“Mark, you absolutely have to hear this,” Taylor declared as she slipped the new Ramses CD into her player. Even before it started, she cranked up the volume. Ded Morrison, the lead singer, blasted out of her speakers, immediately bringing Taylor’s older sister Monica down into the den.
“That’s my CD, twerp!” Monica yelled over Ded. She reached the player and flipped open the lid.
“Don’t do it that way, Mon!” Taylor yelled back in the silence. “You’ll damage the player.”
“Stop taking my things, Taylor,” her sister warned.
“I didn’t take it; I found it in the car.”
Monica made a face. “No, you didn’t; it was in my room.”
Taylor said, “Yeah, it was in the car; you left it when you and Brad ...” Taylor made a rude gesture with her fingers.
The truth dawned on Monica. “Shut up! We didn’t ... just shut up, okay?” She slumped a little. “Okay, you didn’t take it from my room. Um ... okay ...” Her face changed. “Don’t tell Mom, okay?”
Taylor had a triumphant smile. “Okay. But can I listen to it?”
Monica relented. “Yeah, okay. Only not so loud, okay?”
“Geez, Mon, it’s supposed to be loud. Don’t turn into an old fart.”
“Listen, twerp, I like it loud, too, but if you play it too loud, Mom or Dad will take it away, so we both lose. You want it loud, use the phones.”
Taylor shrugged. “It’s not the same, Mon, but I know what you mean.” She started up the CD again, and the sisters adjusted the volume until they both nodded. It was respectably loud, but not Parent Killing Loud.
Monica headed back upstairs. “Leave it in the player when you’re done, okay?” Over her shoulder she called, “You girls have fun.”
Taylor had her mouth open to respond to Monica, then turned slowly to me with a wicked grin. “Did you hear that? She thought you were a girl!”
Oh, God, I thought; not again. I sighed and sagged into a bean-bag chair. “Yeah, I heard it, Tay.”
I’d been hearing it off and on all of my life. I have a weird family. I know every teenager thinks that, but in our case, you just have to look at the four members of the Chambers family to agree with the statement. My dad is 6'10", with dark eyes, brown curly hair and skin that tans beautifully. He’d played pro basketball in Europe before going to college at Carnegie-Mellon. He entered the military as an intelligence officer after college, and now worked for a large security firm, but you could still see and feel the military in him. Mom, on the other hand, is barely 4'10", blue-eyed with creamy white skin and straight blonde hair, and burns instantly. When people met the two of them the first time, you could see the same question form in their minds–how did they have sex–how could they fit?
Well, they obviously found a way, at least twice. My brother Jake takes after Dad; not only with dark hair and eyes, but at 17 he’s already 6'6" and still growing. He’s fielding offers from both basketball and baseball scouts, because not only does he lead the league in rebounds, he’s a hell of a good pitcher.
I’m 13 and I take after Mom–like I’m from the same template as her. Blue eyes, creamy skin, straight blond hair. And I’m almost 5'3". Almost. That means, in reality, I’m ‘five-foot-two-eyes-of-blue’ and if I hear that one more time I’m gonna scream.
I haven’t said anything to anybody, but for a couple of years now, there’s been a growing suspicion in my mind that I should have been born a girl. The rest of my family makes sense, even with Jake next to Mom because you can see her eyes and smile in his face. It’s when you include me in the picture that it gets weird. Lately, I’ve become aware that other people think I should have been a girl, too. I’ve sure heard the snickers and remarks behind my back at school. In the last year I watched as other guys started developing muscles and hair on their bodies. And along with everything else, I’m pretty much hairless–it’s really embarrassing in showers at the rec pool–and what hair is blonde and nearly invisible. Also, I have no hips. I just go straight up and down.
Well, I’m not being truthful. Actually, my waist is a little thinner than my hips, nipping in enough to further add to my embarrassment in the showers.
I know what I look like; I don’t look like any other thirteen-year-old guys. Saying ‘it’s genetics’ is the explanation, but it doesn’t help with the snickers and remarks.
To compensate for my non-macho build, I’ve tried to blend into the hard rock crowd at school; kids who like grunge and metal. I never actually fit in; I was rejected by the rejects, so to speak, except for my one friend Taylor. She liked hard rock, and I did, too, but I also liked other stuff, too. In fact, I’d started listening to jazz, and fell in love with Ben Webster’s sax after I heard him on a jazz station. So except for getting together with Taylor after school, my days were filled with school and coming right home, doing my schoolwork and then reading. I read all the time, sometimes two or three books at a time. I loved to learn from books but I wasn’t like a grind or anything; my grades were about 3.6 or so but I never broke a sweat studying. They could have been better, though. My parents had been fixated on me going to a private school, St. Martin’s, but I’d begged to be allowed to go to the public school so I could ‘blend in’–as if that could ever happen.
Anyway, to blend in with the rock crowd, I’d let my hair grow. Mom didn’t mind as long as it was clean and held back in a ponytail; Dad didn’t seem to mind, either. Well, Dad didn’t even seem to notice, really. In the last two years or so, it seemed like he’d been spending more and more time with Jake. It was understandable, of course, because sports will be Jake’s ticket to college–and I suck at sports. When I was younger, they were always great at including me in their games, but I always slowed down the action. I’d make up an excuse and go in to see Mom. I’d hear them crank up their game, which they would go on to play for hours. I didn’t really need to see Mom, so sometimes I’d sit and read, but often I’d go in to help her, so over time I learned quite a bit about cooking, laundry, and things like that.
Girl things.
Of course I know that boys should learn those things; a lot of them will wind up as bachelors. And I knew the high school now required boys to go through a sort of Home Ec class to learn basic skills. But from what I’d heard from other kids with big brothers, they were usually not taught those things at home. Jake wasn’t; Mom never taught him to bake, for example.
So even though my parents were very open-minded about a lot of things, we still had the old-fashioned ‘traditional’ roles. Jake and Dad ‘threw the old pill around’, or sometimes they ‘threw the old bean’ around and I was never sure what kind of ball they were referring to, but they were out front throwing it around. Or tuning up the car. Or building something in the garage. Meanwhile, I was in the kitchen with Mom making dinner, or in the laundry room separating colors, or whatever.
Traditional division of labor by gender, basically.
I’ve got to be honest; it all happened so gradually that nobody noticed, least of all me. But it became clear to me, if not to the rest of my family. One of my few male friends, Glen Stevenson, had moved away after fifth grade. After a year and a half, he came to visit while his dad had business in town. At first it seemed like old times; we got caught up on who was doing what with whom, and he told me about his new school and friends.
Then Mom got home and I helped her. Glen worked at a can of Pepsi until I was done. I didn’t think anything about it until I noticed his eyes, which were wide and looking at me differently. I will never forget what he said: ‘Dude, are you turning into a chick?’
I denied it, astonished that he’d even ask, but he presented his case and I had to admit it was convincing. I’d helped Mom put some groceries away and peel some potatoes. It wasn’t just the way I moved and talked with her that struck Glen as feminine; it was the apron I put on–my own apron. And, I pulled my hair back with a scrunchie that was next to the sink. The thing is, I didn’t even think about it; Mom did the same thing when she worked at the sink, so that’s what I did. What Glen said got me thinking, but he’d been discreet about it.
And now Monica’s innocent mistake had made Taylor look at me with new eyes.
“Oh, my God!” Taylor gasped. “Why didn’t I ... geez, Mark, I never ...” She began banging her forehead with the heel of her palm. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! I can’t believe I never ...”
“It’s okay, Taylor,” I said calmly. “Lots of people don’t speak in complete sentences.”
She playfully slapped my arm. “You goof! Oh, my God!”
“You said that.”
She stuck her tongue out at me, but then her eyes widened again. “Oh, my God!” She held up a finger. “And before you tell me that I already said that, I know it.” She just looked at me.
I squirmed under her stare. “What?”
One of the things that I like about Taylor is that she’s honest, direct, and doesn’t beat around the bush. She tilted her head slightly and said, “So are you gay or bi or trans-something or what?”
“What about hetero white boy?”
She shook her head. “Uh-uh, not gonna buy that one.” She paused. “But then ... look, Mark, I shouldn’t make assumptions. I mean, Monica made one and it was colossally wrong.”
“Well ... sort of right, too. The absolute truth, Tay, is that I’m not sure what I am. It’s all new to me and very confusing.” It felt good, a relief to be honest for once, and I knew I could with Taylor.
“No kidding. Well, do you feel up to Twenty Questions?”
“About the Ramses CD?” I asked hopefully.
She slapped my arm again. “You know what about. Let me get us drinks.”
She spun around to the mini-fridge in the corner and pulled out two cans of Pepsi One. Handing me one while she opened the other one-handed, she said, “Seriously, though, if this is too weird, then we’ll forget about it.”
I opened mine, took an ice-cold swig and said, “What’s the likelihood of you actually forgetting about it?”
“Zero to none.”
“Yeah, I thought so. Fire away,” I said.
The truth was, though, that I was curious what she’d ask–and I was curious about what I’d say.
Taylor tilted her head again and said, “No penalties for wrong answers. No need to phrase your answer in the form of a question. Your mileage may vary. Okay, do you have a label for yourself?”
“Yes. I like to call myself … Mark.”
“Goof! You know what this is about.”
I looked at my Pepsi can and sighed. “Yeah. Monica thinking I’m a girl.”
“Right. And dumb Taylor not noticing. Anyway, the subject of our Twenty Questions is ‘What’s going on with Mark?’ Okay?” I nodded. She bounced a bit as she settled in on the floor. “Okay. So, what’s going on with you, and do you have a label for yourself? That’s one question, by the way.”
“Label …you mean like gay, bi, whatever?”
She nodded.
“No,” I said honestly, “I don’t, because it’s all so new to me. I haven’t been …” I sighed again. “Taylor, you called yourself dumb; I feel pretty dumb, too, because I’ve been kind of blindly going along, not thinking about myself. It seemed easier that way, but lately it’s becoming more difficult. It’s only recently become apparent that … that I do know that I’m not ‘normal’, whatever that means.”
“Fair enough; then, ‘what do you see when you turn out the lights’–Beatles aside, the next question is, alone in the darkness, what are you?”
“I know what you mean, and even Ringo sings better than you. The answer is, I don’t know. Yet. The funny thing is, I do know that I’ve never felt male, if being male means feeling like Jake or my dad. They’re like an alien species. I’ve gotten closer and closer to Mom, but there’s always something getting in the way of really, really bonding with her.”
“Something like a little bitty Y chromosome?”
“God, Taylor … If I’d been born a girl, it would all make sense–all of it. If I was a girl, I would fit in my family.” I had a momentary rosy glow of happiness at that image, but it vanished. “But I don’t. Because I’m not.”
Taylor looked at me for such a long time that I wondered if I’d grown a third head. In a soft voice she said, “But you should be.”
An immense sadness weighed me down. “Yeah.”
“But you could be ...”
I looked at her and frowned. “No way, Tay.”
“Way, Mark. Look, I’m your friend, right? And I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, but if I’m gonna be honest I gotta tell you that you look just like a girl.”
“You never said that before; it’s just because Monica made a stupid mistake. Just basing things on one word.”
“No ... I mean, yes, I never saw it before. It’s that thing about seeing someone every day and not really looking at them; not studying them because you’re so used to them. I’m sorry, but it’s a little like taking someone for granted. And then something happens and you see them with new eyes. I wouldn’t have noticed, just hanging out with you like we always do, but God bless my big sister ... she pulled the blinders off my eyes. Mark, you could do it.”
“It? What is ‘it’?”
“Become a girl. I could show you how, and you could ...” She trailed off, then got a huge smile. “Mark, I’ve got an idea how you can find out about yourself. Not everything, but some things. Become a girl for a day–no, a weekend.”
She told me her plan, which was pretty obvious. I would dress and act like a girl and hang out with her, doing ‘girl things’, for the weekend. Then I’d have a better idea if I was a boy or a girl, whichever felt more natural and right.
It might sound simple, right? Nothing is ever simple with Taylor.
The funny thing is, it appealed to me. After Glen’s question that day in the kitchen, I’d begun wondering if he was right. If I was ‘turning into a chick’–if, in many ways, I pretty much already was a chick–and I’d begun wondering what it would be like to wear girls’ clothes and just try … being a girl. But I didn’t want to violate Mom’s trust by trying on her clothes. Lately, though, it had been on my mind so much that I was about to search for ways to try on girls’ clothing. I’d also made a conscious effort to be more feminine in my gestures and movement when I was alone at home, like vacuuming or doing laundry. I’d hold my hands and arms differently, and moved my hips differently, just to see ...
Okay, I swished.
Maybe I was too good at it, or maybe I’d been doing it too much, but lately it seemed that the swish was not something I ‘tried’. It was something that I just did. My body did it without forcing; I just relaxed and it was how I moved. And, truth be told, my swish was now more natural than Macho Mark. I found that I had to force myself to move like Mark. But when I wasn’t Macho Mark, who was I? Taylor read my mind.
“Do you have a girl’s name?”
“No, I never thought about it. Honest.”
“Any favorites?”
I shook my head.
She squinted a little and said, “Mark ... Marcia ... Marcy ... .no, the M-A-R thing doesn’t suit you.”
“What about Hortense or Gertrude?” I joked.
She kept a straight face when she said, “Naw; if you were Hortense then I’d have to shorten it to ‘Hor’ and neither of us wants that.”
Pepsi bubbles nearly came out of my nose.
“See?” Taylor shouted and pointed at me.
“What?” I gasped, my nose stinging.
“What you just did! When you snorted the Pepsi, you held your hand up.”
“Duh! I didn’t want to spray you!”
She waved it away. “No, no; I mean, thanks for thinking of me, but it was your hand.”
“Strange thing; I’ve got one on the end of the other arm, too.”
“Goof! No, I mean … well, I saw something about this on some nature show. If a guy squirted Pepsi out of his nose, he usually shoves the back of his hand to cover. Or his palm.”
“Or he doesn’t cover it, to see how far he can squirt it!” I laughed.
She did, too. “And then he brags about it! But girls … we extend the fingers, palm towards the face, either up or to the side.”
I shrugged.
She slapped my knee. “Don’t you get it? That’s what you did, without thinking. That’s the point. You can be careful with your answers and try to play mind-games all you want, but your instinctive reaction was female. Feminine. Whatever. It was a girl’s reaction.”
I was stunned and silent, mulling it over and comparing my movements while Taylor picked up a People magazine and thumbed through it.
“So, a name for you …” she said as she consulted the articles. “Heather ... no, got enough of those. Jennifer–got more than enough of those! Julia, no way; Lindsay–definitely no way. Hmm,” she squinted at me. She took a long pause, tossed the magazine aside and said, “I think I’ve got it, but I’m not going to tell you until we’re done.”
“Done?”
“Done. And you know what I mean, girlfriend,” she grinned. “Look, my folks are out for the rest of the night, and Monica already thinks you’re a girl. So it’s girl-play time.”
“Sounds like a Japanese toy.”
She giggled. “You mean like ‘Have happy-happy joy-joy with Girl-Play time’? Cool; I like it! Okay, Mon thinks you’re a girl, so there’s no problem if you come on up to my room and we’ll see who we see.”
I was nervous following her because she’s a bit wild when she gets on a mission or quest. Also, her parents didn’t allow boys in her room, so I’d always been confined to the downstairs den when I came over. I hoped Monica didn’t get another look at me, because I was sure she’d realize her mistake and boot me from the house. We didn’t see her, and made it to Taylor’s room safely.
I had trouble reconciling Ramses-listening rocker Taylor with the exquisitely feminine room. There was a queen-sized bed, one with four posts and a white lace canopy. In fact, all of her bedclothes were white lace, as were the curtains. The walls were a soft color I’d learned was called lilac, with white enamel trim around the window. She had some prints hung, not just posters but actually framed, of a Degas and Toulouse-Lautrec. Along one wall was a large dresser in white with darker purple accents–lavender, maybe?–that looked like an antique. The top had jewelry boxes and pictures of her family. On another wall was a matching vanity with mirrored trays holding her cosmetics and a full-length mirror in a swivel stand was on one side; the other side was a coat-rack or hat-tree with hats, caps, and scarves. White carpet led to sliding mirrored closet doors.
I was absolutely staggered by how lovely the room was, except for the silly thought: ‘Who has white carpeting?’
“Taylor, this is ... incredible,” I said, stunned.
“I know; it sucks.”
“No, it’s great! I love it!” And I did; I wasn’t just saying it.
“Well, you passed the first test. You’re a girl, all right. This is my mom’s dream room, and at first I didn’t have the heart to tell her I hated it, but over time I kind of like it. It’s like a refuge, sort of.”
I turned to her and referred to our shared love for Lord of the Rings. “It’s the same kind of feeling like when Frodo comes to Rivendell. Really peaceful and restful. You’re right; it’s a refuge. Cool!” And I meant it.
I pulled the padded bench out from the vanity and sat. Taylor was bopping around, talking to herself. I heard her mutter, “No, too prep” and “Maybe the satin ...” and “Oooo, yeah!” and that worried me, because she had this glint in her eyes that I knew often led to Detention for somebody ...
“Mark, do you trust me? I mean, really trust me?”
I could tell she was absolutely serious, and answered as seriously. “Yeah, I guess so. Yes, I do. Um ... do you trust me?”
She hadn’t been expecting that; her head snapped back and her eyes widened. “Of course I ...” Her tone got serious. “Yes, I do. More than my sister, more than any of my friends. You’re ... just the best.”
I smiled. “I feel the same way, except for the ‘sister’ part.”
Suddenly shy, she sat on the edge of her bed and held her hands between her knees, her dark curly hair falling over her face. “Um ... okay. The trust thing is the most important, because what we’re gonna do ... what I’m gonna do is help you find you.”
I looked around, then in the mirror and pointed. “Whoa! Look at that! Job done! I’m right there!”
She shook her head. “Nope. Somebody in a Mark package is sitting there, but not you. Because the you I’m talking about–that I’m absolutely sure of it, now–isn’t a boy named Mark. We’re going to find her … the girl within.” She snickered. “Sounds like a movie on the Lifetime channel! You know, the one for women?”
I didn’t tell her that Mom and I routinely watched movies on Lifetime; I never thought about the network being primarily for women. I just liked being close with Mom, and talking about the families the movies were about.
Taylor narrowed her eyes. “What time do you have to be home?”
“It’s Friday, so …ten-ish, eleven-ish, something like that.”
“Is there any way you could, well, lie and get a sleepover?”
I shook my head. “Tay, I don’t have any guy friends that would do that; you know that. You’re my best friend.”
The realization that I didn’t have any male friends hadn’t occurred to me until just then, either. Geez, I thought; just how out of it am I? And my mind quickly went over who I was friendliest with in school, and I realized that besides Taylor, I walked between classes or had lunch with Amy, Chelsea, and Amber, usually. Or Megan or Hailey. All girls …and this also explained some of the looks I was starting to notice in the last month or two of school …
Taylor broke into my thoughts.“Is there any way … wait a minute. Could you tell your mom that you and I are going to the movies with Monica and Brad, and there might be Midnight Movies, and after Brad takes us home you crash here?”
“It’s possible,” I said, frowning at the lie, but then, I was a teenager now, and wasn’t lying to my parents part of the job description? “Let me think how to put it … well, I’ll either get the sleepover or at least a real late curfew.”
“Good enough.” She picked up the phone and tossed it to me. “Do the deed.”
It was easier than I thought. Mom was rushing around trying to get ready for hosting a bridge game, which meant that Dad would find something to do out of the house so he could avoid The Ladies, as he called them. And Jake would be out with his girlfriend Ashley Dunlap, most likely. So Mom said it would be fine, once we established that Taylor’s parents would be gone but Monica would police things, but she said if I got ‘homesick’ I could call and she’d come get me, no matter the hour. Geez, like I was ten or something! And it was only that one time!
I ended the call and found myself looking at the phone in my hand as if I’d never seen one before.
“That was weird. She said yes. I think she …”
“She still thinks you’re a little kid?” Taylor said gently. “I know. We’re at the age where they sometimes think of us as teenagers and other times just as little kids. Mom’s driving me crazy right now because of it. But it means that we’ve got this little … what do they call it? Oh yeah; a little window of opportunity while it lasts. Otherwise she never would have allowed a boy and girl sleepover.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” I said, hanging up the phone. “Still …” There was another possibility …
Taylor sat next to me on the dresser bench and softly said, “Do you think it might be because somewhere, deep down, your mom thinks of you as her daughter? I mean, not openly, but you said she was distracted right now for her party, and it just sort of slipped out when you said ‘sleeping over at Taylor’s’? Maybe?”
“Maybe …” It did fit, sort of; it had just felt …well, as strange as this day was turning out.
“So, back to my original question. Do you trust me?”
“Yeah, sure. Why?”
She looked into my eyes quite seriously. “I’m going to ask you to do things that you might not want to do. You’re going to think you shouldn’t do them, but that’s not really the case. It’s just society, social stuff, making you think you should or shouldn’t do things. But society doesn’t understand the real you.”
“Taylor … you’re not talking about drugs or stealing or anything like that?”
She surprised me by laughing. “Yes! Exactly right! We’re going to shoot up a lid of acid and shoplift truck parts!” She whooped with laughter. “Geez, Mark! Ah, God, that’s funny …” Her laughter was over almost as quickly as it began. “No. I already told you, you’re going to meet you, and as long as you trust me and know that I love you and only want what’s best for you, you’ll be okay. Oh, and you have to be totally honest.”
“Shoot up a lid of acid? You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I teased, then sighed. “Okay. Honest. But I always am, Taylor, at least with you.”
“I know, hon. But no saying what you think I want to hear when I ask you questions, alright?”
“Okay, but it goes both ways, right?”
“Right. Okay. I’ll get more drink fixin’s and check with Monica. Be right back. Oh, while I’m gone, I want you to go … no, follow me.”
She got up from the bench, tugging my hand. We went to her adjoining bathroom and she pointed to things as she spoke. “You’re going to take a shower. Shut up; you are. So, there is the shampoo and conditioner to use, there’s the body wash, and towel’s there and then put on this bathrobe.” She indicated a pink chenille robe on the door, and then pointed to a jar with a plunger. “Oh, use this on your skin all over except your face, and then that body talc under your arms and …well, between your legs. You know what I mean. Come back with the robe on and your hair damp.” She left me.
What the heck? I stripped and folded my things and then followed her instructions. It was very nice shampoo and the body wash had a slight lavender scent and left my skin feeling very clean. After I toweled off, the moisturizer was a cream but made my skin feel slick. Using the talc was weird but I did what she told me, and then put on the robe.
She was sitting on her vanity bench, waiting for me with new cans of Pepsi and a Tupperware pitcher of ice cubes, and some cookies.
“I talked with Monica. She’s going to have Brad over here–Mom will think I’m policing her, while your mom will think that Monica’s policing us–and I told her we’re having a ‘girls’ night in’. She knows what that means.”
I sat on the edge of her bed. Oddly enough, I kept my knees together so the robe didn’t fall open. “What does that mean?”
She leaned over, her elbows on her knees. “It means exactly what it is. For the purposes of keeping Monica off our back, she’s going to think it’s two giggly middle-school kids playing. Believe me; she won’t care, and she’ll have her hands full with Brad.”
“Oh. Okay. I thought you meant–”
“Oh, I do, I do.” She wiggled her eyebrows theatrically. “Now. First things first.” She got up and went to her bureau and pulled out some yellow panties and handed them to me. “Put these on.”
“Oh,” I said dumbly, fingering the softness. “You did mean …”
“Yes,” she said in an odd voice. “We’re going to meet the real you, and I think–I’m pretty darned sure–that the real you is a girl.”
I stared at her for a moment. Something … tilted inside my head and somehow it just made sense to bend over and put my legs in the panties and pull them up. I stood as I tugged them up under my robe, and frowned. I turned my back to Taylor and bent over and pushed my little male parts between my legs and then pulled the panties all the way up. I parted the robe, looking down, and then turned back to Taylor. She held my eyes for a moment and then looked at the panties. Her eyes flickered for a moment and she smiled.
“Right. About what I thought.” She sighed deeply. “Okay. The hard part … drop the robe and …”
I knew what was up; she was holding the yellow bra in her hand. I didn’t drop the robe; I folded it closed and laid it on the bed and stood waiting. Taylor rose and held up the bra as she looked me in the eyes. I held her gaze and put each arm through the straps; she reached behind me and did the clasp. Only then she surprised me. Turning back to the vanity she opened a box and took out a fleshly blob.
“From when Monica thought she’d never grow up,” she murmured, and inserted the blob in the bra cup over my heart.
She repeated with the other, and then pushed slightly and rearranged the straps, stood back and nodded. “So now, bend, stretch, walk, whatever. See what you think.”
It was certainly strange to feel the new weight on my chest. As I moved I could feel them move slightly; not swinging back and forth but just a subtle … ripple that something was there. I thought that women didn’t notice it like this because they didn’t go from flat to filled bra; they had a gradual growth. And for some reason, the thought of growing my own breasts floated through my mind for the first time …
Taylor said, “Try turning–never mind; you’ve got it.”
I guess I’d done a pivot of some sort; it felt natural but also un-natural because I was aware of her scrutiny and was observing myself at the same time.
“Okay. Now walk to my full-length mirror and tell me what you see.”
One door of her walk-in closet was a full-length mirror; the other door was a sort of massive cork board filled with photos, ribbons, and mementos. I quickly decided to not look at myself until I was fully in the mirror, and when I turned it was …
When I was little there was that fuzzy time when I changed from Being The Entire World to discovering there was a split; there was Me and there was The World. From that time on I was aware of differences, between boys and girls, children and adults, boys and boys … I learned that I did not look like other boys. I hadn’t quite put it together that I looked like a girl. That was taken care of by taunts and insults from boys at school. But it was one of the reasons that I had so few friends, and none as close as Taylor.
Looking at the girl in the mirror, the differences I saw went in two directions at the same time. First, I looked just like a girl. It was that simple; it was just a girl in the mirror, no different from Taylor or Chelsea or Amber or any of the girls I knew at school–not that I’d seen any of them in just bra and panties–but the overall effect, the image, was of a similar girl. So the difference was removed.
The difference was magnified in the other direction. I used to not look much like the other boys in my class. Now I looked not at all like them. I had crossed a line between boy and girl–heck, I was so far over the line that it had vanished in the distance. The way I viewed the world had changed, and the way I viewed myself had changed–not to mention how I would fit in my family.
I turned from side to side, looking at the girl who had always been inside me and was now looking at me in the mirror. Trapped in glass. To be freed or imprisoned again?
Taylor said, “Well? What do you think?”
Silent, I walked back to the vanity bench and sat, my legs together, my hands in my lap, thinking furiously. There was something happening; a lump in my chest and my breathing became difficult. I was too young for a heart attack, right? But it felt like the Chestburster from the movie Alien. And then it exploded. I burst into tears, racking sobs, grabbing handfuls of the tissues Taylor quickly handed me, and then she sat next to me with her arm around me, stroking my hair.
“God, Mark, I’m so sorry! Geez, I never meant … look, this was a bad idea. I’m stupid. I’m sorry; oh, I’m so sorry!” She went on and on.
I waved a hand at her to quiet her and went back to dabbing my eyes and nose. Finally, shuddering, I knew the storm was over and oddly enough I felt much better. I grabbed some new tissue and did the cleaning up, aware that my eyes were probably bloodshot and my nose still runny.
“Taylor,” I began, and drew a ragged breath. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Don’t …” I choked slightly. “You don’t have to be sorry. It’s just … oh, God …”
She was making little shushing noises, still stroking my hair, as if I were an infant. Well, maybe I was; the world had changed tonight and I was new-born.
Taylor misinterpreted and said again, “Look, this was a bad idea. Here’s your things,” she handed me my boy clothes. “I’ll … I’ll just go downstairs for a bit.” She rose to leave but I reached a hand to grab her arm.
“No, Tay, it wasn’t a bad idea. It was … an idea whose time had to come. It was best to come when I was safe with my best friend. Um … you were right.”
“I was right? Okay. I’m not used to being right … right about what?” She sat again.
“About there being a girl in me. Inside. Or maybe not inside so much as … being revealed. Like pulling off a Halloween mask. I haven’t had time to think about it or put it into better words …”
“No, I think the Halloween thing is pretty good,” Taylor nodded slowly. “There never was a time when I thought you were … well, if I thought about it at all; because that’s where I’ve been really stupid. I always kind of sensed it but never actively thought about it, you know? And I guess it’s like I took you for granted. I’m sorry.”
“No, no; it’s okay. You sensed it?”
She nodded and reached for her glass. “Yeah, from time to time. The idea of the girl inside, like next to Mark, or behind him, I didn’t feel. Not like a split, not schizo or anything. Thinking about it now, it was like you were a girl just like me. I mean, we just get each other the way girls do. We relate like girls. I don’t mean we get giggly about boy bands or gossip about other girls and makeup and stuff, but just ...” She took a sip, thinking. “It’s just how we view the world. Boys see it differently; I don’t need to have a brother to know that.”
“Well, I’ve got a brother and I can tell you that you’re right; boys see the world differently, and …” I shook my head sadly.
I thought of her statement that we don’t get giggly about boy bands and stuff–we actually did that sort of thing. Just that afternoon, before Monica burst in on us, Taylor had been talking about how hot the singer for Ramses was, and I’d asked if he sang as good as he looked. Then she’d put on the CD and Monica entered and said the word ‘girls’.
So we did get giggly like girls did. And boys didn’t; my brother certainly never would. “I just never got Jake, and my dad, and all this … stuff between them.”
She gave me a knowing look. “Of course not; it was guy stuff. Like that saying, ‘You wouldn’t understand; it’s a girl thing’? That’s what we’ve got.”
I nodded. “Yeah. And why Mom and I get together so great …”
Laughing and holding up her hands, she said, “Whoa! My mom and I fight all the time! And my sister and me, too!”
“Different thing; that’s family fighting, not relating.”
“Ah, I see … so you are saying it’s all … relative?” She giggled.
“I’m not even going to touch that,” I sniffed playfully, which made me sniff more and I blew my nose. “Sorry.”
“Eh,” she waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be. To be female is to cry. And you are–” She stopped abruptly, censoring herself and watching me closely.
I nodded. “Yeah. I am female.”
End of Part 1
“So what now?” Taylor asked, after a time.
“Well, I’m sitting here in my undies–excuse me; your undies–so what’s the next thing in your bag of tricks?”
“You’re sure?”
“Certain-sure.”
“Okay. Um … fast or slow? Deep end or wading pool? Paper or plastic?”
“Plastic, I think, please,” I said like a shopper.
She still looked at me.
Reacting to her stare, I said, “What’s that line in Four Weddings and a Funeral? ‘More than Lady Di, less than Madonna’?”
She cracked up. “God, that’s a funny line! I didn’t much like her in the movie, but it’s a good line. Never felt like she was truly into him, though.”
“At this point I’d just settle for Lady Di,” I said dryly.
“So …” Taylor waved a hand in circles, encouraging me to go on.
“So we need to face facts and be open about this. We are talking about me wearing some of your clothes, to see what it’s like, right?” She nodded. “But your sister must know that I’m a boy when you got the …” Uncertain what to call them, I gestured to my filled bra.
“We girls call ‘em boobs,” she said matter-of-factly, including me in the ‘we’.
“I know what the real ones are,” I chuckled. “But these …”
She shrugged. “Boobs. Fake boobs. Breast forms. Inserts. Cheaters. Falsies. Whatever. They’re just boobs. Anyway, forget about it.”
“Forget what?”
“Forget about my sister. She doesn’t know because I didn’t ask.”
“But she knows you got them,” I began.
“No, no; look, you don’t have a big sister. Part of my job description as a little sister is to annoy her. All sisters borrow clothes back and forth, but their personal stuff is … personal. But little sisters are always exploring, trying to find love letters or unlocked diaries. Anyway, I found those a long time ago, stuffed way in the back of her closet under old sweaters.”
“You did explore!”
She shrugged again. “It’s what little sisters do. So when I went to ask Monica if you could stay over, she was down in the family room talking with Brad. Then I got the drinks and came back up but made a quick detour and, yep, she hadn’t tossed them. Still under the sweaters and never missed. I’ve just got to ditch the box,” she said, putting it together and sticking it in a bottom drawer of her vanity. She straightened and said, “So as far as my sister’s concerned, your boobs are … your boobs.” She held both hands out, palms up, and grinned.
My boobs … my boobs … my boobs … Those two words went rattling around my brain. I had to almost shake myself.
“Okay. Um … so I’ve got a question. If we’re two girls hanging out I’d probably just wear jeans and a t-shirt or something. Sweats, maybe.”
“Yeah,” she nodded. “We’re pretty casual at home. But we also try on each other’s stuff. So you’re covered either way. Tell you what; let’s find the basic ‘two girls hanging out’ clothes for you and then move on from there.”
“But if Monica sees me, won’t she know I’m wearing your clothes?”
“Yes and no. First of all, like I said, girls borrow clothes all the time. In fact, I’ve got an idea; I’ve got two tops I know she’s never seen–I just got ‘em. So I’ll put on one of them and if we see her, I’ll ask her what she thinks about the cute top that you loaned me?”
“It’s that easy?”
“Pretty much. Oh, and the other thing is that a lot of the ‘hanging out’ clothes are so generic that Mon could never tell if the jeans or skirt you were wearing was yours or mine.”
Skirt … I had to do that mental shake thing again.
She knew me too well. Grinning, she said, “Ah, I see that got your wheels turning! Okay, first things first. I think …” She walked to her bureau, glancing at her closet, as she thought. “Here.”
Tossing me a shirt and jeans from her bureau, she said, “Basic number one.”
I pulled on the jeans, which were very tight but had a little stretch to them, and was surprised at how low they were. They only came up to my hips and swooped across, inches below my belly button.
Taylor nodded. “I know. Pretty amazing, huh?”
“I guess … It’s a weird cut. Don’t know if I’d call it ‘amazing’, though.”
“Not the jeans, dummy, how you look in them! God, I’d kill for them to hang on my hips like that. You’re a natural, girlfriend! Those jeans are keepers.”
The top was a green t-shirt, but with cap sleeves and a low keyhole neckline. Taylor explained the terms of the clothing to me. It was a new experience pulling it down over my breasts–so to speak–and the bottom hung above my belly button, so I had a visible tummy. Taylor grabbed a brush and gave a few quick strokes to my hair, and then pushed me in the direction of the mirror.
The girl in the mirror was … a cute girl in the mirror. Tight green tee accenting the curve of her breasts, a slim tapering tummy, and rounded hips and shapely legs. I pivoted to look at my butt.
“Do these jeans make my butt look big?” I wondered aloud, and realized what I’d said just as Taylor burst out laughing.
“You got a tushie! That’s all you, babe!” Then she snorted and rolled her eyes. “And you are such a girl!”
I was turning from side to side, and pulled up the bottom of my tee and held it as I turned. There was no getting around it–I was curvy. I kinda-sorta knew that already, but it had never been so noticeable. And I was pointedly ignoring Taylor calling me ‘babe’ and ‘girlfriend’.
“I got a killer top for those,” she said as she flipped through hangers in her closet. “Here.” She handed me a white bit of lacy gauze.
I pulled the tee over my head, again pulling over ‘my boobs’ and discovered the white thing was a wrap top with belled three-quarters sleeves. It wrapped closed, showing just the top of the middle of my bra and I wondered how it would look–how it would feel–to have breasts swelling, to have actual cleavage.
“Yeah, that’s very cool,” Taylor approved.
We tried maybe a dozen tops and went back to the green tee. Then Taylor looked me in the eyes. “Time for an upgrade.” She handed me a hanger with a plain denim skirt.
I held her stare, laid the hanger on the bed, sat next to it and peeled off the jeans. I pulled the skirt up, zipped it, and turned it into place as I’d seen my mother do on occasion when I was younger. Taylor raised her eyebrows at that. I went to the mirror and smoothed the front of the skirt against me and turned this way and that, admiring. No doubt about it; I looked great in a skirt, I thought. I walked the length of her room, feeling the swish of material and thought, I feel great in a skirt.
Taylor just nodded, didn’t comment beyond, “Great legs” and then we went through different tops. At one point I had on the skirt and was pulling a black top over my head when there were three quick knocks at the door and Monica immediately stuck her head in the room. I had both hands in the air, half my face obscured by the top and with hair everywhere, conscious that she could see my bra, my tummy, my skirt, my legs … I froze.
Monica seemed to think nothing of it. “Hey,” she nodded to me. “Um … Tay, you guys wanna maybe get some ice cream later?”
Taylor looked at me and then her sister. “Yeah, sure, Mon. Thanks!”
Monica nodded and withdrew, but her parting words were, “Hey, cute top,” to me. She closed the door, never seeing me blush and tremble.
“See?” was all Taylor said. “Just a couple of girls hanging out. You’ll never convince her you’re a boy named Mark now.”
It was strange hearing that name and feeling somehow … disassociated from it. I pulled the top off and took the next one she handed me, a gold lamé halter. I was amazed she even had something like this; it looked like a disco throwback. I knew that she’d slipped it in among the natural fibers and everyday clothes I’d been trying, but what the heck. I wasn’t going to let her know she’d freaked me.
“I noticed you didn’t introduce us. So, Taylor, what is my name?”
“Allison.” She’d said it every bit as calmly as if she’d said ‘Mark’.
“Allison? Where the heck did you get that?”
“I was playing with Mark. I didn’t want to do something like Marsha that’s close to Mark–”
“Or make me hurt you because of ‘Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!’” I teased with the old Brady Bunch thing.
“I was thinking little kid names, you know? Like jump rope rhymes: Mark-issa, Mark-andy, Mark-allie … and the Allie part stuck so I went with that and I thought Alyssa or Alicia was too done, you know?”
“Heather, Heather, Jennifer, Jennifer,” I nodded. It was an old cartoon of an elementary school photo.
“Right. But I don’t know an Allison.”
Allison, I thought. I would be Allison? Allison …
Taylor shrugged. “And I’d call you Allie.”
I felt a strange almost-shiver of rightness. It was hard to appear casual, but I shrugged, too. “Okay. For the purposes of today’s play period, I can be Allie.”
“It’ll stick, you know!” she grinned wickedly. “Hey, do you know what your name would have been if you were born a girl?”
“No idea. It was …” I sighed. “I think it was always assumed I’d be the next jock in the family, until it was obvious I wasn’t.”
“Didn’t your mom want a girl? I mean, you do all those things with her …”
“That’s because …” That stopped me. Because … Why? I thought. “That’s because we just get along. I couldn’t be out playing football, so it just …” I frowned.
Why was I so definitely Mom’s child … was it just because we looked alike? What if I’d been athletically gifted; would that have made a difference? And if I’d been born a girl, I might still be athletically gifted, like Mackenzie Sanborn, a girl at the high school that was being courted by colleges for soccer and basketball. Or I might be the Suzie Homemaker in the apron baking a pie for my hungry jock father and brother–
Wait a minute–I already baked pies for my hungry jock father and brother. Well, I might also be … Oh God–I could have been a cheerleader! Cheering my big brother on the field …
“Earth to Allison! Earth to Allison!”
I became aware of Taylor again. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“I was about to say ‘Earth to Mark’ pretty soon. Where did you go?” She bounced up and down waving her hands. “Wait a minute; wait a minute. Let me guess! You were flashing on your life if you’d been born a girl.”
“What are you, psychic as well as psychotic?”
She ignored my line and just grinned. “It stands to reason. I think …” She frowned and got serious. “I think you’re going to find that you’re viewing the world very differently from now on, Allie.” She looked me in the eye when she said that.
I was going to fire back a Witty Retort, but instead I nodded and said, “Provisionally Allie.”
She heard it wrong. “Provisionally-ally? What does that mean?”
I chuckled. “Provisionally Allison. I really, really need to know if they had a girl’s name picked out for me and what it was. I should honor their wishes, unless it’s Hortense or something.”
“Clementine! Delilah! Bernardine!”
“Hey, that’s an old movie! Mom and I watched it. Kind of silly and sweet.”
The subject was closed; I was Allison until further notice.
I took off the gold halter top and sat on the bed as Taylor tossed me the green top that I’d started with.
“Good all-purpose top and you look great in it. Um … you want the jeans?”
I blushed slightly. “Could I … could I keep the skirt on instead?”
She shrugged. “Whatever you want, Allie. Monica’s already seen you in that skirt.”
“She saw me dressed as Mark before.”
“Yeah, but it didn’t register; she didn’t speak to you until just now. Very limited resources,” she pointed to her head, laughing. “Filled with ‘Brad, shoes, Brad, makeup, gossip, Brad, and Brad’.”
“Come on; she’s cooler than that!”
“Yeah, I guess so,” she pretended to grumble. “Anyway, she did offer ice cream.”
“Yeah, that’s cool. But you said I didn’t register the first time she was here–but she said ‘you girls’ and that’s when you got all crazy.”
She splayed her fingers across her upper chest. “Crazy? Moi? Mais non, ma cherie–and notice I’m using the feminine!”
“Two years of French and she’s ready to move to Paris,” I explained to the ceiling.
“And I realized that you were sort of behind the couch. I mean, from Monica’s view down in the den; all she could see was your head and shoulders.”
“My face and my hair,” I nodded, knowing how feminine I looked. “Okay. I’m convinced. So … now what?”
“Well, since there’s no prom tonight, and it’s too late to book a salon reservation for a mani-pedi, I guess we’ll just have to do what all girls do. Hang out.”
“Oh, God! Not that!” I put my arms over my face theatrically.
“Well, there is one thing …”
Even if I hadn’t seen the devilish grin, I could hear the tone. I took my arms down. “Is it going to hurt, cost much, or break any laws?”
“Definitely, thousands, and nope.”
I flopped on the bed, keeping my knees together. “What the heck?”
She pointed to me. “Gotta learn to flip the back of the skirt forward when you sit. Um … oh, yeah. A makeover!”
“A makeover … definitely hurt?”
She leered. “Only your male pride! And all the makeup you’ll buy over the years will cost you thousands of dollars, and it’s not against the law. Maybe the school Dress Code, but that’s a worry for another day.”
I was stunned. “Um … Taylor … you’re making this sound like more than a one-time thing.”
She nodded. “Yep. It is. I know it even if you don’t right now.”
“I’m just … humoring you,” I said lamely.
“You just think you are, because it was the only way Mark would let us meet Allison. It’s that simple.”
“It’s that simple?” I repeated.
She nodded. “That simple. You’re a girl. You were meant to be a girl. You are a girl, where it counts most, in your heart and in your mind and in your soul. It’s only … between your legs that says you aren’t a girl, and it’s only boys that are concerned about what’s between a girl’s legs, anyway.”
“That’s kind of … true,” I giggled. “Rude–but true.”
She laughed. “And what’s under their sweaters! But you …” She shrugged and gave me a look full of warmth. “You’re Allison, a girl and my best friend.” Then the wicked grin. “So deal with it!” She held up a hand. “I know; I know. You might not be Allison when you find out what you would have been named at birth, but find out soon so we can move on.”
“Move on …”
She faced me, all traces of humor gone. “This is serious. This is your life we’re talking about. Don’t do it now because I don’t want to bum out the night, but when you get home, think about your day-to-day life as Mark, and think about what Mark’s life would be like through the years. What will be expected of him and what he might be like. What he would do, what he would be. Okay?”
“Okay,” I nodded. “But–”
Up went the hand again. “Then think about your life as Allison–or whatever girl’s name you have–on a day-to-day basis. I don’t mean how weird it would be to go to school as Mark one day and Allison the next. I mean, you know … after the dust has settled. Or in a different school, although I’d hate for you to move. But think about how you’d be as a girl in school. And think about Allison’s future; what she might do for herself and her family. Think about Mark and Allison, and then we’ll talk.”
“Then we’ll talk?” I tried to lighten the mood.
She nodded. “Then we’ll talk all heavy. But not tonight. Tonight is Tay and Allie, hanging out. So, on the bench with you.” She gestured to the vanity bench.
Dutifully, I obeyed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Yes, miss, thank you very much,” she sniffed.
She brushed my hair back and then pulled out huge alligator clips to pull it back from my face. She studied my face for a time and then began daubing and brushing and painting and doing all sorts of things, instructing as she went.
“Okay, the foundation goes on like this and my God you’ve got skin to die for! Why have I never noticed your pores before? They’re perfect! I hate you! Eyeshadow … mascara–watch for clumps–little rouge like this, great cheekbones … and … lips … hate you even more …” and on and on.
She’d been blocking my view of the mirror, working on me. She stepped back and I stared at the pretty girl in the mirror. Even though it felt like she’d been putting tons of stuff on my face, it was fairly light and natural, with smoky tones at my eyes and a wine-colored lipstick defining my lips. She stared, tilting her head slightly.
“I could do your lips differently, and it might be fun to go heavy on the eyeliner, but what do you think?” She adopted a caveman tone. “Allie pretty?”
I nodded. “Allie pretty. God, I can’t …” The lump was back in my throat. “I don’t know what’s happening to me …”
“You’re meeting you. The Mark mask is gone. The pretty girl is here, now. And she’s not going to go away. Um … let me try something.”
She fooled around with my hair. I usually parted it down the middle and held it back with a leather band low on my neck, like the long-haired rocker guys at school. Taylor pulled all of my hair to the crown of my head and held it like a ponytail.
Like a doctor advising a patient, she said, “Your hair isn’t long enough in back to put it on the tippy-top of your head. That’s okay with me, because it always reminds me of a handle. In another month or two the wisps in back will be long enough that you can do that. Right now, though, you can probably do a very nice ponytail back here, where most girls wear it.” She brushed the hair to the back of my crown. “It’s long enough that you won’t have any flyaway strands. Pigtails …” She pulled it out in two clumps on the sides. “Naw. Not you. When you were six, maybe. But here’s a couple of things I really want to try.”
She brushed my hair out and straight back, rummaged in a vanity drawer and found a white ribbon which she tied behind my neck and over the top of my head. It was a cute, undeniably girlish look, but she shook her head.
“Naw. A little too Alice-in-Wonderland. Okay.”
“Allison Wonderland?” I teased.
She just rolled her eyes and ignored me–I figured she was miffed that she hadn’t thought of it. Next she removed the ribbon, brushed, and this time she brushed it from the side, across my forehead, and attached a barrette on the other side.
“Very cool,” she approved, nodding.
I had to agree. I looked at myself from side to side, marveling at the difference the new style made to my face. I had to reassess my face; the old familiar Mark-face–even the one under the makeup–was gone and in its place was a pretty girl who looked rather similar to Avril Lavigne, without the punk or Goth or whatever her raccoon eyes were.
Taylor snapped her fingers. “Hey, you know who you look like?”
“Yeah, yeah; Avril. I see it, too.”
Changing the words to ‘Sk8tr Boi’, Taylor danced and sang, “He was a boy, now she’s a girl, could I make it any more obvious!”
To my surprise, she grabbed my hand. “Come on, Allie! Dance with me!”
Embarrassed at first, then getting into it, I joined her in a hopping, teen-girl dance, bouncing around her room as we riffed on Avril’s song. We stopped suddenly at the knocking of the door. Monica stuck her head in again.
“I thought you liked Ramses, and you’re doing teeny-bopper?”
“Mon! Doesn’t she look like Avril Lavigne with her hair like this?” Taylor presented me with both hands.
It was the first time I’d heard the feminine pronouns applied to me, and I got a strange shiver.
It was also the first time I faced her sister directly, head-on, dressed as a girl, and not obscured behind a couch or tangled up in a top.
Monica didn’t see the shiver; she looked at me and nodded. “Kinda. I mean, with straight blonde hair, how can you not look like Avril? But, yeah …” She looked startled. “I’m sorry; I don’t know your name. Somebody failed her social obligations,” she said, pretending to glare at her sister.
Taylor casually tossed back. “She’s Allison. But doesn’t she look cute?”
Monica nodded. “Yes, she’s very pretty. And Avril is much prettier without all that eyeliner. I saw her in a fashion spread somewhere and she was absolutely stunning.”
I took a chance. “I saw her in a bikini, you know? Just wandering around the beach with sunglasses?” I used the rising inflection that girls did.
Monica didn’t react like she’d heard a boy. Instead, she nodded vigorously. “I know the pictures you mean! The light blue one? I thought, so that’s what you’ve been hiding under that t-shirt!” She chuckled.
“I know!” I laughed with her. “But I never thought …”
“Allie just parts her hair down the middle at school. Very boring,” she looked at me and rolled her eyes, like we two girls had been having this discussion for years.
“Hey, it’s easy to manage,” Monica shrugged. “So, do you guys want ice cream?”
“We told you before, yeah,” Taylor said. “I think there’s some Neapolitan left …”
Monica waved a hand. “Forget that. I meant Baskin-Robbins. Come on; ten minutes.” She withdrew her head and closed the door.
I looked at Taylor, terrified. “Tay … I can’t …”
She nodded. “Yes, you can. And you will. Look, it’s just ice cream. Brad and Mon will make goo-goo eyes at each other, we’ll get some Gold Medal Ribbon Chocolate and then we’re back home. But first …”
Taylor flew into action while I stood there, stunned. First she went to her closet and tossed me two black flats to try on. Zombie-like, I did; they were tight. She made a face and waved her hand; I removed the shoes and tossed them back as two more came flying at me, brown with rounded toes and buckles. They fit quite nicely, actually. I was admiring my feet when she pulled me to her vanity again. She threw open a nail kit and then a bottle of a dark wine nail polish that matched my lipstick.
Matched my lipstick … ? My fuzzy brain struggled to process that.
She quickly but expertly did one hand and stuck it under a UV dryer as she worked on the second one. She put her kit away and turned back to me and told me to close my eyes. Without questioning I did it and she sprayed my neck and wrists with some cologne. She checked my nails, switched my hands in the UV gadget, and then went to her closet. I couldn’t turn around very well with my hand in the gadget so I watched in the mirror as she did more rummaging and pulled out a purse and began tossing things into it. Finally, she grabbed a gray hoodie and came back to check my nails. She nodded and told me to stand.
I stood and she pulled me over to her dresser and rummaged around in the jewelry box. She handed me two rings to try for size; I tried a couple of fingers and they fit, while she faced me and attached a necklace, spinning it into place. She turned back to her jewelry box and pulled out several bracelets, shaped her hands and I imitated that as she slid them in place.
I held my hand up, to let the bracelets fall into place, but was jarred by how pretty my nail polish was. I would have admired them further but she had me slide the purse strap over my shoulder, fold the hoodie over the purse, and then grabbed her own purse and hoodie.
“Let’s go, Allie!” she said, linking my arm and half-dragging me downstairs.
The strangeness I’d felt in these clothes upstairs was nothing compared to what it was like to face Monica and Brad in them–and to try to appear perfectly casual and normal.
“Come on, Allie,” Taylor said. “Gotta formally introduce you.” She sneered playfully at her sister. “This is Monica, my sister whom you’ve met twice tonight but somehow I’m the one that was not polite. And that’s Brad, her boyfriend and a nice guy even though he dates my sister. Guys, Allison. Allie, guys.”
We all kind of went ‘hi’ or ‘hey’ to each other and that was that. I was Allie, a girl, one of Taylor’s friends. It was as simple as that! We went out and piled into Brad’s car, a purple PT Cruiser. I couldn’t decide if his car was ultra nerdy or ultra cool, but he was nice and it didn’t smell of cigarettes like some guy’s cars and off we went to get ice cream–
–at the mall!
As Brad was parking, I was getting nervous and kind of grabbed Taylor’s hand. She raised an eyebrow. “Baskin-Robbins. Don’t you ever go here?”
“No! We usually go to the one by the library; I thought that was the one you meant,” I nearly growled. It was a stand-alone store; you got your ice cream and you went home. I vaguely remembered there was a Baskin-Robbins at the mall, but it didn’t matter. Ice cream wasn’t the issue; Mark in public in girl’s clothing was.
“Relax,” Taylor said under her breath. Louder, she said, “So, Mon … are you treating?”
“Why should I … ? Oh, yeah, I guess I did invite you.”
We got out of the car and walked into the ice cream shop.
“That’s okay, Monica,” I said, trying to sound feminine. “You don’t have to pay for mine.”
“Thanks, Allison. At last! Taylor’s got a friend with manners!” she said to the ceiling. “Seriously, I’ll spring for it, as long as you don’t go nuts.”
“Double Gold Medal Ribbon with a waffle cone,” Taylor said, daring her sister to deny it.
I saw Monica glare until I softly said, “Just a single scoop of Cherries Jubilee; in a cup, please.”
“I like her,” Monica nodded to me while still locking eyes with Taylor. “She can hang with us anytime.”
We got our ice cream and there was a moment when it became apparent that Brad and Monica wanted to separate from us. Monica tossed her hair back to lick her cone.
“So, what. An hour? Back here?”
“Sure. See ya,” Taylor said to the already-leaving couple. Turning to me, she wiggled her eyebrows and grinned. “So, worked pretty well, didn’t it?”
“What did?”
“I was greedy about the ice cream on purpose; it took the pressure off you and now Monica loves your ass. Did you hear her? ‘You can hang with us anytime’. Gah … don’t believe her; she was just trying to razz me. But, hey, we got free ice cream and a trip to the mall.”
“Yeah,” I said with gritted teeth. “The mall. The mall.” I got closer and hissed so only she could hear. “And I’m in a skirt and makeup! At the mall!”
She raised her eyebrows. “So? What else would Allison Chambers wear on a Friday night at the mall? Come on, Allie; stop freaking out. Consider it an undercover assignment, or an anthropological expedition, or whatever. Just relax and be the girl that was dancing in my bedroom–the girl that is you, by the way–and let’s do the mall.”
She actually meant, ‘Let’s do Claire’s’. It must be in every mall in America, or its sister store Icing. It’s where you go to get your ears pierced, choose new earrings and bracelets and rings and accessories–if you’re a girl. So Taylor was actually pretty smart, because I had to sink or swim … so I swam, meaning that I just became another teen girl like Taylor. We tried things on, held things up to our ears or necks, giggled, and flittered from section to section.
A very strange thing was happening. At some point–I didn’t know exactly when–I wasn’t pretending to be a girl anymore. I wasn’t trying to be anything. I was just me, having fun with my bud Taylor. There was a strange sense of being relaxed, of zero stress or effort, that confused me. I put it behind me to think about later, and just enjoyed my time with Taylor.
We left Claire’s with only a few trinkets–Taylor really, really wanted me to get my ears pierced, even though she fully understood why I couldn’t, and we’d need a parental consent anyway–and went to a boutique, where she would hold up tops to herself, get my opinion, hold them up to me, and finally pulled a skirt and handed it to me with one hand and shoved me into a fitting room with the other hand.
I was calmer than I should have been, probably, because I mentally shrugged, figuring, ‘Well, I’m here; might as well try the darned thing on’. It was a textured black gauzy material, with what I learned was called a dagged hem. Taylor also called it a kerchief hem, but I think that was her own term. It was much longer than my denim skirt, hanging down to my shins, but I liked it. Something about it resonated with me. I came out to show Taylor, who nodded vigorously.
“God, Allie, you look great! Turn around.”
I spun in place and experienced the full flutter of the skirt around my legs. It was wonderful.
She nodded again. “I could never wear that look; I’m too dumpy. But you’ve got the figure for it–and killer legs. But you need heels!”
The thought flashed through my mind of ‘Heels, yeah, black with a … ’ and I had this mental crash where one part of my brain screamed, ‘But you’re a boy!’ and the other part screamed, ‘It would be so delicious to wear heels with this skirt and go someplace fancy!’ and then my brain hung up on the word ‘delicious’–had I actually thought that?–and it was too much overload; I actually shook. I simply nodded to Taylor’s compliments and went to change.
We had to head back to Baskin-Robbins to meet Monica and Brad, and I was kind of quiet. Taylor asked if she’d done something to piss me off; if so, she was sorry.
“No, it’s not that, Tay … you’ve been great–more than great,” I shrugged. “It’s me. I’m freaking.” I told her about my mental crash, or hang up, or whatever it was.
She nodded. Very reasonably, she said, “You’re going to get that all the time now, until you can finally start living as a girl.”
“What makes you think I’m going to start living as a girl?” I asked, seriously.
“That.” She stopped me and pointed to our right. There was a pillar between windows of a luggage store, and in the mirror was a pretty blonde girl in a green top and denim skirt, good legs, and her shorter, darker friend pointing. Of course, the girl was me.
“Taylor …” I began.
“Look, I’m kind of a Pandora here,” she shrugged. “I don’t believe we’re going to get the genie back in the bottle. Was that Pandora? Wait …”
“The box,” I sighed.
“Right. Well, we’re not going to get her back into his box. Or bottle; whatever. The moment Monica called you a girl–that second–I realized that your life was going to change. Had to change. And the sooner the better.”
“So you’re in charge of my life, now?” I said, trying to keep any anger out of my voice.
“Kind of,” she said, nodding and oblivious to my resentment. “It’s like when you save a life, you’re responsible for that person for the rest of their life.”
“I never understood that. It always seemed like the guy that got rescued should be responsible …”
“Well, I don’t make the rules. That’s just how it is. Face it, Allie; you’re a girl and you’ve always been a girl, but you didn’t know it. I think because you were so busy trying to be the next jock dude in the family. But I also think your mom suspects that you’re her daughter. Otherwise she wouldn’t be teaching you all the Suzie Homemaker stuff she does.”
“Careful! Don’t mess with Suzie Homemaker!” I tried to lighten the mood, then sighed. “But you might be right.”
We’d arrived at Baskin-Robbins and found a little round table in their laughably-small patio. Taylor went and got two little cups of ice water and napkins to justify keeping the table, and we’d wait for her sister.
“I’m sorry,” Taylor said, surprising me. “I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. If you’re happy being a boy and you think you’ll be happy being a man, that’s your own life. We’ll just chalk up tonight as a lark and never talk about it again.”
“Um,” I said, eloquently, sipping the cold water. Something sort of snapped or crackled or popped in my head. It wasn’t brain freeze, it was … well, it was a decision.
“Tay, when we were fooling around in Claire’s … how did I seem?”
“Fine. I mean,” she shrugged, frowning. “Fine. I don’t know what you mean.”
“Did I seem … phony, or pretentious, or … campy or anything? Like I was trying to act like a girl?”
She frowned as she shook her head. “No. Just … you seemed like any other girl. You seemed like me. I’ve been in Claire’s hundreds of times with friends and it was … just like always. You didn’t seem fake or anything. Why? Did it feel phony?”
“No, that’s just it! It didn’t. I wasn’t Mark, I wasn’t a boy, I wasn’t trying to be Allison. I was just … well, I kind of ‘let go’ … let go of trying to be anything. And when I did that …”
“You were Allie,” she observed with a nod.
I nodded back. “Yeah. Did my–or do my–gestures seem natural, or like a put-on, or anything?” I had my hand up as I spoke.
She shook her head again. “Nope. Just like anybody else’s … any other girl, I mean. And your voice … have you noticed that your voice sounds like a girl’s? I mean, the way it rises and falls, and the words you use, and everything … I can tell you that I know Mark’s voice, and tonight I haven’t heard Mark. Not once.”
I nodded again. “I know. And I’m kind of worried. It’s that damned Pandora’s genie thing of yours!”
She was laughing at that just as Monica and Brad came around the corner, saw us, and walked to the table.
Monica smiled at us. “Brad’s gonna get a coffee for the road. Have a good time?”
“Yeah. Did Claire’s and Wet Seal,” Taylor said off-handedly.
“Did you buy anything at Wet Seal? Because they’re having a sale next weekend.”
“No, but Allie found a killer skirt. Black with a kerchief hem–”
“I know that one!” Monica said, smiling. “I saw it last week. I’m not sure about it for me,” she said, turning to look at me and still smiling, “but with your coloring and your figure, Allie, I bet it looked great!”
“And her legs!” Taylor grinned at me.
“Um … thanks,” I smiled. “Yeah, but I didn’t get it. But thanks for telling me about the sale. Maybe I can convince Mom next week …” I trailed off, my mouth still open.
Brad was at the counter talking with my brother Jake and his girlfriend Ashley, and pointing to Monica and us at the table!
I froze, time stood still … all the usual clichés applied. The guys were busy talking, but Ashley squeezed Jake’s arm and came over to us.
“Hey, Monica,” she smiled.
I’d always liked Ashley, but right now I wanted the earth to swallow her up. Aliens to kidnap her. Or me.
“Hey, Ash,” Monica nodded. “Dude-speak?”
Ashley nodded, too. “And on and on about the Yankees. Or the Chargers. Or whoever.”
Monica rolled her eyes. “It’s gotten worse since Brad got ESPN sent to his cell phone.”
“Tell me about it!” Ashley tossed her hair as she sat. “Last night, we were snuggling, and I realized he was reading scores on his phone over my shoulder! Another girl I could fight, but not ESPN! Hi, I’m Ashley,” she smiled at us.
I desperately wished for invisibility.
Taylor casually said, “Oh, I’m her sister Taylor and this is my friend Allison.”
“Hi,” Ashley nodded and smiled to each of us.
Was it my imagination or did she linger just a moment longer on me before turning back to Monica? And what was the first thing out of Monica’s mouth?
“Hey, remember that black skirt at Wet Seal? Allie wants to get it.”
“That’s a cool skirt,” Ashley said, turning to me. “I bet it’d look great with your coloring.”
Could I rewind the last ten minutes of my life and sit somewhere else? Or not have tried on that damn skirt? Or changed my coloring? Instead, I nodded and realized that I had to say something. Keeping my voice as un-Mark as possible, I said, “Gotta check with Mom first.”
“Oh, I know that,” Ashley said, making a face. Turning back to Monica she said, “You’d think I flatlined every card she ever gave me! Now I’ve gotta check the balance and report to her before I get anything. Honestly!”
Monica nodded in sympathy and Taylor turned to her sister. “Hey, Mon, are you guys going to be here long? I wanna show Allie something at Barnes & Noble.”
“No buying, and like … ten minutes, okay? Keep your phone on,” Monica said and turned to Ashley. “Did you hear about Jen Stuart and Greg?”
They were off in gossip-land while Taylor and I got up. I was painfully conscious of Ashley watching me walk, and tried to be as naturally girly as I could. That is, I assumed Ashley was watching; I was too paranoid to check and most likely she and Monica were just gossiping away.
“God, I can’t believe that!” Taylor said. “I had to get you away!”
“I know; thanks. I was dying there,” I said, sighing with relief once we were around the corner.
“Seriously, though? You pulled it off. You were just my BFF Allie and no worries.”
“Is that … Am I your BFF, Taylor? ‘Cause I know it means a lot.”
“I thought about it when we were in Claire’s. Yeah, you’re my BFF. Um … if you wanna be …” she added, shy for the first time.
“Of course! Omigod, I’m flattered and … yeah, I’m your BFF, and you’re mine.”
“Really? Aw, that’s so sweet!” She gave me a sunny smile and turned and hugged me. I hugged back. Taylor gave me a tight squeeze and let go. “Cool. Now, we just hang out until Monica and Brad are ready to leave.”
“What’s at Barnes & Noble?”
“Nothing. I just picked it because it’s close to the car. If I’d said ‘Abercrombie’, she’d think we’d be gone for another hour and would have said no.”
“Well, let’s just go there anyway. I just want to … get away. God, Jake and Ashley! Do you think she recognized me?”
“If she did, she’s a lot smarter than that blonde routine she gets away with. But she didn’t say or do anything, did she? So it’s either no, she didn’t, or yes, but she’s cool. I don’t think she’s going to say to her boyfriend, ‘Hey, Jake, why is your little brother so much cuter than me?’”
I was stunned and slapped her upper arm as we entered the bookstore.
She grinned and danced away. “Hey, Jake, why are your little brother’s legs so much sexier than mine?”
“Geez, Taylor! Shut up!” I squealed, like any teen girl.
She laughed and then nodded. “I was kidding.” She paused. “No, I wasn’t! Hey, check it out,” she said quickly and held up a magazine. “Can’t believe people are still into the Jonas Brothers. Any of ‘em.”
“Do you really think I’m cuter?” I whispered.
She stifled a laugh. “God, you are such a girl!” She looked around and held the magazine up so it looked like we were both looking at it. “But, truthfully? I think you will be. There’s, what … four years’ difference? So when you’re her age, I think, yeah, you’ll be cuter.”
I stared at her. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. That is,” she shrugged. “If you let things proceed … if you know what I mean.”
I knew what she meant. The question was, would I be allowed to let things proceed?
End of Part 2
We were just teen girls browsing through teen girl magazines, showing each other fashions and articles. At one point I was showing Taylor a dress selection and she looked at me, her eyes narrowed.
“What?” I asked. “Don’t you think it’s cute?”
“Oh, yeah, it’s cute. Better for you–‘with your coloring’–but that’s not it. You’re going to have to talk with her.”
“Who, Ashley? I did say something and she didn’t recognize me.”
“No. I mean your mom. When the guys are out shooting hoops or painting the garage or doing something manly. You’ve gotta talk with her.”
“Um …”
“No ‘um’ about it. You’ve got to, Allie! You’re too … naturally a girl to go on doing the Mark thing.”
“And tear my family apart? No, thank you.”
“Maybe it wouldn’t …” she said tentatively.
“Oh, sure; of course it wouldn’t,” I said sarcastically. “Mom, Dad, Jake? I’m not your son, I’m a girl. Say, does my butt look big in this skirt?”
She gave me a wounded look. “I’m serious. I don’t want to get into it, but … your family … Mark’s family … is kinda apart already.”
I glared at her, but she went on.
“Think about it. Jake and your dad, you and your mom. You’re already in two different camps. I remember you used to do things with your dad, like when you were taking swimming lessons. But now it’s like …”
“Like he only wants to hang out with Jake,” I finished her thought. It hurt, but it was true and I had to nod. “Yeah, I already told Mom that I felt like I was an embarrassment to Dad.”
“And you’re so close to your mom! Really close, not just because your dad doesn’t do things with you anymore. I’m sorry; that just sounds really mean.”
I put my hand on Taylor’s arm and squeezed gently. “No. It’s the truth. You’re not saying it to be mean. It’s just the way it is.”
“Look at it this way,” Taylor said, glancing around and then nudging me over toward an empty corner. “If you come out to your family–I mean, the whole thing, not just play dress-up but really start living as a girl–things might not be as bad as you think. You already do girl things with your mom, and I bet there are things you’d like to do but don’t because you’re afraid the guys will think you’re a sissy.”
I nodded, amazed that Taylor had come up with that, because of something that happened only last week. Mom was doing some sewing at her machine, mending our clothes, and keeping up a running commentary on the technique. Then she was hemming a skirt of hers and held it up and gave me a strange look. I realized that she was thinking of me trying it on so she could hem it better; I kind of swallowed and thought that if Jake walked in right now I’d never live it down. I mumbled something about having to go to the bathroom and disappeared for twenty minutes. When I came back, Mom was done sewing and was balancing her checkbook. I felt terrible, but thought it was better than being called a sissy.
Or was there an alternative? I’d only been ‘a girl’ for about four hours, but it felt right, it felt natural, it felt like me. I knew that if I told Mom that I wanted to be a girl, I’d probably survive, but how could I tell Dad and my brother? Nice as they were, it seemed like to them females were kind of second-class as people, like not good enough to be male, like they’d somehow failed to have a penis. If I told them that I didn’t want my penis–because somehow I knew instantly that it was the truth–they’d never understand. They’d wonder how could I not want to be male?
Because somehow–without pondering, without soul-searching, but with absolute sudden clarity–I already knew that I didn’t.
And how strange was that? To be certain of something so life-altering so soon? I’d only been wearing a skirt for a few hours, yet I knew–to my core–that I wanted to wear one the rest of my life. Or at least be allowed to.
It wasn’t the thrill of wearing a skirt–because it wasn’t exciting–it was the thrill of not having to put up a ‘boy front’, a façade, a mask. Not having to worry about being called a sissy; not having to worry about the fact that I thought, felt, moved, and spoke like a girl.
“Earth to Allie,” Taylor said.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, and realized that she was on her cell phone telling Monica we’d be right out. I followed her to the car–we were Jake-and-Ashley-free–and we got back to her house. I realized that I’d have to call Mom anyway, because Jake now knew that Monica and her sister hadn’t gone to the movies like I’d told Mom.
Back in Taylor’s room I told her of my dilemma.
“So tell her. I mean, tell her,” Taylor said.
“Not over the phone; are you crazy?”
“Not over the phone; you’re right. In person. As soon as you can. Don’t wait for the right moment. I mean, if she’s pissed about something, like bills, no, but … you’ve gotta decide.”
“I know …” I said.
“Well, what if …” she paused and started nibbling at a thumbnail, the mark of Taylor Thinking. “What if you can spend the night and we’ll think up plans and maybe talk to her tomorrow? I mean, both of us?”
“It’s my battle, Tay, but thanks. I think it’s going to take some time. But I will call and see what’s what.”
It was too early to call; Mom’s bridge game had probably ended but there was usually coffee afterward, and one or two would stay to put away everything. So Taylor had a teen movie for us to watch, something about a girl finding out she was adopted and her natural parents are spies and, as Mom says, hilarity ensues. Taylor nuked some popcorn and we had more Pepsi and watched and giggled and everything was fine.
And then there was a knock on the door and then silence. Frowning at me with confusion–because Monica would have immediately stuck her head in and started talking–Taylor got up to answer it.
“Hi, I’m Ashley, we met tonight. Can I come in and ask you something?” said a familiar voice.
Taylor turned quickly to look at me and was shaking her head ‘no’, but I sighed and nodded. God, I was so dead …
Ashley came in and said, “Neat room. I love that mirror!” which was probably obligatory. She saw the freeze-frame on the TV and said, “I liked that movie, the one with the spy parents?” She nodded at her own statement and looked around again.
Taylor got the hint and gestured to the vanity bench and Ashley sat, perfectly poised, her legs just so and her hands folded on her lap. She was so pretty, I thought. And I was so dead.
“Um …” she began, and then chuckled nervously. “Does anybody want to tell me what’s going on?”
Taylor jumped in. “Allie and I are having a sleepover. That’s it. Oh, and we’re plotting Total World Domination.”
Ashley gave a little laugh at the line and looked at me. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
It was the strangest thing; I had been more worried about if Ashley recognized me than I was, now that she obviously did. There was a strange calmness to me. Taylor started to leap to block the question but I held up a hand and said, “Tay? I’ll explain to her. Thanks, though.” I smiled.
I had been sitting in a beanbag chair, my legs in front of me. Now I scooted up to a sitting position, keeping my knees together and my skirt down. I could be as ladylike as Ashley.
“Ashley, Taylor is my best friend in the world. My only friend, when you come down to it. I was here this afternoon and Monica came in and yelled at her for something and said ‘bye, girls’ when she left; she hadn’t really seen me.”
Taylor jumped in. “And I realized that I hadn’t really seen her. I mean,” she made a face. “I really hadn’t seen the girl inside of Mark. The real person inside. So I asked Mark, ‘do you trust me?’ and pulled out some things for him to try on.”
“Not forced, or anything,” I quickly said. “I discovered I wanted to. I wanted to know. Because …” Deep sigh. “Because it’s been bothering me for years.”
“Years,” Ashley said.
“Once it became obvious that I wasn’t Jake, Rev-Two.”
“Jake, Mark-Two,” Taylor said.
“Tay, you’re not helping!” I teased. “But she’s right. Jake, Mark-Two. But I’m a disappointment to my family, as far as that goes. “
“No, you’re not!” Ashley protested. “Your family loves you! You should hear the nice things your mom says about you, all the time!”
“My mom says them, and I don’t doubt it. Because you know Jake and Dad are always at games together, and playing ball together or shooting hoops together …”
“You could, too,” Ashley said.
I shook my head and marked things off with my fingers. “A) I’m not good at it, and B) I don’t want to, because C) I don’t feel it. I don’t get the buzz they do. And, D) I do feel good with Mom, baking or sewing or just talking. So I’d rather be with her.”
“She’s a neat lady,” Ashley smiled.
“Yes, she is, but it’s more than that. I used to think I was just a sissy–”
“Oh, that’s not …” Ashley ran out of steam.
I let the silence hold for a moment, and continued. “I used to think I was just a sissy, and I’m sure that people think I’m gay. But that’s not it.”
“She’s a girl,” Taylor said proudly.
“I’m a girl,” I said, but looked daggers at Taylor for interrupting. “Inside, in my heart, in my soul, the way I feel about the world and the way the world feels to me.”
“A girl …” Ashley said, like she’d never said the word before. “But how do you know?”
“It’s like being colorblind to green, and you go along in your life thinking that everything looked perfectly normal. Then maybe the doctors do something or you get hit in the head and suddenly you can see green. And it’s beautiful! And it’s everywhere! And of course the trees are green and not gray, and of course my mother’s eyes are green and not gray. So I can see green now, and my gray life as a boy is over.”
Taylor’s eyes widened and she gave me a smiling nod of approval at my metaphor.
Ashley, however, frowned. “Your life is over? Mark, you aren’t thinking about … suicide or anything?”
I laughed. “Ashley, it was a figure of speech! My life of thinking that I was a poor excuse of a boy is over; my life as a girl trying to come out and be recognized to the world as a girl … that’s the start of my life.”
Taylor stared at me.
I shrugged. “Pretty eloquent when I get going, huh?”
Taylor grinned and turned to Ashley. “Let me ask you this. Other than the fact that you put two and two together and have seen Mark a zillion times, was there anything about Allie that made you think she was a boy? Any pretending or anything?”
Ashley started to answer and then stopped, her mouth open. “No. No, I’ve gotta be honest. In every way, I thought you were another girl. It was only because I knew you were with Monica and her sister tonight, and then we’re at the ice cream place and there’s Monica and her sister and one other person … so that’s what made me look closer. And your eyes gave you away.”
“My eyes?” I just remembered that I had on makeup.
“You always look at Jake a certain way–I mean, Mark does. I always thought it was really sweet, like a hero worship kind of thing. So the girl I met tonight looked at my boyfriend with the same sweet eyes. And to tell you the truth, because I thought you were a girl, I was about to tell you to knock it off, you little twerp! But there was this flash of thinking ‘Mark looks at Jake like that’ and everything just clicked. But I’ve got to say that nothing gave you away other than that.”
“Well, that’s something,” I said.
“Told you that you were the real thing,” Taylor said to me.
Ashley was looking at me with that head-tilt thing again, and then grinned. “Hey, girl!”
Taylor spun on Ashley. “So you believe us! You believe her!”
She nodded. “I think I have to. It explains a lot.”
Taylor started up, “Well, yeah, because–”
I cut her off. “Wait a minute, Tay. Explains a lot of what, Ashley?”
She pursed her lips, and I thought she did even that prettily. “Well, I mentioned the way you look at Jake. It’s kind of a hero worship look for a little kid, but getting a little weird when you’re your age. As a boy, I mean. But it makes perfect sense for a little sister looking at her big brother that way. Okay, that’s one. And the way you and your mom are … I mean, like at last Thanksgiving dinner, when you were serving and clearing, and the apron?”
“Apron?” Taylor said.
I shrugged. “You work in a kitchen, you wear an apron.”
Ashley said, “I don’t know any guy that would wear an apron, outside of some macho thing at a backyard barbecue. My dad’s got a greasy thing that says ‘Grill Sergeant’ when he does those. But to wear a serious apron to do serious cooking? Maybe to make Mom happy in the kitchen, but he’d whine and complain and then take it off before anybody could see him in it. You came out with platters and served us, wearing your apron.”
“She’s got a point,” Taylor said.
“And at Christmas, I just remembered,” Ashley said, then stopped herself. “Don’t get the wrong idea, okay? I don’t spend all my time at your house looking at you. But when my family came over for presents, you were giving me these really intense looks. I thought, oh good, he’s not gay, he’s just starting to get interested in girls … but there was this weird undercurrent to it. And now I understand.”
“What was up with the intense looks and the weird undercurrent?” Taylor asked me with a straight face.
I nodded, remembering. “She had the prettiest dress. A deep royal purple, in velvet velour, I think, with white lace at the sweetheart neckline and at the cuffs, and white patterned stockings. I really thought those looked great. Plus, her hair was up and she had a sprig of baby’s breath and … what?” I stopped because of their looks.
Ashley grinned at Taylor. “Geez, if I didn’t know she was a girl before, I sure do now!”
“No kidding!” Taylor said, kind of stunned as she looked at me. “You were thinking all that, all the time, and yet you never thought that ‘gee, maybe I’m not thinking like a boy?’”
“Um … no,” I said sheepishly. “I thought everybody thought like that.”
“Jake doesn’t. Your dad doesn’t, my dad and my brother don’t … and other than flaming gay guys–which you’re not–the only people that think that way are girls.” She shrugged. “Which you are.”
I just thought of something. “Oh, God! Does Jake know?”
“About you tonight? No. He’s a guy–totally clueless.” She grinned. “And you’re right; I did look pretty good in that Christmas dress!”
I nodded, agreeing with her and relieved that my brother didn’t suspect the blonde girl was his brother.
Ashley said, “So, now what?”
Taylor laughed. “That’s just what I was asking her.”
“You’ve got to make a decision pretty soon. You’ve got to tell your family; at least your mom. Although I think she knows,” Ashley said.
I stared. “You think she … how? Why?”
“Just a … vibe around the two of you. It’s a mother and daughter vibe, easy to see, now that I know about you. But it was always a little weird.”
“There’s that ‘weird’ thing again,” Taylor said. “But I know what you mean; I’ve known Mark for … what, seven or eight years? And I guess I took our friendship for granted because I never really thought about it, but once Monica called him a girl, it was like all these doors opened in my head and sunshine poured through.”
“Always knew you had holes in your head,” I teased.
“She’s right, though,” Ashley said. “Now that I know, I can’t conceive of you as a boy. Even if you’re dressed like Mark, to me you’ll be a girl in Mark’s clothes.”
Now that was a weird thought.
Ashley went on. “You really have to tell your mom–and I think the guys, too–as soon as possible. You’re running out of time.”
“How so?” I asked.
“Yeah; we’ve got all summer,” Taylor said.
Ashley shook her head. “Couple of reasons. And I actually know what I’m talking about. First, you’re just about to start puberty–a male puberty. It might be delayed, it might be mild–but you will not be as pretty as you could be. That’s if you decide to be female.”
“No ‘decide’ about it; I feel female,” I said.
“Yeah, I figured. Okay, that’s one reason. Another is that it’s summer, no school, time to get things together, talk with your family, start with doctors, whatever. Pretty difficult during the school year. And that leads to the fact that you guys are, what, eighth graders? Thought so. So you’ll be starting high school next year. If you are going to live the rest of your life as a girl, that would be the time to start. And finally, because you’ll blow it.”
“Excuse me?” I said, shocked.
She nodded. “You’ll blow it, or she will,” she pointed to Taylor, “or any number of people. You might say the wrong thing, or walk like you did today, and somebody else will put two and two together. It might not be as friendly as we’ve been today.”
“She’s right,” Taylor said. “I mean, I’m going to have to tell Monica because she’s entitled to know, but she’s going to be pissed at me for keeping it a secret. But that just adds one more person that could accidentally blow it for you. Ashley’s right. You’ve gotta talk to your mom as soon as possible.”
I nodded, faced with their logic.
Ashley said, “If there’s anything I can do, let me know. And if you need me to talk with your mom with you, I’ll do that.”
“Me, too,” Taylor said. “You know that.”
“Thanks, both of you,” I said. “I just don’t know when–”
There was a rapid knocking and Monica walked in. “What’s going on? I wondered where you were, Ash.”
Ashley covered beautifully. “Ah, my bad. I just stopped by for a second to ask Allie about that skirt at Wet Seal, and I saw the movie they were watching, you know, with the spy parents? And we just got to chatting. Sorry.” She seemed much simpler and more of an air-head than she had while talking with us. Oddly enough, she rose even higher in my estimation because of that.
“I think the guys are finally winding down. I guess they ran out of leagues or something,” Monica grinned. “You guys just getting up whenever?”
Taylor said, “Yeah. We’re going to finish the movie and then hit it, probably.”
Ashley gave us a ‘special look’ and a smile as she followed Monica out.
Taylor let out a whoosh of air. “God, I thought she was gonna–”
“I gotta call Mom!” I suddenly remembered.
I told her about us at the mall instead of the movies, asked if it was still okay to sleep over and she said sure and would see me ‘some time tomorrow’. I asked how bridge went; she’d won so she was feeling good, and had asked Dad to bring home some ice cream. Enough with the ice cream, I thought!
Taylor told me what to do. “All girls–all smart girls–have a beauty regimen; that’s what it’s always called, a regimen. Don’t know why it’s not a routine, or a process, or protocol …” She shrugged. “Basically, cleansing and moisturizing.”
She demonstrated, using a hair band to keep it out of her face; she applied various Noxzema and Clinique products, explaining as she did. Then she said it was my turn.
I followed her example; I was already in the habit of washing my face before bed, so it was just the moisturizer that was new. What was new was that I was wearing a hair band–and a nightie! Taylor had tossed me a pretty white lacy short one with ruffled shoulder straps and light blue trim. I had to undress, which was different–unzipping and stepping out of a skirt–but when I removed the bra, there was the strangest feeling of emptiness, of nakedness. I don’t know why, but as soon as I released the bra onto the bed, my arms flew up to cover my chest.
“Yep. You’re a girl, alright,” Taylor grinned.
I thought about that while we washed up. Already I had gotten used to the unusual sensation of having the weight of breasts on my chest–courtesy of Monica’s Little Helpers–and looking at Taylor’s breasts under her thin nightie, I suddenly realized how terrible flat-chested girls must feel among their peers. I had an excuse, of course, besides just being ‘slow to develop’, but the other odd thing was that I couldn’t get used to seeing my own tiny nipples under the nightgown. I wanted some curves there, and with a flash of certainty I realized that I did want breasts of my own. How and why that thought came with such certainty was a mystery, but I wanted breasts.
The other odd thing, come to think of it, was that I wasn’t excited by seeing Taylor’s breasts. I’d already seen them completely; when she was getting ready for bed she’d taken off her top and bra and walked across her room to the hamper, her breasts free and loose and rubbing under them where her bra had been. And I wasn’t turned on; I was startled to discover that I was jealous. I envied them, and their gentle motion as she moved. It made me swallow a lump of envy. I realized she was treating me like any other girl, and I loved her all the more for it.
The fact that I wasn’t excited by a girl’s breasts was on my mind as we got under the covers–Taylor in her bed and me on an inflatable air-bed thing–and in the dark, there was that moment of suspension, of being between worlds.
Taylor’s voice softly floated down to me. “What do you think about boys, Allie?”
Oh, God. Oh, oh, God …
“Um … I haven’t really, Tay.”
“It’s something that … well, you might want to start. Thinking about them, I mean. I’m feeling kind of guilty now; I know I asked you to trust me today, and now look at everything that’s happened to you and all the … the stuff you’ve got to think about … but …” She was still. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I mean, I understand why you said that, but … Taylor, you showed me my true self, so don’t ever be sorry for that, okay?”
Her voice was small. “Okay.”
“As complicated as my life has just gotten, it might have been a colossal train wreck if I didn’t discover this about myself until later. You know, it’s funny. I was so scared about somebody finding out about me. I thought I’d die. And when Ashley came in, it was like my worst nightmare. And it turned out to be the best thing.”
“Because she’s on your side? She’s pretty cool.”
“Yes, she is, but that’s not why. I mean, it’s great and all, but the real reason is that it wasn’t until talking with her that I really put it all together. Before it was just kind of vague and … possible but not solid. But talking with her, I suddenly and absolutely understood myself for the first time, ever.”
“I liked what you said about not seeing green.”
“I’d never thought that out; it just came out of my mouth. But I thought of something else. Kind of a Robinson Crusoe thing. All alone on that island–okay, forget Friday for a moment–but all alone, what language did Crusoe speak?”
“Huh? Well, he was an Englishman. So, English, I guess.”
“Okay. Now, other than trying to keep from going crazy–or already gone crazy–why would Crusoe speak at all?”
“I guess he wouldn’t. I mean, that Tom Hanks movie, he talked to the volley ball. Or was it a basketball?”
“Yeah, Wilson. But that was a movie so they had to have dialogue. Or monologue. Or–never mind; it’s off the point. Okay, if Crusoe spoke at all, he spoke English, because he was born in England.”
“Right.”
“What if the island was off the coast of Spain?”
“What does it matter, because he’s alone, there’s no flag, no signs or anything.”
“Yes. But understand this: Crusoe doesn’t belong on that island because he isn’t Spanish. He speaks the wrong language because he comes from England. He doesn’t know he’s on the wrong island, a … what’s that line? A stranger in a strange land? But he doesn’t belong.”
“Okay, it’s late, I’m sleepy, you’re sleepy. But if I understand you, you’re … let me use the names. Okay, Mark is an Englishman all alone on an island. Until it’s proven otherwise, he thinks everybody speaks the language he does because that’s all he knows. But then somehow he discovers that he’s in a foreign country that doesn’t speak English.”
“Pretty much it. So, assuming he can’t get off the island, and is going to be there for the rest of his life, what can he do?”
“I guess all he could do–assuming some contact with the citizens of the island, the parent country–would be to learn Spanish and become a Spanish citizen. Otherwise he’s going to be miserable. Pretty obvious where you’re going with this, Allie.”
“Is it? I thought it was marvelously literate,” I teased.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But you didn’t think about this. A baby floats onto a deserted island, kind of like a Moses-in-the-bulrushes thing. Baby’s smart enough to survive, learns what fruit to eat and all that, and is growing up. The only thing on the island is an old wrestling magazine that washed up.”
“A wrestling magazine? Really?” I snorted.
“Hey, you’re so literate and you killed off Friday! I can have a wrestling magazine! Shut up.”
“Shutting up. Yes, ma’am.”
“So the child sees nobody else but the dudes in the magazine, all bronzed and oily and hugely developed. And as the child grows, it becomes obvious that there ain’t no way the child will grow up to look like the wrestlers. The child is small and thin and delicate and can get tanned, sure, and oiled, yeah, but no muscle bulk is ever going to happen.”
“Okay, obvious time. The child is–”
“Not done! Alright, obvious or not, the child is thirteen years old and finally a boat sees the island and maybe smoke from a fire and comes to rescue the child and guess what? They’re all from Amazonia, all women, and they tell the girl child that she’s a girl, but all she’s known is trying to be a wrestler, which is never going to happen.”
“I like it. I’m never going to be a wrestler.”
“Exactly. So stop oiling up, get out of the ring, and put on a damned dress.”
I giggled at the image. Robinson Crusoe and wrestling? We were getting pretty sleepy!
There was silence for a moment. Then her voice floated to me … “So … what about boys?”
I’d been starting to doze and I snapped awake. I treated the question much more seriously this time. “I don’t know, Tay. I mean, yeah, there were some cute guys in our school, but I never–”
“Ah-ha! ‘Cute guys’, she says! Alright, girlfriend, spill! Which cute guys?” Oh, now she was awake!
I swallowed. “You gotta understand this is really difficult? And I’ve never thought it before?”
“I know that, babe, but just go with your instincts. Let it flow. I bet you’ll surprise yourself. So, which cute guys?”
“You first.”
“Argh! You’re making me mental! Alright. Um … Tommy Bledsoe. Jake Martin. Ryan Daniels.”
“You think Jake’s cute?”
“Yeah! You don’t?”
“Okay if you like kinda dumb ones.”
“Well, missy, who’s smarter and better looking? Because Jake is a hottie!”
“Yeah, he is. But Dan Curtis is better looking and smarter.”
“I was getting to Dan.”
“Half the girls in class are trying to get to Dan.”
“I know! And that Jennifer Shaughnessy thinks she’s got him! Geez. So, who else?”
“You’re right about Ryan. Tommy doesn’t do it for me. Um … oh, Kyle Arm, Amburst, something like that.”
“I know the guy you mean. I think it’s Armbruster. New kid, tall and dark curly?”
“Yeah.”
“And the hair on his head is dark and curly, too!”
“Taylor! God!” I blushed in the dark.
She giggled. “Who else?”
“That guy that got hurt in football and they transferred him out? Derek Howell.”
“Oh, God, he was incredible! What happened to him?”
“His leg was fractured and during the rehab his dad got transferred. But he was … omigod!”
“What?”
“This is embarrassing, but everything is with you, Taylor.”
“That’s my job.”
“I just got all warm and kind of squishy inside thinking about Derek. Oh, God. I think I know what you mean …”
“Yep. You’re a girl, alright!”
Even in the dark, I could hear the smile in her voice.
End of Part 3
The next morning was … interesting. I woke up in a nightie and went to pee, sitting down of course. I didn’t think anything of it because I’d been sitting down to pee for years, except when faced with public men’s room urinals. That got me to thinking … I really didn’t have much of a relationship with my penis. It was a very strange realization, something I’d never thought about before, but it was the truth. I touched it when I went to the bathroom and when I bathed, but I’d never masturbated, although I knew what the concept was, just from listening to the boys around me. I’d kind of poked around, flopping it this way and that way, with no results; I’d thought maybe it was one of those ‘growing up’ things and I hadn’t reached there yet. I didn’t have erections or wet dreams and certainly didn’t have that weird relationship that I knew a lot of guys had. The one where they name it? Like, ‘‘Little Ed’ got a workout last night’ one of them might brag. I figured it would get even worse in high school, with the daily showers, which I dreaded.
Taylor was already up and dressed when I came back from the bathroom; she tossed me a skirt and top. The skirt was layered with light purple flowers and the top was a lilac camisole with spaghetti straps. She’d also added burgundy panties and bra.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” she grinned. “Thought the burgundy would go nice with the lilac. I forgot to ask; when do you have to be home?”
“Mom just said–” I yawned. “She said ‘see you some time tomorrow’. I don’t think any special time.”
“Well, then, time’s a wasting! Get dressed. Melon okay?”
I was confused, thinking she meant the color, but she meant food, so I nodded.
We were alone in the kitchen; Taylor made a rude comment about Monica keeping Brad up until late. Melon slices and yogurt and I was good to go; I usually had similar breakfasts. When I was younger, there was a time that Mom and Dad tried to make me bulk up, with daily breakfasts of hot cakes and sausages, oatmeal, and all the stuff that Jake chowed down. I could never finish it and felt like I weighed a ton, but I didn’t cause a scene or anything. I just ate less and less and one day when it was just Mom and I, I asked if we could do something like a melon and toast–which was more or less what she had every day, minus the coffee. I guess that would be one of those things that Ashley said ‘explained a lot’.
I thought Taylor and I were going to hang around the house, which is what I told Mom when I called to report in.
Mom said, “That’s nice, honey. You two have a great time. I’ll see you … when?”
She’s taking this strangely well, I thought. “Um … when would you like me to come home?”
“Oh, honey,” she sighed, “it’s summer vacation, you don’t have anything hanging over your head right now … just enjoy this time.”
Nothing hanging over my head, I thought? Just wait until I tell you what’s hanging over my head! “Um, Mom … you seem … well, like you’re glad that I’m out of the house.” Not what I was going to say, but still …
She chuckled. “Not at all, honey! It’s just … you’re only thirteen once, and all too soon your calendar’s going to be filled with working and school and who knows what else.”
Not sports, I thought. She read my mind–wrongly.
“Maybe a sport? Swimming, golf?”
“Mom, there’s a widespread opinion that golf is not a sport.” It was a long-standing joke with Jake and Dad.
“You kidder! Tennis, maybe. Something to keep in shape. Oh, I’m not talking about football and basketball, Jake’s kind of things. You know …”
Oddly, when she’d said ‘tennis’, I had a flash of a short white tennis skirt. But I did notice that the sports she’d mentioned were co-ed. I was seized with an idea. “Mom, what are Jake and Dad up to today?”
“Your dad is working on the car all weekend, or at least until he realizes it has to go into the shop!” she chuckled. “Then he’s got to fix that leaky sink in the garage. Honestly, the price of water these days!”
“So he’s home all weekend. What about Jake?”
“I haven’t spoken to him since last night when he left with Ashley. They were talking about going to the lake today. Hold on; let me check … yes, his car’s gone. So I guess he’s already left.”
“Mom, do you have Ashley’s cell phone number?”
“Yeah, sure, but you’ve got Jake’s number …”
“I want to ask her something about Jake; just an idea I had for his birthday.” My brother was a June Cancer baby, astrologically out of whack with his jock persona.
“That’s a wonderful idea. Sneaky and wonderful. Yes, here it is …”
She gave me the number and I thanked her. Then the seized idea grew stronger. “Mom, hold on a second.” Pushing Mute on the phone, I asked Taylor for her cell phone.
“Okay,” she said as she grabbed it from her purse. “And you told your mom we were going to hang out here; I thought maybe we’d go to the mall …” She gave me a searching look, and the phone.
“Even better,” I mumbled, the idea coming clearer in my mind. I used her phone and called Ashley. While it rang, I un-muted the first phone, told Mom to hold on just a little bit longer, and then muted her again just as I heard Ashley answer. Taylor gave me a raised eyebrow at my two-phone technique.
“Ashley? Hi, it’s … Allie, but you can call me Mark.”
“Sure! Hi!” She was smart; she wasn’t using either name if she didn’t have to.
“I’ll make this fast. I thought about what you said last night, and you’re right. I’m going to try to talk to Mom today or tonight.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” she said.
“Jake still doesn’t know, right?”
“Nope.”
“Thank you. I’m going to call on you for the help you offered. Are you guys at the lake all day?”
“Sorry I can’t come over, Allie; Jake and I are at the lake all day,” she said with a sexy spin on the end.
God, she was sharp! “You’re really smart, Ashley! If I do get to talk with Mom, I might need to put her on the phone with you. Could you get away from Jake somehow and talk? Please?”
She gave a theatrical sigh that I knew was meant for Jake’s benefit. I could tell he was very close to her and she was spinning the conversation for his ears.
“Okay, I could talk to her, but we’re going to be out on the boat until–what do you think, babe, four?–yeah, around four, then back at the cabin until we head for home …”
There was a giggle and I realized Jake had tickled her or kissed her or something. “After dark some time. So if you need me to talk to her, I could do it, oh, after 4:30, I guess.”
The sound muffled a bit and I realized she was talking to Jake. She was sighing as she said to him, “Girlfriend’s got boyfriend problems; she’s a basket case. Hmm? Yeah, of course I will.” Back on the line, she said, “If she gets weird or anything and you need me to talk to her, of course I will. What are friends for? Okay?”
“Okay. God, you’re amazing.”
She giggled. “I know! Bye, babe!”
“Bye yourself, you genius, you!”
Wow, what a girl! When I grew up, I wanted to be just like her–and then I almost slapped myself with the realization of what I’d thought. Maybe I could be just like her, in a sense …
Oh, God! Mom! Un-mute! “Mom, you still there?” I sputtered into the phone.
“Yes, dear. I put it on speaker and set it down while I’m cleaning.”
“Mom, are you sure you don’t need me to come home and help you clean?”
She laughed, a clear tinkling sound I loved so much. “Oh, heavens, no, dear. I’m just puttering before I start the bills. You go enjoy your day.”
“Mom, I was wondering if you wanted to meet me later at the mall?”
Taylor’s eyebrows nearly shot into her hairline at that, then she grinned and started nodding like a bobble-head doll.
Mom said, “Well, I do have some coupons for … where are they?”
“If they’re from last Sunday’s paper, they’re in the little drawer in the foyer table.”
“What would I do without you? Of course; there they are. So, you wanted to do a little shopping?”
“Maybe …” I hadn’t thought that, but at this point I was totally flying on instinct–and nerves. “Mom, if we rendezvous at the food court at, like, four or so? Keep in touch with cell phones if there are any changes?”
“Sounds nice, honey. I could use a break from the bookkeeping–and from your father complaining about the car! Four, it is.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it.
Taylor burst out. “Oh, my God! You’re gonna do it! You’re gonna tell her, aren’t you?”
“More than that,” I said, feeling a tremble starting somewhere. “I’m going to show her.”
“Can I be part of the Show and Tell?” she asked excitedly. “’Course, I’ll understand if you want to be alone.”
“I want you there, and that’s part of how it’ll work, if it’s going to work. And I’ve got Ashley on standby to get away from Jake and tell Mom what she thinks about me.” I took a deep, shuddering breath. “Or I’ll chicken out, show up in Mark’s clothes, and that’ll be that.”
“No, you’ve gotta do it; Ashley’s right. And this could work out better because there’s no heavy-duty prep. It’s not like, ‘Mom, sit down, we’ve got to talk’. That kind of thing is weird.”
“No, this is weirder.”
“Got that right … but there is some heavy-duty prep; we’ve got to do something with your hair and I’ll take better care of your makeup and … and …” She took two steps towards her closet and then came back quickly and hugged me. “God, Allie; I love you! I hope this works for you!”
“Me, too, Tay; me, too.”
The first thing Taylor did was go wildly overboard trying to find me something to wear. She was going through her closet like a crazy woman, keeping up a running commentary as she pulled things out and hung them back up, or held them up to me, or directly me to try them on. I must have tried a dozen skirts and we were trying tops when she frowned at me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, having just handed her a rejected top. I stood there in bra and panties and she stared at my chest.
“We need to work on your bra. I think I’ve got …” She went to her lingerie drawer and rooted around. “Yeah, these two. Try ‘em on.”
“At the same time?” I teased.
“Yes,” she said without blinking an eye. “One over your chest and one over your mouth.”
Of course, I didn’t do that, but the second bra, in a shiny dark blue, felt different.
“Yeah, that’s the one,” she said, and explained that this bra showed the curve of ‘my breasts’ more naturally. I didn’t point out that they really weren’t mine, but the thought warmed my heart for some reason.
We tried more and Taylor was getting increasingly frustrated. It was like I was her creation and somehow failing to live up to her vision. I held up my hands.
“Taylor, wait. Calm down. Look, I’m crazy enough to confront my mother in public dressed as a girl. I don’t think that what color my skirt is will make any difference, you know?”
“You’re right,” she said, deflated. “I’m sorry. You’re right, you’re right. God, I wasn’t even thinking about you.”
I smiled and said, “Taylor, I owe everything to you. So thanks and let’s think about this.” I actually had been thinking about it, leading up to when I pulled the plug on her fashion frenzy. “Um, you might think I’m silly, or just lazy, but I really think your first instincts were correct.”
“The black slit skirt and red top?”
I laughed. “No; that was great for a night club but not High Noon at the Food Court. I mean the lilac camisole and the purple skirt. I don’t want to look too extreme to Mom–any more extreme than I will be dressed as a girl–and that outfit was perfect.”
“Not the white flats.”
“Hmm?”
“I was gonna give you some white flats, and they’re fine for just, you know, bumming around …” She was in her closet again and came out with shoes. “Okay. These are generally called ‘strappy sandals’ or ‘strappies’ by some. They’re white like the flats but there’s a bit of a heel and it’ll show off your legs better–not that your legs need any better definition, damn you!”
“You think my legs are good?”
“Allie, your legs are divine, they’re fabulous, they’re to die for …” She giggled. “Actually, yeah, don’t get a big head or anything, but they’re actually really good. And wasted on a boy.” She gave me a piercing look.
“Maybe …” I couldn’t finish the thought.
Taylor changed the subject, seizing control. “Now, I’ve been thinking. Now that we know what you’re going to wear, strip and take a shower. Wash and condition your hair. And I’ve got some Nair-type stuff; come on.” She led me to the bathroom and pointed things out. “Okay, here’s what you do. Wash your face and body with that cleanser for your face and that one for your body, then shampoo. Rinse really good, and turn the shower off but let the tub faucet run. Put this stuff on your legs and under your arms, too–wait, you’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
“No. And I don’t really have any hair.”
“Doesn’t matter. Just do it. Rinse your hands really good, then put the conditioner on your hair. Rinse your hands, turn the water off, sit on the tub and think lovely thoughts for five minutes. With me so far?”
“Wash, shampoo, rinse, faucet, Nair, rinse, condition, rinse, water off. Meditate. Got it.”
“Not meditate,” she grinned. “Do like in Peter Pan. Think lovely thoughts, and you can fly. Okay. Hey, if you want, you can shout out when you turn the water off and I’ll start timing you. But if anything stings before the time’s up, don’t wait. Just rinse, okay? Otherwise I’ll tell you when it’s time and then you rinse off everything. Oh, and blot with the towel, don’t rub, and when you’re dry, use these.” She pointed to a powder spray deodorant, talc, and then a tube. “Run this on your legs, all over, from your panty line down to your feet. Might as well do that first when you’re dry. And that’s it.”
My brain was screaming, ‘Panty line?’ but I was casual. “That’s it? You don’t want me to redecorate the room or lay in a new floor?”
“It’d be nice if you got the time … Tuscan tile would be lovely. In the meantime, I’ve gotta look for something.”
We walked to the mall, only two blocks from Taylor’s house. Just a couple of cute girls on their way to the mall … Taylor wore a black denim skirt, black flats, and a babydoll top, white with red cherry clusters. Cute little black purse. I was wearing everything we’d settled on, white strappy sandals and the purple-flowered skirt, lilac top and carried a purse over my shoulder. A hobo-bag, she’d called it. My nails–including my toes, Taylor’s orders–were a dark wine gloss, and it took me walking downstairs and most of a block, but I was getting used to the heels, and I loved my painted toenails in the sandals. She was right; it made me feel more feminine, and the sandals definitely altered my walk. It was nothing like a boy’s, not that it ever really was. I had light makeup on, done by Taylor, and she’d spritzed me with a lovely lavender scent. My hair was slightly damp but very full; she’d had me bend at the waist with the dryer to fluff it out, and it now was in the side part with a shiny purple barrette. I also wore a gold necklace, bracelet and rings.
But I wasn’t done. What Taylor had been looking for was a gift certificate she had to a new salon that read ‘Good for One Free Introductory Hairstyle (Color Extra)’. She assured me she wasn’t going to use it, preferring her current salon, and if they could do what we wanted, she thought it was important. So we went right to the salon and explained; she’d called for the reservation so it was all agreed. I would have a slight trim and general shaping.
The stylist played with my hair, with me sitting in the chair watching the girl in the mirror. Even though I didn’t have earrings, beyond any doubt I looked like a girl. The stylist tried a center part, the side on both sides, and tried it straight back and finally agreed that the side part worked best for my face. The only thing I told her I wanted was to be able to center-part it and pull it all back in a ponytail ‘for sports, or cleaning around the house’ and she understood. Then it was time for a quick wash–she complimented me on my shampoo and conditioner choices (Taylor’s!)–and then began snipping. Because I didn’t want any change in length, it didn’t take long, and after blow drying it out–a luxury I’d never experienced, with the roller brush and her gentle hands–my hair was gorgeous. I was noticing my hair seemed brighter and she nodded, saying she’d put some lightener in the rinse just for extra shine but my hair had loved it. The beauty was I could wear the barrette or let the hair flop down around my eyebrows. She said it could be sexy to boys to constantly push my hair aside.
Hmm …
I think the most amazing thing was that at no point did she give me a hint that she thought I was anything other than a girl! I gave her a ten-dollar bill as a tip, which she wasn’t expecting with the gift certificate. After she’d put the tip away, she surprised me.
“I’m not saying this to butter you up because you’ve already tipped me,” she grinned. “But you’re really a very pretty girl. Come back when you can, and ask for me because I’ve got some great ideas on a shorter cut for you when it gets hot.”
Wow … she was convinced. Now, if I could convince Mom …
Taylor had been absent while I was in the chair and came back with a Cheshire Cat grin, which turned into a genuine smile when she saw me. After raving about how great I looked, she said we were off to Macy’s, and she plopped me down in an Estee Lauder chair.
To the white-smocked saleswoman, she said, “Here’s the girl I told you about. What do you think?”
The woman eyed my face critically. “Hmm … yes, you’re right, she is pretty. I’m Anna, by the way.”
“Allison,” I said, unsure whether to shake her hand or not. I’ll have to ask Taylor later, I thought.
She wasn’t bothered by a handshake; she frowned and looked at me with a strange bluish-white lamp. Then she nodded. “Allison, you have wonderful skin; do you have some Scandinavian blood, perhaps? Yes, I thought so; that accounts for your lovely cheek bones. Alright, your friend has explained the situation.”
“Um … Anna? I love Taylor, but she can be a prankster. Just to be safe, what situation did she explain?”
She glanced at Taylor and then winked at me. “Very wise! But I think she’s on the level this time. She explained that neither you nor she have the money for a major purchase, which as you know is usually expected, but that she absolutely promised–” She grinned at Taylor, “–to come back with her mother and get an assortment.”
“If it’s too much trouble for you, we can pass,” I said. “Yeah, that’s what she told me she would do and she’s good for her word, but I’d understand if you didn’t trust us. You must get girls tell you something like that all the time.”
“Yes, I do, but I’ll take a chance on you two,” she smiled. “She also said something about meeting your new step-mother?”
I looked over at Taylor–who was doing her best to look innocent!–and keeping her eyes on mine, Taylor said to Anna, “I’m not fooling around, but maybe I said too much …” To me, she said, “Allie, she needs to know how it should look, so I told her what you’re doing later.” To Anna, she said, “I didn’t mean to embarrass her. It’s just …”
I read that the situation called for improvisation, if by that I meant an out-and-out lie, but I didn’t want to leave Taylor hanging in the wind.
“Um, Anna? I’m just surprised she told you so much. Yeah, I’m going to meet my supposedly-new step-mother in two hours.”
“If your dad goes through with it,” Taylor said with her finger in the air.
“Yeah, if …and, I guess, if I hit it off with her …”
Anna nodded. “I completely understand. I had the same thing only opposite; my dad left us and my mother remarried. But first there was that awful introduction … you haven’t met her before?”
Completely winging it, I said, “No, she lives on the East Coast, he met her through work … Anyway, I was going to dress up at first but then I thought, no, she needs to see me as I am. Sorry for the soap opera.”
“No, no; I completely understand,” Anna smiled warmly. ”And your friend–Taylor?–is right; now that I know what your makeup is for, I can better match your needs. And you will be coming back to purchase, right, Taylor?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Taylor nodded solemnly.
“And I will, too. I mean, I don’t have a credit card, but I can get the money …”
“Never mind,” Anna smiled. “Now, what would you say your level of expertise is with your makeup?”
“That’s easy. Rank beginner. Mom never wanted me to wear any …” I trailed off, worried about furthering my soap opera.
“I understand,” she said again. “And that’s probably why your ears aren’t pierced?”
“No kidding!” Taylor said. “I’ve been bugging her forever but now we’ve gotta convince dear old dad.”
“I truly hope you and your new step-mother–or maybe step-mother–will hit it off, Allison, and that she’ll persuade your dad to let your ears get pierced and … you’re just such a pretty girl!” Anna said as she went to work.
And what work she did! Brushing and dabbing and wiping and all the time telling me what she was up to. A couple of times I asked why such and such a thing was done, and she patiently explained. In a short time we were done and she showed me an absolutely dazzling girl in the mirror–me!
“It’s fantastic!” I said, “But will I be able to do it? To recreate it?”
“If you follow the steps we talked about, and if you’d like, I’ll give you a refresher course when you come in to purchase.”
“Deal!” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever looked so pretty!”
Taylor nodded, half-staring. “You’re a babe, babe.”
Anna chuckled. “That’s actually not where I was going with it; it’s a mature teen girl, understated, but you have such large eyes, wonderful cheekbones, and that clear skin, that you were born to wear makeup.”
“Hear that, Allie?” Taylor kidded, wiggling her eyebrows.
I shot her a glance and got out of the chair, asked for a card, and thanked Anna profusely. Then we left, and I couldn’t help but check myself out in every mirror in the store. Not overtly, not too much … but still …
Taylor said, “Head for the chairs over there,” motioning to a little rest area. There was an old couple on a bench and a mother dealing with a fussy baby in a stroller. Once we sat, Taylor said, “Got you these. Check ‘em out!”
She handed me a small bag and inside were two sets of gold earrings, hoops and some squiggles like tapering waves. “I couldn’t find ‘em at Claire’s or Icing but the purse place by Bath and Body Works had them.”
“They’re beautiful, Taylor, and thanks, but I can’t wear them; my ears aren’t pierced,” I said, looking at her strangely because she knew that.
She waved her hand as she shook her head. “Not pierced. Rare earth magnets, or heavy something-or-other. The magnet part, see the bigger thing? Goes behind your ear and the earring has a … see, turn it over,” she pointed to the top of the squiggle, “and it has the metal for the magnet to stick. Or cling. Or whatever magnets do.”
“Attract,” I murmured, as I experimentally put the earrings near the flat round backing piece and I could feel the strength of the magnet. “Wow. So, how do I …?”
“Here, let me,” Taylor said. “Hoops first? Yeah, that’s what I thought, too.”
She used two hands, holding the magnetic back behind my ear and then moving the hoop to the front, and amazingly enough, the magnet had enough force to hold the earring in place, even through a quarter of an inch of my ear! I did wince slightly, earning a muttered ‘Big baby!’ from Taylor, and then she did the other side, leaned back, eyes darting to each of my ears, and finally grinned.
“Can’t tell. Look like you’re pierced. And they don’t pinch too much; you’ll get used to it pretty quick. I gotta admit, I tried them before I bought ‘em and I know what it feels like. You’ll be more aware of them than pierced ears–which you don’t feel, usually. But they’re way better than old lady clip-ons.”
“God, Taylor, do you have a mirror? And how much were they? I want to pay you back.”
“Naw, my treat. And before you go protesting, look, they were the only treat, a whopping eight bucks. The salon was a coupon I’d never use, so it’s like free. So you’re only into me for two lattes, okay?”
“Okay,” I grinned. “I love you, Taylor.”
“And I love you, too, Allie. I just hope …”
“Yeah,” I said, knowing that she meant she just hoped that things would work out with me and my mother. It was a little after three; we had to go to the food court and check the place out, to see how we wanted to work this–assuming I didn’t freak out and cancel!
The food court was vast, and best of all, it had a main area where almost everybody sat, but there were side areas with tables and chairs and the occasional sofa. There was a kiddies’ play area in one of the side areas, but the area opposite was best for us; two stores had closed and the place was pretty empty. Plus, there was a door to the parking garage at the end.
Taylor and I had discussed it over and over. I figured that I’d direct Mom to a table and Taylor and I would suddenly appear. I’d have to make a decision in the first few minutes whether to tell her the truth or pretend it was a joke, which I really didn’t want to do. And, finally, if she totally freaked and screamed and made a scene, Taylor and I would run out to the garage.
It wasn’t a great plan, but I was running on adrenaline and hope.
I was going to call Mom, but I’d had to take a moment to think of how Mark sounded, because Taylor stopped me before I called and said, “Babe, you don’t sound like her son. You’ve been hanging out with me too much. Better practice.”
After a few trial sentences and Taylor’s coaching, I recalled Mark’s dull, flat voice, so unlike the way I’d been speaking with Taylor for the past 24 hours, full of happiness and melody. I called Mom and she was on her way, pretty close, while Taylor grabbed the spot we wanted, a glass-topped table with four chairs at the end of the area. I could see that in the late afternoon the sun would blast that table, which is probably why it was vacant.
“You want to meet at the book store or something?” Mom asked.
“Well, there’s a spot that’s good.” I told her the location. “Mom, this is going to sound kind of like something out of a spy movie, but it really isn’t. It’s just an easy way to rendezvous.”
She chuckled. “I understand. Do you want to have any passwords?”
“Passwords?”
“You know, secret words that only we spies know?”
“Sure, Mom.”
She laughed again. “I suggest ‘albatross’.”
“Oh, that’ll be easy to work into a sentence. Um … text me when you’re parked and we’ll start walking to the table.”
Another laugh. “See you in ten minutes, honey.”
I told Taylor and she reached out and took my hand and squeezed. “You’re sure about this, babe?”
“Yes. I might still get cold feet, but it’s gotta happen sometime, and … well, I’ve got to go for it.”
“It’s not too late to back out,” she said seriously. “I could cover for you and say that you suddenly had to run to the bathroom–the Boys’ bathroom–and you run to my house and get changed and washed and–”
“No, Tay. I love you for it, but no. I’ve got to do it.”
“And you want me there? I’ll be there for you, come hell or high water, but if you want me gone, look at me and do that head tilt thing you do and pull on your ear.”
“This is getting to be more and more like a spy movie. Thanks, but … we’ll see.”
We were in the main area by the directory kiosk, obscured by people and planted palms, but could see the door. Mom entered and I was surprised to see that she was wearing a dress, a pinkish wrap-style and I noticed she had her black purse, which meant she was up for serious shopping. Or a serious meeting …
I gulped and realized that I wanted to do this, which eased the lump in my throat and my twisted tummy. Under her breath, Taylor crooned the Elvis Presley tune, ‘It’s now or never … ’ I gave her a nod and we began walking.
There are those scenes in old prison movies where the condemned prisoner takes The Long Walk to be executed. This felt similar. I kept my eyes on Mom the whole time and tried to walk ‘normally’–normally, that is, for a girl–not a boy in heeled sandals and a skirt going to face his mother. Mom’s movements were light and casual; she set her purse on the table and fluffed her hair with one hand, looking around the area, and then her eyes saw the two girls walking to her and she froze.
The next few seconds would determine my life …
She un-froze, straightened in her chair slightly, and crossed her hands on the tabletop. She watched us come, without any expression, and her head tilted just slightly. At least she didn’t scream and run away, I thought.
Quietly, Taylor said, “She’d doing that head-tilt thing you do; like mother, like daughter?”
It was such a simple thing to say, but kept me focused on my hoped-for future. I glanced at her and smiled. “Thanks, Tay.”
And we were there. Taylor sat first and immediately distracted Mom, who was looking at me. “Hi, Mrs. Chambers. Remember me, Taylor? I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
I sat, properly with my hand sweeping my skirt under me, knees together, took my purse off my shoulder and put it on the table as my mother had done. I folded my hands in my lap and we looked at each other.
Still looking at me, Mom said, “Of course I remember you, Taylor; I’ve known you for years. This young lady, though, I don’t know …”
What do I do? What do I do? My brain locked.
Mom smiled, “…but I have the feeling I’ve met her somewhere …”
“Albatross,” I said.
“What?!” Taylor nearly screamed, sure I’d lost my mind. I’d forgotten to tell her Mom’s little password joke.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, using my Allison voice.
“Hello, honey,” she said, and smiled.
She smiled! She actually smiled! Maybe I’d survive today!
Taylor was trying to help. “Um … Mrs. Chambers, I want to explain–”
“Tay?” I said. “I think my mother has some questions.”
Taylor nodded and sat back, ready to watch and step in to rescue me if need be. She and I had been over and over what I’d try to say to Mom, and other than one little lie, I planned on the whole truth. The little lie was actually pretty big, but I knew if Mom thought this had happened in less than 24 hours, she’d dismiss it as a temporary thing, a lark. I needed to get her to think it had been going on all along. The lie was also designed to protect Taylor–so I justified it to myself.
I figured Mom’s first question would be ‘How long has this been going on?’, and that was what the lie was designed for. I wasn’t prepared for Mom’s first question.
“Are those your clothes or Taylor’s?”
I was so ready to go into the lie that I was taken aback for a moment. “Um … Taylor’s. I don’t have anything of my own …”
“Please don’t be mad,” Taylor jumped in.
“Oh, I’m not, Taylor,” Mom said. She frowned slightly and looked at her purse with a small sigh. “I’ve been … expecting something like this. But first, honey, tell me what you want.”
“What I …” I swallowed. Everything froze, everything tilted … I swallowed again and dove in. “Mom, what I want–in the best of all possible worlds–what I want is to be a girl. No, scratch that. I am a girl.” I noticed no change in her expression, and was emboldened. “I’ve always felt like a girl, and never felt like a boy … like Mark. What I want is to live the rest of my life as a girl. Openly. With you and Dad and Jake and at school and the whole world. I want to be the girl I am.”
There. It was done. Band-aid ripped, wound exposed.
Mom nodded slowly. “I see. And how long … well, I know the answer to that.”
I glanced at Taylor, who gave me a small, confused frown.
Mom said, “I’ve said I’ve always been expecting this. Oh, maybe that you were gay, but that didn’t quite feel right … it wasn’t the feeling I got from you. All these years, it’s become obvious to me that you aren’t ever going to be the manly guy Jake is, and that’s fine; nothing and nobody says you have to. But all the times I wished …” She looked off into the distance, into the mall.
Taylor said quietly, “All the times you wished you had a daughter?”
Mom turned and focused on Taylor. “Yes, that’s right. All the times I wished I had a daughter, and I guess I made you into one …”
“No, you didn’t, Mom,” I said with some force. “You didn’t make me this way. I was born this way. This is the way I am. I am your daughter; only the world treated me like a boy and you had to call me Mark. But inside, I am your daughter. And on some level, you knew that, and responded to it. You didn’t make me this way; I made you treat me like the girl I am.”
“Thank you, honey. I … Thank you; you make me feel much better, hearing that.”
“Mom, for as long as I’ve been aware of boys and girls, and a difference between them, I knew which one I was–I was a girl. I just didn’t fit being a boy.”
“I know, dear. It’s been hard on your father.”
I slumped in my chair. “God, Dad’s never going to understand. He’s going to kill me”
Mom actually chuckled! “Don’t be so sure! He’s going to be a little weird about it at first, but maybe not as much as you think. You don’t know this … it’s not something parents routinely tell their children … but we wanted a girl.”
Taylor beat me to it. “What?”
“What?” I exclaimed. “You mean, all this time … I thought you wanted Jake, Junior. Dad wanted another jock.”
Mom gave a sad smile. “Actually, we’d hoped for one of each. Like the song, ‘a boy for you, a girl for me’ and all that …” There was a soft, sad chuckle. “But you weren’t either. You were in the middle. A sort-of boy and not-quite girl …”
“Didn’t I say something like that?” Taylor said to me.
I nodded, but before I could say anything else, Taylor gave me a pointed look and then turned to Mom. “Mrs. Chambers, you might think I’m all pushy and everything, but I really want to know … we really want to know … did you know if you were going to have a boy or a girl? Did you have a name picked out for your daughter?”
“Taylor!” I said.
She was unruffled. “Well, why did you pick ‘Mark’, then?”
Before I could say anything to shut her up, Mom smiled. “No, no; she’s right. It’s a natural question. We chose Mark because in the early days of our marriage, we were especially close to a couple named Mark and Dawn. That’s D-A-W-N, the wife. Mark was one of our groomsmen, Dawn was one of my bridesmaids, and we thought that Mark was a good strong name for a boy.” Mom smiled again, but there was sadness to it.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Oh,” she paused and sighed. “You think life is going to go one way and it goes another. Was it John Lennon who said, ‘Life is what happens while you’re busy making plans?’ Such a loss.” She shrugged. “We were so close, but a few years later they got divorced. We had our hands full; Jake was a toddler and I was pregnant, and we weren’t as close as we’d been. Nothing we could have done about it. And despite the best intentions, you drift apart. We haven’t heard from Mark for years; I think he remarried in Florida. Dawn sends a Christmas card and that’s about it.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, and I truly was, to have brought up the subject that made her sad–even if it had been Taylor that did the asking.
Mom’s mood passed. “Ancient history. As to Taylor, here, I’m guessing the reason for her first question … well, we’ll see if I’m right. To answer it, no, we didn’t know if we were going to have a boy or a girl. So Mark if a boy, and yes we had a girl’s name. Three names, actually.”
“Do you …” I had to swallow. “Do you remember them?”
“Of course I do, honey! It’s part of … it’s part of my life. The three names were Vanessa, Allison Marie, and, well … Dawn.” She grinned, kind of lopsided.
I stared at her and then at Taylor, who glanced at me and quickly said to Mom, “Why those names?”
“Well, I thought Vanessa was pretty. Didn’t know any Vanessas, and there don’t seem to be a lot of them running around, like Heathers.”
“There’s one in our class, I think,” Taylor said, “and a lot of Heathers!”
I nodded.
Mom sighed. “Allison Marie was a family name, for my sister-in-law.”
“Aunt Cindy?” I asked, confused.
“No, honey; Allison was your father’s oldest sister, Cindy is the youngest. Allison was killed by a drunk driver shortly before you were born; it devastated him. That’s why he never speaks of her. And Marie was my mother’s name. And as for Dawn, well, you know that story already.”
“What about that, huh?” Taylor said to me.
I was still too stunned to say anything, just staring at her.
Mom chuckled, out of nowhere. “Oh, right; we also considered Jennifer–not too many of those!–and, believe it or not, Taylor.”
“You’re kidding!” I exclaimed.
“That would be too weird,” Taylor said.
“Mom, Taylor came up with a name for me–”
Taylor interrupted quickly. “Wait, wait; you’ve got to make that phone call. It’s past 4:30.”
“What phone call?” Mom asked.
“Mom, the reason I’ve … shown myself to you … like this …is because last night Ashley found out about me.”
“Jake’s Ashley?”
“Uh-huh. It was a fluke. We were out with Taylor’s sister Monica, getting ice cream, and ran into Jake and Ashley.”
“Did Jake …”
Taylor said, “No, my sister’s boyfriend Brad and Jake just sat around doing jock-talk. Ashley came over to talk with us and discovered … her.” She nodded to me.
“Does your sister know?” Mom asked.
“No; in fact it’s because of her that … well, that I started finally dressing the way I felt.”
“Monica breezed in and out of my room once and said something like ‘you girls have a good time’ and it was the first time I ever looked at Mark and realized that he was a girl. Or that she was hiding under Mark. Or whatever.”
Thank goodness she hadn’t said that it had occurred last night; the way she’d told it, it could have been months or even years ago.
Mom asked, “And she still doesn’t know?”
Taylor shook her head. “Nope. And much as I’d love to slag my sister, she’s not dumb. She just looked at her–” Taylor turned to face me, “–and saw a girl. I was so used to seeing a ‘Mark person’ that it’s what jarred me into really looking.”
Mom looked at me. “I must say, there’s something to what you’re saying about being jarred into really looking. And seeing a girl.”
I blushed as I reached in my purse and got out my cell phone–conscious the whole time of Mom watching me with the purse. And my nails … I took a deep breath and said, “So, Mom, I talked with Ashley last night. I know you like her, and I do, too, and she’s got a really good head on her shoulders. So let me call her,” I dialed, “and you can get another opinion.”
It rang and Ashley answered right away and probably had read my number on her phone. “Allie?”
“Yeah, hi, Ashley, it’s me. Listen, I’m sitting here with Mom and everything seems to be going okay, but I still think you should talk with her. Tell her … well, whatever you want to tell her. And please, answer any of her questions as truthfully and fully as you can, okay?”
I heard her chuckle. “She’s there with you, right? And you’re saying that for her benefit, aren’t you?”
“Yes. So can you talk now?”
“Yeah, but hold on a second.” Her voice slightly muffled, but I could still hear her talking to my brother. “Babe? This is that call I told you about … yeah, girl problems. Well, no; boy problems … nobody you know. I’m gonna walk on the beach and give you some peace, okay?”
There was a funny sound and I realized she’d kissed him, and then movement sounds and her voice came over stronger. “Okay, I’m heading down to the beach; still got cell coverage. So while I’m walking, what are you wearing right now?”
“What am I …?” I turned to Mom and Taylor with a confused look. “She wants to know what I’m wearing.” Back to Ashley, I said, “Lilac camisole, tiered mini, black with purple flowers, white strappy sandals.”
She asked, “Makeup? Nail polish? Jewelry?”
“Um … yeah, nice makeup. Estée Lauder. Taylor took me for a makeover. Dark wine polish, uh … Revlon, I think; don’t know the name. And gold jewelry.”
Ashley said, “You might try silver jewelry with your coloring and the lilac and purple. Okay, that was just to keep you talking while I got away from Jake and tested the range of the phone. I’m sitting on the dock now.”
I marveled again at how smart she was. She’d not only done that, but my mother had heard me describing my clothing in girlish terms. I could learn a lot from Ashley!
“I’m going to hand the phone over to Mom; please, Ashley, tell her everything.”
End of Part 4
Solemnly I handed the phone to my mother and sat back, trying to gauge how Mom was taking things. I knew Ashley was smart, I was pretty sure she supported me, and I just had to trust that things would go well. I crossed my legs, leaving one hand in my lap and the other one on the table, idly spinning a napkin. It was frustrating only hearing one side of the conversation.
“Hello, Ashley? Yes, it is. How are you?”
“Fine, thanks. You know I’m sitting here with–”
Her eyes widened, then closed and her face trembled a little bit. She reached for my hand and squeezed it and I heard a slight gasp. Then Mom said, “And that’s your understanding? For his name–her name, I mean?” She nodded again and then opened her eyes, looking at me, and I saw that her eyes were moist. Instinctively I covered her hand with my other one. She squeezed again, smiled, and withdrew her hand so she could feel around in her purse for a tissue.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “I agree; you’re right. The pronouns will make us crazy,” she said for our benefit, I figured. “Her name. It’s just that … well, it’s a strange coincidence, because it was a name that we’d considered if he … if she was born a girl.” Her brow knotted. “Uh-huh; yes. Well, I’m sure finding out now!”
I glanced at Taylor, who was hanging on every word and trying to appear unconcerned.
“Does Jake know? How do you think we should handle that?” She looked at the ceiling briefly. “Tell you the truth, I don’t know how he’ll take it. I’ll have my hands full with his father, but …” She sighed. “This has been a long time coming but it’s pretty obvious that it had to … she had to … come out into the open.”
Taylor kicked me under the table about the ‘long time coming’ phrase, and I turned and glared at her and motioned down with my eyes. She did a wordless ‘oh!’ because it was a glass-topped table and Mom might have seen the kick, but had been looking elsewhere. Taylor hunched her shoulders in a ‘My bad!’ way.
Turning back to Mom, she was looking at me with shiny eyes. “Yes, yes, she is.” Mom smiled. “She’s very pretty. Oh, thank you, Ashley.” I blushed a little and looked down. Then Mom said, “And her friend Taylor is here, too. I gather that it’s Taylor’s clothes that … she’s wearing.” Pause. “Yes, that’s probably true.” Pause. “Well, I don’t know. On one hand it’s a fait accompli, if you know what I mean … yes, that’s true.” Another pause. “On the other hand, it’ll mean a major change in our family–no?”
She listened and I realized that Ashley was saying something like, ‘No, it won’t mean a major change in your family, because Dad has his jock son and Mom has her pretty daughter and Allison will still cook and clean and spend time with Mom, just as they’ve always done. Just as Jake does with Dad.’ Or something like that.
Mom was both frowning and nodding, and finally said, “There’s a lot of truth to that; I haven’t … well,” she chuckled. “I haven’t quite gotten used to the idea of a daughter yet. It’s a lot to process … thank you, I will. I’m curious; how did you discover who she really was?” She listened for a time, and then looked at me with a warm smile. “Yes, I know that look.”
She meant the look that everybody said I gave Jake.
She listened, and then gave her email address–her own, not the family’s–and finally the million-dollar question. “So where do you advise we go from here?” She half-chuckled a few times, then smiled. “That’s very tempting. I don’t …” She chuckled sadly. “Depends on how things went with the car.” She grinned a little. “Yes, they are.” Pause. “I think … I know this will work out; it’ll just take time–what’s that?” She nodded. “And not too many tears, you’re right.” She chuckled. “I’ve never been a big fan of band-aids, anyway. Uh-huh. Okay. Ashley, you’re … thank you. Thank you for being there for Jake and now for being there for … Allison.”
Mom was looking directly at me when she said my name for the first time. I felt a tingle, and my insides kind of crumbling, and my throat got tight. I realized I was blinking back a tear.
“Okay. We’ll see you later, then, and … yes, I’ll let you know. Or Allison will. Uh-huh. Okay, thanks again, and bye, Ashley.”
She turned off the phone and stared at it a moment. She placed the phone on the table and her brow furrowed a little and her mouth twitched with emotion. With forced calm, she said, “Taylor, how did you come up with the name Allison?”
Taylor looked at me and then at Mom. “We were just hanging out, and trying on clothes and things–”
“At the mall?”
“No, no; in my room. You know, like girls do, just trying on different outfits from my closet?”
That seemed to slightly startle Mom, but then she smiled and nodded. “I know. Go on.”
“And I’d been kind of teasing … Mark … about me naming him. Her. You know what I mean.”
“Ashley said that the pronouns will make us crazy. I think we’ll say ‘him’ when talking about Mark,” Mom said, without any bad feeling.
“See, when I’m with her,” she pointed to me, ”I just stopped saying any name. I’d call her ‘babe’ or ‘hon’ or … you know.” Mom nodded. “All this time we’ve been hanging out–I mean, years and years–we’re just … girlfriends, you know?” She shrugged. “But I knew it was time, and she really needed a name. She’s so … real …you know what I mean?”
Looking at me, Mom said, “Yes, I do. I wouldn’t have believed it if somebody had just told me about her, but seeing her with my own eyes, yes, she is real.”
“And I was teasing her about things like Gertrude or Prudence …”
“Hortense,” I said.
Taylor grinned. “Anyway, I could see her in my mirror–you were trying that gold halter, right?”
I nodded, and knew that the very thought of a halter had freaked Mom. I think Taylor had said it on purpose.
Taylor went on. “Anyway, seeing you in the mirror and the thought flashed through my mind like Alice Through The Looking Glass and how everything would be so much easier and better if we could go through that mirror into Looking Glass Land where she’d been born a girl and was my best girlfriend. Which she is, anyway.” Taylor gave me a warm smile.
“Tay is so literary,” I joked.
“So, my brain started with Alice, and it wasn’t right and I think I went from there to Alicia or Alyssa and suddenly, I didn’t have to decide. It was like the decision was made for me. Standing in front of me was Allison … Allie, my best friend.” She shrugged. “That’s how. Allison … Wonderland.”
Mom–and I–stared at Taylor for a moment, who sat there with an appropriate Cheshire Cat-grin, and then Mom said, “It’s going to be interesting telling your father. Not difficult, I hope. Just … an adventure. Honey,” she paused, tilted her head and began. “Most teenagers think their parents are clueless. It just goes with the territory. Well, in some ways, maybe we are, but most definitely not clueless in other ways. We love our children and think that they’re the handsomest, the prettiest, the smartest, the best kids in the world, but we’re also realistic and know a lot more … truth about them.” She paused and cleared her throat.
Taylor and I just glanced at each other. Taylor cleared her throat and asked, “Mrs. Chambers, I’m sorry; we invited you here and haven’t provided anything. Can I get you anything? Soda? Water?”
Mom started to shake her head but turned it into a nod. “Thank you, Taylor. Um, a small ginger ale or club soda would be fine.”
“I’ll try, but they’re mostly Coke and Pepsi here. Sprite okay, or would you rather have water?”
“Oh, I hate paying for bottled water when we have the tap at home, but … alright. If there’s no ginger ale, water would be fine.”
“Sure thing.” She got up. “Allie? Want anything?”
“Um … the usual,” I grinned.
“Sure thing,” she said again. “One triple-shot Cuervo Gold Margarita with extra lime wedges and a shot on the side. Rocks, not blended.”
“Taylor!” I blanched.
Mom was laughing. “Two of those, if you can’t find the ginger ale!”
Taylor grinned and headed into the food court.
Mom watched her go and said to me, “You’re very, very lucky to have her for a friend.”
“Yes, I am. I’m so … grateful to her and I …” I turned back to her. “Mom, I’ve been meaning to ask you, and it’s trivial compared to what we really have to talk about, but … why did you let me have a sleepover with Taylor? I mean, a thirteen-year-old boy and a thirteen-year-old girl …”
Mom grinned. “But wasn’t it really two thirteen-year-old girls?”
I opened my mouth in shock, but she laughed and shook her head.
“No, it wasn’t conscious like that, but that kind of leads me back to what I was starting to say. Honey, your father and I are very aware of what you look like, act like, sound like … Perhaps even more than you. We’ve seen you go from a pretty baby to a … dangerously pretty boy.”
“Dangerously pretty?”
She nodded. “Dangerous, in the sense that the rest of the world will cause you problems. There are boys and men out there who would … hurt you, just because you look like a … well, I can say it now, can’t I? You look like a girl. We’ve always known it, honey; always. And even if we’d been oblivious to that, we’ve had years of strangers proving it to us. From your first stroller trip outdoors, women would smile at you and say, ‘Isn’t she just the prettiest thing?’ and it went on and–”
She broke off, her eyes wide.
“Mom?” I asked, worried.
She shook her head, as if slightly groggy. “I just remembered–I just remembered, after all these years …” Her head shake this time was more in awe. “It started even before that stroller trip. There was a … thing in the nursery. At the hospital, I mean, when your father went to see you.”
“Why wasn’t I with you?” I asked. “Um–sorry to interrupt.”
She smiled, her face showing the thirteen-year-old memory. “I was pretty exhausted. Your father was, too, and they’d sent him home to sleep. So they put you in what they called the ‘well-baby nursery’.”
“And there was a thing?”
She nodded. “There was, indeed, a thing. Your father got there and I think it was right when the nurses changed shifts or something, but his son was not there. They did this thing with blue and pink bassinettes. And they had you in a pink one.”
My hand flew to my mouth.“Oh, God! The poor guy!” I frowned. “Wait a minute–they had to change me, right? So they would’ve seen …” I trailed off, blushing.
Mom nodded. “That’s why the shift change confused things. I guess your diaper had already been changed and the new shift came on … they don’t just leave the babies in the bassinettes; they pick them up one-by-one, put them on their shoulders, gently pat them, that sort of thing, to give human contact. Don’t know if they still do that. But somehow you wound up in a pink bassinette.”
“But didn’t they have a card, something with ‘Mark Chambers, boy’ on it?”
“I’m sure they did, and I don’t know all of the details because I wasn’t there and it was so long ago, but the point is that when your father first laid eyes on you, you were already identified as a girl. And then, as I was saying, over the years, I can’t tell you how many people came up and complimented me on my pretty daughter.”
I stared.
She seemed to enjoy my stare and said, almost teasingly, “As you got older, the comments were more like, ‘Oh, my daughter outgrew her tomboy phase; yours will, too’ and so on.”
I stared.
Mom’s teasing smile softened. “So, yes, your father is aware of how you look. And how you act. And I can’t tell you how many nights we’ve lain awake staring at the ceiling and talking about you. Your father would say, ‘maybe he’ll grow out of it’ and I’d say, ‘maybe he won’t’. Another night, I’d say, ‘it’ll all be different when he hits puberty’ and your father would say, ‘but what if he stays so pretty?’”
“He thinks I’m pretty?” Ego got me.
Mom grinned. “Just like a girl; after all I said, you seized on the ‘pretty’ comment! Yes, your father thinks you’re pretty. And it’s difficult for him; you’ve got to allow that. He’s been magnificent at taking abuse from other men about his … I shouldn’t say this, but these are the things they said. Your father would be asked what it was like having a girly-boy. They’d call you Marsha. They’d say you ‘Mark-ed’ the wrong box when it said Boy or Girl. Stupid, hurtful jock talk.”
My stare dissolved into anger.“Those … They had no right to talk to him that way! I had no idea he got any of that! I always thought they’d be talking about how great Jake was playing.”
“A little of that, and a lot of the snotty things,” Mom said with a frown. “And we tried to keep it from you; I guess we did a good job.”
“I didn’t have a clue. Am I–was I that girly?” I corrected, seeing as how I was dressed.
“That’s just it; no, you weren’t. You never acted effeminate–you still don’t–but there’s a … a grace, a definite grace to your movements. And your hair, skin, big blue eyes … dangerously pretty, like I said. And the sick part is … no, I won’t say it.”
“I think I know. So I’ll say it. The sick part is that the men that were mocking me for looking like a girl were turned on a little bit, because I looked like a girl?”
She nodded sadly. “I’m sorry the ugliness of the world has already … made its way into yours–that you even could know that. Every parent tries to protect their child as long as possible. But now you know, and you see why I used the word ‘dangerously’.”
“I’ve never thought about my being in danger, even when kids at school taunted me. It’s just that I–”
“Kids at school taunted you?” Her jaw tightened. “See, honey, we never knew that; you managed to keep that quiet from us. And that’s not right; we need to know this kind of thing. Did you tell the teachers, or anybody at the school?”
“No; that would’ve been the kiss of death. I just tuned it out.”
“What would they say?”
“Just like, I’d be walking to lunch with Chelsea or Amber, and some guys would say something like, ‘Have a nice lunch, girls’ and usually Chelsea would giggle or Amber would flip them off but I just kept my head down.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Those jerks. Well, it would only get worse in high school. Chelsea …” She looked thoughtful. “Chelsea Dunham?”
“Yeah. She’s moving away this summer, though. She’s a good bud.”
Mom tilted her head and said, “Yes, Tom Dunham got transferred to Minneapolis. Um … who are your friends at school? You never talk about them, besides Taylor.”
“Well, Taylor, of course, and Chelsea and Amber and Amy and … sometimes I’ll walk with Jennifer Housely and Jenny Monahan, and Kayla Lambert’s fun to talk with …”
Mom gave me a piercing look.
I held up my hands. “Mom, I know. I’ve already realized it. The only guy friend I had–I think I ever had–was Glen Stevenson, and the last time he visited, he said something like ‘you look like a chick.’”
Mom nodded. “I remember that. I overheard from the next room. I believe his exact words were, ‘Dude, are you turning into a chick?’”
“God, Mom, why did you remember that?”
“Because I’ve had thirteen years of hearing comments about you, remember? And because I remember my response. I heard that, and I felt a little hurt for you, but in my head I thought, ‘Turning into a chick? She is a chick–and what’s so wrong with that?’ and I shocked myself. It was the first time I’d consciously, openly, referred to you as female in my mind.”
“God … I had no idea …” I was stunned.
She nodded again. “And that opened the subject up once again with your father. Which brings me the long way around to what I’d said–I don’t think he’ll be difficult to tell. He will be sad about losing a son, though; you’ll have to be aware of that.”
“Not losing a son, just gaining a daughter?” I grinned.
“Yes, but not so easy as that. It’s a male thing; you wouldn’t understand.” She realized what she’d just said, so automatically, and chuckled but there was some embarrassment there.
To help her, I said, “Well, I sorta can understand. I sort of know how they think.”
There: I said it. They were males. They were the opposite sex to my mother–and me.
She frowned again. “Oh, sweetheart, are you sure this is what you want?”
I nodded. “With all my heart and with all my soul, and there’s something else, Mom. I could say that it isn’t what I want or don’t want–it’s what I am. Like asking you, are you sure you want to be a woman? You are, and all the wishing and hoping anything different won’t make any difference.”
Mom’s eyes narrowed. “There’s some solid truth to what you say. I suspect … well, your father and I have discussed it. You came kind of late in … what we’ll call ‘my proper years of childbearing,’ and that’s a time when all sorts of things can go wrong or just turn out differently. You could go along having three, four kids all pretty much the same, and the last one is a wild card.” She chuckled. “Because you certainly turned out to be one!”
Taylor was coming back with the drinks; Mom looked up and smiled and nodded. Taylor set them down and I said, “Now, miss, this is Diet, correct?”
Playing a waitress, Taylor said, “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s regular Coke. I should’ve known you’d prefer Diet, because you’re obviously such a fat broad.”
We all laughed as she sat, sipped for a moment, and I couldn’t resist further teasing. “Geez, Taylor; we were dying of thirst here. You go to Atlanta to get the Coke?”
“They know me there,” she said off-hand, not rising to the tease. Then she shrugged. “I always test-sip; you know that. The mix was off. They got weird about a refund–I would’ve gone to the fish place–and I had to wait while they changed canisters or whatever they’re called. But at least the mix is right.”
It might even have been a true story, but I was pretty sure she’d seen that Mom and I were talking pretty intensely and had stayed away on purpose. It made me love her all the more.
I smiled warmly at her and said, “The mix is perfect; worth the wait.” I took a sip and ‘ahhed’ appreciatively and then said, “Mom was just telling me that, basically, they’ve always known I probably should have been a girl, and I’m too pretty for a boy, and that we’ll still have to deal with my father’s emotions.”
“Too pretty for a boy? Maybe, but barely pretty enough to qualify for girlhood,” Taylor teased.
“You two!” Mom chuckled, sipping her ginger ale. “A best girlfriend is one of the most important things in a girl’s life, Allison, so as much as she makes you crazy, hold on to her.”
I almost choked. “You called me Allison, Mom. Thank you. It’s so special coming from you.”
She sat back. “You’ve got to admit that it’s cosmically weird that Taylor named you that. And that’s why she wanted to know what names we’d picked out for our daughter.” She looked at me seriously. “Our daughter … you.”
I choked up, this time and felt my eyes tearing. Mom rushed a tissue to me, grinning. “Just like a girl. See, your emotional responses are feminine as well. I think once we get you tested, it’ll just confirm what we already know.”
“Tested?” I asked nervously.
“Yeah, to see if you qualify,” Taylor said snootily. “To see if you measure up; to see if you’re man enough to be a woman.”
“That’s right, Taylor,” Mom laughed. To me, she said, “You must know that testing is going to be involved. Not just psychological, emotional testing, but bodily fluids, internal organs–all sorts of fun things. Look, a simple declarative statement from you before I go on. Answer these questions: Is this a passing thing you’ll grow out of, or permanent? Will you be male or female? Are you willing to do whatever’s necessary to get where you want to be, and where is that?”
“Be all that you can be,” Taylor added.
“Not helping, Tay,” I teased.
Her face set. “You’re right. Sorry. This is a serious moment for you.” Her eyes bored into me. “Go, Allie.”
I smiled at her; God, I love this girl! I focused on what Mom had asked. “Simple declarative statement,” I said. “Okay, I can do that. ‘Being of sound mind and body’ probably doesn’t apply here. So here goes. My heart, mind, soul, emotions, and most of my body are female and feminine, and I want the world to acknowledge that I am a girl, a girl who will grow up a woman, and I am willing to do and to undergo any and everything necessary to live my entire life, from now until the end, as a female.” I sipped my Diet Coke, my eyes locked on Mom. “That do it?”
“My God, we should have written that down,” Mom said.
“Don’t have to,” Taylor grinned and held up her phone. “Got it on voice recorder!”
“What?” Mom and I exclaimed.
Taylor pushed the button and held the phone to the middle of the table. My voice was tinny but could be heard saying, ‘–doesn’t apply here. So here goes. My heart, mind, soul, emotions, and most of my body are female and feminine, and I want the world to acknowledge that I am a girl–’ at which point Taylor stopped it.
We all sat back. Taylor looked at her phone. “Wow,” she said.
“Yeah, wow,” I agreed. To Mom, I said, “So now what?”
Mom looked at me, at Taylor, and back to me. “At the risk of inflating your ego any more than it is, I must tell you to your face that you’re very pretty, Allison, and those clothes suit you.”
I turned to Taylor with a big grin and said, “She said I was ‘dangerously pretty’!”
To my surprise, Taylor answered seriously. “Did she mean that as a boy it was dangerous being as pretty as you are?”
I stared and Mom just said, “Yep, she’s a keeper!”
“Did you two work out this routine?” I said, pointing between the two of them.
Mom said, “We’ve all established you’re a pretty girl, Allison–or I should get used to calling you Allie, I guess.”
“Thank you, Mom, and I meant to tell you, I’d be honored to have the name you picked out for me, and I’d like to officially be Allison Marie Chambers, if Daddy will agree to it.”
It was Mom’s turn to stare at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You just called him ‘Daddy’ like it was the most natural thing.”
“No, I said, ‘Dad’.”
“Uh-uh,” Taylor slurped her straw. “You said ‘Daddy’.”
Mom said, “You said it like you’ve been saying it your whole life.”
“I did?” I genuinely didn’t recall. I had just been thinking of my father and it had come out that way. I’d called him ‘Daddy’? More to think about later … “Well, whoever he is, if he agrees. Allison Marie Chambers, but everybody calls me Allie.”
Tay stuck a finger in the air.“Except when you’re in trouble or in Algebra.”
Our Algebra teacher insisted on full names; even Beth Fowler was ‘Elizabeth’.
Mom said, “Thank you, honey; it’s very strange to meet my teenage daughter with the name I’d picked thirteen years ago, but, hello, Allison Marie Chambers. Now, Allie, as I was saying–”
We all burst out laughing and Taylor said, “She said that like she’s been saying it her whole life!”
Mom struggled to go on. “I’m assuming those clothes are Taylor’s.” We nodded. “It’s a very cute outfit, by the way. Who put it together?”
Like a comedy bit, I pointed to Taylor at the exact time she pointed to me. Taylor said, “Well, I came up with the shoes. Don’t her toes look cute?”
Mom looked down at my sandals and I was terribly self-conscious as she said, “Very cute. The color matching, the style …?” Referring to my top and skirt.
Taylor said, “Allie picked ‘em out. I’ve got a closet full of stuff and we’d try things on–hey, that’s when Monica came in!”
“Your sister?” Mom asked. “What happened?”
“Well, Allie had on a skirt, I think, the black mini?” I nodded. Taylor said, “And Allie was pulling a top over her head so Monica came in when Allie just had a bra and tummy and Mon didn’t bat an eyelash. After that it was a lot easier convincing Allie to go out in public.”
“I hadn’t gone out, ever, until last night when we went for ice cream, where we ran into Ashley and Jake,” I explained, making it seem–still–that I’d been dressing as a girl at Taylor’s for a long time.
Mom asked, “Speaking of your bra …”
“My sister’s left-over Little Helpers,” Taylor said, matter-of-factly. “She doesn’t need them.”
“Does she know that you’re … borrowing them?” Mom asked.
I looked at Taylor, who said, “No. I already had them before I gave ‘em to Allie. And Monica still thinks Allie’s a girl.” She looked at me. “Well, she is, but … you know.”
Mom said, “A couple of stipulations. First, Allison will return the inserts to you to return to your sister.” She held up a hand. “We will find something for a replacement. Secondly, before we go any further, you must tell your sister the truth about Allie.”
“That’ll be kind of hard, but … yeah, she’s bound to find out, and Ashley already told me I had to tell her,” Taylor mused. “Look, you’re going to go ahead and help Allie be a girl? I mean with doctors and everything?” Mom nodded. “Then let me wait until at least the first doctor’s visit. Then I can tell Monica that it’s a medical thing and she won’t freak as much.”
“Under the circumstances, I think that’s probably best,” Mom agreed. “Alright. By the way, what bra is that?”
“I think it’s a Lily of France,” I said.
Taylor nodded and asked, “Why?”
Mom smiled. “I haven’t seen it, or the inserts, but it’s very … believable. Nicely curved and natural.”
It was very strange having my mother smiling and admiring my, uh, breasts.
“Told ya so!” Taylor said to me.
“Your earrings are lovely, dear,” Mom went on.
I knew where it was headed. “These are magnetic, Mom; I’m not pierced … yet,” I checked her response. “I would like pierced ears as soon as possible.”
Mom nodded. “I understand that, too, but let’s hold off on anything like that until your father and I have talked, okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, automatically. “Oh, and Ashley recommended silver.”
“Silver?” Mom asked, confused.
I nodded. “When I called her and she wanted to know what I was wearing? She said with the lilac and violet–and my coloring–that I should wear silver jewelry instead of gold.”
For some reason, that rocked Mom. She just nodded, distantly. “She said that, did she?” She paused. “Um … she’s right. With your coloring …”
“So … maybe pierced ears? Soon?” I nudged.
“Not until we talk with your father,” she said firmly.
“I understand,” I said. I did, but I was still bummed.
Seeing that I was a little saddened, Mom said, “However, seeing that the genie is out of the bottle, or Pandora’s box is opened …”
Taylor laughed. “We did the same thing! Maybe ‘the cat is out of the bag’?”
“Right,” Mom said. “It’s perfectly natural for girls to share clothes, and you two will be doing it for years, but it’s also proper that you have some of your own.” She held up a hand at our sudden excitement. “I said some, meaning at this time. Again, we really have to remain in limbo until your father and I have had our little talk. Big talk. Little Big Talk, whatever.” She chuckled. “But without going overboard, there’s nothing that says that I can’t take my daughter shopping today!”
I was stunned, but practical. “When are you planning on telling Daddy?”
She gave me a momentary stunned look, then smiled and nodded and I realized she had just accepted me calling my father ‘Daddy’. It had just slipped out, anyway.
“Tonight, if at all possible. I’ve been going back and forth in my head on how to present you to him, after we’ve discussed it, and I think you were right to meet on neutral territory for me, but he’ll need to be in his own home. Again, it’s a male thing. Hmm. While we walk I’ll call and see how he is.”
To Taylor, I said, “If it was a good day fixing the car or not,” and she nodded in understanding.
“Then … a roll of the dice. I think maybe … Taylor, could Allie stay at your house this evening? I don’t mean another overnight, but while I broach the subject with her father? Ashley said she’ll keep Jake away.”
“Sure,” Taylor grinned. “And she can stay overnight again. My folks are away and Monica’s cool with me and my girlfriend!” She grinned at me now.
“We’ll see,” Mom said, like parents everywhere. “Okay, let’s head to … Penney’s, I guess, and I’ll call him.”
We started walking, Mom behind us as she called Dad, and Taylor said, “See? Told ya it’d all work out!”
“You did not!” I said. “You were as nervous as I was!”
“Babe, nobody could be as nervous as you were!” She linked arms with me and we both giggled. I sensed Mom behind and turned. She was looking at us, studying us.
“What?” I asked.
Her face moved into an expression I couldn’t recognize. She shook her head once and said, “Just … realizing my son is gone … or never really was here …”
I turned, stricken. “God, I’m sorry, Mom–”
She smiled sadly and waved a hand. “Oh, don’t be, sweetheart. It’s just … seeing and hearing you and Taylor–it’s so obvious that you’re a girl. That you two are best girlfriends. It just reminded me of my best friend growing up and I … I just realized how many things we’ve missed out on.”
“Huh?” I looked at Taylor, who seemed to know although I didn’t; she gave a single, smiling nod.
Mom said, “All the things we would have shared with you growing up as my daughter. Well,” she seemed to force a smile. “No time like the present. You two don’t mind me. I’ve got to call your father.”
She made a ‘carry-on’ wave of her hand and opened her phone. I looked at Taylor, frowning.
“Geez, don’t ya get it?” Taylor rolled her eyes. “Dolls. Easy-Bake Ovens. Walking in Mommy’s heels. Velvet dresses at Christmas and white lace at Easter. Bluebirds, Camp Fire Girls. Ballet. Cheerleading. Geez, stop me any time!”
I’d missed all those things and I was shocked that I hadn’t thought about Mom missing them. How selfish was I? Or self-centered, I guess? I also thought about little things we already did, like when Jake and Daddy–I had never thought of calling him that; it had just come out automatically and I knew that I was already thinking of him like that, cementing it into place–when Jake and Daddy would say some jock thing and laugh and high-five each other and Mom and I would look at each other and smile or roll our eyes. ‘It’s a guy thing’ we’d think, and as warm and nice as that shared look was, it also pained me but I never knew why. Now I did. It felt like I was somehow betraying my father and brother–but even more than that, it should have been a mother-and-daughter moment.
I heard the snap of Mom’s phone shutting and she caught up with us. “Seemed to go okay. It’s running, ‘purring’, he said, and he’s popping a beer and watching the Phillies. And they’re ahead!” They were my dad’s favorite team for some reason, come good season or bad. And as far as I knew, he’d never even been to Philadelphia. “So. My plan is this. Um, Allison, do you have any objection to visiting the Ladies’?”
“No, not at all. After all, I got my mommy with me!” I said like a proud little girl.
“Goof!” Taylor rolled her eyes.
Mom took out a pad and pen. “Taylor, do you know all of the sizes of the clothing that Allie’s wearing? No? Okay, I’ll make a list. Allie, go in the stall, take off what you need to check the sizes. Oh, and the manufacturer. Every one of them sizes differently; you’ll go mad trying to match but at least we’ll have a starting place. Bra and … and panties, too. Taylor, shoes?”
“Six or seven, maybe?”
To me, Mom said, “See if you can find out. Okay, in we go.”
We’d reached the Penney’s Ladies’ Lounge, which was a palace compared to the mall’s public restrooms I’d used as a boy. There were two ladies waiting, and Mom took the opportunity to quietly say to us, “Now, we’re not going to go overboard shopping. Famous last words, I know, but I have my reasons. I mainly want to focus on an outfit for Allison and her father to meet–Taylor, you’re up–and maybe one for afterwards. I’m sorry, honey; I know you want to get everything, but it’s really not the time.”
“I understand, Mom, I really do. I’m just so … blown away by you accepting me,” I said, lowering my voice as two more ladies came in line behind us.
“There’s more going on here than you know, honey,” Mom said cryptically. “Okay, here’s the pad.”
I took the pad and went in. I quickly removed the top and noted the size, then removed the inserts–didn’t want them flopping onto the floor!–and wrote down the bra size. I put the bra back on and was putting in an insert and saw a brand and code stamped on it and wrote that, too. Pulling the top on and the skirt around, I got the skirt size and then pulled down my panties and peed and wiped, checked the size of panties before pulling them up. I bent over and unstrapped a sandal; nothing. I checked the other and a little white tag said ‘6’, and then I flushed as I got fully put back together. I came out and Taylor was just finishing at a mirror; in the purse she’d given me was a brush so I put my hair into place.
“Shame we don’t at least have that lipstick,” Taylor said about the Estee Lauder color I wore.
“I’ve got to tell Mom about her,” I said, just as Mom came out of the last stall and primped at the mirror.
She gave me the warmest smile and a ‘double-hug’, where she’d hug me close to her twice. I hadn’t felt that in years and I almost melted with gratitude.
“I’m thinking something in pink and white,” Mom said quietly so other ladies couldn’t hear. “Your father likes women in pink, and there will be a subtle, subliminal persuasion to him to see you in a color he’s never seen you in and that boys don’t usually wear.” In a normal volume as we headed out of the lounge, she said, “We know that lilac works very well for you; I think teal, maybe even a steel blue. What’s that funny color the Seattle Seahawks wear?”
“I don’t know, Mom; you’re asking the wrong child,” I said with a grin.
“Oh, that’s right. And what’s the secret of my apple pie?”
“Galas peeled and marinated for two hours with a teaspoon of cinnamon, half-a-teaspoon of sugar and–oh, you’re having fun with me.”
Mom shook her head. “No. I have one son to talk to me about football uniforms and one daughter to talk to me about apple pies. Best of both worlds,” she grinned. “Seriously, though, it wouldn’t kill ya to pay some attention to the sport that … the men-folk in the family love.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank God I got a sister,” Taylor smirked. “We just talk about makeup and boys.”
That was like a needle pulled off a record–it stopped the conversation cold. I knew that Taylor hadn’t intended that, but it was–to mix metaphors–the elephant in the corner.
Boys.
Of course, Mom picked up on it. “Tell me, Allie … what are your feelings about boys?”
“Mom, I kind of talked about this with Taylor. I don’t know yet. I only know two things. First, I’ve never had any … special feelings for anybody, boy or girl. And second, I feel and think like a girl, so when it comes, I’ll probably be interested in boys.”
Taylor gave a stagey fake cough. “Um … three things.”
“Three?”
She did the fake cough thing again. “Der … ek …”
“Oh,” I blushed.
“Ah-ha!” Mom chuckled. “Come on; out with it.”
“Taylor and I … well, she was asking what I felt about boys, and we talked about boys in our class last year, and I kinda, sorta … well, felt something when we talked about one of them.”
“Who?” Mom asked. “Do I know him?”
“No. Derek Howell,” I said with a sigh. “He got hurt in football and then transferred during the first semester.”
Taylor said to Mom, “I believe the words she used were ‘warm and squishy inside’.”
“Taylor!” I spun on her.
“Yep, that sounds about right, especially with that sigh she just gave,” Mom grinned at my blush. “Warm and squishy … Oh, don’t be mad at Taylor, honey; she did you a favor. She got you over a major hurdle.”
“Hurdle? I did?” Taylor asked. “Yay for me. How?”
Mom sighed as she looked at me. “You may be determined to be–well, I guess you are–a girl, but there’s thirteen years of boy-stuff crammed in your head. It could mess you up, especially dealing with the opposite sex.” She chuckled. “Whatever the opposite sex might turn out to be! But I think your reaction to this Derek boy shows that you have a girl’s typical response to a boy. So I think you’re going to find that you’re a heterosexual girl, interested in boys.”
“Whew! That’s a relief!” Taylor joked. “I was afraid of stripping in front of her!”
“Taylor, you’d strip in front of the Chess Club if they’d pay attention to you!” I shot back as we came to the Juniors section.
“Girls! Girls!” Mom laughed. “Cool it! Okay, I think the best look for you will be the camisole and a tiered or layered skirt …” Quietly, she murmured, “Chess Club?” and chuckled; Taylor stuck out her tongue at me and then giggled.
I could tell that Mom had said ‘Girls! Girls!’ automatically, realized it, and seemed to like it!
We looked and were lucky enough to quickly find what Mom wanted for me. The top was a spaghetti-strap camisole in the lightest pink, with a gathered bodice and delicate lace at the neckline and hem. For the skirt Taylor found a tiered skirt in white eyelet; the two seemed to blend nicely when we held them up and when I put them on, I could instantly tell by Mom’s face that we’d found the outfit.
“Jewelry is fine–thank you for the magnetic earrings, Taylor–and the shoes are good, but I really want to find some of your own. Also lingerie.”
We got the lingerie first, a three-pack of panties in white, pink, and yellow, and had to go to the Women’s Lingerie for the bra. It was there that I had the strongest, strangest feeling that I truly was in another category, as we stood among the displays, flipping through bras. Nothing could be more feminine and less a male activity! Mom found the bra that Taylor had loaned me and bought two, one in white and one in what she called ecru.
In the shoe department, Taylor mentioned casually how cute I looked in her ballet flats, so Mom got a pair of white strappy sandals like Taylor’s–with a slightly higher heel!–and brown suede flats. She seemed to crumble a little bit and led us back to Juniors and I got a denim miniskirt and raspberry tank, and then back to Juniors Lingerie and Mom held a nightie up against me.
“If all goes well,” she murmured, and I started getting nervous about how much was riding on my meeting with my father.
Mom declared us done, but then asked an awkward question. “Who did your makeup? Taylor?”
We looked at each other and were forced to tell the true story, with the lie about the step-mother. Mom glared slightly at that, but nodded and said she completely understood, only never lie, blah-blah-blah. Sheepishly, we agreed. Then she absolutely blew my mind by taking us to the makeup counter! As luck would have it, Anna wasn’t there, so it was much simpler. Mom had the list and asked for the lipstick, blush, and shadow and asked that Anna get commission. There was a little glaring contest between her and the clerk but Mom won, made sure it was done right, and as we walked away, Mom surprised me again.
“Keep your fingers crossed that we get to do more business with Anna!”
Then Mom took us to a Denny’s for salad and finally to Taylor’s house, where we hauled in the bags. Monica was out, thank goodness, and so it was an easy matter. Mom told me to hang out, and she’d call and let me know what the scoop was. She suggested we pass the time by making a list of our own, based on Taylor’s clothing, of what I would need for day-to-day clothing as a girl.
“I can’t promise anything,” Mom cautioned. “But we better be prepared if things work out.”
I hugged her and told her how much I loved her, and then she was gone.
Taylor and I just looked at each other. She raised an eyebrow and said, “Beverages, anyone?”
End of Part 5
Taylor and I had a great time going through her closet and bureau. We decided to list items, like Skirts, and then sub-group them, like School, Church, Fancy, Kicky, and Grubby. We chose Kicky because Sexy was what we meant but knew it would never get past any parents! Then we’d add the realistic number of items that Taylor had in each group. She got excited about the prospect of finally going through her own stuff and tossing things that she’d never wear and also finding out where she needed something. She also made a section of her closet and a space in her bureau for things that she could pass on to me, but we didn’t note those down–it would be a secret supplement. I also knew that if my father vetoed the whole thing, they’d be the only girl clothes I could wear, and only when I visited Taylor.
Please let him agree, I prayed silently. Please, please, please!
Mom finally called around nine; I was starting to get worried. She took a deep breath.
“Well, it’s been a long process, but he’s ready to meet Allison. Oh, and don’t worry; it didn’t take so long because he was hard to convince. There were some other things we had to discuss–some bills and things completely unrelated to you–and then we began talking. I was able to gauge his mood after all our money talk, so I started about you. And, no; I’m not going to tell you anything about how it went because I want the two of you to play it moment-by-moment without expectations.”
“God, Mom, that sounds scary.” Right away my brain began constructing disaster scenarios.
She chuckled. “You only just now realized how scary this whole thing is? Completely altering the space-time continuum would be easier than telling a father his son is now his daughter!” She sighed. “But he’s a good man; a good, good man. But one thing … I said I wasn’t going to prep you or anything but I will strongly give you a word of advice. Two, actually. The first is, be Allison. Don’t try to be Mark and sort-of Allison. Don’t think you have to show your father that his son is still there, to reassure him or something. That will utterly fail, do you understand? In no uncertain terms, not a whiff of Mark; just be Allison as she was with her mother and best friend today, alright? You need to show that this is who you are, the wonderful girl I spent the day with. Her name is Allison Marie Chambers and she’s his daughter and she’s real and she’s permanent and … get the idea?”
I felt a warm rush of happiness. “Yes, Mom. And it’s wonderful to hear you say that about me!”
“I know, sweetheart. It’s actually fun to say, too! Okay, the second bit of advice is, well … Stick to your guns. Don’t back down. Don’t waver. Okay? He might try to talk you out of it, like dressing like a girl is something you could do every so often for fun.”
“But I–”
“Hush, honey; you don’t have to explain to me. I understand, but you must understand that he’ll be probing, testing your resolve. He might try to get you to agree to dress once a month, or something like that, to let off steam or something. Do not give in! He wouldn’t be saying that because he doesn’t think you’re really committed but because he wants you to be really committed. It’s a guy thing, probing for weaknesses. Your father respects strength, in men and women. It’s wishy-washy stuff that sends him around the bend. So be a strong girl and go eyeball-to-eyeball with your father and then we’ll see what’s what … and who’s who!”
She said she’d be over in ten minutes. Taylor and I cleaned up the room, took our glasses down to the sink, and concentrated on talking about the list to keep my nerves down. Mom arrived and we let her in–still no Monica around–and we hugged. Mom smoothed my hair, then asked where the makeup was. We went back to Taylor’s room.
Mom looked around and complimented Taylor on her room. I giggled. “I couldn’t believe it the first time I was here,” I said. “I’d only seen Taylor at school and in her den downstairs, and she was always kind of a tough girl. But she’s a marshmallow!”
“Oh, yeah? Marshmallow this!” Taylor laughed as she shot me the finger and closed it before Mom saw.
“Now, girls,” Mom said calmly, admiring a Degas print, “leave the hand gestures to the boys.” She was grinning as she turned around. She’d done that ‘eyes in the back of her head’ parent thing.
“Ah,” she said, taking the bag of makeup.
I sat on Taylor’s vanity bench and Mom opened the lipstick and then leaned down to me, taking my chin in her hand and holding the brush … and then nothing happened. She pursed her lips and stood straight with an odd look on her face.
I looked up at her, worried. “Mom? Are you okay?”
“Yes, it’s just …” She sniffed slightly. “It’s all becoming so … so real. And, I might as well confess,” she actually blushed, “I’ve always dreamed of putting lipstick on my pretty daughter, and now here I am, about to do it, and I freak.” She shrugged and smiled sadly. “And there’s a part of me saying goodbye to my son, too. That’s something you must realize that your father and I will have to go through, letting go of Mark. Jake will, too. But we’ve got to do it.” She leaned down while she murmured, “We’ve just got to …”
She used the items in the bag to freshen my look, brushed my hair and then frowned slightly. Taylor, always the mind reader, pointed to a bottle of cologne that I’d been wearing earlier. Mom sprayed it in the air and had me walk through it. She replaced the bottle and then said we were ready.
“Wait a minute, Allie,” Taylor said, and hoisted a large pillowcase stuffed with clothes. “These are things we went through. They’re for you.”
Mom said, “Oh, no, we couldn’t accept–”
Taylor interrupted. “Allie and I went through my stuff tonight, as you asked. These are things that I’m never going to wear again. They’re all in good condition; some are brand new. This isn’t charity or anything; if you don’t want it, donate it. But I thought, you know, just to get her started, and money’s always tight these days and …”
Mom smiled. “Thank you, Taylor. It’s very kind of you. And I will repay you–no, don’t object until you hear me out!–I will repay you by taking you shopping with us, first chance we get, and get you the outfit of your choice.”
“Okay.” Taylor grinned wickedly. “Prada, here I come!”
Mom joked, “Er–maybe I should re-think that offer …”
We got to the front door and as I slid my purse over my shoulder, Mom chuckled and turned to us. “I can’t believe it! I’m thinking I crossed every T and dotted every I, and here I forgot to get you your own purse!”
“It’s okay,” Taylor said. “Consider it a gift.”
“Thank you again, but she’ll need one that she picks out.”
“I understand, believe me,” Taylor grinned. “C’mere, babe,” she said, holding her arms out. We hugged and she said, “God, I hope this works out for you. Good luck! Good, good luck!” We separated and she said, “Call me! No matter how late!”
“I promise,” I said, turning and waving as Mom and I walked to the car. I was intensely conscious of the similar clack of our heels on the sidewalk, and got a warm feeling from it.
In the car, Mom said, “And I forgot a sweater, too, besides the purse. You really should have a pretty white sweater for that cami, since it’s nighttime.”
“It’s on the list,” I grinned, reaching in my purse and holding up the pad.
Mom watched me and then focused on the road. “Honey, the way you … well, watching you handle your purse, it’s like you’ve been doing this your whole life. I can’t believe how natural you are. How long have you been doing this?”
I quickly thought how to answer without directly answering, like a politician. I chuckled and said, “To tell you the truth, I’ve only been carrying a purse for less than 24 hours. But feeling like a girl and wanting to do something about it … I can’t even tell you how long that’s been. Most of my life, maybe.”
Although I’d only first put on girls’ clothes 24 hours ago–including, eventually, the purse–it avoided the actual clocking of Allison’s appearance. And the more I’d been experiencing and thinking about my whirlwind 24 hours, I realized that Taylor was right–Allison had always been there, lurking under the unhappy Mark, ready to make her entrance. It took Monica’s off-hand comment yesterday, just one silly word, to trigger things, but if I’d become so natural at girl things, it was because I was naturally a girl … who had been buried under life as Mark.
Mom seemed to accept the answer at face value, because she said, “Well, you’re certainly natural with the purse. And everything else, come to think of it. Did you always have that cute wiggle when you walk? I don’t remember it, but it’s there.”
I realized she wasn’t asking for an answer; just kind of thinking out loud. Then she surprised me and saddened me, because her voice was sad.
“My God; how hard it must have been for you, all these years, going around as Mark but all the time really being Allison inside.”
“Well, I never had the name until Taylor named me, but … yeah. It was kind of lonely.” I looked out the window. Misleading again on the time frame for my name, but still a true statement. The lonely part? With the exception of my friendship with Taylor, that was absolutely true.
“It explains so much,” Mom said. “So many of the questions we had about you–about Mark–make perfect sense now. I hope your father understands that.”
And there was no time for me to back out; we were at our house. I got out of the car, carrying the bag of clothes, and looked at Mom, who smiled bravely. “You’re so pretty, Allison! And you’re naturally feminine; naturally a girl. Remember that and stick to your guns. Don’t be bullied. Your father values courage in men and in women. So …” She took a breath. “Here we go!”
My father was waiting for us in the den, which was his center of power. I hadn’t gotten into trouble very much growing up–getting in trouble was Jake’s department–but I did remember the time I faced my father in his den and told him that I didn’t want to continue with Tee-Ball. I was no good at it and I just didn’t get it. And I had looked at the little boys around me and just knew that I wasn’t one of them–I just hadn’t known why.
That night, he had sat in his great red leather chair, where he would be now, and I’d stood where Jake had many times before and since, and I called my father ‘sir’. That formal situation required it; he was always the former military man, and somehow that form of address came out automatically. Yes, sir, no sir … I must remember that, and be respectful.
We entered the den after I’d left the clothes bag in the living room, and Mom crossed to take a chair to the side of my father, who sat there watching us without expression. I remembered what Mom had said, to be myself, to be Allison, not Mark in a dress. I had to fully feel female and trust in it and that’s the only reason I have for what I did and said.
Because I certainly didn’t plan it …
I walked to the appropriate spot on the rug and stood there, knees and ankles together under my short white skirt. I held my fingers with the other hand and said, “Hi, Daddy.”
My brain screamed, Oh, crap! How could I have done that?
His eyes widened a bit, he frowned, and then nodded slightly towards me. “Is this what you want?”
“Uh, I’m not being disrespectful, sir. I need to know what you mean, exactly, by ‘this’ … because there are several possibilities of … interpretation …” I trailed off, looking at Mom, who sat with her legs wrapped around each other and her hands clasped, her mouth tight-lipped. Did it seem like I was talking back? I really wasn’t …Oh crap, again!
But my father was a very specific man, detail-oriented and frustrated by imprecise language. I knew, instinctively, that I had to speak to my father with detail and precision. I could only pray that I didn’t sound flippant.
He cleared his throat. “I see your point. Is dressing like a girl what you want?”
I swallowed and dove in. “Sir, I’m dressed like a girl … because I am a girl. It’s how girls dress. I’m not wearing these clothes for fun, or for … anything kinky … I’m wearing them because it’s what girls my age wear. Sir,” I added, needlessly.
His frown deepened and then he started to say something but stopped himself and started again, slowly. “Is being a girl what you want? I mean, to live and be treated as a girl?”
“The easy answer is yes, but it’s not completely accurate.” I sighed. I could only hope that he realized I was clarifying and not contradicting. “It’s not so much about what I want; it’s who I am. I don’t have much say in the matter. I’ve always …” My voice caught; I swallowed and started again. “I’ve always felt like a girl. In my mind, in how I see the world, in my emotions … but it’s not been how the world saw me, because I was supposed to be a boy. But we all know that that didn’t work out very well.”
He defended. “Well, it certainly could work out–”
“No, it couldn’t. With respect, sir; sorry for interrupting, but no, it couldn’t work out. It’s like …” I felt a tremble coming on. “Please, could I sit?”
He frowned and then glanced at Mom and back to me. “Certainly. You were saying?”
I walked to the loveseat in the den and sat on the front edge of it, smoothing my skirt behind me as I sat, knees and ankles together, slid my purse off my shoulder and folded my hands in my lap. Out of the corner of my eye I could see a slight nod and slighter smile from Mom.
“I’ve thought about how to explain this to you, because I really want you to understand–I really need you to understand. And the only way I think I can is by some ‘What If’ scenarios.”
My father was big on ‘What If’ scenarios; he used them in his security business and ran them with Jake and me all the time. Of course, the ones with Jake went like this: ‘What if the linesmen leave a hole and your cornerback’s blocked?’ ‘What if there’s a runner on second and there’s a bunt?’ and so on. I had no idea what most of them meant. With me, his ‘What If’ scenarios were more like: ‘What if one action will get you killed but save a life, and the other action will hurt you but someone dies?’ I don’t know why he gave me the heavy-duty things. I’d have much preferred if he asked me, ‘What if your best friend’s boyfriend is cheating with a girl you know; would you tell her?’–something I’d know how to answer.
So by bringing up a ‘What If’, I knew he’d be willing to let me state my piece.
“Okay,” I said with a deep breath. “Before the ‘What If’, some basic statements. This isn’t a lark; it isn’t a phase; it isn’t for fun. In fact, I’m aware of how tough I can be making my life. And … all of our lives. But it’s not something I can turn on or off; it’s hard-wired into my nature.”
“Nature versus nurture?” Dad murmured. He was big on that discussion, too.
“Jake and I were raised in the same environment,” I said.
“Point taken,” he nodded. Mom did the slight nod thing again.
I frowned, moved some hair behind my ear, and began. “I think people are made of body, mind, and spirit, or soul, if you want to use that word without getting too religious or too philosophical. Things like emotions probably could be considered existing in both mind and spirit. I mean, how you react emotionally to what the world … does to you, and how you act emotionally, from within your own spirit or soul, to the outside world.”
I wasn’t totally clear where I was on this since I’d had no time to really think it through; it was forming as I said the words and I prayed that I didn’t philosophically paint myself into a corner. Apparently it was the right approach because Dad grunted and nodded and Mom nodded too, with that slight smile.
I faced him squarely. “Sir, my mind is female, feminine. My spirit, my soul, is female, feminine. I make that statement based on the evidence of males and females I know, from kids at school to you and Mom and Jake. As well as everything I’ve ever read or seen in movies or on TV, or heard people talking about. I don’t think like a male; I don’t feel like a male; I don’t act and react like a male. I never have. And if you step back and think about me over the years, objectively, you’ll agree.”
“I’ll … take that under advisement,” he said, which was one of his standard phrases for ‘I haven’t thought of it before and I will later’. Still, it was better than a denial.
“I am a girl, in my mind and soul. I’m classified as a male because of my body. And we must remember that the male classification was made only minutes after birth. It couldn’t take into account my mind, my thoughts and my actions. But it determined how I was treated for the next thirteen years of my life, all based on one look at my body. But we’ve got to be honest about that–my body is not a typical male’s, and not a typical thirteen-year-old boy’s. It’s just about as feminine as it can be and still be classified as male.”
“Well, your mother already told me about,” his hand waved in the general direction of my chest, “that.”
“Just like any other girl my age,” I said. “And it makes my clothes fit better.”
Mom suppressed a snicker that didn’t go unnoticed by Dad.
He asked me, “Just how much of what you’re saying has been coached by your mother?”
“None, sir,” I said. “Absolutely none. I’m sinking or swimming on my own, here.”
“She didn’t tell you what to say or how to say it?”
“No, sir. Oh, she did tell me two things.”
“Ah-ha!” he glanced at Mom, who sat expressionless.
I said, “First, she said to just be myself–and myself, my … self, is Allison, your daughter. Second, she said to not back down, to stick to my guns and not be bullied into something that’s not right.”
“Bullied? I would never …” He turned and looked at Mom again. “Bullied?”
She shrugged.
“She also said that you valued courage in men and in women,” I added.
There was silence. Then Dad looked at me and said, “Isn’t that a lot of makeup?”
I mumbled, “Sorry …”
Mom quickly said, “Not for girls her age in a formal setting, which this interview certainly qualifies as. And the lady at the cosmetic counter did it, not Allison.”
He grunted. “And these are clothes you borrowed from your friend?”
“No, these are my clothes,” I glanced at Mom, “that I wanted you to see me in, to see how I really am … who I really am. I don’t really have … well, in the past I’ve worn my friend’s clothes.”
“All girls do, honey,” Mom said. “Even at my age.”
I knew that Dad didn’t grasp that concept–it was a fact of life for females but alien to males–but I also knew he appreciated not borrowing from people. I cleared my throat. “I wanted you to see me, Allison, your daughter. Because that’s who I’ve always been but kept it from you. But I’m not keeping it from you anymore. You deserve … we all deserve the truth. I have to be allowed to be myself, to grow as the person I am. And I am Allison, your daughter, for the rest of my life.”
That statement hung in the air and I wasn’t sure why until my father said, in a different, quiet voice, “How did you come to be named Allison?”
“My friend Taylor named me that. She was thinking of Alice in Wonderland, the Through The Looking Glass book, and said that on one side of the mirror I had to be Mark but on the other it was like I could be Alice. Then she started playing around on the name, because Alice seemed too old a name. She tried Alicia and some others. And she called me Allison. And we both just stared at each other because … well, because we recognized that’s who I am. That’s the truth, sir; it wasn’t until this afternoon that Mom told me you’d considered the name, and about your sister, and I didn’t know that, I swear, and I’m sorry …” My voice caught and I was blinking back tears.
Mom had taken out her cell phone for some reason, but put it aside, got up and handed me a box of tissues; I took one, dabbed and sniffed, and folded the tissue in my hand. I was conscious of Dad watching this very feminine display.
After a time, he said, “Well, it’s a very good name …” He changed direction. “What about your friends? What are the guys gonna think when you start showing up in dresses?”
I gave a short chuckle. “First of all, I don’t have any guy friends, if that’s what you mean; and I don’t ‘show up’ for things besides school. Maybe I will once I can be myself, but up to now, no.”
“Of course you have guy friends; every boy does!” There was silence from Mom and me. He got nothing from us, so Dad blustered, “Well, what about, what’s-his-name, the Stevenson boy?”
“Glen Stevenson,” I said quietly. “First of all, we hadn’t been friends since he moved away in fifth grade, and the last time he visited here he said I looked like I was becoming a chick. That’s the word he used.”
“He did? … Hmm,” Dad said. “So you don’t have any friends? I never really knew that.”
“There aren’t any boys that are friends. I have friends, though.”
Mom spoke for the first time. “Maybe you should tell your father the names of your friends.”
“Well, my best friend is Taylor, you know that, but I’m really close with Amy and Chelsea and Amber, the two Jennifers, um … Heather and Hailey, hang out daily–sorry, that’s what we call ‘em.”
Dad was back to frowning. “When you say ‘that’s what we call ‘em’ …”
“I mean the other girls,” I explained.
“The other girls …” he said.
I looked at Mom and we were back to a silent patch.
Dad broke it by saying, “I don’t see how Jake will handle this …”
Mom spoke again. “Jake will handle it fine. Ashley’s told him and they’ve talked it out.”
“Ashley knows?” Dad asked. I knew that he liked and respected her.
“Yes, that’s why I’m telling you now,” I said, and explained about Ashley discovering me and our talk and my decision that I couldn’t keep the Mark charade up much longer.
“Girl’s got a good head on her shoulders. If that boy’s smart, he’ll do everything he can to keep her around,” Dad mused.
Mom surprised both of us. “Ashley has Jake nearby, waiting for you to make your decision.”
“My decision?” he asked.
“Yes, your decision. I’ve made mine; and like Allison said, it really wasn’t as much a decision as it was accepting the reality of the situation. So now it’s your turn.”
He turned back to me. “Back to my original question, and I know about the clothes, and the friends, and the girl inside, and I want you ask you, point-blank, is this what you want?”
“I will answer that, sir, but I never got to my ‘What If’ scenario and I think it’s important.”
“Ah, that’s right. Go ahead.”
“What if your parents had put you in dresses?”
“Come again?” He almost sputtered. Mom suppressed a chuckle, but her eyes were twinkling.
“What if sometime, maybe when you were four or five, your parents decided to give you only girls’ clothes to wear, and they called you Emily and treated you like a girl?”
“That’s absurd,” he said.
“It’s a ‘What If’, sir, and they can be absurd, or real, or … abstract. I know about Aunt Cindy, and I just learned about Allison … my Aunt Allison,” I said with conviction. “I wish I’d known her. So your parents obviously knew how to raise girls. So what if they’d decided to raise ‘Aunt Emily’?”
“It’s absurd,” he said again. “I was a boy. They knew that.”
“But would you have said, oh, well, I’m in dresses and I’m Emily now, so I’d better start acting like a girl?”
“No, because I was a boy. But, anyway, I wouldn’t be able to act like a girl,” he said, then grinned. “I’d probably have looked like a bull in a china shop. I don’t move like a girl; I don’t think like a girl; I would never … oh …”
It dawned on him. I saw his eyes widen as he slowly said, “I could never truly be a girl, because I was truly a boy.”
“Yes.”
“Inside the dress, even when they called me Emily, I was a boy.”
“Yes.”
“And no matter how long they pretended I was a girl, I would never be a girl, because … I was male,” he said, kind of deflating.
“Yes.”
“Wow …”
It was strange watching my father grapple with the concept. I had been searching for a way for him to understand my situation, really understand it, and I had realized it had to come from within him, from within his own experience. That would convince him more than any kind of personal statements I could have made.
I said, “I think you now can understand how it’s been for me. I’m the opposite of you being Emily. So now I’m ready to tell you what I want. I want to be accepted by my family as Allison, the daughter and younger sister. I want there to be no misunderstanding that this is like putting Mark on a shelf, and that at some point I’ll decide to be Mark again. That is over. I’m Allison now and forever. And I know this is a little bit like killing your son Mark, and I’m so sorry for that, but in a sense Mark was never real. It’s maybe better to think about Allison masquerading as Mark all these years.”
I paused to swallow. Mom said, “Go on, dear.”
“I want to meet with the appropriate doctors, psychiatrists, lawyers, whatever … to make my change to female status medically accurate, legal, and unquestioned.” I’d heard that phrase somewhere. “I know it’ll be expensive, and I’m sorry, but it’s the only way for me to survive.”
“No, no; it’s understandable,” Dad said.
“And I want to be able to dress and act and live as Allison from now on, with nobody holding back or being weird about it. I’m your daughter and I’d like to be treated as your daughter, and loved as your daughter. Because … your daughter loves you.”
In a single movement my father got up from his chair and took three steps to me, his arms out. Without thinking I held up my arms and lifted from the loveseat into my father’s arms. He hugged me tightly, his head on the top of mine as I put my face against his chest and tears burst.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy!” I sobbed.
“Hush, hush, there’s no need for that,” he said, but there was a catch to his voice.
I cried, “I feel like I’ve been lying to you all these years, and that I’m such a disappointment. I’m s-so s-sorry!”
“No, no; don’t say that. Shh … It’s not your fault; it wasn’t a conscious lie. You didn’t set out to do it … ssh.” He squeezed me tighter. “And stop with that ‘disappointment’ stuff. I’m not disappointed in you. You’re an honest, intelligent, funny, caring person that gets good grades and doesn’t get in trouble.” He held me at arm’s length to look into my face. “You understand? That’s the person you are, no matter what you’re wearing.”
We came together in the hug again and he said, “And the fact that you’re very pretty, just like your mom … well, that’s a bonus!”
“Daddy!”
“Hush,” he said. “Get used to hearing that, Allison.” And he kissed the top of my head!
I almost shuddered with relief when he kissed me. My hands went to my eyes to wipe the tears with my used tissue. Mom appeared with more tissues and I took them as my father and I dabbed my eyes, sniffing. We stood there for a moment and Mom took charge.
“Let me fix her up,” and she grabbed my purse and led me to the guest bathroom and carefully wiped my eyes, then took the makeup she’d put in my purse and ‘fixed’ me.
“This will give him a moment to digest,” she said. “Honey, you were … you were wonderful. Amazing! I’m so proud of you!”
“Thanks, I guess, but I didn’t really do anything; I just told him the truth.”
“Truth is powerful. But calling him Daddy when you first walked in; that was brilliant!”
“I didn’t plan that.” Reacting to her look of disbelief, I said, “I really didn’t! I was remembering the procedure, stand there, call him ‘sir’, and all that, but the moment I got there it just came out.”
“Well, it took all the wind out of his sails. Did you see his face? But you convinced him before you were halfway through.”
“That’s if I convinced him.”
“Honey, do you have any doubt? After that hug and kiss? No, you had him when he asked if you weren’t wearing too much makeup. He’d accepted you at that point.”
“I don’t know …” I didn’t see it.
“If he saw you as a boy, it would have been ‘why’s he wearing that stuff?’ but he accepted you as a girl, and that was the father of a daughter asking about her wearing too much makeup. I know him; you were already home by that point.”
I heard some noises from outside as I said, “I don’t know. There’s still Jake to convince, and he might freak out. I think Daddy might backtrack if Jake has a problem with me.” I was conscious, that time, that I’d called him ‘Daddy’. But it was right, and it was forever.
“I don’t think that’ll be the case. And I believe he’s here.”
I started to panic. “Jake’s here? I thought he was with Ashley somewhere …”
“Calm down. Yes, and we worked it out. She and I spoke with him already.”
“When?”
“While you were at Taylor’s; part of the time I spent with your father and part of the time with your brother and Ashley. He understands and … well, let’s go see.”
Nervously I followed her out of the bathroom and sure enough, there were Jake and Dad talking, with Ashley sitting on the arm of the loveseat where I’d sat. She gave me a radiant grin, her eyes widened at my outfit and I got a thumbs up from her.
My beloved big brother Jake stood in the center of the room, nearly as tall as my tall father standing next to him. Daddy turned and smiled. Jake turned, looked at me and said, “Holy shit!”
“Language, young man!” Mom immediately pounced, but I sensed she was trying to keep from laughing.
Jake sputtered, very much like Daddy had. “You never told me she’d look like that! Wow! Um …” He realized where he was and regained his composure. “Hello, Allison. I’m glad to finally meet you.”
“Glad because you’re glad or glad because you have to be?” I asked, sparring with him the way we sometimes did.
“Mom, you said I was getting a little sister; you never said anything about her being a brat!” He chuckled.
“Brat? I’ll show you who’s a brat!” I said, and once again, without thinking, I launched myself into his arms and he hugged me.
We swayed back and forth and Jake said softly, “It all explains so much, you know? Makes so much sense. I’m proud that you’re my little sister.”
“You’re just not going to drop that ‘little’ thing, are you?”
“Nope. Just like I’ll always be your big brother, and you’ll …” He pulled away from me and looked at me, just as his father had done. “You’ll always be my little sister. And I’ll always love you.”
“I love you, big brother!” I said, squeezing him again.
There were small laughs of relief and happiness from the other three, and my father and mother came close to us, savoring the new family unit. I turned and saw Ashley sitting there with tears of happiness in her eyes, and I stuck out an arm and she came to join the group hug.
We finally sighed and moved apart, and to everyone’s surprise, Mom began speaking in an authoritarian tone.
“I have an announcement, and I’d like everyone to sit down.”
“Oh, God; you’re not going to tell me you’re a boy, are you?” Daddy teased, and I realized that it was a stunning sign of his acceptance of me that he could joke like that.
“Hardly, but my announcement is on that subject. Now, we’re all agreed that Mark, our son and brother, is no longer a presence in this house. Agreed?”
We all looked around, startled by the severity of her statement.
She said, “Oh, there’ll be old family photos and Christmases we remember, but from this point on, in every sense of the term, Mark is history. Agreed?”
We began nodding and said we agreed. Where in the world was she going with this, I wondered?
“Our two children are Jacob Alexander and Allison Marie. Agreed?”
“Mom, I hate Jacob,” Jake said in an old argument.
“Oh, really? That’s too bad,” Ashley grinned, “Because I love Jacob Alexander Chambers.”
“Well, maybe I don’t hate it too much,” Jake said sheepishly, and we all laughed.
Mom continued. “Agreed? Our youngest child is Allison Marie, named for her father’s late sister and her maternal grandmother. We call her Allie, except when she’s in trouble. Agreed?”
We laughed at that but nodded and said we agreed.
“We will support her in all the work and all the problems that face her in the future. I mean not just the medical and legal things, but also defending her against small-minded bigots and any discrimination. Agreed?”
We agreed, and Jake said, “Nobody better say anything about my sister,” with such fierce determination that I loved him all the more.
Mom went on. “There will be some changes in our home. That’s obvious, of course, but I think we should run through things so we’re all on the same page. There will be some cosmetic changes, like painting Allison’s room and getting her a vanity,” she looked at Daddy, who nodded, “and our usual chores won’t be affected too much. Allison already helps me with the cooking and cleaning,” she smiled at me, “and I’ll be teaching her other Home Ec-type skills, like sewing. But that doesn’t mean she’s exempt from some other things. I want you to teach your daughter some of the basics of car maintenance and repair,” she said to Daddy. “Agreed?”
He nodded, but Jake said, “Sure, no problem. If she’ll help me pick out gifts for Ashley!”
There were chuckles all around.
Daddy said, “We understand all that, honey. We don’t have to itemize everything.”
Jake, surprisingly, said, “No, I think it’s a good thing Mom’s doing this. Gets us all on the same page, like she said, but we’ve got this kind of … schizoid situation that other families don’t have. I can’t look at that girl and see Mark or talk about ‘him’, because it’s pretty clear in my mind that that’s not Mark, that’s Allison, my sister. It’s like she was kidnapped by Gypsies or something and just returned to us.”
“Such a romantic,” Ashley teased.
“No, he’s right, actually,” Daddy said. “Returned to us after years in the wilderness …” He chuckled. “The princess reunited with her royal family …”
Mom was chuckling, too. “So I’ll continue, with the permission of the royal family?” Daddy graciously nodded and waved his hand like a king dispensing a favor. Mom grinned. “There are three areas of change that I want to discuss and if they make you uncomfortable, tough. Man up!” she mock-glared at Daddy and Jake in turn, who both held up hands in surrender.
Then she turned to Ashley. “But first, before I forget, I want to thank you, Ashley, for all you’ve done for our family. And I hope that you might help Allison in the future as she adjusts to … well, as she adjusts.”
Ashley was surprised and pleased. “Of course. You’re welcome. You’re my second-favorite family in the world!” Ashley came from a large family, one of five kids. “And I will help Allie all I can. I really like her! Besides, to be totally honest, I’m interested in psychology and your story is a whopper!” She grinned at me as she said this last.
“And I want to thank you, too, Ashley,” I said. “For … just for everything.”
Mom straightened her shoulders. “Now comes the meat and potatoes. The three areas are obvious but I’m going to cover them anyway. And all three are based on one simple foundation–we have a girl in the house, a daughter and sister. But we didn’t have thirteen years of getting used to that. It’s going to be jarring but we’ve got to accept the new way of things all at once. So, first. Allison is a girl and will dress like a girl. She’ll be in skirts, dresses, and so on, things you never saw Mark wearing. Allison will wear nightgowns and lingerie–”
“Geez, Mom!” Jake said. “Duh! You don’t have to creep us out!”
“Yes, I do, and for a very good reason,” she was serious, although she smiled at Jake. “Despite the best of intentions, there will come a time when somebody opens a bathroom door or passes her room–that reminds me, honey, she deserves a lock for privacy; every girl does–and sees her in a bra and panties, or a nightie. Don’t freak out. They’re normal clothes and every family catches glimpses of one another.”
“Agreed,” Daddy said.
“There wasn’t anything to agree to, honey,” she laughed, “but thanks anyway. And this part might be very hard for you because you haven’t had thirteen years of raising a daughter. But she’s a teenager, and she’s going to be wearing things that will bother you, guaranteed.”
“No, I think I can handle it.”
“Do you?” Mom’s eyes had a wicked gleam. “So you’ll handle it the first time she goes out wearing fishnet stockings, a black leather miniskirt and a camisole showing the cleavage of her breasts?”
“Um, Mom …” I blushed.
“Hush, honey. Let’s see your father handle it.”
Daddy was obviously stuck on an answer. “I’d say … do you have something warm to wear for later?”
The silliness of his answer made us all laugh. “Don’t worry, Daddy,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll ever dress like that.”
Mom smiled. “Don’t be so sure. And by the way, you will not be let out of the house dressed like that, young lady!”
“Geez, Mom,” Jake said again. “It’s only a hypothetical!”
More laughs.
Mom said, “To be more realistic, there will be girl things that you’re not used to. Makeup, perfume, curlers, doing her nails … all sorts of typical girl activities that you’ve never seen before in this house. I don’t want her to feel pressured to not do any of these typical things because she’s worried about a male reaction.”
“I understand, Mom,” I said. “But curlers?”
She chuckled. “Yes, on occasion, or at least a curling iron. And shaving your legs, and facial masques, all sorts of new things.” She’d said those last two words with some malicious glee.
“We’ll be okay with it,” Daddy said. “Yeah, it’s going to be radically different all at once, but it shouldn’t be that much of a shock for us.”
Mom continued her wicked grin. “You’re going to see her in clothes that might be a shock to you, like short skirts, bikinis, crop tops, all manner of clothing. When you pass Allison in the kitchen and she’s wearing a bikini because she’s been swimming in our pool, for instance, no freaking about what she’s wearing. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Jake said.
“Agreed,” Daddy said. “Or about what she’s not wearing!” He gave me a sidelong glance and mouthed the word ‘bikini?’ as a joke.
There was silence and I wondered if Mom forgot the other two ‘areas’, whatever they were. Then she spoke quietly. “This family has missed out on so much, not having Allison with us for all this time. Christmas and Easter dresses, ballet class, Brownies and Girl Scouts …”
I thought of what Taylor had said.
“Umm,” Daddy murmured in a low rumble like Homer Simpson. “Girl Scout cookies …”
“It isn’t too late, is it? She’s not too old,” Jake said quickly.
“Don’t worry, Jake; I’ll score you some Trefoils,” I chuckled. Trefoils, the Girl Scout cookie that were shortbread fleur-de-lis, were Jake’s favorite cookie in the whole world. Each year when the Girl Scouts came around, he bought boxes and boxes of Trefoils to nurse until the following year. And I always bought a few extra boxes for him, for when he’d run out of his stash.
Mom resumed after this light moment. “So far we’re all taking this–you’re taking this–very well. The next area might get dicey, and that concerns the changes Allison is going to go through. And all of us will be going through them, in a way, as she does. Now, Monday I begin finding the doctors necessary for her change.”
“Transition,” Ashley said. “It’s the term they use, and it applies pretty well, here. Sorry to interrupt.”
“No, no: thanks, honey,” Mom smiled. “Okay, I start lining up the doctors for her transition. From what little I’ve read,” she nodded to Ashley.
I realized that when they’d talked on my phone at the mall, there’d been an exchange of email info, and I bet Ashley sent her some information about … well, about children like me. I snapped back to pay attention to Mom.
“…usual procedures and protocols. But it’s clear that once she’s accepted into a program–and I have no doubt she will be accepted–then we’re going to experience two things at once, two levels. We’ll be all be experiencing the normal development of a girl in puberty. That means both nasty things like mood swings and bitchiness,” she mock-glared at me, “and lovely things like breast development and, if possible, even softer skin. If anything, she will become even prettier.”
“Aw, Mom,” I blushed.
“Honey, get used to flattery; you’re a pretty girl and just … accept it. Don’t get a big head or anything, but accept gracefully.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Pretty like her mother,” Daddy said with a nod of certainty. It made me love him even more!
Mom smiled at him, too, and went on. “So the normal teen girl madness will be going along with the parallel that … I’m sorry, honey, I’ll have to say it this way. Along with what Allison goes through, like any other teenaged girl, we’ll be dealing with watching our son Mark become a girl. And that might be harder to accept than just seeing a nightgown. Oh, and part of the first area I forgot to mention, besides clothing there will be makeup, so you’ll be seeing your daughter putting on lipstick,” she looked at Daddy, “or your sister might ask you to help her find an earring she dropped,” she looked at Jake. “Alright?”
They both nodded agreement, although Daddy said, “Alright.”
“That is not your son wearing lipstick, and not your brother wearing earrings. Are we clear?”
“We said alright,” Jake shrugged.
“Actually, only your father did,” Mom grinned, “but as long as you both accept it.”
There were two nods again.
Mom nodded once with them, and continued. “Those changes I was just talking about … she’s going to be feminine. She already is, but has kept her nature and her comments to herself. All these years …” She looked at me sadly, shaking her head slowly. Then she continued, “So you two haven’t been exposed to a girl in the house. You will hear her giggle and squeal and be girly–because that’s what she is!–and you might roll your eyes and want her to tone down about ‘just how cute that kitten is!’ but she’s a girl and that’s what we do.”
She mock-glared at them, daring them to interrupt. They knew better and she softened.
“I’ve only spent a few hours with my daughter and already I know she’s a very feminine, graceful, wonderful girl and you guys are in for a treat as you get to know her.”
“A welcome addition to our family,” Jake said loftily, then grinned wickedly. “Even if she thinks she’s all that!” He said it with a comical wag of the head and waved finger.
Without thinking, I stuck my tongue out at him.
Ashley chuckled; Mom gave me a loving but warning shake of the head.
Daddy just said, “I think we get it, honey; she’s a girl.”
“Yes, she is. It’s as simple–and as complicated–as that,” Mom nodded. To everybody, she said, “So, we all understand the emotional changes that our child will be going through and we accept them as necessary and normal. Under the circumstances, of course. Agreed?”
We all murmured agreed.
“I’ll try not to be too much of a bitch,” I said, to general chuckles.
“If I might …” Ashley had a hand half-raised. Mom nodded, and she went on. “I’ve done some reading in this subject and one other thing I want to prepare you for–especially you, Allie–is that the doctors will do all sorts of hormonal testing. And it might seem like they’re trying to trick you.”
“Trick her? How?” Daddy said, and I loved how easily he used the feminine pronoun.
“They might give her female hormones for a time, and she’ll get all giggly and gushy and cry at the drop of a hat … and then they’ll switch to male hormones and she’ll rage and break things and be hell to live with. Don’t worry,” she said to me, “they’ve got to do it and it’s only for a short time. You’re not going to suddenly grow a beard or anything.”
We chuckled–me, not as much.
“Once they accept her and finish that testing period, there’ll be a time for adjusting her dosages, which might be right the first time or could take weeks. I just wanted everybody prepared for … let’s just call it The Hormone Highway.”
“Hormone Highway …” Mom nodded. “Agreed.”
Daddy and Jake and I said, “Agreed.”
Mom smiled. “Thank you again, Ashley. Okay, so we’re ready for her to wear girly clothing,” she ticked it off on her finger, “and we’re ready for her to act all emotionally girly,” she ticked again, “and now the one that might be toughest.” She paused for effect. “The opposite sex.” She looked to Daddy and Jake, in turn. “Specifically, boys.”
“Oh, I think we can cross that bridge when we come to it,” Daddy said.
Jake had a funny look on his face. I couldn’t read him. Was this trouble ahead?
Mom shook her head forcefully. “No, we can’t cross that bridge when we come to it, because I believe we’re there.”
“Huh?” Daddy said.
“Based on things I’ve discussed with Allie, I’m pretty well convinced that she’s a normal, heterosexual female in her orientation. That means …”
“Boys,” Daddy said, his shoulders slightly hunched. “Oh-oh.”
“You bet,” Mom said. “Again, the two levels thing. You’re going to be the father of a normal teenage girl who’s interested in boys and has boys interested in her.”
“You think? So soon?” Daddy said.
Jake said, “Are you kidding, Dad? Look at her! She’s a babe!”
As everybody laughed, I realized with a flood of relief that Jake accepted things even better than Daddy; the strange look he’d given me was because he’d seen where Mom was going, looked at me and for the first time saw me as a male saw a female, a pretty teen girl. It must be hard on older teen brothers when their little sisters started developing boobs and curves, but they had years to prepare. Jake had to assimilate everything in, well, basically, one night. And he was doing great! It was just weird for him–the look I saw–to think of his new sister as potentially sexually desirable. It was way complicated …
Daddy recovered the situation nicely by saying, “And Jake is a proven expert on pretty girls!” as he smiled and nodded his kingly head to Ashley.
Mom plowed on. “Almost done, guys. So there’s the usual level of teen-girl-interested-in-boys and vice versa, crushes, heartbreaks and so on. And there’s the level where your brain,” directed mostly to Daddy but to Jake, too, “might grind to a stop and say, but wait a minute, that boy’s interested in Mark, he must be gay! Or, why is he acting all moony about that boy; he’s Mark! And you’ve got to be absolutely clear that there is no ‘he’, there is no ‘Mark’, there is only Allison, the normal, pretty girl.”
In the silence, I said, “Moony?”
“Moony,” Mom nodded. “Oh, you laugh, but it’s coming, honey.” She grinned and then said, “Moony … or maybe warm and squishy!”
I blushed under her knowing look.
To cover, Mom looked around. “So, that was the last level. Are we agreed?”
“Not sure what we’re agreeing to,” Daddy said thoughtfully. “Am I agreeing to try to be a rational, normal father of a pretty daughter when a boy comes to take her out on a date? Agreed. Am I going to have trouble with it? I hope not but if it happens, I’ll not let it cause problems. It’s something I’ll have to deal with, and you’re right, honey, this will be the toughest of all. Because, I guess, like all fathers, I just want my little girl happy, and that moment when she hugged me and said, ‘I love you, Daddy’ … I want to freeze it and hold onto it forever.”
I smiled at him with tears in my eyes. “I love you, Daddy,” I said, with all my heart.
We adjourned to the family room and drinks, lemonade for most and stronger stuff for Mom and Daddy. They were tired and happy, and I was dazed by how much had happened in the last, well, 24 hours or so. Jake took Ashley home, after she and I hugged, and I sat alone with Mom and Daddy for a bit. I felt good about things, but had to ask something.
“You two … I love you very much, but … you two seemed awfully quick to accept your son turning into a daughter.”
Daddy shrugged. “Might seem so.”
“So … how?”
They looked at each other, and Mom nodded for him to go ahead.
Daddy said, “Because we were always aware that it might happen someday. You know that, if you think back. And I think your mother told you something about that, too. Doctors even prepared it for us, each physical you got. So after years of thinking about it and being reminded about it, I’ve got to tell you it’s a relief that it’s finally come. That our daughter has finally come home … the princess returned to her royal family.”
End of Part 6
“Hey, Ramses has a new CD out,” I said to Taylor.
“God, I am so over those guys,” Taylor said. She rolled over onto her tummy and reached behind her to undo the clasp of her bikini. “That last CD was so lame! Who wants to hear a hard rock band that’s gone all ballads? Ever since they lost Ded, they lost everything.”
Taylor and I had been swimming all day, or at least laying out by the pool all day. I reversed my own position on the lounge chair; I’d been laying on my stomach with my bikini top undone, so I reached and clasped it and rolled over onto my back, pulling the straps down alongside the cups. As always, there was a pleasant moment of experiencing my breasts. They were small but definitely there, two little mounds with nipples like cherries on a sundae. I’d read that description somewhere and it still made me giggle.
It was funny that I didn’t want my straps to leave tan lines. Last summer, once my family allowed me to live as Allison, one of the first shopping trips with Mom had yielded three swimsuits, two of them bikinis. I set out to specifically develop bikini tan lines, since they were an unquestionable mark of a girl. It was tough at first because Mom and I both burn very easily because we’re so fair-skinned. I’d lay out by our pool, drenched in oil and smelling like a coconut, and was just amazed every moment at how wonderfully my life was turning out.
Taylor brought me back to the here and now. “Allie, you absolutely have to hear Silvershine. They’re so hot!”
“Hot like great music, or hot like in … to look at?”
“Both! They’re outta LA, and oh, God–I saw their new video, and the lead singer … I got moist! I swear to God, Allie, I just about came right in front of my TV!”
To be a girl now, with Taylor, was to experience sexuality in an entirely new way. I was so naíve last year, thinking how quiet and demure girls were, but once I was accepted as ‘just another girl’–as Chelsea had put it just before she moved away–wow was I educated quickly! Even though we were just teen girls and virgins, we were consumed with sexual interest in boys. Their bodies, their voices, the way they moved … just the whole maleness of them was amazing! The first time I experienced Teen Girl Urges was at the mall with Taylor and Amber, and we all saw a really cute guy over by American Eagle.
Taylor said, “I want to do that one,” with a lust in her voice I’d never heard before.
Amber said, “After I’m done fucking his brains out, you can have him!”
I blushed furiously and kept quiet and then half-joked, “He’s hot, but I bet he stuffs,” looking at the bulge at his crotch, and we all three giggled and that was it; I was ‘just another girl’. Still, it was jarring sometimes, because while the hormones the doctors had me on were working their magic, I couldn’t do anything about it. Of course, that worked as a really perverse kind of birth control … not that I could get pregnant, anyway.
And it was strange, but that thought always saddened me …
Taylor said, “So, are your folks doing anything special for … you know, your anniversary?”
It was one year to the day since I had come home dressed as a girl for the family conference. “No, not tonight; you know that. Jake’s at Northwestern and Daddy’s out of town on that conference thing.”
My wonderful big brother had graduated and I was so proud of him–and I got a special new dress for his graduation!–and he’d been accepted by Northwestern and Purdue but was touring both to decide. I think he was leaning toward Northwestern anyway, because Ashley was at the University of Chicago, going into psychology like she’d always wanted. And Daddy had moved into consulting and his business had taken off in a big way, but he was often at conferences now. Even though we had more money now, I missed having him around.
***
I thought back to that night a year ago, after we’d had our family conference. Mom had joined me in my bedroom. We’d looked at it, together, with fresh eyes. She was right, of course; it could use paint and a vanity. We kicked around some ideas for colors as I got undressed; the discussion covered the nerves I felt, to be undressing as a girl in front of my mother for the first time.
Mom tilted her head. “I’m thinking lilac and light purple, like the outfit you had on when I first saw you.”
“Mom, that was only today, you know.”
“Yes, but a lifetime ago,” she said, and it was true. Amazingly true!
“I like those colors. If we can find a vanity in white, maybe?”
“And if we can match the wall latex to enamel, maybe.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Baby, you have so much to learn!” Mom chuckled. “Remember I asked your father to teach you car maintenance?”
“Yeah. Jake said he’d do it.”
“Either one, but I’d prefer your father do it. Not because Jake doesn’t know what he’s talking about–he does–but because I want you and your father to get closer, doing things together. And every girl should know about cars. And paint,” she grinned.
She guided me in my new regimen of washing and moisturizing and said we’d get supplies the next day. She braided my hair in a ‘sleep braid’ and it was a wonderfully close time, mother and daughter, for the first time yet kind of timeless. I realized that mothers and daughters had done this for thousands of years, and it made me feel kind of connected to the world of women.
She held up a nightgown, my first that was my own, with matching panties. I hated-hated-hated! having to unclasp my bra and let the breast forms off my chest. Instinctively I crossed my arms across my chest and Mom grinned.
“Yep. A natural.”
I couldn’t remember if she’d said that before or Taylor, but I guess I was a natural …
The nightie had pretty lace at the square-cut bodice, hem, and sleeves, which were short and high on my shoulders. It came to mid-thigh and was so pretty!
“Now, go say goodnight to your father,” she smiled warmly.
“But, Mom, I …” I was nervous to begin with, but now I didn’t have the ‘shield’ of makeup or breasts … I gestured to my chest.
“Your father knows that you don’t have breasts. I told him before you got here about the breast forms, nail polish, makeup–everything. Didn’t you think it odd that he never referred to the fact that you stood there with breasts evident under your top, breasts that you didn’t have yesterday morning?”
“Well, when you put it that way …” I said sheepishly, and laughed with her. “Okay. Here goes.”
Timidly I made my way to my father’s den for the second time that night. He was sitting in his big chair, but had a stack of printout on his lap, his reading glasses on his nose. He looked up and smiled.
“All ready for bed?” Then he chuckled. “No, you’re ready to paint the kitchen. What a silly thing for me to say.”
“Actually,” I said as I walked toward him, “it was what I was going to say. ‘All ready for bed!’ was my line, so maybe we’re both silly, but I prefer to think of it as ‘great minds thinking alike’.”
“Come here,” he said gently, putting the printout on the table next to him and holding out a hand.
I didn’t know if I was supposed to stand there holding his hand, but something made me take it and continue moving to him and the next thing I knew I was kind of leaning against him, almost sitting on his lap. It felt scary as hell and very, very good.
He sighed deeply. “Interesting turn of events, huh?”
“Yep. Interesting,” I said. Then I sighed, too. “Daddy, I never planned–”
“Hush, honey; I know that,” he shushed. “I suppose your mother has told you that we … kind of knew …”
“Yeah, she did.” I nodded. “But it doesn’t make it any easier.”
“I would think it would. Why doesn’t it?”
“Because, like I said, I’m conscious of having failed you as a son, and then I kind of killed the kid, you know?” I tried a weak chuckle.
Daddy thought for a moment. “Did you ever think that you’d failed me as a daughter?”
“Huh? What? No!” I was confused.
“If, as we all pretty much know, you were supposed to be born a girl, then for thirteen years you have failed to live up to your potential.”
“To live up …” That phrase was very important to my father; he thought one of the biggest crimes for a human being was to fail to live up to their potential. “Gee, Daddy, now I really feel like crap.”
“Don’t say ‘crap’, young lady.”
“See? Right there. How can you so easily say ‘young lady’ when you only found out a few hours ago that I was a young lady … or want to be?”
“Back to square one. Because we had been warned, and because we could tell just from the empiric evidence. We’ve talked about it, your mother and I, for years. With your doctors, too. But I must say, it wasn’t until you made me ‘Aunt Emily’ tonight, that I really, truly understood it. Before, I had grasped the concept intellectually, but your ‘What If?’ tonight made it visceral, personal. You’ve always been good at that.”
“At what?”
“At framing things in a straight, no-frills, no-BS manner. To get right to the heart of things. And you show an empathy for both sides of an issue.”
“I do?”
“Yes, but that’s for another discussion. Good night, sweetheart,” he said.
And then my Daddy kissed the top of my head again and I flushed with happiness once again. I squeezed him tight in a hug and whispered, “Good night, Daddy, I love you!”
***
I was brought out of my memory when Taylor leaned up and slurped some of her Pepsi. “Geez, I’m still stiff from yesterday. I unpacked like a thousand boxes!”
Taylor had been working for two weeks for a friend of her mother’s who had a beauty supply shop. She was lucky to be working at fourteen.
“Honestly, Allie, I envy you. Making money without having to leave home. So cool! But your dad could at least take you to the cool conferences, like Orlando or something.”
“He’s in Wichita right now. Not terrifically cool,” I said, grinning. Actually, it was pretty cool that I was making money working with my father.
***
It had all stemmed from something he’d said a year ago, when he said I could get to the heart of things and had an empathy for things. Daddy had worked for a security firm for years but had been thinking of going out on his own. Maybe it was my decision to become Allison or he was just being nice, but he said if I could reinvent myself and change my world, so could he. So he formed his own security consulting firm, and it took off. He had such a good reputation anyway, and very low overhead so the clients and money came rolling in.
And we needed money, because becoming Allison was an expensive proposition. The day after ‘the family conference’–and I always thought we needed a better name than that, but that’s what we called it–Mom and I went to Home Depot. We found a lovely vanity set, and Mom liked the matching bureau, and even though I told her I could paint my existing bureau, she said it wouldn’t match, so she got that too, and the hat rack, and the full-length mirror stand, and I only just managed to stop her before she ordered a whole new bed! Everything was white, so we decided then and there that we liked the lilac and rose idea over lilac/purple or yellow/white. And I had no idea how expensive good quality paint was! Even the white enamel that I would use to paint my bed frame was pricey. Mom said we’d send Jake over in his truck to pick it all up. After all, it was the least he could do for his little sister … And this was only the first day!
Actually, the day had started with Jake and me slightly arguing over who got the last of the melon. I knew it was part of his sports diet so I let him have it, and he smiled and said, “Thanks, sis,” and everything felt nice. I was wearing my nightgown during breakfast, which normally was a no-no. Mom had a strict rule about not having breakfast in sleepwear, which meant that no matter how tired Jake was from a workout or a game, he couldn’t eat breakfast in his jammies; always dressed.
I only got away with it that morning because technically I only had one outfit, the denim skirt and top Mom bought along with my ‘family conference’ clothes. So after breakfast we went through the bag from Taylor and found quite a few usable items, some shorts, a skirt, several tops. The rest were too small or just didn’t do so we put those in a separate bag and Mom put the pillowcase in the wash to return to Taylor, and I got to wear flared khaki shorts and a sleeveless red tank top. Mom frowned at my feet and said we’d stop at Target on the way and get some girl’s flip-flops and the items for my nightly cleansing regimen, and some odds and ends that Mark never had before, like brushes, hair clips, hair bands, and so on.
And, of course, it didn’t stop there. There were some sales going on, so she said we could pick up some ‘essentials’ in Juniors Lingerie, and she found a makeup ‘starter kit’, a fishing-tackle type of box with a complete supply.
Mom said, “Even if you don’t use the makeup, you’ll have all the brushes and things you need. And you can use the makeup to play around with, try different things, different looks, without using the expensive, good quality makeup.”
So we got all this stuff even before we hit Home Depot–like I said, Allison was an expensive proposition!
And the flow of money didn’t stop there, of course, because the next day, Monday afternoon, Mom and I and Taylor went shopping and oh, my God, did we go shopping! Mom said we didn’t have to get everything at once, and we really truly didn’t, but it might have seemed like that with all the bags we brought home. Mom had worked it so Daddy was in his office working while we brought everything in. But then came the final checking for sizes and cutting off tags and it all made a big shopping bag full all by itself.
Now I had the basis of my wardrobe, all neatly hung in my closet and folded in my drawers. There was room, because Monday morning, while Mom was on the phone, I went through everything that Mark owned …which wasn’t much, really. There were some ‘little kid’ t-shirts that had cute logos on them, and I thought that maybe they’d be cute with a skirt–and on top of breasts in a bra, unlike a scrawny little boy’s chest!–so I kept them. I took special pleasure in bagging up all the tightie-whities and thick boy’s socks, except for some hiking socks that might be nice to snuggle in on cold nights. All of ‘Mark’ went into contractor bags, along with the remainder from Taylor’s contribution. After we’d picked up Taylor Monday afternoon, we stopped at Goodwill and donated the bags. Mom didn’t blink an eye when I told her what I’d done; she said something about ‘new broom sweeping clean’, folded the receipt into her purse, and that was that.
And Mom was true to her word: Taylor got a really cute outfit, a textured red silk top and black skirt, and Mom even threw in really expensive smoky stockings to match. I was jealous–playfully–but also really excited about wearing stockings myself. Not pantyhose, mind you–stockings, the real deal, with a garter belt. The temptation to wrap myself in nothing but silky, lacy lingerie was strong but, obviously, not going to happen–yet. But I tingled with the thought of pretty lace panties like a second skin around my smooth mound, nothing male in sight, and a pretty lace bra cradling my own breasts …
***
Again Taylor brought me out of my thoughts when she re-did the clasp of her bikini top and turned to sit up, holding her hand up to the glare from the pool. “My boobs got squashed,” she complained.
“Poor baby. Wish I had boobs to squash,” I countered.
“You do and you know it. Just not … magnificent beauties like mine,” she grinned.
She was right, actually; my breasts were quite definitely breasts and not just swellings. I’d been so excited when that hard nubbin appeared under my nipples, running out to Mom jumping for joy, and when they started to lift, I was in seventh heaven. I’d been so worried about other girls seeing that I had nothing. Flat was one thing, nothing was quite another …
For this reason the only person to ever see my chest–outside of family–was Taylor, of course. And even then I was shy about exposing myself, until the day when I sat in her room and proudly removed my bra to show her my hardened, rising nipples. She squealed with delight and said it called for a celebration … which we never really did, but it was wonderful to share with my best friend. That first Monday shopping trip, Mom had directed me to a ‘special needs’ section and got high-quality–though small–breast forms of my own and we returned Monica’s to Taylor, who told me later that she’d slipped the box back in Monica’s closet with her none the wiser.
Of course, Taylor did have to confess to her sister that the girl that Monica was so friendly to had been a boy named Mark. Somehow Monica seemed to never put two-and-two together, despite having met me-as-Mark several times in the years that I’d known her sister. Taylor had once said that Monica had ‘very limited resources’, an unkind remark–but typical of Tay!–referring to Monica’s obsession with her boyfriend.
Still, Mom had made Taylor promise to tell Monica the truth about me; Taylor had asked only that she be allowed to delay until I was under the care of doctors. Since that happened rather quickly, it was easier for Taylor to make her confession right away. I said I’d help Taylor by being there, and it had been hilarious explaining Mark to Monica, who had already gotten used to Allie, because she just flat-out refused to believe it. She preferred to believe that Allie had been pretending to be Mark for some silly reason–and in a way she was right, so we let it go. To Monica, I was her little sister’s BFF, and that’s the way I liked it. In the end, Monica waved a hand and said, “You’re just another girl,” dismissing any problems, proving our point, and reinforcing Chelsea Dunham’s pronouncement.
And as the hormones did their work, there were other changes to celebrate, too. My skin had always been smooth and free of blemishes but now it was positively milky, and Mom noticed there seemed to be some ‘moving around’ of fat. Not that I had fat–adipose tissue, thank you very much!–but underneath my skin, my shape was changing. I was developing a waist and round hips. And Taylor commented on my ‘really cute tight little butt’, so I knew my body was on the right track.
***
That Monday morning after our family conference but before our shopping expedition, Mom had been on the phone for hours, making calls and lining up doctors for us to visit, and she was lucky–a cancellation meant we could get in the very next day. She’d also alerted our lawyer to start preparing whatever necessary for my change of status, including a petition for a name change. And to start looking into how the school districts handled transgender students. She said it was a little early, but better prepared than not.
I wasn’t prepared for how thoroughly and how quickly the doctors would accept me in their gender program. Then I remembered that Daddy had said, ‘we were always aware that it might happen someday’–and, of course, it meant that the doctors had known about me all along. I’d had a lot of doctor’s visits over the years and always assumed other kids did, too; I had no idea that the file with my ‘special circumstances’ had been getting thicker by the year. I hadn’t known there was something wrong with me because there was something wrong with me, so seriously wrong that there were many conferences with Mom and Daddy and I was left out of it.
So when I was presented for the doctors for what I’d thought was an introduction, they were already well acquainted with my case. Apparently some transgender people spend more time lining up doctors and being evaluated as to the truth of their case, than they do once they’re accepted and the process begins. The advice that Mom had given to me before my first meeting with Daddy held true when I first met with the doctors: I was Allison, I was a girl and I stuck to my guns. That’s why the program accepted me so quickly.
It was also because I was so young and so ‘fully-transitioned’, as one doctor said. Needless to say, there was a huge battery of tests, not just blood and urine and stuff like that, but also psychological tests, eye-movement tests, and a bunch that could just be called ‘What If’ scenarios of a sort. Because I was so young there were things they were reluctant to do, but because I was so ‘fully-transitioned’ they found their way around their hesitation.
Ashley helped me tremendously; she’d already said that she was interested in psychology and teased me about ‘being her guinea pig’ even as she shared what she was learning, explaining the tests and preparing me for them. Not coaching–she was very clear that I had to give my own responses. But I would have freaked out with the brain scan device, for instance; I would have been worried about cancer and tumors but Ashley had told me about the brainwaves it measured so I was calm during the procedure. I loved Ashley and even loved that she teased me, because in many ways she’s my big sister now. I was spending more time with her and learning so much and Daddy’s right–Jake better do whatever he can to keep Ashley in his life!
All summer, I saw the doctors several times a week, and not the same doctors all the time. Since I seemed to be a historic case, it was like an open invitation to every gender specialist around. And beyond around, as I met with European and Asian doctors as well, of all disciplines. I didn’t mind it; I learned about myself and about people and the primary motivation for me was that things were happening quickly.
Most of the doctors seemed to be endocrinologists; they were young and old, male and female, some with charming bedside manners and some who’d only interacted with lab mice. Nearly always, at some point somebody said something involving the words ‘androgen insensitivity’ but nobody could agree on exactly what and how, let alone when or why. One doctor, exasperated, said, ‘Doctors, she never produced enough androgens to be insensitive to!’ and I loved him for calling me ‘she’. They used words about me like ‘wonder’ and ‘marvel’ but the most common was ‘mystery’. Apparently I was a ‘medical mystery’–and I told them that was fine with me as long as we were clear that I was a girl mystery!
Consequently, two things of great importance happened by the end of summer. First, of course, I’d been put on a hormone regime, and thanks to Ashley’s heads-up, when they switched hormones on me and I turned bitchy, we knew what it was and rode it out. They settled on the proper dosage by the end of July; we had already learned that my body made so few or so weak male hormones that I was only just barely a boy, chemically, and didn’t require a lot. But what they gave me had surprisingly rapid results. Yes, my body softened and smoothed, but the real excitement for me was when my breasts budded. And even that confounded the doctors; I shouldn’t have started developing in such a short period. Whether it was the proper hormone mix or whether it was the happiness that I was on my way, I found a fantastic sense of peace and, oddly enough, more self-confidence.
The doctors speculated that a female puberty, of sorts, might have been ready to occur on its own, or a hybrid puberty, anyway, because I was an anomaly. I’d always been an anomaly, apparently, based on the number of examinations and parent-doctor conferences over the years, of which I’d been unaware. Things seemed to pick up around age five, when I didn’t fit any of the five-year-old-boy percentiles. Not even close to them, one doctor told me. I was, however, quite nicely fitting the five-year-old-girl percentiles. These weren’t just regarding the usual height-and-weight measurements, but chemically, too. Doctors had ordered those tests done when, getting checked before kindergarten, my height and weight were obviously sub-normal, so they also began genetic testing. And I was in the dark that all this going on, because it was the general consensus among doctors and parents that they wouldn’t try to influence me one way or the other. Mom and Daddy were cautioned to raise me as a boy but keep an eye out for things feminine in my nature and not encourage or discourage them. The doctors adopted the policy of ‘wait and see’–a wonderful medical term for ‘we’ve got no idea and just hope the patient will sort things out on their own’.
That ‘sorting out’ began that day in Taylor’s bedroom; my general sense of not fitting in was explained once Taylor pointed out my true direction, and my body and age had reached the point where puberty–male or female–was knocking at the door. My mother’s phone calls the day after our family conference triggered things; it was like dominoes had been set up just waiting for me to knock over the first one by deciding Girl-or-Boy. I found out later that most of the doctors over the years leaned towards the Girl choice, and I felt comforted and reassured by that. It was also because the majority opinion of Girl clashed with the genetic reality, that the doctors had kept up on my case.
Genetically I was XY but there were serious oddities with some of my genes that weren’t explained but excited my doctors. It depressed me because I’d been secretly hoping they’d discover I was XX. The other depressing news was that internally, I was male. Sadly, there were no hidden ovaries or rudimentary traces of female organs. And I did have a penis, although it was abnormally small. I’d always known it was smaller than those I’d seen in the rec pool showers, but now it was impressed on me that, speaking medically and not just out of male ego, it was really, really small. ‘Abnormal’ was the precise word they always used, and once I thought about it, I realized that maybe it wasn’t the right word, because everything else was in ‘abnormal’ parameters for a boy–my height, weight, body chemistry and, of course, my mind’s femininity.
That last was obvious on every single psychological test, double-blind test, every-which-way test, that they threw at me. Even the ones the foreign doctors prepared that were sometimes translated badly! Perhaps more telling, there were also tests the psychologists used that weren’t mental, in the sense of thoughts and impressions. They dealt with physical responses, nervous system triggers, and couldn’t be faked or coached for a specific response, so they were considered to be extremely valid. They also usually involved probes or sensors attached. Unpleasant sometimes, but uniform in their verdict: I was female.
That smoothed things for the second thing of great importance.
Two weeks before school started, there was a large conference with my whole family and every one of my local doctors and a few specialists. And lawyers. They laid everything out and it came down to one word–castration. Our state allowed it in several cases, including the approval of both patient and parents, as well as with medical approval. The lawyers were there for dotted ‘i’s and crossed ‘t’s and everybody looked at me and I looked at my parents and said yes and yes and yes! They were both looking at me with sad smiles, and they nodded. Jake nodded, too, but squirmed a little–only natural for a guy–and I leaned over and muttered, ‘They don’t belong on a girl, do they?’ and he smiled and leaned over and said, ‘No, they don’t, sis!’
I love my big brother!
So I was castrated. It was a ridiculously simple and minor procedure after all the heavy bureaucracy, but yes it had to happen and I only wished they could’ve taken the penis, too. I was sore for a few days but had these empty little sacs and I folded my tiny penis straight back and buried in the sacs, I pulled up my panties and burst out laughing. Mom was passing and stuck her head in the door and I pointed out my camel toe!
I knew that it wasn’t necessarily a desirable fashion choice, but it sure seemed to mark me as female, should anybody question–and I knew that boys checked for those things. They’d get excited about them, in fact; I’d heard them! But I could wear the tightest panties or bikini bottoms with confidence, and if I wore something tight-tight, I had to be careful about that darned camel toe!
Taylor had exploded with laughter, spraying Diet Coke over her hand, when I showed her. She dried her hand and squealed as she hugged me and said that as long as I didn’t shower with other girls at school, nobody would ever know. She said that sometimes mishaps occurred at slumber parties but as long as I was careful there should be no problem. Then she grinned wickedly and said we should stage a photo–such as the obligatory teen-girl-peeing shots!–and use it strategically should question arise; perhaps a Facebook post, and then ride the embarrassment, knowing that it would completely validate that I was 100% female. Fiendishly clever, my BFF.
I knew I had to wait until I turned eighteen before the penis could be removed and finally get my vagina, but the doctors had sort of hinted that, with the speed in my case, I might be able to have it sooner. A German teen had her operation at sixteen, so, fingers crossed, maybe I can beat her record!
So I was pretty much safe to just live a regular girl’s regular life, as long as I wasn’t completely nude in front of anybody except Taylor! The doctors cited a (fictitious) heart condition so I would never have to take PE classes in school. Instead, I would have Study Hall so I could get my homework done, but I would also be taking classes like Home Ec like any other girl. And best of all, I would be allowed to use the regular girls’ restrooms. I’d been told that most school districts’ policies with transgender girls involve using a unisex or handicapped restroom, or go to the Nurse’s Office. Not only did it set the poor girls apart as different, it prevented them from participating in the true social center of teen girls–the girls’ restroom!
With the exception of my ‘heart condition’, I was just another girl. I had to do some physical exercise besides aerobics at home, and my ‘condition’ was spun that it wasn’t the severity of the condition itself that excluded me from PE, but the school’s fear of litigation if something unfortunate occurred. I was encouraged to swim, for instance, and I loved it and all my bikinis and even my one-piece swimsuits. And as Taylor and I got to invited to other girls’ pool parties, I was completely accepted as a girl and never had to ‘prove it’. Not once was anything visible between my legs that didn’t belong on a girl!
And school was yet another expense. I wanted to take my chances at the new high school. I talked with my parents about coming up with a different last name, maybe Mom’s maiden name of Berg, since Jake Chambers had been such a well-known and well-liked athlete. I figured as Allison Berg I’d survive, with Taylor and my girlfriends for support–all of whom had solemnly promised complete silence about Mark having ever even existed–but it was actually Jake who talked reason into me, about the ramifications of word getting out that I’d been Mark. Even hanging out at the mall was pushing it but could be explained away, he reasoned, but not high school. He’d graduated and was out, but told me the harsh realities of high school gossip. Sooner or later, somehow or somewhere, somebody would remember Mark and all the doctors’ assurances and ‘sticking to guns’ in the world wouldn’t quiet the scandal. And then I’d be tagged for four years, and probably beyond … and my dream of being ‘just another girl’ would never be.
So my parents got their way at last: Private school. They never got me into St. Martin’s but did get me into Briarwood, a nondenominational four-year co-ed prep (translation: ‘rich’) that actually was an amazing school. And for some reason my grades improved–in a harder school! I went through the year with GPA of almost 3.8, but I felt guilty having my parents spend even more money but they pointed out that even if I weren’t Allison, they had planned for Mark to go to St. Martin’s so the money had already been put away! The first time I put on the blue-and-gray-plaid pleated skirt, white blouse and ribbon tie and blue sweater–and pulled up my knee socks–I couldn’t resist it; I giggled and did a little strut like a young Britney Spears. That was enough to earn a stern lecture! But I liked the fact that we didn’t have to spend as much money on school clothes because of the uniform, and it equalized me with all the other girls.
Because, except for not having a period, I was one of the other girls, now. I had estrogen coursing through me, my breasts were developing, I had a smooth vagina-looking crotch, and I just looked like a girl–which was how I’d gotten into this in the first place! I got to be friends with several girls at my new school, but nobody could replace Taylor as my BFF. And now we had two schools to gossip about, and the big plus: Taylor fell hard for a guy at Briarwood, Steve Carlson, and he felt the same way. So even though I missed the other girls at my old school, we still got together and did the mall.
After all, regardless of what school they’re from, that’s what girls do!
End of Part 7
The sun continued to bake us at the pool. Sweat pooled and rolled down the sides of my tummy and tickled the side of my breasts.
Taylor said, “Oh, I ran into Amy and Brad yesterday. She says ‘hi’.”
“Brad?”
“Yeah, Brad Grainger. They’ve been together since before school ended.”
“That isn’t Monica’s Brad?” I asked. Monica and her boyfriend had broken up in the fall and she was dating a track star–a college guy.
Taylor made a face and then it cleared up. “God, no! Oh, I see; Mon’s ex was Brad Greninger. Yeah, sorta sounds the same. Nope. Amy’s Brad is pretty nice actually. She deserves it after that clod she used to go out with.”
The dating woes of my girlfriends were a constant source of news, and to throw further craziness into the gossip mix, Taylor was now a cheerleader–of all things!–and had juicy stuff from the cheerleading squad. On another front, Amber had recently admitted she thought she might be gay. But Taylor and Amy remained good friends with her and didn’t become distant like some other girls had. Gay or straight, Amber was my friend, and we’d all hang out at the mall. But since I didn’t go to their school I wasn’t faced with the social pressure thing, and I was proud of my friends for staying with her. I sure sympathized with Amber; it was difficult knowing you were different from your friends and be afraid to be honest with them or to be honest with yourself.
“We’re gonna be lobsters; gotta get in,” Taylor said, standing and pulling her bikini bottoms down with her fingers.
I did the same, automatically, as we gathered our things and headed into the house. Mom was in the kitchen having some yogurt. “About time you girls came in. I was about to come get you,” she said.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, and went up to her with my mouth open.
She playfully pulled her yogurt away. “Mine. All mine. Mine, mine, mine.”
“I’m not disputing it’s yours,” I grinned, and opened my mouth again.
She spooned some into my mouth. “You’re lucky I don’t give it to you like a mama bird.”
“Yuck! Thanks, Mom,” I said, savoring the blueberries and then leading Taylor up to my room.
My room was cool and refreshing, and cool, too. Mom had assisted very little–on purpose–when I completely painted my room, and everything just looked great. A year of a girl living in it had transformed it from a dull white cell to a comfy, feminine nest, with boas and scarves on my hat rack, makeup splayed all over the vanity, teen girl magazines on the nightstand, and the soft colors were still so pretty and soothing to me. It was worth all the work of painting it myself; Mom was right. As usual.
“Wanna do first shower, or me?” Taylor asked.
“You go ahead. I’ve got to check something I just thought of,” I said, sitting down at the newest addition, a desk with a pretty serious computer on it.
Taylor stripped off her bikini and stood naked, something I’d seen a thousand times already and ignored. She stretched and said, “God, you’re lucky to have such a killer computer. My stupid machine takes forever to do anything. See ya.” She went into my bathroom.
***
I was lucky to have such a killer computer, but then, it was my work, now. It was kind of funny how it all happened.
My routine had become to get ready for bed every night and come out in my nightie, my hair back and my face all clean and moisturized, to kiss Daddy goodnight. We hadn’t had that before, since I hadn’t had a little girlhood, and it had been so incredible that first night–a year ago–that I’d done it ever since. It made me miss him all the more when he was away at conferences.
In mid-October, I came into his den for our good-night kiss and he was at his desk, not at his chair. That particular night I wanted to show him something; I’d just gotten my first pair of dangling earrings. I was going to take them out before sleeping, of course, but he’d been out late and this was my first chance to show him. There was something else, too … It was about the time that my breasts first were becoming noticeable, and when I’d pulled the nightie on that night, the cold had made my nipples react and for the first time I could see my tiny breasts under my nightie and I was so excited and happy and scared. What would happen when Daddy’s Little Girl developed breasts? It was one thing to see me in my street clothes or school uniform with my breast forms in place; in fact, it would’ve looked strange if I’d had a flat chest. But now it was undeniable that I was becoming a woman, and would he hug me as closely? Would we have that odd distance that other girls said they had with their fathers, once they began developing?
I approached him cautiously; I could tell from his body language that he was frustrated. Suddenly he reared back from the desk and half-threw his pen at the papers on his desk and went ‘Argh!’. The pen bounced and flew backwards to my feet. I picked it up and stood holding it as he turned.
“Oh! Sorry, princess,” he said, which had become his pet name for me.
“Is there anything … anything I can do?” I asked timidly.
He stretched and then stood and stretched again. “Ah … no, but thanks,” he said, coming and taking the pen from me and giving me a hug. It was rare that I got a standing hug, and I wrapped my arms all the way around him and squeezed, rocking back and forth.
He kissed the top of my head. “How was school today?”
We both drifted to his big red leather chair and he sat and I sat on his lap. I wasn’t ashamed of it, and I was aware that I wouldn’t be able to do it much longer–it’d just be creepy–but I was making up for lost time.
“It was okay. History was fun, though; we did some ‘What If’ scenarios.”
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
“Well,” I began, tucking some loose hair behind one ear, “Mr. Reynolds asked, ‘What if Archduke Ferdinand hadn’t been killed at Sarajevo in 1914?’ and some others like that.”
“Well, that’s easy. The war … well, why don’t you tell me what you said?”
“I kind of blew it. I said that a fundamental problem with any ‘What If’ scenario with a past event, where we already know the outcome, is that we also know other events that happened after the one we’re playing with. And some of them occurred because of the event, but others may have had no connection to the event. Really, using ‘But For’ works better than ‘What If’.” I shrugged.
I knew that Daddy liked and used the phrase ‘But For’. It was also known as ‘proximate cause’–I was learning so much from him!–as in ‘but for (the action), (the result) would not have occurred’. It was similar to ‘What If’, but I really thought that ‘What If’ worked better for future events and ‘But For’ for past events. Like how the assassination of one man led to the death of over ten million people.
“I’m curious; what did you tell your teacher about the Archduke’s assassination?”
I had been playing with the hem of my nightie. I dropped it and took a breath. “Well, with Sarajevo, for instance, the Great Powers reacted to the assassination and it led to war. They wouldn’t have necessarily been dragged into war by their interlocking treaties but for the assassination as a flashpoint. And if they hadn’t killed Ferdinand, there’s a chance he would have given them their independence peacefully. He had a reputation as a modernist reformer.”
Daddy was big on that word, ‘flashpoint’, too, because it figured in his security work. Part of his job was analyzing possible flashpoints–using many, many ‘What If’ scenarios on each–to predict trouble areas.
He’d nodded at my answer but asked, “How do you know so much about the Balkans in 1914?”
“I kind of got interested in it after seeing Titanic. Just that era, and how they thought they had the modern world taken care of, all safe and secure, and in a few short years it all came crashing down. Anyway, the Balkans wanted independence but nobody else was looking for a war.”
“Well, it could be argued that there was so much saber-rattling going on that it was bound to happen.”
“But think about this, then. What if the assassination hadn’t happened, and Ferdinand gave independence to the nationalists, and delayed any hostilities for about four or five years?”
“So?”
“So, four or five years later you’ve got the influenza epidemic, which might have seriously altered the balance of power.”
“But the epidemic–the pandemic–spread largely through troop movement.”
“That helped it, sure, but it also wiped out Eskimo villages above the Arctic Circle and killed hundreds of thousands in countries where there were no hostilities, no foreign soldiers.”
He gave me that strange look again. “At the risk of sounding condescending–or outright sexist–how does a pretty thirteen-year-old girl know so much about the influenza pandemic of 1918, and how it would factor into ‘What If’ scenarios?”
I played the Little Girl card. “Because my Daddy reared me on ‘What Ifs’ and I love history.” I grinned.
He grinned right back.
I got serious. “I told Mr. Reynolds that ‘What If’ scenarios should really only apply on future possibilities. I appreciated that doing them in History made us think and showed him how much we’d studied.” I realized I was lecturing. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, Daddy. It looked like you were having a rough time with your work.” I got off his lap and stood there, holding my fingers in front of me, as he got off the chair.
Standing staring at the papers on his desk, he said slowly, “Maybe you can help me. But it’s a pretty grim ‘What If’.”
“I’ve seen some grim movies and read some grim stuff. All part of being a teenager today.”
“Hmm,” he mused, sifting through papers. “Okay. We’ve got an armed bank robbery. Perp pulls a gun on teller and says he’ll kill her if she sounds the alarm. The grim part is that in several robberies, he did just that; killed the teller and ran.”
“I thought they had toe alarms, you know, on the floor?”
He nodded. “And knee alarms and under the cash drawer and so on. But this guy’s smart; he asks for an operation, like coin counting, that takes her away from her station, away from her alarms.”
“So you’re working on a sort of ‘distant warning system’?”
He nodded. “Somehow to trigger an alarm from anywhere in the bank.”
“Shouldn’t be carried.”
“What?” he spun around.
“Shouldn’t be carried. Like if all tellers had remotes, like car remotes, on their key chains. They might leave the keys in their purse, or back at their station when they were robbed. And the perps would know what to look for. So it can’t be something a teller can pick up and put down, or forget where they put it. Instead, it should be something on them but not so obvious; maybe something built into the name tag …”
He grinned. “That’s brilliant, Allie! I hadn’t thought of that. I was going round and round about a hand-held gadget. Got myself in a cul-de-sac. Of course the name tag!”
“Like on Star Trek; they tap their emblem to connect them with Communications.”
“Star Trek, huh?” He chuckled. “I wonder if they’d demand royalties! Well, thanks, honey, you gave me something to work with … which was a darned sight more than I had when you came in. Good night, sweetie!”
“G’night, Daddy,” I said. I turned to leave and stopped in the doorway. “Riff-ud.”
“What?”
“Those RFID chips, they use them for tracking everywhere. I’m thinking that maybe …” I walked back into the room and sat in his chair; he’d already sat behind his desk and looked at me. My knees were together, of course, the toes of one foot over the other, and my arms wrapped around me. “I’m thinking that every teller has a routine, you know?”
“Well, of course, duties they perform for the bank and for the customer …” He looked interested. “Go on.”
“I’m not thinking of a list of duties, I’m thinking vertically. Three-D. Overhead, looking down. Like a diagram of the floor of the bank, right? And each teller, let’s just use three, red, blue, green … okay. So, sort of like bees–don’t let the tellers hear you call them that!–you could see their movements. Red moves from the red window to the vault, to the fax machine, to the manager’s desk for approval, for instance. Blue never goes to the vault, yes to the fax, yes to the manager. Green is the manager, doesn’t go to the teller windows …” I shrugged. “I’m just making this up.”
“I know. Go on,” Dad said, making notes.
“Anyway, by knowing the normal routines, the spots visited over the course of a teller’s day, you could monitor where they were all the time. Privacy advocates will hate it, but we’re talking about on-the-job safety. You could write a software program that would recognize any deviation to the vault from the accepted routine, and trigger the alarm.” I grinned. “Or maybe … Part of the tellers’ training? Each of them is taught a special route that is the triggering route. They only have to remember to get to the vault or the cash drawer that way for the alarm to sound.”
My father stared at me.
“Of course, it doesn’t account for a ‘smash-and-grab’ directly reaching over into the teller’s cash drawer, only from the big vault-type of robberies.”
He continued to stare at me. He looked back at his papers, then back to me. “How would you like to work for me?”
“For you? Around the house?” I wasn’t sure what he meant. “Sure. I help Mom.”
He smiled. “I know you do, sweetheart. No, I meant, how would you like to work for me as part of Chambers & Associates?” That was his new company name. “I’m serious. You just did professional-level brainstorming on a problem that’s been bugging me for quite awhile. It wouldn’t be a father paying his daughter, either. You’d be paid as an associate and at full rate.”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. It wouldn’t be an everyday kind of thing, just as these projects come up. But you think clearly, concisely, and outside the usual box, or envelope, or whatever they call it in boardrooms these days,” he chuckled. “Seriously, it’s because you’re not from a boardroom, or the industry, and trained to seeing things in predictable ways. Tell you what. I’ve got another project coming up next week, a new client. If I can use you in developing a security strategy, would you be interested?”
“Heck, yeah!” I grinned. “It’s a great idea, if you think I can really help.”
I didn’t tell him the thought that occurred just then: I might be outside more than just a box or envelope. I had been raised as a male but was never of the male world, and I was a female that–up until recently–had not been able to be of the female world. In some ways I was the ultimate outsider, neither fish nor fowl, certainly not goose or gander–and that was just enough of those thoughts! I was a girl now, and determined to live my life that way, but I shouldn’t dismiss the odd life I’d lived–not if I could help Daddy.
Daddy was nodding as the idea took root. “Based on tonight–I could be premature, but I’m pretty confident–based on tonight, you’ve got what it takes. And that’s more important than what business school you went to, or what military unit you served in,” he grinned. “Or how old you are! Okay, deal.”
“Almost,” I said. “Almost a deal.”
“Here it comes. What do you want? Company car?” he teased.
“No, Daddy, but soon! Anyway, you say that I’ll be paid by the client; this isn’t just an allowance from you masquerading as payment?”
“Nope. The client pays my company, my company forwards the amount to you as an associate. It’ll mean taxes and things.”
“Taxes? Is it going to be that much?”
“It can be.”
“Well, that’s part of my deal. Every penny I earn from … consulting with Chambers & Associates? I want it to go right back into paying my expenses.”
“Your expenses? You mean like hotel, airfare … what expenses?” He was teasing but shrugged.
“No, silly. The expenses of me becoming Allison. Medical bills, Mom’s shopping sprees … my shopping sprees, my new furniture.”
“Honey, that’s … you don’t have to do that. It’s all part of our raising you.”
“Still, it’s what I want. And maybe start a car fund, college fund, whatever, if I ever get caught up. But I know how hard you and Mom work to pay for us, and especially me, and I’m glad if I can help. And when I’m old enough, I want to get a job, a regular teen job like at the mall or something.”
“Sweetheart, you’ll be making way more working for me.”
“I know, and that’s great, but I’d like the normal teen experience of … a job at the mall. But I’m not old enough yet.”
“No, you’re not. But you are old enough to work at high-level security!” he chuckled. Then he looked at me fondly. “I love you so much, sweetie. I never knew … well, I never knew how much I could love you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” I said, coming and kissing the top of his head for a change. “And goodnight.”
And only when I was back in my bedroom did I realize that nothing had been mentioned about my pretty earrings–or my pretty breasts!
***
Taylor came out of the shower. “Your turn,” she said, muffled, under the towel drying her hair. “Whatcha lookin’ at?”
Standing up from my computer desk and pulling my bikini bottoms snug again, I said, “Oh, just an idea I had for an old problem of my father’s. Voice-recognition software; I had the idea that you could code a key phrase … or key a code phrase,” I grinned. “Anyway, you know I told you about the RFID chips in bank teller’s name tags?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, distracted by a tangle in her hair. Her breasts hung loose and shook as she tried to undo the snarl.
“Taylor, the RFID tags, like in everything you buy at the mall now.”
“Oh, yeah, those things. Tracker things.”
“Right. I thought that we could encode a phrase, like ’bad Disney movie’ or something that could be worked in a line, like ‘stick ‘em up!’ and the teller says, ‘I can’t believe this–it’s like a bad Disney movie’ and that phrase triggers the alarm. Silent or otherwise.”
“Gee, and all this time I thought you were messing around with Facebook,” she teased. She was adjusting her boobs in her bra, leaning forward, and was looking at my vanity mirror. “I always liked that photo,” she nodded to one in the top left of the mirror.
“Yeah, that was a great time,” I smiled, remembering.
Last August, just before school, we took the first family vacation in years, and my first as a girl. It was a much-needed bonding time for all of us, out of our daily ruts, and everybody had to get used to ‘the new girl in town’–including the new girl herself. I’d just recovered from my castration and felt free and female and wonderful and it was a wonderfully close time for all of us.
The picture Taylor liked showed Jake and me leaning against the railing at the Grand Canyon. He was wearing a University of Chicago sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off–a sweatshirt, in August!–and jeans. I wore a tight teal camisole and those khaki shorts from Taylor’s pillowcase offerings. I wondered if she recognized them? My hair was up in a kicky ponytail, and I remembered it moving in the breeze. Jake’s arm was around me, casually draped, but not the typical thing where the parents say, ‘put your arm around your sister, pretend you like each other’. By this point, on the way back from Los Angeles, we had bonded. He was my beloved big brother and I was his little sister and it was like we’d always been brother and sister.
“I don’t care about the great time,” Taylor teased. “I like it because your brother looks hot!”
“I assume you mean because of the sweatshirt?” I teased back in an innocent voice.
I loved that picture because of the closeness with my brother, but my own personal favorite picture was one in Disneyland. We’d been at one of those outdoor cafés where the Disney characters come around for photo ops. So I was sitting at a table and suddenly surrounded by Disney heroines; by Belle, Jasmine, Cinderella, and Snow White. After we saw the picture, Daddy pointed out that they were all princesses, either starting out as one or because they married a prince. From that point on, his nickname for me became ‘princess’.
It was time for my shower, and I thought nothing of stripping in front of Taylor–no more than she thought about it in front of me. I massaged my boobs–that ritual that all girls do after removing a bra or bikini top–and went to shower. Later, dried and powdered, I started getting ready.
Taylor’s boyfriend Steve’s father was getting some community award at the country club. It was a dinner-dance type thing and I knew that several of my Briarwood classmates belonged to that club. Steve invited Taylor, who, bless her heart, said ‘not without Allie’. So I was going, too. But there was another reason I was invited–
“You’re sure you can dance in those? They’re kinda high,” Taylor snapped me out of my thoughts as she nodded to my heels in the closet.
“Think so. I learned in them.”
I still had some nerves about this dance, but nothing like the nerves I had when Taylor first told me. I had asked permission from my parents and then wailed, “But I don’t know how to dance!”
Mom had said, “Nonsense, Allie, you can dance; I’ve seen you and Taylor go at it. And you’re pretty good.”
“Thanks, Mom, but that’s not what I mean. Not that kind of dancing. I mean, really, really dance, you know, like the formal way?” I held up my arms and did a little waltz step–about all I could do.
Mom just said, “Ask your father.”
I thought she didn’t want to be involved for some reason. I was sure she’d teach me to dance. So when Daddy came home, I went through the motions of asking him, not expecting much in the way of a response … and to my surprise, he said he would, and to come back to the den in five minutes.
Mom reminded me to get the heels I was going to dance in, and some flats. “Start with the flats, learn the steps, and then learn them in your heels,” she advised.
Reluctantly I came back to the den and was surprised that my father had moved all of the furniture flush to the wall, leaving a bare wood floor. He looked ready to go.
“Really?” I asked. “You want to try to teach me to dance?”
Mom said, “Honey, your father is a terrific dancer.”
He chuckled and said, “In my day all officers had to dance, and dance well, to not embarrass the service. Now, the Box Step. Here’s the music.” He triggered his iPod speaker and gentle Big Band filled the den. He described the dance and I thought I had it, but then he paused the music.
“Tell you what, honey, take your shoes off, that’s a girl. Now, come close. Here’s how we hold each other,” he demonstrated, “but right now I want you to put your feet on mine.”
“Um … what?” I asked.
“Put the middle of your foot, your arch, over my instep, that’s it,” he said when I did it right. “Now …”
And he started the music and we did the Box Step, but then he grinned, “Hold on!” and away we went, dancing around with some snappy moves. I realized that I’d seen this before; it’s what daddies did with their daughters when they were little, like five or six. I got choked up and looked at Mom, who stood with both hands in a prayer position against her lips, her eyes sparkling with tears. It was the most precious moment I’d ever experienced, dancing with my Daddy.
Even he got a little choked up when he paused the music and said, “I always wanted to do that with my little girl.” He sighed deeply and said, “Okay, grown-up time. Put your shoes on and we’ll have a go.”
We danced and I learned the Box Step, Foxtrot, and Waltz that night and it was such a special night, but nothing could compare to the bliss of riding my father’s feet around the den.
***
I snapped out of my memory when Mom’s voice called. “Girls? Ready for your hair?”
“I’ll go; you finish up. God, you look killer,” Taylor grinned and went downstairs.
And why shouldn’t I look killer? When she said that, I was standing in just my lingerie, but special lingerie. A delicate black lace strapless Wonderbra made me have actual cleavage, and I was wearing an actual garter belt and panties that matched, with a pair of the lightest, most feminine stockings I’d ever seen, in gorgeous white lace. So I was standing there like a pin-up when she left; I chuckled and sat down to do my makeup.
I’d gotten pretty good, thanks to tips from Anna, the first makeup lady I’d met–and we bought from her several times!–and lots of magazine articles and lots of makeovers with my girlfriends. Quickly but surely I applied it all, dusted, spritzed myself with ‘nanette’, my cologne-of-the-moment, and then added jewelry; I was wearing silver tonight and thinking fondly of Ashley. I always felt like I was putting on a suit of armor when I put on my assorted rings, bracelets, necklace, and dangling earrings. Then I slid my feet into my heels. I loved the feel of nylon-clad feet sliding into heels, and I knew it was much more common to go without hose and just have a shine or shimmer on smooth bare legs, but there was that special feeling with stockings.
Finally, my dress. God, how Taylor and I had scoured the malls for it, and then found heels that Mom had dyed to match! The dress was purple with cap sleeves and a ruched bodice with sequins, but it was the shade of purple, almost bordering on lilac, that perfectly complemented my hair and coloring. And was kind of shimmery, too! And tight, and short–a point of contention with Mom. She felt the dress was too mature for me, meaning that it made me look available, Taylor said with sexual innuendo and wiggling eyebrows.
We worked out a compromise. That same purple dress that showed a lot of bare leg wasn’t quite as sexy when combined with white lace stockings. Mom showed me that the addition of white lace stockings could be ‘pure and demure’ with one dress, while with another, the same stockings could be downright sexy.
“All in the eyes of the beholder,” Mom had said. Then she grinned and leaned close to say, “And in his dirty little mind!”
I giggled with her; it was another of those wonderful mother-and-daughter moments and I was so proud to be one half of the females in my family!
I slid the dress onto me, using the special hook-and-chain Mom had given me to zip up, and smoothed the dress over my curves. And I was so happy to have curves! Then came the awkward part that we really don’t like guys to see–pushing and fluffing my boobs into place. But once they were in place–watch out! I felt ready for a fancy dinner-dance or a gallery opening or whatever–not that I’d been to any, but that was changing tonight. I sighed with happiness at the sexy babe in the mirror and went downstairs.
Mom had worked as a beautician way back in the day, and was pretty darned good putting up our hair. She was just finishing with Taylor’s updo which made her look older and actually sophisticated. Mine was simpler; I was going to have some sort of braided wings. She’d explained it but I hadn’t learned enough of female hair talk to quite get what she meant.
I found out when I got in the chair; by the time she was done my hair reminded me of … well, of a princess. There was something sort of Celtic about what she’d done, and used a silver clasp to match my silver jewelry, showed me in the mirror, and we hugged.
“Oh, honey; you’re so beautiful, and you, too, Taylor. Your guys are going to be speechless!”
That was the other reason I’d been invited–my guy. Steve and I were pretty friendly at Briarwood; I’d even done a science project with him, so I knew him pretty well and knew he’d be great for Taylor. It took some doing to get them together without being too obvious about it, but they’d just hit it off immediately. About a month later, the three of us were at the movies–I’d gotten used to being the Odd Man Out (funny phrase, in my case!)–and Steve waved to a buddy of his, who came over and they chatted. Or whatever guys did … I’d never done it since I’d never fit in with ‘the guys’, and they truly were the opposite sex to me.
And I have to admit that sex was on my mind, watching the two guys talk. This guy was cute! Dark curly and wavy hair, blue eyes, a great build, and most of all, he moved with an easy confidence. Taylor nudged me and grinned wickedly. “I think Allison has her eye on something,” she whispered.
“And the rest of him, too!” I whispered back, in her own teasing-sexy style.
“Let me see what I can do, okay?” she asked. “Don’t get pissed if I play matchmaker, because he’s definitely interested in you!”
And that’s how I met my first boyfriend. And, in a bit of supreme cosmic irony, he was named … Mark. Taylor and I both slapped our foreheads when we found out. On our first date–a double, of course, required by my parents–I asked him how he’d got his name. His last name was Summerfield, and he said his parents figured with four syllables in the last name, they wanted a good, strong first name with a single syllable. He had a brother named Paul, so he was named Mark.
And he was wonderful! We hit it off, not just because we were interested in each other, but because we were interested in each other. His body turned me on, there was no doubt of that. That long-ago ‘warm and squishy’ feeling was amped way up with Mark. And I think I turned him on, too. But we liked each other, too. We talked about all sorts of things, on and on, and there were times when people thought we were off somewhere making out but we were actually talking.
But the making out … Oh, God! His first kiss was as close to heaven as I could imagine. We’d been at Barnes & Noble, and left, talking about a book we’d both read and loved, and he turned to me and I turned to him and we just … flowed together. I melted into his arms and got a hug almost as nice as Daddy’s–but in a different way … way different!–and then I tilted my head up and his came down and we kissed and I seriously almost passed out. I got dizzy. That was the first kiss, but there had been so many more. And not just him kissing me; there were times I’d pulled him to me and kissed him just for the sheer joy of it.
Mark went to a public high school and was a sports star there, football and track. He and Steve had grown up together and were still buddies even though they went to different schools. Mark also knew Steve’s dad, so for this special event where he was getting this award, Steve’s dad had invited Mark and his girlfriend Allison–and how I loved that phrase! Making things neatly tied up was the fact that Mark’s girlfriend was also Steve’s girlfriend’s best friend. Complicated, but it meant the four of us were going, and in a limo, too. One of Steve’s dad’s businesses was a limo service, so we got one on the house. So that’s why we were dressed so nicely. I loved this dress and was looking forward to Mark seeing my legs, putting his hand on my stockings, maybe putting his hand on my breast for the first time …
***
Mom brought me back to earth. “I said, Taylor’s right. We should plan something for the anniversary.”
“Anniversary?”
Mom chuckled. “It’s hard to get through to you when you get that look on your face–that Mark look!”
“Girl’s a goner,” Taylor commented with a shrug and then a wink.
Mom went on. “I was talking about Taylor’s suggestion that we do something special for the one-year anniversary of our family conference. We can’t do it tonight, of course, because you’ve got your,” she switched to a posh accent, “dinnah and dawnce at the cahntry club,” then chuckled and spoke normally. “And because your father and brother aren’t here. But maybe next Wednesday or Thursday, when they get back?”
“Sure, Mom. I hadn’t thought of a celebration, but … why not?” I smiled. “I’ve got so much to celebrate and be thankful for.”
She gave me one of those knowing-mother looks. “Yes, you do. But we all do. Ever since we all met Allison.”
And to think that it was all because of one word!
The End