Kim EM
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EXPO Summer
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EXPO Summer -1- From the Depths of Despair
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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. If you're reading this and you disagree, maybe you have a guilty conscience about what happened thirty-four years ago.
The story may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to
legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. Email me at [email protected] Other stories are available at WWW.KimEM.net
I'm not sure that what follows will be easy to read. God knows, it was hard to write.
This part of the story is dedicated to John McBride, Tim O'Donnell, and Jim Pendergast, without whom this would not have been necessary. Oh, yes, please sue me. Please.
When did it start? You might say in 1954, when I was conceived, or 1955, when I was born. In the years following, as I developed, so did my understanding that there was a problem, but it really wasn't until I was eleven, in 1967, that all hell broke loose.
It was early June, the day after I was finally out of school. Sixth grade was over. Finally. I was home, recovering from my send-off the day before.
I lived in a small town in northern Indiana, right on Lake Michigan, about 60 miles from Chicago. My parent's house was only four blocks from the lake, which was kind of neat. The school I went to, a Catholic school that will remain nameless, was four blocks away in the other direction. In between was a pretty-much deserted area where a developer was draining a swamp to build a new subdivision. That's a no-no today, but back then it was pretty much standard.
On the last day of school, when the final bell rang and the teacher dismissed the class, most of the boys took off like rockets, happy to be free for the summer. I didn't really want to head out with them, so I took my time gathering up my stuff.
I started for home, taking my time so there wouldn't be any chance of my catching up to them... even the girls from the class were out in front. When I passed through the construction site I suddenly felt my books pulled from my arm by someone who had come up from behind. It was Tom McAddams, my biggest tormentor. We'd briefly been friends back in third grade, when he'd joined the school, but he rapidly distanced himself once he learned how the other kids treated me.
When I felt the books leave my arm, I spun around, only to find myself suddenly on the ground, flat on my back. "Look at the little sissy now!" exalted Tom.
I started to sit up, only to have him leap at me, pushing me back to the ground, and punching me hard in the gut, hard enough to leave me without any air. Laughter came from all around. I was surrounded... Tom's buddies, the kids who my parents thought were my friends, were all around me, laughing their heads off. Tom kept hitting me, over and over, calling me names all the while. I tried to push him off, but I couldn't budge him.
As he climbed off me, I lay there bleeding, curled into a ball, bawling my eyes out.
I knew what was wrong. The other kids in school could see it. My parents, blessedly, were clueless. I had no idea what to do. I had no idea that anything could be done.
I sat there, on the back porch, thinking about it. What could I do? This couldn't go on. My life was already hell, and it promised to only get worse. I couldn't run away. I was smart enough to realize that I had no place to go, and no way to support myself even if I did think of a place. There were some fleeting thoughts of ending the pain by killing myself, but I was raised Catholic and, well, let's just say that wasn't an option.
My mom came out to the porch and saw me hunched over, lost in thought. She sat next to me and took me into her arms, and I melted into her, tears starting again at the thought that I was trapped in the wrong life, and there was nothing I could do about it.
She held me in a fierce hug and told me "Shhh. It's all right. Your dad and I won't let them hurt you again."
I clutched her, sobbing. "I can't go back there. They'll do it again and again." Panic rose in my voice. "It won't stop until they kill me!"
Mom took me by the chin and turned my face up. She looked me in the eyes and said firmly, "That's not going to happen. You have to trust us. We're not going to let them hurt you ever again."
"How? What can you do about it?"
"Your father is down at the police station now, meeting with their parents. Everything will be okay."
I sniffed a few times and pulled away a few inches. "Mom, it will never be okay. Even if they never touch me again, do you think anyone in school will ever have anything to do with me again?"
She sighed, looking out into the yard. "The truth? I don't know. All I can tell you is that you're our only son and your dad and I are going to protect you."
*Only son. Great.*
I slumped back down in the chair, trying to work up the nerve to start what I thought would be my last conversation of this life. Mom sat there, watching me, seeing that I was still upset. "Mom, I... can you... I'm sorry, can I have a few minutes to think about some things?"
Mom slowly rose to her feet, looking worried. "Are you going to be all right?"
I laughed, what must have been a bitter-sounding bark. "I'll be okay. I just need to think things over."
She turned and went into the house, leaving me to sit there and brood. I knew that it was the time to tell her the truth, but I had no idea where to begin. The truth would kill both my parents. I was their only son... rather, their only child. They had been married since 1940, but had been unable to have children. After years of trying they finally gave up, and they adopted me as an infant in 1955. I knew I was lucky in being theirs, and I hoped they felt the same way about me, but I knew that once I told them my secret they would be ready to send me away.
How could I do this to them? I had to do something, though. The day before, when I'd dragged myself home, I told them what had happened, but when they asked why I'd been beaten, I lied and told them I didn't know why. Even when they pressed me, and later, when asked at the emergency room, I kept saying that I had no idea, that there had been no reason.
That might not hold up, though. The other kids had figured out that there was something different about me, and someone might have figured it all out. They'd figured out enough to treat me like an outcast, enough to make them want to beat me up when they thought they could get away with it. From what Tom had screamed while beating me, he might know. And he might have told his parents, and they might be telling my dad right now.
I didn't know how, but I was going to have to tell my mom. I didn't know if either one of us was going to be able to handle it, but I didn't see any choice.
I go up slowly, painfully, and went into the house. Mom was sitting in the living room, a book face-down on her lap as she stared out the window. I could tell she had been crying, her eyes red and a crumpled hankie in her hand.
I sat facing her, and quietly asked "Mom? Are you okay?"
She pulled her attention back into the room, and smiled wistfully at the book in her lap. It was an old, battered copy of Dr. Spock's book on baby and child care. "I've used this book since we got you, but it doesn't seem to have much useful to say about this."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause so much trouble"
Mom got a fierce look, one that I'd never seen before. "None of this is your fault. They are picking on you. You can't be blamed for what they do."
I sighed. "I hope not."
Silence, as we looked at each other.
"Mom, I had a question. I know this sounds kind of dumb, but what's the difference between boys and girls?"
Mom kept looking at me as I stared at my lap. I think the question caught her completely off guard.
"That's, well, I'm not sure you're old enough for that yet."
"Mom! I'm not talking about their bodies. I've been to the library often enough. I know what people's bodies look like."
Mom squared off her shoulders a bit. "I really don't think you're old enough for the other part... and when you are, I think you should talk with your father."
This was going to be harder than I thought. I don't think mom had any idea what I was getting at. "No, Mom. I'm not talking about sex."
"Then what?"
"When a baby is born, who decides whether the baby is a boy or girl?"
I could tell that mom was really puzzled now. She didn't know where this was leading. I wasn't in much better shape. She tried, though; I'll give her that much credit. "God does, Honey. Before the baby is born, He decides whether it will be a boy or girl."
"Does He ever make mistakes?"
"Is this something they told you about in school?"
I returned to staring at my lap. It was getting close to the moment of truth, and I didn't know if I could do it. I had to tell her but I couldn't. The silence grew. Mom threw me a questioning look. "Honey?"
I drew in a big breath. "I was... I was supposed to be a girl."
No screams. No sobbing. No sound of a body hitting the floor. I raised my head to look at Mom. She just sat there, mouth open, staring.
"Mom?"
No reaction.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
"I... I don't think I heard you right. It sounded like you said that you were supposed to be a girl."
*I don't believe this. I finally get it out, and she's trying to give me a way to back out!* "I did. Mom, I'm really sorry, but I have to tell you the truth. I know my body's a boy's, but I'm really a girl."
I did it. I finally worked up the nerve to tell Mom the truth. I could hardly believe it. I was shaking and scared, but I'd told her. I just hoped I could handle the consequences. But nothing happened then. Mom just sat there, silently, looking at me. What she was going through, I knew she had to be hurting and angry. The explosion was coming, I knew that. It was just a question of when it would come, and what kind of fallout there would be.
It never came.
Very quietly, very gently she asked me "How long have you felt like this?"
"I think I always have. When I was little I didn't really know the difference, but as I got older, I knew I wasn't a boy. I just couldn't tell you and Dad. I didn't want you to hate me."
Mom lunged at me, and I flinched away, but she scooped me into her arms and held on tight. "Oh Honey, Honey, we could never hate you. We love you and you'll always be ours."
I held her at least as tightly as she held me, and we both started crying. After a while the tears ended, and we just held each other.
After a while we split, and went silently to different areas. Mom went down to the rec room, I suppose to sit and think. I went upstairs to my bedroom, to lay down and think. I don't think I got much thinking done, though. The next I knew the shadows were long and Mom was sitting on the bed, looking sadly down at me.
"Mom? Are you mad at me?"
She reached down and gently stroked my forehead. "No, Honey, I'm not mad. I can't pretend I understand this, but I'm not mad at you."
"What about Dad?", I quivered.
"I don't think your father will be angry. It's going to take a bit for him to accept, but I'm sure he will once he understands."
"Are you disappointed in me? I don't want you to be sorry that you got me. I love you and I... I..." I couldn't go on, and curled up into my pillow, sobbing.
Mom sat there, leaning down and trying her best to comfort me. From downstairs, I could dimly hear the back door slide open, then closed, and I knew the hardest part was upon me. Dad jauntily called out, "I know you're here somewhere, your car is in the driveway."
Mom got up and went to the bedroom door. "We're up here."
Dad's voice took on a worried note. "Is everything okay? Do you want me to stay down here for a while?"
"No, I think you should come up. We all need to talk."
I could hear him hustle up the steps. When he came into the room he took one look at me and moved right to the bed and sat down, leaned over, and took my crying form in his arms. "Don't worry, it's over. I had a long talk with their parents. It's not going to happen again."
Dad seemed a bit surprised when I didn't react to this news. He turned me in his arms so I was facing him, and as I looked into his concerned face, I burst into a new round of tears. He looked up at Mom. "Am I missing something?"
She nodded silently. He looked back to me, reached out and gently took me by the chin. "What's wrong? It can't be all that bad." He looked back at Mom. "Can it? He wasn't crying this badly when he came home last night."
"He's frightened. He had something to say today that scared him a lot."
"What? Is he in some other kind of trouble?"
"It's.. He's.. I think he needs to tell you himself."
They both turned back to me. I stared helplessly up at Dad, then at Mom. "I can't. It's... ". I burst into tears again. Sobbing, I tried to continue. "I'm sorry. I'm bad... a bad person. I'm a..." and that's as far as I got before I completely dissolved into hysterical tears.
Mom took a seat by my side, opposite Dad. Soothingly she leaned over me, once again stroking my forehead. "It's okay. You just rest for a bit, and then we can talk." While I tried to calm down, Mom looked up at Dad. "He's been just this side of hysterical all afternoon. There's been a... problem, and the attack brought it out in the open."
"He's not sick, is he? Do we need to call the doctor?"
Mom smiled sadly. "Um... well, yes. But it's not an emergency. And I'm not sure it's anything Doctor Harding is qualified to handle."
"Then what...?"
"Dad," I managed to croak out, "It's not like that... I'm really sorry. I wanted you to be proud of me...." My throat caught up again, and I fell silent. Dad was looking more and more puzzled, and starting to get a bit peeved.
Mom reached out and took Dad's hand. "It's okay. He'll tell you as soon as he's able."
I started laughing painfully. "He'll... He's..."
Dad was really starting to look baffled.
Mom tried to help out. "I told you, he's on the edge of being hysterical."
"But you know what the problem is?"
"Yes. I got him to tell me this afternoon."
"SOMEONE needs to tell me what's going on!" Dad was starting to look a bit hysterical himself.
"I'm... Oh, hell."
"Billy!"
"Couldn't I just go on hiding it from you?" I sniffled as I tried to make a joke. Okay, it was feeble, but I think I was starting to get cried out.
Mom tried to help again. "He's afraid that we won't love him any more."
"It can't be _that_ bad. Billy, It doesn't matter what it is, your mother and I love you. We've told you how much we wanted a child, and how much it meant to us to get you. We couldn't love you any more than we do if... well, we couldn't."
"Dad, did you just want a boy, or did it matter to you if you got a boy or a girl?"
"We would have been happy with either, but we were delighted to get you."
*Sigh* "Dad, you don't have any brothers, and I don't, and you've told me a lot of times that you're counting on me to carry on the family name."
I think a light must have come on at that point, even if the wrong one, because his eyes widened just a bit. "Billy, are you... do you like other boys?"
I sniffed a bit, but kept myself from crying. "It would be easier if I did."
"Then _what_?"
"Dad, I don't know a good way to tell you... I'm sorry... but... I'm a girl." I hung my head and stared at the bedsheets.
Dad looked blankly at Mom. "Do you have any idea what he's talking about?"
I started crying silently. Mom nodded at Dad, and said "Let's go downstairs and talk. I think Billy needs some rest." She helped me back to a comfortable position and told me "Now you go to sleep and everything will look better in the morning."
She and Dad quietly went out into the hall and turned out the light. I know I was supposed to sleep, but I just lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to the murmur of voices from downstairs.
I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next I remember I was stretching in the sunlight, thinking that I wasn't as sore from the beating. The beating. *Shit.* I told them both my secret. Now my life was over.
I lay there for a while, and finally decided it was time to face the music. I padded down the hall to the bathroom and took care of what I had to. Coming out of the bathroom, I peeked into Mom and Dad's room, and they were still in bed. Dad sleepily rolled over and looked at me, and then asked, "Do you want to climb in with us?"
I rolled right over Dad into the pocket in the middle, where I'd get cuddled from both sides.
Mom was still waking up, so I faced Dad and quaveringly asked, "You don't hate me?"
Dad looked at me, and gave me a bearhug, a tear running down his cheek. "I'll never hate you. You're our child. Son. Daughter. Whatever. You're our only child." I was in shock. Never, I mean _never_ had I seen Dad cry.
"Dad, what do I do now? My body is a boy's, and I'll grow up into a man. I can't. I just can't."
Mom's voice came from behind me. "Monday I'm taking you to see Doctor Harding. I'm sure he will be running some tests. We have to find out what's right for you."
"What's right?"
"Maybe you need to become a girl. But maybe you're just confused about what you should be. The doctor will know how to tell."
The rest of the weekend was a bit strained.
This was not going well. The first thing Monday morning, Mom had called and managed to get an emergency appointment with the doctor. I suppose she used the beating as a pretext. Once we were in to see the doctor, and Mom had started to explain, he could barely contain his laughter. "He thinks he's WHAT?"
At that point, Mom turned and asked me to go out to the waiting room. I went.
I could see it already. The doctor didn't know about these things, didn't want to, and would tell my parents to ignore it. I waited, and waited. Fifteen minutes, half an hour, forty-five minutes. I just sat there, getting more and more wound up, staring at the clock and waiting.
Finally Mom came out, tight-lipped, and collected me in the waiting room. She silently escorted me to the car, and we headed for home. I tried a few times what the doctor had said, but she remained silent and stone-faced. It only took about fifteen minutes to get home, but they were fifteen of the longest minutes of my short life.
Once home, I headed up to my room and buried my head in the pillow. I could hear Mom downstairs, talking angrily on the phone. The call ended abruptly, and then there was silence.
I lay there, thinking. I didn't know for sure what the doctor has said, but I had a pretty good idea. And Mom had come out of there as angry as I'd ever seen her. What I couldn't tell is whether she was mad at me or the doctor.
If he's messed things up, convinced her that it was nothing, I didn't know what to do. I wasn't going to grow up to be a man, I knew that for sure. If it came to that, I'd rather die first. But I couldn't kill myself. I'd grown up in a Catholic household, gone all my life to a Catholic school, and firmly believed that people who killed themselves were headed straight to hell. So that was out. But what other choices did I have?
To stay, made to act the role of man for the rest of my life, I couldn't face that. I could run away, but there was no place I could go. And even if I did run away, that wouldn't stop me from growing up into a life I detested.
What _could_ I do? There were no options left to me. I couldn't let nature take it's course, and there was nothing I could do to change it. As I lay there I grew angrier and angrier at fate for putting me in this position. Could I convince my parents to forget about the doctor and let me become a girl? And if I could do that, how could I prevent my growing up from changing me?
*Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn. Damn.*
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear Dad downstairs. He must have set a new speed record coming from his office. He and Mom were talking, and the talk was getting louder.
"He's a small-town doctor and doesn't have any experience with this!"
"Doctor Harding has been our doctor since we married. He's the one that was able to pull strings to let us get Billy. Now you want to ignore him? He knows a damned sight more about this than either of us do." Dad was certainly sounding worked up.
"You didn't hear him _laugh_ at Billy. He wasn't acting like a doctor. He was acting like an as.. jerk! I don't know whether Billy is right about being a girl, but _NO_ doctor is going to laugh at him when we go looking for help!"
*Way to go, Mom*
"He's our doctor and the least we owe him is to try his advice. If that doesn't work, then next year we can look at doing something else."
*Uh Oh.* I had the feeling I'd better get involved before it was too late. I started down the stairs at double-time.
Mom didn't like this any more than I did. "Next year?"
"Could someone explain to _me_ what the doctor said?" I stood in the doorway, tense with anger.
Dad stepped right in. "You're only eleven years old, and I don't think you'd understand."
"Try me. You know I'm ahead of where I should be in school, and I practically live at the library. I think I'll understand a lot more than you think."
Mom looked at me for a long moment and then turned back to Dad. "He might be right. You remember those tests that the school asked permission to run last fall? Did you ever look at the results?"
Dad looked blank for a moment. "Um.. I remember signing the permission, but I didn't know we got any results."
Mom sighed. "We did. I got a full copy of the report from the sister." She turned to me. "Honey, why don't you sit down. You can hear this, but I don't want you to get any wrong ideas."
"Who, me? Wrong ideas?" *This should be interesting*
"The school said the tests were for a college student to get some practice in test administration. It was actually a means for the school to try and get some idea why Billy wasn't fitting in with the other students. What it showed... well, he gets top grades in subjects that interest him, and barely passes the rest. It's not a problem with intelligence. According to the results, his IQ is 141, which is borderline genius. At least, it's a lot higher than either of us." Mom laughed ruefully. "He scored at the top of the charts in the verbal scores, but only marginally above average in the math scores. In the personality scores, he ranked low in aggression and competition, and high in problem-solving."
"What does that all mean, Mom?"
"It means that I think you'll be able to understand what the doctor had to say, and what it means."
Dad grumbled, "I don't think this is a good idea."
Mom sat facing me, and gently started. "The doctor doesn't think you have a problem. He says it's just a phase, probably brought on by something you saw on television. He wants us to have you join the Boy Scouts, and to enroll you in sports...."
I was on my feet in a flash. "I am _not_ going to be a _BOY_ scout, and there's no way in hell I'm going to get into any sports. That's just a quick way to get me killed!"
Dad was on me instantly. "Billy! I don't want to hear language like that from you."
I smiled tightly at him. "I'm sorry, my language was unladylike." *Let's see how you like _that_.* "I know what I look like, but that's wrong. I. Am. Not. A. Boy. Trying to make me into one is just going to get me hurt. Why do you think I got beat up last week? Because the boys in class needed the exercise? _Hell_ no! They may not know what's wrong, but they can tell that I'm different. That makes me a target."
This time Dad didn't bother to complain. He was too busy thinking about what I'd just said.
"Dad, I know I'm only eleven. You and Mom have to make all the decisions. But I'm not a little kid any more. I don't have any friends. The closest I have in school is people who tolerate me. I've had to grow up fast, maybe too fast. And I know I'm not the same person on the inside as I am on the outside. I'm a freak. I know that, but I have to be what I am." I was starting to run out of steam. "Please don't force me to be someone else."
I sank back onto the sofa, as limp as a wet dishrag, starting to sniffle as the impact of what I'd just said hit me.
Dad and Mom sat there, looking silently at each other as they thought. Dad finally looked back at me and said, "I'm not going to force you into anything. But I can't forget what the doctor had to say. We're not going to do anything to feed your idea about being a girl until I'm convinced that it's the right thing to do."
*Crap. My life was over*
"But..."
"No buts. I feel like I'm making a mistake in not making you join the scouts... but I'll respect your fears. And I want you to think hard about what you want, and where you think you should be." I knew that tone of finality.
"Yes, Dad."
Things went on for a while, tense but fairly stable for about two weeks. Then one day Mom took me to the new mall with her. While she went off shopping, I was given some money and set loose in the Hall of Cards and Books. That was definitely my favorite store in the mall.
I was in hog heaven until I felt a hand at the back of my neck. I tried to turn, and when I saw who was there, I knew that this time I was really in trouble. Holding me was Tom McAddams, and behind him were his buddies Chris Libby, and John Truman. They swiftly surrounded me and pulled me out of the store. As I was half-dragged through the mall, there were a few glimpses of curiosity from the shoppers, but nobody thought enough of it to get involved.
I had a major lump in my throat, and though I tried to cry out, no sound emerged. They took me down a side passage and through some gray steel doors to the back area where the dumpsters sat.
Chris and John each took hold of an arm, while Tom stood in front of me, hands on hips, looking smug. "You little homo, do you know how much trouble you got us into? You should know by now that you can't get away with that. We're going to teach you a lesson, and this time you're not going to tell _anyone_ what happened!"
Tom took a backswing, and sank his fist deep into my gut.
I'm not going to recount the second beating. It was painful to live through, and I'd prefer to not dwell on it.
I woke up, on the asphalt between two dumpsters, and I knew right away that I had to get out of there. Not just away from the mall, but away from the town. I knew I was hurt bad, and if my parents saw me, they would know right away who had done it. If I went to the hospital, there was no way I could hide it from my parents. And then the trio would kill me for real.
I had to leave town. Now. With only the money in my pocket and the clothes on my back.
First, I found a water faucet near the dumpsters, and cleaned up the blood and dirt as best I could. Then I started the long and painful walk to the train station. I had ten dollars in my pocket, the money I'd been given to buy books. It would be enough for me to catch a train to Chicago, and once there, I would... um...
I had no idea.
I wasn't going to be able to grow up as a woman, and without that I had nothing to live for. But there was no way I was going to give the trio the satisfaction of killing me. I wasn't going to be able to kill myself, but, well, Chicago had some dangerous places. Maybe somebody would save me the trouble, and then it wouldn't mess up my chances for Heaven.
Okay, it's dumb. I was only eleven years old at the time, and as smart as I like to think I was, I really hadn't thought that through.
During the sixty-mile trip to Chicago, I stared out the window, and knew I was seeing the dunes for the last time. One way or another, within the next day I'd be dead.
Too soon, the train got to Chicago. The South Shore station was right on the lakefront, right downtown. I left the station, and headed into the loop. I had no idea where I was going, but it didn't really matter to me. A few blocks in, I came to the "L".
For those who don't know Chicago, the downtown "L" structure is in the shape of a huge rectangle, and marks the boundaries of the loop. Oh, and it's "L". The "el" is in New York. Chicagoans need something to be fussy about.
I saw the structure, and had the bright idea to take the CTA out of the loop, and maybe find some outlying area where I could find a mugger or something. Well, so it wasn't much of a plan.
Instead of the loop, though, I went down into the subway. Somehow it seemed darker, more dangerous. I hopped onto the next train heading out. It turned out to be heading north. I rode, and rode, and finally it emerged from the subway onto an elevated structure. After a few more miles, I realized that this was not working out. I got out at the next station. I looked west, and there was a big brick structure. Wrigley Field. I could hear the roar of the baseball fans, and turned the other way. I liked watching baseball, my only sports interest, but just then I wasn't in any mood to deal with people.
I walked a few blocks east, and then took a bigger street south, walking slowly, head down, while I cursed the unfairness of the world. Other kids didn't have problems like this. Boys were boys and girls were girls. They didn't have to be half and half... where nobody would believe that it was real and nobody could help me.
Why did I have to be the one born a freak, the only person like this? I kept walking and thinking, but it was becoming more difficult. I'd been pretty badly beaten earlier in the day, and I was really starting to stiffen up. I looked around, and didn't see any good place to stop. On a lamppost at a nearby corner, I saw a small red sign that said "Emergency", with an arrow pointing down the side street.
I knew I needed help, I'd been going too long since the beating. Maybe if I went here, I could get patched up without having to let them know who I was. I turned down the side street, walked about a half block, and came to the emergency entrance of a large hospital.
I wondered if I should go in. They might be able to fix the bruises and clean up the blood, but they couldn't help with my real problem. I sat on the curb near the door while I thought. Maybe I should just leave, and find that bad neighborhood. Or... I wasn't a good swimmer. I was only a few blocks from the lakefront, and I could go for a swim, a bit farther out than I had the strength to return from.
I just wanted the pain to stop, both outside and inside. The pain inside was the worst. I could live with the cuts and bruises. The other... no. No, I couldn't. I struggled to rise, determined to go to the lake, but my left knee gave out and I fell heavily to the pavement.
From behind me I could hear a shout, "Kid, are you all right?" A man ran up to me and knelt at my side. "No, you're not. God."
I looked painfully up at him and sniffled "I'm.. it hurts."
He helped me to my feet, and supporting my arm, he said "Let me help you. My name is Wayne, John Wayne."
Even in my pain, I gave him a quick look at that. "Um..."
"No relation. My parents had a strange sense of humor." We neared the doors. "I'm lucky they didn't name me Bruce."
As we entered, a nurse bustled up to us. "Doctor Wayne... What happened?"
"I don't know yet, I found him outside. What's open?"
She led the way to a curtained alcove. "Right here."
The nurse started peeling off my shirt while the doctor began looking at a cut on my forehead. He took some gauze and gently started cleaning it, then did a double-take as he saw the partly healed cuts beneath. "What the h... who did this to you?" he demanded.
It didn't take him long to work the story of the beatings out of me. We talked as he patched me up. I wasn't exactly happy, but he seemed like he cared. I managed not to cry, until he asked the question I was dreading. Why had they beaten me up? That set me off, clutching him and bawling into his shirt.
I told him everything. My being a girl, and how nobody would do anything to help me. My plan to swim out into the lake and end the pain.
"I.. we might be able to help you, but we'll need to get your parents to agree to treatment for you. Can we find a safe place for you while I talk to your parents and arrange things?"
Sniffling, I nodded. God, if he could only find a way to make things better. Please, God. Please.
I didn't know that 'find a safe place' was a medical code phrase.
The nurse and an orderly escorted me through a maze of passageways and up an elevator to sterile-looking hallway. At a locked set of doors, they were buzzed in, and they escorted me through, down another short hallway, into a small, plain room. The nurse gave me a hospital gown, and waited while I put it on and took off my own clothes. "Don't worry", she said, "I'm sure your parents will bring you come clothing that's in better shape."
I looked around at the room. The bed had a bare mattress with no bedding, and the room contained nothing else. "Where am I? What is all this?"
The nurse looked a bit embarrassed. "This is a special room to make sure that you don't hurt yourself until you've had a chance to think things over. "
"What? Where am I?"
"This is the Mental Health Unit. You'll be staying here until the doctor has had a chance to talk with your parents and can make sure that you'll be safe."
She and the orderly backed out of the room as the door closed with a firm click.
Things had gone from bad to worse.
There was nothing to do. I lay there, staring at the ceiling.
What could I do? Nothing. Nothing would make me physically a girl. They weren't going to let me end the pain the other way. I was stuck. Maybe I was already dead, had died before, and this was hell. There was no way out. No way out... the words rang and repeated in my mind. Stuck in a life I hated, stuck, stuck.
I had an idea. I could pretend to cooperate, play along, and make them think I wasn't serious about hurting myself. They couldn't keep me there forever. And when they let me out, there would be plenty of chances to end things.
I wasn't going to live a life without hope.
And that's the last thing I remember before morning.
When I woke, Doctor Wayne was sitting on the bed, peering down at me, frowning.
I looked up at him, trying to figure out the look.
"Good morning, Billy." he finally said.
"Please.. can you call me Bill?"
"Sorry." He looked a bit embarrassed. "I've spoken with your parents. They were frantic until they heard from me. They had the police out looking for you."
I looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do... I didn't want to hurt them, but..." I couldn't go on.
"I know. Your parents have given their permission for you to stay here for a bit, while we start treating you."
"Here?" Acid dripped from my voice as I looked around the barren room.
He surveyed the room as if he's never seen it before. "Oh, here in the hospital, not in this room. This was just to make sure you didn't do something foolish last night. I'll be having you moved to a regular room later this morning."
"A regular room... in the mental health unit?"
"Well, yes. Aside from a cracked rib, a twisted knee, and some cuts and bruises, there's nothing physically wrong with you."
I had to laugh at that. "Nothing physically wrong! Hah! Everything is physically wrong."
The doctor had a wry smile. "I see your point."
"Are you going to laugh at me too? That's what the doctor in Michigan City did. He said it was a phase and that my parents should make me do more 'guy stuff'."
His face darkened just a little bit. "No, I'm not going to laugh at you. I don't know yet whether you are really a girl inside or not, but I know that it's real to you, and that's the important thing."
"If you find out that I really am, then what?"
"We'll decide that when the time comes, but despite what the moron... what the doctor in your home town said, there are things we can do to make someone's body feminine. But, well, let's not talk about that until we determine whether it's an option."
Things were starting to look brighter. "You can do that?" I sighed in relief. Maybe I wouldn't need to do something evil to end the pain after all. Maybe. "Why... why are you the doctor who's seeing me? Don't you work in the emergency room?"
"No", he laughed. "I was just coming in to work when I saw you. I'm a psychiatrist, and this is my unit. That's why I sent you up here last night."
We talked for quite a while, the doctor gently probing into the story of my childhood, and how it had all gone horribly wrong. Finally he stood up and told me, "I have to go." He saw the frightened look in my eyes and added, "No, don't worry. I have to make my rounds and talk with some other people. I'll see you again this evening."
As he neared the door, he turned back to me. "By the way, I never did ask. If... no, _when_ you are accepted as a girl, what name did you have in mind for yourself?"
That didn't require any thought at all. "Kimberly. I'm Kimberly."
He came back, took my hand, and said, "Kimberly, I'm glad to meet you."
Author's Note:
It should be pretty obvious that there is a lot of autobiographical material buried in this story. The beating really happened, many of the thoughts of the narrator correspond to mine at the time. This is fiction, though, and, as dark as the story is so far, it is at it's root a wish-fulfillment fantasy. How so? In the real word, I never worked up the courage to tell my parents about my gender issues. I was too afraid of their reactions, that I would hurt them. Now, my Dad has been dead for over 20 years, and Mom for more than 10. I'm truly ashamed that I wasn't able to be honest with them, because I think that after a period of shock, they would have come to accept me for who I am.
I spent too much of my life being afraid of people's opinions of me, and as a result, wasted decades pretending to be who I wasn't. I bitterly regret the wasted time, and this story is, in part, my fantasy of what might have happened if I'd been honest about myself the first time the issues came to a head.
And don't worry, the story will get more cheerful. Life is a journey, and as a wise person once said, there are many risings and advancings of the spirit.
- Kim
EXPO Summer -2- A Dawning of Hope
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Part 02 A Dawning of Hope All rights reserved |
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. If you're reading this and you disagree, maybe you have a guilty conscience about what happened thirty-four years ago.
The story may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to
legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. Email me at [email protected] Other stories are available at WWW.KimEM.net
This part of the story is dedicated to Kim Hanson, a friend, co-worker, and great role model. And yes, I did steal her name. So there.
Previously:
As he neared the door, he turned back to me. "By the way, I never did ask. If... no, when you are accepted as a girl, what name did you have in mind for yourself?"
That didn't require any thought at all. "Kimberly. I'm Kimberly."
He came back, took my hand, and said, "Kimberly, I'm glad to meet you."
At least I was in a 'normal' room. Two beds, with genuine bedding (be still, my trembling heart), a strange wheeled table, and a chair. It wasn't home, but compared to the cell I'd been in the night before, it was pure luxury.
And honestly, it was boring as all get-out. I wasn't much of a TV watcher, and there were no books or magazines. There wasn't much of anyone to talk with, even if I'd been in a sociable mood. The unit was mostly empty, and the others there seemed to have problems that dwarfed mine. If nothing else, they wore their problems on the outside.
I won't go into detail about what they were up to. I'm sure that whatever you imagine would pale alongside the actuality. I stuck to my room. Honestly, I was a bit frightened to spend time in the rest of the unit.
I was laying there, staring at the ceiling, thinking again about the unfairness of life, when my parents walked in. Mom rushed in and threw her arms around me, crying and telling me how frightened she's been. Dad just stood there beside the bed, his eyes closed as he tried to suppress his own sobs.
I could hardly believe their reaction. I expected them to be angry, ready to disown me for what I'd done to them. Instead, they were treating me like I'd just returned from the dead.
Mom still held me, refusing to let me go in case I might disappear. "Thank God you're safe."
"Mom, I..."
"Why did you run away? The doctor said you were ready to kill yourself..."
"Mom, I..."
"...how could you even think of such a thing?"
I held onto mom for dear life, squeezing her and sobbing into her shoulder.
***
We talked, and I told them everything. And they told me a few things.
"When you vanished, the police did some checking, and it turned out that a number of people saw you escorted out of the mall. Tom McAddams, Chris Libby, John Truman were picked up and questioned, and Truman finally admitted to being part of the beating."
"You mean..."
"They were arrested and are being held for the beating... both beatings."
I felt a whole lot better.
"If you had... hurt yourself... it would have been all for nothing."
I guess I hadn't explained things as well as I thought.
"Dad, that's not why...
"Don't you _get_ it?" Mom chipped in.
Dad looked blank for a moment. Then his face went ashen as he realized the reason. "God, no." He sat heavily in the one visitor's chair. "This is all my fault."
"It's not your fault, it's mine. I'm the freak, the one with nothing to live for."
He wouldn't meet my eyes. "You're not a freak. And it is my fault. I wanted to follow that... quack's advice, and make you forget about being a girl. I told you we weren't going to do anything to help."
"Dad-"
"And you almost killed yourself over it."
Mom looked over at him, still holding me while I clung to her. "It's nobody's fault. You both want to blame yourselves, but it's not important who did what. What we have to do now is figure out what to do next."
"The doctor said that there are some things they can do."
Mom and I both looked at dad.
"So, how was your dinner?"
Doctor Wayne breezed into the room. Mom and Dad and I had just finished eating, if that's the right word for it. Is there supposed to be a therapeutic value in lime Jell-O?
I was feeling a lot better after the afternoon with my parents... maybe they were finally catching on. But I still wasn't totally convinced that the doctor would be willing to help me, let alone able. I was going to keep my options open for a while longer.
Dad grimaced and said, "Well, it's not home cooking."
The doctor laughed. "It's our way of trying to convince the patients to go home."
"It's working," I contributed.
He perched himself on the other bed. "I assume you've all had a chance to air things out?"
"We've talked," I said, "but I'm not sure everything's been worked out."
"It'll take a lot more than one day to work everything out. All I was hoping for today was for the three of you to air your feelings."
Dad got up from his chair and walked over to the window. He stood a long moment, staring down at the parked cars below. "If you think he should be changed, I won't stand in the way." His voice was quiet, subdued, as though he was finally realizing what that meant. "I'd rather he became my daughter than..." His voice broke.
Mom went to him, putting an arm around his waist. "All we want is what's best for him. With this, I don't think either of us know what's best."
The doctor leaned forward just a bit. "I'm here to help, but in the end it has to be the two of you making the decision. I'll do what I can to get to the root of the matter, and give you my best advice." He rose to his feet. "And now, I hate to be a pain, but I'm going to need some time alone."
Mom looked puzzled for a moment, then got it. "I suppose we should be heading for home."
"I.. I just don't know. I don't want to kill myself. I really don't. But what else can I do? I'm not going to grow up into a man."
The doctor had been asking me a lot of questions about my growing up, including a lot of the same questions from this morning, just asked differently. I suppose I really wasn't supposed to notice. I didn't get mad, though, I was too upset to care about things like that. He'd just asked me what I would do if the conclusion was that they should do nothing.
That was enough to make my heart sink. I was starting to get some hope back, with the idea that maybe he did have a way to make my body over into a girl's. But now... I didn't want to go to hell, but anything would be better than this.
I'd have to be careful with what I said, though. As long as he thought I might do something, he'd keep me there, where I couldn't do anything.
"...ear me?" I suddenly realized that he'd been talking.
"I'm sorry, I was thinking."
"And from the expression on your face, you weren't thinking very nice things."
I reddened a bit.
"Not very nice. If I'm not a woman, I really don't know if I can go on..." I clapped my hands over my mouth. *DAMN* Would I ever learn to shut up?
"You honestly don't believe there's any way you could live as a man and be happy? None at all?"
I couldn't meet his eyes. "There's no way I could live as a man, period."
"That's not good. If we were to assist you in transitioning, what would you like to see happen?"
I fell to the bed, a pillow clutched to my chest. "Don't play with me. You keep saying 'if'. If I should be a girl. If you were to assist. Do you have ANY IDEA what it's like to have the wrong body? This isn't a game, or something I just thought of... I'm a girl. I've always been a girl. I will always be a girl! Whether you help or not isn't going to change that. I'm not a boy, no matter what my body looks like. And one way or another I won't grow up to be a man!"
I broke down into the pillow, sobbing and miserable. If he couldn't tell that I was serious, that this wasn't just the game of an eleven-year-old, then I was lost.
"Bill... Kimberly." Gently. "I'm not playing with you. What you want me to do... it's something that can't be undone. I have to be dead certain that it's right before I tell your parents."
I could hardly force the words out. "I know. Do what you... have to. But if you can't help, then there's nothing...."
"Nothing for you. I understand."
And with that, he silently left.
I was far out in the lake, the shore a distant line on the horizon. But every time I stopped swimming I discovered that the water was only a few feet deep. How far out was I going to have to go? I rolled over in the water and felt the waves wrap around me.
Wrap around me? As I sat up, the water suddenly turned firm.
*Damn* Why was I waking up so early?
The days had turned into a dull routine. I'd lay around the room, reading and thinking, occasionally venturing out into the unit. Saturday and Sunday Mom and Dad had been up to visit for the afternoon. In the evenings, Doctor Wayne would stop by and we'd talk about things. After a few days he stopped concentrating on my being a girl, and we started talking about my interests, my grades, and how I felt about the world in general.
Almost two weeks had passed, with nothing much happening. Then one day he walked into the room in mid-morning.
"Good morning." He had an enigmatic smile on his face, and a paper sack in his hand. "I hope you don't mind my stopping here in the morning."
"Mornings are good. It gets awfully dull around here."
"Things usually go better when it's not exciting." There was a definite smile on his face, as though he knew a secret. "I want to try a little experiment this morning. I've got some clothes here. I'd like you to go into the bathroom and try them on, and then come back out here and show me."
Weird. I took the sack, and went into the bathroom. I closed the door behind me, and then looked into the bag. I immediately popped back out of the bathroom. "Are you sure about this?"
He calmly looked back at me. "Of course. Is it a problem?"
"NO!" and I was back into the bathroom in a flash.
In the bag was a full set of girl's clothing. I lay them out by the sink, and quickly stripped out of my male clothes. This would be pretty much a new experience for me. In the past I'd dressed in my mom's clothes when I was home alone, but since she was forty-five years older than me, as well as having a very different shape, it just wasn't the same.
I pulled on the panties. Then made a bulge that I knew wasn't appropriate, but I wasn't quite sure what to do about it. So I just reached down and pulled the bulge backwards, between my legs. It was uncomfortable, but at least it got rid of the bulge. I wondered what older people did to hide it. Hopefully by the time I got to that age it wouldn't be there any more.
No bra. Well, at my age it wasn't a problem. I fumbled with pulling on the pantyhose. Hmmm. Were the panties supposed to go on top or bottom?
Then came the shoes, a pair of the kind of shoes most schoolgirls wore at the time. Then came the dress. I looked in the mirror and my face fell. I looked like a boy in a dress. I'd imagined that I'd look just like a girl of my age, but with my painfully short hair, I looked woefully out of place.
I hesitantly stepped out of the bathroom, and walked to where the doctor sat. "I guess I didn't do so well. I looked in the mirror, and..." My voice broke.
"Please, sit down, Kimberly."
I moved to the side of the bed and perched, remembering to smooth the dress below me as I sat. "You don't need to tell me how silly I look."
"You don't look silly, not at all. You're worried because of the hair? Hair can grow out."
"Then what were you looking for? Why dress me up?"
"I wanted to see how you act in a dress. How you move, how you sit. I wanted to see how natural you are."
"And?" My heart was pounding.
"Okay, with the short hair you look pretty tomboyish." My heart sank again. "But if I didn't know that you've been brought up as a boy, I'd never have guessed that you were anything but a girl."
I'm not sure, but I don't think I've mentioned my nurse. Her first name was Helen, but for some reason the nurses don't like to tell the patients their last names. Strange.
Helen was nice enough, I suppose, but I really wasn't much in the mood for being sociable. That day, though, right after lunch she came in and said that I'd be having a visitor in a few minutes. This caught me by surprise... the only visitors I'd had were my parents, and they were allowed to come to my room unannounced.
"Who?" I was a bit worried... there were some people I wouldn't want to see. Like most of the people I knew.
"It's someone that Doctor Wayne wants you to see. We have a vendor who performs some services for patients that have lost their hair. It's important to them that they have natural looking hair when they leave, and this gentleman makes custom wigs and hairpieces."
I sat there, staring at her in wonder. "And the doctor wants me to..."
"He wants you to be fitted for a wig, so that you can try interacting with others as a girl."
"He's not going to think I'm strange, will he? I mean, doing a girl's wig for a boy?"
"Why should you care what he thinks?"
"Because he might... he might..."
"He's just a man with a job to do," she pointed out. "Whether he thinks you're strange or not, he'll be professional and do his job. Besides, I'd bet he's seen a lot of strange things in this hospital."
Helen laughed quietly, and after a few moments I started snickering too.
"If it will make you feel any better you can put the dress back on for the..."
The rest of her statement faded away as the bathroom door slammed shut.
The wigmaker was a tall, thin, fussy-looking man. He didn't seem to have much personality, but then I wasn't really interested in being friends with him, anyway.
"Okay, to start with, Kimberly, I need to know what color you'd like your hair."
"Can't I just have it be my own color?"
He sighed. "Of course, if that's what you want. I'll need to take a sample for matching."
"You mean cut some of it off?"
"That's the only way I know to do it."
I reached up and patted my hair. It was short enough already, and here he wanted to take more off. "Couldn't you just use the name of the color? Everyone tells me that mine is strawberry blonde."
"And so it is. But what you call strawberry blonde covers an entire range of shades and textures. Without the sample there is simply no way to get a match." He rolled his eyes when he thought I wasn't looking. "Things would be so much easier if you just wanted a standard hair color."
"No. I want my hair to look like _my_ hair."
"Then I need a hair sample."
*Grrr...*
Hesitantly I allowed him to clip a lock from the nape of my neck. He carefully placed the hair into a small glass vial, and placed it into his case. He looked back up at me as though there were something sour in the room.
"I don't suppose you have decided upon a hair style?"
"Long."
"How did I know?" He reached into his case and brought out a fat book, full of close-ups of women with different hair styles. "You'll need to select something for me to use as the pattern for your new hair."
I started thumbing through the book. Each style I liked, he rejected, telling me that it was wrong for the shape of my face.
Finally I picked one that he didn't turn away. It was a longer style, the sides pulled back from my face and bangs down to my eyebrows. The ends were trimmed to a uniform length, the back flowing past my shoulders to mid-back.
"This may work for you. The length is somewhat more than fashionable, but styles have been getting longer recently. It may just be that styles will catch up with you soon."
Somehow I thought that I'd have hair that day, but it actually took three days for him to return with the wig.
His disposition hadn't improved one bit, but I didn't care. He had a large round box with him, and in it was the most glorious hair I'd ever seen. Taking it out of the box, it looked perfect. All it was missing was a head, and I was going to supply that part.
He fussed with the wig, combing and brushing it, getting it ready to attach. Finally he was ready. My patience was about at its breaking point.
He put the wig on my head, I looked into the mirror, and for the first time I saw... me.
I had only the one outfit, but every day I'd wash it, and wear it as often as possible. Saturday morning I sat in the chair, dressed as myself, the wig firmly attached to my scalp, half-dozing and enjoying finally being me.
I heard a gasp from the doorway, and when I opened my eyes I could see my parents at the door, their eyes wide and their jaws down someplace around their knees.
"Billy?"
"Not any more, Mom. I'm Kimberly now."
"This is what you meant? What you wanted?" Mom slowly walked into the room, looking me up and down. "Stand up, Honey, and let me see you."
As I stood and slowly turned for her inspection, I framed my answer. "Part of it, but only a part. This is just clothes. Inside the dress I'm still the same as I was before. That's got to change before I'm really me."
Dad was still standing in the doorway, still gaping. "Jesus."
Mom wasn't about to let that pass. "Bill!"
"He looks... I didn't think it was possible. He really does look like a girl!"
Mom agreed. "He? I don't see a 'he'. All I can see is a girl. If there's this dramatic a difference with just a change of clothing, then we've got to seriously consider that he... she may be right."
Dad opened his arms and said, "Come over here, Honey."
As I rushed into his arms I realized that dad had never called me that before. 'Honey' was mom's special name for me, but dad had always just called me 'Billy'.
Dad held me closely in his arms and looked down at me. "This is really what you want? You really want to be changed into a girl? Forever?"
I sniffled into his shirt. "Y... Yes. It's what I was meant to be."
Dad looked up at mom, and she gave an almost invisible nod. "We're going to talk with Doctor Wayne a bit later. Let's see what he has to say. I'm not making any promises, but if he agrees that this is right, we'll find out what the next step in your treatment is."
I lost it at that point. Bawling helplessly into his chest, it was all I could do to blubber out "Thank you, Daddy, thank you."
It was a long wait that afternoon. I had to wait in my lonely room while mom and dad went down the hall to the conference room with the doctor. They took a loooong time. I couldn't tell if that was good or bad.
Finally Helen walked in and told me that they wanted to see me in the conference room. I walked slowly down the hall, as though I was heading to my execution.
As Helen showed me into the conference room my mouth was dry and I was starting to feel a bit light-headed. Doctor Wayne gestured for me to have a seat at the head of the table.
Helen left and closed the door firmly behind her. I felt trapped, caught in the crossfire of everyone's gaze. I really couldn't tell from their expressions what the outcome had been.
They all looked at me for a long moment. I couldn't take the suspense any longer and croaked, "Well?"
Doctor Wayne took the lead. "Are you certain that this is what you want for your life? If you had to make a decision this instant about your future, what would you decide?"
"You need to ask? I'm a girl, and I want my body to match."
"Even if there's no going back? Ever?"
"Especially if there's no going back. I don't want to ever be a boy again. Not. Ever."
Dad sighed and reluctantly started talking. "We've discussed this from every possible angle, and I think that we're agreed that this is the right thing for you. It's not going to be easy for any of us, but... but..." He trailed off.
Mom picked up the decision. "What your father is trying to say is that we want what's best for you. We know that you've never been happy since you were a small child, but we could never figure out why. Now we know. If this will help you to like yourself... and especially to stay alive, then how can we refuse to do what's needed?"
I broke down in joyous tears. It was going to happen, my body would become female and I'd grow up a woman.
It seems to me, looking back at that time, that I did a LOT of crying. It was a very emotional time in my life, a period that has made all the difference.
Sunday, the next day, I was allowed to leave the hospital. Mom had brought some more clothing, so I finally had a choice. Dad was still having a few problems adjusting, but he was doing his best and I was sure he'd get used to it soon. "Bill... um, Kim, are you going to be able to handle the embarrassment? People are going to say some pretty mean things to you. They're going to call you names, do whatever they can to make you feel bad. I want to be sure you know what you're getting into."
I stared at the skyline of the city a moment before answering. "I know, Daddy. But nobody liked me before, so why should I care what they think of me now?"
Dad shot me a quick look. "That's... I'm a bit surprised. That's a much more mature attitude than I'd have given you credit for."
I looked at the city for a second more, then dropped my eyes to my lap. "I've had a lot of time to think about this." I paused for a few seconds. "Besides, I'm not a child any more."
Mom turned to look wonderingly at me.
I explained, "I know, I'm only eleven. I'm going to be a seventh-grader in the fall. I know I've got a long way to go. But my childhood... ended... a month ago. On my way home from school..."
We were all silent for a moment, and then something occurred to me.
"Daddy, is this going to hurt your business?"
"I don't know. I hope not..." He forced a smile. "...but I've been making too much money anyway." Another silence. "When did you start calling me 'Daddy'?"
"It just seems to fit. You don't mind, do you?"
"No, I've just got to get used to it." He laughed ruefully. "I guess there's a lot of things we've got to get used to."
And with that the car was silent most of the way back home.
As we pulled off the new expressway, Mom turned to me and said "We're not heading straight for home."
A worried look came over me as I asked where we were going.
"We're going to stop at your grandmother's houses so they can meet their new granddaughter."
"Both?"
Dad added his piece. "I know, but it wouldn't be fair to not stop at Mother's."
I suppose I should explain. My dad's mother had lived a cursed life. When my dad was three years old, and his twin sisters were infants, his father had died of pneumonia. In the years before welfare, or any kind of assistance, Gram had brought up the three children by herself. After many hard years working, she deserved a comfortable retirement, and Dad had the money to give it to her.
Unfortunately, Gram started losing her mind. Literally. They called it premature senility, and she lived to a very old age... in 1967 she was in her early eighties. I never knew Gram, or at least the person she had been. Whenever we went over there, I had to be introduced to her all over again, and I could see how difficult if was for Dad. Senility had stolen her mind. Nowadays we'd call it Alzheimer's.
She still lived in her own house, and one of Dad's sisters lived with her, to be her full-time caretaker. My aunt, well, there's no polite way to describe her. She was about my height, but had to weigh well over three-hundred-fifty pounds. I always thought of her as a fat slob. I've seen her kitchen... she had bottles of mustard that were LARGER THAN MY HEAD!
Is it obvious that I didn't like her?
Her sister, theoretically a twin, was the nicest person you could ever hope to meet. I don't know if they developed into opposites because they were tired of being alike or what, but I knew which one I preferred.
We pulled up in front of Gram's house. I'm not sure why I was nervous. Gram wouldn't remember anything, and, if I didn't care what the rest of the world thought, that went double for my aunt.
When we got to the door, we didn't knock, Dad just pushed the door open and we went in. He grew up in that house, and Gram certainly wasn't complaining. My aunt was in the big chair in the middle of the living room, watching TV. Gram was sitting in a smaller, unpadded chair, near the corner, facing the cold, dark fireplace, nodding and smiling.
Dad started to lay into his sister about Gram's chair, when my aunt spotted me. At first she looked puzzled, and then she started laughing. She sank back into the chair, rocking and quivering. If they were ever taking applications for a female Santa, she would have qualified - except, of course, that she would have kept the gifts for herself and given the kids snakes and coal.
She laughed and pointed, trying to speak several times but failing, dissolving into helpless laughter.
It was too much for me. I broke down into hysterical tears, collapsing onto the floor, heedless of my surroundings.
I won't go into any more detail about that experience. Dad had to finally remind my aunt that HE was paying the bills for that household, and if she wanted to stay there, she's better stop laughing at his daughter.
From there, we headed across town to my other grandmother's house. Ma was eighty-one at the time, but from the way she acted you'd have sworn that she was about twenty.
I'd spent a lot of time at Ma's. Whenever my parents needed to be somewhere together, or needed a little privacy, they sent me over to Ma's. I liked it there. She made great food, told funny stories, and had this big old house to explore. What's not to like?
So when we got there, I was more than a bit nervous. I was just getting calmed down from my experience at Gram's, and I really wanted her approval. I cared about very few people's opinion of me, but Ma was one of the most important.
Mom tried to reassure me as we walked up the sidewalk. "Don't worry, Honey. I've been talking with her from the beginning, and your grandmother knows everything that's been happening. You don't have to be scared."
I sniffled a bit. "I know. It's just... I never expected that from Aunt Mar... why did she have to do that? "
Mom sighed. "I honestly don't know. She shouldn't have done that, but then again, your aunt can be a bit strange at times."
Again we entered without knocking. This was the house that Mom had grown up in, and she still considered it a second home.
Ma was sitting in her favorite chair, feet up on a hassock, buried deep in some sort of mystery novel. She looked up as we walked in, and she immediately faced me directly.
"Come over here and let me take a good look at you."
I hesitantly walked over next to the hassock and slowly turned so she would get a good look.
"And your name is Kimberly now?"
"Yes. And I'm-"
"Shhh. Come here."
Ma beckoned me and I came right up to her. She extended her arms and wrapped me in a big bear hug. "Welcome back, Honey." I broke down weeping again, but this time they were happy tears.
Author's Note:
Just a reminder. This is fiction. There are many autobiographical elements to this story, but it _is_ a story. This part is a whole lot more cheerful than part one, or at least it's supposed to be. It's not all sweetness and light, but the first crisis is past. And we haven't made it to the World's Fair yet.
- Kim
EXPO Summer -3- The Peerage
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Part 03 The Peerage All rights reserved |
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. Why won’t you believe me? The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language.
If you’re not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it’s too late. You’ve been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it’s being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
I’d love to hear from any readers with comments. Email me at [email protected]. Previous chapters of this story, as well as other stories, are available at http://www.kimem.net
This part of the story is dedicated to Ellen Hayes, a friend whose work has been a real inspiration to me. I just wish I had one tenth the talent. shrug Okay, I wish I had as much talent. As long as I’m wishing, there’s this big jackpot coming up in Powerball...
Previously:
"And your name is Kimberly now?"
"Yes. And I'm..."
"Shhh. Come here."
Ma beckoned me and I came right up to her. She extended her arms and wrapped me in a big bear hug. "Welcome back, Honey." I broke down weeping again, but this time they were happy tears.
I was home, sitting on the porch, just like I'd done a month ago. There was a big difference, though. I was happy. For the first time in my life I was free to be myself.
The freedom was wonderful. I'd finally found the courage to tell my parents who and what I really am, and they'd accepted me. I thought it would crush them, and totally destroy what there was of my life, but miracle of miracles, they accepted me.
And now I could dress and act like the girl I really was. Someday, I'd been promised, I'd be able to physically become a girl. That day couldn't come soon enough. In the meanwhile, well, I knew a lot of people would have problems with this, but the important ones-- my parents, my grandmother-- accepted and loved me. And that was enough.
I sat there, enjoying the peace and quiet, the rare sensation of my stomach _not_ being knotted up, when a head peeked around the back corner of the garage. Uh, oh. It was time to see how people would react. And this was a person I really didn't want to see. Tina Libby.
Tina wasn't bad, I guess. She'd never had much to do with me in school, but she'd never been part of the group that loved to torment me, either. The one thing I held against her is that she was the twin sister of Chris Libby. Yes, the Chris Libby who was part of the trio who had beaten me and forced me to leave town. Now he was in jail and I had no idea what kind of reaction I'd get from his twin.
She came around the garage, into the yard, and walked up to the porch. As she crossed the walk, she started "I... I wanted to... Where's Bill? Who are you?
"I'm Kimberly. Call me Kim. And Bill, he's not here any more."
"Where is he? I wanted to apologize to him for the things my brother", she gave a disgusted look, "did to him."
She paused at the door and I invited her in. As she stepped inside the screened enclosure, she took another look at me, and gave a small start of surprise. "Bill?"
I sighed. "Yes."
"What happened? You're dressed like a... No, you _look_ like a girl!"
I gestured to one of the chairs. "You might as well sit down. This is going to take a while to explain."
As she sat, Mom came out from the kitchen. "Honey, did I hear...?" She stopped abruptly. "Tina? Is.. uh.. is everything all right?"
Tina looked up as mom with a small smile. "Oh, yes, Ma'am. I was just apologizing to Kim for what my stupid brother did to her."
Mom smiled back, but still managed to look kind of nervous. "Would the two of you care for some lemonade?"
"That would be nice, Ma'am. Thank you."
"Yes, Mom, thanks."
Mom went back inside, but I knew she'd be listening closely.
Tina hiked herself forward in the chair, leaned toward me, and asked in a low voice "Is it anything you can talk about here?"
I laughed. "A few months ago, no. Back then I couldn't tell anybody. But now? I really don't care who knows."
"But what..."
I plunged on. "Nobody liked me before. Why should I care what they think of me now? If people want me to live to please them, they can kiss... I mean, I'm going to do what I need to, not what they want."
Tine looked down at the floor, then back to me. "And I'm one of those people, right? I haven't been very nice to you."
I looked her in the eye, trying to figure out what was going on in her head. "You... you haven't been the worst. You're not one of the people who made it their purpose in life to make mine hell."
"But I haven't made it any easier. And I haven't been a friend."
"No. Nobody has."
Mom walked back out, carrying a couple of glasses. She silently handed us our lemonade and walked back inside, closing the kitchen door as she went. I knew she'd been listening, and had decided there were some things that she didn't need to know.
We sat silently for a moment, sipping our lemonade.
"Why are you a girl? Now, I mean."
"I've... I've always been one. It's just that I couldn't let anyone know."
"You've always been a girl? All through school?"
I looked at her through lowered eyes. "I've been a girl on the inside. Outside I was just what you saw. It's just that I'm finally able to be myself."
"That's why you've always been a bit diff..." She broke off in embarrassment.
"Different? You can say it. I know it. I've always known it."
Tina looked at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. "I feel like a real jerk. I've always gone along with the other kids. Nobody wanted anything to do with you because you always acted more like a girl than a boy." She gave a short, barking laugh. "I guess now I know why."
"I never was a boy."
"I know. And I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I never knew..."
She came out of her chair and hugged me, sobbing into my hair. "God, I'm sorry." Soon both of us were sobbing.
Over the next hour or so, I told her about the rest of my month. She knew I was gone for a few weeks, but she'd thought it was to recover physically from the beating. She was horrified to hear what I'd been planning on doing when I went to Chicago.
"God no! Don't ever..."
"I won't, not as long as I'm able to be myself. You can't imagine what it's like, having to pretend to be the person everyone expects me to be."
Tina took my hands in hers and clasped them tightly. "If it ever gets to that... please, before you do anything, PLEASE, let me help."
Before I could answer, a voice came from outside the porch. "Is this a private talk, or can I join?"
Gail Bandurski. Another standoffish classmate and neighbor, and also Tina's best friend. Great.
Tina turned to me, and I gave her a slight nod. What the heck, I may as well get this over with. Who knows? I was wrong about Tina. Maybe Gail would be a pleasant surprise. Maybe.
Tina gave Gail what I guess was supposed to be a secret signal to be cool, and invited her in.
"Gail, this is Kim. She's going to be living here from now on."
"Hi! Welcome to the neighborhood." She came right up to me and gave me a hug. This is something I never imagined as a boy. Boys don't hug, don't touch if they can help it. Girls... I guess the rules were different.
"Thanks. I think I'm going to like it here."
"You look familiar. Are you related to Bill?"
I smiled. "Pretty close. You could almost say we're the same person."
Tina sputtered at that, trying and failing to suppress her laughter. Gail shot her a puzzled glance, then returned her attention to me.
"Is Bill here? I'd like to see the two of you side-by-side. If he wasn't an only child, you could almost be his sister."
Tina lay back in her seat, heels pounding on the floor as she completely lost her composure. Gail's brow furrowed as she tried to figure it out. "What did I say? I'm missing the joke."
"Bill's gone away and he's not coming back." I turned a bit red with the strain of not laughing. I was really happy. Gail and I had known each other since the age of two, and played together until grade school had made me a pariah. If she couldn't recognize me as a boy in a dress, I was probably safe from anyone spotting something wrong. Not that I much cared who knew about it, but I'd prefer to avoid whatever unpleasantness I could.
Gail was starting to get peeved at her best friend, who was still helpless with laughter. "Will you cut that out? It's not funny! It was your asshole brother that made him leave."
Tina pulled herself together long enough to say a few words. "It's... it's not that. Take another look at Kim. Can't you see it?"
"See what? The resemblance to Bill? Of course, you dolt!"
By this time I couldn't keep a straight face any longer and finally broke out laughing. Gail was starting to get seriously annoyed.
"Will _someone_ please tell me what's going on here?"
I tried to get it out, but was laughing too hard to keep control of my vocal cords. "I'm.. I was..." I got that far and then dissolved into helpless laughter.
Tina finally regained enough control to be able to force it out. "Kim is.. she was Bill. But now she's not."
Gail looked at me for a long second, then at Tina, then back at me. "Right. Now, what's the gag?"
"I'm serious. Kim used to be Bill."
"I've known Bill all my life. And Bill is a boy. Kim is a girl. I think I can tell the difference!"
Mom came to the kitchen window, looked outside to see what the commotion was all about, raised her eyes to heaven, and walked away shaking her head.
I was running out of steam. "Really. She's telling the truth. I was Bill... or at least I was on the outside. Inside I've always been Kim, and I can finally be myself to the world."
"You really want me to believe that?" Gail sank into one of the chairs, looking bemused. "Bill is a boy, and you aren't!"
"Thank you."
Gail shook her head tiredly. "I give up. Okay, let's say you are Bill. Why?"
"Why? Why what?" I asked innocently.
Tina couldn't keep quiet at that. "Why become Kim, dummy!"
"Do I have to go through this _again_?" I complained. "I just finished explaining it once!"
Yes, I did. I could tell that repeating my story was going to grow old pretty fast. I gave her the quick version. I wasn't feeling quite up to the entire hour-long tale again, and besides, Tina had just heard the whole thing.
It didn't matter anyway, though. Gail kept a skeptical look on her face throughout.
"I still think you're not Bill, but I don't see why the act."
Tina and I looked at each other in helplessness. "I don't know what else to say."
"She _really_ was Bill. Really."
"Right. I've got eyes. I can see she's a girl. Why keep trying to convince me that she's a boy?"
"I. Am. Not. A. Boy."
"That's what I'm saying."
*ARRGH!* "How do I convince you?"
Tina decided this would be a good time to be helpful. "You could always show her the evidence."
"Evidence?" Gail wasn't quite as quick as Tina.
*SHUT UP* Somehow Tina didn't seem to get my message. *SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP*
"Kim, why not show her the proof of who you were?" I turned bright red... and so did Gail when she figured out what Tina meant.
Fortunately we were all saved by Mom stepping out onto the porch. I hoped she hadn't been listening to this part of the conversation. "Would you girls like to stay for lunch?"
Gail looked at Tina, then me, and then back to Mom. "Thank you, we'd love to stay."
Tina agreed. "Yes, Ma'am, Thank you."
"Do either of you need to call your mothers?"
"Our mothers are out shopping together. We we're on our own for lunch."
I stood up. "Mom, can we help you get lunch together?"
Gail volunteered as well. Mom just smiled and said "Stay out here and chat. I'll have things together in a few minutes."
As she bustled back into the house, Tina looked over at me. "I give up. I can't think how to convince her who you used to be." She sighed and sank back into her chair.
Gail sat upright, her eyes widening. "Oh, no! You really _are_ Bill!"
Tina and I stared at her. "How..."
Mom stepped out with a pitcher and some fresh glasses. "Here's more lemonade for you girls."
Gail looked up and quickly said thanks. "Your daughter is very pretty." She giggled. "Much better looking than your son."
Mom just about spit in surprise, then smiled and tried to suppress laughter. "Thank you, but I'm not sure how Kimberly feels about that compliment."
"It doesn't bother me, and I don't expect Bill to be around to take offense." I turned to Gail and asked "What convinced you?"
She nodded towards the kitchen, where mom had just vanished. "You called her 'Mom'. And she didn't say anything." Gail looked back to me, her eyes widening anew. "How _do_ you do that?"
"Do what?" I had no earthly idea what she was talking about.
"How do you look like that? You not only dress like a girl, you sound like a girl, you act like a girl... Where did you learn all that?"
"I'm not 'doing' anything. This is my own voice. I'm not doing any acting. This is me... this is how I've always talked, how I've always moved. The only thing that's different is the clothes. And that's nothing important, just clothes."
Tina sat upright and gave me a hard look. "It's not 'just clothes'. You do act different. You may not see it, but I can, and I'm sure Gail can. You act more... more open, more relaxed. Before you were kind of, well, square."
Gail nodded. "And your voice... before you sounded like you were afraid the sky would fall on you if you spoke up. Now you sound more... more confident."
"I don't _think_ I'm doing anything different."
Before either could reply, Mom stepped out with a tray of sandwiches.
During lunch, I mainly listened to the two of them. For obvious reasons, I was years behind on the local gossip, and the two of them were masters (mistresses?) of the form.
I didn't care about a lot of the people they talked about. If I could help it, I was never going to set foot in that school again, and I didn't have much use for the people who went there. So why should I care about Mary Kay Miller and her pierced ears? Or Dave Roberts and how he looked in a swimsuit. Or... need I go on?
After lunch we helped Mom clean up. It's not something I'd done before, but Tina and Gail seemed to expect to, so I guess it was part of the new life. Well, as completely a girl as I felt, and as much as everybody kept talking about how perfect I was, I still had a lot of things to learn.
They wanted to go for a walk after lunch, and Mom said that I could go, but to stay in the neighborhood. We started walking down Belle Plaine Trail, heading west towards the public school and the nearest park.
Gail resumed her questioning on the way. "What happened to your... um.. your thing?
This made no sense to me. "Happened? To my thing?"
Tina looked kind of disgusted. "I don't know which of you is more stupid. Gail, It's called a penis. Kim, Gail wants to know where did it go now that you're a girl."
I turned about fifty shades of red. And that's nothing compared to how Gail looked. I had trouble telling if she was that embarrassed, or if she was red because she was ready to kill Tina and stuff her body down a storm drain.
Gail mumbled to herself for a while before renewing her question. "So, where did it go?"
I sighed. I'd been hoping that she'd decided to drop the question. "It's still there. I just have to tuck it away."
Tina looked a bit startled. "Tuck it where?"
"You know, underneath."
Gail glanced down, trying to visualize what I was talking about. "I don't get it."
"I have to bend it backwards, okay?" I rolled my eyes. "It gets tucked down between my legs so there's no bulge. Can we talk about something else now?"
"But I thought..."
"Look," I explained with a long-suffering expression, "physically nothing has changed. I've got everything I had as a boy. That's going to be the way things are for a while. I'll be a girl on the outside, but my body hasn't caught up."
Tina looked puzzled, worrying a lock of her hair with one finger. "What happens when it does? Do you turn back into a guy?"
I made a face, and both Tina and Gail snorted when they saw my reaction.
"Well? Do you?"
"Please. If that happened I'd k... I'd..."
I thought I had better control of myself. I really did. They shot swift looks at one another as I broke into tears, then as one moved to take me into their arms. My body was wracked with sobs as we sank to the grass of someone's lawn, and I held onto them for dear life.
Gail and Tina did their best to comfort me, making little noises and holding me tight as I fell into the dark pit of a male future. After a while I began to calm, gradually returning from the nightmare inside my head.
As I finally started to quiet, Gail was the first to speak. "What was... Are you all right?"
I nodded weakly, still sniffling, trying to recover some semblance of normality. "I'm not.. I won't grow up male."
"But how can you stop it? Is there anything you can do to change it?"
"When my body starts to change, the doctors will give me some medicines, and instead of being like a guy, my body will be a girl's."
"Breasts and everything?" Tina perked up.
"Everything; it will be just the same as if my body had been born a girl's."
"But what...", Gail and Tina were still holding me, as we lay in a tight knot on the lawn. "What," Gail asked, "what about your thing?"
"It's called a penis." Tina asserted.
"Your thing," Gail repeated, "will it go away then?"
"No. When I'm old enough, probably at eighteen, I'll be able to have surgery, and then I'll be just like any other girl, except that I won't be able to have babies."
Tina sat up in surprise. "Seven years? You have to wait seven more years?"
"Six. I'll be twelve in August."
A couple of boys I didn't know rode past. They gave us a pair of disgusted looks and one called out to the other "Girls."
They laughed nastily as they rode off, weaving down the street.
Gail and I looked at each other, still clutched in each other's arms, and started snickering. Tina looked at us, then at the boys vanishing into the distance, then back, and pointed at us. And laughed.
She choked out "Kim, you now have the official jerk seal of approval. You are definitely a girl!"
As Gail and I started to our feet, still arm-in-arm, she quietly asked "Are you okay now?"
"I'm fine. It just gets to me sometimes... the possibility that things might go wrong and I could end up male." I swayed a bit as the thought struck me again, but with Gail holding on to me I kept my feet."
Tina gestured to the street. "Let's go on to the park... We'll be able to sit down and talk there without anybody thinking anything of it."
Gail turned on her. "Tina! You have the feelings of a rock!"
"It's all right." I started for the street, pulling Gail after me. "This whole thing has been pretty hard on me, and sometimes it gets to be too much."
Tina turned to me as we resumed walking towards the park. "Kim... When it gets a bit much... we'll be here for you."
Gail agreed. "We're your friends, and we want to help."
I pulled back just a bit, and wrapped my arms around my middle. "Why? I mean, I'm not complaining, but you never had anything to do with me when I was a boy. So why now?"
Tina answered first. It's just what I said earlier. When you were a boy, you didn't fit. Somehow you just didn't seem... right."
Gail continued. "That's it! And it kind of, well, creeped everyone out. It creeped me out, anyway."
I snorted. "Thanks."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it to hurt. But it's true. And as a girl, you seem so natural."
Tina took over again. "Everything fits. If I didn't know that you hadn't always been a girl, I'd never have been able to tell."
"I'm just like I was. I haven't changed!".
"Yes you have. It's not that you're doing anything _that_ different.But you're not the same."
Gail looked pensive as she added "No boy can just put on a dress andinstantly be a girl. I mean, he can put one on, but he'll look likea boy in a dress. He might be able to act a bit like a girl, but notso perfectly."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you. I'm not acting. Before,when I was Bill, that was the act. This is how I really am."
Gail brightened. "So that's it. That's why you're different. The act, the phony personality, it's gone."
"I have to tell you," Tina added, "You didn't do the 'boy act' very well. You're much better off as a girl. And..."
"And?"
"I do like you. Maybe it's partly guilt for how I've treated you all these years, maybe because of... never mind. But I do want to be your friend."
Gail nodded. "Me too. We were friends when we were little kids, and I let all that go once we got to school. Some things... happened, and I just couldn't be friends. That's all over now, and I want to put things back to where they used to be. But this time, we'll be
girlfriends."
I looked at them, but didn't know what to think. We started walking again, as I thought about my life, and how it might have been different if I'd been raised as a girl.
Gail finally broke the silence. "Please? Kim? I want to be your friend."
Tina joined her. "Both of us. Please?"
All these years I'd lived without friends, barely tolerated by most of my classmates. And now, within days of publicly living as a girl, two neighbors wanted to be my friend. Should I trust them? Could I? I wanted to, more than anything. Being alone and without friends was more difficult than I can describe.
But how could I trust them? This might all be part of some plot to hurt and embarrass me. There were limits to how much I could take. I'd come close to the edge before, when I fled to Chicago and tried to find a way out. If I accepted them as friends and they betrayed me, would I be able to handle it? Or would I be plunged back to where I'd started.
Maybe, I thought, If I were to accept their offer, but not to fully trust them. That way, if things went wrong, I'd have a place of retreat. That would work, I decided.
Soon, we were at the park, a quiet place with lots of flowers, shrubs, paths, and benches. The park was right in the center of town, just a block away from my dad's office, but for all that it was pretty secluded. Thickly planted with shrubbery, there was a lot of privacy to sit and talk. From what I'd heard, it was a popular place with the teenagers in the evenings.
We found a tucked-away bench and settled in for a heart-to-heart.
I opened up. "I'd like to be friends... friends with both of you. You can't imagine how tough it's been being all alone."
Both Tina and Gail hung their heads.
"Do you have any idea how it's been for me these past six years?"
Tina looked up, then peeked questioningly at Gail. Gail gave her a small nod, then looked back down, her face flaming red.
Tina looked at me, took a deep breath, and then started. "It wasn't all you. I mean, with the other kids it was, but, well... God, this is so hard."
I had no earthly idea what she was talking about. It sounded like she were trying to say something, but couldn't force it out. Kind of like... oh, shit. Just like I'd sounded a month before when I was trying to tell my parents I was a girl.
I must have had my mouth hanging open a bit. Tina seemed a bit taken aback, then firmed her resolve. "Something bad happened to Gail back in first grade. I won't go into what..."
Gail broke in, in a very small voice. "Somebody did something he shouldn't." She turned even redder, staring at the gravel path at her feet. "They... I can't... I can't talk about it now. But I was hurt pretty bad. And ever since, I've been afraid of boys."
Tina slid to Gail's side and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Gail's been my best friend since forever, and I've tried to help her. But she didn't have anything to do with you, didn't have anything to do with any_ boy. It's really not her fault for dropping you."
Gail started sobbing, quietly at first, rapidly growing in intensity asthe pain returned. Tina hugged her tightly. Instinctively I slid over and hugged her as well. I knew only too well what it was like to behurt. Gail clenched me, hard enough to hurt, and started rocking back and forth as her cries built up into short wrenching screams. While I held her to me, Tina leaned closer to her and started whispering into her ear.
Soon Gail started calming a bit, or at least she quieted. The wailing trailed off to a low, continuous moan, her rigid arms still crushing meto her still-rocking body. After a while, even that stopped, and she just sat, staring blankly into space.
When she finally spoke, it was in a low monotone. "A boy hurt me. He touched me and made me kiss his thing. When I finished he pushed me down and kicked me in the head over and over. The last thing I remember was him standing over me, and then his heel heading for my face, and then nothing."
It finally clicked. "The accident you had, back in first grade? Oh God oh God oh God, I I didn't KNOW, I'm sorry..."
Her eyes looked like windows to Hell.
I curled up into my own little ball of guilt and grief; the only thing in there with me was Gail's hand, locked with mine. I don't know who was squeezing harder.
I stopped crying eventually, when I got sick, and that's when Tina spoke up.
"Gail's family, they lied to the doctors. They didn't want to mess up the family, so they hushed it up." Tina lurched up, staggering off until she kicked a tree hard enough to knock bark off it. "THEY MADE ME NOT TALK ABOUT IT!" she screamed at us as she whirled around. "They said, they said it was all a mistake, that it didn't happen, that we were LYING!" she raged, her face red and her hands twisted into fists.
"Tina," Gail moaned, "It's not your fault-"
"I should have done something!"
"Like what?"
"Something- Anything! 'Cause you know he did it again to her!"
My stomach tightened into new knots of agony as the picture started to come into focus.
She looked up at the heavens and spit it out. "And he's still out there, and he's hurt someone again. And it's my fault, for never turning him in." She looked down at me, then collapsed into a sobbing pile. "It's all my fault."
Suddenly I knew. "God no."
Tina looked up in pain and whispered "My brother. Chris."
Author's Note:
Just a reminder. This is fiction. There are many autobiographical elements to this story, but it _is_ a story. It's dark, but sometimes life is dark. And, believe it or not, there are lighter parts to life. Eventually they will show up here. Promise.
- Kim
EXPO Summer -4- Friends Will be Friends
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Part 04 Friends Will be Friends All rights reserved |
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. Why won’t you believe me? The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language.
If you’re not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it’s too late. You’ve been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it’s being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
I’d love to hear from any readers with comments. Email me at [email protected]. Previous chapters of this story, as well as other stories, are available at http://www.kimem.net
This part of the story is dedicated to Ellen Hayes, a friend whose work has been a real inspiration to me. I just wish I had one tenth the talent. shrug Okay, I wish I had as much talent. As long as I’m wishing, there’s this big jackpot coming up in Powerball...
This part of the story is dedicated to Debra-Rachel, who's both a friend and someone who has made invaluable contributions to this story.
Previously:
"Gail's family, they lied to the doctors. They didn't want to mess up the family, so they hushed it up." Tina lurched up, staggering off until she kicked a tree hard enough to knock bark off it. "THEY MADE ME NOT TALK ABOUT IT!" she screamed at us as she whirled around.
"They said, they said it was all a mistake, that it didn't happen, that we were LYING!" she raged, her face red and her hands twisted into fists.
"Tina," Gail moaned, "It's not your fault-"
"I should have done something!"
"Like what?"
"Something- Anything! 'Cause you know he did it again to her!"
My stomach tightened into new knots of agony as the picture started to come into focus.
She looked up at the heavens and spit it out. "And he's still out there, and he's hurt someone again. And it's my fault, for never turning him in." She looked down at me, then collapsed into a sobbing pile. "It's all my fault."
Suddenly I knew. "God no."
Tina looked up in pain and whispered "My brother. Chris."
In silence we started walking, each lost in our own thoughts.
Was I supposed to hate Tina for what her brother had done to me? Should I blame her for not turning him in years earlier? That seemed to be what she thought. But it was Chris who'd hurt me, not Tina. If anything, she hated him more than I did. More than I ever could. She despised him for what he did, for what he was... and the worst part was that he was her twin.
Was I supposed to hate Gail for dropping me as a friend back in first grade? I knew now that she'd been horribly hurt and lost all trust in boys. Worse than that, she'd been deathly afraid of them. And until a few days before, to her I'd been a boy, as violent and scary as any.
And the boy who did it to her, who'd emotionally scarred her for life, was none other than Tina's evil twin. Evil Twin. People used the expression as a joke, but in her case it was literally true. Chris Libby was evil, in some sick and twisted way he enjoyed hurting and humiliating people. And that had to be frightening to Tina, who should have been closer to Chris than any other human.
In what must have been some sort of sick joke, they even had variants on the same name. Chris was actually Christopher, while Tina was really Christina. Her nickname used the only part of her name that she didn't share with her brother.
I didn't quite understand... or maybe I did, really. Tina and Gail were best friends. Tina's brother had molested Gail and then tried to kill her. Gail's parents had let him off the hook because they didn't want it known that their daughter was abused. And instead of tearing their friendship apart, it had forged it into an unbreakable bond.
And now, they were inviting me in. Gail, in remorse for having dropped me, and knowing that since I now was a girl, I was now 'safe'. And Tina, out of guilt for having let her brother get away with his violence years ago, allowing him to brutalize me the previous month.
I knew that they had other motives, most being nicer ones than I was thinking about. I wanted to be their friend. I wanted it badly. I'd grown up without and real friends, without any real companionship but my parents. The question was, did they _really_ want to be my friends? Could I trust them?
"Tina?" I asked quietly.
She sniffled one last time, and turned to me. "What... I'm... Oh, damn!" she wailed. The angry tears started again, and she stood in the middle of the street, trying and failing to bring them under control.
Gail and I moved in from opposite sides, put our arms around her, and tried to comfort her as best we could. Gail, though, was on the edge herself, and after only a few seconds was bawling into Tina's hair.
That set me off, and then there were three girls standing, arms linked, weeping in the middle of the street.
None of us came back to reality until a car horn startled us out of our misery. We looked up and there, not three feet away from us was a new Caddie with an angry old biddy behind the wheel.
"What are you girls doing?", she raged. "Get out of the street!"
As we stepped aside and the car roared off, one corner of Gail's mouth turned up... then the other... and she was snickering. That set Tina and I off, and we were now standing at the side of the road, still connected, in uncontrollable laughter.
As the laughter finally died down, I stepped away and looked down at my feet. I quietly spoke. "If the two of you still want it, I'd love to be your friend."
Just like that we were linked. And from that day forward, we would never be unlinked.
We didn't say much on the rest of the walk home. When we got to the back street (most would call it an alley) that ran behind our houses, none of us wanted to break things up, so we looked around for a place to go.
Gail said "Let's go to my house. My mom is out shopping with Tina's mom, and we'll have it all to ourselves."
Tina looked at me, concerned, and said "I don't think you'd be very comfortable at my house. Not with..."
"I know." I interrupted. We were silent for a moment, and then I continued. "It's funny, as much time as I spent there years ago. But you're right. I don't think your parents would want me there."
"Dad might not mind, but Mom, she'd be really uptight about it."
Tina laughed, a short, barking, bitter laugh. "_I_ don't feel comfortable at my house. Between my brother and my mother, I spend most of my time at Gail's."
"Your, um, mother?"
Tina reddened slightly and wouldn't meet my eyes. "She's, well, I guess today is the day for confessions."
Gail, still subdued, looked up at Tina and asked "Are you sure? Do you really want to talk?"
Tina glanced back at her and nodded, a small, hesitant nod, and then looked back at me. "My mom has been having an affair for, well, at least since I've been old enough to know."
My mind veered in circles as I realized that I'd known nothing about their family, at least nothing of the truth about them.
Tina continued "I caught them back when I was in kindergarten. They were in bed together and I just walked in on them. I don't think dad knows, but, well, this has been going on for years."
I looked sideways at her and carefully said "So it's not a casual thing. And she knows that you know, and have known. She's not worried that you might blow her secret?"
Tina sank to the pavement, sitting in the middle of the back street.
"No," she quietly said, "Not since... There's more to it than that."
Gail knelt beside her and took Tina's head to her chest. Gail looked up and said, "What she discovered, the lover? It's my mom."
The world resumed its dizzying swirl as I sank to the pavement next to Tina. "Oh, God. Your mother... and... it all fits together, doesn't it? That's why Gail's family didn't want to nail Chris for what he did. Your parents, both sets, were afraid of the scandal."
We were interrupted by the honk of a car horn. Mrs. Strebel, from up the block gave us a fish-eye gaze as we scrambled out of the way.
Gail and Tina were both in tears, rage contorting both faces as they recalled the pressures and humiliations from their families, to just SHUT UP about anything that had happened. And I -- I wasn't much help to them. The sick feeling overwhelmed me until my stomach once again rebelled.
We all stood there, lost in our misery, until a familiar car pulled down the back street and glided to a stop near the three of us. It was the Libby's Catalina, Mrs. Libby at the wheel, Mrs. Bandurski lounging idly in the seat next to her.
Tina and Gail visibly pulled themselves together as Mrs. Libby rolled down the window. "Are you girls having fun today?" she queried.
With a kind of sick smile, Tina gave a half-hearted nod. Mrs. Libby smiled, a thin-lipped, not-very-pleasant slash, and breathed, "Terri and I are going up to the house for some coffee. Why don't you girls run over to Gail's house to play for a while?"
As she rolled up the window and drove off, she asked, "Who's your new friend?" But she was gone long before anyone could answer.
I could see the women laughing inside the car as it pulled up the hill towards the Libby's driveway. I looked at Tina and Gail standing silently, comforting each other in their misery, and the pain in my stomach vanished. Instead, I had a sudden feeling of well-being as I figured it out. I knew. Knew what kind of people their mothers were, what had been done to the girls for all these years, and what had ultimately happened to me, all because the families wanted to avoid scandal and humiliation.
I could feel it building inside me, a terrible anger, one I'd never felt before. Before it consumed me, I grabbed Tina and Gail and pulled them towards Gail's house.
"Come on." I urged, "Let's do what she said and go inside. We need to talk."
We walked in silence, arm-in-arm-in-arm, each of us lost in her own thoughts. Once there, we went in and headed upstairs to Gail's room. Gail and Tina sank to the bed, sitting quietly, staring down at the floor. I stood, looking out the window, up the hill towards the Libby house.
I turned away from the window, and spoke, my voice tight with anger. "Unless there's more that you haven't gotten to, I think I get it now. This has been all about your mothers, and them being more concerned about themselves than you. Chris," I spat the name, "he's slime, but it's them, your parents that warped him."
Tina nodded, clutching at Gail. "That's... that's about it. I don't think either of our dads know what's been going on, but neither of them has much to do with the family anyway."
I sighed and thought. And thought.
After the silence had gone on for a while, Gail looked up questioningly. "Kim, you said we had to talk?"
I nodded, and turned back to the window. "Your moms, they've been together for years." I paused a moment to collect my thoughts. "It seems like they are only using your families to give them a comfortable place while they enjoy themselves." A hard edge crept into my voice. "They don't give a shit about you, or your fathers, or even your idiot brother."
I turned back from the window. Gail was still watching me, with some interest. Tina still stared at her feet, trying to suppress a fresh round of tears. "Tina!" I walked up and took her hand. She looked up at that and sniffled. "I think it's past the time for tears. I've been hurt, you've been hurt, and, God, Gail has been hurt the worst. This has Got To Stop."
Tina looked quizzical and opened her mouth, then closed it again. She appeared to think for a moment, then said, "What are you saying?"
"Someone," I resumed, "has got to _do_ something. Otherwise we're all going to be hurt again, or worse."
Tina thought some more. "We're twelve years old..."
"Mostly," I interrupted.
"Okay, you'll be twelve in August. We're not even teenagers. So what can we do?"
I sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't know. Not yet. There's got to be something, though. We can't let this go on."
From downstairs came the sound of a door opening. We all turned towards the door and Gail said, "My mother." Laughing voices rose up the stairwell. "And Mrs. Libby."
Tina lay back in an exaggerated pose of casualness. "I think we should act normal. They're _not_ going to like it if they know what we're talking about."
As the voices came closer, Gail hastily got up from the bed, grabbed a dress from her closet, and held it up in front of me, saying loudly "This one is _perfect_ for you, Kim! Let's see how it looks on you. Oh, Mom," she turned her head in feigned surprise, as her mother and Mrs. Libby came through the door, "I didn't hear you come in."
Her mother, Terri Bandurski, stepped into the room. She really wasn't a pretty sight. My first reaction was, *God, if I dress like that when I get to be her age, just kill me.*
Mrs. Bandurski was one of those women who seemed to be afraid of aging, or at the least, afraid of not being a teenager any more. She wore a low-cut peasant blouse and a miniskirt, sandals, and a band in her long, straight black hair. She really did look like an older version of one of those hippies I'd been seeing on television.
Not that Mrs. Libby looked any better. She had a hard-edged cast to her face, with a cigarette always lodged in one corner of her mouth. They were the same kind she'd smoked when I was younger, those ones with the silly holes in the end, Parliaments, I think.
She dressed a lot different than her friend, lover, whatever. A white long-sleeved blouse, looking almost like a man's dress shirt, atop a pair of burgundy dress slacks, with a crease so sharp you could use them to slice bread. Matching heels, shined to a wicked gleam. Every last one of her crimson hairs in place, the ends trimmed precisely into an even row.
Mrs. Libby had always had a commanding manner, even when I was little, but it seemed even worse now. Maybe it was the fact that this wasn't even her house and she just kind of took control of the situation.
"Tina," she crisply demanded, "you never introduced me to your little friend."
Tina colored and started to sit up. "Mom, you know her."
"That's impossible. I know everyone, and I definitely do _not_ know this little girl."
*Little girl indeed!* Well, if anything, she was making it easier for me to accept what we would eventually have to do.
Mrs. Bandurski slowly and unobtrusively faded back, apparently unwilling to get involved in this. Mrs. Libby stepped right up to me, forcing Gail and her dress to take a hasty step backwards, catching the bottom end of the bed, and oofing down backwards onto the mattress. Tina was there to keep her from rolling to the floor, but it was distracting to all of us, all of us except Mrs. Libby.
She inspected me closely from mere inches away, and adopted a quizzical look. "No, I definitely don't know this child. I've seen her somewhere before, but we've never met."
Tina tried and failed to stifle a laugh. "Mom, she's been to our place hundreds of times. You just don't remember because it's been so long."
Mrs. Libby looked again, with a piercing, penetrating glare. "No, definitely not."
Mrs. Bandurski, from somewhere back in the corner, hesitantly asked, "Who is she then, Gail?"
Gail looked at me, then at Tina, and then back again. I gave a slight nod which she returned, and she took a deep breath. "Mom, you know her too." Her mother tried to interrupt, but Gail plunged on. "This is Kimberly. Kim. She's lived across the back street from us for just about her whole life."
Mrs. Bandurski flashed a quick look out the window and then back at me. She seemed about to speak, but Mrs. Libby beat her to it. "There's no girl over there. Mrs. Robeson is a widow and doesn't have children. The Albertsons only have a boy. And so do the..."
She broke off and her eyes grew really wide.
"Billy..."
"It's Kim now, Mrs. Libby. There's no more Billy."
That set her off. I won't repeat her speech. It would take a while, and besides, she used a lot of words that eleven-year-olds aren't supposed to know. And I even learned one or two new ones.
The gist of it is that I was a freaky little pervert and had better stay away from her daughter. That there was no earthly reason for her precious son to be in juvenile detention for beating up a freak. That she'd do everything possible to get him freed and me locked up in his place. And she'd do whatever it took to make sure everyone knew all about me and would run my family out of town.
Blah, blah, blah.
When she finally started running out of steam, she ordered me out of the house. At that I just stood, staring at her defiantly. Gail got up from her perch on the bed and told her, hands on hips, "Mrs. Libby, I'm sorry but this isn't your house, and you can _not_ order my guest out."
That promised to set off a new explosion, but when she looked around, Mrs. Libby discovered that somewhere along the way Mrs. Bandurski had fled the room. Mrs. Libby reached out and grabbed her daughter by the wrist, and actually dragged Tina from the room.
The next morning, about nine, Gail came across the back street and found me curled up on the porch, book in hand. She took one look at me and failed to stifle a giggle.
That got my attention away from the book. "What?"
She couldn't talk for a second, and just pointed, first at the book and then at me. "You. And the book. Some things never change."
I was a bit confused, and after a few seconds she spoke up again, her composure mostly regained. "Never mind. What are you doing today?"
"I'm not sure. We're going to my dad's office for a bit, and after that, um, I dunno."
"Your dad's office? Where Ronnie's used to be?"
"Yep. It looks a lot different now." I giggled at the thought of how the place used to look. I could tell Gail's interest was piqued, and I had an idea. "Do you want to come along?"
"Can I? Will your mom mind?"
"Let's find out." I uncurled and got up in one smooth motion. Gail watched with a look of amazement. "What's wrong?"
"You look so... so... I don't know." She looked embarrassed. "It's just that, if I didn't know, I'd swear you've been doing this all your life."
Half-an-hour or so later we were in the backseat of my mom's car. Gail had made a few phone calls first, so it wouldn't seem like she had vanished or anything, and then we were off.
Mom needed to drop off some papers before some meeting Dad had planned. The office was only a few minutes away, actually only a block from the park where we'd stopped the day before.
When we got there, Mom asked if we wanted to come in, and since Gail had never been inside, at least since it had become a real estate office, she was eager to come. As we entered she looked around, at the plush carpeting and the paintings, the short row of desks, and the crimson door to the private office.
"Cool, she said, "I haven't been in here since it was Ronnie's".
When we were little there'd been a small grocery store here, until the owner had retired and left the building vacant. After a few years my dad bought the building and put his office in the front part. It really didn't look much like a former grocery. Not any more.
In the outer office there were three desks in a line. The salesmen sat out here, doing whatever they did, while Dad had his private office in the little turreted corner of the building.
All three salesmen were there that morning, Jean, Elizabeth, and Bob. I'd known all of them for years, but they'd never seen me as Kim, and I had no idea how they'd react. Dad had told them, of course, but there was no telling what they really thought.
It didn't take long to find out.
Jean hung up her phone and got up, walking right to me and putting her arms around me. "Kimberly!" She hugged me for a moment, then took me lightly by my shoulders and held me at arms length. "Let me have a look at you!"
She took a long look and then smiled. "I've never looked at you in quite this way, but you're very pretty. And you're going to grow up into a beautiful woman."
Well, I'd as soon they forgot who I used to be, but I guess it would take a while.
Bob, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, and looked at me as well, but it was a cold, hard-eyed stare. "Christ! Why don't you put on some decent clothes?"
I was- I was in shock. Gail was right behind me, and I could hear her gasp as she placed one hand on my back in support. Mom had already gone in to see dad, and she missed this.
Jean and Elizabeth spun to face him, and both said, as one, "Bob!"
He sat up and put his elbows on the desk as he gave me another look. "Look at him! That little faggot is prancing around like a girl and all you're doing is encouraging him. Jesus!"
Jean stared at him in outrage, and Elizabeth leaned over her desk, palms down, and spoke right into his face. "Bob, I don't pretend to understand what she is going through. But she says she's a girl, she looks like a girl, and her parents are supporting her. Beyond that, I don't _need_ to understand." She put her face mere inches from his and spoke urgently at him. "It's obvious that you don't understand either. Bob, shut up until you do. You sound like an idiot and if you keep this up Bill's going to put you out on your ass."
That did it, as far as he was concerned. He reared up from his desk and exploded. "Jesus Fucking Christ! Are you nuts? You're actually okay with this? You're sick, all of you!"
This was enough to bring Mom and Dad out of the inner office. He took one look at the scene... Bob standing at his desk, the chair fallen over backwards behind him, Elizabeth opposite him in an angry crouch, Jean with her hands to her mouth, looking as if she was ready to crawl into a hole, Gail holding tightly to me as I stood there, silent and rigid, holding my anger in check.
Dad was at Bob's desk in three angry, very long strides. "What the fuck... What do you think you're doing?" He practically ripped Bob from his position and hustled him into the inner office. The door slammed with enough force to shift a couple of paintings.
We could hear angry voices from the inner office as Mom and Gail walked me over to a chair and sat me down. Mom crouched at my side, her face even with mine, and she stroked my hair. "Honey? Are you- are you okay?"
"I'm... I... how..." I was still in shock, and just couldn't get anything out. Mom turned to Elizabeth and asked her for a glass of water.
Gail knelt at my other side and wrapped her arms around me. "Kim- please, talk to us. Kim?" I remained silent. I could hear and see everything that was going on, but it all seemed kind of unreal, almost like watching a movie.
From the other office, the voices were rising higher and higher, and Mom shot a quick look at the door, as though fearing that the next sound would be that of something breaking.
Elizabeth returned with the water, but instead of giving it to Mom, she knelt in front of me and held it out. I didn't move, and after a moment she placed the glass up to my mouth. That was enough to bring me back a little, and I took the glass in one hand and sipped. The water helped relieve the tight knot that I hadn't known was in my throat.
Gail pled urgently into my ear. "Kim, please. Come back to us. Don't let this get you uptight. Please. He's an asshole..." She shot a quick glance at my mom, but Mom didn't take notice. "This isn't worth it. Please!"
I turned slowly to look at Gail, and I whispered "I'm here. I'm just..." and with that the dam broke. I burst into tears, and grabbed tight onto Mom. She clutched me at least as tight, and I just cried and cried, letting all the pain and anger out.
Well, not all. Somewhere in my belly was a cold ball of fury that wasn't going away. Someday, somehow, Bob Matthews was going to regret that he'd ever opened his mouth.
I almost missed it, but the office door flew open and Dad stormed out, over to the wall where the framed real estate licenses hung in a row. He grabbed Bob's off the wall and returned to the inner office, leaving the door open this time.
There was dead silence from inside, and after a moment Bob walked out, the license in his hands. He stalked directly for the outside door, looking neither to the right or left. He stiff-armed the door and walked right out without a word.
Dad came out of his office a moment later. In an oddly quiet voice he said "Nobody, nobody is going to talk to my daughter that way. Ever."
As we left the office, Gail held me in her arms and led me out towards the car. Mom looked at me with concern, and tenderly asked, "Are you okay, Honey?"
Tears still streamed down my face as I thought about the kind of person who would say things like that to a little girl. I finally replied as we reached the car. "Yes... I'll be all right in a minute." Mom unlocked the car, and Gail and I slid into the back seat.
It took more than a minute, but the tears finally stopped, and I returned to the world.
Mom looked back at me and simply asked, "Better?" I nodded silently and she started the car. As she put the car in gear, she said, "Gail and I have a surprise for you."
I looked up quickly, and could see her concerned eyes in the rear-view mirror. "What is it?" I asked, but she only shook her head and smiled.
"Well, it wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you, now would it?"
"Come on," Gail said, "You'll love this."
"What..." I started to ask, but Gail interrupted.
"Kim, shut up and go along with this. Don't worry, it's something groovy."
I knew she was creating the surprise to take my mind off the incident at Dad's office, but, well, maybe that's what I needed. Bob would keep. And someday, well, I was young. I had time.
From between the seats, Mom pulled out a scarf and handed it back to Gail. Gail, in turn, took the scarf in both hands and started folding it. "Okay, I have to blindfold you now." I didn't resist as she wrapped the scarf around my head, though I had no earthly idea what was going on.
We drove for about fifteen minutes, with Gail chattering the whole time to distract me from my thoughts. It worked, because I was well and thoroughly lost. It had to be to the south or west side of town, though, because Michigan City wasn't all that big a place.
When we got to our destination Gail removed the blindfold with a flourish, and I saw we were at the new mall. This was my first visit since the day I was beaten by Chris Libby and his pals. Somehow, being there didn't bother me as much as I'd expected.
Mom laughed and said "You need a lot more clothes than you've got right now, so I thought we could spend the afternoon shopping." As soon as she said that, my face lit up with a smile that felt like my face was splitting. "First we need some lunch," said Mom, "and then we'll start our grand shopping trip."
Gail and I ran to the mall's entrance and raced inside. I didn't get more than six feet in when something registered on me and I skidded to a stop. Tina! "What are you doing here?"
Tina grinned and said "Gail called, and said you were going to be shopping. My mother, "she almost spit the word, "is having her hair done today, so I managed to talk her into dumping me at the mall for the afternoon." She giggled and hugged me as we walked farther into the mall.
The three of us, Tina, Gail, and myself, ran ahead to Danner's, the cafeteria that I thought had EVERYTHING. When we got there, we had to wait. Mom wasn't about to run, and she had the money.
While we were waiting it occurred to me, in the old days I would never have run... that would have been beneath my dignity, if an eleven-year-old can be allowed any. But now, well, things like that didn't seem so important any more.
Tina broke in with a question: "What are you going to get this afternoon?"
That was easy. "Everything. I have a _lot_ of catching up to do!"
Mom finally caught up and we headed for the line. She picked some cottage cheese and pineapple. Uuugh! How could people eat things like that? Tina had, of all things, a cheese salad, while Gail and I had hot dogs and fries. I knew that sooner or later I'd be having to watch my weight, but I'd worry about that when the time came.
Over lunch everyone was asking me what I wanted to buy. "Weeell," I drawled out, "are you sure that you want to hear this?"
"YES!" my friends chorused. Friends. What a nice thought. I sat there a moment and basked, then started as I realized they were staring at me, expectantly waiting.
"I want EVERYTHING!" They both laughed while mom cast a nervous look towards her purse. "What I'd like are some nice shoes, dresses, tops and skirts, and," I looked pleadingly at mom, "a mini skirt."
Mom looked pained.
"That's what all the girls are wearing now. Please, Mom? Pleeease?"
Mom looked sternly at me and said "We'll think about the mini skirt. I don't really approve of them; they're too too short, and maybe you're a bit young for one."
I admit it, I pouted a bit. Just a bit.
She tried to keep the stern look, but a hint of a smile crept through. I figured that maybe, if I shut up about the mini, maybe later I could talk her into letting me have one.
"Everything else that you asked for is fine," she said with that hint of smile still playing on her lips. "Would you like to get your ears pierced today as well?"
I squealed with delight. "Can I? I didn't think..." *shut up, idiot*, my mind told me. I didn't ask because I never thought she'd allow it. Mom's ears weren't pierced, and I really thought she'd forbid me to ever have it done.
"I don't see why not. Both Gail and Tina have theirs pierced." Tina pulled her hair back to show me her pretty ear rings. "Okay, ladies are we ready to go," Mom asked. We stood up as our answer and started for the door, then paused and waited for mom to join us.
"Where would you like to go first?" Mom asked.
"Can I get my ears pierced first?" I was no fool, I wanted it done before Mom came to her senses and forbade it.
Mom said that it would be all right as we headed back into the center mall. She took us into Zales, her favorite jewelry store. We walked in and a lady asked if she could help. Mom said "Yes, I would like to get my daughter's ears pierced today."
"That's fine," the lady replied, "Does she have her own earrings to use or do you wish to buy some?" Mom said that we would like to buy some and asked if she had any small gold studs that she could see.
"Yes, I'll just go and get them," she said as she retreated into the back room. Moments later she came out carrying a tray filled with studs and rings of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Mom sorted through the collection picked out 5 pairs, then told me to choose which pair I wanted. I looked at the earrings mom had selected, delighted because I loved all of them. But only one? This was going to be more difficult than I'd expected.
They all looked pretty much the same except for size. Some seemed huge and some looked tiny... except for one pair in the form of dangling hearts. As soon as I saw them I knew those were the ones that I wanted. I pointed to them and asked mom if I could have the hearts. Mom said yes, laughing, "Of course you can."
With that decided, the lady took me over to a corner of the store and sat me down on a high stool. "Is this your first time?"
"Yes it is," I replied while rolling my eyes in Tina's direction. Sheesh. Adults. My ears were right there for her to see, and they had no holes. What else did she think I _might_ have pierced?
While I was occupied with the piercing, I could see Gail whispering worriedly to Tina, and knew she was bringing her up to date on the events at Dad's office. Tina looked shocked, then angry, and then her face smoothed out as she went back to watching the piercing. I could tell, though, that she was still distracted.
The lady smiled and said "Don't worry, you'll just feel a little prick and that's it." She cleaned my ears with alcohol and then got a piercing needle and a cork out. She placed the cork behind my ear then the next thing I knew there was a little 'pop' and the ear was pierced. As she took the needle out she pushed the ring through the hole that she had made, then repeated the process on the other side.
I was pretty surprised that it didn't hurt more. I really thought it would be a lot bigger deal. "There," the lady said to me, "all done. Would you like to see how it looks?"
"Ooooh, yes please," I replied as she took me over to a mirror and I pulled my hair back to see.
"Ohhhh, they are so pretty!" I called Tina and Gail over to look. They both said that they were very pretty and wished that they had earrings like that instead of the plain rings that they wore.
While we were talking Mom was at the counter paying the lady for piercing my ears and the earrings. We left the store and Mom said, "Okay, now for clothes."
We went into Sears and headed for the ladies area so that we could look and, well, START SHOPPING! A clerk came over and asked if she could help. Mom said, "Yes, I am buying a new wardrobe for my daughter from the skin out." I had to laugh to myself. I could see the eyes light up at the thought of the size of the sale she was sure was coming.
She said to us all, "Please, call me Rachel."
Mom said "Okay then, Rachel, first of all she needs some new underwear and some training bras."
Rachel led us over to the section that dealt with lingerie. She asked Mom my sizes as we went over, and when we got to the lingerie section she went straight to a rack and lifted some bras off it for Mom to see. "Will these be all right?"
Mom looked at them and then looked at me. "Will they be okay for you, Honey?" I looked helplessly at them, and Tina and Gail started tittering. Mom turned back to Rachel and said "She's been a bit of a tomboy, but it's time for her to start dressing correctly." That was enough to set me off. I started snickering, and then the laughter started, and soon Gail and Tina were convulsing as helplessly as me.
Rachel looked blankly at us, while Mom adopted a long-suffering look. Every time I almost recovered, one glance at Rachel or my mom was enough to set me off again.
It took a while, but finally I was able to regain my composure, and, with some effort, keep from breaking out laughing again. I looked at the bras she'd selected for me. There were three white training bras with pale lacing round the edge and a bow in the middle. "Yes, Mom, they will be wonderful!"
Mom turned to Rachel and asked, "Can I try them on her?"
Rachel said, "Yes, of course. There's a dressing room over there." She pointed past the end of the aisle. I know, it would never be permitted today, but this was the mid-60's, and things were a bit different then.
Mom and I walked over and, once inside, Mom helped me to take my top off. When I tried my first bra it seemed tight but Mom said that it was right for me and I would get used to it.
I asked her if I could keep it on and she laughed and said, "Of course, if you want to. Besides, as of now I want you to wear one every day, okay?"
"Oh yes, Mom," I breathed, "you can't imagine how much I've wanted this." I sniffled once, and a trace of moisture appeared in my eyes.
Mom proudly looked down at me and said "Now there'll be none of that. I know it's special, but..." She broke off, and after a moment I looked up at her, and realized that her eyes were misting up too. After a few moments she gestured to me to put my top back on.
I did, and we went back outside. Mom told Rachel that they were fine and that I would wear one out. Rachel said that was fine, then showed mom panties that would go with my training bras. Mom said, "I'll take a dozen of those."
They were just plain white but they were all mine! Mom asked Rachel about other panties that were maybe a little bit fancier. Rachel went to a drawer and lifted out some fancier panties, all trimmed in lace. Mom said, "That's just what I want. I'll have 2 pairs of those, please."
Rachel added them to the pile of panties and bras, and we moved over to the section containing the skirts and dresses. It was filled with racks and racks and racks of clothes. Mom said to me, "Go and have a look. I want you to pick out 4 casual skirts and 2 casual dresses while Rachel and I see about the formal wear that I want you to have for church."
Tina, Gail and I wandered off to look through the racks. Tina said, "You are soooo lucky to be getting all these clothes and bras. My mom won't let me get any yet."
"Neither will mine," said Gail. "Of course, they usually make the same decisions."
Tina giggled. "Of course! They are kind of joined at the hip."
Gail and I turned as one. "Tina!"
"Well, it's true. My mom makes the decisions and Gail's follows."
Gail sighed. "True. My mom, I think she traded in her backbone when she met Missus Libby." I glanced at Tina, and Gail followed my eyes. "I don't hold it against Tina. Our moms, well, they're pretty weird." She stepped over and gave Tina a firm hug. "After Chris, after he... I don't think I'd have survived if it wasn't for Tina. I felt so- so- so dirty. And Tina, she pulled me back together and kept me that way when our parents were calling me a liar."
Mom and Rachel wandered over at this point and saw us deep in conversation, and no dresses picked out. She cleared her throat meaningfully, and we guiltily went back to looking through the racks.
When they stepped away, though, the three of us put our heads together again and Gail said, "It helps... it really helps to have someone we can share it with. It, well, almost like it doesn't hurt as much now." I looked up and saw Mom giving me a fish-eye look, and we went back to browsing.
Gail pulled out a beautiful print dress and asked, "What do you think of this?"
I liked it and said, "Its pretty. Lets put it to one side and see what Mom thinks." I found a long loose skirt with daisies all over. Tina liked it but Gail wasn't sure so I put it in a 'maybe' pile.
We went on like this for about half an hour before mom finally came up to us and asked, "Okay, girls, what have you found?" I showed her the pile that I'd picked out, and Mom approved most of them. She had me go try them all on and come out and model for her; as I modelled them I took two out of the pile and rejected them. They looked nice enough, but I didn't like the way that they sat on me.
After the modelling session mom went to pay for it all at the counter. It came to a _lot_ of money. Mom pulled a HUGE pile of bills out of her purse to pay. Where had she gotten that much cash?
Mom asked if she could have the clothes delivered, and Rachel explained that Sears had stopped delivering when they'd moved to the new mall. Mom looked at the huge pile of shopping bags in despair. Rachel saw the look in Mom's eyes and relented. "Look, the store doesn't deliver, but I think I can help you out. If you'd like, I can bring them myself when I get off work."
They quickly made the arrangements, and then we were off to more stores. "Okay, ladies, we just need to get Kim some shoes and I think that will do for the day."
We all trouped into a shoe store called Feet & Co. A young man came up and asked if he could help. Mom immediately said, "Yes, I need some shoes for my daughter. We need 3 pairs of casual shoes and one pair of low heels; about one-and-a-half inches."
He turned and asked, "Is this your first pair of heels?"
I said, "Yes."
"Okay, then I think one-and-a-half is reasonable." Give me a moment and I'll be right back. He vanished into the back room for what seemed like a really long time. What did these people do in the back rooms? It seemed like every place except Sears kept everything that people wanted to buy hidden away from the customer.
Eventually he came back with what seemed like a mountain of boxes of shoes. "What do you want to try first?" he asked.
"Can I try the heels?" I asked excitedly.
He looked at mom as he squatted on the little stool that every shoe store had. "Girls. Every one is just the same."
I smiled a little secret smile, and Tina and Gail tittered in the background.
The salesman pulled a pair of black shoes out of a box and asked me to put one on. I pulled it on and it was a perfect fit. I asked him for the other one and put that on too. When I stood up it seemed like I was on top of a mountain, I felt soooo tall. Mom said to walk about and see how they felt. They felt wonderful.
We must have run that poor man ragged as I spent about 2 hours trying on shoes. I finally bought the first pair of heels that he had shown me, a pair of white sandals, two pairs of casual flats (one in brown and one in black, if anyone cares). Mom paid for the shoes and we headed back for the car. Tina had to stay behind and wait for her mother. I was exhausted from the marathon shopping trip, and fell asleep in the car, my head slumped onto Gail's shoulder.
The next thing I knew, we were in my driveway and Gail was shaking me awake.
I spent the rest of the afternoon napping, only getting up at dinnertime. I don't remember a thing about the dinner, the only thing that sticks in my mind was dessert.
Dad was talking about some real estate developer in New York. I wasn't really paying attention, thinking about my new clothes, and planning on where to wear each. Something seemed a bit wrong, and suddenly I realized that Mom and Dad were silently looking at me.
"Um... I'm sorry, did you say something?"
Mom and Dad gave each other knowing looks, and Dad grinned. "I said that I was really sorry that you weren't able to go the New York World's Fair back in '64."
Mom broke in. "We both knew how much you wanted to go, but you were just too young for us to take you to a city like New York. Now, well, now you're old enough."
"It's a bit late now, Mom. The fair ended two years ago." It was still a bit of an open wound for me. I'd been desperate to go to the fair, and had read everything I could find on it, watched every fair special on television, and begged my parents to take me. It didn't work.
Dad sighed, and said "It's too late for New York, yes. But this summer there's one in Montreal."
"EXPO 67? Can we go?" I asked excitedly. I'd been hinting about the fair for a year, though my problems in the spring had taken all my attention. *maybe... maybe...*
"Kimberly," Dad continued, "It will be a bit early, but for your birthday your mother and I are taking you to the fair for a week in mid-August."
I squealed and suddenly found myself wrapped around him. "Thank you thank you thankyouthankyou..."
Author's Note:
Okay, now you know. Kimberly is going to the World's Fair. But it's a month away. And a lot can happen in a month. A lot can happen in a day.
- Kim
EXPO Summer -5- The Unkindest Cut
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Part 05 Friends Will be Friends All rights reserved |
Author's Note: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. After writing this, God, I hope so. The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. E-mail me at [email protected]
Earlier chapters and other stories are available at http://www.kimem.net
Also, check out http://www.hugglebugs.net to see a brand new story universe in the making.
This part of the story is dedicated to Prudence Walker, aka Prue, resident muse and a very talented author in her own right. And don't blame her, this chapter is my own doing.
Previously:
"EXPO 67? Can we go?" I asked excitedly. I'd been hinting about the fair for a year, though my problems in the spring had gotten to take all my attention. *maybe... maybe...*
"Kimberly," Dad continued, "It will be a bit early, but for your birthday your mother and I are taking you to the fair for a week in mid-August."
I squealed and suddenly found myself wrapped around him. "Thank you thank you thankyouthankyou..."
I won't go into any detail about the next two days. Gail, Tina, and I went everywhere together. To the beach, to church, out bike riding.
Bike riding. We'd been out for most of the morning, and when Tina and Gail wanted to head for home, I decided to stop by my dad's office instead. We'd been riding along the cart paths of the gold course, and so when they turned east, back to home, I headed north, down one of the cart paths back towards the clubhouse. The clubhouse was at the top of a steep hill, so when I got to the base of the hill I took a shortcut, a graveled path that led though the park. This was the same park where Gail had told me of her molestation, and I slowed as I neared the secluded spot where we'd had such a horrible conversation.
There were three teenage boys sitting on the bench, talking and laughing. As I approached, one glanced up, saw me, and a look of delight crossed his face. He suddenly stood and moved into the path, reaching for the handlebars on my bike.
The other boys looked at him in surprise as the bike came to a sudden stop. He reached with his other hand and grabbed the front of my blouse, lifting me slightly so that I was almost off the seat. He turned to his friends and said, "This is her-him-the little pervert!"
They looked uncertain and one asked, "Are you sure? She looks like a girl."
The first one laughed nastily and grabbed me by the hair. With a savage yank he pulled the wig off and chortled. The other said, "Jeez. It _is_ a guy!"
The one holding me dragged me bodily off the bike and let it fall to the pavement. The others surrounded me, and started laughing, looking closely at my face. The previously silent one looked at the ringleader and asked, "Do you still want to..." He trailed off and looked at the boy holding me.
"Yes," the boy replied, "now more than ever." He drew his free arm back, then launched a solid punch at my stomach. I tried dodging, to no avail. The punch landed deep in my gut and I would have doubled over if he hadn't been holding me up.
The others moved right up to me, one at my left, the other behind and to my right. The one on the left feinted at me, and as I reacted, the one behind me grabbed my right arm. The one on the left, instead of striking, suddenly had my left arm. They moved slightly away, drawing my arms out to my sides.
I tried pulling away, but they were bigger and stronger. The ringleader let go of my blouse, and I thought he was going to launch into an all-out attack. Instead, he reached both hands to my collar, and grabbed, pulling straight down, and ripping the front of the blouse apart.
I opened my mouth to cry out, yell for help, but the blow to my gut had frozen my innards, and I couldn't produce more than an agonized squeak. I struggled and tried again to pull away, but
couldn't budge either of the ones holding my arms.
I tried to tell myself that there's nothing about being a girl that means I can't fight. Some of the nastiest fighters I've seen are girls. So why can't I fight back? Why haven't I ever been able to fight back? As I strained for an answer, he pulled out a knife, a jackknife he seemed uncomfortably casual handling.
I renewed my struggles as he easily flipped the knife open. Again, futility was the only outcome, and he leaned in towards me. He held the keen edge of the knife to my cheek, letting me fearfully gaze at the metal so close to me. He drew the blade lightly down my right cheek, barely stinging but leaving a wet feeling behind. When it reached my chin, he lifted the blade and reached out with his other arm, grabbing the front of my bra.
"So," he gloated, "the little boy wears a bra. How cute." He scratched his head in mock puzzlement. "I don't get it? Why bother wearing a bra? There's nothing on your chest to fill it." His knife flashed, and the bra was suddenly in two pieces, hanging uselessly from my body.
The two other kids guffawed upon seeing this, and while they were distracted I tried pulling loose. Still nothing. Damn. They were just too strong for my eleven-year-old frame.
I felt something wet on my chest, and discovered a steady dripping of blood, landing near the still vestigial right nipple, and running down my stomach and below, starting to stain my culottes. "Oh, look, he's flowing," mocked the teen. "There's another thing that girls do that he has to copy. And I bet his panties are all bloody."
The kid on my left sneered, "I bet nobody ever told him about tampons."
The ringleader laughed and said, "Where would he put them, up his ass?" He leaned forward again and with a few quick slashes cut loose the bloody culottes, exposing a somewhat less bloody pair of panties. "Not as much blood here. Do you suppose I should help it along?" The other two nodded eagerly, and the knife prodded at my chest, quickly drawn into circles around where my breasts would someday be. I gasped in pain as he leered at me. "There, now you'll know where to have boobs attached some day."
My breath was returning, impelled in part by the rings of fire on my chest, and partly by the sure knowledge of where he was eventually going with that blade. I cried out, "HEEEEELL..." and was abruptly cut off by a sharp, very hard blow to the throat. I couldn't talk, could barely breathe, and the harsh, lingering pain told me that he'd most likely crushed something in my throat.
He moved behind me, around the two thugs holding my arms rigid, and swiftly cut loose the remains of my clothing. Only my panties remained, and I could feel him rub my butt through the thin material. He chuckled and said, "Oh, yes, I know exactly want we need to do." I could feel the slicing of the material at both sides, and the panties fell freely to the ground.
My arms were suddenly drawn even tighter, if such a thing is possible, and I could feel the blade carving it's way across my backside. The pain, well, it wasn't as bad as I'd expected, but I could feel the skin splitting where the knife had cut deeply. He finished his grisly job, and casually circled round to my front again. "I suppose you want to know what it says? Nothing much, you little pervert. Just something so the other perverts will be able to recognize you."
I tried to yell, to scream at him, but the very effort was agony, and nothing came out but a breathy whistle. HE laughed again, then shouted at me, right into my face, all the vileness and bile he possessed coming forth at that moment. "You fucking little fag boy, prancing around like a girl and trying to pretend that you're something you will never be! NEVER! If you live a fucking million years you won't be a girl!"
He reached down towards my exposed groin with his knife, preparing to do something I don't even want to think about, when the answer to my question flashed into my mind. Girls are nasty fighters, they will do WHATEVER it takes, while boys usually have unspoken rules in their fights. Girls are the more dangerous. I should have known, I couldn't overpower or out-struggle the older boys, I had to fight like a girl!
He reached for my limp and undeveloped member as my leg lashed out and my bare toes connected solidly with his groin. He collapsed to the ground, clutching himself as my suddenly shifted weight pulled the two other teens off-balance. As they staggered, I was able to catch one with my knee, another solid hit to the crotch, forcing him to release my right arm, and letting me swing around on the one on the left. He backpedaled, releasing my arm and reflexively clutching form his privates.
I lit out of there, naked and in pain, right across the park's lawn, straight through the sprinklers, racing with all my might for the street and safety. I could hear their pained cries behind me, and knew that with their greater size and speed, it was only moments until they would again have me in their clutches. I took a hard left towards the nearest piece of road, and my feet went out from under me on the wet grass. I slid and rolled, and managed to recover my footing without much loss in time. Behind me I could hear the dismayed cries as the three clowns ran into the spray, getting a face-full of near-freezing water.
The urgency was greater for me, because I knew what they would do when they caught up to me, and I HAD to get to safety, simply had to if I wanted to live. I was having trouble, though. Whatever he'd done when he nailed my throat was making it hard to breathe. I could feel thunderbolts of pain as I gasped, still running my race for life. Ahead was a chain barrier at the edge of the park. About two-and-a-half feet high, the chain was strung to keep cars and bicycles out of the grass, and delimit the edge of the park. I was too low to duck under at the speed I was traveling, so I leapt to vault it. As my feet left the ground, my bare feet slipped on the wet grass and shot out from under me, and I leapt into uncontrolled flight.
I flew, frantically trying to change what I could see was going to happen, but I was already in mid-air. As I frantically twisted, one leg passed under the chain and the other above the chain... I tried, really I did, but I couldn't do anything to change my path, and I slammed into the chain full-force, right between the legs. All my eleven-year-old weight came down full force on my crotch, and the world flared white with agony, and then it turned black and there was nothing.
© 2000 The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission. - Kim
EXPO Summer -6- The Truth About Adults
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Part 06 The Truth About Adults All rights reserved |
Author's Note: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. After writing this, God, I hope so. The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. E-mail me at [email protected]
Earlier chapters and other stories are available at http://www.kimem.net
This part of the story is dedicated to Piper, who has been doing a lot of growing of her own lately.
Previously:
I flew, frantically trying to change what I could see was going to happen, but I was already in mid-air. As I frantically twisted, one leg passed under the chain and the other above the chain... I tried, really I did, but I couldn't do anything to change my path, and I slammed into the chain full-force, right between the legs. All my eleven-year-old weight came down full force on my crotch, and the world flared white with agony, and then it turned black and there was nothing.
Pepper lay on the cool tile of the recreation room, head down, intently watching the stairs. Her human had to show up soon. It had been an upsetting summer. First her human had come home smelling of blood and dirt, and nobody had let Pepper protect the child. Every day she had to stay home and wait while her person went elsewhere alone for hours on end, completely unprotected. She felt hurt that nobody gave her the chance to go along for protection, but she was frantic the day the youth came home all bloody. There had to be something she could do, but nobody gave her an opportunity.
Didn't they know that protecting her human was part of her job? Sometimes they treated her as just someone to pet and play with, and though she loved those times, it was her job to take care of the youth. The child was still too young, just like an overgrown puppy, and would need her protection. Would need? Had needed it, from the blood and bruises.
Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, her human had vanished for weeks, while the other humans smelled of fear and anxiety. Again, Pepper wasn't given the chance to protect her person. She spent the weeks curled up in a corner, feeling as though she hadn't done her job. Something had happened and again she had failed.
The little human had finally returned several days before, but different. Her person used to dress like a little version of one of the big humans, but now dressed like a little version of the other. It was all very confusing, but then most things the humans did was confusing. At least she was able to keep a protective eye on her person. Best yet, more new humans started visiting, dressed like hers, good smelling, and always petting and playing with her. Pepper sighed momentarily at the good memory, then returned to her watch of the stairs.
A few days ago, everything had changed again. Her person vanished once again, and the big humans bustled around the house smelling of rage and fear. The other small humans had visited several times, but HERS never showed up. Pepper was ready. If anyone tried to hurt the other humans, she would instantly leap to their defense. It was the least she could do till her own human returned.
If only she knew what was going on. It was all very confusing.
I can't say if it helped or hurt me, but when I was eleven I figured out the truth about adults.
Adults were strange, a breed apart. So big, so serious all the time. What happened to turn a kid into an adult? Was there some magic day where the kid woke up and stopped playing, stopped doing kid things, and headed off for work? I wasn't looking forward to it, I can say that for sure. I liked who I was, especially now. Why should I grow up into a totally different person? Now that I'd become someone I liked, I didn't want to change a bit. Still, I supposed, I guess there wasn't anything to be done about it. It was hard to imagine, but my parents must have been kids once, and look what happened to them.
I did a lot of thinking, I remember that. I'm not sure where I was, though I can vaguely remember being poked and prodded. I thought a lot, and I slept and dreamed. This went on for quite a while, but for some reason it didn't bother me. Everything was black, or gray, or something. But eventually I woke, this time to a world I'd as soon have ignored. There was no pain, but much of my body seemed numb. No, not numb, really, but it’s like I was feeling my body through a fog. That doesn't make sense either, but it's the best I can describe.
I opened my eyes to see a fuzzy-looking room. I was lying flat on my back, in a bed, an odd-table to my side. *Oh, no.* I knew this scene, I was back in a hospital. *Why?* What could have-- and then the memories reignited the terror of the attack. I'd been badly cut up, escaped, run naked through the park, then vaulted the chain but slipped and-- my mind went blank. I had a horrible idea what had happened. I tried to reach for my covers, to pull them back, but I couldn't will my hands to move.
I tried hard to move them, but nothing... Was I paralyzed? *Oh, God, please not that.* If I were paralyzed, If I were paralyzed, all I could do is lay around being a burden to my parents. No, I couldn't live like that. But what could I do? If I couldn't move, then how could I...? Best to not even think of that. Maybe someone would come in soon, and I could find out what was going on.
I lay there, keeping myself from growing bored by remembering the faces of the teens who had done this to me. I engraved their appearance on my brain. If I ever saw them again, I wanted to be able to recognize them.
Eventually I heard the sounds of movement from the doorway, and a nurse came in to check on me. When she saw that I was conscious she came to my side. "You're awake, and so soon." She beamed at me. "How are you feeling?"
"Y cnnn mvv." My mouth was like mush, my throat on fire. I knew what I wanted to say, but I could barely force it out. She didn't seem to have any trouble deciphering, though.
"Oh, I know, Honey. Don't worry, that's just the nerve block. It'll wear off soon, now that you're awake."
"Hww lngvYbnnhrrr?" Damn. I hoped it would wear off fast. This was embarrassing, not being able to say what I wanted.
"It's been a week since you were flown in."
"Flwnyn? WhrrmY?"
"You're in Chicago, at Passavant Hospital." She could see I was starting to tire again. "Don't worry, you'll be okay. Just go back to sleep, and you'll feel better when you wake." I wanted to ask more questions, but almost before I knew it I was back in the land of blackness.
When I next awoke, I wasn't alone in the room. A different woman, wearing a long white coat, was standing by my side, making notes on a clipboard. When she saw I was awake, she lowered the clipboard and spoke. "Good evening, Kimberly. I'm Doctor Walker."
*A doctor. Really.* She was short and healthy looking, more like a farm girl that had gotten lost in the city than a doctor in one of the largest hospitals in Chicago.
"Good evening, Doctor... What's wrong with me? I mean, why am I here? I remember the attack, but nothing after that." At least now I could speak. My throat still throbbed, but I could control my mouth.
She looked silently at me for a moment, seemingly making a decision, then gave a small nod. She looked around, then pulled a small chair up to the bedside and sat. Without thinking I shifted slightly to face her. *Aha!* So I could move. That's one worry out of the way.
"Kimberly, that attack on you, it left you seriously injured. There were a number of incised wounds, a severe blow to your throat, plus the damage you took when you hit that chain." I started to ask about the 'damage', but she shushed me. "It's okay, I'll get to that in a moment. The wounds, they varied in seriousness. The blow to your throat bruised the larynx, and there were some serious concerns when you were brought in, but it's healing now. The slash to your cheek was just a minor cut, and it's already almost healed-- there won't even be a scar. The cuts to your chest were a bit more serious, but not too bad. They're healing, and I don't expect there to be any visible scarring, except that you might have to be careful in the future about tanning. I suspect that when you get sunburned or tanned, they might not tan properly, so you might show a trace of the wound under those circumstances." I swallowed hard and nodded. "The incisions to your posterior were rather deeper. They are healing, but will take somewhat longer to heal completely. Even after they are healed, there will be scarring. I'm sorry."
"He said it was a, a message. What's the pattern? Were they words?" I waited with some dread as Dr. Walker weighed her words carefully.
"It's, yes, the pattern forms a word. I'm sorry, Honey, but there's nothing I can do to remove it. Once it's healed there are some techniques that might make it a bit less visible, but I'm afraid the scars will always remain there."
"What does it say?"
She paused, sighed, then spoke. "The letters carved there spell 'FAG'. Do you know what that means?" I nodded, tears running down my cheeks.
"Y-yes. How could he do... how could..." I burst into tears, sobs racking my small body. She quickly came to my side and held me to her as the grief became too much for me to bear.
Another woman, this one dressed as a nurse, rushed into the room. The nurse, a striking redhead, came up to he bed and silently looked on as the doctor cuddled me against her. The doctor looked up and quietly said, "I just told her about the incisions."
"The word?"
Dr. Walker nodded. "I think she needs to rest a bit before I get to the other." The nurse turned and was quickly out the door. The Doctor clutched me tighter to her side and told me, "Lisa's getting something to help you calm down a bit. After you've rested a bit we'll talk about the rest."
I nodded, still sobbing into her side as the nurse, Lisa, I guess, came back in with a syringe. I gave her an arm and she swabbed it clean, then injected me with something.
Back in the gray and foggy dreamland the wound on my backside didn't seem to bother me as much. I couldn't understand someone who would do that to another person. I mean, why? Why would he carve me up, just for a few moment's thrill? Did he hate me that much? I had no idea who he was, but he had obviously known me. Did the fact that I was a girl who used to be a boy frighten him so? Or-- did he have some other reason for hating me?
I gave up trying to understand. Maybe if they ever catch him, maybe then I'd find out why. I was just happy to still be alive. I knew where things would have gone if I hadn't managed to escape.
I must have fallen asleep someplace, because when I awoke, I was back to the hospital room and it was daytime. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, then I felt around the bed for the call button. After a long search, I found it and called for the nurse.
A minute or so later that felt like an hour, the same nurse I'd first woken up to strode into the room.
"Awake now, are we?" she asked brightly. "Do you think you might feel up to having some lunch?"
"I'm not hungry, not really. Can I get some soda or something? My throat's pretty sore." She nodded and left the room, returning momentarily with a pitcher and a glass filled with ice cubes.
As she poured the water, she introduced herself. "By the way, I'm Cathy, and I'm your nurse during the day."
"Hi. I'm Kimberly, but I guess, I guess you knew that." Cathy nodded and handed me the glass and I greedily drank the water, letting it cool my parched throat.
"I've been caring for you for the past week. Don't worry, Honey," she said, patting my shoulder, "it's going to be all right."
"The doctor, Dr. Walker, she told me about the knife wounds last night. It was last night?" Cathy nodded. I went on, "She never got to telling me about where I hit the chain. How badly was I hurt there?"
Cathy colored a bit and said, "I really can't tell you. The doctor will be back this evening to see you, and I'm sure she will tell you all about it then."
"You won't be here than, will you?"
"No, I'll be off duty, but Lisa will be here for you then."
"I kind of met her last night. Is it just the two of you?"
Cathy laughed. "No, we don't usually work _those_ kinds of hours. You haven't met Michelle, your nurse during the overnight. Don't worry, you're being well taken care of."
It was midafternoon and I lay staring at the ceiling, bored out of my skull. At a noise from the door, I turned to see a woman in a white coat stepping in. She walked up to the bed holding another clipboard, or maybe the same one. She looked down at me and said "Hi, Kimberly, I'm Dr. Burgess."
"What happened to Doctor Walker?"
Dr. Burgess settled at the side of the bed with a laugh. "Oh, she's still your doctor. I'm the surgeon who put you back together after your accident."
"Accident? I'd hardly call it that." *Sheesh, doesn't this place have any men doctors?*
"I guess not. Has anyone told you what happened when you caught the chain?"
"No. I guess it was pretty bad, though."
She looked serious for a moment, then finally spoke. "Yes, you could say that. You were found on the street at the park's edge, unconscious and bleeding. The local hospital wasn't qualified to do much more than stop the bleeding, and they had you flown here where we have specialists who could do the kind of surgery you needed."
*Uh-oh. This didn't sound good.* "And what... what did I need?"
She sighed and then went on. "I'll try and keep this simple. Basically, everything in your groin was pretty well mangled by the chain. I had to do a bilateral orchiect... no, let me put it even simpler. Your penis was torn up beyond repair as a functioning organ. Your testes appeared to have recently descended and they were crushed by the chain. Knowing the process you're already in, the best I could do was to take the salvageable material and create a neo-vagina."
*Did she just say what I think she said?* "A WHAT?"
'I couldn't save the penis, and knowing that you were planning on vaginaplasty as soon as you were eighteen, with your parent's permission I performed a vaginaplasty and created one from the available penile material. As part of the process, I also performed a labiaplasty using the scrotal tissue. "
She faltered and stopped as the tears began streaming down my face. "I thought that's... what you wanted? Eventually..." She trailed off in confusion.
I looked at her through tear-filled eyes. "It is, doctor, thank you, thankyouthankyou." I grabbed onto her and held her tight.
Late afternoon rolled around and I was watching television, or at least trying to. It all seemed to be either kid shows or game shows. I'd settled on channel seven, the one station that ran old movies. They weren't very good, but it was something to do. How, pray tell, do you take a two hour movie and fit it into an hour-and-a-half timeslot including commercials and have the movie make any sense at all? I'd read something about it in the paper a few months before. Some guy named Tartikoff at the station had come up with the idea, and he was making all sorts of money for the station.
Go figure.
They were running King Kong, and had cut the entire part with the dinosaurs. I was pretty disgusted-- that was the best part. Maybe someday someone would do a remake and leave in the dinosaurs and leave out King Kong. That would be cool.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement at the door, and my parents rushed in, accompanied by Gail.
Fifteen tear-filled minutes later, they knew I was all right, and had filled me in about things at home. Short version: The police were still trying to figure out exactly what had happened, and would be interviewing me as soon as the doctors would permit them. It was front page news, and people were divided on the whole issue of my having become a girl... pretty much everyone in town knew the whole story now.
Gail and Tina had been haunting our house, waiting for news. Tina's mom, natch, had forbidden her to, but that didn't stop her. And, equally of course, her mom had forbidden her from coming to Chicago. My dog, Pepper, was moping around, waiting for my return.
Oh, and of course, Mom and Dad were anxious to know if they had done the right thing in approving the vaginaplasty.
After all that was done, they left the room for a while, I suppose to talk with one or more of the doctors, while I chatted with Gail. She filled me in on Tina and the family problems there. True to her word, Mrs. Libby had been pushing hard to get Chris released, claining that he had only done what was natural, given the 'freak' he'd trashed. She was one of the more outspoken townspeople against me, even being quoted in the paper as saying 'He got just what he deserved'.
Things were so bad at her house that Tina had slept at Gail's several nights.
The next day, the police came. Not much to tell. I told them what I knew, and they said they were sending an artist to sketch the boys from my description.
Somewhere in here my life seemed to be resolving to boredom with occasional visits from people. Aside from the regular doctor visits, Dr. Wayne from Columbus Hospital came daily, to spend some time talking about what had happened, and my feelings about it.
Mostly he wanted to make sure I wasn't _too_ traumatized by what had happened. Well, how could I not? Think about it and what had happened? On the other hand, without knowing it the teens had done me a big favor. If only they hadn't carved that word into my backside. All-in-all, though, the single biggest effect is that from that day forward I've never felt safe when alone. I used to be quite a loner; growing up friendless did that to a person. Ever since, though, the only time I'm really comfortable is when I'm with other people.
It's quite a change, and I can't say it was all bad, but sometimes I miss being able to take a long walk alone with my thoughts.
The only visit of Doctor Wayne's, though, that's really worth recounting is the one from June 30th. I was sitting in my room, alone of course, reading a paperback. Oh, yeah, sitting. Two weeks after the attack, I was still pretty tender underneath, but I was getting so sick of the damned bed that I just had to sit in one of the chairs. I'd also been walking for the past few days, nothing strenuous, but I wanted to be ready to explore the fair in another six weeks, and that meant I had to stay in shape.
The doctor entered the room without knocking, as usual. I think maybe he was going to try and surprise me, but ever since the attack I'd had a finely attuned sense of who was around me. As he sat down in the other chair, I looked up and said "Good afternoon, Doctor Wayne."
He looked surprised and said, "Damn, I thought sure I was going to surprise you this time."
"It's not that easy to do."
"I can see that," he laughed. "How are you feeling today?"
I shrugged. "About the same, I guess. I'm not having nightmares about the attack, if that's what you mean."
He frowned and asked, "Why not?"
"Why not what? Nightmares?"
"Yes," he replied, "most people, after something like that would be having nightmares for weeks, if not longer. You," he indicated, "say you've had none. You've told me before that after an initial burst of grief you haven't been sad, you haven't been angry. You haven't even been depressed. That, well, I hate to put it like this, but it's not normal."
I reached over and put my book on the rolling table. I thought a bit, and then looked back at the doctor, who was waiting expectantly. "Isn't it? Maybe not, but I can't help it. I'm really not feeling much of anything about it. Of course," I laughed, "I wouldn't recommend putting me, the kid who did this, and a loaded weapon in the same room. That could turn ugly."
"Uh-huh. Kim, the point is that you're not dealing with it yet. You seem to have all your feelings about what happened blocked. That's, well, not good. It _has_ to come out someday, and if it's not allowed to release itself naturally, it might explode out."
"Explode out?" *What the heck is he talking about?* "I'm not sure I understand."
He sat silently for a moment, then rose to his feet and sauntered over to the window. Looking out at the Streeterville neighborhood, he was obviously collecting his thoughts, so I remained silent. Finally he spoke, still looking away. "Kim, you're highly intelligent, much more so than the average eleven-year-old. Despite the mediocre grades you've had in school, the various tests you've taken this summer indicate that your knowledge base is already at the college level. You don't even talk like an eleven-year-old.
"It's almost axiomatic that high intelligence and emotional stability are in conflict. There's several theories why, none proven, but the fact remains that you're at risk as you grow up, especially as isolated as you've been in the past." He turned from the window, shot me a sidelong glance, then returned to gazing at the city. Your personality profile indicates that you're highly repressed emotionally, and..." He stopped and turned to face me as I started to interrupt, then put his hands up as if to stop me. "Please, no. I'm not trying to hurt you or make you feel bad. I just want you to know what I've found out and where things stand.
"It's good that you've started making new friends, and I hope that continues, but I think it would be best if you continued to see me after you get out of the hospital. You need to learn to confront your feelings, and deal with the hurts you've had throughout your life, instead of locking them away. It doesn't have to be me if you don't want, but I honestly think you should see someone."
I looked across the room at him, and thought seriously about what he'd said. How could he... no, I knew that he knew a lot more about these things than I did. But I didn't feel like any explosion was building. It's just that over the years I'd never been able to fight back, never until the day of the attack. My only way to defend myself was to learn to not let the beatings and humiliation from the other kids get to me. If I couldn't have done that, I'd have gone crazy at a really early age. *But now he says that is going to be a problem? Then how am I supposed to protect myself when the next round of beatings begins?*
"I don't mind talking with you, or meeting with you. Most people still treat me like a little kid. You, well, you talk to me as I am, not as they'd like to believe I am."
He chuckled quietly. "I guess it comes with the territory."
"Doctor Wayne, the things you're telling me are scaring me a bit... I don't know which would be worse, the possibility of what might happen if I don't do anything, or what might happen if I do."
"Well," he said, "Think about it for a bit. That's really what it all comes down to, anyway." He walked back to the chair and sat again, seemingly relaxed. "If you give it some thought, I think you'll figure out what's best for you. And if you need to ask any questions, or feel that you _do_ need to talk, I'll be here."
"Thanks." I looked for a moment at my book, then back at the doctor. "Can I ask you something now?"
"Sure."
"It doesn't have anything to do with this, or at least I don't think it does."
He leaned forward, giving me his full attention. "Go ahead and ask."
"What happens when a kid becomes an adult? I mean, how does a kid go from playing and kid things to being so serious and busy? What changes to make them like that?"
He stared for a moment then burst into laughter. "DamnifIknow," he finally managed to get out. "I can remember being a kid once, and it just kind of happened. There really isn't any time when you stop being a child and become an adult. You just go along doing whatever it is you're doing, and one day you look back and ask yourself, "When did _that_ happen?"
"That's it?"
"That's it. There really is no secret. You just get bigger, and eventually you mature. Some people do it earlier, some later. A few never do. You, well, as shocking as it may sound, I think you're well on your way."
"Umm. I really _do_ have to think about that one for a while."
"I bet you do. Say, would you like to hear some good news for a change?"
I perked up at that. Good news wasn't exactly part of my language recently. Well, except for the surgery that really made my body into a girl's. That was a big one, but it came at quite a cost. "Good news? Right on."
"How would you like to go home tomorrow? "
"Home? Can I?"
"Yep. Before I came here I had a call with Doctors Burgess and Walker, and they agreed that if I thought you were up to the stress of going home, you could. After all, we wouldn't want you to miss the fireworks."
"Fireworks? That's right, I forgot about the fourth. Today's what, the thirtieth?"
"Right. I guess you've been a bit busy. Yes, you're right on the date. You'll be home for the whole holiday weekend."
I scrunched my face up, trying to think ahead. "Will I be healed enough to go to the fair in mid-August?"
Pepper lay, sulking. Not only was her little human missing, today the other humans had gone way, locking her in the recreation room by herself. She was used to it, being all by herself, but lately she'd been left home a lot, and that hurt.
WHERE was the child? It was her job to guard and defend the human, and she wasn't able to do it. Worse yet, while she was kept from doing her job, the human had been hurt. Why didn't they trust her? Why wouldn't they let her do her… what?
She heard a familiar noise coming around the block. Yes! It was the family's car. As much as she hated and despised the evil thing, it meant that they would be back!
She ran eagerly to the back door, waiting for the sound that meant they were home. There was the car, pulling up the hill and into the garage. There was the sound of the garage door closing, and the family crossing the patio. A key turned in the lock, and as the door opened she burst into the back yard. She'd been trained to not do that, but she was too excited to obey. She looked around wildly and THERE SHE WAS, her human!
She danced excitedly around the little person, happy to have her back, and finally ready and able to protect her. It was a job she knew would be needed, had been needed from the way the girl was limping, and the next time would be done in full, if only she could convince the bigger humans.
Pepper was a gentle dog, but she knew that if someone tried to hurt her human again, she could kill.
© 2001 by Kim Em. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.
EXPO Summer -7- Independence Days
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Part 07 Independence Days All rights reserved |
Author's Note: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. After writing this, God, I hope so. The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. E-mail me at [email protected]
Earlier chapters and other stories are available at:
Kim's Place : http://www.kimem.net
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Fictionmania : http://www.fictionmania.com
Sapphire’s : http://www.sapphireplace.com
This part of the story is dedicated to "Sir P.", who has been more of a friend than I can ever hope to deserve.
Previously:
She danced excitedly around the little person, happy to have her back, and finally ready and able to protect her. It was a job she knew would be needed, had been needed from the way the girl was limping, and the next time would be done in full, if only she could convince the bigger humans.
Pepper was a gentle dog, but she knew that if someone tried to hurt her human again, she could kill.
I was home, in my own bed, thinking about the things I'd learned while in the hospital. Doctor Wayne believed that someday I might have a problem, maybe even the possibility of violence, because of my emotional condition. Yeah, he'd told me nice things about my intelligence and my level of maturity, but there had been that warning. I just couldn't get it out of my mind.
The hell of it was, to me, that knowing about it and resolving to not let it happen wasn't enough. I even had a pretty fair idea of the cause, the things that had left me in such a repressed state. In first grade, and even before, things were pretty normal with the other kids, even though inside they were far from 'normal'. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
I don't remember a whole lot about my earliest years. Most of what I do remember comes from events that were captured on film, and had that reinforcement. The day, for example, when I decided to help my mom pick tomatoes from her garden. At that age, nobody bothered to tell me the difference between green and red ones, so I just started at one end of the line and worked my way down, picking them all for her.
Actually, my dad got in a lot more trouble than I did over that. When he found me picking tomatoes he quietly went and got his camera, and then snapped a whole lot of film, laughing his butt off the whole time. My mom, on the other hand, wasn't so happy about it, and got on his case about letting me pick her tomatoes, regardless of how cute I was. We had lots of documentation of that day, and it was a favorite joke for years.
There are early memories I have without the reinforcement of pictures.
There was the day Mom was working in the back yard, and Dad was going to paint the steps. "What?", I hear you ask. Okay, back in that time, it was fashionable to have the concrete steps painted. Our house was a light pink, and the steps were painted to match, but a bit faded, so it was time to freshen it up. So Dad sent me to the back yard to 'help' Mom. I hung around there for a bit, but got bored, so I though I'd go back around the side and watch Dad do his painting. He wasn't there, so I sat on the steps to wait for him to return, and then I'd watch him do his work.
He did eventually return, having just finished he front steps, and he was not at all pleased to see me sitting, waiting quietly for him. It seems he'd already done the side steps, and I, without noticing, had messed up his new paint job and managed to get myself kinda pink, all at the same time.
These were all early memories, though, quite early. We moved from that house in Michigan City into the one in which I would grow up (at least through sixth grade) when I was two-and-a-half. I can remember the building of our new house, from the stage when there was merely a hill with some trees and scrubby little blueberry bushes, on through the construction. After we moved in, though, well, Long Beach is immediately adjacent to Michigan City, and almost all of my relatives were local.
One who I especially liked to visit was my cousin Joyce. I mean, she was okay, and her brothers and older sister were fine, as was my aunt and uncle. What I especially liked about their house is that in the basement, there was a playroom. And Joyce had more dolls than any ten people I knew (admittedly a small population). She had big dolls, small dolls, china dolls, plastic dolls, rag dolls. And when we were visiting she and I would play for a while, then she'd get bored and wander off, and I'd be on my own to find something to play with. I'd make a beeline for her doll collection until either she returned or my mom would come looking for me.
Why the dolls? It's hard to say, really. It was fun, and I didn't have any of my own, and I wanted them, and I could pretend to be their mother. Yeah, okay, I was three years old, and I had no inkling of anything gender-related. At that age I knew nothing whatsoever of the difference between boys and girls, except that some people grew up boys and some grew up girls. How that came about I had no idea, and I never thought to question how I'd wound up in one category.
I never did figure out about the gender thing for years. As I grew, there were probably a few signs. For instance, when we went on vacation, at whatever hotel we stayed, there'd always be other little kids around the pool, and I invariably wound up playing and being with the girls. I suppose my parents thought I was going to grow up to be a real lady-killer. Little did they know.
Really, little did I know either. I didn't have any purpose in mind in hanging with the girls, I just found it easier to make friends, and liked the games we'd play a lot better than the stuff the boys were doing.
One friend of my mother's, probably her best friend, had a daughter who was several years older than me. She still played with dolls, though. It was probably around 1960, and she had a Barbie, Ken, and a slew of the stuff that comes with Barbie. Well, she was too old for me to play with, but she was usually not home when we visited (in school, I suppose, while I was still too young). They'd let me go to her room, though, and play records. Well, that I would do, and while I was lying on her bed listening, I'd be playing with the Barbie and assorted paraphernalia.
I lay there, thinking about my early life, lost to the world for quite a while. After a while I realized that I wasn't alone in my room, and looked up. Dad was standing alongside the bed, looking down sadly as me.
He quietly sat at the edge on the bed and gently stroked my hair. "Are you okay, Honey?" I thought about it a little, looking up at him, then nodded.
"I think so. I’m — It still hurts a lot, but less than it did in the hospital, and from what the doctor says, I’ll be fine by the time we go on vacation."
Dad looked carefully at me and said, "That's not quite what I had in mind. I'm glad you're feeling better, but I’m concerned about how people are going to take all this. We really hadn't expected your change to be so public so fast. The attack, and the facts of your change were in the newspaper and on the radio. By now pretty much everyone in town knows what happened. Are you going to be able to handle that?"
"I'll be okay, Daddy, I think. I'm not happy that everyone knows. I'd really rather be accepted for who I am. But, if everyone knows, then I'll just have to make the best of it." I reached up and took his hand. "Are you and Mom going to be okay?"
"We’re worried about you. You’re eleven years old. This summer your whole life has changed. We just want to make sure you can handle all this. It’s -- "
He fell silent for a moment, looking pensive, and I spoke up. "I know you hate this, Daddy. You don't understand why I had to change and you don't really approve." I put my arms around him and held on for dear life. "It’s not anything I can explain, Daddy, but this is me. Not that little boy you thought I was."
He sighed, then spoke haltingly. "I don't like it. I admit it. It's not what I expected and it's certainly not what I ever wanted. But, you think it’s what you need and the doctor agrees. I don't -- I really don't -- like it, but if it’s really what you need, if this is the real you, I won’t stand in your way."
He stood and slowly headed for the door, then turned to ask me, "do you feel up to going to church this morning?"
"I think so."
"Okay. Your mother wants to go to the 10:30 mass. Can you be ready in time?"
"I'll be ready."
Dad headed back downstairs and I started getting my clothes out for church.
About 10:15 we pulled up at the church. Instead of going to Notre Dame like we usually did, we'd driven into town to St. Mary’s. St. Mary’s was (and still is) two blocks from my grandmother's house and is the church my mom went to when she grew up. At a guess, mom was still more than little upset with the people at Notre Dame.
I was dressed to the nines for my first trip to church since publicly becoming a girl. I figured almost everyone would know what happened and I wanted to create a good first impression.
We got out of the car, crossed the street, and started up to walk to the west side of the church. As we passed the corner of the convent, two nuns stepped out the back door on their way over to the church. They nodded politely to us, than the older one did a double take and pulled at the other sisters’ sleeve. She whispered urgently into the younger one’s ear, and with startled looks both nuns turned and almost ran into the rectory.
Mom and I stared after the rapidly departing nuns, then Mom turned to me and said, "I have a bad feeling. Are you sure you're ready for this?"
I wasn't sure at all, but I figured it was better to get whatever unpleasantness might come over with, rather than waiting for it later. "Let's go in. I might as well face this now."
We went into the church and took the pew we usually used when we attended St. Mary’s. The pew was near the front, and as we took our seats I could hear a hush followed by a babble of whispers. In front, I could see the priest’s head sticking out of the doorway at the side of the altar. I could tell this was going to be a long mass.
I was right.
Eventually we made it to my grandmother's house. I was a nervous wreck by that time. Ma was sitting in her favorite chair and when I saw her I ran to her and through my arms around her. She held me trembling in her arms as mom told her about the mass.
"The people were, well, curious about Kimberly. It wasn't unlike being in a fishbowl. We had everyone's eye on us from the moment we walked in. The priest paid our part of the church a lot of attention. When he got to the sermon he was on the theme of not trying to be something you aren't."
Ma snorted, derisively. "Let me take a guess, you had father Quinn?"
"In the flesh."
"That old... He wouldn't notice a new idea if bit him on the... never mind."
"We were the center of attention throughout the mass. When Kimberly got up to go to communion, you wouldn't believe the gasps from behind us."
I looked up from Ma’s arms and said, "I don't want to go back there again -- ever! Those people; they're supposed to be Catholics. If that's what it means I can do without it."
Mom looked dismayed. "I don't want you to stop going to church because of this."
"Mom, look at what happened. It was just like you said, just like being in a goldfish bowl. What did I get out of that? A message from the priest that I shouldn't be doing what I'm doing? A lesson in being the center of a freak show for the other parishioners? What? What am I getting out of it?" I freed myself from Ma’s arms and went to the front window. Looking through the blinds, I could see several passersby peering at the house. "Nothing. There is no message there except fear and intolerance."
Mom looked helplessly towards Ma.
Ma didn't look happy, but she appeared resigned to the situation. "As much as I hate to admit it, Kimberly is right. I've been going to church there for eighty years and I doubt I’ve gotten anything out of it for at least seventy."
Mom sank helplessly to the sofa. "Mother..."
"I’m sorry, dear, but it’s true. I think Kimberly just realized it a bit sooner than most of us."
Mom closed her eyes, lost in thought. Ma beckoned me back to her side and took me into her arms. "Kimberly, if you don’t want to go back there, you don’t have to."
Mom looked up at that, casting Ma a look that said, "We’ll talk about this later." Ma just smiled calmly and held me.
We were still embraced when a knock came from the door. I disentangled myself and went to open it, but before I could it opened and in stepped my Aunt Lee and my cousin Joyce. We hadn’t seen them since before school ended. I'm actually
not sure why; they hadn't come to visit at the hospital and they also didn't stop by once I was home. We were not really close to Aunt Lee, and my cousin Joyce absolutely hated me, mostly, I suspect because of my playing with her dolls as a small child.
I backed up to make room as they entered. Aunt Lee gave me a somewhat bewildered look, and Joyce’s expression was one of unremitting hostility. Aunt Lee smiled weakly, reached out to tentatively offer me a hand, then rapidly pulled it back. Joyce made a beeline for the kitchen at the back of the house.
Aunt Lee waited silently for a moment, then smiled again and said, "Good morning, Bil — Kimberly. You look, um, nice this morning."
I smiled politely and replied, "Thank you, Aunt Lee. It’s Sunday, and I wanted to make a good impression for church."
"Church. How — how did that go this morning?"
Ma interrupted. "Kim, why don’t you go in back and talk with Joyce for a bit?"
I took the hint and left the adults to talk privately. Joyce wasn’t in the kitchen when I got there. I guessed she was out in back, and headed out through the back porch. I went outside and found her sitting dejectedly on the steps to the upstairs porch. "Hi," I said.
"Hi," she mumbled in reply.
I started painfully up the stairs and quietly sat beside her in the sun. Joyce seemed lost in thought, so I just sat and enjoyed the outdoors. It was a nice warm July day, cloudless with an intensely blue sky. It was too early in the season for the grass to have browned, and the emerald green lawn and bright green of the leaves made a beautiful backdrop.
I was about to speak when Joyce spoke first. "Why?"
"Why?"
"Why are you doing this to us? The only thing my friends talk about is my freak cousin." She spat bitterly. "Why do you have to mess up everyone’s lives? Why don’t you just go off somewhere and die?"
"I almost did," I answered quietly. "Last month when I went to Chicago."
"So why didn’t you?"
"Is that what you want? You really want to see me dead?
"You’d be out of the way and my friends wouldn’t be always on me about my freak cousin."
"No, then they’d be on you about your freak cousin who killed herself.""
"Himself."
"No, it’s herself. Whether you like to or not, I’m a girl."
"You are not. You’re a boy, and nothing can change that."
I turned to look squarely at her. "You really think that? All this time, all these years, I’ve had the mind and spirit of a girl. That’s what caused all the trouble."
"You’re still a boy. Your body is a boys body."
"Really?" I cocked an eyebrow at her, a newly acquired skill. "If I pulled my panties down, I’d look just the same as you. Once it’s healed and the stitches are out, nobody will ever be able to tell that I haven’t always been built like this."
"It doesn’t matter," she said flatly. You were born a boy, you are still a boy, and you’ll die a boy."
"I guess there’s not a lot to say, then."
"No."
We sat silently for a while. Joyce sat with her head down, eyes closed and brow furrowed. I leaned back on the steps and enjoyed the perfect day. Inside, though, I was in turmoil. I knew that Joyce had never liked me, but even so, if my own cousin wouldn’t accept me, then who would? Was I destined to live my life away from other people?
Joyce sullenly got up and moved as if to go down the steps. In turning, though, she slipped and started to tumble. I grabbed her elbow and prevented her from heading down the steps face first.
After catching her breath, she sank back to the step she’d been sitting on and quietly thanked me. She looked pensive for a moment then burst out with, "How can you give it all away?"
"What? Give what all away?" I didn’t have a clue what she meant.
She got louder, gesturing wildly. "Everything! You were a boy, you had it all. You could do whatever you wanted, go wherever you wanted, and they didn’t care because you were a boy. Now you’ve got to live like a girl. Why? Why did you give everything up to be a girl?"
I was starting to get a clue. Joyce was, had always been, jealous. And in her eyes, I’d betrayed her jealousy, given up gladly the very things she wanted.
"Joyce. It’s not like that, not at all. Despite what you saw and what you thought, I was NEVER a boy. And all that going out and doing stuff, do you really think my parents allowed that? I’m eleven years old, and I can hardly do anything without them watching or at least knowing about it. Even if they’d let me, how much could I have done without friends?"
She shifted uncomfortably without speaking.
I continued, "I didn’t have any friends! Do you know what that means, how lonely my life was? No friends, and you’re the only cousin close to my age in town, and even YOU didn’t want to have anything to do with me."
She said, in a low voice, "You were so weird. When we were little and you’d come over to my house, you’d wander off and I’d find you playing with my dolls. What kind of boy would do... Oh. THAT’s why. So you were, really were a girl, even back then. And you played with my dolls because you didn’t have any of your own."
I nodded. "That’s about right. And I’m sorry there’s boy stuff you want and can’t have. That’s between you, and Uncle Tim and Aunt Lee. As for me, I never wanted it and won’t miss it."
She grouched, "You’re being foolish."
"Maybe so, by your lights, but by mine I’m just doing what I need to."
"Why anyone would need to be a girl..."
"It’s not like I have a choice. I was born this way, and it’s either become on the outside what I have always been on the inside, or die."
"I guess I don’t want you to die," she admitted grudgingly. "But I still don’t like your becoming a girl."
"You don’t have to; I won’t ask that. But please, let me be me."
Nothing much else happened that day. We went home, I settled in with a book, and read with Pepper at my feet. In the evening, Gail and Tina had snuck away and stopped over to visit. We went down the basement to talk.
Our basement was fairly big, with bookshelves lining it’s edges, loaded down with hardcovers of all shapes and sizes. My dad was a real estate broker, and I was surprised to learn how many people moved and left their books behind. So, in the process of having the house cleaned up for showing, he’d bring the books home. I’d been fascinated with them since before I knew how to read, and from early on I’d devoured the library. There were a few books I hadn’t read, but far more than I had. I think I’m the only person I know who had read Churchill and Ayn Rand by second grade.
In one corner of the basement sat an old booth. It looked much like what you’d find in a corner booth of a restaurant, but it had actually been the kitchen table where we’d lived when I was a toddler. It made a good hidey-hole, and was where I spent much of my time reading and doing homework in the cold months. It had one other advantage, it was far from the basement door, so whatever we discussed could be private.
We settled into the booth and Gail looked around the basement. "Wow, you’ve got your own library down here. I never knew any of this was here."
"I spend a lot of time down here. This makes a perfect place to work, and over there," I gestured to the opposite wall, "Dad has an old short-wave set that I listen to at night. And of course, "I giggled, "there’s all the books."
I told them about the goings-on in church, and my decision to avoid it in the future. They were both aghast.
"You can do that?" Tina was astounded. Aren’t you afraid that the earth will swallow you or something?"
"Why? This doesn’t change what I believe. It just means I don’t have any use for The Church any more."
Gail looked cautiously at me. "Wow. I wish I could get out of going to church. You’re sure you’re not going to get in any trouble for this?"
"Why? What can they do to me? I’m never going back to their school, and... there’s nothing they can do. If I don’t go to their church, well, there’s lots of people who don’t go there."
"Yeah, but..." She fell silent.
Tina spoke up with, "I still can’t believe the priest actually did a sermon about what you’ve done. And it’s not even your regular church!"
"Yeah," said Gail, "why doesn’t he talk about those kids who cut you up so badly?"
"Because they’re boys? You know, ‘boys will be boys’?"
"But won’t they go to jail when they catch them?"
"IF they catch them. They’ll probably go to jail, but I’d bet they will get off easy because they attacked a ‘freak’."
Tina blazed up. "Don’t you dare call yourself a freak!"
"Why not? That seems to be what everyone else is calling me."
"They are not!"
"Aren’t they?" I told them what Joyce had said, and they both scowled.
"I think she’s building it up too big," Tina said.
"But isn’t that what they’re saying?"
Tina blushed. "Well, my mom and her friends are spreading that around, but I doubt anyone believes them."
"I’d like to believe that, but I think there’s a lot of it going around."
"So what can you do," Gail questioned.
"I don’t know," I sighed and slumped back into my seat. "I really don’t know."
Monday was another fairly uneventful day. Tuesday was the holiday, and there didn’t seem to be agreement on whether people got the Monday off or not. Again I spent much of the day on the porch, reading, with Pepper lying somewhere nearby. For some reason she’d been much more attentive lately, especially after this last return from the hospital. I guess she must have missed me.
That evening I had a visitor. After a bit of a delay, the police had finally sent their long-promised artist to interview me.
The artist carried a huge flat briefcase full of art supplies, following Mom to the porch where I was sitting, thinking. Mom nodded towards me and silently vanished back into the house. When I greeted her she breezed right through and took over the glass table.
Breezed in, I guess that was more in her attitude than her actual motion, because she walked slowly, with a bit of a limp. She seemed to carry her case to counter-balance the seemingly bad leg. She leaned the case against the leg of the table, and flashed another smile. "Hi, Kim. I'm Wendy, the artist you were promised."
"What? And it's not even my birthday yet. What a present!" I guess some of her attitude must have rubbed off.
She laughed and went to set up her tools. Pencils, charcoal, knife, and some other things I couldn't identify were soon spread across the table. She took what looked like a pink blob and started kneading it between her fingers. I wasn't sure what that was about... maybe she used it to relieve stress.
"I'm sorry you had to come so late," I said, watching her playing with the little rubbery blob.
"It's not late for me," Wendy replied. I do some of my best work around midnight."
"Midnight," I asked, a bit alarmed.
"Oh, don't worry. This won't take anywhere near that long."
"That's good. I told her, "There’s a parade in the morning, and I want to be awake for that."
"Well, I guess we might as well get the drawings out of the way." She set down the rubbery thing and picked up a small pad. As she asked me about the kids who'd attacked, she started marking the pad with swift sure strokes.
As I described the three boys, I started feeling more and more scared. These were the teenagers who’d grabbed and attacked me, cut me open in several places, and finally caused me to be flown to Chicago for surgery. I wanted nothing to do with them. But, on the other hand, if I did nothing they would be free to attack again, whenever they wanted, and worse, they might attack somebody else one day.
Soon the face of the ringleader took shape before my eyes. It wasn't all that long until she had serviceable sketches of all three kids. They weren't photographic, but they certainly carried the essence -- I think anyone seeing the pictures might be able to identify the punks. How long, I wondered, would it be before the drawings were publicly available? When I asked, Wendy said she’d have them ready by the day after tomorrow (tomorrow being the holiday), but then it would be up to the detectives in charge of the case when to release the sketches.
Soon enough she was done, and as she started packing up, she told me stories about the time she'd been a street cop. She told me about her first patrol, and how she’d managed somehow to spill scalding coffee all over her new partner’s lap. She regaled me with the story of the time she was called on an emergency run while eating and wouldn’t toss her ice cream — and then managed to get a face full after a sudden stop. I always had the image of policemen as dry, humorless, and unfriendly, but Wendy was a revelation. She was witty, warm, and seemed to have a child's enjoyment of the world. She sat there and talked until Mom came in to clear her out and get me to sleep.
Once she'd gone headed off to bed, and when Mom had finally been persuaded to stop fussing over me, I lay staring out the windows at the Libby house, just across the alley and up the block.
The next morning was Tuesday, the Fourth of July, Independence Day. I was up early, having fallen asleep still worrying about what would happen with Chris Libby and his two cohorts. I could see several cars lined up in the Libby’s driveway, and I wondered what might be bringing guests there so early, especially with the turbulent times in the household.
After throwing on a new robe, I padded my way downstairs, past the kitchen to the family room. Pepper was waiting at the door, and after a warm and slurpy greeting, I opened the door and she trotted outside to sniff out her favorite spot. While I waited for her to do what she needed, I wished Mom would let Pepper upstairs. No, the family room and basement were the only parts of the house where she was allowed. So, unless I could get Mom to relent, Pepper wasn’t going to be sleeping at the foot of my bed any time soon.
I let Pepper in and then went to the kitchen for breakfast. I poured a bowl of cereal and took it to the table. As I ate I thought again about everything that was going on. I still had trouble believing how much my life has changed over the past month. I mean, think about it. A month ago I been beaten on the last day of school and thought my life was over. In a month -- a month -- I told my parents, was beaten again by Chris Libby and friends, went to Chicago, wound up in the hospital, was finally able to become myself, was accepted by my grandmother, finally made friends, was attacked yet again and this time horribly injured, as part of fixing my injuries received the surgery I had so long desired, and was now well on the way to a full recovery.
There were scars, and always would be, but all in all in looked like my life was finally going in a direction I could deal with. The future was far from clear, there were so many things left to be resolved, but the big thing the only real thing had been decided -- I now was and always would be a girl.
What was to happen, in the long run would just have to play out. In the short run, I had a parade to attend.
Dad headed out for the golf course, as usual, to play with his regular foursome. Mom and I went downtown, parking about a block from Franklin Street, and walked across on Tenth to the parade route. At the corner, in front of Mayer’s Clothing, we met Tina and Gail, who’d been dropped off by Gail’s mother. Her mother, she said, had hurriedly run them down to the parade, dumped them off, and raced back to Tina’s house.
Mom hung back, under shelter of the store’s awning, while Gail, Tina, and I pushed forward to the curb. While we were finding the perfect spot to watch the parade, I realized that we were drawing a lot more attention than would be normal for three little girls. I didn't have to be a genius to figure out why people were paying attention to us, or, more correctly, to me.
I hadn't realized it, exactly, when they told me about all the publicity the attack upon me had drawn, but obviously just about everyone knew and all of them were intensely curious.
Gail turned to me and said, "is it just me, or..."
I answered, tightly, a forced smile on my face, "No, they are. I think we’re getting way too much attention."
Tina looked back towards Mom, who didn't seem to notice all the stares we were getting. "Do you think we'll be safe here?"
"We should be, yeah." I looked around at the people, who were more than returning my gaze. "Mom’s right over there, and I don't think anyone would try anything."
Tina continued looking fearfully around, while Gail's baleful stare at the overattentive crowd made a few step back. I tried to ignore the curious and questioning looks I was getting, watching the rapidly darkening skies.
The day had begun much like yesterday with beautiful skies and good warm temperatures, but shortly before a few clouds had moved in. The few clouds were rapidly multiplying themselves into a solid threatening gray sky. It wasn't the ideal weather for the Fourth of July, especially with the barbecue planned for this afternoon and the big fireworks tonight.
The head of the parade approached down the street and I could hear the bands playing, the clip-clop of the horses hooves way up Franklin Street. The lead performers came even with us as the first marching band passed. I had put the attention from the other people in the crowd completely out of my mind as I watched the wonderful bands and floats and horses and clowns and everything else pass.
The sky, however, headed continued to darken, and the wind was gusting, sending trash and debris scattering down the street, at times blowing right through the formations of marchers. About 20 minutes into the parade the first drops of rain started falling. At first just a few big fat raindrops fell across the street, but soon the downpour increased, some of the crowd left, and many of the remaining people sheltered under the storefront. We tried to stick it out until a sudden squall chased a squad of baton twirlers into the gas station across the street.
Mom gathered us up and herded us to the car. It seemed like the parade was going to end early, and even if it went on we’d had enough of the weather. Mom took the Beach Road back home, making a swing past dad's office. She dropped Tina and Gail off around the corner from Tina’s house. From the number of cars it seemed like something major was going on. As we pulled around on the back street, Mom even commented on the goings-on up at the Libby's, and how strange a party their would be considering Chris was still locked up as a danger.
I couldn't help thinking this had something to do with me. It sounds kind of paranoid, as though everything around was centering on me, but that seemed to be the way things were progressing. I suppose that at the time I was more than a bit sensitive to what was going on around me, but realistically, with all that had already gone on, far too many people knew what I'd done and what had happened to me.
After a quick change of clothes I settled down for a bit under the cover of the porch, reading, as the sun started peeking out again and the ground began to dry. Pepper was frolicking in the yard, Mom was inside doing something or other, which I could best describe as ‘mom things’, and dad, recently returned from the golf course and more than slightly wet, was upstairs showering and changing clothes.
Eventually, mom came out in told me to finish getting ready. I skipped inside, freshened myself up, and grabbed my purse, being sure to stick my current paperback inside, just in case. Pepper was locked in the rec room, as usual, and we piled into Dad’s car and left.
15 minutes brought us to Wildwood Park, where space had been reserved for a barbecue. Pretty much all of our relatives, at least the local ones, were there. Both my grandmothers were there, all my aunts and uncles, and a myriad of cousins.
Usually the way get-togethers like this worked, my parents would spend the day hanging around with the adults, eating and drinking and talking, while I'd be somewhere near of my cousins, trying to be part of things but usually just staying out of the way somewhere on the fringe.
This time things worked out a little different.
Mom and Dad and I first went over to the area where my grandmothers held court. Ma sat there with a full plate of barbecue and other wonderful-smelling things, talking and laughing and having a fine time. At the next table was Gram, who, as usual, wasn't doing so well. On the best of days she was somewhat fuzzy about who was who and what was going on. Today wasn't the best of days, far from it. Aunt Mar hovered over her charge, trying to keep people from seeing just how bad condition Gram was in, but it was obvious she really shouldn't have come.
That's difficult to say -- I am talking about my grandmother, but at this point she was pretty far gone. Dad had told me a lot of stories about what Gram was like years ago, but there was little left of the person she'd once been. Besides, in her present health she really wasn't up to attending any barbecues. Her attending had a lot to do with Aunt Mar’s desire to be there, rather than Gram’s wishes or best interests.
I greeted Gram, but as expected she didn't know me. Even in the old days she’d always confused me with an older cousin, and now she didn't have a clue who I was, even after meeting the new me several weeks previously. After a few snippy words from Aunt Mar, I gratefully stepped over to Ma’s table. I could tell that Ma had been watching my greeting to Gram, and its less than impressive aftermath. She pulled me into her arms for a quick kiss, then quietly told me, "it's not you, Honey, it's her health." She smiled ruefully and said, "I'd say it's her age if not for the fact I’m 6 years older than Tillie."
"I just wish -- I would have loved to have known her."
"I wish that were possible. She was a fine person and a good friend."
Gram glanced over in our direction and smiled vaguely, then returned to her conversation with a barbecued chicken breast. Ma smiled sadly and suggested I go say hi to my aunts and uncles and legion of cousins.
I wandered off but it seemed like everyone was already busy talking to someone or other, so I headed over towards the barbecue pit and food tables. In prior years the Fourth of July picnic had been a potluck but this year, for the first time, a local restaurant was catering the barbecue.
Behind the food table was Ruth Kaczynski, who, with her husband owned my dads favorite diner. She looked up, to see me, and smiled broadly. "Kimberly. How nice to see you again. It's been ages!"
"Um — hi! I didn't think you would recognize me."
"Recognize you? I've known you since right after your parents got you. How could I not know you?"
I flushed slightly and looked down at the table. "I’ve, um, changed a bit since the last time dad brought me by for breakfast."
She laughed, a real and amused laugh. "So I see. Did you think that would make any difference?"
"The way a lot of people have been acting lately it wouldn't have surprised me."
"Well, you’re still young. When you get older you'll find that the real friends aren't going to forget you or ignore you just because you do something they didn't expect. Oh, you'll discover a lot of ass- um, jerks who will try to make you fit their mold and then ignore you -- or worse -- make fun of you because you’re not like they want you to be."
"I’ve met some of them already."
"Don't let them get to you, Kimberly. They’ll always be around, but you can't let them run your life. The good people will be with you the others, well, forget them."
Soon, with a loaded plate, I headed out towards the picnic tables. It had already been a kind of long day and the place where I had surgery was getting pretty sore, and I was starting to wobble. I walked over towards the picnic tables containing most of my cousins and a few second cousins. As I approached I started looking for an open space. The tables were pretty full and I didn't see any obvious places to sit. There were plenty of people keeping an eye on me as I walked through, but no one made space and no one said anything.
I reached the end of the tables and kept going into a small grassy grove of trees. I settled on the grass and started eating. I ate slowly and thought. I didn't need anyone to draw me a blueprint. While I'd never been particularly popular at one of these things, I'd never been out-and-out snubbed before. It wasn't a nice feeling at all, believe me. Well, I wasn't about to push my way in if I wasn't wanted.
From my purse I pulled my current paperback, an old Nero Wolfe novel I'd read several times previously. Reading while I ate, I barely noticed when someone sat in the grass by my side. Finally I looked up to see Joyce digging in to a plate of ribs and other assorted goodies.
"Hi!"
"Hi."
I put my bookmark back in place, closed the book, and set it down. I turned in place as Joyce matched my motion and we faced each other.
"I just thought... Everyone was ignoring you and that's just not right."
We sat eating silently. My other various relatives cast us occasional sidelong glances, but no one approached.
Once we got home, I went upstairs and took a nap. It had been a long, long day, and it wasn't over yet.
About eight o’clock, Mom shook me gently awake. She smiled and said "It's time to get up, Honey."
I sleepily sat up and asked her how we were getting to the fireworks this year. She said we were going to do the same as last year, taking the golf cart and parking on the 18th fairway. I was pretty comfortable with that, since most people at the fireworks would be parking at the Long Beach School grounds, and there usually weren’t very many people out on the fairway.
A few minutes later, out in the garage I wanted to help Dad take the clubs off the golf cart and load the cooler and lawn chairs, but he wouldn't let me, worrying about my recent surgery. I really wasn't feeling it all that much, unless I tried overdoing things, like I had that afternoon at the picnic. But I was rested and excited about the fireworks and wanted to get going.
I wandered around the backyard playing with Pepper while Dad pulled the cart out into the driveway and Mom was making her final preparations indoors. We had until 9 to get there and set out our picnic stuff, so there was no rush. The sun was getting low and a few kids were setting off their firecrackers early, and Pepper was starting to look nervous. She hated the Fourth of July, and the fireworks, and all the loud distressing noises it brought. Every year when we returned from the fireworks show we'd find her hiding under my dad's desk in the recreation room. One year we'd tried taking her with, thinking she might feel better if she was with us, but she been afraid of the fireworks in the sky and absolutely panicked at the sound of the aerial bombs.
When Mom came outside and tried to call Pepper in, though, she lay down by my feet and lowered her head to the ground. Mom called her again but she refused to budge. Mom told me to bring her in, and I led Pepper to the door, but she balked at going inside. I looked up and Mom and shrugged. "I don't know. She won't go in."
"She can't go with us. You know how she reacts to the fireworks."
"I know, Mom, but it looks like she wants to go."
"Honey," she said, gently, "You have to put her inside. I know you want to bring her, but it just wouldn't be fair to her."
"I know, Mom," I said, my face falling, "but she really wants to go."
"Kimberly..."
"Yes, Mom." I dragged the resisting Pepper inside, but as I tried pulling the door shut she wormed through the opening and raced to the golf cart, leaping into the back. I hobbled after her, and when I got to the cart I saw Mom with an exasperated look, petting the nervous-looking dog and talking with Dad.
"Mom..."
"I know. She can come with if you promise to keep her calm. Now go lock up and we’ll head over to the fireworks."
Once I’d locked the back door and returned to the cart, I stepped around to the back, to take my usual place on the back bumper, but Dad stopped me. "Sit up here tonight." I looked a question at him. "Kim, it’s going to be a bit bumpy, and I don’t want you hurt. I want you to sit here between your mother and me."
Mom got out and I slid in to the middle. It was more than cozy sandwiched between her and Dad, but the ride was a lot smoother than it would have been in back. We headed down the driveway, then up the hill past the Bandurski and Libby houses. There were still a lot of cars around the Libby’s, but nobody in sight. Maybe they had walked to the fireworks display area. I was just as happy to not run into them, and hoped my luck wouldn’t change.
We entered the golf course near the fifth tee and sailed down the fourth fairway towards the clubhouse. After we crossed from the third tee to the eighteenth tee, I could see a few golf carts and picnicking groups scattered down the length of the fairway. We drove to around the midway point and stopped at our usual viewing spot. I stayed in my seat as Mom and Dad got out and set up the folding chairs. Pepper hopped out the back and loped around our space, snuffling around and checking things out, then returning to the cart. I tapped the seat by my side and Pepper jumped up and sat, her tongue lolling.
The sky was rapidly darkening, and soon they’d be starting the fireworks. I stayed in the cart, on the comfortable padded seat, while my parents settled in on the lawn chairs. Dad had the cooler at his feet, and he reached in and pulled out a couple of beers for himself and Mom, and a bottle of Fresca for me. He opened the bottles, and Mom stepped over to the cart to hand me the soda. She leaned down and quietly asked, "Are you all right, Honey?"
"I’m okay, Mom. Maybe a little sore, but I’ll be fine." Pepper stuck her head up and gave Mom a wet slurp on the cheek. Mom jumped back, laughing, as Pepper settled down again at my side. Mom returned to her chair, laughing at some comment of Dad’s. It was really getting dark now, and I could see people lighting fusees at the launch area. A solitary figure came walking across the fairway, heading for the main viewing area by the school. As it approached, the figure resolved into the shape of a young woman — it was Rachel, from Sears! I called out, "Hi, Rachel!" My parents turned in surprise as Rachel changed course to come over to our golf cart.
"Hi, Kim! Hi," she said to my parents. They got up and Mom introduced her to Dad. We all talked for a moment, until the first aerial bomb went up to warn people of the impending start of the fireworks. Pepper heard the muffled "thwomp" of the launch and quivered, but she stayed at my side, huddling in when the sky lit with a thunderous flashboom. Mom invited Rachel to join us, but she said she was supposed to meet her boyfriend at the parking area and hurried across the grass.
The fireworks began, and it was at least as good as the previous year, but I was distracted by Pepper’s terrified reaction. She buried her head in my lap, whimpering and quivering, and I held her, stroking her head and murmuring words of comfort. I wasn’t sure why she’d insisted on coming with, but she was here, and I wanted to keep her from suffering from the light and sound.
By the time the finale had ended, she was a quivering mess. As Mom and Dad loaded up the cart, I had comforted her to the point where she shakily jumped from the cart and relieved herself on the grass. Dad helped her back onto the back of the golf cart and we started back for home. As we slowed for the turn onto the third fairway, a couple of other carts approached. On the carts were — Oh, no! — Mrs. Libby, Mrs. Bandurski, their husbands, and Gail and Tina.
I huddled down between Mom and Dad as a stream of invective came from Mrs. Libby.
© 2002 by Kim Em. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.
EXPO Summer -8- Real Love
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Part 08 Real Love All rights reserved |
Author's Note: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. After writing this, God, I hope so. The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. E-mail me at [email protected]
Earlier chapters and other stories are available at:
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Fictionmania : http://www.fictionmania.com
Sapphire’s : http://www.sapphireplace.com
This part of the story is dedicated to the real Pepper, the only faithful friend of my childhood.
Previously:
By the time the finale had ended, Pepper was a quivering mess. As Mom and Dad loaded up the cart, I had comforted her to the point where she shakily jumped from the cart and relieved herself on the grass. Dad helped her back onto the back of the golf cart and we started back for home. As we slowed for the turn onto the third fairway, a couple of other carts approached. On the carts were — Oh, no! — Mrs. Libby, Mrs. Bandurski, their husbands, and Gail and Tina.
I huddled down between Mom and Dad as a stream of invective came from Mrs. Libby.
Dad kept the cart moving, trying to outrun the others, but the little battery-powered motor wasn't capable of any great speed. A running adult could have easily kept up with it. It was pretty scary, moving through the darkness, not being able to see where we were going. We might have bailed out and run, if not for my still-healing wounds. There was very little moon that night, and the golf course was unlighted, so it was just bumps and unexpected jolts, and the shouts of a raving madwoman over the whine of the three golf carts.
It's a good thing Dad knew the course so well, because he was able to pilot by dead reckoning through the fairway and past the sand traps to the side of the course. An avid golfer, he was out there several times a week, and knew every bump and gopher hole on the course. The others weren't so good… Mister Bandurski almost tipped their cart at the lip of a sand trap, but was able to keep the cart upright and moving.
The near-spill caused them to lose some ground, and Dad pulled slightly to the right, away from the implacable Libby cart, but the pathway was narrowing, and he didn't really have anywhere to run. Mom drew me to her side, holding me tightly, and I could hear Pepper in the back, a low rumbling growl coming from her throat.
Dad warned us to hold on tight, and took an abrupt rightward turn across the green. I know that must have hurt him, but by this point we knew the Libbys weren't going to give up, and we had to find a way to get away from them. Cutting across the green may have been a mistake, though, because our wheels slipped on the damp grass, and the card abruptly slewed sideways. We didn't tip, though, and Dad recovered and hurtled the cart off the other side, the Libby's cart in close pursuit, the Bandurskis following just behind.
Mrs. Libby's stream of invective hadn't slowed one bit. I guess she wasn't as imaginative as I'd thought; she was starting to repeat herself. A little way past the green we came to a natural bottleneck. To the left was a concrete retaining wall, holding back a hill with houses atop it... I'm not entirely sure why the wall was there, since the hill was in no danger of sliding onto the course, but I guess they had their reasons when they built it back in the twenties.
To our right was a man-made lake, created a few years before when some developers had tried to drain the swamplands to the south of the course, in order to build houses. They'd created a fair sized lake near the course, but had been unable to build, since they'd discovered a twenty-foot layer of peat. I'm sure it was good for something, but not the place to plant the foundation of a house. So the muck lay there, creating a barrier that no golf cart could hope to cross.
In between these impassable barriers was a small woodlot, little scrubby trees not over thirty foot tall, growing so thickly that even in daylight it was difficult to walk between them, let along race a golf cart on a near-moonless night. Through its center, though, ran a cart path, about twenty yards long, connecting the second green to the third tee, and the other way the eighth green to the ninth tee.
It was narrow, though, and our slide across the green had put us at an awkward angle of approach. The Libby's cart had a better angle, and they were able to edge slightly ahead of us, nudging our cart just enough that we couldn't get to the path. Dad tried to nudge back, but the underpowered and overloaded cart couldn't deflect theirs, and we skidded to a stop just short of the trees.
The Libby cart was just ahead and to out left, blocking the entrance to the cart path, and the Bandurski cart pulled up behind and slightly to the right, blocking us so we couldn't back up to escape. Gail and Tina were screaming at their parents to stop this, to leave before someone got hurt, but their mothers were beyond listening, and their fathers just looked across the carts at each other, shaking their heads helplessly, meekly following the dictates of their wives.
Stuck as we were, Dad got out to face the Libby's, warning me in a low voice to stay put. He stepped around behind the Libby cart, circling around to confront Mister Libby, who'd been driving. Mom got out on her side, standing ready to face the Bandurskis, in case they came out of their cart. She moved back a few feet to stare them down after also telling me to sit tight.
Believe me, I had no intention of going anywhere. Given my physical condition, I couldn't have outrun a puppy, let alone two maniacal adults. This was a really bad situation, and it looked as though it might turn nasty at any time. Nasty! What was I thinking? It was nasty, had been nasty, and didn't show any signs of changing for the better.
Pepper jumped over the seat back, standing on the seat to my right, her fur bristling and an ominous growl coming from low in her throat. I hugged Pepper tightly, and she turned to me, quickly giving my face a lick, then turning back and tensing, looking around between the Libby and Bandurski carts. I could see she was upset and ready to fight. I don't think I'd ever seen Pepper like that before. Since I'd gotten her, she had been the gentlest of creatures, keeping me company in my loneliness, always at my side. Now, seeing her like this had me scared. If she was ready to fight, things must be even more dangerous than I'd thought.
Mom still stood facing the Bandurski cart, her arms folded and a cold look on her face. Mr. Bandurski sat, both hands on the steering wheel, while Mrs. Bandurski flinched back and almost seemed to shrink in her seat. Gail held her father's arm, tightly, imploring him to back up and take them home, telling him that this was wrong. He seemed confused, and frightened himself, but after giving a quick look to his wife, he returned to his motionless pose at the wheel.
I looked the other way, where Dad had stepped up to Mister Libby, and started arguing with him. I hoped this wasn't going to turn into a fight. Dad was about 5' 10", where Mister Libby was more like 5' 6", and Dad was a lot bulkier and heavier, having been somewhat of an athlete in his younger days, but he was a good fifteen years older than Mr. Libby, and I didn't want him hurt.
Dad and Mister Libby were shouting at each other by this point, and Tina was begging her father to go home and not do this, but was being ignored. Mrs. Libby was adding to the wild situation in the cart by launching a fresh streak of profanity, her face turning visibly redder as she went along.
Dad and Mister Libby continued shouting at each other, the very air turning blue around them, and I sat, huddling down, miserably hugging Pepper for all I had, wishing this night was over. I wasn't sure what was going to happen, but I had the bad feeling that someone was going to get hurt before this all ended.
Mrs. Libby finally hit what must have been her blow-off point, because she suddenly leapt from the cart, her voice rising to a crescendo, and loomed over me. I tried to draw back, but there was no place to go, and she reached out and grabbed me, yanking me bodily out of the seat and pulling me from the cart. I was still holding Pepper for dear life, and she squawked briefly at being lifted, then her growl came back full-force.
Mrs. Libby gave me a hard shove, releasing me as she did, and I tumbled backwards, falling over the bumper of the cart and landing square on my back and shoulders, Pepper landing heavily on my belly. As I hit, I felt something inside me rip, and multiple blinding flashes of pain. My head, shoulders, and belly were all on fire, especially my belly where it felt like someone had tried to rip out my insides.
I heard my Mom scream, and Dad lunged past the Libby cart towards Mrs. Libby.
I tried to scoot backwards and get away, but whatever strength I had was gone, and I doubled over clutching myself, vomiting, feeling the pain and wetness from below, looking down and seeing something black against the darkness seeping through my skirt.
A sudden blow to the head rocked me, causing me to fall limp as Mrs. Libby's foot connected with the side of my face. I couldn't think, the pain almost taking me out of the world entirely, but I tried to fight it and clear my head. Again her foot connected, slamming my head to the ground, and making me vomit again as blood flowed freely from my nose. Dad tried desperately to reach her to stop her, but was being held by Mister Libby, who had surprisingly been able to latch onto Dad and not let go.
I could hear scuffling from the other side of the cart, and Mom's cries of rage. I couldn't see, though, being half below the front of the cart, and my eyes dimming with the blood and pain. As the foot drew back to strike once again, a dark shape flew overhead, and as I passed out I could hear Pepper snarling and tearing and the last I heard was a scream of pain from Mrs. Libby and then everything was gone.
The next I knew, I woke into a world of grey fog, lightening gradually into a too-familiar scene. I groaned at the sight of another hospital room. It seemed like I'd spent much of the summer in one hospital or the other, and it was getting to be annoying.
With a sinking feeling, I knew. When Mrs. Libby had dragged me to the ground, something inside me had ripped apart, and the not-yet-fully-healed repairs had come undone. How bad was the damage this time?
Was this going to be my fate? Bad enough when I'd been at least theoretically a boy. The constant beatings from the other kids were bad, bad enough that I had finally been driven to find a way to take my own life. But this! Since I'd publicly become a girl I'd been ostracized, beaten, knifed, and mutilated, and now attacked again. This was too much. Too much. If this was what life had to offer me, it wasn't worth it... better to end it now and get out before things got even worse.
As I lay there, thinking over what to do — and how — and when, a nurse walked briskly into my room, stopped, and looked at my solemn expression. She took a good look, nodded, and quietly said, "The good part is, you're awake." She stepped up to my side, reached for my wrist, and started taking my pulse. "The bad part is, you're awake." I nodded dourly, and as she bent close to take a good look into my eyes, she whispered, "You're not supposed to agree with me."
My eyes ran quickly across the room, and then focused again on her face. "This is the last place I wanted to wake up."
She nodded, and seemingly pulled a thermometer out of thin air, sticking it into my mouth, under the tongue. "Keep your mouth closed for a moment."
I nodded, and she moved on to checking something at the side of the bed, down near the floor. I looked on with some interest, wondering what she was doing. She 'thumped' something out of my sight, and it sounded like her fingernail on glass. I mentally shrugged, figuring I'd find out in time. She straightened up, spent a minute or two scribbling in a notebook I hadn't noticed, then reached over and took the thermometer from my mouth.
After a moment, she smiled and said, "There, that looks much better. I'll call Doctor Jenkins and let him know you're up." With that and a casual flip of the hand, she left the room, and I was once again on my own.
The nurse's quick exam had been a bit of a distraction, but the issue remained... I didn't want to go on if my life was going to become a series of hospital stays broken by new opportunities to get hurt. Even though I was now physically the same as any other girl (at least on the outside), I still was the target of choice. I supposed it was because people saw me as some sort of freak.
I didn't think there was anything much to be done about that, except maybe time, for the fact of the change to fade from people's consciousness. The fact remained that pretty much everyone in the Michigan City area knew about me, and I'd be willing to bet that this new attack would be played up in the News-Dispatch, and when I got out I'd be the subject of even more attention.
There wasn't any way around it that I could see. I was fated to be considered the town pervert, I was sure, and that's something I didn't want to — couldn't — live with.
I woke up to find someone standing at my bedside, scribbling into a notepad. "Ah, you're awake. Good," he said with what I took to be a British accent.
"I'm glad someone thinks so."
He chuckled and said, "I'm Doctor Jenkins. I've been looking after you since your nasty little incident."
"Since... how long has it been?" I was starting to worry, now. Just how long had I been unconscious since having my head kicked in by Mrs. Libby?
"Not long," he said, "only since last night."
"Ohhh. All right. I was wondering there."
"Wondering?" He looked up from the notebook.
"I thought it might have been a lot longer." I tried sitting up, but couldn't seem to work up the strength. "What?"
He set the pad on the bedside table, and helped me back to a comfortably prone position. "Don't try sitting up just yet. You lost a fair amount of blood, it's a bit early, and you've got some injuries that will need time to heal."
"Injuries? I remember Mrs. Libby kicking me in the head, and pain in my belly. I think something in there tore. But why don't I feel it? Shouldn't I be in pain?"
He leaned over and stroked my forehead. "You will be. Right now you're still pumped full of painkillers. Once they start wearing off, you're going to be in a lot of pain."
"Great."
"I'm sorry."
I turned my head to look him in the eyes. "It's not your fault. It's that bit–that is, it's Mrs. Libby."
The doctor smiled gently. "You're not supposed to know words like that just yet. But yes, it appears to have been her fault, and she's been arrested."
"She's in jail?"
"Not exactly. She's under arrest, but she's here in the hospital, under guard."
"What happened?"
"Your dog, um, Pepper?"
"Yes?"
"When that woman tried kicking your face in, your dog leapt at her and took her down."
"PEPPER?"
"Mrs. Libby is suffering a lot of damage to her face, arms and hands."
"Pepper?"
"Mrs. Libby is going to be in need of a fair amount of cosmetic surgery. I think, no matter what happens with the police, she's going to be paying for last night for many years."
A voice came from the doorway. "I think it's safe to say a lot is going to be happening with the police."
"Wendy!"
In the doorway stood the police artist, Wendy, and another officer. She looked at the doctor and asked, "Can we come in? We need to interview Kimberly about last night."
He turned and picked up his notebook. "Certainly." He turned back to me and said, "I'll be back in a little bit and we can discuss your injuries and what we need to do about them."
"Okay, doctor."
He turned and headed out the door, saying something softly to Wendy as he passed. Wendy and the other policeman entered and approached my bed. There was only one visitor chair in the room, and she motioned the other officer to it, seating herself on the mattress at the foot of the bed.
"Your limp doesn't seem so bad today."
"It's a good day," she smiled. "I hope you're not feeling too horrible."
"Not yet, but the doctor tells me I will be."
"If you find yourself in too much pain, just tell me, and we'll stop and continue later."
"All right."
"I'm glad you're not in much pain right now. I have to tell you, you certainly look like hell."
The other officer flashed a shocked glance. "Wendy!"
She looked at him, amusement in her smile. "I should introduce Lieutenant Grant. Rob's been placed in charge of the investigation, and he asked me along since we'd already met."
"Lieutenant." I nodded to him.
"Good afternoon, Kimberly. I just need to ask you a few things about last night. I've already got a fair idea of what happened, but I need to hear your side of things."
"My side?" I asked in surprise.
"Well," he said, "that may not have been the best way to say it, but we need to know what happened from your perspective. That is, the way you saw it."
"I know what perspective means, Lieutenant."
Wendy got up and leaned over to him, speaking quietly, though I could still hear her clearly. "I told you, Rob, this is no ordinary eleven-year-old."
He nodded, grudgingly. "Eleven going on thirty sounds more like it."
"Ahem"
They both looked at me, and had the grace to look embarrassed.
It was just over a week later that I was allowed to return home. Still bruised and stitched and walking a bit funny, I made my way to the back door, holding onto Mom's arm. I stopped short, catching Mom by surprise.
Silence.
"Where's Pepper?"
Silence.
"Where's Pepper?"
"She's…" Mom started, and then stopped short.
"Mom?"
Silence.
"Dad?"
He averted his eyes, then turned to the door and keyed the lock. He stepped inside, Mom and I following. Once in the rec room, Mom helped me to the sofa, arranged some pillows, and helped me to a comfortable position.
Mom made a beeline for the stairs, while Dad went for the downstairs bathroom. I found myself alone, with my most important question unanswered. Or, rather, I feared it had been answered by their silence.
I heard the toilet flush, and a moment later the door opened and Dad came out. He quietly walked over to the sofa, stood looking down at me for a moment, then pulled up one of the other chairs to a position facing me across the coffee table. He sat, quietly watching me.
"Dad?"
"Yes, Honey?"
"Pepper. Is she… Did they…"
He gave a short, humorless laugh, and said, "She's okay. No one's done anything to her yet."
"Yet? Where is she?"
He looked at me seriously. "She's under quarantine. They have her locked up at Dr. Heinrich's animal hospital until the hearing."
"Hearing?" I looked helplessly at him. "What hearing?"
"The way the Libby's told it, Pepper attacked and disfigured Mrs. Libby without provocation. They claim she's a dangerous dog, and they want the city to destroy her."
"DAD!"
He swiftly moved over to the couch and held me. "It's going to be okay. We all know what really happened, and so do the police. That's why Natasha's been arrested and is being held without bail."
"The police… they aren't going to do anything to Pepper, are they? She was just trying to protect me."
"I doubt it. But Bob and Natasha are in tight with the politicians in town. They are raising a stink, even through they were the ones to start it. They've even been demanding that charges be filed against us for what happened."
"What?"
Dad chuckled. "Even their political friends laughed in their faces over that. No, nothing will happen on that front. And I'm sure Pepper will be okay. Things just have to go through channels before she can be released back to us."
"Okay." I relaxed back, thinking. After a bit, I suppose Dad felt ignored, because he got back up and returned to the other chair. He sat there for a while, watching me.
"Where did Mom go?"
"She's not dealing well with all this. The attack on the golf course — on top of everything else that's happened, she's feeling that you're going to continue to be in danger — and that there's nothing she can do to help."
"Oh, noooo."
"It's not your fault."
I nodded, thinking about what this had to be doing to Mom.
"I said, it's not your fault."
"But…"
"Kimb — Kimberly," Dad stumbled on the name, "listen to me. None of this is your fault."
"That's not true. It can't be."
"What," he asked seriously, "are you talking about?"
I rolled onto my side, ignoring the twinges of pain. I faced the back of the sofa, my back to Dad, clutching one of the throw pillows to my face. "If I hadn't — hadn't told Mom about me, back in May. If I hadn't told her I'm really a girl, none of this would have happened."
"Were you wrong," he asked gently. "Isn't becoming a girl what you wanted? What you thought you needed?"
I sobbed into the pillow, hot tears soaking the corduroy material. Dad crossed back from the chair to the edge of the sofa. I rolled towards him, and clutched him with all my strength, and he held me silently as I let the torrent of emotions out. Finally, the tears ran down, and I sniffed and rubbed at my eyes. I moaned, "What am I going to do?"
Dad gazed down at me and said, "It's too late now to change your mind… but I suppose, if we needed to, we could figure something out."
I looked at him in surprise. "Change my? What?"
"Isn't that what this was all about? You feeling you've made a terrible mistake?"
"No!"
"But, then-- what?"
"It's not being a girl, it's the people, isn't it?" Mom's voice came from the foot of the stairs. "You're having difficulty understanding the reactions of the people around you, right?"
"Yes."
Mom walked across the room, sitting in the chair so recently vacated by Dad. "I'm having trouble with that, too."
Dad looked a bit baffled. "Am I missing something?"
"Dad, it's the people I've run into. There's so many who don't understand, who treat me like some sort of freak, or like I have a disease that's catching. People like Bob at your office, or Aunt Marge, or, well, most of the people I meet."
"Not everyone is like that, you know."
"Not everyone, but enough. Gail and Tina are wonderful, and Ma, and Mrs. Kaczynski, and Elizabeth at the office. Joyce is okay. I'm sure there are others. But most people treat me as if I have leprosy. And then…"
"Then?"
"Look at what's happened since May. I was beaten at the end of school, and again at the mall. When I come home from the hospital in Chicago, I get beaten and knifed by three teenagers I've never even seen before. And they knew me, you know! Mrs. Libby flips out, and tries to kick my head in. Is THIS what I have to look forward to? " My voice rose as I talked, growing increasingly agitated. "Living where people's reactions range from fear and hatred to violence? Is this what the rest of my life is going to be like?"
Dad looked stricken, and turned to Mom, but she just looked helplessly back at him.
"It's not going to be like that, Honey. I don't know what we're going to do, yet, but we're not going to let that happen to you."
I was back to sitting on the porch, reading. There wasn't really much else I could do. Moving was still painful, even a few days after I'd returned home, and the doctor wanted me to rest as much as possible. So, there I was out on the porch, reading alone, just like I used to do all the time. The only difference is that now Pepper wasn't lying there at my feet.
Hearing a noise from the yard, I looked up, to find Gail's head sticking out from behind the corner. She stepped out into the open, and asked, in a very small voice, "Can Tina and I come in?"
I nodded, and she beckoned, and Tina stepped diffidently around the corner. They hesitantly walked up to me and stood, heads down. Tina finally looked up, slightly, and said, "We weren't sure if you'd want to see us, not after what my mom did to you."
"Look at me." They did. "What your mother did was horrible, and I doubt I'll ever find it in my heart to forgive her." They both looked down to the floor again. "That was her, not you. It would be insane for me to blame you for the stuff she did."
They looked up again, smiling shyly.
"Besides, you're my friends."
After a few more minutes, they both were sitting casually as we chatted away. We talked and talked, about everything under the sun, except her mother and the recent events. Mom came out onto the porch a few times, and we wound up with sandwiches and lemonade.
Eventually, I needed to use the toilet, and I had to ask them to help me to the bathroom. With Tina holding my elbow, I made it to the bathroom, and once alone, took care of my business. After cleaning up, they again helped me back to the porch.
As I gratefully eased back into my lounge chair, I said, "I really hate this."
Gail asked, "What?"
"Being sick all of the time. It seems like, as soon as I get a little better, something else happens. It's getting really old. I haven't spent this much time in the hospital in my life."
"You're only eleven," Tine contributed.
"That makes it better?"
"Maybe this was the last time."
I laughed sourly. "That's what I thought the last time."
"Umm."
"And the time before."
"Oh."
"This can't go on. I -- I can't deal with it if that's what the rest of my life is going to be like."
"What?"
"Look, I've been beaten, cut, and stomped this summer. People keep treating me like I have leprosy. Is THAT all I have to look forward to?"
"No!" Tina and Gail said as one.
Tina stood and faced me. "Look, a good part of the problems were caused by my family. My brother," she fairly spat the word, "is a bully and a thug, and," nodding towards Gail, "a rapist. My mom is a -- well, a real bitch."
Gail gasped at the language. "Tina!"
Tina didn't flinch. "It's true, isn't it?"
I couldn't resist. "I'm not going to argue with you."
Gail: "Kim!"
"Listen," I said, "Her son has made a career of being a Jay Dee, and finally took it far enough that, well, you know what's happened. She's been supporting him in all this, keeping everything hidden and letting him go on his merry way. She's been sleeping with your mom, and it's not hard to see that she's the one who runs the couple." Gail flinched, and I apologized. "Sorry."
"No, it's true. Mrs. Libby has been bossing Mom around for years." She sighed. "I've never been able to figure out why. It's kind of like Mom is her servant or something. I know it's silly, but…" She trailed off.
Tina sat back down, sitting forward tensely. "Mom's in the middle of lots of bad stuff. She always has been, and I doubt she'll ever change. Maybe if this sends her to jail, it'll give her some sense."
"Isn't there anything your dad can do?"
Tina laughed. "My dad? You mean Pharaoh Squaraoh? He spends all his time at the office in Chicago. And when he's not there, he's out drinking and chasing…" She paused. "I'm not supposed to know this, but he's, um, not really interested in women." She sank back into her chair, her eyes suddenly squeezing tightly shut. "It's one hell of a family."
Gail was out of her chair and into Tina's in a flash, holding her tightly, as tears crept from under her quivering lids.
Tina forced out, in a broken voice, "God knows what'll happen to me when I grow up."
I was still worrying about what the future might bring. It was getting frustrating… everyone else seemed to acknowledge that there was a problem, but somehow before I could pursue the idea to its conclusion, we always got distracted onto a tangent.
Anyways, I was spending a lot of time lying around reading and watching television. There wasn't a whole lot else I could do. Although my strength was slowly returning, I was still pretty weak, and anything more taxing than a walk to the bathroom or kitchen was too much for me to handle.
The place seemed strangely empty without Pepper. She was never allowed upstairs, and I was avoiding the rec room because she wasn't there. I hoped she was doing okay at the kennel. She'd already been locked up a few weeks, and they wouldn't let me or my parents see her. Until the hearing in another week or so, she was going to be kept in strict quarantine, and I could just imagine how low she must be feeling.
I'd run through all my unread books. I hadn't been able to get to the bookstore since school let out, and I was now rereading some favorites.
This day was a bit muggy and rainy, and I'd retreated to the rec room to read. While I was avoiding that place, it was the only part of the house with air conditioning, and at that point the only place where it wasn't like breathing soup.
I heard the doorbell ring upstairs. It was the front door's bell. It was easy to tell — the back door had a "Ding-Dong" sound, but the front door's was a more complex set of chimes. I'm not positive, but I think it might have been an imitation of Big Ben or some such.
I could hear Mom getting the door, and then low voices from the foyer. After a moment the voices stopped and I heard her on the stairs. She came into the rec room and stopped. "There's someone here to see you. I'd have sent him in, but I wasn't sure if you'd want to see him."
"Who?"
"It's someone from Notre Dame, Gary Silvers."
"Ummm." I was kind of surprised. While Gary had never been one of the guys who'd made my life hell, we'd never been all that friendly. I couldn't imagine why he'd stopped by. I guessed there was only one way to find out.
"Honey?"
"You might as well send him in."
Mom went back to the front hall while I tried to arrange myself. What the heck was he doing here?
He cautiously walked into the rec room and looked around. This was the first time he'd been there since my sixth birthday, and the room had changed a bit. I'd certainly changed more than a bit.
Gary walked up to me, gave me a good look, and said, shyly, "Hi."
"Hi." I motioned him to a chair.
"You've had a busy summer, haven't you?"
"Yeah."
He leaned forward. "I've been reading… that is, I've seen a lot of the stuff in the News-Dispatch, about what's happened to you since school ended."
I nodded.
He continued, earnestly. "I remember how you looked the last day of school… IN school, that is. I wasn't there when the guys beat you up."
I nodded again.
"I didn't know anything about it. Nobody told me a thing — if they had, I'd have warned you, or at least told the nun about it so she could have stopped it."
That earned a bitter laugh. "If she'd known, do you think she'd have lifted a finger to stop it?"
"What? Of course she would. Wouldn't she?"
"I'm not so sure. You know just how much I've been beaten since second grade. Do you really think that could have gone on if the nuns are tried to stop it?"
He sat back, slumping in his seat. He said, thoughtfully, "Didn't they?"
"Nobody has EVER been punished for beating me up. Not until the beating at the mall."
He replied, in surprise, "What? You're kidding!"
"With these nuns? You've seen them for years, working on me. I've never been what they wanted, and they've done all they could to change me."
"But…"
I plunged on, "You've seen them in class, right? Making fun of me in front of the class? Singling me out for a tongue-lashing when things didn't go the way they wanted?"
He nodded. "Yes, but…"
"That's how they work. Mock and humiliate the person, and if that doesn't work, well, you've marked them out as 'designated target'."
"Desi… Designated?"
"It means, it's like they painted a target on my back and invited the other kids to start whomping."
He turned a bit pale at that. "I... I never even noticed."
"You were lucky. Since I was there, I got to be the target. If I hadn't, then someone else would have become the goat. That's what they do — whoever they disapprove of the most becomes the whipping boy. The first time I was beaten up by a couple of the larger kids, the nun — Remember Sister Lea? — did nothing. No punishment, no rebuking, nothing. No, that's not quite true. I was punished for 'not fighting back'. Can you imagine what that did, as far as letting the other kids know it was okay to take out after me?"
"No. No, I was there, and I never knew." He looked really upset, almost like he was ready to cry. Why it would affect him like that, I didn't know. It seemed like an overreaction, and yet–
I sat, silently, and waited. He sat, also silent, but I could see his thoughts were turned inward. Something was on his mind, something serious. What it could be, I didn't know, but I suspected he was making a decision. It took a while, but finally he returned to the outside world, and he shifted in his chair.
"I've… That is, there's something I want to ask you. If you don't mind, that is."
"Gary, I think you can ask pretty much anything. I might refuse to answer, but I'm not going to get mad if it's something you really want to know."
"Okay, thanks. It's just that this is hard. I mean, I don't know how to say…" He trailed off to an embarrassed silence.
"You might as well spit it out. I'm pretty sure I'm not going to freak at the question."
"Oh — Okay. I just wanted to ask… What… I mean how… How did you tell your parents?"
"Tell them?"
"Um, yeah. How did you manage to tell them…"
"That I was really a girl?"
"Yeah." He was bright pink and staring intently at his sneakers. "Weren't you afraid?"
I let out a long breath. Now I knew what was bothering him, and it's something I'd have never suspected. "I was afraid — more afraid than I've ever been in my life." He continued to stare down at the floor. "But I managed to tell my mom, after a lot of worrying. I thought they would hate me, that they might want to put me out onto the street."
"But…."
"But they didn't. They listened, and we saw the doctor…" This time I trailed off.
"What?"
"The doctor didn't react well. He…"
"Yes?"
She'd been in the cage forever, waiting.
The last time she had seen her human, the Evil One was trying to kick the girl's head in. Since then, nothing. No sign of her person, nobody familiar, not even anyone carrying the scent of the little human.
She was proud of herself, though. For once, she'd been able to defend her charge, attacking the person trying to harm her. She had leapt right into the face of the Evil One, and started biting and clawing, and it had stopped the Evil One from kicking the little girl in the face. She'd kept at it, too, until one of the Big People had pulled her away, and by then the evil one was huddled into a ball, retching and screaming. She wanted to see if the little one was okay, but the Big Person held onto her collar, and the other Big Person knelt at the girl's side, blocking her view. All she knew was that she smelled blood, and coming from her human, this was a bad thing.
The other Little People, the ones who visited her at home, were crying and holding onto each other, smelling of fear and grief, and looking like they wanted to come over to hug her, but the big person who was with the Evil One held them back, making stern noises. The other big people had left, and then returned a short while later with other big people in some Evil Things with flashing lights.
Several of the big people swarmed around her human, and a few others were by the Evil One, who was moaning and clutching at her face. The little human wasn't moving, and the big ones lifted her onto some sort of table on wheels, then put her into the back of an Evil Thing. She could smell their fear as well, and this worried her. She'd never smelled so many scared humans at one time — what did they have to be scared about?
She tried to join her human in the Evil Thing, but the big person still held her collar, keeping her back. The Evil Thing with her human drove off, and she stood, straining against her collar, whimpering.
More big people led the Evil One into another noisy Evil Thing, which then drove away.
A strange big person clipped a leash to her collar, and then led her into the back of yet another Evil Thing. It drove through the night darkness, until they came to the Place That Smelled Like Fear. She was taken inside and stuck with needles, then given a nasty bath, and finally locked, wet and miserable, into a fenced area.
She stayed there for days, then weeks, bored and scared and missing her person. She'd been in the cage forever, waiting.
Finally, on a really dull afternoon, someone came. The big person opened the gate, and stepped in carefully, a leash in their hand. The person clipped the leash to her collar, and led her out. She went willingly, hoping she might find her human.
Her nails clicked on the linoleum as she pulled at the leash, wanting to run, to hurry and find the little girl who was the center of her life. She pulled, but the big person was far stronger, and her paws went sliding across the tile. She could smell other dogs from out of her sight, but she ignored them. She was on a mission.
Finally, she stopped in front of a door, and sat to wait as the big person caught up and opened the door. Her nose told her, and she knew at once, and with all her strength pulled the leash from the person's hand. She scrabbled into motion, and launched herself into the room, almost leaping into the arms of her little human. The girl was sitting in some sort of chair with wheels, but she didn't bother about such things. The human she loved was here, and hugging her, and that was enough.
Life was good.
© 2003 by Kim Em. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.
Resurrection Mary
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by: Kim EM
Never pick up a hitchhiker on Halloween, unless you're prepared to face the consequences.
This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. Except for Mary herself, who is quite real.
The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you're not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it's too late. You've been warned.
I'd love to hear from any readers with comments. Email me at [email protected].
My other stories are available at http://www.kimem.net
Resurrection Mary by: Kim EM © 2000 All rights reserved
I was sober. Really, I swear it. I'd had a few drinks earlier in the evening, but that was a few hours ago, and I was past their effects. If I had been drunk, or even slightly tipsy, the whole thing might have made more sense to me.
I was heading home from an office Halloween party down in the loop, and was travelling down Archer Avenue, heading southwest past the Frito plant. The plant was, well, pretty noticeable. The whole area smelled like burnt Fritos. And please, don't ask me how I know what burnt Fritos smell like; it's a long story and not very pretty.
I was just at the Chicago city limits when I saw a young girl standing by the side of the road. Now I don't usually stop for hitchhikers, but it was around 10 PM, and this was a pretty rough area. Lots of bikers and rednecks, and not really a safe place for a young, blonde hitchhiker.
I pulled over near where she stood, rolled down the window, and asked, "Are you in trouble? Do you need a ride?"
She looked puzzled for an instant, then her face cleared and she nodded silently. I gestured for her to get in.
She pulled the door open and slid in, pulled the door shut, and turned to me. "Thanks. I've been standing there for quite a while, hoping to find a ride."
I pulled back into traffic, and asked, "Where are you headed?"
She had that puzzled look again for a second, then with a bit of a catch stated "7600 South Archer." She got quiet, and stared out the window at the passing suburb.
"Um.. can I ask what happened? It's unusual to see a hitchhiker out here at night, let alone one as pretty as you."
She blushed and smiled. "It's not that unusual, is it? And there's nothing much to tell. I was at the O'Henry Ballroom with my boyfriend, and we had a fight. I left with some friends, but the car had a problem, and that left me kind of stranded."
"And your friends just left you there all by yourself? That's pretty mean, leaving you alone in a bad area."
She swiveled in her seat to face me, legs tucked neatly under her. "It's not their fault. They had to move on, but I wanted to hang around and party some more. Tonight, though," she frowned, "there's nothing much left open. The only thing to do was try to find a ride and head back."
She looked at me and smiled. "By the way, my name's Mary."
"Hi. I'm Richard, Rich to my friends." I drove on in silence for a few minutes, and then asked, "Was it a Halloween party you came from? Your dress looks a bit old-fashioned." She was wearing a short belted dress, the kind that someone might have worn back in the twenties or thirties. Mary looked about nineteen or twenty, was slim, with long blonde hair and blue eyes. She was short and thin, with that wholesome, fresh-scrubbed look.
"A costume party? No... well, no. But there is a reason for the outfit." She looked down for a second, then back up at me. "There's a story, a legend, I guess, about a girl who was killed back in the nineteen-thirties. She was quite the party girl, and didn't want to give all that up. It seems that from time to time she shows up along Archer and hitches a ride back to the cemetery. And with this being Halloween, well, it seemed like the time."
I laughed and said, "So you're dressed like her, only it's nineteen-ninety-seven instead. And you even got stuck hitchhiking in the same area."
I was still laughing as the blocks counted up to 7600. On the right were a string of small bars and industrial-type businesses. On the left was a bit piece of fenced-in land... Oh. It was a cemetery.
I looked at the building numbers on the right.. 7521, 7525, 7533, 7537... then it struck me, those were all odd numbers. So 7600 had to be on the left. And that was... I braked hard and pulled to a stop at 7600. The main gate of Resurrection Cemetery.
I turned to Mary in surprise, but she was already half out of the car. The door slammed behind her as she walked casually towards the gates. She looked back at me and said "Thanks for the ride. I'm sorry I couldn't stay longer. But you know, it IS Halloween."
I opened my door and was out of the car in a flash. I'm not sure why, but I knew that it was vital that she not leave. I called out, "Wait!"
She paused, mere feet from the gate, and said, "Yes?"
I kept coming, but when I was just a few feet away my foot caught a patch of wet leaves, and my feet went out from under me. I scrambled to stay upright, windmilling my arms, and I almost recovered, but I lurched forward and plunged right into her... and passed right through her body, my head exploding in a flash of white light.
*****
The girl smiled as the bartender slung her a fresh drink, and she patted her stomach as she sat at the bar. "We'll have so much fun from now on, Richard," she promised, and drank up.
The night was young, after all. And it WAS Halloween.
Author's Note:
This is fiction, but Resurrection Mary is quite real. There have been numerous sighting over the years, and some physical evidence existed before being destroyed by the cemetery.
Mary is believed to be the ghost of Mary Bregory, who was killed in an accident on March 10, 1934. For more information on sightings plus photographs of the evidence, check out: http://www.ghostresearch.org/sites/resurrection/
Or
http://www.prairieghosts.com/resurcem.html
- Kim
When the Sleeper Wakes
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Part 01
Herbert’s Story
by Kim EM & Debra Rachel
Copyright © 2000 by Kim EM & Debra Rachel
All rights reserved
When the Sleeper Wakes - Part 01: Herbert’s Story
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Part 01
Herbert’s Story
by Kim EM & Debra Rachel
Copyright © 2000 by Kim EM & Debra Rachel
All rights reserved
Authors Notes: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you’re not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it’s too late. You’ve been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
We’d love to hear from any readers with comments. Email us at:
Debra Rachel: [email protected]
Kim EM: [email protected]
Succeeding chapters and other stories are available at http://www.kimem.net
Debra: I would have this dedicated to all those that know me and who are supporting me through my changes as they happen.
Kim: Actually, I agree with Deb’s dedication. I’m in the midst of my own transition, and I’d like to thank everyone who has been so helpful and supportive
Prologue:
My name is Helen, and this is my story.
The best place to start is the beginning, but I wasn’t here for that part. I’m twenty years old, although I was born thirty-one years ago. Confused? I’m not surprised. My whole life is sort of confusing, and I’ve only just put all the pieces together. I’ve lived all my life in America, Florida to be precise. But I was born in Scotland, and am still a Subject of the Crown. I know, your head is starting to hurt. Maybe this would be easier if I let Herb tell what happened thirty-odd years ago. I’ll be back later.
I was born Herbert Wells in 1950 in the city of Glasgow. I basically had a normal upbringing; I was happy playing and being with my friends. In March of 1969 I applied and was accepted to join the Royal Army. I was placed with the RAMC (the Royal Army Medical Corps) and by the end of 1969 I’d completed all my training.
The only thing left was to pass out from training. I was in the top one percent and very proud of having done so well. There were even mutters about the possibility of my being sent to Sandhurst, the Officer’s School.
On the 3rd of January I passed out from training. My parents were in the audience to watch me march past. As soon as the parade was over the new soldiers all got their postings–except for me. A general came over with my captain and requested me to come with him. Maybe this would be my posting to Sandhurst. I was hopeful as I excused myself from my parents and followed him and the captain.
We went into a little room, and the General cautioned me that I wasn’t to say anything about what went on in that room. Nothing. To anyone. Ever. I agreed and he said that he was looking for a volunteer for special duty. If I refused it wouldn’t go on my service record. That’s what they said, but I knew the truth. If I refused, they would remember, and it would dog me for the rest of my career, if I had one left at all. If I took the special duty I would receive a letter of commendation in my service record but that would be it. It hardly seemed fair, but then the Army didn’t have a reputation for fairness. The general told me that "if" I took the assignment I would have a six-week leave of absence and then I would be taken somewhere secret.
I asked if I had to decide right away, thinking about the two- week leave that I had earned by completing training. The General said that he needed an answer within 48 hours. I told him I would think about it that night and let him know the following morning. The General said that was fine and he gave me a number that I could use to reach him.
As I left, he made a point of reminding me that I couldn’t tell anyone about our discussion. And the captain hadn’t said a word. Why was he there? As soon as I had left the room and found my parents they asked me what the general had wanted. I told them that I couldn’t talk about it and that I had some thinking to do. My dad immediately said "Okay, I understand.", but my mother kept trying to get me to tell her what had happened. Father stuck up for me saying "Leave him alone, Susan, he told you that he’s not allowed to talk about it." My mother wasn’t happy but let it go. The following day I decided that I would take the special duty and called the number. After all, it’s not as though I had a choice. Once I had this voice at the other end of the phone, I just said "Yes" and hung up.
A few moments later my phone rang. It was the General, saying "As of this moment you are working for me. If you have any problems call me on the same number and I will deal with it. You are now on 6 weeks leave. When your leave ends, report to Redford barracks in Edinburgh." And with that he hung up. What had I gotten myself into?
I decided to just enjoy my six weeks leave and let it go at that. Just before I was due to begin my leave, I received a letter addressed to Lance Corporal H. Wells. I wondered why it had given me the rank of Lance Corporal. I decided that it must be a mistake, and opened it.
"Private Wells, you are hereby Promoted to the rank of Lance Corporal and ordered to report to General Jones at Rexford Barracks on the 18th of February 1970." It was signed with a name that I couldn’t read.
Six weeks. It seems like a long time, but this particular six weeks flashed by. I had a tearful farewell with my mother whilst my father just shook my hand and reminded me to write to him and keep them both informed. I said that I would write when I could, but that he had to understand that the nature of my assignment was such that it might make letters infrequent. He seemed to understand, but made me promise to try to keep in touch. And on February 18th, 1970, I reported to the commandant’s office at Rexford Barracks.
They were expecting me. As soon as I presented my orders, I was hustled behind the counter into the commandant’s office. The commandant told me to leave my kit in the Guard room and report directly to General Jones. I couldn’t figure out why he would get personally involved in something as unimportant as this. I left the guard room and marched directly to the General’s office. Once I got there I stopped for a moment to make sure my appearance was passable. After all, I had been traveling for the last twelve hours. That does a lot to degrade a person’s appearance, but in the Royal Army that is never an excuse for a slovenly appearance.
I knocked on the door to the office and the General called me in immediately. Obviously he’d been notified that I’d reported. I marched into the office and came to attention and saluted him. "Lance Corporal Wells reporting for duty sir!" The General told me to stand easy then he told me to sit down. I took the chair in front of his desk and sat there nervously, waiting to hear what he had to say. "I am going to tell you now what your duty is. If you don’t understand anything at any time you are to ask me. We need you to try out a new drug that will hold you in stasis for a time."
I interrupted him at that point and asked what he meant by ‘stasis’.
"By stasis," he continued, looking annoyed at being interrupted, "we mean a deep sleep like the hibernation some animals go into. That’s basically what we want to test." Then he asked if I had questions.
Well, he said that he wanted me to question things I didn’t understand, but he acted like they were most unwelcome. Still, I had to know what I was getting into before it was too late. "How long will I be kept in stasis?" I asked. "we expect the initial experiment to last six months. At that point we shall bring you round and make sure everything is all right." He paused a moment before continuing, as though he had reservations about telling me the rest. "After that we may put you back under again for a longer period, depending on what happens the first time around."
I asked about my family. They would certainly become suspicious if they didn’t hear from me for all that time. The General replied that my family was the least of their worries. I could write some letters in advance and we would send them over the time I was in stasis."
This didn’t sit very well with me, but if I turned down the assignment or made an issue of this, it would likely end my military career before it had even started.
"I think that’s all my questions sir, and may I thank you for my promotion."
The general just laughed and said "Actually I am just about to promote you again to Sergeant as you may need the rank." I was pretty well flabbergasted at this. Two promotions in less than two months, especially just out of training, was unheard of. "As of tomorrow morning you are Sergeant Wells, so make sure that your uniforms are correct. That’s all for now, Sergeant. I’ll see you tomorrow at 1000 hours."
I stood up, saluted, and left the office to pick up my kit from the guard room. When I got there I asked where I was to be billeted. They told me to go to the sergeants mess and find the orderly on duty and ask him where my room was to be. When I arrived at the sergeant’s mess I found the orderly. He asked what I was doing there but once I told him my name he showed me where my room was and told me about the meal times. I went straight to my room and settled in. I was thinking the entire time about the procedure that I was going to undergo, whilst I was thinking about that I was altering my uniforms again to reflect my new rank.
I enjoyed the thought of the new promotion, but I have to admit that I was somewhat aggrieved about the necessity of altering my uniforms again.
The next morning I was outside General Jones’s office at 0955, waiting for the appointed hour to arrive. In the army, especially when dealing with generals, you are neither late nor early. At precisely 1000 hours I knocked on his door and was told to enter. I marched in, came to attention, and saluted. The general said to sit down until he was through with some other work.
I’m not sure I could even begin to describe what happened next. When the general was ready, he led me to secure part of the installation, one I hadn’t even realized was there. I was brought before some doctors, and ordered to strip. With some degree of trepidation, I did so, and was immediately given an injection.
One doctor apologized, but told me that they preferred for me to not know too much about what was to happen. The injection took good care of that. I have vague memories of being poked and prodded, being forced to give specimens from virtually every bodily orifice, and having what seemed like an inordinate amount of blood drawn.
I was X-rayed, fluoroscoped, and scanned in myriad ways, but nothing of what they were doing was explained to me. Once I vaguely recall a technician making a comment about needing additional genetic material before anything could be grown, but he was immediately shushed by the others. I couldn’t even say whether the testing took hours or weeks, but eventually they took me into a different laboratory, one with what appeared to be large tanks that seemed to be sucking all the heat from the room. I was laid onto a gurney, and an IV drip was started.
I weakly looked up at the doctors, and saw the general standing in the middle of the group. As I faded out, I heard him mutter "Goodbye, Sergeant Wells, and may God have mercy on both of us." That’s the last thing I knew before my world ended.
Interlude: HELEN
This is Helen. I’m back.
I know, Herb isn’t the most colorful guy. But he changes. And you needed to know all that for MY story to make sense.
© 2000 The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission.
When the Sleeper Wakes - Part 02: Awakenings
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Part 02
Awakenings
by Kim EM & Debra Rachel
Copyright © 2000 by Kim EM & Debra Rachel
All rights reserved
Authors Notes: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you’re not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it’s too late. You’ve been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
We’d love to hear from any readers with comments. Email us at:
Debra Rachel: [email protected]
Kim EM: [email protected]
Succeeding chapters and other stories are available at http://www.kimem.net
Debra: I would have this dedicated to all those that know me and who are supporting me through my changes as they happen.
Kim: Actually, I agree with Deb’s dedication. I’m in the midst of my own transition, and I’d like to thank everyone who has been so helpful and supportive
Interlude: HERB
This part of the story is Helen's. I was... elsewhere... for much of it. After the experiment in stasis sleep began, I knew nothing of the world for a very long time. And when I did return from my sojourn, it was to a whole new world.
I woke up. That sounds kind of, well, pedestrian, but that's because it's something people do every day. For me, though, it was the first time, and it's a moment I will always remember.
It felt good, the feeling of the linens against my body, the weight of the covers, the warmth of the pillow against my face. The room was cool, almost cold, and I really didn't want to get up. I could feel the internal pressure, though, and knew that it was time to head for the bathroom or mess up those wonderfully comfy sheets.
Without a thought I pulled the covers off me, swung my feet off the edge of the bed, and found-- nothing-- on the floor. No slippers. I looked around and there was no robe or other clothing evident. As a matter of fact, I looked down and realized I was naked. Well, I wasn't going to let it bother me; I had to get to the bathroom before I peed myself.
The room was your run-of-the-mill cheap hotel. So I knew exactly where the bathroom was, and scurried right over. I went through the door at supersonic speeds, slid right onto the seat and released a high-pressure spray into the bowl. *Ahhhhhh*
That need completed, I wiped things up, moved to the sink, and began washing my hands. I looked into the mirror and stopped. Frozen. I saw my face, but, well, it was a face I'd never seen before.
The person I saw was female, about 6 foot tall, long and thick blonde hair (and I did check, the blonde was natural), kind of Nordic-looking. I looked down at my body. Well-shaped from what I could tell, large breasts, narrow waist. Great. But this was the wrong body for me. I should be-- what?
It was only then I realized that I didn't know what I was supposed to look like. I had no idea whatsoever. All I could tell was that this body was unfamiliar. Not better nor worse than what it should have been, but different. What _was_ I supposed to look like, anyway?
I stood, and thought, and thought, and thought. Nothing. Finally I decided that standing naked in a cold bathroom might not be the smartest thing to do, and returned to the bedroom.
Still no clothing in sight. That made sense; if there hadn't been any there when I went to the bathroom, how would it get there now? The brownies came in and stocked the wardrobe whilst I was in the loo?
The wardrobe. Nothing in the closet. Nothing in the dressers. No bags, nothing under the bed. Damn. This could be awkward. No clothing, in the wrong body. Why wasn't I panicking?
Hookay, let's look around. I walked over to the window, and noted the sway of my breasts with even the slow, short walk. Hmmm. I was going to need a bra. From somewhere. Soon.
I pulled back the curtain to discover that it was mid-day, or at least the sun was high in the sky. The view outdoors-- I was several stories up, and outside the window was a grassy area with scattered palm trees. About fifty yards away was a two-lane road with a steady flow of traffic. There seemed to be something wrong, though. I stood and watched the cars for about 20 minutes before it dawned on me. Of course! They're driving on the WRONG side of the road!
I decided that I might have to rethink the hotel theory. No car park. Across the road was what appeared to be an abandoned orange grove, and beyond that a lushly overgrown area that looked as if it might be swampland. Then I looked above the trees and went a bit faint. Above the tree line I could see some large metal frames at quite a distance. I'd never seen anything like them before, and then realized that there was a rocket upright on one. I instantly knew what it was, and by extension, where I was.
I looked at them and started to think about what I had seen so far.... The cars driving on the wrong side of the road-- the swampland-- the palm trees-- and last but not least the rocket. It had to be Cape Kennedy in Florida.
I backed away from the window, and fell backwards across the bed. I landed heavily and just lay there, trying to figure this all out. Trying. Nothing came to me, though. I knew where I was, more or less. And again, it's not where I was supposed to be. I should be... um... merde. Again,I didn't know where I should be, only that this wasn't it.
I sat up and looked for the room phone. Nothing. No phone? That was curious. This was definitely not a hotel. I started to wonder if I was locked in.
I rose and walked to the door. I turned the latch and the knob, and gently pulled the door open. No problems there. I poked my head out, and looked left and right. No people were in sight, and it looked just like a hotel hallway. No guards or nurse stations or anything like that. I looked at my door before withdrawing my head, and there was a small plastic plate on the door: "417".
I stepped back in and let the door close with a gentle 'snufft'. I paused a bit at that. It didn't sound like any door closing noise I'd ever heard. Which would be... when? My memory seemed to be pretty well shot.
I sat back down to think some more. It was still cold in the room, and I looked around... no thermostat. Figures. I snuggled under the covers and tried to assess my situation. Naked, in the wrong body, no clothing, no idea how I got there, in what was Not-A-Hotel located at Cape Kennedy, the place where the United States launches its moon flights.
Terrific.
*What do I do now?*
Um...
Someone could show up here at any time. On the other hand, maybe nobody would show up. But _someone_ had to know I was there. And with luck, they could tell me why I was there.
I lay, for a good two minutes. Patience was apparently not one of my virtues. I got up and wrapped the sheet around myself. I stepped to the door in my improvised toga, opened it and stepped outside.
As the door went 'snufft' behind me it occurred to me to check the lock from this side. Locked. Great. Well, I was committed now. I walked the hallway from one end to the other, with no sign of life, no sounds, and no indication that I wasn't the only person left in earth. No, that couldn't be true. There'd been cars on the motorway outside.
I returned to the area of the elevator and pressed the 'down' button. After a short wait, the wheezing elevator arrived and I stepped in. Floors numbered one through four. Okay, I was at the top. Should that make me feel good?
I pressed the "1" button as the doors noisily closed. The elevator was as rough going down as it sounded. It jolted to a stop on the first floor, and the doors rattled their way open. I stepped out, into a small shabby tiled lobby. No 'front desk' as such, as though this had been a hotel, but instead a guard post with two bored Air Force personnel sitting behind a desk.
One turned and saw me, his mouth dropping in surprise. The other started to ask what was wrong and then he spotted me. He stood suddenly, his folding chair falling over backwards with a loud clatter.
The first guard put his foot into it then, with the first instinctive question. "Who're you?"
"I'm... I'm... I..." *Hooboy* Who was I? I had no earthly idea. I suppose it shouldn't have surprised me, with as many unanswered questions as were swirling about me. Why shouldn't I have no personal memory? "I really can't say."
The voice that came out of my throat was unfamiliar as well. It was a pleasant voice, just not mine, if I had any clue what mine should have sounded like. It was a bit high-pitched, soft and slightly breathy. Not really a little-girl's voice, but rather like one that hadn't been used in a long time.
We were sitting in a small, shabby interrogation room. Oh, that's not what they called it, but it wasn't that hard to figure out. Tile walls, a big mirror on one side of the room, gray metal table and two profoundly uncomfortable chairs.
On one side of the table, facing the mirror, was me, still wrapped up in my improvised toga. On the other side was a general - an American general, of course, General Fitzsomething-or-other. And standing, leaning casually against one wall was a woman who had only been identified to me as Elle. Dark suit, kind of mannish, medium length auburn hair, and a sardonic expression as she listened to the questioning.
The general seemed to be taking it as a personal affront that I couldn't explain who I was or how I got there.
The general spoke, disbelievingly, "You have NO idea who you are? Do you take me for an idiot?"
Elle coughed gently, and the general colored slightly and looked just a bit embarrassed. Something was going on here, but I had no clue what. It was getting a bit old; this having no idea what was going on.
I leant forward, palms flat to the table, and told the general, "Look, you don't have to like it, and you don't have to believe me. But the fact remains that I have no clue as to who I am or how I got here. You can bluster all you want and it's not going to change those facts."
Elle straightened and walked up to the table, looking down at me expectantly. "Do you know where you are?"
That one I could handle. "I'm somewhere at Cape Kennedy."
"How..." the general began, but I cut him off.
"Before I came downstairs I looked out the window. Even I can recognize rockets when I see them. And with the palm trees that puts me at Cape Kennedy."
Elle smiled and said, "Actually, you're on the Cape Canaveral Air Force Station. The Kennedy Space Center is just north of us."
The names were familiar, but slightly twisted, like in a funhouse mirror. "I thought they changed Cape Canaveral to Cape Kennedy a few years ago? Surely I didn't miss anything?"
Elle bent at the knees to bring her head down to my level, her eyes narrowed. "Apparently you did. Errm. May I ask you a slightly strange question?" I had a bad feeling about this, but nodded anyway. She continued, "What year is it? Right now, that is."
The general leaned back, a disgusted look on his face, and I leaned back, but for a completely different reason. There could only be one reason for asking a question like that, and it didn't bode well for me or my peace of mind, what little mind I had left.
"I think... well, no. If its when I think it is, your question wouldn't have had a point. So it's got to be somewhere, somewhen else."
Elle nodded, smiling expectantly.
"It's, or at least it should be, Nineteen-Seventy."
Her face went blank for a moment, then recovered. "Hookay."
I knew she was waiting for it, so I had to ask. "When it it? Today, I mean."
"It's, well, I think you're in for a bit of a shock. Today is Monday, August Twenty-eighth, Two Thousand."
I slumped down in my chair. Thirty years. *THIRTY YEARS?*
I think that's about when I fainted.
© 2000 The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission.
When the Sleeper Wakes - Part 03: Discoveries
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Part 03
Discoveries
by Kim EM & Debra Rachel
Copyright © 2001 by Kim EM & Debra Rachel
All rights reserved
Authors Notes: This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. The story contains mature subject matter. It may contain adult situations and/or language. If you’re not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it’s too late. You’ve been warned.
Permission is granted to archive or repost this story as long as the text is unaltered, and my copyright and this notice are included. Oh, and this permission is conditional upon it's being available only on free sites. No membership fee, "Adult Check", or other means of skinning money out of people are allowed.
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When I came to, Elle was helping me to sit up. She hovered over me till she saw that I was once again back in the real world, and said, "Relax, you’re going to be okay."
I weakly looked up and asked, "Did I hear you right? You said that today is Monday the 28th of August TWO THOUSAND?"
Elle looked me straight in the eye. She paused (for dramatic effect, I’m sure) and said, "Yes, it is. And that puts today some thirty years later than you said you thought it is. That’s, well, it’s been puzzling me. You’re obviously nowhere near thirty years old. So why do you think its Nineteen Seventy?"
I sat back and thought about it for a while. Thirty years... where had I been? This body, it didn’t seem right to me. Could I have been someone else thirty years ago? But that didn’t make sense. How could a person turn into a different one? Still, it would neatly explain why I was unfamiliar in my body. I roused a bit from my speculations to see Elle still standing, calmly waiting for my answer. "It, it just is."
She kept looking at me, waiting for more, I suppose. I retreated back into my head to think some more on this. Why was I not hysterical at the possibility that I was someone else, and had-- somehow-- been changed into the person I now was? Because the thought was so ludicrous? Maybe. It would take a lot more thought, that much I knew. Once I had thought about it a little more I realized that I was going to need help getting some answers, so I decided that I would need to start asking some questions.
I turned to the General, who was sitting unmoving and silent, staring at me as though I were some alien come to visit. From his point of view, maybe I was. Beautiful naked women probably don’t magically appear at Cape Kennedy every day. I giggled at the thought. "General, this "Cape Canaveral Air Force Station", it’s a secure facility, right?"
He opened his mouth, closed it again, shot a quick look at Elle, who gave him a slight nod, and only then did he speak. This Elle must be pretty important to be giving generals orders, I realized. "It’s secure. At least, it’s as secure as it can be with hordes of tourists wandering around every day."
"Tourists?"
"This is still America’s prime launch facility, but NASA and the National Park Service have turned this into one of Florida’s main," he spat out the words, "_tourist attractions_. Right over there," he nodded at one wall, "is the old training center. There’s another busload of tourists stopping there every seven minutes."
Urrm. That meant that just about anyone would have access. Damn. I tried another tack. "This building is secured, right? So there’s no way I should be here without someone knowing about it, right?"
The general thought about it, and Elle backed up to the wall, leaning with her arms folded, interjecting, "You shouldn’t, no." The general nodded in agreement, looking disgruntled.
Well then, general," I continued, "I’d suggest you start asking some pointed questions of your security people. Someone should have an idea where I came from." I looked to Elle, then back to the general. "I want some answers as much as you do. Probably more so if I took the time to think about it." He rose sullenly and I’d swear he was marching to the door. Some things never change. "General," I asked sweetly. HE stopped and looked over his shoulder. "Do you suppose you could find me something to wear? This ‘toga’ is just a touch drafty."
He seemed about to refuse when Elle jumped in. "I’m sure the general can find you something a bit more stylish." The general huffed a bit and then silently marched out the door. As it closed firmly behind him, she said, "He’s not as bad as all that. I think it’s just what he thinks people expect from generals." She paused a moment and sighed. "It’s a shame, but he really is quite good at what he does."
I looked at her silently for a moment, then, when it was clear she wasn’t going to continue, asked, "Which is what?"
She looked back at me and then said, "It’s a long story, dear," as the door reopened and a soldier entered sheepishly, carrying a pair of regulation Air Force coveralls. As he handed them to me, Elle said, "These should do for the moment, until we can get you something better."
Elle directed me to the other door, and it proved to be the entrance to a small loo. Upon entering, I quickly shucked off the bed sheet and pulled on the coveralls. Of course, they were too big for me. Typical military, everything is too big or too small. Hey, wait a minute! What did I mean, typical military? When did I, I mean, how did I know... umm...
My mind went blank for a bit as I rolled up the sleeves and legs of the coveralls. No point in letting them drown me. I reached for the door and then stopped suddenly. From the room came the sound of raised voices.
"YOU were supposed to be watching her," the general almost screamed, "How the f- hell did she get out? That door was supposed to be locked and guarded?"
"General," Elle said softly, "remember, the goal is to get your point across," her voice took on a hard edge, "WITHOUT swearing!"
Damn! Why couldn’t they stay on the point? This was getting interesting.
The general wasn’t cooperating. Damn. "Without... Damned civilians."
Elle’s voice took on a warning note. "I wasn’t always a civilian, General. And I haven’t forgotten who it is that forced my change in status."
"I felt you were a security risk, and honestly I still do."
"Well then, General, it’s a good thing the President disagrees with you, isn’t it?"
He made with a harrumphing noise, and then belligerently asked, "So what DID happen with the room’s security?"
"I decided, and you concurred if you remember, General, that there shouldn’t be an overt presence. The room was fully monitored with micro-cameras."
"They would have worked one HELL of a lot better if there had been people monitoring them," the general grated.
"General," she sighed, "Helen wasn’t supposed to awaken for another six hours. Had she woken on schedule, everyone would have been in place."
"So now what?"
"I wish I knew, General. This would all be so much easier of we had some idea who she is or how she got into KSC. Her first appearance, in the VAB itself, shook a lot of important people, especially with the Endeavour mission in only two weeks. That one HAS to go..."
The general broke in. "Damn it, ‘L’, I know all about the importance of that mission. And I wish you wouldn’t patronize me by telling me things I already know." He paused for a moment, as there was the sound of someone moving about. "Look, you don’t like me any more than I like you. Big deal. We have to work together, so we might as well try and cooperate."
The room fell silent at this point, and I thought it might be a good time to re-enter. My brain at this point was overloaded with questions and no answers were coming to mind.
An hour or so later, we were in Elle’s car heading west towards Orlando.
"Why Orlando?"
"Why not?" Elle looked my way with a smart-ass grin. I sighed and returned to staring out the side window. After a pause, she started speaking n a serious tone. "Helen, we don’t have any clue who you are, no idea how you got into secure areas of KSC, and especially no idea why."
I interrupted. "I don’t know any more about this than you do! Probably less! I don’t remember a bloody thing about myself. Think what it’s like to wake up naked in a strange country with no idea how you got there, no memory, and no possessions."
"I can imagine. Believe me, I’ve been closer to your situation than I’d normally care to admit."
"What?"
"Maybe I’ll tell you sometime. In the meanwhile, we’re heading for my local office, which is located just outside of Orlando. I want to run a physical on you and see if we can find any abnormalities."
I looked sideways at her, now intent on her driving. "We need to go to Orlando for that? NASA doesn’t have doctors?"
"Oh, they do. It’s just that this physical is going to contain a few non-standard items that I don’t want their doctors to observe."
Non-standard? Their doctors? A suspicion began growing in my mind. "You, you don’t really work for NASA, do you?"
"I’m on the NASA payroll as a security officer. But," she paused for effect, "I do have additional responsibilities."
"For?"
"I really can’t say. Not yet anyway."
"Oooooh, that makes me feel so much better." I slid down in my seat and closed my eyes. I still didn’t have any notion what I’d gotten myself involved in, and it didn’t seem as though things would be improving much.
We drove long in silence for another fifteen minutes or so until the land changed from swamps to suburbs, and finally ahead loomed the downtown of a large city. "This is Orlando?"
Elle nodded.
"It’s, it’s different. The Orlando I knew of was a small district, maybe some forty thousand in population?" I sat there gawking at the city.
Elle gave a small laugh and said, "It’s grown a bit over the past thirty years. Between NASA, Disney, and the other attractions, this is now one of the fastest-growing cities in America. I think it’s now fair to call Orlando a major city."
We drove through and out the other side, then exiting the expressway and following several highways towards the south. At one point near the end of our journey we passed some built-up parkland, something Elle called "Universal". A short distance past we turned onto another road and Elle said we were approaching the "Sand Lake" office.
The building looked like a typical suburban office block, and we entered the lobby and rode up to the fifth floor without passing through any security. When I mentioned this to Elle, she grinned wolfishly and said "Our security is somewhat more subtle than that." Whatever that means.
She keyed an unmarked wooden door, totally ordinary from all appearances, and we entered. Inside was what looked like a standard-issue doctor’s office. Elle turned to me and asked me to strip off the borrowed coveralls. "Shouldn’t we wait for the doctor or his staff first?" I asked.
Elle laughed and shook her head. "No staff, not for this. And the doctor is here."
"You?"
"Amazing, isn’t it? Believe it or not, I’m a M.D., graduate of the Medical College of Wisconsin, interned at Doyne Hospital, residency at Bellevue, and practiced for several years as an Assistant Medical Examiner in Manhattan."
My head swam as I looked at her. I’d have sworn from her appearance that she couldn’t be older than about twenty-five. "You- but- you-" I finally gave up and sank to a chair. "How?"
She laughed a short, bitter, barking sound. "You mean my age? I look too young for all that, short of being Doogie Howser?"
"Who?"
"Never mind. It’s something old and ugly and not worth the explaining."
I looked at her, mindful of how rapidly her mood had shifted, as though an old pain had resurfaced.
Elle turned to a cabinet and pulled out a small metallic gadget. After a moment of fiddling with some controls, she turned and pointed it at me. I must have looked nervous, because she grinned again and said "Don’t worry, it’s not going to hurt you. I’m just scanning for some things." She looked down at a small indicator light on the handle and then looked up at me. "One down."
"What?"
"That was a test looking for mechanical components. You’re not a robot..." I interrupted with a nervous laugh. She said seriously as she put the device aside, "It was a possibility I had to check out."
"That’s possible? Technology’s gone that far?"
"Ummm," she temporized.
"What else did your little gadget tell you?"
She looked directly at me and said, "You’re not wearing a body suit..."
"A WHAT?"
"...and there’s no bionic components," she continued, unfazed, as she drew on a pair of thin latex gloves.
"That means I’m really me?"
"Well, it means we haven’t ruled that out as a possibility yet."
"Yet?"
"Oh, there’s lots of possibilities we haven’t pursued yet," Elle stated as she fiddled around with a small syringe. "Stick out your arm." I did so, and she gave the inside of my elbow a quick swipe with an alcohol wipe. She deftly inserted the needle, drew some blood, and placed a piece of cotton over the puncture. Disposing of the needle into a red plastic container for some unfathomable reason, she plugged the ampoule of blood into the receiving socket on another strange device.
As it started vibrating and whirring, she stripped the gloves and tossed them into a receptacle lined with thin red plastic. What the fascination with red was, I felt without a clue. I stood still, still pressing the cotton to my arm as she stepped to a keyboard and began swiftly typing. The television screen before here displayed her notes. It must have been one of what I recalled from somewhere as the new computers that didn’t need card decks to use.
After a few minutes the device with the blood "dinged" and she stepped over to check it. Her eyes widened in surprise as she read something on a small display panel. "Damn. I would have sworn..." She trained off into silence.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing much. It came up negative."
"What does that mean?"
"I could have sworn it would have shown the presence of HuggleBugs." She sighed. "Back to the drawing board."
"HuggleBugs?"
© 2001 by Kim Em. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.