Chapter One: Renewal

Karen stared out the window of her mother’s apartment on Christmas morning, looking down an empty street to view piled snow along the curbs. Mark Hamilton, her beloved, had ventured down the street minutes before, driving his parent’s car headed for a Christmas morning with his family and out of her life in the weeks to come.

Her mind was filled with thoughts about the previous 15 hours in which Mark had surprisingly re-entered her life, hugged her, kissed her and repeatedly said how much he loved her. He had told her how he was able to tell his parents that she, the lovely Karen, was a boy anatomically, and not the beautiful girl they thought she was. It had been a bold step, and Karen knew it had been difficult for him, but he had taken it. His mother, he told her, had taken the revelation fairly easily, but his father was still not sure about it.

Karen knew, too, that by expressing his love for her he may be exposing his promising future in football in jeopardy. Yet, Mark Hamilton, the freshman quarterback phenom at Iowa State, had found the courage to share his love for her. The memories of the previous hours were still fresh in her mind and there were tears in her eyes — tears of joy mixed with sadness since she wasn’t certain when she’d see him again. He was to return to football practice for the New Years Day bowl game in Florida after celebrating Christmas with his family and then back to school in Iowa.

“He’s not coming back today, honey,” her mother said, moving next to Karen and hugging her closely.

“I know, mother. But, isn’t he wonderful?”

“Yes, darling, he’s nice and so good-looking, too,” Cecily Hansson said to her daughter.

Her little brother, Sonny, age 14, entered the room and, having overheard the conversation, spoke out: “Hey, sis, he’s really cool. He showed me how to grasp the football so I can throw better passes.”

Karen looked around at her brother, who actually now stood perhaps an inch taller than she was at 18 and had already developed a broad muscular body.

“I’m glad you liked him, Sonny, ‘cause he said he liked you, too,” Karen said.

“Yeah, just wait ‘til I tell my friends that Mark Hamilton, the Iowa State star, is my big sister’s girlfriend,” he said with a grin.

Karen smiled at her brother, his body already maturing in spite of his young age into a powerful, masculine presence. She was so pleased at the change in attitude from her younger brother who had so often teased her when she was still a boy named Kenny who had long displayed a natural femininity. Now, Sonny had seemed to take pride in having a sister who was so pretty that she was able to command the attention of a bona fide football hero.

“Think you’ll even be as good on the field as Mark?” she teased her brother.

“Of course, I will,” Sonny boasted with a typical teenage swagger. “But then, sis, you only have eyes for your precious Mark.”

It was true. While she had enjoyed the kisses and caresses of her college friend Gabe for a short time, and even the lesbian advances of her hometown friend Angela, her feelings focused on Mark Hamilton, the first boy who ever showed her any attention. For six months she had thought she’d lost him, and now he had returned into her life.

That morning, as the pair had awakened in each other’s arms on a shared twin bed (their sheets entangled and scented with the sweet sourness in the aftermath of mutual ejaculations), they had had to hurry so that Mark could leave for his home 90 miles away by 9 a.m. Their love-making has yet to be consummated since Karen still has her penis and neither was interested in performing anal sex; instead they had comforted themselves with long kisses, loving caresses and sweet cuddles. In the end, they both ejaculated, almost simultaneously, before falling asleep in each other’s arms.

That night in bed, Mark confessed to being a virgin and pledged to remain that way until Karen had her operation and was equipped with a vagina. Karen also was a virgin, having never been with a girl during her years as a boy.

“You promise you won’t be teased into bed by one of those pretty Cyclone cheerleaders?” Karen asked said as they cuddled.

“Darling, you’re prettier than any of those girls,” he replied quickly. “And I’d love you even if you weren’t.”

There was no hesitation in his reply and she kissed him voraciously in response.

Karen met Mark Hamilton at a Shakespeare Summer Camp at St. Albert’s College in the previous June, where Karen (then Kenny) had been selected to play Ophelia in “Hamlet” and Mark to play the title role. Karen had been chosen in the tradition of the ancient English theater in which men played all the parts (including the females) and she had played the pretty, but troubled, teenage Ophelia so convincingly that many viewed her as a genetically born girl. To prepare for the role, under the instruction of the director (who believed in “method” style of acting), she had lived fulltime as a girl.

Surprisingly, the life of a girl seemed natural to Karen; she had never before dressed in female clothing, but her life as a boy had been miserable and lonely. With a naturally nonathletic body, slender arms and lovely legs, she learned how quickly life changed for her. Suddenly, she had friends (girlfriends, of course) and the admiring looks of boys. It had been a life-changing experience, beginning but six months before. In November, she began living fulltime as a girl, and in January would begin hormonal treatment with eventual sexual reassignment surgery.

“When I learned you were living as a girl and would be transitioning, Karen, I knew I had to be with you,” Mark said that previous night. “I knew that the pretty girl I met in summer camp was not an apparition, but the real thing.”

Karen began crying with those words, even though she knew Mark meant them sincerely.

“Why are you crying, Karen?” he asked as he cradled her in his arms.

“Oh Mark, I’ll never be a total girl, a woman. I’ll have all the parts, but I’ll never be able to give you a baby. I can never be a mother.”

She recalled how gently Mark cuddled her, how softly his hands caressed her smooth skin. She remembered how she buried her head into his hard, muscled neck and took in his manly scent.

“Darling Karen,” Mark finally said. “You can be a mother. We can adopt and be a family like everybody else.”

“I know, but it’s not the same as you could have with a real girl. You’ll never be able to look at a child and say you helped to create him or her.”

She began to sob as she pressed hard his warm, toned body, and he responded by gently caressing her head as she sobbed.

“Oh sweet Karen, I’ll have you, and that’s all that counts,” he said at last.

She rose up so that their lips could meet and they kissed a long, warm, wet kiss. It had been a magical moment. She would never forget it. But, she wondered, did he really mean it? Could his love for an incomplete woman like herself ever last? Yes, yes, yes, she told herself. He loves me and I love him. What else counts?

These thoughts raced through her head as she stood looking longingly out the window hoping unrealistically for sight of Mark Hamilton to return up the frozen street and into her arms. Alas, she’d have to wait.

*****
The day after Christmas Karen went back to her regular holiday schedule, working from 11 a.m. to about 8 p.m. at the Olympus. Even though the work was grueling and tiring at the busy family restaurant, she enjoyed it, particularly now that she was able to be identified as “Karen.” She had become a popular waitress — both with her co-workers and the customers — known for her cheerful nature and efficient work habits.

In particular, Karen loved the waitress’s uniforms, the flowing, colorful print skirts with beige-colored blouses with their scooped peasant neck style. “I feel so feminine in them,” she confessed to Lucy Alexopolus, the hostess and daughter of the owner.

“You look just darling in it, Karen. No wonder all the men give you more than a glance,” Lucy said.

Karen blushed. Though she denied the fact, it was widely felt that Karen may have been the prettiest girl on the staff; what made her even more fetching was that she offered everyone a warm, welcoming smile.

The senior waitress, an attractive but hardened woman named Sharon, had become Karen’s closest friend among the girls who worked there and acted almost as an on-the-job mother toward her. Sharon, of course, had worked with Karen before she began living as a woman and had always been impressed with the young person’s hard work and sincere demeanor. During breaks and some after-work stops at places like pizza parlors or coffee spots, Karen found out quickly that Sharon — a single mother of two — could be a valuable confidant. In addition, Sharon constantly was protective of the younger woman, pointing out which of the male customers might be the most troublesome for a pretty girl.

“Believe me, Karen, I used to be quite a looker once myself,” Sharon said. “And you’re still learning to be a girl. I’ve been through what you’re going through now, trying to fend of wandering hands and leers.”

“Sharon, the men still look at you. You’re a pretty woman,” Karen said.

“Well maybe a little bit,” Sharon said with a smile. “But mainly the old pot-bellied guys with wives look at me. Everyone else follows you around.”

“They look at the other girls, too. Everyone of us is pretty, and even Beatrice would be if she smiled more.” Karen referred to a pretty, but always sour-faced waitress who had become even dourer when she learned the former Kenny was now living as Karen. “You’re blaspheming God,” Beatrice had warned Karen, initially refusing to use her feminine name, due to her fundamentalist religious views.

“Yes, George likes to hire pretty girls,” Sharon said, giving out with a giggle in her reference to George Alexopolous, the Olympus owner. “That’s why he was happy to have you return as Karen.”

The holiday season was always a busy one at the Olympus, often crowded with large family groups, many ranging from invalided grandparents to toddlers. Both high chairs and special tables for the disabled were constantly full; it required supreme patience on the part of the staff to work around crawling infants, scampering three-year-olds and wheelchairs.

As usual, Karen and Beatrice were teamed up; having adjacent sections to serve in the restaurant meant they often had to help each other out if one got overwhelmed. In spite of Beatrice’s hard feelings toward her, Karen always found the girl — who had long dark hair tied in a bun, naturally dark eye lashes and brows with a near tan complexion — to be a most cooperative workmate, and the two girls worked efficiently together.

During an afternoon break on the day after Christmas, Beatrice sat down next to Karen at the picnic table in the back of the restaurant, having retrieved her purse from a small locker that the Olympus had for the staff’s personal belongings.

“Wow, we were busy this noon. Thanks, Beatrice, for your help,” Karen said.

“I know. I’m bushed, and thank you, too, for your assistance. I didn’t think I’d ever finished up with that last family group. Those kids were terrors.” Beatrice forced a smile.

“Cute little Jamie,” Karen said sarcastically, referring to a 5-year-old who seemed to terrorize the entire restaurant at times.

“If I weren’t Christian, I’d have a word for that brat,” Beatrice said, displaying a rare bit of emotion.

“It’s Ok, Beatrice. You can think it, anyway,” Karen said with a laugh.

Beatrice smiled in response and Karen was impressed with how pretty and welcoming the girl’s face could become when she smiled. She watched as Beatrice opened her purse and extracted a colorful pamphlet.

“I hope you don’t mind, Karen, but I’ve got something for you,” Beatrice said, her demeanor growing a bit serious. She handed the pamphlet to Karen; it was a three-fold pamphlet with a picture of a young man, upon which had been superimposed a ghost-like figure of a woman whose face appeared to be a direct image of the young man’s.

Karen looked at it, seeing a headline that read:

“God’s Word about Gender Switching”

“Please read this, Karen,” Beatrice said, and Karen realized that for the first time Beatrice had quit using her male name.

“Beatrice,” Karen said, framing her words carefully. “I promise I’ll read this and take it to heart, but I want you to check out information on line, too, about why this has happened to me. Would you do that, please? For me?”

“I guess, but it won’t change what God thinks about people who play around with their natural sex.”

“Beatrice, please look it over for me, Ok?”

The other girl nodded, and Karen said she’d bring some information she’d print out from the Internet that might best explain why people feel compelled to change their gender.

“It’s a deal then,” Karen said, giving the other girl a fist bump.

Beatrice smiled. The girl could be very warm and welcoming, Karen realized, if she would only loosen up and not act as if she was angry with the world.

“Beatrice,” Karen said after a few moments. “I got an idea. We’re both off tomorrow and I’d like you to come with me to visit a friend of mine.”

“Really, Karen?” the girl responded with a surprised look, as if she couldn’t believe the lovely, popular Karen would include her in something.

“Yes, I’m going to the Sunset Days Nursing Home to visit Elsa Oppenheimer, my friend and also to spend time with some of the other ladies there. Come along, I’ll be going with a couple of girlfriends from high school. We used to go there every Saturday when I was in high school to visit the home.”

“And you’d like me to come with you?”

“Sure. You seem like you’re a caring person and God likes us to serve others. Don’t you do work like that, too, through your church?”

Beatrice nodded. “Sure, I’ve working at our food pantry sometimes and I helped distribute Thanksgiving baskets to the poor.”

“And you’ll love these old ladies. They can be so much fun. I play Scrabble with Elsa and she’s in her 90s and she sometimes beats me easily. She can be a crafty, old player.”

There was a giggle from Beatrice. “I’d like that, only I’m no good at Scrabble.”

“That’s Ok, there’s a Mrs. Eisenstein who loves backgammon and is always looking for players.”

Suddenly the look on the other girl’s face grew alarmed.

“What’s wrong, Beatrice?”

“Ah . . . nothing . . . but are all the people there Jewish?”

Oh my, Karen thought. This girl has serious problems with being terribly sheltered in her attitudes. She must have been raised in an anti-Semitic tradition.

“Does that bother you, Beatrice?”

“No, I’m not prejudiced,” she said, defensively.

“Well, then you’ll join us, dear,” Karen said, seeking to challenge the girl without a direct confrontation. She knew that if she could get Beatrice to join them, she’d be charmed by several of the old ladies there and would likely soon forget about them being Jews.

“Yes, of course,” Beatrice said, but Karen could sense a wariness in her response.

“Ok, we’ll pick you up at 1 p.m. tomorrow, and I’ll bring along my information then.”

Beatrice nodded: “And you’ll read what I gave you, right?”

George Alexopolous poked his head. “Get going, girls. The tables are filling up.”

Karen gave Beatrice a hug and the other girl stiffened initially before hugging back and whispering in Karen’s ear: “Thank you, Karen.”

*****
“Was Beatrice preaching again?” Sharon asked as she and Karen left work that night and settled into a booth at a pizza place where Sharon would have a beer and Karen a soft drink.

“Trying to, but I didn’t argue with her,” Karen said.

“That’s wise. I’ve been avoiding getting into conversations with her just because of that.”

Sharon, the senior waitress at the Olympus, and Karen had developed a sisterly friendship, even though Sharon, a single mother of two, was 15 years older.

“She could actually be a beautiful woman if she’d smile a bit more,” Karen said. “But I got her to loosen up today and I think she’ll join me and a couple of other girls when we visit the nursing home.”

“Did she like the idea?”

“Oh yes, ‘til she realized most of the ladies there were Jewish, but then I shamed her into coming anyway. She might learn something.”

Sharon laughed. “I doubt it, but then you always seem to be the ultimate optimist.”

“Why not?”

“I hope you’re right, Karen, but it seems I’ve had too many hard knocks to always be so hopeful.”

“By the way, how are you and your boyfriend doing?” Karen asked.

Sharon smiled. “Good, dear. Really good. Stanley’s such a fine man, I just don’t think I’m good enough for him. He’s such a smart guy. You know, he teaches English at the technical school, and what am I, nothing but a broken-down old waitress?”

Karen frowned at her friend: “You’re wrong on all counts, Sharon. You’re not broken-down, although I admit you may feel tired sometimes. Who wouldn’t with your schedule? And, besides you’re as smart a woman as any, probably smarter than his first wife.”

“Well, Stanley always says I am, but I usually think it’s just his Irish blarney coming out when he feels horny.”

“ Nuts. He’s a sweet man and he means it, Sharon.”

“Enough about me,” Sharon said. “How’s your love life doing? Heard from your Mark?”

“Every night,” Karen said, smiling. “Either he calls or he emails me or texts me. Depends on the team’s practice schedule, which is getting pretty intense.”

“Sounds like it’s for real between you two then?”

“At least for now, unless he gets lured away by some sweet young thing in Iowa.”

“Now it’s my turn to be optimistic, Karen,” Sharon said. “You’re likely the prettiest and sweetest girl he’ll ever have, even if he is a football hero.”

*****
“That boy Aaron called today,” Karen’s mother told her when she returned home.

Cecelia Hansson was seated in her favorite overstuffed chair, reading a novel. Even though she needed glasses to drive and work around the kitchen, she removed them while reading and it made Karen wonder if maybe she faced that fate as she grew older. She hadn’t even had time to remove her puffy, insulated coat and wool knit cap when her mother made the announcement.

“Oh, what did he want, mom?”

“He didn’t say, but I told him you might not be home ‘til after 10,” Cecelia replied. “Did you stop off somewhere with Sharon?”

“Yes, mom. She’s really become such a good friend. You’ll have to meet her.”

“I did once, dear. Remember, when I stopped by with a couple of the girls for lunch one day. You introduced her, dear.”

“Yes, of course.”

Her mother looked at her closely. “She’s such a hard-looking woman, dear, I hope she’s not going to get you buried into her kind of life style.”

“Mother, you don’t know her,” Karen said sharply. “She’s smart as a whip. She’s just been dealt some unfair cards in life, and she’s working hard to overcome them. Besides, she’s a good mother, and she has helped me a lot. I owe much, mother.”

“I’m sorry, Karen, but I just don’t want you to spend the rest of your life working as a waitress like Sharon,” Cecelia Hansson responded.

“Oh, mother, you don’t know her. She’s almost got her associate’s degree in accounting at the tech school, but frankly she makes good money waitressing and she’s good at it.”

Her mother abruptly turned her attention back to her book; it was the newest novel by Danielle Steele, not exactly challenging literature.

“What did you tell Aaron, mom?”

“To call tomorrow morning, dear, since I knew you’d be going to the nursing home,” her mother said. “Oh yes, Angela called and said she’d pick you up just before one o’clock.”

“Thanks mom,” Karen said, walking over to kiss her mother “good night.”

*****
Even before taking off her waitress outfit, Karen sat down at her laptop to check email messages. She hadn’t heard from Mark all day; usually he would send a brief text message several times a day, but there had been not one. Karen told herself that Mark must have been busy at football practice (the game was but four days off) and she knew his family had arrived in Florida for the game. He must be under terrible time pressures, she told herself. Yet, there was lingering fear that one of the many campus beauties who had followed the team from Ames, Iowa, might have weaved their charms and drawn his attention.

There were some 100 incoming messages awaiting her that night, but only one of them was worth looking at. It was from Angela:

Darling, looking forward to seeing u again. D and I had great fun skiing but we had a little fight, so I came home early.

If u want, let’s do something together, just u and I, after our visit to the nh. Luv to spend time with u. cya. Hugs and kisses, Angela.

Karen let out a gasp upon reading her message. Did Angela, who was a year ahead of her at the college and was her one true girlfriend in high school, want to rekindle their own personal lesbian affair? The thought of being in the arms of the muscular and tall Angela excited Karen; she remembered how the nipples on her breasts grew hard with the other girl’s caresses. She remembered how much Angela desired her — not as the boy she was originally, but as a soft, feminine girl. And she loved being Angela’s object of affection; although the other’s possessive and controlling nature scared Karen.

“I can’t go back to Angela again,” she told herself. Yet, she knew she now felt a longing to be nestled next to her, both totally naked. It made her tiny penis grow hard.

As she readied herself for bed, her mind raced between Angela and her renewed interest in Karen to Mark and his failure to contact with her that day and Aaron whose purpose in making a phone call to her was a mystery.

A girl’s life can be so complicated, she realized.

*****
She was still lounging around in her light pink flannel pajamas, robe and fluffy slippers and her hair still tied up when Aaron called the next morning. She was in the kitchen with her mother, sharing waffles, and Cecelia Hansson took the call, holding the phone with the mouthpiece covered.

“It’s Aaron, honey,” she said.

“Oh mother, I look like hell now,” she said without thinking.

Her mother laughed out loud and said: “Just like a girl.”

“Mother!”

“That’s all right, I was covering the mouthpiece,” she said, still laughing.

Besides the absurdity of her own comment, Karen was wary of the call, worrying about how she’d respond to whatever it was Aaron might want to say. She took the phone, looked at it a moment, and then spoke into it: “Hello.”

At first no one said anything, so she said again, “Hello. Is that you Aaron?”

“Ah . . . yes . . . ah . . . how are you?” came the stammering voice of Aaron. He hadn’t lost his shyness, it was obvious.

“I’m fine, Aaron, just a bit tired from a busy day at work yesterday. And how are you?” She realized that she’d have to carry on the conversation, since Aaron seemed to have reverted to his hesitant, halting ways.

“Oh, Ok, and I just wondered what you’re doing these days,” he said, the words beginning to come more freely.

“Oh, Aaron, just working almost every day. What did you have in mind?”

She realized he’d have to be coaxed into getting into the reason for his call, so she thought she’d get right to the point.

“Well, Karen, I wasn’t very nice to you the last time I talked to you,” he began.

“You were all right,” she said. “After all, I shocked you when I told you I was born as a boy. I understand, Aaron.”

“It was a shock, but I like you, Karen,” he said. “I’ve never met a . . . ah . . . ah . . . girl who I could talk to so easily like you. Or even another boy.”

Karen smiled. “I enjoyed our short time together, Aaron. You’re a very nice boy.”

At that point, Karen’s mother, apparently wishing to give her daughter privacy, got up and left the kitchen.

“Thank you, Karen, and I wondered . . . ah . . . ah . . . whether I could see you while you’re home on vacation. Maybe for coffee or a movie or something, or what are you doing News Years Eve?”

The last words came rushing out of the boy’s mouth, as if he had rehearsed these lines over and over before placing the call. Karen wondered if Aaron, even though he was a year older and in his second year of college, had ever before asked a girl out on a date.

“That’s nice of you, Aaron, and I’d like to see you, but the truth is I’m very busy this week,” she said, trying to be gentle and kind. She felt she’d truly like to spend time with Aaron, but the truth was she was busy.

“Not even for an hour or so, Karen?” the said, pleading his case.

“Aaron, I really am tied up,” she began. “I’m off today, but I’m spending the afternoon visiting a nursing home with some of my girlfriends. We began doing this as a project in high school, and I made some nice friends among the old ladies out there, and I promised I’d do something with my best friend, Angela, tonight. Then I’m working everyday, except New Year’s Day, until I go back the following Monday.”

“Oh. I guess you are busy.”

“Really, plus I need to spend some time on a paper I’m writing.”

“Karen, I’d like to talk with you . . . ah . . . you know . . . about your gender situation,” Aaron said. “I’ve been doing research and I think I understand. I still don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

“Nor I.”

“Maybe New Year’s Day we can do something?”

“I’m not sure, since I’ll be working late on New Year’s Eve, like ‘til 2 in the morning, and I’ll be tired, and then I want to watch a bowl game on New Year’s Day.”

“You like football? Really?”

“No not really, but my boyfriend is playing in one of the games,” she said. “It starts about one o’clock.”

“Boyfriend? You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes,” Karen said, her voice becoming hesitant. She still wasn’t sure she could call Mark her boyfriend, but the truth was that Mark seemed to act like a boyfriend. Yet, it had been more than a day-and-one-half since he’d contacted her.

“Oh, I didn’t know,” the boy said, his voice betraying his disappointment.

Karen was suddenly hit with remorse over causing this kind, gentle boy such obvious pain.

“But maybe we can still get together, Aaron,” she volunteered.

It was finally agreed that the two would have dinner together on New Year’s Day night.

“How about Angelo’s?” Aaron suggested.

“Oh, that’s so expensive, Aaron,” she said.

“Not for a pretty girl like you, Karen. I want to treat you,” he said.

“No we should go ‘dutch,’” she said.

“Really, I insist,” the boy said. “I promise I won’t demand anything from you. Just a nice evening out with conversation between the two of us.”

Karen agreed. She looked forward to spending time with Aaron, since he was interesting. Also, she liked the idea of putting on a nice dress for the occasion. That appealed to her.

Chapter Two: Complications
“I have to tell you something about Beatrice,” Karen said as she slipped into Angela’s Ford Focus, its side panels coated with the residues of salt that had been thrown down on the roadways during the winter. “She’s very religious, Angela, so we gotta watch our language.”

“Great,” Angela said sarcastically.

“But she’s got a good heart, and I’m trying to get her to open up a bit.”

“You mean we can’t tell her about our love-making,” Angela said, her eyes growing impish.

“You better not, I’m having trouble getting her to accept Karen, and don’t be surprised if she calls me Kenny every so often.”

Angela, who was wearing jeans and a sweat shirt under an insulated hooded coat along with men’s work boots, was looking less and less feminine, Karen noticed. Even her voice seemed to take on a harsher, masculine timbre.

“Why are you so eager to get her involved with us, then, Karen?”

“Well, she still thinks I’m sinning against God, and I’m trying to show her that her God also likes to serve people, like we do by going to Sunset Days.”

“Dammit, Karen, you’re always trying to save everybody.”

Angela had driven about a half mile, before stopping in front of a ranch style house, one of many sitting side-by-side in a subdivision developed perhaps 50 years before. Mature trees, their limbs standing barren and bleak in the grey cold of the day, lined the streets. She gave the horn a tap, emitting a short blast.

Patty Murray who if anything had grown more Irish-looking since Karen saw her last summer emerged from the neat ranch home. She was wearing slacks and a beige-colored heavy coat, with a wool scarf about her head. As she slid into the back seat, Angela turned to look back at the new arrival.

“Hey Patty, glad you could make it,” she said.

“Hi Angela and you too, Karen. I’m glad Angela told me you’re one of us now ‘cause I wouldn’t have known you.”

“Yes, I’m one of you now; at least I’m on the way.”

“I can’t say I was too surprised, Karen,” Patty said, and Karen looked back to see the girl’s round, freckled, pug-nosed face. As usual, her eyes shown in a bright blue, with strands of her light brown hair poking out of from under the scarf.

Angela started the car and said, “We’re going to pickup one more, Patty. One of Karen’s co-workers and we need to warn you that she’s a religious nut, so behave.”

Patty giggled. She loved to laugh, Karen recalled. “I always behave, and I go to mass every Sunday, too.”

“Beatrice is not religious like you, Patty,” Karen said. “She’s one of these Bible-thumpers.”

“Oh my God, one of those. How did you get mixed up with her Karen?” Patty asked.

Following Karen’s directions, Angela drove into a subdivision of over-built, ersatz-designed homes on large lots. She directed them to stop in front a multi-gabled monster of a home, complete with a widow’s walk turret and a huge Cadillac Escalade in the driveway. Even before Angela could honk the horn, the front door of the home opened and Beatrice ran out. She wore a dress under the coat she wore; it had a fur-lined hood attached. Beatrice said little on the way to the nursing home, acknowledging the introductions with tentative “Hi’s.”

*****
“My darling, how happy it makes me to see you, and looking so pretty, too,” Karen’s special friend, Elsa Oppenheimer, said.

“I was hoping you’d recognize me, Elsa,” Karen said.

When she had last visited the nursing home it had been in summer. At that time, she was still in her boy mode, although many of the patients there often called her “miss.”

“I was hoping you’d understand, Elsa that I am transitioning into womanhood. I’ve always felt something was wrong with me as a boy,” Karen said as she sat down next to the old woman. Elsa was now in a wheel chair most of the time, and it saddened Karen to see her so confined. Even though Elsa was in her early 90s, and had shrunken into a tiny gnome of a woman, she had always had been fairly agile.

“Darling, give Elsa a hug,” the old woman said, opening her arms.

The two hugged, their cheeks meeting and Elsa showing surprising strength in grasping Karen.

“Look, honey,” Elsa said. “I may be old but that doesn’t mean I don’t keep up with things. I always thought you had a female soul. You were always so warm and sensitive. I thought you were always very pretty, and now I can see how absolutely beautiful you are.”

“I’m so happy you understand, Elsa. I so hoped you would. You’ve always been one of my favorite friends.”

“You’re making an old woman cry,” Elsa said, grabbing a tissue and wiping her eye.

Karen wheeled Elsa out to the recreation area and found a vacant table; Karen found the Scrabble game in the cupboards that stood at one end of the room, flanking a sink and a coffeemaker. As they set up the board, Karen checked to see if all the tiles were still in the set, since in such communal settings tiles often did get lost as various players handled the game. They were all there, Karen found after checking it out. Soon, the pair became deeply engaged in their game, and Karen found herself rusty from several months of not playing the game. As usual, Elsa won. Nothing seemed to have dimmed the old woman’s brainpower, Karen realized, even though her recent bout with hip problems may have doomed her to the wheelchair.

“I’ll never beat you,” Karen cried out as the game ended.

So intense had been the competition that Karen hadn’t noticed several others had gathered around the two of them as they played the game. There was applause, and she heard an older male voice yell: “Way to go Elsa!”

Karen looked up to see a wizened older African-American man, with a full head of gray hair and a neat beard, standing next to Beatrice and one of the nursing assistants.

“Oh, Karen,” Elsa said. “Let me introduce Chester here. He also plays Scrabble with me. Keeps both of our minds sharp.”

“And she beats me, too, young lady,” Chester said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Hi,” Beatrice said.

“Oh, let me introduce my friend, Beatrice, who joined us today for the visit,” Karen said.

“Chester why don’t you and your new friend sit down at our table?” the old woman suggested. Turning to Karen, she said, “I think there are some juice cartons in the cooler and popcorn, too.”

Karen nodded. She knew where the refreshments were, and went to get them. The three others were engaged in eager conversation when she returned.

“We’re talking about you, Karen,” Elsa explained.

“Should my ears have been burning?”

“Not really, dear, it was all good,” Elsa said, smiling. “I just was explaining a few things to Beatrice here. I think she understands your situation a bit better now.”

Karen looked at Beatrice, whose expression was hard to read. She said nothing, and it took Chester to break the silence.

“I like your girlfriend, Karen,” he said, referring obviously to Beatrice. “I introduced her to my grandson, Ellis, and I think they hit it off.”

Chester winked at her, and then reached over to pat Beatrice’s hand. Karen was astounded: she couldn’t imagine the narrow-minded Beatrice wanting to have anything to do with an African-American young man.

“I’ll visit you again, Chester,” Beatrice said. “I promise.”

“OK, young lady, I’ll hold you to that.”

*****
“I had fun today,” Beatrice said, as the four girls crowded into Angela’s Focus.

“I thought you would,” Karen said. “That’s why I suggested it. Those old people can be truly lots of fun if you give them a chance.”

“And that Chester, he’s such a clown,” Beatrice said. “So not everyone in there is Jewish then?”

“No, although it’s run by the Jewish Community Group,” Angela explained.

“Oh, I understand. . . ah . . . ah . . . not that it makes any difference,” Beatrice said.

Karen realized the girl had suddenly wished to hide any prejudice she might have shown in her remarks about the Jewish nature of the nursing facility, and she found herself wondering if the visit — along with Elsa’s comments — had convinced Beatrice that Karen’s sexual transition was not necessarily a blasphemy.

Patty intervened: “Say, Beatrice. Who was that handsome young man who also was visiting Chester? You two seemed to be hitting it off well.”

“Yes, you did,” Karen said, remembering how Beatrice had joined in laughter with the young African-American man she saw with Chester.

Beatrice reddened noticeably, Karen saw as she turned back to look at her. “Oh,” the girl said, faking nonchalance, “That was his grandson, Ellis.”

“He’s cute. Did you give him your phone number, Beatrice?” Angela teased, as she drove.

“No,” she answered, as if doing so would have been a grave sin.

Too bad, Karen mused. It appeared that Beatrice had some strict limits as to how wide open her attitudes might become. Miscegenation was out of the question for her, at least for now. Yet, it was obvious that Beatrice had opened her eyes at least for a day.

*****
That night, Karen and Angela went on their date: it consisted of going to the multiplex to watch “Lincoln,” followed by a stop at the pizza joint. In the movie, the two were able to find one of the love seats that the theater had scattered throughout the auditorium, and comfortably settle into it.

Angela took the role of a gentleman, assisting Karen with her coat, and holding arm as Karen sat down. They were in their seats just a few minutes when Karen felt Angela’s arm drape her thin shoulders and she gratefully settled in next to Angela. The gesture brought back memories of their love sessions months earlier, which began long before Karen’s life as a girl. Even then, when she was Kenny, Angela had treated her as the female in the date, as the submissive person who needed protection. Karen smelled the clean, soapy scent of her mate, recognizing that Angela never wore perfume and the realization thrilled her.

As the light dimmed in the theater for the start of the interminable previews, Karen reached over and grabbed Angela’s free hand, feeling its familiar strength and callousness. Instinctively, Angela covered Karen’s more dainty hand, using her fingers to caress the hand. Karen felt her male appendage harden as she surrendered herself to her strong, muscular friend.

“I’ve missed holding you, dear, dear Karen,” Angela whispered, her voice barely audible in competition with the noisy action being portrayed in the movie trailer that preceded the showing of the feature film.

“I know, this feels so good, Angela.”

“I just love how dainty you are.”

Karen let out a quiet giggle. She loved how weak and dependent she felt just then.

“You’re so cute,” Angela continued.

Their reveries were interrupted with a hissing “Shhhhhhhhhh.” A man in the row behind them whispered: “You two love birds should shut up. The movie’s about to begin.”

“Just a couple of lesbians, dear,” they heard a woman’s voice — obviously the man’s seat mate — say derisively.

“Sorry, sir,” Karen responded, and Angela removed her arm from Karen’s shoulders. The two held hands throughout the movie, and the tension of the movie soon drew their sole attention as President Lincoln worked to pass the Emancipation Proclamation while satisfying his troubled wife, Mary Todd.

“I wished my parents weren’t home,” Angela said later as they left the pizza place. “I’d love to be together with you Karen.”

Karen smiled, and reached over to pat the other girl’s thigh. Angela pulled the car onto the highway from the pizza joint’s parking lot, turning left, heading out into the countryside.

“Where you going, Angela?” Karen asked.

“I know a spot where we won’t get bothered,” the other girl said, patting Karen’s hand with her free hand.

The air was brisk, and while the highway itself was free of snow and ice, there were four- and five-foot piles of snow along the shoulders, where it had been piled by the plows. Periodically, rural mailboxes popped up out of the drifts. The car was quickly warming up as they drove along at a leisurely pace, and Karen began to feel warm and content; she loved being with Angela, even though in their earlier relationship she had felt that often the girl was too controlling.

Her thoughts soon turned to Mark Hamilton, and she began to feel guilty, realizing she was looking forward to the caresses and kisses that might be coming within a few minutes from Angela. She hated herself for feeling pleased by the kisses the two had shared earlier in the evening at the movie house. Shouldn’t she be saving herself for her beloved Mark?

Mark, Mark, her darling Mark. How much she loved caressing his smooth, muscular body, his hard, sinewy arms and his firm, but surprisingly slender thighs. How gentle the boy was as he massaged Karen’s own mushy arms and thighs and kneaded her soft tummy. She couldn’t betray him, she realized.

Just then, she felt the car slow down, almost to a stop, and she watched as Angela steered the car between two huge drifts into a narrow roadway encrusted with snow and lined with drifts from a plow. She could see only snowmobile tracks left on the snow; no auto tracks. Angela removed her hand from Karen’s and put both hands on the wheel as she navigated the roadway, occasionally swerving as they climbed or descended from the swales formed by the rugged forested countryside.

Eventually, they came to a clearing where the plow had created a turn-around. The headlights pickup a small, frame cabin tucked in among the trees. There were no footprints in the snow, indicating the cabin was not occupied during the winter. Angela pulled the car to a stop, put it in neutral and turned off the headlights, letting the motor to continue to run.

“We’ll be left alone here, Karen. This is my uncle’s hunting shack, and I don’t think anyone’ll bother us back here,” she said.

“Ok,” Karen said; her voice was soft, tentative. She wanted to tell Angela to take her home; she felt she was wronging Mark, but she feared for the other girl’s reaction. She had seen Angela’s temper at its worst, and she knew she couldn’t protect herself against Angela once she grew angry.

“Damn these bucket seats,” Angela said, trying lean across the center console to hug Karen.

“I know.”

“Let’s climb into the back, Karen. We’ll be more comfy there and we can take our coats off now, since the car has warmed up.”

Feeling she had no option, Karen did as Angela said; leaving her coat in the front seat and stepping out onto the snow, and into the back seat. She felt the momentary chill of the below zero winds and was astounded by how bright the woods seemed; there was a full moon and the beams painted spindly shadows from the trees upon the brilliant whiteness of the snow. She could clearly see Angela, already in the backseat, having removed her blouse; she sat there in only her bra on, her muscular, almost masculine body, clearly visible in the moonlight reflecting off the snow.

“Hurry up, Karen. Close the door and get it or you’ll freeze us to death,” she commanded.

Karen obeyed and sat down, leaving a few inches between the two.

“Now take off that sweater and move closer, dear,” Angela said.

Karen took the sweater off, lifting it over her head, revealing a silky camisole over her bra and exposing her narrow shoulders and lovely arms.

“Oh my God,” Angela said. “You’re everything I ever wanted, Karen.”

Karen felt herself being pulled by the other girl into her arms; suddenly firm hands dug into the softness of her upper arms, and Karen responded by grabbing the other girl around her firm shoulders. They hugged that way, with Angela’s face nestled into the neck of Karen, kissing the neck area. It was so stimulating and Karen felt her tiny penis growing hard.

Soon, they were kissing, their lips pressed firmly together and growing moist as their mouths pushed together moving together. Their tongues met and played together and their passions grew. Karen felt consumed with desire for the restraining hold by her friend, whose passion seemed to know no bounds.

Angela began screaming, accompanied by heavy panting, and Karen feared the noise might alert neighbors; but of course there were no homes within hundreds of yards. Angela guided Karen’s hand into her pants and under her panties, and her fingers found the hairy, wetness of her opening, soon entering as Angela’s screams and squeals continued. Suddenly, Karen felt her hand grow moist as Angela seemed to calm down and she soon moved into an exhausted breathing.

“Darling,” Angela said, breathlessly. “That was so marvelous, my dear.”

“I know,” Karen answered, but her words sounded empty to herself. For some reason, the whole experience, while stimulating, seemed wrong. Her small male appendage, which had grown hard and even into painfulness, had softened. Something within her made it seem so unsatisfying.

The two lay together; their love-making had found them scrunched awkwardly across the seat, Angela on the bottom, with Karen more precariously balanced atop her. They continued their embrace, saying nothing. With the motor of the Focus still running, the heater continued to do its work and the interior of the car felt almost hothouse warm. From a slightly lowered window the passenger door, there was a draft of cold air that wafted over Karen’s bare shoulders. The window had been opened up a crack to assure the two would not get overcome by carbon monoxide if a faulty exhaust system existed.

Karen caressed her friend indifferently, finding a desire to be released and to exit their love-making, but Angela continued to hold her tightly, occasionally kissing her and brushing her hair affectionately.

“Don’t you think we should go, Angela?” Karen asked.

“Darling, no, please, let’s do it again. Kiss me hard, dear,” Angela said, her hold on Karen growing more firm.

“Again?” Karen said incredulously, surprised that the girl wasn’t exhausted.

Suddenly Angela’s kisses grew hard and moist, and Karen found herself too weak to resist. She responded to the kisses and was surprised to feel her penis grow hard again. Knowing Angela would want it, Karen moved herself off the girl and into a kneeling position, squeezing into the narrow space behind the front seat. Greedily, she pulled Angela’s pants and panties down from to the girl’s knees and mounted her face onto Angela’s crotch area, her lips finding the bushy “v” and moist muskiness.

The pants restricted Angela’s thighs, keeping them together, making it impossible for Karen’s tongue to find the opening. Angela’s panting grew louder and more intense.

“Get off for a second, honey, and pull my pants off completely, dear,” Angela pleaded breathlessly.

Karen did as commanded, and Angela’s legs opened wide and she felt her head being propelled into the crotch between the muscular, smooth thighs of her friend. Karen eagerly placed her lips onto the lips of Angela’s vagina, already tasting the sour moisture from the girl’s earlier secretions. Almost without thinking, she thrust her tongue into the hole and let it play around, as the two girls rocked together in rhythm.

She heard a louder squeal and scream from Angela and suddenly more creamy liquid began to flow into Karen’s mouth and onto her face, which was still tightly squeezed onto the girl’s vagina. At the same instant, Karen felt her own ejaculation occur and she felt a warm wetness on her own thighs. Together, the two lovers seemed to relax, and Karen felt her friend open her legs to release her.

Karen climbed back onto her friend, and the two lay together in an embrace, kissing gently. Karen felt genuinely exhausted, and suddenly felt a need to be released. She felt a desire to clean herself up and put her clothes back on.

“Ready for more?” Angela said after a few minutes.

“Not really, I’m beat,” Karen said.

“You’re so hot a lover, Karen, even better than that bitch Doreen,” Angela said, referring to her lesbian friend with whom she had become estranged.

“Really, Angela? I think we should go.”

“No I need more, Karen. Please.”

“But I don’t feel I could again.”

Angela laughed. “That’s right. You’re still got your cock. And that thing is usually only good once a night. Just wait ‘til you get that cut off and you get a vagina, then you’ll get orgasms just like me.”

“That’s what I heard,” Karen said. “But I am tired, and it is getting late, Angela.”

“Oh darling,” Angela said, drawing Karen tightly against her. “I guess we should go. You’re a great girl at making love. And I can’t wait ‘til you’re all girl. You’ll be the hottest thing around.”

“I can’t wait either,” Karen said.

*****
Was the hot and satisfying evening in the backseat of Angela’s Ford Focus the renewal of a longer-term love affair with the girl? The prospect bothered Karen that night as she cuddled under the quilted, warming bed covers. Since her mother kept the apartment thermostat set at a cool 68 degrees during the winter heating season, Karen had learned to give up wearing one of her light, thin-strapped nighties and instead wore the two-piece “jammies,” as she liked to call them. She also wore bed socks.

“I’m such a cold bunny,” she explained to her brother, Sonny.

“If you were a bunny, the cold wouldn’t bother you, girl. Look how the bunnies romp in the snow now,” he brother argued back.

“Quit trying to be so macho,” she argued back at him.

“And you’re such a girl,” the boy said.

She had grown to love her younger brother, who had become wise beyond his age of 14. At first he had viewed Karen’s transition into a fulltime girl as a shame and blot, but he soon appreciated how much his older sibling had grown to like and love him. Raised by a single mother, the younger boy had often relied upon Karen (even in her days as a boy) for support and understanding.

In truth, his earlier reluctance to accept Karen for whom she was, Sonny had been more worried about teasing from his friends and classmates, and mainly about navigating the macho world of football that had become an obsession for the boy. Sonny was already — though only a freshman in high school — being looked upon as the future quarterback for the next season. He was truly a talented athlete; besides he constantly got top grades in his school work. Karen knew that the boy, if he kept up with his athletic and scholastic growth, would be a likely target for an athletic scholarship at one of the major universities.

“You have a date tonight, sis?” Sonny asked, as Karen entered the apartment after Angela had dropped her off.

“Huh,” Karen said, shocked to see her brother in the living room watching a horror movie on television. He usually could be found in his bedroom on his computer, either looking at football statistics, goofing around on Facebook or engaged in some other silly online business.

Still flushed from her steamy evening with Angela, Karen was taken aback at seeing him, and she worried that her disheveled appearance (perhaps even messed up lipstick) would betray the physical exercise of the love-making.

“No, I was with Angela,” she said.

“Oh, it’s just that you look so . . . oh . . . never mind,” Sonny said.

Karen knew he had apparently been shocked at seeing how she looked, but quickly sensed he had realized that it would raise too many issues if he pursued his questioning any further. She hurried into her bedroom, grateful for her brother’s sensitivity, something that he had only recently seemed to have acquired. She smiled as she thought about Sonny, wondering if the fact that he had recently had his first date and seemed to be excited about the girl, a cute, cuddly thing named, ironically, Karen.

“Where’s mom?” she asked Sonny when she emerged from her bedroom, having cleaned herself up and gotten herself readied for bed. She wore her light blue jammies with pinkish bunnies dancing across the fabric. She draped herself in a beige robe and wore fluffy pink slippers.

“Oh, she’s still not home from her date,” he said, his voice taking on a rather mean tone.

Karen was pleased her mother was dating again; as far as she could remember, their mother had not been with another man since their father fled the scene. Sonny, however, had a different view, and had even expressed to Karen that “mom’s awfully old to be catting around like that.”

“Oh, Sonny. Don’t be too hard on mom? She deserves a little fun, doesn’t she?”

“But, Karen . . . I can’t picture our mom with a man . . . ah . . . you know . . . doing all that sort of stuff . . . you know . . . like kissing and all.”

“Why not, Sonny?”

“Because she’s my mom . . . ah . . . our mom.”

“Honey, she’s also a woman,” Karen said, sitting on the sofa and hugging her little brother tightly.

“I know, Karen,” the boy said, nestling his head onto Karen’s shoulders.

The two sat together in each other’s arms, both with their eyes on the horror film unfolding on the smallish television screen, but probably not seeing the outlandish events of the movie. What was going on in the movie seemed remote to Karen, whose mind reflected back to her time in the car with Angela. She was troubled, she knew, by the events, worried that it was a betrayal of her love for Mark and also that she may again be put under the spell of the controlling, demanding Angela. The girl required so much attention, Karen knew.

It was obvious that her brother, Sonny, may have been thinking, too, about how their mother, their chubby, warm mother, may be wrapped in the clutches of her relatively new boyfriend, Michael Kelly, a tall, slender man with a pink complexion and unruly blonde hair.

Both were shocked out of their reveries when Cecelia Hansson opened the door, entering their room, shaking snow from her fur-lined parka.

“Oh hi, mom,” Sonny said, breaking away from Karen’s clutches.

“Hi, mom,” Karen echoed. She too moved into a more erect position.

Their mother greeting them with a cheery “hi,” and as she removed her coat commented:

“It’s nice to see my children have become so cozy together.”

“We were just watching a movie, mom,” Sonny said.

“How was your date, mom?” Karen asked.

“Fine,” she said.

“Is that all?” Sonny probed.

“What else is there to tell?” Cecelia Hansson, smiled as she answered.

Karen looked at her mother, and for the first time in a long time, she saw a bit of serenity and pleasure in her demeanor. It was apparent that their mother’s date had been much better than “fine.”

*****
Even with all the bed clothes covering her, Karen shivered as she tried to get to sleep, and her moments in the steamy car with Angela came back to her, haunting her with the reality of the frantic desires she experienced, along with a contrition that bothered her immensely. Yes, indeed, she realized, she was cheating on her budding love-affair with Mark Hamilton. Didn’t she want him more than anything? Hadn’t she been pining to feel herself in his arms again and again? Hadn’t the marvelous Christmas Eve they spent together not meant anything to her and she could dirty that memory by her lesbian love-making with Angela?

She knew the answers to those questions; yet, she knew she might continue to see Angela, her friend and one of the first people to acknowledge the girl who was growing out of that sissified boy she had once been. She cried silently, burying her face into her pillow, smelling the sweet scent of the light perfume called “Beautiful” that she put on each night as she went to bed. It was always just the tiniest dab, behind each ear, but it provided a lovely smell that permeated her room.

Finally, she was asleep into an evening of chaotic dreams, even one of Mark and Angela entangled in a wrestling match while she tried to separate them, jealously worried that the two would fall in love with each other, leaving her without either of them. Tugging at her in the dream were two people, Rami, her Indian transgendered roommate in college, and Aaron, the young man who wanted to date her. It was a nightmare that never seemed to end, and it didn’t, since the two continued to wrestle while Rami and Aaron tried unsuccessfully to pull her away. And all Karen did in the dream was to cry . . . . and . . . cry . . . and . . . cry.

Chapter Three: Girl Talk

She awoke the next morning, exhausted from her experiences the night before and the dreams that followed. It was already eight o’clock, more than an hour after her usual time for getting up. The house seemed cold, and Karen snuggled into a fetal position as she pondered how long she could lay there before rising and shivering as she got dressed.

Soon the memories of her love-making with Angela filled her mind, followed by concern that she hadn’t heard from Mark for nearly two days. Not even a text message or a cryptic email that might have at least ended with the words: “Love, Mark.” She knew he was busy practicing for the New Years’ Day bowl game, and that the practices had been intense and wearing. Certainly, he could have at least written a couple of words, like “miss you” or “love you” or even just “hi.”

Karen surrendered herself deeply under the covers, smelling the floral scents of Estee Lauder’s “Beautiful” scent, rising among the slightly sour smells of the bed clothes. She imagined Mark next to her; he always smelled of clean soap and a musky male deodorant, and she remembered how she thought his odor had scented her own bed clothes after only one night of sleeping together. It had been nearly a week since they were together, and yet she was convinced she could still find traces of his scent remaining.

How strong and protective he was! How safe and happy she felt in his arms, her weak, dainty body so soft and feminine nestled so sweetly into his muscular frame! Was it not heaven? Oh, Mark, my love, my sweetheart, my darling. Where oh where are you? Why don’t you let me know where you are?

A melancholy overtook her, weakening her and forcing her into a ball under the bedclothes, pondering that she may be doomed to a life of loneliness. Karen held that position for another 15 minutes, until she heard Sonny’s heavy footsteps bound down the hall outside her door. The sound of life beginning in the Hansson household finally awakened Karen from her depressed stupor, and she began chastising herself for her laziness of the morning. She had to be at work by 11 a.m., she knew, and it being New Years Eve it was expected to be a hectic busy day at the Olympus.

Her thoughts about Mark suddenly turned to anger. How dare he not message her? Well, she thought, the heck with him. Didn’t she have a date coming with Aaron? And maybe soon again with Angela? Why not enjoy life?

It was in that frame of mind that she showered, shaved the light fuzz under her arms and a little bit forming on her upper lip. Her chest, mercifully, was smooth and devoid of hair. Soft mounds of flesh formed her tiny breasts, and her slender shoulders and arms gave her the look of a young girl just emerging into womanhood. “My, I could pass for a 14-year-old,” she mused.

Putting on a bra, panties and a light pink sweat pants and top, she tied her hair into a hurried ponytail and put on white ankle socks with ballet flats. She hurried into the kitchen, hoping that her mother had prepared breakfast, like she always did on her days off. Only Sonny was in the kitchen, having helped himself to cereal and milk and seated at the table with the morning paper’s sport section spread out in front of him.

“Mom’s not up yet,” Sonny announced, clearly annoyed that he had to get his own breakfast. “Guess she had too much loving last night to care about us.”

“Now, Sonny, enough of that,” Karen scolded. “Mom works hard and she deserves a day off.”

“I think she cares more about that Harold than us,” he pouted.

Karen gave him a light slap on the head with the brushing of her hand, causing him to look up. “What’s that for?”

“For being an inconsiderate jerk,” she said.

For some reason, her little brother did not respond, and merely returned his attention to the sports page.

“I’ll make us something, Sonny,” Karen said, happy to assume the role as the “woman of the house,” at least for the morning. “How about bacon and eggs?”

“Will you, sis?”

“Sure, whaddya want?”

“Pancakes and sausage?”

“Sure, why not?” Karen said.

She went over and kissed her brother, pleased to be serving him. Sonny, however, in typical teen boy fashion, just brushed her away with a comment: “You’re always so mushy, Karen.”

“That’s the way we girls are, honey.”

She began preparing breakfast as Sonny finished his cereal and read his sports page.

“I see Mark’s team, Iowa State, is 13 point underdogs in that bowl game,” he said.

“Oh my.”

“I think they’re better than that, sis,” Sonny said. “They haven’t seen what Mark can do. He’s hot, sis.”

She smiled at his description of Mark being “hot.” Little did her brother know just how “hot.” But, why hadn’t Mark contacted her? Where was his message? Will he ever again contact her? Is he gone from her life? Was he hurt, or something?

After the two Hanssons finished their breakfast, Sonny looked at his sister and asked: “It looked like you and Angela had a hot time too last night.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Just the way you looked last night. You must have made love to her or something.”

Karen reddened, and merely answered: “No and it’s none of business anyway.”

Sonny looked at her and let out a sarcastic laugh. “You lie. You did, I know it, and you’re supposed to be a girl. Did your boy side take over?”

“Shut up Sonny,” she said angrily. “You don’t know anything about it.”

“Oh yeah? You’re a girl and she’s a girl. Having sex together. How sick is that?”

“None of your business.”

She ran from the room, beginning to cry, leaving the dirty dishes on the table.

*****
Karen lay on her bed, flat on her back, and looked upward. Her eyes were unseeing, as thoughts whirled about in her head. Sonny’s taunting words, “How sick is that?” bothered her; how “sick” indeed were her sexual encounters with Angela, she wondered. Intellectually she knew that lesbians existed — and that her friend Angela was among their number — but perhaps the puritan nature of her experiences in her short life made them seem perverse.

The fact was that she enjoyed her time with Angela, times of pure passion, yet mixed with a feeling of affection for the other. She found Angela to be strong, honest and outspoken, compared to her own hesitancies, equivocations and weaknesses. Karen loved being treated as a fragile person, in need of protection.

Was her renewed affection for Angela not just a substitution for Mark Hamilton, her absent boyfriend and supposed lover? Karen frankly was confused.

Her musings were interrupted by a gentle rap on her door. It was Sonny: “May I come in sis?”

“Yes,” she said, softly at first, and perhaps too soft for Sonny to hear.

“Can I sis? I’m sorry.”

“Yes, come in Sonny,” she said more loudly this time.

Sonny came in, and hesitantly walked over to his sister’s bed. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on her lips. Instinctively, Karen grabbed her brother, forcing him to keep his head lowered and their lips together. After a brief moment of brotherly-sisterly kisses, she released him.

“I’m not mad at you, Sonny,” she said, as the boy sat down next to her on the bed. Karen took his hand, which had grown to be bigger than hers, despite their age differences.

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” he said.

“Maybe you should have, Sonny, even though, you should know, there’s nothing wrong for two girls — or even two boys — to love each other and to kiss and cuddle each other.”

“I know about gays and lesbians, sis,” the boy said, defensively.

“And you know Angela is a good friend, too, and has always supported your sister and helped her so much these days,” Karen continued.

“I know you have been friends with her for a long time, sis.”

“She’s a lesbian, but I think you suspected that.”

“Yes, I guessed that.”

“Well, I have made love with her, several times, and she’s treated me only like another girl, not a boy, and I enjoyed it, too,” Karen said.

“But what about your love with Mark?” Sonny said. “Aren’t you betraying him?”

Karen reddened. Her brother had hit the issue squarely. Her concerns with her relationships with Angela arose not because of lesbianism, but because of sharing her body with another person, thus betraying Mark Hamilton. Sonny must have recognized her troubled thinking, and he began affectionately brushing her hair; his touches were light and gentle, hardly in character with the brutish football player that he was developing into.

“Yes, Sonny,” she said, finally. “I am betraying him. I love him, dear.”

“I know you do, sis,” he said, leaning down and giving her another affectionate kiss, before getting up and leaving the room.

“I love you, little brother,” she yelled after him.

In a moment, she got herself up and into the shower, feeling better and eager to begin the day, realizing that she faced eight or more hours of work at the restaurant, a prospect that she actually welcomed, since she fit in so well at the Olympus, where she had become just one of the girls.

*****
Her cell phone sounded just as she was about to put on the skirt to her waitress uniform; she had showered, washed her hair, applied lotion to her body and put on her panties and bra. Struggling to the phone, as she pulled the skirt up to her waist, she got to it just before it hit the fourth ring and would go to voice mail.

“’lo,” she said breathlessly.

“Karen?” asked a hesitant voice.

“Yes, it’s me. Oh my God, it’s you, Mark.”

“Yes, it’s me. In the flesh.”

The words excited her, picturing him standing before her “in the flesh,” perhaps only in his boxer shorts while she stood in her bra, panties and skirt.

“Oh, darling,” she said in a rush. “I thought you forgot all about me.”

Immediately, she wished she could take the words back; she didn’t want to sound like a nagging girlfriend.

“I don’t blame you, Karen,” Mark reassured her.

“Couldn’t you call?”

“Not for two days. Coach took away all our cell phones and iPads and stuff. He said no outside communications for two days. He really drilled us, but he’s given us all six hours of freetime now, hoping we can relax before the big game tomorrow.”

“Oh Mark, I thought it might be something like that. I missed hearing from you.”

“I missed you, too, Karen, but coach really kept us busy. I couldn’t even see my family, and they’re here for the game. I’m so excited about the game tomorrow.”

“I’ll pray for you, Mark, but don’t get hurt, honey, please don’t get hurt.”

“Don’t worry,” he laughed. “I got a big, strong offensive line to protect me.”

“But you guys play so rough.”

“I’ll be all right, dear. Just pray for a win.”

“My brother and I’ll watch the game together, Mark,” she continued. “You’re his hero and he thinks you’ll surprise everyone there.”

“Give him a hug for me. I can see he’s a real gamer, just like his sister.”

The two conversed for nearly half an hour, when Karen had to break off, since she had to continue getting ready for work. She was all smiles as she dressed, fixed her hair and put on her makeup. She promised she’d call him during her break.

*****
Cecelia Hansson looked up as Karen entered the kitchen.

“That waitress outfit looks just so cute on you, dear,” she said.

Karen did a bit of a twirl, and replied: “Thanks, mom. I love it, too. I’m so happy they selected this style.”

“It makes you look so delightfully feminine.”

“It makes me feel that way, too, mom.”

Her mother reached out to grab Karen’s hand. “I know you’re on your way to work, dear, but can you spare a couple of minutes?”

“Sure, mom. In fact I got time for a cup of coffee with you.”

“Oh darling, I just love having a daughter to share girl talk with,” Cecelia said.

Karen kissed her mom and then got herself a cup of coffee, and brought the carafe over to fill her mother’s cup.

“I love being your daughter, mom,” Karen said as she sat at the corner of the table.

“Oh it’s not that I didn’t love Kenny, either, but I kinda like having mother-daughter closeness.”

Karen took a sip of her coffee; despite her mother’s apparent pleasure of the moment, Karen sensed there was something bothering her.

“Mom, what’s this all about? Are you really pleased with me, or has all this change bothered you?”

“Oh no, honey, not at all,” her mother said, patting her hand affectionately. “I can’t even look at you and ever think you were anything but my daughter now. It was a bit strange at first, but I love you so much, dear. Just so pretty a girl, too.”

“Thanks, mom, but I have a pretty mom that’s responsible for me.”

“Don’t lie to me, Karen. I’ll never be as pretty as you are. I’m just too fat.”

Karen giggled. “Mom, don’t be silly. I bet Michael likes you just as you are.”

Cecelia blushed. “As a matter of fact, he does.”

“See.”

“Oh honey,” her mother began, her voice getting a bit soft. “That’s just it. He seems to adore me, and he’s already talking about marrying me.”

Karen was shocked. Her mother and Michael had only been dating about a month, but they had known each other for years. Michael was a lawyer by occupation and a specialist in navigating federal Medicaid rules. Cecelia met him during their fairly frequent meetings, and soon developed a close working relationship. She found Michael to be a fierce negotiator for the hospital, but reasonable and honest in his efforts, rarely trying to use legal niceties to avoid the rulings of the government.

Cecelia realized after nearly a year that she was growing fond of her associate, even fantasizing to herself that she might like to go to bed with him. Apparently, the feeling was mutual, for after a year of awkwardness — in which both were secretly worried over a conflict of interest that might be developing due to their fondness for each other — Michael called her at home one night and announced he would no longer be representing the hospital.

“I suggested that the hospital should accept another lawyer from our firm, and they protested at first, but they finally did and I’ll no longer be representing them, Cecelia,” he announced.

Cecelia remembers how shocked she was at the call. “Oh, Michael, I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve always liked dealing with you,” she responded.

Michael told her the name of the new attorney and promised Cecelia that she (the new attorney was a woman) would be honest and fair in representing the hospital. “I think you two will be able to work together,” he said.

“I thought we had a pretty smooth relationship, even though you could be so pig-headed,” she told him with a slight chuckle.

“You, too,” he said. And they both laughed.

He suggested the two might have dinner some night together to celebrate their work together. Karen remembers how giddy and nervous her mother had been in preparing for that “first date,” having not been out with a man for more than 20 years. Cecelia called Karen at school to ask about what clothes to wear, whether to put on perfume and whether she should invite him in for a drink when they got home.

That first date occurred a week after Thanksgiving and the two dated at least once a week since; it became obvious by the time Karen got home for the Christmas holidays that her mother was in love. Karen met him only once, briefly, when he picked up her mother for a date on the Saturday night before Christmas and found him to be pleasant. He seemed to be such a quiet, respectful man that Karen could not picture him as being a tough legal advocate.

“He’s talking about marriage so soon, mom?” Karen asked.

“Oh, he doesn’t want to do it immediately, Karen. He just raised the issue last night, and just said he wondered what I thought about marrying again.”

“What did you say, mom? I knew you weren’t interested in the past.”

Cecelia smiled. “I didn’t give him an answer, if you’re worried about that, Karen. I told him I wasn’t sure, yet, and that a lot stood on what you kids thought. I love you both so much.”

Karen smiled. She figured that would be her mother’s major concern.

“Mom, I want you to be happy,” Karen said without hesitation. “Michael seems to be great and I’d like to spend more time with him. But if you are in love with him, I’d say go for it. And, Sonny should feel the same.”

“That’s just it, Karen,” Cecelia began. “I don’t think Sonny is happy with the idea of another man in our life.”

Karen nodded her head. “Yes, Sonny seems to have his nose a bit out of joint over your dating,” she said.

“I’ll love him just as much, married or not married, Karen.”

“I know mom, and Sonny should realize, too, that if you’re happy, then we’ll all be happier,” Karen said. “Sonny sounds just a bit jealous and probably not comfortable with his mother being in bed with another man and having sex together.”

Cecelia blushed.

“Look, mom, Sonny will come around, I’m sure. And I’m sure he’ll come to like Michael, too.”

“Would you talk to him, darling? I know Sonny really listens to you.”

Karen kissed her mother, and left for work. She and her mother had always been closer; yet Karen felt a more intense intimacy between the two of them as she began to live as a girl.

*****
The lunchtime at the Olympus was a bit less busy than usual, due likely to the fact that it was Dec. 31 and most companies were closed. After lunch, the day grew busier with larger groups of families coming, along with casual stops for late lunches or early dinners.

“Thanks, Karen,” Beatrice said as the two met at the computer to enter bills for customers.

“What for?”

“For taking me along to the nursing home. That was sweet of you.”

This was the second time that Beatrice had thanked her for including her on the trip to the nursing home. Karen felt, too, that Beatrice was totally sincere in her expressions of gratitude, and it got Karen to wonder. What happened to Beatrice’s single-minded interest in seeming to push her version of God’s word, particularly with the thought that Karen’s gender issues were sinful and blasphemy?

“I think the folks out there enjoyed having you visit, Beatrice,” Karen said. “You can go on your own now, if you wish.”

“Too bad you’re going back to school soon. We could have gone together.”

“That would be nice, Beatrice.”

Beatrice began to redden and Karen sensed the girl wanted to say something.

“What is it, Beatrice? What do you want to tell me?”

Just then, Lucy, the hostess came by, and said softly to Beatrice, “The folks at table six want their check, Beatrice.”

Karen put out her hand to hold Beatrice and asked again: “What is it, Beatrice?”

“Oh, nothing, Karen,” she said hurriedly, and ran off to table six.

Seeking later in the day to probe Beatrice, Karen asked during their afternoon break about whether she was going back to the nursing home to visit Mr. Freeman, the elderly African-American gentleman she had befriended.

“Oh yes, he was so sweet,” Beatrice said.

“Maybe his grandson will be there, too,” Karen said.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Beatrice said, faking badly at being nonchalant.

“He really seemed nice, and so good-looking, too.”

“I guess so but I didn’t notice that.” With that Beatrice charged into the restroom, leaving Karen alone at the break table, where she was soon joined by Sharon, the restaurant’s senior waitress who had become Karen’s closest friend on the job.

“That girl seems to have loosened up the last few days, Karen,” Sharon offered.

“She has, hasn’t she?”

“I wonder what caused it. She even seems friendly with you, now.”

“She is, Sharon, and I think she accepts me for who I am now, too. It all seemed to change when I asked her to join several of us girls for a visit to the nursing home where she grew especially fond of a black man who was a patient. It may have opened up her mind a bit.”

“I think so and really Beatrice is a good soul underneath her stern exterior, Sharon,” Karen said. “I think she’s finally accepting me as a girl.”

Sharon smiled, placing her hand on Karen’s arm. “It’s hard not to accept you as a girl, dear.”

Later, fixing up her makeup in the restroom, Karen smiled as she looked at her image in the mirror. She loved how totally feminine she looked in the Olympus waitress outfit, the peasant blouse with its ruffled, scooped bodice and short puffed sleeves that exposed her slender, pretty arms and white slim neck. She just wished she had larger breasts to fill out her figure, thinking again that she looked like she had a body of the 14-year-old girl.

During the day, Karen realized she had attracted the attention of numerous young men, several of whom practiced some corny lines in attempting to flirt with her. “What time you get off tonight, dear?” asked one cocky, swarthy looking man with slicked back hair and a bushy mustache.

“Do you really want to know, sir?” she responded.

The man was momentarily stunned by a response that seemed to accept his potential invitation. “Oh yes, I’d love to see you then,” he said.

“Well about 10 o’clock,” she said in a teasing tone.

“Wow, I’ll be here then.”

“So will my boyfriend and he’s six feet, four inches tall. I know he’d like to meet you,” she said, putting the check down. “You may pay the cashier, sir.”

She walked away to hear the young man’s friends laughing out loud at the man’s obvious embarrassment.

“You’re getting good at heading off those advances, Karen,” Sharon whispered. “I thought Mark is not here, but down in Florida for a bowl game. It’s OK to lie in these situations.”

Karen smiled: “It was only a tiny lie. I am meeting this guy, Aaron, after work. Aaron is not a real boyfriend, and while he is tall, I’m sure he’s not much of a fighter. He’s pretty skinny, but he’s sweet.”

“I wondered, Karen, about this Aaron, since you’ve expressed real love for Mark.”

“Yes, Mark is number one in my heart and I’m so worried he’ll get hurt, Sharon. I wished he didn’t play football. I’ll probably not look at the screen tomorrow when he’s back to pass, worried about how hard he might get hit. My date with Aaron really isn’t a boy-girl thing; he just wants to be my friend, I guess.”

“You’re certainly a popular girl,” Sharon said, heading off to take an order.

Chapter Four: New Years Eve Party

Karen rushed home after work to change clothes and freshen up; Aaron suggested that perhaps Karen and he could go to a New Years Eve party being held by a youth group at his church, the First Presbyterian.

“There’ll be no liquor or beer then, Karen. I hope that’s OK,” he said.

“Of course,” she said. “I don’t drink, except maybe a glass of wine with mom or our neighbor, Harriet.”

Karen liked the idea of going to a youth group outing where she would be among other young people; it was so hard, she knew, for young people to party, since most places served liquor. And, she knew at being at a church function should protect her against untoward advances from Aaron. Even though he seemed unsure of himself with a woman, Karen still was worried that his normal sexual desires might cause him to put demands upon her.

Having been on her feet all day at the restaurant, Karen decided to wear flats, which she could carry in her purse. Since there was fresh snow on the ground, she had to wear boots to the dance, and she’d be able to change them when they get there. She dressed modestly, wearing black tights, a knee-length plaid skirt, white blouse and her colorful holiday-decorated vest. She draped a single strand of simple pearls about her neck, and brushed her hair so that it flowed freely. She put on a neutral-colored lipstick and no other makeup, other than a bit of foundation to take the sheen off her face.

Aaron was scheduled to pick her up at 11 p.m., and Karen finished dressing just a few minutes before; she joined her mother and brother as they watched the television coverage of the New Years Eve ball drop in Times Square. (New York was in another time zone.)

“Gosh, sis, you could be my date,” Sonny said. “You look like you belong in 9th Grade.”

“Now Sonny, quit teasing your sister,” their mother said. “I think she looks cute.”

“Yeah, like a little girl,” Sonny laughed. “Who is this guy, Karen? Is he old enough for a driver’s license?”

Karen blushed. “He’s a year old than me, Sonny, and it’s OK for a girl to look younger. Hah!”

*****
Just then the apartment alarm buzzer rang, and Karen spoke into the intercom and buzzed her date in. She hurriedly, put on her parka, boots and wool cap, so that Aaron would not have to spend too much time under the scrutiny of her family, particularly the prying Sonny, who seemed to be taking almost a prurient interest in her sister’s dating practices. Earlier Sonny had criticized her for accepting a date with Aaron, since he considered she was being disloyal to Mark; because of Mark’s football hero status, her brother had made the young quarterback his idol and felt his sister should “save herself” for him. Karen assured both her brother and her mother that she was totally in love with Mark and that the date with Aaron was merely platonic since the young man was truly “nice” and sort of lonely.

The basement meeting room at First Presbyterian was echoing with the noise of 1960s and 1970s era music when Karen and Aaron arrived. Perhaps 50 young people (most appearing to be in high school) stood around, some wearing the silly coned hats and leis that were typical of New Years’ Eve events; perhaps a dozen were dancing to the music supplied by a scruffy-looking young man who was handling DJ duties. The beige tiled floors and painted concrete block walls caused the music to bounce and echo back and forth, causing a terrible din forcing conversations to almost become mouth-to-ear.

As might be expected, there were more girls than boys present. About a dozen young people were dancing to a slower Led Zeppelin tune, with only two of them being boys. Most of the boys were gathered in a clump at the far side of the room.

“Hi Aaron,” a pretty, but obviously very young teenager, said as he entered, easily recognizable as perhaps the tallest person in the room.

“Hi Sherry,” he said, turning to Karen, adding, “Karen, this is my cousin Sherry.”

“And who’s your lovely girlfriend, Aaron?” the girl replied her voice taking on a teasing tone.

Aaron reddened, and stammered: “Ah . . . this is . . . ah . . . just a good friend, Sherry. Meet Karen.”

“Nice meeting you, and you have a real nice party going on here,” Karen said, hoping to put Aaron at ease.

“Yes, Sherry was co-chair of the youth committee that put this on, and she’s only 15,” Aaron said.

“Just following in your footsteps, cous’. Aaron ran this committee all through high school,” the girl smiled.

She wore no makeup as far as Karen could see, and wore a pleated dark skirt, topped off with a light blue cardigan sweater over a pink blouse with a high collar. Despite her simple attire, Karen saw a natural beauty in the child-like girl she saw before her. She was soon whisked away by a pimply-faced boy with short blonde hair to dance.

It was quickly apparent that Aaron was most popular among the young people as young person after young person stopped by to say “hi,” and, perhaps, Karen thought, to find out just who he was. Karen felt she and Aaron may have been the oldest persons in the room, except for about a half dozen older people who were either parents or chaperones or both.

“So glad you could make it, Aaron,” an authoritative male voice sounded.

Karen turned to see a pink-faced, roundish older man with a chubby women.

“Oh Pastor, I am, too, and we’re sorry we’re late, but my friend, Karen, didn’t get off work ‘til 10 tonight,” Aaron said.

“That’s fine, Aaron,” the pastor said, his eyes focusing closely upon Karen. “You need make no excuses, young man.”

“Karen, this is Pastor Wheeler and his wife, Madeline,” Aaron said.

The pastor took Karen’s offered hand, and looked for an instant as if he would bend over a kiss it; instead, the pastor gently held her hand and then passed it off to his wife. All the time, Karen could feel his eyes examining her, making her uneasy.

“Nice meeting you,” Karen said.

The pastor guided Aaron to the side, while Madeline Wheeler sought to engage Karen in conversation. Karen had to strain to listen to the woman as the music blared, all the time wondering what Aaron and the pastor were discussing. Their conversation appeared to be earnest, almost heated at moments.

“Where do you work, dear?” the pastor’s wife said, obviously asking the question to hopefully draw Karen’s attention away from her husband’s discussion with Aaron.

“Oh, I’m just home from college for the holidays, but I’ve been working at the Olympus since I was about 16, and I work there for extra money when I’m home,” she explained.

The woman continued to probe Karen about her studies, her family and even asking if she attended any church, suggesting that Karen consider attending the First Presbyterian. Finally, Aaron broke away from the pastor and returned to Karen.

“May I steal Karen from you for a dance Mrs. Wheeler?” he said, his voice tense.

The woman nodded an assent, which Aaron didn’t acknowledge, literally dragging Karen onto the dance floor to begin dancing to a rock tune.

*****
“I’m not much of a dancer, Karen, but I had to get away from that narrow-minded, old . . . ah . . . I’d like to use a cuss word now, but . . . damn . . . that ol’ bastard.”

Karen almost wanted to laugh at the boy’s discomfort; it was obvious that he was one of those rare young men who sought to behave gentlemanly and within Christian traditions. Yet, she sensed he was terribly angered by his conversations with the pastor.

“Aaron, what happened with him?” Karen asked, drawing close to him as they stumbled through the dance. It was apparent neither of them was particularly experienced on the dance floor.

“My sister, thinking the pastor would understand, told him about you, that you were a boy,” he said.

“What? Why would she do that?” Karen asked.

The music grew louder, and Aaron said, “I’ll tell you later. For now, let’s try to dance and I’m sorry I’m a lousy dancer, but I haven’t done much dancing.”

“That’s Ok,” she said. “I’m just as bad.”

They both got progressively more comfortable to the Pink Floyd piece with a moderately fast-tempo, adapting to the rhythm, perhaps indicating that both of them — even with their relative inexperience at dancing — may have some latent musical talent. While she was enjoying the dance, Karen couldn’t stop worrying about the pastor’s reaction.

*****
As they turned together, Karen was shocked to see the face of Hillary Ann Garland, who graduated from the same high school class that Karen had. Karen seemed to notice a momentary flash of recognition show on the other girl’s face; Hillary, a heavily built girl with thin light brown hair, was dancing with an overweight boy whom Karen didn’t know. Karen’s and Hillary’s eyes met, and both quickly diverted their glances.

Karen tried to steer her partner to move to the other side of the dance floor to avoid any further confrontation with Hillary. As they moved, Karen saw Hillary say something to her partner, which looked like “I think I know that girl” if Karen’s lip-reading skills were any indication. She worried that it would be only a few minutes before Hillary might realize that Karen might actually once had graduated as Kenny Hansson from high school. Then what?

The music ended, and the DJ announced, “It’s three minutes to countdown and the start of 2013. Everyone get your hats on and your kazoos ready to go.”

The music, “As Time Goes By,” a sentimental ballad from World War II days filled the room, and Aaron took Karen’s hand, leading her to their table, where they both donned the goofy coned hats and tested out their noise-makers.

“Can we join you here?” a boy’s voice sounded off, and Karen looked to see Hillary Ann and her dancing partner approach their table. Since there were empty chairs at the table, they could hardly refuse.

“Sure, Hillary,” Aaron said. “You and your friend are welcome.”

It was apparent Hillary must have been a member of the youth church group in which Aaron had long been a participant.

“Karen,” Aaron turned to her. “This is Hillary Ann Garland, who’s a member of the group here, and Hillary this is my friend, Karen Hansson.”

Hillary smiled, and introduced her friend as “Marty Evenson,” announcing that she and Marty met at the local community college where they both were studying nursing. Karen was struck by the similarity of the two, particularly the fact that each had a soft, smooth double-chin.

“Oh Hansson?” Hillary said eagerly. “I graduated from Lincoln a year ago with a Kenny Hansson. Are you any relation? You must be, dear, you look so much like him.”

“Yes, we are,” Karen said quickly, hoping to avoid any further discussion on the matter.

Aaron, sensing the awkwardness of the situation, interrupted. “You’re cousins, aren’t you, Karen?”

It was an apparent effort on his part to give Karen a chance for an escape; yet, Karen feared it might just prolong the discussion, and might eventually lead to Hillary learning the truth.

“We’re sort of related, yes,” Karen said finally. He didn’t think it was a lie, but in reality it was a misleading answer.

“I always liked Kenny,” Hillary continued. “He was kind of quiet and not at all like other boys, who could be rude and such. I often hoped he might have asked me out, but no luck. But now I have the sweetest boy in the world in Marty here.”

Marty hugged Hillary and the two looked at each other with fondness.

“Whatever happened to Kenny?” Hillary persisted.

Before Karen could answer, the light in the room dimmed, and the music stopped, with the DJ’s voice booming: “Fifteen seconds to midnight. Pastor Wheeler has announced that when midnight comes, some short hugs are permitted, but no kissing.”

A big moan came up from the youth, along with a girl squealing “That’s not fair!”

“10 — 9 — 8 — 7 — 6.” Karen felt Aaron put his arm around her and draw her to him. He was so tall, she stood only as high as his neck.

“5 — 4 — 3 — 2 — 1” The traditional “Auld Lang Syne” burst into the room, and shouts of “Happy New Year” filled the room, accompanied by the racket from kazoos, clickers, whistles and other noise-makers.

Aaron hugged her, but made no further move. Looking over his shoulder, she saw Hillary and Marty steal a quick kiss. Soon virtually every other couple joined in violating the pastor’s rule. She looked up, and put her lips upon Aaron’s lips; their kiss lingered a bit and Karen felt the boy’s tenseness end.

She looked over at Pastor Wheeler, who seemed to say “what the heck!” He soon was seen kissing his wife.

*****
Mercifully, the dancing resumed and Aaron and Karen became separated from Hillary and her friend, sparing Karen further questions about Kenny Hansson. As they danced, Karen noticed that Hillary continued to look at her, sometimes even shaking her head as if wondering: “I wonder where I know that girl from.”

Aaron refused to tell Karen what Pastor Wheeler had said, stating only, “I’ll tell you after we’re out of here.”

“Maybe we should go, Aaron,” Karen suggested when the second dance began.

“Why? Aren’t you enjoying it?”

“Aaron, I’m just uncomfortable here. I liked it at first, but I don’t like how the Pastor and his wife keep looking at me. They both seem like I disgust them.”

Aaron pulled her tightly toward him as they danced to a slow ballad. “Don’t worry about him, Karen. I asked him to respect my friendship to you, and I think he does. And he won’t tell anyone.”

She rested her head on Aaron’s chest as they danced; she enjoyed how quickly the two had become comfortable dancing together. And, the music — being almost ancient by most standards — was relatively mild and comforting, adding to Karen’s comfort.

The dance ended at 1 a.m., with many of the younger participants being herded home by parents who had returned to pick them up. Hillary, who had been on the committee for the dance, had been busy in the last hour working at the refreshment counter, assisted by her new boyfriend. Karen was impressed how much the two seemed to be enjoying the chore, chatting with the youthful customers and assisting each other in serving the food and beverages.

At one point, Aaron left Karen at their table alone to get drinks. She sat there, primly holding her hands in her lap, looking out at the young people moving wildly to an upbeat, loud sound banging in her ears creating a cacophony of sound that seemed to block out even the ability to think. She felt the presence of someone sit down next to her and she turned to see Madeline Wheeler, the pastor’s wife, looking at her.

A pang of fear gripped Karen as the woman put a soft hand on her arm and leaned in, speaking directly into her ear:

“You’re very lovely, my dear, and I know my husband is quite disturbed about you,” she began. “Jim is really very liberal, but he’s also very strict about scripture and its meaning. We’re still grappling with all this gay and gender business, you know. I just want you to know that we hope you feel welcome here.”

Karen looked at the woman, wondering what her motives were. Was she trying to defend her husband? Or, was she sincerely interested in making Karen feel welcome? Maybe a bit of both, she decided.

“Thank you, Mrs. Wheeler, and I want you to know that Aaron and I are having a fine time.”

“I’m so glad, dear,” she said, her voice lowering in its volume as the music grew less intense. “Are you religious, dear?”

“I was raised Catholic, but must admit I don’t go to mass very other anymore.”

“That’s OK, dear. Aaron assured us that you’re a very caring and nice person and that you like to work with the elderly.”

Karen looked at the woman. She realized that as much as her transition from male to female had bothered Pastor Wheeler and his wife she was still regarded as “somewhat worthy” because of her own charitable and generous behaviors.

“I hope I am what Aaron says,” Karen said. “He’s such a sweet person.”

“Are you his girlfriend now?” Madeline Wheeler asked.

“Oh no, ma’am. We’re just friends. That’s all. I hope he eventually finds a nice girl.”

Mrs. Wheeler nodded her head, agreeably. Karen wondered if her acceptance of the situation meant the pastor’s wife was pleased that Aaron might not be committing a sin by having sex with Karen.

The music stopped just as Aaron returned with the drinks. “I’ve just been having a nice chat with Karen,” Madeline Wheeler explained, rising up to leave the table.

“Thank you, ma’am, for keeping her company. I was gone longer than I planned,” Aaron said.

*****
They sat together without speaking for a while, each sipping their Cokes and munching on peanuts that were placed on the tables.

“She figured out who you were, Karen,” Aaron said, his voice soft. He spoke with his mouth next to her left ear.

“What?” Karen turned to look at the boy.

“Yes, Hillary realized you were the Kenny she knew in high school.”

“Oh my God. That’s awful.”

Karen wanted to flea from the room. Aaron must have sensed her feelings since he instinctively placed a hand firmly on her arm.

“Don’t worry, Karen. She assured me it’s strictly a secret. She won’t tell anyone, not even her boyfriend.”

Karen sat stunned, forcing herself not to look in the direction of the refreshment stand to see Hillary.

“Let’s go, Aaron,” she said.

“No, not yet. I think we should have one last dance.” He arose taking the girl’s hand and leading her onto the dance floor.

Karen was momentarily angered with Aaron, but as they began to twirl about the floor, her comfort level grew. She was so pleased at the manner in which Aaron took command of the situation. As they danced, her eyes suddenly stared into the distant face of Hillary; the girl looked directly at Karen and gave her a smile and a thumbs-up.

Later as Aaron helped Karen on with her coat as they were about to leave, Hillary and Marty approached and said: “So nice meeting you, Karen. It’s been a pleasure.”

“Thank you, Hillary,” Karen said. “It’s nice seeing you again.”

With that Karen acknowledged her former role as Kenny. Hillary responded: “I think you’re very brave, dear. And, you’re so, so pretty, too.”

Karen nodded and then looked at Marty, saying: “I hope you appreciate what a nice girlfriend you have in Hillary.”

“I do,” he beamed.

Hillary said: “Karen, look, I’d like to see you again when you’re in town, if you’d like. You know, to do girl things together.”

“Sure, Hillary.”

The girl handed Karen a slip of paper. “Here’s my phone number and email address. Write me if you wish. Or text me, too.”

“I will,” Karen said, leaning over to kiss the other girl. It was a sisterly kiss.

*****
Later in the car, as Aaron dropped Karen off, the two talked for a bit.

“I hope you had a happy New Year’s Eve, Karen,” the boy said.

“The happiest ever,” she said, than added: “What was that conversation about between you and the pastor? He looked mad.”

“Oh don’t worry about it, Karen. Sometimes he can be pretty narrow-minded.”

“But why did your sister tell him about me?” she persisted.

“Claire gets some strange ideas sometimes,” he began. “She’s really quite liberal, you know, and is active in some gay rights group, even though she’s hardly gay.”

“I know she sounded that way when she drove me those times to and from the University. I like her, Aaron.”

He turned off the car’s motor, even though it was below zero that night. “We don’t want to get affxiated, you know.”

“You’re right, but it’s getting late and I should be getting in, but why tell him?”

“Well, Claire thought the pastor would understand, since he’s been outspoken on many liberal issues of the day, particularly in assisting the poor and in paying our fair share of taxes and all that. He was a leader in the civil rights movement in the 60s, too, and Claire must have thought he’d understand your situation.”

“Well, it’s obvious he didn’t,” Karen said. “It made for an uncomfortable night, you know.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” the boy said, his tone showing his sincerity. “I think Pastor Wheeler is moving up in the ranks of the church and is becoming more conservative in his old age.”

“What did he want you to do? Take me home?”

“No, he expressed disappointment in me and even pointed to the scriptures. He told me, ‘Aaron, if you’re going to be a minister some day you better know the Bible.’”

“Oh?” Karen said. “You want to be a minister?”

“Not really, though I have talked about it,” he said. “I like working with people and helping them out.”

“There are other ways, you know?” she said.

“I know, and I’m not sure what I want now.”

“You’re so sweet,” she said, “But I better go in now. Thanks for a lovely evening.”

“May I see you again, Karen?” he asked, almost in desperation.

“Aaron, you know I feel I have a boyfriend in Mark, but I want you as a friend. I really do.”

“He’s so lucky to have you, Karen. I hope he appreciates you.”

He finally kissed her in the lobby of the apartment building; it was a brief kiss, one between friends. It was a nice, sweet, soft kiss, one that expressed comfort, and Karen felt it was most satisfying.

*****
“Sis, he got right up. He wasn’t hurt. You can look now,” Sonny said to Karen.

She was curled up on the sofa on New Years Day afternoon watching Mark Hamilton and the Iowa State Cyclones in their major football bowl game.

On just about every play when Hamilton (who played quarterback) took the ball from the center, Karen covered her eyes, so worried that he’d get hit and hurt. He was an elusive quarterback, and easily the star of the team which had taken a surprising 21-10 lead over a heavily favored, top-ranked team. He had passed for two touchdowns and run for a third in the first half.

She felt a huge pang of fear when she heard the announcer exclaim: “Wow, did you see the hit that Hamilton took from Defensive End Gene Solokowski? That guy’s a monster. And there’s no flag. It was a legal hit, but Hamilton must have had his bell rung.”

“Yes,” the announcer’s sidekick said. “It’s obvious that the defense is keying on Hamilton after the young man hurt them so badly with his passes in the first half.”

“I can’t stand this, Sonny,” Karen said, beginning to cry. “He’ll be hurt for life. Why doesn’t he quit that awful sport?”

“Oh, sis. He’s strong and he’ll be OK. Look he’s huddling his team and calling the plays now. I have confidence he’ll win this game.”

She looked up, saw the camera focus momentarily on Mark’s face and recognized the boy’s strong determined expression. He developed that same expression in the Theater Summer Camp when things were going badly in rehearsals.

Karen watched as the team lined up for the next play. The Cyclones were in an almost hopeless third down and 18; yet the players ran to the line in a spirited way.

“Oh no!” Karen squealed, as she watched Mark get the ball again and fade out to the left, with three huge linemen in pursuit. She closed her eyes, hearing the crowd roar and the announcer said: “Hamilton lets it fly just as Solokowski hits him again.”

She covered her face as the crowd noise from the television set drowned out the announcers, finally hearing her brother Sonny yell, “Touchdown. Dammit, sis, you missed it all. What a play and what a pass from Mark.”

“How’s Mark?” was all she could say, still covering her eyes.

“I don’t know, sis. He’s still down and they’re looking at him.”

Karen buried her head and began crying. Her brother came over and comforted her as the television switched to a commercial.

Chapter Five: New Realities

“Mark, Mark, Mark,” Karen cried inconsolably as she watched the scene on the television screen, horrified at the prone figure of Quarterback Mark Hamilton — her lover — being quickly surrounding by teammates, coaches and emergency personnel

Her mother came in from the kitchen when she heard Karen’s terrifying cry and sat down on the couch, cradling her daughter in her arms. Karen’s body was shaking, as she snuck occasional looks at the television screens. The announcer described the scene:

“The coaching assistants, medical staffs and others have gathered around Mark Hamilton, providing a shield so that the people in the stands or the millions watching on television won’t be able to see what they’re doing. His parents and family are in the stands and they must be in terrible fear.”

The officials held up the game for more than 10 minutes, until an ambulance had been driven up along the sidelines and the boy had been strapped onto a board that would hold him rigid.

“We hope Mark Hamilton will be Ok,” the announcer continued. “I think I saw a leg move, Elliott, which is a good sign.”

Elliott, the announcer’s “color analyst,” added: “They’ll be taking him to University Hospitals here, but as of yet we have no indication of the extent of his injuries.”

“Mark Hamilton is a fine, young man, Elliott,” the announcer continued. “We talked with him yesterday and he struck me with his leadership qualities. He’s taking a strong academic load while playing football.”

“Yes, and he’s hoping to be an actor eventually,” Elliott said. “He told me he may get a lead part in a spring production at the University Theater group. I’ve been surprised at how his teammates have followed his lead, seeing that he’s only a freshman.”

“We’ll let you all know about Mark Hamilton’s situation as soon as we can,” the announcer said. “Meanwhile, we have these messages.”

The television cut again to commercials.

*****
Iowa State — perhaps motivated by concern for their injured player — held on to win the game over the highly-favored opponent. Without Mark Hamilton’s skills, the team was unable to score any more points, but their defense rose to head off the frantic play of the other team. The player who caused Mark’s injuries was not ejected from the game.

“It’s rough game, and the hit was legal, but the guy’s so strong that when his helmet cracked into Mark’s neck area, it must have done something,” Sonny explained.

“Why do they let such brutes play?” Karen said, red-eyed from crying.

“Because he’s good, Karen. Sokolowski is a probably All-American at defensive end.”

“I don’t care. He’s a brute. Why does Mark have to play such a game?”

The game ended without any word about Mark’s injuries, other than the announcer’s statement that he was “in the hospital for observation.”

As the game ended, the phone rang. Cecily Hansson picked it up and talked briefly with the caller. She came into the living room and approached Karen: “It’s Angela. She watched the game. She’d like to stop by and be with you. Would you like that, honey?”

At first Karen shook her head “no,” but Sonny intervened: “Why not let her come over, sis? She’s your best friend. It might help.”

She looked at her brother; what a sweet brother he had become. Maybe Sonny was right. “Yes, mom, tell her it’s Ok.”

*****
“You must be devastated,” Angela said, as she Karen opened the door to her friend about 30 minutes later.

Angela took off her parka and gathered Karen in her arms, gathering her tightly against her Green Bay Packer sweater shirt. Karen’s nostrils picked up the girl’s soapy, clean scent, so familiar from their love-making times together. Karen felt comfortable in the other girl’s strong arms, so protective and secure.

Even in this situation, Karen continued hold back on the sexual urge she felt for Angela. She also felt that Angela must have the same sentiments, but to the credit of both young women their hugs that day expressed nothing more than providing comfort for Karen’s obvious grief. Even the hint of a sexual desire for the other girl bothered Karen, smacking so strongly of a disloyalty toward Mark’s love.

“I know you love him so much, Karen,” she said. “I admit that even I cried as I saw him on the ground.”

“Thank you, Angela, you’re so sweet.”

They moved to the couch, sitting next to each other with Angela holding Karen’s hands. Sonny sat in a side chair, watching still another bowl football game with the set on “mute.”

“I been wondering if I should call his cell phone,” Karen said softly to her friend. “Mom says I should wait for a call.”

“They haven’t said anything about how badly he’s hurt on TV yet,” Sonny said.

“Mom says I shouldn’t call and that I should get word soon, if not from Mark, maybe from his mom,” Karen said.

“She’s probably right, but I don’t think it would be wrong to call in about an hour,” Angela said.

A few minutes later, Aaron called to express his sympathy to Karen; she began to cry again, even though she appreciated the call and his concern.

“I sure wish Aaron could get a good girlfriend,” she told Angela when the call ended. “He’s smart and caring.”

“Don’t look at me,” Angela said, with a laugh.

Karen smiled at her lesbian friend, and then burst out laughing. It was a momentary sweet moment among friends.

*****
Mark’s mother called shortly thereafter; it was obvious the woman was badly broken up. She had trouble talking, and the conversation was brief.

“Mark is conscious now, Karen, and the first words out of his mouth were to tell me to call you and tell you he’ll be all right and that he loves you, dear,” she said haltingly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. I’ve been so concerned.”

“Luckily Mark has your phone number on his cell phone and that’s what I’m using to call you. He’s got a strong spirit, Karen.”

“I know he does, and I love him so. Please tell him for me.”

Karen burst into tears and an uneasy silence continued on the phone.

“Oh honey,” his mother said finally. “But we don’t know yet how badly he’s hurt. He’s in an operating room now. There’s a question about his legs, but everything’s premature. Oh darling, I so wished he hadn’t played football, but he loved it so.”

“I know ma’am. I hated him playing that game, too.”

“Oh sweetie, he was so happy doing it, too. By the way, call me Patti.”

Mark’s mother said she’d call once they got further news, and Karen said to call regardless of the hour. She got Patti Hamilton’s cell phone number so that the two could keep in touch.

*****
Karen refused to look at repeated news clips showing the crushing hit that Sokolowski put onto Mark; it had become the most oft-seen television scene of the entire college football season. She nestled next to Angela for a while, crying off and on, trying to maintain a strong front, but her mind kept turning to Mark, his always warm and loving manner and his bright eyes. She imagined that he must be so disappointed, since it appeared that his promising football career may be at an end; there was even a possibility he might be injured for life, ruining his chance at an acting career — also one of his lifetime goals.

She wanted to rush down to the Florida hospital and hug and kiss the young man, telling him how much she loved him, as if that in itself would instantly restore him to his former self.

Karen mulled whether to call Patti Hamilton since she awoke from her fitful sleep early the next morning, but her mother counseled against it.

“Really dear,” Cecelia Hansson said. “There’s probably not any news yet, anyway. You know how many tests they like to do before telling you anything.”

Karen realized her mother was right; Patti Hamilton sounded sincere the previous night in promising she’d call when the family knew more about Mark’s condition.

Nonetheless, it was a nervous morning and early afternoon for Karen; she tried cleaning her room, only to realize that due to her always fastidious nature there wasn’t much cleaning that needed to be done. She sat down to crochet, but grew impatient, even uncharacteristically missing a few stitches, causing her to backtrack and unravel her work.

“Fuck,” she said, using a word that rarely crossed her lips.

Even a visit with Aunt Harriet across the hall failed to comfort her; the image of Mark in a hospital bed all trussed up and wired with tubes and cords haunted her.

“He’ll be flying back to Milwaukee in a day,” Patti Hamilton said, finally calling about mid-afternoon, just as Karen was readying herself to go to work.

“How is he, Mrs. Hamil . . . ah . . . Patti?”

“Not too bad, actually,” she said. “He’s a bit groggy from all the medication they’ve given him. So he’s not in much pain.”

“That’s good. I’m so worried about him,” she said, successfully holding back her crying.

“I know you are, dear, and he doesn’t want you to worry; he said he’ll be Ok.”

“Can he talk to me?”

“Maybe in a little while,” Patti Hamilton said. “I’m out in the lounge area, and Mark’s having more tests done. I won’t lie to you, dear. It appears the injuries are quite serious.”

“Oh no,” Karen screeched, causing her mother to come in from the other room.

“But his mind and head seem fine. Time will have to tell us how permanent his injuries are, it seems. Right now, he’s having trouble moving his legs, but that could be temporary trauma, the doctors have said. Once we get home we’ll be putting him in a top-rated hospital in Milwaukee that specializes in such injuries.”

“Poor Mark,” Karen said, realizing her crying wouldn’t help the situation.

Karen explained she was going to work, but suggested that Mrs. Hamilton call her on her cell phone once Mark was able to talk. “I’ll get someone to cover for me when you call,” she said.

*****
Mark Hamilton’s injuries in a nationally-televised football game became a topic of national discussion. Instantly there was speculation that the young football player would be crippled for life; there were calls from some to charge Sokolowski with assault while others even called for an end to college football. Still others, mainly football fans, who treated the affair with a “ho-hum” attitude, said that injuries were endemic to the game; players knew that when they put on the uniform, they said.

In the restaurant, Karen’s co-workers noticed the girl did not exhibit her usual up-beat spirit, though Karen had been determined to work as if nothing had happened, hoping that her work would relieve her grieving over Mark.

Only Sharon and Beatrice knew about Karen’s relationship with Mark and both expressed their sorrow over the incident, and diplomatically probed the girl no further.

“Would either of you watch my tables if I get a call from Mark or his mother?” she asked the two.

“Of course, dear,” Sharon said, hugging her. The three had just punched in to begin working as the lunch rush crowd was about to begin.

It was a moderately busy day, and Karen worked as if she were a robot, mechanically introducing herself to customers as “My name is Karen and I’ll be your server today. Are you ready to order? May I get you something to drink first?”

She worked mindlessly, hardly noticing her customers as they ordered. Several regulars sat down at her tables, but Karen greeted them like all the others, as if she had never seen them before. Karen had become a favorite of a number of the restaurant customers due to her always friendly and personal greetings. She had made a practice of learning her customers’ names and their likes and dislikes.

“What’s bothering you, dear?” pressed Mrs. Courtney, a silver-haired lady who ate several times a week with her husband, a bent, old man who required a walker.

“Oh?” Karen said, as if startled out of a trance. “Sorry, Mrs. Courtney. Guess I was day-dreaming.”

“Something’s troubling you, I can see,” the woman said gently.

Karen quickly recovered, and said: “I’m fine, ma’am, and it’s nice to see you on Mr. Courtney out on such a cold day.”

“Thank you, dear. Sam always likes coming here, particularly when you’re working,” she said with a mischievous wink.

The old man’s face grew red: “You always make an old man’s heart leap for joy,” Sam croaked.

“Now, Sam, quit that,” his wife said. “He still thinks he can excite pretty young ladies.”

Karen smiled: “He’s a charmer and I bet he broke many hearts when he was young until he met you, Mrs. Courtney.”

“Will you marry me, Karen?” the old man said.

“This is hardly the place to propose, sir,” Karen said. All three laughed.

“You folks want the usual?” she said.

They nodded, and Karen felt a bit comforted for the first time that day. How she loved older couples like the Courtneys who seemed to still be in love after many years; even a debilitating disability as the old man had seemed not to stifle their ability to enjoy life and each other. Would that happen eventually to herself and Mark, she wondered?

*****
Fortunately, Mrs. Hamilton called during Karen’s break; she had been sitting in the back at the employee’s table with Beatrice who was trying without much luck to comfort Karen in her worries over Mark’s injuries. Mercifully, the girl resisted quoting Scripture or using meaningless platitudes in her efforts.

Karen was grateful for Beatrice’s growing understanding that not all persons shared her passion for the Word of God, even though they may still be decent persons. Karen excused herself from the table and walked to a quiet corner of the backroom to talk.

“Mark wants to talk to you, dear,” Patti Hamilton said. “He’s pretty weak and not too coherent so he can’t talk long.”

“I understand, Mrs. Hamilton.”

There was a pause and Karen could hear that there was some fumbling with the phone; apparently Mrs. Hamilton had to hold the phone to Mark’s ear.

“Hi, Karen.” His voice was hardly audible.

“Hi, darling,” Karen responded, speaking slowly and directly, trying to hold back any of the emotion that she felt.

“I wish . . .” Mark paused.

“That’s Ok, Mark. I am so happy to hear your voice.”

There was a pause, and Karen could hear heavy breathing. “Wish you were here with me,” Mark said his words muffled and hardly understandable.

Karen fought back tears; she didn’t want Mark to hear her crying. “I love you, Mark, and know you’ll be strong.”

“I . . . luff . . . you, too,” he said.

There was a pause, and Mrs. Hamilton came back on the line. “I think that’s about all he has the strength for now, dear,” she said.

“I understand and don’t want to weaken him, Patti.”

Patti Hamilton said she’d call later when she could talk more openly and after they had more information as to the extent of his injuries.

Karen was devastated; she began crying in earnest as she closed her cell phone up, terminating the call. Beatrice, who had been watching from across the room, got up and hugged the girl, pulling her tightly against herself, permitting Karen to cry softly, her sobs muffled as she buried her head into Beatrice’s neck area.

“What’s happened to her?” It was the voice of George Alexopoulos, the Olympus owner.

“She’s had some bad news, George,” Beatrice replied. “I’m just comforting her.”

“Oh, does she want to go home?” he said sympathetically. “Did someone die or something?”

Hearing the restaurant owner’s concern, Karen shook her head and worked at stopping her tears.

“No, nothing like that,” Karen said, freeing herself from Beatrice’s clutches. “I can work, George.”

“You’re sure, Karen? I noticed you haven’t been your cheerful self here today.”

Karen took a tissue from Beatrice and wiped her eyes. “I’ll be fine, sir. I just need a few minutes. It’ll do me good to work.”

“Ok, Karen, but you can leave if you feel you want to, dear,” he said.

“Yes, Sharon and I can cover your tables, Karen,” Beatrice assured her.

“I’ll be Ok, George. I just need a few minutes. Thank you.”

*****
Mrs. Hamilton called about 9 p.m. that night, after Karen had gotten home and changed into her nightgown, robe and slippers. She was pinning her hair up when her cell phone rang. It was apparent Mark’s mother had been crying.

“Patti?” Karen said, using his mother’s first name. “It sounds bad.”

“It is, dear,” she said. “I feel I must be honest with you.”

“Is he . . . ah . . ?”

“Oh dear, yes, he’s alive, dear, but I’m afraid he may never walk again.”

“What?” Karen said, only to break into silence.

She could hear his mother begin to sob. Karen felt ready to cry as well, but she held it in, saying softly into the phone. “That’s Ok, Patti. Just take your time.”

“You’re so sweet, dear,” Mrs. Hamilton said finally.

“I love him so.”

“I know you do, dear. But we’ve just been told he’s had a terrible spinal injury, perhaps permanently damaging his nerves. The doctors seem pretty certain he’ll never walk again,” although his upper body seems strong.”

The seriousness of the injury finally hit Karen. Mark would never walk again! How could that be? He must be devastated, she thought. Oh, how she wished she were there to hug him and assure him of her love.

*****
Mark Hamilton was flown back to Milwaukee three days later; it was a dramatic flight, requiring a medical team to place him aboard a private plane, whose use was donated by a prominent Iowa State alumnus. A nurse accompanied Mark and his parents to Milwaukee, where an ambulance took him to the area’s renowned medical center.

“Football star returns home for treatment,” headlined the Milwaukee newspapers, complete with photos, including a picture of a smiling Mark, prone on the stretcher, giving a “thumbs up” for the photographer.

Later, during an interview in the hospital with two sportswriters, one from Milwaukee and the other from Des Moines, Mark was asked if he bore any ill will to Gene Sokolowski, the player who hit him so severely.

“I don’t wish him to be penalized for playing hard,” Mark was quoted as saying. “I’m just glad that Hayden [backup quarterback Ken Hayden] played so great in my absence and we won.”

Karen read the Milwaukee paper at the break table in the restaurant, and turned to Sharon commenting: “That’s my Mark. Always so forgiving and generous.”

“He says he thinks he’ll be able to play again,” Sharon commented, referring to a statement in the newspaper made by Mark.

“I know, but I hope he doesn’t,” Karen said. “I can’t bear to see him hurt again.”

“I think he’s too optimistic,” Sharon said. “The doctors right now are quoted as saying the first challenge will be to see if he will be able to ever walk again.”

Karen nodded, realizing her friend was correct. Mark always was optimistic about things, even when rehearsals were going badly in the Summer Camp play. It was his spirit, she felt, that helped her perform at the high level she did.

“He’ll be devastated if he can’t play football, I know,” Karen said. “But if anyone can rise above this injury, he can.”

“I know, honey,” Sharon said, putting an arm around Karen, hugging her warmly.

Mark sounded cheerful in the several phone calls he and Karen shared in the days after his return. Karen was pleased that she never cried while the two talked, but almost immediately she broke into tears after hanging up. What surprised her was that Mark spent most of the conversation asking questions about Karen, about her college life and her job at Olympus. He wondered about the process of her transition, encouraging her in the coming changes of life.

“Don’t worry about me, Karen,” he said whenever she asked questions about how he was doing.

Two days before she was due to return to the University, she informed Mark in their call that she planned to drive down to Milwaukee to visit him in the hospital.

“Don’t waste your time on me, Karen,” he said. “You’re a beautiful, talented and lovely girl and I’m just a broken up cripple.”

“Oh, Mark, don’t say that! You’re the sweetest man I ever met and I love you, Mark,” she said.

“Please don’t, Karen. I’m no good anymore,” he said. She could hear his voice beginning to crack, as if he was about to cry.

For the first time in their talks, she cried. The tears flowed so quickly, and the two young people said nothing, their sobbing filling the phone lines.

Finally, Karen said: “I have tomorrow off and mom said I could drive down to Milwaukee to see you. My brother Sonny is joining me and I’ll not take ‘no’ as an answer. I’m coming!”

“Wow. You’re a determined girl,” he said.

“Yes, and I’ll see you after lunch tomorrow, whether you want me or not.”

She heard Mark respond with a slight laugh. “Well, I guess I have no choice. I won’t look very nice in this bed, so don’t be disappointed.”

“Silly. How could I be disappointed in seeing you? I can’t wait.”

*****
Karen and Sonny reached the medical complex just after lunch, and after several wrong turns in the vast jungle of buildings, they found the parking garage adjacent to the hospital in which Mark was being treated.

“Sis, that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen you drive,” Sonny said, using the teasing tone that had become his trademark in dealing with his sister.

“I’m getting better, Sonny,” she said.

“I guess being in love gives you some guts,” he said.

The drive down to Milwaukee had been a tricky one, since the highway ran alongside the shore of Lake Michigan and light snow flurries drifted across the highway threatening to settle into slippery spots. Karen’s growing skills at the wheel seemed to pay off and she was careful to be alert to any changes in the road surface and was still able to maintain a decent pace. Since she began transitioning, Karen and her brother seemed to have gotten closer, friendlier. Sonny seemed to be proud of the lovely person his older sister had become, even to the point of bragging about her to his friends. No longer was she the sissy Kenny that he had been ashamed of.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Patti Hamilton said, greeting them in the family lounge that served the neurological floor of the hospital. “Mark’s being given another MRI, but should be back soon.”

The two women hugged each other, and both began to cry; their sobs were silent ones and continued as they held each other. Karen found herself becoming fond of Patti Hamilton, of her profound concern for her injured son, as well as her worry over Karen’s feelings. Even Sonny, her cynical teenager brother, seemed affected by the emotion of the moment.

They sat together in the family lounge, Mrs. Hamilton holding Karen’s hands, as she described the treatments that Mark was receiving, as well as the gratitude she had for the administration of Iowa State University and the wealthy alumnus who provided the private plane to make Mark’s trip to Milwaukee more comfortable.

“Under college recruiting rules,” she explained, “it means Mark will lose his eligibility to play sports anymore at the college level.”

“Oh, that’s awful. Why?”

“Because he will have accepted something of value from an alumnus.”

“That seems unfair,” Sonny interjected. “My gosh, he was injured playing for the school. Wouldn’t his health have made that a necessity?”

“Possibly, and the ISU athletic director said he’d argue that if it appeared Mark would ever recover enough to play again,” Patti said.

Karen looked directly at Mrs. Hamilton. “But that doesn’t seem likely, does it?” she asked.

“Not really. He’s pretty badly injured.”

Just then a nurse popped her head into the lounge. “Your son’s back in his room, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“You go in alone, Karen,” his mother suggested as they neared Mark’s room. “You can have a few minutes with him by yourself, dear.”

Karen smiled at the woman; her kindness and consideration for Karen overwhelmed her.

Mark was flat on his back, an IV drip attached to his arm, while a traction rig was set up, with weights attached to both of his ankles.

Mark’s head was turned toward a window and Karen’s entrance was so quiet he had not heard her approach. He was startled by her voice, and turned to look at her, grimacing in pain as he tried to raise his head.

“My darling,” she said rushing to his side.

“Karen,” Mark said weakly, his voice hardly rising above a whisper.

His pale, weak look depressed her, but she noticed his eyes widen and gain a bit of sparkle as he looked at her.

Karen had dressed in a school girl outfit, a pleated below-the-knee plain navy blue skirt over black thick leggings, a light blue satin blouse and v-neck lavender fluffy sweater. A three-strand pearl necklace hung about her neck and she had let her light brown hair hang loosely about her shoulders, with bangs drifting to one side.

“Oh, you’re . . . lovely,” his voice faltered as he looked at her.

Karen felt she would burst into tears, but she knew she must be strong before Mark. It was hard; this once vigorous, active young man was totally helpless. Yet, she held back her tears. She could see, however, that Mark was beginning to cry, and she leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek.

“I love you, Mark,” were the only words that came to her as she stood next to him. What else could she say?

“Don’t say that, Karen. Please don’t,” he said.

“But I do, my dear, dear Mark,” she continued.

He turned away from her, and said nothing. She could hear quiet sobbing coming from him, and it saddened her. She was mystified by his protest that she shouldn’t tell him she loved him; why did that bother him so? Hadn’t he expressed his love for her before the game, and even on the two brief phone calls the two had shared from his hospital bed in Florida?

She moved a chair next to Mark’s bed, sat down and took his large hand and held it, gently caressing it. The whirring of medical paraphernalia continued as a backdrop, while an occasional beep came at intervals from the drip in his arm. Mark continued to look away from her.

“Oh my brother Sonny is here with me, Mark. He’d like to say ‘hi’ to you,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

He turned his head, and his face showed a brief grimace as if a pain shot through his system. “Will he want to see me like this?” he asked, his voice still a near whisper.

“Yes, he idolizes you, Mark,” she said.

“Ok, let him in.”

Karen went to the door and summoned Sonny and Mrs. Hamilton to enter the room.

“Hi, kid,” Mark said, his voice growing stronger as Sonny approached his bed.

“You were great in that game, Mark,” Sonny said.

“Thank you, Sonny, but I guess that’s my last football game.”

“It can’t be,” Sonny said. “You were so dazzling. You’ll come back, I’m sure.”

Mark smiled; it was a weak smile, obviously meant more to comfort Sonny’s view that he would recover to again dominate a football game.

“We’ll have to see how he recovers, Sonny,” Mrs. Hamilton said.

“He will,” Sonny said with definiteness that no one else in the room shared.

Mark smiled, however, pleased with the eagerness of the teenage boy.

“I’m modeling my own play after you, Mark,” the boy continued. “I’m learning to block, too, since I’ve learned the really good quarterbacks must do more than just throw a football.”

“You’re right, kid,” Mark said, warming to the discussion.

“I loved that block you threw on Sokolowski on the flea-flicker play, Mark. The one that scored the touchdown,” Sonny said. “If you hadn’t made that block, I think Sokolowski would have gotten to the player who threw the pass.”

“Yeah, that was a good one,” Mark said. “I was more proud of that than either of the two touchdown passes I threw.”

The conversation between the two continued for another five minutes, but Karen could see Mark was tiring, as his replies to Sonny became more hesitant and weaker. Finally, she suggested they all leave the room to allow Mark to rest for a bit.

“He’s in pretty bad shape, isn’t he, Mrs. Hamilton?” Karen asked when the three settled back into the lounge.

“I’m afraid so, Karen,” she said. “He has no feeling in his legs at all right now the damage is so great to his nerves.”

“Oh dear,” she said.

“He rejected me in there, Patti,” Karen said.

“I know he’d do that, Karen. He even suggested you not come here to see him.”

“I know. That’s what he said to me when I said I’d be coming down.”

“Yes, ‘cause he knew it’d cause you pain. He really loves you so much, dear,” Patti said.

“I do, too. I love him, Patti.”

Mrs. Hamilton looked at Karen, patting her hand as she held it primly in her lap. Sonny excused himself, saying he was going to the hospital snack bar for something to drink, leaving the two women together.

“My husband and I tried to steer him away from you, dear, once we learned you are a boy underneath all this, but he was adamant in his love for you,” Patti said.

“I don’t blame you, Mrs. Hamilton,” she said. “I’ll never be a total woman, even after I have the operation. I’ll never be able to give you grandchildren.”

Patti Hamilton nodded, and the two fell silent for a few minutes.

“But, Mark persisted, saying he could only see you as a girl and that you were the best thing that ever happened to him,” his mother said, resuming the conversation. “And I must say, both my husband and I have fallen in love with you too and see you only as a pretty young lady.”

Karen reddened; she smiled at the woman.

“Mark thinks you should be free of him, that he’ll only be a cripple the rest of his life, and you’re so pretty dear,” Patti continued. “He wants you to find a nice young man, worthy of you. He thinks he’ll be a burden the rest of his life and wants to set you free.”

“Oh Mrs. Hamilton, I love him, regardless. I want to be with him.”

“You say that now, Karen, but months later as reality sets in, you may feel burdened and Mark will feel guilty because he’s caused you to be unhappy with the burden of caring for him.”

Karen considered the older woman.

“My love for Mark will never end, Mrs. Hamilton. If he’ll have me, I want to be his for life.”

*****
After an hour, Karen returned to Mark’s room, leaving Mrs. Hamilton and Sonny in the lounge. Mark was groggy, and merely grunted a “hi” at Karen as she kissed him lightly.

Despite what she could say, his mood remained cool toward her; he hardly looked at her, and stared out toward the window, responding only with brief “yes” or “no” to most of her comments. He showed some interest as she described that she was to return to the University the following day, and would be resuming her work with Professor Fenstrom, possibly even getting a part in the spring play.

He asked about Karen’s transitioning procedures, and she explained she’d have an early appointment with Dr. Bargmann to begin hormonal treatment.

“I wish you the best, Karen,” he said. His tone was perfunctory, as if he were addressing someone he barely knew.

“Thank you, Mark.”

“But you must forget me, Karen. Please forget me.”

“I can’t Mark. I’ll never forget you.”

“You must,” he said, turning his face away from her.

She tried to involve the boy with further conversation, but Mark grunted his answers, never turning his face to look at her. She felt her emotions rise, and bounce back and forth over whether to slap the injured boy to get some sort of response or burst out in tears and embrace him with all her strength.

“Just forget me, Karen,” he finally said, his eyes finally meeting hers. She could see they were red and moist as if he’d been crying.

“I can’t, Mark. Don’t you know that by now? I love you so.”

“I’ll never be any good, Karen. I’m damaged goods, damaged for life. Go find yourself a nice young man, somebody who’ll be a complete man.”

“Don’t give up, Mark. Please. The doctors haven’t given up on you yet and I never will.”

“Please go and let me be.” The words were deliberate and firm.

Karen burst out crying, feeling helpless in trying to comfort the injured young man. Mark merely turned his head away from her, and Karen sensed he might be crying as well. He was red-eyed a few minutes later, when he turned back to her and suggested she get Sonny so that he could say “good-bye” to her brother.

Mark seemed to recover his composure when Sonny entered. The two talked football for a few minutes, before Karen and Sonny said good bye, Karen giving Mark a light kiss on the cheek. Mark turned away at the kiss, and Karen heard his quiet sobs as she and Sonny left the room. It would be a sad drive home.

Chapter 6: Returning to College Life

She spent that night packing her clothes for the trip back to the University; her packing went slowly, since she kept reflecting back to Mark’s last words, “Please go and let me be.” How could he be so mean to her, she wondered? Hadn’t she offered him her unconditional love, her vow to stand beside him as he recovered from his injuries, even though he may never walk again?

“Honey, he cares about you and I think he truly loves you,” Cecelia Hansson said. She had been helping her daughter pack for the trip back to the campus, which she’d make on the bus.

“How would you know, mother?” she snapped. “You weren’t there. He turned his back to me.”

Her mother attempted to hug her, but Karen rudely shrugged her off. “Leave me alone.” She fell onto her bed, among the lingerie that had been stacked ready for packing and buried her head into a pillow.

Cecelia Hansson remained, however, and continued to try to comfort her daughter. “He does love you and he wants you to be free to live your life, to have a career and maybe even find a nice young man you can love and share your life with. He’s afraid you’ll sacrifice everything in your future to care for him.”

“Oh mother, that’s so unfair,” she cried into the pillow.

“Unfair for whom, dear? You? Isn’t he the injured person here?”

Karen said nothing, but her mother’s words bore into her mind. Yes, Mark was the injured person here, and she was being selfish and thinking only of herself and the loss of the young man’s love for her. She realized that she should stop her crying, resume her packing and get ready for the return to school, where she could begin to move forward in life, facing whatever fortune or ill-fortune that came her way.

“I guess you’re right, mom,” she said finally, rising to a sitting position.

“Mark will want you to thrive, I’m sure, dear. Keep in touch with him, letting him know how you’re doing. You can be his friend forever, and in this way help him to recover. Who knows, maybe there’s a miracle coming for him?”

“Oh mother,” Karen said, putting her arms around her mother and hugging her closely.

*****
Karen returned to the campus a good 10 days before the regular semester was to begin. Professor Eric Fenstrom — the head of the Theater Department in the School of Fine Arts — arranged for another semester of a work-study arrangement that would pay her a relatively decent salary, and help to reduce her student loan burden while also giving her a chance to add to her plan to continue saving for her transitional surgeries.

At first she turned the professor down, largely because she was concerned that he might try for a second time to press his sexual attentions upon her.

“Karen, please reconsider your decision,” he urged on her after she told him of her decision to not rejoin him in the second semester. “You really are the most efficient girl I’ve ever had in this position, and you also have an uncanny sense about what works in the theater. Your instincts are terrific.”

“Professor, I’d like to continue in the job, but after what happened, I don’t think I’m comfortable working with you.” She had chosen her words carefully; even so, she found it difficult to state them.

The conversation occurred a day before the Christmas Holiday season began, and the two were in the professor’s cramped office in the Fine Arts Building, surrounded by shelves crammed with scripts, books and papers. His desk was a hodge-podge of piled papers, a few dusty acting awards from the professor’s performing days and a bobble head figurine of Sir Lawrence Olivier.

The professor leaned back in his commodious executive’s chair, wearing jeans and a stained “I Love NYC” sweatshirt, his athletic-shoed feet propped upon the desk before him. Karen was dressed also informally and wore tight-fitting, low-riding jeans with a peach-colored camisole covered by a violet v-neck sweater that accentuated her tiny breasts. She had drawn her light brown hair into a pony tail that she tucked back through the hole in the back of her light blue baseball cap that was emblazoned with a block “W” in red, a symbol of the University’s athletic teams. Karen had made it a practice of dressing casually in her work with the Professor, making certain she did not uncover any skin that may have turned on her employer’s libido. Even so, Karen had the feeling that Fenstrom, his reputation for pushing his attention upon his prettier students, was still aroused by her presence.

“Karen, I want to promise you that what happened a couple of weeks ago will never happen again. And, if that’s the reason you’re rejecting my offer, please rest assured, I’ll never touch you again.”

Karen was not convinced, but the professor persisted: “Look, Karen, where else can you get such a good job at such a good rate?”

Finally, persuaded by the need for a job, Karen agreed to continue as his assistant in the work-study program. It was then that she understood how women so often were forced to endure all sorts of sexual harassment, particularly pretty young girls as she realized she had become.

*****
Her early return to campus had the added bonus of allowing her to schedule an early appointment with Dr. Bargmann at the Mary Ann Keyes Gender Clinic to begin her hormone treatment. In fact, she had been able to get the appointment for the morning after her arrival on campus.

On the long bus trip, prolonged by half a dozen stops at tiny towns and traffic on the two-lane highways that connected her hometown with the University community, she found herself reflecting on the quick changes in her life. Just seven months earlier, Karen had entered the Summer Camp program as Kenny, a shy, unassuming but bright boy with a tendency toward fantasy and romance. In a few weeks, encouraged by her roommate, an athletic, blonde-haired Adonis by the name of Mark Hamilton and a gaggle of girl friends, she had assumed the role of a girl named Karen. As an acting student, she starred (“a dazzling starlet was born,” said a reviewer) as Ophelia, the confused teen girl in Shakespeare’s “Hamlet.” For the part, Kenny was urged by the director who was a practitioner of “method acting,” to live for more than five weeks as a girl 24 hours a day, which she did. She found femininity came easily and naturally due to her dainty, soft body and within a few weeks she learned how exciting life could be as a girl.

Though she had enrolled in the fall semester as “Kenny Hansson,” her seeming femininity had become a reality and she was bullied and harassed into being hounded out of the boy’s floor of the college dormitory to find a home at Susan’s Place, a transitional shelter for transgendered girls on campus. With the assistance of the Gender Clinic, her university records were to be changed to enroll her in the second semester as “Karen Marie Hansson” with a gender listing of “F.” Since November 1st, she had lived outwardly as a girl.

Never a strong girl, Karen was breathing heavily as she dragged her large suitcase on wheels the two blocks from the bus station to Susan’s Place. Although there hadn’t been snow in several days, there were portions of the sidewalk which were still rutted with packed snow, making it hard to pull the heavy luggage, while managing a smaller briefcase in her other hand. It was a frigid late afternoon, already growing dark and the wind bit into her face.

She was within a block of the House when she felt she could go no further unless she rested. She stood on the corner, turning her back to the wind, when she heard a voice behind her.

“Need a hand, miss?”

She turned to see a tall, middle-aged man, wearing a leather coat and Russian-style fur hat, the ear flaps down as protection against the cold. He had a handsome, rugged square face, with slight lines emanating from his eyes, which sparkled as they looked directly at her.

“Oh, thanks, but I’m just catching my breath,” she said, the words coming out, accompanied by a cloud of frozen mist.

“Let me assist you across the street, young lady,” he said, his voice direct and commandeering. He took the heavy luggage from her grasp, snapped down the pulling mechanism and lifted it easily as he guided her, linking his other hand in her elbow, across the street.

“Now where are you headed?” he asked kindly.

“Just there,” she said, pointing to the transitional living center. Suddenly, she hated herself for offering such information to a strange man, even though he seemed so nice.

“I could see you were exhausted pulling this heavy case,” he said, as they stopped in front of the house.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, reaching for the suitcase.

“Let me take these up the stairs for you,” he said.

“No thanks, I can handle it from here,” she said, still struggling to get her hands on her suitcase.

“Don’t be silly,” he said, grabbing the case and moving quickly up the five steps onto the front porch of the old house.

Karen followed, cursing her own physical weakness that led her to become dependent upon this older man who moved with such directness and command. What did he have in mind?

Depositing the case at the front door, he turned to Karen and said, his smile widening, “I’m Paul, and what is your name, young lady?”

“Just call me Keisha,” Karen said, using the first false name that came to her mind.

“Keisha?” he said, mystified, apparently confused that a young lady of Karen’s appearance would have a name normally associated with African-American girls.

“Thank you, sir,” Karen said, using her own assertiveness, hoping the man would go away.

Just then, the front door opened and the tall, commanding figure of Sonja Peterson, the manager of Susan’s Place, appeared in the doorway. “Let me have your case, dear,” she said, walking out onto the cold porch. She was dressed in grey sweat pants and University sweat shirt, with a wool cap on her head.

“Thank you, Sonja,” Karen said, pleased to see the presence of Sonja, who had fastened a stern gaze upon the man standing next to Karen.

“I’ll get it from here sir,” Sonja said, eying the man directly. “Thank you for assisting her.”

She pulled Karen inside and slammed the door shut, leaving the man alone on the porch.

“Thank you, Sonja,” Karen said. “He just came along and grabbed my suitcase from me and insisted on carrying it right up to the door.”

“I’m glad I happened to look out of the window, Karen,” Sonja said, her voice husky, but lilting with feminine inflections. “I’ve seen him hanging around the neighborhood recently, and I’m worried he’s got his eyes on some of you girls. I guess I can look tough and nasty so he won’t monkey with me, but you on the other hand need to be wary of guys like him.”

“Well, he seemed nice enough,” Karen said. “And I was grateful for his help. I was worn out dragging it from the bus station.”

“You’ll have to learn, dear, that pretty girls like you are often prey to guys like him,” she said. “They come on all sweet and nice, but they only got sex on their mind, and it’s not going to be sex the way you’ll like it.”

“I know. I told him my name was Keisha, but I don’t think he believed me. Thank God you came to the door.”

“Keisha?” Sonja said, giggling. “That’s a good one.”

Suddenly, the two girls were laughing uncontrollably.

Sonja was required by her job as House manager to remain at the place during the Holidays, although she did find get home for two days at Christmas to visit her family.

“Now it’s only you and me here for a few days, before the others arrive,” she said. “I’m glad you’re back, Karen. It was getting lonely here.”

Karen went to get unpacked; later the two went to a nearby Pizza parlor for dinner, where Karen chose Italian salad and garlic bread.

“Guess you’re not planning on doing any kissing tonight, Keisha,” Sonja teased as they awaited their food.

“No,” Karen said, laughing at Sonja’s use of her fake name.

Realizing that the person she wanted to kiss was still flat on his back in a hospital room, Karen’s momentary joy turned sour. She felt tears forming in her eyes, picturing Mark Hamilton and remembering his last words ordering her to leave his room — and his life. She thought back to the last scene she and Mark had performed together in the summer camp performance of “Hamlet,” in which the crazed Hamlet dismissed the shy, uncertain Ophelia with the words: “Get thee to a nunnery.”

This was the third time that Mark had told her to leave his life, and on two of the occasions he had not been acting. She had been rejected by the love of her life again and again. Yet, she felt she still had a lock on Mark’s heart; he wanted her badly, she felt confident. Just give him time!

*****
Karen saw Dr. Bargmann the following morning. She chose to wear thick, black tights under a wool skirt, blouse and sweater for her visit to the MaryAnn Keyes Gender Clinic, even though the zero-degree temperatures probably would have made slacks a more sensible choice.

Sonja had queried her at a simple breakfast of dry cereal, skim milk and banana the two shared that morning, wondering if she was dressed warm enough.

“I just want to look feminine for the doctor,” Karen explained.

“Honey, you don’t need clothes to make you feminine,” Sonja said, smiling. “You’re all girl, even in a lumberjack’s outfit, dear.”

Karen blushed. Becoming girlish had been no struggle for her at all; it seemed natural.

She was grateful for the beige feather-stuffed parka and its hood as she walked the several blocks to the Gender Clinic; even so, her nose stung and cheeks seemed to freeze from the stiff, cold north wind. The fur-lined boots she wore made the walk laborious, but they were necessary to keep her feet warm. She carried an oversized fabric purse with brown leather trim in which she stuffed a pair of ballet slippers that she could slip on after arriving at the clinic. As she soon realized, the thick tights offered little protection against the cold and she feared that perhaps she might have gotten frost-bit during the walk.

“Migosh, Karen,” gushed Moira, the physician’s assistant at the Gender Clinic. “You look so cute and pretty this morning. It’s obvious you’re becoming quite a girl.”

“Thank you,” Karen said. The two gave each other warm, sisterly hugs.

Sitting in the outer lobby, Karen leaned over to remove her boots and put on the flats. She looked up at one point and realized Moira was watching her closely.

“What?” Karen asked.

“I was just noticing your legs, Karen. They’re just lovely, and those black tights really make you look so sexy.”

Karen smiled, and thrust her right leg up as she completed putting the flat on her foot, performing a little show for Moira.

“I’m envious, Karen,” Moira said. “I’d die for a nice pair of legs like yours.”

“I’m sure yours are fine, Moira,” Karen said. The physician’s assistant was in her early thirties and had a slightly chunky body; though Karen had never seen her in anything but slacks, she imagined the woman must have had heavy-framed legs. Karen had always thought Moira to be a pretty woman, perhaps because of the ever-cheerful demeanor and dancing dark eyes in a face framed by dark bangs.

Moira led Karen to an examining room, where she took Karen’s blood pressure, temperature, height and weight. The readings were 120/68 for blood pressure, 97.9 for temperature and 5’7” at 118 pounds.

“You’re a healthy girl, all right,” Moira said.

“I gained some over the holidays,” Karen said, her tone apologetic. “My tummy feels chubby.”

“A little chubbiness doesn’t hurt, Karen, but then maybe you should do a bit more exercise,” the physician’s assistant said.

“I don’t want to bulk up, Moira, or get those big, ol’ muscles.”

“You don’t need to lift weights, but maybe we can get you into some regular aerobics groups for women.”

Karen nodded. She realized Moira was correct; she had thought that her work as a waitress was exercise enough, and to be sure she was always physically exhausted after a day of hoisting dishes and trays and bustling too and fro from the kitchen to the customer’s tables.

“I’m not very strong,” Karen confessed.

“Well, I’ll see if I can find a nice program for you, and one that will fit into your schedule,” Moira said.

The physician’s assistant turned the conversation into a discussion about Karen’s progress in transitioning; eventually, Karen admitted to her concern over the injuries to Mark and his apparent rejection of her. The conversation ended when Karen could no longer control her emotions and began crying.

“There, there, Karen,” Moira said, hugging the girl.

She left Karen alone in the room, telling her that Dr. Bargmann would be in to see her soon.

*****
“So that young man is your boyfriend?” Dr. Bargmann said as he began his examination. The doctor referred to Mark, of course; most likely Moira had shared with him the incident in which Mark had been injured.

“Was my boyfriend,” Karen said, hoping her eyes were not so red as to betray her crying jag.

“Was? I watched that game and saw he was injured, Karen. That was so tragic; he had been playing spectacularly before that.”

“He says he wants me to leave him alone, that he doesn’t want me wasting my life caring for him, but Dr. Bargmann I can’t leave him like that. I don’t want to desert him.”

Dr. Bargmann’s face showed concern for the girl seated before him; he offered a faint frown and was silent for a moment, as if seeking to find a way to express himself.

“My dear child,” he said finally. “Your compassion is sweet and sincere, I’m sure, but your friend is certainly going through a tough period in his life. He needs understanding from his family and friends. Sometimes, he won’t act as you might like, because as I understand he’s facing the loss of a promising athletic career, and that must be devastating to him.”

Karen nodded. “I think he still loves me, doctor.”

“He likely does, but he sounds like a generous and caring boy, Karen, and I think he was being honest when he said he doesn’t want you to waste your own life, in case he will never be able to fully recover. I understand there’s a concern that he’ll never be able to walk again.”

“Yes, that’s still to be determined, I guess, but I want to be there to encourage him and to help him. Oh doctor, I love him so.”

Karen could no longer hold her emotions back, and she began to cry. Dr. Bargmann moved onto the sofa next to her and put and arm around her, drawing her to his chest. She buried her head onto his tweed sport coat and sobbed, her slender body shaking in sadness. He held her for several minutes, his hold being gentle and caring.

“Thank you, doctor,” she said when her sobbing quieted. She straightened up, and he released her, going back to the executive chair next to his desk.

“This isn’t my normal role, Karen, to comfort you like this, and I hoped I helped you a bit. I can suggest a therapist or two who you might like to visit for consultation in your current grief,” he said.

Karen look at him, still wiping her face dry from the tears with a tissue. “I know doctor and I’m sorry to have broken down like this.”

“Dear girl,” he said. “You needn’t apologize. You’re reacting as only a young lady in love would act.”

He paused for a moment, and then resumed talking:

“My job now with you is to determine whether you’re ready to begin hormonal treatment. What that means is do we consider you to be sufficiently motivated to live your life ahead as a woman, since once we begin treatment if will be hard to reverse the process and return you to a male life style.”

“I understand, doctor, and I assure you I feel real as a girl,” Karen said. “I can’t imagine ever living as a boy again.”

Dr. Bargmann said he’d like to turn on a tape recorder to keep a record of their conversation and to assist him in making his report later. “Do you object?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said.

He asked her to sign a release, also signed by himself, in which he agreed the tape would be kept confidential and only become a part of her private medical record. He spent about 15 minutes, mainly asking her about her experiences since she had begun living fulltime as a girl; she became nervous at times, realizing she portrayed her tension by repeated dainty flicking of her hair as she talked.

At times, she tried to calm herself down by sitting primly, looking occasionally at her slender, pretty hands folded together in her lap, both feet planted squarely on the floor in front of her.

“You’ve only been living fulltime for a bit over two months, Karen,” Dr. Bargmann said when the interrogation ended. “Normally that’s not enough time for us to begin hormonal treatment, but I can see both by your physical appearance, your mannerisms and your experiences so far that you are ready. You certainly seem to have a dominance of female genes in your system, since you appear naturally female.”

“I’ve never been comfortable as a boy, doctor. That much I know,” she said.

“Frankly, I can hardly picture you as a boy, Karen,” he said, smiling.

“I was a pretty pathetic boy,” she said, letting out a giggle.

“Well, Karen, you are a very lovely girl, and most importantly you seem to be most generous and caring,” he said. “So often my patients here seem selfish in their quest to transition, but you seem to care about others. That may be your most marvelous and most feminine feature, dear.”

He gave her prescriptions for two medications, one as a testosterone blocker and the other as a female hormone, and said she could get them filled at the University pharmacy. After that, Karen was advised to begin participating in a support group of students that would begin meeting weekly in the living room at Susan’s Place once the spring semester began later in January. She would also have weekly meetings with Moira, the physician’s assistant.

“Thank you, doctor,” she said, bounding out of his office. Her spirits were lifted — at least for a while — as she returned to Susan’s Place.

*****
The walk back to Susan’s Place was a frigid one, since the temperature had already dipped to below zero as the sun dipped down to the horizon in the southwest, behind the ancient buildings of the old campus of the University. Karen reflected on the idyllic nature of the view, as she walked in the cold, her hood drawn tightly against her head, a colorful scarf wrapped about her neck, flowing in the breeze as she walked. Despite the weather, Karen’s spirits were high, and the wind out of the northwest was at her back. Momentarily, at least, Karen felt at peace; neither the concern over the unexpected loss of Mark’s love and his questionable chances of recovery, nor the challenges of the coming school year along with the complications of her transitioning seemed to intrude upon the comfort of the setting in which she walked, carefully avoiding the ice that formed periodically on the sidewalks.

The scent of baking burst into her nostrils as she stepped out of the cold and into the living room at Susan’s Place.

Taking off her parka and her boots, she wondered if Daphne had returned from her trip home; she knew Sonja rarely cooked anything, much less do any baking. The only girl in the residence who baked regularly was Daphne, the onetime football lineman who had become — at her own volition — the house’s resident baker.

“Welcome back, Daphne,” Karen said, entering the kitchen. “It smell’s great.”

“Ah, Karen, come give me a kiss, right here on my cheek,” the girl said, her voice husky but soft. “My hands are full of dough or else I’d give you a large hug.”

Karen almost had to stand on her tiptoes to kiss the tall young woman. She had a massive body that had grown soft with a combination of hormones and lack of regular exercise. Her large breasts strained against the full length pink, frilly apron she wore; her arms were exposed, her once massive muscular arms becoming a gelatin of flabby fat. Just two years before, Darren Zelich, had been all-conference tackle as a freshman on the football team and faced a potential future as a high-priced athlete.

Zelich surprised everyone by giving up his football scholarship; publicly the school announced that Zelich would leave the team for personal reasons. He dropped out of the University for the spring semester, returning the following year as Daphne Zale. Karen heard Daphne singing to herself as she entered the kitchen and she was cheered by the joyful demeanor of the girl as she baked. In the two months Karen had been living at Susan’s place, she had never seen Daphne with a frown or scowl. She seemed to be the happiest girl in the house; yet, Karen knew she had experienced a difficult transition.

“Making cinnamon rolls, Daphne?” Karen asked.

“Yes, and you and Sonja better help me eat them,” she said, with a giggle. “I shouldn’t be baking them at all. I gotta start losing weight.”

“I’m sure we’ll help,” Karen said.

“God, I envy you, Karen. I’d die to have a body just half as girlish as yours.”

“You’re look plenty girlish, Daphne.”

“Hah! Just big, old fat girl!”

Karen impulsively gave Daphne as quick kiss. “You’re the sweetest, kindest girl I know, Daphne.”

Daphne reddened. “Just get out of here and let me cook. I hope you’ll join Sonja and me for supper. I’m doing my special recipe for eggplant Creole.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“And we’re going to have a dress up meal, just the three of us girls, with candlelight and wine. Do you mind dressing up, Karen?”

“Great, I love it,” Karen said.

“We’ll have a few glasses of wine at 6:30 and serve about 7.”

Karen bounded up to her room, tickled with the idea of dressing up without the need for venturing out into the cold night air. The expectation of having a quiet evening with two such sweet girls excited her immensely and she wanted to look as pretty as ever for them. What a marvelous way to celebrate her beginning of a life as a woman!

*****
Her excitement was tempered with thoughts of Mark Hamilton, flat on his back in a hospital bed some 90 miles to the east. She wished she could magically fly to his side, to hold his hand and comfort him. Even if she could find such a magic carpet, she knew he’d reject her, not because he didn’t love her, but that he now felt he was not worthy for her love, and that his helplessness would make a lifelong relationship impossible. He did not want to become a burden to her.

Mark’s mother (Bless her soul!) had invited Karen to call her periodically for information on Mark’s progress.

“Call my cell phone, dear, but if I don’t answer just leave a message as to when’s best to return your call,” Patti Hamilton told Karen. “I won’t answer if I’m with Mark, dear. I hope you understand.”

“I do, Patti,” Karen said. “I just wish he’d let me talk to him.”

“Just give him time, dear. Mark’s going through a difficult time right now,” the woman said. Karen could hear Patti Hamilton’s voice breaking up, as if she were about to cry.

“I’ll try not to bother you too often, ma’am, but I really care about him.”

“I know you do, Karen, and I know Mark still cares about you.”

Karen had some time to herself before she had to get ready for the supper that Daphne was preparing for the three girls. She checked her emails, and was pleased to see that Ramini would be returning to school within a few days. The prospect of sharing time with the petite Indian girl pleased her, since the two had always been able to share their joys and sadness together. In a sense they had become girls together, since they first met during the first semester as a pair of petite boy roommates.

Patti Hamilton sent a brief email, saying Mark was continuing on a series of tests and had remained “stable.” The term bothered Karen. Wouldn’t remaining stable mean that nothing had changed, that there’d been no improvement in his condition? Did it mean that he was still unable to move his legs, or even to control his personal needs?

In her email, Mrs. Hamilton suggested that Karen check the Des Moines Register website, which had carried a story about Mark the she might find interesting. She also suggested to Karen that she might want to write Mark a letter (not an email, but a real pen-and-ink letter). Her message ended: “Don’t send him any gushy ‘Get-well’ card. Just tell him what you’re doing. A chatty letter would be great. Love, Patti.”

The suggestion brought a tingle of excitement to Karen; suddenly she imagined being a young lady in Victorian years, when poetry and handwritten letters were exchanged between lovers; she imagined herself, fully dressed in high-collar dresses, fully fluffed out with several petticoats, sitting at a desk in a heavily draped pinkish room writing by a quill pen onto a lace trimmed piece of stationery. And how sweet it would be to enclose a dainty handkerchief, scented with her perfume, into an envelop with the letter? Her room, she imagined, would be lit only by several kerosene lamps or perhaps even flickering candles.

To her dismay, however, she realized she had no stationery suitable for a young lady like herself to send to a boyfriend or lover. Perhaps one of the other girls in the House might have some she could borrow; otherwise, she’d have to get some the following day during her lunch hour. She was scheduled to work at Professor’s Fenstrom’s office then.

“Hamilton forgives tackler” headlined the sports page on the Des Moines Register website.

Accompanying was a photo of a smiling Mark in his heavily wired hospital bed, with a huge round-faced young man, similarly smiling. The caption read: “Mark Hamilton, the injured Cyclone quarterback, and Gene Sokolowski, the tackler whose hard hit took Hamilton out of the Bowl game, meet in Hamilton’s Milwaukee hospital room.”

In the accompanying story, Mark Hamilton was reported as saying in a brief interview after the meeting that he felt no anger toward Sokolowski. “From all I’ve seen and been told, it was a legal hit and all Gene was doing was his job in trying to tackle me. That’s football!”

Mark also was quoted as saying, “I feel sorry for him. He feels just devastated that he hurt me so badly, but I told him he wasn’t responsible. He’s really a sweet guy.”

Karen read the words, hardly believing them. How could Mark forgive Sokolowski? Wasn’t it just a brutish attack? Finally, she realized that everything Mark had said in the interview was correct; Gene Sokolowski was merely playing the game as he was taught. It was a revealing moment and it reminded her again of why she loved the boy so much. He was loaded with talent, brains, a lovely body and incredible good looks, but more importantly Mark Hamilton was a warm, honest and humble man.

*****
Karen wondered just how formal the other two girls were planning to be for their supper that evening. It seemed strange that Daphne and Sonja wanted to set up such a formal affair for just the three of them. Normally both girls seemed to be dressed in the most casual of outfits, normally jeans and sweats.

Karen had a black cocktail dress that she wore only once, and wondered about wearing it. She loved how she looked in the dress which exposed her pretty shoulders and arms; it had mid-thigh length and with coffee-colored hosiery and a pair of simple black pumps she knew she looked both stunning and sexy. The house, however, was a bit chilly as temperatures outside plunged well below zero and she’d like have to wear a sweater or jacket so as to avoid the shivers.

Putting aside the cocktail dress, she finally settled on a fitted, pencil shaped cotton textured skirt in grey, speckled with touches of light red and yellow pansies; she topped that off with a white camisole and a plain teal cardigan sweater with five large jeweled buttons adorning the front. She let her hair down, brushing it into smooth flows to her shoulders. Under the skirt she wore a pair of dark tights, with a pair of teal-colored sequined sandals with two-inch heels.

Karen rubbed a bit of foundation into her face which had become ruddy due to the walks she had been doing in the frigid, windy weather. She applied mascara and light touches of blush along with modest eyeliner and light, pink lipstick and gloss.

“Wow, we are three lovely girls,” exclaimed Sonja as the three gathered at the table.

“Are we celebrating anything?” Karen asked.

“Not really, but I just feel like dressing up and being beautiful, not that I’ll ever qualify for that description,” Daphne laughed.

“We both think you’re beautiful, don’t we Karen?” Sonja said.

“Yes, I do, I really do, Daphne,” Karen said.

“You’re both such convincing liars, although being raised on a farm, I know that some cows can be truly beautiful,” Daphne said with a smile, her sparkling eyes dancing as she spoke.

Karen looked at the other two and suddenly felt under-dressed; she realized that when the others wanted a “dress-up” dinner they really wanted it to be nearly formal in style. Daphne wore a full-length navy blue shift with a high neckline and puffy sleeves; she wore several strands of pearls that dangled down to her ample breasts. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail that exposed dangling hoop earrings. She wore flats, a concession to her 6 foot-plus height. The tall, slender, athletic Sonja wore a red jersey dress, with a drooping neckline. She made an elegant sight, and she, too, wore flats due to her 6 foot frame.

The three gathered at the dining room table where candles were already lit and the lights were low; someone had turned on a Pandora jazz link on their iPad which played through small speakers set up on the breakfront. The tinkling of a piano, the beat of the bass and light rifts from a drummer sounded in the background.

A bottle of chardonnay sat in the midst of the table, with three stemmed glasses.

“This is so elegant,” Karen said.

“Yes, all we’re missing is the men,” giggled Daphne.

“Maybe,” Sonja agreed, “But maybe this might be more fun.”

Karen nodded. She was right; the three girls were able now to enjoy the food, the wine and each other’s company without any stresses.

“Here’s to us girls,” Daphne offered, raising her glass, inviting the others to join her. In dainty, feminine motions they clinked their glasses in the toast.

“To us girls,” Karen and Sonja joined in.

Chapter 7: Troubled Relationships

Even though Karen had only two glasses of wine, she still felt a bit light-headed when she returned to her room. It had been an exhilarating evening, with all three girls exchanging stories about how their holidays had been.

“My mom is still wondering why I have no boyfriend,” Sonja said. “She thinks my job here with you girls is an abomination and that it’s a sin and I’m doomed to hell.” Sonja, of course, was the only genetic girl in the group, but still found that some family members and friends were shocked that she was working with girls in transition.

Daphne nodded: “My dad still chides me for no longer being out there on the field banging heads. A big guy like you shouldn’t be afraid of getting hurt, he says, usually calling me a coward.”

“You a coward? I saw you play, I’d hardly call you a coward,” Sonja said.

“I don’t think I was a coward, ‘cause I wasn’t worried about getting hurt,” the large girl said. “I just didn’t like all that macho stuff. Even as a kid, I enjoyed playing with my sister, but dad kept telling me I had to be playing football.”

“That hardly makes you a sinner,” Sonja said.

All three were into their second glasses of chardonnay and the thought that Daphne and Karen were sinning due to their transitioning caused them all to giggle.

“I don’t feel like I’m sinning,” Karen said, almost sneezing out the words in an effort to stop snickering.

“Well, I was raised in the Missouri Synod of the Lutheran Church,” Sonja said. “And mom was only 18 when she married, and 19 when I came into the world. She’s been stuck on the farm halfway up north raising all six of us. No wonder she doesn’t understand.”

Almost as an afterthought, Sonja added: “But I really love my mom. She means well and she loves me, I know it. But here I am only 25 years old, and mom’s already fearing I’ll be an old maid.”

“She’ll get over it, Sonja,” Daphne said. “And you’re hardly the old maid type; you’ve had a couple boyfriends since I’ve known you.”

Sonja laughed. “I wouldn’t want any of those guys as my future mate. They were so immature; aren’t any of these guys today grown up? Won’t they ever hang up their clothes?”

“Guys are no good,” Daphne giggled. “Let’s toast that.”

All three raised their glasses, they tipped them together to touch and then each sipped their wine. Karen’s giggling suddenly switched into sobs, drawing the attention of her mates.

“What’s the matter, darling? Did I say something wrong?” Daphne said.

Karen’s sobs became louder, and both girls surrounded her, enveloping her with their hugs.

“What caused this?” Sonja said, addressing no one in particular.

Karen continued her sobs for a few moments, finally composing herself and shaking herself free from the grasps of her two friends.

“Daphne, you didn’t know. My Mark is not like other guys; he’s smart and caring and he picks up his socks.”

Daphne’s large round face turned into a frown.

“I’m sorry, Karen,” Daphne said, placing a comforting hand on Karen’s smaller, daintier hand. “Tell me about this marvelous man of yours.”

“Oh Daphne, Sonja, you’d love him. Mark is so sweet and loving, but now he’s half-paralyzed in a hospital in Milwaukee,” Karen began.

“Why? What happened? Was he in an accident?” Sonja asked.

“Not quite,” Karen said. “Did you read about that player from Iowa State who was injured in a bowl game?”

Daphne looked astonished: “You mean Hamilton? That’s your Mark, boyfriend?”

Karen nodded, and she felt she’d begin crying again.

“I watched that game, Karen,” Daphne said. “That was a vicious hit, but apparently it was not illegal.”

“It wasn’t, and Mark doesn’t even blame the boy who hit him,” Karen said, sensing she had put a bit of pride into her voice.

“I saw that,” Daphne said, her own eyes beginning to tear up.

“He may never walk, much less play football again,” Karen said.

“Oh you poor girl,” Daphne said. “Now you know why I quit football. I remember giving hard hits to other players, and several times they lay flat on the ground after my hit. I was known as the ‘crusher’ by my teammates. Oh how I hated it, but the harder I hit other players the more the crowd roared and the bigger the ‘hi-fives’ from my teammates. I thought I wanted that, but after I knocked that Minnesota running back out of the game, I cried and cried. I hated myself.”

Tears flowed down Daphne’s round, pinkish cheeks as her voice trialed off.

“And Mark doesn’t want to see me anymore,” Karen continued.

Both Sonja and Daphne looked at Karen in momentary wonderment. Daphne dabbed at her moist face with a tissue, and her crying seemed to have ceased.

“Why, dear?” Sonja asked.

“He feels he’ll be a burden to me. Mark says he wants me to have a real man, not a cripple,” she answered, feeling ready to begin crying again.

“That just goes to show how sweet he is, Karen,” Daphne said, placing a huge, chubby hand over Karen’s.

“I know, Daphne. He’s really so generous.”

There was silence for a minute; finally Daphne picked up her glass, held it high and said, “Here’s a toast to a real gentleman and may he recover and bring joy into the life of our dear friend, Karen.”

Karen knew such a hope might be impossible to realize; yet, she felt comfort in the support of her two friends and joined in the toast.

“Do his parents accept you?” Sonja asked.

“Not at first, but now they do,” Karen said. “Well, maybe not his dad so much, but he’s Ok with it, I guess. But his mom’s a sweetheart and I think she likes me.”

“What’s not to like?” Daphne said, giggling.

“Right now,” Karen said, “I’m kind of lying low, seeing if he’ll change. Maybe I’ll write him a chatty letter. You know, a real letter on paper and with a pen. Like in the olden days.”

“That’s sweet,” Daphne said.

“Sounds like a girl from ‘Pride and Prejudice,’” Sonja joined in.

“I almost want to dress up in one of those early 18th Century dresses, all fluffed out with petticoats.”

“That would be so darling,” Daphne said.

*****

Dear Mark,
I want you to know that if this letter seems a bit disorganized, you can blame it on two things: first, I’m not too sure about whether you want to read this letter from me. But, Mark, I hope you do. Second, I’ve had two glasses of wine, and you know how giddy this girl becomes with just the slightest bit of alcohol.

I returned to school and to Susan’s Place yesterday. Today I met with Dr. Bargmann and began hormonal treatment. He’s satisfied that I’m more a girl than a boy, as if you didn’t know that already. (Smile)

The people here are sooooooooooo nice to me; the doctor’s PA is a woman named Moira, and she seems to understand me perfectly. The Gender Clinic here seems first-rate.

Oh, there are only two of us at the House here yet. The manager Sonja who is tall lovely woman (yes, she was born a girl!) and Daphne. You’d love Daphne, and you maybe heard of her from her former life. She was on football scholarship here at the University and made all-Conference in her freshman year as a hard-hitting lineman only to quit before the next season. She’s such a lovely, sweet girl and I dearly love her. Besides, she’s a marvelous baker, and I’m afraid I’ll be a chubby girl soon if I don’t watch out. (Ha! Ha!)

Tomorrow, I start work for Professor Fenstrom of the drama department. It’ a good-paying work-study situation and I’m lucky to have it.

It’s been real cold since I returned to school; haven’t seen a reading above zero, yet. It’s tough on a tender girl like me.

I think of you, Mark, and have great faith in you. I know so many people are supporting you and you deserve their backing. I love your family and am so glad you are now close to them. You’re sweet and generous.

Oh, but I’m so tired. (Must be the wine, Ha! Ha!). I hope you don’t mind me writing. You don’t need to respond.

Thinking of you,

Karen

She looked over the letter, and, while she was pleased with what she wrote, she wondered whether to send it on. Would he really want to read it? Would it make him sad? She didn’t want to bother him and slow his recovery.

Karen smiled, however, as she looked at the stationery that she had gotten from Daphne; how adorable it was! Light yellow, flimsy parchment-like paper adorned with blue, green and pink spring flowers in the upper right hand corner. She used an old-fashioned fountain pen (it was a gift from her grandfather when she was 14 years old) with a blue ink; the use of the pen made it possible for her to write in small dainty letters garnished with girlish flourishes.

She knew the post office had stamps with the word “love” emblazoned on a heart, and she wondered whether to take time the next day to purchase such stamps. No, it was best she not do that, she realized, partly since she was trying to keep her relationship with Mark a bit neutral, so as not to face rejection. Also, she knew she’d be working all day and would hardly find time to get to the post office.

She went to her purse, found a glassine envelope containing simple “Forever” stamps and affixed one of those to the envelope.

Karen slept peacefully that night.

*****
“Dress warm, dear,” Daphne advised, as Karen prepared to leave for her first day of work as Professor Fenstrom’s work-study assistant in the drama department. “The weather guy says it’s 18 below right now, and the coldest day of the year so far.”

Karen nodded at her large friend, who sat bundled in a heavy robe and fur-lined boots at the kitchen table.

“I wish we could get that old furnace in this place to work better,” Daphne continued. “I swear I could see my breath in my room this morning.”

Karen giggled; it was frigid in the house, and she had hurried in and out of the shower, careful to keep her hair dry. It was too cold to linger in the bathroom, even though the place steamed up from the hot water of the shower. She had shaved the light fuzz on her face, under her arms and in the modest cleavage in her breast.

The cold weather proved to be a salvation for Karen; she could dress in slacks, a blouse and heavy sweater, which would be standard for any girl on the job. It was really too cold to even think of wearing a skirt. She hoped her heavy clothing would keep her looking unattractive and dowdy to the professor.

“I got nearly a mile walk,” she informed Daphne.

“Cover your face, dear,” the girl said.

“Yes, mother,” Karen said, giggling.

*****
The University’s drama department was tucked into the back portion of the third floor of the Arts Building on campus. Karen had been astonished at the cramped conditions that professors had to endure in their offices; even the most renowned professors on campus, those who were celebrated authors and experts — some even Nobel Prize winners — were crammed into tiny rooms where their books and papers were untidily stacked into overburdened shelves, many filled to an extreme that Karen worried that the slightest bit of shock — such as a sonic boom — would send them into an avalanche of paper and cardboard and books.

Professor Eric Fenstrom’s office was no exception, and Karen knew that she’d likely be spending lots of time in the tiny room, forced into close proximity with the professor. The prospect frightened her, not because she felt fear of any physical assault but rather she worried that his constant flirting would force her into uncomfortable situations.

“He promised to behave,” she told her therapist, Moira, during her interview on the previous day.

Karen had related to Moira how she had been kissed and caressed by the professor after they finished the play in the previous semester. It was Moira who had armed Karen with advice and paraphernalia such as a whistle and pepper spray to ward off unwanted advances.

“Karen, dear, a pretty girl like yourself is going to have to be prepared,” Moira said with a warm smile. “Actually, all girls, not just the pretty ones like you, face that sometimes. Some men just can’t seem to help themselves.”

Karen recalled the attacks she faced when she lived in the dormitory, as well as the many advances she faced while waiting tables at the Olympus. It was to be a fact of life, she realized. Being so pretty was both a curse and a blessing, but then weren’t most things in life?

“I’m Karen Hansson,” she said, as she entered the front office of the drama department. “I’m the work-study student.”

She was ten minutes early; her start time was to be 9 a.m. A middle-aged woman, somewhat stocky and with a jovial demeanor was seated at one of the two desks crammed in the tiny outer office. She had a head of curled hair, apparently prematurely gray, and a smooth complexion.

“Welcome, Karen, you must be chilled to the bone,” the woman said.

“I had to walk over a mile to get here,” Karen said, taking off her parka and removing her wool cap, shaking her hair free as she did so.

“Oh you poor dear,” the woman said. “Hang your coat on that clothes tree.”

“Thank you, but the walk wasn’t too bad, I was dressed pretty warm,” Karen said.

“Good for you, but maybe we can arrange for a ride for you in this lousy weather.”

“That’s not necessary. The walk is good for my health,” Karen said, immediately suspicious that the ride the woman was suggesting would be given by Professor Fenstrom.

“I’m Debbie, Debbie Johannes, the drama department secretary, and you’ll be working both for Dr. Fenstrom and assisting in the department as a whole,” the woman said.

Karen was assigned to the other desk in the room; it was closest to the door, and Karen immediately felt comforted by the fact that there’d be a door between her and the professor, as well as another woman in the office. She was further comforted to notice that Debbie was dressed not too differently than herself; she wore dark blue slacks and a lavender woolen sweater along with comfortable shoes. Her graying hair was tied in a ponytail and she wore a minimum of makeup.

*****
Professor Fenstrom didn’t enter his office on Karen’s first day until after lunch; it was just as well, Karen thought, since Debbie had been shown to be a patient and pleasant mentor. As it soon appeared, Karen’s chores would be more secretarial than she originally expected. Fenstrom had indicated Karen’s role would be as his “assistant,” sort of a “Girl Friday” role, to use an ancient sexist term.

If Debbie had any idea that Karen was not what she appeared to be, a lovely young lady rather than a onetime boy in transition, she didn’t let on. Karen and Debbie engaged in short bursts of “girl talk” during the morning.

“That’s a lovely scent you’re wearing,” Debbie said at one point as she hovered over Karen’s shoulder to point out an item on the computer screen.

“Oh, I hope it’s not too strong a scent, Debbie,” Karen said quickly. She was so worried that the scent might be overwhelming in a small office. Yet, Karen rarely went without at least a touch of scent; it just made her feel dainty and feminine. That morning she had been particularly judicious in keeping the application modest.

“Not at all, I can hardly sense it, but it’s in good taste, dear.”

“It’s called Casual, by Paul Sebastian. My little brother got it for me for Christmas,” Karen volunteered.

“How sweet of him to buy such a nice gift for his sister,” Debbie said.

“It’s not much like him,” Karen giggled. “He considers himself a big, tough macho football player. I doubt very much that he bought it personally. Probably my mom bought it, and let him give it to me as a gift.”

“Well, it was still nice of him. You have any other brothers or sisters?”

“No, it’s just Sonny, my brother, and my mom. I hardly ever knew my dad; he left us when I was about 4.”

Debbie nodded, and then pointed to the spreadsheet that Karen had brought up onto the computer screen.

“You’ll want to add a column entitled something like ‘Source’ to indicate how the donation was made, whether it was made online, through the mail or other method,” Debbie said.

Karen’s job that morning was to create a database of donors to the Theater Program, which would be used to seek private donations needed to supplement University funds in order to stage regular theatrical productions. Fenstrom, as a former Broadway and Hollywood actor, had proven to be particularly adept at encouraging wealthier persons — usually women — to donate to the program.

As the morning went on, Karen began wondering about Debbie and her relationship with Professor Fenstrom. It was obvious that the woman must have begun working there as a young girl, directly after completing school. And, she apparently had been the departmental lead secretary when Fenstrom arrived at the school eight years earlier.

Her references about Fenstrom were always formal, calling him “Professor Fenstrom” or “the professor.” Never did she use the word “Eric” or indicate she had any kind of a personal relationship with the man.

Knowing Fenstrom’s proclivities to make advances to women, Karen wondered if Debbie had ever been so approached. Even though Debbie had taken on a middle-aged chubbiness, the woman had a lovely face and still retained a curvy and enticing body; her full breasts and round hips must certainly have excited the professor’s libido. And Karen thought Debbie must have been even more attractive in earlier years.

Karen felt she’d like the work in the office, and loved the idea of being an “office girl,” even though that nomenclature reeked of sexism. She had excellent typing skills, partly as a result of having taken secretarial classes in high school (one of two boys in her class) and her own slender fingers, already proven to be agile as she had became a crochet and knit expert. No, Karen thought, it’s best to be wary of Debbie, in spite of the woman’s apparent pleasant demeanor and her willingness to help Karen settle into her work in the office. She vowed not to get too personal with the woman, partly because Debbie might indeed have a closer relationship with Fenstrom than was apparent.

“Care to join me for lunch, Karen?” Debbie asked. “We close the office from noon to 12:45 each day when school’s not in session.”

The two bundled up and trundled a short block amid piled snow, their breath showing as they walked on the clear, sunny day.

“My how the sky sparkles,” Karen said, looking at the vast expanse of blue that was framed by the massive stands of the University’s nearby football stadium.

Both wore sunglasses, since the bright sun was intensified by reflections off the whiteness of the snow cover. The University’s streets, normally teeming with rushing students, cars and busses was eerily quiet and somber during these days before classes would begin for the semester.

“It’s such a picture-book setting,” Debbie agreed. “Maybe that’s why we can find winter bearable.”

Karen smiled. “This may sound goofy, but I like a cold, snowy winter.”

“Yes, it is goofy.” They both giggled.

Both women chose the salad bar at the student union’s cafeteria. Karen topped hers off with sliced chicken, shredded cheddar cheese and low-cal ranch dressing while Debbie skipped the cheese, but heaped on regular blue cheese dressing. The older woman also picked up a milk shake, while Karen chose herbal tea.

“No wonder you’re so slim,” Debbie said when she got to the table. “I can’t seem to resist good food. I’m getting so chubby.”

“Enjoy it, Debbie,” Karen said. “I never was much of a foodie.”

“You’re lucky, I guess, but I love the taste of good food,” the other woman said, laughing. “Can’t you tell?”

Karen smiled, but decided to change the subject. “Do you have a family, Debbie?”

Debbie was in the middle of chewing on the garlic bread she had taken to supplement the meal, and raised her hand to ask for a moment to answer.

“Yes, I have a son, Evan. He’s 20 and a junior here at the University,” Debbie said, taking a sip from her milk shake.

“What’s he studying?” Karen asked.

“English, though I don’t know why. How’s he going to get a job when he’s all done?”

Karen nodded. She loved English literature herself, but explained she was going into Social Work just because she knew she had to make a living. “I also like the theater, too,” she added.

“Keep your eye on social work, honey,” Debbie said. “You’ve got all the beauty in the world I can see, but the acting profession’s a lousy way to make a living, dear. I know I tried it myself. Believe it or not, I once was skinny and had a body like a model once myself.”

“I believe it, Debbie. You’re still a beautiful woman.”

“But a fat one, too,” she said, her eye twinkling with amusement. She lifted her milk shake as it in a toast.

Karen raised her tea cup and the two touched glasses, a moment of sisterly bonding.

*****
“Glad to see you joined us,” Professor Eric Fenstrom said, as he entered the office just minutes after she and Debbie had returned from lunch. He wore a puffy, expensive parka with a brightly colored scarf tied rakishly about his neck, topped off with fur hard with the ear flaps turned down.

Nothing like frigid weather to take the “Hollywood” out of a man’s desire for stylish clothing, Karen thought as she rose to greet the professor who still liked to indicate to the natives of this hinterland that he once had been a top star of great sophistication.

“I’m happy I did, sir,” Karen said dutifully.

“Take the professor’s coat, Karen,” Debbie said. “There’s a small closet in his office where you can hang it.”

“Damn Eskimo country this is!” the professor said. “I’ll never get used to this cold.”

Karen followed the professor into his office, and he pointed her to a narrow closet in a far corner of the cluttered room; she opened the door and hung up the coat and placed his hat and gloves on the top shelf. She closed the door.

“Wait, dear,” Fenstrom said. “Help me off with these boots.”

He plopped down on the office chair and held out one foot and Karen kneeled to wrestle the boot off his foot, exposing a woolen sock covered foot; she did the same to the other foot and moved to put both boots on the closet’s floor.

“Now you can help me on with those slip-ons,” he said, pointing to a pair of moccasin style shoes without laces.

Karen was about to ask: “Can’t you do this yourself?” but thought the best to obey the order.

As she finished the task, which was more difficult than she figured it would be because the woolen socks were thick, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“You’re as pretty as ever, Karen,” he said. She felt his hand give her shoulder a little massage, and she stiffened, feeling a tinge of both excitement and fear.

Karen said nothing, and continued to wrestle with the shoe, finally getting both of them fitted. She stood up and asked:

“Is that all, sir?”

“Sir? Please call me Eric, Karen. We need to be friends, dear.”

With that Karen stood up, mustering up courage she didn’t know she had, and looked Professor Eric Fenstrom — the big movie and Broadway star — directly in the eye, and said:

“I’d like to thank you for giving me the privilege of working here, sir. As you know I need the money and I hope I am worthy of your trust in me. I prefer to call you ‘sir’ or ‘professor,’ if you don’t mind.”

Fenstrom looked nonplused. He obviously was not used to people speaking up to him. “You may go now, I’ll call you if I need you for anything,” he said sarcastically, as if he’d ever call her again for anything. Karen thought his words sounded like those of pouty little boy who wasn’t to get the toy he wanted.

“By the way,” he said, suddenly, just as she was about to leave the room. “You think that by dressing down, by being in such drab peasant costume that you’ll be any less of a beauty. You can’t fool me. You did that just so I wouldn’t find you attractive, but you can’t hide it, dear.”

Karen turned red and was about to turn back and answer, but decided it was best to leave. Nonetheless, she was angered that the man would go back on his word to leave her untouched if she agreed to work in his office. A second feeling overwhelmed her: she was excited by his attention and she hated herself for feeling such excitement.

To her relief, Debbie was on the phone deep in her conversation as Karen returned to the front office and her desk. She appeared not to have heard the exchange between Karen and Fenstrom, and Karen grabbed the key to the staff ladies’ room, waved it toward Debbie to signify she was leaving for a moment. The older woman nodded and continued her conversation. Karen charged out of room, fighting back tears and entered the ladies’ room, found it empty and entered a stall. She sat down without downing her slacks and sobbed, stifling the noise by crying into gobs of toilet paper she had crumpled into her hands.

How could she be so enthralled with the intentions of a man three times her age? She knew it was wrong, that he was wrong and that she was wrong for considering it, even for a moment. Was she nothing better than a harem wife?

Chapter 8: Challenges

Two days later, Karen was pleased to see an email message from Mark’s mother. It was warm and friendly. It was not written in the typical email shorthand, but as a personal note:

My dear Karen,

I know you must be dying for word about Mark. First of all, he’ll be in the hospital for several more days while they run tests. It’s expected then that he’ll be moved to a rehab facility, which Mark’s father and I had inspected and found to be first-rate.

He received your letter, and to be honest with you, I don’t think he read it. He wouldn’t tell me that he did, saying only that he’ll read it when he feels like it. All he said to me was to tell you to forget about him. “I’m not worth her time,” he said; I remember those words exactly, because he started crying right after he said them, and buried his face in the pillow.

I’ve never seen Mark like this, Karen. He’s always been so upbeat, but I guess it’s natural for him to be discouraged.

I can’t tell you to continue writing your letters since right now I’m not sure he’ll read them. Do as you wish, but I think it’s important that those of us who care for him need to try to reach out to him to let him know he’s not forgotten.

You’re a sweet girl, Karen. Mark always said you were special and even though you’re not the genetic girl his mother and father might have wished for him, you’re warm, kind and caring. None of us could have wished for more.

Love, Patti Hamilton

Oh how Karen cried after reading that email message, collapsing onto her bed and burying her head into her pillow. She wanted to hop the next bus to Milwaukee and rush into his hospital room and climb up next to him to place her slender, soft body next to his hard, muscular body, and become engulfed in his loving arms. She wanted to cover him with kisses and caresses. She wanted to massage his legs — still useless and growing weaker — in the fervent hope that her loving hands would revive them into their once sturdy life.

Her sobs slowly lost their intensity as she realized that Mark’s legs might never again be his to command. Yet, that reality didn’t stifle or lessen her desire to be with him and to live her life with him. Was that too much to ask for?

*****
Later that night, after she showered, put her hair up and stepped into her cotton pajamas (light blue with yellow and pink bunnies) she sat down at her desk and wrote her second note:

Dear Mark,

I hope the nurses and doctors are treating you OK! I know how pretty some of those nurses can be so don’t get too friendly with them or else I will get jealous (he! he!).

I started my job in the Drama Department and I love it. I work directly with an older woman named Debbie and she’s so nice and helpful. I love feeling like an “office girl.” So far the campus is quiet, since the next semester doesn’t begin for another ten days.

The only drawback is that I have to walk a mile to work and the campus buses aren’t running until the students return. And it’s soooo cold. You can imagine how I bundle up. (Brrrr!) But I know that if you and I were doing the walk together, I’d never feel the cold. (Hmmmmm!)

Anyway, I’ll be writing you several times a week. If you don’t want to read my letters, it’s OK. It makes me feel good to write you.

As ever, Karen

She had an exquisite dream that night. It was a cold day, and she and Mark were sitting together on a toboggan, she in front and leaning back into him. The hill was long and the toboggan course curved this way and that and as the two swept down the hill, Karen felt a chill as they approached a tree. As disaster was about to hit, Mark moved his body and the swift-moving toboggan swerved to miss the tree. And this happened over and over. A moment of terror followed by a sense of relief and joy! Suddenly she was awake, covered with sweat and a foreboding fear. But the fear seemed pointless; the trees were passed safely and Karen was safe in her bed. She should have felt comforted, but she wasn’t. She felt so alone!

*****
A week later, just as students began returning to the campus for the start of the semester in several days, Debbie and Karen worked quietly in the office, deeply wrapped into their computers when Professor Fenstrom asked Karen to come to his office. It was the first time he had asked her to enter his office since her statement that she wished their relationship to remain professional.

“Sit down,” he said coldly.

“Yes sir,” she said, careful not to cross her legs, since that day she had decided to wear a knee-length pleated plaid skirt. She wore black, heavy tights as protection against the cold, but she realized as she walked down the halls that some of the men sneaked glances at her, indicating that her legs must have aroused their male hormones.

Karen sat primly, her stenographer’s tablet poised on her lap.

“Miss Hansson, I’d like you to draft a letter for me,” he began.

“Yes, sir.”

“Each year about this time, we send a letter out for several hundred persons who are on our donors list, and I’d like to see a letter, no more than two pages long, that will compel these folks to cough up a few dollars,” he said. He did not look directly at Karen, his eyes seeming to be focused on the Tony award he got several years earlier for a role on Broadway. The trophy was seated prominently on a shelf behind Karen’s head, in a location where the professor could readily view it.

“And you want me to write it?” Karen asked. “I’ve never done anything like that before, sir,”

“Well, you’re a creative young lady, I know, and I’ve seen some of your writing, and unlike so many of my students you can at least construct a complete sentence with a verb and a noun,” Fenstrom said.

“I guess I was always good in English, sir,” she said, continuing the practice of addressing the professor in a formal manner.

“Well, see what you come up with and put it on my desk by 4:30 this afternoon,” he said, his voice crisp and flat. “Do you think you can handle that?”

Karen nodded, then asked: “Sir, can I see what you’ve written in the past?”

“No, you can’t. Just use your imagination. I know you’re good with words.”

“Is that all, sir?”

“What else would there be? Get out now.”

She was shocked at the coldness of his voice; it had been apparent in the days following her firm statement that she wanted their relationship to be nothing more than that of an employer to employee and that he had reverted into a pouty, almost resentful mode in his meetings with her. Thankfully, their contacts were few and far between, with Debbie directing Karen on her duties for the most part. The professor spent little time in the office, though the two women were kept busy tending to the day-to-day business of assisting a dozen professors, assistants and instructors of the department, plus a growing number of visits and inquiries by students, both by phone and by email.

Karen realized, too, that she loved being a part of the work of the drama department. She found out as well that the work of an “office girl” was critically important in the smooth functioning of any enterprise, whether it was a university department or a business. Not only Fenstrom, but all of the teaching staff relied upon Debbie — and even Karen to a growing extent — to answer questions about expense reports, university regulations, important contact persons and other matters.

Returning to her desk, Karen wondered what was in the professor’s mind. How could she possibly come up with something that would please him? Surely, she’d fail in satisfying him, giving him an excuse to fire her, and return her to the work-study pool for another job elsewhere, if there was even one still available. Why didn’t he give her a hint of what he wanted?

She had been through possibly a dozen opening paragraphs, only to discard them all, and was becoming more and more frustrated. She suddenly realized she had begun biting strands of her hair in desperation, a practice she had adopted when she was troubled or worried.

“You need a break,” Debbie said, interrupting her intense thoughts.

“What?” Karen said, as if being awakened from a dream.

“I can see you need a break,” Debbie said. “I’m going to get a coffee. You want a cup, too?

“Oh? That would be nice,” Karen said. “But I think I’ll have tea.”

Fenstrom was gone from the office, having stated that he’d return about four. As was permitted under Debbie’s union contract, she was permitted a 15-minute coffee break in the afternoon. The voice mail would pick up any calls; they put a sign on the door, “Back at 3:15,” and the two went down to the second floor employee lounge.

“I see you’re having problems with that letter, Karen,” Debbie said.

“Yes, he gave me no clue as to what he wanted, and I don’t know where to start, and he wants it on his desk at 4:30.”

“Sounds like him, always likes to make what seem impossible demands on his staff,” Debbie said.

“I could see that in the way he directed plays, too, but for some reason it seems to work,” Karen said.

“He does manage to get the best out of people, even when he’s acting like a bastard,” Debbie said. Karen was shocked; it was the first time she’d ever heard Debbie say anything remotely critical of her employer.

The comment put Karen at ease with her co-worker; perhaps, she felt, she could open up to Debbie about her own thoughts and ideas. Debbie had been so close-mouthed about her own life, her family and her own feelings that Karen wondered sometimes if the woman had any personal life at all.

“I just wished I had a sample of what was written in past letters,” she said, hoping Debbie might volunteer to show her one of the past letters which likely were still in the files somewhere.

“No, Karen, I think he wants you to use your own thoughts, your own ideas,” Debbie said. “He wants something fresh, and you should be flattered he’s giving you that chance.”

“You don’t think he wants me to fail so he can fire me?”

“No, honey, not at all, and don’t let that remote way he’s been with you fool you. He adores you and he really thinks you’ve got talent.”

“Oh? He doesn’t show it.”

“Oh, forget how he is now. That’s his way,” Debbie said. “I know what you told him on the first day. And you were right, dear.”

“You know that?”

“Well, not directly, but I know Fenstrom,” she said. “It’s apparent that you told him to keep his distance, right?”

Karen nodded.

“Every year, Fenstrom brings on some young honey for this work-study position, and they’re usually pretty hot-looking creatures, too. Most want acting careers, you know, and he uses that to try to get into their panties, the old letch.”

“Oh? What does his wife say about all this?”

“She could care less, dear. They have had a professional marriage and I think any real love they had for each other went out the window when the first young girl walked into his life after the wedding.”

“That’s so sad,” Karen said. “They’re always portrayed as having such a perfect marriage.”

“But, Karen, Professor Fenstrom values talent, and you’ve got it, so forget his habits and take advantage of the opportunities he may throw your way. And keep him at arm’s length.”

Karen smiled at Debbie, realizing that she had found a new friend; though she wondered what made Debbie tick. She rarely had opened up quite as much as she did during the break time.

“Thank you, Debbie,” Karen said. “That was helpful, now I’d better get back and finish up that letter. I don’t want to disappoint the good professor.”

Debbie smiled.

As they walked back, Debbie stopped suddenly, placing a hand on Karen’s arm to stop her, too.

“I got a thought for you,” she began. “Why not write about the student actors who are helped by the donations and the theater program? You already understand that, I’m sure. That’ll be something different.”

“Yes, Debbie, that sounds like a good idea. Thanks.”

Karen charged back to her computer, eager to compose the letter. Once she started the words flowed like a waterfall and she completed the draft by 4 p.m., giving her plenty of time to edit it carefully, assuring the grammar and spelling was accurate.

“You think you’ve got something, dear?” Debbie asked.

“I think so, yes. Care to check it over for me?”

“I’d rather not, since I want this to be totally your letter.”

“Please, Debbie, just read it to assure I haven’t made any dumb errors.”

Debbie finally agreed to read it, but said she’d make no comment on the content or the format itself; all she’d look for would be obvious errors. She gave it five minutes of intense attention, then handed it back to Karen with a warm smile.

“Just one thing, Karen,” she said. “Officially it’s called the ‘University Players,’ not the ‘University Theatre.’”

“Thanks, Debbie, I’ll change that. Did you like it?”

“That’s not for me to say. Fenstrom’s the person you need to please.”

Fenstrom breezed into the office at precisely 4:30 p.m. Without so much as a hello to either of them, he went directly to Karen’s desk and said in a firm, commanding voice.

“Gimme that letter, Miss Hansson.”

“Here you are, sir,” she said, handing him the two-page letter.

“Done already?”

“Yes sir.”

“Damn,” he said, as if displeased with the fact that Karen had completed. “Don’t leave until I’ve talked to you.”

“Sir, I have to leave at 5 p.m.,” she said firmly.

“What?” he said, obviously affronted.

“I need to catch the bus,” she said.

“Oh, all right,” he said, bounding into his room and slamming the door behind him.

Debbie seemed to suppress and tiny giggle. “You’re driving him nuts, Karen,” she said quietly. “He’s never had anyone stand up to him like that before.”

Karen nodded. “I’m not trying to fight him, Debbie, it’s just that us girls need to stand up for ourselves.”

“Amen,” Debbie said.

*****
Karen was in despair that night, partly because of the aftermath of her courageous stand against Fenstrom. Despite Debbie’s praise of Karen’s response to the professor, she was still shocked at the degree to which she had found the fortitude to refuse to work after 5 p.m. She shivered at the thought of it; she had never thought of herself as courageous and felt she was more of a coward than anything else. She wondered, too, if she might find herself without a job as a result. Certainly, she must have blown any chance she had of getting a part in the spring play.

Her despair was deepened, too, by the fact that Mark had yet to respond to any of her letters; not even a short email with a “hi” came from him. Certainly he must have access to email; hospitals these days were wired thoroughly for such communications.

Daphne consoled her that night at supper, saying that she understood Mark’s feelings; during her football playing days, she had been badly injured and faced the prospect of missing the last three games of the season. It had caused her deep depression, she said, and she even didn’t want to see her mother or her sisters.

“Besides he loves you, darling, I’m sure,” the big girl said, her round pink face showing concern. “He wants you to live a full, happy life, and right now he’s thinking the worst. Give him time.”

“Maybe you’re right, Daphne, but I can’t help thinking he’s finally realized I could never be a real wife for him, even if he did recover,” Karen said, bursting into tears.

“You’re wrong there, Karen,” Daphne said. “From what I can see you’d be a great wife.”

“I . . . want to . . . be that . . . Daphne,” she said, sobbing.

Daphne let the girl cry for a short while and then arose from her seat: “Let’s get these dishes done and the kitchen cleaned up, Karen.”

Her voice was stern and demanding, prompting Karen to stop her tears. She wiped her eyes and took the dirty plates to the sink to be washed. As the two young women cleaned up, they chatted about the weather, Karen’s response to Fenstrom and a discussion as to when the rest of the girls would be returning to begin the next semester. The conversation and activity took Karen out of her torpor, at least for a few moments.

Patti Hamilton called Karen that evening, well after 9 p.m.

“I hope it’s not too late for you, Karen,” she said.

“No this is fine. I’m up ‘til nearly eleven at night.”

“Good.”

“How’s Mark doing?”

“Well that’s what I wanted to tell you, dear,” Patti said.

Karen listened closely, trying to detect from the tone of Mrs. Hamilton’s voice whether the news was good or bad.

“He’s been moved to a rehab center to see if they can restore any feeling to his legs. That’s good news, since it means they’ve ruled out any damage to his brain or his upper body nerve structure. And he’s out of any danger of blood clots, as far as they can tell.”

“Oh, that’s good news, Patti. I’m so thrilled,” Karen said, her voice showing her joy.

“There’s still hope that he’ll be able to walk sometime in the future, dear,” Patti said, her voice showing a bit a caution. “He still feels nothing below the hips and that frankly worries us.”

“Poor Mark,” Karen said, her momentary joy suddenly ended.

“I want to be very honest with you, Karen. The odds are slim that he’ll ever walk again.”

Karen sobbed. She said nothing, not sure what she could say to Patti Hamilton, whose own grief must be as deep as her own. Certainly, a mother who saw her once vibrant, lively son headed toward the life of a cripple would be devastated. Patti, however, was obviously a strong women realizing that if she showed fortitude it would help not only her son’s attitudes, but also those of the rest of her family and Karen.

“Karen, you must be strong, dear,” Patti said finally, breaking the silence.

“I know, ma’am and I will be. It’s just such a shock. I can’t stand to see him like this, but Mark’s a strong boy, Patti, and I’m sure he’ll make the best of whatever is ahead for him.”

“That’s the spirit, Karen, and I agree with you.”

“Has he read any of my letters, Patti?”

“I don’t know, but thank you for writing him. You’ve been writing something every day, right?”

Karen smiled to herself. “Yes, I have. Fortunately I have time now before school starts, since I don’t have any homework. Just work during the day, and there’s only two of us here in the house so it’s quiet. I love writing him.”

“That’s sweet, honey. I asked Mark yesterday if he’d read your letters and he barked back at me telling it was none of my business.”

“Do you think I should stop writing? Is it causing him to be sad?”

“No, as long as you’re not getting writer’s cramp,” she said.

For some reason, Karen found that funny, and she let out a tiny giggle.

“It is slow writing by hand, Patti, but it feels so much more personal. I almost want to put on a Victorian style dress and write by candlelight with a quill pen on perfumed paper as girls did in the olden days.”

Patti let out a short giggle, too. “Oh Karen, that’s so sweet.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, I love him so much.”

“I know you do and I think he loves you just as strongly, but he truly doesn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know. Give him an extra sweet hug and kiss for me, and you don’t have to tell him it’s from me, but I’ll know he’ll feel it.”

“I will, dear Karen. I will. And you get a good night’s sleep now. We all love you, Karen.”

*****
Karen’s walk to work the next morning was in weather that felt almost balmy; yet the clock at the Capitol Bank read +17 (17 degrees above zero, Fahrenheit), still not warm by anyone’s calculations, but certainly a break from the constant below zero readings that had been standard since she had returned to the campus. The two flags on the pole in front of the bank hung limply, signifying there was little wind.

The sun was poking through clouds in the eastern sky, brightening up the day considerably. Karen’s spirits soared in spite of the apprehension over whether her boldness with Professor Fenstrom meant she was headed for greater confrontations with the famed actor and theater professor, perhaps even being fired from her job. Also, Mark’s fate and his rejection of her was a constant upon her mind.

She smiled at the concern that Daphne had shown her last night, the warm telephone conversation she had with Patti Hamilton, her growing friendship with Debbie as well as the love of her mother and brother. Karen realized she had gained so many friends, and they would soon be returning to the campus; her lovely and petite roommate, Rami, was due back in a day, and Jenny with her gaggle of girlfriends would likely be not far behind. Karen hadn’t realized it until just that moment as she walked in the quiet of the University campus morning that she was the most fortunate girl in the world!

She wanted to skip along the last few blocks to work, an impulse that she wisely stifled, realizing skipping would likely mean slipping on the frequent ice patches and falling flat upon her behind. Karen took no time to analyze the reasons for her good feelings; it was time to enjoy them. Such a change from her dour, sour life as Kenny!

*****
Debbie, too, must have been feeling great that morning, since she greeted Karen with a cheery “hi” as the girl entered the office right on the dot of nine o’clock.

“The second hand split the ‘12’ smack dab in the middle just as you walked in the door,” Debbie laughed. “One second later and I was going to report you to the good professor.”

“I’m strictly a nine-to-five girl,” Karen said, giving her co-worker a playful finger gesture.

Karen loved the teasing repartee she and Debbie had begun to practice, a sure sign that both respected the other.

“I got your donation letter from his majesty here,” Debbie said, once Karen had settled into her chair.

Karen’s heart sank; she knew she had taken a chance by writing the letter in the manner she did, but she felt that nonetheless her approach had been not only different but also effective. Debbie’s face showed no sign of whether the professor liked it or not and Karen feared the worst. To be rejected by the professor seemed almost unfair.

“Here, take a look at it,” Debbie said, handing her the two sheets of paper.

Karen took it and settled into her seat, hesitating to look at the papers, concerned it would be covered with red marks and nasty comments from the professor who was capable of the most snarky comments when he criticized anyone, whether if be the actors he was directly, the stage managers or the university administration.

Karen finally gazed upon the first page; she saw no red marks, none. As far as she could determine, the wording was just as she had written and given to him. Finally, she looked at the second page and saw two words encircled in red, “university players.” On the margin, a red squiggly note read: “capitalize the u and the p.” That was all!

Puzzled, she looked at Debbie.

The other woman smiled. “He must have liked it, Karen,” she said.

“Did he say he liked it?” Karen asked eagerly.

“Not in so many words. He’ll never give anyone any real praise, but if he doesn’t criticize your work then you know you did Ok in his mind.”

“Oh, I remember when he directed from last year’s play that he rarely said someone’s performance was good. If a scene went well, all he said was to let’s start the next scene.”

Debbie smiled: “That’s him. I’ve been with him all of his eight years here and I don’t recall he ever said ‘good job’ to me, but he’s always made sure I got good job evaluation ratings and has fought to keep me at the top rate in pay in my job. I can’t quarrel with that.”

Karen nodded her head. “Well, to be fair,” she said. “He did praise my acting and did tell me how valuable I would be to him if I took this work-study job. Of course, he was trying to persuade me to take the job then.”

“Whatever Fenstrom wants, Fenstrom gets, it seems,” Debbie said.

“Hmmmmm!” Karen worried about that, particularly if Fenstrom’s real goal was to seduce her all along. Time would tell, but Karen vowed to be ready for his advances, however and whenever they may come.

*****
By 5 p.m. in January on this university campus in the northern U. S. A., you might on a clear day view a sliver of light in the southwestern sky from the already retreated sun. Even though the temperatures continued frigid and the wind biting in its impact, Karen’s spirits were brightened by the faint hint that warmer weather and more sunshine was returning to the area.

She entered the front door of Susan’s Place, and was struck by the pleasant odor of Daphne’s baking exploits of the day. Coupled with the warmth of the place (a warmth only relative to the outside air since the economics of heating an old house called for the thermostat to be set at 68), Karen had an immediate feeling of coziness. As she took off her boots and coat, she realized that perhaps a girl would benefit from learning how to bake from Daphne. Even though Karen had become a good cook and passable baker in her own home as a teenager, she knew that Daphne had an unusual talent for baking.

She found herself day-dreaming about some day in the future in a kitchen, her hair pinned up with an apron covering the cute skirt and blouse she had put on to greet her husband (Mark Hamilton, of course) as he returned home at the end of a workday.

“You’re home, Karen?” yelled Daphne from the kitchen, interrupting her musings.

Jarred out of her lovely dream sequence, she yelled out, “ Yes, Daphne, what is that marvelous smell?”

“My sinful apple turnovers, dear,” Daphne giggled. “Baked them for you and Rami. Both you girls need some fat on your lovely bodies.”

“If I hang around here much longer and you keep baking, I’m sure I’ll be named Calorie Karen,” Karen said.

“Rami got back this afternoon, and she’s anxious to see you, dear,” Daphne said.

“Great,” Karen said and bounded up the stairs to greet her friend and roommate, Ramini Verma.

The two girls hugged each other intensely and Karen was struck by the almost desperate hold employed by her tiny friend; she sensed the girl’s body beginning to shake and realized Ramini was sobbing silently as she buried her head into the area just above Karen’s budding breasts.

“What’s the matter, Rami?” Karen said, trying to comfort the other girl, who clung onto her, seemingly for dear life.

“I’ve missed you so much Karen,” she said, her voice breaking up as she spoke.

“Me too,” Karen said. “But why are you so sad? Why are you crying so?”

The two finally separated and sat down on the old love seat that was typical of the furnishings in Susan’s Place that came from rummage sales, second hand stores and perhaps even junk piles. Karen held the other’s hand, a hand so dainty and soft that made even Karen’s hands look large.

Ramini stilled her tears and began: “I’ll have to move out of here. My father’s put his foot down; I’m supposed to live as a boy again, or else he’ll cut me off from the family and he’ll no longer pay for my schooling. Oh, Karen, what’s to happen to me?”

“What? I thought he and your mother accepted your transition?”

“Mother has, but you must remember in an Indian house, father is king,” Ramini said. “And I guess my father’s Indian friends found out about me and urged him to act like a real Indian man and take command of the house again. He was shamed into rejecting Ramini.”

“Oh, you poor girl,” Karen said.

“He’ll pay for one more semester on the condition I remain a boy and move back into the dorms as a boy by next week. He’s already got a place for me there. If I don’t quit this nonsense, as he calls me being a girl, I’ll be banished from the family. What’ll I do, Karen?”

Ramini began crying again and Karen held the sobbing girl in his arms. She knew that Ramini could never live again as a boy. Something had to be done to rescue this poor girl, Karen realized. But what?

*****
Sonja Peterson, the house manager at Susan’s Place and Daphne both joined Karen and Ramini to discuss Ramini’s situation.

“There’s no way that girl can go back into a boy’s dormitory again,” Karen said. “Those monsters will just eat her alive.”

“How do you know that?” Daphne said. “I never experienced that.”

Sonja laughed out loud: “Damn, Daphne, who would ever dare take you on?”

It brought out giggles from all four of them; as a football player, Daphne had been known for not only her size, but her athleticism and strength.

“Seriously,” Karen said. “I was beat up and nearly raped when I was in there, and Rami is even more vulnerable than I was. She just can’t return to the dorms.”

Rami had dried her tears, seeming to begin to look at her situation with less emotion.

“I just know I can’t stay here, and my dad will only pay for my tuition this semester and room and board if I go back into the boy’s dorms,” she said. “I can do it. I’ll survive.”

“You can’t do that, dear,” Karen said.

“What choice do I have?”

Sonja agreed. “She can’t stay here. The foundation that runs Susan’s Place can’t afford to provide free rent. We run on a shoestring now. And, we have a waiting list of other girls who want to be here.”

Rami looked at Sonja: “I’m not looking for charity.”

“Don’t you have a week before you have to move, Rami?” Karen asked.

She nodded.

“Well, let’s think about this and let’s do some checking. Maybe something will turn up,” Karen said.

The four agreed that was a good idea.

“Now, let’s celebrate our friendships,” Daphne said.

They toasted each other by raising their tea cups, filled with sweet-smelling herbal liquids. It was a totally girlish moment. Even Ramini smiled.

*****
Karen sat at her computer and watched Ramini, now curled up on her narrow bed, her head buried into her pillow. She was sobbing again, her tiny, fragile body shaking with her tears. She looked so helpless. She had wrapped her sari about her, but it failed to cover all of her body and Karen got an extra blanket she kept for warmth and carried it to Ramini’s side, gently placing it over her. Karen sat in a narrow space, next to Ramini, and placed her hand gently on the other girl’s shoulders, leaning over to kiss her gently. She followed that by gingerly running a tissue over the girl’s face, trying to dry her tears.

The scene was frozen for several minutes, a tableau of two pretty girls, one whose white Nordic hands contrasted with the dark bronze smooth face of the other.

“I’ve been spoiled all my life, Karen,” Ramini said finally, sitting up and looking at the other girl. “I never had even one job. Always lived off my father. It’s the way with upper class Indian families like mine.”

Karen moved tightly against the other girl, placing an arm around her shoulders.

“It’s not your fault, Rami. It’s how you were raised, but you’re smart and I think you got guts, honey.”

“I know, but what can I possibly do? I can’t go back to being a boy . . .I just can’t.”

Ramini started to sob again.

“Now, stop that crying, Rami,” Karen said, her voice becoming stern. “It won’t do any good.”

Ramini grabbed a tissue from a box and rubbed her eyes. “I know. I’ll settle down, it’s just that I feel so helpless.”

“Well, you’ve got me, at least, and I know Daphne will help too. And, more importantly, you are a strong girl. I know you are.”

Ramini looked at Karen, her eyes still moist with tears. “I love you, Karen. Can I be your sister?”

Karen smiled at the girl. “Rami. We are sisters.”

They hugged and soon were cuddled together on the bed. Even though it was not yet 10 o’clock, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, sisters together. Karen awoke, shivering and glanced over to the digital clock that said “2:11.” They had slept together for more than four hours. She got up, gently covered Ramini, kissed her lightly on the forehead (as you would a young child), turned off the light and prepared herself for the rest of the night’s sleep in her nightie in her own bed.

Chapter 9: Girl Friends
Ramini’s dilemma was still preying on Karen’s mind the next morning when her alarm went off at 6:30 a.m. She knew how much the Indian girl had valued her family, her mother and her sisters; she had also expressed great love and admiration for her father, even though it was his rigid sense of tradition that dictated Ramini might face eviction from her own family.

Karen accepted Ramini’s problem as her own, almost blotting out her own continual sadness over her troubled relationship with Mark Hamilton. Now concerns about Ramini were added to the continuing visions of her beloved lying flat and contributed to the overall depression that she felt.

It was a Friday, her last day of work for the week, and she had a new appreciation of the phrase, “T.G.I.F.” Her first week of work, coupled with the tensions of her new life, had exhausted her, and a break in work felt most welcome. Starting next week, as classes would begin, she’d be working four hours in the Drama Department most afternoons, along with possible Saturday hours once the University Players season began.

Finally, stirring herself to get out of bed, she looked over to the sleeping form of Ramini, hearing the girl’s nasal rhythmical gasps and wondering how such a cute, darling girl could have such a guttural, almost unpleasant snore. Karen loved the sight of her friend, and went over to her sleeping form to pull her blanket up tight, since the room still was a bit chilly. She bent down and kissed her lightly on the cheek; it was hardly more than a brush, since she didn’t want to awaken her. Karen had to ready herself for work, while Ramini had no urgent appointments that day, except to figure out her future.

*****
Karen took an hour off from her job for her regular therapy appointment with Moira at the Mary Ann Keyes Gender Clinic.

“It doesn’t take a Sherlock Holmes to see that something’s troubling you, dear,” Moira said as Karen settled into the chair in Moira’s office.

The office largely was occupied with lounge-style furniture, including a love seat, two side chairs, a side table and a coffee table. The only indication that it was an office, was a small desk, with a computer, a file cabinet and book shelves, tucked unobtrusively at one end of the room. Green plants and pictures of prairie flowers gave the room a warm, homey feeling.

Karen had been impressed how the therapist had come to know and understand her so completely, even though their meetings were restricted to 45 minutes several times a week; it was the woman’s ability to listen without making judgment that must have enabled Karen to open up to the therapist to tell her virtually everything on her mind.

“I’m so concerned about Mark,” Karen began. “He’s going into a depression, I think, since he fears he may never walk again, much less play football. He won’t even talk to me.”

“I understand, dear,” Moira said, after Karen had given the woman a full summary of Mark’s medical situation.

“You know, Karen,” Moira continued, “You should perhaps try to forget about Mark as a boyfriend. I know you must have been dreaming of someday being his wife, or at least his partner. Right now, he’s confused. You must give him time. You’re young and pretty.”

For the first time in their sessions, Karen was angered by Moira’s comments.

“You think I don’t know that?” Karen said, her voice rising, defiantly. “You think all I care about is my own feelings, about whether I need a hunk like him as a boyfriend?”

“Don’t you?”

“No, dammit, Moira. Maybe I do love him and want him, but I’ve known all along that might not be possible, just because I’m such a weirdo, that I’m not a real girl. No, Moira, I care about him, not me. I care about a talented, marvelous young man turning into a sour cripple with no hope in life. It would be such a waste.”

“Hmmmm,” Moira murmured, otherwise sitting silently, letting empty seconds roll by.

“Oh, Moira, I do love him, even if he’ll never walk again, but I recognize that I may never again feel his arms around me or his lips upon mine. I really care about him. I do. But I do miss him so.”

She began sobbing, a quiet slow sob, more in a gnawing sadness.

“There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there, Karen?”

Karen nodded her head. She stopped sobbing and related the plight of Ramini to the therapist.

“Her situation bothers you greatly, doesn’t it Karen?” Moira asked when Karen finished the story.

“Oh yes, Moira. She seems so defenseless. She’s not very strong.”

“Indian families are so steeped in tradition that girls like your friend face terrible turmoil,” Moira said. “Are you worried your friend . . .what’s her name? . . .”

“Ramini, which means ‘pretty woman,’ which she is.”

“Yes, Ramini. Are you worried that she might hurt herself?”

“I don’t know about that, but yes, I am. She’s so fragile, Moira.”

“You know Ramini is not your concern. She needs to find her own way.”

“But I can’t desert her,” Karen said. “I really care about her. She’s a friend. We’re girlfriends and we love to cuddle together. There’s no sex, we just like being together, enjoying our girliness together.”

Karen realized she must have portrayed a pleasured look on her face as she described she and Ramini’s relationship.

“Our 45 minutes is up,” Moira said suddenly. “Can you have Ramini contact me? I’ll try to see if we can help her. We’ve had several Indian girls come through the clinic and we have a volunteer Indian woman who is a medical student who might be able to help out.”

“We have to act fast, Moira, since next week she’s supposed to move into a boy’s dormitory. It’ll be a disaster there for her.”

“Ok, have her call me. Now,” Moira said.

Karen returned to her job, still not totally reassured that Ramini would be able to find a solution to her situation. She wondered, too, during the short walk back to her job whether her own feelings about Mark Hamilton were based more on her own fear of losing a boyfriend than on the concern she said she felt about Mark’s own future. Was she being selfish and self-centered? She wondered; if so, what kind of a girl was she?

*****
“Karen, you have adjusted surprisingly well as a young lady,” Sonja Peterson, the manager of Susan’s Place, said on Saturday morning, on the weekend before classes were to begin at the University.

“I like to think I have,” Karen replied.

She had asked Karen to step into the tiny office that Sonja maintained in what once had been a small middle bedroom on the first floor. The tall graduate student maintained a surprisingly neat office, with a desk tucked up against a wall and containing a flat screen computer, a stand-up file setup and a short stack of papers, neatly piled on one side. Atop a three drawer file cabinet, obviously rescued from some office that dumped it for a newer version, stood a trophy with a bronze statue of a female ice skater, with the words: “First Place. Midwest Speedskating Championships, 2008. West Allis, Wisconsin.” There was a large framed picture of a younger version of Sonja Peterson, ice skating in some tournament.

Karen had never before been in the office since the door had always been closed and locked; she only knew that Sonja, who was working on a doctoral dissertation, spent long hours in the room, apparently studying or reading.

She couldn’t keep her eyes from Sonja’s speedskating artifacts. “I didn’t know you were such a star, Sonja. Do you still compete?”

“Don’t have the time, Karen, but I must say I miss it, and I pop over to West Allis to the Olympic rink there when I can to take a few whirls around the ice, but my dissertation and the need to work just doesn’t leave time to practice.”

“That’s still quite an accomplishment,” Karen said. “Did you try for the Olympics ever?”

“I probably could have made it for the 2010 winter games, but blew a knee that year, and that ended that.” Karen could see that may have been a major disappointment for Sonja, as her eyes seemed to take on a sad, distant look.

“That must have been tough for you, Sonja.”

“I guess it was, dear, since I had been pointing to the 2010 games most of my life,” Sonja said. “We lived a few blocks from the West Allis rink and I got into skating when I was just a little girl. Some of my friends did figure skating, and I liked that, too, but I guess I wasn’t graceful enough. I liked the direct competition that speedskating offered. I really miss it, but that part of life is gone for me. Now, I skate for fun, and if I ever have kids I can’t wait to get them out of the ice.”

Karen nodded, recognizing that Mark Hamilton was in a similar situation.

“That’s a good lesson to learn, Sonja,” Karen said. “Life deals us all setbacks, and we must adjust and go on to new things. I’m just hoping Mark can resolve himself to that.”

Sonja smiled at the young lady sitting before her in the old-fashioned straight-backed oak kitchen chair.

“My dear Karen,” Sonja said, leaning forward and placing a gentle hand on Karen’s arm. “You can’t compare what happened to me to what your friend Mark is facing. He has far bigger hurdles to jump that I did. As I understand it he may never walk again.”

Karen felt her eyes well up in moisture. “I know, but there is hope. Still, your philosophy is so good. I’d love him to meet you sometime.”

“Well, we’ll see, dear. I’d like to meet him, if he’ll have me, but I’m not sure he’ll be in a mood for a lecture from me, either.”

Karen nodded, realizing that it might be best to let the matter rest.

“Now, for the reason I called you in here, Karen,” Sonja began. “You remember when you signed on here we told you it was not a permanent residence. Normally we like to see if we can move our girls out to another safe residence within 120 days — or four months. For you that means March 1, and that’s only about six weeks away. So I want you to begin searching for another place so you can move out by then.”

“Is my time going to be up so soon? I hadn’t really been keeping track,” she said.

“Yes, dear, I’m afraid it has. We don’t summarily kick the girls out at four months, particularly if they’re not adjusting well, but I must say you appear to be most comfortable as a girl and have been functioning well.”

“Thank you,” Karen said. “It’s been less than a year since I first began realizing that perhaps I was a girl all along.”

“You’re truly remarkable, Karen, in so many ways. I’m sure you have a promising future.”

“But, Sonja. Where can I go?”

Sonja reached into a file drawer and pulled out a two-page, stapled document and handed it to Karen. “Here’s a list of potential places that we feel may be safe for you. I’ve highlighted three or four that have been particularly friendly places for the girls.”

Karen looked at the list, but the names and addresses meant nothing to her. She had been happy at Susan’s Place, particularly since the girls themselves were friendly and could share so much of their life’s experiences with each other.

“You might want to check with Daphne to see where she’s going to room, dear. She’s supposed to be leaving by February 1st. And, you know Ramini’s situation, and perhaps you two can work something out together. I know you two get along well. Even though she can’t pay anymore, we’re going to let her stay free for February, but in March she has to go too.”

Karen felt like her whole world suddenly was pulled out from under her. She vowed she’d not begin to cry; she wanted to show how strong she was.

“I hate to do this to you, Karen,” Sonja said. “I’ve so enjoyed you as both a companion and resident. But, there’s quite a demand for our services by other girls just like you, and we have only so much funding to provide rooms.”

“Thank you, Sonja. I totally understand. I’ve loved it here, and particularly since I’ve met other girls and you, of course. I’ll do fine, I’m sure.”

Karen smiled, trying to show a confidence that she didn’t quite feel at the moment.

*****

Dear Mark,

I’m just dying to tell you about Sonja, our house manager here at Susan’s place. I didn’t know it before, but she’s a big speedskating star, and would have been on the US Olympic team in 2010 but she blew out a knee just before the Games. She can’t compete anymore, and she misses it so much.

But, she’s deeply into her doctoral dissertation and she runs the House here, too, and is so sweet and nice. I’d love to have you meet her.

Anyway, I was told I have to move from Susan’s Place. It seems that I have adjusted quite easily into being a girl. That must seem funny to you, since I think you always thought I was a girl. Didn’t you? (Giggle)

Maybe I’ll try to find a place with Ramini, my current roomie. Her dad wants her to live as a boy, but she really can’t. She’s so dainty and cute.

I’d love to hear from you. Bye bye.

Karen

(Lipstick kiss mark placed at the bottom of the note.)

*****
“Your skin has become so soft and smooth, Karen,” Angela said, as her hands slowly caressed her friend. The two were nestled together in Angela’s bed.

The girls had dropped their clothes in a frenzy of sexual excitement as they entered Angela’s room in the residence she shared with several other girls off campus. Both were down to their panties as they tumbled together on the bed, Karen’s slender, dainty body cradled into the sinewy, muscular arms of her friend. Both girls had hardly any breasts at all, but Karen’s nipples had hardened and hurt as her friend cupped them, fondling the teats.

“Those hormones seem to be working on you, dear,” Angela said.

The two lay in a spoon embrace, Angela behind Karen, her hands moving on the breasts as she gently kissed her friend’s neck. Both girls were panting heavily, both emitting occasional gasps and grunts. The musky odor of sweat fought with scent from Karen’s sweet-smelling perfumed body.

“That was heavenly, Karen,” Angela said, as the two nestled together after their frantic sexual encounter. “You always were the best girl I ever had in bed, dear.”

They kissed for a while and then repeated the sexual activity twice more, each time Angela’s orgasm reaching noisy crescendos, before the two collapsed into each other’s arms. Karen, for her part, found great comfort with Angela, finding the other girl’s admiration for her total girly body and actions as totally satisfying.

Karen wound up in Angela’s bed on that Saturday night — the same day she had been informed that she’d have to leave Susan’s Place — after receiving a text message from Angela that she had returned to the campus and would like to meet her that night. The two met for pizza and then returned to the house, which Karen knew from the previous semester housed six girls. Many appeared to be lesbians, Karen had thought from previous visits.

The two girls showered together after their sexual encounter, and then settled in the kitchen to share a bottle of light white wine; even though both were under 21, several of the older girls purchased wine and beer for the house, and shared it with the younger girls.

“Doreen’s moved out of here, and the bitch is with her new friend, an ugly old slut,” Angela said, as they settled down at the kitchen table.

“Oh, you getting another girl to take the room?”

“Not yet,” Angela said, smiling. “You interested?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Angela, but I do have to move by March First,” she said. “But I’m trying to get a place to share with Ramini who also has to move out by then.”

“Really? Doreen had the biggest room here. It could be a double,” she said.

Angela knew about Ramini, but had yet to meet her.

“That’s an idea,” Karen said. “Ramini’s being cut off by her family, and has no money for a room, unless she goes back to living as a boy and lives in the boys’ dorm.”

“Dear, that’s awful.”

“Yes, she’ll get really hassled back in a boys’ dorm. She’s even more fragile and dainty than I am. Those guys will literally emasculate her.”

That night, after Angela drove Karen back to Susan’s Place, Karen mulled over Angela’s proposal; the rent was affordable and the room was indeed big enough for two persons, even though it might be a little tight. Yet, she and Ramini had become compatible roommates and could probably handle the coziness of the place. She looked over at the tiny figure of Ramini, sleeping soundly in the bed across the room, wondering if living in the house with Angela and her five other large and muscular girls would be safe for Ramini; she was so weak and helpless. Then, too, she continued to wonder about her own sexual orientation, which seemed to welcome the embraces of both men and women.

*****
“Hey girlfriend.” Karen was jolted out of her reverie as she sat in the large classroom for the start of the second semester of Sociology 101, awaiting the arrival of Professor Emery Prowesczy (pronounced “Pro-vish”).

“Oh, Jenny,” Karen said, looking up to see her friend from the last semester.

“Must have been dreaming about some boy, I bet,” Jenny said, sitting down in the empty seat next to Karen.

Karen nodded. Jenny was correct; she had been wondering about Mark, musing about the fact that the boy was languishing in a rehab center in Milwaukee rather than beginning classes at Iowa State in Ames. She was so worried that the boy would become discouraged and depressed, even though Mark’s mother, Patti, who had been in almost daily e-mail correspondence with Karen indicated Mark was in “good spirits” and “eager to do more rehab.” Sadly, she still was awaiting a reply from Mark to her daily hand-written letters that she had mailed to him. Mark’s mother urged her to stay patient.

“Where’s Kevin?” Karen asked her friend.

“Oh, he’s around somewhere. I don’t know and don’t care.”

Karen looked at Jenny Hanready, and marveled at how this plain girl with a pale white freckled face and loosely flowing, somewhat unruly light brown hair could always look so fetching. Perhaps it was her bright blue eyes and a smile that formed cute crinkles about the eyes that brightened her look.

“You don’t care? What happened?”

“Damn men. You can’t trust ‘em,” she said.

Jenny’s face soured a bit and explained: “He stood me up on New Years’ Eve. The bastard. I think his old girlfriend from high school got her slutty hooks onto him over the holidays. And she’s a damned whore. He was too weak to resist her.”

“Jenny, I’m sorry. I never would have thought that of Kevin. He seemed so nice and so close to you,” Karen said, keeping her voice low so that the students who filled in the seats around the two could not hear them. She placed a gentle hand on Jenny’s arm.

“We were, Karen, but he always wanted sex with me, and I kept saying no,” Jenny said. “Do you think I should have gone to bed with him?”

“Not unless you wanted to, Jenny.”

The other girl’s eyes began to moisten and Karen could see she was about to cry.

“Perhaps if had let him fuck me he’d still be with me,” Jenny said.

“He might be, but he wouldn’t have been worth it in the long run, Jenny. If he was going to dump you for a girl who’s an easy lay now, who knows how long he’d have been loyal to you? You’re a special girl, Jenny, and he doesn’t know what he lost. Darling, he’s not worthy of you.”

“Oh Karen, you’re such a good friend. I love you, dear.”

Jenny put her hand over Karen’s, the two girls enjoying a moment of quiet sisterhood.

“But what about you, Karen? I’ve been so selfish thinking of my self.”

Just then a loud applause broke out among the students; it had become traditional at the University that students cheered Professor Prowesczy, whose lectures had become legendary on campus. They were filled with humor and graphic descriptions as well as remarks that bordered on being iconoclastic, shocking the mainly freshmen students, many of whom came from smaller communities throughout the state where such ideas were thought to be weird or even ungodly.

“We’ll talk later, Ok Jenny?” Karen whispered to her friend, as they joined in the applause.

*****
It turned out that because of class schedules, the usual morning get-together by the gaggle of girls — all friends of Jenny’s — would not be possible this semester; both Karen and Jenny had classes immediately after the morning Sociology lecture. They agreed to meet for lunch.

“You look lovely,” Jenny said as the two carried their lunches — purchased at the student union’s lunch counter — to an out-of-the-way alcove just off the hallway. There was one table in the alcove with three chairs.

“Thanks, Jenny. I’m on hormones now, and testosterone blockers. It’s irrevocable; I’ll be a girl forever now.”

“That’s so good to hear, and you look so happy, dear. I can tell it by just looking at you. I always thought you were a girl, anyway. Remember, I told you that when we first met in Professor Pro’s class.”

Just then a short, slender girl approached the table, carrying a lunch tray.

“Oh Tricia, wanna join us?” Jenny said.

Tricia was one of the girls who made up the morning coffee group in the Student Union; she could have been a lovely girl, except for her pock-marked face. Karen had always liked the girl, who said little, but when she did usually made great sense. She was bright and intelligent, and Karen felt certain that as she aged she’d become successful and likely a most striking woman.

“If I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all, we’re glad to see you, Trish,” Karen said, making room on the table for Tricia’s food tray.

The three girls giggled over the winter garb of many of the students they saw entering the Union; because of the below-zero cold, there were few girls that exhibited any form of high fashion. Most were bundled up in parkas, heavy slacks and boots, many with wool caps or varying sizes and color.

“Staying warm is a premium up here,” Jenny observed.

It was for Tricia to bring up Mark Hamilton. She turned to Karen and asked: “Was that your friend, Mark, who got hurt in that bowl game on New Years Day?”

Karen nodded.

Jenny looked at her, astonished. “What’s this all about? Your Mark was hurt, Karen?”

“Yes, Jenny and pretty badly, too,” Karen said.

“I understand he’s still in a hospital somewhere,” Tricia said. “I was watching the game with my dad and my brothers; it was awful when they pulled him off in an ambulance. I thought of you immediately, Karen.”

“Oh my God, I didn’t know, Karen,” Jenny said. “I don’t follow football at all. I’m so sorry Karen, and here I was prattling on about Kevin.”

Karen told the others about Mark’s visit to her on Christmas Eve and about how they were expecting to have a continuing relationship; she left out any mention of sleeping with him that night, feeling that they would consider it weird, since she still had her boy’s sexual organs.

“It sounds like love, dear,” Jenny said.

“It is, but he won’t see me now,” Karen said. “He says I’ll just be wasting my life with a cripple, but I really love him so much.”

“That is so tragic, Karen,” Tricia said.

Both girls seemed shocked by Karen’s narrative; they basically were left speechless, and Karen felt the need to bring up other matters. There was no need for the girls to have to share her grief; they both had their own lives to lead. She knew Tricia was probably starved for male companionship, while Jenny obviously had her own drama with Kevin.

“By the way, have either of you seen Tracy or Beverly?” Karen asked, referring to two other girls who had made up the morning coffee group.

“I saw Beverly,” Tricia said. “She’s in my dorm and was wondering if maybe most of us are free about 3 in the afternoon. That might be a good time to get together several days a week.”

“Ok by me,” Jenny said.

“I have to be at work at 4 p.m., but I think I could make it most days for a while,” Karen said. “What about Tracy?”

Jenny reddened. “I don’t know whether I should tell this,” she said.

“What?” both Karen and Tricia said at the same time.

“Well, I guess it’ll come out sooner or later,” Jenny said. “She called me between Christmas and New Years to say she’s not coming back this semester.”

“Not coming back? She’s a smart girl? Why?” Karen asked.

“Well she’s getting married in April.”

“That was sudden, who to?” Tricia asked.

“Remember Gabe?” Jenny said.

“Oh my God,” Karen shrieked. “Him?”

“Yes your old boyfriend, Karen,” Jenny said.

“That was quick,” Tricia said.

“Well, she’s pregnant and both her family and Gabe’s are church-going Catholics and she has no choice in the matter,” Jenny said. “I don’t think she’s happy about it, either.”

“The poor girl,” Tricia said.

Karen nodded. Yes, indeed, it was unfortunate for Tracy, whose whole future might be changed for the worst, thanks to her time with Gabe; Karen even felt responsible, since it was she who introduced the two. Both were seemingly amateurs at having love affairs, and thus may have blundered into a situation that would affect the rest of their lives. It was ironic; Karen felt that at least that was one fate that she might never have to face.

“I know, it’s probably tough on both of them to suddenly have a baby to support, but you know, isn’t having a baby the most wonderful thing in the world?” Karen said, her face breaking into a smile.

Both Jenny and Tricia nodded; as much as both were looking forward to careers — with babies only a distant thought in their minds — they too suddenly saw images of carrying newborn infants in their arms.

For some time, Karen had dreamed that she was a complete woman capable of providing babies and children for a loving partner. Often she had imagined giving birth to strong, handsome children as the wife of Mark Hamilton. A dream never to be realized!

Chapter 10: The Image of Emma Bovary Arises

“We have a vacancy in the place where I live, Karen,” Jenny said, as the two headed back to class. “Do you know anyone who might be interested in a nice place to live? Our landlady said we girls should recruit someone we’d like to share with us.”

“Really? I didn’t tell you, but I need to leave Susan’s Place by March 1.”

“Great, Karen. You’d be perfect. You’ve met most of the girls in the place now and they all like you,” Jenny said, almost seeming ready to hug Karen right there on the walk up the hill to the Humanities Building.

“Just one thing,” Karen said, adjusting her scarf more tightly about her neck as the cold northwest wind seemed to leak in about her neck, causing her to shiver.

“What?”

“I’m still physically a guy.”

“Hah! No you’re not. No one would take you as anything but a girl. Aren’t you already on the campus records as ‘Karen’ and ‘female’?”

“Well, yes, but will all the other girls in your house accept me as such? And what about your landlady?”

Jenny continued walking and they had already reached the door of the building before she spOKe. “I don’t know. Mrs. Lewis, our landlady, is so nice, but we got a couple of girls who are kind of religious types, you know. They’re nice enough but they may not take kindly to you, once they found out.”

“Thanks, Jenny,” Karen said. “I’d love to join you there. It sounds like a place I’d love to be, but maybe we better not. Besides, another girl in the place has to move, too, and we’re trying maybe to move in together somewhere.”

“Oh that room’s big enough for two, Karen,” Jenny volunteered.

“I don’t know, Jenny.”

“Let me check, OK?”

Karen nodded, and the two entered the building and headed down crowded hallways to their afternoon class.

*****
Karen’s routine over the next few weeks of school gave her hardly any time to reflect on the status of her new life, that of a freshman college girl. She carried a full load of academic studies, followed by a schedule of working in the Drama Department office from 4 to 8 p.m. every afternoon, except Friday, and then from about 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. on Saturday. She was fortunate to occasionally find enough dead time in the office to do a little studying, but as the time for the spring play rehearsals began to draw near, she saw she’d be kept busy assisting the professor.

Her therapy sessions were rescheduled to Friday afternoons, to accommodate her work schedule; once a month, after meeting with Moira, she was to spend 15 minutes with Dr. Bargmann, mainly to assure that her medications were doing what they were prescribed to do.

Angela’s own schedule had become crowded as well, leaving little time for the two to get together. She had joined the women’s track team, performing in the shot put and javelin tosses, requiring her to spend several hours a day in the gym working out.

“You’re with me Saturday night,” Angela told Karen when they met for lunch on Thursday of the first week of classes.

She said it as a command, and Karen was taken aback. She began to have the same concerns about Angela as she had in the past: that Angela would become her old “bossy” self.

“I was kind of planning to do something with Rami on Saturday night,” Karen said. “She’s been so depressed.”

“She’s such a twit,” Angela said, almost with disgust.

“Oh Angela, she is not,” Karen said, alarmed at her friend’s description. “She’s having a tough time now. Her family has almost disowned her.”

Angela saw that she had offended her friend, and immediately responded. “I’m sorry, Karen, I shouldn’t have said that. I know you like her.”

“She’s a good person and she had to have a lot of guts to stand up against her family’s traditions.”

“I’m sorry,” Angela repeated. “Tell you what, why don’t the both of you come over Saturday night? Does Rami like to cook?”

“Yes, she does. She likes to make traditional Indian dishes. She always hung out in the kitchen with her mom, something that her father got mad about back when she was a boy. He told her that ‘the kitchen’s for girls, not boys.’”

“Well, maybe she’d like to coOK for us. We could all go grocery shopping Saturday and the house will pay for the food, if she’d like that.”

Karen smiled.

Angela kissed her friend and then said: “Good. This way I’ll get to know Rami better and you two can look at the vacant room and see if you’d like it.”

Later that day, and before even telling Ramini about the plans, Karen began to have second thoughts about the idea. She hated to get under the clutches of the demands of Angela, as much as she enjoyed being with her, not only as friends but as lovers. Angela was just so demanding a person.

Then, too, she felt that Angela might also be jealous of Karen’s fondness for Ramini, just as she had shown over Karen’s earlier friendships. Several times, Angela had told Karen that her love for Mark Hamilton was a “fool’s journey.” “He’ll never have you as a wife, dear. He’ll want a woman who can give him kids.” Now that Mark was facing permanent injury, Angela had backed off on her comments about Mark, perhaps knowing how Karen would respond to such callous statements.

Karen nonetheless felt trapped, since she had all but agreed to the Saturday date; and she knew Ramini would likely jump at the prospect of coOKing for a group of girls. It loOKed like a Saturday night date, after all.

*****
Karen and Ramini moved out of Susan’s Place in mid-February into their new “digs” at the house where Angela lived. It wasn’t Karen’s first choice, but the proposal by Angela became the only option after Karen found out there were objections to her moving in with the girls in Jenny’s place.

“I feel so bad about this, Karen,” Jenny told her as they were leaving class several days after she had made the offer. “I felt I had to be honest with all the girls, as well as the landlady, and I told them that you were transitioning.”

Karen nodded. “I wanted you to be honest, Jenny.”

“Tricia and Beverly both defended you, telling the others what a sweet person you are,” Jenny said. “Tricia offered to have you come to the house to meet all of them.”

“You don’t need to apologize, Jenny,” Karen said, hugging her friend.

“I would have loved to have you and Rami join us,” she said. “You’re both such cool girls.”

Karen smiled being described a “cool girl.”

One of the girls who was strongly religious in the house objected to Karen as a roommate, but the other one — a devout Catholic girl who attended mass at the student chapel nearly every day — supported Karen, saying all human “souls” are “God’s children.”

“Mrs. Lewis, our landlady, heard that several of the girls objected to you and decided that she reserved the place for ‘girls only,’ and that she had guaranteed parents that their girls would live in a place without boys around, even if the boy involved was headed into girlhood. Therefore, this place is for ‘girls only,’ she said. And that was that.”

“I understand, Jenny. I really do, and I don’t want to cause any trouble, so let’s leave it at that, OK?”

“I know, Karen, but it seems wrong,” Jenny said. “Isn’t there a campus rule that all approved student housing must not discriminate?”

“I suppose, but I’m not sure it covers my situation,” Karen said. “Besides, I don’t want to start a big fight. Just let it be. I have somewhere else to stay.”

As the two were about to split up to go to their respective classes, Jenny said, “By the way, Mary Catherine, that’s the Catholic girl, wants to meet you sometime.”

“Oh, that’s nice, but why?”

“I don’t know, but she’s very sweet. You might like her.”

“I suppose it’s OK, but I hope she doesn’t want to talk me into going back to mass again,” Karen said.

“I don’t think she knows you were born Catholic.”

Jenny said Mary Catherine might join the next three o’clock girls’ gab session at the Student Union, and Karen agreed that would be OK.

*****
There was one benefit in moving into a house in which most of the eight girls were athletic: most of them were strong and had no problem in moving the few possessions that both Karen and Ramini had. Maggie, a short, stocky young lady who wore boy jeans and a plaid shirt under her lumberjack-style coat, drove her aging diesel pickup truck to carry the materials from Susan’s Place.

Maggie swore like a sailor as she insisted on carrying the heavier stuff, telling Karen and Ramini in a firm deep voice, “I don’t want you girls to hurt yourselves lifting anything too heavy. Let me and Angela handle that heavy f-----g stuff.”

Ramini had a particularly heavy trunk, and Maggie lifted it like it was a feather pillow. As she worked, Maggie smiled and laughed, her broad face a picture of happiness and light. Karen instantly liked the girl.

The residence was an aging huge duplex, converted into student housing, much like the structure that housed Susan’s Place. The building was typical of those built in an area between the State Capitol building and the University campus during the early 20th Century. These were sturdy old places with large rooms, fine woodwork and several stained glass windows. Apparently, they were built for top level state workers or university professors, who used the upper duplex as rental units. As the University and state government grew after World War II, the owners moved out to fancier places on the outskirts or suburban areas, opening them up to be used to student housing.

Karen and Ramini’s room was located in what was one time the living room of the upper flat, surprisingly similar to the room they occupied together at Susan’s Place. It was large and comfortable, with three windows loOKing out over a second floor porch. The house faced west, promising afternoon sunlight would brighten the room.

“I told you that you’d love it,” Angela said as the two girls settled into the place.

“Oh we do,” cooed Ramini.

Karen looked at the tiny dark-complexioned girl, who suddenly gave a flirting loOK toward Angela. The glance was not missed by Angela whose sudden blush betrayed her.

Ramini’s actions disturbed Karen, who wasn’t convinced that Ramini fully understood how her flirtations might awaken more violent actions by some of the girls in the house. Ramini had grown particularly girlish in her mannerisms in recent weeks, and demonstrated that clearly during the time when they moved their stuff into the room. Ramini grew excited about the move after the night she and Karen had visited Angela at the house, and Ramini had cooked supper. Encouraged by several glasses of wine, Ramini flitted about Angela like a butterfly, daintily serving the tall, muscular girl; then when Maggie entered the kitchen as they were cleaning up after the meal, Ramini turned her girlish charms on the chunky girl.

*****
“Don’t you just love it here?” Ramini said to Karen as they prepared for bed on their first night in their new home.

“Yes, it looks like it’ll work out,” Karen said, keeping her voice flat and non-committal.

“All the girls are so nice,” Ramini said, bouncing down next to Karen as she lay on her bed. She leaned in and kissed Karen. “Thank you, thank you, thank you for finding this place,” she gushed.

“That’s OK, Rami, we needed a place to stay. This seemed to be a good place.”

“Karen, I love these girls. They’re all so strong and muscular. I wanted to run my hands all over that Maggie. She’s so luscious.”

She tightened her hug on Karen as she said these words, massaging her soft arms, as if to contrast Karen’s physical daintiness with the sinewy hardness of Maggie and the others.

“Come on, Rami, I’m tired tonight,” Karen said, releasing herself from her friend’s clutches, plunging flat onto her side on the bed and turning her back to Ramini.

“What’s the matter with you, Karen, don’t you want to cuddle with teensy-weensy li’l ol’ me, just like we always do?”

Karen continued to lie on her side, her back to Ramini, who tried ineffectually to roll Karen onto her back.

“Don’t you love me anymore, Karen?”

At that point, Karen turned over onto her back and sat up, so that she was facing Ramini.

“Yes, dear, I still love you. It’s just that I’m tired and I have a busy day tomorrow,” she explained.

Ramini pouted, her words coming out timidly, “Rami is sorry.”

Karen reached over and pulled her friend into a hug. The two hugged silently for several minutes; Karen could feel Ramini’s heart pounding and sensed the girl might be sobbing a bit.

“I don’t want to bother you, Karen,” Ramini said finally. “I love you so much.”

“I know, darling,” she said, kissing the other girl, softly at first and then with growing pressure until the two were in deep embrace, locked in each other’s arms together on the bed. They lay together, kissing intermittently and saying nothing.

Karen awOKe at one point, loOKed at the digital alarm clock next to her bed: “3:17.” She and Ramini were still entangled, their legs intertwined, and Karen listened to the rhythmical breathing of her friend, interspersed with an occasional gurgle. She toyed with Ramini’s braided hair, trying to figure out a way to extract herself from Ramini without waking her. Karen needed to relieve herself.

Eventually, Karen carefully moved away from Ramini and found her way to the bathroom where she opened the door and was surprised to see Angela sitting on the commode.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Angela,” Karen said. “I didn’t know . . .”

“That’s OK, Karen, I should have locked the door. Come in, dear.”

“I’ll wait, that’s OK.”

“No come in, silly, it’s not like we’ve never seen each other like this.”

Karen entered, closing the door behind her.

“If you can’t hold it dear, you’ve still got your plumbing. Just pee in the sink,” Angela teased.

“That’s gross, Angela!”

“Well there’s some advantage to being a boy, you know.”

“Don’t be funny. I sit just like you.”

“Doesn’t this turn you on? Seeing me on the pot?” Angela’s eyes toOK on a mischievous glint.

Karen set on the edge of the tub opposite the commode, her knees almost touching Angela’s. Erotic thoughts raged through Karen’s head as she watched her friend grab a hunk of toilet paper, fold it and reach in to dry herself.

Angela got up slowly, exposing her bushy front giving Karen the sudden desire to place her lips on the hairy crotch, her memory being stimulated from the times she had tasted and licked the girl. She loOKed away, wishing grimly to lose the desire to make love to the smoothly toned Amazon standing before her.

“Come to bed with me, Karen,” Angela said, placing her hands on Karen’s shoulders, moving her body close, bringing the tempting bush almost within licking distances.

“Not tonight, Angela. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“You know you want to, dear.”

Karen could smell the mustiness of her friend’s privates, a smell that was simultaneously disgusting and yet tempting. Her own tiny penis grew hard; yet, the pain and the hardness of past encounters seemed to be weaker, not as surging and pressing. She had been on hormones for only a short time, and she wondered if they were already having an impact on her impulses.

Karen placed her hands on Angela’s narrow hips, and moved her face into the bush, relishing in the still moistness of the hair, the lingering smell of urine mixed with sexual secretions. She let her head rest into Angela, and the two remained stationary for a few moments, before Karen removed her head, and loOKed up at her friend.

“I’m sorry, Angela,” she said. She got up and moved around her friend to sit on the commode.

“If that’s what you want, OK,” Angela said angrily. “Go back to that Indian cunt if you wish.”

Karen tried to protest, yelling, “It’s not that, Angela. Believe me.” But Angela had fled the room, and didn’t hear Karen’s further words: “I really love you, Angela, but I’m so confused.”

On the commode, she cried as she relieved herself. She vowed not to return to sleep next to Ramini when she returned to her room. Karen slept the rest of the night in Ramini’s bed, leaving the other girl peacefully asleep in her own. Karen’s own sleep was not so peaceful; instead her mind raced back and forth, realizing she had been in the troubling practice of pledging her love to anyone who paid attention to her. Despite trying to avoid Angela’s attentions, she told her in their early morning encounter that “I love you,” and that was only a few after she made the same pledge to Ramini. Besides, there was Mark, whom she had repeatedly felt was her true love? What was going on with her? Where did her true love reside?

*****

“Love, she thought, must come suddenly, with great outbursts and lightning--a hurricane of the skies, which falls upon life, revolutionises it, roots up the will like a leaf, and sweeps the whole heart into the abyss.”
”• Gustave Flaubert, Madame Bovary

As she lay in bed, Karen wondered whether she’d suffer the same fate as Emma Bovary, a love-starved woman who had many lovers, but only found peace when she toOK arsenic to end it all. The novel had seriously affected her, even though she read it as a high school senior and was still living the life of a boy named Kenny. She remembered she had cried like a girl, as she considered the fate of the small town French girl. Her mother had recommended the book to her and perhaps it was then, as Kenny, that she began to have a clue that her own future might lead her into the womanhood she now enjoyed.

*****
It took her a long time to rid the cobwebs from her sleep-deprived brain the following morning, awakening to the cacophony of her alarm. She showered hurriedly, did a haphazard job fixing her hair and applying light makeup realizing she was running late. Yet, she took a minute to check her email.

Karen:

Mark has finally read your letters. You must thank his brother for that: He told Mark that he was foolish not to want to see what a pretty girl like you wrote. I think Mark’s brother is getting to the age where he’s interested in girls. I sometimes wish my boys had never grown up. LOL

Mark would not share what you wrote, but I think he must have liked it. He looked like he was going to cry, from what Peter said.

The doctors and physical therapists tell us Mark is improving, and only time will tell how this will all end.

Hope you are doing fine. Please continue to write.

Love, Patti

Karen typed out a quick reply, indicating she’d write more in reply to Patti later. In the busy time over her move, she had not written to Mark for two days. She vowed to remedy that situation.

*****
Several days later, Karen and her friend Jenny joined the girls for the 3 p.m. get-together in the Student Union. As promised, Mary Catherine was part of the group along with Tricia, Tracy and Beverly. It was the first time that Karen had seen the entire group in the new semester and there were sisterly hugs joined in by all. Tracy, however, was a bit distant and in her brief contact with Karen, her arms barely rose to the hug.

Sensing the girl’s hesitancy, she made a point of sitting down next to her and asking, quietly so as not to attract the attention of the others who were engaged in eager conversation: “How’s Gabe doing?”

Tracy blushed immediately, her fleshy face betraying her unease. “Oh, Gabe?” she asked, as if Karen had referred to some obscure person and not the girl’s boyfriend (who had been briefly a friend of Karen, and the first boy at college to show an attraction to her).

“Yes, our friend, Gabe.”

“Oh, he’s OK,” she said, non-commitally.

“That’s good,” Karen said. “Really Tracy, I am happy for both of you. You are seeing him still, aren’t you?”

Tracy loOKed at Karen, perhaps wondering if Karen was being ironic and a bit snarky, but she didn’t sense anything sinister in Karen’s questions.

“Oh yes, we are, Karen,” she said, her face brightening. “We were able to see each other several times over the holidays. He has a lovely family. I spent a day at their farm.”

“Great. Please tell him ‘hi’ for me.”

“I will Karen, and I’m sorry it all happened this way. You’re really very sweet.”

Karen smiled at her friend and soon the table became full of giggles and girl talk. How pleased Karen was to have become a part of it all.

*****
As Karen expected she might have, Mary Catherine Delaney had a gold cross dangling upon the dark red v-neck sweater, resting between her erect, prominent breasts. She had dark, straight and well-brushed hair that hung to her shoulders and made her pale face look almost white. Dark red lips and dark-rimmed glasses accentuated her paleness. There was a hint of awe in her otherwise wide eyes, and the girl said little, but listened intently as the others talked. Karen felt the Mary Catherine was examining her closely. For some reason, Karen did not feel threatened by the her constant attention.

“Which way you walking?” Mary Catherine asked grabbing Karen’s arm as the girls arose from the table to return to classes.

“Towards Humanities.”

“Me too. May I join you?” Mary Catherine asked as they proceeded out into the wintry day. “Do you like it here? I mean at this University?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know,” she said hesitantly. “It’s so different. I never met so many different people.”

Karen smiled. “I know, but that’s what I like about it the most. I’ve met so many different kids.”

The two continued on saying nothing, careful to dodge patches of ice that remained from a brief thaw that had occurred the day before, leaving melting snow to freeze up again. The wind was from the northwest, blowing unobstructed across the lake that bordered the University on the North. Karen knew something was on Mary Catherine’s mind, and it obviously had to do with Karen’s own gender switch.

“Does that bother you, Mary Catherine?” Karen asked.

“Oh you can just call me Mary. That’s what all my family and friends do. Yeah, I’m not used to it, so many different people.”

“You mean like me?” Karen said, deciding that it was time Mary Catherine stop beating around the bush and state her concerns.

“Well . . . ah . . . yes, I guess.”

Karen could see the girl’s face grow red instantly.

“That’s OK, Mary,” Karen said. “I’m not bothered by other people’s curiosity. I guess I am a bit different, but then isn’t everyone different in one way or the other?”

“I know, but you know what I mean. You’re supposed to be a boy.”

“No honey, I’m supposed to be a girl, and I think that’s how God intended me to be born, but somehow my genes got all mixed up.”

“No, don’t say God intended you to be a girl,” Mary Catherine’s voice rose, and the girl suddenly seem to lose her shyness. “You have intended to be a girl, even though God intended you to be a boy!”

Karen was taken aback by the girl’s sudden attack; she had seemed so shy and retiring, but the minute Karen mentioned God, she reacted angrily.

Mary Catherine’s voice returned to her previous soft tone: “I have prayed for you, ever since Jenny told us about you. I prayed that you’d change those girl outfits and return to be a boy. I love you as a sister would love her brother and as one human being must love another. You can’t alter God’s wishes. You were born a boy and you must remain a boy.”

“Thank you for your prayers, Mary, but I don’t pretend to know God’s mind. In this world there are many others like me who have felt they were born into the wrong gender. I’m not sure God would want me to return to my boy’s life, since it always felt so unnatural to me.”

Mary was quiet for a moment, and finally said in a quiet, hesitant voice: “God doesn't make mistakes. Your feelings do.”

Karen felt curious warmth to this caring, sweet young lady; she wanted to disagree with her and argue the point, but thought the better of it. Nothing would be gained by getting into an argument The two approached the bank of steps leading into the huge, multi-columned Humanities Building — a structure built in the 1890s as the showcase of the budding State University. Karen noticed the plaque that adorned a space between two entry ways.

“Did you ever read that sign?” Karen asked stopping and grabbing Mary Catherine to force her to stop as well.

“Whatever may be the limitations
which trammel inquiry elsewhere
we believe this great state University
should ever encourage
that continual and fearless sifting and winnowing
by which alone the truth can be found."
Statement of the Board of Regents, 1894
_________
Memorial: Class of 1910

Mary Catherine gazed at the plaque for what seemed an eternity, as heavily bundled up students passed by them, bound to classes that were about to begin.

“That’s what I really like about this University,” Karen said. “We’re here to get the truth, regardless where it leads us. I’m learning the truth about myself, I hope.”

Mary Catherine finally looked at Karen. She nodded: “I guess I’d better get to class.”

The girl bolted from Karen. It appeared Mary Catherine might have been about to cry.

Chapter 11: Hometown Folks

The winter continued to be colder than usual, and by mid-February there still was no sign that the deep drifts of snow that had piled up along the roadways and sidewalks were getting any lower; cars still were hidden by the huge drifts, causing many intersection accidents as drivers were unable to see around the piles. Many drivers tied flags of one type or the other — ranging from red bandannas or fluorescent pink ribbons to Green Bay Packer banners — to their radio antennas so that their cars would become visible over the piled snow.

The University continued to be a busy beehive of activity, the students and faculty having adjusted to the cold, many even walking with their coats open as temperatures might sometimes rise into the 20s, constituting a “warming trend” in the words of the television weather guys and girls.

Karen’s work for Professor Fenstrom increased in intensity as the call for auditions went out for the University Players spring production of William Inge’s “Picnic.” It was Karen’s job to assemble the applications for auditions and set up appointments and schedules.

Thankfully, Karen found the professor to be the model of decorum. Not once since her warning to him that she did not want his sexual attentions had he gone beyond normal professional behavior. Yet, she sensed his desires to hold her and perhaps even take her into his bed were still lurking, restrained most likely by her statement that she’d make his behavior public and thus ruin his career.

Her friend Heather, who had the lead part in last autumn’s play, confided to Karen that the professor had wanted sex with her and had even threatened at one point to replace her in the part. Karen remembered the time during rehearsals when Fenstrom had badgered Heather continually, reducing the girl to tears and so weakening her confidence that she became a bundle of nervous hesitation on stage. Karen had pleaded with Fenstrom at the time to loosen his heavy hand of direction on the girl, for the sake of the play. (Ironically, Karen would have been the likely replacement for Heather; yet, she knew it wasn’t time for her to be front stage, since her transition into girlhood was just beginning.)

Heather had learned of Karen’s intervention on her behalf and knew it had been critical; she thanked Karen and then confessed that the harassment began after she refused sex with the professor. “I thought he was going to hound me out of the part because I confronted him,” she told Karen. “But I think he realized that both the play and his job might be lost. You helped put some sense into the old lecher.”

“He was so unfair to you, Heather,” Karen said.

Professor Fenstrom, when he persuaded Karen to take the work-study assignment, told her that she’d still be in line for a key part in the spring production, perhaps even in the key part as Millie, the teenage sister. It was a part that seemed so attractive, and that Karen honestly felt she could do with great success. Even so, Karen was determined not to use her unique sexual situation to influence the professor’s decision-making.

She enjoyed the work of assisting the professor, who truly was a top-rate director and teacher. The man was a consummate professional, Karen felt, and she had begun to feel that he was relying more and more upon Karen to assist in his decisions involving the production.

“You have the keen sense of drama, dear,” he told her one day as they discussed possible staging ideas.

It was a moment when Karen felt like kissing the man. She realized that she relished his praise, and always wanted to please him. It was a dangerous attitude, she knew, since it could lead her to compromise her professionalism. Karen also wondered if she truly desired his sexual attention as well, even as she had refused him. Her own promiscuity was beginning to trouble her. Was she just another slut?

*****
“Mom, that’s great. I’m so happy you and Sonny are coming down for the tournament,” Karen said into the phone.

She had been following her high school alma mater basketball team’s progress, since it traditionally had been one of the better programs in the state, often qualifying as one of the eight finalists in the State Tournament. This year, while the team floundered early in the season, it picked up steam and qualified again.

Sonny was not on the team, but he had many friends among the basketball players, and he pleaded to be able to follow the team to the tournament.

“I didn’t want to send him down there with a bunch of classmates, Karen,” Cecilia Hansson told her daughter. “He’s still only 15, and I know what kind of mischief kids can get into on their own.”

Karen giggled. “I know, mom. I’ve heard you were no angel when you came down here in high school.”

“Now Karen, that’s only a rumor,” she said, also laughing.

“OK, mom, we know, do as I say, not as I do, right?”

“Right, and don’t forget it, Karen.”

The repartee was good-natured, but Karen knew in her heart that her mother was right. There was no reason why the kids had to repeat the mistakes of their parents; it was on just such a trip that she took — with no chaperons — to an earlier state basketball tournament that her mother met their father, resulting in the failed marriage, and pregnancy at an early age for Cecelia. Their mother never expressed resentment toward her children, whom she dearly loved and cared for; yet, the truth was it had stopped her from getting to college until far later in life.

Karen knew, too, that the conversation reflected upon her own behavior, which appeared to be leading her in the direction of promiscuity.

Cecelia Hansson and Sonny arrived on campus on a Thursday afternoon, in time for the three Hanssons to have an early supper at the restaurant within the nearby Capitol Hotel, where they were staying. Several other families from their city were also staying at the same hostelry, many of whom knew the Hansson’s. While Karen’s transition was not a secret, it had not be advertised, and Karen knew that many might wonder who that young lady was who was seated with Cecelia Hansson and her younger son.

“Oh my God, sis, you’re so pretty,” Sonny said, clearly impressed by his sister’s appearance.

Karen hugged both of them, though Sonny backed off quickly, no doubt worried that he might get teased by some of his friends. Karen smiled at his behavior, forgiving her brother for his abruptness, remembering how easily a teenager becomes worried about what his friends might think. Certainly a tough young footballer like Sonny shouldn’t be seen in public being too huggy, even with a sister.

“Thanks, Sonny, but I didn’t have time to change, since I came right from work. I got off an hour early,” she explained.

“Well you look pretty, dear,” her mother said. “You could probably be a ‘knock-out’ in a burlap sack, too.”

“Now, mom, don’t exaggerate.”

As they awaited their food, Cecelia Hansson ordered a glass of chardonnay for herself, while Sonny ordered a milkshake and Karen a pot of herbal tea. Karen was describing her work with the professor, when a woman approached the table. Karen thought she’d faint on the spot. The woman was Tiffany Thompson, whose husband Hank had operated the neighborhood pharmacy until selling out to one of the big drugstore chains; the families had become close through the years, particularly since Karen (when she was Kenny) often chummed with their son, Henry, Jr., known to his friends as “H. T.”

Tiffany was known as a No. 1 gossip, and Karen’s own identity change had occurred so recently, it was not generally known in the community.

“Cecelia, I thought that was you!” gushed Tiffany as she pounced upon them.

“Oh, hi Tiffany, down for the tournament?”

“What else? Our Melanie is one of the cheerleaders,” Tiffany said, keeping her eye focused on Karen as she talked.

“Of course, it should be a good game,” Cecelia said.

“I know Sonny, of course. Hi, Sonny,” she said, nodding to Karen’s brother, who looked like he’d like to bolt the table and this nosy woman.

“Let me introduce my daughter, Karen,” Cecelia said quickly, apparently hoping to head off the woman’s inquiry before it got too involved.

“Your daughter? I didn’t know you had a . . . ah . . . oh my God . . . it’s Kenny isn’t it? I thought I recognized the face. Oh my God.”

The woman’s voice grew in volume, drawing the attention of the nearby tables, and half of the wait staff.

Karen stood up, holding out her hand. “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Thompson.”

The woman took her hand, still taken aback by Karen’s greeting, so outward and confident. Karen, however, was not feeling the same confidence, and instead was hiding her uneasiness at the situation.

Tiffany recovered quickly, saying: “Nice meeting you . . . ah . . . again. What is it, Karen?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The woman turned and beckoned to a man and a girl in a team jacket. She boomed out: “Oh, Hank, Melissa, come meet the Hansson’s and their daughter, Karen.”

She emphasized the “Karen” in her loud, raucous voice.

Hank and Melissa joined them and introductions were made; Sonny and Melissa knew each other, of course, and grunted “hi’s” to each other.

“Did you know, Hank that Karen here used to be Kenny? What do you think of that?” Her voice took on a critical tone.

“Oh mother,” Melissa interrupted. “The whole school heard of that. So what. I think she’s pretty, mom.”

“What? Why didn’t I know?”

“Oh, mom, it’s no big deal. Nice meeting you as Karen,” the girl said, moving to hug Karen.

Hank Thompson moved in to the table, clearly concerned over the fuss that his boisterous, nosey wife had made. He said: “Yes, Tiffany. Let’s let this nice family enjoy their dinner. Nice seeing you again Cecelia, and Sonny and you, Karen.”

Karen let out a sigh of relief when they finally left. She could see many at the nearby tables who had observed the conversation were now observing her closely, and buzzing among themselves; at least one older couple shook their heads in apparent disgust.

Sonny was also shaken by the public display and the “outing” of his sister. Once the food arrived, he wolfed down his double-sized cheeseburger, fries and milk shake, excused himself and went to join the students who were to sit together as a group at the game. Cecelia and Karen would arrive later, having purchased separate tickets.

Karen was pleased to have a few moments with her mother, hoping to spend some mother-daughter time together. Karen needed to unload her worries about her relationship with Mark. Whether she wanted to share her other sexual liaisons with her mother, however, was a different story. She was not sure that her mother would understand; her behavior was becoming a bit shameful, wasn’t it?

*****
“I’m not sure you can do much more than you can, Karen, other than to give the boy a chance to heal from his injuries, both physical and psychological,” her mother said when Karen finished telling her how Mark had rejected her and how she had responded.

“That’s what his mother told me, too.”

Both women had decided to violate their diets for the evening and each ordered a slice of the restaurant’s strawberry covered cheesecake, a specialty of the house. They both enjoyed it as a bit of guilty pleasure, giggling over their love of the “sinful creation,” as Cecelia called it.

“I think he still loves me though, mother,” Karen said.

“I know, honey, and you’ve told me that several times.”

“He says he just doesn’t me wasting my time on a cripple, like him,” Karen said, tears welling up in her eyes. “I just want to cry when he talks like that. It’s like he has no hope.”

“The early days after such an injury are so tough for a person, Karen,” Cecelia said. “I’ve seen it in the hospital many times. Patients just think they’ll never get any better, but in most cases, they soon start healing and soon those days of despair of almost gone from their memories.”

“But he may never walk again, mother.”

“Maybe, maybe not, Karen. Just keep writing those letters. I know they’ll help him through this, dear.”

“That’s what Mrs. Hamilton says, too.”

Cecelia Hansson smiled at her daughter: “She’s right, of course, darling. She is a wonderful person, isn’t she?”

“Yes, we’ve become very close during all this.”

Her mother paid the bill, and the two charged off to the basketball game; as they passed the table of the Thompson family, Karen paid a point of waving an almost brazen hand at them and saying: “Nice meeting you again, folks.”

She heard a mumbled reply, too garbled to understand. It made no difference; Karen felt she shouldn’t worry about folks like them and what they might think or say.

*****
As it turned out, the state tournament basketball game became the occasion of the “coming out” of Karen Hansson as a girl to many of her onetime high school friends and acquaintances, as well as to many adults in the community. Karen had been so excited about spending an evening with her mother — as well as the game — she had not realized until the two approached the gates to the huge basketball stadium that she’d be running into others from the community in which she grew up, and in which her mother — due to her growing status at the hospital — had gained more and more recognition.

There was still a chill in the air as Karen and her mother rounded a sidewalk amid a surge of young people, parents, grandparents and fans, as they all jostled to position themselves to squeeze through the entry gates.

“Oh Cece, is that you?” said a middle-aged woman, wearing a jacket in the black and gold colors of the high school team.

Karen and her mother turned to greet the woman and Karen was shocked to see Whitney Roberts, wearing a black-and-gold team jacket. Whitney had graduated with her from the high school, having won several letters in both basketball and football.

“Emily, how nice to see you? Coming to cheer the team to victory?” Cecelia replied, shouting over the noise of the crowd.

The crowd jostled them together, placing Karen tightly against Whitney.

“You bet, and Whitney’s team never made it to State so he’s eager to cheer the boys on,” the woman said. “Oh and who is the lovely girl with you?”

Karen began to blush. “My daughter, Karen. She’s a student here.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you had a daughter? Didn’t your son graduate with Whitney last year?”

The crowd’s pressure grew as the two family groups moved ahead to pit through the turnstiles. By now, Karen and Whitney were so close to each other she almost could feel the boy’s hot breath; Whitney eyed her closely.

“Yes, I did graduate with Whitney here,” Karen said loudly.

“You did?” Whitney said. “How could I miss you then?”

“You didn’t. I was Kenny then and we were in lots of classes . . .”

Suddenly, Karen was being pushed through the turnstile, and Whitney and his mother were lost in the crowd. Karen her mother rushed to their seats, which were in a section of others from their community, and Karen knew there’d be more encounters that night.

“I’m proud of you, darling,” Cecelia Hansson said, speaking directly into Karen’s ear to made herself heard over the din of the crowd. “You handled that well, honestly and directly.”

“Oh mom, that was awful. I didn’t know what to say. It just popped into my head without thinking.”

“I know, dear, but honesty is the best policy.”

“I wonder what Whitney might be thinking, mom. Even though he was a jock, he was always nice to me.”

“He seems like a nice young man. His mother is president of the nurses’ union at the hospital and she and I argue lots about issues at the hospital, but I’ve always liked her. She’s tough, but always tries to do the best for her members, while aware of the well-being of our patients. She’s an R.N. herself, and still works a few shifts, so she knows what it’s all about.”

They were surprised few minutes later to see Whitney and his mother take seats just two rows ahead of them and a bit to the left; because some of the seats were still empty as the crowd moved into their seats, Karen could see Whitney turn back to loOK at her. He gave Karen a wave accompanied by a smile. Karen waved back.

Before the game started, Karen found herself the subject of a few stares, some nodding of heads and even some lecherous views by young men; she knew some were speculating about the “pretty girl” with Mrs. Hansson. She saw two other former classmates, but neither of them seemed to recognize her as the former Kenny. Fortunately the game’s excitement soon became so overwhelming that the crowd’s interest was focused totally on the boys in black-and-gold and their soaring and then waning fortunes on the floor as the score see-sawed back and forth. Karen, too, was swept into the action.

At halftime, Karen left her mother and found her way to the ladies’ restroom, taking her place well-back in a quickly forming line into the facility. She looked at the nearby men’s room, seeing the constant flow of men in and out of their facility, while the women’s line moved ever so slowly that Karen began wondering whether she’d get back in time to see the start of the second half.

“This is the only time I wish I was a man,” a young woman, obviously a college student, said. She was standing just ahead of Karen.

Karen giggled. “Yes, being a man does have some benefits.”

“Yeah, like more pay besides being able to take a quick pee,” the woman said. She was clad in a team jacket from the opposing team, was about Karen’s height with dark eyes and long-flowing black hair.

“I know what you mean,” Karen said. “I’m studying sociology and I’ll never get rich that’s for sure.”

The girl laughed. “You’re right about that, and I’m not sure I’ll do much better. I’m in a business course, and I’ll maybe be lucky to get a receptionist job.”

“I don’t think it’ll be that bad,” Karen said, enjoying the repartee. “I thought businesses were trying to put more women into management.”

“That’s what they’re telling us, but I’ll see if that really happens.”

“Hmmm,” Karen said.

The conversation ended as the two finally entered the busy, steamy restroom and waited their turn for a stall.

Karen and her mother were clearly exhausted from cheering and tension by the time the game ended with a three-point basket by Jeffrey Becker with less than five seconds to go, winning it by one-point for the black-and-gold clad team.

“Hey there,” Karen felt her arm being tugged as they joined the crowd surging for the exits.

“Oh hi, Whitney.”

“Mom and I are stopping at the Pancake House for something to eat now? Wanna join us?”

Karen looked at Whitney, wondering why he was so interested in inviting them. Emily Roberts soon joined up, stating: “Yes, we’d be honored to have you join us,” she said, addressing both Karen and her mother.

Engulfed by the crowd, the four said nothing until they were out onto the wide expanse of concrete that surrounded the stadium, and could stop and talk. Cecelia Hansson finally said, “That’s kind of you, Emily, but do you think union and management should be fraternizing?”

“Of course, Cece, we’ll just talk basketball and besides we can go ‘dutch.’”

“OK, is that OK with you, Karen?” her mother asked.

Karen felt trapped; she wasn’t sure just how the after-game snack session would go, particularly since Whitney had been eying her ever since they met. Was his constant examination of her due to curiosity, or did he have other ideas on his mind, she wondered.

“Of course, mother,” she said, forcing a smile.

*****
Whether by design or happenstance, it developed that Karen ended up seated on the window side of a booth at the Pancake House with Whitney piled in next to her, their thighs so close that Karen felt she could sense the heat from his legs. During the walk over, Whitney was the perfect gentleman, taking her arm to guide her safely across streets and opening the restaurant’s door for her. He toOK her coat and hung it up on the hooks that were set on poles at the end of the booth seats.

“Did you like the game, Karen?” the boy said once they were settled in the booth.

“Oh yes, I’m still out of breath from the way it ended. That was so emotional.”

“Me too, I was so afraid they might blow the game,” he said.

Remembering that Whitney had played on the school’s team last year, Karen said: “I bet you wished you’d have had a chance to play in the tournament.”

The boy smiled at her: “I don’t know, Karen. I think I’d be scared stiff to be out there on the floor in front of all those people.”

“Oh posh. You’d do fine, I’m sure. You were our starting guard and I thought the best player.”

“That’s kind of you to say, Karen, but we weren’t a very good team, and I could never have defended that guy on the other team tonight as well as Pete McCall did for our guys in this game. I wasn’t fast enough.”

“I thought you were pretty good, Whitney,” Karen said, patting the boy’s arm lightly.

“I did get invites to play at some smaller colleges, but I really wanted to come here to study economics and politics,” he said. “Besides those small places offered little or no scholarship aid to play basketball.”

Karen’s mother and Mrs. Roberts had been deep in conversation, but stopped long enough to overhear the exchange between the two young people.

“I think he wants to be a politician, dear,” Mrs. Roberts said, interrupting their discussion.

Karen eyed the boy closely, then said, “Well, I think he’d make a good politician. He’s so good-looking.”

“Good looks is one thing, dear,” Emily Roberts said. “He’ll need some brains to go with it, maybe even a law degree. So he’d better tend to his studies.”

“Oh ma, quit nagging,” Whitney said. “What else I need when I run for office is a pretty wife like . . . ah . . . ah . . . Karen here.”

All Karen could do was to laugh out loud at the comment, and her response seemed to tickle the other three who joined in the laughter.

“Sure what’s wrong with that? Isn’t she pretty?” Whitney said.

“She’s lovely,” his mother said.

Karen thought it wise to put an end to this absurd conversation. “Look people, I’m still not a girl yet. My drivers’ license still says ‘Kenny’ so a marriage proposal is a bit premature.”

Whitney was speechless for a moment, marveling at the openness of Karen’s comments about her own gender situation.

“Besides, I want to marry a Democrat,” Karen added.

“What else could I be?” Whitney said, leaning over to give Karen a quick kiss on the cheek.

Cecelia Hansson said: “That’s the one thing Whitney that your mother and I agree on, and that’s our politics.”

Emily Roberts nodded in agreement.

By then the waitress arrived with their food, which included an apple pie ala mode for Karen; pancakes and sausage for Whitney; cheesecake for his mother and strawberry schaum torte for Cecelia Hansson. Karen couldn’t help notice how nervously the waitress acted in serving the food, recalling her own first days on the job. The girl was obviously a college student who had never before waited tables, and her hair hung haphazardly down her round, chubby face. She had a stocky body whose curves challenged the tight-fitting waitress uniform. A slight cleavage showed above the bodice of her peasant blouse, accentuating her ample breasts. It was obvious that Whitney was looking intently at them as the girl leaned in to place the plates on the table.

“I saw you looking at her,” Karen teased Whitney, once the girl had left the table.

“Listen to her,” he said to the two mothers sitting across from them. “Nagging like a fish wife already.”

Karen gave the boy a playful punch in the arm.

“Now children,” Emily Roberts said.

The group was silent as they settled into eating their snacks, before Whitney said:

“I really can’t believe you’re the same person I knew in high school,” he said. “It’s just like you’ve always been a girl.”

Karen smiled. “Thank you, Whitney. I think I always was a girl inside, but somewhere along the way my genes got all mixed up.”

“You’re so dainty, but then you never were too husky, I guess.”

“No, Whitney, I wasn’t and I always felt so out of place as a boy, too. It was tough sometimes and I got teased a lot, but you were always nice to me.”

“That’s how we taught him to be, to be respectful of everyone, and to understand that every person is different,” Emily said.

“I’ve always enjoyed the few times we talked when you were Kenny,” Whitney said. “You weren’t boring like some of my friends. All they talked about was either sex or video games; I remember you and I got into an argument once in class about national health insurance. Remember that?”

“Yes, that was in the last semester of U. S. History with Mr. Rhodes,” Karen said clearly recalling the debate. “We had two groups put together and I represented the ‘no’ side and you the ‘pro’ side. And we both ended up doing most of the arguing.”

“I got so mad at you,” Whitney said.

“Yeah, I remember, we even continued the argument after class,” she said, beginning to giggle.

Whitney laughed. “We sure got hot at each other then, but I liked that. I told mom about that discussion and she excused you by saying you were just reflecting your mom’s thinking, since she was a hospital administrator.”

“That wasn’t it, but I just got wrapped up in the argument, and I got so mad, too,” she said. “You were insufferable.”

“I was? You were even worse.”

“Now children,” Cecelia interjected, hoping to head off a fight.

Karen and Whitney looked at each other, almost simultaneously beginning to laugh. She gave him another light punch in the arm, and he feigned being hurt.

“Actually,” Cecelia said, “I think we all four probably agree on the health issue, in spite of the debate you two had in class.”

“Yes, we do,” added Emily. “Even the hospital administrator here thinks a national health insurance plan is good.”

Later, as Karen walked her mother back to the hotel, they agreed it had been a fun night, that Emily and her son Whitney could become great friends.

“He wanted my phone number, mom,” Karen said.

“Did you give it to him?”

“Sure, why not? I said we could be friends, although I told him I already had a boyfriend. I think he was disappointed, but I think he’ll call me anyway. He’s smart and so much fun, although I do think we’d fight if we ever got together.”

“How do you know that, Karen?”

“Well don’t you and Mrs. Roberts argue all the time at work?” Karen asked.

“Yes, we do, but that’s the nature of our jobs. We still like and respect each other, though.”

“Well, Whit is much like his mother. He’s a fighter for what he believes in and that’s good, and I think I might be like that, too.”

Her mother smiled at her; they hugged each other at the hotel entrance, and Karen walked in quick steps to her new residence. Even though there was a heavy campus security presence, Karen realized she was a vulnerable girl walking alone in the dark; she had her pepper spray ready in her hand, though, just in case.

As she walked, her mind bounced around, thinking how nice Whit had been (she had begun calling him that as the evening had worn on.) She thought, too, about the fights they would have and the fights would likely be about politics, not so much over a basic philosophy, since they both seemed to have the same instincts, but rather about specifics. They both seemed to have, she thought, obsessive tendencies and they might sometimes conflict. Then she realized, too, how much fun it would be to make up. She was certain they’d have naughty times together, and it excited her. Yet, she suddenly berated herself for having dismissed from her thoughts her love and concern for Mark, struggling to walk again and perhaps lying depressed in the rehab center some 90 miles away. How could she betray him?

Chapter 12: More Complications

Thanks to a fairly light class schedule on Friday, Karen was able to schedule lunch with her mother and brother. They agreed to meet about 11:30 a.m. at the Student Union, and Sonny was thrilled to enter the historic 100-year-old building that had become an icon of the State University. The building was built like a medieval castle at a time in the early 1900s when such architecture was popular throughout the country. Its four turrets pointed high in the sky and for years dominated the campus skyline; in more recent years, its outline had been dwarfed by several skyscrapers of nearby classroom buildings and offices, an occurrence that had brought criticism to the University’s lack of restraint.

Inside the Union, the most popular gathering spot for students and visitors was the huge lower level room that covered half of the building, containing a snack bar (even beer was served). Sturdy oak tables and chairs seemed always to be filled; all of the furniture so indestructible that you’d see carvings in the tables with such sayings as “M.K. — S.T . ’41,” “Steve Loves Mary, ’52,” and “Bill D. ’35.” For most of its 100 years, the place was affectionately called the “Dungeon” or “Dung,” even though the room was brightened up by light coming in from full-sized windows looking out on the lake. The din of noise was continual.

Luckily Karen and her family found a table near the windows; they put their trays down. Karen, still feeling stuffed from the snack they had the night before, chose a tomato salad and herbal tea, her mother had a tuna salad sandwich plus coffee and Sonny had two BBQ rib sandwiches (the “Dungeon Special”), a milkshake and fries.

His fingers dripping with barbeque sauce, Sonny announced: “Karen, I’m thinking of going down to visit Mark with a couple of friends from our football team. What d’ya think?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Samuel,” their mother scolded.

“Oh, ma,” he said, still chewing. No doubt he’d been told that thousands of times in his young life. “Would that be OK, Karen?”

“You want to visit him? Why, Sonny?” Karen asked.

“He was so nice to me when he visited you, and I know some of my friends were impressed that we knew him. He really was a star, Karen.”

Karen smiled. Yes, Mark had been friendly with Sonny, even to the point of spending much time with Sonny talking football, while Karen waited impatiently, worried that Mark was using too much of his short visit with Sonny instead of her.

“I don’t know, Sonny,” Karen said. “He’s not wanted to see too many people since he was injured.”

“Oh,” Sonny said, his face showing disappointment. “But mainly, sis, I thought maybe a visit by some of us players might cheer him up. What do you think, Karen?”

“Yes, dear,” Cecelia Hansson said. “It might just do that.”

Karen smiled. Her brother — who had teased her in her “Kenny” days for being “girly” — had shown continual kindness to her now, as well as displaying a caring nature that she never thought he had. The boy was even picking up some of the household chores that Karen had traditionally done when she lived at home, obviously to help his mother out due to her long and difficult work schedule.

“OK, Sonny, tell you what I’ll do. I’ll talk with Patti Hamilton to see if she thinks it’s a good idea and let you know,” Karen said.

“How will you get there, Sonny?” their mother asked.

“Jamie has his license. He can drive.”

“Oh no,” their mother protested. “I’ll drive you boys down if Karen can set it up. You’ll have to go on a weekend anyway.”

“Oh mom, Jamie’s a good driver,” Sonny protested.

“Good driver, ha!” Cecelia Hansson exclaimed. “He’s good at squealing his tires when he leaves the curb. No honey. I’ll drive, or one of the other parents can.”

“All right,” the boy said. “I really want to see Mark, mom, and that’s fine. He’d probably be glad to see you, too.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Karen said. “I don’t think he’ll refuse to see you boys.”

Karen leaned over and kissed her brother, an affectionate sisterly kiss. Sonny, however, stiffened at the show of affection. Karen smiled; he’s still a 15-year-old boy.

*****
Professor Fenstrom demanded that Karen stay overtime that day, forcing her to cancel her planned dinner with her mother and the Roberts. While she was disappointed to lose this opportunity to be with her mother, she was glad not to have to interact again with Whitney. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy him; she did. The truth was she was fearful of becoming fond of the boy, developing a friendship that would further complicate her life.

“Now Karen, I’m hoping you can keep up with me on this,” Fenstrom began. “I’m going to go through my scene directions, page-by-page, and I want you to take notes. Then I want you to type them up, as I’ve given them to you. OK?”

“I’ll try, sir,” Karen said. She knew it would be difficult to follow the professor, since like most creative people his mind raced a thousand miles an hour, sometimes stumbling around and even being contradictory.

“I’ll trust you’ll make sense out of my gibberish,” he said, smiling.

He reached over and gave Karen a light affectionate tap on her cheeks, bringing a flush to her face. The two were close together in his small office, the professor wandering back and forth as he talked, his steps reduced to two in each direction, each time coming so close to Karen she sometimes felt the cloth of his pant leg against her arm as she sat in a chair, a script on her knee. She wore tight-fitting jeans, a camisole that exposed her modest cleavage and two-inch high heeled boots. She had taken off her sweater due to the warmth of the room, exposing her bare arms and shoulders.

The professor completed discussing his directions for Act One of “Picnic” by five o’clock.

“Now I want you to stay and see if you can put these in the computer before you leave,” he said.

“But, sir,” Karen protested. “I need to get to the basketball game and meet my mother. We were going to have dinner together.”

“Well, that’ll have to wait, dear. I need these finished so I can go over them tonight. Tomorrow we need to do Act Two.”

“But . . .”

“No buts, Karen. I need this. I’ll order in for the both of us. Is Chinese OK?”

“I’ll try, but I will go when it’s game time, OK?”

“It’s a deal, I know you can do it. I know a good Chinese place that’ll deliver here.”

Karen nodded, and headed to her desk. She called her mother, gave her regrets about missing dinner. Her mother offered to stop by shortly and drop off Karen’s ticket so that they could meet at the game.

*****
“Karen, I’m happy you decided to work for me this semester,” the professor said. When the food arrived from the Chinese Palace, he cleared a spot on his desk for the food, and set up a folding chair for Karen.

The arrangement felt a bit too cozy for Karen, who already could sense the Professor was getting overly familiar, in spite of his pledges to treat her professionally.

“I know this red wine doesn’t necessarily go with Chinese,” he announced, producing a bottle and two glasses from somewhere beneath his desk. “Would you like some?”

“No thanks, sir,” Karen said when she was seated. “I need to keep my head clear.”

“Good thought. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have offered you any. But, would you mind if I had a glass?”

“Good right ahead, sir,” she said.

“No need to ‘sir’ me, dear. Just Eric is fine.”

“I think I’ll stick with ‘sir,’ sir,” Karen said, giving him a smile.

“Have it your way,” the professor said, turning to serve the food from the two paper containers.

The two ate in silence, Karen purposely concentrating on her food, with a desire to get back to her desk as soon as possible to continue transcribing Fenstrom’s notes. Besides, she wanted to return to her desk quickly, for fear that her mother would show up any minute with her ticket and find the two of them close together in the professor’s inner office.

As she bit into her first egg roll, she heard the outer door open and her mother’s voice from the outer office, “Karen, are you here.”

“Mother, I’m in here. Just stay there I’ll be out to greet you.”

The professor yelled out, however: “We’re in my office, just come in Mrs. Hansson.”

Karen tried to move back to distance herself from the professor, but it was too late; the door opened and her mother walked in, quickly surveying the small, cramped room.

“I’m sorry I had to ruin your dinner tonight with Karen,” the professor said, showing sincere contrition. “I really need to have Karen complete this project before she left tonight.”

“I understand,” Cecelia Hansson said. “I often have to ask my assistants to work extra even when it intrudes on their families.”

“That’s good of you to understand, Mrs. Hansson, but I have found your daughter to be a most valuable worker,” Fenstrom continued. “She understands drama and she has plenty of other skills that I need in the office here. She’s a joy to have around.”

Karen blushed as he spoke, wondering how much the professor said was what he truly believed, or whether he was using his acting skills to impress her mother.

“She loves the theater, though I’m wondering what other skills you’re referring to professor,” Cecelia said, looking sharply at Karen.

Fenstrom blushed and responded, “Oh, Mrs. Hansson, she has other office skills. That’s all I meant.”

She handed the ticket over to Karen and turned to go, but Fenstrom stopped her. “Why not stay and share some of this? I’m afraid I bought too much and we have lots. This’ll make up just a bit for spoiling your dinner plans.”

“Can’t stay, I’m planning to join another couple for dinner,” she explained.

“Surely you have time for a glass of wine?”

Karen saw her mother scowl; then she looked quickly at Karen as if inquiring whether Karen was drinking wine. Fenstrom sensed her critical eye, and said quickly: “Oh, I wouldn’t serve your daughter any wine, ma’am. I know she’s underage.”

Karen could see her mother grow more at ease with the assurance that the professor was not offering her any wine. Nonetheless, Karen was shocked by the ease with which the professor lied to her mother about the wine.

Her mother excused herself. Karen finished her egg roll, small portions of rice, and a curry dish with shrimp, noodles and sprouts. She said little as she wolfed down the food, leaving the room as soon as she was done. Fenstrom, too, finished his eating, and Karen took the remaining food and carried it out to a small refrigerator that was set in the outer office. She was about to leave for the women’s room, when Fenstrom yelled out at her: “Karen, would you come back in here and clean up the rest of these dirty plates all?”

Karen scowled, about to object to being his maid, but thought the better of it. Better to just do it, and not pick a fight. She found him examining a script as she cleaned up the desk area, picking up the dirty paper plates, napkins and plastic eating tools and carrying them out to a trash can in the hall. Neither spoke. Karen went to the women’s room, cleaned her hands, threw water on her face in an attempt to freshen up and returned to her desk to complete the transcribing.

She completed her work about 30 minutes before the game time, giving her plenty of time to get to the game.

“I just forwarded you a file with the transcription, sir,” Karen yelled to the professor. “Check your computer, sir.”

“OK, good. Karen, do you have time to print out the transcription?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, hitting the “print’ button.

A moment later, she plopped the dozen pages of the transcript on the professor’s desk. Surprisingly, the professor seemed little interested in the transcript; instead, he looked at Karen and said: “You know, dear, you’re a gem.”

“Thank you, sir. I must leave now. Hope you find the transcription to your liking?”

“If you did it, I’m sure I will.”

“Good-bye, sir. See you at 8:30 tomorrow morning, right?”

“Karen, look, I know you’re mad at me, but I couldn’t very well have told your mother I offered you wine, you know?” he said.

“Sometimes I wish you’d just be honest,” Karen said, her tone getting defiant. “Look, sir, I enjoy this work and this job immensely. You know how much I’m interested in the theater and I can learn lots from working with you, but I can’t trust you, sir. Perhaps this isn’t a good idea, and I should quit now.”

“Karen, dear, I haven’t touched you, have I?”

“Yes, you have several times, just little touches on the shoulder or arm and once on my thigh,” Karen said. “You acted like they were inadvertent, but I still felt them. Professor Fenstrom, you know I’m going through lots of stuff now with this transition and my boyfriend in the hospital. I just can’t deal with your advances. Really I can’t . . .”

Karen burst into tears and ran out of the office, hurrying to the women’s room. She dashed water on her face and reapplied some light makeup which had been damaged by her crying. The effort settled her nerves; she returned to the office to get her coat.

Professor Fenstrom stood at his inner office door, looking at Karen as she returned.

“That was quite a performance, Karen,” he said. “You’ve got the part.”

“What? You think that was a performance? Ohhhh, you make me so mad.”

She held back tears; she wouldn’t let him see her cry again. Turning her back on him, she put on her coat and hat and grabbed her purse. She headed to the door.

“See you here at 8:30 tomorrow, Karen. We’ve got lots to do then,” he yelled after her.

Karen said a soft “Yes sir,” and left the room.

As she walked in the crowd headed to the University’s monstrous basketball arena, she tried to settle down; she was still shaking from the tirade she had unleashed upon the professor. She was pleased he hadn’t fired her; yet she was wondering if she should quit the job, even though she loved the work. And was he serious about her getting “the part?” And what part would that be, that of the teenager in “Picnic” that the theater was to stage that spring? But was a part in a university theater production worth selling her body and soul to an unscrupulous professor, regardless of the talent the man had?

*****
“You two were awfully cozy in there,” Cecelia Hansson said to her daughter after Karen had settled into the seat at the game.

Karen arrived just after the University Jazz Ensemble played an unusually rousing version of the “Star Spangled Banner.” The music excited an already aroused crowd greatly enhancing the adrenaline of the packed audience. Since their high school team was considered an underdog — even being dubbed the “Cinderella” of the tourney — it had gathered the support of most of the crowd.

“Nothing was going on there, mother,” Karen said, almost having to yell into her mother’s ear in order to be heard.

“I hope not, but he looks like a player, dear. Watch out.”

“He is, mother, but I’ve got it under control. Don’t worry.”

“I didn’t like what he said about your ‘other skills,’ honey. You’re a very special girl, you know, and guys like him may be intrigued by that.”

“Oh, mother,” Karen said, with some exasperation. Yet, she realized her mother’s warnings were probably wise.

Though the two were yelling in each other’s ear, they were confident no bystanders could overhear the conversation. Later, during a timeout when the crowd noise was less oppressive, Karen described how she had withstood the professor’s advances, pointing out that she had been given instructions on how to deal with such men from both Moira, her counselor at the Gender Clinic, and Angela, her longtime girlfriend.

“I must say, Karen, you’ve picked up a lot of feminine common sense in a few months,” Cecelia Hansson said.

Karen smiled, whispering to her mother, “I think I’ve been a girl all my life, mother, so I think it came naturally.”

At halftime, Karen met Whitney Roberts; the two had waved at each other in the stands earlier, and Whitney through a combination of sign language and mouthing invited her to join him for a Coke. She had nodded “yes.”

The score was tied at halftime, and both teams were obviously keyed up for the game, both having played hard, scrabbling for balls and running helter-skelter up and down the floor that made for an entertaining game, if not exactly a model of sound basketball.

“You’re hoarse,” Karen said to Whitney as he handed her a diet drink.

“Too much cheering,” he said. “But I think I heard you squeal a few times too, Karen.”

She blushed.

“Maybe you and I could ditch our moms after the game and go somewhere together,” he proposed. “Would that be OK, you think?”

“Whit, I look like hell, and I promised mom I’d spend time with her,” she said. Actually she liked the idea of going off somewhere with this nice-looking boy who was also so friendly and easy to talk to.

“You look fine, Karen.”

She giggled. “You boys don’t know anything about how a girl feels, Whit. I had to work until just a half hour before the game and didn’t have time to change outfits or freshen up. A girl wants to both look and feel nice when she’s out.”

Karen still wore the tight, faded jeans, a camisole under the sweater and winter boots. In truth she felt grubby; she was convinced her body smelled and that her breath still sent out the residual hints of onion, garlic and spices from the Chinese food she ate. She felt, too, her hair was a mess. Also, she had not renewed her makeup all day long, having only had time to touch up her lipstick. Outside of a single strand of pearls, she wore only simple silver studs in her ears and no other jewelry.

“Well, you’re a pretty sight to me,” he said. “You see how the girls dress around here now? You could wear a garbage bag and still be the prettiest girl here.”

“Oh Whit!” she exclaimed, growing excited at the praise. Strangely, she felt the boy was sincere.

“Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll go someplace where it’s dark.”

“Hmmmmm. I don’t know about that,” she giggled.

“And don’t worry about our mothers,” Whitney said. “I already talked to mom, and she and your mom said they wouldn’t mind us leaving them. I think they’ll go get a drink together somewhere.”

Back in the stands, her mother asked her if Whitney had suggested the two go off together; Karen said “yes,” and her mother agreed she should do it.

“It’s probably best this way, anyway, Karen,” her mother explained.

“Emily and I shouldn’t be seen together so often, since her members and my bosses may think we’re undercutting our bargaining positions,” she said. “I think it’s OK for our children to be friends. So Emily and I will go off for a quick drink, somewhere.”

*****
The game ended badly for the team; it went into the last five minutes with a small lead and the fans cheered mightily for the “Cinderella” team; but soon the superiority in talent from the other school — a perennial favorite for the State Championship — whipped its game together to move ahead decisively.

“Our guys didn’t give up, though,” Whitney said, as he escorted Karen to the Java A-Go-Go, a popular hangout for students who were not old enough to drink. The coffee house had become even more crowded in the new semester, since the University began a crackdown on underage student drinking. The University had an undesireable reputation of being one of the top three “party schools” in the nation, largely due to a long tradition in the State of having loose laws regarding drinking. The new University rules had reached the point where an underage student faced expulsion if they were caught with a drink in their hand, not only in a public place, but even in private campus housing.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” Whitney said, when the settled into two chairs at a tiny table. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t either, Whit.”

Whitney had insisted on buying the drinks and several small fruit and nut treats that they could munch on.

It was inevitable that their knees touched due to the tight quarters and Karen smiled at Whitney as they two young people moved close to each other. Because of the crush of students in Java A-Go-Go, togetherness was actually forced upon them. Karen didn’t mind, since it meant they could sit close to each other to talk, though she was concerned as to whether her breath stunk.

“You know I’m not a complete girl, yet, Whitney,” Karen said. She sensed the boy was smitten by her femininity and felt she must set the record straight, both about caring about another boy and about the fact that she still had many steps to take before she’d be a woman.

“I know that, Karen, but I like you,” he said.

“And I like you, Whitney Roberts,” she said. Already her face was only inches away from his, and she resisted the temptation to kiss him.

“I must confess something to you, Karen,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“Well . . . ah . . . ah . . . it’s kinda awkward, and I might hurt your feelings.”

“Oh? But I want you to be honest with me, Whit.”

The boy said nothing for a minute and then began speaking, his face moving even closer to hers and the words coming out softly, but clearly:

“Remember in high school when we were in lots of classes together?”

“Yes, you were always nice to me, when some other guys teased me. I think you even stood up for me a couple of times.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you remembered. I felt so badly for you. What had you done to bother them? It just wasn’t fair and my mom has always taught us to stand up against unfairness.”

“That was sweet of you.”

“I think I fell in love with you back then, Karen, back when you were Kenny,” he said quickly.

“You did?”

“Oh no, Karen, it wasn’t that I was thinking of you as a boy, even then. You had these cute little mannerisms, like the way you’d flick your hair back out of your eyes. It was just like the way the girls did it.”

“You mean like this?” Karen said, moving her hand daintily to move a strand of hair.

“That’s so cute how you do that,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I remember you in gym class too, how lovely your legs were, too. You had softness about you that was so nice, Karen. I couldn’t help but thinking: I wish you were a girl so I could hold you and hug you and kiss you. I never thought of you as a boy, but in all my dreams I never pictured you would be as pretty a girl as you are right now.”

Karen was shocked: “You thought of me as a girl back then?”

“Yes . . . isn’t that weird? And here you are!”

Whitney reached over and grabbed Karen’s hand, burying it into his calloused hardness, and she felt his fingers lightly caressing the inside area of her wrist. Karen seemed to melt into his touch.

Later that night as Whitney walked Karen back to her residence, Karen felt chilled; it was mid-March and the temperature had dropped well below freezing as the wind switched so it came from the north across the frozen lake. He noticed that Karen was shivering so he put his arm about her to keep her warm; the girl appeared to have welcomed the intimacy. Whitney wondered whether Karen’s acceptance of his closeness meant more than merely a need to warm herself. They stopped outside the house and Whitney drew Karen close, giving her a quick kiss.

“No, no, Whitney,” Karen said, breaking away from the comfort of his hug. “We can’t start this, please. I like you. I really do and I think you’re so nice, but I’m in love with Mark. And he needs me now. Please we can’t start anything.”

“I know Karen,” the boy said, his voice soft and sad.

“You’re crying, Whit,” she said, seeing his eyes grow moist in the direct light of a street lamp overhead.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. That’s so nice, Whitney. Boys can and should cry you know.”

She turned quickly. “Please call me again, Whit. I like talking with you and there’s nothing saying we can’t be friends.”

“I will, bye Karen,” he said, watching her bound up the porch steps and into the house.

Whitney Roberts smiled: she was all girl wasn’t she, he said to himself.

*****
“I thought you’d be home sooner,” Ramini said when Karen entered their bedroom. The room was dark, except for slivers of light that filtered in from the street. Karen could see that her petite roommate was curled up in Karen’s bed.

“I’ll change in the dark. I’m sorry I woke you, Rami.”

“That’s OK, I was waiting for you. I thought you’d be back sooner. The game ended hours ago.”

The tone was accusatory, and Karen felt guilty. As much as she loved being with the tiny Indian girl, she was finding Ramini to become more and more dependent. Perhaps it was to be expected, since Karen had sympathized with Ramini’s problems. In transitioning to womanhood, Ramini had become alienated not only from her family, but also from her former Indian acquaintances on campus. Traditions from her native India held a heavy sway, even among those educated Indians in the United States.

“I’m sorry, Rami, but we stopped at Java A-Go-Go for a while, and the time just sped away,” Karen said.

“Karen, give me a hug, please,” Ramini whined.

Karen knelt down beside the bed, and put a gentle hand on Rami, who was cuddled up in a fetal position on her side. Karen leaned in to kiss the girl, the scent of the other girl’s perfume permeating Karen’s nostrils. It was obvious Ramini had prepared herself to induce Karen to sleep with her that night.

“I’ll change into my nighty, Rami and join you soon,” Karen said after a moment, kissing the girl again.

Karen was troubled by Ramini’s advances, even if she felt attracted to the girl’s fragile body, her smooth skin and warm lips. It had indeed been an exhausting day and Karen was tired, while Ramini was as eager and alert as a squirrel on an oak tree.

“You’re the only person who cares about me,” Ramini said as she snuggled into Karen’s arms.

“Oh Rami, you have other friends and you’re a very pretty girl. All you will need is time to get reacquainted into a whole new life style,” Karen said, lightly kissing the other girl, and caressing her tender shoulders.

“I’m not so sure about that. None of my Indian friends will talk to me anymore, and my mom is forbidden to contact me, thanks to my dad.”

“I know, honey, but if it’s getting too hard on you now, maybe you should forget about transitioning for a while,” Karen said. “I’m sure both Dr. Bargmann and Moira told you that you’d have to develop a whole social life and it wouldn’t be easy.”

Ramini nodded her head.

“No, Karen, I’ve come too far. I’d still be the butt of jokes and snide remarks even if I tried to be a boy again and you know I’m not a boy or at least a real boy. Besides, I feel safer as a girl. You know how I faced getting beaten up. I’m so pathetic.”

“It was just a thought, and perhaps we could figure out some way to keep you safe,” Karen said.

“No, Karen. I’m a girl.”

Karen hugged her friend more tightly. “Let’s just hug now and try to get some sleep, dear,” she said.

Life was so unfair, Karen mused as the two girls huddled under the blanket in the chilly room. For Karen, the transition had not been without difficulties but she had a loving family and close friends to support her. By the circumstances of Ramini’s birth, however, it wasn’t going to be easy for her; the traditions of India bore heavily upon her, dooming such persons as Ramini to a life in the closet or rejection by the community of her birth and a life as a ‘she-male’ in the sex trafficking trade.

In Karen’s embrace, the other girl soon calmed down; soon both girls were breathing easily, and they fell asleep.

Chapter 13: Terrors Amid Desires

Karen carefully extricated herself from Ramini’s hold, having been awakened by the faint light of dawn in the frozen northland. She glanced at the digital clock; it was already 7:15 a.m., and only now getting light. The long summer days in this climate meant that short winter days were a certainty.

“Oh my, I gotta get going,” she said half aloud. She had to work a half-day on Saturday with Professor Fenstrom and had to be at work at 8:30 a.m., hardly enough time to shower, fix her hair, put on makeup and dress.

Hearing the “ding” indicating a text message, she turned to her cell phone and with sleep still encrusting her eyes, she saw the message from Aaron:

"Hi, Karen. Remember me? It's Aaron"

“Of course, I remember u. How r u?”

“Fine. Here for BB tourney. Stayed with sis. Like to c u.”

“Pretty busy.”

“Just for coffee, quick lunch?”

“Not sure. But like to c u 2”

“When”

“Four? Stadium area?”

“Sure. Where?”

“Let u know later. Not sure. This may change. Very busy.”

“OK. Luv to c u.”

“Bye.”

Karen contemplated the day ahead. Work ‘til about 1 p.m., meet her mother and Sonny for late lunch before they drive back to Manitowoc, see Aaron, and then back to her room, where she’d prepare for a night out with Angela. Somewhere in there she had to find time to begin a short paper for her mandatory English writing class. It would be exhausting.

She looked at Ramini, a cute little snore emanating about every third breath from the tiny form; why not bring Ramini along to meet Aaron and join in the conversation? Aaron would enjoy meeting her, since Ramini was intelligent, and it might help get the suffering young woman into a more positive frame of mind.

*****
Aaron gave Karen a gentle hug as they met, almost like one of those pro forma hugs that have become so common these days, supplanting a period when the hand-shake was the most intimate form of greeting between two individuals who were not lovers. After an exchange of text messages, they settled on the Java A-Go-Go; it would be the easiest for Aaron to locate since he was a stranger to the city.

“So happy you took time for me,” Aaron said. The boy’s humilty was obvious.

“This is my roommate, Ramini, but you can call her Rami for short,” Karen said, turning to introduce Ramini who looked up at the skinny boy. Aaron not only towered over Karen but seemingly dwarfed Ramini.

“Glad to meet you, Rami,” Aaron said, bending over and taking the girl’s hand.

“Too bad our team lost last night, but they put up a good fight,” Karen said.

“They’ve got spirit, that club does, but that other school was just too good,” Aaron said.

“How’s St. Albert’s?” Karen asked, inquiring about the college he attended.

“Oh, it’s OK, but it gets a bit stifling at times. Maybe I should have gone to a bigger place, like my sister does,” he said. “I have some good liberal teachers and a few friends who can think, but so many of the kids come from those suburban towns and don’t even try to think for themselves.”

“I know what you mean, Aaron,” Ramini interjected. “But we have kids like that here. Karen knows, since she’s seen those kids who come here just to party and hate anyone different.”

The conversation carried on in that fashion for a while, and Karen knew why she was always so comfortable with Aaron. His mind was always active, reflecting upon what was occurring not only around him, but elsewhere, throughout the world. He was a man of many interests, and was rarely boring.

Karen soon found herself almost left out of the conversation as Aaron began peppering Ramini with questions about India, the politics of that country and the life style; in truth, Ramini was not that well-informed about the country of her ancestors since she had been born in the United States and raised in a virtually all-white upper middle-class suburb. Nonetheless, Karen could see that Aaron was fascinated by this tiny girl.

“By the way, Aaron,” Ramini said after nearly an hour of intense conversations and a refill of coffee. “I must tell you that I’m a bit of a hybrid, too, just like Karen.”

“A hybrid?” Aaron asked, looking quizzically at Karen.

Karen nodded, “Yes, just like me.”

“Oh, what?” the boy said. “Oh my. You mean . . . ah . . . that you, too, are a . . .”

“Yes, I am in transition just like Karen here.”

Aaron was momentarily stunned that such a tiny, delicate person could have been born male, but he soon recovered his shock, listening closely to Ramini’s story of estrangement from her family.

“Look,” he said, as the group was about to break up. “I have an extra ticket to the game tonight. I know Karen is busy, but how’d you like to join me? Do you like basketball?”

“Oh yes,” Ramini said. “And I squeal like a girl when I get excited.”

“Yes, she does,” Karen said. “Put plugs in your ears Aaron.”

Ramini hit Karen with a playful tap on the arm. “Not THAT bad.”

*****
Angela and Karen ended up attending the State Championship basketball game together that night as well; as planned, Karen met her longtime girlfriend at a pizza parlor, where Angela announced she had been given two tickets to the game. It was an exciting game, as such championship high school games so often are, and the two girls enjoyed it, cheering for the underdog team from an impoverished inner city school against the perennial power that had beaten Karen’s team the night before.

Karen scanned the huge crowd, even though there was little chance she’d see Ramini and Aaron. Across the huge stadium, she spied what appeared to be a tiny, dark-complexioned girl next to a thin, tall boy. It must be them, she thought, but it was hard to tell for sure. The girl seemed to be pressed tightly against the boy, looking most cozy. Karen hoped the couple she saw was her two friends; she knew Ramini needed loving now more than ever.

The scrappy kids from the urban school darted back and forth in the game, interrupting the smooth-running mechanics of the other team, and eked out a three-point 62-59 victory. Angela and Karen hugged each other as the final whistle sounded.

Less than an hour later, Karen was in Angela’s room back at the house, taking off her sweater, camisole and slacks, stripping down to her bra and panties. In the faint light from a small bed lamp, Karen looked at herself and saw in her white, soft flesh a growing femininity. Now with barely three months of hormones, she felt softer and thought she saw her breasts growing puffy as the nipples seemed to widen. In the last week or so she had noticed pain in the chest area, and was pleased to see the hormones must be having their desired effect on her body.

“You look so luscious,” Angela said.

“You always say that,” Karen said with a laugh.

Angela had removed her bra and stood in her panties, her lanky, sinewy body appearing smooth and hard. Karen looked at Angela’s tiny breasts which stood as firm mounds of flesh, and Karen felt that Angela’s body was that of an athletic, slender boy, perhaps not much different from the bodies of the basketball players she watched that night at the game.

Angela moved next to Karen, put her hands around her and kneaded Karen’s slender, smooth back. As much as Karen had tried to resist the attentions of her friend, she could not, welcoming the other girl’s attentions with great eagerness. She yearned, she realized, for the other girl’s body, to run her hands down Angela’s muscular arms, to caress her powerful thighs and to eventually taste the girl’s hot juices.

Perhaps it was the sight of the sweating young athletes on the basketball floor that aroused her so much that night, Karen thought. The tickets that Angela received had been close to the floor, just several rows up from the players’ bench of the winning team, whose players tended to be shorter, but wiry and hard-bodied. She found herself wondering how it would feel to put her fleshy, feminine body next to the body of the player wearing No. 24, a multi-racial young man whose frame reminded her of what a younger President Obama might have looked like.

“You’re so much more of a girl now, Karen,” Angela said, as the two tumbled together on the bed, Angela’s hands removing Karen’s bra and moving to cup her tiny, fleshy mounds.

The words excited Karen, whose small penis slowly hardened as the other girl increased her embrace. Karen had begun to realize that her penis failed to arouse as much as it had in the past and that she hadn’t masturbated often. Obviously, the testosterone-blockers and hormones were having the desired effect.

“I love how strong you are, Angela,” Karen said.

The other girl’s biceps grew hard, as she hugged Karen even more tightly, and the two began kissing. Grunts and heavy breathing were accompanied by squeals as each girl reached orgasm, and they repeated the process several times before falling asleep together.

Karen awoke in the middle of the night. The room was dark, except for a sliver of light coming in from a gap between the shades and the window frame. At first Karen was unsure where she was, finally realizing from the scent of their love-making mixed with the sour odor of the bed clothes amid which she had spent hours of love-making with Angela.

“Damn,” she thought. “I wanted to resist this. I can’t do this if I’m to be loyal to Mark.”

She roused herself from bed, careful not to awaken Angela, grabbed her clothes and looked out the door to see if the hallway was vacant so that she could run down the hall to her own room without any of the other girls in the house seeing her. She wanted to get to her own room, put on her nighty and then run to the bathroom to clean up before returning to her own bed. She wore only her panties, and held her clothes tightly up against her breasts in a show of modesty.

*****
“I caught you,” the voice startled Karen just as she was about to enter her own room.

She was spun around by someone grabbing her arm, causing her to drop the clothes, exposing her tiny breasts and thin white body.

“Doreen, what are you doing? Leave me alone.”

Instead, Doreen, another muscular girl who had once been Angela’s lesbian girlfriend, tightened her firm grasp on Karen’s arm, drawing the two girls face-to-face.

“God, you smell like a cheap whore, Karen,” Doreen said.

“Let me go,” Karen pleaded, fearing what the girl might do to her.

“You turn me on, you girly bitch,” Doreen said, forcing her lips upon Karen, who tried mightily to avert the kiss.

Doreen was too strong and soon Karen could taste the foul juices of the other girl as Doreen’s pressure on her lips increased and Karen surrendered weakly into her arms. Doreen picked Karen up as if she were a doll and carried her to a bed in the room in which a night light provided only dim illumination to the room. Karen saw the bed covers were askew and clothes littered the floor, hung randomly on chairs and bed posts while books and papers were scattered about. The scent of unwashed clothes mixed with some faint sweetness of perfume brought a hint of nausea over Karen.

Placed flat on her back, Karen looked up to see the hulking form of the other girl hovering over her and she tried to scream out, but Doreen quickly placed her mouth upon Karen’s and pushed her tongue into Karen’s mouth. Karen froze in terror, powerless to resist.

She struggled to get her breath as the kiss lingered on; finally Doreen let up, but quickly covered Karen’s mouth with her hand.

“Don’t you dare scream, Karen, or you’ll hurt badly,” Doreen warned.

Karen shook her head, acknowledging the command.

“OK, I’ll take my hand off then, and you can speak softly to me,” Doreen said.

Karen nodded again, and Doreen removed her hand, and kneeled over Karen, looking intently at her.

“Don’t hurt me, Doreen,” Karen pleaded. She wanted to cry, but realized that her tears might make the situation even worse. How pathetic she felt to be so weak that she couldn’t resist the advances of the other girl.

“I don’t want to hurt you, darling,” Doreen said her voice soft, gentle, almost soothing.

Karen knew of Doreen’s infatuation for her, recalling when Angela first introduced Karen to the other girls in the house they all shared. It was obvious then that most, if not all, of the girls in the house were gay, or at least bisexual. The first meeting ended with Angela and Doreen fighting over Karen; it had been a rough fight between two girls who gave no quarter in the altercation. It resembled a barroom brawl that might have involved two muscular cowboys. The girls all knew that both Karen and Ramini (who had moved in on March 1) were transgendered girls; yet, they welcomed the two of them, and the two were easily among the most feminine residents of the house.

Doreen began caressing Karen, soon moving her lips onto Karen’s tiny, soft mounds of flesh, using her tongue to toy with the breasts and the nipples. The foul smell of residual juices from her session with Angela still lingered on Karen’s body, but Doreen’s eager tongue licked her, moving onto his tiny, slightly erect penis.

“I can smell Angela on you,” Doreen said bitterly. “Such a traitorous bitch.”

Karen was surprised; she had been told by Angela that Doreen had run out on their love affair and into the arms of another girl. Wasn’t Doreen the traitorous bitch? She realized she would be best off if she didn’t argue the point.

Soon they were locked in each other’s arms, kissing again.

“I can’t get enough of you, Karen,” Doreen said, her breathing growing hard.

Karen found herself also aroused by the attentions of the other girl, which had grown gentle. Doreen’s hands kneaded Karen’s soft fleshy body; she was a huskier girl than Angela, whose strength lay in a sinuous body. Doreen’s heavy biceps flexed with ripples of hardness as she embraced Karen’s slender soft body.

“You’re so dainty, darling. I want to protect you, dear,” Doreen continued. Her panting grew more intense, and she guided Karen’s hand into more sensitive areas, as Doreen gasped, entering a violent, but silent orgasm.

When it was over, both girls were exhausted. Even though Karen was free to get up, she lay next to Doreen for a minute, reflecting on how conflicted she was. She had feared Doreen; yet, she found comfort and satisfaction by the other girl’s violent — yet gentle and loving — attentions.

“I’d love to shower together with you, Karen,” Doreen said.

“Yes,” Karen said carefully.

“But we’d better not, since we might be found out, and then Angela and I’ll get in a fight.”

“I’d better tell you, I do have a boyfriend, and I shouldn’t be with either you or Angela,” Karen said. “It’s not fair to him.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Doreen. I think you should leave me alone now.”

Karen was surprised at the firmness with which she addressed Doreen, who could easily hurt her badly.

“Karen, darling,” Doreen said gently. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I just saw red when I saw you come out of Angela’s room tonight. I didn’t know if I wanted to hurt you or Angela. You’re so hot, Karen. Really, you are!”

“I’d better clean up now and get to my own bed,” she said finally, running from the room and into the bathroom for a quick shower.

Karen was pleased that Ramini was sound asleep in her own bed, and that she’d be able to sleep alone the rest of the night, untroubled by the attentions of others. It was her sweet femininity that made her such an attraction, she realized, but while she was achieving what she had long desired she knew it would cause her both joy and tears in the future. She also suspected she had not felt the last of the voracious longings of both Angela and Doreen and worried about the conflagration that might ignite.

*****
For most of the next day, neither Angela nor Doreen was at the house, both having gone off to participate in a mini-marathon. Their absence helped to put Karen at ease; she was exhausted after a week of intense classes, work with Professor Fenstrom, her mother’s and Sonny’s visit and her complicated sexual liaisons.

“You look so darling in the morning,” Ramini said, interrupting Karen’s dream-like musings as she lay in bed contemplating whether to get up into the chilly room.

“I must look like hell,” Karen said. She felt like “hell,” her eyes encrusted with sleep, her hair tangled and her mouth foul-tasting. Even the shower she had taken before getting to bed had failed to satisfy her that she was clean. Her sexual encounters with the two girls left her feeling empty and pathetic; she had succumbed to both of them, not only due to her physical weakness but also to her lack of will to say “no.”

“You could never look like hell to me,” Ramini said, leaning down to kiss her friend. The Indian girl, still in her nightgown, was seated on Karen’s bed, her hands gently caressing Karen’s face.

Karen took Ramini’s hand in both of hers, brought the hand to her mouth and kissed it in a genuine sign of affection.

“Oh, Karen, Aaron is sooooooooo nice,” Ramini gushed after a moment. “Thank you for introducing us.”

With that, Ramini leaned down and kissed Karen, a lingering, warm kiss. Even the reeking scent of the two mouths — still stale from a night of sleep — failed to stanch the passions of the kiss. The two had become one, it seemed to Karen, a bit like identical twins; they were not lovers in any sense, but their natural femininity seemed to bond them together. They were girls, girls of a most dainty and feminine nature. Karen relished the idea.

“Have you anything planned today?” Ramini asked. “I feel like doing girl stuff with you today. Like going shopping, or something.”

“Not really,” she said. “I’ve got to complete my paper; that’ll take a couple of hours. Other than that, I’d love to.”

“Let’s get dressed up nice and go to mass,” Ramini said. “The Chapel has an 11 a.m. mass and then we can have brunch somewhere. Just like girlfriends.”

“I don’t know about the idea of mass, Rami. I haven’t been to church for a couple of years.”

“But you’re Catholic, right? So am I.”

“Not much of a Catholic anymore, besides I’m not sure how the Church would take to the two of us. They’re not exactly thrilled about girls like us, you know.”

Ramini smiled at her friend, her dark eyes sparkling. The girl was so pretty; her smooth, soft facial features was particularly fetching when framed by a sari that she’d often drape about her face. Karen had been surprised that Ramini was Roman Catholic, long believing that people from India tended usually to be Hindu, Buddhist or Muslim. Ramini’s ancestral family, however, had been converted by missionaries to Catholicism in the old country, before emigrating to the U.S.

“They won’t see us as anything but girls, Karen. It’s not like they do a background check as you enter the church.”

“No, I guess not, and maybe I do need a dose of reflection,” Karen said, holding back saying that she likely needed to do a bit of penance as well for the eagerness in which she was engaging her sexual passions.

“Let’s be real pretty this morning, Karen,” Ramini said. “Dresses and heels and stockings. I feel a bit like Scarlett O’Hara in all her finery.”

“You’re silly, Rami,” Karen said. “I’d love to dress up like Scarlett did in the first part of ‘Gone with the Wind’ too, except neither one of us has any petticoats like they wore then.”

“Wouldn’t that be fun to dress up like that sometime,” Ramini said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “I can just see you in the white flowing gown like Vivien Leigh wore. You would be so lovely, honey.”

Karen loved the image; if she ever married, she’d love to be wed in something as extravagant and lovely as the wedding dress Scarlett wore when she married Frank.

Reverting to older customs of the Catholic mass, both girls placed silk scarves over their heads as they entered St. George’s Catholic Chapel for Students, dipping their hands daintily in the fount and crossing themselves as they walked down the aisle, taking a seat near the front of the church; the eyes of the other parishioners, mainly students and faculty none of whom were dressed as stylishly as Ramini and Karen, focused on the two of them as they genuflected daintily before moving into a pew. Both girls knew that their “dress-up” style was out-of-place in the modern church, particularly in one devoted mainly to students.

Ramini wore a white sari, embroidered with light grey designs with a few blue and gold highlights, along with white pumps with a three-inch heel. Her dark hair, having grown long fell down over her shoulders, her dangling silver earrings barely visible.

Karen chose a pale green shift with blue trim that ended at her knees and dramatized her model-like figure; she draped her shoulders with a white knit shawl — something she had knitted for herself — mainly because of the chill of the March morning. She wore two-inch heeled tan sandals and gold hoop earrings.

Father James Neuberger was a youngish, crewcut priest with an athletic body; Karen had heard he was liberal in his views, often at odds with the hidebound, conservative views of the Vatican Church hierarchy. To the regular parishioners, he was called “Father Jim,” and he was often seen around campus jogging in sweats carrying the logos of the University’s sports teams.

Karen rarely prayed, feeling it was a phony practice; she tried, oh, how she tried during her teen years to pray while at church, closing her eyes in the hope that a revelation would inspire her to pray to a God she wasn’t sure was listening. And, for that matter, she wondered often if the God that Father McGuire mentioned at Holy Assumption back home — a mean, demanding God who apparently showed his love for his children by loading their lives with all sorts of restrictions — even existed at all. No, she had not gotten anything like solace from the God that Father McGuire talked about.

Karen loved the beauty and majesty of the Catholic mass; she particularly liked the feel of St. George’s, a modest sized chapel with traditional stained glass windows, arches, alcoves and other trappings that mimicked the huge cathedrals in places like New York and Paris. The chorus at St. George’s, obviously made up of voice majors in the music department of the university, added to the magic of the morning, along with streams of sunlight, made colorful by shining through the windows that lined the east wall.

As she sat, kneeled and stood — following the mass routine — Karen looked about, viewing the others, most of whom were students. Her eyes suddenly focused on her new acquaintance, Mary Catherine, seated a row ahead and far to her left. She stared for a moment, and before she could turn away, Mary Catherine caught her eye. Karen could see the girl, wearing the traditional head scarf, following the practice of early generations of church women who always had their heads covered when entering a place of worship. In that way, Mary Catherine was like both Karen and Ramini in that they differed from virtually every other girl in the pews that morning, most of whom wore nothing on their heads.

Mary Catherine did a quick double-take, realized she was looking at Karen and gave a slight wave of her hand; Karen responded similarly and quickly looked away.

“Who was that?” Rami whispered in Karen’s ear.

“One of Jenny’s friends,” she whispered back.

“Don’t you like her, Karen?”

“I don’t know her that well, but I think she believes I’m a sinner. She knows about me.”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh! Be quiet girls in God’s house,” an older woman behind them cautioned.

Karen shouldn’t have been surprised at seeing Mary Catherine in the chapel; she knew the girl was a strong Catholic and would likely view Karen’s presence at mass as a blasphemy. It was a shame, Karen thought, that Mary Catherine was apparently so narrow-minded. Otherwise, the girl seemed to be kind and generous, as well as extremely wholesome and lovely. That morning, Mary Catherine wore a white knit wrap over a simple peasant blouse, a full skirt and the colorful scarf all of which made her a fetching sight.

Karen could not begin questioning her own self, as she lowered herself to the kneeler and made the sign of the cross as the preparation for communion to began. Here she was: still not a complete woman taking part in the Holy Catholic Mass. Was she not indeed sinning, was she not blaspheming? In donning women’s clothes was she not also violating the Bible?

Yet, Father Neuberger, in his colloquial way of speaking, was telling her from the pulpit of the 100-year-old chapel that “we are all God’s children,” even the thieves resting in jail and the prostitutes walking our streets. “Jesus embraced with His love the stoned and discredited Mary Magdelene, did He not?” Father Jim intoned from the pulpit.

“That was a marvelous sermon, Karen,” Ramini said as they walked from the church.

Karen nodded, taking Ramini’s hand as they went down the dozen or so steps that led from the chapel since she was afraid the girl would trip on her sari.

“I wonder what he’d say if he knew about us,” Ramini said.

“That’s a good question. Should we ask him now?”

“No, Karen, not now. What are you thinking about?”

Suddenly the priest appeared before them, having raced from the sanctuary after ending mass and taking a position to greet the parishioners as they left mass.

“Hi, girls, I haven’t seen you two here before,” Father Jim said, holding out his hand.

Both girls held their hands in a limp, feminine manner to accept the priests light grasp.

“First time for both of us,” Karen volunteered.

“Nice meeting you,” he said, smiling. “You both prettied up the chapel today. I wished more girls would dress up like that for church. You girls set a good example. Hope to see you here in the future.”

“Thank you, Father,” both girls said almost in unison. Karen wished to move away, but the priest had more to say, even though other parishioners were lining up, awaiting their chance to greet the popular priest.

“May I have your names, girls?” he asked.

They both complied.

“Well, please come back. Are you freshmen?”

They both nodded.

“Good, love to see you get active in the parish,” Father Jim said. He was still holding onto Karen’s hand. He gave it a gentle pat with his other hand, finally let go and turned his attention to the other waiting parishioners.

*****
Karen sensed many eyes examining the two as they walked down the street, one tiny, dark girl and a pale, taller girl, both walking with their arms waving as they talked. There was no doubt their tasteful attire had dazzled many of the parishioners, particularly the older ones.

“Hey, Karen, wait up?” a breathless female voice shouted as they moved down the sidewalk.

Karen turned to see Mary Catherine hurrying up behind them.

“Oh hi,” Karen said, as she and Ramini turned to face the girl.

“This is Mary Catherine Delaney,” Karen said, turning to Ramini before introducing the Indian girl to her.

Mary Catherine began in a rush of words: “Father Jim asked me if I knew you, Karen, and I said, ‘Yes.’ He wanted me to get you involved in the Newman Club.”

“Oh, what’s that?” Karen asked.

The girl explained it was a club for students interested in discussions about faith and other issues, as well as to perform volunteer social services for the campus community.

“It’s really fun and interesting, Karen, and your friend can join, too,” Mary Catherine said eagerly.

“But Mary Catherine, does Father Jim know about me? I’m not sure he’d want me there,” Karen protested.

“No, he doesn’t know about you,” the girl said sheepishly. “But he’s pretty liberal, and the club is open to all students, even Muslims or Hindus, if they wish to join.”

Mary Catherine looked at Ramini, suddenly realizing her remark about Hindus and Muslims might be offensive to the Indian girl. She blushed.

Karen recognized her discomfort, quickly putting her at ease by asking when the club met.

“Next Wednesday night at 7 p.m. in the church hall,” Mary Catherine said. “Enter in the side entrance of the chapel and go right downstairs.”

“We’ll think about it,” Karen said, and Ramini nodded in accord.

“Please, Karen. Thanks for coming to mass today. I’ve got to get back to work with the seniors club that is meeting now. Hope to see you Wednesday, and you too, Ramini.”

Mary Catherine turned on her heels (she was wearing short-heeled white sandals and white hose) and returned to the church.

“Wow, that was something,” Ramini said as the pair continued their walk.

“It surprised me, Rami. When I first met her, she was told I was in transition and she seemed most upset by it. She’s so religious, you know.”

“But she seems sweet.”

“I guess she is, but I don’t know about this Newman Club business. I don’t have the time and I still don’t think they’d like to have us there,” Karen said.

“Well, it’s an idea, anyway. But let’s splurge today,” Ramini said, changing the subject. “Let’s go to the Shoreside.”

“That’s really fancy, Rami. It’s too expensive.”

“I’ll treat,” Ramini said, surprising Karen, who thought the other girl was virtually destitute.

“How can you afford that?”

“I still have daddy’s credit card, which he said I could have for an emergency, just so I don’t make withdrawals of more than $100 a month.”

Karen was astounded. It didn’t sound like Ramini’s family had cut her off quite yet.

*****
“Would you young ladies enjoy a booth by the window?” the tuxedoed maitre d’ asked, as the entered the elegant, rococo dining room at the Shoreside.

Though the hotel and restaurant were located not far from the campus, Karen could see no sign of the campus in the room, particularly among the customers gathered around tables covered with white tablecloths, white flickering candles and the sparkling mini-chandeliers that hung down at regular intervals from the ceiling. A bank of windows looked out over the lake; the cream-colored walls and the arches that created shallow alcoves along the opposite side of the room were trimmed in gold.

Karen suddenly felt out of place, as she looked about the room, eying tables containing dark-suited balding or grey-headed men and many silver-haired, well-coiffured ladies. The only sign of students apparently involved several family groups, where parents and grandparents had lured their offspring from the campus dorms, fraternities and sororities to a brunch. There was a silent buzz about the room, an accumulation of dozens of table conversations. White-jacketed waiters, and a few similarly garbed waitresses bustled about efficiently.

The hotel was perched atop a cliff that overlooked the lake. The ice had receded a few days earlier, and now a light fog had settled over the lake, a result of a sudden flow of warm air over the cold water. Still, the trees that stood below the hotel windows remained barren

“Spring comes slowly to this part of the country, Rami,” Karen observed as she looked out upon what appeared to be a fairly desolate scene.

“I know it’ll come one of these days,” Ramini said wryly.

“Yeah, about July Fourth.” They both giggled.

“Yet, I feel good, Karen. Really. I feel spring in the air.”

Karen looked at her friend; how good it was to see Ramini happy. Only a day earlier, the girl had been so depressed. She had been largely dumped by her family as well as the entire Indian community, of which there was a goodly population in the state.

“Good morning, ladies my name is Whitney,” Karen’s musings were interrupted by the tall waiter that suddenly appeared at their table.

“Whit?” Karen said, shocked to see her companion of two nights earlier standing before her.

“Karen?”

“Yes, it’s me,” Whitney said, quickly softening his voice, but remaining erect and stiff, trying not to betray his surprise at seeing Karen.

Sensing his discomfort, Karen realized that Whitney must likely maintain a strictly professional appearance in this job; management, she was sure, wanted all the wait staff to be as spiffy and precise in their work as a Marine color guard.

Nonetheless, Karen couldn’t resist blushing at seeing the attractive Whitney Roberts again, but she soldiered on.

“”This is my roommate and good friend, Ramini,” she said, quickly adding, “And I’ll have black coffee.”

“And you, Ramini?”

“The same and nice to meet you, Whitney.”

“Would you ladies like orange juice, too?” Whitney looked directly at Karen as he spoke.

Karen thought she saw a quick wink in his eye as he spoke. They both nodded “yes.”

“That was your date at the basketball games?” Ramini asked when the waiter had left them. “Wow, he’s a hunk.”

“I know, and he’s a sweetie besides but we’re just friends, Rami. Actually, it’s our mothers who introduced us; mom as you know is in hospital management and Whitney’s mom is president of the nurses union there; they bargain with each other all the time. Even though they fight over the issues, the two like each other, and we just met by chance here because of the State Tournament.”

Karen and Ramini felt like queens — well, at least princesses — as they were treated to the first class service provided at the restaurant. As it developed, Whitney did not bring the coffee, the orange juice or the food; another white-jacketed waiter did. Whitney, however, showed up periodically as the lead waiter for their table, taking their orders, and brushing off crumbs from the flaky croissants that had dropped on the table. A third waiter refilled their coffee cups and water.

“I’m really impressed with you two young ladies,” a tall woman with straight, close-cropped graying hair said.

Karen and Ramini looked up into the cheerful green eyes of the woman, who had the healthy, weathered face of one who enjoyed the outdoors. The woman was dressed in a plain, dark suit with a knee-length skirt, all in good taste. A similarly tall, rugged faced gentleman in a dark blue suit stood by her, smiling and holding the woman’s hand.

“Thank you,” Karen said, wondering what prompted the compliment.

“I just enjoy seeing young ladies dress up these days, and you two are elegant. I had to come by and compliment you,” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Karen said.

“Are you two students?” the woman asked.

“Yes, just freshmen,” Ramini answered.

The woman smiled. “Best of luck here at the University, dears. Sorry to have bothered you.”

Before Karen or Ramini could reply, the woman turned away and followed the man — apparently her husband — out of the room.

Karen looked at Ramini as she finished up an order of crepes suzette; the girl moved daintily, taking tiny slices of the crepe and placing it in her mouth, closing her mouth to chew slowly. She was such a tiny, fragile figure, and Karen realized she, too, had similarly adjusted her eating style.

“Don’t you just love being called elegant, Karen?”

“I guess we’re the picture of femininity, Rami.”

Their conversation was interrupted when the maitre d’ approached their booth.

“Young ladies,” he said. “The woman who just stopped by your table wanted me to give you her card. She suggested that one of you should call her assistant because she’d like to interview one or both of you about something.”

“Oh?” Karen said, surprised, taking the card, reading it:

“My God,” Karen said, handing the card to Ramini as she spoke:

“That’s Dr. Thatcher, the University chancellor, Rami. She runs this whole institution.”

Rami read the card, turned it over, and said:

“She wrote on the back: ‘Please call Veronica at 555-6334 Monday. Thank you.’”

“Wonder what that’s all about,” Karen said.

“Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

A few minutes later, Whitney came by and asked if they were ready for the check. Ramini nodded, and said to give it to her. She quickly examined the bill, nodded, and presented her credit card and Whitney moved off to the cashier with it.

He returned soon, placing the leatherette folder containing the bill and the credit card before Ramini.

“It’s been a pleasure serving you two young ladies,” Whitney said, stiffly, aiming his remarks toward Karen.

“You’ve been a very good waiter, young man,” Karen said, giving the boy a teasing smile.

“Thank you ma’am,” he said, adding in a whisper, “I’ll call you tonight and explain all this, OK?”

“Sure,” Karen said, realizing how closely the boy must have been watched by the restaurant’s management.

The sun burst out suddenly, just as Karen and Ramini walked out of the door of the restaurant. For the first time that spring, Karen heard the joyous sounds of birds, including a pair of cardinals that seemed to be tweeting melodic love songs to each other.

She grabbed the other girl’s tiny hand, and the two moved rhythmically together down Shore Drive, back to their room.

“Thank you for the brunch,” Karen said.

“It was my pleasure,” Ramini answered. “Actually, it was thanks to my dad.”

“I’m sure he’ll wonder about it when he sees the credit card statement,” Karen said.

“Let him wonder,” Ramini said. “You know, Karen, I owe you so much. You’ve literally saved my life, first by letting me room with you and now by introducing me to Aaron. He’s really so nice, and I think he loves me. We’re going to stay in regular contact, at least by texting.”

Karen smiled. What a beautiful day!

Then her thoughts suddenly darkened. Yes, it was a beautiful day, and she wished she could be with Mark, enjoying a lovely walk, hand-in-hand down a park lane, perhaps by a quiet lake with the birds singing. Sadly, such an image could only exist in a dream, she felt. Poor Mark, she thought. Could he ever again be happy? And if he could never again be happy, what about her? Could she ever again be happy if she knew he could never again be happy? But, did he feel the same about her? What should she read into his reluctance to answer her letters, if he indeed was reading them? Did that mean he was still in shock from his injury that he’s unsure how to respond to Karen? Did he really mean it when he said he didn’t want her burdened with his crippled future? Or, did he truly not love her, perhaps coming to the realization that she still wasn’t a total woman?

Karen walked along lost in a morose reverie. She was largely oblivious to Ramini at her side, until her eyes seemed suddenly to awaken to her surroundings. What a lovely treat it was to see a bed of red and yellow tulips in a small park into which their walk had taken them. The melodic repartee of chirping cardinals crowded into Karen’s mind, temporarily lifting the cloud of her musings. The beauty of the moment took over!

“Such a lovely day, Rami,” she said, pulling the tiny girl into her embrace as they walked.

“Yes, it is,” Ramini said, looking very much like a girl in love.

Chapter 14: Returning to Mass
Patti Hamilton called Karen that evening; she didn’t have much new to say, except that Mark continued to be at the rehab center where he was mainly working on his upper body strength.

“They’re not even attempting to get him up to walk, but the weights he’s been lifting seem to have improved his demeanor a bit, Karen,” Patti said.

“It must have been tough for him not to workout with his legs.”

“Yes, he’s so worried about getting soft, and he’s terribly frustrated because he’s still unable to lift anything near like he used to. He says he’s lifting like a woman, now.”

Karen laughed at the thought. “I’m sure he’s lifting far more than I ever could.”

“By the way, in any of your letters did you tell him you saw some of the state basketball tournament games?” Mrs. Hamilton asked.

“Yes, I thought he’d like to hear about them.”

“Well, he let out a comment about you seeing those games and how loud you yelled,” Patti said. “And I’m sure no one else told him about that.”

“Really,” Karen said surprised.

“He must be looking at your letters now, Karen.”

“Oh, Mrs. Hamilton, that’s so good to hear,” Karen said. “I’ll keep writing, if it makes him happy.”

“I think it does, though he won’t admit it. I asked him the other day if he ever wonders about you, and he gave me a short ‘No,’ but then quickly turned away. A mother knows when a child is lying.”

Karen informed Mrs. Hamilton that her brother and a couple of his teammates were planning to visit Mark in the week after next, during the Easter break.

“Will you be home then, too, Karen?” Mrs. Hamilton asked.

“Yes, part of the week anyway. I’ll have to come back early to work.”

“If you can, Karen, I’d suggest you come down with the boys, and maybe we’ll set it up so you can step in and see him too,” Patti Hamilton said. “I think he’ll see you, but I think we’ll have to do a bit of conniving to pull it off.”

“Oh Mrs. Hamilton, really? But I don’t want to anger him or upset him.”

“On the contrary, darling, you might be just the medicine he needs now,” Patti said. “He’s sulked long enough now.”

When she finished the call, Karen felt so excited. Though she was tired, it seemed the call revived her and she sat down at her desk and wrote another letter to Mark; when she finished it was past midnight. The letter was the longest one she’d written yet, all of three full pages in her tiny, neat and precise script. She signed it, “All my love, Karen.” It was the first time she had used “love” in her letters.

*****
Whitney Roberts called Karen on Sunday night, as promised. He explained he worked most Sundays and a couple of nights a week at the Shoreside Hotel’s restaurant.

“It’s a unionized place and I get great pay with tips, but they demand a lot out of us,” he said. “I don’t mind since the money and benefits are so good. I knew you used to waitress back home at the Olympus. Maybe I could get you a job here.”

Karen laughed. “I’m not sure I’m up to working in such a fancy place. The Olympus isn’t exactly a five-star restaurant.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “You’d be a classy addition, I assure you. Plus you’d really pretty up the place.”

“I don’t know, Whit, you know, it’s really tough work, waitressing, besides I’ve got a good work-study job now.”

“I’m pretty sure I could get you a job there, particularly with your experience,” he said. “Mom had a good friend in the union there, so that helped, and I’ve worked out pretty well, I guess.

“That’s nice of you, Whit, but I have a good job now,” she said.

“Can we go out again, Karen?” he said suddenly. “I really enjoyed our time together.”

“I did, too, Whit, but you know I’m still committed to Mark,” she said.

“I know that, and how is he?”

“Recovering I guess, but it’s so slow, and I’m sure he’s pretty depressed.”

Finally she agreed to have coffee with him at the Java-a-Go-Go the following day.

*****
At Ramini’s urging, Karen made the call Monday to the University chancellor’s office, as suggested by the card the two had been handed at the restaurant.

“Oh yes,” said a stern voiced Veronica. “The chancellor said you might be calling.”

At Veronica’s request, Karen provided her with the names and contact information for both herself and Ramini and then asked, “What is this all about?”

“I’m not exactly, sure, miss,” Veronica replied, “But the chancellor is eager to see both of you soon. You two are probably free from your classes by four o’clock, I believe. How about 4 p.m. tomorrow, that’s Tuesday?”

“Oh I can’t, ma’am. I have a work-study job with Professor Fenstrom and we’re terribly busy now.”

“Well, I would hope that Miss Ramini Verma would make it then?”

Karen queried Ramini, who nodded “yes,” and the appointment was made.

“That’s so strange,” Ramini said. “Why would a chancellor of such a big school care so much about a couple of prospective interns or work-study students?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t think it’s anything bad.”

“I hope not.”

*****
“I feel like I’m on a treadmill that won’t stop,” Karen complained to her friend Jenny as the two left their morning sociology lecture.

“Won’t you have time to join the other girls for coffee, like you used to, Karen?” Jenny asked.

“I shouldn’t, but I miss all of the girls,” Karen said, remembering how the group of five girls, including Karen, met most mornings at the Student Union’s coffee shop during the first semester.

They continued down the steps of the Humanities Building, and Karen finally said, “Oh, why not?”

Moving to greet each of the girls with warm hugs and kisses as they entered the Union, Karen said eagerly, “It’s so great seeing you guys again.”

“I told Gabe I’d be likely seeing you today,” Tracy whispered into Karen’s ear as they hugged.

If anything, Tracy appeared fleshier and bigger than ever; yet, there was a clear sparkle in her eyes and Karen could see she was a happy and content young lady.

“Give him an extra kiss for me,” Karen said, truly pleased to see how well the couple was getting along.

“Thank you, Karen, that’s sweet of you,” Tracy said.

“I’m happy for you both,” she said, before moving to greet the tall, slender Beverly and then the tinier Tricia.

“Where’s your knitting, Karen?” Tricia asked when the girls were settled back into their chairs.

“Been so busy,” she replied, “But I am trying to find time to knit a sweater for Mark.”

“Oh poor Mark,” Jenny said. “How’s he doing?”

“Yes, Karen, how is he? That was so devastating,” Beverly chimed in.

“Well, he’s in rehab now, but whether he’ll be able to walk again is still a question,” Karen said honestly.

“Have you seen him?” Jenny asked.

“No, he doesn’t want to see me, but I talk to his mother regularly and I write him almost every day.”

“He won’t see you? I shouldn’t ask, but why? Did he find another girlfriend?”

Karen shook her head “no.”

“Don’t be silly, how could he find anyone as pretty as Karen?” Tracy said.

“Oh you know boys,” Jenny said. “They get goofy sometimes.”

“Yes, how about you and Kevin,” Karen asked.

Jenny scowled at the question. “Oh, he’s flown the coop. The asshole took up with a girl from his high school when he was home for the holidays.”

“Oh Jenny, I’m sorry to hear that,” Karen said. “You two looked so perfect for each other.”

“That’s what I thought, too,” Jenny said. “But I guess he found that mini-skirted hairdresser more accessible.”

“Tell me about it,” Beverly echoed. She was a geeky-appearing girl, with a long face, narrow chin, long neck and sloping shoulders. Karen recalled from earlier conversations that she’d had but one serious boyfriend, a tall basketball player who ditched her for a cute, plump cheerleader.

“Where does a girl go to find a nice guy?” Tricia said. The girl had a pockmarked face that ruined an otherwise appealing appearance; she was tiny and could be cute. She had never had a boyfriend, and had only been on a few dates.

Karen suddenly felt guilty. She liked both girls, who were warm, friendly and smart; she was certain that the two would make ideal mates for the right young man. Yet, here she was, a girl for less than a year and already experiencing the magic of being admired or sought after by several boys.

“Trish,” Karen said. “Any guy would be lucky to have you as a girlfriend.”

“Right on,” echoed Jenny.

“And, as a matter of fact, any of the guys in this University would be lucky to have any of you as girlfriends,” Karen said, smiling broadly.

“Right on,” said Beverly, getting up from her chair and leaning over to give Jenny a high five. The girls also rose and gave each other “high-fives,” giggling as they did so.

Karen glowed with pleasure. It felt so good to be one of the girls again.

*****
Jenny and Karen left the group, returning to the Humanities Building; the morning had been hazy with little wind and temperatures almost hitting 30 degrees Fahrenheit, warm and balmy by the standards of winter in the northern community. But as the two walked out of the Union, the wind had picked up and the temperatures were beginning to fall, prompting both girls to put up the hoods of their parkas.

“What happened to our spring?” Jenny giggled.

“Guess it lasted 20 minutes,” Karen replied.

They turned to face the wind and Karen turned to her friend and asked: “Isn’t Mary Catherine going to join the group again?”

“I don’t think so, since she usually has a class at that time. She only came that day ‘cause the class was cancelled.”

“Oh.”

“But, she talked about you with me, Karen,” Jenny volunteered. “She likes you, but she doesn’t know if she should.”

Karen smiled. “Sounds like her. Actually, I like her, too, but I think she’s too puritanical and will never understand me.”

Jenny slipped suddenly, having hit an area of ice on the sidewalk, and Karen grabbed her arm to stop the girl from falling.

“Thanks, girlfriend, for catching me. I should watch where I’m going,” Jenny said. “But you know, Mary Catherine is trying to understand you; she’s been going on line a lot to learn about people like you.”

“But the Catholics seem so opposed to anything like gender change,” Karen said. “I’m not sure she’ll ever overcome that.”

Jenny nodded: “I suppose you’re right, but she’s not dumb either.”

*****
Each weekday at 4 p.m., regular as clockwork, Karen appeared at her job with Professor Fenstrom where the daily routine had become particularly tense as the professor, who demanded perfection and dedication, placed more and more responsibility upon Karen. Production for “Picnic,” the spring play, was in full progress and the professor concentrated almost totally upon the play itself, leaving to Deborah and Karen the work of the Drama Department’s day-to-day activities. To Karen, he entrusted such details as following through on fund-raising, even entrusting her to make person-to-person calls to potential donors. Karen arranged for the program to be printed, hustled some of the advertising and took constant notes from him as he made preparations for rehearsals to begin.

In truth, she loved the work, especially the fact that the professor seemed to have complete trust in her as she went through her work. His oversight became less and less apparent, and Karen soon felt that the professor no longer harbored sexual desires for her.

Most nights she didn’t end her work until 8 o’clock, usually without having any supper; as a result she had lost weight. She ate either a quick meal at a fast food place on the way home or scrounged something out of the refrigerator at the house after she got home; then she had to try to stay awake while studying. But, she never forgot to write a note to Mark.

Her trysts with Angela became more infrequent, largely due to Karen’s busy days. Karen, to be sure, had mixed feelings about this; she relished her moments of sexual encounters with the muscular girl, the scent of her sweating body and Angela’s intense caresses upon Karen’s own soft smooth skin. In Angela’s arms, Karen felt she was a tender girl, totally dominated by her strong friend. The thought of those moments excited Karen.

Yet, she felt those moments were wrong, that she was deceiving not only Mark Hamilton, the love of her life, but was deceiving herself.

*****
“What a meeting that was!” Ramini said on Monday night after Karen got home from work.

“What did the chancellor want?” Karen asked.

“Well she is looking for two students to do work-study in her office, answering phones and doing general entry work on computers and also reception work,” Ramini began. “And she likes the students to dress nicely, since often potential donors and state officials come in the office. She was especially attracted to us since we were dressed so nice.”

“Oh? But you know I have a position I like now.”

“That’s what I told Dr. Thatcher, Karen. She’s really nice, and I think she really wanted you because you’re so darn good-looking, but she settled for me as second-best.”

“Don’t be silly, darling. You’ll do her proud, I’m sure.”

“Anyway, I start next Monday, five afternoons a week, plus I’ll work weekends when she has a reception,” Ramini said. “I told her you’re an experienced waitress.”

“Oh?”

“And she said she might like to hire you for serving at receptions,” Ramini winked at Karen. “She didn’t say it, but I think she knows you’d be eye-candy for the bigwigs that she likes to impress.”

Karen blushed at the thought that she’d be hired solely on her good looks; yet she was beginning to believe that her feminine beauty would be leading her places where many other girls might never go; in addition that beauty was getting attention that Kenny would never have gotten. “Thanks, Rami, but you’ll know I’ll be busy until the play is ended,” she said, declining the offer.

“You’re such a good friend,” Ramini said, hugging Karen. “Just being around you has saved my life, Karen. You showed me that I could live the life of a girl, just as I was destined for, and you’ve introduced me to Aaron and now because I was with you at a brunch, I’ve got a job so I can survive without my dad.”

“I want you to be happy, Rami,” Karen said, kissing her friend. The two hugged for several minutes.

*****
“I’m so happy to see you girls joined us again today,” Father Neuberger said, as Karen and Ramini exited St. George’s Church the following Sunday.

Karen never expected to return to the church after their initial visit the previous Sunday, but when Ramini suggested it as they cuddled together in bed on Saturday night she realized she had found the experience refreshing.

Perhaps spending the time at mass would give her a chance to contemplate on the growing complications that she was having with her sexual desires. While she had always enjoyed the mass for its pomp and ceremony, she also recalled that when she was a regular churchgoer she would find her mind wandering into all manner of contemplations. Would she find answers to her tendencies to want the caresses and kisses of Angela or Ramini while she desired the arms of Mark Hamilton?

She agreed with Ramini that it might be nice to go to mass the next morning. “I enjoyed mass last week, and it gives us a chance to dress up, too.”

“Oh, goody,” Ramini giggled. “I have a bright new sari and it’s supposed to be a nice day tomorrow, warm and sunny.”

Karen wore a peach-colored sheath dress that had a curved bodice and moderately thick cloth strap over the shoulder straps, exposing her pretty arms and shoulders. The dress was tucked in at the waist, and that helped to shape her hips and give some form to her A-cup-sized breasts. It ended just above the knees, and she wore natural-colored thigh high stockings and a pair of light tan 2” heeled pumps. She found a silk scarf with peach and light blue designs to drape over her head.

Over the dress, she wore a white knit jacket sweater to protect against the lingering morning chill.

Ramini chose a light blue sari with a floral design in teal and yellow, along with a white shawl.

“I love dressing like the old ladies do for church, making sure they cover their heads,” Ramini said.

Karen smiled. For some strange reason, Karen also enjoyed the image of following the traditions of the church, many of which had been discarded among parishioners of the present day.

“I can’t imagine why I enjoy going to church so much,” Karen confessed to Ramini as they walked to church that morning. “I quit going at home when the church got so narrow-minded about things like gay marriage and abortion. And besides they were meddling in politics, but I always enjoyed the mass.”

“Me too,” Ramini said. “Were you ever an altar boy, Karen?”

“Yes, for a while, and I liked the garments.”

“Me too. They were like dresses.”

“Philip, he was a bully in my neighborhood, he told me I looked like a girl then.”

“Did that bother you?”

“Oh, a little bit, but I could hardly argue with him, could I, Rami?”

Father Neuberger’s sermon that morning concerned Lazarus, the young man whom Jesus raised from dead after four days in a hillside tomb in one of his miracles. Told by Lazarus’ sisters that the boy was dying, Jesus took four days to get to the boy, leaving the grieving sisters to mourn and to lament over Jesus’ tardy visit.

"I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die."

Father Neuberger intoned in his melodious voice.

“Was there really a miracle that day? I’ll leave that for the theologians and the scientists to wrestle over. It’s hard for us in the 21st Century to understand such miracles; I know many of you — now that you’re discovering the world in your college classes — may discount such tales as mere fiction or the product of story-telling run amuck. That’s OK, be skeptical as you like, but the lesson of the parable is real.

“Remember how the sisters mourned for four days, saddened by the death of their beloved brother. To be truthful, I’ve always wondered about this passage. Based on my own experience, I’m not sure all older sisters were so fond of a little brother. I was just such a little brother.”

The congregation tittered.

“The lesson is a crucial one: Often when life turns darkest upon us, we grow in despair, but this parable tells us to keep the faith, to believe in your God and to never give up.

“The lesson further goes that we must not be bystanders in this: Our faith alone will not save us, since God wants us to be moved to act positively on our own behalf; it means, too, that as children of God we will be generous and open and loving to others, since we will need the love and guidance of others to find new life, to be resurrected.

“Through our own saintliness, we will be resurrected, my children. That means we must keep an open mind and be aware of the needs of others. Whether the person is the smelly, dirty homeless person on the street, or the gay person, or the person of a different color, that person is our brother or sister, that person is a child of God, just as each of you are.

“In your generosity you will be rewarded. Remember God’s word: What you do for the least of us your do for me!”

Since arriving at the chapel, Karen had looked about trying to see if Mary Catherine was at the mass. She didn’t locate the girl until halfway through the homily; she was seated in a pew several rows to the front and to her far left. For some reason, Mary Catherine turned into Karen’s direction and their two eyes met; this time, Mary Catherine smiled warmly. Karen returned with a dainty wave of her hand.

Perhaps, Karen reasoned, the words of the priest that morning were resonating on Mary Catherine causing her to look at Karen’s situation more sympathetically.

After mass, Father Neuberger’s greeting to the two girls was warm and welcoming, as he took Karen’s hand in his right hand and Ramini’s in his left, holding both hands gently as they chatted briefly while other parishioners lined up behind them.

“Your sermon was so fitting,” Ramini told him.

“Thank you, Ramini,” the priest said, smiling. “Hoped you enjoyed the service, too, Karen?”

“I did, Father, and it’s so nice that you remembered our names,” Karen said.

Karen felt it was time to move on, but the priest continued to hold their hands.

“I’d really like to see the both of you get active in our Newman Club,” he said. “We missed you at our meeting last Wednesday. Won’t you try to join us next Wednesday at seven o’clock? You’ll meet some nice people there.”

“Thank you, father,” Karen said. “I work ‘til after eight o’clock on weeknights.”

“How about you, Ramini?”

“Maybe I can make it,” she said.

“Good, and Karen if you’d like stop by after work,” Father Neuberger said. “We socialize ‘til after 10 o’clock. Pizza and stuff. Love to see you both.”

Finally, the priest let go of their hands, turning to the next person in line.

The two moved off into the bright morning. Ramini spoke first: “Wow, that’s something, Karen. He remembered our names.”

“I know,” Karen said. “We must have left an impression.”

Ramini giggled. “Maybe because we’re so pretty.”

“I doubt that,” Karen said. “There were lots of pretty girls in church this morning. I think he’s just out hustling up new customers.”

“No, Karen, you, at least, were the prettiest girl in church. You can’t deny that! I think he has his eyes on you. You know about these priests, Karen?”

“I hope not, Rami. He seems sincere. He really does.”

“Let’s see how it goes,” Ramini said as the sauntered on. “Let’s go on Wednesday night. You can stop by after work.”

Karen truly liked Father Neuberger; his plea to open-minded thinking was most refreshing. Furthermore, she liked the idea of the lush ceremony of the Catholic mass, the music and the atmosphere of the 100-year-old campus chapel. She still struggled with the idea of believing in a particular God — as described in Catholic liturgy — as well as the growing narrow-mindedness of the Vatican Church. Yet, the word of God, as preached that morning in relating the story of Lazarus, felt comforting and warm to her.

Was her body not a temple in itself? Was it not to be treated with reverence and respect? And, had she in her promiscuity been betraying herself and her God, whoever that God might be?

*****
“Let’s begin with a moment of silent reflections,” the priest said, his voice soft and soothing.

On Wednesday night, Karen arrived in the room some 15 minutes after leaving her job at eight o’clock. She noticed 20 or so other students were already there, many seated on ancient overstuffed chairs and sofas, others on straight-backed wooden chairs with embroidered padded seats that had been dragged in from the dining room, and others — all girls — on the floor, their legs folded under themselves. Ramini was among those on the floor, and Karen joined her there.

Karen spied Mary Catherine on one of the sofas and gave the girl a nod, which was returned with a smile.

Ramini whispered to Karen: “We’re just beginning the meeting now, so you didn’t miss anything.”

“Oh, so late? What did you do?”

“Just ate and talked. It was nice.”

She was happy that the priest called for a “moment of silence” and did not call for the students to pray since Karen — even in her school days at Holy Assumption School — always found that she was being hypocritical in praying. Karen failed to see that prayer meant anything other than to “show-off” one’s own religiosity. Instead, she peered down at the aging, threadbare rug, its ornate designs of blues and greens and reds upon a brown background having long before lost their luster. Her thoughts drifted to Mark Hamilton, and she wondered if maybe, just maybe, she might pray for his recovery; maybe there really was a God who could intervene to make him well enough to again thrown touchdown passes for the Iowa State Cyclones; maybe, too, this God would restore him into her loving arms.

“Thank you, friends,” Father Neuberger said to end the period of silence, bringing Karen back into the moment. “I’m pleased to see we have several new friends join us tonight. So those of you who are new to our circle, please take a moment to introduce yourselves, telling us your name, year in college, your major, your hometown and one significant fact about yourself. How about it? Who wants to begin? Don’t be shy we’re all brothers and sisters here.”

“Hi,” a round-faced boy with soft fat rippling from his double chin began. “I’m Jeremy Foster, I’m a junior in business, from Monroe and . . . ah . . . ah . . . the one significant fact is . . .”

The boy hesitated.

“That’s OK, Jeremy, take your time. Say anything that pops into your mind,” the priest said kindly.

“Well, it’s like this. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I like to design clothes,” he said, his face becoming red.

There was a short moment of silence, as everyone appeared stunned; the students all looked at this apparently clumsy, awkward boy in amazement. Most of the students were girls, as Jeremy was one of only four boys in the room, and suddenly applause began, at first hesitantly and then mounting into a crescendo. Karen saw the boy begin to smile, with a tear growing into his face.

“Designs clothes for girls or boys, Jeremy?” a fairly pretty, bland-faced blond girl asked.

“Girls . . . ummm . . . women, you know.”

“Cool,” someone said.

“Good for you Jeremy, I can see you’ve won a lot of friends here right off-the-bat,” Father Neuberger said. “Now, let’s move on and the rest of you newcomers please tell us about yourselves.”

After the blond girl introduced herself (she sounded rather uninteresting, Karen thought), the priest turned to look down at Karen and Ramini, as if to instruct them to introduce themselves, and Karen began.

“I’m Karen Hansson from Manitowoc, and I’m a freshman majoring in sociology and minoring in theater and I like to knit and I’ve done some acting on stage.”

There was light applause, as there was after Ramini introduced herself.

“Well thank you, and we welcome you and hope you’ll join us on a regular basis,” the priest said.

At that point, Father Neuberger got up, left the room and a large, husky girl announced that the meeting would begin. She introduced herself as Stephanie McCormick, who was the current chair of Newman Club. The girl was a born “A-personality,” Karen felt, as she took over the meeting, moving it forward.

There was the usual business, a reading of the minutes (which were mercifully brief and read by a slender boy with long dark hair and a scruffy short goatee), a financial report (showing $312.55 in the credit union account, summarized by a short, compact girl in a tight-fitting pink sweater) and a discussion of a proposed campus activity.

“How about a play?” someone suggested.

“Not a bad idea, we’ve got several drama students in this group, now that our new friend is here,” Stephanie said, looking directly at Karen.

“Yes,” said the short girl in the pink sweater. “I’m in drama, too, and also Jeremy here could design the costumes.”

The conversation continued on for several minutes, the group warming to the idea. Karen realized that they had no idea of how hard it would be to put together any kind of a production in the few weeks remaining of the semester. At first she said nothing.

“Look,” she said, finally. “I’ve been involved in plays and they’re lots of work, and no one wants to come see them unless they’re good. Maybe you should try something else.”

“Like what, Karen?” Stephanie said, her face showing some anger.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. Then she continued on, believing she had to come up with an alternative. “How about a fashion show?”

“A fashion show?” someone queried.

“Sure, girls love those things,” Ramini said, coming to Karen’s support.

“They do,” agreed Jeremy.

“Where will we get the clothes to model?” Stephanie asked.

Someone suggested approaching some of the stores near campus; another suggestion was that each girl could pick out the favorite outfit they had to model.

“I got an idea,” Karen said. “Let’s model clothes turned in at the second hand stores, like Goodwill or St. Vincent de Paul’s.”

“Yes, it could be a benefit fashion show.”

“Even the boys could model clothes,” one of the girls suggested.

They called Father Neuberger back into the room as they finished the meeting, outlining the plan. He was most enthusiastic, and urged the group to appoint a committee to plan the event and report back on next Wednesday’s meeting.

“It’s your idea, Karen,” Stephanie said definitively. “Why don’t you lead the committee?’

“Me?” Karen said shocked. “I’m really too busy. I’m participating in the spring play by the University Players.”

“You really should be part of this, Karen,” Father Neuberger said.

“I’m really too busy to lead the committee,” Karen said.

“If you want, I’ll volunteer to lead the committee,” Jeremy said.

“You will?” Stephanie said, surprised.

“Why not? You have something against boys?” Jeremy said.

“No, no, no, it’s just that . . . never mind,” Stephanie said.

Eventually, the committee was formed with Jeremy as chair and the short girl in the sweater (named Melanie Flowers) as co-chair. Karen and Ramini were both appointed along with two other girls. It was agreed the six committee members would meet the following Saturday afternoon at the chapel’s lounge to make plans for the fashion show. Father Neuberger suggested a partnership with St. Vincent de Paul Services.

“I don’t know what got into me there to make that suggestion and then to volunteer,” Karen confessed to Ramini as they left the meeting.

“It was kind of a spur of the moment thought, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, but I kind of like the idea, although I’m uncomfortable, since neither you nor I are girls just quite yet,” Karen said.

“I know.”

“Should we tell that ‘significant fact’ about ourselves?” Ramini asked.

“Wonder what Father Neuberger would say about that?”

“Hmmm, I don’t know, probably wished we hadn’t told him the truth about ourselves.”

“I know, Rami, but I feel uncomfortable not telling him.”

“I suppose, but who ever sees us as boys, anyway?”

Karen realized Ramini was right: both were feminine by all appearances. Yet, Karen felt she needed to tell the priest about her “significant fact.” In fact, Karen decided that she’d take to opportunity at their committee meeting on Saturday to ask Father Neuberger for an appointment to discuss a “personal situation.”

*****
Karen fretted over her sudden involvement with churchgoing; hadn’t she consciously given up on the Catholic Church several years earlier over the church’s reactionary positions on such matters as gay rights, a woman’s right to choose, female priests and the right for priests to marry? Yet, there was something refreshing about Father Neuberger and his open-mined approach to matters. She recalled that the program following the club’s business meeting involved a discussion of the paper “Catholic 2012,” a liberal pronouncement of principles drawn up by a host of prominent European Catholics; she was surprised at the opinions of several of the students, many of whom shared her own tendency to support the liberal view of matters.

In her own mind, Karen often wondered about the course in life she was taking; there were those pronouncements in the Bible, like those in Deuteronomy for instance, that would seem to make it sinful to don clothes of the opposite gender. Besides, she just wasn’t being “normal,” whatever that was. Was not her role in life to revert to manhood, to marry and to father children?

Being a girl made her so happy. Wouldn’t a caring God want a person to be happy, she wondered? Then, too, scripture also said that each individual is a child of God, entitled to respect and honor as every other child. Would not Jesus love Karen, the woman, as much as Kenny, the boy?

Karen wondered if Father Neuberger would have the answers.

Chapter 15: Rude Awakenings

“I want you to be understudy for the part of Madge Owens,” Professor Fenstrom informed Karen the following day at work, referring to the key role in “Picnic.” “Can you handle that?”

“I don’t know, professor,” Karen began, her voice faltering.

“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked, his voice gathering volume. “You wanted to play Madge as the lead, and now you don’t want to be an understudy? Such arrogance you have. You’re not ready for the lead, yet, you ungrateful wretch.”

“No, professor, that’s not it,” she said, starting to cry.

“Enough sniveling,” he demanded. “Will you or won’t you?”

The two were in the professor’s office, with Karen standing stiffly at the desk, while the professor leaned back in his executive chair, playing with his fingers. Karen tried to stop crying; he was so mean, she thought.

“It’s just that I’m so busy,” she said. It was a truthful answer, although she would have dropped everything to be the lead and play the role, instead of being an understudy.

“I’ll give you ‘til tomorrow to give me an answer, girl. Now get back to your desk.”

She wheeled on her heel, rushed from the office, away from this hateful, demanding man. She carefully avoided looking at Deborah, the secretary, who could not have helped but to have heard the interchange. She sat down at her desk, a mixture of anger and shame flooding her mind, trying mightily to stem the tears that continued to flow down her face.

Finally, without looking at Deborah, she rose from her chair, and said in a hurried voice: “I’m going to fix my makeup. Be right back!”

Karen sat on the commode, finding welcome privacy within the enclosed stall, prompting her to sit for a while after relieving herself. It gave her a few minutes to sort matters out; did she really want to continue pursuing acting as a future, even peripherally? It was such a demanding goal, requiring years of sacrifice and dedication. Even taking over an understudy’s position for a major part like that of Madge would mean hours of memorizing the lines and taking part in many of the rehearsals, she knew. She really was too busy, and the Professor’s demanding direction could place terrible stress upon her.

Ever since she had resisted his apparent sexual advances, he had largely left her alone, confident that she’d perform the office work admirably; Karen was proud that she had been able to fit into the demands of the “assistant’s role” so well. Why not just let it stay that way?

She heard the outer door to the women’s room open, followed by footsteps which stopped. “Are you in there, Karen?”

It was Deborah’s voice, and Karen froze for a minute.

“Yes,” she said faintly.

“If you’re done, come on out of there, please, Karen.”

“OK, just give me a minute.” Karen wiped her face with some toilet tissue, got up and pulled up her panties and jeans.

As she exited, Deborah stopped her, pulling her into a hug, and said softly into her ear, “He sent me after you, Karen. He was worried about you. He really cares about you, Karen.”

“Then why does he talk so mean to me?”

“Oh, that’s just him, Karen,” the older woman said, releasing Karen from her hold. “You know he’s that way with everyone when they don’t do exactly what he wants.”

Karen was aware of Fenstrom’s behavior with everyone; she had often wondered how a man who could show such empathy and sensitivity in his theater work could be so mean and insensitive with people.

As she began to repair her makeup, Karen looked at the secretary who was smiling back at her.

“You know you’re a naturally very beautiful young lady, Karen,” Deborah said. “And I mean you’re such a sincere and warm girl and that makes you even more beautiful. I think Fenstrom sees that, too, and he really wants you to grow as an actress. You’ve got it in you. I’ve never seen him so enthused about anyone as much as he is about you.”

“He’s got a funny way of showing it,” she said.

“He wants to test you, I think, and hopes to bring out the best in you,” Deborah said.

“Are you sure he doesn’t want to get into my panties? You know he’s made such approaches?”

Deborah nodded. She was well aware of the professor’s dalliances with the young ladies, and suspected that Karen had already faced such situations.

“I know, dear, but I know you’ve put up the ‘stop’ sign, and he’s easily dissuaded when a girl turns him down,” Deborah said. “Besides, he still loves his wife, and I think she’s about had enough of it.”

Karen smiled. “Let’s go back to work, Deborah. I need to finish up the letters to donors before I leave tonight.”

She was pleased to spend the next nearly two hours at the computer, printing out the form letters, merging them and printing envelopes and stuffing them. The work was rote but the physical activity seemed to be the antidote to her concerns. She finished just before eight o’clock; Deborah left at 6 p.m., leaving her alone in the office, while Professor Fenstrom remained in his office, behind closed doors, apparently working on massaging the script of “Picnic.”

Karen rapped lightly on Fenstrom’s office door when she finished, saying, “I’m finished, Professor Fenstrom and I’m going now.”

“Oh, Karen,” he replied. “Open the door and come in here a minute.”

“I’ve got to go, professor,” Karen protested, hesitating to open the door.

“Open the door, child.” His voice was gentle, almost kindly.

She did as he commanded, but stood stiffly at the door, not entering the inner office.

“I really think you should do the understudy part, Karen,” he said. “It would be good for you if you are serious about acting. You’ll learn a lot.”

She nodded, wondering if she should tell him she’d already made up her mind about the understudy role. She seriously considered letting him stew for another day.

“OK,” he said when he got no response from Karen. “Have a good night and let me know tomorrow about your decision. Right?”

“I’ve already made my decision, sir.”

“For God’s sake, tell me, girl.” She noted exasperation growing in his voice.

“I’ll do the understudy role, sir.”

With that she closed the door and left the office; she could hear the professor yell “Karen, Karen, stop.”

Karen kept on going, putting on her spring jacket and baseball cap. She exited the office quietly, closing the door gently behind her, suddenly feeling pleased with her decision.

*****
“You’re doing too much, darling,” Cecelia Hansson said.

“Oh, mother, I know it, but I just can’t seem to resist doing all these things,” Karen replied.

She and her mother usually set aside about an hour on Tuesday nights for a long phone conversation; it was always reassuring for Karen to talk with her mother, who seemed to understand her many issues. Karen realized her relationship with her mother was different from what she’d seen occur with many other college girls, who constantly seemed to resent their mothers’ interests in their activities, preferring to characterize their mothers’ comments as “interfering” or “nagging.”

Perhaps it was because she had been a girl for not much more than six months and had lots she needed to learn; perhaps, it was because her mother, too, was getting used to having a daughter for the first time. Maybe, the novelty of a mother-daughter relationship just hadn’t worn off, yet.

“Are you jealous of Heather getting the lead, Karen?” her mother asked.

“No, mom, she’s a friend and a good actress.”

“But not as good as you, you think?”

“Mom, I wouldn’t say that, but that’s what everyone else says. Heather’s a good actress, mom. But, I don’t know why Fenstrom didn’t pick me.”

Karen was lying; she believed strongly that Fenstrom denied her the part because she resisted his sexual advances, but she didn’t want to tell her mother about that, for fear she’d overreact.

“You know life isn’t always fair, dear,” Cecelia Hansson said. “I’m glad you agreed to the understudy role. It shows you’re a team player, and always try to do your best, and eventually you’ll shine. You’re far too pretty and too good an actress.”

“Thanks, mom, I will.”

“Love you, honey.”

“Kisses, mom. I love you. You’re the best mom ever.”

Karen hung up, grateful for the warm support from her mother. Even though she wasn’t sure there was a God to hear her voice, she prayed that night. She pictured herself as a little girl, in a babydoll nightdress, kneeling at the side of her pink-quilted bed in a daintily furnished little girl’s room, praying to God. She suddenly wanted to cry: she had never been a “little girl,” dainty and playful, and would never experience the joys of growing up as a cute feminine child.

*****
Karen’s contact with Patti Hamilton had become less frequent, now averaging once a week. Both were busy, of course, with Mark’s mother having to juggle a work schedule with maintaining a household and making daily visits to see her son in the rehabilitation center.

It wasn’t until Friday night — on the day before the committee meeting planning the fashion show — that Mrs. Hamilton called Karen.

“He’s not progressing much. He seems so depressed, Karen,” Patti said, her voice betraying her own feelings of depression over her son’s status.

“That doesn’t sound like Mark,” Karen said. “He was always such a fighter and so bold.”

“It’s like he doesn’t feel he has anything to live for.”

Karen pictured her lover, her athletic, ruddy-faced friend, now lying pale and shrinking in size in an institutional bed. Tears began to form in her eyes, and her voice thickened as she spoke.

“How did Sonny’s visit go?” Karen said, hoping to change the subject. Her brother had joined with several of his football-team buddies to go to Milwaukee to visit Mark, a trip that Karen had originally planned to make with them. She had to cancel due to demands of her job with Fenstrom who called for a Sunday work session.

“Oh, he seemed to brighten up when your brother and his friend arrived, Karen. They were so great, Karen, asking his advice about how they should play the game. Your brother, it appears, adores Mark and would like to be as good a quarterback.”

Karen giggled a bit, an image of her brother’s eager curiosity whenever the subject of football was raised as a topic of conversation.

“That sounds like Sonny.”

“You know, Karen that really was great therapy for him, since he must have felt he was helping the boys out in playing the game. It’s like he was coaching them.”

“It gave him a purpose, I guess,” Karen said, pleased that her brother and several of his teammates had followed up on their promise to visit Mark.

“That really was nice of them to take that 90-mile trip down to see Mark, honey, but within two days he was back into the doldrums again.”

“And he still hasn’t mentioned me?”

“No, honey, he hasn’t. I’m sure he’s read your letters, but he won’t talk about it. Every time I bring your name up he just tells me to ‘shut up’ about you. ‘Leave her out of this, mom, she doesn’t need me as her burden.’ That’s what he always says.”

Karen said nothing for a minute. What was there to say?

“Are you still there, Karen?” Patti Hamilton said to finally break the silence.

“Yes, Patti, and . . . ah . . .”

“What honey?”

“I've got nothing doing on Sunday, Patti. I’m coming to visit him that day, whether he wants me or not,” she said, making the decision in her mind at just that moment.

“Oh, I don’t know if you want to do that, Karen. It might be just a waste of time. He won’t see you.”

“I don’t care, Patti. I’m coming. Unless, of course, you would oppose me showing up. I would not want to go against your wishes.”

“No, not at all. I don’t think it would hurt him at all. At least, it can’t make him feel any worse.”

“That’s it. I’ll get there Sunday by one o’clock.”

The two talked for a while, with Karen explaining she’d arrive about noon on a bus from the University. She planned on going to early mass and catching the bus at 10:30 a.m.

“I’ll pick you up at the 84th Street stop,” Patti said.

By the time Karen and Patti finished their conversation, Karen’s heart was racing; she was excited at the prospect of seeing Mark.

*****
“I know he loves me, Rami,” she told her roommate about her plans later that night when Ramini returned from an evening date with Aaron, who had made a quick weekend trip to visit his sister at the University.

Ramini, who was still giddy over the evening she had enjoyed with her new-found boyfriend, smiled and said, “Of course, he still loves you, Karen. Isn’t it great to be in love? I’ve never felt so happy, and I owe it all to you, dear.”

Having stripped down to her panties and bra, Ramini sat down next to Karen on the bed and wrapped her arms about Karen. They kissed warmly, sisterly kisses. They soon were tumbling together on the bed, giggling and tickling each other.

“Isn’t it great being girls,” Ramini said.

“The best,” Karen replied, kissing her friend firmly on the lips.

*****
Jeremy Foster proved to be a worthy choice as chair of the committee planning the Newman Club’s fashion show. He took command of the meeting from the beginning with a firmness that seemed out of character with his soft, effeminate mannerisms. He had smallish, pudgy hands and spoke in a high voice that showed traces of girlish inflections.

Karen was surprised to see Mary Catherine attending the meeting as well; the girl had not volunteered for the committee at the Wednesday meeting. Mary Catherine beckoned to Karen to sit in the empty seat next to her, and Karen looked to Ramini who had accompanied her to the meeting. Ramini indicated to Karen to sit next to the girl, and she found a close-by empty seat.

“I thought this might sound interesting,” Mary Catherine said to Karen as she sat down.

“It could be,” Karen agreed. “Are you interested in fashions, Mary?”

“Not really, but I think it's time I learned, besides I think I can help publicize this. I’m a media major here.”

“Cool, we’ll need you then, Mary,” Karen said, continuing to use a shorter version of the girl’s name. Mary Catherine had told her most of her friends and family (except her mother, of course) simply called her “Mary.”

“I want to be your friend, Karen,” Mary Catherine said.

It was such a bald, direct statement that Karen was momentarily speechless.

“Yes, Karen, I can see you’re truly a fine Christian girl and that’s so important, although I’m still not sure about this trans stuff. It seems wrong to me.”

The frankness of the girl was both disturbing and welcoming. She could see that Mary Catherine truly was trying to be open-minded, but it was difficult for her.

Their conversation was interrupted by Jeremy, who commanded loudly:

“Let’s get right down to business. We have to get this done in three weeks. That’s not long.”

His firmness startled the girls, all five of them instantly stopping their giggling and talking.

Father Jim announced he had contacted St. Vincent de Paul, and found they were interested in the project. “They have plenty of lovely clothes, I’ve been told,” the priest said.

Mary Catherine agreed to do the publicity; she had done some already for high school events and for another Catholic youth group in which she participated. Jeremy and another girl would set things up with St. Vincent de Paul.

The girls agreed that they’d meet the following Saturday at St. Vincent de Paul’s store to select their outfits for the fashion show.

“We can all model,” Stephanie said.

“All of us, even Jeremy?” another girl asked.

The girls all giggled, but Jeremy seemed to take the suggestion seriously.

“Oh, I’d love to, maybe the plus sizes,” he said with exaggerated effeminacy.

“No I was kidding about that, Jeremy,” the girl said.

Jeremy smiled at her. “That’s OK, but I have modeled some of my own dresses when I made them. Plus sizes, of course.”

He laughed, and the girls looked at him in amazement.

“Yes, why not? I had to see how they fit. But I’ve got several dresses I made that would probably fit Karen here the best. Maybe she’d like to check them out and maybe she’d like to model them. I’ll donate them to the cause.”

The meeting ended within an hour, attesting to Jeremy’s skill in moving a meeting forward, and Mary Catherine asked Karen if she’d like to go for some coffee.

“No, I can’t just now, Mary,” she said. “Ramini and I need to talk to Father Jim about something. Maybe some other time. OK?”

The girl looked disappointed; yet, she smiled at Karen. “Yes, some other time.”

Karen and Ramini approached Father Jim as the others left the lounge of the rectory.

“We’d like to talk with you a minute, Ramini and I would, Father,” she said.

“What is it?” he said.

“It’s kind of private, father.”

“OK, follow me to the office here. I’ve got maybe 20 minutes before I have to get ready for Saturday afternoon mass.”

His office still retained the comfort of its old furnishings; dark stained wood paneling covered the lover half of the room, while two lead-stained glass windows filtered light into the room, splashing colors about his desk and the patterned carpeting.

His desk, an old-fashioned wood affair, held a scattering of papers, with a computer on one side; it was obvious the priest used this as a workplace. Karen had been impressed with the few of his sermons she’d heard, since he was including literary references to strengthen his points. His interest in good reading was confirmed by the presence of two large shelving units in the room, filled with books that were obviously well-thumbed through.

“Father,” Karen began hesitatingly. “Ramini and I need to inform you about something. It’s quite private and might be disturbing to you and some of the others.”

Father Neuberger moved forward on his executive’s chair, looking closely first at Karen and then at Ramini. He said nothing. He fiddled with a pen, tapping first one end of the pen on the desk and then slowly turning it over and tapping the other end, repeating the pattern in a steady rhythm.

“Maybe you two would like to go to confession to tell me?”

“No, father, it’s nothing like that,” Ramini said.

“We'd better not beat around the bush,” Karen said. “Father, you’ve heard about transgendered people?”

Father Jim’s demeanor became suddenly guarded.

“Hmmmm, . . . ah . . . yes, I have, and?”

“Well, I guess you could say both Ramini and I are what you call transgendered girls,” Karen said.

The priest looked at both of them. It appeared he quickly had surmised the purpose of their visit.

“What do you mean? You both can’t be boys underneath all that prettiness,” he asked.

“Yes, Father,” the two said almost in unison.

“It can’t be, you’re both so . . . ah . . . what can I say . . . you’re both so girly. Migosh, so sweet and feminine, both of you.”

Karen waited moment and then said, “Father we wanted to let you know about us before we got too involved here at church. Both Ramini and I were baptized Catholic and attended mass regularly until a year or so ago, but we’d like to return to the Church and enjoy the sacraments.”

“Oh, you would?” The priest’s tone was sarcastic, and Karen was taken aback.

She nodded hesitantly, indicating she would like to return to the Church. Ramini shook her head in agreement.

“You think you can just turn on and turn off your religiousness and turn on and off your gender just like you turn on and off a water faucet. Dear girls, you can’t just do that.”

“We didn’t just ‘turn on’ being girls, Father,” Ramini protested.

“Well, when did you begin identifying yourselves as girls?” he quizzed them.

Karen was becoming uneasy with the tenor of the conversation; Father Jim, whom she thought would be understanding and open-minded, was instead becoming rigid and doctrinaire. He obviously viewed both of them as pathetic, wrong-headed creatures and sinners.

“Well, it was last November, and the University now registers us as female, father,” Ramini said.

Father Jim laughed out loud, a derisive laugh, and it prompted Karen to rise from her seat. “This is ridiculous, Rami, let’s get out of here,” she exploded.

“Stay where you are, children,” the priest commanded.

Karen remained standing and stared directly at Father Jim. “Look here, Father, I never felt right as a boy — all my life, I didn’t, and now I’m comfortable with myself. I’m really a girl and have been all my life, even though all my parts don’t quite fit the description.”

Never before had Karen felt so angered; the priest had become a pompous, uncaring idiot, she thought. No wonder she had left the Church. This priest was no different than their old pastor back home.

“Father, you must understand our situation,” Karen continued to stand. She began, her voice now under control: “First of all, you invited us to join the Club and second, we came to you to tell you our situation as soon as it became apparent we might become more active. We have no reason to deceive anyone. You should understand that both Ramini and I have been under medical and psychological care and have both been diagnosed with gender dysphoria and are being evaluated right now for the possibility of a full gender reassignment.”

“And if we’re not welcome here, we’ll leave, Father,” Ramini added.

Father Neuberger sat back in his chair, saying nothing. He played with his pen again, tapping it once on its tip, then flipping it is his fingers as a baton twirler would and tapping it again on its other end. He kept a rhythmical tapping going for several seconds.

Karen stood above him, glaring down at the priest, and Ramini shifted uneasily in her seat.

“Will you sit down, Karen!” Father Jim said; it was obvious he had grown uneasy with the situation.

Karen did, finally.

“Look, girls, if that’s what you think you are,” the priest began. “I think the Catholic Church views what you are doing as a sin, perhaps even a mortal sin, particularly if you go through with changing your gender physically. Remember, your body is a gift from God; he created both of you as boys and for you to physically change your sex would amount to self-mutilation, and that’s a sin akin to suicide.”

“It looks like we don’t belong here, Ramini,” Karen said again.

“Shut up, Karen, and listen to me, I haven’t finished,” Father Jim said, his voice taking on a frustrated firmness. “Now, since we’re on campus here and the parish faces certain non-discrimination rules as a result of being located here we must make all of our activities open to persons of all races and creeds and genders. I can’t stop you two from participating in the club. However, I could bar both of you from attending mass or taking part in the Sacraments.”

“It just won’t work, Father,” Karen said, feeling that both she and Ramini would be treated like second class citizens or objects of curiosity.

“Karen, you are demanding, aren’t you?” the priest said, and not waiting for her to answer, he continued:

“First of all, both of you are welcome to continue with the full activities of the Newman Club, or any other activity at the chapel you’d like to. That’s a University policy that we will honor. Then, you’re both always welcome at mass; however, I will refuse to give you Communion or to permit you to participate in any Sacramental celebration. Is that clear?”

“I understand, Father,” Ramini said.

Karen said nothing; she finally sat down in her chair, continuing to glower at the priest whose ruddy face had reddened apparently due to the trauma of the meeting.

“So we’re still sinners, Father?” Karen said finally.

“Yes, Karen,” the priest said, his voice growing soft and tentative. “You’re a sinner in the eyes of the Church, dear.”

The realization that she was a sinner in the Church of her birth bothered her; it was surprising since she had quit attending mass more than a year earlier due to her profound opposition to the Church’s stand on such issues as a woman’s right to choose, the role of women in the Church and gay marriage. Now, the emotional response to the fact that she’d be deserting the traditions of her early life invaded her mind, if not her soul. She didn’t know what to believe.

“Doesn’t God care for all her children, father?” Ramini said.

“Yes, each of us has a soul, so we are all God’s children.”

“Remember the prodigal son, Father?” Ramini persisted. “Remember how the father welcomed the wayward son back into his household? Cannot the Church welcome us, too?”

Father Jim laughed at Ramini’s use of the Bible’s prodigal son metaphor, and countered: “Yes, Ramini, the Church can welcome you back, but only after you have quit your sinful behavior. Meanwhile, we will pray for you both to do so.”

Karen rose abruptly.

“Thank you Father for your time,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve just freed up my Sunday mornings for me. Let’s go, Rami.”

She grabbed Ramini’s hand, and guided her out of the office, but even before she could slam the door in the priest’s office, they both heard the priest yell out:

“May God go with you.”

Both girls said nothing as they left the chapel. “Guess that ends that,” Ramini finally said.

“Yes, but I can’t understand Father Neuberger,” Karen said. “He seemed so warm and friendly at first.”

“I know, but I guess he’s in a tough position there, trying to mix Church rules into a community like a college campus,” Ramini said.

“But, he laughed at us, remember, Rami?”

“Yes, that was shocking, and I guess to some people we must be a topic of hilarity.”

“Well, f–k ‘em,” Karen said.

“Oops, Karen. For that you must say ten ‘Our Fathers’ and ten ‘Hail Marys.’”

Both girls began laughing, even though the experience certainly was no laughing matter.

That night, as she lay in bed, having put her hair up after a warm, heavenly soak in the bathtub, she began to cry. She really loved the Church for its ceremonies and its regal beauty, for the sense of community and also for its message of humility and charity. Yet, she realized that she was really categorized in the Church along with murderers and charlatans of the meanest order. Even the lepers were treated with more kindness and understanding than girls like herself and Ramini.

*****
Karen skipped mass the next day — a chilly, windy April Sunday — and while it saddened her to give up on returning to the Church, it did give her more time to prepare for her visit to see Mark at the rehabilitation center in Milwaukee. She began to feel anxious about the whole adventure, not knowing how he would receive her, or even if he’d receive her at all and instead order her out of the room.

“Should I wear a nice dress, Rami? How about my teal blue spring dress? What do you think?”

“Oh Karen, you’re driving me nuts this morning with all these questions,” Ramini said. She was at her computer, trying to do research into John Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” a task that was becoming more difficult with Karen’s incessant quest to find the “perfect outfit” to wear for her Mark.

“You know the dress, Rami? Help me out on this, please.”

“Karen, darling, I know this is important for you, but, dear, you’ve probably changed clothes six times this morning.”

“No, it’s only five since I haven’t put on the spring dress yet.”

Ramini burst into laughter.

“You’re a trip, girl,” Ramini said. “OK, let me repeat what I said before.”

Karen nodded and then repeated her friend’s earlier advice: “It’s a cold day, too cold for a skirt. I shouldn’t dress too fancy and should wear something more casual, like any typical college girl would wear.”

“That’s right, and so the spring dress is wrong for you. Why not put on those new designer jeans you bought a week ago? They’re really chic, dear. And then that peach colored cami under the light green jacket? I thought you looked really nice in that, and it’s a bit cheery, too.”

“You really think so?” Karen asked. She still thought she should wear something pretty and sexy for the visit.

“If I didn’t think so, I wouldn’t have said it, would I?”

Karen reddened. She knew her friend had become exasperated with her and her indecision about clothes.

Ramini turned completely away from the computer and looked Karen directly in the eye. “You’re naturally a pretty girl and it matters little what you wear. If he wants to see you, he’ll be glad to see you in a burlap bag. If he won’t see you, it won’t matter what you wear.”

“I guess you’re right, Rami,” Karen said, moving over to hug her friend. “You’ve always been so wise about these things, dear.”

When she finally left for the 11 a.m. bus, Karen wore what Ramini had recommended; because the temperature was still in the mid-30s, she decided to wear her puffy beige winter three-quarter-length coat with its hoodie. On her feet she wore a pair of stylish short-heeled brown boots, adorned with sequins.

She was caught at the door by her friend, Angela, who exclaimed: “Wow, where are you going looking so stylish, Karen?”

Karen was taken by surprise. “Oh Angela, hi. Going for a day trip to Milwaukee to visit Mark.”

“You are? I didn’t think he wanted to see you.”

“I’m hoping he will,” Karen said. “His mother said it was OK if I wanted to come. Maybe it’ll do him some good.”

“Oh, if he doesn’t get aroused by seeing you like this, there’s no hope for him, dear,” Angela said.

“He’s still hurting bad, Angela,” Karen said. “I’m not sure I’m all that hot.”

“You are, dear. You are, and I’ve missed you so much. Where have you been?”

“Angela, you know I’ve been busy, with my job and school and everything else.”

Angela suddenly grabbed her friend, and hugged her. “Oh Karen, I need you, please, come visit me one of these nights. Please, dear.”

Karen tried to wrest herself from the arms of her strong friend. “I need to catch my bus, Angela.”

“Oh Karen, don’t forget me, will you? Or are you Rami’s lover now? I should never have encouraged you two to move in together.”

“No Angela, she’s just a close friend, but we’re not making love together,” Karen said. In truth, she didn’t know if their practice of sleeping together, coupled with their kisses and hugs, constituted “making love” or not. The two had never reached the height of erotic explosions that she and Angela had reached.

“Come see me OK, Karen?”

Angela let her friend free, and Karen responded, “OK, Angela.”

Karen sped down the stairs of the old house porch and into the cold, adjusting her hoodie as she left. Just the thought of returning to the muscular arms of Angela, of feeling her hard body and smooth skin against her own softer flesh, of nestling her head into the tiny mounds on Angela’s chest, of feeling Angela’s strong hands kneading the softness of her inner thighs excited her immensely. It also confused her, as she found herself aroused thinking of being in the arms of Mark Hamilton as well.

As she waited to board the bus to Milwaukee, Karen began shivering; she knew it wasn’t only because of the chill of the morning, but rather from growing tenseness as she faced gnawing questions: Would Mark see her? And, if he did, how should she act? She wanted to run to his bed and hug him with all her might; yet, she knew that in her own trepidation she would be unable to move herself to do so. Oh Mark, please, dear Mark, accept me and let us come together for a wonderful life ahead! Or, would she be rejected?

Chapter 16: Jealousy

The St. Francis Rehabilitation Center was located in a heavily treed campus of mainly 100-year-old grey-stoned structures. The buildings originally housed the mother house, living areas and classrooms for an order of Catholic nuns that once scattered thousands of devout sisters to the far corners of the world to succor the poor while seeking to convert them to Romanism. The order was depleted and now occupied only one of the buildings, used partly as the mother house and as a residence for aging sisters.

The Center itself occupied what looked like it had originally housed a school; while the exterior retained its classicism, the inside had been modernized and it contained the latest in medical facilities. Karen had checked the Center out on-line and learned it was rated professionally as one of the best in the nation. She was so happy to learn that; it would mean that Mark would be getting the best of care.

What astonished her was that the corridors and rooms were surprisingly cheerful, helped by bright walls and ancient huge windows that let in plenty of light.

Karen was also astonished at the cheerfulness that Patti Hamilton displayed upon picking her up at the 84th Street bus stop.

“You’re a feast for sore eyes,” Patti exclaimed upon seeing Karen. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you, Karen.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton, but I hope Mark is as happy to see me as you are,” Karen said, as she settled herself into Patti’s Chrysler Town and Country minivan, a newer model that still retained the white residue of salt that was sprinkled liberally on the city’s streets when ice and snow hit during the winter.

“Karen, shame on you, you know better. You know to call me Patti.”

Karen giggled. “Of course, but mother always taught me to respect my elders.”

“Your elders? Me?” Patti replied in mock anger.

“You’re in a cheerful mood, Patti,” Karen probed.

Mrs. Hamilton quickly swerved the car, avoiding one of the many potholes that pockmarked the city’s streets after the long, cold and snowy winter.

“Hopefully I’ll stay that way as long as we don’t blow a tire on these streets.”

Mark appeared to be getting stronger, Patti explained as they drove on. He was able to use the parallel bars for a few minutes the previous day for the first time, the strength of his arms able to propel him upright as his useless legs dangled along the few feet of the parallel bars.

“He had been reluctant to try them out,” Patti said. “But he’s got a lovely therapist, who’s been a good motivator.”

“Oh?” Karen said, wondering if he was finding attraction in another girl.

Sensing Karen’s concern, Patti said: “Don’t get jealous on me now, Karen. She’s a pretty girl, but not as pretty as you, I assure you.”

“It wasn’t that. I’m just glad he’s got somebody working with him who’s nice,” Karen said, realizing that her comments were only partly truthful. She was a bit jealous, she knew.

*****
“Oh, hi, Mrs. Hamilton,” a fresh-faced young lady greeted the two as the walked down the corridor of Mark Hamilton’s third-floor ward.

“Oh Theresa, how is he today?”

“Seems a little less happy than he was yesterday, ma’am, but then he really was happy after his walk down the parallel bars,” the woman said. “I think he’s a bit sore from yesterday’s efforts.”

Theresa was an exceedingly cute girl, Karen noticed immediately. The girl kept her short brunette hair in bangs that framed her face; she wore a dark blue free-flowing skirt and a beige long-sleeved blouse covered by a white smock. The girl’s ruddy cheeks and twinkling eyes exuded warmth and friendliness; they almost danced as if the girl was laughing. She was indeed a captivating young woman. Karen wondered if this was the therapist serving Mark.

“Theresa, this is Karen Hansson,” Patti Hamilton said. “She’s a friend of Mark’s. And, Karen, meet Theresa, the therapist I was telling you about.”

The two shared greetings, but Karen stiffened when she realized this was the therapist that was guiding Mark in his recovery. The therapist certainly was a cute, lovely young woman, Karen noticed. It was an awkward moment that Patti obviously sensed as well.

“Theresa’s been doing a marvelous job in getting Mark motivated,” Patti said, apparently hoping to break through the tenseness.

“I know you told me that,” Karen said, realizing her reply may have sounded a bit dismissive. Quickly, she recovered, adding, “Yes, thank you for doing that.”

“Maybe you can add some brightness to his day, Karen,” Theresa said. Karen thought the young woman sounded sincere, but also wondered if the remark might have been also a bit sarcastic.

“How is he today, Theresa?”

“Looking forward to your visit, as always, Mrs. Hamilton. I’ve got him up in a chair and dressed him up a bit for his young lady friend,” Theresa said, offering a smile to Karen.

“I told Theresa yesterday that you’d be coming today, but she kept it a secret, didn’t you, Theresa?”

The therapist nodded. “Mrs. Hamilton said you were a beautiful girl, Karen,” Theresa said. “And I can see she wasn’t kidding. He’s lucky to have you.”

Karen felt embarrassed over how she handled the meeting; here was a person who was doing her job in helping her friend, Mark, recover from a devastating injury, and Karen was treating her like the devil incarnate. Jealousy is such a terrible human emotion, she realized.

*****
As the two approached Mark’s room, Karen shivered as tension rose inside of her; she immediately began wondering whether the visit was such a good idea after all, and she thought that maybe she should merely tell Mrs. Hamilton to continue on to visit Mark, while she turned back. What would she say? What would Mark do? Could she damage whatever progress he had made in his recovery? Shouldn’t she have dressed in a more alluring outfit? A thousand thoughts tumbled through her mind, adding to her sense in inadequacy.

“I’ll wait out here while you go in to see Mark,” Karen said, her voice accompanied by a weak tremor.

“No, girl, you’ll come with me,” Patti said, grabbing her arm. “Now take off that coat, let me brush your hair, dear.”

“Really, you want me to go in with you? Won’t that shock him?”

“Possibly, but if I give him a chance and ask for his OK for you to come in, he’ll just say ‘no.’ It’ll do him good to see you, I know it, Karen.”

Karen nodded her head, realizing that Patti Hamilton was right. Deep down, she agreed with Patti that Mark truly wanted to see Karen, that his refusal to contact her had been to free the girl from any obligation to serve him and tend to his disability. “He just doesn’t want to become a burden to you, darling,” Patti told her several times in the past.

“You look so darling,” Patti Hamilton said when she finished brushing Karen’s hair so that it hung smoothly.

“I should have dressed up more for him, Patti,” she protested.

“No, dear, you’re fine as you are, believe me.”

Patti Hamilton grabbed Karen’s hand and led her into Room 314.

“Mark, look who I brought to see you,” Patti announced as she moved over to hug her son. Mark was seated in a chair, a blanket over his legs. A wheelchair was folded up against a wall.

Karen stood stiffly just inside the door of the room, the brightness of the chilly April sun flooding the room with light. She examined her friend; his face was pale, and his robust body seemed reduced in size as she remembered it. She had trouble seeing the expression on his face, since he was framed against the window and her vision was clouded with the brightness of the sunlight.

“I told you not to let her come, mother,” Mark said. His voice was flat, absent of any emotion.

“Now, Mark,” his mother pleaded. “She took the bus in here just to see you. The least you can do is to be nice to her.”

He said nothing, turning away from both of them to gaze out the window.

Karen moved hesitantly into the room, and said tentatively, “Hello, Mark.”

He still said nothing.

“Turn around, Mark, and at least say hi,” his mother commanded.

He still said nothing; Karen stayed stiffly erect awaiting Mark’s response. She felt alienated, a stranger in the room.

“Maybe I’d better go, Patti,” she said finally. “I’ll wait in the lounge down the hall.”

“No, Karen, stay,” Patti said.

“Let her go, mother,” Mark said, his voice taking on a cruelty she had never heard before.

“Mark!” his mother said firmly in reprimand.

“She’s so successful now that all she wants to do is to gloat over me or to pity me,” he said. “Get her out of here, mother.”

Karen burst into tears, turned around, and fled from the room. Fighting back tears, she burst down the hall in search of a public women’s room. Halfway down the hall she encountered Theresa, who stopped Karen’s flight.

“Ladies’ room?” Karen struggled to get the words out.

“Just keep going, third door on your right,” Theresa said.

Karen tried to extricate herself from the therapist’s grasp. “Let me go,” she pleaded.

“What’s wrong darling?”

Through her watery eyes, Karen could sense others in the corridor were looking at her, but she cared little for their curiosity; she was devastated by Mark’s reaction.

“Just let me go,” she said.

Theresa released her and Karen ran down the hall, bursting into the ladies’ room and into an unoccupied stall. She sat down on the commode and cried.

*****
Karen had no idea how long she sat on the commode, never having removed her jeans. Finally, the tears subsided, and she began to consider why Mark had reacted so severely, why he had rejected her with such anger. She wondered first whether Mark had come to the conclusion that he could never love Karen because Karen was not born a girl. Did he now consider Karen an imposter who cloaked a pathetic male body with a female exterior? That had to be it, she thought. Maybe, too, he had become enamored with Theresa; it was logical since the young woman was indeed attractive and obviously a sweet, caring person. Or, was there another girl back at Iowa State for whom he pined, a girl he told neither his parents nor herself about? Oh yes, that must be it, she thought; it had to be a cute cheerleader.

The longer she sat there the more these negative thoughts cascaded through her mind. She finally stopped crying; instead, a severe depression descended upon her.

Karen heard the outer door of the ladies’ room open and light footsteps; they stopped before Karen’s stall, and she saw a pair of white sneakers protruding from nylon-clad ankles standing in front of the door to her stall.

There was a light rap on the stall door followed by the question: “Are you all right, Karen?”

It was the voice of the therapist.

“Yes, go away,” Karen said.

“Karen, don’t be silly,” Theresa said firmly. “You’re not all right. Come on out of there.”

“I am, too, just go away.” Karen knew the tentative, weak nature of her voice betrayed her own sense of fragility.

“Karen, I know Mark rejected you,” Theresa said, her voice now taking a neutral, matter-of-fact tone. “But, Karen, I do know he still loves you. He really does. Come on out of there and let’s talk it over, OK?”

Karen was silent for a moment and remained in the stall.

“Are you in love with him?” Karen asked abruptly.

“What?”

“I think he must have fallen for you,” Karen said. “You’re so pretty.”

Theresa let out a laugh.

“Now you are being silly. Come on out of there and we’ll talk it over.”

“Let me sit a bit longer here.”

“No, Karen, now. If you don’t come out, I’ll get security here to take you out. You want that?”

When Karen emerged from the stall perhaps a half minute later, she knew her face must be a mess due to all the crying. She saw Theresa standing near the sink, patiently awaiting her.

“I’d better fix my makeup, but I must have left my purse in Mark’s room,” Karen said.

“I brought it for you, dear,” Theresa said, handing it over to Karen.

“You think of everything, don’t you?” Karen said, almost immediately hating her words, since they must have sound snarky to the other girl.

“Now, now, dear, clean up your face, and then you and I can have a good chat, girl-to-girl.”

*****
Theresa led Karen to a family consulting room, a small enclosure with a small table and four comfortable boardroom style chairs. Bright pictures of ocean waves adorned the cream-colored walls and a few small potted plants added life to the room. It was obviously a room that must have been used regularly to tell families the bad news about their loved one’s medical prognosis.

Theresa brought two cans of diet soda and small bags of potato chips and corn chips.

Karen didn’t realize how hungry she was, not having had anything to eat since her light breakfast before leaving for the bus. She chose the corn chips, welcoming their salty taste.

Theresa said she had learned from Patti Hamilton about how mean Mark had been in dismissing Karen from the room.

“You’re right about one thing, Karen,” Theresa began. “I deeply care about Mark, but not in the way you imagine. I care, first of all, since he’s my patient, and I must say he is probably my favorite patient. He’s trying so hard to gain his strength back, but, Karen, his injury to his nerves is so severe, it’s doubtful he’ll even walk again. But, then you know that. That doesn’t stop him from trying.”

“I know,” Karen said. “He’s remarkable.”

“One thing else I know about Mark is that he is a generous young man,” Theresa continued. “He seems always to worry that he is bothering the staff whenever he buzzes for help. He’s always nice to me, even when I push him too hard.

“But, he truly does not want to be a burden to anyone else, not to his mother, not to me, even though it’s my job, and certainly not to you, Karen.”

Karen nodded. “That’s what his mother said in trying to explain to me why he won’t answer my letters. But I began thinking that was just an excuse to dump me for someone else, just because I may not be what he wants in a girlfriend.”

Theresa smiled, and leaned over, taking Karen’s hand.

“Look, dear,” she began. “Mark has told me all about you, all about your transition, about how you two met and played ‘Hamlet’ together. That was the happiest summer of his life, he told me. He truly loves you, dear, but he’s told me over and over that ‘Karen’s too pretty to be tied to a cripple like me.’”

Karen began to cry again.

“You know, Theresa, he helped me begin my transition,” Karen said, finally gathering her control. “He could have laughed at me or beat me up, but he embraced me and encouraged me. He helped me find myself.”

“I know honey, and we must give him time, dear, to open his heart to you again,” she said reassuringly. “I know he will.”

“Do you think maybe he’s had second-thoughts about our relationship, since I’m not a girl in the sense that I was born a girl?” Karen asked.

“I don’t see an indication of that, Karen, and besides you are about as much a girl as I am, plus being much prettier,” Theresa said with a smile.

“Oh I don’t know about that, Theresa. You’re pretty hot yourself.”

“Aren’t we a mutual admiration society?”

They both giggled.

“Part of my work as a therapist,” Theresa then explained, “Is to work with the patient’s state of mind; it’s so important when it comes to his recovery. So, we’ve talked lots about Mark’s feelings, and I think he’ll trust me. Mind if I have a go at it?”

“Not at all,” Karen said, “As long as his mother is OK with it.”

“By the way, Karen, just to set your mind at ease,” Theresa said. “I’d consider being in love with Mark if I was ten years younger. I’m older than I look.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes, honey, and I have a seven-year-old son at home, too, and though there’s no man in my life now, I assure you it would not be a 19-year-old college freshman,” she said.

“I’m sorry, Theresa,” Karen said.

“No problem, dear. I understand.”

There seemed to be nothing more to be said. Karen and Theresa sat quietly together for a few minutes, before Theresa said she would return to talk to Mark; perhaps, she said, he might yet accept Karen into the room.

She excused herself, and Karen left the small counseling room and moved to the more comfortable lounge where a scruffy young, overweight man was watching a Milwaukee Brewers baseball game with the sound off. Karen had little interest in the game and tried to interest herself in a six-months old Time magazine, but found her thoughts filled with Theresa and her closeness to Mark. Karen couldn’t help liking the therapist, who seemed truly concerned not only about Mark’s recovery, but also about Karen’s own feelings. Yet, while Karen felt Theresa was telling the truth about not desiring to have any romantic interests in Mark (apparently due to the age difference), she could not help wondering if perhaps their closeness might grow into something more intense; affairs, and even marriages, between women ten years older than the man were not unheard of in the present-day world.

“Oh there you are,” Patti Hamilton said, interrupting Karen’s jealous musing.

“Hi, Patti, how’s Mark?”

The woman sat down in a green upholstered side chair, drawing it up next to Karen. “He’s OK, but Karen, I’m devastated as to how he treated you, dear. You deserved better. I’m sorry you had to make the trip, but I thought he’d welcome you.”

“That’s OK, Patti. I’m just glad I saw him, even if it was for just a moment. I truly hope my visit hasn’t caused him a setback.”

“No, of course not. He’s really pretty resilient, but he has his moments of depression now that he is realizing that he may never walk again.”

“But why does he resist me like this? Is it because I’m not a real girl, yet? I’m sure that must bother him.”

Patti shook her head in a negative fashion. “No, dear, that’s not it. I think he’s already had that battle in his own mind; you have no idea how hard he worked to convince both his father and me that you were a lovely, marvelous young woman. I know he’s right about that, and I even think his father understands that now. But you know Mark. He can be so stubborn, dear. I really think he still loves you, and really cares about you.”

“I hope and pray so,” Karen said.

“By the way, how’s school going for you, Karen?” Patti said, changing the subject.

Karen explained she was busy, since the pressure of preparing for the spring play was building. She said she’d also been chosen to be understudy for the lead in the play.

“Oh that must have been disappointing, Karen?” Patti said sympathetically.

“Not really, since I’m only a first year student. The part did go to another freshman, but she’s a friend of mine and she’s good, too.”

“Maybe, but I saw you act in ‘Hamlet,’ and I’d say you were pretty darn good.”

“Thank you, I loved that part, maybe it’s ‘cause I played opposite Mark,” Karen said with a smile. “I could read those lines of Ophelia and really mean it.”

Patti smiled. “I think that’s when Mark fell in love with you.”

Karen’s spirits soared for a moment, as she reflected to their summer camp time together; it was a heavenly time.

*****
“He’ll see you now,” Theresa announced, as she entered the lounge where the two women were seated.

“Really?” Karen asked, astonished.

“Yes, between Mrs. Hamilton and myself, I think we convinced him to let you visit for a few minutes, but I think he’ll put on a grouchy front, Karen. Don’t let it bother you,” the therapist said.

“Thank you, Theresa,” Patti said. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“It was both of us, myself and Mrs. Hamilton,” she protested.

Karen felt that it truly was Theresa who must have finally impacted Mark’s mind; she understood how sometimes young people shunned their parent’s advice, but would accept that of a friend or acquaintance or, Karen thought, of someone they wanted to impress. She immediately chastised herself for her jealous reactions to Theresa, who had spent time that afternoon to assist her in seeing Mark.

“You go in alone, dear,” Patti Hamilton said.

*****
Mark was sitting in a wheelchair; Karen noticed he had a fresh shirt on, a bright blue polo shirt, from which his arms protruded, their sinews defined and pronounced. His legs were covered with a blanket. His hair was neatly groomed, indicating that Theresa or another aide had dressed him up to look presentable.

“Hi, Mark,” Karen said simply. She stood at the foot of the bed, about six feet from him.

Mark turned his head away and stared out the window. He said nothing.

“May I sit down?”

“Suit yourself,” he grunted, still looking out the window.

Karen felt uneasy; she had no idea about what she should say. She hated saying all the usual clichés, that she was sorry (of course, she was), that everything will be OK in the end (when it was likely he’d never walk again), or that she was glad he was getting the best of care (which he was, of course).

“I miss you, Mark,” she said finally.

“Too bad,” he said.

“You miss me, too, don’t you, Mark?”

“Why should I?”

“Mark, why are you so mean? I miss you terribly.”

Finally he turned to face her:

“I’ll tell you why I’m so mean,” he said, his voice fierce and cruel. “You’re out there in school with lots of friends and I’ll bet you got lots of boyfriends, too, and they have two working legs, and I don’t. And now you’re going to be understudying the lead in that play. Soon you’ll be the lead in a play and you’ll be on your way to become a great actress, and what am I going to be? A hopeless cripple for the rest of my life. That’s all I’m going to be. Don’t waste your life on me. Just go.”

He turned his head away from her, and turned to the window again.

“Oh Mark,” she said, beginning to cry. “Don’t be so discouraged. You’re not a cripple. You’ve got a good mind and you can do so much in life. Who said I can’t love you? There’s lots to love, whether your legs work or not.”

She sensed he may also have begun to cry, and she rose from the chair, heading over to hug him, to comfort him, but he fought her off.

“Just go,” he said rudely.

“OK, Mark, but I love you and always will,” she said.

“Suit yourself, then, Karen.”

She rose, headed out of the room; as she reached the door, she turned back in time to see him sneak a look at her. There were tears streaming down his face.

“Get out of here,” he repeated loudly.

*****
Patti Hamilton drove Karen to meet her bus; the short visit she had with Mark enabled Karen to take an earlier bus than she had originally planned, which pleased her, since she had studying to do. In her disturbed state of mind, however, she wondered how well she would be able to concentrate. The two said little in the car, giving Karen time to reflect on Mark’s rude behavior toward her. Something bothered her about one thing Mark has said; he had indicated he knew about her being picked to understudy the lead in “Picnic.”

“Did you ever tell him, Patti, that I was picked to understudy the lead in our spring play?” Karen asked.

“No honey, I didn’t,” Mrs. Hamilton said, pausing in her comments as she carefully maneuvered the minivan through traffic in a heavy shopping area.

After a few moments, they had passed the congested traffic, and Patti Hamilton continued: “You know whenever I brought up your name, he told me to not mention you, so I told him nothing about you becoming understudy.”

“Well, how else would Mark have known that?”

“He did?”

Karen smiled. “Yes, he did, he mentioned that when he was telling me to leave him alone. That means, Patti, that he has been reading my letters. I mentioned the understudy role in my last letter.”

“I suspected he was reading your letters, Karen even though he keeps telling me he never reads your letters.”

“That means he cares about me, Patti. He does! He does!”

Karen couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice, almost laughing out loud. There was hope for them after all.

*****
“I’m in love, Karen. I’ve never been happier,” Ramini said, almost before Karen could take her backpack off.

“Aaron?” Karen asked, still a bit out of breath after her walk back from the bus depot.

“Who else, silly? Oh, I love you so much, Karen, for introducing us,” Ramini said, leaping up from her chair to wrap her arms about Karen.

Realizing that Ramini was still enthralled at having Aaron as a boyfriend, Karen forgave the girl for her repeated “thank yous” to Karen about introducing them. She took the tiny girl in her arms, feeling her tiny bone structure under the girl’s softness. Ramini’s dark eyes were sparkling.

“He’s invited me to go to St. Albert’s College as his date for the Spring Planting Dance, Karen,” Ramini continued.

“Wow, that’s nice, Rami. I’m happy for you and for Aaron. He really is a special guy, dear.”

“Yes, his sister will drive me there and back next weekend. I met her, and she’s nice, too.”

Karen nodded. “Yes, she is.”

“Tell me about your visit, Karen,” Ramini then said.

And Karen did, recalling Mark’s blistering words to her almost perfectly. Would she forever remember those horrible words?

“Oh, Karen, that’s so sad,” Ramini said, hugging her friend. “But at least you learned he’s reading your letters.”

“Yeah, maybe he still thinks about me, although I’m not so sure.”

“Oh, he does, Karen. How could he forget you?”

“You’re sweet, Rami.” And the two exchanged sisterly kisses.

Chapter 17: An Actor Emerges

The following week was a busy one. The demands placed upon her by Professor Fenstrom as the time for the spring play neared grew more intense even as Karen had to find time for her regular school work and to study her lines for the understudy role. She hardly had time to think about Mark, although she wrote two brief letters to him during the week, scribbled hurriedly just before she went to bed.

The cast rehearsed each afternoon from 4:30 to 7 p.m., and Karen had to sit with Fenstrom, taking notes as he made recommendations for the performers. As he had done for the play in the previous semester, he turned to Karen to discuss some of the changes; for some strange reason Fenstrom expressed more interest in her thoughts than those of his associate director, an accomplished graduate student.

Fenstrom had become particularly rough on Heather, who played the role of Madge, one of the two Owens sisters who were the focus of the male lead’s varied infatuations.

“You’re playing that too flat, Heather,” he yelled at the girl.

“Isn’t she supposed to be a selfish, naíve girl?” Heather shot back, growing defensive with the professor’s constant nagging.

“Outwardly she’s shallow, Heather. But Madge is also a sensitive girl, and even though she knows she may be prettiest girl in town, she inwardly feels inadequate, compared to her brainy younger sister. You’re just not showing enough depth.” His tone showed a growing frustration with the young actress.

Karen sat mortified; she liked Heather, considered her a friend. She knew directors often could be tough, but Fenstrom seemed to be going over the top in his criticism of the girl. Nonetheless, she felt that Fenstrom was accurate in his observation that Heather had failed to bring much feeling into the part; Karen understood the part was a difficult one, since it had to outwardly portray a shallow, brainless girl while inwardly conveying a deeper warmth and sensitivity.

The rehearsal continued for a few more minutes, until Fenstrom yelled out an angry: “Stop!” He followed that with loud shouts of “No, No, No. Dammit Heather! Can’t you do anything right? You don’t understand Madge at all.”

His eyes still flashing anger, Fenstrom turned toward Karen. “Do you know your lines for this section of the play, Karen.”

“Me?”

“Yes, do you know your lines?” he persisted, his voice rising.

“I think so,” Karen said, tentatively.

“Well get up there and show her how it’s done, Karen,” he demanded.

“I’m not sure I can do any better . . .”

“Go, you can’t do any worse, and take the script in case you get lost.”

Karen knew better than to say “no” to Fenstrom in his current frame of mind. She went on the stage, almost bumping into Heather as she assumed the position.

“I’m sorry, Heather,” she whispered.

“You must be sleeping with him, Karen,” the girl hissed at her, as Karen saw Heather’s tears.

“I’m not, Heather,” but Karen doubted Heather heard her, having run off the stage.

“Stay and watch this, Heather,” Fenstrom yelled after the girl.

Heather was caught by a stage manager, who held up the girl’s flight as Karen began her brief performance of the play.

“Brava! Brava!” Fenstrom said when the segment was completed.

“You’ve got it, Karen. You’ve got Madge down to a ‘T’. Did you see that, Heather? That’s how to do the part.”

The rehearsal continued, with Heather returning to do the part; Fenstrom’s criticisms seemed to have been reduced, but the rehearsal seemed to lack the life it had showed before. The acting was dull and half-hearted; Heather played her part almost as if she no longer cared.

As Karen packed up the materials at the end of the rehearsal, Fenstrom came over to her and said: “You’d better study that part very closely, dear. I’m afraid Heather’s not cut out for the part.”

“Oh, give her time, Professor. She’ll get it. Maybe you’re a little tough on her,” Karen said.

“No, she’ll never get. She doesn’t have the soul for it and you do!”

“But . . . but . . .” Karen protested.

“No buts, Karen. Just make sure you know the part.”

*****
Two days later, Fenstrom formally gave the part to Karen, assigning Heather to be the understudy; the professor surprised the cast, including Karen, by posting the announcement of the change on the cast call board.

Heather was standing near the board when Karen entered. Heather’s expression was a mix of anger and misery; her eyes were moist and red.

She looked at Karen, saying, “You bitch. I thought you were my friend.”

Karen was confused by the girl’s behavior. “Why, what do you mean?”

“Look at the board, bitch.”

Hearing the outburst, several other members of the stage crew and cast had turned their attention to the two girls. Karen spied the board, seeing a paper entitled “Cast Changes — Picnic”

Effective with today’s rehearsals and for the run of the play, the following cast changes will be in effect:

Karen Hansson will play “Madge.”
Heather Graham will be understudy to “Madge.”

No other changes will be made.

Heather is to be praised for her hard work in the role of Madge and she has a great future as an actress.

These changes were made to fit the nature of this play and do not reflect upon the skill and talents of the two actors.

Eric Fenstrom, director

“Oh my God,” Karen said, genuinely surprised.

“See there,” Heather persisted. “You must be sleeping with him, Karen.”

“No, Heather, that’s not it. I haven’t slept with him and never will.” Karen said.

“You lie,” Heather said, her voice rising. “He took me off the part just because I refused him, and now he’s adopted you and left me out of it.”

“Heather, listen to me. I tried to argue with him, to give you a chance with the part. Really, I did.”

Heather’s emotions continued to overwhelm her. “I studied so hard for the part,” she said. “I thought I was perfect for it, but then you came along.”

“Heather, I didn’t, I tried . . .”

“Don’t lie to me. And to think you’re not even a real girl. You’re just a sissy boy under all that pretty girl looks. You’re just an imposter. Maybe he just likes to play with girly boys like you.”

Heather began beating on Karen, using her fists like she was hammering nails. Karen just turned to the side to absorb the soft, ineffectual blows or her arms and back.

“Stop it,” another girl yelled, pulling Heather away from Karen.

Karen turned to see Janet Backus, a senior girl who played the part of Rosemary, the old maid schoolteacher in the play. She was a tall, angular girl whose superior strength easily subdued the attacking girl.

“Heather, you don’t know anything about the professor’s reasoning in the change,” Janet said. “I don’t think Karen had anything to do with it. I’ve worked with him for four years now, Heather, and he’s got his own mind about these things. With him, it’s all about the play.”

Janet’s words seemed to have a cooling effect on Heather. She followed Janet to a bench nearby where the two sat down together, and Heather began to cry in earnest.

Karen kneeled before the crying girl. “I didn’t want to do the part, really, Heather, since I’m so busy with other things, but Fenstrom persisted. Really, that’s it, and I would never sleep with him. I’ve already told him so.”

Heather looked up, and the two girls’ eyes became linked in a long gaze. Slowly, Heather’s expression softened and she nodded tentatively, as if she finally had heard Karen’s words and understood that Karen had not contrived to rob her of the lead.

“Oh, Karen, I’m sorry,” Heather said, reaching out to pull Karen into a hug.

“That’s all right, dear,” Karen said as the two hugged briefly.

Janet got up from the bench. “Here, Karen, you sit down next to her now.”

Karen joined Heather on the bench, and Heather reached over to hold Karen’s hand.

“Karen, can you ever forgive me for those awful things I said to you just now?”

Karen smiled. “Yes, I know how disappointed you were. I forgive you.”

“They were awful. I shouldn’t have called you that, Karen. You really are so much of a girl.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said, letting out a brief giggle.

Their conversation was interrupted by Janet’s voice that boomed out:

“All right folks, there’s nothing to see here.”

Heather looked up at Janet and said: “Thank you for intervening.”

“It’s for the good of the play, after all,” Janet said, a twinkle in her eye, since the girl had used a phrase that often emitted from Fenstrom’s mouth.

“Heather, I’m sorry about all this,” Karen said.

“I know you are, Karen, and I should have realized I just didn’t understand what Fenstrom wanted. I never felt comfortable with the part.”

“I know and it’s probably the most difficult part in the play, since Madge is supposed to be a brainless, uncaring beauty queen on the outside, but an insecure, sensitive, loving girl inside. I’m just worried I won’t be able to handle the part.”

“You’ll do it, Karen, I know you will.”

Suddenly the stage manager’s voice sounded over the loudspeaker system. “Two minutes. Cast, get your places on stage. We’ll begin from the top. Two minutes.”

“You’d better go, Karen,” Heather said. “I’ll be cheering from the wings.”

Karen gave Heather a warm hug, and stood to await her time to enter, which would not be until about five minutes after the opening curtain. As she waited in the wings next to Janet who had a longer wait before entering, Karen felt a shiver. She was certain her legs were shaking; it finally dawned on her that she would soon be in the spotlight. Would she fail as Heather did? Her stomach was all in knots, and she felt her morning banana, orange and yogurt breakfast about to rise into her mouth as sick bile.

*****
Thankfully, Karen finished Act One without a stumble, though she wondered if she maybe said her lines a bit too woodenly. She had been so concentrated on not forgetting a line that she felt she didn’t capture Madge’s character at all.

“Not a misstep, Miss Hansson,” Fenstrom said after the rehearsal to Act One ended, his voice gaining in deep sarcasm. “You couldn’t have played that part any more flat and woodenly. Have you no more emotion in you than that? Can’t any of you girls do that part like human beings?”

Karen nodded, realizing the director was right.

“I hope you understand, Karen. I picked you just because I felt you understood Madge, not because you know your lines. A robot could have played it as you just did.”

“Yes, sir.” She acknowledged the professor’s criticism, grateful that his words were said in a gentler manner than they had been to Heather.

“Remember, Act One is the easy act for Madge; she’s supposed to be a bit flighty, supposed to be a clothes horse, but by Act Three, you’ve got to make Madge’s emotions come to life and to be real, and that means you must plant the seeds of that sensitivity in Act One.”

Karen nodded, realizing that she’d have to study her lines intensively over the next few days, since the rehearsal schedule called for doing Act Two the following day and Act Three on the day after that. Maybe Ramini would have time to help her, she thought.

*****
Ramini was more than helpful; when she had heard of Karen’s possible role in the play, she had gone to the University library to find a script of the play on her own and found a VHS copy of the movie, in which Kim Novak played Madge. She had studied both, plus an online discussion about the play.

“I can see why Fenstrom wants to do this play,” Ramini said. “It’ll really test the acting ability of all of you, since it has such a simple plot, requiring more than a superficial reading.”

Karen was impressed with her roommate’s interest in the play.

Thus, Karen’s task of reading the lines almost developed into Ramini being an acting coach; Karen found that they sometimes disagreed with how to interpret Madge, but Karen felt the discussion helped her to understand a girl like Madge. Karen at first believed that Madge — as the playwright had created her — was like so many other shallow, brainless girls who paid constant attention to looking pretty, wearing accessories and fussing over clothes. Karen found that uninteresting and tiresome in a girl. Karen felt she could be truly feminine without such concentration of externals; after all, wasn’t she a girl on the inside before she became a girl on the outside?

“That’s it, Karen,” Ramini exclaimed at the end of a nearly two-hour session. “You’ve made Madge sound real, and not just a clothes horse.”

“Thanks to you, Rami,” Karen said. “I hope Fenstrom agrees.”

“I hope so, too, dear. You’ve told me how he likes things done his way and his way only.”

“I’m dead tired, Rami,” Karen said. “It’s midnight.”

“Me too, but I’m so grungy I need a shower.”

“Me too,” Karen nodded. “You can go first.”

“No you can, Karen, you must be so tired.”

“We both are tired, honey.”

Ramini’s expression changed suddenly, a smile popping onto her face.

“Let’s shower together,” the small girl suggested.

Karen considered for a moment and then smiled: “Yes, let’s.”

Though the two had seen each other naked before, they both found the new experience in the shower to be particularly erotic as they took turns soaping each other up. Both girls bathed with a creamy soap made for soft, tender feminine skin, and Karen moved her hands over the slender, dainty body of her friend. She cupped the tiny mounds of flesh on Ramini’s chest, causing the girl’s nipples to harden in her fingers and moved her hands to Ramini’s tummy, which was soft and spongy.

“You’re getting a little tummy, Rami,” she said, kissing her friend as the warm water cascaded down them.

Ramini’s hands had found Karen’s burgeoning breasts, and cupped them gently, her fingers playing with the nipples. The two pressed together, each massaging the other, their lips touching as they kissed. Karen felt Ramini’s hands leave her breasts and move down, following the silhouette of her body.

“You have a most lovely feminine body, dear,” Ramini said. “Those pills must be working.”

“Yours, too.”

“But not as fast as yours; I bet you’ll be a b-cup soon.”

Slowly, Karen felt her penis grow hard; it rarely occurred anymore, she knew, obviously due to the testosterone blockers she was taking, along with the estrogen pills. She felt Ramini’s hands playing with her tiny penis.

“What a cute little thing, Karen,” Ramini said.

“It never was much, Rami. Pretty pathetic for a boy, eh?”

Ramini giggled as she tickled Karen’s penis, and in response Karen returned the favor; soon they were playing with each others and giggling together. The humor of the situation — two apparent genetic boys playing with each other’s sorry male appendages — overwhelmed their earlier erotic sensations.

“We’d better finish up, Rami,” Karen said finally.

Just then, there was a rapping on the door.

“What are you two doing in there?” It was the voice of Doreen sounding masculine and demanding.

“We’re finishing up, Doreen,” Karen said.

The two girls quickly rinsed, dried each other off and put on their nightgowns, leaving the bathroom with towels wrapped around their bosoms.

“It’s all yours, Doreen,” Karen announced.

“It’s about time,” Doreen said. “I could hear you two lovebirds down the hall. It’s good Angela isn’t here, Karen, or she’d beat you and your girlfriend here black and blue. You know how jealous she is.”

“Don’t tell her, Doreen.”

“Don’t worry, hon, but remember you owe me.”

“What?”

“Just remember,” was all Doreen said, before she entered the still steamy bathroom.

Ramini looked inquiringly at Karen: “Is she still hot for you, Karen?”

“Seems that way, even though she’s got a friend, Rami. She’s a tough one.”

Karen had plenty on her mind that night, but by the time she was done putting her hair up, she was so tired she plopped into bed and fell asleep.

*****
“Brava, brava,” Professor Fenstrom shouted excitedly as the cast finished the rehearsing the next day. “You guys aced it, especially you, Karen. You put more into Madge’s character.”

“No sir, it was all of us, particularly Jason. He picked up the feeling, too, sir,” Karen said from the stage, blinded by the stage lights so that she couldn’t see the professor at his director’s seat.

“Yes, you did, Jason. You two have developed the relationship between Madge and Hal so marvelously. And the whole cast! But girls and boys, we can’t rest on our laurels; tomorrow we do Act Three and that will be a challenge for all of you.”

The cast exchanged “high-five’s” as the spotlights slowly dimmed and the cast and crew exited the stage to leave the theater.

Back in their room that night, Karen gave Ramini a long kiss and the tiny girl looked puzzled: “What was that for, not that I didn’t like it?”

“We aced the rehearsal today, thanks to you,” Karen said. “Can we do Act Three tonight?”

“Sure, but in about an hour, I gotta complete a paper,” she said.

“I need to do about an hour of homework, too,” Karen said.

“Won’t we need a shower when we’re all finished tonight, Karen?” Ramini said, adding a wink.

“Of course, but maybe we’d better not Rami. The other girls might not like it.”

Ramini pouted in response.

“You’re so cute when you pout, darling,” Karen said.

Their line-reading exercise was intense, since Ramini felt Karen was overacting in showing her apparent lust for Hal; as the evening wore on, Karen also felt she was not handling the part properly. Part of the problem, Karen felt, was the question of whether, in the play, Madge was being tempted to leave her home for an uncertain life with the wastrel Hal because of her lust for him or because of a natural desire for freeing herself from the stifling life of a dusty prairie town. By the time they finished the reading, Karen was totally confused; their shower that evening was quick and sensible, despite Ramini’s pleading for intimacy. Karen slept only fitfully, worried about how to handle Madge in rehearsal the next day.

For the first time that night, Karen questioned why she wanted to endure the pain of becoming an actress; the desire to make Madge appear real on stage consumed her, and she felt inadequate to meet the need.

“I almost feel tonight like an imposter in doing Madge,” she told Ramini. “It’s like when I pretended to be a boy. I couldn’t do it.”

“Honey, becoming Madge will be much easier than being a boy for you,” Ramini said. “Believe me, you never were a boy.”

*****
When rehearsal ended the next day, Karen felt empty, as if she hadn’t delivered what was needed to show the depth of Madge’s decision-making; yet, she had been puzzled because Fenstrom that day rarely interrupted the rehearsal for instruction, as he so often did. When the actors ended, there was dead silence in the auditorium. There were no enthusiastic words from Fenstrom as there had been the previous day, but there were no nasty criticisms, as there often were.

Finally, Fenstrom arose from his seat and emerged from the darkness as he walked on the stage and into the stage lights.

“That was a very affecting job, boys and girls,” he said simply. “Just keep doing Act Three as you all delivered it tonight and you’ll have the audience with you. We’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll redo certain parts of Act One and Two. That’s 4:30 again, boys and girls.”

Karen was stunned by the matter-of-fact way in which Fenstrom dismissed them. In spite of his words indicating that the cast had handled Act Three appropriately, Karen felt dissatisfied with her own performance; she felt she had been too hesitant and tentative in the process.

“Karen, would you please stay her a minute? I need to talk to you.” Fenstrom asked as crew and cast began leaving the stage.

“Yes, sir,” she said, a knot forming in her stomach as she pondered over the reason for the request.

He beckoned her to follow him over to a small table and two chairs set up in the wings, away from the others, giving them a modicum of privacy.

“What is it, professor?” she asked once she was seated opposite him. As she had done since she resisted his advances months earlier, Karen was careful to keep their relationship impersonal.

“I’m really impressed with your acting in this part, Karen,” he began. “You handled the Third Act, which is a difficult one, with great feeling. I think the rest of the cast fed off you in this scene, and the Act just came so alive.”

“I did?” she said hardly believing his words.

He smiled; the professor could show a warm smile that captivated others at times, perhaps the reason why in his younger days as a “leading man” he seemed to win (and break) the hearts of so many women.

“Professor, I felt so . . . ah . . . how should I say it . . . ah . . . tentative out there tonight. I didn’t know how you wanted to play it, as a girl in deep desire for Hal or as one wanting bigger things in life than to live in a small Kansas town. You didn’t tell me, sir.”

His smile broadened. “Do you think Madge knew what her motivations were in the play? Did the playwright Inge tell us what they were?”

“No, sir. I just thought there was a particular way it should be played.”

“No, honey,” the professor said, his voice soft and gentle. “That’s the genius of a good playwright. He gets the audience wondering about the characters, and your own puzzlement over Madge’s motivations showed that marvelously; you were reflecting Madge as if she were real.”

“So I should keep playing Madge as I did tonight?”

“Yes, honey,” he said his voice growing intimate. “Since you’ve now officially been confirmed for the part, that’s how I want to play it on opening night and for the run of the play. You’re Madge.”

“Oh professor, really, for sure?” Karen said, at first unbelieving his words, but quickly realizing they were for real.

“Yes, now, go home and get a good night’s sleep,” he said, reaching over to touch her hands.

It was without thinking that Karen rose slightly up from her seat and leaned over the table and kissed the professor quickly on his cheek. “Thank you,” she said, quickly withdrawing herself, ashamed of the impulse that prompted her to kiss the professor for giving her the part. It was just the natural thing for a girl to do and it meant nothing romantic, but Karen wondered if the professor would read more into the kiss than that.

He smiled at her and said. “Now, Karen, that’s enough of that. Just practice up on the rough spots in Act One, OK?”

As she left the auditorium, Karen began thinking over how she felt while performing Act Three that day. She had truly been uncertain as to how to handle the role, and it was that uncertainty that brought life into her performance. She recalled that during the rehearsal her mind flashed to Mark, and his rejection of her. She found similarity in Madge’s feelings when it appeared she might never again see Hal, unless she acted to stay in his life. Perhaps as she acted she had substituted her real life Mark for the fictional Hal.

“You almost had me in tears tonight,” Heather said, surprising Karen and interrupting her thoughts.

“Oh hi, Heather,” she said. “I did?”

“Yes, Karen,” the girl said, as the two walked away from the auditorium along the dark sidewalk.

“Thank you, and I better tell you that he has now given me the part for sure, Heather. I’m sorry.”

“I figured he would, Karen. You deserve it,” Heather said. “Just don’t get sick on me and then I’ll have to do the part. I’ll never do it justice as you did.”

“You’ll do fine, Heather,” Karen said. “But I promise you, I’ll be there opening night.”

“You’d better.”

The two giggled briefly.

“You’re a true friend, Heather,” Karen said finally.

“What are friends for, dear?”

*****
Karen’s excitement over being made the lead in the play was beginning to overwhelm her thoughts, and she felt her heart racing as she hurried back to her room; she had an English paper to complete that night, and for the moment even that daunting chore (which might take her ‘til past midnight) didn’t seem to put her off. At the moment, she felt that she could do almost anything.

During the long walk in the dusk of an early May evening, Karen soon realized she faced two weeks of anxiety and horror as she prepared for the play. What if she suddenly froze on stage and forgot her lines? How would she react if one of the actors (perhaps the boy playing Hal) were to miss a cue? Then, an old horror filled her mind — her gender transition.

While she hadn’t kept her born gender a secret, few in the cast and crew knew that she was anatomically a boy. Her outward appearance was convincingly feminine, no question about it, but there still was the matter of her birth certificate, her driver’s license and the fact that in the first semester of school she was “Kenneth.” Professor Fenstrom knew, of course, as did Heather and perhaps one or two more; to them, she had become a lovely, talented young lady.

Still, she realized, the fact would eventually come out; someone might tell the local newspapers or write a blog about her; it was inevitable.

That thought bothered her as she walked into her room, a wrapped sub sandwich in her hand that she had picked up on the walk home. Her plan was to put on a pot of coffee, and turn to writing her English paper. Professor Jonathan Barry Highwater, an effeminate twig of a man who favored wearing silken scarves under his corduroy, light brown sport coat (with patches on the elbows), had assigned the students to write from 750 to 1,000 words on something they had observed, emphasizing the descriptions in the writing.

Karen loved to write, but she was a slow, careful constructor of sentences, and was concerned how quickly she’d be able to finish it; it had to be submitted for a 10:15 a.m. class the next day. She chastised herself for not beginning the essay days earlier. She’d had a week to do it.

Fortunately, Ramini was out for the evening, attending a Bollywood movie with a few Indian girls who were also students at the University. Karen was pleased her friend had found several girlfriends to share her life; it truly was important, she knew, for girls like her and Ramini to find friendships among other girls, to be accepted by them.

She racked her brain to think of a topic for her paper: should she describe the theater or the backstage crew at work? Finally, it dawned on her: she’d describe Ramini, but of course, she’d change the name of the person she was describing. In fact, why not leave out the name totally? It inspired her the more she thought about it, realizing that she could spend the entire essay telling of Ramini’s exquisite femininity, only at the end revealing she had been born a boy. In a sense, too, she’d be describing her own life, wouldn’t she?

Karen decided to take a quick shower to clear her head, and put on her flannel pajamas, since the room was cool due to the furnace being off for the season; the evenings were still cool, of course. She examined her nude body as she prepared for the shower, seeing in the full-length mirror attached to the back of the bathroom door a body of soft, smooth flesh, with slender undefined arms and tiny mounds of breasts displaying pointed nipples with growing areolas. Her body was that of a young lady, except for the tiny protrusion beneath her tummy.

She noticed that she could see ribs showing underneath the breasts; she knew she was losing weight, and that had bothered her doctor at the Gender Clinic. Normally, Dr. Bargmann told her, girls on estrogen gained weight and what was occurring with Karen went against most expectations.

“You’re working too hard, Miss Hansson,” the doctor had said. “And you’re under stress, too. Please take care of yourself, dear. You need energy.”

“Oh, well,” Karen told herself. “I’ll worry about my health after the play.”

She was pleased with how quickly her body was responding to the hormone treatment, how much more feminine she had become, as her hips filled out, her butt seemed to grow fleshy and her skin became smoother and softer.

She realized soon that time was a-wasting. She finished her shower, put up her hair quickly and emerged to begin her paper, eating the sub sandwich as she wrote on her laptop. The words describing Ramini came unusually quickly and she wrote with speed, finishing well before midnight, even before Ramini returned to the room that night.

It was only then that she checked her text messages; there had been several, since she had heard the tiny “dings” as they came in. The first one was from Whitney Roberts, and she clicked onto it.

“Karen: Can u see me at noon tomorrow in front of library? It’s URGENT. Your friend, Whit.”

Karen puzzled over the message, wondering what was so important that Whitney needed to see her; their friendship was rather casual and they saw each other only about once every other week, usually at a student hangout for a few cokes and pizza. Karen genuinely liked the boy, but felt no romantic interest in him. She suspected he felt the same toward her, and she had begun confiding in him about her puzzlement at her troubled relationship with Mark.

Whitney had been a sympathetic listener, and what Karen liked about him was that he tried not to offer any solutions to her dilemma and was content to let her vent her feelings. About his only advice to her had been to show patience with Mark and to continue to show that she cared about Mark.

She texted back that she’d be able to see him at the appointed hour since she had a free period then. As she completed answering her other text messages, Ramini finally returned to the room, her face absolutely aglow.

“I had so much fun tonight with the other girls,” Ramini said excitedly, her tinny voice rising to higher girlishness. “They were all excited over my date this weekend with Aaron, and I must have tried on a dozen saris for them.”

“You’re wearing a sari to the dance with Aaron?” Karen asked, surprised since Ramini rarely wore clothes of her ancestral land. Karen had considered Ramini a totally “American” girl, having been born into a wealthy family in a Milwaukee suburb and raised as any other girl would have been in her neighborhood.

“Yes. Aaron suggested it,” Ramini said. “I think he wants to shock his friends at St. Al’s.”

“Well, I think your beauty will do that by itself, Rami.”

“You’re a doll, Karen,” the girl said, hugging Karen. “I’m going to wear a white silky sari, Karen. It’s so lovely on me.”

Karen pictured Ramini, her dainty figure wrapped in the lace of the sari. “You’ll be like a lovely flower from India, my dear.”

Ramini giggled and the two hugged.

Chapter 18: An Unexpected Friend

Karen re-read her paper before submitting it at the morning class and was surprised at how well it read, considering the fact that she had rushed through it so quickly the night before. She remembered what Professor Highwater had said about knowing your subject thoroughly before beginning to write. Perhaps because she knew Ramini so well, her writing of the paper had come so easily, she thought.

After her morning classes, as Karen rushed off to meet Whitney; she wondered what was so important. Whitney was such a calm, matter-of-fact guy that it was unlikely he’d say something was “urgent” unless it truly was.

The day was darkening and another springtime rain was in the offing as Karen hurried to meet Whitney, realizing that she might be a few minutes late. As she scooted along the sidewalks heavily populated with students rushing to and from classes, she began wondering what was so important that Whitney felt they had to meet.

“Oh, I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Whit,” Karen said, breathing heavily.

“That’s OK, I just hoped you’d get here before the rain,” he said, after giving her a perfunctory hug and quick kiss on the cheek. It was the kind of a greeting a brother might give to a sister. Suddenly there was a burst of thunder, and Whitney escorted her into the Library’s lounge where a snack bar served coffee and light snacks.

“I thought we’d meet here since it’s less crowded and noisy than the Union,” he explained.

After they were seated, Whitney got a skinny vanilla latté for Karen and a large coffee for himself. He also ordered a small cheese pizza for the two to share for their lunch.

“Karen, first I want to congratulate you on getting the lead. How great!”

“Thanks, Whitney, but I’m scared I’ll not live up to the role,” she said. “It’s a difficult role.”

“You’ll do it, honey.”

“Now, what’s so important, Whitney? Not that you needed to say it’s ‘urgent’ just to get me to meet you. You know I’m happy to be with you anytime.”

“I know, Karen, but I know how busy you are, and I think this is urgent,” he said, his tone becoming somber.

“Well?”

“I have this guy who’s on my floor in my dorm, and he’s a religious nut, always talking about the word of God,” Whitney began. “When the student daily announced yesterday that you were going to take the lead, he went berserk. Somehow, he found out you were transgendered and he started ranting about this ‘heathen university.’”

“Well I guess he’s entitled to his opinion, but how would he know about me?” Karen asked. There was no indication in the news story of Karen’s gender, and few persons knew of Karen’s early years as a boy.

“I think there must be a spy somewhere, because I understand the student Christian Evangelistic group may be planning some sort of demonstration against it,” Whitney said.

“Oh my gosh.”

“I know, Karen, but I just thought I ought to warn you,” the boy said. “I’m so sorry, Karen.”

Karen eyed her skinny vanilla latte; she had been looking forward to the drink, but suddenly lost interest in it. She felt a sick knot forming in her stomach. She thanked Whitney for the information, leaned over to peck him on the cheek and got up to leave, her drink still untouched on the table.

“Wait, Karen, you’ll need to eat something,” he said, grabbing her by the wrist.

“I’d better contact Fenstrom on this, Whit,” she said, her eyes filling with tears. “I can’t stay, Whit.”

Just then the pizza was brought to the table, and Whitney continued to hold Karen’s hand.

“Just relax a minute,” he said. “Fenstrom is probably out to lunch now anyway. You need to settle down.”

Realizing Whitney was probably right, Karen settled back into her chair.

“You’re a dear, Whit,” she said when she had finished one piece of pizza, leaving the other three to Whitney. Despite his urging, she couldn’t eat any more.

Whitney tried to change the topic, bringing up the fact that his mother (as the nurses’ union president) and her mother (as the hospital administrator) were locked in contentious negotiations and a nurses’ strike was imminent. They both lamented the situation, since Karen and Whitney worried that the close friendship between the two mothers might be damaged by the conflict.

“I think they’ll work it out, Karen,” Whitney said. “They’re both sensible.”

“But they might be forced into a strike, I’m afraid,” Karen said.

Karen realized that she was wasn’t the only one with problems in life. She knew from past labor negotiations that her mother became terribly tense and she imagined how difficult things must be back at home. She resolved to call her mother that night. Perhaps the two could cry together over the phone.

Soon the conversation moved back to Karen’s problems. “I really worried about your safety, Karen,” Whitney said. “You’ll never know what these nuts will do.”

“I’ve dealt with this before,” Karen said, trying to show a brave front.

“I know you have, but this could be worse. Look, what time do you go to rehearsal today? Let me escort you. I don’t want you walking in all by yourself, Karen.”

They agreed to meet outside the Humanities Building at 3:45 p.m., after Karen’s last class.

*****
“Maybe I ought to step down from the lead, professor,” Karen said, when she reached Fenstrom on her cell phone that afternoon.

“No, you don’t, Karen. Those nuts are not going to dictate who plays what part in my play,” he said.

“But, professor, if my playing the part will hurt the play, I don’t want to do it,” Karen said. “You and the others have worked so hard that I don’t want to be the cause of it falling apart.”

“Listen to me, Karen,” he said, adopting his usual dictatorial tone. “You will not step down. You will play the part, and you’ll play it with the same depth of feeling that you have already shown us. The only way you can hurt the play is if you don’t do your best. Got that?”

“Yes, sir,” she stammered, still not convinced that she shouldn’t resign from the part.

“See you at four, Karen,” he said.

“But, sir, I’ll be the source of all sorts of distractions, and . . .”

She heard the phone click. He had hung up on her.

*****
The crowd outside of the theater building was larger and more chaotic than she had imagined it would be. A ring of several score neatly dressed young people, along with older persons, including two of them prominently wearing clerical collars, picketed the sidewalk around the building. Along the street were several hundred other students, all who seemed to be heckling the picketers.

“It looks like the whole LGBT community is out to support you, Karen,” Whitney said as they approached the crowd.

There were signs being carried both by the pickets and the counter-pickets. “An abomination!” “Put God back into University,” and “Boycott Picnic” read the signs of the pickets, countered by “Let Freedom Ring,” “We Shall Overcome,” and “Rah, Rah, Rah, Karen” signs. Both sides were separated by a phalanx of police, who thus far seemed to have the situation under control. Several television trucks were on the scene, cameramen perched atop their vans recording the scene for the evening news, while others roamed the crowd seeking one-on-one interviews.

Whitney led Karen to a police officer, whose trooper hat being covered with gold braid indicated he must be in charge. To avoid drawing attention, Karen had put on a hoodie that, she hoped, would hide her from identification. She saw that several cast and crew members had been led by police escort through the crowd, accompanied by both jeers and cheers.

“She’s in the cast, sir,” Whitney told the officer, who name tag identified him as Capt. Will Hart.

The officer looked at Karen, his gaze unfriendly and critical.

“Oh, you must be the cause of all this,” he said, his voice showing disgust.

“No, sir, she’s just acting a part, that’s all,” Whitney said.

“And she or he or whatever shouldn’t try to change nature,” the officer said.

Whitney shouted back at the officer: “Do your job. Escort her through, officer.”

“Oh, a wise guy, eh?” he said. “Shut up or I’ll place you in the van over there.”

Karen saw Whitney carefully look at the officer’s badge, a tactic that the officer noticed. It quieted the officer’s objections, since he obviously realized that his role was not to judge the situation, but to keep the peace and to escort Karen into the rehearsal. He ordered several officers to lead Karen through the crowd.

“Here comes another one,” she heard someone yell.

“This one’s covering her head,” yelled another.

“That must be her! Or him!” The voice was loud, nasty and sarcastic.

“Karen! Karen! Karen! I love you,” another voice said.

“Stone her,” an angry voice shouted.

Karen ducked her head, the officers pushed her roughly through the crowd and soon she was inside the theater, scared and exhausted from the ordeal, and hardly ready for rehearsal.

*****
“My God,” Morton, a scruffy, bearded stage manager, said as Karen entered the backstage. “You’re a guy? Really?”

Karen, still flustered from the ordeal of rushing through the crowd, didn’t answer, although she nodded a clear “yes” to the unbelieving stagehand.

“And with that body? A guy?” Morton shook his head as he asked.

Karen ran smack dab into the midst of the rest of the cast, which had been huddled around Professor Fenstrom; it was apparent they were talking about the fuss outside the theater’s doors over Karen’s gender.

“Oh Karen, I’m so sorry this has happened,” Heather said, guiding her into the group.

“Yes, Karen,” agreed another girl, a senior who played one of the school teachers in the play.

“Come here, Karen,” commanded Professor Fenstrom, beckoning her to his side. He put his left arm around her narrow shoulders, drawing her close to him, almost as a father might do with his daughter.

“I want to say something to both the cast and the crew,” Karen said firmly to the professor.

“Karen, you don’t have to say anything, dear,” he said. “We’re behind you all the way.”

“But, professor, I think they need both an apology and explanation from me,” she persisted.

The professor hesitated. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Please, professor, I must,” she said.

It took less than a minute to bring together the 30 or so young people in the cast and crew; Karen felt that most, if not all, of the cast knew her background since the actors had formed a tight bond. She doubted the stage crew knew, since there was an unfortunate gap between those that get on the stage and those that work behind it. She knew the people backstage were as important to the success of the play as those in front.

Karen stood on a platform, with the others grouped around her.

“My dear colleagues,” she began, her voice almost squeaking in anxiety. “I must apologize for the situation that I’ve created and that you all had to encounter today when coming here. It’s my fault. I feel it is a distraction to the success of our play, and I have told Professor Fenstrom that I wish to resign the lead right now so that you can all continue to make ‘Picnic’ the best show in town.”

“No, no, no,” Heather shouted, and a chorus of “no’s” followed.

Professor Fenstrom hopped up on the stage and ordered the group to quiet down. He turned to Karen and repeated what he had earlier. “I will not accept your resignation from this part, Karen,” he said. “You have created a believable, warm-hearted and complex Madge and for the good of the play, you will stay.”

The assembled cast and crew cheered, but Karen noticed Janet Backus — the tall severe-looking senior girl who played Rosemary, the old-maid school teacher — scowling. She was shaking her head “no.” Just a few days earlier, Janet had supported Karen when Heather had at first complained about being replaced for the lead.

The crowd quieted down, and Janet yelled out, “This is obscene, an abomination. It offends God. It’s a grave sin and we’re wrong to support her, or him.”

Several boos and hisses greeted the girl’s comments, but Karen held up her hand. She knew Janet to be a serious-minded girl who was interested in doing Christian theater work.

“Janet’s got a right to her opinion,” Karen said. “And I think I owe all of you an explanation.”

Karen began slowly, tracing her story from her troubled years as a boy to the revelation that she gained when she assumed the part of Ophelia in the play at the summer camp.

“I found that in living as a girl I had finally found the true me,” she said. “It’s nothing I desired to start with. As a girl I felt natural, real, if you know what I mean. Now, I am a patient at the gender clinic, where I am on a track to become a woman in virtually every sense of the word. To answer my friend Janet, let me simply say that being a girl, being female, is truly my natural self. The boy I was pretending to be was an imposter.

“But my dear colleagues, I in no way want to cause disruption in our play. Heather can handle the part just as well as I can. So it you prefer, let me resign . . .”

“No, no, no,” the group protested. As Karen looked around, she saw nearly everyone was shouting, except for Janet, who turned her back and walked off the stage.

Professor Fenstrom moved Karen aside. “OK cast, get your places for the beginning of Act Two,” he announced firmly. “Rehearsal starts in five minutes.”

“I think Janet’s leaving,” someone yelled.

“What? Who’ll play Rosemary?” Heather said.

Karen knew no one had been assigned to understudy the part, and she bounded off the stage, running into the wings, catching Janet just as she was about to reach the exit.

“You can’t let the others down, Janet,” Karen pleaded.

“Oh Karen,” the other girl said. She was crying profusely. “I don’t want to let them down Karen, but this seems to wrong to me. Really, it does and it goes against everything I’ve been taught. How can I pray to God knowing what I know about you?”

Karen looked at the girl, wondering what to say. Finally she said, “Do I look like a devil to you?”

“No,” Janet said, fighting back tears. “And you’ve always been sweet and generous and I love acting with you. This is such a shock. I can’t believe you’re a boy.”

“That’s what I’m trying to say, dear, I’m not a boy. I never have been. Maybe I’m not a one hundred percent girl, either, so why would it matter about what clothes I wear?”

The other girl suddenly took Karen into her arms; she was a strong girl and easily embraced the more fragile Karen.

“I’m so confused, Karen,” she said finally.

The rehearsal was a few minutes late in getting started, since Karen had to lead Rosemary into the dressing room to dry the girl’s tears and help her compose herself for her role in Act Two. The rehearsal for the act ended with Fenstrom announcing: “OK cast, you’ve done well on this act.”

As they walked back to the dressing room after the rehearsal, Janet whispered to Karen: “I still can’t believe you were once a boy.”

“I thought I told you I never really was,” Karen said.

“That’s right,” Janet said, beginning to laugh. Soon they both were giggling uncontrollably.

*****
The fuss wasn’t over, however. The Christian Students’ Organization continued its daily picketing outside the theater, but it was clearly noticeable that the individuals marching around the theater appeared to include a majority of non-students. The publicity hit the local newspapers, and soon became national news after the Republican-controlled Legislature announced it would hold an investigation into the University for what some lawmakers said amounted to an encouragement of non-Christian practices. Editorials appeared, both pro and con, in newspapers throughout the state, with most of them supporting the use of a transgendered woman in a University play.

Karen, in the meantime, was besieged by emails and phone calls, from both supporters and others, some expletive-laced calls threatening potential violence against her; a day later, pickets showed up in front of the home where she and Ramini and the other girls lived, accompanied by police and an equal or larger group of counter-pickets. The scene there became so disruptive that Angela snuck Karen out of the house and drove her to stay with Jenny during the demonstrations.

When Karen had called Jenny wondering if she had room for her, the girl had responded: “Sure, Karen, come on over. One of the girls has dropped out, and there’s an extra room here right now.”

Her mother and Patti Hamilton called several times, both expressing concern for Karen’s safety. “Maybe you ought to quit the play, darling,” her mother said. It was apparent that would not be possible, as the opening night was fast approaching.

“Mark has seen the reports on the TV news here,” Patti told her. “He’s mad as hell and frankly I’ve never seen him so upset.”

“Mrs. Hamilton, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to hurt his recovery,” Karen said.

“Oh dear, you aren’t,” Patti was quick to reassure her. “He’s finally become interested in something. It’s been good for him, and he’s so sorry to see what you’re going through. He has always cared for you, Karen. You must know that.”

“I do, Patti.”

Karen finished the call with a smile on her face.

*****
The story about a transgendered girl taking the lead role in the University-sponsored theater performance continued to dominate the news. With conservatives in control of State government, key political leaders of the ruling party had been empowered to continually raise issues they said were unpatriotic, irreligious or immoral. That Karen Hansson, born a boy, would play a role as a girl, one state senator contended, was “un-American, anti-Christian and a blot on the morals of the state and its citizens.” He called upon the State Arts Council to withdraw its funding from the play and threatened to seriously cut its budget in the future.

“We’re sticking with Karen Hansson for the part of Madge,” Professor Fenstrom declared in a press conference. “She is clearly the best girl for the part and she has the support of the cast to continue in the role. Miss Hansson is a dedicated and hard-working actor who will help make this play most successful on the stage. I invite all of you to join us at the performances. I think you’ll be glad you did.”

Dr. Larissa Thatcher, the University chancellor, sent out a press release supporting Fenstrom’s decision to cast Karen on the grounds of protecting “academic freedom,” as well as the University’s commitment to non-discrimination. She noted, too, that she was employing a transgendered girl on the work-study program for her administrative staff, an obvious reference to Ramini Verma, though she didn’t use the name. “This University is committed in its employment policies to hire the best person for the job regardless of that person’s race, gender, sexual orientation or other such factors.”

Rather than stifling the criticism aimed at Karen’s role, the strong support by Thatcher and other University leaders seemed to stoke the fire of the most fervent and extreme nature; soon demands were raised to fire Thatcher, dismiss Fenstrom and purge the University of its “immoral and non-Christian leaders.” The demonstrations outside the theater building grew even more noisy and raucous, so much so that the University’s own chief of police intervened, suggesting the cancellation of the play on the grounds of preserving the peace.

“The play will go on with Miss Karen Hansson in the role of Madge,” Fenstrom announced simply when interviewed on a local television news show on the second morning of the uproar.

Thus far, Karen Hansson had been successfully avoiding the news media. The local newspaper and the campus daily, along with their online entities, displayed a picture of “Kenneth Hansson” taken from her senior picture as published in the high school yearbook, alongside a publicity shot of Karen dressed for the part of Madge.

“You really could see the girl in you in the yearbook, Karen,” Ramini said, as the two examined the online views.

“I was called pretty then, but usually to harass me for being so . . . oh, I don’t know how to say it . . . for being such a sissy, I guess,” Karen remembered. The memories were not happy ones.

The other photo showed a soft, lovely girl with flowing brown hair in a light blue summer dress, her slender pretty arms and thin neck giving her a fragile appearance. The face that looked out from both photos displayed the same, high cheekbones, blue sparkling eyes and full sensuous lips.

“It’ll only be a matter of time before the media tracks you down,” Fenstrom warned Karen on a call to her cell phone. “You should be prepared to respond properly, Karen.”

“I will tell them ‘no comment,’ but that I’ll be happy to meet with them after the last performance of the play. I’ll ask them to respect my privacy and that of all of my friends, particularly those on the cast and crew of ‘Picnic.’”

Professor Fenstrom agreed that would be a good way to handle the situation and after a few encouraging words said he was arranging for police to be present to guide the actors safely into rehearsal the next day.

*****
Karen’s cell phone buzzed about 10 p.m., just as she was about to get ready for bed. The phone number was not one she recognized and she hesitated about answering it. Finally, realizing that few people knew her cell phone number, she touched the button that activated it.

“Hello,” she said cautiously.

“Is this Karen Hansson?” the voice asked. It was obviously that of a young man, an African-American.

“Who is this?” she replied.

“I’m sorry,” the caller began. “I should have introduced myself. I’m Merritt King.”

He said the name as if Karen should recognize the name immediately.

“Merritt King?” she answered aloud, still not recognizing the name.

Ramini who had been sitting nearby heard Karen sound out the name.

“That’s the football player, Karen,” she said quietly.

It dawned on Karen finally: Merritt King was the star running back on the football team; though only a freshman, he was already being touted as a potential Heisman Trophy candidate.

“I play football,” the voice said, becoming more questioning. It was a modest, seemingly shy voice.

“Of course,” Karen said, quickly recovering her senses. “My brother thinks you’re the hottest player around.”

“Thank him for me, but we still didn’t win the Rose Bowl this year, so I don’t think I’m as good as all that,” the voice replied.

“My brother’s pretty up on this stuff, but I’m afraid I don’t follow football too much,” she said, realizing that was only partly true since her eyes had been glued on the fortunes of the Iowa State football team and its star quarterback, Mark Hamilton.

Karen grew wary about the caller.

“How do I know you are really Merritt King? You could be a hoax. I have to be careful.”

“How do you think I got your phone number?” he asked.

“You figured out a way to find it out on the internet, probably.”

“No, I’m not that clever,” the boy laughed. “I got it from Mrs. Hamilton.”

“From Patti?”

“Yes, I visited Mark in Milwaukee yesterday, and he told me all about you and how upset he was that you were in the middle of all this attention.”

“You saw Mark?”

“He and I were roommates at a football camp two summers ago, and we became really good friends. I was devastated when he got hurt. I didn’t know about it until after our bowl game was ended, but I admit I think I cried.”

“How was he when you saw him, Merritt?”

“Energized, Karen, and it was all about you and what you’re going through. He knows how all actors have butterflies before going on stage and then to have to face all this fuss. It’s just not fair.”

“But how was he?” she persisted.

“Despite how difficult this is for him, Karen, his spirits were up, since he feels so bad for you. He really loves you, he told me, and he even cried talking about you and what a marvelous summer the two of you had in the theater camp.”

Karen felt like crying and laughing, almost at the same time. She recalled the wonderful six weeks the two had shared and the short Christmas visit, placing it in the context of her current tense situation and Mark’s unfortunate injury.

“Karen, I think all this stuff you’re facing now is so unfair,” Merritt said. “I know something about discrimination, and it’s so wrong. We’re going to come out and support you.”

“We?”

“Yes, I have talked to the entire starting backfield on the football team, as well as our all-America center and we’ve decided to escort you through the pickets tomorrow, in full view of the press and everyone.”

“You are? For me? Oh Merritt, that’s wonderful. How can I ever thank you and the others on the team?

“You can thank us by putting on an ‘all-America’ performance in the play,” he said. “We’ll be there to cheer you on.”

Karen hung up, stunned. Ramini hugged her after Karen related the contents of the call.

“How great to have such support, Karen! With the football guys on your side, wow!”

“Yes, that’s marvelous, but Rami, just think, Mark must still love me.”

Ramini hugged her friend tightly, letting her cry onto her shoulder. What is more marvelous than a prolonged crying session when the tears are tears of joy?

*****
Merritt King proved to be as good as his word the next afternoon when Karen arrived at the University Library, the spot chosen for her rendezvous with King and his teammates since it was near to the Theater, but hidden from view by a group of trees. Her friend Whitney Roberts volunteered to accompany Karen to the appointed spot.

“Karen, it looks like the whole team is here,” Whitney said as they rounded a corner to see a large group of husky young men, along with a sprinkling of girls, all wearing the red and white colors of the University.

Karen was speechless by the sight before her and walked toward the group when a handsome African-American young man, obviously the leader, walked forward to greet her.

“Miss Hansson, I presume. I’m Merritt,” he said, extending his hand. He wore a broad, warm smile.

“Yes, I’m Karen, and who are all these people? I can’t believe this.”

“Well this is most of the football team, plus some of the cheerleaders,” he said. “I couldn’t round them all up, since some were busy or I couldn’t find them, but most of us are on your side. We wouldn’t stand for discrimination on the team and the theater group shouldn’t either.”

“This is incredible. I don’t know how I can thank you enough,” Karen said, so taken by the generosity of King and his friends that she felt she’d begin crying again.

“Let’s get going. You don’t want to be late for rehearsal. I understand your director is as tough on you folks as our coach is on us.”

With that, King took Karen’s hand and led her toward the group. He yelled out: “OK, hit it team!”

Suddenly she heard the horns and drums of a brass band burst out with the team’s fight song; hidden among the mass of red and white was a small group of band players — apparently the brass and percussions — who led the way, followed by the cheerleaders. Merritt King, still holding Karen’s hand, moved to the front, just behind the cheerleaders, and the entire entourage moved through the small wooded area toward the theater, singing the fight song, doing a few cheers and then returning to other songs familiar to the students. It was a festive sight and belied the potential altercation that might develop.

The effect was electrifying; the pickets who had gathered to either jeer or cheer Karen quickly moved aside to open a lane for the marchers. Television cameramen focused on the marching group, their camera lens spending lots of time focusing on Karen and the handsome, muscular young man holding her hand.

As they reached the steps of the Theater Building’s entrance, King raised his hand to bring the group to a stop. He mounted on a stone pedestal at the foot of the stairs, and was handed a bullhorn from one of his teammates.

He signaled for quiet, and eventually the crowd became largely silent — except for a few hisses and boos from the protesting Christian group — so that the main sound breaking the warm spring afternoon was the whir of television cameras:

“I have a statement to read,” he began, his voice strong and eloquent, even for a still growing young man 19 years of age. There was a buzz in the crowd, and King paused briefly before continuing.

“All of what I have written and will say here are my words; no one else is responsible for what I say. However, I believe it represents the general feelings of all of the students you see here, and that includes players of the football team, a few members of the basketball team and the track team, plus many cheerleaders and band members.

“We football players and others here are very much like Karen and her friends who are acting at the Theater. We’re all students and we all represent our University in a very public way. Karen tells me that she gets an anxious stomach before going on stage each time, and I know all of the players here get those same feelings as we enter the field before each game as we run out of the locker room in the stadium.

“Likewise, we feel that a student wanting to act in a play should have the same right as all other students do. We know Professor Fenstrom and his staff wish to stage the best play possible and therefore want to put the best performers on the stage, just as our coach wants the best and most dedicated players on the field. And from what I’ve been told, Karen does one heck of a job in portraying her character on stage.

“No one, regardless of race, ethnic origin, gender, age or sexual orientation should be denied the right of access to any activity on this campus, and that includes such transgendered persons as Karen Hansson. Please let Karen do her performing on stage, and I think you’ll see that she’ll give an All-American performance and make our University proud.”

Cheers followed, and the band struck up the fight song again. Karen waved to the crowd, gave Merritt King a quick kiss on his cheek, having to stand up on her toes to reach his face.

“Give ‘em hell, Karen,” the boy responded.

Karen bounded up the stairs and into the building for rehearsal, fighting back tears and fearing that she’d begin bawling profusely at the gratification of the support she received.

She realized she was five minutes late, and Professor Fenstrom who was standing in the midst of the cast and crew for the Act One rehearsal to start, met her with a scowl. “You’re five minutes late, Miss Hansson,” he said sternly. “One minute later and Heather would have been assigned to the part.”

“But, I was . . .”

Fenstrom ignored her, and ordered the cast to assemble for the start of Act One rehearsal. “Last time through on this act, you folks played it like you were dead,” he said, his voice still reflecting anger. “If you don’t put some life into your parts, you’ll have half the audience walk out when the act ends. Now get to work and forget all these other distractions.”

The rehearsal that day seemed to go well, Karen thought, although Fenstrom continued to break in with criticisms and sarcastic remarks; nearly every actor, plus some of the backstage crews’ actions, were subject to nitpicky comments (at least Karen felt they were minor and unnecessary but definitely reflecting Fenstrom’s characteristic direction).

At the end of the day, Karen bumped into Deborah, Fenstrom’s administrative assistant with whom Karen had worked when in his office. “What’s bugging him today, Deborah?” she asked the older woman.

“I don’t know Karen, but he’s been this way all day. It may just be the pressure of opening night coming up and he’s usually a bit ornery at such times. This time, however, he’s worse than ever.”

Karen shook her head in puzzlement.

“Does he want to get rid of me?” she asked. “Is he regretting his decision for me to play Madge? I volunteered to quit the part, you know.”

“I doubt that,” Deborah said. “I’ve heard him on the phone and he’s been arguing with someone about you though and every time he’s said that you’re best suited for the part and that he won’t replace you. I know he’s under tremendous pressure from some higher-ups in the administration to dump you, as well as some wealthy donors, but you should know Fenstrom by now. Once he gets his mind set, you’ll not change it.”

Karen nodded, realizing that Fenstrom could be terribly stubborn. Yet the feeling that she was causing such trouble bothered her. She said. “I am a distraction. I should have quit.”

“No dear, you shouldn’t have,” Deborah said, placing her hand on Karen’s shoulder. “Just do the best job you can, and you’ll easily prove him right. I’ve seen your rehearsals and you’re an excellent Madge, dear. I’m not sure either Janice Rule or Kim Novak did it better.” Ms. Rule performed the part in the original Broadway production and Ms. Novak starred in the movie.

Fenstrom said nothing to Karen before she left the theater to return to her room. Only four days to opening night, and already Karen felt a growing anxiety. She knew she had to be perfect; she had to justify Professor Fenstrom’s risk in naming her to the part. She mulled that expectation over in her mind that night, and it gnawed at her deeply, making it impossible to sleep. Her mind only began to calm when she began thinking of Mark and how he urged Merritt King to support Karen, along with the stirring display of solidarity from his teammates, the cheerleaders and the others. She realized she was not alone in her quest for womanhood, and she soon fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Chapter 19: “Break a Leg”

Because of the constant pursuit by the press, Karen stayed with Jenny and the seven other girls who occupied a private house on the other side of the campus. Thus far, her new home had not been discovered. Angela had been shown on local television in interviews in which she denied knowing where Karen was; she was clever enough to give the interviewers a few tidbits about Karen to satisfy their deadline needs, but not enough to reveal much personal information.

“Thanks Angela,” Karen said when the girl had brought some of Karen’s clothes, her laptop and a few other materials to her temporary residence. “You’ve been a real friend.”

“Darling, you know I love you,” she said, kissing Karen affectionately.

“I know, and I consider you my best friend, but you know I want to leave it that way. I just don’t want us to be lovers. I’m sorry about that.”

“I know, Karen. I respect that, since I know how much you love Mark.”

The two girls hugged. Karen knew they’d be girlfriends forever.

The media, however, was not to be stifled in its quest to delve into Karen’s life and to seek out sordid information that would make her a subject of tabloid speculation. Though stories about transgendered women had become commonplace, the public seemed fascinated by the story of this onetime boy who had become a ravishing beauty and a potential starlet.

A television reporter and camera crew had accosted Cecelia Hansson and Karen’s brother, Sonny, as they returned to their Manitowoc apartment the previous day, thrusting microphones before them. Cecelia was equal to the task and stopped, raised her hand and said: “I will have one simple statement to make and that’s it. When I’m done, I’ll say no more and ask that you respect our privacy.”

“But Mrs. Hansson . . .” a reporter yelled out.

“Now listen closely,” his mother began. “Karen was always a very special child in many ways. She has always been generous and loving. We’re looking forward to seeing her perform as Madge. Thank you for your interest.”

Yells from several reporters were heard, and Cecelia was about to turn about and enter the apartment building, when Sonny moved and grabbed a microphone.

“Mom, I’d like to say something,” he said, his voice already having changed into the deep baritone of an adult man.

“No Sonny,” she protested.

Sonny persisted:

“Look, let me say that I am very proud of my sister,” he said into the microphone. “She is a courageous girl, more courageous than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m very lucky to have an older sister like Karen.”

With that, he thrust the microphone back to the reporter, grabbed his mother by the arm and led her back through the crowd of media people and into the apartment.

When Karen saw the episode later from the television station’s website, she smiled. Turning to Jenny who watched it with her, Karen said: “I’m so proud of Sonny.” She had tears in her eyes.

*****
During her morning break, Karen got a phone call from Jeremy, the leader of the Catholic campus chapel group that was planning the fashion show.

“We missed you and Ramini at the meeting last night,” he said. “What happened?”

“Well, you know I’m kinda busy,” Karen said.

“We knew that, but Ramini at least said she’d be there, and that you would try to come after your rehearsal,” the boy said.

“Well, to tell the truth, we told Father Jim about our transition and he was shocked,” Karen said. “And, he said we weren’t welcome.”

“Hmmmmm,” Jeremy said. “Well, I was shocked, too. I could hardly believe it. You really are so beautiful and we’d love to have you and Ramini model at the show. Remember it was your idea, and a good one it was.”

“But Father Jim didn’t seem too pleased with either Ramini or myself, and it’s no fun being where you’re not welcome.”

“Forget about him, Karen. We’re a campus-sponsored club and that means all students are free to join us, and that includes you.”

“We didn’t want to cause you problems,” Karen said.

“But, please, Karen, come back. We need you and Ramini.”

“Maybe next week, after the play is ended,” Karen said, finally.

“Listen, Karen, I’m going to talk to Father Jim,” Jeremy said. “I know he’s open-minded. It’s just that he’s got to deal with the archbishop on this, and you know how conservative he is.”

“I know, Jeremy, but perhaps the Church is no longer for me, particularly if they can’t accept me for who I am.”

“We’ll see, Karen. We’ll see.”

The two exchanged good-byes and Karen hung up. She was truly puzzled, wondering whether she should hold onto the religion into which she had been born or walk away from it and seek spiritual guidance elsewhere. Where indeed did the truth about God lie? Could she find truth in a Church that was hidebound into unscientific and narrow thinking, or would she find truth only in her own sense of being?

*****
As Karen attended class in the days leading up to opening night, she found herself constantly the center of attention, thanks to the publicity generated over her role as Madge. Other students in her classes kept eyeing her, apparently looking for signs of the boy she had once been; many of them made positive statements, telling of their support or stating how absolutely gorgeous she was.

Several, however, were not so generous, and sent sneering looks in her direction, and occasionally accompanied them with nasty comments. She tried always to walk with friends to and from classes, although that was not always possible.

On the day of dress rehearsal, she left history class only to be accosted by several boys with scraggly beards and torn jeans. A tall chubby boy moved in front of her, and as she tried to dodge him, another boy crowded her, forcing her to stop.

“Let’s see your dick, honey,” the chubby boy said crudely.

“Let me through,” she said forcefully. She had been instructed at the Gender Clinic that the best defense was to show strength and remain calm, even when she was terrified.

“You’re a sick person,” another boy said, almost spitting in her face. She could smell his foul breath.

She let out a loud scream, startling the boys; even they were smart enough to realize that her screams would sound like a girl was facing a rape attack. They quickly scattered, and several other students came to Karen’s side to assist her.

“Are you all right, dear?” a girl asked, moving next to Karen and holding her.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“You did the right thing,” the girl said, her eyes closely examining Karen. “Oh, you’re that girl. That girl in the news.”

“Yes,” Karen nodded.

“Well, you reacted just how a girl should react, dear,” the girl said. “You screamed. You’re quite a girl, do you know that?”

*****
It took a while for Karen to compose herself and she was still shaking when she entered the next class, a lab session in sociology led by a young teaching assistant, who asked to be addressed as “Mr. Everett.” Finally, the realization came to her that the transition into becoming a prominent person — while transitioning from male to female — would take much courage; she knew she would face more incidents in the future as she had that day. Then, again, she recalled: Hadn’t she faced such frightening moments before, when she had been harassed and nearly raped while still acting as a boy on the boys’ floor of the dormitory in her first months on campus?

“Miss Hansson,” a voice sounded in her ear.

“What?” she said, awakening from her daydreaming over the horrors she had faced and would likely continue to face.

“Miss Hansson,” the teaching assistant said, a soft-spoken young man with a neatly trimmed goatee. “I asked you if you had any reaction to the reading on the effects of mandatory sentencing of drug offenders.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Everett,” she said, recovering from her reverie. “Yes, I did. It seems the author was wrong to conclude that the recent drop in the use of crack cocaine meant that the mandatory sentences were a success. It seems other drug use has increased while crack has dropped.”

“She’s all wet,” argued a male student sitting a row away. “Talk to my dad. He’s a cop in Chicago working vice and he’ll tell you it has been good to get those crackheads off the streets and into prison.”

The classroom was soon engulfed in a full-blown discussion as to the benefits of mandatory sentencing, and Karen found herself soon engaged in the argument, seeming to lead those who agreed such sentencing was wrongheaded. At one point she found herself standing up, almost nose-to-nose in arguing with the boy, a tall, wide-shouldered young man with his light brown hair trimmed in a tight crew cut.

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you, Karen?” the boy said. “Just calm down little girl.”

“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Polston. What makes you think you guys are any smarter than we girls are?” she said.

The boy — Adam Polston, by name — backed off, retreating from the accusation. “Look, Karen, first of all, let me say that I am aware of what you’re going through now, and I want to applaud you for your courage in the face of all this publicity. I hope you do a great job in the play, but you’re all wrong on this mandatory sentencing issue.”

At that point, the teaching assistant intervened, saying: “You two have engaged in an interesting discussion. So let’s leave it at that. Now class is about over, and I want to give my personal applause to Karen Hansson for her courageous decision to begin her transition and to take on an acting role. Anyone who cares to join me may clap for her right now.”

Everett raised his hands and began clapping, and within seconds the rest of the class stood and clapped as well, followed by a few whistles. The boy, Adam, moved over to Karen, took her in his arms and hugged her in a friendly manner.

He whispered in her ear: “You’re wrong about mandatory sentencing, Karen, but still, let me say, ‘break a leg.’”

*****
“Thank you, Adam,” Karen said as they left the classroom. “Your support means a lot.”

Adam smiled. Karen found his smile to reveal a sweet, warm-hearted boy, something that was not immediately apparent. Throughout the semester, Karen had viewed the large young man from Chicago as a sort of unthinking lout.

“Look,” he said, “When I came here I thought that girls like you . . . ah, what can I say.”

He began an awkward stutter.

“What, Adam? That we were immoral or something?”

“Well, I guess, yes, but knowing you just from class and seeing how real you are makes me wonder. I’ve looked into this transgenderism stuff, and I never realized what it involves,” he said. “You’re a strong girl, I can see now.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“And remind me never to get into another argument with you,” he said with a wink.

*****
Her brother, Sonny, sent a text message on the day of the opening night of the play to state that he and their mother would be unable to see her before the show and they would be arriving just in time for the opening curtain.

Leaving after mom’s work. Mom says “Break a Leg.” Not sure what that means. Hugs, Sonny

She met Ramini at a favored Indian restaurant at about 4 p.m., realizing that she’d need to eat something to keep her strength up for the performance.

“I’m so keyed up, Rami,” she said as the two girls settled down in the booth.

“I know, dear. That’s only natural, but you should eat something,” her friend said. Ramini was wearing a plain, grey colored sari trimmed in lavender, with a matching headpiece. She had been allowed to leave early from her job in the chancellor’s office, where she was employed as a work-study office assistant.

Karen finally, on the recommendation of Ramini, ordered a mildly spiced meat wrap and a small fruit salad. It was a modest meal, but Karen found it difficult to digest it; her stomach seemed in constant turmoil.

“The chancellor’s office is getting lots of heat from religious outfits and some right-wingers on your performance tonight,” Ramini said.

“I’m so sorry about that, Rami. I never wanted this to happen, and, in fact, that was why I didn’t care when Fenstrom originally chose Heather for the part. It took pressure off me.”

Ramini smiled, her dark eyes sparkling. It was the girl’s best feature; they literally danced when she was happy.

“The chancellor is standing up to them, Karen,” Ramini said. “I think she relishes the fight. She’s even had some big donors calling her about it, but I think she set them straight.”

Karen had been surprised by the support shown by Chancellor Thatcher, who had sometimes been portrayed as a university leader who was more interested in fund-raising than in academics or educational principles.

“I guess I misjudged her, Rami,” she confessed.

“Maybe you inspired her, Karen. You seem to inspire lots of people, including me.”

Karen was finally able to finish her meal, even topping it off with a mango sherbet that seemed to settle her stomach. Perhaps it had been Ramini’s gentle lilting voice that helped; the girl had been gushing with happiness since her weekend as Aaron’s date in the spring dance at St. Albert’s College.

“I can’t wait to see Aaron tonight,” Ramini said. “He’s coming in especially to see you perform tonight, Karen.”

“Really? All the way from St. Albert’s?”

“Yes, he’s staying with his sister, but we’ll spend much of the weekend together,” she said. “He sent me an email this morning, saying that he read online about you in the play and felt he wanted to come and support you, Karen.”

“That’s sweet of him. He’s such a thoughtful boy.”

“He is, Karen, and that’s just one of the reasons I’m falling in love with him,” she gushed.

“So soon, Rami? You’ve only known him a short while.”

“Oh Karen, I know him, and remember, you fell in love with Mark in just six weeks at that summer camp.”

Karen blushed. That was true, she realized.

“And, besides,” Ramini continued, “Aaron has already told me that he loves me, too.”

“Now, if I could only get Mark to say that to me,” Karen said.

“He does love you, Karen. I’m sure of it dear. But he’s confused now, perhaps still not sure of his own future and so worried about being a burden to you, or worrying that you want to be with him only out of pity, and a boy like him hates to be pitied.”

“I hope you’re right, Rami,” she said. “But, darling, I’m so happy for you.”

Karen rushed back to her room at Jenny’s place, showered and prepared herself to go to the theater for the performance. She was both frightened nearly into paralysis and eagerly excited, two emotions that set her heart to pound heavily.

*****
Besides the butterflies that tormented her stomach as she contemplated her opening night performance, Karen was still concerned about the demonstrations that might be staged outside the theater.

The leader of the hard-line conservative Christian group that seemed to be leading the picketing said he was disgusted with the reaction of the University administration (and Chancellor Thatcher in particular) for supporting the casting of Karen in the lead part. The Reverend Timothy Mitchell (though his own religious affiliation was sketchy) proclaimed: “This casting of a boy as a girl in a play by a public university is a slap in the face to all Christians in our great state. The decision by Chancellor Thatcher to support this casting is callous, anti-religious and immoral and is leading us into perdition.”

Mitchell promised renewed demonstrations for opening night.

Whitney Roberts volunteered to escort Karen to the play. When he showed up at Karen’s residence, he had a tall, muscular blondish young man with him.

“This is my friend, Tyler McHenry, and he’s going to join us to get you to the theater, Karen,” Whitney announced.

Karen held out her hand limply to greet McHenry, and was surprised with how gently the young man took her hand. In a soft voice, he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Hansson.”

Flanked by the two men, Karen walked to the Theater. They were soon joined by Merritt King and about a dozen members of the football team, a few cheerleaders and scores of other supporters. They chanted out in unison “We love Karen.” In such a rousing style, Karen was led through the crowd of demonstrators and counter-demonstrators, assisted by the police, into the theater.

When she got to the top of the steps at the theater entrance, Karen turned and waved at the crowd, blowing the group a kiss. The crowd cheered loudly, easily drowning out the “boos” from the much smaller group led by the Rev. Mitchell.

Her eyes drifted briefly toward Whitney and his friend where she saw the two hugging each other and smiling. She gave them a discreet wave of “thanks.”

“I hope all those demonstrators won’t scare away the audience,” she said to a security guard that led her into the Theater.

“I don’t think they will, miss,” he said. “There really didn’t seem to be too many of them there to start and the police should be able to keep them at bay.”

“I’m so grateful for all the support,” she said, smiling.

“Break a leg, miss,” the guard said.

*****
“You were excellent, Karen,” Mary Ann Kelsey told her as she assisted Karen into a quick costume change during the second act.

“Thanks,” she said, struggling out of a simple print sundress she was wearing.

“Slow down, honey,” the costumer said, soothingly. “The more you hurry the behinder you get.”

Karen nodded, trying to get the panic out of her system. She loved the dress she was about to put on; in fact, it was more than a dress. The outfit could be described as a gown, elegant enough to be worn at a prom or other fancy dress function. In the play, the dress was described as having been bought by her mother in Kansas City to be used by Madge (the character that Karen was playing) for special occasions. The dress was of a light warm pink material and was cinched at the waist, with two-inch straps over the otherwise bare shoulders. The skirt portion flowed graceful down to the ankles.

“You’re lovely,” Mary Ann said, “You’re the picture of femininity.”

“I love this dress, Mary Ann,” Karen smiled.

“And you’re perfect for it, dear,” the costumer said.

Mary Ann was a graduate student in theater at the University and she specialized in costuming, having already been involved in several professional theatrical performances in the area. She even had her union card.

“Thank you, that means a lot,” Karen said, as she moved to the wings to await her cue.

*****
Karen’s performance that opening night would have been perfect, except for one flaw; she missed one line in a love scene with Trent Cole, a senior boy who played Madge’s lover, Hal. In the scene, Madge tries vainly to resist the charms of Hal — who is a ne’er-do-well, but captivating young man — only to fall passionately into his arms.

It was at this point where Karen, who had perfected an uncanny ability to move her emotions into the part she was playing, entered into an emotional reverie. She felt the muscular arms of the actor playing Hal, and began imagining that she was in the arms of Mark Hamilton; on stage, Karen burst out, “Oh Mark, I love you,” a mistake she realized immediately. The words caused Cole to tense up briefly, but Karen attacked his lips with greater passion, and in the drama of the moment the mistake seemed to pass almost unnoticed.

“That was quite a scene, Karen,” Cole said as the two left the stage at the end of the Act.

“I’m sorry, Trent. It’s just that I got caught up in the moment,” she said.

“I felt that. Who’s Mark? Your boyfriend?”

Before she could answer, she was accosted by Eric Fenstrom, anger flashing in his eyes. “What was that? If you can’t keep your men straight, you’ll be off the set, girl.”

“I’m sorry, I got caught up in the moment,” she said.

Seeing the backstage drama beginning, Karen saw Fenstrom’s wife, the onetime great actress Beatrice Peters, approach: “Eric, get off her back. She had the audience eating out of her hand in that scene,” she said to her husband.

“But to screw up like that,” Fenstrom said.

“I know she won’t ever do it again, Eric,” his wife said. “Besides, dear, I don’t think either Janice Rule or Kim Novak ever did that scene with more feeling.”

Fenstrom nodded his head, and turned to Karen: “She’s right, Karen,” referring to his wife’s comments. “Just continue with that passion in the next act, dear, but no more references to ‘Mark,’ OK?”

“I won’t sir,” she said.

The play ended with thunderous applause, with most of the audience rising to their feet in a standing ovation. For the second curtain call, director Fenstrom, along with two other backstage directors, joined the cast in their bows. Fenstrom gave Karen a warm hug as he came on stage to the joy of the audience.

The cast took their individual bows, with Karen and Trent holding hands to walk out in front of the crowd. Trent bowed to loud applause and when Karen curtsied the clapping became even more intense, accompanied by repeated hoots and whistles.

At the third curtain call, five grade school girls marched on stage with bouquets of flowers for the five young women who played major roles in the play. Karen plucked one of the roses from her bunch and presented it to Fenstrom, who gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“You’re a star, Karen,” he whispered as they parted.

*****
Karen found her mother and brother waiting along with other relatives and friends as she walked out of the stage door about 15 minutes later.

“Sis, you were magnificent,” Sonny said, hugging her.

“Yes, honey, I have to admit getting caught up in the play,” Cecelia Hansson said.

“Mom, Sonny, I’m so glad you were able to make it. Did you see the whole play?”

“Yes, we got in just before the curtain went up,” her mother said.

“We’d have gotten here sooner if mom didn’t drive so slow,” Sonny said.

“But you got here alive, Sonny,” Karen chided her brother, remembering how he always told Karen (when she was Kenny) that he drove like a “girl,” a thought that made her smile.

“Now, children, let’s not fight on this marvelous night,” their mother said.

As they stood there other members of the cast and various individuals came by to praise Karen for her acting; several made comments, meant to be compliments, that alluded to her onetime boyhood status, “You made a most convincing girl,” or “I could never believe you’re still a boy under all that.”

Karen wanted to respond, telling them that she never was a boy and that she always was a girl, but she had been advised by Moira, her counselor at the gender clinic, to accept such comments in the spirit in which they were given and smile girlishly back at the person.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” Cecelia Hansson suggested.

The three Hanssons began walking to the front of the theater, when a voice sounded out, “Karen, over here. We’re over here.”

Karen saw Patti Hamilton standing to the far right of the front entrance of the theater.

“Mom, Mrs. Hamilton is here,” Karen shrieked.

She led her mother and Sonny toward Mark’s mother, wending their way through the groups of people leaving the theater.

“Mark’s here!” Karen yelled out, bounding away from her mother pushing others aside to move alongside the husky young man in a wheelchair.

“Mark!” she screamed, dropping to her knees to hug the young man, covering him with kisses.

Mark drew Karen forward so that the two could kiss; it was awkward and uncomfortable for both, but they seemed not to notice as their passions took over.

“I’m so sorry, Karen,” Mark said when the two finally broke their embrace. “I have missed you so much, but it didn’t feel right to continue our affair. You’re so beautiful. You deserve a life of your own.”

“Mark, my life is with you,” she said, tears beginning to flow down her cheeks.

“But I’m such a cripple, and will be for life, it seems,” he said sadly. “I tried not to read your letters, trying to put you out of my mind. I wanted you to be free to have other boyfriends, boys who could be complete and not like me, half of a man.”

“Oh, Mark, you’re a complete man,” she said.

“You were so pretty on stage tonight,” Mark said, seeking to change the subject. “Did you mean it when you said on stage that ‘I love you, Mark?’”

“More than ever. More than ever.”

Chapter 20: Summer Interlude

During the play performances, Karen continued to live at what could be considered a “safe house,” hidden away from the inquiring eyes of protesters and the media. Her friend Jenny found a room for Karen in the off-campus residence where she lived. The protests calmed, with only a token force of objectors picketing the theater, but Karen felt it would be safer to remain at the quarters, and that she would move back to her residence in the building with Angela and her friends after the play performances ended with a Sunday matinee.

She was in a deep sleep on the Sunday morning after the Saturday night performance of the play when she was awakened by the loud, excited voice of Angela.

“Karen, Karen, look at this.”

“What? What?” Karen said, awakening in total confusion as to where she was.

“Look here, Karen!”

Karen cleared the crusted gook from her eyes, finally seeing her friend Angela seated at the foot of her bed.

“Why are you here?” Karen asked.

“I saw the newspaper first thing this morning on my early run and had to show you,” Angela said.

Karen noticed that the girl was still in her running outfit, shorts and a skin-tight top. Angela was glistening with perspiration and for some reason the sight aroused Karen; she loved seeing the girl’s tanned, muscular thighs and strong tendons of her neck.

She sat up on the bed and ran her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to appear less disheveled. She knew her face must look puffy and pale and that she must have exuded a musty, foul odor from the night of deep sleep.

“Here, Karen, read this. They loved you, dear,” Angela said, thrusting a section of the Sunday paper into Karen’s hands. It was folded to show a headline: “An unusual star is born.” The story read:

“All eyes were on Karen Hansson — AKA Kenneth Hansson — as she took the stage Friday night in the opening of William Inge’s ‘Picnic,’ as performed by the University Players.

“No doubt many of the patrons in this sold-out University Theater came curious about how a boy-turned-girl could perform the part of the beauteous Madge, the prettiest girl in this fictional Kansas town.

“Any hint that there was anything weird or strange about Ms. Hansson’s performance due to her gender confusion was dispelled long before Act One ended. She had the audience eating out of her hand by the time she donned the pretty dress her mother (in the play) had bought in Kansas City.

“Make no mistake about it: Karen Hansson is all girl and a downright fetchingly attractive one at that.

“Director Eric Fenstrom had maintained in the brouhaha that grew out of his selection of this transgendered girl that she was chosen as the ‘best girl for the part’ and not as some sort of gimmick to boost the attendance for the play. Karen Hansson’s performance certainly proved the point; she’s definitely a star in the making if this freshman student from Manitowoc chooses acting as a profession.

“In an after-play interview, Ms. Hansson said that her real interest lies in social work and that she hoped to finish her degree in those studies. ‘I love acting,’ she said, ‘but I find it so satisfying to help people resolve their difficulties in life.’ While this reviewer finds her motives commendable, he also knows that based on this performance the stage will lose a real talent if she follows through on her plans to concentrate on social work.

“Ms. Hansson was backed up by a strong cast, proof again that Fenstrom — the onetime star of stage and screen — can mold raw, young talent and create a moving, compelling performance of a play that is 60 years old. . .”

Karen looked up and saw her friend beaming.

“I thought you’d want to see this, Karen,” Angela said. “I’m sorry if I awakened you.”

“What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“No, that’s OK. I’ve got to get up anyway, since I have to be at the theater by one and am meeting mom and Sonny for brunch about eleven.”

Karen instinctively reached over and hugged the hot, moist Angela, kissing her and tasting the salt of her perspiration from her lips. She loved being held by her stronger girlfriend.

“I’ll leave you, dear,” Angela said. “When are you coming back to our place?”

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“I can hardly wait to see you,” Angela said with a smile.

“I’ll be happy to get back, even though Jenny and her friends here have been great. I was safe from all the media and protesters, thanks to their help.”

*****
The play was performed three times that weekend and it was sold out all three times. There were demands to extend the play into the following weekend, but the University Administration nixed the idea, noting that students would be deep into getting ready for final exams by then.

As exhilarating as the performances had been for Karen, she was totally exhausted when the actors took their closing bows as the Sunday matinee ended.

*****
The following day, she returned to the room she shared with Ramini in the residence with Angela, Doreen and others. She found that she had settled into her old room comfortably by dinner time; Ramini was studying for exams with some classmates and the residence appeared to be otherwise empty, leaving Karen alone for supper that evening.

It was an unusually warm day for May in the city, and like all the coeds Karen dressed skimpily. She wore abbreviated pink shorts, a teal-colored tank top, and sandals with her hair tied into two pigtails. She felt relaxed and comfortable now that the pressures of the play were completed; she still had finals for which to study, but those did not seem to concern her. She had done well in most of her classes.

Perhaps it was the birds singing in the trees, the hustle and bustle of the campus with its grassy spots showing a warm green where only a few weeks earlier they still showed the brown and stains of winter. The oak and maple trees were in full bloom and Karen felt like skipping as she walked down the sidewalk to the nearby deli for a take-home salad. For a few feet, she did just that, and with her pigtails bouncing behind her head, she looked just like a 12-year-old girl on her way to the playground to play hopscotch.

“What a pretty picture.”

Karen was surprised by the voice as she mounted the stairs into the residence carrying a plastic bag with her salad.

“Oh,” she said, looking at Doreen, sitting on a porch swing and somewhat hidden in the shadows. “I didn’t see you there, Doreen.”

“Come here and sit by me, Karen,” she said, her voice putting on a rare soft tone, replacing her usually tough, masculine speaking manners.

“No, thanks, Doreen,” she said. “I think I’ll eat in my room.”

“It’s hot up there, honey. Just sit by me and eat your salad. Remember, you owe me!”

Karen remembered that Doreen used that phrase (“You owe me”) after catching Ramini and Karen taking a shower together and promising not to tell Angela. She realized that Doreen hadn’t forgotten that promise and she started to bolt into the house, understanding that Doreen’s rare sweet tones were but an act and that the girl was likely planning to assault her. Karen had hardly reached the front door before Doreen, quick as a cat, was upon her. Doreen grabbed Karen, her hard, calloused hand wrapping around Karen’s slender wrist and easily pulling Karen into her arms and hugging her tightly. Karen was too weak to resist, even though she tried mightily, squirming and kicking as Doreen dragged her into the house.

Karen felt like she was a rag doll in the sinewy, hard arms of Doreen; the other girl was panting heavily and sweating profusely as she dragged Karen — still clutching the bag with her salad — up the stairs and onto the bed in Doreen’s own room, a room rank with lingering body odor. Karen became tangled in the dirty sheets on Doreen’s bed and the stench of the other girl’s moist, perspiration soaked body began to gag her. Doreen wrestled the plastic bag from Karen’s grasp, and Karen felt her shorts being removed. Try as she might, Karen could not overcome the strength of the other girl who used one hand to remove Karen’s clothes, while holding Karen down with the other hand.

Doreen said nothing as she attacked Karen until she had finally disrobed her; then she straddled Karen, looking down at her.

“You are luscious, Karen,” she said, suddenly covering Karen with kisses.

Karen squealed out, “Help me somebody.”

Her voice came out squeaky and whiney, but she suspected no one was around to hear anyway. She was terrified and did the only thing a girl could do: she cried.

Doreen seemed not to notice, but continued to run her rough hands over Karen’s satiny skin. “You’re so soft and smooth and so sweet. Just like a grade school girl.”

She closed her eyes and allowed Doreen to lick her and caress her; the girl ran her lips down Karen’s small, but growing breasts and onto her soft tummy, finally landing on Karen’s still remaining tiny penis, now soft from the effects of hormones. She could feel Doreen mouthing the flaccid organ, licking it, apparently in the vain hope she could make it grow hard.

Karen felt nothing but disgust at the activity and tried to squiggle away from the girl’s grasp. In the background, Karen heard a screen door slam shut. Perhaps someone was in the house, she hoped, and as Doreen concentrated on her penis, Karen found a chance to let out a loud: “Help me!”

“You bitch,” Doreen said, aroused from her activity by the scream. She slapped Karen hard across the face, clamping her hand down hard on Karen’s mouth.

Karen became terrified now; there was no way she could battle Doreen who would probably be a strong match in a fight with a football lineman. She looked in terror at Doreen’s flaring eyes.

“Doreen, got off that girl!” Karen heard the loud voice as someone entered the room.

“None of your business, Maggie,” Doreen said. “She’s all mine!”

“You’re hurting her Doreen,” the girl said. Karen recognized the voice of Maggie, one of the other girls in the house. Maggie was generally a cheerful girl who was the “clown” in the residence; she was chubby and good-natured, but Karen knew she was also deceptively strong, having seen her lift heavy items when she moved into the residence.

“Shut up, Maggie,” Doreen said.

Suddenly, Doreen’s pressure on Karen was reduced as Karen saw Maggie approach and push Doreen hard enough so that she lost her balance and fell to the floor, off Karen.

“Get out of here, Karen and lock yourself in your room,” Maggie commanded her voice firm and harsh.

Karen grabbed the bag with her salad and began to leave the room and ran into Angela bounding up the stairs, obviously just returning to the residence and hearing the commotion. It didn’t take long for Angela to size up the situation, and she joined Maggie in subduing the enraged but now somewhat chastened Doreen.

Karen stopped to watch the fracas and screamed when she saw Angela about to punch Doreen hard in the face as she lay on the floor.

“No Angela, don’t hurt her,” Karen yelled.

Angela stopped quickly, her fist poised to strike. “Why not? She tried to hurt you, dear.”

“Just don’t, Angela, please. It’s not right.”

Both Maggie and Angela looked at Karen in surprise.

“What? Did you like it?” Angela said, her voice taking an accusing, jealous tone.

“No . . . no . . . I was scared to death, but it’s not right, Angela. She’s down now.”

Angela shook her head. “Don’t that beat all!”

“Just make sure she’ll leave me alone now,” Karen said.

Angela raised the subdued Doreen into a standing position, and looked at Doreen: “What do you have to say now?”

Doreen began to cry, proving that even this Amazon of a girl could show tears. “I’m sorry, Karen,” she began haltingly. “It’s just that you’re . . . ah . . . so darned attractive to me. I really only wanted to make love with you, dear.”

Karen stood dumbfounded, and said nothing.

“That’s no excuse, Doreen, and you know that,” Angela said.

“Yes,” Maggie added. “And you know she has a boyfriend.”

Doreen nodded.

Angela led Karen to her room, gently holding her in guiding her down the hallway. “I don’t think she’ll bother you now,” Angela said.

“Will the other girls here kick her out of the house, Angela?” Karen asked.

“They should, but with just a week of school left, probably not. Doreen’s OK, she just needs to learn to restrain herself.”

“Thank you and Maggie,” Karen said, leaning over to give her friend and sisterly kiss on the cheek.

“You know you’re a pretty tempting item, Karen,” Angela smiled. “Your Mark is so lucky.”

“I know and I love him so much, Angela.”

*****
“Jeremy, we’re not wanted there,” Karen argued. “Father Neuberger was crystal clear that the Church condemns girls like Rami and myself.”

“I don’t care what the Church wants, Karen. This is also a university-authorized club and they can’t restrict participation in the club,” Jeremy replied, his eyes flashing with determination.

Jeremy had stopped Karen as she left class on Tuesday morning to plead with her to take part in the fashion show scheduled for the following Saturday at the St. Vincent de Paul Center, which was located near the campus.

“But you’ll just get in trouble, Jeremy, and I don’t want to cause a fuss,” Karen said. She was still exhausted from participating in the play, as well as frustrated with all the attention she got in the days leading up to the performances because of her transgendered status.

“Look, I discussed this with the club members, and they all want both you and Rami to model at the show,” he said. “I know how busy you’ve been, but all we’re asking is that you come to our rehearsal meeting Friday at St. Vincent de Paul and help us select clothes to model and then to model for the Saturday show.”

“I don’t know, Jeremy.”

“Karen, I have one of my own creations I’d love you to model for me,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

“Oh?”

“Yes, Karen, I made it just for you. I got your dimensions from Rami. I’m dying to see you wear it. No one else would do it justice. After you model it, we'll raffle it off. I hope it'll be the hit of the show.”

Karen looked at the chubby boy standing before her and smiled.

“OK,” she said. “I’ll do it, but neither Rami nor I want to be identified as the models. Just say we’re members of the Newman Club.”

“Karen, I understand,” he said, hugging Karen, drawing her into his soft body.

The fashion show was a great success, drawing large numbers of women — and a lesser number of men — from the community, along with a smattering of students. Jeremy had drafted a couple of friends to model the few men’s items that were displayed. Otherwise, the majority of clothing shown was for women. Except for two items of Jeremy’s creations, all of the clothes modeled were from the society’s donated supplies.

She and Ramini each modeled three outfits, with Karen wearing two of the donated items and Jeremy’s outfit. Jeremy’s other outfit was for a plus-sized girl and was modeled by one of the huskier members of the Club.

“Jeremy’s dress sold over $1,000 in raffle tickets,” Ramini said afterward.

“I know. I told Jeremy that his creation was the hit of the show, but he just blushed. He’s so cute.”

“I think it was the girl modeling the dress that sold all those raffle tickets, Karen. You did it,” Ramini said. “But did you see the look on Father Neuberger’s face when you stepped out for the first time, Karen?”

“He looked pretty angry, didn’t he? I hope Jeremy doesn’t get into any trouble over this.”

“Don’t worry about him, Karen. Just ‘cause he’s soft and chubby, doesn’t mean that he’s not going to stand up for his ideas.”

Karen loved the dress Jeremy designed, a creation he had sewn in just two weeks.

“I believe in simplicity in my dresses,” Jeremy said. “So many of the top designers, I think, garbage their creations up too much.”

It was a simple design, to be sure, but striking nonetheless. The halter style dress had a plunging neckline and open back. Done in a light blue crepe material, it was gathered in at the waist, with a flowing skirt that accentuated the hipline. The dress ended below the knee, allowing the skirt to ruffle as its wearer walked. “I love how totally feminine this dress is, Jeremy,” Karen said when she first put it on Friday.

“I made it just for you, Karen,” he smiled.

“I’m so happy I agreed to take part,” she said, kissing the boy gently on his fat cheek.

*****
It was a warm, sunny Sunday in mid-June and bright sun streamed through the windows in the den of the Hamilton home in Milwaukee. Karen’s eyes feasted upon Mark Hamilton, who was trying to get comfortable in his wheelchair. She tried to arrange his pillows and doted over him, but with little effect. Nothing she did comforted him, and her inquiries were met mainly with grunts or curt “yups” or “yeahs” or “nahs.” Mark spent most of his waking hours in the den after being released from the rehabilitation center.

His mood as summer began was that of a morose young man brooding over the fact that even after five months of the best care available in the rehab center his ability to use his legs would never be restored. Mark took that realization hard. After all, he had always been an active, spirited young man, eager to tackle any challenge with great dedication. Now, he saw nothing ahead but life trapped in a wheelchair and dependent upon the care of others.

Even the urging of Theresa, the therapist who had nurtured his spirit during his months of rehabilitation, failed to arouse any enthusiasm. At one point Theresa, who had the patience of a saint, got so exasperated that she blurted out, “Dammit, Mark, quit feeling sorry for yourself,” remarks for which she immediately apologized.

Karen was living in the Hamilton home for the summer after Professor Fenstrom had obtained a summer’s internship for her at the Milwaukee Arts Council. The family encouraged Karen to stay with them in the hope that it would help buoy the spirits of the injured young man. At first when she moved in with the family, her presence appeared to have cheered Mark up, but her internship at the Arts required her to spend every weekday on the job, and she rarely returned to the home before dinner time, forcing Mark to spend many lonely hours in the den watching television, reading or working on crossword puzzles. His younger brother tried to get him to play video games, but Mark never found much joy in such ventures.

The long break in conversation became almost unbearable, and Karen searched her mind for something to get Mark talking, perhaps something that might renew Mark’s hopes. Suddenly, she remembered that Professor Fenstrom had asked her some months before to review the play, “Sunrise at Campobello,” to see if it was a potential play for the University group to perform. She had read it and was taken by its story. Recognizing its potential to help Mark gain inspiration, she asked:

“What do you know about President Franklin D. Roosevelt?”

“What? Who?” Mark said, obviously puzzled by the question, seeming to come out of nowhere.

“Franklin D. Roosevelt. Our 32nd President. Surely you know about him.”

“Of course, what kind of a dummy do you think I am?” he asked, grumpily.

“Well?”

“He led us in World War II. That much I know.”

Karen smiled. “He did lots more, Mark, like helping get the country out of the Depression and bringing in stuff like Social Security.”

“Yeah, I know,” his tone continued with some exasperation.

“Did you know that in the last 25 years of his life he couldn’t walk and yet he may have become even then the country’s best President?”

Mark nodded. “I guess I heard something about that.”

“You ought to check that out, Mark.”

If Mark found any inspiration from that conversation, he failed to show it that day. The following day Karen went to the Public Library and found they still had a VHS copy of the 1960 film made from the play. She checked it out.

“I want you to help me out with something, Mark,” she said that night as she joined Mark in the den.

“What’s that?”

“Fenstrom told me to check out an old play to see if it might be good for the theater group next year,” she began. “It won lots of prizes 50 years ago, and I like it. But, I’m looking for a second opinion, and I respect yours a lot.”

“You want me to read it, Karen?”

“No, dear, I want you to view the movie version, which was a close adaptation of the play. I got a copy of the VHS tape from the library. Do you wanna watch it tonight?”

“I suppose,” he said, showing little interest.

The two had made it a practice to spend their evenings together that summer, often renting a movie — or getting it from the public library — and sitting together on a love seat, popcorn and soft drinks before them on a coffee table. Mark, using his powerful arms, had learned to transfer himself from chair to chair or wheelchair with the use of a heavy duty walker. He grumbled a bit as Karen put the tape into the recorder that night, wondering why she’d want to watch some historical movie, instead of their usual fare of romantic comedies or action films.

“Oh Mark, just sit back and watch. This is a good story and you’ll like it,” she said, growing exasperated with his occasional crotchety outbursts.

“Then hurry up,” he said still sounding angry.

“Oh shush!”

Karen knew that his physical restrictions had worn on the young man, and that these outbursts were likely only normal. In the several weeks she had lived with the Hamiltons, the two had become comfortable with each other so that occasional minor arguments ensued. Yet, Karen also knew that the love the two shared for each other had grown stronger.

She snuggled up against him as the movie started and Mark put an arm around her.

“I love the scent of your hair, Karen,” he said. He gave her forehead a soft kiss.

“Mark, I love you, dear, and I hate to see you suffer so.”

“I’m sorry, Karen, I shouldn’t be like that to you. I love you so much.”

As she had predicted, Mark soon became enthralled in the story of a young Franklin Roosevelt, stricken with polio and discouraged that his rising political career was over, finding courage through the support of his wife Eleanor and several others to move ahead.

She said nothing to Mark about what lessons could be gained by watching the movie; she felt the movie spoke for itself and that Mark should draw such conclusions on his own.

“That was a pretty good movie, Karen,” he said when it ended. Nothing more was said.

Several days later, she noted Mark was engrossed in a book about the 32nd President of the United States.

*****
A few weeks later, Karen chose to show the 1962 film, “The Miracle Worker,” which portrayed how a young tutor, Anne Sullivan (played by Anne Bancroft), through sheer determination and tough love got the young blind and deaf Helen Keller (Patty Duke) to respond and eventually become one of the most famous and accomplished of Americans.

Neither Karen nor Mark had heard of Helen Keller until Karen discovered her while researching movies that might help her in her quest to motivate her loved one to respond. Again, she said nothing about the movie before it started, but it didn’t take Mark long to realize what Karen was doing.

“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” he said as the movie began.

She giggled.

“Well no movie will persuade me,” he said.

“Let’s just watch the movie, OK?”

“As long as you cuddle next to me, I will,” he said.

Mark sounded as if he was disgusted with her blatant attempt to show how others overcame physical problems, but as the dramatic movie continued she could tell the film captivated him. There were tears in his eyes when the movie ended.

He held Karen tightly, and the two kissed, both sobbing together for what seemed an eternity. It was a sweet moment, and Karen felt in her heart that Mark was beginning to regain the spirit of life that made him so special.

Chapter 21: A Fitting End

“I’d like to get back to the gym,” he told Karen a few days later.

“Really, Mark. That’s great,” she responded with a smile.

“Maybe if I can get my upper body strength back, that’ll help me feel better. I hate lying around like a dolt all day.”

Karen smiled. She knew better to say anything or to suggest that perhaps his renewed interest in body-building might have something to do with her quiet campaign to show how he could live a successful life in spite of his disability.

“We’ll have to do it early in the morning, before I have to go to work,” she said.

The result was that Karen and Mark arose every day about 5 a.m. for the daily trip to the gym, allowing more than an hour for a workout, and giving her time to get to her intern duties at the Arts Council by 9:30 a.m. Theresa, his therapist, agreed she could adapt her work schedule to work with him on three of the days; Karen would coach him on the other days.

The first few days were difficult and frustrating for Mark who found himself floundering weakly as he worked the parallel bars, attempting to move forward using only his arms to hold himself upright. His therapy thus far had been mainly to keep his limbs flexible, and in the months since his injury his once strong arms had grown flaccid and weak, unable to propel him more than a foot or two, before he began to collapse and had to be assisted back into his wheelchair.

Several times he cried and was about to give up. Some days, he refused to be cheered, but Karen and Theresa persisted. Eventually, he grew in strength and confidence and by the end of summer he was accomplishing remarkable feats through the use of his restored strong upper body.

*****
Their love for each other was tested several times during the summer. Karen thought that Mark was enjoying his therapy sessions with Theresa too much, and that the young woman seemed to pay an inordinate amount of attention to him; Karen realized she was being foolish, since there was no doubt that Theresa’s services had gone a long way to his recovery and that Mark benefited from her efforts.

There were several incidents, however, in which Karen thought Theresa was overly intimate in working with Mark. Karen usually absented herself from the room when Theresa came to the home to work with Mark, feeling her presence might stifle the therapist’s work. The same was true once they moved to the gym, where Karen would leave to do her own mild workout, while Theresa would work with Mark. Karen became terribly bothered one morning when she returned to see Theresa’s hands all over him. Karen thought such touching was unnecessary to his recovery.

After Theresa left, Mark looked at her angrily: “You weren’t very nice to her, Karen.”

“Wasn’t I? I said ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye,’ didn’t I?” she said defensively.

“You weren’t nice about it,” he said. “She’s helped me so much, Karen.”

“Yes, so I noticed. Yes, she’s so nice to you.”

There was no mistaking the sarcastic tone of Karen’s voice.

“If you can’t be nice, why come around when she’s giving me therapy?” he said, his voice rising.

“You know why, Mark. I love you.”

“Well you have a strange way of showing it,” he said, turning his head away from her to look out the window.

“It just seems you enjoy all these other girls who come to see you, like that cheerleader you knew at Iowa State,” Karen said. “How often has she been here, Mark? You hot for her, too?”

“Oh for chrissakes,” he said, his voice growing in exasperation. “She’s been here three times, if you must know. And don’t call her ‘that cheerleader,’ like she’s some sort of whore. Her name’s Mindy and she was in my lab mate in biology and she’s smart as a whip.”

“You seem to know all about her, don’t you?” And you saw her when you wouldn’t see me.” Karen referred to the days he lay in the rehab center, refusing to see her.

In their drive home that morning, they said nothing to each other. Mark stared out of the window, refusing to look at Karen, who drove more slowly than usual, struggling to keep her moist eyes focused on the road. At the house, Mark refused Karen’s help in leaving the van, struggling mightily — but successfully — in his power chair to enter the house. Finally, her tears flowing freely, Karen stormed into the house and upstairs to the room the family had provided for her that summer. She had to get away from the scene; she detoured into the bathroom to dry her face.

She didn’t like what she saw in the mirror. It wasn’t that her face was all puffy and that her eyes were red and moist but that she saw herself suddenly as a jealous, vindictive woman. It was a sight that disgusted her immensely. There was no evidence Mark was romantically interested in either woman; hadn’t Theresa told her she was in her late 20s and had a child? And, what was wrong with a friend from college making a visit, even if she was cute?

It was a feeling that had cropped up several times in her mind during the long period of Mark’s rehabilitation. Karen also feared that since she was not a natural born woman that Mark would eventually cease to love her and would want a “real woman.” In truth, Mark had never shown any inclination to reject Karen due to her gender issues; nonetheless it was a fear that dogged Karen off and on for all their time together.

Finally, after cleaning herself up and applying fresh makeup, Karen left the bathroom feeling better. She decided not to go to her room but to return to the den and make peace with Mark. She loved him. There was no question about that and she knew he loved her. There would be no room for jealousy in the future, although the fears remained in her heart.

For his part, Mark often had the same feelings of jealousy; it cropped up on the night he saw her perform in “Picnic” and engage in a passionate love scene with the actor playing Hal. It seemed too real and Mark grew jealous of what he saw on stage. Might she eventually dump him for a more able bodied man than he was ever going to be? It was a thought that continued to trouble him, even though Karen continued to profess her love for him. Mark wrestled with himself on this, since he recalled she had wrongly called the actor “Mark” instead of “Hal” in one scene, which would indicate her strong love for him. Yet, Karen had responded far too passionately on stage that night while in the arms of the other actor.

In bed, however, Mark and Karen were passionate lovers. Even though Mark’s legs were useless, his sexual organs remained healthy and active. Karen experienced orgasms several times a night, each time with breathless gasps and squeals. In their relationships, they were patient, generous and generally understanding of each other. They seemed destined for each other if they each could overcome fears of inadequacy and doubts about the other’s desire for a more complete partner.

*****
In September, the two separated, with Mark returning to the Iowa State campus and Karen to the State University. They missed each other terribly and talked each night on long phone calls and constant texting during the day. While Mark had help getting around the Ames, Iowa, campus, he found many barriers to his mobility; the campus had been fully outfitted to the demands of the Americans with Disabilities Act, but he often ran into unexpected challenges to the use of his wheelchair. These restrictions, plus the need to spend at least two hours each day in therapy sessions, made it necessary that Mark reduce his class load for both semesters of that year.

Karen involved herself deeply into her studies in social work, while continuing her work as assistant to Professor Fenstrom. Her admiration for the man’s theatrical skills grew even more as he saw him mold the raw, young students into mature actors. Mercifully, he seemed to have stifled his lecherous ways and Karen’s workmate in his office, Deborah, suspected it was a combination of a university administration having laid down the law to him privately, his wife’s own demands and the mere physical effects of growing older.

Despite Fenstrom’s insistence, she refused a role in the autumn play that year, “A Streetcar Named Desire.” Fenstrom pleaded, “You’d make a perfect Blanche.”

“I think Heather will be a great Blanche, professor,” she said, referring to her actor friend and friendly rival for the ingénue roles in the University Players company of actors. In truth, Karen would have loved to do the part, but she felt she’d be overwhelmed trying to juggle her studies, work and concern for Mark. Also, she found she was gaining greater interest in working with people; she was volunteering one day a week at a halfway house for recovering women addicts, who were usually mothers.

Meanwhile Karen secretly assisted Heather in her lines and the girl turned out to be a convincing Blanche, portraying the character’s highs and lows with understated, but effective, intensity. Karen took supporting roles in plays during her sophomore year.

The following year Mark joined Karen by transferring his credits to the State University (with his costs largely covered through an insurance plan that covered injured college football players), where he and Karen became roommates. They were able to find a first floor apartment that was fitted for persons with disabilities, a block from the University’s elaborate athletic complex where Mark continued his studies in physical education, while taking drama as a second major. The University football team welcomed him as well — perhaps spurred on by urgings from his friend, Merritt King — and he served as a student assistant, working with the strength coach.

Karen tried to adjust her schedule so that she could assist Mark in getting around, but she soon learned that her future husband had quickly figured out how to do things for himself; he became a popular and familiar sight on campus, and gained no end of support as he moved about the university grounds.

She continued to act, winning several supporting roles in the University’s plays during her junior year. The novelty of her transgenderism had wore off and she began being judged solely upon her talent as an actress. In spite of considerable success on stage, her interest in acting and the theater became less important to her.

“I’m going into social work,” she explained to Professor Fenstrom when he questioned her about her reasons for not trying out for lead roles. “I just feel compelled to help people. I know acting is a worthy profession and people need the arts, professor, but for me, I think I need to be more hands-on.”

Nonetheless, largely at the urgings of Mark and her friend Ramini, Karen agreed as she started her senior year that she might seek to win a few key roles before she graduated. Besides, she knew Mark was enjoying his drama classes where he was training mainly to be a director, perhaps realizing that trying to be an actor while wheelchair bound would be a fool’s enterprise. Karen, however, had dreams of her own and hoped to prevail upon Fenstrom to do “Sunrise at Campobello” so that Mark could try out for the role of Franklin D. Roosevelt and she could play Eleanor Roosevelt.

She and Mark remained on campus during the summer and she made a point of confronting Fenstrom to propose that he schedule the play for that next year.

“Professor Fenstrom, this would be an ideal time to do the play, particularly since Mark is in school here,” she said. “I haven’t asked him but I bet he’d love to act again. He’s really good.”

“Karen, I know he loves the theater. I’ve had him in one of my classes and was impressed, but he has only done limited acting. Besides, I can put any actor in a wheelchair who could do the part and I would want to have the best actor possible for that part,” he said.

“I know, but this will be one of the few chances Mark will be able to act on stage,” she said, tears forming in her eyes. She knew how much he loved performing, which was now largely denied him due to his disability.

“Besides, professor, Mark has lived through the same doubts and depressions that President Roosevelt did at Campobello and he’ll be able to be totally believable.”

Fenstrom said finally gave in. “OK, but he’ll have to try out just like everyone else. I won’t promise him any part.”

“Thank you, professor,” she said running over to hug him and give him a friendly kiss.

“On two conditions,” he said firmly after she retreated. “First that you agree to play Nora in ‘A Doll’s House’ this fall, and second that you don’t pressure me that you should play Eleanor in ‘Campobello.’ You’re far too pretty for that part.”

“That’s unfair, professor. Mrs. Roosevelt was a beautiful woman in her own way and I’d love to try out for the part.”

“The makeup crew would have to reconstruct your whole face for you to become Eleanor, and you know it, Karen. This is one time when your nature prettiness works against you. But you’d make a great Nora.”

Karen nodded. She knew Fenstrom was right; while Mrs. Roosevelt was a heroic and very accomplished woman, she certainly was not a pretty woman in the classic sense.

“You want me to play Ibsen’s Nora?” she asked. “That’s a tough part.”

“Yes, and you can do it, Karen.”

The role would really test Karen’s ability to act, since the role of Nora in Ibsen’s “A Doll’s House,” called for her to play a more mature vibrant woman who was locked into a restrictive, vapid life.

That fall, Karen tried out for the role and won the part easily. As rehearsals began in mid-October, she was immediately sorry for her decision. Fenstrom was relentless in his directing behavior, continually nit-picking line after line and mannerism after mannerism. It took many hugs from Mark to calm her down when she’d return to the rooms they shared.

In the last week of rehearsals and after a particularly demanding run-through, Karen retreated in tears to her dressing room, exhausted and feeling humiliated at her ability to satisfy the professor’s commands.

She had taken off all but her panties and bra when she heard a tentative knock of the door. She didn’t answer it, but sat stiffly on the vanity bench, her hands in her lap feeling sorry for herself.

“Karen, let me in, please.” It was Fenstrom’s voice, sounding kind and gentle, a direct contrast from the way he had flung his words at her during rehearsal.

“Just a minute,” she said, putting on a robe.

The door opened and the professor entered, closing the door behind him. Karen no longer feared he’d make any sexual advances, but still wondered why he visited her room alone and then closed the door. He took a seat on a folding chair opposite her in the tiny room, their knees nearly touching, and he took her hands in his, holding them as a father would to comfort a grieving daughter.

“Karen, I know I’ve been tough on you, but I think you’ve responded magnificently,” he began.

“But you make me feel out there like I’m doing everything wrong,” she protested.

“I know this is a difficult role for you, Karen, since it requires you to become a woman who has lived a dull, lusterless life while your own life has been full of excitement and changes. The success of this play, Karen, rests on you, since the other actors play off you.”

He found a tissue and reached over, tenderly wiping tears from Karen’s face; it was a surprising gesture coming from a man who just minutes before had so mercilessly berated her.

“Doing Ibsen before a college audience is difficult, Karen, since young people aren’t used to such introspective drama, and it’s critical we make it alive for them, and I want to tell you that you have nailed it. You’re doing a great job, so buck up. You’ll be a great Nora.”

With that, he got up from the chair, patted her face gently, smiled and left the room.

Karen’s performance on opening night was a resounding success, as evidenced by the review in the following morning’s paper, which said in part:

“. . . It’s a shame that we had to wait three years to see this lovely young actor perform a lead role on stage, but Karen Hansson who lit up the stage as a freshman student in Eric Fenstrom’s ‘Picnic’ was back playing the part of Nora in Henrik Ibsen’s ‘A Doll’s House.’

“Ms. Hansson brought feeling and life into the dour life of Nora and helped transform a play that modern audiences often find boring into a tension-filled experience. Sadly, it appears that audiences will soon not have many chances to see her perform on stage; she’s serious about pursuing a career as a social worker and eschewing an acting career, according to reports.

“There are a few seats left for the two remaining performances. Don’t wait. This play is a rare treat, as is watching Ms. Hanson.”

*****
Professor Fenstrom selected “Sunrise at Campobello,” for the spring play for the University Players, as Karen had hoped. True to his word, Fenstrom opened up auditions and made a special effort to get Mark to try out for the part of Roosevelt.

To Karen’s shock, Mark refused to audition and the two entered into a terrible argument.

“I don’t need to be pitied,” he said angrily to Karen when she suggested he audition.

“Mark, you’re a great actor. And with your experiences as . . . ah . . .”

“As what? A cripple? Yes, that’s what I am. Is that all I’m good for?”

“But Mark!”

“It’s no Karen. That’s all there’s to it. No. N — O.”

“Please, Mark. The part is made for you.”

“Yeah, of course it is. A part for a cripple! How many plays feature sorry cripples like me? The answer is no, Karen.”

Karen fled their room in tears, running out of doors without a coat in the February cold, realizing she had been terribly insensitive in the way she raised the issue. She slipped on the icy sidewalk, catching herself before she tumbled down. The near fall brought her back to sanity and she returned to their apartment. The two ended the evening in deep, loving embrace.

*****
Mark never did audition, but agreed to help coach the talented young actor chosen to play Roosevelt in navigating the wheelchair and in other movements. It was clear he enjoyed being involved in the work of putting on a play, and soon Fenstrom expanded his role to provide further coaching to other actors.

Karen never tried out for the role as Eleanor Roosevelt, and instead took the role of Missy Le Hand, Roosevelt’s personal secretary, where her pretty face made her a logical choice. While the performance was a great success, perhaps the greatest satisfaction that Karen felt was the realization that Mark had been a major part in creating the hit. He was so engrossed in the work that he seemed at times to forget he was bound to a wheelchair.

Karen graduated in May, and the couple stayed in their digs off campus that summer so that Mark could complete his senior year and graduate. Mark had lost a year of study due to his injury and difficulty in transferring some credits. Karen used the summer months to have gender reassignment surgery, take time for rehabilitation and complete her physical transition to womanhood.

“I’m a complete woman, now,” she told Mark when she returned after surgery.

Even though the two were roommates, they decided not to consummate their love until their wedding night. It was a tough decision to make, since Mark’s sexual abilities were fully intact, in spite of the injuries to his legs.

“I’ve waited this long, Karen,” he said. “What’s a few more months?”

“Oh darling, but I want you so bad,” she had said on her first night back.

She had turned to the artificial device to keep her new vagina open and active, and Mark helped her in that regard, using his large strong fingers as she came to orgasm. Karen was more easily aroused since her operation and her screams and passionate shouts were wild and noisy as Mark masturbated.

“Darling, I only wish I could conceive your child,” she said, realizing that inability was all that separated her from becoming a total woman.

*****
“I could never love anyone more than you, Mark,” Karen said one night as they supped over a pizza, salad and cheap wine dinner.

“You mean that, Karen?” he said, holding her hand.

It was a few days before their wedding ceremony scheduled to be held in late August, just before Mark was to return for his senior year and Karen was to begin her work with the agency where she had interned. The two were at a side table in a small Italian restaurant near campus.

“More than ever, Mark,” she said.

“Even as crippled as I am?” he said.

“Dammit, Mark,” she said angrily. “Don’t you ever let me hear you say that again.”

“But . . .”

“No Mark, I love you, all of you, dear,” she said, rising slightly from her chair so that she could lean across the tiny table and kiss him.

“And I love you, Karen, and always will,” he said.

“Even though I’m not a complete woman?”

“For chrissakes, now you’re talking silly. I love you just as you are, Karen.”

The two looked at each other; the room’s lighting was dim, but Karen felt she saw tears glistening in the eyes of her lover.

“I think we’re both silly, Mark. We were destined to be together ‘til death do us part,” she said.

“We are silly, aren’t we? Let’s toast to that thought . . . that we’re both silly,” he said, raising his glass.

She raised hers and they touched their glasses gently.

“No, Mark,” she said. “Let’s toast our everlasting love.”

They raised and touched their glasses together again.

Just then, an older woman at an adjoining saw the couple, and said: “Pardon me, you two. I hate to intrude.”

Karen and Mark looked at her; she was with a man who appeared to be about her same age.

“Oh that’s OK ma’am,” Mark said politely.

“You seem such an adorable couple and my husband and I just wondered. I think you two must be newlyweds, but my husband kept telling me it’s none of our business.”

Mark laughed, looking to Karen to answer. “You’re almost right ma’am. We’re getting married Saturday.”

“Congratulations, kids,” the woman said.

Her husband nodded and raised his glass in salute to Karen and Mark.

“See, Harold,” the woman said. “They are so happy; remember when we were first married. Remember how happy we were?”

“Yes, dear,” he said, quickly adding: “And, dear, we still are.”

She nodded, and Karen turned to them to ask: “And how long are you two married?”

“Forty-nine years,” the man said.

“And still happy together,” Karen said. “See what we’ve got to look forward to, Mark.”

“I just knew you two were newlyweds — or almost newlyweds — since you both had such a glow about you,” the woman said.

Finally the man said to his wife: “Myrtle, let them alone now.”

Turning to Karen and Mark, he said: “May we buy and share with you a bottle of champagne to celebrate your coming wedding?”

The waiter moved the two tables closer and the two couples enjoyed the champagne, with the older couple remembering the details of their engagement and wedding. Naturally, they both argued about some of the details, which led to laughter by all four.

“See what you’ve got to look forward to 49 years from now, kids?” the man said, his eyes twinkling with joy.

“We’ll never forget this night,” Karen said. “You’re an inspiration to Mark and me.”

She looked at Mark and wondered if he was about to cry. She knew they would have this night in their memory banks “’til death” took them apart.

*****
Karen Hansson tried to hold back the tears as she walked down the aisle of St. George’s Chapel for Students on the University campus. Awaiting her at the end of the aisle in his wheelchair was Mark Hamilton, sitting erect and handsome as ever in his tuxedo.

As Karen began her steps forward, following her flower girl and bridesmaids, she clutched the arm of her brother, Sonny, who was given the role of escorting her down the aisle. Wearing a tuxedo for the first time in his life, Sonny was uncomfortable, and Karen couldn’t resist smiling at his plight. She loved him dearly.

In the choir loft at the rear of the church, the organ began playing, and soon a lovely mezzo-soprano voice filled the church. It came from Mary Catherine Delaney, the Newman Club member who had at first recoiled at Karen’s transistioning and later became a close and dear friend. The words of the more than 100-year-old classic “I Love You Truly” were fitting for Mark and Karen.

I love you truly, truly dear,
Life with its sorrow, life with its tear,
Fades into dreams when I feel you are near,
For I love you truly, truly dear!
A love ’tis something, to feel your kind hand,
Ah yes, ’tis something, by your side to stand,
Gone is the sorrow, gone doubt and fear,
For you love me truly, truly dear!

She held her head high and only the moisture in her eyes betrayed her successful battle to stop from crying. Through her watery eyes she examined the persons in her wedding party, already standing at the front of the church and looking back at her; they were all wearing knee-length lavender gowns, cinched in at the waist, with high collars. Her matron of honor was Ramini Verma Livingston who was absolutely ravishing. The three bridesmaids were Jenny Hanready (who had been in many classes in the School of Social Welfare with Karen), her long-time friend, Angela Schaefer, and Heather Thompson, her actress friend. They were all smiling broadly and Karen had gained great strength in their warm friendship and support through the years.

Gathering almost as many admiring “ahs” and “ohs” as the bride was the darling Tasha Foreman, the olive-skinned three-year-old flower girl, the child of Beatrice and Ellis Foreman. Beatrice had been Karen’s co-worker at the Olympus Restaurant in their hometown who at first had been appalled at Karen’s transition as a violation of Christian values. Karen eventually won her friendship after she took Beatrice to the nursing home at which she volunteered, where Beatrice met and eventually married Ellis Foreman, the grandson of one of the residents, an African-American man.

Karen, too, was pleased to see that Sharon, who had been head waitress at the restaurant and Karen’s early confidant as she began her new life as a young woman, was in the audience with her soon-to-wed friend, a husky, bearded utility company lineman named Lawrence Kowski.

“I remember you from the restaurant. The Texas breakfast man,” Karen said to Sharon’s friend when they met briefly as Karen arrived at the church.

“Yes, honey, and I remember flirting with you,” he said with a smile. “But you wouldn’t have me, so I found another girl just as sweet.”

“Now, Lawrence, you know that on this day the bride has to be the prettiest and sweetest,” Sharon interjected.

“That she is,” the bearded man said. They all laughed and Lawrence led Sharon to her seat.

The four men who made up the rest of the wedding party were also smiling. Mark’s brother, Billy, who was best man, stood tall and straight behind his brother’s wheelchair; the lad clearly liked Karen since he shared Karen’s interest in the arts, not having been as athletically inclined as his brother. Jeremy Foster, from the Newman Club, Aaron Livingston, now Ramini’s husband, and Merritt King, who three years earlier won the Heisman Trophy and had established himself as a star professional football player after only one season, rounded out the group.

Karen wore the traditional bride’s white. Her gauzy, lacy gown ended at the knees. Thin straps went over her shoulders, exposing her soft, lovely arms and neck. The use of hormones had further brought a warm fleshiness to her body and bulked up her smallish breasts enough so that she did not need to enhance them artificially. She carried a bouquet of white carnations.

“You’ll be the loveliest bride ever,” her mother gushed with pride as she was being dressed.

“Oh mother, I’m sure every mother has told her daughter that,” Karen laughed.

“I suppose they have, but in your case it’s the truth,” her mother said. “You truly are ravishing, honey.”

“Does my hair look all right, mom?” she said, brushing a loose strand from her face.

“Lovely, dear, but let me tidy up these few strands that seem to have gone astray,” she said.

*****
“Have you ever seen such a radiant bride?” Harriett Burkhalter, who had been Karen’s baby-sitter and onetime confidant, whispered to the distinguished looking man next to her. The once vibrant older woman had begun to display fragility that comes with age, but her eyes sparkled as brightly as ever.

Harriett — still called “Aunt Harriett” by both Sonny and Karen — was considered part of the family and was seated with Cecelia Hansson and her family, including the distinguished man to whom she had made her statement. The man was Michael Kelly, the attorney who had become Cecelia’s constant companion and now her fiancé.

“She is beaming, isn’t she?” Kelly replied softly to Harriett. “They’re so happy, but they will have tough times ahead.”

“Probably so, but I know Karen will guide them through it all. She’s a strong girl, and I think Mark is as strong and determined to succeed as anyone,” the old woman said as she watched Karen walk down the aisle.

*****
Three well-dressed, but remarkably plain-looking girls from Karen’s morning “coffee club” were seated in a pew midway down the aisle and watched as Karen moved with elegant poise. Beverly, Tricia and Tracy all strained to look at the bridal party.

Tracy was accompanied by Gabriel, the young man who was Karen’s first, though short-lived boyfriend. Both he and Tracy radiated healthy energy; their faces were reddened from weather exposure having spent the first year after their graduation as newlyweds working on the farm of Gabriel’s parents. Karen mused that the couple would eventually inherit the farm continuing their lifelong venture together as man and wife. Tracy was already “great with child,” as the saying goes, and the prospect was that there’d be many, round-faced, healthy ones to follow.

“God, Karen’s a beauty,” Tricia said softly to Beverly.

“Do you think we’ll ever get to walk down an aisle, Trish?” the girl asked.

Both had tears in their eyes; they felt overwhelming happiness for Karen.

“We’ll never be as beautiful as Karen, but I would hope we all share the same sweet and generous soul as she does, Beverly, and if we do, we’ll have a sweet life ahead, with or without a man,” Tricia said.

“Can you imagine how absolutely beautiful her soul must be?” Beverly said.

*****
Perhaps two of the most elegantly dressed persons in the church that day were not in the bridal party. Whitney Roberts and his life partner, Tyler McHenry, stood out in their almost identical stark white suits, purplish ascots, carnations in their lapels and white shoes. Karen gave both a faint nod of her head as she moved past them down the aisle, and the two responded with broad smiles. They were holding hands.

*****
Karen saw Father Jim at the foot of the altar, standing erect, awaiting the arrival of the bride. She smiled at the priest who responded with a slight wink that likely was unseen by the friends and families in the pews.

Father Jim, who at first rejected Karen’s involvement in the Church, later said that she and Ramini could attend mass and take the sacraments in spite of the Archbishop’s desires. After their freshman year, Jeremy and others in the Newman Club discussed Karen’s and Ramini’s transgendered status with Father Jim, and the priest decided to study the scriptures and Church rules himself. Partly due to his own open-minded nature, Father Jim defied any possible reprimands from the Archbishop and concluded that because Karen and Ramini had become legally recognized as females by the state and the university there was no reason for not allowing them to participate in the mass.

Karen and Ramini both stayed active in the Newman Club during their remaining years at the university, and Father Jim eventually warmed up to both girls, realizing both had a generous spirit well in tune with the teachings of his church. It wasn’t long either before Father Jim all but forgot the two had been born as boys. He felt he could not deny Karen’s desire to be married in the Church. As a compromise, however, the couple agreed not to have the marriage ceremony be celebrated within a mass.

The priest smiled broadly as he ended the ceremony with the words: “I now pronounce you man and wife and you, Mark Hamilton, may kiss the bride.”