me company when I wasn't entertaining friends. I couldn't say that any more though.

The door opened and closed behind me. I was in the apartment, and alone.

"Not for long," I said aloud. I remembered my plan. I reached in my small backpack for the notebook that I kept for memory conflicts. Then I went in search of Doctor Franklin's business card. There was no sense in bothering my mother if I could help it.

The bright blue color made the card stand out. I found it stuck to the fridge by a magnet. A quick push of seven buttons and I had the doctor on the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hi Doctor Franklin. It's me. Beth."

"It's nice to hear from you again, Beth. How is everything?"

"I ... sprung a leak already."

"Oh dear. Are you okay?"

"Other than being deathly afraid of going in the restroom at school, I'm fine," I said with a little sarcasm.

"Is your mother home from work yet?"

"No, she doesn't get home for another three hours."

"Okay. Good ... I mean ... that doesn't matter. I'll be right over. Just stay there and wait."

I hung up and did as the doctor ordered. I waited, or I should say I finished up my stupid math homework while I waited. Then I contemplated a couple serious issues.

I had to decide whether to talk about more than just my restroom problem. I did feel a little uncomfortable taking a shower in the girls locker room, but I wasn't sure if that was really anyone else's business. Besides, I thought I might be a little young to worry about sexuality. The more serious issue was what to do about Michelle, my inner tomboy.

Michelle seemed to be more than just the usual imaginary friend that I've heard people joke about. She seemed so real, and though she mentioned not liking my psychologist, I detected an undercurrent of fear. There was something important that she wasn't telling me.

Doctor Franklin arrived, just as I made my decision. She knocked quietly on the door until I let her in. We exchanged greetings, skipping a hug as usual, and then she got right to work hypnotizing me.

*** to be continued ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.

In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 19: Shared Memories
Chapter 20: Recharge
Chapter 21: Old Friends
Chapter 22: Drifting Apart
Chapter 23: True Friends
Chapter 24: Memorial

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 4 of 8

Chapter 19: Shared Memories

"Why are you afraid of the school restrooms?"

"I don't ... didn't like the smell. They used to smell like urine and cigarette smoke."

"They don't smell bad any more?"

"No."

"So you went into the restroom?"

"Yes."

"Did you go alone?"

"No. I went with my friend, Tracy, and I was fine. But she left ahead of me and I got scared."

Doctor Franklin figured out pretty quickly that I confused the boy's restroom with the girl's. My brother had been afraid of going in them. He told me they were full of bullies and drug dealers, and he complained about the awful smell all the time. She just had to help me forget about the boy's restroom and build on my positive experience with Tracy.

"If at all possible, go to the restroom with Tracy or another girl, and if you go alone, just remember how you feel when you're with Tracy. Focus on the smell too. It won't smell like your false memories so it can't be the same place you imagined."

I nodded at the wise advice. She fixed my mental leak and I was happy. But she didn't stop there.

"Was Tracy your friend before the accident?"

"Yes. She came over to my house lots of times so I know she's my friend."

"What did you do when she came over?"

"We watched movies sometimes. I'm not sure what else we did."

"Did you celebrate anything special like birthdays?"

"Yes. She came over when my brother and I celebrated our birthday."

I smiled as Doctor Franklin helped me remember some things about my friend. I didn't remember much more than I already knew but I got enough extra information to feel much better about my friendship with Tracy. I even remembered that her birthday was October 12th, though I didn't remember celebrating with her. I also remembered that we got each other a friendship bracelet. I lost mine in the fire and I vowed to bring up the subject sometime. Hopefully, she'd take the hint and get me a replacement.

My hypnotic session ended and Doctor Franklin let herself out without asking for payment or anything. It was a thoughtful gesture, and it only served to increase the respect I had for her. She just went out of her way for me and helped me so much. She always left me with a warm, happy glow. It made me wonder why Michelle didn't like her.

***

The next morning started as an instant replay of yesterday, including Sherry White's posing for the boys. The first major difference came as I wove my way through the busy halls on the way to the gym. I had flashbacks of taking a shower in the locker room and my feet suddenly froze to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Michelle asked. She'd been quiet for so long, she made me jump.

"I'm having a little anxiety, if that's okay with you. I'm not sure I want to go to P.E."

"Why? What's your problem? Shit! You've got it made. Just think of all those hot babes in the shower." Michelle's voice oozed lust.

"That's the problem. I'm not sure if I can handle it."

"Look. I think you're crazy if you don't go, but if you're gonna skip, then skip. Just don't be late," she told me. "Only losers are late."

"Fine."

Michelle gave me the push I needed. She knew I'd never skip class. I hung my head and charged forward, ready to brave the lionesses den.

***

Once again, losing myself in thought helped me ignore the other girls and change clothes. We all made it out to the gym on time and I gave a repeat performance on the court. Yesterday was not a fluke.

"You should try out for the high school team," one of the volleyball squad members told me during the game. "You're pretty good."

"Thanks, Angie. I'll think about it. I'm still a little distracted by things for now."

"Yeah. I heard about your brother. Sorry."

We continued playing and class ended all too soon. It was time to head to the showers.

As I walked to the locker room, the curvy rear ends of a couple girls in front of me captured my attention. I couldn't look away. I really did like girls. It wasn't a bad thing, but I had to find a better way to handle it.

I could almost feel Michelle drooling over the prospect of seeing my classmates naked, but her unrestrained lust had a fortunate effect on me. It got me a little angry, allowing me to take a shower without any awkward feelings. I ignored the girls fairly well, and when I couldn't help look, I mostly kept my eyes on their face, depriving my inner lesbian tomboy of a satisfying peek.

"You bitch!" Michelle accused me after I'd dressed and left for my next class. "How could you tease me like that? C'mon!"

"Thanks," was all I said to her.

"Huh?"

"You might not have meant to, but you helped me get through it. I think I'll make it now. Thanks."

Occasional looks were okay, and unavoidable. It was only the staring that could get me into trouble. I just reminded myself how much I hated to be stared at and the rest was easy.

Michelle just responded with, "Whatever."

She sulked but I didn't feel sorry for her. I knew she still had plenty of fond memories to keep her occupied. I knew because we both shared the same memories, and there'd be plenty more before the end of the school year.

The rest of the day wasn't nearly as interesting. I met Tracy at lunch and relayed the few new things that I remembered about her. I also included the hint about getting me a new friendship bracelet. I hope she took hints well.

My girl talk rarely suffered any interruptions from Michelle. My inner tomboy seemed strangely subdued when I engaged in more feminine activities. It was only when I was alone that she really livened up. I'm sure part of the reason she talked to me more then was because she had my undivided attention. She felt I'd be more likely to listen to her crazy ideas.

Chapter 20: Recharge

Michelle drove me crazy on the walk home. She had me all to herself and she rambled the whole way.

"You were quiet for three days. Why are you so hyper now?" I asked her.

"Promise not to tell?" she said with a mischievous lilt.

"Like, duh. Who's there to tell? You know I won't give you away to Doctor Franklin. And if I told anyone else, it'd eventually get back to her."

Michelle shuddered. "Please. Don't say her name. She gives me the creeps."

"Sorry. Now are you gonna tell me why you're hyper?"

With only a little more prodding, she eventually told me her theory about how and why she came and went. She claimed she'd always been around, watching and waiting. She never said anything in the hospital because she was scared to death of Doctor You-Know-Who. She didn't use the word "scared" but I could easily feel her fear, and I understood her fear as she continued.

She said she always felt drained after a hypnotherapy session, like a part of her had died. She imagined herself slipping away, little by little.

After each session, she conserved her energy and clung to whatever memories she could find that seemed to give her strength. Mostly, she thought about playing sports and girls, and that explained her current state of mind. Playing volleyball and being in the girls locker room had recharged her.

"Fascinating," I said to myself.

"Just promise me you'll give volleyball a chance next year," she almost pleaded.

"I'm considering it," I teased. "But I bet you like the idea more because there'd be more shower time."

She laughed.

I'm sure I should've been a lot more disturbed about having a second personality, but Michelle's presence was strangely comforting. She reminded me a little of my brother, and if I could, I'd definitely keep her around.

***

I hadn't been home more than 10 minutes before my cell phone played it's default tone. I frowned and made a mental note to take the time to change the ring tones as I pulled it out of my backpack. I was ready to be a little annoyed about having my homework interrupted until I checked the name on the display.

"Hi Tracy!"

The minutes flew by pleasurably, my homework temporarily forgotten. There was only one awkward moment.

"I'm sorry," I told her after she invited me over. "I don't remember where you live."

"That's okay," she said, though I could hear disappointment in her voice.

"No, it's not, but I'll make it up to you. How would you like to go shopping with me and my mom tomorrow after dinner?"

"Do bees buzz? Do flies fly?"

"Ewww! Bugs!" I laughed. "But I'll take that as a yes."

We made a date. I figured my mom would know where Tracy lived so there'd be no problem getting together for a trip to the mall. I still had a lot of little things I needed ... or wanted. Sometimes I had trouble telling the difference.

After I hung up, I suddenly felt Michelle's presence. I could always tell when she lurked nearby.

"Are you ready to do some homework now?" she asked.

"You like homework?" That surprised me. She talked about skipping school and she seemed to love sports so I figured she'd rather be outside, running around like a maniac or something.

"Sure. I want to sink my teeth into some serious math problems. I like math."

"What?! Are you nuts?!"

We had a short, intense debate about whether English was superior to math but had to agree to disagree. It made me wonder if I could somehow take advantage of her love of math though, and we performed a little experiment.

I sat on my bed with my homework spread around me and relaxed. Then I cleared my mind, and though I didn't dare use the word hypnosis around Michelle, I really did use a form of self-hypnosis. Doctor Franklin had recommended it to help control my anxiety when memory conflicts threatened to rear their ugly head. I'm sure my psychologist would be upset to know that I'd be using her technique to do just the opposite and encourage a kind of memory conflict. I'd found a part of me that loved math, just like my brother did, and I'd be encouraging myself to indulge in that love.

My experiment turned out to be a success. I found out as soon as I heard Michelle calling me back to planet Earth. My math assignment was finished and my crazy other self even drew a little heart with a smiley face in it.

"I thought I'd give it a girl's touch for you," she said. "I wouldn't want you to get too geeky."

"Oh ... thanks," I said with more than a little sarcasm at first. I quickly changed my tune though and thanked her properly. She really did do me a big favor.

Michelle sunk back into the far corners of my mind while I finished the rest of my homework, but when I finished, she came bubbling back. It almost made me laugh. She was so cute and I knew she'd hate it if I said so.

"It just hit me," she said after I printed my English homework and got ready to shutdown my computer. "Can I play some video games? Please?"

"Video games? I don't own any."

Michelle groaned, but she didn't give up.

"What about computer games?"

"Nope. None. Nada."

"Internet? Do you have Internet access?"

"Well, duh."

"Good enough!"

I mentally moved over but this time I watched as Michelle surfed the web looking for free trial game downloads. I warned her about the possibility of viruses but she just scoffed.

"That's what anti-virus software is for. Don't be such a whiner baby."

I suffered the rest of her surfing in silence and tuned out while she played a few games. It made her happy, and I thought it fair payment for doing my math homework.

Chapter 21: Old Friends

I gently eased into a routine at school. Bad memories of bullying haunted me but they didn't make sense with what I'd experienced so far. I just let it all go. No harm. No foul.

English seemed new and fresh while math and science annoyed me a lot more than I remembered. Only history remained its boring old self. History never changed.

P.E. continued to challenge me, physically and mentally. I liked the physical challenge and endured the mental. It got easier to withstand the view in the locker room. I just thought about softball whenever I showered.

The ping of the bat. The shouting of directions as I scrambled for the ball. "Throw it home! Slide! Slide!" I could almost hear the voices of the players and cheering of the fans. I didn't know about volleyball, but I fully intended to try out for the girls softball team. It wouldn't be long before the season started.

P.E. got me thinking about softball for the rest of the morning. My head hovered in the clouds as I daydreamed about playing shortstop. I'd scoop up the ball and flip it to second to start a double play. The other team wouldn't know what hit it. Then, when our team batted, I'd hit a blooper and easily get a single. My next teammate would then blast a double or triple and send me to third base or home for a score. I was fast.

By the time lunch rolled around, I'd fantasized about my team making it to the state playoffs. We'd win it all thanks to my diving snag to prevent a base hit in the bottom of the ninth. I threw to second for the force and saved the game. The fans went wild and my teammates picked me up and carried me on their shoulders. That's when the fantasy went all wrong. I looked down at the smiling faces and they were all boys.

I had another memory conflict. I'd built my daydream on some memories of playing boys baseball, but that couldn't be right. My brother played baseball, not me. I quickly rummaged through my backpack and pulled out my notepad to record the conflict. Then I raced to the lunch room to distract myself with some serious girl talk.

***

I found Tracy sitting with two other girls, one blonde and the other brunette. They looked familiar but I couldn't recall their names, so I tried to be careful.

"Hi!" I said, purposely neglecting to say Tracy's name.

"Hi Beth," they chorused.

"So?" I said. "What's the occasion? Where've you guys been?"

Tracy spoke up first, being diplomatic. I'd run into an awkward situation.

"I'm sorry, Beth. I told them about your memory loss and decided to ease you back into the gang. I hope it's okay." Her eyes pleaded with me for forgiveness but the situation still had me a little confused. It must have shown on my face so Tracy continued.

"I wanted to help you remember more on my own. You know. To keep things simple."

"I'm not a basket case," I grumbled. "I won't break down or anything."

"I'm sorry!" Tracy sniffled a little and melted my heart.

"It's okay." I smiled at her and she gave me a faint smile in return.

The situation remained awkward though. Tracy still hadn't thought to casually include the name of either girl. I kept alert and listened for any clues or opportunities to learn a name so I wouldn't hurt their feelings.

"I'm okay, really." I faced the two girls and smiled. "How've you two been?"

"Shelly's been keeping me up all night," the blonde said. "She's been driving me crazy. She keeps asking about you."

"Sorry." I didn't know what else to say. I didn't remember anyone named Shelly but I guessed she was a younger sister.

"Well can you like, call her tonight? Please? She won't believe anything I tell her. She needs to hear your voice."

"Oh. Well I would ... but I don't have your phone number." I hoped they couldn't tell I was sweating. Girls weren't supposed to sweat.

"Just look it up later. Duh."

I must have given her my best stupid look because she frowned at me.

"You don't remember my name, do you," she accused.

"Or mine," the brunette girl chimed in.

"I'm sorry," I said, my eyes tearing up. "I lost ... so much in the fire. I'm ... sorry." I lost it completely then. I sat there and cried. Tracy rushed a tissue to my eyes to stop the flow of tears and mascara while the other two girls looked at me with little sympathy.

Luckily, the tears didn't last too long, and I thought I did well to continue. I composed myself and hoped to start over yet again with some introductions.

"You remembered Tracy's name," the brunette said, sounding a little hurt.

"That's only because she's been over to my old house a lot. I don't remember seeing either of you two there."

"That's because we live a lot farther away," the blonde said, raising her voice. "You should know that much."

"She didn't remember where I live either," Tracy quickly said in my defense.

The other two girls stopped and looked at each other then, communicating solely with their eyes. They weighed the evidence for and against me, and I watched in fascination until they finally pronounced sentence.

"Okay. We're sorry, Beth," the blonde said. "We know it must have been hard for you."

"Can you forgive us?" the brunette added.

"Of course," I told them both with a smile. "But will you please tell me your names now?"

That didn't go over well, even when I maintained that I remembered their faces. They huffed and whined but eventually told me their names. The blonde was Anne and the brunette was Kathy. Their names still didn't ring a bell but I kept that to myself.

They all thought it strange about what I did remember, like there was a pattern they should recognize. They reserved judgment though. The dragged me through their system of justice and put me on probation until I could prove that I still belonged in their society.

***

I thought the first half of my day was bad, but it just kept getting worse. My afternoon classes bored me senseless and then I suffered in more ways than one as I walked home, listening to Michelle's take on my conversation at lunch.

"Your so-called friends sure are sensitive," she told me.

"Yeah."

"That's it? Yeah?"

"Whatever."

"What's with the one word answers? What's wrong?"

"I don't feel well. Okay?" I really didn't feel well. My insides ached. It shouldn't have been anything I ate. I always brought my own lunch and had pretty much the same thing everyday. It was boring but healthy, and safe.

"Don't you feel it?" I asked Michelle. I thought she should feel the same things I did. We shared the same body after all.

"Nope. I must be immune."

I could tell she smirked at me, and it just added to my irritation. Neither of us said any more. I continued walking in silence, looking down at my feet take one step after another towards home.

***

The bathroom medicine cabinet never looked so good. I lunged for some aspirin, gulped down a couple and started toward my bed to lie down. I didn't quite get there as soon as I hoped though. I suddenly felt the need to use the toilet.

I pulled down my jeans and underwear and that's when I panicked. Blood spots stained my pristine white panties.

"No!" I screamed.

I don't remember sitting down but that's how I found myself some time later. My legs started falling asleep from sitting too long on the hard toilet seat, and it bothered me enough to bring me back to my senses.

I no longer felt the need to urinate so I jammed a large wad of toilet paper into my crotch and pulled my clothes back up. Then I rushed to find my phone and called my mother from the comfort of my bed.

After she calmed me down, I explained the situation to her and she set me straight. I was having my period.

"Honestly, Beth. How could you forget something like that?"

"Uh ... I dunno."

"Oh! I'm sorry, sweetie. I ... forgot too. I'll leave work early and come home to help you. Okay?"

"Uh ... sure. Thanks." I hung up and dropped my phone on the bed next to me as I curled into a ball and groaned. Groaning helped ease the pain, a little.

While I was lying there, I played the conversation back in my head. She forgot too? I didn't know what she meant by that. Wasn't this my first period?

***

"This isn't your first you know," she told me soon after she got home. "But I guess you ... forgot. I'm so sorry. I didn't think about it."

The surgery I'd had supposedly interrupted my cycle and no one was sure when it would start again. My mother had planned to help me get ready for it but she'd been working too hard as usual and forgot. She made it up to me though.

The aspirin I'd taken earlier wasn't strong enough so she gave me something better. She had me pain free and cleaned up in no time. We had a nice mother-daughter chat about feminine hygiene and then made dinner. I felt human again after my meds and a nice hot meal, and I found myself ready to go out. Shopping called.

Chapter 22: Drifting Apart

"Are you sure you know the way?" I asked my mom. We were going to pick up Tracy for a trip to the mall.

"Yes, of course. She's been your best friend for years. Don't worry."

I sat back and tried to enjoy the scenery. I should've been paying attention to see how to get to my friend's house but once again, I was preoccupied.

Tracy was my best friend? I should've realized that. She was the first to contact me at school, and we had friendship bracelets. She even continued being a good friend, even though I'd forgotten so much about her.

I smiled when I thought about our first meeting after my return to school, and my thoughts rambled until I started thinking about Tracy's appearance and how nice looking she was. That's when things got complicated.

"It's about time you noticed her," Michelle suddenly whispered.

"Huh? Where have you been?"

"Here and there. You were busy being a girl so I winked out."

"Thanks for the support," I grumbled.

"Don't mention it." She giggled. "But let's get back to Tracy."

"What about her?" I didn't like the direction our conversation was going. I felt on the verge of some major blushing.

"You *like* her." Michelle almost sang the words.

"Yeah. So." Let the blushing begin!

"So ... you *really* like her. But there's no shame in that. I think she's hot."

"What would you know? You're not real." That was a low blow, but I was desperate to change the subject. We'd be picking Tracy up very soon and I didn't want Michelle making me drool all over my best friend.

"I'm not real?" She huffed. "I'm just as real as you, sweetheart. We're just two sides of the same coin."

"You use colorful metaphors," I accused. "You're just an eccentric little corner of my subconscious."

"Keep telling yourself that, Beth. But you can't hide behind big words."

"Big words? They're just words. It's called English! You should try it sometime."

Michelle laughed. "You're cute when you're angry."

"Oh!" My pathetic comeback just made her laugh more, and my dark mood finally caught my mother's attention.

"Goodness, Beth. Are you still in pain?"

"What? No. I was just thinking."

"What about? You just snarled." My mom smiled, trying to cheer me up.

I couldn't tell her about my conversations with Michelle so I had to think of something else. That's when I remembered my memory conflict. I had an appointment to make.

My mom stopped smiling when I asked her to call Doctor Franklin, and she frowned when I told her that my doctor had already made a house call.

"You're still having problems?" She asked with worry lines deeply etched on her face.

"Just a few. I'll be okay. They've been minor."

"I'll make an appointment for Saturday. Then I won't have to take off work. Is that soon enough?"

"Yeah. Sure. It can wait until then. Don't worry, Mom."

She laughed. Telling a mother not to worry is like telling the Earth to stop rotating.

***

We arrived at a small dark green house that I swore I'd never been to, but before I could get out of the car, Tracy shot outside. She opened the back car door, quickly slid inside and we were off.

"Shopping!" Tracy shouted. "I do love it so."

My mom laughed. "Hi Tracy. Welcome to the shopmobile."

"Hi Mrs. Wagner. Thanks for picking me up." Then she turned to me. "Hey Beth. Looking good, girl."

That made me blush. "Thanks. I wasn't sure I'd even make it earlier. You know. Girl problems."

"Girl problems?" Tracy looked puzzled. I must not have used that phrase before.

Lucky for me, my mother bailed me out. She set Tracy straight and the two of them had a long discussion about periods. We talked about the subject all the way to the mall. I added a couple comments but I felt very uncomfortable. I realized that I'd have to get used to the experience all over again.

***

Tracy and I went off to our usual haunts, leaving my mother to fend for herself. She didn't mind. She actually expected it. We girls needed some quality shopping time together.

As we strolled down the grand central hall, doing a little window shopping, Tracy confessed that she'd called Anne and Kathy. They'd be meeting us at the food court where we'd plan our shopping strategy and talk about boys.

The mall suddenly chilled by about 30 degrees. I'd hoped and expected to be alone with Tracy, not try to cozy up to those two again. They hadn't given me a very warm welcome yesterday so I found it hard to like them. Still, I had to give them another chance. They were Tracy's friends after all, and it wasn't so long ago when they'd been mine. Perhaps there was still a chance we could stay one happy gang of girls. Perhaps, but I doubted it.

Anne and Kathy had saved seats for us and we soon chatted recklessly into the evening, with Anne doing the majority of the talking. Yesterday's incident was apparently long forgiven and forgotten. Fine by me.

Shopping actually took a back seat in our discussion. That's because a steady stream of older boys poured out of the nearby movieplex and headed straight into the food court, where the price of fast food was much less expensive.

Several groups of the opposite sex sat at tables very near our own, and the girls all fell apart. They giggled and whispered to each other while pretending not to look across the way at the boys that they thought were cute. I didn't get it at all.

"Beth!" Anne whispered so loud I was sure she could be heard several tables away. "There's a boy over there," she pointed with her eyes, "who likes you. He keeps staring at you."

"What? Where?" I turned to look and almost had my arm yanked out of its socket. "Ow!"

"Don't look!" Kathy squealed. "He'll see you!"

"I'm sure he already knows we've noticed him. How could he not?" I scowled to show what I thought of the situation. Then I casually turned and waved to the boy in question.

"What is wrong with you?!" Anne shouted, causing everyone to stare at us, not just a few boys. "You don't wave! You never wave!"

"How else will they know you like them?!" I shouted back. "They can't read minds!"

Anne huffed but no words came out. I impressed myself that I accomplished the impossible and gave her a smug grin.

"I'm so embarrassed," Kathy wailed. "Let's get out of here."

Anne got up, still speechless, grabbed Kathy's arm and the two of them stalked off together.

Poor Tracy was torn. She'd been thinly disguising her interest in the boys along with the other girls and I completely ruined her fun, but we were best friends. You didn't abandon your best friend.

I pleaded with my eyes, reaching out to her with waves of my fear of being left alone. I wanted to belong. I needed a real friend, not those other two. I needed her.

"I'm sorry," she mouthed to me. Then she was gone.

I slowly shuffled back to the place my mother said to meet at and sat on a bench, waiting to be collected and shipped home. I felt empty. I was an unwanted, empty package being sent far away to a land of ice and snow.

Chapter 23: True Friends

"Where's Tracy?" I heard my mom ask from somewhere to my right. I stared at my feet so I wasn't sure exactly where she stood.

"She left," I muttered. "Can we just go, please?"

I felt my hand being gently held as I was slowly led to the car. The door opened and I climbed into the front passenger seat, clicked the seat belt and stared out the windshield. Everything looked blurry. It was either raining or I was crying.

"Beth? Talk to me, sweetie. Why are you crying?"

I gave her an abbreviated account of what happened. I forgot so much about my past life that I couldn't seem to fit in, not even with my old friends. They all left me, even Tracy.

"They weren't very good friends then," my mom growled. "But I'm surprised Tracy left. She's supposed to be your best friend."

"I know." I barely got the words out before my tears washed them away.

The drive home promised to be mostly quiet and somber. My mom tried to cheer me up a little but failed miserably. She wisely left me to wallow in self-pity. I couldn't say the same about Michelle.

"You won't miss Anne and Kathy." She tried to help too. I wished I could've smiled to show her I appreciated the effort.

"And don't worry about Tracy," she continued. "She'll be back."

"How do you know?"

"I could see it in her eyes."

"You saw her? How could you see her? How can you see?" It suddenly struck me as absurd that an imaginary friend, or whatever the hell she was, could see. She wasn't even there. I didn't sense her at all while I endured the disaster in the food court.

"Duh," was her response.

I temporarily forgot that she really was a part of me. She obviously saw through my eyes. She saw and heard and felt everything I did. The only difference was whether she asserted herself to communicate with me. I couldn't always detect her presence, but she was always somewhere deep inside me.

"Right," I said. "I'll have to trust you I guess."

"Call it woman's intuition," Michelle said, and I could feel her smile warming me from the inside out.

***

I sat alone at lunch the next day at school, with only Michelle to keep me company. I took what I could get, but I wasn't too upset. Volleyball had been a nice distraction. I played very well and my team finally won a game. I savored it and hoped to win many more.

"Did you get a good eyeful in the locker room this morning?" I teased.

"Did you?" she shot back.

"Touché." I grinned. She was right. I allowed myself a few extra peeks to help boost my morale. That probably helped more than anything. I definitely preferred girls.

"So how's your woman's intuition today?" I said. "Still believe Tracy will be back?" I had to change the subject. I really didn't think it would be a good idea to get Michelle too wound up about naked girls.

"Turn around!" she suddenly hissed.

"What?"

"Turn ...," she trailed off as a voice sounded behind me.

"Is this seat taken?" the voice said. It sounded like Tracy.

"No," I said, refusing to look. I couldn't believe she'd be back so soon, if at all.

The girl sat next to me, and though I still hadn't looked directly at her, I saw enough out of the corner of my eye to see who it was.

"Beth? Please, Beth. Look at me. I'm sorry about last night."

"Did you get home okay?"

"Yeah. I caught a ride with Anne and Kathy."

"Oh."

"Beth, I'm sorry I left you. I was really embarrassed and I didn't know what else to do."

"I understand," I lied, or part of it was a lie. I didn't understand her leaving me. I wouldn't have left her. But I did understand something else. "I'm sorry I embarrassed you."

"Yeah. Me too. I don't understand you, Beth. What got into you?"

I'm not really sure what she meant by that. I felt like I was just being myself, but I felt I owed her some excuse. One thing still bothered me about the whole incident.

"I guess I'm still upset about Anne and Kathy," I started turning my head in Tracy's direction but I wouldn't let myself look directly at her. "They didn't treat me very well two days ago. They seem more concerned about themselves."

"Yeah. I got that too. They were even worse last night. They kept acting like it was the end of the world for them, like they'd never get a boyfriend."

"Really?"

"Yeah, and they kept putting you down, after all you've been through. That's what really burned me up. You lost your home and ...." She started crying then.

That got my attention, and I finally turned to face her.

"Hey," I said, after watching a tear roll all the way down her cheek. "It's okay. You can say it. I lost my brother. I miss him but I won't fall apart if you say it."

"It's not just that, Beth." She sniffed and rubbed her eyes to compose herself. "You lost a lot of memories ... good memories. You lost a part of yourself. You're not the same any more."

That stung. Maybe I would fall apart if she kept talking.

"Yeah. Okay. You're right," I said. "But that doesn't mean we can't still be friends, does it? Do we throw it all away because I lost some memories? Can't we ... make more?" She got me crying then.

"No, of course we can still be friends. I just miss the old Beth, that's all. I'm sorry. Forgive me?"

I hugged her to show my forgiveness but I wondered if things would ever be the same between us. I'd just have to calm down, take it slow, and find out. It might be difficult though. My heart fluttered terribly as soon as we hugged. The girl in my arms meant more to me than I could possibly admit, to her or myself for the moment. When I had a spare hour or two, I'd have to seriously examine my feelings for her. That is, I would if Michelle didn't beat me to it.

Chapter 24: Memorial

I carefully walked home, afraid my new accessories might slip out or something. It felt really odd, but at least I didn't have any pain. Menstruation wasn't so bad. It was just different. I could get used to it. I had to.

Once inside the apartment, I headed straight for my bedroom for a little music. I wanted to lie on my bed and think about nothing at all for the next couple hours. Homework could wait. The world could wait for all I cared. I needed some mental rest.

"That a girl," Michelle suddenly butted in. "Grab yourself some 'me' time."

"Hey. I'm trying to be alone here."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. I just wanted to ask a quick favor."

"What?" I snapped.

"Sheesh. Easy, girl. It's more a favor for you than me. I was gonna offer to do some of your homework while you took a little mental vacation."

I shrugged but agreed. Why not? She did ask nicely, and I'd get away from it all and still get my unpleasant homework finished. It would give me plenty of time to think about Tracy later too. I let myself go and as I faded out, I wondered if I went to the same place Michelle went when she wasn't around.

***

When I finally snapped out of it, it was dark outside. I had a quick check of the clock and yelped. It was already dinner time. I'd been out for a few hours.

"What the hell, Michelle?!"

No answer.

"Fine," I huffed as I got up off my bed and followed my nose to the small kitchen.

"Mmmm. Smells good, Mom."

"Thanks," she smiled at me. Then she looked up at the top of my head an laughed. "You've got bed head."

"Huh?"

I felt my short spiky hair and ran back to my room to fix it.

"Dang," I said as I looked at my reflection. "I must have been sleeping."

I apologized for Michelle even if she wouldn't answer. She must have let me sleep. I must have needed it. I had been stressed out a lot lately.

I fixed my hair as best I could. It just needed a very small dab of gel. I blended, rubbed and scrunched until I got the right consistency and then shaped myself to perfection.

"Better?" I asked as I entered the kitchen to start setting the table.

"Yep." My mom spared me a quick glance but she was busy stirring the creamy sauce for our spaghetti so I let her work. My stomach wouldn't have it any other way.

We soon sat at our small square wooden table and chatted about the day while we ate. My making up with Tracy set a good mood and the rest of the evening passed quickly.

I had planned on devoting more time to thinking about my best friend but my mother suddenly took precedence. My mom and I hadn't done much together since I returned to school so I suggested a movie, and she agreed.

We never did buy a television set. We rarely watched TV any more. Instead, we camped out on her bed and watched the movie on a small DVD player. It was the perfect setting for a romantic comedy. We propped ourselves up with pillows and laughed and cried our way through the whole movie. It was wonderful.

Tracy would wait at least another day. I didn't want to move too quickly and scare her away. 'Take it slow' became my mantra, and my life followed suit.

***

Friday was a great day, not because it was the last day of the school week, but because I'd finally get to read my English essay in class. I'd been waiting all week for it and I practically ran to school. If I wasn't so preoccupied, I'm sure I would've stopped and laughed at the irony. I still hated that school.

Once class started, I impatiently waited for my turn. I held my essay in my hands and forced myself not to look at it. I'd already read it dozens of times, and I'd be reading it once more soon enough. I didn't need to look at it until I was ready to read it to the class.

Mrs. Flaherty insisted on going in alphabetical order. I hated that. I hated going last, or almost last. Not many kids in school had a last name that came after Wagner, so I had a long wait. I could've passed the time more easily by listening to the other essays, but I wouldn't do that. I just couldn't. Nothing would distract me from my essay, not even Mrs. Flaherty's annoying voice each time she signaled a student to begin reading.

Eventually my turn came with several minutes to spare before the end of class. I stood up at my desk, looked down at the words ... and the impossible happened. They weren't my words. The beginning was all wrong, and I saw the outline of a heart with a smiley face. Michelle changed my essay. That bitch changed my essay!

I didn't know whether to be furious or scared or nervous or what. So I decided to mix them all together into one boiling pot of emotion. And I read the damn essay. I had to see what she wrote. I added a pinch of curiosity to my emotional stew and started.

It read:

Dear Mike,

     my English teacher, Mrs. Flaherty, gave me a special assignment to write about my experiences with physical therapy in the hospital. I worked hard to get back in shape, and here I am, able to stand here and read this. It took many many long hard hours of exercise and a lot of pain to get my body back in shape, but I don't believe it's really possible to understand what I went through without going through it yourself. So I hope you forgive me if I change the subject to something better suited for my audience. I'm devoting this to you, my loving brother.

     You woke up to the smell of smoke in the wee hours of the morning not so long ago. It must have been a horrible experience, one that I can only imagine. I can see you being confused and frightened, but instead of quickly saving yourself, you thought of me.

     You fought your way through the smoke and flames down the hall and into my bedroom. By that point, you must have already been either severely burned or nearly passed out from the smoke, or both. I know this because I have no burn scars. You somehow lifted me up and pushed me out of my bedroom window to save my life, but you were too injured or weak to follow.

     A fireman found my unconscious body below my window and eventually guessed what had happened. He carried me to a waiting ambulance and hurried back to find you still inside, slumped down below the window. He pulled your charred body out of the flames and carried you to safety. You were still alive, but by then it was too late. With third degree burns, or worse, over more than 90 percent of your body, you wouldn't survive long.

     I was told you had a few lucid moments, hanging between severe pain and the mental fog induced by pain medication, and you asked about me. You wanted to make sure I survived. You cared more about me than yourself and your selfless devotion to me cost you your life. You're a hero, my darling brother. You're a hero and I'll never forget you. Each and every time I look in the mirror, I'll think of you, because you saved me and made it possible for me to see my reflection, everyday, for the rest of my life.

     Good-bye Mike. Rest in peace. I love you.

     Your loving sister, Beth

I barely choked out the last two lines. Tears ran down my face and I'm sure I looked frightful -- I never forgot my mascara. But I didn't care. Michelle's essay, or letter really, easily outshone mine. Her words made me happy and proud and sad, all at the same time. I was long past being upset. Instead I felt the warm glow of a wonderful mix of emotions, and I was pleased to note that there wasn't a dry eye in the classroom.

*** to be continued ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.

In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 25: Making up
Chapter 26: Plugging Leaks
Chapter 27: Stopping to Smell the Flowers
Chapter 28: Long Lost Relatives
Chapter 29: Blossom and Wither
Chapter 30: Reunions

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 5 of 8

Chapter 25: Making up

Mrs. Flaherty embarrassed me just before class ended. It didn't bother her that I didn't do what she assigned. She brushed that little detail aside and gave me an A+ on the letter. None of the other students had been graded yet but she wanted to rave about me to the class. She wanted everyone to aspire to reach my level of writing skill, and at the very least, read with more emotion like I'd done. She also told me to make sure my mother got a chance to read it.

Great. Thanks, Mrs. Flaherty, I muttered to myself. I had no choice but to take credit for the letter. No one would believe that a figment of my imagination actually wrote it.

"Who are you calling a figment?" Michelle piped up as I walked to the gym for my next class.

The halls echoed and squeaked with the sound of hundreds of shoes scuffing the dirty gray floor. I heard all that, but I filtered out the usual babble of voices. I only heard one voice.

"Hi Michelle," I said in a calm, steady voice as I strained to keep myself from mentally screaming.

"Hi yourself, cupcake," she chirped. Her exuberance was deafening. "Nice reading."

"You could've warned me," I growled.

"Right. You wouldn't have read it. You would've read your own drivel."

I tried very hard to resist being baited just then, and I succeeded by the barest of margins only because I was emotionally exhausted.

"You really did read it very well," she said in a serious tone. "I think it sounded better unrehearsed."

"Thanks ... I think."

"I bet you wouldn't have put as much emotion into it if you'd read it before. It wouldn't have had as much impact."

I wanted to smack her. She was right but it still wasn't a nice thing to do, and the more I thought about it, the more upset I got. I didn't want to bite someone's head off when I played volleyball, so before my mood got too sour, I tried to turn things around on her.

"Yeah, but what about the spirit of the assignment?"

"What about it?"

"It was supposed to be an essay, not a letter. Why did you write it in letter form?"

I got her on the defensive. She started trying to justify herself, and I soon noticed a curious trend.

"Careful, Michelle," I teased. "I can't help noticing that you're starting to use big words. I think I'm rubbing off on you."

"What?! That's stupid."

"It's true! And I must say, your letter was very well written. You did get an A+ after all. Good job, girl."

She disappeared then. I knew she hated English, and she especially hated being called a girl. I'd pushed a little too hard, but I'd feel sorry about it later. For the moment, I had P.E. to deal with and I didn't want any distractions.

***

I played volleyball with a vengeance. I showed the other team no mercy and it made me wonder if I was channeling Michelle. Either that or the surprise letter I'd read last hour still had me upset. It was probably a little of both, but if someone asked, I figured I could blame it on my period.

I suddenly giggled. Blaming my period struck me as humorous for some odd reason, though I couldn't understand why. My behavior seemed rather immature to me, even if I was barely into my teens. Periods were nothing to be laughed at. Luckily, I quickly shrugged it off and returned my attention to volleyball. I still had some serious butt to kick.

After the game, I welcomed a shower, and I needed it, for various reasons. Relieving my guilt by sneaking some peeks for Michelle topped the list. I felt guilty for treating her so badly.

She really did mean well, and she crafted a wonderful tribute to my brother. I hadn't planned on showing my mom when Mrs. Flaherty suggested it, but after I thought about it a little more, I realized it would be a nice thing to do. I'd silently give credit to my inner tomboy writer and have a good cry with my mother after she read the letter.

So I snuck in a few very long looks at some of the curvier girls in the locker room for Michelle. Most of the views were from behind but that was the only way I could get away with it. I hoped she appreciated my effort. I know I certainly had a good time.

***

My inner friend didn't speak to me again until I walked home after school. I preferred to be alone when speaking to her so I didn't mind the wait.

"Apology accepted," she suddenly told me before I'd made it more than a block from school.

"I haven't apologized yet."

"Yes you have ... in your own way. Thanks for the sneak peeks."

"You're welcome." I smiled as I took in the recent memories.

"Angie sure is a babe," Michelle ventured.

"She's a little tall for my taste. I'd like someone closer to my own height."

"Yeah, but she's got great ...."

"Don't say it!" I warned. "Please. Don't get crude on me now. We were just having a moment."

"Dang. You're such a ...."

"And don't call me a whiner baby! Can't you think of a better insult?"

"Well ... yeah. But I don't think you'd like it."

"Fine," I grumbled. "Call me whatever you want. Just don't forget my name is Beth. Okay?"

"Well ... duh."

I had a good long talk with Michelle, all the way home. She'd written a lot of nice things about my brother so I tried to be nice to her. She didn't make it easy for me.

My inner tomboy went out of her way to tease and even anger me, but I have to admit, she did get me to think about things, and she helped me out a lot. I could call her a lot of things but I could no longer call her an imaginary friend. She acted more like a sister than anything else. She really grew on me.

And I did the right thing when my mother got home. I let Michelle take control of me while my mom read the letter. It was only fair since my inner sister wrote it.

After she stopped squealing -- like a girl I wanted to say but held my tongue -- I relaxed and faded away to let Michelle have her moment with our mother.

Chapter 26: Plugging Leaks

"I can't believe that letter," my mom gushed. "It's beautiful."

"Thanks," I told her for the umpteenth time.

"It's so much better than your earlier essay," she said, and then sighed.

Ouch.

My battered ego couldn't take much more. She'd been talking about that letter all morning and continued to talk about it on the way to see Doctor Franklin. I'm sure Michelle appreciated the attention. I know because I could feel her glowing with pride. But I was getting tired of it. I needed a change of subject.

"Did I tell you about my memory conflict?" I asked.

"No, actually, you didn't. Do you want to talk about it now? I'll understand if you want to wait and discuss it with Doctor Franklin."

"No no. It's okay. I want you to know."

I told her all about my baseball daydream and how I imagined myself playing on a boys team. I started thinking about softball but it morphed into baseball and exploded into a very vivid and detailed series of games, leading to the state playoffs. It really disturbed me. It seemed more like something my brother would dream up.

When I mentioned my brother, the color drained from my mother's face. "I don't know what to say to that," she said, her lips tightly drawn.

The subject obviously made her uncomfortable so I dropped it, and we lapsed into an awkward silence, though it wasn't long before someone else started a new conversation.

"Are you sure I can't talk you out of going to see the doc?" Michelle asked.

"Yeah. I'm sure." I knew she didn't like Doctor Franklin but I had to plug the leaks in my mind. I wanted to be normal. I just wanted a normal life.

"What is normal?" she asked, reading my thoughts. It finally occurred to me that she'd been reading my thoughts ever since she first popped into my head, yet I couldn't read hers. Sometimes I couldn't understand her at all. Life could be so unfair.

"I just want my memories to stop getting mixed up with my brother's. I want to be all girl."

"You are a girl," she said carefully. "But what's wrong with a girl liking baseball?"

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong with liking baseball. It's just that I've never played before. It's ... upsetting. It just upsets me! Okay?!"

"Okay okay. Sorry. Don't get your panties in a bunch," she said.

I was pleased to note that she didn't call me a 'whiner baby' but that actually worried me. There was a tinge of despair to her voice that I hadn't noticed until that point, and I knew it had to do with my impending hypnotherapy session. Hypnosis really rattled her.

I took a deep breath and said, "Don't worry, Michelle. I'm sure everything will work out."

She didn't respond to that. Instead, she faded away to her little hideout and peeked through the shutters of my mind like a frightened young child in a war zone.

***

"Think back to when you had the memory conflict," Doctor Franklin told me after she'd hypnotized me. "Think about how it made you feel about your brother."

I did as she asked and it upset me. A single tear dribbled down my cheek.

"It made you miss your brother, didn't it."

"Yes."

"You're still having trouble letting go of him. You need to move on, Beth. Would you like me to help you?"

"Yes."

"Did you plan on playing softball at school?"

"Yes."

"Playing softball will only confuse you and cause you pain, Beth. It will keep reminding you of baseball and your brother, and you'll keep having the memory conflict. You need to avoid softball."

"But I want to play."

"You don't like pain, do you?"

"No."

"Softball will only cause you pain, Beth. You must avoid it. Your brother loved baseball but you never have."

"I'm ... afraid."

"Of what?"

"I'm afraid of losing ... him."

"He's dead, Beth. But you won't forget him if you don't play softball. You'll still have memories of him playing baseball, and you won't confuse your memories with his. It's the perfect solution."

"No."

"You've never played softball. Isn't that correct?"

"Yes."

"That's because you don't really like playing softball. The only thing you like about it is that it reminds you of baseball and your brother. When you watch softball or baseball, you'll be reminded of your brother. There will be no confusion or pain, only happy memories. You will be content to watch others play and let it remind you of your brother. You only want happy memories, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you realize now that you don't want to play softball. Isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"Good girl," she told me, and I smiled.

It still made me happy when she said I was a good girl. I wanted to be good. I wanted to please her and be happy so I'd do as she asked. It was an easy decision anyway. I suddenly couldn't understand what I ever saw in softball. I mean, I'd never played it before so I must not like it.

Just as Doctor Franklin began to bring me out of my hypnotic state, I shifted in my seat. My pad suddenly made me uncomfortable. That made her pause and ask me what was wrong.

I told her I'd been menstruating and that it had been bothering me a lot. It was the first period I could remember having so I wasn't used to it.

She extended the session then, and helped me realize how silly I'd been. Menstruation was a normal, natural process, and it meant I was growing into a healthy young woman. It should be accepted and even embraced.

She was right once again and I continued to marvel at her feminine wisdom. I only wished I could be half the woman she was when I grew up, and perhaps, with her ongoing help, I could be.

Chapter 27: Stopping to Smell the Flowers

My heart never felt lighter than it did that early Saturday afternoon. I'd had a wonderful session with my psychologist, the sun was shining and my mother and I were on our way to visit my brother's grave.

Thinking about my brother's death no longer saddened me. I'd moved on with my life, and I'm sure my brother would approve.

I wouldn't forget him of course. I'd save a special place in my heart for memories of my dear brother. I'd always remember how much he loved baseball and I vowed to watch several games a year. Every time the shortstop made a good stop, I'd think of Mike and smile.

"You seem happy," my mother noted. "Did you have a good session?"

"I most certainly did. I think I'm going to be okay now."

"No more memory conflicts?"

"Nope."

"That's a relief ... I mean that's good. Right?" She gave me a sheepish grin, like she was up to something. It made me a little nervous but I shrugged it off and reminded her to stop by the grocery store to pick up some flowers.

After we left the store, we drove in silence the rest of the way to the cemetery, each of us no doubt thinking about Mike. It was our time to keep his memory alive. The drone of the road noise mesmerized me and sent me back to his first double play. It seemed like only yesterday. He stopped the ball after a single hop and threw it sidearm to his best friend, Gary. Gary then flung it to first base for the second out and they both jumped in the air and got together for a quick high five. I'd never seen Mike so happy.

When the car finally stopped, it only vaguely registered and my mom had to gently shake me out of my reverie. We got out of the car and cut across the short grass to my brother's resting place, careful not to step on any graves.

The sun shone brightly, sending up short, steamy plumes as it evaporated the morning frost on that cold winter day, and when my mother and I approached, sunlight reflected off the gold lettering of the grave marker. My brother's name glowed and my heart soared. I took it as an omen that he was happy for me.

I spoke to him in my thoughts as I stood there next to my mother. I told him about my vow to watch baseball as a tribute to him. I told him about how much I missed him and loved him. I even told him about my therapy and how much progress I'd made the past week. Then I placed more daisies in the plastic holder and smiled, with only one tear escaping my left eye the whole time. It was a good visit.

***

My mother and I returned to the car, still lost in our own private memorials. She started the engine and I barely noticed. I just kept thinking about Mike playing baseball until I ran out of memories. It took quite awhile. Then my thoughts turned back to a certain someone else that I suddenly missed.

Michelle normally didn't say anything for a long time after a session with Doctor Franklin. I expected that, but I grew concerned when I didn't sense her presence at all. She really moved deep under cover. Wherever she ended up, I hoped she was okay.

I kept thinking about how she and I had shared a special moment last night. The letter she wrote for English broke though my reluctance to accept her presence, and it made me think of her as a sister. The only problem was, after a good night's sleep and some quality therapy, I no longer experienced those same feelings. She suddenly struck me as being cold and distant, hiding away in the dark recesses of my mind. I liked having someone to talk to, but I found myself falling back into an awkward, uneasy relationship with her.

She seemed at times to be a bad influence on me, like she purposely encouraged me to be less like myself. She also had something against Doctor Franklin and hypnotherapy. I'd been making good progress and Michelle held me back. Perhaps she was a symptom of my troubled mind, and as my emotional scars faded, she'd fade along with them.

When we passed the store where we bought the flowers, it distracted me enough to snap me out of it. My brooding had lasted far too long. I didn't like suffering in silence. It was too quiet during the last trip from the cemetery and I didn't like it. I took several deep, relaxing breaths and suddenly felt like chatting up a storm, and since Michelle kept to herself, I'd choose another victim.

"So ... Mom. When are we going house hunting?"

"What? Oh! Didn't I tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"I thought it better if we keep renting and invest the money we got from the insurance company."

"Oh," I said with obvious disappointment.

I'd hoped to have a house again, and a garden. I planned on having a flower garden so I could grow daisies for Mike's grave, and a vegetable garden would also be nice. Nothing tasted better than fresh vegetables.

"I'm sorry, Beth."

"It's okay." I told her about my dashed dreams and she gave me a sad smile.

"It's just the two of us now, honey. We don't need a lot of room ... but I agree with you about a garden. I'll miss having one."

"Can't we get a small house?" I said, trying not to whine and failing.

"I told you, Beth. I'm investing the money. You'll be off to college in no time and college isn't cheap."

"Right."

The thought of going to college sounded crazy to me. College seemed so far off in the future, like forever even. I couldn't imagine high school, let alone college, though that might have been because the years dragged by much more slowly when school sucked. I could only hope that high school would be a big improvement.

"Say ... I have an idea," my mom said with a gleam in her eye. I loved that gleam.

"Yeah? What? What is it?" I bounced a little on the car seat, making my mom laugh.

"Stop it, Beth. You'll make me have an accident."

"Sorry." I said, my bouncing slowly came to a stop.

"Here's the idea .... How about a deck garden?" She flashed me a big, cheesy grin and we both cracked up.

A deck garden sounded a little silly, given our small deck, but it was her funny face that made me laugh. She could always cheer me up with a goofy smile.

The conversation drifted to other subjects after that, but my thoughts kept returning to the deck garden. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. We could get stacking shelves and maximize what little space we had. It was certainly better than nothing.

When my mother finally took a breath after a long winded explanation of how to select a ripe cantaloupe in the produce aisle at the grocery store, I couldn't take it any more. I started shoveling out the ideas about how we might grow all manner of vegetation on our little deck. I refused to give up on my dream.

We explored every possible area for a deck garden. I ran with the stacking shelves theme and she wanted to hang long narrow hanging boxes over the deck railing and grow herbs to use for cooking. We even came up with a good way to grow morning glories -- one of our favorite little flowers. We'd let them curl up and around the vertical posts of the railing all along one end of the deck. There's no way they could take over that way. Back at our old house, the lovely little white trumpets looked nice but they grew faster than weeds and quickly became a pest.

The idea of having a garden excited us both, and we soon detoured to the nearest nursery to gather supplies for the coming spring. My mom would have her herbs and I'd have my daisies for Mike's grave, and we'd both have various other flowers blooming all throughout the year, even our favorite little morning glory.

I wondered what, if anything, Michelle might like and made a mental note to ask her. Or perhaps I wouldn't have to since I was sure she still lurked within range of all my thoughts. I imagined her wanting to grow something unusual, and impossible on a small deck, just to be difficult, something like a pumpkin. That would be just her style, and it made me giggle.

Chapter 28: Long Lost Relatives

Setting up the deck garden had been fun. We pretty much finished everything, cleaned up and had a nice quiet dinner together. Then we sat at opposite ends of our large comfortable couch and chatted the rest of the time.

The casual conversation flowed well enough and kept us occupied, but the evening dragged as I thought of a way to bring up a seemingly touchy subject that occurred to me earlier. I wanted to ask about my grandmother and why I hadn't seen her since before the fire.

I didn't have many relatives. My father, 'he who shall not be named', divorced my mother long ago, giving up all custody and visitation rights to my brother and me. According to my mother, he couldn't handle the responsibility of fatherhood. He moved out of state and out of mind. She collected child support but otherwise had no contact with him or any relatives on his side of the family. It was a sore subject.

Then there was my uncle Mick. He'd left his parents, my grandparents, long ago, citing a long list of reasons, but really he just didn't get along with them and wanted to get as far away as possible. So far, he hadn't married and showed no signs of ever doing so. He was another lost cause.

My living male relatives all bailed out of my life and lived well beyond my social radar. Only Mike and my grandfather left any fond memories, though I was too young to remember much about Gramps before he died. That only left Grams.

"Mom? Can we visit Grams tomorrow?"

"No, honey. I'm sorry but I think she's got plans ... a garden show or something."

I'd asked about visiting my grandmother several times since I got out of the hospital but my mother deftly put me off each time. She kept putting me off until her behavior eventually struck me as being evasive. It didn't make sense. Grams retired ages ago. She lived in a small house about 20 miles away, so she should've been more accessible. We normally visited her at least once a month.

"But I haven't seen her since ... well ... you know." I still had trouble mentioning the word 'fire.' "Is something wrong?"

I thought my loving grandmother would've been happy to see me finally escape from the hospital. Mike and I both got along very well with her. We were her only grandchildren, and now I was the last one. So where was she?

My mother suddenly looked like she'd swallowed something very bitter, just before she put her hands over her face and cried.

I quickly slid forward over the cushions towards her to hug her, but the way she hunched over made it awkward, so I resorted to words.

"What is it, Mom? What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?"

When she finally stopped crying, she sniffled a response. "No. You didn't do anything wrong, sweetie."

"Then what?"

She stifled a quick response and sat back on the couch, looking thoughtful. Her silence lasted far too long for comfort though, and my patience wore thin.

"Mom? Talk to me, Mom."

"Sorry, honey. I'm okay. I was just thinking about ... Mike."

"Okay. What does that have to do with Grams?"

"Well ... Mike's death really hit her hard ... hit both of us hard. We cried together a long time when I was staying with her ... you know, until I got this apartment."

"So we should go see her then. She needs us!"

"No, honey," she said in a very quiet voice.

"No?"

"I'm sorry but she can't see you right now."

"What?! Why not?!" That got me crying. The thought of my grandmother rejecting me was too horrible to contemplate.

"I'm not sure if I can explain it, Beth."

"Try!" I pleaded between sobs.

"I think she's afraid. I think she's very afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Confusion momentarily made me forget about crying.

"I'm just guessing, but I think she's afraid of facing Mike's death, and seeing you would be too painful a reminder."

That shocked me. Grams always seemed so strong, like nothing could faze her. She'd even lost her husband, Gramps, with grace from what little I remembered. My mother didn't tell me much about my grandfather's death so I only had my own memories to go on, such as they were.

"Hasn't she been to his grave?" I asked.

"No, honey. She hasn't."

"Oh."

At that moment, I couldn't think of anything worse than being a walking, talking reminder of my dead brother. I imagined myself dressed up as a tombstone and walking in on my grandmother, scaring her half to death.

"Please, Beth. Give her time. She just needs a little time."

My grandma was like, ancient. I didn't know how much time she had left but I imagined it wasn't a lot. I wanted to see her! But I couldn't. I couldn't even if I wanted to. My mother obviously wouldn't drive me. There were no bus routes and I was sure I didn't have enough money for a taxi. I'd just have to wait Grams out and hope she didn't die before I could see her again. I couldn't take another death in the family.

It seemed as though death wasn't handled well in my little family. That wasn't hard to understand though. We only had three members left, one for each generation, and all female. We lost some much needed balance in our lives. Men and boys have their flaws but they left a large void in our family, a void that appeared impossible to fill.

Chapter 29: Blossom and Wither

Spring came early that year, and the new growing season spurred nearly everything on to blossom in one way or another. Only a certain somebody bucked the trend and slowly withered on the vine.

"Come on, Michelle," I said. "Talk to me."

I'd tried everything to get my inner tomboy to communicate. I read over the letter she wrote several times, I set her up to tease me about my growing love for Tracy, and I indulged in some serious ogling of the girls in the locker room. Michelle wouldn't budge.

She crawled around the edges of my mind, edging forward into the light of consciousness and flinching back lest she be burned in some horrible fashion.

I remembered what she'd said about feeling drained after hypnotherapy. She felt like she'd lose a piece of herself after each session, like the therapy was slowly killing her. I thought she was just being melodramatic, though I wondered about it myself. My last therapy session with Doctor Franklin really did hit Michelle hard.

Losing Michelle should've been a good thing. It should've meant that I was getting better. I'd be normal again, though I had to admit I'd miss her a little.

I suddenly heard a giggle then. My inner tomboy finally managed to gather enough energy and nerve to address my latest musings.

"You'll never be normal," she whispered. "Give up." She giggled again.

"You sound awful. Are you okay?"

"What do you think?" she said with a little annoyance.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Just promise me one thing, Beth."

"What's that?"

"Promise you'll never stop sneaking peeks in the locker room." She said, and laughed.

"You're hopeless," I said, smiling.

"Yeah yeah." She lapsed into silence then. I could still sense her so I waited several minutes until I tried again.

"You still there?"

"Yeah. I'm still here. You know what else?"

"What?"

"I noticed you've been peeking at yourself."

"What?!"

"It's okay. Don't get your panties in a bunch. You're getting boobs. That's cool."

"Yeah, well you just leave my boobs out of it," I growled. I'd been very excited to see myself develop, but I didn't feel comfortable discussing it with her.

She laughed a little and faded away.

Michelle had bounced back a little but the fire went out of her. She sounded tired and sick. She must be sick if I couldn't liven her up with all the peeks I'd been sneaking of the girls in the showers. It had taken her several weeks to show up after my last session with Doctor Franklin.

With Michelle substantially weakened, I decided my state of mental health must be pretty good. My psychologist had done a good job on me. So why did I feel so bad?

***

As the weather turned warm, the deck garden showed signs of life, starting first with crocuses, tulips and daffodils in their stacked array of terra-cotta pots before moving on to later flowers. I also planted romaine and red leaf lettuce in a large rectangular planter box that had a water reservoir in the bottom. My mother and I could harvest the lettuce over several months, and we'd add some fresh herbs to serve as the foundation for some tasty salads.

I sat out on the deck in a lawn chair next to my mother one nice Sunday. We'd set aside a little area that just had room enough for two chairs. Plants and their various containers of soil covered the rest.

The two of us inhaled the lovely scents of the flowers and enjoyed the sun on our faces while we occasionally chatted about inconsequential things. I loved it all, but there was something missing.

Since I got out of the hospital a couple months ago, I'd only needed two therapy sessions, and Michelle had only surfaced once after my second session. That was a few weeks ago, when she teased me about peeking at myself.

I thought I'd be able to recharge her and talk to her a little more often, but I was wrong. After all that time, I still couldn't figure her out, and I didn't have much of a chance of doing so if I couldn't talk to her more a little more.

I knew exactly what she didn't like, and what sapped her strength. Hypnosis, Doctor Franklin and overt femininity were the main culprits. I'd try to avoid those subjects when talking with her.

The thing she liked the most had to be shapely girls, preferably with few or no clothes on. She also liked swearing and teasing me. I tried swearing, and I religiously ogled girls. I even flashed myself in the mirror to give her a reason to tease me. Still nothing. I wouldn't give up though. I just had to put it all together.

I thought back to our past conversations and how they started. She frequently teased me but that always came later. Then it hit me. I thought I had it figured out. I thought I knew how to motivate her to talk to me. When my mom and I had a lull in the conversation, I tested my theory.

"Please, Michelle. I really need you. It's been pretty lonely for me. I don't have a lot of friends, and I'm sure you know all about Grams avoiding me." Sadly, it was all true, but I had to bare my soul to get her attention.

And it worked. I could sense her approaching, but she still couldn't be coaxed into the light. I kept trying though.

"I miss you, Michelle. Please talk to me, just for a little while."

"Hi Beth." Again, she sounded weak and tired, but she answered me, and her voice made me smile.

That had to be it. She generally showed up when I most needed her. She was like a protective older sister keeping watch over me. My vulnerability drew her out of hiding.

"Thanks for talking to me," I said.

"Sure," she said.

She didn't offer many words, but she was there for me. I wasn't dishonest when I said I needed her. I just didn't realize how much I needed her until I hadn't spoken to her for so long. We had a nice little chat that was only cut short when I made the mistake of forgetting about the femininity rule. I started talking about all the beautiful flowers in the deck garden and how my mother and I arranged them in vases around the apartment. The somewhat feminine conversation slowed my inner tomboy down, and it ground to a halt after I asked her which flowers she might like me to grow for her.

"Daisies are okay," she whispered, and that's all she said on the subject. Then she faded away again, most likely needing another few weeks of rest before I could call her back for another sisterly chat.

Once again, I found myself thinking of her as a sister in spite of how unhealthy it might be. I wanted to heal and move on after all the tragedy in my life, but I also couldn't help wanting a sister, even if I could only talk to her every few weeks.

Chapter 30: Reunions

My medical checkups continued to show me to be in perfect health, so the doctors reduced the frequency of my checkups from monthly to quarterly. I didn't understand what they hoped to find, or not find. They only told me that whatever strange new therapy they'd performed on me worked slowly, over the span of months and years, so I needed monitoring over that time.

I felt good, physically. I got enough exercise and ate well. My mother noticed and said I had a healthy teenage glow. My body developed nicely that spring, and my mother and I celebrated when I was finally able to fill out my first real bra. I'd graduated from wearing a training bra so we had a private little 'coming of age' party on the weekend.

My mom left me alone for the morning while she collected things for the party. I didn't know why it took her several hours but I shrugged it off and spent the time reading. As long as she came back with vanilla ice cream, I'd be happy.

When she finally got back, she gave me a faint grin and the party started immediately. She turned up the heat, drew the shades and drapes and the two of us removed our tops, leaving only our bras. Then she played an old song on our portable CD player.

I'd never heard of the song before. It was called "I Am Woman" and it was written by two people I'd never heard of: Helen Reddy and Ray Burton. They must be fairly old if I'd never heard of them, but I liked the song, especially the lyrics. It was a special moment.

The festivities continued with soft music playing in the background and a big bowl of ice cream, which I drowned in chocolate syrup. I needed the chocolate to cheer me up. I'd started missing my grandmother again.

I tried to keep a happy face, but I missed Grams terribly at my party. It was a family event, and it was the sort of thing I thought she'd love. I didn't quite understand why she continued to avoid me after so long a time but I respected her wish. I'd continue to wait, and hope she came around soon. My birthday was next month and I didn't know what I'd do if she didn't show up for that.

My mother and I sat at the kitchen table, not really saying much. The music and dessert set the mood well enough that words weren't really necessary. The party wasn't exactly wild but I could almost call it pleasant, until something really wonderful happened.

With my ice cream half devoured, we were interrupted by a knock at the door that made me squeak in surprise and alarm. I didn't like the idea of any strangers seeing me in a bra, and I instinctively held up my hands to hide myself.

"It's okay, Beth," my mom told me, grinning. "I'll get the door."

Well that was odd. She wasn't appropriately dressed either, but I noticed she made no move to cover herself. She did peek through the peep hole but then she opened the door wide. The door blocked my view so I still couldn't see who it was.

"You made it," my mom said. "Good. Come on in. We're right in the middle of ice cream. Would you like some?"

"That sounds lovely," a very familiar voice said. Then the woman who spoke entered and the door shut behind her.

My mouth hung open for a brief moment, just until a certain word came to mind.

"Grams?" I whispered, almost immediately followed by a squeal of joy. "Grams!"

I sprung from my chair and attacked my grandmother with a hug. She came to my party. She came to see me and I couldn't be happier.

We talked a little over ice cream, and my grandma even joined in by removing her top. I got to see two generations of fully developed breasts and I couldn't help comparing sizes. It gave me hope that I'd fill out a lot more before I was finished.

The conversation got livelier and lightened considerably with my mood after that. I became a chat monster. I wanted to ask Grams so much. We'd been apart for so long. But then I noticed my mother giving me a warning glance. I suspected there was one subject that was still taboo so I steered clear of anything having to do with my brother. I stuck to girl talk with my two favorite older girls in the world.

***

"Thanks so much for coming, Grams," I gushed as the party wound down. "It wouldn't have been the same without you."

"You're very welcome, dear," she told me. "I wouldn't have missed this for the world. You're becoming quite the lovely young lady."

I blushed at that, but I loved hearing every word. I loved hearing her. I got my grandmother back and I was on cloud nine.

"Well, Mom," my mother said. "Thanks again. I think you made Beth's day."

I smiled to confirm it and we all shared a group smile. Then we all put our tops back on and piled into the car to take Grams home.

***

On the way back from taking Grams home, I couldn't help thinking about her. Of course seeing her cheered me up, but during my party, we couldn't really discuss any serious current issues. With her back at her house, I could give the matter more thought.

She didn't seem her usual self to me. It wasn't just having to avoid talking about Mike. Her discomfort carried over into her whole visit. She hesitated several times when saying my name, and she gave me some funny looks when she thought I wouldn't notice. My mom must have been right about her. I was a constant reminder of Mike's death. My grandmother's normally strong personality definitely waned during my party, and I know it wasn't caused by any physical health problems. My mother would've told me if that was the case.

So what do I do about it? I worried over that question for many miles until I started feeling a little nauseous. It made me sick to think that my presence could cause Grams any pain. I had to change the subject, before I got any worse.

There weren't many subjects I could think of at the moment that wouldn't lead me back to Mike's death. I had to think long and hard before I stumbled back to the living. There was one thing stronger than anything else I'd never encountered, and that was love.

My relationship with Tracy had been up and down over the past couple months, as we tried to rekindle our friendship. It had been hard on both of us to get know each other. My Swiss cheese memory frustrated both of us. I really wasn't the same girl I'd been before the fire.

I just couldn't find myself. I'd hoped more memories would slowly come back to help me out, but they didn't. There was more to it than missing memories however. Even though I forgot so much, I should've had the same personality, and I should've been comfortable getting back into the same routine, but I couldn't. I could only move forward. The past was gone and I was a new girl.

Tracy and I had our share of fun. We sat together at lunch and shopped at the mall every other weekend or so. We also talked on the phone several times a week, but there was one thing we didn't do that I knew we used to. We didn't go over to each others' house.

I hadn't been inside her house. I couldn't remember ever having set foot in her home, and it bothered a little. One thing bothered me more however. She rarely visited me at my apartment and I know she used to visit quite frequently. I remembered that much.

We lived a lot farther apart now but that was no excuse. I could've walked home from school with her or she with me. Then one our moms could take the visitor home around dinner time or even later if we wanted to eat together. It'd be easy, if we ever decided to start doing it.

I wondered if Tracy held back for some reason. I know I did. I held back because I was afraid of moving too quickly. I was afraid I'd finally give in to my desires and try to kiss her. I knew about crushes and lust. I'd certainly experienced my fair share of such juvenile behavior, but my feelings for Tracy were stronger than that. I knew it in my bones, and my heart. My whole body ached for her. She had me body and soul, if only she'd accept me.

Perhaps she knew about my feelings. Girls were good at sussing out feelings. Had I been too obvious? Did I make her uncomfortable? I couldn't be sure, unless I asked her but I wasn't ready to do that. All I could make myself do was take it slowly. I took everything slowly, and tortured myself with unrequited love.

I accepted at least some of the responsibility for the state of our friendship. It advanced at a glacial pace because that's how I wanted it, even though I wanted so much more. I knew I was attracted to her, and I accepted my feelings for her with dread. I saw no signs that she felt the same way. I didn't think she liked girls the same way I did. If I took things slowly enough, I might never tell her how I feel, and there'll be no chance of rejection. It was safer that way.

I changed direction then, and thought about boys. So far, I hadn't found one I liked. They all seemed too pushy and crude for my taste. I couldn't understand what other girls saw in them, but perhaps I might still find salvation in a boyfriend. Perhaps I just needed to find the right boy. With my faulty memory, maybe I already had and didn't know it. That begged a question.

"Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Have I ever had any crushes I told you about ... you know ... before?"

"Beth!" She gave me a quick goofy smile before turning her attention back to driving. "What brought this on?"

"I dunno," I lied. "I'm just curious I suppose."

"Right." She didn't believe me but she let it go, and I silently thanked her for it.

"So? Got a name for me?"

"Let me see ...," she paused a moment to think. "There was one boy in seventh grade that struck your fancy."

"Struck my what?"

She laughed. "Never mind the phrase. I meant there was one boy you liked."

"Yeah ... and ...?" I prodded with a gleam of hope in my eye.

"His name was Bobby. Bobby Hanson. Whatever happened to Bobby?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe we just had ... irreconcilable differences."

My mother laughed again. "Where did you learn that?"

"I heard it in a movie."

"Right. It figures."

"So I like movies! Big deal!" Grownups could be so condescending. What did it matter if I learned something from a movie? It's possible to both enjoy a movie and learn something from it.

"Anyway", I continued. "I don't remember him at all."

"I figured that." She paused then and got a certain mischievous look that always made me nervous. "Maybe you could look him up and try again."

"Maybe I will," I said, keeping my eyes straight ahead, staring out into space through the windshield. "Maybe I will."

*** to be continued ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.

In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 31: Boy Crazy
Chapter 32: Gaydar
Chapter 33: The Long Coming out
Chapter 34: Birthday Girl
Chapter 35: Heartburn
Chapter 36: Solstice Rendezvous

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 6 of 8

Chapter 31: Boy Crazy

I spent most of my free time on Monday tracking down Bobby Hanson, starting with a quick scan of the yearbook in the library before school started. My yearbook had been lost in the fire so I had to go to the library.

I'd gotten dressed and did my makeup in record time that morning, and then raced to school with 15 minutes to spare, all to see a boy. I must have been insane.

I'd been to the library countless times when students had been wandering about, but never before had it seemed as dull and lifeless as it did that morning with no one around. There were a series of small reading rooms that connected to the main room, but most of the library took up a single large, square room with a stained beige carpet, dirty white walls and a parallel pattern of unpainted wood shelves. Could they make the place any less interesting? It was no wonder that students at my school hated reading. The room cried out for bright colors and a more random pattern of shelving, perhaps closer to a maze, just to make things interesting. Anything would be an improvement, really. The place had no soul.

I suppressed shouting out the unflattering remarks that perched on the tip of my tongue as I riffled through the paper card catalog. I distracted myself by just thinking how sad it was to still have the primitive paper cards in the modern age of computers. It was sad but not surprising given the school's obvious tight budget.

With little time left before my first class, I found the yearbook. The latest one was from last year of course, since the school hadn't yet published one for the current year, so I'd only have a year old picture to go on. That didn't bother me, but the photo would also be very small -- about the size of a postage stamp -- and would most likely be unflattering. Virtually all class pictures were unflattering. I stubbornly continued anyway, and scanned the pages until I found my target, which I found with about five minutes to go. I saw his face and felt completely ... underwhelmed.

The photo of Bobby scored a big zero on the heart flutter scale, but at least it gave me an idea of what he looked like. Seeing him in person and a year older might make a difference, so I kept looking in the hallways, the lunch room, everywhere I went. He might not have even come to school that day but I kept an eye out for him. I had to see if there was any spark between us, if I had any chance of finding someone to distract me from Tracy. I could've easily found another girl that I found physically attractive, but I thought a boy would be a better choice.

I hadn't forgotten about the one major memory conflict that I hadn't confessed to Doctor Franklin. Even after a few months, I still felt a little awkward in the girl's locker room because of my attraction to girls. I'd liked girls for years but I hadn't ever felt awkward in the locker room until I got out of the hospital. It didn't make sense and it scared me more than I liked, whenever I dared give it any thought.

If I found a boy I liked, I thought I might get over my problem. Relief could be just a heart throb away and I could laugh at myself for ever liking girls. It had to be a phase I was going through, and all I had to do was find Bobby and my troubles would be over.

I walked to my English class then, and I tried to lose myself in the wonderful world of words, but I failed. Not even Mrs. Flaherty's loud, annoying voice could break through my wall of thought as I kept thinking about Bobby.

Hunting for boys never proved difficult in a school full of boys, especially when they were just reaching that tender age where girls began to catch their eye, but the idea of hunting for one particular boy stressed me out. There were protocols to follow, lest I be forever attached to the boy before I ever set eyes on him. If I asked around, everyone would think I *liked* him, and we'd be thrown together by the court of public opinion. Just the mere thought of it made me queasy.

I found myself far ahead in English and Bobby constantly invaded my thoughts, so I used the time to brainstorm and come up with a plan to find him.

Waiting to catch a random glimpse of a boy who could've moved and gone to a different school was a brain dead move. I was smarter than that. Looking him up in the school records sounded promising until I realized that I had no idea how or if I could do that. I didn't want to get in trouble, but I needed some source of information.

"Just ask someone," a voice said. It took a few seconds for me to realize that it was Michelle.

"Hey! Hi Michelle."

"Hey. Just ask a boy if he knows where to find Bobby."

"I can't do that. You know. People will think I like him or something."

"Duh. Say you owe him some money or something."

"That's stupid." I couldn't think of any reason why I'd ever borrow money from a boy, especially one that I had trouble finding.

"It was just an example. You need to give some innocent reason why you're looking for him so they don't think you're *after* him."

"Yeah. You're right."

"I know. Now stop worrying and let me rest. You're driving me crazy."

"Sorry! Thanks, Michelle!"

She left as quickly as she popped into my head. I hadn't heard from her in weeks and she only drops in to help me because I'm driving her crazy. That was just like a sister, I thought with a smile.

So my plan was nearly complete. I needed to form an intelligent question and I needed to start asking it.

But why just ask Boys?

"Because girls will see through you like glass!" Michelle sounded like she was shouting from another room. "Now shut up!"

Sheesh. What a grouch.

My inner tomboy pleasantly surprised me. She sounded more energetic than ever, even if she was grouchy. It appeared as though there was hope for her after all, hope for us both.

***

The bell rang to signal the end of third period and I didn't waste any time. I took to wandering the halls during lunch. Food could wait.

"Excuse me," I said to a tall, slender boy drinking at a water fountain.

One boy looked pretty much like all the rest to me, except in terms of height and weight. I noticed that police always described suspects in terms of height and weight so I liked to keep in practice. It always paid to be observant.

The boy looked back at me, waiting for me to finish speaking. It would've been nice if he'd acknowledge me with a word of encouragement, but at least he had the wit to know I had more to say.

"Can you tell me where I can find Bobby Hanson? I'm supposed to pass on a message to him." That seemed innocent enough.

"Never heard of him." With that, the boy stalked off.

Okay then, I thought. Next!

I went on to the next boy, and the next after that, until I came to a tall, athletic looking boy with black hair. He looked a little familiar to me. I thought I remembered seeing him on a sports team, even though it seemed unlikely that I'd have noticed him.

I gave him the same little script and he shrugged. I turned to go then. I thought he was yet another lost cause, but he surprised me.

"Hey," he said. "You're Beth Wagner, right?"

"Yes."

"Oh yeah. I'm sorry about your brother. He was cool."

"Thanks. I was quite upset when it happened but I'm okay now."

"Cool." He paused a short time but he looked like he wanted to say more, so I waited.

"Yeah. You know ... the team misses him. He was a really good shortstop."

So that's where I must have seen this boy. He was on Mike's baseball team.

"I know. Whenever I watch a game and the shortstop makes a good play, I think of Mike." My eyes got a little moist then.

"Hey. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I fended him off and changed the subject before I really did cry. "So what's your name?"

"Oh! Right. I know you but you don't know me." He chuckled. "That's awkward."

Good. He recognized an awkward situation. There might be hope for him.

"So?" I prompted.

"Oh yeah. I'm James. James Weston."

"Nice to meet you James," I said, holding out my hand, which he took and gently shook once.

His name sounded a little pretentious to me. Why James and not Jim or Jimmy? I'd give him the benefit of the doubt though. He seemed harmless enough, and I suddenly wondered whether I just made a new friend.

Chapter 32: Gaydar

I did eventually find Bobby, but not for actually trying. I'd given up on him after I met James. Bobby and I just passed in the halls one day and I recognized him. There was still no spark and I didn't give him a second thought. I was too busy with my new friend.

James and I did hit it off, thanks to my extensive knowledge of baseball and our common memories of my brother. We ended up spending a lot of time together at lunch, and I went to watch him practice and play a few home games.

I found him to be very nice, and a good friend, and though I desperately looked for it, there was still no spark. If anyone would get my attention, I thought it would be someone like James. He was kind, athletic, and got fairly good grades. He wasn't a big dope like so many of the jocks.

Tracy seemed to like James too, and she silently congratulated me when I introduced her to him. I think she thought we were becoming an item.

Not likely, I thought, as I stared at her when she wasn't looking. She still caught my eye like no one else.

I hid my attraction to her very well, but one thing I couldn't hide from her was my lack of attraction to James. James and I were nothing more than good friends and everyone knew it.

"Beth?" Tracy asked me one day when we were alone at lunch. "Are you and James ever going to get together?"

She was so sweet. She tactfully inquired about James and me to make sure I wasn't interested in him, and it was obvious why she did it. She wanted a chance at him, and I suddenly felt sick.

"Beth? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Tracy. I'm fine, and you're right about James. He and I are just friends. He's available."

Her face lit up, just as mine darkened. I knew what was coming next, right after she made sure I wasn't too sick.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "I think I just ate something that disagreed with me. I'll be fine."

"Okay. If you're sure." She looked concerned for a moment, and then I saw the question that I dreaded, forming on her face.

"Well ... will you ask him if he likes me? Please?" she pleaded, as much with her eyes as with her voice.

Of course I couldn't say no to her. I caved in to her right away, though it still took awhile to get an answer from James. It took me a long time to work up the nerve to ask him, and when I finally did, I got quite a big surprise.

"Oh ... right," he muttered, after I'd asked him if he liked Tracy. "You don't know. How could you? It's not something that I generally announce to the world. Some people can't handle it."

I wanted to ask him what he was talking about, but then it hit me. He was like me. I mean ... he was gay.

"Oh," I said in response. "It's okay. I don't mind. Really."

"I kind of figured that," he said with an enigmatic smile.

"Really? Why?"

He ignored my questions and went straight to the heart of the matter. "Does Tracy know how you feel about her?"

I'm sure I stood before my friend with an open mouth and wide eyes, looking like I'd been hit over the head with a large rubber mallet. He knew! Though I suppose I wasn't careful about letting the rest of the world know how much I worshipped Tracy. I wouldn't let her catch me staring at her but as I thought about it, I'm sure James would've noticed. I didn't think to hide it from him.

James didn't wait for an answer. He gently pressed on.

"She doesn't know, does she." It was a statement of fact, not a question.

I shook my head to confirm what he already knew.

"You should tell her, you know," he told me quietly.

I wondered later if his advice was from personal experience or just a guess, but I was too busy freaking out at the time.

"No way!" I raised my voice, and then caught myself. "I couldn't do that."

"She doesn't like girls then?"

Once again, he got it right. I don't know why we were even having the conversation. He didn't need me. I could just crawl away and hide under a rock and he could continue as if nothing happened.

"I'm mostly sure she doesn't," I said, "but I can't help hoping there's still a chance."

"Yeah," he said with a wry grin. "Been there. Done that."

"You?"

He nodded, and he launched into a long discussion about his past. He'd had crushes before, and he'd experienced what he swore was love. When he kept quiet about it, afraid of being a target for the anti-gay crowd, he always regretted it. It ate him up inside.

I could relate to that, but so far, I said nothing. I let him get it all out. We were sharing an important moment.

When he thought back to when he kept quiet about his feelings, he realized something very important. The pain of regret and unrealized potential was much worse than any insults or even beatings. Regret lasted a lifetime, and it wasn't likely -- as long as he didn't go too crazy -- that he'd die if came out to anyone. As long as he only shared his feelings with his intended, life wasn't so bad. Either he'd be rejected and wait for the next potential boyfriend to come along, or he'd find bliss in a relationship, however long such young love could last. It was a much better alternative than to never having tried.

His story moved me nearly to tears, but again, I held off. He got me thinking about my own situation, and I vowed to tell Tracy how I felt -- eventually. I couldn't do it today, and I might not tell her tomorrow, but I wouldn't let me feelings fester too much longer.

After thanking him profusely, we moved on to something else that had me curious.

"So what gave me away?" I asked him.

"Besides the laser beam stares, you mean?" He laughed.

I frowned at first but soon turned it around and smiled. I knew he was just joking around.

"Your short hair and your love of sports made me wonder," he finally confessed.

"My hair is only short because of the accident." I still couldn't say 'fire', but I'm sure he knew what I meant. "I've been growing it out though. It used to be a lot shorter that it is now.

"So you're a lipstick lesbian then?"

"A what?"

He went on to explain the various terms for different types of lesbians, some of which were unflattering and even downright cruel. I could see that he didn't mean any harm though. He just related the facts to me as he knew them.

I knew the word, 'lesbian', but it was nice to have a few other labels to give myself. It made it easier to look things up and find others like me. I wasn't alone, nor would I ever truly be alone. The world was small and large at the same time, shrunken by the Internet and yet filled with so many people that I was bound to find plenty of other girls who shared my sexual preference.

"I'm not too sure about lipstick yet but I guess I'm pretty feminine," I told him.

"Yep," he agreed. "That you are, my friend."

We had a good laugh over that. We'd firmly established that it truly was possible for a girl and a boy to be nothing more than friends, and we were happy with that.

Chapter 33: The Long Coming out

James' words haunted me all the way up to my birthday. I kept looking for a good opportunity to tell Tracy that I liked her but the opportunities never lasted long enough for me to gather enough courage. Needless to say, my lack of resolve frustrated me to no end.

Whenever I got really upset, I'd either have Michelle or James to fall back on. They were both very supportive and encouraging, though I could've done without Michelle's technique of prodding me with teases. Still, their different styles meshed very well, and they left me no choice.

I wouldn't tell Tracy on the day of my birthday, just in case things went badly. I didn't want anything bad to happen on my favorite day of the year. But I made a pledge, and I told both James and Michelle to make sure I wouldn't back out. I'd tell Tracy on the first day of summer. I wouldn't have school or much of anything else to distract me. I'd have no excuses not to tell her.

Of course not having any distractions could prove unpleasant afterwards if Tracy rejected me. I'd be left alone to wallow in self-pity with no homework or anything else to take my mind off things. That didn't bother me though. I thought I'd be strong enough to handle myself. I had to be. I'd made a promise to my friends and myself.

***

"Hi Tracy." I chirped, as she joined me for lunch.

It felt like a great load had been lifted from my shoulders when I decided to confess my love to her.

"You're in a good mood," she said.

"Yep. It's you-know-what day tomorrow, and almost summer, the season of flirty fashion. What could be better?" I flashed her my killer, heart-melting smile. No one could withstand its power.

"Yes, I know what you-know-what day is." She laughed. "You don't have to give me hints."

"That's a relief. I thought I was going to have to tattoo it on my forehead." We giggled, causing a few boys to look our way and shake their heads.

Those poor boys. They felt drawn to girls but they just couldn't relate to us so they often pushed us away with insults and crude gestures. It was no wonder I didn't find them attractive. Unfortunately, I couldn't say the same for Tracy.

With James' permission, I told her he only liked boys, and she took it very well, but she kept looking. Boys were number one on her shopping list and she wouldn't give up. She'd hoped and dreamed to have a boyfriend over the summer.

I never actually told her that I didn't like boys. I just made it plain that I didn't like chasing them, and that didn't go over well with Tracy. I cramped her style, and it frustrated both of us. It also strained our friendship enough that we had to separate for days at a time until we were both in the right mood. Luckily, that mood came along fairly regularly. Girls needed time away from boys to maintain their sanity. They needed a girl's night out.

"So," Tracy started. "You wanna see a movie tonight?"

"Sure!" I replied. Then I started chanting, "G.N.O.!"

Tracy joined my chant for a few rounds, until the boys started shaking their heads again. She cared too much about what boys thought so she got a bit embarrassed. Poor girl.

***

Every time Tracy and I had our little girl's night out, I couldn't stop smiling, and I'm sure my eyes sparkled with love. I imagined us being out on a date since it was always just the two of us. We'd sit in the back of the theater and I'd spend half the movie slowly moving my arm to the back of her seat. When I finally moved my arm to her shoulders, she'd flinch with surprise and then slowly lean into me, sighing with contentment.

It was one of many daydreams I'd had about her. I really needed to tell her how I felt. She drove me crazy.

"You wanna get popcorn?" she asked. "My treat."

"Oh! Sure. Thanks."

She woke me from my current daydream, causing me to look around in wonder, as if seeing the movie theater for the first time that night, which probably wasn't far from the truth.

The theater featured a lot of very popular movies, so it was fairly crowded. Tracy suggested I go ahead to save us seats but I thought we were early enough to get good ones. I didn't want to leave her anyway, so we stood in the long line at the concession stand together, indulging in casual conversation to make up for the coming verbal drought. It was going to be a long movie.

"Hey," Tracy said. "My sister told me something interesting about popcorn in England."

"Oh?"

"She said they sell it with sugar instead of butter."

"Like popcorn balls?"

"I guess," she shrugged her cute little shoulders. "But loose, in a bag or bucket like we get."

"Weird."

"Yeah."

"So, where did she hear that?"

Tracy shrugged again. "I guess from one of her online friends. She chats online a lot."

"Yeah. There's all sorts out there. You never know who you might be chatting with."

"I know," Tracy shivered. "Doesn't it creep you out?"

"Not really," I said, giving her my cool, confident look. "You just gotta be careful and pick your chat rooms carefully."

"I guess."

"I'm pretty good at figuring people out. That helps. And even if someone fakes me out, they can't keep it up for long."

"Yeah," she said, briefly looking up in thought until she had a response. "You're probably right. I imagine it's much easier for nice guys to pretend to be jerks than the other way around."

"Exactly."

We got the head of the line, ordered a small bucket of popcorn and some bottled water, and waited in yet another line to have our tickets checked. With all of that accomplished, we finally headed for one of the zillion shoe box size theaters in the movieplex, and along the way, I thought a little more about online chatting.

I'd started chatting fairly recently. I had a lot of free time since I had so few friends. Chatting gave me a much needed social outlet and staved off the loneliness that always loomed on the horizon. I hadn't made any really close friends, but I had some fairly good casual acquaintances. Thank goodness for computers.

***

We went to see a romantic comedy that received some fairly positive viewer ratings. It wasn't great, but it had some good talking points. It gave Tracy and me something to discuss and laugh about afterwards. We had a good talk while we waited for my mom to pick us up.

When we finally ran out of movie lines to mimic, the conversation turned serious. Tracy confessed that she still got together with Anne and Kathy. That was a big reason why we didn't get together nearly as often.

Having my best friend see the other two girls was cool with me, as long as I still got some quality time with her. I wanted her to have fun, and if that meant joining in a pack to woo the boys, then who was I to stand in the way. I told her my feelings and we hugged, just before my mom arrived. I was in heaven for several seconds, holding my girl in my arms.

Chapter 34: Birthday Girl

"Happy birthday, Beth!" Mom, Grams, Tracy and James all shouted.

It was one of my happiest days since I got out of the hospital. I was sure I glowed. Even Michelle rousted herself for the occasion.

"Happy birthday, kiddo," she said.

"Hey! I'm not a kid! And besides, you're the same age I am. At least I think you are."

"Yeah yeah. It's just a nickname. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

"Hah!"

Michelle was in rare form, and why shouldn't she be. We were past due for a little sisterly chat. Perhaps she'd saved her energy just for my birthday ... wait a minute ... make that our birthday.

"Hey. Happy birthday to you too," I told her.

"About time it sunk into that pretty little head of yours. Have a good party. I'll be around again later for the ice cream and cake."

Oh my. I almost started drooling when she mentioned the traditional birthday dessert. There was nothing better than plain chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream, at least in my mind. I had simple tastes.

After some introductions and small talk, the party proceeded nicely with the giving of gifts. The larger gifts from my mother and Grams were wrapped in bright blue birthday paper with a pink bow and ribbon. I hated to open them. They were too pretty. The smaller gifts came in those little gift bags with handles that everyone used. The bags were cute, even if they were an excuse to cut corners and save time on wrapping.

I shredded the wrapping paper on the larger ones first. That's because I knew what they contained. The fairly flat, rectangular boxes always meant clothes. I might want to wear the clothes for the party so I had to open them first.

As I suspected, I got clothes, and they were beautiful. Grams got me a brown crushed velvet skirt and matching top. The fabric felt so soft and wonderful, I couldn't wait to try them on -- but I had to. I had to open my mom's gift, and when I did, everyone gasped.

I pulled out a blue satin party dress with spaghetti straps. It was the most beautiful dress I'd ever seen, and the hem length was so short. I couldn't believe she got it for me.

"Thanks, Mom!" I cried.

I couldn't stop myself then, and everyone laughed when I ran to the bedroom to slip it on. I didn't think it was funny though. I had to look my best at my party, and that dress was the prettiest outfit I owned.

I came back walking on the balls of my feet, like I was wearing high-heeled shoes. I didn't have any shoes that matched my new dress but there was no way I'd let that stop me from wearing it.

"We can get you some shoes this weekend," my mom told me after noticing how I was walking.

I just mouthed the words, "Thank you." I was too choked up to speak at that moment.

Choosing the next gift to open presented a problem. I wanted to save the best for last, having a good idea what Tracy would be giving me, but I also didn't want her to feel slighted. We were supposed to be best friends so it wouldn't look good if I pushed her to last. There was one plus to opening her gift next at least. I'd get it that much sooner. The only thing I needed to do was find an excuse to push James to last. I didn't want him to feel slighted either.

I thought about my dilemma for a minute or so, but I soon had it solved. I'd been lucky in choosing to open Gram's present first. I told everyone I was going in reverse order by age. Tracy was older than James so James had to go last. It was perfect.

My hands trembled slightly as I lifted Tracy's gift bag and peeked into it. I saw a jewelry case and my heart skipped a beat. It had to be the bracelet. It just had to.

I reached in, pulled out the case and ever so slowly opened it. Then I opened my eyes that I'd shut tightly right after I peeked into the bag, and I saw it. She got me a friendship bracelet, just as I hoped she would.

I started breathing again, taking in a big lung-full of air. Then I hugged Tracy and fought off the tears that threatened to run away with my mascara, and I briefly wondered why women wore mascara when they cried so easily. It was just asking for a mess.

Tracy endured my hug for longer than she was comfortable, and when I finally pulled back, she was blushing.

"Oh," I said, feeling a little embarrassed myself. "Sorry. I'm just really really happy you got it for me." Of course I didn't tell her the whole truth, but half was enough for the moment.

"I got that," Tracy said, smiling.

I slipped on my new bracelet and quickly looked for James' gift bag next. I picked it up and peeked in to see what had to be a perfume bottle.

"Cool!" I shrieked.

In my quest for femininity, I'd completely missed that little detail.

I pulled out a bottle of something called Oni. I'd never heard of it, but when I took a whiff, it smelled sweet, like a mixture of honey and vanilla. It was divine.

"Thanks, James! This is great." Then I suddenly had a memory of a conversation I'd had with him last week.

"That's why you asked me about scents!" I accused him.

He held his hands up. "No way! You got it backwards. Talking about scents last week was what gave me the idea for the perfume."

"Oh. Right. Nice save," I said, just before sticking out my tongue at him, making him laugh.

I sprayed a little Oni on the inside of my left wrist, rubbed my two wrists together and cautiously sniffed. I had to see if the perfume was compatible with my body chemistry. I did know enough to check for that. Some perfumes smelled great by themselves but didn't always mix well with everyone's unique body odor.

Luckily, my new perfume passed the sniff test. It smelled even better on my wrist.

"It's perfect!" I gushed.

So there I sat, bubbling over with enthusiasm with my "mostly" completed party outfit. I missed having high-heeled shoes, but I could live without the shoes for the time being because it was time for the last phase of the party. The vanilla scent of my perfume reminded me of a certain flavor I'd been drooling over earlier.

"Okay!" I shouted. "Who wants cake and ice cream?"

"I do!" they all shouted back, and we raced to the kitchen table.

My mom had to go through the usual birthday ritual first of course. She lit 14 candles and they all sung happy birthday to me. I made a silent wish about Tracy, blew out the candles and the rest of the day was pleasant history.

The chocolate cake and vanilla ice cream went down well. My favorite birthday dessert made a nice end to a great party, even though Michelle didn't manage to speak to me again. I could sense her presence while I ate my cake and ice cream but I guess all the feminine gifts I got put her off.

Only one thing could've made the party better, and that was if Mike could've lived to celebrate along with me. It was really the only gift I wanted but I gladly accepted the others.

Chapter 35: Heartburn

The rest of the few weeks leading up to the first day of summer were filled with anxiety and heartburn. Actually, it was my anxiety that led to the stomach acid problems. My mom fixed the heartburn easily enough with antacid tablets. The same couldn't be said for my anxiety.

Life dealt me a one-two punch that June. First I had to suffer through finals at school. The studying and cramming took its toll on my nerves, but in the end, I did about as well as usual. I got my A in English and A's and B's in the rest of my classes. I even got an A in Math. Michelle had to be happy.

I very briefly breathed a sigh of relief after school ended for the year, and I spent the rest of my free time worrying about my impending confession of love to Tracy. I couldn't get a break.

I desperately sought clues to how she'd respond to me when I told her how I felt. She'd blushed when I hugged her for the friendship bracelet at my birthday party. Did that mean she liked me more than a friend? If so, why give me a bracelet for friendship? I thought the best loving relationships were built on a foundation of friendship so I still refused to give up hope, and I couldn't help but be anxious.

There were other clues about how Tracy might react, and my mind insisted on putting a positive spin on all of them. I wasn't doing myself any favors though. If Tracy rejected me, I'd be ill equipped to deal with it.

"Hey Beth."

"Hey Tracy."

"Did you get new shoes for your party dress?"

"Oh. Yeah. They're nice." I only half paid attention to her. My head was in the clouds as I daydreamed about holding her in my arms and kissing her silly.

"And did your mom grow a hundred pound watermelon on your deck garden yet?" she teased.

"Yeah," I said, still not really listening. "Sure."

"Beth!" Tracy suddenly shouted, snapping me out of it.

"What?! What is it?"

"You were practically drooling." She laughed.

I blushed. "Was not. I was thinking."

"I don't know. You looked like you were drooling but I hope I'm wrong ... because you know what they say."

"Huh? No. What do they say?"

"Girls rule. Boys drool." She laughed again, and I smiled. She had such a lovely laugh.

"Ha ha. It is to laugh. You and your silly phrases."

"You like them." She said and then stuck out her tongue at me.

That got me daydreaming again. She said boys drool. Does that mean she didn't like boys? And she stuck her tongue out at me. What did that mean? Dang. That made me blush. I was definitely smitten.

***

In the last few days leading up to the summer solstice, James gave me several pep talks. They sounded more like something I imagined a coach would give his players, but I know my friend meant well, and he did help give me the strength to make it to my self-appointed moment of truth. He was a good friend.

Most of the time, we phoned each other, but on one particular evening, he dropped by my house to see me.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey yourself." I gave him a faint smile as I let him in.

"Now now. You can do better than that."

He was wrong, so he tried something else. He looked up and rubbed his chin, as if deep in thought. "I could try tickling you."

"You do and you'll be sorry," I growled. I hated being tickled, even when Tracy had tried it once. If I couldn't handle her doing it, I wouldn't let anyone try.

"Okay okay. How about a massage then? Seriously, Beth. You look way too tense."

"You know massage?"

"Sure ... a little. I mean, I've had several massages. They're great."

He gave me his best wise man's look and started lecturing me. "Massage is an important part of sports therapy. A player has to stay relaxed to play well."

I nodded at that. It matched my experiences playing volleyball in P.E. class. Even when I'd lunged for a dig, if I tensed too much, I couldn't properly absorb the power of the spiked ball and it would go flying out of everyone's reach.

"Besides," he added, "you can't stay tense the whole game or your body will explode." He winked and we both laughed.

I was still concerned though, and I let him know it. Having a massage and giving a massage were two different things.

"Don't worry," he told me. "I've had enough massages to know the basics. I won't hurt you."

I eventually agreed to the massage since I could stop him quickly enough if I didn't like it. So I laid on my stomach on my bed and my body melted under the care of his strong hands. It felt very good, and it did relax me, so much so, I fell asleep.

"Hey! Wake up, sleepy head," he said as he gently shook me awake.

"Huh? Oh. That felt wonderful. Thanks."

We parted that day for the last time that summer vacation. I'd be alone to face Tracy while he went off to some sports camp until late August. He wished me good luck and hugged me good-bye, and when he did, he almost made me wish I was straight -- almost.

"Whatever happens," he said over his shoulder as left my apartment, "remember ... it won't kill you."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered under my breath, too quiet for him to hear.

"I'll call you the evening of the solstice to see how it went! Bye!" he shouted from across the parking lot of my apartment complex, and then he was gone.

Chapter 36: Solstice Rendezvous

On the Sunday morning of the solstice, I'd never been more nervous, and my stomach was full of dancing butterflies. I chewed several antacid tablets, catching the eye of my mother.

"Are you okay, Beth?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'm just nervous about ... something."

"Oh? Care to tell me what it is?"

"No ... well ... maybe later. Is that okay?"

"Sure, sweetie," she said, trying not to look hurt. "Just please don't forget that I'm here for you, whenever you need me."

"I won't forget. Thanks, Mom."

She still didn't know about my sexual preference. I hadn't worked up the nerve to tell her, but I'd think about telling her later. I had other more pressing matters on my mind.

I left the apartment and started the long walk to meet Tracy. I wanted to walk to get rid of some of my nervous energy. I also wanted to arrive early and rehearse my little speech, so I gave myself two extra hours. That's how nervous I was.

The first part of my two part speech covered my coming out. I thought I'd try one thing at a time. If she was still with me after that, I figured I'd still have a chance. If she ran away after I told her I was a lesbian, then she didn't have to ever know how much I really loved her. I'd have to be content with friendship, assuming I could salvage it.

The second part of my speech wasn't finished yet. I couldn't decide how to tell her how much I loved her, and it gave me fits. Every attempt sounded either too corny or too blunt. I considered borrowing from the great works of love poetry that I'd read through for inspiration, but none of those poems quite said how I felt. I wanted my words to be both passionate and original. I wanted them to be perfect for the moment. After that, it was all up to Tracy.

As I walked, the only thing I could decide was to keep it simple. If I tried to get too fancy, I'd trip over my tongue. I strove for what I liked to call simple elegance, and I hoped I'd find the right words in time.

***

I'd gotten Tracy to agree to meet me at one of my favorite places in the whole world. It was a large park with an activity center, some ball fields, and a large wilderness area. The wilderness consisted of a stand of trees at the far end of the park and the rest consisted of a large field with a long boardwalk path that skirted around the edge of a wetland. It would be easy to find a secluded spot to be alone with her, and it would be neutral ground in case things ended badly.

I walked onto an extension of the boardwalk that overlooked a large bunch of cattails and sat on the wooden bench that faced them. There, I fussed over words while I waited for Tracy, but it was a very short wait.

"Beth?" It was my best friend's voice, but it didn't quite register right away. I had trouble separating it from the daydream that I'd fallen into.

"Huh? Tracy? What are you doing here already?"

"Duh! I like it here," she said, walking over and plopping down next to me on the bench.

I tried not to panic but I wasn't ready for her. My stomach churned and my tongue tied itself into a huge knot before I could utter even one word. I was doomed.

"So why are you here so early?" she asked after several precious seconds ticked away. Then she stared at the cattails, waiting for a reply.

"I ... I was nervous." I finally croaked, after I remembered to breathe.

"Yeah? Well ... don't be," she said, smiling but still staring at the cattails.

I nodded but waited another impossibly long minute before I dared speak. I waited and watched the cattails along with her, all while keeping her visible in the corner of my eye.

"I guess you're wondering why ...." I choked, unable to continue for the moment.

"Goodness, Beth. Relax. I'm not going to bite you."

She certainly sounded relaxed, and I envied her.

"You caught me by surprise. Sorry." The words suddenly got easier for me, but that was only because I hadn't started my unfinished speech yet. I wanted to ease my way into it, and gain at least a little confidence first.

"It's okay. And that was good. You're doing better." She kept smiling and staring out ahead of her.

Not having her look at me made things easier. I just hoped she didn't turn to look at me at a crucial moment in my speech. I was afraid my heart would stop if she did.

"Nice weather, huh?" I ventured.

"Yeah. It's summer. Duh." She giggled and I joined in a little.

"I love this park," I said with a sigh. I'd tested the waters by saying the magic four-letter word. So far, so good.

"Me too," She agreed.

"You know what else I love?" My speech flew right out the window, caught fire and exploded, along with my heart. I had to express myself as soon as possible or I'd seize up and the men in white coats would have to be called to carry me away.

"Hmmmm?" She prompted, still mercifully looking away from me.

"Girls."

"Girls?"

"Girls. I'm a lesbian, a lipstick lesbian ... to be specific."

"Yeah," she said, still smiling and still fascinated by the cattails. "I kind of figured that."

"You did?!" I almost turned to face her. Luckily, I held back. I had to because I knew if I faced her, she'd turn to look at me, and I was sure I'd choke on my words again if she did that.

"It's pretty easy to tell, and it's not a big deal. I know all about James and I'm friends with him. Right?"

"Well ... yeah." Dang. I should've seen that, but I guess I was too worried to think straight.

"There's more," I warned, though I actually started to feel hopeful. My stupid rational mind calculated 50/50 odds by this point. Tracy seemed so casual about homosexuality. I was positive that she was attracted to boys but there was still the possibility she could be bisexual.

"Okay. Just spit it out. Who's the lucky girl?"

That stopped me cold. She knew! She knew I was going to tell her that I loved a girl. But was she teasing me? Didn't she know I was going to confess to her? I couldn't tell. I wanted to read her mind so badly I could taste it.

"Don't you know?" I stalled for time, and clues.

"Not exactly," she teased again, still smiling and still looking away from me.

Okay. I gave up by then. My nerves couldn't take any more. I turned to face her, and I confessed everything.

"It's you, Tracy. We started on shaky terms, but over the past several months, you stuck by my side, in spite of all of my weirdness. You were a true friend, and you slowly grew to mean more and more to me. I love you, Tracy."

"What?!" she suddenly shrieked, and she jerked her head to stare at me with disgust. "Ewww! No! I ... I can't. I thought you liked .... Ewww!" With that, she launched herself from the bench and her feet thumped out a fading staccato rhythm along the boardwalk and out of my life.

"So much for simple elegance," I said to a large green dragonfly, hovering over the nearest cattail.

*** to be continued on Monday ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.

In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Thanks to Puddin' for a little editing of this chapter.

Chapter 37: Heartbreak
Chapter 38: Lifestyle Choice
Chapter 39: My First Boyfriend
Chapter 40: Normal Life
Chapter 41: Two Years Later
Chapter 42: Meltdown

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 7 of 8

Chapter 37: Heartbreak

I couldn't see very well walking home from the park. I only remembered seeing an occasional familiar landmark, blurred by tears. I saw just enough to know that I headed in the right direction.

Michelle made an appearance somewhere along the way, and she tried to help.

"Beth?" she said quietly. "At least now you know. Right?"

"Not helping," I muttered.

"Come on, Beth. There'll be other girls. You'll see."

"Still not helping," I growled. In fact, she started to get on my nerves. I knew she meant well, but there was nothing she could say that would help. I needed a hug. I needed physical contact to show that someone still cared about me. I didn't need words.

Michelle didn't take the hint, and she went too far. She pushed too hard.

"I tried to tell you she didn't like girls," she said. "I knew she didn't. Why didn't you listen to me?"

"You're really not helping!" I screamed out loud, and with a lot of sudden anger.

That surprised me. I wasn't just sad, I felt angry about Tracy's reaction. There were zillions of better ways she could've handled the situation. She could've at least tried to let me down more easily. Instead, she verbally slapped my face, and it seriously pissed me off. The sadness and self-pity would be welcomed back later, after the anger wore off.

Michelle wisely cringed back into a far corner of my mind, giving me a chance to cool off. Unfortunately, I didn't have a convenient means to so. A verbal punching bag would've come in very handy at that moment, but as it was, I had to settle for some brisk exercise. The walk wouldn't work as well but I'd planned on supplementing it with a few choice swear words. I had to improvise.

After I collected myself and got my bearings, I realized that I stood in front of a house with nothing but my raw anger and a frightened looking elderly man holding a large watering can. I could tell by the dripping water that he'd been watering some hanging baskets on his front porch. He forgot about his flowers though, and instead, stared at me with his mouth hanging open.

"Sorry!" I snapped at him, not sounding at all apologetic, before quickly turning and stomping off towards home.

***

With my anger left several blocks behind, I tried to sneak to my bedroom when I got home, but my mom intercepted me before I'd quietly shut the front door. Mothers always seemed to sense when something was wrong. Hurt feelings attracted them like a magnet.

"Beth? Honey? What happened?"

I couldn't speak. Instead, I stumbled forward. I sobbed and clung to her, smearing her blouse with mascara. I thought about pulling back to minimize the damage but she held me tight. She ignored the mess and focused on the more immediate concern. Crying my eyes out was more important. I'd cry myself out and then I could figure out how to tell her what happened.

As far as I could tell, she still didn't know about my sexual preference, and I wasn't sure I wanted to tell her -- ever. I imagined she'd be extremely disappointed in me somehow, and that would be the worst kind of punishment, even worse than getting spanked or grounded. I couldn't live with myself if I disappointed her. I couldn't live with the shame.

I was sure she'd be upset about the prospect of not having grandchildren. I didn't think that there might be ways other than having a husband. I could only think of myself with another girl. We'd be childless but we'd have each other, and we'd be happy.

By the time I grew to adulthood, my mother would most likely know I was a lesbian, but I didn't think much about that. I lived in the present. My aching heart wouldn't let me dwell on anything other than Tracy's absence and the shame I felt about being a lesbian.

***

In the early evening of the solstice, the sun still hung far above the horizon, and by then, my mother had gotten a half truth out of me. I'd told her that Tracy and I had a very ugly fight, and that I wasn't sure if I'd ever see my former best friend ever again.

My mom didn't have much to say about that. She just nodded sadly and led me out to the deck garden. We picked a little lettuce and some herbs and then shared some tears over a quick dinner. We didn't say much. I still much preferred physical contact to words at that point, and my mother instinctively knew it.

We finished picking at our salads and sat on the couch, leaning against each other and basking in the silence. She slung an arm around my shoulders and we snuggled together. It was the only thing that offered me any comfort.

The two of us sat together until just before sun set. I could tell the sun was setting because of the warm orange glow that lit up the room in place of any artificial lighting. I would've liked to sit there with her forever, but my buzzing cell phone intruded and demanded my attention. It was James calling, just like he said he would.

I got up to take the call in the privacy of my bedroom. My mother nodded her acceptance and let me pour my heart out to my only remaining friend.

"Okay. I can tell by your voice that it didn't go well," he told me. "I'm so sorry, Beth."

"Thanks," I said with a sniffle. "It was a disaster."

"What happened?"

I told him about the conversation leading up to my confession. He added a noise here and there to show he was listening, and he agreed it sounded promising. That's what made the last part so horribly heartbreaking. Then, when I told him how she reacted to my feelings for her, he changed gears and got a little angry.

"But she sounded cool with it ... with us!" he shouted.

"I know! She was cool ... before. I don't know what happened."

We talked awhile but we didn't figure anything out. We just ultimately decided that everybody was different. No surprise there, but he did surprise me with an interesting question.

"What will you do if she comes back and apologizes?"

"I hadn't thought about it. Do you think she might?"

"She handled the idea of homosexuality well enough when it was someone else. Maybe she just needs to get used to the idea that another girl could find her attractive."

"Yeah," I sighed. "That'd be nice. I'd hope she'd see it as being flattering."

"Exactly."

We talked for nearly an hour that night, though we didn't talk long enough as far as I was concerned, and it frustrated me that I could only talk to him and not have a hug along with it. I wanted both. I wanted to be held and talk out my feelings, but I couldn't do both with either James or my mother. I could only talk with James or find some measure of comfort in my mother's arms.

After he hung up, I got ready for bed and thought some more about how I'd handle Tracy if she decided she wanted to stay friends with me. If she apologized, I was sure I could forgive her, but things would be awkward for both of us afterwards. I'd have to always be careful about what I said, and I didn't think we'd be doing any hugging ever again. I hoped I could handle just being friends with her.

Chapter 38: Lifestyle Choice

June slipped by along with most of July, and my situation hadn't changed. Tracy avoided me and James rarely had the opportunity to call me. His remote sports camp kept him very busy. He tried to explain that the camp kept everyone isolated so they could better focus on sports, but it still upset me. I felt abandoned, and I fell further and further into a deep depression.

My mother helplessly watched as I lost my zest for life. She tried everything, even a surprise visit to see Grams after a little shopping. It should've been a great day, but it didn't work. That didn't stop her from trying though. She continued to chip away at me as we drove back from my grandmother's house.

"Please, Beth," my mom pleaded. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I replied, staring out the passenger window. I'd stubbornly refused to say anything. I was still sure it would just make things worse if I told her about Tracy rejecting me.

We didn't go straight home. Instead, we stopped at the store for some flowers so I knew what that meant. I actually looked forward to it too. Even in my sorry state, I wouldn't miss my weekly trip to my brother's grave.

***

We parked and slowly zigzagged along the concrete paths. My mom didn't say anything though, and she didn't stay long. She put her hand on my shoulder and gently pressed down to show I could stay. Then she walked back to sit in the car. I figured she wanted to leave me alone with Mike, hoping he could "talk" some sense into me. I usually did feel better after our little weekly chat.

"Hello Mike. I still miss you." I sniffled a little and paused.

I listened to sprinklers while I waited for a little inspiration, but they only reminded me of the tears that threatened to dampen my cheeks.

"I wish you were here. I wish you could really talk to me. I really need someone to talk to."

Only the sprinklers chattered, and I had to force myself to remember that Mike would never be coming home again. I had to change the subject.

"So what's it like to be dead? I hope it's peaceful at least."

I stood a moment more, letting my morose thoughts guide me forward. He couldn't come to me, but there were always alternatives.

"I wonder if you're lonely though. I wonder if you wouldn't mind some company. Would you like that?"

If he could only say one word in death, and that word was "yes", I was very sure that I'd have done as he wanted at that moment. I'd have taken my own life and ended the pain and loneliness that suffocated me. I'd have finished the job that Tracy's rejection had started, and all my problems would be gone.

I'd never contemplated suicide before. I'd been through a lot, but never had I dipped so low, and it scared me. Luckily, that fear snapped me out of my mood. I looked around and staggered back to the car, crying the whole way.

"Beth? Honey?" My mom tried.

"Please, Mom. Call Doctor Franklin. I'm overdue for a little therapy."

***

"So there's another memory conflict that you hadn't told me about?" Doctor Franklin asked.

"Yes, and it's a whopper. I didn't think it'd matter but I was wrong. Please. You've got to help me."

That afternoon, in my psychologist's office, I spilled everything about Tracy, my sexual preference and my discomfort in the showers. I hoped that if my conflict was resolved, it might also fix my problem with Tracy. My problem stemmed from my attraction to girls, so I wanted to be free of it. I wanted to date boys and be normal.

"Oh, Beth. It's not that simple. It isn't possible to change a person's sexual preference."

"But I used to have a crush on boys. I know I did. My mom told me I used to like Bobby Hanson in 7th grade. Maybe I'm supposed to like boys and this conflict just has me confused."

"Possibly ...." The doctor paused a moment in thought, and that gave someone else a chance to speak.

"Beth?" A voice whispered.

It took me a few seconds to realize that it was Michelle. That was unheard of. She hated Doctor Franklin.

"What?" I asked my inner tomboy and sister with slight annoyance. I hadn't heard from her since I screamed at her after Tracy rejected me. I really needed someone to talk to and she hadn't been there for me.

"Please, Beth. Don't do this. Leave. Now."

"I need help!" I hissed. "And I'm going to get it."

"I beg you, Beth. Don't let her hypnotize you. Please."

"What else do you suggest? I can't keep living like this. I won't!"

I heard Michelle scuttle back into the shadows. She knew she couldn't stop me, so she retreated and waited to see how she fared after the session. I hoped she'd still be around but I wouldn't count on it. I didn't care though. I needed my last mental leak plugged and, with Doctor Franklin's help, I'd succeed.

As predicted, my psychologist wanted to hypnotize me, and I agreed. She started her little procedure then, and I thought I heard Michelle's voice.

"Good-bye ... Sister," she said, just before I entered my trance.

***

I didn't remember much of the hypnotherapy session. All I remember is feeling a little better afterwards, and something seemed different about me, but I couldn't tell what it was. I soon found out though.

My next trip to the mall with my mother gave me some clues. I noticed a few girls from school that I thought were attractive, but I also felt something new. I felt a cold shiver in addition to some attraction. It disturbed me quite a bit.

Boys were my next clue. I saw a short, slender boy who reminded me of Bobby Hanson and I suddenly felt all warm and tingly. Was I attracted to boys? Doctor Franklin mentioned the possibility of being bisexual. Maybe I just needed time to give boys a chance, and I needed to find the right boy. Cool!

I went back for several more therapy sessions that summer, and by the time high school rolled around, I was ready to do some serious boyfriend hunting. I also started daydreaming about getting a husband and having children. I planned on naming my first son, Mike, and my first daughter, Michelle. I thought that would be a fitting way to remember my brother and imaginary sister.

About two weeks before school started, I had my very last session and Doctor Franklin warmed my heart with a sweet, motherly chat. She warned me to be careful of boys. She told me to be certain to get to know them very well before dating them. They'd be on their best behavior to try to impress me and it wouldn't be good to fall for one that seems good at first but really wasn't.

I thanked her and said good-bye for what I hoped would be the last time. I finally felt like everything would be okay. I'd finally have a normal, happy life.

Chapter 39: My First Boyfriend

My first year of high school started and I couldn't have been more excited. High school was so much better than Johnson Middle School. Any school was better.

The campus layout was beautiful. The buildings nestled amongst small stands of trees with only a couple open areas for sports fields. There was also a pool. That sounded like fun. I could wear a swimsuit and better show off my growing curves. I was pleased to note that I was taking after Mom and Grams.

I quickly settled into a routine, getting on good terms with the teachers in all my favorite subjects. I made sure to sit in the front and make good eye contact. I also raised my hand frequently to answer questions. I didn't care if anyone called me a teacher's pet. I'd worry about friends later.

I still had James as a friend. He'd gotten back from his sports camp a couple weeks before school and we'd gotten together several times. He'd seemed a little confused at first though. We had some issues to work out.

"I'm so sorry about Tracy," were the first words out of his mouth when I went over to his house.

I shrugged. "It's okay now. Really. I'm so over her."

"Really?" He looked puzzled. "You seemed so depressed."

"Yeah. I saw my shrink. She straightened me out."

"Oh? What did she have to say?"

I explained about the memory conflicts I'd had and how she used hypnotherapy to help me out. He listened attentively but still looked doubtful.

"You can't just change your sexual preference, Beth."

"I know that. Doctor Franklin told me all about it. But I wasn't sure if I used to like boys before the fire. I could've just been confused."

"I don't know ...," he trailed off.

"She also said I could be bisexual. That's a possibility. Isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Don't worry," I said with a glint in my eye. "You're still not my type."

"Oh, thanks," he said with mock disappointment, and we laughed over it.

***

I ended up spending a lot of my free time in the library. It was so much nicer and more colorful than the one at my middle school. It also attracted the type of boy that kept catching my eye. I didn't go for the athletic types, like James. I had my sights set on short, slender boys who appreciated academics more than sports. I hung out in the library because it was the refuge of the geeks.

Several weeks into school, I had several chances to lure a few boys I liked, but I had a little problem. I had to contend with the librarian and her strict policy of absolute silence. The only way to get around the rule was to write notes. So that's what I did, and I wrote a lot.

The responses I got weren't very long or satisfying, but I had fun. Even if I couldn't find a boyfriend right away, I still got writing practice, and I had the thrill of subverting the rules. I wasn't a bad girl by any stretch of the imagination. I just liked to think I was.

***

September rolled quietly into October before I had my first real chance at a boy, and it was good that things were progressing as fast as they were. I was anxious to get a boyfriend before Tracy's birthday on the 12th. I wanted to sit with him and make sure she saw him. I hoped a boyfriend would make it possible to get her back as a friend. I still really missed her.

I was sitting in the library during my lunch hour, thinking about Tracy when a certain boy walked in and made me forget all about her. I didn't think it'd be possible, but this was no ordinary boy. It was Bobby Hanson.

He went over to sit with a couple other boys that I'd recently flirted with and I couldn't take my eyes off of him. It was love at first sight.

Before I knew what I was doing, I walked over to his table and stood there until I got his attention, which took all of two seconds. Then I gave him a come hither motion with my index finger, turned and left the library.

I didn't look to see if he followed, though I desperately wanted to. I just listened to the sounds of my footsteps and my wildly beating heart, threatening to burst from my chest.

I kept going until I got to an exit, but I didn't stop. I opened the door and was pleased to hear someone catch it just before it closed. Someone followed me.

I walked around outside until I found a spot away from windows and prying eyes. It wasn't hard to find privacy because it had gotten fairly cold outside. Not many students other than the athletes on the playing fields braved the cold. I was a little chilly, but my growing excitement kept me warm enough.

When I got to my destination, I turned, and there he was. Bobby had followed me. He looked a little confused, curious, and remarkably delicious, but before he could ask what I was up to, I stepped forward and planted a big kiss on his lips.

He squeaked a little but soon returned the kiss. Boys were so easy.

We finally came up for air and he spoke first. I was too busy eyeing him like a piece of meat.

"Wow, Beth. What was that for?"

He knew my name and it flattered me. I smiled.

"I had a crush on you back in 7th grade and I still like you ... a lot. I was hoping we could go out."

I tried to stay cool but my heart raced, and I sighed. The closer I got to a boy I liked, the warmer I got and the more I tingled. I felt a strong urge to hug and snuggle him forever. Doctor Franklin had warned me to be careful and take it slow but I ignored her advice. I felt like I had the situation well in hand.

I certainly did a much better job of staying calm than he did. I'm sure he would've stammered and blushed the rest of the lunch period if I didn't take his hand and lead him back inside. I didn't want my first boyfriend to catch cold. I had too many plans, first and foremost of which involved trolling for my former best friend. I wanted her back.

***

Bobby and I spent a lot of time together over the next few days so I could get him up to speed on my relationship rules. We exchanged cell phone numbers and he had to make sure to call me every weekday evening after dinner. We'd talk for a minimum of one hour and keep in touch to make plans for getting together on weekends.

For school, my rules included holding hands whenever we were together. He didn't have a problem with that, but he did have a problem with my kissing rule. So did the school. I figured that as long as we were together, he was fair game for a random kiss at any time. It was part of my plan to get Tracy back as my best friend. If she saw my boyfriend and me kissing, I figured she wouldn't feel threatened by me any more. Unfortunately, the school had a strict policy forbidding most displays of public affection.

I thought that as long as I made it a quick kiss on the lips, no one would say anything. It was really only the long, deep French kisses that made anyone uptight. I thought it a bit prudish but I could wait. I'd never French kissed before anyway. I wouldn't want to do it publicly unless I had some practice first, to make sure I did it well.

Bobby and I were always to sit together at lunch. That was another obvious rule, though he protested a little about it until I easily shut him up. I just kissed him and he lost the ability to speak for 10 or 15 minutes.

We were sitting at lunch one day and I was tempted to kiss him with a mouthful of apple when I suddenly realized something important that I'd missed. I'd been so wrapped up in my feelings and needs that I neglected to recognize that I'd given up my first kiss. A girl's first kiss should be special and memorable, and I got a little upset.

"What? What is it, Beth?" Bobby asked me.

"You wouldn't understand," I said, sniffling a little. At least he noticed I was upset.

He shook his head at my reply and I thought that was cute. It also made me feel superior. He didn't have a clue what was going on in my head and I preferred it that way. I could control him better if I didn't tell him everything.

We resumed our lunch and I went back to thinking about my first kiss, but I decided it wasn't so bad after all. Leading Bobby outside on a little mystery trip was cute and creative. The more I thought about it, the more I liked it. The power of being able to lead a boy around appealed to me too.

All I had left was to get Tracy to notice my relationship and I'd be set. I didn't go looking for her. I didn't want the kissing and hand holding to look staged. I hoped she'd be watching over the span of several days to see that I was serious. Only then would she come back to me.

Chapter 40: Normal Life

"What are you up to, Beth?" Tracy asked. She'd snuck up behind Bobby and me as we walked down the hall.

"Huh? Oh! Hi Tracy. This is my boyfriend, Bobby. Bobby, this is Tracy. She used to be my best friend but we had a ... disagreement."

"Disagreement?" Tracy said, slightly raising her voice. She sounded ready to explode, but at least I finally got her attention.

"Bobby?" I said. "Please go on ahead to the library. I'll meet you there later. I want to have a little girl talk."

"Okay. Sure." He scampered off and I wondered if he wasn't too pleased about leaving me behind. I'd have to think about letting him free one or two days a week. It would do me some good too. It would give me more time for things like girl talk.

"Okay. He's gone," Tracy said. "Now will you tell me what's going on?"

"What do you mean? I have a boyfriend. What's so hard to understand?"

"But I thought you loved me?" she asked.

"I thought I did. But that was months ago after you really hurt my feelings. You made me feel like crap. I certainly couldn't love you after that."

It was true. I searched my feelings and came up empty. I felt a little physical attraction to her but then a cold shiver interrupted that attraction.

"I'm sorry about that," she said in a small voice. "But what about girls?"

"What about them?" Her question got me a little angry. I didn't like discussing the subject in the halls where anyone might happen by and hear.

"Well ... I thought you only liked girls."

I looked around but didn't see anyone, so I let Tracy have it.

"I do! I do like girls, but I also like boys. Did it ever occur to you that I could be bisexual?"

"No! You hated it when we flirted with boys at the mall. You never gave boys a second glance. Of course I thought you didn't like them."

She had me there. I did remember all that, and it confused me. But that was before I rediscovered Bobby. How could I make her understand when I didn't understand it myself?

"Okay. I don't expect you to understand it, Tracy. I don't exactly get it myself. I just know that I like boys. Okay? Can we please be friends again? I'm not going to try to kiss you and I'm not a freak. I just want to be friends again."

I started crying and Tracy hugged me out of reflex. We both had ourselves a good cry, and we made up. I got my best friend back, or maybe "back" wasn't the right word.

"Hey!" I said. "You're still wearing the friendship bracelet!"

"Well, so are you."

We laughed. We hadn't gotten rid of the symbol of our friendship, even though we'd separated. The friendship had been waiting all that time for us to wise up and get back together. I couldn't be happier.

We went to the restroom to fix our makeup and had a nice time catching up on things. I told her about my flagrant violation of school policies and she laughed. She even snorted and I covered for her with a cough. It felt like we started up right where we left off before all the nonsense with my silly infatuation.

"Oh! Oh no!" I said.

"What is it?"

"I've left Bobby alone all this time. He'll be completely lost. Who'll wipe his little nose? Who'll feed him and burp him?"

Tracy laughed and snorted again. I couldn't cover for her with a cough that time because I was laughing too. I just made sure to laugh loud enough to distract anyone from making fun of my best friend.

***

I glowed the rest of the week. I know I did. Everything came together. The long hours that Doctor Franklin spent with me paid off. I finally felt normal. I got my normal life.

I finished the wonderful week by visiting Mike's grave, and I went alone. Several weeks ago, I decided to get more exercise so I talked my mom into buying me a bicycle, a cheap and simple blue 10-speed that would work well enough to get me to the cemetery. It was to be my first road trip.

I dressed in baby blue sweats with a navy windbreaker. They'd keep me warm enough with all the exercise I'd get. Then I used a blue hair tie to put my shoulder length hair in a high pony tail and slipped on my killer bright blue walking shoes. Blue was the theme for the day. I thought it appropriate for a visit to my brother's grave.

"Don't forget the flowers!" my mom shouted from her bedroom. She wasn't feeling very well so I had another reason to go alone. She needed rest.

"Thanks, Mom! I got 'em."

I grabbed the small, plastic wrapped bouquet that my mother left on the kitchen table for me and gave it a close look. The daisies I'd grown last summer still looked fresh, even after months of being wrapped up. They dried well.

I put the flowers in a little carrier and hefted my bike from the deck and carried it across to the entry way, out the front door and down the single flight of stairs. It wasn't easy. The bicycle was heavy and awkward. I grunted and huffed and got a good warm-up for my ride. Then I was off.

The wind felt a little cold at first, but after the first mile, I warmed up and the wind felt more invigorating than anything else. The fresh air smelled good too, and it made me want to sing. For the moment though, being short on breath from my exertion, I settled for sporadic humming. I considered singing something once I got to my brother's grave, and if I could've thought of a good song for the occasion, I would've sung it.

***

The cemetery lied about five miles away, and I had second thoughts about the wisdom of riding that far for my first trip. My tired legs wobbled a bit when I dismounted.

I leaned heavily on my bike as I wheeled it over the zigzag path to my brother's grave, and once there, I put down the kickstand and sat heavily on the nearest part of the path.

"Hi Mike," I chirped, in spite of my tired muscles. I wouldn't let a little fatigue stop me from having a great week.

"It's me, Beth. Your loving sister. I've come to visit you."

I smiled and imagined him smiling back at me from wherever he might have been.

"I brought you flowers as usual. I just have to rest a little before I get them out."

I was sure he'd approve. He'd be patient. He wasn't going anywhere after all.

That thought made me giggle, and I chastised myself for it. It wasn't appropriate but I couldn't seem to help it. I was so happy.

"I'm sure you know this but I had some trouble with Tracy. We're best friends again now though. Don't worry, Bro."

He used to hate it when I called him Bro, but I couldn't resist.

"I've got more good news. I'm not sure how you'd take it though. You were always a little protective."

I chewed my lower lip, tasting my cherry lip gloss. I'd have to add a bit more before I rode home. It made great protection against the cold wind.

"Well ... I guess I can tell you, since you're so nice and quiet and polite." Again, I giggled.

"I got a boyfriend!"

I suddenly blurted out everything about my first boyfriend in an excited rush of words. I told Mike everything, including my first kiss and virtually every subsequent kiss in exquisite detail. I felt so excited to finally have a normal life. I'd waited so long. I just hoped Mike was happy for me, wherever he was.

***

I made it home from that first bike trip without too much trouble. I just took it slow and easy. I had to save some energy for the rest of the weekend because I had some celebrating to do for Tracy's birthday. She'd be only one year away from being sweet 16. It was an exciting time.

We'd even be meeting Anne and Kathy at the mall. After I professed my new appreciation of boys and promised to behave properly around them, they'd decided to give me another chance. They'd knew I had a boyfriend so they'd believed me and graciously accepted me back to reunite the original girl gang of four. We'd be certain to have a good time.

Only one thing bothered me as the months wore on. Just before Christmas of my freshman year, I had a very disturbing nightmare that seemed eerily familiar. In the dream, I saw Michelle, my inner sister, trapped inside my old burning house. I somehow knew it was her, even though I could only imagine what she might look like. Her face seemed more like a feminine version of Mike than mine so it had to be her. She stood with her face pressed against the glass, and she smiled, even as the flames slowly consumed her. It was a sad smile, and it looked strained from the obvious pain she must have felt, but she kept smiling nonetheless.

I woke up in a sweat from the bad dream, but I shrugged it off and carried on through the rest of my first exciting year of high school. I really couldn't have been happier.

Chapter 41: Two Years Later

High school flew by. Before I knew it, I was well into my junior year of high school. I kept my grades up, excelling in both English and Math. I didn't like Math but I couldn't seem to help doing well in the class. It didn't matter though. I was sweet 16 and loved it!

I had a nice present back on my 16th birthday. I'd finally had my last physical exam at the strange hospital where I got my special therapy. The doctors there had finally declared me fit for normal physicals and a truly normal life. Mom, Grams and I had all went out to celebrate and we had a grand time. I had nothing left to hold me back and I'd promised myself to embrace life with renewed vigor.

I'd long since dumped Bobby and replaced him with a succession of boyfriends. My big boobs, pretty face and long, wavy brown hair made me popular with the boys so it was too easy to find a willing victim to wrap around my little finger. My first love was just a warm-up for a long string of broken hearts.

I don't know why I treated boys so badly. I couldn't seem to help myself. I wasn't normally cruel, and I tried to control myself. At least I managed to give my boyfriends what they wanted some of the time -- within reason. No one had yet to take my virginity. I vowed to wait until I turned 18 before I'd let that happen.

I continued to ignore Doctor Franklin's advice about boys. I had no patience to get to know my intended boyfriend before I pounced on him. I knew what I wanted and I went for it. I felt safe enough anyway. I generally double dated with my girlfriends so we had someone to watch our backs. The boys didn't dare step out of line.

Double dating was such a cool idea. Us girls could watch out for each other, and we'd have someone to hold a decent conversation. I could only stand my date's posturing and rambling for so long before I had to grab my girlfriend for a restroom break. We'd freshen our makeup and have a real conversation before going back out into the social wasteland.

On one particularly cold November night, Anne and I had just escaped from an especially boring pair of boys and retreated to the restroom at a warm, cozy Italian restaurant. We stood next to each other in front of the mirror and touched up our lipstick after eating. We needed to recharge and compare notes.

"Rick is such a stupid shit," I groaned. "I don't know what I saw in him."

"His perfect tight ass perhaps?" Anne smirked.

She had me. I was a sucker for boys' derrieres.

"Yeah." I sighed. "That and his big brown eyes. They're so dreamy."

Anne turned and looked at me. "I just don't get you. A couple years ago you seemed to hate boys. Now you're crazy for 'em. What got into you?"

"Didn't Tracy tell you? I got some therapy."

"Yeah? Well, your shrink did a good job."

I shrugged and smiled. "I guess."

Anne and I usually led the boyfriend hunt for our gang of four, and we double dated together. We were the best looking and easily snagged boys, leaving Tracy and Kathy to pair with our castoffs.

I felt a little bad about tossing the scraps to my best friend, but she didn't seem to mind. She got a lot more action that way, and she even managed to get a nice date on her own once in awhile. It made me wonder about something though.

"Remind me again why we don't split up and pair with our other friends," I said to Anne.

"Duh. Kathy is a dating disaster. Remember? I'm afraid she'd sabotage my date along with her own. I love her like a sister but no way am I dating with her."

"That's right," I sighed. "What a shame."

I didn't exactly avoid Kathy, but she was more high-strung than I liked. Only Tracy had the patience and compassion to date with Anne's supposed best friend. Kathy always got so nervous around boys she couldn't do anything right. She'd turn into a clumsy, babbling wreck and would scare most of her dates away long before her curfew. We helped her score nine different dates in the past two years and none of them resulted in a boy asking for a second date. I know it was nine dates because Tracy counted. I wouldn't consider counting them. I'd long since lost count of my own.

Tracy didn't fare much better in the dating department. She had a couple solo second dates, and even a third date once, but since she usually stuck with Kathy, she ended up having to bail on her date after Kathy's left. She'd console the distraught girl and try to help her work on relaxing, even though it seemed hopeless. My best friend was really a nice, caring person.

I sighed and finished my lips with a coat of lip shimmer. Then Anne and I put on our happy faces and braved our dull but good-looking dates. We'd take the bad with the good, until someone better came along.

It was too bad James and I no longer got together. He was such a nice guy, and I found him increasingly attractive, but I knew I never had a chance with him. The sexual tension between us was awkward, and since I lost interest in sports, we had nothing in common and drifted apart. I briefly wondered if a trip to see Doctor Franklin might change his sexual preference. She worked wonders, but I doubt he'd agree to see her. He seemed pretty comfortable with who he was. What a shame.

***

My life wasn't all perfect. One thing did start to concern me. I had a recurring nightmare that really started to get to me. It started about two years ago, but back then it was spaced several months apart and I could handle it well enough. Since school started this fall though, the frequency drastically increased along with the number of dates I had. It recurred as often as once a week, and if it kept up, I worried I'd go crazy.

The bad dream had me a little wary of falling asleep, and that was unacceptable. I needed my beauty rest if I was to keep my edge on the other girls.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Beth?"

"Do you still have Doctor Franklin's card?"

I no longer saw the blue business card stuck on the fridge where it had been for at least a couple years. The card disappeared one day and I never thought to ask about it. I didn't feel the need for any more therapy.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I've got another problem."

I explained everything to my mom, and as I did, she looked increasingly concerned. She didn't like the idea of me going back to my psychologist but she agreed I should see her. I really did need help.

***

By mid-December, I started getting really frustrated and worried. My dreaded nightmare recurred two or three times a week and I wasn't sleeping well at all. I had dark circles under my eyes that took a ton of concealer to hide. I was not a happy girl.

I wasn't even close to being as bad as Kathy but Anne noticed my lack of proper focus on my date and started commenting on it. She also started hinting that it might be better to go solo, and that really freaked me out. I didn't want to be left alone with a boy. I could see them undressing me with their eyes and it made me very nervous. I didn't know if I'd be able to stop them once they started. I was afraid I wouldn't want to stop them.

I'd had several sessions with Doctor Franklin by that time, but they weren't helping. So far, she didn't think I needed hypnosis, but she was getting frustrated with my lack of progress and eventually suggested it. She set up an appointment for the first day of Christmas vacation and promised that she'd try everything she could to have me fixed up in time to celebrate the holidays in good cheer. I gave her a faint smile and hoped she was right.

Chapter 42: Meltdown

I felt more than a little anxiety and trepidation about my upcoming appointment with Doctor Franklin. That's because I'd been lying to her. I lied about who's face I saw in the fire, telling her it was my brother and hoping she could still help me. I stubbornly refused to give up Michelle.

When Doctor Franklin hypnotized me though, there was no doubt in my mind that she'd find out about my lie, and that terrified me. I didn't see how it'd be possible but I fully expected my psychologist to somehow extract Michelle from my mind and I'd forget all about my inner sister.

Forgetting Michelle seemed like the only way I'd ever get over my nightmares about her, and I tried to talk myself into it being a good thing. It didn't work though. I still had a very bad feeling about it. I couldn't bear the thought of losing her.

I cried myself to sleep the night before the appointment, and thankfully, I didn't have the nightmare to add to my distress.

***

My mom and I didn't talk at all until we were nearly to the hospital, though I'm sure she sensed how upset I was. I didn't try to hide it. I cried almost all morning and continued until we entered the parking garage and parked. We got out of the car and walked to the elevators before I cried myself out. Then she asked me a very good question.

"Are you sure you want to go through with this?"

Last night, I'd told her about the hypnotherapy and how much I dreaded it. I still hadn't told her exactly why, I hadn't told her or anyone else about Michelle, but she knew how torn up I was. My rid-rimmed eyes with dark circles under them said it all.

"I have to, Mom. I'm ... desperate."

I cried a little again and came very close to telling her my little secret. If I told her, she might be able to trigger my memory and return Michelle to me, assuming Doctor Franklin made me forget about her. But if I did cling to Michelle, my nightmares would probably remain as well. I couldn't take the chance. I had to fix this last problem once and for all.

Last summer, I thought I'd be okay. I thought I'd be happy the rest of my life, until that horrible dream started haunted me so often. I was so close to being a normal girl. I just had to forget Michelle, and everything would be okay.

***

My mom stayed in the little waiting room, with its single fake potted plant and a small table littered with a dozen or so ancient copies of family and military magazines. I hadn't read any of them but I could tell what they were by the covers. They either had kids and families or military vehicles and weapons. I thought it to be an odd mix but I shrugged it off. I had a more pressing matter to worry about.

As I sat on the comfortable black leather couch in Doctor Franklin's office, I prepared myself for her to finish the job that she'd started over two and a half years ago, and I suddenly noted many details about that office, details that I couldn't seem to recall. I didn't remember the black leather couch, or the two split leaf philodendrons on either side of the door. I didn't notice the cream colored walls or the photos of various mountains that hung on those walls. The room was like a vacuum that sucked up and hoarded all memories of itself. It was a very strange feeling.

I looked over at my psychologist and noticed her ice blue eyes, regarding me with such emotional detachment, I felt like part of the furniture. Her eyes were as cold as I imagined the mountains were in the photos that lined the walls of her office, and I shivered. It was the same reaction I had to a lot of girls and women, but with her, it was amplified a hundred times, and it filled me with dread.

"Well, Beth, are you ready to get started?" she asked.

"As ready as ever," I replied.

She took one last look in a file folder on her desk, briefly flashed a satisfied looking smile and pulled up a chair next to the couch. The session was about to begin, and it would've if not for a sudden, sharp knocking on the door.

"Not now," she suddenly hissed through gritted teeth. I'd never seen her so uptight and it scared me.

The knock persisted and got louder until she got up and stalked over to her door. She opened it just a crack and peeked at whoever had knocked.

"Yes?"

"Excuse me for interrupting," I heard a man's voice say. It oozed with insincerity and sounded vaguely familiar but I tried to ignore it. "I want to talk to you. Now."

"Now?" Doctor Franklin's voice sounded a little stressed. "Now is a bad time, an exceedingly bad time. I'm with a patient here."

"That's what I want to talk to you about." The man practically snarled, making me feel a little sorry for my psychologist. No one should have to work with such a jerk.

"I must protest ...," she tried to say, but she was interrupted by the rude man.

"Protest all you want, but the Board has authorized me to end this little freak show. It's gone on long enough."

"How dare you?!"

"Can we talk out in the hall?" the man asked. "Or would you rather hide behind your door and let the little freak hear everything we say?"

I'm sure my eyes must have been as wide as saucers at that point, but Doctor Franklin either didn't notice or didn't care. She excused herself and shut the door behind her. That didn't stop me from hearing what they soon started shouting out in the hall though.

"Your experiment is a failure, and it's being terminated ... as of now," I heard the man say. He hadn't started shouting yet but his voice projected well enough to easily make out.

"I'm this close to my first success and you want to end it?!" Doctor Franklin's shrill voice cut through the door like it wasn't there.

"Success? Is that what you call it? She just keeps coming back. Every time you insist she's finished, she comes back!"

I started to get the distinct impression that they were talking about me, but that was absurd. I refused to believe that I was thought of as an experiment, or a freak show for that matter.

"I'm one session away from finishing! She's just been having nightmares! It's nothing I can't handle!" I heard Doctor Franklin's shrill voice again. It sent a shiver down my spine that was worse than the one I got from her gaze.

"I've read the file. He's just a pervert in girl's clothing."

That got my attention, and I almost shrieked. Not only did the man's voice sound familiar, but what he said and the way he said it started to bring back vague memories.

"You prick!" Doctor Franklin countered.

She didn't have a good comeback but I liked it anyway. It was exactly the same thing I was thinking. The man was a prick, and he continued shouting, but I missed most of it. That's because the room started slowly spinning.

I suddenly had memories of lying in the hospital, covered in bandages. I remembered being told about having several transplants and bone operations, and a special form of gene therapy that would allow me to function as a normal, healthy girl for the rest of my life. I also remembered being visited twice by who I was convinced was the same man who shouted out in the hall. The memories flooded in but most of them didn't make sense, and they certainly didn't match the way I remembered things.

I started hyperventilating when I heard Doctor Franklin escalate from a shriek to a full scream.

"How can you say that?! You've seen the video tapes! Beth is a complete success!"

That confirmed it. They were talking about me, and they mentioned video tapes. They video taped me in the hospital ... and that prick viewed them!

The room spun faster and faster. I tightly shut my eyes but I still felt the sensation of spinning, and it made me nauseous. Memories continued to flood in. I remembered lusting after girls in the shower. I remembered playing baseball. I remembered a fire and being burned. I was horribly burned!

I'm sure I screamed, and then the world slowly faded to black, as it had so often a little over two and half years ago, while I was lying in a hospital bed, with severe burns covering over 90 percent of my body.

*** to be concluded on Wednesday ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.

In My Sister's
Footsteps

This is a story about true identity and the healing of the transgender mind

Blazing a new trail is difficult for a young burn victim, but he manages well enough with support from his mother, some unusual help from his sister, and a little luck.

Chapter 43: Resurrection
Chapter 44: Shock and Awe
Chapter 45: Spring Training
Chapter 46: My First Girlfriend
Chapter 47: Baseball
Chapter 48: Inner Peace

In My Sister's Footsteps
by Terry Volkirch

Part 8 of 8

Chapter 43: Resurrection

"Beth?" A familiar voice pierced my mental fog but I tried to ignore it. "Beth, it's me ... Michelle."

"Huh? Michelle? Is it really you?"

"Yeah, Sis. It is."

"I missed you, Michelle. I missed you so much."

"I know. But don't worry. I think everything is going to be okay now."

I started remembering again, and it upset me. I remembered the fire and how I tried to save my sister. But that didn't make sense. I was Beth. I kept trying to tell myself that I was Beth, but my memories wouldn't let me.

"I think I'm having more memory conflicts. I need Doctor Franklin."

"No, Beth. Doc Frankenpoo is history. She's the one who created the memory conflicts in the first place. She's the problem. She's always been the problem."

"I don't understand."

"You will, Beth. You will."

Michelle's words calmed me down. She really was like a sister to me. I hoped she'd never leave me again, but I suddenly got a bad feeling.

"You're not going to leave me again, are you?"

"No, Beth. We'll always be together -- always."

Her voice faded away along with my mental fog and I soon fell back asleep with a clear mind, and a smile on my face.

***

My bed didn't feel right, so I opened my eyes and stared up to see square ceiling tiles with the little holes all over them. They looked like the sort of tiles one would see in some professional building, like a hospital.

"Huh? Mom? Mom!"

"I'm here, honey. Don't worry."

I turned my head to see her sitting by my bed. She gave me a warm, sad smile and reached over to stroke my forehead.

"I had the worst dream, Mom. There was a fire, and Beth died, and I became Beth. I was trapped as Beth and ...."

My mom interrupted me. "It wasn't a dream. I'm very sorry but Beth did die. You tried to save her life and she ended up saving yours."

The last part didn't exactly make sense, and it didn't have a chance to sink in. I couldn't get past the first part.

"Beth is dead?" I said in a small voice. "No! She can't be!"

My mom got up and hugged me as best she could.

"She's gone, Mike," she whispered in my ear. "I'm so sorry. I'm so very sorry."

We both had a good cry. Then my mom sat back in her chair, dabbed my eyes with a tissue and went back to stroking my forehead. The cry and her loving attention helped, and I soon felt good enough to get back to the second part of what my mother said.

"What did you mean about Beth saving my life? I thought I saved her. I remember pushing her out the bedroom window. She was still alive then. I know she was."

"She was brain dead, sweetie. You saved her body but she inhaled too much smoke."

More memories flooded my mind and they all started making sense, though I didn't exactly handle them well. I also didn't handle the new sensations I was feeling. My eyes went wide when I looked down at my chest and raised a hand to cup a fairly large breast. It was a little more than a handful, and it was mine.

"What?! I'm a girl! Why? How? Mom!"

"Calm down, Mike," my mom soothed, taking me into her arms again and holding me tight. "Please. Calm down. You got transplants from Beth. That's how she saved your life."

Again, her maternal influence helped and she sat back down. I searched my memories, but I couldn't understand how I had such large boobs. The last clear memories I had were just after getting the transplants. I certainly didn't have big boobs then.

"What happened to me, Mom? How long have I been out?"

"It's been ... a very long time. Don't you remember?"

"I ... sort of. It's all hazy."

"I was told everything should come back to you. Or perhaps we could have you hypnotized."

"No! No hypnosis. Please. Anything but that." I shivered with dread, though I didn't understand exactly why.

"Why not? What's wrong?"

"I dunno. I'm not ... sure."

"I think I know. You've been hypnotized a lot already. I think that's how you became Beth. Someone has a lot to answer for."

"Do you mean Doc Frankenpoo?

"Who?!" My mom laughed. "You mean Doctor Franklin?"

"I dunno ... who's that? The name Frankenpoo just popped into my head. I don't know why."

"Doctor Franklin was your psychologist. She convinced me that you were very confused and thought you were Beth. She said she was worried you might have a mental breakdown unless she helped you become Beth."

"But that's ... stupid. I'm still a boy ... inside."

"I know, honey. I understand that ... now. She said it was better if everyone thought you were Beth and treated you as Beth. I wasn't sure so I took her advice. I was so afraid of losing you."

She got up once again and hugged me, and I could feel her tears dripping on my shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered in my ear.

"Okay," I said. "It's okay."

At that moment, I marveled at the sound of my feminine voice. I hadn't noticed it before, and it suddenly struck me as being very beautiful. I had a lot to get used to. I really was a girl.

***

Once I found out I wasn't sick, I'd insisted on leaving the hospital as soon as possible. I wanted to get used to being a girl in private. It might have seemed paranoid, but I couldn't help worrying about being videotaped or watched somehow. I had to get home, wherever that was.

I went to the bathroom to dress, and after carefully checking for video cameras, I threw on some jeans and a baggy sweatshirt that my mom had brought me. I left the hospital gown hanging on a hook and my mom and I headed for the front desk to check out.

The doctors put up a fuss, but my mother and I wouldn't be denied. We'd both had enough of doctors and hospitals. They'd served me well to make my body healthy, but they'd failed miserably with my mind. We'd still look for a psychologist to help me adjust. We knew I'd need some help. We just decided it would be better to be more careful about it and shop around.

When my mom mentioned shopping around for a doctor, my eyes went wide again. More memories popped into my head and I suddenly had an urge to go to the mall. Before I knew what I was saying, words starting coming out of my mouth.

"Can we go to the mall?" I asked.

"What?!" My mom looked a little surprised.

"Please. I think there's a sale. I could use a new skirt."

"Uh ... I don't think that's a good idea right now. We'll talk later in the car. Okay?"

"Sure, Mom." I smiled, just before tears rolled down my cheeks. I'd had a powerful flashback of being Beth. It swept over me with such force, I couldn't stop it. If that's what I had to look forward to, I'd really need a good psychologist.

"Oh, honey." My mother grabbed my hand and we dashed for the exit before anyone could even suggest putting me in a wheelchair to wheel me out.

We got outside to the car and headed for home, an apartment complex about 10 miles away according to my mom. I thought it was odd that she'd parked outside in a parking lot though. I kept remembering a parking garage for some reason.

"Mom?"

"Yes, Mike?"

"I think I need a new name."

I had zillions of memories of being called both Mike and Beth. It confused me to no end so I decided it would be best to make a clean break.

"I think that's a good idea, honey. Any ideas?"

A name suddenly popped into my head, and it sounded like my subconscious was screaming it.

"How about Michelle?"

"Michelle," my mom said, trying it out. "Yeah. I think I like it."

"Me too."

We drove along in silence for several miles after that. We both had a lot to think about. I would need help, and soon, and my mom would be busy helping me through the coming months.

It helped that we had the Christmas break. I'd have some time to regain my memories and stabilize my personality. I just hoped I stabilized enough to get back to school soon. I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into some of the advanced math that I'd been remembering.

Just as we pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex that I'd be calling home, my mom had one last thing to say before we went inside.

"Okay, sweetie ... Michelle. I'll never bring this up again, but if you only remember one thing, remember that even though you're a girl, you'll always be my special son."

We hugged and cried a little after that. I felt a little embarrassed that I cried so easily but I had to admit that it felt good. I also had another strange thought pop into my head. I was grateful that I wasn't wearing any mascara. I didn't want it making a mess of my face.

Chapter 44: Shock and Awe

Christmas was a wonderful holiday for me that year. In addition to all the wrapped presents that my mother, grandmother and friends gave me, I also received lots of fond memories from the past two and a half years. My Beth and Mike personalities slowly integrated, as my new psychologist said, and I happily accepted my feminine body.

I'm sure that my acceptance was helped by my attraction to girls. I blushed the first time I saw myself naked in the mirror, but I got used to it. My Beth personality helped me to control my lust. She helped me turn my lust into self-love. I liked myself and I was happy with the way I looked. It was a good beginning for me.

It also helped that I had so much of my sister's body. I looked at myself as a living memorial to Beth. I tried to save her and she returned the favor. I lived thanks to her unusual gift, and I wouldn't do anything to sully it.

My clothes took longer to accept. They were so complicated, and it took me forever to decide on what to wear. My mother assured me that was completely normal but it annoyed me. There was so much variety. It also didn't help that a lot of my clothes were just plain sexy. Some of them made me flush with excitement, more so than being nude. They made me look more grown up than ever, and I loved to imagine I was someone else and that I was going out on a date with that someone else. I took a lot of cold showers those first couple weeks out of the hospital.

The biggest shock had to be makeup and the ease I had applying it. I had no trouble making myself look even more beautiful and grown up, and it scared me a little. I didn't even use memories. It seemed more like a reflex.

The first time I put on my face, as my mother called it, I surprised both of us. My makeup was flawless, and my face, beautiful.

"Is that really me?" I asked the mirror I was staring into.

My mom had been standing behind me, ready to help, and I could see a look of awe on her face.

"Yes, sweetie," she told me as she put her hands on my delicate shoulders. "It really is. You're a very beautiful young lady."

***

My psychologist helped me a lot over the Christmas holiday. The memories continued to flood in but she helped me process them all and place them into a meaningful context.

I had some trouble reconciling my Mike personality with the more mature memories I'd accumulated as Beth. It had been about two and a half years since my transplants but it might as well have been decades. Luckily, I had a great psychologist, a loving family, and several friends to keep me grounded.

My friends would definitely help me catch up on my life, but they'd also present a small problem. They still didn't know I'd once been Mike. It seemed so long ago that I didn't think it would be necessary to tell them. In fact, my mother had insisted on not telling them. Everyone had known me as Beth, and it would be very difficult proving otherwise. I wasn't Mike any longer anyway, and I wasn't really Beth either. I was a combination of the two, and my new name would be Michelle.

I imagined that some people would have trouble with my name change, but I'd tell everyone that I needed to break from my past. The trauma of Mike's death still haunted me and I decided to change my name to the feminine form of Michael to honor him. It was partially true at least, and I didn't really care if they liked it or not. It was something I had to do.

I told Tracy, Anne and Kathy about my name change and they thought it was a nice gesture. They told me that it might take some getting used to but they were nothing but supportive. They were more concerned about my relapse, as I called it, and they visited me at home five days after Christmas to check up on me. They also wanted to thank me for the Christmas gifts I got them.

We'd exchanged gifts before I went in for my last therapy session. I vaguely remembered wanting to do it in case something went wrong with the therapy, and I was glad I did. It took me several days before I felt up to exchanging the gratitude that was meant to go along with the presents.

My three girlfriends all arrived together in Tracy's car. They all had their drivers licenses but only Tracy had her own car, and she didn't mind driving her friends all over. It made her a little more popular.

I had to think awhile to remember why I didn't have my drivers license. I postponed getting it so I wouldn't put any pressure on my mom to get me a car. She didn't make a lot of money and couldn't really afford one. It made me a little proud of myself until I thought about how much I got her to spend on my clothes and makeup. The money she spent on her boy magnet of a daughter could've bought a fairly nice used car. I really needed to find a job. I also needed to give some thought to how I felt about being a boy magnet.

"Hi girls!" I said, smiling as I let them in the front door.

"Girls?" Kathy said with a frown. "Don't tell me you forgot our names again."

I laughed, even though she looked serious. Kathy was ever the worrier.

"No, Kathy. It's just easier to greet you that way since you all came in together. Duh."

We all had a nice little laugh and quickly invaded the living room. We had the place all to ourselves since my mom was working.

I had to do a little more memory searching to figure out what I'd given each of them as Christmas presents. Then we thanked each other for them before matters turned to a more serious subject.

"So ... Michelle," Anne said, looking a little conflicted. I couldn't decide whether she was pleased or sad about what she wanted to say. "You said you had a relapse. Does that mean you don't like boys any more?"

I knew it. I knew that question was coming, but I'd dragged my high heels and avoided finding the answer. I couldn't avoid it any longer though.

I figured she'd be happier not having me as competition. She probably hoped I didn't like boys. Still, I was just as sure that she'd miss our double dates. It was probably just as well though. We wouldn't be double dating forever. Eventually, we'd all have to go solo.

"I honestly don't know," I said. "I remember having some good times out on dates. I remember several fantastic, toe-curling kisses." I stopped to blush and my friends giggled.

"But I do know one thing. I'm definitely attracted to girls."

"Really?" Kathy asked, her eyes wide.

"Don't worry." I laughed at Kathy's reaction. "You're all safe. But I can't help feeling how I do. It's not a lifestyle choice."

"We know," Tracy said with a wry grin. "It's cool with me."

The rest of the girls agreed. We were still the gang of four and we celebrated by driving over to the mall to see if I still had the magic touch. We were going trolling for boys, and I had to admit, the idea excited me.

I found I still did appreciate some things about boys, including some physical attributes. That surprised me, and it greatly pleased my girlfriends. I decided to give boys a chance, though I'd be a lot pickier about whom I chose from that point on.

***

New Year's Day brought an unexpected holiday surprise. I planned to lounge all day on the couch but a light knocking at the door startled me, just as I started to doze off.

My mother opened the front door, blocking my view of our visitor. I could still see my mom though, and she stiffened up immediately.

"You've got some nerve," my mom said.

"I'd like to apologize to Beth, if I may."

I heard a woman's voice and I froze. I knew that voice, but I couldn't believe she'd be bold enough to ever show her face to me again.

"Beth died several years ago," my mom said through clenched teeth. "There is no Beth here."

"Please ... whatever name she goes by ... I'd like to apologize to your daughter."

"I don't think that's a good idea," my mom told her as she started shutting the door.

"Wait, Mom," I said, slowly getting up off the couch. "Let her in. I've got something I'd like to say to her."

My mother gave me a questioning look but I mouthed, "It's okay," to her and she relented. She stood away from the door, and in walked Doctor Franklin.

My former psychologist looked pretty much the same, with the same cold, blue eyes, but this time, I thought I detected a trace of emotion in those eyes. It made me wonder if there was still hope for her.

"Ms. Franklin," I began. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, but since you're here, I have to tell you that what you did to me was wrong, and I hope you learned something from it."

Her expression didn't change at all. She just quickly looked me up and down once and spoke.

"But you're still so ...."

"Girlie?" I interrupted.

I wore a short a-line skirt and clingy knit top that nicely emphasized my bustline. I also wore light makeup and I made sure all the colors matched. I wasn't going out but I intended to look nice just in case. It was a holiday after all. Almost anyone could drop by for a visit.

"I was going to say, feminine, but you get the point."

"Well, I am still partially what you made me. What did you expect? Did you think I'd get a crew cut and wear boys clothes?"

"Well, no ...."

"I plan to be less feminine now and again, but I'll always be a girl. I admit I even like it. You helped me adjust, in a way, but what you did was still wrong."

She hung her head and heaved a sigh of regret. I couldn't tell if it was regret for wronging me or regret that her experiment didn't work out, but I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and call it a combination of both.

"Now then," I continued. "Didn't you have something to say to me?"

"Right. Okay. I'm sorry things didn't work out."

"What does that mean? You're sorry you didn't succeed? Is that it?"

"No ... well ... yes ... somewhat. I admit it. I'm sorry it didn't work out. You showed such promise. But that's not all."

"Yes?" I prompted.

"I'm sorry I hurt you ... you and your mother."

"And grandmother," I added.

"Yes. Her too. I'm truly sorry I hurt you all."

"Okay. Apology accepted. Now please leave."

I went back and sat on the couch, and I didn't watch as Doctor Franklin slunk out of the apartment and out of my life.

Chapter 45: Spring Training

I really had become more girl than boy, but I still had some boy tendencies that needed expressing. My love of sports came back with a vengeance, and I don't mean just watching them.

I fully intended to start the new year by getting myself in better shape, or make that better physical condition. I couldn't be happier with my curves.

My training started with afternoon bike rides. I still had my blue 10-speed, though it needed a little work, and I soon worked my way up to the 10 mile round trip to the cemetery. I had to make up for some missing visits, and I had a very important correction to make.

I walked my bike to my sibling's grave and sat on the cold concrete path while I caught my breath.

"Hello, Beth," I started, still huffing and puffing, my breath making a trail of little clouds that drifted directly over the grave plaque.

"I'm very sorry about taking so long between visits. I've had a few problems to work out."

I breathed easier, and the words came more freely.

"I'm also very sorry about calling you by the wrong name all this time, though I'm sure you'd forgive me. It wasn't exactly my fault."

It was awkward sitting there. I remembered a lot of what I said and thought over the past couple years. It was a little confusing because I'd been talking about myself all that time. Some of the irony made me laugh a little.

"Don't worry, Beth. I won't be making that same mistake again, and I also won't be bringing you any more daisies."

I stood up and reached into my carrier to pull out a single red rose. I removed the remnants of the previous bouquet from the green plastic vase and placed the beautiful flower into it. The red and dark green went very well together, and it brought a smile to my face and a tear to my eye.

"You and I share a love of roses, Sis. I hope you enjoy this one as much as I enjoyed bringing it to you."

I placed the old bouquet in the carrier and turned to wheel my bike back to the parking lot, but I paused and made one final comment over my shoulder before returning home.

"Thanks for the skin and bits. Thanks for saving me, Sis. I love you. See you next week."

***

I thought I looked good before, but after biking for several weeks, my endurance improved and my legs toned up quite nicely, and I didn't stop there. Pilates, yoga and light weight lifting added more tone to my arms and upper body to finish my new, improved look. I looked great and I felt even better.

I wasn't sure exactly what to do with my great conditioning, but I began forming an idea. It seemed crazy at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked it. I just needed someone to practice and train with, and I knew the perfect person to ask.

"Hi James," I chirped, hurrying to catch up with him before he left school to go home. "Remember me?"

"Beth? Is that you?" he asked.

"Close!" I laughed. "I go by Michelle now."

I gave him a quick explanation for my name change and he nodded. Nothing seemed to faze him much.

"It's been awhile," he said. "How've you been?"

"Great. I've been great. I started working out. Check this out."

I tried to flex my arm like a body builder. The size of my biceps didn't impress him but he acknowledged my good muscle tone.

We stopped to talk for quite awhile that day. I told him about my therapy and the various relapses I had. I also apologized profusely for not keeping in touch. He'd been a good friend and I left him cold. A lot of it had to do with my relapses but I still felt guilty about it.

James was as gallant and nice as ever. He graciously forgave me, but he was still wary about one thing.

"What about your sexual preference, Michelle?"

"Oh ... that. Well ... I guess I'm bisexual." I gave him a shy grin and blushed.

"Oh? Like what you see?" He grinned.

"Yes," I told him.

"Cool. Thanks," he said, and paused before adding, "but you still can't have me." He laughed.

"Oh you!" I slapped his arm and he pretended that it hurt.

We walked home together after that, since we lived in almost the same direction, and just before we parted, I brought up the subject that I'd been skirting.

"So what do you think?" I asked him.

"Baseball? You want to try out for baseball? Are you sure?"

I nodded vigorously.

I knew I didn't have much of a chance of making the team, at least not that year and not on my own. It'd been way too long since I played and my arm strength wasn't nearly what it should be, but I hoped that by training with James, I might have at least some small chance. He played on the varsity team so I knew he'd have a lot of good tips for me as well as training techniques. Plus we could do a little batting and fielding practice together. Every little bit helped.

James shook his head -- just like a boy, I thought -- but he accepted the challenge, and right after dinner we started by going to the sporting goods store at the mall to get myself some equipment. I couldn't wait to get started. We didn't have much time before baseball season started.

***

Training for baseball was hard work, but it felt so satisfying to make a good play or get a hit. That's what kept me going when I played all those years ago as Mike. The camaraderie with my teammates was nice too. I really hoped I'd make the team so I could experience it all again.

Wearing grubby sweat clothes and getting dirty took some getting used to. The clothes made sense since they'd most likely get grass stains and dirt rubbed into them, but it still upset me to see them get dirty. It made my drab clothes look all the worse.

James was great, and he didn't cut me any slack. I asked him to treat me just like any other teammate and he was all too eager to comply. He even laughed when I fussed about sliding into home, earning a glare from me. Of course my look just made him laugh harder.

"Why don't you slide head first next time?" he shouted as I headed back to third base for another try.

"Ha ha! Why don't you develop boobs and try it yourself?"

My retort shut him up but he still snickered. Boys!

We'd started with base running, something that was fairly simple but important. James had wanted to see me in action to gauge my ability and see if it was worth continuing my training. I'd surprised him with my quickness so we'd quickly moved on to sliding into base.

Again, I surprised him with my feetfirst slide. I kept my body low and as far away as I could from where the catcher would stand, with only my one leg hooked to slide over home plate. Back in 7th grade, I'd used that same slide to get my only inside-the-park home run. I'd slid just under the catcher's mitt for the score. It had been a thing of beauty.

After I slid a few times to show that my skill wasn't a fluke, we moved on to a little batting practice. I took a few practice swings and was pleased to see that I hadn't lost my coordination. My bat speed was a little slow but I hoped to get a little time in a batting cage to help with that.

James saw me swinging the bat and finally had to make a comment that I thought had been on his mind for quite awhile.

"You've played softball before, haven't you," he said as a statement of fact.

I smiled and shrugged, but I didn't speak. Instead, I got into a good batting stance and waited for him to pitch me an easy ball so I could surprise him with a nice blooper into the outfield.

James just stood on the pitcher's mound and frowned at me. I knew he wanted more information but I wasn't going to volunteer it. I had to tease back a little if I was going to get used to playing with the boys.

Finally, he couldn't take it.

"So are you going to tell me how you can play so well?"

"What can I say?" I teased. "It's in the blood."

James muttered a little but he finally pitched the ball, and it was a doozy of a pitch. Luckily, he couldn't disguise a fast throw. I knew it was coming and I focused all of my attention on that baseball. For a split second, that ball was the only thing in my universe, and just as it crossed home plate, my Louisville Slugger connected and slapped it well into the outfield. James was shocked.

"What?!" I teased again. "Is that all you've got?"

"Hey! I'm not a pitcher. I play center field."

"Oh! I'm sorry. Did I strike a nerve?" I smirked.

"No ... errr ... yes! I can't believe you can play so well!"

"Why?!" I got a little angry then. "Is it because I'm a girl? Girls can play sports too."

"Yeah, but you're so ...."

"Girlie?" I interrupted.

"Yeah!" he huffed.

I rolled my eyes at him. "So why did you agree to practice with me if I was so girlie?"

"Because you asked me to. I figured you'd get it out of your system, or at best, try out for the softball team. Why baseball?"

"Why not baseball? If I want to play baseball, and I'm good enough, why not play?"

He agreed I had a point, and he apologized.

I could see that his sexist attitude surprised and embarrassed him, so I let him off with a warning, but I promised to make things much more difficult if he persisted. I didn't tell him what I'd do, but my devious mind cooked up a few things, first and foremost was making him take me out on a date. That made me giggle.

"What?" he asked. "What's so funny?"

"You'll see," I told him, "if you ever slip up again."

He shook his head in typical boyish fashion and we got on with practice.

***

James gave me a fair and honest assessment after we'd finished. He complimented me on my quickness, base running and fielding skill, but he mentioned that I'd need to work on my arm strength to make long, off balanced throws to first base. I also had yet to prove myself with a real pitcher so we made plans to visit a batting cage. I hoped I could at least hit a 50 mph pitch. What little masculine pride I had left still had to set some standards.

When we finished talking baseball, the subject soon returned to sexual preference, as I knew it would. I think I made him a little nervous after I confessed that I found him attractive because he only truly relaxed after I assured him that I much preferred girls. I teased him that he'd be safe unless he started wearing girls clothes. If he did that, all bets were off.

Chapter 46: My First Girlfriend

I surprised my mother, my friends and myself by getting a date on Valentine's Day. His name was Gary and he was actually an old friend of mine. We used to play baseball and video games together, and we went girl watching at the mall quite often. We used to be best friends when I was Mike, and I wanted to see if we could still get along. I have to confess that I was also curious if I might even find him attractive. I knew he kept in good shape for the high school baseball team and I wanted to test myself.

James helped me hook up with Gary and earned many thanks from me. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to return all the kindness that had been heaped upon me. I didn't have a lot of friends but the ones I had were the best.

Tracy and Anne both volunteered to double date with me, but I declined. I'd dated by myself a few times and I was sure I could handle Gary, even though he was very athletic. My girlfriends still sounded concerned, and they amused me with how much they reminded me of my mother. I didn't tell them that of course.

Gary showed up early one Friday evening and gallantly escorted me to the passenger side of his car to help me get in. I couldn't help notice that he stood more than half a head taller than me even with my high heels. He made me feel decidedly feminine, and I rather liked it. So far, so good.

We went out for the usual fare of dinner and a movie, and we chatted about various subjects including video games and baseball. If he was surprised by my interests, he didn't let on. Evidently, James coached him rather well.

The movie was nice, and the most that my date did was hang his arm on the back of my chair. He didn't try to hold my hand or do anything to annoy me. He was a perfect gentleman, and I appreciated it.

When it finally came time for the good night kiss, I began to wonder if I really was bisexual. Gary made me feel feminine just in sheer contrast to his overt masculinity, but I didn't feel the magic spark that signaled physical attraction. He bent down to give me a casual kiss, and I reached up to hang on to his neck and prolong it a little. I had to know if he could be the one to live out the rest of my days with. I wanted to give my mother grandchildren someday, even though the idea of giving birth scared the crap out of me.

We separated and I shrugged, giving him a faint smile. We tried, but there was no chemistry. I knew it didn't really mean I wasn't bisexual, but I was still disappointed. I got along so well with Gary when I was Mike. I really thought there'd be a possibility of falling for him.

The two of us parted as casual friends that night. Perhaps I'd changed more than I thought. I'd certainly changed more than I liked. I had to admit to myself that video games no longer held the appeal they once did, and I really knew very little about what Gary had been up to since he started high school. We pretty much only had baseball in common. Maybe we could hook up for some double plays instead of double dates, and maybe even go girl watching at the mall sometime for old time's sake. Maybe, but I doubted it.

***

James noticed that I was distracted during our next practice session, and he kept after me until I confessed what was bothering me. We spent far too much valuable training time talking about it but I was very glad we did.

"You've never had a girlfriend?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"No." I sighed. "But it's not because I haven't wanted one. I just don't know how to approach a girl I like. I've never done it before."

"Right," he said, looking up.

He lost himself in thought for a short while, making me both curious and nervous. He was obviously up to something.

"How about I introduce you to someone?" he finally asked.

"What? Really?" My heart started fluttering.

"Sure. I know this girl named Rachel who might like to date you."

"Rachel? Who's that? How do you know her? What's she like?"

I started throwing questions at James like a lovesick schoolgirl until he threw his hands up to surrender.

"Enough!" He laughed. "I'll introduce you and you can ask each other questions. Okay?"

I readily and gratefully agreed. Once again, James proved himself to be a great friend.

***

I'd never felt so excited as I did the next day. James had moved quickly and got Rachel to agree to meet me after school before she went off to band practice. He contacted me at lunch to tell me she played the flute. Then he texted Rachel to confirm the meeting and scurried off to get something to eat.

I was worthless the rest of the day at school. I daydreamed about a black-haired girl with deep blue eyes playing the flute. She played only for me, serenading me with music and mesmerizing me with her beautiful eyes.

"Michelle?" I vaguely heard a voice calling me, getting more insistent the second time. "Michelle!"

"Oh!" I gasped. "Sorry. Hi, James." I didn't even notice the girl with him. I was still distracted by lingering images from my daydream.

"Michelle Wagner, this is Rachel Moore. Rachel, meet Michelle."

James quickly introduced us and then ran off, leaving me alone with a girl who looked remarkably similar to the one from my daydream.

"Hello, Michelle," she said, holding out her hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Uh ... hi," I barely squeaked out.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

I quickly nodded and just managed to say "nervous" before I took her hand and gently led her to a nearby bench to sit down together.

We sat facing each other and she gave me a warm smile. It relaxed me enough that I was finally able to find my voice.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm a little nervous."

"Yeah. I got that."

We struck up a nice conversation then, and found we had several things in common, including an interest in going out on a date with each other. I'd be going on my first date with a girl, and I'm sure I glowed.

***

Rachel and I ended up on a date that bore a superficial resemblance to the one I had with Gary, but our first date had a lot more depth. I knew it long before we got into the movie theater and held hands in the dark. I knew it all too well when we kissed good-bye in her car. We both had a toe-curling experience when we kissed, and I knew we'd be having many more dates.

I was a little ashamed about not inviting her up to my apartment, but I still hadn't told my mom about liking girls. I still worried about being a disappointment. It didn't matter how warm and loving my mother was. I couldn't help it. I just knew she'd want grandchildren and I didn't think I could deliver. I'd tell her sometime. I just had to think about it some more.

***

James had entirely too much fun at my expense the next day. I tried to thank him for introducing me to Rachel and he said he only did it to keep me from chasing him.

"Don't flatter yourself!" I said, and we both laughed.

"Really," he told me, getting serious. "I'm glad you two hit it off."

"So am I." Tears threatened to ruin my perfect makeup, so I quickly hugged him to hide my face.

He flinched but slowly returned the hug, and then I did cry.

"Thank you so much," I whispered in his ear.

He didn't say anything. He just slowly backed away, and I rushed off to the restroom to fix my makeup.

***

Rachel and I quickly became a couple, and I really thought she'd be the one for me for the rest of my life. I was convinced, even if she wasn't. She was the more practical and cautious one in the relationship.

She was more than a little concerned that I hadn't yet told my mother about our relationship, but I convinced her that I would as soon as I felt I was ready. I confessed my fears and gave her a selective history of my therapy, and she understood.

She told me it'd been difficult for her to come out to her family. She'd been glad she did though, because they'd been mostly supportive. Her younger brother teased her a bit but she could handle him well enough.

In spite of her little brother's occasional staring, we spent a lot of time at her house when we weren't out shopping together or on a date. We liked to snuggle closely on the couch and watch a movie, our hands snaking together into a bowl of popcorn and fighting over a single kernel. Sometimes we'd both keep a grip on it, pulling it out and moving our mouths together to nibble it at the same time, with our lips wonderfully salty and deliciously close. It was so romantic.

Movie night was great, but we both liked shopping nearly as much. It was wonderful to have someone to share my love of shopping. I didn't think I'd ever find a boy who could appreciate it, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't admit it. Rachel didn't have that problem, and I thought she might even surpass me. I had to keep in good practice to keep my skills sharp with her around. I loved it.

I thought the best thing about Rachel had to be how she helped me with my gender conflict. I had a solid core of my earlier self in me that needed attention, and Rachel gave me more than enough. She made me feel somewhat masculine when I allowed myself to feel that way. Sometimes, during our extended kissing sessions, I liked to imagine I was still a boy. I'd hold her in a firm but gentle grip and let my inner boy take over. It added a little spice to our already strong relationship.

Rachel and my renewed passion for sports both helped me express my masculine side, and they also combined in a very nice way. Rachel got along very well with Tracy, Anne and Kathy, and they all liked to watch me train and practice for baseball. They thought it was great and supported me 100 percent. With them behind me and James helping me, I felt like I could do anything and be anyone.

Chapter 47: Baseball

I had fun at the batting cage, even if I didn't do as well as I liked. I'd consistently hit 50 mph pitches but they were mostly straight and easy. I'd need more practice with curves, sliders and other "junk". I'd also needed more work hitting faster pitches.

My boobs got in the way of batting but they actually helped a little with my fielding. It only took one very painful hit to my left breast before I learned to keep my focus. After that, I found myself extremely motivated to stop balls with my baseball glove instead of my boobs, and I did much better. Diving to snag a low line drive couldn't be avoided though, and the pain made me seriously consider looking for an armored sports bra.

At least my ability kept me in the game. James and I really got excited and started to believe in my chance to make the team. So did my family and friends. Even my grandma came to watch me practice, and she cheered me on with a surprisingly loud voice. It surprised me until I remembered that she was an avid baseball fan. She used to watch me play as a boy not all that long ago, and the memories made me smile.

My reverie had to be postponed though. Practice time called. I stood just on the edge of the infield, half way between second and third base, firmly in the domain of the shortstop. I needed more fielding and throwing practice.

"Look alive out there, Michelle!" James shouted as he batted a ball low to my right.

I lunged down and stabbed at the ball, vacuumed it up with my glove and then planted my right foot to make a fairly quick throw to Gary at first base. Everyone congratulated me, though James mentioned I could still use more arm strength. My throw arced a little more than it should have.

By that time, James had interceded on my behalf and talked the other boys into letting me practice with them. They balked at first, joking about my small size, but they did end up respecting my fielding ability at least.

I'd be hitting the weights quite hard over the coming months. It wasn't easy for me to build muscle, but it was possible. I already increased my strength significantly. The boys weren't impressed but Rachel was. She squealed one day when I picked her up and carried her to the couch to show off. I almost hurt myself doing it but I had to prove to myself, and her, that I could. It seemed very important to my silly inner boy.

***

On the first day of baseball tryouts, my nervousness almost made me back out, but James and the rest of my fans wouldn't let me. My girlfriends shouted words of encouragement while the boys teased me a little, and it helped. The combination of cheers and jeers got me fired up and ready to play.

My nerves still bothered me a little at first, but I soon got into a groove and sucked up all but one of the balls that were hit near me. I had one bounce out of my glove and trickle into the outfield. I ran it down and threw to second to prevent a double so the coach gave me points for keeping my head and following through.

As usual, I didn't do as well as I liked at batting. About the only thing I could hit was a changeup. That pitch never fooled me, but that probably had something to do with not being able to handle a fast ball. I'd swing at the same speed at both changeups and fast balls. Curve balls and sliders gave me fits. The whole experience frustrated me. My only advantage was my small size. I had a smaller strike zone so I hunkered down and made the pitcher be more accurate. It limited his pitch selection a little too.

I tried bunting and found I had a pretty good knack for it. I'd be able to advance runners if nothing else, but it looked like the only thing I'd be good at was as a defensive player for a close game. It was better than nothing so I'd gladly take it.

At the end of the week when the tryouts were over and the results were posted, I let all the boys run up and check first. I could wait, though I didn't have to wait long. I sat on the bench in the dugout and watched James come back after muscling his way through the mob.

"Well, Michelle," he said, looking sad. "Gary and I made the team, but I'm afraid you didn't."

"Oh," I said, hanging my head.

I'd tried my best but I was still disappointed. I thought I was one of the better fielders. I thought I'd at least make the junior varsity team.

"Hey. Cheer up. You might make the team next year," he added. "You improved a lot over a very short time."

"Yeah ... maybe."

I didn't know if I wanted to tryout again. I didn't feel like I had enough room for improvement. I felt pretty close to reaching my full potential already.

"Oh," James said, looking up. He was up to something again. "One more thing ...."

"Yeah?" I stared at him and narrowed my eyes, waiting for some joke or snide remark.

"When I said you didn't make the team, I meant the varsity team."

"Well ... yeah. Duh." I hung my head again. He wasn't teasing me or anything, so I couldn't get upset, but then what he said slowly sunk in.

"Wait a minute," I said, looking at him again and seeing the faint trace of a grin. "What about the junior varsity?"

"Oh ... that. Yeah. You made *that* team. Congratulations, Michelle. You're a baseball player."

I launched myself from the bench, grabbing him in a hug and squealing in his ear.

"Hey! Watch the volume!" he shouted back.

I pulled back, thanking him profusely for all his help and patience. Then I went looking for Rachel and the rest of my original gang of four. We had a celebration to start.

***

For me, Baseball was a slow game, especially when I had to watch from the dugout the whole game. I didn't get a lot of opportunities to play, but at least when I did, I made the most of them. Just as I figured, I was usually only able to play when the team needed some good defense during a close, low scoring game. I also sometimes played when we were slightly ahead late in the game and the coach wanted to stop the other team from catching us. I definitely had the best fielding skills of any of the shortstops, including those on the varsity team. I just couldn't hit.

I struggled with a batting average a little above .200. I just couldn't get the hang of hitting. It would've helped if I'd have kept at it over the past few years, and I know it would've helped if I'd been able to remain male, but I accepted it well enough. I was still happy with my body the way it was. I always preferred fielding anyway. It felt like more of a team effort being out on the field. Batting was always more like me against the whole other team.

My small group of loyal fans stuck with me, and most of them made it to all of the games. Rachel of course came to all the games, and she always made sure I heard her after I made a good play. She'd whoop it up with her own private cheer, and it would often get me fantasizing about her wearing a cute cheerleader uniform and doing lots of high kicks. It was too bad our high school baseball team didn't have cheerleaders.

There were only a couple bad things about the whole experience. I got used to getting dirty, but I got a little upset when players on the other team teased me. Some of the teasing was sexist, and I found it hard to strug off. Most of it was okay though, when I realized most of the boys were just trying to psych me out. They were just letting their good-natured competitive spirits shine though. Many of them did pretty much the same thing to lots of players on the opposing team, especially when those players were good. I eventually took it as a form of respect, even if it did seem a little immature.

The worst thing about playing baseball was actually the uniforms. Not only were they ugly, they weren't cut well for a mature girl's figure. My mom and grandma had to help me tailor it to my curves. I couldn't sew worth a darn, and just nodded my head when they tried to teach me. I was sure they'd be happy enough to help me next year, assuming I made the team again.

I was sure I'd try out again next year, and I hoped I'd make the varsity team. I thought it would be a good way to end high school. I wouldn't try to play baseball in college but it was nice to have the chance in high school.

I still figured I might try out for women's fast pitch softball, if the college I went to had a team. That looked like fun, and even if I didn't make the team, I seriously thought about sticking with the team and cheering them on. I'd pass on all the support I'd been given. It was the least I could do.

Chapter 48: Inner Peace

The baseball season wrapped up nicely. My school didn't do well enough for the playoffs but that was okay. I'd continue to play in a summer league with James and Gary, and Rachel and the rest of my friends would happily continue to cheer me on.

I was pleasantly surprised by how much my girlfriends got into the game when they'd never shown any interest before, and I later wondered if it might have had something to do with sexism. I wouldn't have been surprised if it was because I did encounter a fair amount of sexism in the game. I was quickly growing into a young woman and I knew I'd be fighting sexism now and then throughout my life, but baseball would give me, and possibly my girlfriends, some added self-confidence to deal with such issues. I figured that if I could handle males on a baseball field, I could handle them anywhere.

The rest of the school year wrapped up nicely - both academically and romantically. Rachel was actually a year ahead of me, and she was bound and determined to go to the senior prom, so naturally she asked me, and naturally I accepted. I just had one thing to take care of first. I still hadn't told my mom about having a steady girlfriend, and I was long overdue for a little mother-daughter talk.

"Mom? Got a minute?" I asked her as we finished up dinner one evening.

"Sure, honey. What is it?"

I sat her down on the couch then, and I continually paced in front of her while I tried dredging up the right words. I'd dreaded that moment for far too long, and the long wait just made it more difficult.

"I've been meaning to tell you something that I've been putting off for a long time. I know it's silly but I was so afraid of disappointing you. Please keep an open mind. Okay?" I stopped to give her a faint smile.

"Yes. Go ahead," she encouraged.

"You know all those boys I dated, back when I was confused?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wasn't myself then. I mean ... I liked it. Sometimes I really, really liked it. Some of them were awesome kissers ...." I stopped and blushed.

My mom actually giggled. "I figured Doctor Franklin had something to do with your boy crazy phase," she said, and then she encouraged me to continue with a subtle open hand gesture.

"Anyway, I like boys. I really like them, just not as much as I used to, and not as many." I paused and groped for the next thing to say but the words still didn't come very easily.

"What are you trying to say, Michelle?" My mom finally got tired of waiting. "Are you trying to tell me you're a lesbian or bisexual?"

My mouth hung open and my eyes went wide. Once again, she knew. It's true. Mothers knew everything!

"It's been pretty obvious that you're attracted to girls you know. You don't hide it very well." She giggled a little then.

I blushed but still didn't say anything. Shock still held my vocal cords in an iron grip.

"It's okay," she said. "Really. I'm not disappointed."

"You're not?" I said in a small voice. "But what about grandchildren? Don't you want grandchildren?"

"Of course I do. But it's a little early for that, don't you think? At least I hope it is." She gave me a worried look and I laughed.

"Yes, you don't have anything to worry about. Actually, I wanted to tell you that I have a girlfriend. There isn't much of a chance she can get me pregnant." We both had a laugh over that.

I told her all about Rachel and going to the senior prom, and my mother immediately sprang from the couch and hugged me. We started making plans to shop for a prom dress and the evening passed with very little stress from that point on. I only wanted to clarify one more issue.

"So you're really not disappointed that I might never have children?" I asked, nibbling on my lower lip.

"Oh, Michelle. You silly girl. Even if you stay with Rachel, there are other options. You could always adopt or get a sperm donor."

"I never thought of that," I said.

"Yeah. You were probably preoccupied. You've had a strange last few years."

"That's for sure," I told her, and we both laughed a little.

After a few minutes of thoughtful silence, my mom had one more thing to say, and I was sure her words would stick with me for the rest of my life.

"Whatever happens," she said, "whatever you do or make of yourself in your life, know that I'll never be disappointed in you."

After that, we hugged and cried a little, until I couldn't handle the thought of my mascara running down my face. My mom giggled as I ran to my bedroom to fix my face. I'd always be more girl than boy -- always.

***

The senior prom was a dream. I literally lived a dream. Nothing felt real that night. I escorted a beautiful girl and I was a beautiful girl. Our dresses fit and flattered perfectly, with me in blue and Rachel in lavender. Our hair swirled upon our heads and dangled ringlet curls that bobbed about our neck and shoulders. Our makeup was flawless. We stopped more than one boy cold whenever we sashayed by him. Neither of us could help adding an extra wiggle to our hips to gather a few extra pairs of eyes, even if most of them belonged to males. Hormones rampaged that night.

Our first dance together raised a few eyebrows, mostly from the male teachers from what I could tell, and we had to suffer a couple wolf whistles from envious boys. Other than that, nothing touched us, except each other. We danced in each others' arms, neither leading nor following. We were equal partners in our relationship.

After the prom, we flew through a fast food drive thru for a quick bite to eat. Then we found ourselves parked at the mall, off in one corner of the huge parking lot, far from all the other cars. The neon lights of the stores reflected off the hood of Rachel's car and in her eyes. We finished our tasty, unhealthy snacks, freshened our breath and then explored each other.

Our hands smoothed fabric and caressed skin. Our tongues playfully danced together in our mouths. I truly became a young woman when I gave myself to Rachel that night, and I did the same for her. We gave and received our love and commitment, and Rachel finally agreed that we were meant to stay together. We'd get a little house, grow a garden, and hopefully raise a couple children together. I yearned for at least one daughter. I'd name her Beth, and I'd pour all the love I had for my sister into my little girl. I'm sure Beth would've approved.

After prom night, I never again doubted who I was, and my psychologist finally declared me mentally fit and ready for the world. I felt comfortable and happy in my life. I had a soul mate, a loving family and wonderful friends. I had everything I needed, and everything I wanted.

***

My last summer as a high school student arrived, and I pedaled my way to my usual early Saturday morning destination. I wore my favorite blue biking outfit under a cute pink hoodie that I'd shed after the air warmed up a bit more. I also included the usual flower in my carrier.

I rode into the parking lot of the cemetery feeling like I could easily bike another 20 miles, and perhaps I would after my visit. I was in great shape, the best of my life. My inner boy was proud.

I got off the bike and walked it along the familiar zigzag path until I got to my sister's grave. It was still marked with my original name but my mother and I left it that way for the time being. We knew who was really buried there, and that's all that mattered to us.

I left the previous rose in the green plastic vase that stuck into the ground by the plaque. It appeared as though someone put some water in the vase to help keep the flower fresh. Either that or the sprinkler got it. Whatever the case, I added my freshly cut red rose and stood back to admire the two of them -- one for me and one for Beth.

"Hiya, Sis. It's me again, your loving sister."

I smiled and imagined her smiling back. In my mind, she was still 13-years-old. She'd never age for me, even though I knew she would've looked pretty much exactly the same as I did.

"Rachel's going off to college in the fall. I'm going to be so bummed."

I sighed. I'd have to stay behind and finish high school of course, but at least Rachel and I both agreed to go to the same college, assuming I'd be accepted. I didn't expect it to be a problem though. My grades were certainly good enough to get me accepted.

"At least I'll always have you here," I told her.

I sighed again. I didn't know how to tell her my next bit of news. My mother had long ago stopped coming to visit the grave once a week, and I pretty much only did it as a workout.

"I might not be coming to visit you every week from now on. I hope you don't mind."

I imagined her giving me a mock angry look, and I giggled.

"It's not that I don't love or miss you. I'll always love and miss you."

I sniffled a little and fought off the tears. Even though I was working out, I still wore mascara and I didn't want it to run down my face so far from home.

"It's just that I need to move on with my life. I need you to let me go. Will you do that for me, Beth? Will you let me go?"

I could almost see her, sadly nodding yes. What could she do? She was my sister, and she had to let me go.

I almost cursed then. I started crying, but I wasn't quite finished yet. I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue and continued.

"I'll still visit you now and then, especially when I need your sisterly advice, and I'll always hold you in my memories, and in my heart. Good-bye, Beth. I love you, dear sister."

With that, I walked my bicycle back to the parking lot and rode off. I made peace with my past and peace with myself. I'd be okay, and I'd carry on, literally walking in my sister's footsteps.

*** The End ***

 © 2009 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.