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From Theresa's Story...

“I had a lot of support when Tina passed,” he sighed, almost as if he knew how much she had missed in her own lonely journey.

“It was hard…my parents died when I was in undergrad school; right after I got married to Andy.” At the mention of his name she felt a stab in her chest. She was surprised to look up to see this stranger with tears in his eyes; she began to write it off to his own commonality of loss until he touched her arm.

“No one to turn to and losing the love of your life…I am so sorry.” He bit his lip and looked away, once again appearing as if he felt he should have known. She tried awfully hard, but as they say, you can choose whom you will love and you can choose whom you will marry, but many times you are unable to choose with whom you fall in love.

“I….I need to get to my next class….Mister…excuse me, Pastor Armitage.” She went to pull away and felt his hand let go slowly. As she walked down the aisle to the exit, she found herself looking into Andy’s eyes once again and it brought her to a halt at the door as the tears blurred her vision.

* * * * *

“I’ve never stopped loving you…never. Oh, Dad…Mom? “She said the words as if asking permission to use those endearments.

“We love you, too, Theresa…we don’t deserve your love, but we want to be family for you once again…if you can find it in your heart.”

“Find it? It never departed, Mom…I love both of you.” The three gripped each other’s hands as if to never let go.

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Theresa's apartment...the Tuesday before Christmas...

“Yes…I’ve got the train ticket in my hands…my last final was this morning…yes…six this evening…yes…oh and Betty…tell Tim...tell Dad that Dave has a question he needs to talk over with him….yes…Mom...yes!!!

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Several years later...

The woman was tired; looking more than a bit older than her thirty-four years. Who would be surprised, since she had been through three lifetimes in a manner of speaking. First as someone who had grown up wrong in the right place; she began life inside as a sweet baby girl, but her body didn’t quite match her heart until well into her early twenties.

And the second life-time included a very wonderful love that ended all too soon when her husband passed and her in-laws rejected her. The rift repaired by the grace of God and the humility of her one-time father-in-law who embraced the person God had created her to be. And the love of a wonderful man who accepted her because there wasn’t anything he needed to accept, in a way. The love that looked past her beginnings to imagine life together.

And now a third life…

The Lighthouse Fellowship, Niles Illinois...

A girl stood at the foot of the ramp leading to the front of the auditorium. She looked around before speaking.

“Pastor Armitage?” The girl seemed very scared; odd for her since she had always gotten along with Theresa since she started coming to the church with her father weeks before.

“Lina? It’s okay…call me Terry, right?” Theresa patted the stage for the girl to sit. It was obvious from her streaky makeup that she’d been crying. A pretty if shy ‘scene’ girl that had few friends since her arrival in town; she never the less had tried very hard to fit in at the church. And then for this to all happen.

“I…I’m so sorry…..” The girl sobbed and put her head on Theresa’s arm; a dark blue drop blotted on her top, but the black fabric absorbed it and the girl’s sorrow in a way. She pulled her head up enough to look into Theresa’s eyes; her expression apologetic and nearly embarrassed with shame. Too much guilt in a life not even a quarter lived. Theresa touched her cheek.

“Why are you sorry?” Not so much a probe as a way to get the girl to at least admit why she was upset and hopefully get to the bottom of the guilty look that still remained.

“But you...” She had barely gotten the words out before she began to sob once again; this time with such intensity that she got dizzy. Theresa leaned closer and supported the girl in a warm hug; all the while patting her on the back to console her.

“I’m so…I hate myself.” The girl gasped as she wiped her face with her sleeve. “You…you…”

“It’s alright, Lina. I understand. Please don’t be angry with yourself. I don’t think I could bear that grief.” It would be the only moment in the time they spent that she allowed herself to think about herself.

“But….I…I’m so….” She looked down at her body. She wore a very distressed looking pair of jeans and a pink Hello Kitty tee which was filled with blotching stains from where her makeup had run. She had been crying all day; even before she had heard the news from one of the youth group members. That her focus went back and forth between that and her own hurts was actually a good thing since she had chosen to look past her own needs to the needs of someone else.

“God loves you, Lina. I think I know a little about how you feel. Do you want to talk?”

“But Pastor Terry…..what about….what about….” Theresa put her hand up and used her finger to shush the girl gently.

“I think you need to know something about me. Something I don’t share with most people.” To prove her point, she moved her gaze back and forth between her body and Lina’s.

“What about…..your….” The girl choked up but pointed to the notepad next to Theresa’s Bible on the stage beside her.

“It can wait, honey. I know you need to talk, and I’m here for you.” She smiled even as she fought off her own tears. It was really as it should be; a gift to her and from her at the same time; as if the moment was a way of God writing her message.

“Your Dad told me you’d probably need to talk to someone; he’s so afraid you’ll be hurt, and he just wanted to make sure you had someone that understood. Your Dad and I go back to when he and your Mom went to school with me and Dave, you know?” The girl nodded without quite understanding.

“Your Mom and Dad knew everything about me…everything.” She patted her chest and smiled.

“And because of that…your Dad told me everything about you…everything.” She worried that the girl would have been angry over what her father had shared, but Lina began to cry softly; understanding not only the implication of her own secret but Theresa’s secret as well.

“Did….” She choked back her tears and collected herself; the freedom of being outed was enough to help the girl begin to understand.

“I felt like I never belonged. And that God hated me.” At Theresa’s words, the girl’s eyes widened in horrified and then relieved recognition. Nothing on earth might hurt more than feeling alone and odd and scared and maybe hated as well. Theresa’s revelation freed the girl; released by the idea that finally in some way her troubles wouldn’t take up her entire view, and at times might be far off and unseen.

“I…God doesn’t hate me?” She sobbed; her hand covered her mouth as if to keep from losing the little control she still had. Theresa smiled a half-smile and blinked back some more tears of her own; it truly was all about giving, wasn’t it? She pressed her hand in Lina’s and spoke softly.

“For I know the plans I have for you….” She practically whispered the rest of the Scripture; not as a secret from anyone as much as a precious word for the girl. The whole idea of a secret name that no one but God and she would ever know touched the girl’s heart that night.

“It’s why we do what we do, Lina. Why I’m here tonight. I could have been at home resting after today. Or I could have been in the office with the door closed and the lights off; praying I suppose but even crying out to God. But my prayers have always been about asking God what he would have me do. And he knew you needed to know that someone else understands and maybe even knows what you’re going through, right?”

She smiled and at least didn’t weep, but allowed the tears to fall as she embraced the girl who started the evening feeling alone, lost, condemned for wanting to be the girl she was instead of the boy she was born. Theresa hugged her and the two wept together as only sisters might.

“I asked my Dad and he said I could skip school tomorrow, if that’s okay?” She put her head down; that residual shame that feels it’s just the right thing to say no to yourself. She felt her chin lift softly as Theresa kissed her cheek and spoke.

“Nothing on Earth would please me more than to see you here tomorrow, okay?” She smiled and the girl nodded before stepping off the stage to leave. Theresa reached out and grabbed her hand.

“And don’t forget to wear something pretty, alright? It is a celebration, and you’re such a nice girl.” What was meant as encouragement might have not seemed as such as the girl burst into tears and ran out of the auditorium. But the words would be the most precious words that Lina had heard up to and perhaps well past that point.

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The following morning...December 24..

“Pastor Theresa said I’m a nice girl, Dad.” Lina said as she struggled to hold back her tears. Her Dad bit his lip to keep from sobbing as he grabbed her hand and squeezed before turning his attention to the figure behind the podium on the stage.

“I’m so glad to see all of you,” Theresa said with a broad smile only slightly dimmed by the tears that streamed down her face. She looked directly at Lina and smiled and mouthed ‘very pretty’ before turning once again to the congregation. She placed her Bible on the podium but did not open it up, but instead smiled before repeating a verse with which she was all-too familiar, but one that served her well within this community as well as her own life.

“Psalm 116 says that ‘precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his faithful servants.’ We come to day in celebration of a faithful servant, dear ones. Your pastor and my husband, David James Armitage…..”

Next: Dara's Joy

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Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
from the movie
Meet Me in St. Louis
Words by Ralph Blane
Music by Hugh Martin
as performed by
Miss Judy Garland
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5g4lY8Y3eoo

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From Dylan's Story...

“Mommmmmmmm….” The girl in the chair seemed to transform, even though she appeared no different than only a few moments before.

“Shhhhh….” Margaret whispered as Dylan began to cry.

“Honey….didn’t you realize? You can’t hide anything from me...I'm your mother.” She turned to Eileen.

“And you….you think you could trust me enough to know I care about the two of you…more than anything. Now…I think a nice soft brown fading to a gold.” It was wonderful to hear his mother speak so warmly about something so frightening, but he started to cry harder.

“It’s okay, baby….you’ll be alright ….Oh…and by the way, you’ve got two dates this week. I called up Dr. Chelios and she recommended an endocrinologist….you’ve kept this secret long enough.”

“What’s the other date, Mom.?” Eileen looked at her mother and back at the sister that was emerging at her mother’s touch.

“Why…that would be Dara’s date with Jessie Monroe.” Margaret used her new daughter’s name as well as Eileen’s boyfriend’s kid sister’s name as well. The boy shuddered as his mother grabbed his chin, moving his face back and forth under the bedroom light.

“If you don’t stop blushing I won’t be able to tell if this is your color.” Margaret laughed and her son started to cry once again.

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Several years later…Portland, Maine…

Dara sat in the chair; the very same chair where her journey began years before. Still helping like a sister should, Eileen was combing Dara’s hair. Her mother Margaret stood back as if to admire a freshly painted portrait. She tapped the comb in her own hand in thought.

“I think she looks just fine.” Eileen said but squinted again; looking for any missed but vital detail. It was going to be a joyous time, wasn’t it? Dara frowned.

“I don’t…I feel so selfish.” She put her head down, thinking of the coming days and the biggest day of her life apart from that fateful day in Colorado. It was there that she knew that she knew. No more kid’s crush; no more playing around. And just the thought of being ‘made up’ made her feel oddly unworthy.

“I know, honey, but really? Pastor Cam said that the church is happy to help, and we certainly want to acknowledge all that God has done.” Margaret winced at her own words; the statement itself would appear almost foolish but for the whole idea and who had thought of it first.

“I know it’s hard to think of it with everything else on your mind and heart.” Eileen tried to interject further but Dara held her hand up in a quiet but firm gesture. She shook her head as if to say NO! Margaret put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder and leaned closed.

“I know it’s the right thing…the good thing, honey. Maybe the best thing ever, even if it seems so…” Her voice trailed off at the thought of the word she had meant to avoid, but could not. She said it with a softness that seemed almost like a sweet whisper on a very harsh day.

“Sad….” She put her hand to her mouth. Could it be that faith had some say in the day to come? Would anyone….would God listen to their prayers? The family certainly had seen things work out well in so many ways, but those things were so transient and thin. What they all….each of their friends and all of their family and extended kin were praying for a miracle. And one who had the absolute confidence it would indeed work out. Funny how faith works? From the outside in, it often appears to be a waste of time, ironically enough when one wishes for more time. But from the inside out, it feels more like the hug of a parent after a bad day; that embrace which says that no matter what happens, it will all work out right in the end; another irony to face and either accept or push back hard.

“It’s going to be just fine!” Eileen said. An odd word; ‘fine’ when used in an answer about your feelings can often mean the exact opposite. But ‘just fine’ means exactly what it says; okay without concern or argument. From Dara's point of view, 'just fine' remained to be seen, but really, it was already a done deal!

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Christmas Eve…Hope Gateway Church, Portland…

Miracles occur in all shapes and sizes and colors; sort of like a rainbow of blessings. This night was one of those strange ones that while hoped for was entirely unanticipated. The church was almost full; friend and family looking forward to the night almost like the shepherds looked in anticipation centuries before. A tall, friendly looking man stepped up on the low platform and smiled. Pastor Cam McIntyre scanned the congregation and nodded at folks who caught his eye; it was going to be a special night.

“I’m so happy you all are here. Tonight is a celebration; a party of sorts where we and God get together and have a pretty good time.” He nodded and the young woman to his side began to play her mandolin; a very nice rendition of Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring. A younger woman stepped close and began to play a counter melody on her flute. She smiled with her eyes and you could see she was excited as the bride came down the aisle. Her sister, of course.

The friends and family were almost overflowing with joy; something that while always present had seemed to be quiet and translucent in recent months. The bride, such as she was, reached the base of the stage, accompanied by her mother. Margaret beamed as Dara took her place to the pastor’s right. She wore a simple cream gauze dress; almost a throwback to her mother’s own wedding decades before.

And then the people grew quiet as the other bride took her place at the back of the church for her own walk down the aisle. Her mother fought off proud tears as the woman struggled a bit to stand up from her wheelchair. Her hair was severely short; a remnant of an intervention that saved her life, it had grown very little since the most recent procedure had ended. Only days of being declared cancer-free, Jessie Monroe walked down the aisle to be united in wedlock with her best friend and the love of her life.

“I….I love you,’ Dara mouthed silently, fighting to keep it together. Jessie reached the stage and put her hand on Dara’s to steady herself. While still frail, the light had returned to her eyes and the playfulness behind the light shone clearly. She was wearing a simple beige gown of satin; floor-length and strapless. She wore a carved necklace; the near-twin of the one around Dara’s neck. But the biggest contrast was exactly how it should be. Dara had whispered; almost embarrassed to be blessed by Jessie’s love. Jessie wasn’t embarrassed at all.

“I LOVE YOU, TOO!” She shouted to the joy and laughter of the people in church that night. She lifted the skirt of her gown slightly to reveal a pair of classic Red Converse All-Stars with red and green and white striped socks.

“And Merry Christmas,” she said loudly; only a bit softer than her previous declaration. Fun and whimsy made a very needful appearance, and everyone smiled except for Dara. She put her hand to her mouth and began to sob; not a sad or angry cry, but a sob that says I don’t belong and I certainly don’t deserve you! Jessie had seen enough of that over the course of several years; especially during the past year and a half of their battle…THEIR battle. Cam stepped closer to them both.

“Okay!” Jessie held her hand up to the pastor as if to say, “I’ve got this, okay?”

“Change of plans, Ladies and Gentlemen!” She turned to the congregation and smiled the same broad smile everyone had come to love.

“Vows first!” She turned to Dara and smiled a half-smile while holding her hands out in some urgency; that ‘go ahead, what are you waiting for’ motion we sometimes make. Dara shook a bit and Jessie made the same gesture again. She even turned to the congregation in an aside that would have made Shakespeare proud.

“Can you believe this?” Instead of pulling back in embarrassment like she was used to doing, Dara looked at Jessie with grateful relief. The ice had been broken, so to speak, and Dara spoke.

“I love you. You are my life. You knew me way back when there wasn’t even a me, in a way. And you still love me now. Nothing can feel better to me than knowing that you care. And nothing can be better for me than to love you right back. I love you.” She shook only just a little and blinked back tears. Jessie smiled and stepped closer; an ad lib came that surprised really no one as she put the paper with her vows on the tall stool by the podium.

She pulled Dara closer and kissed her; not the mushy-faced kiss some folks do to show they care. Not the barely pecked kiss to show they don’t need to show they care. The kiss was soft and tender; almost like being kissed for the first time for both. She stopped and picked up the paper and read the words.

“I….Love….YOU! First, last and always, okay? Don’t feel sad or scared or unworthy. You bless me! You complete me! I…Love YOU! “

She smiled at Cam who shrugged his shoulders for the ‘if anyone objects’ thing but of course no one objected. He smiled once again and folded his sermon notes and placed them in his bible before saying.

“Wife and wife, folks, Pretty good, huh?” Everyone cheered. And for perhaps the first time in her life, Dara didn’t just believe in joy or trust in joy, or even try to demonstrate joy. For the first time in her life, she felt joy. And Jessie just smiled her knowing smile; a smile that would suit all of the challenges she and Dara would face. But they did live joyfully ever after.

Next: Julia’s Song

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Christmas Time Is Here
Words and Music by
Lee Mendelson and
Vince Guaraldi
As performed by
Miss Diana Krall
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hENMvHM9QR4

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From Julia's Story...

“But I need to know I still have a husband…inside?" She placed her hand on Julia's heart. "...that he'll always be a part of you…I can’t do this unless I have all of you, Jim…Julia?”

“Yes…” Julia nodded, but she put her head down and her shoulders seemed to lower. Cheryl grabbed her chin softly and lifted her head.

“No…I don’t understand this…need of yours, but I accept it…part of who you are...who you really are? Do not be ashamed. Do not take this gift and lessen it. I gave myself to you five years ago, and I give all of me to all of you on this day of days.” She raised her hand and wiped the tears from Julia’s face.

“I can’t promise I’ll be able to know what to say or to do, but I promise I’ll never leave you…Just promise me that you’ll never leave me, Jim…I’ll try to learn to love Julia…but never leave me, my dear sweet spouse?”

“I love you so much, Merry Christmas.” She put her head on Cheryl's shoulder and wept. Cheryl kissed her...perhaps for the very first time before finally saying,

“Merry Christmas, Julia.”

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The woman sat on the piano bench as the boy concluded his practice.

“…oh, Petey, that was just wonderful,” the woman practically gushed. The boy looked up into his teacher’s eyes and saw a bit of relief. She was worried about his vow to quit; eight year olds will do that, but he marshaled on every practice and finally had gotten the exercise down. She smiled, which made him very, very happy.

“I think you’re going to be just fine, Petey…Just fine indeed. She leaned back and brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead and breathed out a long sigh as things began to fade, as if in a nice but all-too short....dream.

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“Hon…honey?” Cheryl grabbed her husband’s arm…what else to call it, she thought.

“The store called. Lois can’t come in today; she’s got a huge test to finish for her license, and nobody else can fill in. I’m so sorry.”

Cheryl was sorry. Only months before her days had been filled with confusion and fear over the future. Her spouse had lost employment due to an odd and annoying mixture of budgetary concerns and outright ignorance and prejudice. In the midst of that struggle, Cheryl had rediscovered her love for her husband, and that love had translated quite unexpectedly into deep appreciation and love for the other half… make that maybe three-fourths woman her spouse was ‘becoming.’

“I know it’s not fair, but we’ll make it.” It really wasn’t a question of making it so much as getting to a place where things actually went their way in how they wanted to live. Cheryl hadn’t gotten to that place where she ‘wanted’ to live in a monogamous relationship with another woman, but she loved Jim enough to find a way to love Julia. And thankfully, it wasn’t all her give and Julia take.

“I’m the one that should be sorry. If I hadn’t come out to the church board, we wouldn’t even be having this discussion.” Julia shook her head. Of course she had to come out to the board; anything less would have been nearly fraudulent in her eyes since her own heart and mind and eventual body were at complete odds with church doctrine.

The nice and sad thing both at the same time about it was that many of the folks in church supported her. Even some of the board supported her. The really sad thing is that the folks who revoked her ordination still loved her in their own way. No ill will but just an insistence that things are just so and she was just not so.

“No, honey. Don’t say that.” Cheryl may have been a bit reserved in her support of Julia’s transition, but it wasn’t for the lack of wanting. She just still struggled with how she felt about the husband of her youth becoming the wife of her middle age. How did she fit into this new equation if the other half was a wife? Was she still a wife? A spouse? A partner? A….lesbian. Still, she found herself oddly and quite uncomfortably attracted to the woman the man in her life was now presenting to the world, if ever so tentatively and not at all as frequent as he/she had hoped. And Cheryl's love and determined stubborn devotion to Julia became even more devoted and protective; not quite like a mother hen, but more like a lioness coming to the aid of a sister within the pride? Do they even do that?

“You’ve got your Masters and this is the twenty-first century, after all.” She almost laughed at the irony. Life changed slowly even in places with progressive thought behind their big ideas, and a transsexual piano instructor was hard enough to accept. Julia would probably never ‘minister’ in song again unless it was on a street corner in New York singing gospel songs. Her days as a music minister were over.

“From your mouth to the goddess’ ears,” Julia muttered in frustration. She still held to an all loving God that more closely followed exactly what scripture said about male and female aspects of His image; another thing that would have likely gotten her into a bit of trouble had she still been a part of the ministry team.

“Oh, God hears me alright; I’m too loud and pissed off to keep quiet!” The more people pushed Julia…pushed them both, the more she pushed back; part of that unwritten rule in every family says that you can be angry and maybe even very upset with a spouse or a sibling or a child, but God forbid someone else goes against them. Which was a good thing; if anyone wanted to love forever, it was Cheryl, and she could use all the inspiration she could get.

“It barely gives me time for the interview,” Julia said with a sigh. She brushed her long hair back into a unisex-like ponytail and pulled on her nondescript over sized denim shirt. Late-in-life transition bore very few perks, but being somewhat if not completely nondescript gender-wise was nevertheless a help.

“I just hope they give me a fair chance.” She said as she hurried out the door; her male countenance beaming ever-so-slightly in anticipation of a very long day at the music store.

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New Windsor, New York…that afternoon….

“I’m very sorry.” Julia-as-Jim said, sitting down at the woman’s desk.

“I had expected you to be dressed.” The woman said. Her tone seemed just a bit disappointed, but that was belied by the growing grin on her face.

“I was called into work and didn’t get a chance to change.”

“Well, we can’t have that. You’ll have to present to our clientele in away that engenders trust and security.” She grinned again; almost laughing at the turn of her phrase.

“I promise to do whatever you want me to. I really need this job.” Julia didn’t just need the job; she desperately needed to be able to work once again in her gifting, and she was prepared to be whomever they wanted, even if it meant being Jim for them. Was she being fair to herself? She would never get the chance to find out.

“It says here on your application, ‘Jay Companiello, but I understand you go by your given name.” Julia cringed even as the woman began to laugh softly. Whatever was going on, the woman at least was cordial, even if it meant a cordial turndown.

“I’ll expect you’ll want to come to work…to start as soon as possible.” The woman tossed the application into an open folder on her desk.

“Start?” The word came out of her mouth and she gasped as she realized all of her practice had paid off; perhaps to the detriment of the position she was just offered.

“Of course, it being Christmas week, you’ll probably want to come in before New Years to get yourself acclimated.” She pointed to the calendar behind her desk.

“Now we don’t have a strict dress code, per se, but we do expect you to look professional, okay? Slacks are perfectly alright, but no jeans. Now if you want, you can wear a dress, though I wouldn’t recommend it until Spring. And you might consider wearing some makeup, Ms. Campaniello.” By then the woman had quite lost it and was giggling.

“I don’t understand.”

“I do…” She pointed to her name plaque:

“Agnes O’Dwyer, Principal”

“Dr. Rumer…Class of 2003? Used to be Alex way back when.” She laughed and Julia’s eyes widened in recognition; she’d been to the website hundreds of times, perhaps, and had met several folks who had been blessed with Dr. Rumer’s expertise. Julia’s face began to redden.

“Oh gosh, no, dear. Please. A Little Bird called me to say you were going to be late because of your job. We got to talking, but I knew about you already because I was turned down for the very position you lost at the church when they found out how…similar we are. And yes, they had no business telling me anything about your dismissal. A breach of ethics as well as a very mean-spirited decision on their part to flex their theological muscles, I suppose.” She paused.

“I am sorry. Very sorry. But I took the liberty of asking some folks in town. They said you were as kind and as caring a person and your music brought many of them closer to God, I expect.” By now Julia was completely unprofessional in that she was crying enough to drip tears on the desk before her. She forgot where she was and used the sleeve of her work shirt to wipe her nose.

“I’m so glad we have found someone with your talent and dedication. Welcome aboard!”

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Little Britain Elementary School, New Windsor, New York…the Friday before Christmas…

“Was that okay, Miss C?” The little girl turned from the keyboard and faced Julia, who was standing to her left just off stage. The remark gained a lot of attention since it was at the end of her first recital in an auditorium filled with adoring parents.

“That was just fine, Sandy…just fine!” She said loud enough for the whole audience to hear it. And she looked out over the group, scanning the seats until she saw a familiar if still-shy half-smile. All doubts left for good, however, when Cheryl stood up and began to applaud. Funny how that goes; a person who wasn’t even in Sandy’s family applauding like that. But the tears streaming down her cheeks spoke very clearly as well; that everything from now on would be just fine. Just fine indeed!

Next: Betsy's Legacy

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Christmas Time Is Here
Words by Lee Mendelson
Music by Vince Guaraldi
as performed by the Peanuts Gang
from A Charlie Brown Christmas
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hajwg6kxpQ4

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From Betsy's Story...

“Did you ever think about…do you ever wonder?” Hope pointed to Betsy’s stomach.

“A lot…it hurts, but not because we’re not happy…your Dad and I are very happy, but I do wish I could…any woman who can’t bear children…even happy mothers like me…we all feel that.”

“Do you ever get angry about …you know…the other thing?”

“I did at first…I wondered why God wouldn't take it away, but I guess …I know it’s because things happen to everybody…and it’s what we do with what we are given…” Betsy gasped as she took a breath from her ventilator.

“You’re not going to get any better, are you.” The girl began to tear up.

“No, honey, I’m not…but I think God really has a kind heart toward me. I'm doing so much better than anyone could have hoped for, and I'm not giving up.” She looked down at her body, growing more tired as the disease was taking its toll. But she looked up at the girl sitting by her side and smiled, the tears flowing freely.

“Whatya mean, Mom?” The girl tilted her head slightly while smiling, even though her own face was wet with tears.

“Well, like your Dad says, honey? No matter what we go through?" Her face beamed with joy as she noticed Jimmy walk into the kitchen, home from work. He stepped next to Hope and kissed her on the cheek before hugging Betsy.

"I know, Mom...No matter what happens, we’ll always have Hope!” She giggled and kissed her mother before running off to the family room to watch her program.

"Have I told you how much I love you?" Jimmy said as he nuzzled his wife's ear.

"Yes, but you may repeat yourself if you like."

"I love you."

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A few years later...Sparks, Nevada...two days before Christmas

“It says here, that the man who finds a wife finds a treasure, and he receives favor from the LORD…..” Jimmy Generro looked over at his daughter. Just past her twentieth birthday, but you probably would have guessed she was much younger, and you’d be right in a way.

“I have to say that I’ve been blessed twice; both with the most caring woman I ever knew and with a daughter who takes right after her mother.” Jimmy's comment about Hope wasn't lost on anyone; all who knew them knew that she had been adopted as a teenager. Jimmy smiled at Hope; he expected no return gesture as she was somewhat preoccupied with a Sudoku puzzle she was solving. It didn’t matter to him, since he loved her so much. She was singing quiet to herself, prompting Jimmy's next few words.

“I thought of what song might be appropriate to commemorate our anniversary, and I was lost for a choice until I came across an old VHS tape the other day. Scrooge…the Musical?” A few nods were accompanied by several more murmurs since the movie had been made decades earlier and rarely appeared on the classic movie channels. Jimmy smiled once again and looked over at Hope. She caught his eye and nodded as if to say, “Now?” He mouthed the word ‘yes’ and she stood up and walked to him. Something so soothing about knowing how everything will turn out, he felt secure that his daughter would enter heaven sometime since she did have the heart and soul of a child.

“Daddy asked me to help him here. I guess I should,” she said, putting her head down in anxious dread. He pulled her close and kissed her cheek.

“It’s okay, Hope. Whatever words you think of will be just right, okay?” He blinked back a few tears.

“I…wonder if it could say….maybe she who finds a great Mom…finds a treasure too?” As buoyant and loud as she could be at times, most people got to know Hope Generro in her quiet moments. She looked out over the folks before her and grinned broadly, as if she had indeed discovered a treasure. Jimmy touched her arm; partly to reassure her, but also to prompt her. She did so well now that she was learning to trust her plans; meticulous though they might be, they kept her on track. She was just short of earning her Associates Degree in Arts, and looked forward to going on to study Art History. She turned back to Jimmy and smiled.

“I know, Daddy. I’ve got it, okay?” No one could blame her for being a bit short with him; she felt more confident and sure of who she was, even if much of that remained somewhat scattered. It was something that we linears might struggle with, but her world was fine just the way it was. She shook her head in apology and turned to face front once again.

“I…love my Mom. I hope you love her, too. She’s the best Mom anyone could ever have.” The words came haltingly as she self-monitored as she usually did in a large crowd.

“I….” She turned to Jimmy one last time and fell into his arms, sobbing.”

“We miss her.” It was all Jimmy could say as he struggled past his own teary gasps before he returned the favor to his daughter and wept in her arms. The pastor place her hand on their shoulders.

“Please…come and share who Betsy Generro was to you folks?” She smiled a welcoming smile. No one rushed up; that awkward feeling of not being adequate enough to praise another human being? The feeling that one might say something too personal and emotional? And then a smallish figure made her way up the aisle and slowly up the stairs to the stage. Almost frail, but the girl seemed almost Dickens-like in her charm even as she struggled with the last step. She turned and spoke.

“Hi…my name is Elizabeth …I miss Betsy. I wanted to say that if it wasn’t for knowing her, I wouldn’t be here today. We…” She put her head down, as if it was shameful to cry, but she came from a legacy of shame and guilt, and it was still hard for her to apprehend all that Betsy had ‘left’ her.

“I have a form of muscular dystrophy..…the Jerry Lewis telethons and smile even though you’re crying?” Jimmy knew Elizabeth from her frequent phone calls to check on Betsy the past several weeks and certainly from the two support groups as well. The girl was so much smaller than her fifteen years would have been expected to present, but she was wise beyond her years as well.

“And I’m…” She paused; hopefully one last unneeded apology that played itself out in final guilt and shame.

“My Mom gave birth to a baby boy fifteen years ago this Friday. She didn’t know then but I did know when I was five that I wasn’t really a boy.” She sighed and looked at her mother, who stood in the back corner of the church, nearly cheering her on. Strength filled her heart; between the love of a mother and the love of a hero, she was able to continue, despite being very anxious.

“Lorenzo was really Elizabeth, you know? And I thank God that Betsy helped me and my Mom figure it all out.” Everyone who knew her well knew her story; no secret even in the midst of potential rejection, she had gained the courage to speak for herself and be herself. All of the people there had been like family and certainly as friends to Betsy and Jimmy and Hope, so there wasn’t really any need to worry about what she had just revealed. She and Betsy were like Aunt and Niece in a way.

And Elizabeth….. Elohim Shabbat…God will bless? The same name shortened and made cute and perhaps perky? Betsy. And entirely blissful coincidence. She put her head down once again, this time in relief. A few moments later she had returned to the back of the church, where she sat with her Mom. Several folks had reached over and were praying for her.

After nearly an hour of tribute, the Pastor turned to Jimmy and Hope. Jimmy had collected himself enough to speak one last time.

“I am so glad that I’m only one of many that my wife blessed. Her legacy lives on in children…young ladies like Elizabeth. And of course her legacy resides in Hope and even in me. I pray that her legacy resides in you as well…..

Next: Lydia's Vow

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The Beautiful Day
From Scrooge — the Musical
Words and music by
Leslie Bricusse
As performed by
Snezana Jelic
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJOqRoPKth0

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From Lydia's Story...

Cal turned around and found Lydia smiling at him.

“Do you mean it Dad? If you don’t mean it? I couldn’t bear it…it would be just like when Mommy died.”

“I don’t know what to say…I can’t promise I’ll feel good about this, ‘cause I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I won’t support you…I guess what I’m saying is I’ll try my hardest to feel better, since I have to believe in you…the way you see yourself. It’s not my life to live…I think your Mom would have said that to me, and it’s true. I might slip up now and then…okay…you’ve got to help me on this…go easy on me?” He half-smiled before continuing.

“I won’t make any excuses and I promise I will listen to you from now on; okay. Can you forgive me, Lou?” He realized that he once again had used her ‘old’ name.

“Okay…?”

“Okay, Dad!” She touched his arm and shook it softly; they had never kissed before, and it was going to come with a bit of difficulty and change, but it would come...just not then. He shot her a wave and she waved back.

"You know who you look like?" Cal said.

"Mom!" She beamed.

"No...not so much." She frowned until he said,

"You favor my side of the family...you know your great aunt Rosanna?" He smiled.

"Aunt Rosanna who used to be an actress...Rosanna...Po...Pode..."
"Podesta...what a looker...yeah...maybe a bit skinnier than her...but yeah..." She smiled at the complement and turned to go before hearing,

"Lydia?"

"Yee...yehhhss?" It was too much and too wonderful as she began to cry, the first time since her mother's death that she had cried for joy as he said finally,

"Good night."

"Good night, Dad."

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Deep Creek, Chesapeake, Virginia...the Scialpi home, Christmas morning...

“I’m sorry, but it’s the way it is,” Amelia Schiavelli sat at the kitchen table sipping cold coffee. It was a very cold evening as well, and it wasn’t going to get any warmer, given what she had just told her niece.

“It’s not fair, Melie…” the girl looked out the front window of the living room before walking into the kitchen; her expression was one of utter defeat, which was so unusual for her. She had built her recent life, however, on disappointments and sad changes following the sudden death of her father.

“I know, but I just don’t know what to do,” the “older” woman replied. By older, she was about as close in age as anyone can be with an Aunt. Amelia was the youngest child…stepchild, actually, of Lydia’s grandfather, who had re-married a nice woman from Bayonne whom he had met on a cruise. Amelia was eighteen, which made her only a few weeks older than Lydia.

“I don’t know why they’re so…this is so wrong.” Lydia shook her head. Bad enough that she had to move to Chesapeake. Sure, her friends were still in state, but too many miles away. And the school district was quite adamant about their sports teams even if they said they were transgender friendly.

“You could try to petition the league, but…”

“Yeah, no can do. I already asked about that. They feel I have an unfair advantage.” She looked down at herself. Early intervention had been a boon to her continued journey….that road to herself, as an author/blogger had put it about her own transition. But while early intervention might translate well into fanciful stories about modeling and television stardom, girls like her were just that; girls.

She actually was at a disadvantage even within her own school, and the girls on the track team probably had at least as much speed as her and maybe even more stamina. No edge ever came of her origin, and she would hardly have been a ‘boy’ on a girl’s team, no matter how she began her life.

“So what do you intend to do?” Amelia reached over and touched the girl’s hand.

“I don’t know, but I sure as hell am not going to sit around and be sorry for myself.” She paused at the thought of regret and disappointment, since that was what she had been doing which was completely understandable; no need for anyone to forgive her for that, either. Amelia saw the look and spoke.

“You have every right to feel ‘sorry,’ Lyd….it’s not like they’re telling you to change your shoes or hang back. And that doesn’t even take your Dad into account.” The sage advice of being an ‘aunt’ came to a grinding halt as she realized she had gone too far. Perhaps not far enough, but for the moment it was too much for the girl to take and she burst into tears.

“Shit….we just got started!” Lydia sobbed. After a very stressful and confusing few years, Lydia finally felt like she was accepted. But her boyfriend threw her over for another girl; that he didn’t care about her gender issues made no difference to her, since being stabbed in the heart hurts nearly as much from a spear as from a serrated knife. And being that her best friend took the boy’s side (her brother) in the breakup; she felt she had no one to turn to except her Dad.

She sobbed at the thought of losing him so quickly and without any warning. His well-meaning but bad investments and poor choices left her with no real inheritance other than a small sum from his insurance. And the memories were all so vague and disjointed and forgettable until he finally acknowledged her. So she was stuck moving in with her Aunt and her step-grandmother clear across the Commonwealth.

“I’m so sorry. He was a nice guy.” Cal was a very nice guy who tried hard to live his life and do the right thing. If had left his daughter with anything, it was a tenacity that would serve her throughout life. Amelia stood up and walked over to the girl and leaned close, hugging her from behind. Lydia felt uncomfortable enough to try to pull away, but she had very little strength to resist and just rested in Amelia’s arms.

“I’d like to say it’ll be alright, but fuck, what do I know?” The girl kissed the top of Lydia’s head; almost like a scene in a movie except with no soundtrack and no happy ending….yet.

“I…I swear to God I’m going to ….” Lydia’s voice trailed off in defeat. She had the will and she had the determination, but she had no direction, and she felt almost abandoned even in the arms of a relative, so to speak. Funny thing about vows. You never know where they’ll lead you, bring you back from, or transform you into. Lydia rested in Amelia’s arms; strong and welcoming arms that felt almost as protective as her father’s.

“I know, kid!” Amelia smiled down at her ‘niece.’

“I…I’m serious. I’m so tired of all this. If I get the chance, I’m going to be exactly who I want to be…me!” She folded her arms over Amelia’s and pulled her close like a blanket. It was a very awkward moment for both of them and Amelia pulled away suddenly, which did very little to help Lydia’s self esteem and even less for Amelia’s need to feel helpful and loving.

“I don’t bite, damn it!” Lydia turned and faced her ‘elder’ relative and saw that Amelia was frowning.

“I can’t help if I…” She looked back at Lydia and the girl took her expression to mean something entirely different than what it represented.

“Fine…I’ll be in my room if you need me, Aunt Amelia!” She had vowed that she’d never cry again…ever being an infinite if unknowable time-frame. She broke her vow as she pushed her door closed a bit harder than she had hoped and threw herself onto the bed, weeping angry tears....

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“It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.” She murmured into her pillow as she continued to cry. A soft knock came at the door.

“Little one? Is it safe to come in?” Lydia lifted her head from the bed to see her grandmother…step-grandmother, actually, at the door. She nodded and the woman entered. Stella was a very attractive woman in a handsome sort of way; she looked much younger than her sixty years, and certainly more like an older sister to her daughter Amelia.

“I hate myself.”

“Nonsenso! You don’t hate yourself. You hate how things are, right?” Lydia wanted so badly to disagree, but she had very little strength left.

“Your Papa is gone and you’re sad and I think maybe you believe it’s your fault, eh?” She walked over and sat on the bed.

“But Nana…you don’t understand.” The girl shook her head, almost proving by her gesture that Stella was indeed right in her assessment. The older woman just smiled for a moment.

“Maybe, bambina. But maybe ….just maybe you wonder if what you did made your Papa die.” It would almost have seemed like an accusation but for the half-smile and her tears.

“Your Papa loved you, Lydia. He loved Louie, but he learned that love doesn’t make conditions. He learned to love this part of you, right?” She tilted her head and smiled; producing a softness in the girl’s protective façade.

“And maybe if your Papa loved you….doesn’t it say that God will love you even more? And what God would punish love like that?”

“Why did he have to die, Nana. I don’t have anyone.” Stella just smiled; the girl knew that she had Stella and Amelia, and she knew what Lydia meant.

“I know….your Mama died and your Papa died and you feel all alone. Nobody you know but us, and that’s so hard.” The woman leaned closer and brushed away the girl’s tears with her hand. The gesture did very little in the way of practicality, but the emotion and the concern behind the gesture helped the girl let her defenses down completely as she curled up in Stella’s lap and sobbed.

“I know, Baby….I know.” A word that she needed to hear; that part of her that never felt warm and cherished and alive even if her Dad tried very hard before the end. Louie got all the praise while Lydia lived in the shadows. And Cal tried and did love his child when he realized he had a daughter instead of a son. And the communication was tentative and awkward if still heartfelt, but the name Lydia never quite rolled off her father’s tongue. It was such a preciously painful moment since the word was soothing but bitterly sweet.

“I know if he could tell you right now, he’d say he was proud of Lydia and that he loves her very much, right?” Stella felt no need for a response; she just rocked the girl in her arms for a while until she fell asleep like the baby she was inside.

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A while later in the kitchen once again...

“Mom….I hate myself!” Amelia said.

“Now where have I heard that?” Stella muttered to herself and laughed.

“Okay…what’s the matter, baby?”

“I should just tell her. What’s the worst that could happen?” Amelia shook her head and sat down; her watch band rattling against the porcelain of the antique table.

“Well, she could leave.” Stella tried not to laugh but started to giggle; the kind of silly giggle you rarely hear from someone over the age of fifteen. Amelia glared at her.

“I’m serious, Mom. Do you think? Oh, damn!” She sighed and looked away.

“No, honey. She’s family if nothing else, but I know it’s a bit more than that, isn’t it?” Stella already knew the answer. She would never be so much matriarchal as the other older women in the family, but she was just as wise. Amelia could never get as serious as she insisted unless she was at least as honest to herself.

“But…”

“You remember what Pastor Christine said the other day? ‘Sheep bleat but goats ‘but,’ right?”

“She’s not…she doesn’t. She….”

“Well, after all that she's been through, I’m sure that she'd be glad that you used the right pronoun, O light of my life. What makes you think she won’t say yes? Have you a crystal ball that tells you how she feels? Some diary that she wrote that says no, Amelia, I do NOT like girls? Some big pronouncement on that FACEBOOK you gush so much about?”

“I don’t know.” Amelia felt so ashamed; she was doubtful of her own self. She was fearful of rejection. She felt guilty that she didn’t trust someone she at least had grown to love, even if from afar. She had followed her niece’s athletic success, and she had been proud that the girl had been her own person. And it indeed was unfair that Lydia would likely never compete in high school again, much less any hope of college.

But mostly she was angry because things should never be pushed into a corner; they should never be forced to travel down roads not of their own choosing. And there was that pesky should-have-gotten-over-it-by-now girl crush. The one thing she felt she had going for her was that even if people might find it disturbing that she was a lesbian who was in love with a transsexual; at least the girl wasn’t a blood relative; an all too important condition.

And besides, anyone who minded? What was it that great Aunt Rosanna would say? “Che cosa imbecile?” Oh….Che cosa fottutamente imbecile.” Even recalling the words made Amelia blush.

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“I’ve got something I need to tell you. I don’t think it can wait.” Amelia said from the bedroom doorway.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk!” Lydia said, turning her head toward the window.

“Oh damn it, it’s not that I didn’t want to talk…I just didn’t know how to say what I wanted to say.”

“I feel so much better!” Lydia was still reeling from a year of huge hurts and disappointment, so we can forgive the sarcasm even if Amelia didn’t.

“Look. I’m trying as hard as I can, but you can make things difficult, you know? I just want to …damn…” She got into her scared cycle and Lydia was already upset.

“I vowed a long time ago that no one was going to push me into anything any longer. I don’t even care about the running so much as the reason why. A bunch of stupid idiots. I’m sick of being told what I can and can’t do. What my life is or isn’t. What I can or can’t be.” At the mention of the word ‘be,’ she began to punch the pillow on her lap while crying. She leaned against the headboard and began to sob. A moment later she felt the soft touch of Amelia’s lips on her neck; very unfamiliar and not at all the kiss between an aunt and her niece.

“I’m so sorry. I think maybe I should never tell you anything ever again.” Lydia tensed up and her shoulders arched ever so slightly as she tried to pull away from Amelia.

“From now on….all questions.” She laughed softly and the movement of her lips tickled Lydia’s neck; sending a very odd and uncomfortably comfortable feeling down her back.

“May I say that I’ve loved you from the first day we met?” No answer but a gasp instead escaped Lydia’s lips.

“I’m sorry. I lied. I ‘ve loved you from the first time my mother told me we weren’t actually blood-relatives.” She sighed and the heat of her breath sent a chill up the girl’s neck where it ended quite nicely indeed at the cartilage behind her right ear. She shuddered.

“But….”

“I’m sorry. May I ask you not to interrupt while I tell you how much I care for you?” Amelia remained politely playful as she whispered in Lydia’s left ear.

The girl shuddered again and began to cry. It was as if the torrent only hours before in her grandmother’s arms was the prelude to a flood. She turned and fell into a tentative embrace; actually pulling back with her hands up in appeasement before accepting a hug.

“May I tell you that I am so in awe of your courage and that you make me more than proud. I almost feel like I’ve been yours all along and just kind of figured it out only recently.”

“You’re mine?” Lydia gasped, her hand placed carefully over her mouth as her nostrils flared and her eyes widened in shock and surrender. She had been pushed and pulled and folded and mutilated, as they used to describe misdirected mail packages. Too many ideas from everyone else; not only of who she should be, but even with whom she should be.

“If you’ll have me….I’m not going to insist on anything. Too many times too many people have told you too much! I’ll listen and be happy for the moment, okay?” Lydia nodded absentmindedly before turning to Amelia; her eyes were filled with fewer but happier if confused tears.

“No more vows for you. No more promises. No more expectations if I can manage it. But for sure, no more demands and certainly no more saying or doing anything you don’t want to,” It was as romantic as it was going to get. Which was very romantic.

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The quite nicely reverend Christine Allucio smiled at Amelia and spoke; her gaze shifted to Lydia.

“And you?” A soft inferred request; no demand at all. Lydia smiled at Christine and turned to Amelia before speaking the last vow that she would make.

“I, Lydia, take you, Amelia….”

Next: Jeanette's Wonder

Somewhere in My Memory
from the movie
Home Alone
Words by Leslie Bricusse
Music by John Williams
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJlA0b96LpI

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From Jeanette’s Story…Kelly Walsh High School, Casper, Wyoming…

“Your insides don’t match your outsides…” Naomi said proudly.

“Exactly…eventually we got it all sorted out and I started going to a few great doctors who knew what I needed. I took a lot of teasing from the same kids who gave me hell…it was much worse, but my Mom and Dad stood by me when they figured I was the same child they already loved.” She sighed.

“But you’re married…What does your husband say?”

“He says he loves me.” She smiled and Linda Garner sighed and smiled in return.

“What I’m trying to say…and I know from firsthand experience how much teasing hurts…is that everybody deserves respect, right?” Most of the class nodded; some reluctantly, others enthusiastically. Carrie Belasco and Misty Jeffers, the two girls in on the joke with Theresa, just laughed. The period bell rang and the kids began to walk out.

“Theresa…Are you going to be okay?” Shari said; her voice soft and welcoming.

“Yeah…I guess so…yes…Th...thanks.” Theresa got up and walked out of the class, leaving the girl standing by her desk.

“She’ll come around…she’s already started. Don’t worry, Shari.” Jeanette said as she pushed the chair back in the corner.

“I know. Mrs. Applegate…?” Shari said as she reached the classroom door. Jeanette turned.

“Thanks.” The girl waved and walked out.

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Kelly Walsh High School, Caspar, Wyoming…..a few years later…

“Ms. Applegate?” Jeanette looked up from her desk to see a smallish teen standing in front of her. His face wore a look of deep concern.

“Yes, Jason?” Jeanette hoped he wouldn’t need much help since she was too tired to deal with anyone else’s problems; even if they were the problems of a kid as nice as Jason. He proved her point; albeit in a manner that didn’t do anything to help her cause.

“I saw you before class…. I was sitting in the back and I don’t think you saw me.” He said cautiously, as if he had been eaves-dropping .

“You …you were crying. I’ve never seen you cry before, Ms. Applegate.” She put up her hand to interrupt, but he continued.

“If you’re crying it must be important. Anything I can do?” There wasn’t a single thing Jason could do other than extend the sympathy he already had, which was more than enough as Jeanette Applegate shook her head even as the tears streamed down her cheeks. Not wanting to do anything that anyone might take wrong, the boy just stood there and nodded before walking out of the classroom; his own tears a way of showing a solidarity with her for which he had come to understand only recently after a trip to a nice therapist.

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At the Applegate home...

“I….” Jeanette looked at Rick and quickly turned away.

“Babe…please? I know how much this meant to you…to us. But it isn’t your fault.” As he spoke, he stepped closer and put his hand on her shoulder, which she quickly pulled away; the gesture speaking of being unworthy of love and care. She tried to walk away but he gently grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand up to his face where she felt his tears. They weren’t for the disappointment, but she didn’t accept that and went directly to self-condemnation.

“Damn it, Rick. You should have just married Regina Petersen. At least this wouldn’t have happened.” She unconsciously looked down at her abdomen. His eyes followed the movement of her glance and he placed his hand on her stomach as he pulled her into a hug.

“No, Rick. I’m serious. She’s gorgeous and she can give you what I can’t,” Jeanette sighed without realizing she had spoken in the present tense; as if that was still an option.

“I have all I need right here!” He tried to kiss her cheek but she pulled away.

“What the hell can I offer? I’m not even real!” Jeanette wasn’t given to frequent questions about her ‘authenticity,’ but they did pop up enough to frustrate Rick. He sighed and hugged her tighter, causing her to try to pull away. Strength and love mixed together well, and she remained in his embrace.

“You’re the kindest, most caring person I know. You give me love and joy and wonderment every day.” She shook her head no in confusion.

“I don’t get you.” She did, but in this case it wasn’t a surprise, given her own lack of self-esteem. The face she presented to her students was one of confidence; even of bravery. The way she felt inside spoke of fears of falling short and failing; actually a testimony to how strong she actually was to put a brave face on every day in spite of herself.

“What’s to get? I married a pretty woman who loves me. How can things get any better than that, hon?” The question begged some sort of answer, but she went to her deepest place of shame and regret.

“We’ll never have any kids. Never. And it’s all my fault.” It was, in a sense, in that she presumed too much at the time of her surgery in believing that everyone was kind and understanding and open-minded. The adoption agency didn’t see it that way. Rick and she didn’t have the energy at the moment to seek any help and resigned themselves to the decision by the agency to turn them down.

For anyone at all, feeling rejected can be so sad and painful. Feeling completely responsible for the foolish decisions of others compounds that, and Jeanette was at a place of giving up, had that been an option. But God often finds ways of making things work where men and women may fail. Either way, the moment screamed for relief that wouldn’t come and Jeanette fell into her husband’s arms and wept.

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At school a few days later...

“Ms. Applegate?” Jeanette looked up to see her pint-sized angel. The boy seemed different, and she realized he was wearing a bit of lip gloss and the slightest hint of eye shadow.

“I wanted to tell you that my Dad and I have been praying for you and your husband. Dad says that even when we don’t know why someone hurts, it’s enough to ask for help when they do. He said something about feeling a breakthrough coming. I hope that helps.” Jason smiled before taking his seat. Jeanette didn’t know if it helped that prayers were offered, but it felt good to know someone cared enough about her and Rick to pray. She held out no hope that any prayers would be answered, but to her wonder, they would be, and in a way no single person on the face of the earth would have anticipated.

That afternoon, Jeanette was getting ready to leave for the day when a girl walked to the doorway of the classroom. She hesitated and turned to leave.

“Carrie? Don’t go…come here, okay?” She smiled and the girl nodded meekly before walking slowly to the front of the room. Jeanette tilted her head and smiled.

“I…” The tears on her cheeks and the redness in her eyes spoke of more than just a teenage breakup or a bad grade. She also noticed the girl’s long sleeves had ridden up, revealing bruises on her wrists. Hastily applied makeup did little to cover up the darkening blotch around her left eye.

“Tell me, honey. It’s okay.” Okay meaning okay to talk to someone who would listen; the marks on the girl’s arms indicated that nothing at all was okay.

“I….we….I’m….” She stammered, shaking her head. It might have been providence; certainly a coincidence, but more likely something more divine than that. The girl wore the same look on her face that Jeanette had seen before; if not a thousand than at least hundreds of times. That look that says ‘I’m not worthy of love.’ The same look that Jeanette saw in her mirror every day. While it was probably a bit risky hugging a student, nothing could make things more painful for Jeanette than they already were, and she pulled the girl close as Carrie sobbed into her shoulder.

“Daddy found out….he wants me to abort.” A painful demand from anyone, but to demand that the girl ‘get rid of’ his grandchild? She looked at the girl’s bruises without comment and her glance was enough for the girl to answer.

She shook her head; the look in her eyes almost seemed to agree and disagree at the same time. “He is so angry.” Nothing else was needed to say, but the girl continued.

“Lonnie told me he’d give me the money…like he’s being….but when I….” Carrie bit her lip and pouted; a curious but understandable reaction since her feelings swayed more toward disbelief and disappointment than the likely underlying sadness and feelings of hopelessness. More for Jeanette to realize and then to step out of her own disappointments.

Responsible?’ Jeanette thought. Pressure and anger and hurt from all sides. She already knew there was nowhere else to turn to; at least in the familiar sense. A foster family might be arranged, but who knows how things would work out for the girl.

“I don’t know what to do.” She pled, looking for answers that Jeanette wanted to offer.

“I don’t know, either, Carrie, but we’ll think of something, okay?” The kind offer was accompanied by the even kinder and most wonderful look that the girl had ever seen and she dissolved in Jeanette’s arms in tears of relief. And Jeanette felt a sense of relief that was surrounded by an even bigger sense of gratitude and honor that the girl had come to her, of all people she would add. But really it was all about blessing even if she didn't realize she was the blessing as well as the blessed.

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At home...

Carrie fell asleep on the couch and Rick covered her with a blanket before walking to the bedroom where he found Jeanette sitting on the bed nearly weeping.

"What's wrong?" As if anything was wrong at that point; they had rescued a girl in need and perhaps rediscovered the grace behind their sadness in the process.

“I feel so guilty.” How anyone who extended as much love and understanding that Jeanette had for the girl could feel guilty remained another example of self-deprecation in her repertoire. Rick shook his head and half-smiled. Nothing he could say would sway her from her opinion. It was something that she had to walk out in the midst of their decision. They had talked about adopting or fostering a special needs child, but their schedules were too involved. And if anyone other than Jeanette was asked, they would have said that her love and care for her students both in and out of class more than made up for any lack, as if that could even be a consideration.

---

The day before Christmas break...

“Dad and I agreed.” The student before her seemed so much more at ease now that she had decided to move forward with a period of transition. Jason had the support of several friends and her father and had even picked out a new name after finally coming to grips with her true gender.

“If you don’t mind? I’d like to shorten it but I really want to use your name? Would it be alright to call myself Jen?” It was nice that both of them got to get in synch crying-wise as both of them shed tears of joy.

---

And in the end of the beginning, it was settled. Carrie had moved in with the Applegates. Between home-school curriculum and tutoring, she would able to finish just a few months late. And It would have been enough to put Jeanette more at ease about their decision; on the eve of her eighteenth birthday after much wrangling with the system, Carrie Lynette Belasco would gain a new family and a new name. Carrie Lynette Applegate. Odd for a young woman to be adopted so late in life, but it ensured her of a safe and welcoming home for her and the baby she carried. Barely eleven years older than the girl; Jeanette would become a de facto grandparent. But the best was yet to come, to Jeanette’s supreme wonder; both to the love of a grateful child and an even more loving God.

Paradise Valley Christian Church, Casper, Wyoming, Christmas Day…”

“Ms. Applegate?” Carrie stood at the back of the sanctuary. Jeanette was brushing back a stray hair on the girl’s forehead. She half-frowned and spoke.

“I told you…please, would you mind calling me Jeanette. I’m not your teacher right now.” She laughed softly.

“That’s just it. You’re not my teacher right now, but I have to call you something…both you and Mr. Applegate.”

“Jeanette and Rick, like I said, honey, it’s okay.”

“Okay, I guess, but if it’s all the same to you?” Rick’s eyes widened in relieved recognition. He nodded even before the girl had said the rest.

“Yes?” Jeanette tilted her head in puzzlement.”

“I’m just going to call you Mom and Dad.”

Next: Callie's Victory

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Count Your Blessings
Words and Music by
Irving Berlin
as performed by
Miss Diana Krall
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJb-DSKAuMA

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Previously, Seymour High School, Seymour Connecticut…”

“Hey…” It occurred to Callie as she walked up to the girl that she didn’t even know how to address her.

“I have a name.” The tone wasn’t dismissive; rather it was almost sad, like the word ‘hey’ was part of her everyday life.

“Sorry. What’s your name?” Callie put her head down slightly in embarrassment.

“Fiona,” the girl said, her face red and her tone almost apologetic.

“Listen….I’m really sorry about the other day. You’ve got to understand…” The girl’s face turned sad and Callie shook her head.

“I’m sorry…you don’t have to listen or understand or anything. I wanted to prove a point and I hurt you…like those jerks have hurt me all along. You…didn’t deserve that. I took…I dragged you into that and I guess…I know it must have made things worse.” Callie cringed as she saw the tears well up in the girl’s eyes, confirming her fears.

“After you left….my brother came up to me and started pushing me…not hard, but it hurt.” The girl’s sadness and frustration came spilling out like a badly made pitcher.

“I…I mean…isn’t he…shouldn’t….Fuck…I can’t talk anymore.” The girl went to turn and Callie grabbed her arm. She wanted to be a comfort, but her gesture was just another way the girl felt she had no control over.

“Let me go.” She pulled away and Callie released her arm. She shook her head once as the tears flowed before running down the hall and around the corner.

---

Route One, Hoboken, New Jersey, several years later…

The ambulance had just pulled away; two fatalities and two survivors. A tractor trailer had jackknifed on the icy pavement and the rig had slid into both oncoming cars, just barely missing a mini-van filled with kids and a couple of soccer moms on their way back from the mall. Both drivers had been killed instantly; one leaving a very scared little boy in the back of the first car. The second left a tallish woman whom the paramedics recognize instantly. The scene in the ambulance went from relaxed to chaotic in an instant.

“We’re losing her,” the paramedic screamed to no one and everyone at the same time. Her buddy leaned closer and spoke to the woman on the gurney.

“Come on, Callie….live!” He shook his head but grabbed the paddles and a moment later the flat line had changed to a weak but still up and down wave.

“Son of a fucking bitch!” He bit his lip at the sight of the mess of bones and blood that had been the woman's ankle. He looked at his partner.

“Shit, Jackie….” She returned his stare before looking again at the woman’s leg. She shook her head no; whatever fate lay in store for Callie Policastro-O’Hara would include pain over the loss of her wife and the loss of her career.

---

New York Sports Medicine, Manhattan, New York City…several weeks later…

“Come on, Callie.” The man smiled and pointed to the raised mat next to the exercise bike. She shook her head no but still rose and hopped over to the mat. Swinging around, her stump hit the edge, sending a painful, almost electric shock up her leg.

“Doc says your prosthesis should be in maybe tomorrow or Thursday…Let’s get to it!” Vic Domonali was kind and supportive, but he didn’t mince words. The quicker Callie got to work with her new leg the quicker she’d return….but return to what.

“You know, Vic. I don’t really give a fuck.” She put her head down. Two and a half months after the accident and she didn’t have a lot of motivation. The Sun had put her on the ‘physically unable to play’ list, but no one in their right mind expected her to return. At almost thirty, her best years in basketball had already been pretty much behind her even before the accident. Whatever life held for her, it wasn’t going to be in sports. At least that’s what she thought.

“Okay… let’s try it again, but this time, put some effort into it, okay?” Vic smiled at Callie; his expression got under her skin, as the old song goes, and she blew out a very frustrated breath before speaking.

“Listen…take it easy, okay?” She put her head down and continued.

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

“I’m sorry, Callie? I didn’t quite get that…would you mind repeating what you just said?” He knew what she said, but he didn’t want the moment to be lost in self-pity. And he was quite prepared with an answer.

“Listen, Vic. You don’t know what the fuck I’ve been through.” She looked down at the ring on her left hand and huffed.

“It’s easy for you to push me…you know?” She pointed to her leg and gestured at the ‘ghost’ limb; she had that feeling you might get after losing an arm or a leg as if it still was still there.

“And that’s the easy part. I’m so….it’s not fair.” She pointed to her left hand and continued.

“I’ve known…..” She breathed in deeply, as if she would pass out from the words that she expelled.

“I knew her since High School, for God’s sake. Do you understand?” She began to cry. A moment later she felt his hand on her shoulder.

“I know exactly how you feel, Callie.” A soft yet firm group of words strung together that would serve to convince Callie that she was not alone; nor would she be.

“Nina and I met in Middle School. Together for thirteen years.” He still wore his wedding ring. Callie looked into his eyes; his gaze met hers his gaze of comfort so deep you could fall into it. She wanted to ask how his wife died, but she realized it really wasn’t important. He still wore his ring, and that said more to her than any details. But the stakes were high in the game she was playing; she raised her loss and beat his hands down, didn’t she. He could still work at his chosen field, couldn’t he?

She moved her hand to point at the place where her foot should have been and opened her mouth, but the words got stuck in her throat. It was too painful; how could he understand that her life and her life mate had been lost in an instant.

“I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“Sorry I got hurt?” She thought, and would have voiced her anger but for that welcoming gaze of his; it silenced her protest even before he uttered an answer that saw her bet and raised the ante, beating her hand. He reached over and grabbed the cane she had taken to use while getting accustomed to her prosthesis. A smile like no other crossed his face; the look that says ‘you may not believe me, but this is for your own good.’

“I’m so sorry you got hurt. I know how you feel…yes.” He took the cane and hit his left leg. A loud clack came from wood on fiberglass and God only knows what else.

“I was driving, Callie. Drunk driver cut us off…tried to pass us on the right….hit the front end of our van. Nina…she was gone already when the van stopped rolling.” He gasped and blinked back tears.

“Petey lasted all the way to the hospital and….” His voice trailed off.

“I was driving….and it has taken me nearly three years to….”

He shook his head and looked down. He hadn’t meant to make it about himself, but only in doing so could he have reached her. He felt a hand on his arm and he looked down to see Callie crying, but not for herself. She struggled for the words; simple words, but her tears spoke for her as she told him with her heart that she understood...finally remembering and understanding that it wasn’t always about her. Finally, she uttered the words that set both of them free.

"I am so sorry."

---

Rusk Institute of Rehabilitation Medicine, Manhattan, NYC…Christmas Eve, a few years later…

A smallish dark-haired woman knocked softly on the open office door.

“I stopped by to see if you need a ride? Tony is downstairs with the car, hon.” Fiona smiled at the mention of her husband’s name. It never ceased to amaze her how gracious life had been to her, but even that almost took a back seat to her best friend. Callie looked up from her desk and smiled back.

“I’ll catch up with you later, okay? I’ve got one more client to see and then I’m off to the Garden to drop off a check for that fundraiser the team has going.” She still felt a part of the team after so many years; they had helped tremendously after she decided to forgo any comeback, and they not only understood but supported her efforts.

“Okay. We’ll be at church for about an hour anyway; you can just go straight to the apartment if you like?” Fiona practically giggled.

“Okay, okay. Trisha’s gonna be there, you know?”

She laughed softly at her best friend’s efforts at matchmaking. Had it been a couple of years before, she might agree to date if only to be grateful for Fiona’s care. But Sheri seemed to be smiling down on Callie lately; her presence was a comfort even as Callie felt released to begin again, as some might say. Anyway, Two meals out and a very comfortable meal at ‘home’ urged her forward, and she was finally settled enough to want the relationship to grow; she was falling in love, and it felt as if Sheri was looking down in approval.

She dropped her attention to her leg; the prosthesis was uncovered since she had deliberately chosen to wear a long skirt instead of slacks. She hoped her decision would be helpful. Another knock came; this time at the reception area desk around the corner from her office. She rose and walked almost casually to the desk and smiled at the woman standing across from her.

“I’m Niecy White. We talked on the phone?” She turned away, almost embarrassed before using her arm to gesture to her right where a girl of about seven or so sat in a wheelchair.

“You must be Lisa, right?” The girl kept silent. Callie smiled a very broad smile and leaned a bit across the desk, eyeing the girl’s covered legs.

“I hope we can be friends, and I really hope that you and your Mom and I can get you all the help you need, okay?” The girl’s eyes began to tear up as she pulled the blanket from her legs, revealing one perfectly formed leg and another that stopped rudely at the ankle. The scars were not quite fresh, but still red enough to bear the testimony of a great loss. She shook her head no; not as a rebuke, but with the accompanying smile, it was a way to show the girl that she needn’t be ashamed. The girl shook her head no right back; her face etched with embarrassment and shame with a look that said,

“You don’t know how this feels.”

Callie glanced downward as if to do a spot-check before walking around the end of the desk. She stood about four feet away from the girl and glanced down again after getting the girl’s attention, bringing attention to her own leg; this time as in recent times past, her intentions were entirely selfless. She smiled and glanced at the girl’s stump before casting her gaze downward one last time, looking at her prosthesis. She half-smiled and blew out a breath. The girl switched her gaze back and forth between her own leg and Callie’s before smiling weakly with a reluctant nod. Callie knelt down next to the wheelchair and looked the girl in the eyes. Her mother was crying by then, and Lisa’s face was awash with tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, honey. It’s gonna be okay.” Callie said softly as she pulled the girl into a soft hug as the girl wept in her arms.

“It’s gonna be okay.

Next: Alaina's Freedom

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Come, they told me
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
Our newborn King to see
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum

Our finest gifts we bring
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
To lay before the King
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
Rum, pa, pum, pum, rum, pa, pum, pum

So to honor Him
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
When we come

Little Baby
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
I am a poor boy too
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum

I have no gift to bring
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
That's fit to give a King
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
Rum, pa, pum, pum, rum, pa, pum, pum

Shall I play for You
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
On my drum, on my drum

I played my drum for Him
For You honored me

Mary nodded
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
The ox and lamb kept time
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum

I played my drum for Him
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
I played my best for Him
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
Rum, pa, pum, pum, rum, pa, pum, pum

Then He smiled at me
Pa, rum, pa, pum, pum
Me and my drum

When we come
Me and my drum

Carol of the Drum
(The Little Drummer Boy)
Words and Music by
Katherine Kennicott Davis,
Henry Ornati, and Harry Simone
As performed by
The Vince Guaraldi Trio

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From Alan’s story…

“I feel helpless…like I can’t do anything to satisfy them…like I’m…” She paused and looked at Phyllis.

“What do you feel like, Allie? What does that make you feel like?”

“Like no matter what I do it’ll never get any better.” She was teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff, but she alone had the lifeline at hand. She grabbed it when Phyllis asked,

“So…what do you take away from that, Allie? What does that mean to you?”

“It’s just hopeless.” She shook her head at the thought. “If…If things don’t get better when I try to be what they want…..” Phyllis tried hard not to, but if she had a mirror at that moment she expected she would have seen herself getting very excited.

“I should just be who I want to be.”

“I think that’s a very good idea, Allie.”

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Freedom Counseling Center, Pittsfield, New York…December 23rd…several years later...

The mood of the composer seemed to be reflected…. Coloratura, chromatic scale….the odd visual descriptors for music fit with Tchaikovsky. Brilliant yet troubled, dark and light often mixed well and almost indivisible in many of his works. Serenade for Strings played; filling the cozy office with colors and shapes and tones that lifted the woman’s spirits as she prepared for her visitor.

“I’m sorry I’m late.” The boy stood nervously at the door, his face cast down in embarrassment.

“That’s okay, Billy. Come in.” She smiled, putting the boy only a little bit at ease.

“Did you want to change?” A funny line from an old joke that they both usually enjoyed. The boy only shook his head no.

“Hard to get your balance when things keep shifting?” Something they had talked about only a week ago. He breathed out a sigh before walking slowly to the small group of chairs and couch. Sitting down, he pulled off his glasses, setting them on the table beside him. Pulling the hood of his sweatshirt back, he sighed again slowly as tears came to his eyes.

“Seriously, Billy? You didn’t change for our time together…It looks as if your dad finally got his way?”

“I….he just kept telling me how…” The boy looked away and breathed out an almost silent gasp.

“He’s proud of you, right, Billy?” She stressed the name.

“Yes,” the boy nodded and spoke; almost sounding apologetic.

“And you feel bad about him being proud, right?” She turned her head toward the CD player. He saw her glance.

“That’s okay…” he stammered. The boy liked the music in the background. He even joked once about how Tchaikovsky seemed to be …seemed to have written a score just for him; the music almost a mirror for his moods.

“You’re sad about his pride?” She knew the answer; counselors often function in a vague similarity to lawyers in that they know enough not to ask too many questions without first having the answer. Funny thing that both are often referred to as advocates. Shewas advocating for the boy so that he might not serve a life sentence; albeit one imposed with the best of intentions. Paracaleo…one who comes along side….

“He’s proud, but not really about me…you know? Mommy understands. I don’t understand why he can’t.”

“Has he agreed to come in with you?” She pointed to the couch, as if the boy’s father might sit beside him. He glanced at the chair furthest away; his look seemed to cast a grey pallor on the room as he nodded his head slowly.

“But you don’t feel he’ll listen, even if we all talk?” The boy looked away.

“It’s so hard to go without feeling some hope, isn’t it?” She said the words slowly, remembering how things had been long ago in another place.

Violins played softly; almost speaking and showing a way for the boy… the tempo started to speed up ever so slowly, if that makes any sense. Suddenly the music burst forth with a brightness that seemed to light up the room. He looked at her and smiled, oddly enough. She realized that just asking the question raised his hopes ever so slightly, but still enough to move him forward.

“You…” He looked down at himself and back at her. He already knew she shared so much in commonality; that knowing that only two people can share if they’re kindred in a way. But he asked again… a frequent question that gave an answer which in turn gave him hope.

“Yes, Billy. I know.” There would come a day; very soon perhaps that gave him enough courage to face his future with hope. A day where her life would no longer be necessary to validate his, as if that was even necessary at all. Freedom.

But he finally would feel confidence and strength and courage no matter what she told him. She smiled and nodded, knowing that it was okay for him to derive his hope from someone who had sought the same from someone else who in turn had received hope from another. Comfort ye therefore with the same comfort you yourself have received?

“So…let’s do a quick inventory, okay?” The boy only nodded, but his face seemed to brighten a bit.

“You came here without anyone understanding, right?” Another nod.

“And now your mom seems to understand, is that right?” A half-smile; the boy blinked back some tears, pulling a pillow close to him like a stuffed animal.

“And your dad…he’s always been proud of you, is that right?” He shrugged his shoulders and half-frowned.

“But now he knows at least that you’re different…that he listens even if he doesn’t quite get it…right?” Another shrug; the grey seemed to be returning to the room, but as a modifier; making the colors more pastel than bright, but still with shades of pink in a way.

“And he’s agreed to come here? To listen to you here?” The tones, color-wise and musically, seemed to brighten once again; almost a visual and audible increase in that one word the boy desired.

“So we can have hope, right? While the nod wasn’t enthusiastic, it still was a nod; speaking volumes without word.

“Would you like to change? I had a cancellation, so my next hour is free. You don’t have to worry.” The boy’s face brightened and he smiled; reminding her of another time and another smile.

“And Billy?” She spoke even as the boy headed toward the office door. He turned and tilted his head in question.

“I think it best that we call you by your name from now on, okay? It will help you feel more comfortable when we talk with your dad, alright?”

---

A few minutes later a nice looking teenage girl stood at the doorway; she wasn’t pretty so much as she was attractive with a smile that lit up the room. To look at her clothes you’d likely see nothing remarkable. Dark purple jeans and a white tee covered by a plum pullover. Nothing to be done about her hair, unruly as it was even pulled back, but at least you could see the amethyst studs in her ears. She had a purple tam on her head and a dark grey shawl around her shoulders. There was something just so comfortable about her; her figure seemed to paint the room with color.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I put this on,” the woman remarked as she pointed to the CD. Still Tchaikovsky, but the music was even more colorful in some ways. She smiled as the girl sat down.

“So…is that better?” She pointed to the girl’s clothing and the girl smiled even as she continued to blink back tears.

“Yes, Dr. Czerzik. Yes!”

“That’s wonderful, Bella. And please? Call me Alaina?”

Next: Cheryl's Peace

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Serenade for Strings
Opus 48, Movement Four
by Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky

The Nutcracker
Peter Ilych Tchaikovsky
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxBJYSU3RJ8

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From Kevin’s Story…

In an ambulance on the way to Dayton Children's Hospital

“We’re losing him…come on, kid…don’t give up….”

“Clear….” The sound of the defibrillator drowned out the siren for only a moment.

“Shit, that was close….” The woman sighed deeply “What makes a kid do something like this? He’s barely fourteen.”

“I’m just glad he’s stable…let it go at that, Tina, unless you plan on taking up social work on top of everything else.”

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Dayton Children's Hospital...the following morning...

Kevin had his head turned to face the wall. His mother sat on the side next to the curtain, holding a plastic bowl of soup.

“Come on, honey…you’ve got to eat something. I know it’s uncomfortable, but Dr. Singh is going to be in this afternoon.” She looked at Kevin’s wrists and smiled, as if her comment would make the pain go away. The gauze chafed against the wounds beneath the dressing, but the real pain lay, not beneath the gauze, but beneath the surface of his soul.

“Well, you gave us quite a scare, Kevin,” the tall man at the door said. Kevin turned and faced him and forced, if not a smile, then at least no frown.

“You know you’re very important to me, son.” The word tore against his heart like a sharp piece of metal against concrete; both for the painfully real sincerity and its inevitable hopelessness. He closed his eyes, imagining the offensive blade had been restored to his hand; another final opportunity to do something right in his life.

“Now why the tears, son? You’ll be out of here soon enough.“ The words were sincere even if they were deluded and selfish beyond evil.

“See…I told you it will get better…Isn’t that right, Father Stephen?” Kevin’s mother was glad for help with her boy; he’d been troubled lately with sad twisted perverted thoughts, and it was good to have someone to turn to.

“Right enough, Mrs. Wilde. We’ll have the lad back home and back at the rectory helping out soon enough.

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Wright State University Faculty Parking Lot, several years later…

“What do you mean….we can’t go out? You’re already my best friend, Kate.” Jimmy looked directly into her eyes; a calm if sad resolve seemed to reflect his gaze. She bit her lip and shook her head.

“I know. I just….I just can’t see you that way, Jim. I’m sorry.”

“We get along so well. And I can’t imagine anyone as…. You were there for me when my mom died. When I didn’t get into med school. I just don’t understand.” He put his head down, kicking the gravel in the parking lot with his sneakers like a little kid.

“You just have to accept it, Jim. I’m sorry.” It would have been almost comical had it not been entirely sad when she added, “It’s not you…it’s me.” His eyes blazed at the words.

“Come on, Kate. Tell me why. You at least owe me that much.” Kate owed him so much more, in a way; a debt that could never be paid since to do so would destroy them both, or so she thought. She looked away. He grabbed her arm but let it go immediately, feeling guilty over the least bit of physical contact that might push her away, or worse; pull her toward him against her will.

“I’m so sorry.” He put his hands up in surrender. Jimmy was a strong, brave man. A tour of duty in a place far away against all odds proved that to everyone he knew. But he was also gentle and kind and passionate. Tears began to fall; no need for pride since the one opinion he ever cared about came from the woman before him. He covered his face, nonetheless, feeling small for being so forceful and demanding.

“Jim…please….I can’t…you just have to accept that….and move on.”

“How can I move on when all I’ve ever wanted lives right in front of my eyes….please, Kate. What is it …what did I do to hurt you?” it was a reasonable if completely erroneous assumption. Kate almost stomped at the words.

“Damn it, Jimmy! You didn’t hurt me. I just don’t want to hurt you!” She shook her head and her own eyes filled with tears. Turning away, she placed her hand over her face; a remnant from a too painful and misplaced shame-filled past. She began to sob; a shower of hopelessness cascaded over her like a storm. But there are calms in the eyes of life’s hurricanes; she felt a hand touch her shoulder softly. Turning around, she found herself staring into the most welcoming eyes.

“Tell me. Whatever it is, you can….we can face this together. Don’t shut me out, Kate. Please.”

“I…I can never…we…” She stammered; words fitting in between sobs.

“What? We can do whatever we want, Kate? Nothing to stop us but us. Never is such a final word.” He stroked her cheek slowly with the back of his hand; she felt a start from the tickle of soft hair of his knuckles against her face.

“You don’t understand, Jim…. I…I can’t….Oh god….” She wanted to push him away; every part of her being wanted to spare him the pain of her shame….all of her shame. He cupped her chin; his lips were close enough to kiss her, but even that would be coercion. He backed away slightly and spoke.

“I don’t know if I’ll understand, but dammit, Kate, I sure as hell am gonna try. And what I don’t understand I will accept anyway, okay?” The frustration and anger in his voice was completely tempered by the empathy in his eyes and the same tears that mirrored her sadness. She let out a gasp before inhaling; the great big breath before diving into the waters of her past.

“I’ve known you almost….actually all my life, Jim.” She bit her lip and cast her vision downward; once again feeling ashamed over something bad that happened…that was forced upon her. And feeling horribly ashamed at something good that was never understood; even by her. He shook his head; not to deny her but to affirm her that the shame her face reflected had no place between them.

“You used to sit in the fourth row… you and your mom and your sis and your dad.” She smiled weakly at the memory.

“Sit where?” He had an idea, but he let her explain since the rest of it didn’t make sense.

“St. Anthony’s… You were so cute.” She blushed a dark crimson and choked back a tearful gasp; even thinking about the past seemed so wrong; as if her feelings were somehow invalidated by the present.

“I don’t remember anybody named Kate. I know you’re my age, but that you still could have been in a different school than me. Did you go to parochial school?”

“No…I was in your class.” She put her head down and began to sob. The truth, however innocent and even blessed, can often be painful if framed in the wrong context. She saw herself through the accusing eyes of strangers and the eyes of familiar evil. Once again she felt his hand touch her cheek.

“I don’t remember anyone named Kate. Did you go by another name. Nickname maybe? But your last name sounds so familiar now that you tell me you knew me.

“Yes…Wilde.” She put her head down once more; a routine that was getting old for the fact that Jimmy felt completely helpless in raising her spirits as well. He leaned down and looked up at her from below. What he thought might produce a smile had the opposite effect as she pulled away.

“Dammit, Jimmy…this is hard enough as it is. Don’t you see? There was only one Wilde kid in Mrs. McCartney’s class in fifth grade. Do I have to shout it out? Kevin….Kevin Wilde.” She began to shake; her fists balled up and she began to cry without sound. It felt as if nothing would ever be right ever again. She began to pace back and forth by her car; her arms wrapped around herself as if no one else ever would hug her. Jimmy stood; his mouth agape and his tears subsiding, he reached out and grabbed her.

“I don’t care, Kate! Don’t you understand? Like you said… we’ve known each other practically all our lives. I didn’t know you as Kate then, but you knew me enough? And since we ‘met’ each other during college? It’s like I was drawn to you. Do you think what you used to be…” He put his head down and began to weep; not for himself, but for her and the whole idea of having to be sorry for being herself.

“You….you’re the kindest…most loving….most beautiful woman I’ve ever known… Oh god, Kate! I love you. I’ve loved you from the first time we sat together in Art History. Oh dear sweet Jesus… I don’t know what else I can say, but that I love you, and I’m not going to go anywhere! Ever!” He reached over and pulled her into a safe if tentative embrace; as if she was a fragile porcelain doll rather than the very strong woman he had come to love. But safe if tentative was what she needed; that mantle of acceptance and unconditional love that Kate needed. She looked into his eyes and felt a chill go down her spine; an empowering shock that surprised her as she pulled him closer and kissed him.

“I…I love you, Jimmy…Oh dear god, I love you!”

---

In the hallway outside the Grand Jury Courtroom, Montgomery County Common Pleas Court, Dayton, Ohio...two years later…

“Hello, Father Pat…I’m glad you’re here.” She shrugged a small shrug and began to cry ever so softly.

“You’re the bravest woman I’ve ever known, Katy…I would be remiss as your pastor if I didn’t stand with you.”

“But Father…you’re going to be putting yourself in….won’t this make?”

“I served two tours in Iraq in the first Gulf War, and I have a steel rod in my leg to show for it. The ones who would be upset with me…frankly I don’t care. I’ve got to answer to God for this, even if they don’t want to. You’re a child of God who was hurt…deeply. And you still are a child of God, no matter what anyone says.” He sat down on the bench next to her and did something that one might have expected from her.

“May our God go with you in this, dear one, and may justice be served. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, Amen.” He smiled and kissed her wedding band. As he turned to face the door of the courtroom the tall man standing by the door walked over and held his hand out.

"Oh, Hi Jimmy...Don't worry...she's going to be alright. Your bride is made of what they used to call 'sterner stuff!" He patted the young man's wrist before shaking it.

“I’m sorry, Father Pat. I lost track. Thanks for coming and thank you for praying. I know Katy wouldn’t have gotten through this without you and Jacquie here.” He leaned over and helped Kathryn to her feet.

“I love you, Katy…we’ll all be in there with you, okay? You’ll do just fine.” He kissed her once as the bailiff opened the door and waved her in.

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Dayton Municipal Court….Christmas Week…

“Your witness…” The woman sat down and nodded to the attorney across the aisle.

“Ms. Wilde?”

“Actually it’s Mrs. Seraphino.” Kate pointed to the pair of rings on her left hand.

“Mrs. Seraphino. Is it to be our understanding that you are testifying today after nearly what amounts to nearly thirteen years of silence? May I ask you what took you so long?” The defense attorney’s face was all smiles, as they say, but his tone was patronizing; almost dismissive.

“I…” Kate hesitated before she even began. She took a deep breath and began again.

“I had decided a long time ago to forgive my offender; freedom, I believe.”

“If you wanted to provide freedom to my client, if what you say was even true, why then come forward now? Why make such a baseless claim against my client?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t make myself clear. My own freedom. I had harbored a great deal of bitterness in my heart, and only by letting it go could I move on.”

“Well, that I suppose is a personal matter. But as to the question of now? Surely you understand that even if your claims were true, the law has already moved on for any accusation you’ve made. What motivates you to speak on behalf of the prosecution? Are you in this for the publicity? To make a name for yourself?” He turned and looked at the jury as he continued, without waiting for an answer.

“You say you were harmed while serving as an acolyte for the parish, is that correct? At the time, didn’t the church only have boys serving in that capacity? Altar boys, they used to call them?”

“Yes, I did serve.” She put her head down, more to avoid the mean gaze cast in her direction, but she was still struggling with shame for too many reasons that were totally unfair and completely invalid.

“Which is it, Mrs. Seraphino? Surely you’re not telling us you were a boy?” A very soft, almost imperceptible snicker escaped his lips; magnified, however, by the smile on his face. The old adage that a lawyer should never ask a question for which he does not already have the answer. He smirked. In private life the man might have entirely different ideas about her past, but he was determined, obviously, to discredit her testimony. She took a breath.

“I was a boy.”

“Please explain, Mrs. Seraphino.” His stress of the title, Mrs. might have hit the mark with the courtroom gallery, as evidenced by a few murmurs, but Kate remained almost placid.

“I am what is commonly referred to as a male to female transsexual.” She looked across the courtroom to the back seat where Jimmy and Father Pat were sitting. Both smiled and Pat nodded as if to say, ‘You’re doing fine.”

“Oh yes…that’s where a boy thinks he’s a girl.” He paused, giving her an in.

“That’s not quite correct, Mister Danelli. It’s where a child; often a boy, but also with children born as girls….where they have come to discover very early on that their psyche doesn’t match their form. Really an issue of how the brain is formed in utero…”

“Well, that’s all fine and good, but in the time frame of the alleged contact, you were a boy, is that not so?” He paused only long enough for effect but cut her off.

“And that somehow someone as confused as a boy like yourself now expects us to believe that you’re telling the truth?” He looked away at the jury once again, arching his eyebrow. It was almost like a court or crime program on cable.

“I don’t expect you to believe anything, sir. I’m only answering your question. And please. Not only am I not a boy, I never was a boy in the truest sense of the word. But to answer your question? When I was eleven years old, your client molested me.”

“Move to strike, your honor. Unresponsive!”

“Denied, counselor. You asked her and she answered. Move on.” The judge turned to fake a cough, gaining the bailiff’s attention. The woman nodded and smiled an ‘insider’s’ smile at his grin.

“Can you tell the court just exactly where this supposedly took place?”

“Well, it wasn’t an event that just happened. He molested me…..” She paused, but this time she only allowed him the opportunity to turn back to her from his posing to the jury.

“In the rectory…on the days when the cleaning lady was off. In his bedroom. He made me perform oral sex on him.”

“Move to strike, your honor; assumes facts not in evidence!”

“You asked the question. Move on.”

“So you expect us to believe that after all these years you’ve come forward to see this poor old man to answer for some offense you have yet to prove? Please, Mrs. Seraphino.

“I’m not trying to prove anything sir. I’m merely testifying to what I remember in response to your question. I don’t know how else I can answer it other than that while I served as an acolyte as a child he molested me in the rectory. I’m sorry if that doesn’t answer your question, but it’s the best I can do.”

The man turned his back to her and took in a deep breath. Looking at the old man sitting at the defense table, he took note of the expression that revealed resignation. Hoping to salvage whatever he could, he turned once again to Kate. She wore a smile that simply reflected a calm courage. No matter what the outcome of the trial, she had withstood more than mere questions, but also the barrage of shame that had buffeted her heart from childhood. No verdict could ever take away nor add to the victory she had already enjoyed. That smile completely disarmed the man and he spoke weakly one last time,

“No further questions.”

The verdict came back after five days of deliberation. Guilty of most of the charges of sexual abuse. Of course, there would be no verdict on behalf of Mrs. Kathryn Seraphino; at least not in a court of law. After years of misplaced shame, Kate was able to come to grips with how things fit together and how she was unjustly accused by her own past. And at last? In her own eyes, which reflected the love and acceptance of her husband and her friends, Kate was finally free to judge herself not guilty.

Next: Antoinette's Appointment

O Holy Night
Words by J.S. Dwight
Music by Adolph C. Adam
Arranged by Tedd T. and Rebecca St. James
as performed by
Miss Rebecca St. James

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From Cheryl’s Story

“We’re gonna get through this just like we got through everything else, okay. You’re the best mother anyone could ever hope for; I am confident that you can raise another daughter, even if it is a challenge, mom.” She walked around to where Nate sat.

“Hi…my name is Janey, but you already know that. What’s your name?” Nate looked up at her in embarrassment.

“No sister of mine is going to be ashamed of who she is…ever, okay.” She was crying; mostly out of frustration, but some from relief as she saw that her feelings about her sibling…feelings she had kept to herself for nearly six years…were true.

“What’s your name, sis?” She still was crying, but she had grown calmer and her voice almost echoed the quiet welcoming tone of her mother.

“Ssshhhh…Cheryl?” Nate practically sobbed.

“Hmmm…just a second.” She ran to the bookshelf in the living room and quickly returned, leafing through a paperback.

“Cheryl…from the French…’Darling,’” She read as she stepped next to her brother once again.

“It suits you…and Nate…not Nathaniel, but Nate…how about Natalia…like the lady on CSI:Miami…
’New Birth!’” She smiled at the figure before her and then turned to her mother.

“Well…let’s just think about things…nothing has been decided yet, okay?”

"Oooo...oh...kay." Both siblings looked disappointed until they saw the smile on their mother's face and knew...everything had been decided.

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London Regional Cancer Program, London, Ontario
Christmas Day...several years later...

“Miss?” The nurse waved at the woman as she walked by the desk.

“Yes?” A quiet voice; her tone was subdued more from the moment, but she was a very quiet girl. She stepped closer.

“Are you Cheryl Laska?”

“Y…yes.” She feared the worst and her face showed it.

“Oh, gosh, no… You had a call? Your partner…” The nurse looked away, embarrassed.

“Yes?”

“She said she was stuck in Ottawa? Something about a deadline. She said she would be here a little late.” The nurse smiled pleasantly and then grinned.

“What?”

“We...we don’t get many of you folks here…” The woman’s face reddened. Cheryl put her head down; imagining god knows what until the woman finished.

“Oh…sorry… Senator Fans.” She laughed and pointed to her own left hand.

“I’m sorry…that sounded horrible. “ She smiled and held her hand up.

“Nancy and I have been together for seventeen years. Isn’t love grand?”

Yes it is, Cheryl thought, if you actually have it. She sighed and nodded before walking down to the room at the end of the ward.

“Cherie….” The woman in the bed gasped but smiled a broad beaming grin. An endearment they shared since childhood. Cheryl hurried quickly to the bedside and leaned close; kissing her sister on the forehead. Hot. She could never remember whether that was a good sign or not, which led to her feeling guilty over forgetting. Janey grabbed her left hand and held hit to her cheek.

“Just keep it here for a bit and don’t worry about the fever, okay?” Janey seemed to be handling things well; she always was the stronger of the two. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Janey’s strength, there might never have been a Cheryl in the first place.

“You’re looking brighter today,” Cheryl said; her head was turned away, but it didn’t fool Janey one bit.

“No, honey, I’m not. And we have to face that. You know, Mommy stopped by today…this morning…before breakfast.” She blew out a very labored breath but the smile on her face indicated a peace that pushed all the pain aside.

“Wha…what did she say?” Cheryl cringed; whatever her mother had to say, it couldn’t have been good. She felt a squeeze on her hand.

“She needed to tell me to pass something on to you.” Another cringe; it was almost more than Cheryl could bear as she waited to hear the words. A rebuke? No….Mommy was never like that. A scolding perhaps?

“I don’t know what is gonna happen next, Cheri, but you need to do whatever it takes. She’s worried about you.” Janey tried to smile, but the thought of her sister’s pain made her tear up. Ironic that both she and her mother cared more about Cheryl than Cheryl did.

“What’s to worry about, sis? I’m fine.” That word alone was enough to get Janey to frown; almost angry.

“Dammit, Cheryl…you’re not fine at all.” She shook her head; the effort alone sent a shock through her neck and head and she gasped out a painful cry. Cheryl bit her lip; stubborn was one thing, but she felt guilty even about the ever-increasing pain that spread over Janey like a thick blanket; smothering the life out of her. She leaned over the railing of the bed and softly held her sister; fearing even that much contact would be too much for Janey to bear.

“I’m so sorry.” Tears flowed down both faces, but for each other and not themselves. Janey touched Cheryl’s cheek, feeling the essence of the love they shared. She shook her head no, once again sending a shock of pain through her head. She gasped once and then began coughing enough to shake the bed. A moment later the coughing subsided.

“Cher….let it go… you have to let her in. She loves you. And besides…Mommy says you have to, so there.” She stuck her tongue out playfully. That was the end-all for any argument the girls ever had; ‘Mommy says.’ Cheryl fell back down into the seat next to the bed and began to sob.

“Shhhh….shhhh.” She felt Janey squeeze her hand once again; the soft whispers were labored but sweet, making it that much harder for her to stop crying.

“Beeee Goood” Janey made a valiant attempt at an ET imitation, causing Cheryl to laugh a bit; she practically snuffled and ended up wiping her nose with the sleeve of her blouse. It would have been enough, since the two loved the movie, and shared moments like this when it came to mind. But Janey went further, and it really set the stage for the rest of the visit…the rest of Cheryl’s life, for that matter. Janey reached over and touched Cheryl’s forehead with her index finger; the gesture alone set Cheryl to begin crying once again, but the words that followed led to a floodgate of tears as Janey spoke.

“I’ll be right here.” She didn’t say it in the silly nasally tones of the ET character, but as herself. It was not time yet, but nearly so, and the words pierced Cheryl’s heart. A peace came over her even in the midst of impending and current grief; that maybe...just maybe... everything would befine, to use her own word. A moment later the mood was interrupted by a sharp knock on the open door.

“Hi…sorry I’m late.” The two looked to the doorway to see Cheryl’s partner Lori. Janey raised her head a bit and smiled a welcoming smile while Cheryl turned away. As Lori stepped into the room, Cheryl stood up.

“Here…you can sit here. I’ve got to make a call.” She started walking toward the door; the call was important, but it could have waited. As she reached the doorway she turned absentmindedly again toward Lori and Janey.

“Mommy says you have to!” Janey smiled again before turning to Lori to greet her as Cheryl walked out.

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“I don’t know what I can do to reach you?” Almost a question, but more of a plea; Lori looked away, trying desperately to find words that would help.

“Mommy says I have to.” Cheryl half-frowned and blinked back tears in a vain effort to stop crying. Lori reached over and put her hand on Cheryl’s wrist.

“Mommy says? Have to what?”

“Mommy says I have to let you in. Janey talked with her today.” Lori’s eyes widened.

“I’m…I don’t think she’s got much time.” Cheryl put her head down on Lori’s arm and began to sob. A nurse sitting at the table next to them went to stand up but Lori put her hand up in caution; smiling and nodding thank you.

“Because your Mom talked to her?” Another statement. Cheryl nodded. A second later she raised her head.

“She’s so pale…so weak. I don’t know what I’ll do without her.” At the words ‘without her,’ Cheryl’s eyes widened in sad resignation of what she had just said and she gasped, trying desperately to stifle yet another sob. Lori wanted to tell her that she knew exactly what Cheryl would do, but any offer of support at that point probably would be lost. At that point fate or perhaps the touch of God took over as Cheryl heard someone speak from behind.

“Let her in.”

The familiar voice washed over her like a wave of peace as Cheryl felt her mother’s presence. That approving smile and warm hug surrounded her as the words reassured her and answered that simple prayer she had just spoken. What would she do without Janey? She turned around and saw that no one stood behind or next to her. Turning back again, she saw Lori’s face; awash with her own tears but with the most welcoming smile Cheryl had ever seen.

“I don’t want…I can’t…” None of the arguments she had prepared escaped her lips.

“I know….but I’m not going anywhere, okay?” Lori touched Cheryl’s face and bit her lip in frustration.

“I….know. I think that’s what….why Mommy spoke to Janey. Why she….” Cheryl swallowed hard before continuing.

“She just spoke to me…Lor….I’m….I’m so scared. It’s so…so hard.”

“I know, Cheri….I know. But like I said…I’m not going anywhere.” No words could assure Cheryl that Lori would live forever or at least merely outlive her, but that’s not what Cheryl needed to know anyway. And if the tears weren’t enough to convince Cheryl of Lori’s intentions, her next action did. She leaned closer and began kissing Cheryl’s face. It wasn’t a sensual moment even if it involved so many senses.

“I love you.” The spoken word… sound. Lori followed that by kissing Cheryl’s eyelids…. touch. Cheryl breathed in a deep sigh, taking in along with the precious air the aroma of Lori’s cologne. Smell. Lori’s tears mixed with Cheryl’s and flowed into the slight part in Cheryl’s lips… taste. And the absolutely unconditional love that radiated from Lori’s eyes…. sight.

And the few folks in the cafeteria seemed to understand the moment; how sacred and needful it was. Perhaps just like other moments at other times with other folks; it was a place of transition in a way and they seemed to almost welcome scenes like the one that had just played out beautifully before their eyes.

---

“I’m sorry. She passed only a few moments ago.”

The nurse put her hand on Cheryl’s shoulder. A look of disappointment crossed Cheryl’s face only to be replaced by grief and sadness. But a moment later, she breathed out before being pulled into a comforting embrace as Lori hugged her and patted her back. The two stared at the silent figure lying in the bed before them. Janey had a look about her that could only be described as utter bliss; that transcendent peace that some of us only dream about. And if you looked at Lori and Cheryl, you would have seen the exact same peace.

Next: Kate's Courage

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Silent Night
Music by Franz Gruber
English Lyrics by
John Freeman Young
as performed by
Miss Taylor Swift

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From Tony’s Story…

“Honey…Chris and I have something we need to tell you.” Carla walked over to the bed and sat down. The child in the bed still wore boy’s pajamas, but it made no difference to Carla and Chris.

“Toni?” She turned and her face grew sad as she heard the familiar sound of her own name…...his name…until Chris continued.

“Honey…I know…Antoinette Amelia…I married your mother and she made me the happiest man on earth. I can’t take your Dad’s place, but I want to try to be a part of his daughter’s life…Okay?” He smiled and grasped her hand, bringing it together with Carla’s as the family came together for the first time.

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Downtown Arlington… a few years later….the week before Christmas…

“Are you sure? I’m not familiar with the procedure, Toni.” Carla said. Chris pulled the car up to the curb and parked, but kept the motor running.

“It’s okay, hon. She’s going to be fine. Her meeting can’t last all that long, and it’s probably better that she go this alone.” Chris smiled at his wife and turned around to face his daughter.

“So the plan is for us to circle around the block about seventeen times or so…” His voice trailed off as his smile widened, causing the girl to grin ever so slightly.

“Or you could drive home and I’ll just catch a movie and crash at the Hilton, okay?” She leaned forward and kissed her father’s cheek.

“You’re the best….you know it?” He half-smiled and got a bit misty; pleasantries came easy for her and difficult for him to receive even though he’d been her Dad already for a few years. Carla slipped off her seat belt and leaned between the two seats, hugging Toni.

“I’ll be okay, Mom. You’re praying and dad here is praying, and somewhere Daddy is looking down on us all.” It took only a short while for Toni to get used to calling her step-father ‘dad,’ and it was all good, since somehow her father had almost known his end would come and that Chris was the best person to take care of his family. What Chris marveled at was that Tony knew that his family would be just right for his best friend.

“Wish me luck!” She said as she hopped out of the mini-van. She was dressed in a black jacket and charcoal slacks. Her white blouse peaked out from beneath the jacket; very professional if subdued. She waved and walked toward the entrance.

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“You’re right on time. I like that.” The man smiled and stood. He was dressed in shirt and tie; his jacket draped over the back of his chair. The man looked to be about the same age as her parents; perhaps odd for such an important position, but he looked the ‘part’ as well.

“Let’s get right down to it, shall we? What makes you see yourself as qualified for this responsibility? It’s never easy by anyone’s estimation, but this is going to set a few folks on their ears, you know?” The man almost smirked, but the expression seemed to be intended for someone somewhere else.

“That’s just it, sir. I’m not quite sure that I’m qualified. I’m just hoping that you might find me acceptable.”

“Funny word to use, young lady.” He shook his head, but his expression turned to a welcoming smile; not quite grand-fatherly but more like a kind uncle or older cousin.

“I’m in no position to demand anything, nor should I. I’m just glad for the opportunity to present myself.”

“That seems a bit timid. In the situation you seek to gain, timidity has no place. Serious consequences can arise from being shy, young lady.” He said the words ‘young lady’ as if they were a detriment, but it really was more like he was provoking her to take charge.

“My dad….Daddy told me to be honest, but also be humble, sir. I’m trying to balance that with the need to speak plainly. I hope that I can be candid without seeming presumptuous.” He looked at her askance and she continued, as if she was answering the question he was bound to ask next.

“I know that this opportunity is unique, sir, and that it hasn’t been met with the approval others may have anticipated.”

“That’s very diplomatic; while I am perfectly happy to entertain new ideas and suggestions from others, I’m not terribly comfortable with folks who have a motive in their request. As such, I am treating it just as that; a request and nothing else…. You see my dilemma?”

“Yes sir. You would have been glad to offer this opportunity to someone such as I, but they beat you to it, and it now has been portrayed as someone else’ idea.”

“You should be quite comfortable dealing with the folks who make demands and have unspoken or un realistic expectations. From what I recall, it’s something you’ve got to be good at if you want to get ahead. I couldn’t, so I moved sideways; an arrangement I hope proved beneficial for you as well.

“Sir, I cannot express my gratitude enough.”

“So then, tell me why you want this opportunity. What qualifies you besides your academic achievements? It’s so much more than anything on the other side of the fence, so to speak.”

“I just want to do my dad…my parents proud.” She hesitated. It was hard to speak of both her father and step-father to a stranger. Not that she wasn’t proud, but that both of them had such a profound effect on her in different ways.

“Well, I imagine you have, but everyone else does as well. Where you’re going, you’ll have to be…what did they use to say? Oh yes… twice as good as any man…maybe three times, since you’ll be coming at it from an entirely new perspective.”

“I can only hope to be half the person my …” She paused and backed off a bit; lost almost in thought.

“Go on…”

“My step-father has given me the love and support that my father did and would have if he survived. And of course my mom has always been in my corner.”

“Why do you bring that up?”

“I guess …I needed to let you know where I came from… the strong roots of understanding and compassion. I know that’s not what they preach in the brochure, but…”

“Oh, I know that it doesn’t say it, but everyone I know who has ever sat in that chair across from me or my predecessors found that those qualities were very much a part of the type of person we look for. And I’m quite confident that you’ll fit in just fine.”

“I’m…I’m not following you, sir.” Toni tried to look at him directly, but she felt very incapable and ill-equipped.

“Ms. D’Artale. I was convinced of your qualifications when I read the essay you wrote in request. The absolute conviction of who you are and what you stand for…what this country stands for. It came through, as they say, loud and clear. I have to caution you, though.” His face grew almost stern and his tone changed to serious. She put her head down slightly.

“Sir?” The voice was only just a bit timid, and her face was only just a small degree downcast.

“I don’t really care for sweet tea.”

“Sir?”

“Oh….it’s what so many of the restaurants around here have. I was thinking more Thai. There’s a really nice Vietnamese place on Wilson Boulevard that you and your parents might enjoy.

“Sir?”

“The interview for all intents and purposes is concluded. You and your parents are to be my guests for lunch. I don’t really like eating alone.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you. You’ve done more than enough.”

“Perhaps, but like I said…I don’t like eating alone. My wife is at some conference and I won’t be seeing her until Christmas Eve. And besides, I’m very hungry. These interviews always work up an appetite, you know?” He smiled and tilted his head, smiling a kind cousin-uncle-brother smile once again.

“Toni? May I call you Toni, Ms. D’Artale? Or should I say Midshipman D’Artale?” The thought of being the first transgendered appointee to the United States Naval Academy wasn't lost on her, but it was a huge responsibility, nonetheless; perhaps too huge? She put her head down slightly, overwhelmed by the moment, but it wasn’t finished.

“I knew your Dad… Chris…. We got to know each other just before I left the service. I was never really good at taking orders… And I knew Tony as well.” Hearing her father’s name almost pushed her over the soft acceptable edge.

“Both of them are as fine as they come… Your Daddy and I were friends in high school. And your Dad Chris is the one who urged me to set my sights a tad higher than I had ever imagined.” It was a lovely moment but for the anxious look on Toni’s face. He noted it and put his hand up in caution.

“Oh, Damn…. Sorry. Listen. I make a habit of reading essays without looking at the names; helps me be a bit more objective. Maybe a bit unorthodox as well, but it’s like I knew you were your father’s daughter even before I knew who your Daddy was. And when I read the name, it just fit. Especially since I already knew that Chris had married your mom. Sounds odd, I know.” She looked at him and smile; she didn’t understand it, but she accepted his explanation. He helped make it harder a second later, but it was in such a sweet way that she would remember the words for the rest of her life.

“Your Daddy used to talk about you…when you were a baby. Never said a word that didn’t indicate pleasure or pride. And I like to think that if he were here today, he’d not only be pleased, but as proud as any father could be. But your dad…I know he’s a step-dad, but it’s like you’ve gained his legacy as well. This may sound odd, but it’s original and it’s mine, so write this down.” She looked at him and he smiled. Reaching back to his desk, he grabbed a pen and a small pad and thrust it into her hands.

“Oh I’m serious. Write this down, okay?” She nodded and put the pen to paper as he said finally,

“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Even if it came from two different orchards.” He smiled as he walked back to his desk to retrieve his jacket.

“Now what do you say? Portuguese or Burmese?”

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Times-Union, December 29
LtCDR. and Mrs. Chris Davidson of Virginia Beach, Virginia are pleased to announce that their daughter Antoinette Amelia D’Artale has been accepted as a first year student at the United States Naval Academy in Annapolis Maryland for the fall semester. Ms. D’Artale is the daughter of the late Commander Anthony James D’Artale. Ms. D’Artale was sponsored by Sen. Vincent O’Reilly of Arlington, Virginia.

And Finally: Cindy's Song

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There's a Place for Us
From the Motion Picture
Voyage of the Dawn Treader
Words and Music by
Carrie Underwood, David Hodges
and Hillary Lindsey
As performed by Carrie Underwood