New Walter's Life

 

My thanks to Monica Rose for proofreading and helpful suggestions.

This is a work of adult fiction so that's a caution that covers everything. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.

 

 

1

More than 30 years ago, in the mid-eighties, I bought half of a semi-detached house in a neighborhood of Portland while the other half was bought by a young woman named Dahlia after her divorce.  She had a seven month-old daughter name Laura.  I moved in with my maternal grandparents after they sold their home in Stacyville.  The new house was relatively inexpensive because it was just two bedrooms with a bath-and-a-half and backyard that faced a barren lot.   Five hundred feet away was I-95.  The very first thing I did was to plant a wall of firs behind the backyard to keep away the dust from the barren lot and the noise of the interstate.

Dahlia and I were good neighbors.  My grandparents were baby-sitting Laura while Dahlia sometimes helped them at home when I was away.  I was seven years older than Dahlia and we were friends but nothing romantic.  There was no click between us, or no spark or whatever.

Dahlia’s former husband was sending her monthly checks and that money was enough for Dahlia to stay at home a lot with Laura and work at a part time job.

Later, my grandparents passed away, one after another in just one year.  A year or two later, I decided to leave all my assets directly to Laura and her children because I had no other relatives.

Meanwhile, Laura had become a big girl and she was spending a lot of time with her boyfriend, Liam O’Connor.  Laura conceived at the age of fifteen and Dahlia was furious.  I tried to calm down both of them.  Everything ended when Laura went for an abortion.  It wasn’t the best way.  I actually never said directly, ‘Don’t do it’, so maybe that was my fault too.  Apparently, Dahlia insisted upon it while Laura’s boyfriend Liam pleaded to let the child live.

After the abortion, I never saw Liam at our home again.  Almost a year later, Dahlia started to drink.  First it was a beer and a couple years later, beer wasn’t enough.  Laura graduated high school and then community college.  She got a job as an accountant at the Brewery Company, a few blocks away from our home.  Some years later, Laura conceived again and gave birth to a cute daughter, Emma.  Laura never said who her daughter’s father was.  Dahlia died when Emma was four.

When Emma was nine, Laura began following in her mother’s footsteps – she started drinking.  Then there were innuendos about the old creepy perv and her pretty daughter. Later there were accusations.  If Laura was reporting to the police about me possibly molesting Emma the first thing that would happen is that I would be evicted.  Then Emma wouldn’t attend the school while her mom was drunk so the next most possible outcome was Emma getting put into foster care or an orphanage.  What was I supposed to do under the current impasse?

 

 

While surfing the internet, there are ads that are stalking you, no matter what site are you on.  It may be pizza, apparel, or car service.  In my case, it was an offer to escape a stalemate by means of a gatekeeper artifact.  At first, I simply ignored it while I thought it was kind of psychic.  At last, I called the number in the ad.  Let's say I was simply curious.  The thing was real or anyway I had nothing to lose.  The gatekeeper’s keeper (Narama was his name) didn’t offer a miraculous solution and didn’t ask for money.  Pay if you want afterward.

The gist of the artifact was parallel universes.  At some special key moment in their life, a person reaches an impasse, no matter in what universe they live.  Situations vary through universes so exchanging places with another self may help both of them to look at the situation from a different point of view and find the solution.

The gatekeeper artifact was highly intelligent though it was not a person.  It reads worries and hopes of people near it and replaces them with their respective selves in some other parallel universe.  So there comes the rule to activate the gatekeeper as far away from other people as possible to avoid causing them to slip to another world without their intention.

My Gramp worked as a forest ranger in the North Maine forest and I, as a child, spent all my summers with him.  Mountains and the forest were my Gramp’s life and passion.  He taught me about Willard Ridge – the place as beautiful as the outlying areas.  It was far away from water and land paths and it was secluded, especially at the end of April.  The forecast was for sunny days all over Maine, so we set the date for the coming weekend.  Narama and I would drive our cars to a foothill of the ridge and then hike up to the open space.  I would try to get to some sleep while Narama activated the artifact.  Afterwards, Narama would leave, not waiting for me to wake up.  I wasn’t afraid to stay alone for the night in the forest, it wouldn’t be the first time for me.

 

 

I felt the warmth on my right side and, gradually, consciousness returned after what felt like a long-long sleep.  I moved my hand to my face, rubbing it, and then I stretched.  Despite lying on the flat rock uncovered, I woke up fresh and brisk.  The high sun was shining through a rift in the heavy dark clouds.  So much for the sunny day forecast.  The weather smelt of rain and it might start minute now.  What can be worse than a spring rain in the mountains?  In summer, it makes every brook a stormy stream while in spring a rainfall over some soil still partially frozen triggers a mudflow.  Run!  Run down to the car and try to escape!

The slopes were not very steep and I felt good, much better than the day before, so I was back to the place I left my car in no more than forty minutes.  I was driving an old pink Vovo (the middle “L” was already gone when I’d bought the car twenty years ago).  It looked odd in the middle of the North Maine forest, but it was almost like a member of my family.  I liked this car (a lot) because of its reliability, its good mileage, and the ability to leave it unlocked without a worry and even with a key in the ignition everywhere in Portland – it’s pink and that says everything.

I had no time to even lighten my bladder while I jumped into the car and after a U-turn headed back.  It was drizzling already.  I was driving straight to the South to the T-crossing and the bridge over Yerxa Brook and turned left to the East till another T-crossing.  The new road was obviously the main one because of the absence of a grass stripe in the middle of it.  There were still no signs though I knew from the time I was coming here with my grandfather fifty years ago that this road was named Pinkham Road.  I could turn left toward Ashland though, with Moosehorn crossing closed, even visitors of Libby Camps were using Pinkham Road and after reaching Pinkham Road, Millinocket is closer than Ashland.  So I turned right to the south and later the road turned slightly till it went South West.  I was ready to turn left at the next T-crossing onto Telos road but there was a ranger’s car and a “No trespassing” striped tape across the road I wanted to turn.

“Where are you heading hon?” the ranger asked.  I wasn’t sure what he’d called me.  It couldn’t be “hon”, it had to be something else and I most probably didn’t hear it well.

“First to Millinocket and then to Portland,” I replied.

“Have you been at Bradford?”

“No, sort of on the North side of Willard Ridge,” I said.

“Chamberlain bridge is closed, miss, so you need go North till the…”

“I know the way.  First to the Johns Bridge then turn south to Russell and then to Allagash and at Southern end of Umbazooksus turn back east and come to Chamberlain Bridge from West after making additional fifty miles.”

“I’m impressed,” he said.

“Why not to turn back?” I asked.

“The gate and the road to it are closed for reconstruction,” the ranger said, “and will be closed till June.  So you’ll be home two hours late and…”

There was another car coming from the Northern side.

“Idiots,” the ranger muttered, “I’ve placed warnings and signs at every crossing.” He sighed heavily.  “Miss, at the bridge there will be another ranger, I want you to report to him just to be sure.  Drive careful.”  He tipped his hat slightly as he turned his attention to the car behind me.

I drove away while the ranger explained to the driver of the other car what direction he had to drive.  The first thing I wanted to explore is why the ranger kept addressing me with “hon” and “miss”.  My survival rule is ‘don’t question a person in the uniform’.  I’d simply followed that rule while now I wanted to know what was so girly about my appearance.  When I left my home yesterday, I’d checked myself in the mirror while I shaved.  My appearance was something in between Freddy Krueger and Dolph Lundgren.  I’m just sixty-seven years old and my hair is pepper’n’salt and I have it in a regular medium length cut.  I was never in my life mistaken for a female.

I was about to make a stop and take a look at myself but there was the same car following me and I guess the ranger ordered the driver to simply follow me and the drizzling was about to grow into the rain.  Something actually had happened to me because, while running down the slope, I was kind of jumpy and I was feeling funny.  I noticed that the other car was one of those luxury SUVs, all shining lacquer and chrome and there were three men inside.  Most probably new hunters after the weekend at Bradford camp.  Usually the hunter is the last living being I want to meet in the forest while the first day hunters were even worse.  Now, after I was questioned as a female, I didn’t want to meet those macho Homo sapiens one on three in the middle of the deserted woods.

So I was stuck behind the wheel for another fifty miles and that was no less than two hours because the road was dirt and the drizzle was here already.  The ranger was right – there were temporary signs at every crossing, even a minor crossing.  It was already three o’clock when I arrived at the Chamberlain Bridge.  I stopped at the crossing and the ranger with a handy radio came to me.

“How was the ride miss?” he asked.

“I guess okay,” I said, “next stop Millinocket.”

“Have a nice day and drive safe miss,” ranger said.

“Thank you, officer,” I replied.

And again, the same car was following me and, again, I was stuck for another fifty miles.  The good thing was that after twenty two miles of dirt and just beyond the bridge over the West Penobscot River, the road was paved.  So no more mud puddles, just plain twenty nine miles to Millinocket where I could get rid of my followers.  I stopped at the gas station and, before I went to the restroom while standing by my car, I’d noticed that I was much shorter than previously, judging by the view at my car’s roof.

There was a mirror in the bathroom and the moment of the truth.  I was a girl.  And a teenager.

 

 

2

I was a girl, in addition to being a teenaged one.  I’d checked myself in the mirror and later in the stall and there was nothing from the old me left, except maybe just my memories.  I splashed my new face with cold water and it helped me to come round to myself.  My hair was strawberry blonde in a boy cut.  Subway tiles three by six inches were used to cover the bathroom’s walls so, apparently, I was a little more than twenty tiles tall or in other words five feet and one inch.  It’s a significant drop from my previous six feet and two inches.  I wasn’t familiar with breast sizes, though I was sure mine weren’t big and were a rather modest size and there was some kind of plain cotton bra under my shirt.  When I tried to cup a breast with a hand, I found it sensitive so I guessed the bra was ok.  When I was in the stall, I’d noticed that my hands and the rest of the body did know what and how to do things properly.  So maybe I’ll get home somehow without problems.

Home…  Where is my home now?  Who am I?  I’m sure not Walter Barstin anymore, I’m not sixty-seven and I’m not a veterinarian orthopedic surgeon well known all over New England.  I looked at myself in the mirror.  I was probably no less than sixteen while I was driving the car though I looked younger.  I was dressed the same as my old self – jeans with a flannel shirt and faux leather jacket.  In my pockets I found just a car key, a small amount of cash, lip balm and Swiss army knife – everything the same as in the pockets of Walter except for the lip balm.  My old self kept the phone turned off behind Millinocket because there is no cell phone coverage and keeping it on is just a waste of battery.  ID and other papers I kept in the glove compartment (it’s locked using an ignition key) usually so I rushed back to the car looking for answers to my questions there.  In the car, I found a wallet and the phone and some other things like a pack of tampons and film with four Midol pills.  There was no makeup, so maybe I wasn’t of that girly type and the only pink thing was my pink vovo.  Being a tomboy was a quality I appreciated so far.  Being a girl was enough of a challenge for me because I’d never had a girlfriend let alone been married.

According to my driver license, I’m Amber Dahlia O’Connor instead of Walter Barstin.  I’m sixteen instead of sixty-seven.  Car insurance says vovo belongs to me.  My student ID says I’m a sophomore at Falmouth High.  Address book on the phone is showing a few names that are familiar while I’m not sure they are the same I’ve known.  There are Mom and Dad (I guess it’s the same Liam O’Connor as in another life), Nana (probably Dahlia), Sis (Emma), Granny Amber (probably Liam’s Mom) and SOB #2 (why to keep his number if he’s a SOB and who’s the number one?).  Kids spend much more time playing with their phones than adults so apparently pressing on the info icon beside the name you can get the picture of that person.  Amber actually had done the same.  I accidentally touched one such icon and found even more info.  So now I was certain that Mom was Laura, Nana – Dahlia, sis – Emma, Father – Liam.  Liam’s parents I’d seen once at Laura’s graduation in my old life, so I couldn’t be sure though who else if not the same Malcolm and Amber.

Smartphones have photo galleries and Amber apparently had taken a lot of pictures.  I spent more than an hour browsing her photo folder.  There were carcasses of wild animals with trophy parts cut off and the rest left in the woods.  This girl was doing the same I was doing in my life.

It was getting dark and I was still at the gas station in Millinocket and that’s another two hundred miles of driving.  Good thing that it will be highway this time so there will be time to relax and to think.

Really strange thing – there was no Walter Barstin among the others.  I mean among the others in Amber’s phone address book.  She was driving my car and living in the same house, so how it could happen that I wasn’t present?  At first, I was sure that an error occurred during my slipping into this universe and I was about to meet another myself.  I wasn’t so sure now.  Maybe in this universe, I or rather Walter, had died before Amber’s birth and his soul reincarnated into Laura’s daughter.  This scenario could explain a lot – Amber has born when there was no Walter anymore so no Walter in her phone, then all Walter’s belongings including his car, his half of the house and savings were left for Laura and her offspring.

Why wasn’t vovo sold?  It was old when I bought it and now… Now it’s almost thirty years old.  Maybe it’s some kind of nostalgia?  I was teaching Laura to drive on vovo and she liked it much more than Dahlia’s Honda.  And, on the other hand, it’s a really good car – an original Swedish steel with no rust after thirty years, good mileage, it has a combo radio both with cassette player and CD.  Anyway, I was happy to drive vovo and not some cheap Korean pile of rust.

 

 

“Don’t start in again Amb,” Emma snapped back after I greeted her and Dahlia while they were watching TV in the living room, “please…”  And then she ran upstairs.  I guessed I saw tears in her eyes.  I looked questioning at Dahlia.  She stared at me her eyes open wide.

“Have I said something wrong?” I asked her.  In my old reality, Dahlia was kind of a hugging person, so I was sure my hug was in place.  Dahlia shrugged and stepped back not allowing me to come too close for the hug.  I suddenly felt an anger rising inside me and an urge to say something evil and to run upstairs to my room, though it wasn’t what I usually did as Walter.

“Anyway, I’m glad to see you,” I whispered with a smile and then turned around and calmly went upstairs.

 

 

My room was the same as Walter’s.  After I’d bought this house, I’d rearranged the master bedroom on the second floor into two bedrooms (one for me and another one for possible guests) with the shared bathroom.  The room that was previously mine as Walter’s now was mine too while another (guests’) bedroom was occupied by Emma.  I presumed the bedroom on the first floor was Dahlia's and another half of the house was left for Laura with Liam.  I’d noticed that both entrances and driveways were left intact.

My room I found tidy and clean.  Probably the only clean room in the house while neither Dahlia nor Laura was tidy housewife.  My room looked almost the same as I’d left it a day ago with the same Shakti yantra on the wall and, instead of desktop PC, there was a laptop.  There was no sign that the room was a girl’s room.  I checked the closet and it was predominated by jeans and athletic wear and only a couple of skirts and one dress.  Underwear was all plain white cotton without lace or frills.  On the table and on the shelves were some books, mostly school related but also a few of my old medicine books.

The desk and bookshelf were the same as I (Walter) had and those were inherited from my grandparents and brought here after they sold their house in Stacyville.  They were oak heartwood handiwork with some secret places made to Gramp’s order.  One was very evident in the middle top drawer of the desk, arranged as a double bottom with a Pandora’s lock (both hands and left knee were needed to open it).  I never used it because it was too evident.  Another two secret places were arranged in the bookshelf and they were really secret.

Gramp used them to keep his savings back in Stacyville. He didn’t trust government and banks. “Cash is always cash, it survives any depression. And gold is even better.” He insisted I put some money into those secret places, so I placed twenty thousand in each of them and left it so. So now I checked those secret places and the cash was there (twenties and fifties). That was good while as sixteen years old, I had no stable income and as someone said, “Cash is always cash”.

While arranging this affair of slipping into a parallel universe, the artifact’s keeper, Narama, advised me to write a letter to my other self with all possible info and describe the problem I was facing.  I had left the letter in my PC.

I turned on the laptop and, after it had booted, I found a schedule of my classes with time and place and links to the latest assignments alongside with teachers’ names.  There was a plan of my school too.  There was also the full info about the school that Emma was attending.  I found a schedule of my out of school activities.  Another file had all birthdays and anniversaries of my new family and relatives and friends too.  I had all answers to almost all possible questions inside of laptop.  The problem was described in only few words: “My period was due seven weeks ago.  I’m pregnant.”

 

 

3

The clock was showing 04:00 when I woke up in the morning, the same as it was in the Walter’s reality.  I splashed my face with cold water then put on sweat pants and shirt and went outside for some stretching.  I noticed a light under Dahlia’s bedroom door when I was passing it on my way out.  Dahlia had two passions before she started to drink in my old reality - books and TV.  She was reading a lot and was sometimes up to early morning hours.  It was still dark and chill outside.  As Walter, I was doing more power-walking than running.  I enjoyed my new young body – all stretching exercises I performed without a hitch.  Running steps were light and bouncing.  I’d checked some MMA moves I’d learned as Walter and I performed them perfectly too.  It was good to have my skills intact.

I was back at home at half past five and found Liam’s truck with the “Portland Granite” logo on the door already started and prepared to leave.  There was a light under the garage door, so Liam was probably inside.  Good.  I wasn’t ready to meet him.

 

 

My first task was to rebuild a friendship with Emma.  It’s not so hard with kids.  Wafers with whipped cream for breakfast made a miracle.  I told her that I was sorry for anything I’d told her before (actually I didn’t know what I’d told her, but I was sure apologies were always in order) and that we are best sisters forever.

“Aren’t you angry with me?” she asked, frowning in confusion at me.

“Of course I’m not.  How could I be angry with my favorite lil sis?”

She cocked her head at me.  “Don’t you want to be a boy anymore?”

Boy?  What boy?  Huh… She thinks… Maybe Amber was not only a tomboy but she really was transgendered?  I was Amber, but I wasn’t.  An upcoming pregnancy was far too much for me to deal with and another problem was really unnecessary.  Maybe it would be nice to turn into something more accustomed but let's be realistic.

“No, no, no… I’m ok being a girl,” I replied.

“Wow!  Does Nana know?  May I tell her?”  Emma was jumping and clapping her hands for joy.

“I guess you may though she’s asleep still.  She was reading all the night.”

“I’ll check.  Maybe she’s up.”  Emma really wanted to run and tell.

“Be silent, don’t wake her up,” I tried to quiet her.

Good thing Dahlia still was sound asleep.  We were almost late and there was no time for explanations.  It’s impossible to say everything in two words.  I did know what Dahlia was.  After school, there will be a real interrogation for an hour or two.

 

 

When I was ready to leave, cramps started somewhere in my abdomen.  I wasn’t sure where exactly.  Most probably I did something wrong while stretching.  Crap!  Got a new body and I already had broken something.  I hastily called the doctor’s office and got an appointment.

Before leaving, I went to bathroom and, when relieving myself, I saw blood!  I had broken something really bad.  In the bathroom, I found tampons and sanitary pads.  I stuffed a tampon inside me and then placed a pad atop to be sure.

I drove Emma to school first and then went directly to the doctor.  Being all my life related to medicine, emergency and surgery both human and non-human, I myself never was on the patient's side.  My patients were young men and later dogs, cats, and horses, but never women.  So, I didn’t know what’s there so special.  There had to be something special and this something special was aching now.  There were no cramps anymore just a dull pain.

I was in the doctor’s office and the nurse handed me a disposable gown and left me to change.  A few minutes later, the doctor entered the room where I was already sitting on the edge of the examination table.  Dr. West appeared to be a woman a little younger than my old self.

"So what kind of emergency brought you here this time, Ms. O'Connor?"

“I broke something.  It aches and there is a blood here.”

“Let’s see…”

The nurse helped me into stirrups and, after a short examination, Dr. West said, “Everything is okay here.  Your hymen is intact and it’s the first day of your regular period, nothing to worry about.  When was the last one?”

“Err…” I started to count in my mind – a month is four plus seven due it will be eleven, “eleven weeks ago I guess.”

“Are you not sure?  I’ve said you before and I’ll repeat again – it will happen again and again because of your workouts and your diet.  Are you still on that diet?”

“Huh… Am I?”

“I’ve talked with your Mother and she confirmed you’re constantly fasting.  Have you had your breakfast this morning?  What was it?”

“Wafers with whipped cream,” good thing she asked about the only meal I had so I knew what to say.

“How much?” Dr. West continued questioning me.

“Eight,” I replied, “five for Emma the rest for me”.

“You say the nine-year-old is eating more than you?”  She frowned at me.

“Err… Emma’s almost ten,” I said, “and she’s still growing.”

“And you are NOT?”  The doctor's tone was beginning to sound like she was my mother or something.

“Err… I’m sixteen and girls at that age are already developed…”  Even as I said it, I knew that my excuse sounded weak.

“Developed what?”  Dr. West raised her voice.  “You are underdeveloped my dear – you are what, five feet and ninety pounds and your breasts are still at an A?”

“Five feet and one and a half inch and my bra is B,” I corrected her, “regarding the rest it’s maybe genetics…”

“What genetics?  I know your mother and both your grandmothers and all three are no less than five feet seven inches and their breasts are no less than a D cup.  What genetics?”

“Some artifact maybe…”

“You are that artifact young lady or rather it’s in-between your ears.”  Now she was definitely scolding me…

 

 

After the doc left, the nurse said I’d matured since the last time I’d been there.  “You’re much more composed this time,” she said approvingly.  I had had the urge to respond angrily to almost everything the doctor had said.  I’d noticed before that Amber probably was rather a hothead and I had to constantly calm myself down.

Now the good news was that I wasn’t pregnant.  The bad news was that periods are crap and I’ll have still up to five hundred periods in my future life.  It sucked.  Really!

 

 

The nurse had called the school and I could go directly to my second period class which was Science followed by Home Economics and then Algebra before lunch.  If I was just another girl from a parallel universe exchanging places with Amber, it would be fine.  But I wasn’t.  All I knew about sewing was how to stitch a wound.  Good thing it was just about seams.  Apparently, they’re different.

Later was a period for lunch and the student body rushed to the cafeteria to socialize and to have a snack.  There I found they had smoothies and some fruits that suited me, though I still wasn’t hungry.  Anyway, I was standing in the line and socializing.  There was no one I knew.  Real Amber surely knew most of them as those others knew Amber.  I tried to be polite and answered with a smile when someone was addressing me.  It probably was not the way Amber usually acted.  Others were polite too so there wasn’t even that internal urge to answer harshly.  I was sure that being a tomboy and being polite were highly compatible things.  I got my banana and ate it without even sitting down at the table.

After lunch, I had French and PE.  French was ok though I liked German more.  In the gym we were taught exercises with a ribbon.  I was kind of a professional at this.  I’d spent so much time in various shelters socializing homeless cats.  They socialize the best when someone plays with them.  It has to be non-aggressive play, usually with a ribbon.  Cats are very patient, so I had to be patient too and used different figures like circles, spirals and snakes or even throwing to prevent the cat from catching the ribbon at the first attempt.  After my show, the coach sent me away for stretching or whatever I thought was suitable.  Dr. West this morning had assured me there was no risk to doing reasonable stretches, so I was practicing side and center splits.  This body was good.  Maybe Amber was in gymnastics?

I was looking around for a bench when I noticed boys at the other end of the gym.  They were gathered around three ropes hanging from the ceiling and they were trying to climb up.  First, they were jumping and trying to grab the rope as high as possible and then were squeezing the rope between their ankles and trying to reach even higher.  The coach was nowhere to be seen, so I approached them.

“I’ll show you once, okay?”  They looked at me in surprise when I spoke up behind them.

There was snickering around and someone simply said, “Go!” and I showed them the way to climb up and then to climb down.  They were not snickering anymore.

“How did you do it?” one of them asked.

“I’ll show and explain,” I offered.  “First – don’t jump, simply raise your hands to reach high but before you do it put the rope to the left side and step your left foot on it while you put your right foot under it.  Second – pull up using your hands while your legs are apart letting the rope slip.  After you’re finished with pulling up, catch the rope with your feet and again it goes under your left foot and over the right one.  You don’t need to squeeze the rope with your feet hard while it’s tangled enough to keep your weight, so you can loosen your grip and use your hands just to keep a balance.  Then you reach higher and repeat the second step again and again till you are at the level you need to be.  And now the most important part – don’t slip down or you’ll burn your palms.  Use the same way to go down.”

When I was back on the floor there was some clapping while the girls’ coach shouted from another end of the gym, “Ms. O’Connor, I’ve sent you to stretch and not to flirt.”

‘No good deed...’ I thought to myself returning to the girls’ end of the gym, blushing profoundly.

 

 

After school, I was about to celebrate the fact that I wasn’t pregnant.  One problem had resolved itself.  How about buying a Riesling Late Harvest or even Ice Wine.  It’s Dahlia’s favorite and mine too, Laura’s still too young to appreciate… Crap!  Not too young for pregnancy while too young for wine!  Another five years!  It sucks!

 

 

4

My life wasn’t as intense when I was Walter as it was now.  Even with Laura’s drinking and her accusations, my weekly trips to Boston, and visiting shelters around the city, my daily routine was calm compared to what I had now.

When I got home from school, Emma had already told Dahlia the good news about me and Dahlia was waiting for me for a more detailed interrogation.

“Sorry Nana, please not today.  I’m so beat up and my period has started,” I pleaded.

“Period?  That’s good!  No, that’s wonderful.  It's worth celebrating,” Dahlia replied while I repeated and repeated in my mind that special mantra: “Nana, Nana, Nana…”  So many years I’d called her ‘Dahlia’ that now to change over to ‘Nana’ and watch for ‘Dahlia’ not to slip occasionally was a real challenge.

“I’ve thought about it too but haven’t found a way how,” I replied.

“How about pizza?  My treat,” Dahlia offered.

“Yeah!  PIZZA!” Emma shouted cheerfully jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

“So?  Which one do you like?”

“I’d like vegetarian with shrooms and blue cheese,” I said, “a little one if no one would split with me.”

“I want to split with you please,” Emma put in.

“Since when are you vegetarian?” Dahlia asked.  Oh crap, I’m not?

“Is it wrong?”  Was I giving myself away somehow?  Hello, I'm not really Amber but a stranger from another universe.

“No, no!  It’s not wrong.  I’m just curious why so suddenly.  And you aren’t so irritable.  You are the same but different.”  Dahlia was looking at me with her head cocked.

“Ah, this,” the best defense is a truth, anyway no one will take it seriously…I hope, “yeah, I’m the same I just slipped from a parallel universe in place of my old self.”

“I like your new self,” Dahlia said and hugged me tightly.  She was deeply touched and started to tear up.  I was starting to tear up myself too.  I’d noticed before that I was much more emotional now and if I could manage my anger though the tears were unmanageable.  Yes, honesty was always the best way to go, even when no one believed it.

“I really love the new you,” Dahlia said still sniffling, “so big vegetarian with shrooms and blue cheese for you two?”  Emma and I both nodded, “then I’ll take a big Hawaiian for myself, maybe someone will split with me too.”

 

 

Dahlia hoped that Laura would come to our side of the house for dinner though Laura was still in the office and she said she would be home later.  Laura was still depressed after some unmentioned outbursts in our family according to what Dahlia said.  I was still in the dark.

After dinner, Emma and I went upstairs to do our homework while Dahlia turned the TV on.  There wasn’t much to do, especially when it’s rather a review of old knowledge and not studying for real.

I was thinking about Amber.  Poor girl.  Really poor.  If she knew she wasn’t pregnant, she probably might have stayed in her universe and coped with her other problems.  Now she was in a world full of strangers as a man and, even more, an old man.  Sure, my body wasn’t as bad as it might be for my age.  But anyway.  Even if she was transgendered, to become a young man her age was one thing and it could be worth daydreaming even for me, but to become a man Walter’s age… It’s ok when you already are here and you have lived those sixty seven years but it is really freaky for a sixteen year old to become an old man, that’s the same as skipping more than fifty years of life – no experience good or bad, no development, no decision making…

I had still some unanswered questions.  Who is the SOB #2?  Well, #1 isn’t clear either.  It maybe Amber's father because he is ‘he’.  Why there was practically no info on the laptop.  I’d looked thoroughly for hidden and encrypted files and I’d found nothing.  In the only doc Amber left for me there was a line ‘See below’.  Where’s this ‘below’?  The document ended with this ‘below’ and there were no additional pages or hidden text.

Then it struck me that something must be literally ‘below’ the place where laptop was.  Maybe Amber had found that secret place in the middle top drawer?  First, I had to put a couple of thick books under my left foot in order to use my left knee to raise the drawer’s bottom up and then pushing with my left hand the left side of the drawer and with right hand pulling the front panel, I released the lid of the secret box.  Voila!  There was an envelope and tantō in a wooden sheath with double edged blade.  A few years ago, I was looking for something like that, but that urge later died out.  I guess the tantō was Walter’s purchase and not Amber’s.

Well, what’s in the envelope?  There was a single sheet of paper covered with neat hand writing.

 

 

For Amber.  Dear my other self, I’m not sure how to address you so let it be Amber.

Since I can remember, I knew I was different.  Not only had I felt as if I was a boy while really, I felt I was a grown-up man trapped in a child’s body.  My parents looked like kids and even granny sometimes was rather immature.

I’d tried hard to change something in my current life.  First, I followed Arnold Schwarzenegger’s path into masculinity – protein enriched diet and workout for muscle to be prominent.  I failed.  Instead of getting bulkier and growing muscles, I was getting more agile and now I looked like an underage girl.  In addition to this, Dr. West insists that this is my fault because all of my nearest female relatives are tall and busty.

I had two heroes – deceased neighbor Dr. Walter Barstin and my Dad.  I felt some strange connection to Dr. Barstin.  I’d never seen him and I’d never met him, but I felt there was something common between us whenever I’d read about him or his journal I’d found in this secret drawer.  Living in his room and driving his car soothed me.  I used every opportunity to visit those places mentioned in his journal and I guess I felt the same things he was feeling when exploring the forests of Maine.

Then I made a fatal mistake.  Dad persuaded me to go hunting.  I was reluctant at first but then I thought it was a superb possibility to stay with him without other females around.  Neither Dad nor I really were hunters, so I’d expected all animals would stay intact after our trip to the woods.  It was a weekend after Valentine's Day as we drove Dad’s Explorer to Chandler Lake Camps.  The ride took us more than six hours and after we arrived at the camp and settled in our cabin it was already dark.  Since us both were new to hunting there was a guide who was ready to show us how to do things right and because the hunting actually was a night hunting for coyotes, we went to the woods the same night.

The mountain forest in winter is something unreal and even more when you are there at night when the moonlight playing all shades of gold and blue – it’s a wondrous beauty.  The only obstacle preventing us from staying there too long was the cold.  The temperature was below zero and snow was crunching under our feet.

Then we noticed them.  First it was just one and then another two coyotes exhausting the hot air in form of small clouds that were disappearing a moment later.  They were in the moonlight and seemed gold.  I would be happier with a camera.  Two well-aimed shots rang out and two noble animals fell dead in snow.  The guide and Dad were happy – their hunt was a success.  I said nothing and I didn’t cry.  There was no scene and no tears.  Boys don’t cry.  I made a decision – I’ll be the man who saves lives and not takes them.

One hour later, we were back to the camp with our prey.  The guide said he would take care of the dead animals while we returned to our cabin.  The cabin was a mud-room, a living/bedroom with a king size bed and bathroom.  The day was exhausting so after showering, we went to bed immediately everyone on their own side.  When I woke up, Dad was already up.  I’d remembered the last night and that I was the reason of two coyotes shot and I hated myself.  I tried hard to keep tears from flowing.  I guessed I’d betrayed my hero.

In the bathroom, I found my period had just started, though my last period was just two weeks and a day ago and after I washed myself there was no more blood, so it couldn’t be my period.  It was like someone had assaulted me when I was asleep.  Who could it be?

The day after was a blur as well as all next week.  I didn’t want to live anymore.  Then I noticed that my period was delayed by one week, then another… I never did a test because I was ashamed to buy a kit but a delayed period was a sure sign I was pregnant.  I was stuck.  I couldn’t even kill myself without killing the child inside me.

I couldn’t control my anger and there were outbursts at school and at home.  Those who I loved most were the first victims of my anger and despair.  First there was Emma, then Nana and then Mom.  I confessed to Emma and that was the second mistake.  She spilled the beans and, in anger, I exclaimed that she was no longer my sister.  Mom first tried to soothe me while later she said maybe I was simply bitching around.  I don't know how I'll look in her eyes after the things I said that seemed proper to me at the moment.  Anyway, there was a big argument and Dad started sleeping in the garage.

 

 

Was Liam accused of assault?  Then it would be clear while Liam was living in garage.  But I wasn’t pregnant and my hymen was intact.  So Liam was innocent?

 

 

5

I guess there was one thing where Amber got an advantage over Walter.  In Walter’s accounts and cash savings, there was enough money to not work anymore and therefore not to interact with other people.  Or she could still be socially active though not work anymore.  And what I’d get?  I needed to attend school so I needed to get know my teachers and my fellow students.  It was good that I knew Emma’s teachers and some her friends and their parents too, so I needed only to readjust my knowledge to my new self.

The first disadvantage – period sucks.  Really!  Not only was that first day screwed.  The next day wasn’t much better either.

My other disadvantage was that Amber was a hothead.  It was not the result of her being unhappy.  She just was that way.  When I was interacting with other people, there always were those urges pushing me into a rash or rough response.  I had to watch my language.  Literally!  I had built a kind of inner supervisor who was constantly repeating “Language, young lady!  Watch your language!”  It was helping a lot though.  I couldn’t believe myself, but a polite teenager is a rarity and that politeness didn’t go unnoticed.  This way I earned respect from adults, my teachers included.

Laura was still an unsolved puzzle.  Her problem was not only with me but also Liam.  I don’t say ‘not me’, I’d say ‘not only me’.  I had to find a way into her soul, to find a way to redeem Amber’s lack of self-restraint.  In my way to Laura was Liam.  Not literally of course though, without questioning his behavior, I couldn’t get closer to her.  After Amber’s outburst, Liam went to live the garage.  Reading between the lines in Amber's letter, one could read the accusation that Liam had assaulted her.  Nothing was said directly.  Dr. West confirmed that my hymen was intact.  There was a question of pregnancy too.  If Dahlia was relieved by my period, then Amber’s pregnancy was a public secret.  Talking about pregnancy, the first question is – who’s the father.  Why Laura was convinced that the guilt was shared between Liam and Amber?

 

 

If I wanted some normal life, I had to gradually get into the student body.  Being an outcast in the school or college isn’t so good like some outcasts try to prove.  High school isn’t just an academic education.  Developing social skills isn’t less important than pure academic knowledge.  My social skills were developed, they were just in another social group and not high school students.

Wise people say that high school students are pack animals and they are right.  One can see all those packs in the cafeteria at lunch period.  I wasn’t hungry and I really didn’t need any food but I was coming to the cafeteria and taking a smoothie or banana and letting others get accustomed to me.  It was my way of socializing with the student body.

I was standing in line in the cafeteria.  Most packs were quiet eating or waiting in line while a group of jocks was showing each other some self-defense moves.  There were a lot of guffaws and some cursing.  It was almost my turn at the counter when there was a very specific crunching sound.  After I turned, I saw a tall boy with his hands on his throat and his eyes open in panic.  There was a void where his Adam’s apple should be, so he would die in two minutes and in another five minutes it will be irreversible.  An ambulance would not get here in time.  The time was too short even to call a school nurse.  I leant over counter and grabbed a knife from the other side and a thick smoothie straw.  I then jumped to the boy and tripped him to the floor.

“Call 911!” I shouted to anyone who was listening.

“Hold him tight,” I shouted to his friends, “do it!  Now!”

“You keep his head,” I shouted to the girl nearby me.

I fell on my knees and did a longitudinal cut on the inferior carotid triangle.  I thanked my luck that the tip of the knife was sharp.  Using my left pinky, I spread the hole and inserted the smoothie straw.  The boy began to breath instantly, he was trying to cough and maybe was about to say something.

“Calm down.  Don’t talk – it hurts.  Ambulance is on its way here.”  He really needed to stay still until help arrived.

I raised my eyes.  “What about 911?” I asked while I saw some students with smartphones in their hands.

“They ask what happened,” a girl in front of me said.

“Give me your phone,” I motioned and the girl obeyed reluctantly.

“We have a broken larynx here and I did an emergency tracheotomy in campus, the patient is breathing and almost stable while still in shock.”

“What’s your name, miss?” the dispatcher asked.

“Have you sent a car?” I was persistent.

“Yes, I have.  So, what’s your name again?”

“Amber O’Connor,” I replied.

“Amber, I want you not to leave the scene till the officers arrive for investigation and questioning,” the dispatcher said.

“I’ll be here.”

That’s my way to get gently into student body so to speak.

Later there were paramedics and then police officers and a lot of questioning.  Sure, I still had all my skills, my nature and my ideology.  As for the Walter side of me, I was proud of what I did – there was almost no blood visible, just on my left pinky, the whole procedure took sixteen seconds, as it was recorded by some students on their smartphones, that's my personal record by the way.  Officers wanted to call Mom, but I said I was sixteen and already an adult.  Anyway, someone had called her and after she was here we had got some privacy and there was a lot of hugging and a little of crying too.

As Walter, I didn’t have Mom or rather I didn’t remember her.  There was Granny as the only female in the family.  On the other hand, I was a boy, so I was naturally “assigned” to Gramp.  Then again, I was Walter in Amber’s body so Laura for me was like a daughter rather than my mom.  No matter how old you are, cutting someone’s throat is overwhelming emotionally and both the Walter and Amber sides of me needed someone to hug and to cry out the fear of failure.  Laura was here for Amber and I got to know she’s Mom for real.  That was all those emotions of having mom, the real one and the caring one and not only to prove her something.

Police thought at first it was kind of my retaliation with a boy.  Later, after speaking with the paramedics, they had completely changed their mind.  After all the questioning, I ended up in the principal’s office and he asked how I knew what to do and how to save the boy (he’s Ralf by the way).  I said I’d read about it in an old Emergency Medicine Handbook I’d found at home.  What else I could to say, that I had done this few times while serving in Vietnam more than forty years ago?

 

 

Well that was fate.  One thing was clear – Laura was on my side and I was her daughter and she was my Mom.  I personally felt this bond for real not only partially like a ‘muscle memory’.  And there was the first lesson in my new life.  I wasn’t on a mission.  Everything will come naturally in its own time if I will act naturally.  Before this morning, I was making plans about how to normalize relationship with Laura.  Apparently, no special plan of action was needed while everything came naturally.  The same as it was with Emma.  Those wafers were not something special because I was doing exactly the same thing every day in Walter’s life.  Then, while talking with Dahlia, I was so tired that I acted naturally.  And it worked.

Will it be the same at school?  Here I couldn’t be so sure as at home.  The school was still an alien territory for me.  Then I remembered that even soldiers that were accustomed to seeing blood and wounds and death were getting sick while I was performing in campus surgery.

For Ralf, the injury wasn’t very serious and I made a cut far enough below his larynx so I expected him to be back to school no more than a week later.  I had to check on him though.  The best way was to visit him at the hospital.  In my adult life, that would be the best way.  I wasn’t sure there would be no side thoughts when I came to the hospital.  Anyway, I rode to the hospital the same day.  First, I made a stop at the mall and bought him a Get Well Soon card and a flower.  The flower was a miniature hyacinth in a pot.  I prefer live flowers and not cut ones.

When in the hospital, I remembered that I didn’t know Ralf’s surname.  The nurse at emergency was friendly enough to find out the boy with the broken larynx was Ralf Harrison and she’d shown me to the ward and to his room.  There were two girls and two boys sitting in the corridor.  I recognized the first girl as the one who’s phone I used to talk with the dispatcher.

“Are you waiting in line guys?” I asked.  They didn’t answer and turned away.  Sure, they thought I was the cause of Ralf’s injury.  I opted to wait with them till someone came out from the room.  Too many visitors aren’t good.  Almost at the same moment, the door opened and three people came out.  They were an adult woman, a man in scrubs and another girl.

“You?” the girl almost shouted in my face.  I didn’t know her, but she most probably was Ralf’s girlfriend.

“I’m sorry…” I started.

“O’Connor?” interrupted the man in scrubs.

“That’s me,” I confirmed.

“Mrs. Harrison,” he turned to the woman, “please meet the girl who saved your son’s life and his voice.  She acted like real combat medic.”

I was one by the way, in some distant universe some forty years ago.  The woman instantly wrapped me in a hug.  I couldn’t hug her back while there were the card and the hyacinth in my hands.

“I saw it on TV at six o’clock news,” the man said, “have you considered medical studies, Miss O’Connor?”

“Yes, I have,” I confirmed.

“Are those for Ralf?” Mrs. Harrison asked pointing at the flower and the card in my hands, “come and give them to Ralf herself.”  She led me into the room.

It was a single bed room.  There were already some ‘Be well’ cards and a few flowers too.  Ralf was in a bed with his throat heavily bandaged staring at the door when we entered.

“Hi,” I managed to say.  “These are for you,” I showed him the card and the flower and turned to put them where the rest of the cards were already placed.  All my life, I was a little shy around strangers and especially those of the opposite gender.  Now all strangers were of the opposite gender.

“Hi,” he whispered back, “and thanks.”

He waved his hand to his throat and said, “It’s a proof you’re not the real Amber O’Connor.”

 

 

6

“The first person who said that about me was my Grandmother yesterday,” I replied with a giggle, “and I told her exactly the same thing I’m about to tell you – I’m my other self from a parallel universe and I exchanged places with the Amber you’ve always known.”

“Yeah… It has to be exactly how you say,” Ralf whispered, “the Amber O’Connor I’ve known for years would never do what you did for me.  Amber would rather kill me instead of save me.”

“Ralf!  What are talking about?” his mother raised her voice, “how dare you insult the girl who saved you?”

“Mrs. Harrison, I have to insist all of you leave the room now,” the man in scrubs intervened, “Ralf needs to rest and his vocal cords are still very sensitive.”

He gently shooed us from the room into the corridor where Ralf’s friends were still waiting.

“Would someone explain me what so terrible happened between Ralf and Amber?  Sandra, do you know about it?” Mrs. Harrison asked turning from me to other guys and then again to me.  I could make a presumption that something happened and Amber was unable to act immediately so she as a real hothead promised to kill Ralf.

The promise to kill or wish for someone to die is usually a common thing between kids.  I’ve heard such things from Emma and from her friends more than once.  Kids are kids and the next day they are usually best friends again.  In Amber’s case, Ralf probably had done something much more serious comparing to what kids usually do and I had no idea what it was or could be.

“If Ralf has anything to say, I guess he’ll confess sooner or later, while I think that I have proved that I’m really an adult already,” I was sure my answer was intelligent enough to calm Ralf’s mom down.

“Sure, sweetie.  You’re right,” she replied, “I’m not blaming you.  I’m just curious.”

 

 

I had no idea what Ralf was talking about.  I hoped there were not too much those secret moments in Amber’s life.  This time I guessed I’d answered the best way I could.  The next time might be not so successful.

Maybe I had to check Amber’s Facebook account, I heard young people wrote a lot there.  I did it when I got home the same night.  I found that Amber actually had sixteen friends and all of them were some tree huggers and fighters for animal rights.  There were some friends’ requests too – eight from yesterday and another nineteen from today.  I accepted them all while at the moment I had no prejudice about anyone of them and all of them were strangers to me.

I had to learn to do this entire Facebook thing from my phone like any other kid.  I guessed I looked weird to other kids doing nothing while there was the possibility to pat the Smartphone.

 

 

Period sucks.  It’s the third day already.  How long does it last?

 

 

Right before the lunch there was PE.  And again, it was the same ribbon dance.  Why they don’t teach kids something useful?

“Ms. O’Connor, you may do your stretches or whatever you want if you do not flirt with boys like on Monday,” coach said.  And again, I was blushing profoundly and I was feeling like a pervert.

Someone had practiced gymnastics and left mats there, so I used them to practice dives and backward rolls and some other parkour elements I had known when I was younger but was unable to practice as I got older.  With this young body, life promised to be more interesting.  I was aware that other students could see me as alien if I did my work out too seriously, so I stretched a little and then rested and compared myself to other girls.  I was accustomed to Emma and Laura and Dahlia though both Dahlia and Laura now stood some six inches over me.  Now I was looking up while talking with them instead of looking down as it was in Walter’s life.  In gym class, there was only one girl as tall as I was or rather as short as I was.

The gym uniform was loose still most girls were showing prominent busts and hips while I looked like a middle school student.  I didn’t envy them, but I did wonder if my underdevelopment was caused by Amber’s fasting or by genetics?  I wasn’t starving by the way, so it could be genetics really.

Most girls in my classes looked older than me.  But I didn’t wear any make-up so it’s a possible cause maybe.  I didn’t have any jewelry either and didn’t have my ears pierced.  Talking about make-up, I had no idea how to do it and I wasn’t sure I wanted it.  To be honest, I was looking rather like a lil sis of those at high school.  At least I wasn’t ugly.

The next was a lunch period and I’d noticed that now I was rejected by the seniors.  Couldn’t say that about all seniors, but the pack with Ralf’s girlfriend, Sandra, wasn’t among my friends for sure.

This time, I allowed myself more than just a smoothie, taking a salad and I sat down at the empty end of a table while the other end was taken by a group of girls.  We exchanged smiles and I was at ease while there wasn’t that awkward moment of them standing up from the table after Sandra’s clique outright turned their backs to me.  I’d been exchanging smiles and nods with some other kids.  Those were mostly my new friends on Facebook.  To be a Facebook friend probably wasn’t the same as real friendship.

 

 

According to Amber’s classes, the time on Wednesdays after school was devoted to extracurricular activity and, to be more precise, volunteering at a pet rescue shelter.  There are several shelters in Portland and one of them was close to my home, though this one is only for cats and it’s provided by an older lady (she’s actually a little younger than Walter) who’s a little weird and extra demanding.  She preferred volunteers to come in the morning before school, she didn’t allow holding her pets in hands or stroking them without latex gloves and without supervision.

I was rather happy Amber was signed to the shelter on Summit Street instead.  The shelter was kind of coed both for cats and for dogs.  This part was exactly what I wanted because I’d expected to take Emma with me.  There was almost no serious work around the cats, just cleaning litter boxes.  Socializing of wilder animals usually was the duty of regular staff.  Dogs were much more demanding because they didn’t have litter boxes.  Sure there was a backyard for their natural business but walking with every dog individually was almost the only way for them to socialize and keep them in shape to be adopted.  That was the problem.  Large breed dogs are usually friendly or unmoved by other dogs though they are too strong for one high school student to walk more than one dog.  Small breeds usually are aggressive against other dogs, especially big ones, and especially when they are walked by a single person.  The best solution was one kid, one dog and a chaperone with another dog.  On the other hand, this might soothe kids’ craving for pets.

There I was with Emma.  While I and another girl from school, Liz, cleaned litter boxes, Emma was petting kittens and, shortly, we three left to walk out the first three dogs at Oat Nuts Park.  Liz thought that it was smart to bring a little sister with me and she considered bringing her younger brother who was the same age as Emma next week.  Liz was one of the kids who had befriended me on Facebook.  We chatted about nothing and everything at the same time.  While we were walking the second set of dogs, I sat Emma on the bench in the park and re-braided her hair into two tiny braids.

“I can’t believe what I see,” gasped Liz.

“Exactly what you don’t believe?” I asked looking around.

“You, braiding Emma’s hair so quick and yet perfectly and you being a tomboy all the ten years I have known you.”

“Me too,” quipped Emma.

“What ‘you too’?” I asked.

“I can’t believe you did it for me Amb,” Emma said pulling first one braid in her face then another trying to take a look at her hair.  “You've never done this for me.  Ever.”

“Tomboy… Unbelievable…” muttered Liz as we resumed walking, “I was sure tomboys are against everything girly.”

“Err… It depends… Braids suit Emma… Uh… She’s a girl so why not, huh?”  Oh Oh.  I've just done something completely un-Amber.

“And you’re not?”

“What?” I didn’t understand what Liz was asking.

“I’m asking about being a girl,” Liz explained, “You are a girl too, aren’t you?”

“Ah, this… Sure… I have what I’ve got and I have no notion about being not a tomboy.”

It was good that we were back to the shelter because I was afraid I would say something I would regret later.  It was the third day of me being Amber.  I still thought of myself as Walter.  I had my memories.  I had my memories of raising Emma since she was a toddler.  Everything girly suited Emma very well.  In my life, I’d bought most of her dolls and stuffed animals.  In my life, her mom first was working a lot and later she was drinking a lot and Emma could be alone or with me.  In this life, her mom was working a lot.  On Monday and yesterday, Laura was back from her office at eight, just an hour before Emma’s bed time.  So, in this universe I was here for Emma too but this time as Amber.  The being for Emma part hadn’t changed.  The only part that had changed was me.

After we got home, I found that neither of our parents was at home.  Dahlia was watching TV.  I made pureed broccoli soup and some salad.  Dahlia was kind of astonished by me making dinner and then urging Emma to help me clean the kitchen before we could go do our homework.  I was doing the same things that I had done as Walter.

 

 

Homework wasn’t that bad since I was only repeating what I had done years ago.  Next, I turned on my laptop and launched Facebook.  Liz apparently made a short movie with her Smartphone of me braiding Emma’s hair.  She put the movie on her page and tagged me.  The movie had already more than a thousand likes and I got another bunch of followers.  Was that good?

Now that I was already into the third day as Amber, I continued exploring my room.  Almost everything there was in the open.  Only my clothes were in the closet including my underwear while the chest of drawers was inside of the walk in closet too.  Then there was the desk.  The top drawers were used the same way I had used them as Walter.  I found writing tools, rulers, pencils and notepads there.  Going down, there were drawers with my contracts, agreements and other documents while now there were some studying stuff like herbarium, then something like a scrap book about deceased Walter Barstin from this universe, that another and not me.

In the bottom drawers, I usually had some pharmaceuticals I needed for sheltered animals.  I found some pills in bottles and capsules there too.  Suddenly, it dawned on me that this desk was Amber’s desk and there should be no medicines.  I had seen Midol in the bathroom cabinet.  In the bottom drawer, there were some already empty bottles and boxes and some leaflets.  There was still a half-full box of Andriol Testocaps and almost a full bottle of Methyl-Med pills.  Both were the strongest testosterone medication on the US market.  The empty bottles and boxes were from Methyl-Med, Turobol (another though not so strong testosterone medication) and Exemestane (Estrogen blocker).  I wasn’t sure how long Amber had been taking those pills.  If she was taking one pill a day, it should be more than two years – from when she was thirteen.  It’s no wonder she was so skinny and short.  The real miracle was that she had breasts and her period sometimes.

What about me?  How will this body react to abstinence of external testosterone intake?  Even if I decided to stop using those medications gradually, I didn’t know what dosages Amber was using.  There was no way I could ask the doctor for advice.

 

 

7

Have I mentioned that having a period sucks?  The fourth day and no sign it’s about to end.

 

 

In between my early morning run and breakfast, I measured myself because I planned on doing some shopping after school and needed my sizes.  With all of Amber’s hormonal experiments, I was stuck somewhere in the children’s sizes with my 30AA-25-30 which said I was twelve years old according to charts.  It will be ok for now.

And no, I wasn’t getting into becoming a girly girl.  I did need some plain leggings for being at home, something more comfortable than boys’ jeans.  And again, another no, it wasn’t a girly thing to wear leggings, while so many women of all ages were wearing them all around.  Most probably this apparel was more comfy than anything else.  I haven’t met a man in leggings, so Amber probably was sure to have no leggings in order to make her more boyish.  I wouldn’t complain.

Another thing I needed, and I couldn’t find in my closet, was a swimsuit.  It was strange with all those excellent beaches and cozy lakes around.

During breakfast, Dahlia and Laura were there so I asked them if they or maybe Emma needed something in the mall while I was about to do some minor shopping after school.  I told them what I was about buy myself and that caused some funny and confused looks from both adults.

“You’ll need some new panties too, which I don’t believe you have,” Laura said.

“I have half of a drawer stuffed with panties,” I replied, “why do I need more?”

“The panties you have will show panty lines when they are under leggings,” Laura explained.

“Ewww… Thaaat’s sooo gross,” Emma commented.

“You wear leggings and I don’t see lines,” I said, pointing at Laura.

“That’s the gist of what I mean,” she said turning her back to us and patting her butt, “there is nothing to show.”

“What?  You wear NO panties?”  My mother didn't wear panties?  My Walter brain was having an even harder time grasping the idea.

“Yuck!” Emma commented again.  I think that I agreed with my little sister.

“Hey!  I’m your mom no matter what,” Laura complained.  “And you,” she continued pointing her finger at me, “are wrong!  I’m wearing a thong.”

“I need a thong too!” Emma shouted.  “May I go to the mall with you, puleez?”

“You don’t need it,” Laura said, “yet.”

“Why not?” Emma pouted.

“Your butt is too small to show panty lines,” Dahlia explained.  “But…” she said raising her finger as if she was about to say something very important slowly turning her finger towards Emma, “you-need-a-new-swimsuit!”

“Yes!  Yes!  Yes!” Emma was now happy jumping up and down and clapping her hands.

"Did your idea of a swimsuit come out of the blue?" Laura asked.

“I was thinking maybe we could visit Reiche pool on Sunday,” I said, “it’s an indoor pool and swimming is good for… Nana’s back,” I almost said ‘Dahlia’ again.

“Will you be ok with all that water around?” Laura asked nervously, “If you are not ready, you don’t need...”

“I guess I’ll be ok, really,” I assured her.  Apparently, there was another iceberg on my way I didn’t know a thing about.

“I’ll go with you,” Dahlia said, “come home after school and we’ll drive together.”

It's good that Dahlia offered to go along.  I wasn’t sure about what swimsuit was the best for Emma and I didn’t know a thing about thongs.

 

 

Being at school was changing with every day.  More and more people were noticing me and I guessed they were probing me first saying “Hi” and smiling and waiting for my response.  On Monday, there were the first couple of probes.  The amount of ‘Hi’s’ was increasing with every day.

Liz and her friends were chatting with me; thus I was presenting myself as a sociable person.  There wasn’t much to talk about because of my lack of any experience about fashion or music or sports or boys or cheerleading.  So, my part was usually to just nod my head and smile at almost everything that was said and sometimes gasp when other girls were gasping.

When they started talking about hair, I instinctively tugged at my hair over forehead and found it was almost an inch in my eyes.  I made another mental note to go to the barber at mall and trim my hair.  I’d noticed before in Walter’s life that some females were kind of telepathic.  One of the girls, Mel, turned to me “Don’t dare you to cut your hair.”

“How did you know?” I asked confused yet not denying her assumption was true.

“My older bro is doing the same whenever we talk about hair.  If it gets in his eyes, he goes to barber’s the same day.”

“Then why I can’t go to the barber too?”

“You’re not her brother.  Girls go to the salon,” another girl, Ronnie, replied, “S-A-L-O-N,” and all the girls broke out into giggles myself included.  Then a bell rang, announcing the start of the school day.

 

 

In my old Walter’s reality, I was used to going to the barber and I was used to bringing Emma with me too.  There was a guy, Leon, a little younger than Walter who was looking like one of dwarves from that old Disney movie about Snow White.  While trimming my hair, he usually was quiet and taciturn.  When Leon was playing with Emma’s hair, he made her giggle non-stop.  I actually never got to know what he was talking to Emma about while I was sitting in the waiting room.  I wanted to bring Emma to Leon in this universe too and maybe be lucky enough to know how he made her so happy.

After some consideration, I wasn’t sure about the need to trim my hair today.  My current boy cut was probably Amber’s attempt to reject everything girly.  I, as Walter, was accustomed to a short or middle cut.  But I was no longer Walter and I felt relatively comfortable in Amber’s female body.  A male body would be nice but it wasn’t worth all that struggle and self-mutilation.  I didn’t consider myself as transgendered for being so comfortable in girl’s body.  It was probably due to my age that there were no benefits of being a male.  As Walter, I had superb health for my age.  Then again, because of that age, my joints were getting stiff and bones were getting brittle too.  My skin had become thin and I had bruises from years ago.

 

 

The fourth period was lunch again and I found I was a very social member of the student body while I ate with Liz, Mel and Ronnie.  During lunch, I unintentionally had mentioned my forthcoming trip to the mall and the girls got very excited.  I did remember that Emma and her friends liked the mall like it was kind of amusement park.  I thought it was because they were still young.  I was wrong because my friends were excited too.  I told them what I needed and that after school I still need come home and then go to the mall with Dahlia and Emma.

“I know you’re a tomboy, so you definitely will need my help,” said Mel, “so we’ll come too and meet you there.”

“Our help,” corrected Ronnie.

“Who’s Dahlia?” asked Liz.

There was that girly talking when another girl was starting her sentence while the previous girl was just finishing her and there was no place for me to squeeze a word in.  So now I had to answer them all at once – “Ok.  We’ll meet in the mall.  She’s my grandmother.”

“Who?” Ronnie asked.

“Dahlia.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you calling your grandmother by name?” questioned Ronnie.

“I guess it’s like a habit,” I said, “and I’m addressing her as Nana by the way.”

I’d planned the shopping in the mall for no more than an hour and I said so which caused them bursting out laughing.

“I just need three things and I don’t expect there to be too much people in the mall.  I know my sizes, so maybe twenty minutes for each thing would be more than enough.  And then I need another hour or two for groceries,” I tried to explain my timing.  I really needed a lot of time for all my groceries.  I’d checked the fridge and pantry and I had a list what food I needed and what cleaning supplies too.  I guess I’d mentioned before that neither Laura nor Dahlia were into this housewife thing.  I didn’t say this to the girls though.  I mentioned a few things from my list and those words sounded alien to them, so I had to explain what it was and why I needed them.

“Are you sure you are fifteen?” Liz asked, looking at me as if I were some sort of strange creature.  I'm sure she was joking.

“I’m sure I’m not,” I replied, “because I’m sixteen.”

“How?  We all are fifteen,” said Ronnie.

“Really.  That's weird.  I’ll ask Nana about it.”

The good thing – the school bell it helped me escape another questioning without answers.

 

 

After school I went home just to pick up Dahlia and Emma.  We decided to drive The Pink.  The Pink and not Vovo was my car’s name in this universe.  And we needed it because of the grocery shopping after the mall while Dahlia’s Civic had actually no room in its trunk.  The first stop was Macy’s and we had to meet other girls at the Northern mall entrance.

After we entered the mall, on the left side, there was a store with empty windows and I saw all three of us like in a mirror.  There was Dahlia maybe a little hunched but still an attractive tall woman in her early sixties with two girls.  One was Emma I knew, a cute little girl, and another girl some two or three inches taller than Emma, still kind of an ugly duckling of teenager, just a moment before her blossoming into a young woman.

I was this girl.  It was kind of a shock.  I envisioned myself in my mind as Walter – an older man towering over Dahlia by seven inches.  We had no full-length mirror at home and even with those mirrors we had, I never was a self-admiring person.  I only looked at myself when I had a problem shaving, like if I felt some hairs left and I needed to remove them.  Or if I wasn't sure if my hair was parted exactly over my left eye.  I didn't have to shave now and my hair did not require too much attention after a shower.

My brain told me I was that girl and my eyes told me the same and my new body with its agility and period was telling the same thing while my mind told me I was Walter.

I probably was standing and starring at us in the glass a little too long.

“Something wrong?” Dahlia asked.

“No.  It’s ok, just trying to put up with new me.”

“You’ve changed so abruptly.  It might be hard on you,” Dahlia said in response.  She probably thought I was changing from tomboyish or even transgendered into some kind of girly girl.  Even if so, it required my mind to adjust to the new me.

“I’ll be ok,” I said.  I had no other choice than to be okay, no other possibility than to do it worth living.

 

 

8

Ronnie and Liz were there already with Ronnie’s mom, Linda.  She told us to call her Linda and not Mrs Palmer.  There were six of us and I already knew what I wanted while the others were looking around.  I found the section with leggings and as I was used to do as Walter when I wasn’t sure, I asked a sale’s lady.

 “I need a pair or two of leggings for working around the house, the colouring not showing the dirt as much as possible.  I need the size for a twelve year old even though I’m really sixteen.”

The sales lady, with a name tag ‘Wendy’, looked a little astonished and was looking for someone over my head and then I heard Dahlia answering her, “Everything okay, she’s sixteen, she’s kind of a late bloomer.”

She led us over to a display table.  “We have this camo pattern in classic olive colour, they are on sale and I know some customers saying they’re really comfy.  But they're thin and you need a tunic to cover your butt."  She pointed to another table.  "There are similar leggings from the same manufacturer, but the colouring is pink-lilac-red-white-black in a chaotic geometric pattern and, though they are thin as that camo, because of the pattern, there is nothing to see through.”  I immediately liked this girl, I mean lady, as I was a girl myself now.

“Take them to the changing room,” ordered Dahlia, “check if they really are snug enough and that they don’t feel and look yucky.”

“I don’t have proper underwear,” I complained.

“What that could be?” wondered Wendy.

“A thong,” I replied.

“Ah, yeah, sure,” said Wendy, “the lingerie section is over there nearer the entrance on the right side.  Go grab a seven pack in your size and come back.”

That was ok for me.  I found a pack of cotton thongs in assorted colours ranging from white through nude to light pink and ran back to Wendy’s rack.

“Aren’t you the fast one?” Wendy smiled at me.  I guessed she’d forgotten I was sixteen and acted as if I was twelve as I looked.  She took a nude thong from the pack and gave it to me along with the leggings and ushered me to the changing room.

“After you change come back here to show us,” Dahlia said.

Before this shopping trip, my cotton bra was the only really feminine garment I was wearing.  Now, the thong and leggings were another step into femininity.  Have I mentioned my period ended today when I was at school?  Without that bloody mess, I was a human again.  I put on the thong and then the camo leggings.  They felt weird.  I mean the thong.  The leggings were snug, really snug.  I went back to Dahlia and Wendy.  While I was changing, they found a very long shirt with long sleeves and scoop neck in olive colour that matched the camo leggings.

“Put that tunic on too,” Dahlia ordered.  I turned my face to the wall and quickly changed my tee for the tunic and turned back facing them.

“Next time, use the changing room.  There are only us girls but regardless,” said Dahlia.  She looked at me as I stood there in the tunic and leggings.  “I think this is okay.  Look at yourself in the mirror.”

I turned to the mirror.  What I could say.  There was the same girl again.  “It’s me, it’s me,” I said to myself.  I guess the tunic and leggings looked good.  I turned one way and another and then tried to bend down and see if my butt was really on display.  Actually, my bottom wasn’t as round as Laura’s and I wasn’t sure about see through.

“Ok,” I said, “it’s really okay.  We can go then...”

“No way,” Dahlia said, “go change into that pink thing.”

“Do I need to?” I thought it was a waste of time to check the same thing only a different colour.

“Yes, you do,” insisted Dahlia.  She made a shooing gesture to send me back into the changing room.

Well, I went back to changing room and changed into the geometric patterned leggings.  And there was a surprise, not a very pleasant one.  These leggings were not snug enough and I felt and could see a loosening around the knees and hips.  I came back and showed it to Dahlia and Wendy.  Dahlia had that expression as if to say, “See?  I told you,” on her face.

“Bad news is,” Wendy started, “that’s the only last pair in this colour.  But I can offer you jeggings that are not thick and really not see through.  Take them and come back.”  She gave me another piece of clothing and I turned around, heading to the changing room.

“Wait!” Wendy said.  “Take this light blue too.”

I changed back into my tee as I thought the olive tunic was no way coordinating with denim coloured leggings, no matter if they were dark or light blue and then changed into the light blue jeggings.  I liked the light blue washed denim more by the way.  They felt good, better than the camo leggings.  I went out to show to Dahlia and Wendy.  They both approved of how the jeggings looked.  I then changed into dark blue jeggings and they too were approved.

I changed back and Wendy rang up all my new things and put them in one big bag and Dahlia paid for it to the tune of fifty-three dollars and I felt weird about having her do that.  Usually I was paying for everything I was buying and sometimes I helped Dahlia and Laura and was paying for them too.  Now Dahlia was paying for me.  I had to look into the mirror again and remind myself I was Amber a schoolgirl, not Walter and that Dahlia was my Nana.

“Thank you, Nana,” I said hugging Dahlia.

“You are welcome sweetie,” said Dahlia hugging me back.

 

 

I had leggings with tunic and thong and I had spent an hour and a quarter to get it.  I was running out of my time though it wasn’t still a real Zeitnot (time trouble for you non-chess players).  I needed a swimsuit and I needed to find Emma and the girls.

They found us instead.  And they had a reason.  They were in the dress section and were trying them on and they found a dress that was really a very light denim button down shirt dress with a faux leather belt and Emma looked good in it, if not to say pretty.  They wanted or rather insisted upon buying this dress for Emma, and for me too, so that we could be dressed like the sisters we were.  They soon had Dahlia on their side too.  The dress was on sale for seven dollars and as Ronnie’s mom Linda said it was a sin to pass by if it fit.

So I was ushered again into the changing room where I stripped down to my undies and put on the dress.  Well, it was a shirt dress and it felt like a...  shirt.  I felt like I was wearing a shirt without pants, what was true, and I felt nude.  I looked in the mirror and there was the same cute girl in some cute dress with a hem just above her knees.  She looked okay.  And what I had to do with it?

“Hey, are you okay in there?” I heard Liz through the closed door, “we're waiting...”

“I’m coming,” I said back and opened the door.  The good thing was I had changed in front of Ronnie and Liz for PE classes, so she too was accustomed to see me nude as I was now.  The worst was to step out and to show myself for others.

“You know, I have one dress in my closet, but I don’t remember myself wearing it,” I said to Liz, “this is the first one.  I feel so naked and so exposed.”

I suddenly felt tears welling in my eyes.  It seemed like Dahlia was instantly there, hugging me and then dabbing my eyes with tissue.  I don't know why it happened.  Probably it was a part of being a girl.  I calmed down eventually and Dahlia bought those dresses for Emma and me and now we had only swimsuits left on the to-buy list.

 

 

There was a problem with girls’ swimsuits.  Again, they are not the same as with men’s trunks.  As a man, I needed more time at checkout than actually getting my trunks.  Now, I wanted my swimsuit in one piece and I wanted it elastic and snug.  No frills, no hearts and no mermaids.  That could be good for Emma.  But she wanted it in two pieces – bikini as she said.

As Emma was a girly girl, shopping for her was no problem – the more frills the better, pink background and small hearts all over it.

There was another sale’s lady, Claire, in the swimsuit section and she started with checking my size.  She got some swimsuits that were similar to what I liked and ushered me to the changing room.  She got me undressed there and checked the front and the back view.

“I see you’re well developed for your age,” she said, “you are what, twelve?”

“She’s sixteen,” Dahlia said.

“Oh my...” gasped Claire.  “I’m so sorry.  I’ve was confused by your size.  I guess this one will suit you the best as it has a built-in padding.”  She offered me a piece in laguna green.

I changed into it and there was really some padding so my breasts were prominent, actually they looked bigger than what Liz or Ronnie had.

“Do I really need my breasts so visible?” I asked.

“They are not too big for your age,” Dahlia said, “they rather look like your real size to me.”

“You see,” started Claire, “the material is very tight and with a high percentage of Lycra, it will make you flat chested.  I mean really flat chested as without any hint of breasts.  Anyway, you might try this one without padding.”  She handed me another piece in bright lilac with pink trimming.

I changed into it and I liked it more despite of its girly colouring.  It was even tighter than a previous one.

“No, no, no,” said Dahlia.  “You look like you’re eleven or twelve in it.”

“Try this one,” said Claire, “it’s not so tight and the padding is thinner.”

This actually was the best.  The padding was there but on the outside, it felt like it was my own breasts.  It was in navy blue and without trimming what made me look more like an adult.  I checked tags before I left the changing room and found that the first two swimsuits were eighty-five dollars each and that was a discounted price.  The last one was twenty-four.  That one really was good.  Dahlia said it looked good and Claire approved it too.

 

 

Now with my to-buy list completed, I was two hours late.  We’d spent three hours in the mall.  Thank God we found everything at Macy’s and didn’t need to walk all over to various stores.  We had a quick coffee and ice-cream break and were ready for grocery shopping in Hannaford.  Good thing it was on the other side of the street.

I reduced my grocery to-buy list to cleaning supplies because it was already seven o’clock and both Emma and I still had our homework to do.  We were late for dinner, so we were back to the mall and took some Chinese home at Panda Express.

 

 

While approaching our home, I turned into the driveway behind Laura who was overworking as usual.  She and Dahlia both were workaholics when they weren’t drinking.  They were not heavy drinkers in this reality though Liam and Laura in this reality were heavy smokers.  Smoking probably was the reason Laura and Liam occupied a separate half of the house.

While ordering our food at Panda Express, we all were starving so we took more than we could eat and it was enough for Laura and for Liam.

I saw the light in the garage and offered to invite Liam too.  I was sure Liam was ostracized because of me and it was selfish to keep the situation as it was.  I wasn’t ready to confront or even to talk to Liam one-on-one and today’s situation with everyone present was perfect.  Emma was sent to invite Liam to join us at our little after-shopping-fest, so he couldn’t reject the invitation.

There was some awkward silence at first but Dahlia used her position of the oldest in the house and passed food boxes for everyone after she ushered everyone to sit at the table in dining room.  Liam was seated between Emma and Laura but in front of me.  Liam exchanged some pleasantries with Emma and Laura though Laura wasn’t very outgoing.

“How are you,” he asked quietly as he glanced at me.

“I’m fine,” I replied.  I felt it was the moment suited the most to rebuild what was ruined earlier.

“Actually, I’m not.  Not now.  Still.”  It was so difficult to admit the truth about myself even if it wasn’t me exactly, but it was the same Amber sitting in front of others, as far as they knew.  “I know I have caused a lot of grief for everyone in this room.  I have almost caused our family to be destroyed.”  There was the same girly thing again – tears started to well.  “I’m sorry.  Really.  I so much love you all.”

 

 

9

Adults, especially Laura and Liam, were careful when talking with me.  Probably because of Amber’s recent outburst and they didn’t want to test my self-control.  Let's say after my apology, there were some hugs and the peace in the family was restored for now.  I found out later that Liam returned home from the garage that night.

Emma and I had cleaned the dining room afterwards and then went upstairs to do our homework before bedtime.  The day for me was kind of exhausting.  I wasn’t accustomed to changing clothes so often and at so short notice like it was in the mall at Macy’s.  Good thing Emma and I were allowed not to model our purchases for Laura and Liam because of the late hour.  Emma wasn’t happy about it while I was ok.

My homework was already done and I was about to turn on my laptop and study what I could do with that Facebook thing when a thought occurred to me.

I remembered a young cat at a shelter we had named Snotty because her nasal septum was broken.  She was so small (two and the half pounds only) that we assumed she was no more than six months old.  Sure, we had given her antihelmintics, to kill any parasitic worms, though her intestines remained puffy. I had a portable Telemed Ultrasound scanner and a quick investigation showed that she was pregnant which was unbelievable considering her age and size.  The only possible solution was an urgent hysterectomy which I did the same day in shelter while there was a clean examination room suited for minor surgeries.  Usually, I prefer a lateral cut for shelter cats while there is no need for extra protection afterwards, but this case was a complicated one, so I did a frontal cut that left Snotty in a protective gown for almost ten days.  The thought that had popped in my mind was that I’d seen Snotty yesterday and she was without a protective gown, so she was still pregnant and would die during delivery because of her age and size.  In Walter’s universe, I’d assumed delivery was due this Friday-Sunday.  Today was Thursday.

I called the shelter using my cell phone.  There was a retired police officer Ronald Kena and he usually was on duty every night.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Kena?” I said into the phone after my call was answered.

“Yes, it’s me and...” Ron was actually kind of sluggish and I remembered it was a pure hell to talk with him in an emergency.

“I’m Amber, a volunteer from high school,” I introduced myself not waiting for him to finish his question.  “Could you check Snotty, a black little kitten in the third block, cage number three slash eight.  And take a phone with you.”

After almost a minute, he was at the cage.  “Huh, she’s ok, I guess...”

“Is her stomach puffy?” I asked not waiting for Ron to finish.

“Huh...  As you say so...  Um...  I think it...  Um...  Is...”

“I’m sure we have an emergency here,” I replied.  “Please call Mr. Brook, say it’s an emergency.  I’m coming.”  I hung up the phone before Ron could answer me.  Mr. Brook was actually an owner of the shelter.  Previously, he was a trauma surgeon and then a car accident and serious damage of his left hand made him retire.  He was still very active, he had some money, and he had some connections at city hall so the animal shelter was established.

I grabbed some money from my cache and ran downstairs.  Dahlia was watching TV.

“Nana, there is an emergency at the shelter.  I have to go.  I’ll call you in a while,” and I hurried out not waiting for her to complain or stop me.

 

 

It was nine o’clock and traffic was low, so I was at the shelter in fifteen minutes and Ron confirmed he had called Mr. Brook already.  The very first thing was to palpate Snotty’s guts.  She was puffy or swollen and there was no movement inside as it had to be with small kittens inside before delivery.  Her weight was the same – two and half pounds.  Her nose was hot and dry and she wasn’t purring like I remembered she was doing, when she was in someone’s hands.

Meanwhile, Mr. Brook came into the room with his wife, Helen.  Actually, he couldn’t drive himself and Helen was his ride.

“I came only because of you Ms. O’Connor,” he said.

I just stared at them astonished, not sure why I was so important.

“My son is a head surgeon at the Medical Centre Emergency Room and I had seen an uncut version of you performing a tracheotomy in campus using a chef’s knife.  Palmar grip and a single accurate cut reveal the professional,” he explained.  In Vietnam, for all my surgeries, I’d used a M7 bayonet similar to the chef’s knife.  While I wasn’t authorized to perform any surgery, it often was the only way to save a limb or even someone’s life.

“So, what’s the emergency, Ms O’Connor?” Helen asked.

“Amber, please,” I said.

“You can call me Helen and him Tim,” she said and I almost said ‘I know’ but managed to keep my mouth shut.

“This cat, Snotty, has been here almost three weeks.  After her arrival, she was treated with antihelmintics and precautionary antibiotics because of a nasal infection,” I wasn’t sure about it, but it was a standard routine and I used info I remembered from my previous universe.  “On arrival, her weight was two pounds and five ounces and her intestines were puffy, so it was assumed she had worms.  Now her weight is two pounds and eight ounces, her intestines are still puffy despite of two rounds of antihelmintics and two weeks of doxycycline.  Today, her nose is dry and hot and she’s despondent.  Palpation shows her intestines similar to flatulent but not hard so it’s not gas and palpation shows no liquid either.  You are a doctor, so try yourself.”

Tim and then Helen both palpated Snotty and Tim shook his head.  “I agree with you that it can’t be gas or liquid, but I can’t say what it is.”

“I assume it’s a pregnancy and because there is no movement, the kittens may be dead,” I said.

“What’s your suggestion Amber?” Helen asked.

“Surgery.  An emergency surgery,” I replied.

“Emergency surgery...At ten at night...It’s only Vince...”  I knew Vince from my universe and he was a good surgeon but a greedy one too.  “We once had an emergency dog surgery so he’d asked one and a half for it, but we had X-Ray already done,” Tim said.

“One and half thousand?” I asked just to be sure.

“Yeah...  Thousand...  But he will request an ultrasound just to increase the price, so most probably two thousand.”

“I have one,” I said and both of them shook their heads no.  “Or we can look what you have in your veterinary room.  You have it?”

“Yes sure, it’s required in the shelter,” Tim said, “but...”

“You can do it and I’ll assist you.” I offered.  “We can’t wait till the morning and it would be the same emergency without an appointment.”

“Let’s do it,” offered Helen.

 

 

Tim sure couldn’t do it with one hand, so I did the surgery while he and Helen were assisting me.  The kittens were stillborn and necrosis of the placenta had started and the uterus was infected.  After surgery, Helen volunteered that she and Tim would wait for Snotty to wake up while I was ushered home.

 

 

It was ten past one in the morning when I came home.  Nana was waiting for me in the kitchen.

“Wanna raspberry tea?” she asked.

“Sure, thanks Nana.”

“Am I entitled to an explanation?” Dahlia asked.

"There's a new cat at the shelter and her healing wasn't progressing and I thought that she was pregnant instead of worms while no one else was thinking she was pregnant because she was only as big as a kitten herself."  I wondered how I managed to say so much in one sentence.

“When you said you’re sure of being reincarnated Dr. Barstin, I thought you were insane.  Now I see that you’re probably right,” Dahlia said.

“Anyway, I’m proud of you,” she said taking me in a hug.  “But next time,” she raised her index finger and then pointed it at me, “call me, I worried all this time.  Thank God your parents didn't notice that your car was gone.”

 

 

The next day I was drowsy.  Not all day long, but just when I was running and stretching or rather when I was trying to do it.  I actually snoozed almost an hour before my shower and then washed myself thoroughly and noticed that my legs were hairy.  Not very much, but some anyway.  The colour of my body hair was the same blonde and it wasn’t noticeable when dry while visible when wet.  Good thing I’d noticed it now and not when it was too late in the pool.  As Walter, I remembered both Dahlia and Laura having the body hair problem because both of their hair was dark brown.  Emma and I had some of the O’Connor blonde hair genes.

I was still a tomboy so maybe it was okay for me not to know how to shave and ask Mom for help.  Wow!  I actually thought about Laura as Mom.  Liam still was Liam and Dahlia – Dahlia but at this moment, Laura was Mom.

I had a much shorter workout this morning, so I made pancakes for breakfast and shortly, the entire family was in the kitchen.  After Liam left for work I simply asked, “I need to shave my legs.  Any idea how to do it fast, inexpensive, and painless?”

“Oh...  Thanks for reminder.  I need it too, so I’ll make an appointment for waxing where I usually go for us both or three,” Laura said.

“Don’t count on me, I prefer shaving,” Dahlia said.

 

 

At school, I was still a little drowsy and then there was geometry that had me wondering how much I’d forgotten, which turned out to be not too much actually.  Later was drama and lunch period afterwards.  At lunch, I was again with my new friends to whom I’d announced I would be going to the salon with mom today.  All the girls said I needed my ears pierced.  I insisted that I didn’t need it which challenged a new discussion to start – ‘BOYS’.

Okay, I was a boy more than fifty years ago and, anyway, I did know nothing about boys apparently.  First thing I didn’t know was what made a boy ‘cute’.  Actually, what it was for a boy to be cute.  From my personal experience I did know jocks, nerds, geeks and dorks.  Put jock and dork into one person and you got a bully.  Ah, and there were invisibles or outcasts too and I was one of them by the way.  According to girls, I was wrong.  Not that wrong about what boys were but wrong about what boys were like.  And this ‘like’ was a special girls’ lore.  Lunch eventually ended and we went off to our classes and I had history – a class suited for musing about all that ‘boys’ knowledge.  Actually, I’d decided that I didn’t need it at the moment while maybe later it...

 

 

When driving home it dawned on me that today I’ll go to the salon for the very first time in my life.

 

 

10

I’d noticed during breakfast that Mom was very excited at the thought of taking me with her to a salon.  It was like she relished that moment of her – Mom, and me – daughter, being together and doing something what was very feminine and it was the first time for me.  In other words, it was like my initiation.  With all previous Amber’s tomboyishness, it was the first time of mother-daughter intimacy.

That intimacy struck me the most.  It was real.  I hadn’t thought about it before and apparently bikini zone wasn’t just the area around bikini.  We both were in the back room and we both were given robes and were undressing in front of each other.  In gym, I was changing in the corner turned away from other girls.  Looking at them was kind of creepy.  In my previous life, I’d seen Laura nude more than once when she was still a little girl and Dahlia was changing her.  She was an adult now and I couldn’t turn away or otherwise I would spoil the intimacy of the moment.

 

 

I’d expected waxing to be something painful, so it wasn’t a surprise at all that sting.  Then the time came for the bikini zone mentioned above what actually was a Hollywood wax.  Maybe that whole idea of shaving wasn’t smart after all or maybe there are swim trunks for girls like ones for boys.

 

 

I was hairless all over below my eyebrows and I felt very special.

 

 

After the salon, Mom stopped at Ricettas where we had salad and garlic bread.  Not that we were hungry, just a quick snack and Mom’s way to extend our time together.  Mom really savoured this mother-daughter thing.  We were now the same.  We both were sore and we both were ready for the pool on Sunday.  I’d remembered Amber’s letter to myself where she’d written that Liam-dad was her hero, not mom.  I, as Walter, had no parents and once I had experienced the loss I was bound very closely to my grandparents, both Gramp and Granny.  In this new Amber’s life, I wanted to restore and keep a bond with both Liam and Laura.

I’d remembered Dahlia having this girl time with Laura when she was my age.  It ended abruptly after Laura got pregnant and things were never the same again.  I didn’t need to be that observant to notice that this bond was important for Dahlia and no less than for Laura.  Both of them had lost a lot after the rupture of this bond.  Now I experienced that very special bond and savoured every moment of it like mom did.

After salad, Mom ordered coffee for herself and a smoothie for me.  As we were sipping our drinks, she was playing with her phone like usually young people do.

“I’ve shared this video too,” she said suddenly.

“What video,” I wasn’t sure what she was talking about.

“You braiding Emma’s hair,” she said and handed me her phone to see.  There was the same video Liz had taken on Wednesday and below was Mom’s comment ‘MY GIRLS’ in caps.  There was the same ping in my brain ‘you’re this girl’ and that strange feeling of everything being okay but tears welled up in my eyes.  I’d managed to keep calm this time, I didn’t want to spoil my time with mom.  And it, the time, was great and important not only for me but for Laura, my mom, too.

“You seem so natural in it,” mom said, “as if you were braiding Emma’s hair your whole life.”

“It was as if my hands knew what to do,” I replied.

“This week you revealed two talents I didn’t know you had ever,” Mom said.

“All this is very new and unexpected for me too,” I didn’t say what I had in my mind though.

“Um...  By the way...  Some lady, Helen Brook, called this morning after you’d left for school and said Snotty’s okay and recovering.”

“Ah...  Thanks.  That’s good news,” I said.

“Don’t want to tell what it’s about?” she asked.

“It’s about a kitten in the shelter,” I started.  I made a decision to tell the truth.  Sure, I could say just part of it and part of the truth to keep unmentioned and say what wasn’t really the truth or rather the white lie.  But everything would come to the surface anyway and on the other hand there was nothing reprehensible in what I did.

I told Mom the whole story except the part that I, as Walter, had already performed a surgery on Snotty in another universe.

“How were you so sure the surgery was needed for the kitten to survive?” Mom asked.  “After the surgery was over everyone would be sure.  But you were sure before that.  Why?”

“The signs,” I said ‘and knowledge from another universe’ is what I didn’t say, so I tried to explain it in plain words.  “A. She was hot and it was after the course of doxycycline which indicated the secondary infection.  B. She was puffy but not hard, so it wasn’t an ileus.”

“What is an ileus?”

“It’s a disruption of the peristalsis of the guts,” I tried my best to not use scientific terms.

“And peristalsis?..” Mom wasn’t sure about it so I demonstrated with a straw pushing a smoothie out with two fingers.

“C. This puffiness wasn’t the kind of liquid where you press one place and it immediately flows to another place.  D. It couldn’t be helminths or worms because she was given medication twice already.”

“So complicated?” Mom wondered.

“No.  Sure not,” I said, “mostly it was an intuition and the fact she was hot after antibiotics.  So, the only possible outcome was to wait for sepsis to parade in full glory.”

Suddenly, I felt like I was Walter again and like I was tutoring Laura.  The feeling wasn’t new and it was okay by itself.  What was wrong was that I was losing that Mother-daughter bond and it was like failing to be real girl Amber and tears were welling again and I couldn’t keep the frustration inside anymore.

“Hey baby!  Why the waterworks?  What happened?” Mom worriedly took my hands in hers.

“I feel I’m losing you and Dad because of my being a smarty pants,” I sobbed.  “After it’s settled at least I’m ruining my family again.”

“What are you talking about, baby?  We are proud of you, both of us and especially your dad because you are his only child.”

An expression of grief on my face was changed into one of shock at that statement.

“Nana said she had told you everything,” Mom whispered.

“I guess she had,” I tried to rescue the situation, “but my brain probably had gone haywire then.”

“Promise me you will not tell it to Emma.”

“I promise.  I’m not kind of the pest anymore,” I stated.

“Well...Dad is your father.  His parents live in Westbrook and more than ten years ago his mom, Granny Amber, suddenly felt bad.  It got worse with every day and she was taken to the hospital where her gallbladder was removed.  Meanwhile, dad and I were going to dad’s father, your grandfather Malcolm, supporting him and helping around the house.  He wasn’t that old or weak, but he was that kind of old-fashioned man and was helpless at home when alone.

“One day, dad stayed with Granny Amber in hospital longer than usual and I went to Grandfather Malcolm alone.  That day, I did his laundry and I remember only that I’d passed out unloading the dryer.  After I recollected myself I was on the couch in living room and I was kind of drowsy.

“After I came home, I realized that my pantyhose and panties were gone.  The next day, when I visited Malcolm together with Dad, he explained that I’d passed out and probably urinated so he removed my underwear and laid me on couch.  That was the first and the only time I had passed out and I had the feeling that something was wrong.  Call it intuition, but I did a pregnancy test and it was positive.  Dad and I were planning to have another child and we wanted this child to be born in the spring like you so we were waiting for a proper time to come.  You know when Emma’s birthday is.”

Emma’s birthday is on sixteenth of July by the way.

“Are you really sure about Grandfather Malcolm?” I asked.

“I’m sure that dad isn’t Emma’s father while we had no sex for almost a year.  I’m not a vegetable, I know who I am in a bed with.  The only time I wasn’t sure about was when I’d passed out at Malcolm’s home.  After Dad threatened him with a court order and a DNA test Malcolm confessed that he’d used zolpidem on me and raped me while I was unconscious.”

 

 

I’d checked my phone and phone numbers in it and I’d found that SOB #2 was actually Grandfather Malcolm.  Well, one puzzle was solved.  Actually, two puzzles.  Another one was a key for Amber in my old universe to deal with Laura.  I guessed in that another Walter’s universe, Laura was raped by Malcolm too.  That was the reason why Laura distrusted another old man, Walter.  On the other hand, Amber there will be in Walter’s body though she’s Laura’s daughter anyway and the rape probably will be not the only key helping her deal with Laura.

 

 

11

On Saturday, I had some time for myself so I went to the barber shop I knew from my previous life.  As I had inspected my hair earlier it needed to be trimmed because of split ends.  I was looking for Leon, the barber I’d mentioned earlier.  The shop was in the same place as in another universe, though there was no Leon and never had been.  In another universe, I’d known Leon for more than thirty years and now I felt like I’d lost someone.  I knew his name and he knew my name though we weren’t friends, he just was the barber and I was his client.  Nothing special but anyway I was feeling a loss.  I allowed another barber to trim my hair.

 

 

I was used to being myself as Walter and I really did not see myself from inside who I really was now.  Almost all of the time, I had seen myself as Walter because of all my experience and knowledge.  I had to remind myself who I was to avoid very possible embarrassment.

At home and at school, I naturally was expected to be sixteen.  Under some special circumstances, I was expected to be sixteen even for some people who didn’t know me as it was last Sunday when Forest Rangers had seen me behind the steering wheel and had assumed I was sixteen.  Then there was the shopping trip, when other adults had seen me as being twelve or thirteen years old.  I could cope with being a teenager.  Teenagers are like little adults, they just have considerably less experience.  Kids and tweens are like different species and they are treated by adults very differently.  Adults are kind of protective, if not over protective with kids.

At the barber shop, it was a usual thing for kids without adults to come.  No one mentioned my age or wondered what a kid was doing there alone.  My next stop was the farmers’ market though.  People there were looking not at me, but above me.  As if they were looking for someone who was responsible for me.  When I was addressing someone directly they were responding leniently as if I was a kid.

Not only adults were treating me as kid.  I treated myself the same way after I came home and started cleaning the house.  When I was Walter, I didn’t need a ladder or a chair to step on to reach upper shelves and the top of doors or windows.  The first floor was eight feet high while the second floor – seven.  As Walter, I was six feet and two inches so, naturally, I could reach everything without stepping on the chair.  The most that I needed was to stand on were my tip toes.  As Amber, I had to keep the chair by me.  The chair alone wasn’t enough.  Even on the chair, I couldn’t reach as wide as I could as Walter.  So for the simple task to sweep the upper shelf, I had to step on the chair, then step down, move the chair a couple of feet then again up, and again and again.  I had to do that four times.  Whereas Walter, I swept dust in two or three motions, I needed four relocations with the chair and three minutes instead of ten seconds.  That’s only one shelf.  After I finished my room, I was exhausted.

As Walter, I usually needed an hour or two to clean my half of the house every week.  This time, I spent more than six hours and had cried a few times because of my helplessness and Nana’s room was still left untouched.  Common areas like the stairs, the kitchen, and the dining room were very dirty, if not to say squalid.  I hoped the next week would be not so exhausting.  Or maybe I could persuade Emma to help me next time.

 

 

I was too exhausted for social activity and I had still a few hours until bedtime.  Emma was at a sleepover, Nana was with her friends at bridge club, Mom and Liam were in their side of the house kissing.  Maybe… Why not?

I was in my room and was about to review the contents of my desk more thoroughly than I did a few days ago.  First thing I examined were boxes, bottles, and leaflets before I dumped all of them into a garbage bag.  Based on what I was throwing away, I could say that Amber was on pills since she was thirteen.  I’d read a little about induced hormonal imbalance during early puberty and it proved what I was or what Amber was.  Puberty had stopped.  In Amber’s case, at thirteen, puberty probably was at its second year.  After she started DHT or estrogen blocker, actually no matter which one, the progression of puberty stopped.  Dosage wasn’t enough to kick in male puberty though it was sufficient to stop female puberty.  So my body’s development was now at the age of thirteen and would resume because I had discontinued the DHT and Exemestane.  Dr West predicted that I should develop breasts up to a D cup like my Mom and both Grannies.  I didn’t envy them because my current AA was enough for me.

Well, one drawer was completed so I moved on to another lower drawer on the opposite side.  There was something like a scrapbook or journal with some press clippings glued in.  I did remember Laura had one when she was younger in that another universe and later Emma started one too.  This scrapbook wasn’t so fancy like I had seen.

I first thought it was about Dr Barstin but then I noticed that most press cuttings were from the near past like two or three years old.  Most of them were about various ecology cases.  Then there was “Falmouth JH student saved a kid and drowned herself”.  There were pictures of the kid, the rescue team and Amber.  It happened three years ago early December and the junior high school student actually didn’t drown.  The rescue team had broken the ice down the stream by driving their car onto the ice while the girl was sucked under the ice.  She was already dead after paramedics had taken her to the hospital but, because of hypothermia, the doctors were able to bring her back to life.  What wasn’t in the press but was written by Amber’s hand was that she stayed in the hospital till Easter and it was almost five months.  The next September, she started eighth grade in Junior High over.

It explained a lot.  Why I was sixteen while my friends were fifteen.  Why Mom was so frightened when I offered a visit to a public swimming pool – Amber sure had to hate water.  I liked that scrapbooking idea at the moment, though I wasn’t sure I was about to write my own scrapbook.  I continued flipping pages…

“Pet massacre place near Presumpscot Falls found.  Falmouth HS students suspected” I never enjoyed this kind of reading even as Walter and now, when I was Amber, I started to sob just after the first few sentences.  What was in the paper wasn’t very informative, probably because all suspects were minors so no names and no pictures.  Below Amber had written by hand: “Arnie admitted that it was them: Arnie, Ralf, Thomas and Chris.  They were proud of it.  They had pictures and videos on their phones.  They were my friends, my buddies.  I’d promised I’ll kill them all.  Sandra, Connie and Sheila didn’t back me.”

Poor, poor Amber… She was fifteen.  Almost drowned when she was thirteen… Stop! She couldn’t take pills when she was in the hospital.  So most probably Amber started taking pills when she was twelve and then there was a five months break with no pills but it was hypothermia related when development of puberty was delayed.  Then I actually was a twelve years old like the size charts were indicating.  And I was wondering where I’d lost a year.  Actually not a big problem if I’m not planning to bear children in the near future.  I hope everything will stabilize in two or three years when I’ll be graduating High School.

Further in this scrapbook I’d found a handwritten story of Malcolm raping Mom as told by Nana.  There was mentioned that both Emma and Granny Amber didn’t know whole story.  After this record was single handwriting how Amber had found Narama.  I guess his address was the same as in my universe and his phone number looked familiar too.

I’d got a lot of info.  I knew the names of the Ralf/Sandra groups now so I explored Facebook.  Facebook is a good thing.  I got to know all of them.  Not only pictures but likes and preferences too.  And… Thomas and Sheila were already among my friends.  I never offered my friendship on Facebook to anyone while I only accepted friendship inquires sent to me by others, all inquiries.  By the way only Arnie, Ralf and Sandra were seniors while other four were juniors.

 

 

Sunday’s weather wasn’t suited for outdoor activities – drizzling rain and relatively chill for the last weekend in April.  On the other hand, it suited me because I still had no sense of what clothing is good for what.  So I went with the same jeans, flannel shirt, and faux leather jacket as I did every day the last week.  And I had my swimsuit already on because I still wasn’t comfortable around naked females.

Emma and I had orange juice while the adults just drank coffee because it wasn’t good idea to eat before the swimming pool.  Then we all piled into Dad’s (you should congratulate me, it’s the first time I thought about Liam - Dad) car and headed off to Bracket street.  At the swimming pool, adults at first were all frightened and watching me and later, when there was no hysteria and no fit, they all relaxed.  Anyway, they watched me more than Emma. Meanwhile, I showed Nana some exercises in the deeper end of the pool.  That was my goal for this trip by the way and now this goal was completed and I could simply enjoy the swimming.

The swimming pool itself wasn’t something special.  I was special.  I was in my one piece swimsuit with high cut leg openings and I felt girly.  I almost forget I was Walter.  Adults were smiling at me and boys… Well, boys were ogling and smiling too.  With all my already developed (rather underdeveloped) female features, I looked like some tomboy, kind of twelve or maybe thirteen.  I could be with kids in their puddle with warm water or with adults in the main swimming pool.  Even dressing up in the changing room afterwards wasn’t SO awkward as it was at school changing for gym.

 

 

The next entertainment after the swimming pool was restaurant.  That wasn’t something posh, just a new place called Bao Bao Dumpling House on Spring Street, which was three blocks away from the pool.  Our family was assigned a booth.  After we were seated and made orders for drinks, Mom, Nana and Emma went all together to the restroom.  Dad and I were left alone.

“Don’t you go with the rest?” Dad asked.

“Don’t need,” I replied.

“It’s like a meeting or conference room,” he said with chuckle.  “Oh, don’t you need repaint?”

“I don’t know how even if I want.  I guess I wasn’t interested when Mom offered and now…” I was considering – was it true what I was saying?  “I know next year there will be a cosmetology class in HomeEc, so not everything’s lost.  Start saving money now, Dad.  I guess it’ll cost you a fortune with all of Emma’s and my paint.”

“No worries, hon, there’s enough money saved already for your paint and dresses and anything else.”

“Dresses? I have already two and…  Oh…  One of them is like Emma’s so we may consider going out like sisters.  Don’t know when…”

“Next weekend?”

“Yeah… Next weekend… is… is… May Day, Kennebunk Festival, May pole dancing?  What do you say?”

“Let’s wait for the quorum… There they are,” Dad said standing up and letting Mom, Nana and Emma back behind the table in the booth.  And yeah… they were repainted, even Emma.

“So, Ladies, there’s a proposition about next weekend.  A festival in Kennebunk and Amber will wear the new dress and will be all girly…”

“DAD...”

 

 

12

Monday morning was not as cold as it was on Sunday though the rain was still drizzling.  I ran my preferred miles and did some stretches.  When I was back home, Liam was out of the house into his car and we said our ‘Hellos’ and then I gave him a peck on his cheek.  It was so good to have a full family, to be a part of it.

After I showered, I’d checked the weather and – yes – rain stopped, the sun was shining, and outside wasn’t as chill as it was in the early morning.  With warmer weather, a new problem arose – what to wear?  I didn’t say I needed something new – my closet was full.  I wasn’t sure how to coordinate things.  As Walter, I would wear the same jeans with a shirt and I would keep my jacket in the car.  If temperature rose higher, I would roll shirt sleeves up.

Then I thought, maybe I could do the same as I’d seen some girls were doing – jeggings and tank top kind of undershirt and the same shirt instead of the jacket.  Well… No mirror to check the result.  No mirror… Maybe Nana has one in her room.  Well, later... 

Another problem I was facing now – where to put everything that previously was in my pockets?  There were two pockets over my breasts and they were good for ID and my driver’s license.  What about the rest?  Jeggings had actually two back pockets that were too small to put anything in while the front pockets were just decorative seams.  Ok… While at school I could keep my phone, wallet, tampons, Midol and Wenger in my backpack.  I had a delicate chain for keys but I guessed key chains were not in accordance with school dress code.  Car and home keys went into the backpack too.

At school, the backpack was ok.  I’ll look stupid although going everywhere with a backpack especially when I was with a car.  I was sure Mom or girls at school already had some solution.  That could wait.

I put on canvas or rather denim tennis shoes to complete my outfit and went downstairs to the kitchen.  I had almost an hour till I had to leave for school so I started wafers as I did last Monday.  This time I made more batter, expecting Nana and Mom to be joining Emma and me.  Dad was at work very early as he did every Monday.

Mom was the first because she was in a hurry.  She had a meeting every Monday before work hours.  I noticed she was carrying a handbag though it was too big for me.

“Have you something similar that is not so big and not leather?” I asked.

“Do you need a purse?” Mom asked back.

“I’m not sure what name is correct,” I replied.

Meantime Nana came into the kitchen, “Good morning all!  Oh!  O-ho-ho-ho… At least you have emerged from your gruff shell, haven’t you?”

“Really!” Mom was excited too.  “I’ve noticed there’s something different but couldn’t put my finger on it.  I see now why you need a purse – you have no pockets anymore.”

“So what about it, erm, the purse?”

“I have one that’s good for you,” Nana said, “it’s denim with a key chain strap sewed inside of denim hose and it’s kind of cute.”

We both went to Nana’s room and she found the purse in her closet.  As I’d predicted, there was a mirror on the closet door and I could admire myself in it.  Well I guessed I looked ok.  Not as curvy as most girls in my grade but ok.  Tennis shoes and Nana’s purse had denim of almost the same shade and they were light blue like my jeggings so I was dressed quite in an ensemble.

 

 

Emma was quiet about my appearance all morning and while driving to school but at least she said “You are different today” and when we hugged for goodbye she whispered into my ear “My sister is cute”.

 

 

My new friends at school did notice my new appearance but they didn’t pay too much attention to it.  They were busy chatting about their weekend.  I’d noticed a strange thing – I was more girly at home with my family while with those girls I felt more like Walter.  They were babbling at high speed and about so many various themes that I was unable to catch who said what.  The same thing continued during the lunch period.  I wasn’t complaining because I hadn’t much to say about my weekend or otherwise I’d had to go into all details and it would add another voice into the chorus of girly gaggle.

 

 

After school, I wanted to check Snotty the cat in the shelter.  Emma’s classes were over an hour ago and she was brought home by her friend Nat’s Mom.  I was driving the same road as usual when something in the car plopped and the car suddenly pulled to the left into the middle of the road.  I managed to keep the car near the right shoulder.  I got out of the car and, as I’d predicted, the front left tire was flat.

I got two rubber wedges from the trunk.  There was a complete wheel replacement kit too.  First I needed to loosen screws while the car wasn’t lifted yet.  I got the wrench and wrench handle extender and… There was a problem – I’d forgotten what direction to turn the nut to loosen the screw.  I’d never had such problem before.  I remembered some nurses complaining there were no arrows on container lids and they were not sure what direction they had to turn the lid to open the container.  Then I remembered that almost all screws are right-handed and right-hand-rule might be applied.  Even then, every time I was about to put the wrench on the nut I’d double checked what direction to turn it.

Problem number two – my strength wasn’t enough to loosen all five screws.  I’d loosened two bolts while the other three… I tried to stand on the extender – nothing.  And number three – this road was secluded.  I could call Dad, Mom or Nana but I didn’t want to.  I’d never in my life called for help with flat tire.

While I was contemplating what to do a car passed at high speed and then suddenly stopped screeching its tires and a young man jumped out.  I knew this man… Yes! He’s Thomas.

“Grow up at least you two!” Thomas shouted while he was turned to someone in the car.

“Leave that bitch alone!” someone shouted from the car and then Thomas slammed the car’s door.  The car took off screeching its tires again and leaving a smell of burned rubber behind it.

“Hi,” Thomas said casually as he’d approached me.

“Hi…”

“Let me…” and he tried the same as I with no avail.  “Have you a can of WD-40?”

Really, how could I forget about WD-40?  The spray was in the trunk in a special compartment for small things to prevent the rattle.

“Here it is,” I gave him the spray can.  He spread it over the screws.

“Five minutes to wait,” Thomas said.  “You know, it’s the first time we’re able to talk since THAT incident.  Before you say something I want to say that I’m really very sorry.  It had to be a prank.  Ralf and I were sure Arnie had found those videos on the net.”

“I’m not…” I started.

“Wait.  Let me finish,” Thomas interrupted me raising his hand and turning its palm to me.  “I know, even as a prank it’s very really very stupid and inexcusable.  We placed those terrible videos on our phones and showed to the girls including you.  You were the only who reacted.  Other girls probably were too shocked.  Only the next day, we found out that those videos were not from the net, they were original recorded by Arnie and Chris while they were torturing those cats.  More than once.”

I didn’t know what to say now and I wasn’t sure what Amber really said back then.  There was that awkward silence.  Thomas meanwhile started to loosen the lug nuts on the wheel and he succeeded at first attempt.  Then he used the screw-jack to lift the car and changed the wheel.  In less than ten minutes the job was done.

“Where are you heading?” I asked him.

“To the shelter on Summit Street,” he said, “but I can walk, it’s not so far away.”

“Oh… me too,” I replied, “I mean I go to the same shelter too.”

First we drove in silence until a couple of minutes later I said, “I’m sorry too.  I was wrong saying what I’d said.  I’d be happy to take my words back.”

“I understand you,” he said, “and I’d said probably the same as you or even worse and maybe did something too…”

“We were young and hotheads,” I said.

“And now?”

“What now?” I asked.

“You said we were young and hotheads so now we are old and calm like Buddha?”

“Maybe not old but grown-up.”

“Yes, you are really right,” Thomas said.

The rest of the ride we sat in silence.  Thomas probably thought I was a girl, so I was supposed to start the conversation or keep talking.  I’d remembered from my Walter life a nurse, Yola, from Vince’s clinic who was very good at assisting me.  I’d brought her a couple of times with me to Boston and she was babbling all two hours to Boston and then all two hours back to Portland non-stop.  Not all girls were so chatty but I hadn’t met one who could stay quiet for long.

Back to nowadays.  I didn’t know what to talk about.  I knew nothing about the pack of Arnie, Chris, Ralf and Thomas and girls.  I knew that Sandra was Ralf’s girlfriend.  Didn’t that mean that all girls the same way were paired with boys, Amber too?  Unbelievable considering Amber’s transgenderism.

On the other hand, I was scared by my inability to remember what direction the bolts had to be turned.  Was I losing my Walter’s experience or was that just a part of woman’s life like period?  Will I lose my ability to provide surgeries?  I had some plans regarding this but now I couldn’t even consider me forgetting how to cut or to stitch in the middle of the surgery.  I needed some training.  I needed to be sure about myself.

 

 

13

Snotty the cat was doing well so I left the shelter less than an hour later.  It wasn’t my day and there were enough student volunteers cleaning litter boxes and walking dogs.  Then I had something to do at home urgently.  That was my ability to cut.  I’d found a chicken in the fridge and practiced a dissection with carving knife.  When the body is dead and cold, it’s actually different then a surgery of a live being, but the moves are the same and they have to be no less accurate as during the surgery.  I surgically removed the chicken’s gall bladder while it wasn’t needed anyway.  I was happy with myself.

 

 

It was half past five when Mom called my personal mobile phone and asked if I was okay to meet her at the same salon as few days ago at six.  I answered I was okay and drove away.  I didn’t know what was planned though I could predict it was something about make-up.  When talking with Dad on Sunday I’d mentioned about my lack of any knowledge on that subject and he had talked to Mom most probably.  I wondered why it had to be at the salon and not at home.  After all that thorough waxing and my hair still being short, there probably wasn’t a lot of things to do that required a visit to the salon.

Mom was waiting for me in the parking lot and, after I’d exited The Pink, we had that sort of female light hug with our cheeks touching and air kiss and proceeded to the salon.

“It’s about your angry look,” Mom started.

“I’m not,” I protested.

“I know, dear, I know.  That’s not you, that’s your look or rather your eyes or, more precisely, that’s how your eyes are positioned.”

“I haven’t noticed they are something special,” I replied.

Meanwhile, we were inside and Mom went to receptionist who said that Marcia was waiting for at the third station.  Both Mom and I knew what direction to go and we didn’t need someone to escort us to Marcia’s station.  Marcia was older than Mom but younger than Nana.  After all ‘Hi’ and ‘Hello’, Marcia looked intently at my face.

“You were here on Friday,” she said, “I remember your face, it’s very special.”

“What’s so special about it?” I was confused.

“Do you know what makes Huskies to look so cute?” she asked out of the blue.

“Their angry look maybe?” I wasn’t sure still what direction we were moving.

“Exactly!” Marcia exclaimed.  “They look angry though they are not and because they are so soft and fluffy they look very cute.  People on the other hand, if they have the same angry look, they’re neither fluffy nor soft and they look angry.  Even if they are not.  Like you.”

“But I’m really not angry.”

“I said ‘they look’, young lady,” Marcia corrected me.  “Your eyes are squinted and it seems to others that you are kind of angry and captious.  That look is enhanced by your steep arched bushy eyebrows too.”

“My Dad has similar eyes,” I said.

“So what do you  suggest?” Mom interrupted us.

“The first, and the main thing, is to reshape your eyebrows,” Marcia said.  “Moving the arch to the center of the face and softening it will make your eyes look opened wider.  That’s about the eyebrows.”

“What else?” Mom asked.  By her tone I could say she hadn’t expected something else that needed correction on my face.

“Her eyelashes are tangled,” Marcia replied.  “It’s not a big deal to brush them and then straighten with a hot press.  Even without mascara, it will help for lashes to look fuller and longer and, eventually, it will add to the overall look of wider opened eyes and softer expression of her face.”

Reshaping of my eyebrows actually was another waxing followed by manually removing some loose hairs with a pair of tweezers.  The brushing and straightening of lashes took another fifteen minutes so we were over in less than an hour.  Mom paid and tipped Marcia and then when we were about to leave she suddenly asked, “How about earrings?”

“Those hanging and dangling?” I asked drawing in the air the circles below my ears with index fingers.

“Yes, about them,” Mom nodded.

“For some special occasions they seem good,” I considered aloud, “but I don’t want them for everyday.”

“For everyday, there are studs that are almost invisible,” Mom explained, “just to keep the holes from closing up.”

“Then, please, do it, if it’s not much money for one day.”

“Sure sweetie,” Mom said.

A young girl receptionist was listening to our conversation, the grin on her face growing instantly and at last she said, “You are what, thirteen, no more, but you talk like an older man of sixty or something, actually like my grandfather, it’s so funny to listen to you.”

“Exactly, young lady,” I replied, “I feel exactly so.”

And all three of us burst into the giggles.

I was sure those studs were kind of medical thingies and that there were no other choices.  Instead, the choice of the pair of studs took me more than twenty minutes before I found titanium ones.  Titanium because most implants are titanium based and that’s because titanium alloys are really hypoallergic and I didn’t want any reflectory distant reaction somewhere in my guts.

 

 

Meanwhile, Mom called Dad and found out that Nana made the chicken (dissected by me with the gall bladder removed) so we had a choice of leftovers at home or something in town.   We chose something in town and had another Mother-daughter night out.

Once in the restaurant, I admired myself in the mirror in the bathroom.  Yeah… My eyes looked bigger and the expression on my face was kind of surprised.  Mom stepped out from the stall and came to the sink too.  She washed her hands looking at me in the mirror.

“What?” I asked with a chuckle.

“You look so different.  And I mean SOOO different,” and she smiled at me.  I smiled back at her and watched as she reapplied lipstick.

It was already late.  Actually, it was a little too late for some serious dinner, so we each ordered a salad and then smoothies instead of coffee and dessert. 

We spent the time mostly in silence.  We really had talked less than it was few days ago.  There was a feeling of the closeness between us like we were lovers and didn’t need words.

“I was eleven when my ears were pierced,” Mom said and I almost said ‘I know’ because I’d remembered it from my life as Walter as one of those important moments in every teen’s life.

“A year later during a sleepover at friend’s home was the very first make-up,” she said with a chuckle.  “You had to see us.  We were so colorful.  When Mom came to pick me up she had to sit down – so hard she laughed.”

“Who could say then that you will use rather restrained makeup years later?”

“You think my makeup is restrained?” Mom wondered.

“In a way, sophisticated,” I assured her.

 

 

It was already after nine when we came home.  I had just enough time to go through my homework and then brush my teeth and…

Wasn’t I giving up too quickly?

Amber really was the same Walter from this universe.  And Walter was like me.  Not exactly the same, but very similar.  We both had enough money but were abstemious.  We drove the old car and lived in a semi-detached house in some distant neighborhood.  Up to 1968, our lives were identical when I was drafted and he simply continued his medical studies.  He was alpha, not macho, but alpha.  He was a leading surgeon in the field of orthopedic microsurgery, he had a bunch of apprentices and was a professor at Harvard.  He was killed at the top of his career because he had no survival instincts and I wasn’t killed because I had all possible survival skills.  There was a shooting at the grocery store and I had to drop down flat on the floor where water was and fish were from an already broken aquarium.  The Walter from this universe moved to a dry place and was shot.

Walter died at an age when his masculinity probably was something important to him.  And, all of sudden, he’s a baby girl and others said what he had to do.  And everything was very wrong.  Up to the last moment in his Walter life, he was a decision maker while now all decisions were already made by others.  Walter’s soul for sure was rebelling against this new order.  To restore the old order, he had to become alpha male again.  I’m not psychologist nor am I experienced in all those karmic things, though I was sure about the roots of Amber’s transgenderism.

I on the other hand, was never an alpha.  So maybe I’m not giving up, just adapting to the new life?

Tuesday morning, I made oatmeal – porridge for breakfast.  I’d expected some protests and was ready to scramble eggs for the most displeased ones but no one complained.  In Walter’s life, I’d made porridge, and not only oatmeal, more than once in a week.

Cleaning after breakfast took us forever because Emma and I probably were kidding too much and were almost late to school.  We were not late really but late enough to have to go directly to homeroom without chatting with Liz, Ronnie, and Mel and my new appearance wasn’t properly discussed.  They all had noticed sure during one class or another, but there wasn’t an occasion or not enough time to get us all in one place and discuss it.

There was a lunch period at least and the first thing was a thorough inspection of what was done.  I had to admit that the girls were almost professionals in makeup while they’d determined everything what was done to my face including the lashes’ treatment.  At least, or was it the first, it was my pierced ears.

“You said on Friday ears’ piercing isn’t in the foreseeable future and you have them with studs on, wait… Saturday – one, Sunday – two, well on the fourth day,” Mel was really agitated as she said this.

“There has to be a boy involved,” Ronnie said and it wasn’t a question.

“You’re blushing!” Liz exclaimed.

I felt I wasn’t blushing but after she’d said I was, I suddenly felt a heat flushing over my face.

“Oh, girl!  I can see it’s a real thing,” Liz gushed.

“Who is he?” Mel asked.

“Wait, no questioning!” Ronnie interrupted.  “There is a proven way, ok?  Paul… Pete… Mark… George… Roger… Andrew… Chris… Thomas… Yes!  It has to be Thomas.  Have you seen her eyes and sudden blush all over her?”

“It has to be Thomas Quinn, the junior.  I saw him glancing at Amber,” Liz declared.

“Why, very handsome boy and kind of cute too,” Mel said and other two just nodded vigorously in agreement.

What?    Spend less than an hour with a boy and said no more than twenty words and we were declared an item?

The end of lunch period ended my inquisition by those three.  Ha!  Classes were over and they were waiting for me at the parking lot.

Apparently, not everything had been found out yet.  How did it start?  Helped to change the flat tire?  Oh!  Oh, that is so romantic!  Damsel in distress on the deserted road helpless and scared… Mel’s eyes were almost wet…

 

 

I was home at least.  And Thomas was still in my mind.  I wasn’t really Amber so I really knew him less than an hour and all my experience with him was that of him changing my flat tire.  So what happened to me, or what happened to Walter, that I was still thinking about him?

Well, Thomas was neat and tidy unlike many unkempt boys his age.  He was polite not only with me but in the shelter too.  He was tender and caring for pets at shelter and attentive to an older man there who was refilling cats’ litter boxes.  And yeah… he was really handsome and in a way a cute too as Mel had said.  What was happening to me? Why was I thinking about the boy?  Thinking about a boy this way…

 

 

14

I’d done what homework I had to do and then launched into Facebook.  There were some friendship inquiries and one of them from Ralf.  Now I was friends with Ralf too, at least in virtual realm.  On Facebook, there is a right column that shows when your friends are online browsing Facebook.  When you click on your friend in that column a messenger window opens.  I clicked on Ralf and typed: “Hi.  Friends again! How are you?”

His answer came almost immediately: “Hi.  I’m fine, friend.”

“When are you back to school?”

“TMR.  Can’t wait.  People say you are different.  Want 2 C.”

“Who says?  Thomas?  We talked yesterday.  I know the truth.”

“I’m sorry.  I had to say I was sorry months ago.”

“I’m sorry too.  If I wasn’t such a hothead we could stay friends.  I said it to Thomas too.”

“Haven’t talked with him after this weekend.”

“If it wasn’t Thomas that said I was different then who?”

“Sandra.  She said UR kind of more a girl now – purse, makeup.”

“Isn’t she pissed at me?”

“Oh, no!  She was scared.  She said she saw you jumping over me with a butcher’s knife raised.  After you left from the hospital, she was still in shock.  Nurse gave her sedatives and doc had to explain her that you had not intention of killing me and rather saved my life.”

“She’d turned her back to me other day in cafeteria so I was sure we wouldn’t be friends for long.”

“I know.  She said it the same day.  She was embarrassed.”

“When you see her, tell her I’m sorry and want her to be my friend again.  OK?”

“I see her right now.  She reads what we type over my shoulder.”

“Hi Sandra!  Have you forgiven me?”

“She asks forgiven what?”

“Slitting your boyfriend’s throat.”

“She says THX and I say the same.”

“NP.  When is your prom btw?”

“This Friday.”

“Cool.  Will meet you tomorrow if you’ll talk with me.”

“Sure.  CU.”

“Bye.”

I wasn’t experienced in all those abbreviations.  Good thing they didn’t overuse them.  Though texting Liz and Ronnie or Mel was even worse while they used those codes a lot and I wasn’t sure about their meaning quite often.  Anyway, I managed to contact them mostly through Facebook messenger about my old friends and me.

 

 

In my not so short life as Walter, I got to know a lot about people – what they do so special that they are so different.  I knew what it was to wear a skirt or dress from the observer’s point of view sure.  I knew the differences and odds.  When in a skirt, raising your hands up doesn’t raise the skirt’s hem while in the dress, it depends on how high the dress wearer wants to reach and sometimes it could be up to a foot.  Then, no matter dress or skirt, the knees have to be kept together while sitting if the hem is above the knees and even when the hem is at your ankles, it looks much better when your knees are together.  The same thing about getting in and out of the car.  And the same about squatting and bending over.

I’d kind of agreed to be in a dress on Sunday.  I needed practice to not only feel comfortable in it but also not to embarrass myself and my parents.  My closet wasn’t very full.  There were some jeans, a couple of shorts, shirts, tees and a couple of jackets too.  And two dresses – one was that shirt dress that was bought last week and the other was dressier.  I didn’t know how and when it appeared in my closet.  And no skirts and or even a skort.

I needed a skirt.  And I supposed there was something that went with it as it was with leggings that I needed thong and tunic with them additionally.  Someone in the family probably had a skirt my size suited for everyday and the school.  I didn’t want go shopping especially for something I very possibly will not wear too much in the future.

 

 

Before heading to the kitchen to make dinner, I’d checked the basic steps of May pole dancing on the web.  Some twenty years ago, Dahlia, with Laura and I as Walter, were at Kennebunk May Day festival.  I signed Laura up for the May pole dancing competition.  She was assigned to a team of eight and won something too.  I’ll need to teach Emma those steps and maybe Mom too…

For dinner, I planned potatoes baked in the oven in sunflower oil with a lot of onion and garlic and, for carnivores, I’d bought some fresh pork, Bratwurst to be baked separately in the same oven.  Smell already some twenty minutes later was stronger than of barbecue attracting everyone who was at home.  And everyone was at home.  After dinner, while washing dishes, I had an idea and wanted discuss it with Mom.

“So if Emma and I both are about to wear the same dresses on Sunday maybe I could to practice beforehand?”

“What do you mean by ‘practice’?” Mom asked.

“To wear a skirt or dress at home and for school maybe… But I have none.  What I thought are skirts actually are some shorts.  Maybe you have something I can borrow?”

“Who are you and where have you hidden my daughter’s body?” Mom laughed.  “Well, I have some from a time when I was your age and before pregnancy.  Come with me, they are somewhere in the boxes in the guestroom closet.”

‘They’ almost all were too big.  Mom, even as a teenager, was taller than me and her hips were more prominent.  Too big actually wasn’t so bad while they could be adjusted easily though not on such short notice.  I selected some I liked and then Mom pulled out another two or three and she said it will be good practice for me.  And here I hoped Nana or Mom would do all the needed altering.

There was one that fit.  It was classic straight denim, almost three or four inches over the knee, skirt.  The material was soft and light with high Lycra percentage.  The skirt accentuated my hips though there was actually nothing to accentuate but the elastic material hugged my bottom and made it visually more prominent. 

“Wasn’t it too short for you?” I asked Mom.

“I wasn’t so restrained as I’m now,” Mom chuckled.  “And it’s not the shortest skirt in my possession by the way.”

“ I’m not sure I can go to school in it,” I said.

“Why not?  Your fingertips are at its hem so the skirt’s length is in agreement with the dress code.  I hope it hasn’t changed,” Mom said, “the dress code, I mean.”

“If it’s good for me it sure has to have been too short for you.”

“Really sure,” Mom agreed.  “But I wasn’t so modest a girl like you.  And not only I, other girls too.  I don’t understand how you manage to stay so calm all the time.  We girls were experimenting on the verge of appearing like whores under the influence of all those hormones.  Not always.  Usually we were in jeans as girls nowadays.  But when in skirts… Skirts had to be short!”

 

 

We were back to Walter’s half of the house as Mom said, “This skirt is so elastic that you don’t need to smooth it while sitting down, maybe only when you remember to create an illusion.  When you get out of the car…” she contemplated something in her head and then asked out of the blue: “Do you have any pantyhose?”

“No, I don’t.  Why?”  I had socks, thin and thick and some athletic knee socks too.  And no hosiery.  I didn’t need anything like that and I wasn’t sure I needed pantyhose now.

“It’s not summer outside,” Mom said, “and the temperature is sixty or something.  In pants, it’s okay but in a skirt, it’s chilly still if not cold.”

“May I borrow something from you or Nana?”

“No way!” Mom answered.  “We both wear C while for you the A is too big probably.”

“Then maybe Emma’s?  I guess pantyhose are stretchy enough to fit me.”

“I don’t think Emma has something that suits you,” Mom complained.  “The only not patterned pantyhose she has is white.  Anything else is in flowers, butterflies or fairies.  Even in white pantyhose you’d look like Emma’s mate, maybe year or two older but anyway.”

“So what?  Shopping trip to the mall again?” I whined.

“Is shopping so bad?”

“Maybe not.  But it takes sooo long and it’s probably too late anyway.  Ah…”

“We may go to Hannaford, it’s open till eleven and you don’t need anything fancy just pantyhose for girls in nude.  Let’s go?”

“Ok.  I just tell Nana or she’ll worry,” I said.

 

 

Hannaford wasn’t as secluded as I’d expected it to be at such a late hour of 9 P.M.  We went directly to the hosiery and apparel section and I stood in front the shelves filled with various pantyhose.

“Those are for ladies,” Mom said pulling me to another shelf, “your size is still a girl.”

On the packages were actually teenagers almost my age, but pantyhose were the kind of what Emma liked and not girls of my age.

“Those are what we need,” Mom pointed at package without a picture on it.  It was why I didn’t notice it in that sea of colorful packages.

“Your size is Child’s Large,” Mom said.

Pantyhose were packed two pairs in package.  “It’s because kids tear it so quickly,” Mom explained.  “By the way, show me your hands.”

I did and she examined my nails for a moment.  “Don’t you file your nails?” she asked.

“No.  Why?”

“You’ll tear your pantyhose with those sharp edges.  You need a nail file, the glass one because it prevents the nails from becoming rugged.”

So we went to the toiletries’ section.  Mom found the glass nail file while I found a little box of latex gloves for if my fingernails still had sharp edges.  I’d remembered one of nurses complaining about rugged fingers and fingernails after using disinfectant and she used latex gloves and she kept a pair of them in her handbag.  Or should it be purse?  Is there a difference?

“Maybe you need nail polish too?” Mom asked.

“Why?”

“To make your fingernails look pretty,” she replied.

“Who will see it?”

“Anyone who will look at your hands.”

“Huh?”

 

 

We spent two hours at Hannaford almost up to closing time.  Maybe I have to go back to being a tomboy?

 

 

15

Wednesday morning, Mom was up early and I thought there was some emergency at her work, apparently there was not.  She was up to help me with my nails and then with pantyhose and get me into my ‘new’ skirt.  So she’d shown me how to file my fingernails.  Actually, she did the entire job.  She said I’ll do it all by myself next time.  I didn’t argue with her about that.

So I was making breakfast in this new skirt and everyone greeted me with kind of “Oh!”  It was good that there were no comments about me emerging from somewhere… It was like just another day for Nana though.  That one by Nana was okay but I wasn’t emerging so… Maybe it was true for the old version of Amber but not for me.  On the other hand, who did know about it?

“You’re still a little clumsy,” Mom said, “though I guess it will be okay for your first time.”

 

 

I was sure it wasn’t okay.  At school, there were almost no ‘oh’ that one could expect.  My friends from both groups, that is my ‘old’ friends from the Sandra-Ralf pack and my ‘new’ ones from the Liza pack interacted with ease as if they were friends without my presence between them.  I felt kind of abandoned.  Then Ronnie literally pushed me a little away from others and whispered, “Your tomboyishness is more visible when you are in a skirt.  I guess it’s your first time.”  She was oh so right!  It was the first time for Walter and most probably for Amber too.  The manly behavior, posture and manners were ingrained in this brain and this body.  All the girliness that was present was that of natural physics of the body like the straightening a cat’s elbow to spread its claws.

Well I did know for sure now I was clumsy.  What next?  With that entire hormone imbalance and estrogen percentage growing, I’d become more emotional.  In other words, I was on the verge of tears.  Ronnie noticed and other girls too.

I, on the other hand, felt like a real pervert – an older man that occupied a girl’s body and pretended to be her, trying to deceive the rest of the world.  Everything that I was doing was a sham, imposture.  One the simplest single garment revealed my true self, unveiling me to the world and separating me from my family and friends.

 

 

The next thing I did remember was I in a hospital bed and Mom was sitting behind it reading a magazine.  I wasn’t restrained so maybe it wasn’t a nuthouse.  There was a window and I could say it was daytime outside.  Still or already I wasn’t sure.  I tried to sit up and my head felt funny.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Mom said.  “Don’t hurry to sit up.  The dizziness is because of sedatives.”

“What happened?” I was curious.

“Doc called it emotional breakage,” Mom replied.  “Probably it was my fault too – I was pushing you when I had to hold you on.”

“Pushing what?”

“You.  From tomboyiness into girliness.”

“You did what I’d asked you.  You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“I’m your Mom.  I’m here for you.  Or rather I had to be here for you and I wasn’t.  And that wasn’t the first time.  When I was pregnant with you, I was considering an abortion.”

“You were fifteen… ”

Anyway, it ended in a hug and both of us crying.  This is the way we were found by the doctor who entered the room a little later.

“Hello Mrs. O’Connor, Amber, I’m Doctor Samuel Jenkins specializing in endocrinology.  Amber’s blood shows no abnormality but extremely high level of female hormones and testosterone almost at zero level.  That by itself can’t cause emotional breakage though it’s a perfect background for such.”

“What’s causing this abnormality?  Can it be cured?” Mom asked with concern.

“I guess it’s almost already cured though I’m not sure it’s okay for me to talk with Amber in your presence ma’am,” Doc said.

“Oh…” Mom said, “I’ll wait in corridor then.”

“No Mom, please don’t leave,” I said, “I’ll have no secrets from you anymore.”

“I’m sure you aren’t taking any birth control pills.  Am I right?”

“Yes, you’re right.”

“Have you been on some medication for a long period of time?”

“Yes.”

“Have you abruptly stopped its intake week or two ago?”

“Yes.”

“Was it some aromatase blocker?”

“I guess it was?”

“Do you remember its name?”

“It’s been Exemestane though I stopped taking it last year I guess.  The last one I’ve been on has been Andriol.”

“That explains much,” Doc said.  “I’d like to prescribe you some herbal sedatives to keep your emotions under control but there is another doctor in line who wants to speak with you and with you Mrs. O’Connor.  One last question Amber, are you still keen to return to the pills?”

“I’m over with it,” I ensured him.

“Well, then I step aside for Doctor Cess,” he said and left.  They interchanged some words at the door and then the living copy of Sigmund Freud entered the room.

 

 

“Well, hello ladies.  Mrs. O’Connor, Ms. O’Connor.  I’m a psychiatry doctor and my name’s Olaf Cess, people call me a shrink and it’s okay with me.  I’m on shift here today and if you prefer a female doctor, just say so, there is Doctor Goldsmith too.”

I looked at Mom and she wasn’t about to say something so I said myself, “We are okay with you, there is no need for another Doc I guess.”

“Well then… So first, I need to talk with you alone, Ms. O’Connor, then only with you, Mrs. O’Connor and at last with both of you.”

I was about to start saying I had no secrets from Mom but Doctor Cess raised his hand interrupting me, “It’s not about secrets or something Ms. O’Connor, there is a method and procedure I have to follow.  You may share all the info with your mother afterwards.”

Mom went to the cafeteria and left us two in the room.

Well… His questions were embarrassing though I’d to admit he had done his homework.  His knowledge of my background was impressive for an ordinary psychiatrist on shift.  He knew about Ralf’s tracheotomy, about Snotty (?) – though he’d said he and Brooks were friends.  And he knew about Thomas helping me on the road.  Again, the story was told at the shelter and Timothy Brook sure knew it.  Nothing was a secret, but try to imagine the doctor who gets all that info in like two hours about the patient who may decline his service in favor of another doc.

Later, I took a few tests on his tablet PC and he talked a little about me ignoring my transgendered condition.  He said that I’ll go through the same tribulations as if I was forcedly feminized but it was possible with my determination, his counseling and family’s support.

More than an hour later, he left me and went looking for my Mom.  They both were back to my room some thirty minutes later.

 

 

I was released to go home the same day.  There was no danger to my life or health and there was nothing doctors could do.  I wasn’t accustomed to the high estrogen level in my body that caused the emotional swings to reach drastic level.  There was nothing to do actually, so mild sedatives were prescribed to keep the emotional swings under control.  Another factor that caused my emotions to swing was my decision making – both Ralf’s tracheotomy and Snotty’s surgery.  Those had been pure male conduct and female incertitude came later, pushing emotions to the extremes.  The third factor was I myself forcing my femininity both in clothing and in behavior.  The clothing part was still unnatural for me and I had to get accustomed to it gradually.  While the behavior made me feel gay though there was nothing homosexual in it.

So what’s next?  Go easy without an excess force and keep things at even keel.

Let’s say that my first really girly attempt failed.  The rest of the week, I was back in my jeggings and flannel shirt and an additional feminine detail was dark brown pencil every morning over my brows.  I had the same pencil in my purse and was checking my brows every time I was facing the mirror and reapplying it if needed.  What next steps to take I wasn’t sure and I guessed Doctor Cess wasn’t a pro in the field of femininity so I decided to rely on my Mom as she had a huge practice and wasn’t so extreme as my peers.

Then again, the weather was getting worse and worse and, on Sunday, the rain was pouring non-stop which made our outing to Kennebunk not that impossible but purposeless.  So no dress on Sunday, while this time the skirt over tights and the trip to the public pool as the week before.

 

 

Period sucks, really!  It started much too early, but both Doctor Jenkins from the hospital and our family’s GP Doctor West were of one opinion that it’s because of my former hormonal games.  Anyway it sucks…

 

 

One event left unmentioned – Senior Prom.  I didn’t know a lot of students especially seniors.  I knew some students from my grade, but not all of them.  And I knew those juniors who were the part of the Ralf-Sandra pack.  Seniors of the pack were Sandra, Ralf and Arnie.  Sandra and Ralf was an item so it was a sure thing that they went to the prom together.  Arnie asked Sheila but she rejected him and Arnie went without a date.

Already on Saturday, Facebook was overloaded with seniors’ photos from the prom.  I knew two seniors and they both were outstanding.  I didn’t know the terms to describe how they were dressed, especially Sandra.  Well, Ralf’s tux was in dark terracotta color and instead of a neck tie or bow tie, he had a silk scarf wrapped around his neck because of the scar I had left on his throat two weeks ago.  Sandra’s dress was champagne (not sure but some girls had mentioned this color in their comments) and in the front, it was more than an inch above her knees while in the back it went almost to the floor.  The dress material was ruffled but it wasn’t meant for me to understand how.  Sandra’s a tall girl, so she in her dress looked youthful and impressive at the same time.  What else… It was sleeveless but not on straps just like normal with sleeves though like sleeves were cut off and it looked good while it wasn’t showing too much skin and it wasn’t frumpy.  Maybe there were more important details but I didn’t notice them and so they went unmentioned.

School life flowed as if nothing had happened after the senior prom.  Seniors and other students were attending their classes, taking tests, making projects, doing homework and waiting for summer vacation.   I was doing exactly the same as all others.

Alongside with my studies, I was moving towards femininity, gradually taking small steps.  I tried and it worked to wear a skirt to school at least once a week.  Then every day I was applying some darkening to my eyebrows.  I tried to polish my fingernails with transparent polish to make my nails harder and helping to keep my pantyhose safe.  Then, two weeks later with Mom’s help, I made the full nails routine.  First it was sinking my hands in a bowl with warm water, then cuticles were cut and nails filed and at least light pink nail polish was applied.

I was considering not waiting for cosmetology classes to start next year and start makeup lessons at home this summer.  Apparently, not only Mom but Nana too, was experienced in makeup and she said it was okay for her to teach Emma and me some basics.   And the basics weren’t so simple either.  Eyes alone were eyebrow, eye lid, eye liner, shadow around the eye and eye lashes while eye lashes themselves included straightening, elongation and coloring.

A tomboy’s life was definitely simpler.

In social life, I was with my friends from Sandra-Ralf’s pack and with Liza’s pack.  Those names were only arbitrary for me to somehow differentiate my friends.  Those two packs were friendly, though they tended to hang out inside their own pack.  So I was hanging out with them in the mall (btw I was sure it was activity suited for girls Emma’s age but apparently even seniors where hanging out in the mall and windows shopping) and it was a very new experience for me not only interacting with my peers but with adults too.

Another field of social life was my esthetic preferences – music genre, bands and groups, books, movies and actors.  There was complete emptiness.  Actually, there was something left from Walter but I couldn’t share it with others.  Something I shared only with Thomas.  My music was all from the late fifties what was left after my parents – all of them 45rpm singles.  Some music was on a few LPs too, bought by me back in high school.  As Walter, I digitized them and burnt onto CDs and those CDs were in my car.  I had a few CDs with mantras like one CD filled with Ganesha mantra and another with Mahamrtyumjaya Mantra and some others too.

When Thomas asked what music I had in my car, I just shrugged and let him look for himself.  He didn’t laugh at what I was listening and he knew some songs as well as a couple of mantras too.

I was spending more time with Thomas than with any of the girls.  I felt good in his company.  It was engrossing to talk with him in almost any field or at least in any field that was interesting for me.  I wasn’t absorbed in fashion or modern music or new movies or TV shows so I wasn’t interacting with girls because I was more of a listener of what they were discussing.  On the other hand, what was interesting for me was terra incognita for them.  Thomas was different.  All those girly things sure weren’t on his field.  And, like me, he never mentioned any sport.

 

 

16

Thomas was a friend and I felt at ease with him, while I was a little restrained with the girls.  I was telling him what I got to know about makeup and consoled myself that probably by the time for prom (that will be two years later), I’ll be able to do my makeup.

“Amber, will you go with me to the prom?” Thomas asked out of the blue.  First, I was sure he was talking about my prom two years from now, then it  dawned on me that next year he’ll be senior and HIS prom will be next year.  Anyway it was far, far away.

“Sure, why not!” I replied though I wondered why he was planning so early beforehand, but in a year I sure will make myself a respectable girl, so really why not?  “Is that kind of your strategic planning one year before the prom?”

“I’m talking about Junior Prom, it’s two weeks from tomorrow,” Thomas said.

“Huh?  What?  I have nothing to wear,” was the first excuse that came to my mind.

 

 

Two things kept going through my mind.  One was that Prom wasn’t a year away…And the other was that I really didn’t have any idea what to wear.  And what it is a Junior Prom?  Is it as posh as the senior one or what?  I didn’t have any shoes.  The only ones I had were flip-flops and several pair of athletic wear and one pair of white tennis shoes on white sole what were kind of formal.  Makeup… Mom sure would help but if I needed to repaint myself later?  I wasn’t ready for such challenge.  That was an opportunity to make a big leap into girl’s life for sure.  I’d need to talk with Doctor Cess.

I had already paid my debt to Narama that artifact keeper.  So maybe I could ask him to escape from this?  I shook my head at the though.  No!  I’d already said ‘Yes’ to going with Thomas, so there was no retreat.

Mom… Sure, Mom would know what to do. 

I waited until it was just the two us before I said, “Mom? I guess I’m in trouble.”

“Are you pregnant?”  I wasn’t sure how to take her question.  Was she afraid that I was pregnant or hoping that I was?

“What?!  Why, no!  It’s that Thomas has asked me to go with him to the prom and I’m sure that it’s next year and I said yes and he says it’s Junior Prom and it’s on Friday two weeks from now and that is seventeen or rather sixteen days away ’cause today is too late already for anything and I have literally nothing to wear and I even have no shoes too and I still don’t know how to do my makeup or how to repair it when it’s smudged or something and I’m not sure how I will look  beside him ’cause he’s five-nine and I’m five-one and I may look like a kid with an older bro…”

Mom put her hands up as if she were fending off an attack.

“Stop!  Please, stop.  It’s not the end of the world, honey.  There is nothing to worry about.”  She smiled gently at me.    “First, Junior Prom is NOT that real Senior Prom.”

“But it’s a prom anyway and I will need the dress and the shoes and I’ll be supposed to know how to wear them.” I was panting because of the worry and excitement.

“Calm down sweetie.  Junior Prom is more like seasonal school dance.” Mom soothed me.  “By the way, do you know some dances?”

“Huh?”

 

 

Dancing dances… I had never been to a dance in my life as Walter, simply because I was an outcast in high school and then after the army in college, I was almost ten years older than my mates and I needed much more time for studies to keep myself on the proper level.  But I wasn’t a hermit and I actually wanted to have friends and a girlfriend too.  It just turned out that my life and circumstances were not letting me.  I had some music inherited from my parents and then we got a TV in early sixties, so I watched shows with my grandparents too.  In the school library, there were some teen magazines too, so cutting a long story short, I really did knew some modern (modern by the mean of early sixties) dances and a little waltzing too.

The names I could remember were ‘strolling’, ‘nitty gritty’ and, sure, ‘the twist’.  Those dances had the same moves both for boys and for girls as much as I remembered.  Another thing was waltz.

 

 

“So what about dances?” Mom insisted.

“I guess I know few and maybe even waltz too.”

“Waltz?  Are you sure?”

“We can try it,” I offered.

“Let’s go to the other half of the house, we’ll have a living room for ourselves.”

We went outside to go round the backyard and then to the other side of the house.

“It’s so simply to make the door” I offered.

“One of you may get married soon and live here so it’s for the privacy.”

So much privacy for themselves and no outcome…

Then we were inside and found Dad in the living room reading a book, with some music playing in background.

“Amber says she knows the waltz, so we need to give it a try,” Mom said.

“Oh?” Dad said.  “Well…” he said then got up from sofa and came to stand in front of me, bowed his head, and offered me his hand.  He was the same height as Thomas and I felt like a dwarf in front of my Dad.

“I’m like a gremlin beside you,” I said, “and I thought I would try with Mom…”

“Your shoes will give you another two three or even four inches,” Mom said.

“Huh?”

“With your Mother, one of you would dance wrong,” Dad said while he took my right hand in his and put his right hand on my waist while I put my left hand on his shoulder.  Mom meanwhile found and put the proper music on.

“Let me lead,” Dad whispered, “That’s right… good… wow…”

I let him lead the dance and it was easy ’cause I knew what the next move would be.  I’d never thought in my life that my first dance would be with a man and even more with my Dad.  We were twirling and I was almost floating above the floor.  The music ended and we stopped.  Dad bowed his head to me and I curtsied and there was some applause too from my Mom and from Nana and Emma who were standing in the door.

 

 

We, and I mean my Mom and I, decided that my dress had to be not that really posh prom gown but rather something a little fancier than for church or family meeting and that I would wear sandals with two inch heels and will stay relatively safe in them.  I had nothing of mentioned above and I was in the mall with Mom and other times with my friends both from Sandra and Liza packs and we were mostly windows shopping and I had tried a couple of dresses that someone in the pack liked.

There was one very particular dress but no one from both packs approved it or rather none of them had pointed at it so I didn’t try it and I thought I’ll try it when I would come back with Mom and see if she would approve it.  I was probably an old fashioned a little.  And I mean an old fashioned in Walter’s terms.  That dress reminded me that I still had my memories of my Mom, that’s Walter’s Mom.  It was not short and not long, no more than an inch above the knees (or at least no more than the inch above the mannequin’s knees in the window).  The color was the very light shade of lilac.  It was sleeveless and it wasn’t tight so not showing what I really hadn’t.  At least it had two or three underskirts of very thin white material.  Those underskirts made the skirt to look wider while the waist looked narrower.  I liked it on mannequin though I wasn’t sure how it would look on me.

I had no shoes for the Prom because Mom said I had first to buy the dress and only then to match up my shoes to it.  So first of all, she bought me the classics for the girl my age and stature – white Mary Janes with a one inch heel.  I was wearing those shoes to school every day now and I was getting used to the clatter of the heels over concrete pavement or hardwood floor.  The very first day in Mary Jane heels was rather comic while I tried to keep going on the balls of my feet, not allowing the heels to clack.  To the end of the day, I was accustomed to that constant clatter already.  My trying to produce as little noise as possible was a great practice for me ’cause I’d found the right way to walk in heels.

Mom was at first a little reluctant about that dress but then, when I put it on, it really was as long as to my knees and made me look a little retro.  With my hair still on the short side and in a dress that was feminine but not that girly girlish feminine, I looked kind of tomboy with one foot still in old tomboy life while another one was already stepping into femininity.  As I really was.

 

 

It was Monday of Prom week and we (i.e.  Emma and I) were about to go to the mall after school to take my new shoes.  We had found those shoes on Saturday when we were shopping for the dress with Mom.  So now after school, I had to take Emma and go to the mall where we had to meet Mom and go to the shop where the color of the shoes had to be changed to match the color of the dress.  The shoes had some places open and the toe closed, there were some narrow straps (a little too much to my liking) and a three inch heel.  First I was afraid I’ll be unable to walk in them but then, after I tried them, they were almost good.  My practice in high heel Mary Jane shoes probably was significant for my ability to walk in three inch heel shoes.  Walking in those shoes in the shop wasn’t so bad so I hoped after some practice at home I would be okay.

The weather was good and warm so Phys Ed was outside in the stadium where we had the running short distances like one hundred meters for boys and sixty meters for girls.  I wasn’t the best though I was among the best.  After the class was over, I headed from the locker room, not back to our school building, but I was cutting behind the bleachers directly to the parking lot.  That area behind the bleachers was usually secluded and it’s some twenty feet wide and framed by the blind wall of the main building on the other side.

When I stepped through, there were three large boys who had cornered another smaller one.  There was some cursing and punching and small boy’s face had some bloody smudges on it.

“Hey!” I said with a raised voice while I was trying to attract as much attention as possible.  Other students usually ignored bullying, both when I was a kid and nowadays too.  Maybe if the boys from my grade would pass through, those bullies would go away.

“What do you think you are doing?” I tried my voice to sound commanding.

“Go away bitch.  Don’t you see the men are talking,” one of them snarled.

“It doesn’t seem like talking to me,” I still tried to sound commanding while I got closer to the group.  “You are hurt,” I said to the smaller boy.  “Come with me,” I said taking his hand in mine.

One of the bullies jerked my shoulder to the back.  “Didn’t I tell you to go away, bitch?” growled another one who looked like a head bully in this group.  Then the second one came up behind me and now two of them were holding my hands and turned me to face their boss.

“I see you don’t understand polite language,” he continued approaching me, “I have no choice but to give you a lesson.”

When he was less than three feet away from me, I used my constrained hands as support and literally walked up his front till I reached the level of his face where I put my left foot behind his head while with right foot sole kicked his face with full force several times.  The boy’s face was instantly turned into a bloody mess.  He was holding it in his hands and screaming like mad.  I was back on my own feet while those two bullies were still holding me, but not so tight.

The one on my right was wearing pants with a loose waist so when, the boys eased their grip, I quickly dipped my right hand into his pants and grabbed one of his balls.  One ball is more than enough when you know what to do.  I knew.  And the second bully was screaming a moment later.

If the third boy wasn’t stupid he’d run away but he was.  And he tried to attack me in a leap of all of his two hundred pounds with his fist aimed at me.  Classic first season attack in every self defense school.  He ended with his face thumping flat against the wall.  He didn’t scream while he passed out in peace.

“I thought you’d be in the nurse’s office already,” I said to the smaller boy taking his hand in mine, “come with me.”

“Ms. O’Connor, Mr. Brody!  To my office now!” the principal ordered approaching from behind the corner of the main school building.

“Was he hiding behind the corner and waiting for me to do the entire dirty job?” I mumbled under my breath, which made the boy giggle.  Yes, giggle, he was a kid, maybe some two or three inches taller than me.

“My name’s Amber,” I said extending my right hand to him, while we were walking to the principal’s office.

“I know,” he said, “we have all the same classes except for Home Economics.  My name’s Eric.”

We shook our hands.  So he was one of those invisibles no one notices in the class.

“Sign-up for self defense class,” I offered, “the name doesn’t matter, any is better than nothing.”

While walking to the principal’s office, I called Mom to tell her that I was in some trouble and that Emma’s probably still waiting for me in the parking lot.  There was no wonder then that after we arrived to the principal’s office and were waiting for him to come back, my Mom appeared some fifteen minutes later and then both Eric’s parents too.

 

 

17

In this event, the old Walter’s knowledge and training were acting in unison with Amber’s fast reaction.  I remembered similar situations from my Walter’s life when I was waiting for Emma near her school and walking behind the fence of the campus.  There were two bigger boys harassing another little one.  I couldn’t intervene even if I was on the other side of the fence with them, so I extracted my phone and started recording.  I wasn’t sure if even this was legal for me to do but it helped.

 

 

The principal was late because there was ambulance to take those three goons to the ER and the police were called too.  As always, there were some kids that have everything or almost everything on their smartphones, so when we (Eric, I and our parents) were invited into the principal’s office together with two police officers, he had three full records from various angles of this incident.  Those records were played on the principal’s PC and I could see that I really flashed my panties to that first jerk and… Well, I was wearing that button down shirtdress and practicing walking in high heels and what I did was the only way in this situation when other two had my hands locked.

“I’m sorry kids, but according to school rules, all participants of the fight have to be suspended.  So I suspend you two for the minimum of three days.  I’m calling a school board meeting because of this incident and I hope to convince the board to allow me remove suspension records from your files,” he said.  “Ms. O’Connor, I know you are invited to Junior Prom, so feel free to attend because it’s on Friday and your suspension days are from Tuesday through Thursday.”

Then the police officers wrote down our statements and took Eric to the hospital to get his ripped lip documented.  The poor kid was bleeding all this time and holding some tissues to his face and not allowed to go to the nurse’s office.

 

 

Emma was taken home by Nana and after all statements were written down and everything was said, we were free to go three hours and twenty minutes later than we’d planned.  We could have gone directly to the mall, but Mom had promised Emma to take her with us and ‘shopping’ was still so important to Emma that we decided come home first and take Emma with us and go in one car.    We suited the action to the word and were home fifteen minutes later, kidnapped Emma and went to the mall in Mom’s car.

It was already late afternoon and some jams formed at exits from turnpike because traffic was getting heavy.  It took us an hour and a half to reach the mall.  It was good that we were not looking for anything special so we went directly to the shoe shop where my shoes already waited for me.  Then we spent some time letting Emma walk the aisles and windows shopping with no particular aim.

 

 

At home, I checked Facebook and found some videos that were not taken by police.  Those were mostly short fragments from various angles.  The episode where my panties could be flashed was recorded from behind me and the jerk’s face was visible.  Another video was as I dipped my right hand in the boy’s pants and grabbed him causing a scream.  The third episode with the last boy trying to hit me was recorded from behind me too and no details were clear from it.  Anyway, all movies were removed shortly by Facebook staff probably because of their violence.

 

 

Three days for myself without school!  That’s great.  First things to do – to practice those new high heels and then remember dance steps.  The Waltz – check.  I’d danced with Dad and now I had to repeat the same steps in high heels and without Dad.  Well.  I succeeded.  Then the rest.  The Stroll – check.  It’s the simplest among those I knew but it required the partner to use the same steps so no chance of strolling.  Sigh… The Twist – check.  I could dance it in flats and in high heels too and I could dance it in front of my partner even if the partner didn’t know it.  The same could be said about the Nitty Gritty with one difference that the Twist was very easy to learn and my partner (It’s Thomas!  Why do I say partner?) could learn basic moves during Prom.  The Swing at last and no ‘check’ here.  I could dance in trainers or other flats or even in socks but I didn’t dare to try in high heels.  Then I needed Thomas to know this dance at least at the beginner’s level while I couldn’t dance it solo like the Twist or Nitty Gritty.  Sigh… It’s a good dance but not this time.

I was over with dancing and it was four - the time when Emma was brought home by her friend Nat’s mom.  We both put on rubber gloves, those for scrubbing, and went to the other side of the road and, fifteen minutes later, had two plastic bags full of nettles and one small plastic bag with sorrel.

Still in the same rubber gloves nettles were washed and chopped then diced potatoes and carrots added.  Cooked for twenty minutes and then the most important and secret part – take an egg and make very small holes on both ends and blow the content into the boiling soup while stirring and you have the soup whitened and the egg shell suitable to make a Christmas tree decoration.  Another trick is to keep those shells safe until the winter.  As a solid food part, young fresh potatoes (not peeled) together with sliced onion wrapped individually in the foil and baked in the oven.  For carnivores, I did the same as the potatoes to wrap an icefish but I couldn’t find icefish so I’d bought something similar and, since no one complained, it was probably good.

 

 

Wednesday was Nana’s free day and I thought it was a good time to learn the basics of makeup.  Mom surely wanted to be my teacher but, a – she was in the office till 4 in the afternoon and b – Amber might ignore Nana as too old for makeup but I wasn’t one hundred percent Amber and I knew that Nana was Mom’s teacher years earlier.

First comes priming the skin – a thick liquid matching skin tone.

“No,” Nana complained, “first comes eye makeup because eyes don’t need the same priming as you say and when applying color to your eyes, some speckles may fall on an already made face.”

“So mascara and eyebrow pencil is first and then priming over the face?”

“Nah.  Eyebrows go separately.  Pluck unneeded hairs first and then apply pencil.  And you are ready for eye makeup now.  First do eyeshadow and then eyeliner and last is mascara.”

“How I know what color shadow to use?” I wondered.

“Usually, girls experiment with various colors for various light environments like day, evening, club or stage.”

“While experimenting, I might be wrong.  What then?”

“Then you use different colors next time.”

“But if I go somewhere and I see my makeup is all wrong how do I repair it?”

“You don’t repair it.  Young girls are allowed to experiment and to look like clowns sometimes.”

“And if…”

“Then you go to a salon,” Nana had obviously lost her patience with me.

The lesson itself followed.  I was to do every step exactly as Nana had shown me several times except of eyebrow plucking.  Even if ignoring the color, it was a hard job.  Not hard like hard, but hard like skillful, especially when I had no skills.

I have wasted a ton of cotton for cleaning already, I was tired, if not to say exhausted.  “Do I really need all of this?  What if we omit some steps like shadow, powder, blush or lip liner? How do I remember what to put on let alone what color?”

“Well, let’s take a break,” Nana said, “or rather let’s make dinner.”

“Hurray!”

 

 

The next day, I was a little more skillful and after we cut out some operations, the complete process became more bearable.  It was noon and I could do my makeup from beginning to the end.  But…

I was working with my face while sitting on a low chair in front of the low table with an enormous mirror.  Anyway, I was sitting and it was easy to reach for everything I needed.  The next task was to repair my lipstick and mascara in the bathroom on high heels with what I needed in my purse.  To make a face from scratch is one thing, while to repair it is much harder.  Especially lipstick – remove carefully not touching around the lips and then apply and blot not smearing.  Practice made perfect, well, maybe not perfect but acceptable for sure.  Anyway, makeup wasn’t my favorite thing to do and I wasn’t sure it would ever be.

 

 

Friday… Three days without school wasn’t as great as I thought before.  It was the same study just much harder.  At school, I knew almost everything what we were studying and, except for Home Ec, I was repeating what I knew before.  At home during those days, I was studying makeup and studying really hard.  And practicing too.

The very first thing at school was to go to principal’s office as I was told on Monday.  The principal wasn’t there and the girl in the adjoining office told me that the record of my suspension would be removed from my file as well as from Eric’s file too.

Then back to freedom and since there was a little time left to the bell, the girls gathered into a bunch for a chat.  While we were babbling a boy, the one who’s ball I’d tormented on Monday passed by.  “Bitch!” he hissed.

“Oh, nice to meet you, I’m Sheila and she’s Connie,” Sheila replied pointing at Connie and it all sounded like the boy had introduced himself as Bitch and all girls erupted into laughter while the boy blushed beet red.

“Welcome to the girlhood honey,” Connie said trying to put her hand on boy’s shoulder.  The boy shrugged and then quickly retreated.  Probably everyone in the school had seen the videos of the fight and the episode with my hand in his pants and him screaming.  No one knew what was done and I didn’t tell, so it seemed like both his balls were probably torn away.  Or this was what the bigger part of student body was sure about.

 

 

Junior Prom was held in the school cafeteria unlike Senior Prom that was at a country club.  Junior boys and girls left after school to prepare the cafeteria for the evening.  I volunteered to help but my offer was rejected and so I went home.

At home, I checked again and again if everything was done that had to be done.  Shaved – check.  Jewelry – check, Mom had bought me a titanium herringbone necklace and bracelet with matching earrings.  After I’d so thoroughly looked for titanium studs, she was sure titanium was my favorite.  Pantyhose – check while today it would be not plain nude pantyhose for kids but thin sheer Italian in XS size.  Dress – check.  Shoes – check.  Makeup – check while Mom helped me.  I did it myself and Mom was saying what was better for me.  It was the primer, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, eyebrow pencil and lipstick – everything in almost natural colors so it didn’t look like I was painted too much.  Purse – check though it wasn’t really a purse but I’d forgotten its name.  I’d got that thing from Nana and I’d remembered it from Walter’s life too.  Inside were lipstick and eyebrow pencil, Midol, tampon and ID.  I didn’t need my driver’s license, I wasn’t driving tonight.  Perfume – check, Diesel Zero Plus Feminine I’d remembered from Walter’s life because I had bought it for Dahlia for her 50^th birthday.  Then it was very new and extravagant in its color and form reminding me of a fire extinguisher.

Everything checked.  It was kind of cliché – it happened so many times in so many families of parents seeing their daughter off to her first date.  With one ‘but’ although.  It was the first time for me and I was very nervous and I felt like Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady before the embassy ball.  I had to wait in my room and let Dad talk with Thomas while I was ‘polishing’ my makeup, then my great entrance and Mom taking pictures with her camera.  It’s so boring when it happens not with you.  At the same time it was very exciting – I was experiencing moments and social events I didn’t have an opportunity to go through in Walter’s life.

Something had been building up in me all week.  It was when I was walking out to Thomas’ car on his arm that I finally realized that I was not Walter anymore, he was just a memory.  I was Amber, the girl, and this was my life.

Barber

“I want a buzz cut like my dad and brothers,” I said to the barber sitting down. “No,” he replied calmly.

 

 

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this is rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… are you kidding?

 

 

To cut my hair was a kinda deadly sin according to my mom. It was THEN. When my mom was present. THEN my hair was trimmed once a month in the barbershop. The same as mom’s hair. Our hair was thick dark blonde and wavy. All three of my brothers and dad had thin dark brown straight hair. It looked greasy even immediately after the wash. All of them kept their hair short. Like buzz cut.

The barber shop owned by Mr. King was on the other side of the street from my dad’s hardware store. My older brother Mike and I were working with dad all summer. My other two brothers Nat and Gab were too young to work. But they were almost all day around here.

The delivery truck had called it would be late. So I had some time to myself. I decided to have a haircut. The same as my dad and brothers. Because I was tired of them teasing me and calling me names. Like mommy’s girl.

Mom had got into a car accident. And she was in the hospital now. She was put in a coma because of swelling in her head. Coma is kinda almost dead but still alive though like not here.

So we were living without her. And our home got messy in a few days. Five men in one place may cause a great mess. Dad and brothers were ok with it. But I felt it like a disrespect to mom. So I started cleaning and dusting. I did the laundry because dirty things were everywhere. And I started doing meals. Like the real meal in the kitchen. Cuz having pizza two times a day ten days in a row was too much.

When at home I was in mom’s leggings. Because all my things were dirty. Dad and brothers wore the same things that were not too dirty. Their words. The teasing started when they saw me in leggings and the hairband.

Kinda girl, momma’s girl, housewife, chick. They almost brought me to tears. Dad said I was the only girl in the family now. Then he admitted he was only teasing me.

“It’s your hair,” he said.

Then customers in the store addressed me as a miss. Dad looked at me sheepishly and shrugged while my bro Mike chuckled.

“Your hair,” dad said after customers left.

So it was my hair?

Then some hour later I noticed a speck of dirt on dad’s overalls. I said he needed to change.

“You’re such a girl!” he exclaimed.

No! Really! A girl? Because I was caring about our image. HIS store image. A girl because of hair. Enough was enough. If it’s the price of having nice hair, then no. Thank you very much! Buzz cut looks not so bad too. No shampooing, no brushing and combing, no worries, and no teasing.

The delivery truck was late and I had time. Barber’s pole was spinning on the other side of the street. I opened the door and entered. The doorbell rang and Mr. King turned to greet me.

“Howdy, honey?” he said. He addressed honey to everyone younger.

“Trimming as usual? Shoulder length?” he questioned.

“Not this time,” I replied.

“I want a haircut like my dad and brothers,” I explained sitting down on the pneumatic chair.

“No,” Mr. King said calmly.

“What do you mean as no? Why not?” I was shocked.

“No,” he said again.

“But why?”

“Hadn’t your mommy said it’s a deadly sin to cut your hair?”

“Well… yeah… But she’s not here and I’m an adult…”

“Adult? How old are you honey?” Mr. King asked with a smirk.

“Sixteen,” I responded. “And I have a driver’s license already.”

“Calm down and let’s have a talk,” he offered.

“Ok. I guess…”

“So what happened?” he asked.

I was about to retell what happened today and before. But I didn’t want dad and brothers to seem slobs.

“Dad said, I’m such a girl.” It was the last straw. But it was the only thing I could tell Mr. King not demeaning dad and brothers.

“I see…” the barber shook his head. “And you are not.”

“I’m not,” I confirmed, “so let’s cut that hair.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m NOT such a girl!” I retorted impatiently.

“Are you in a hurry?” Mr. King asked.

“Well… No. Why?”

“You are with young Baxter?” he asked instead.

My friend Joe’s surname was Baxter. Joe lived next door and we spent a lot of time together. It’s when I wasn’t at dad’s store.

“Yeah… Why?” I said.

Mr. King turned away from me and stepped through the door to the street.

“Hey! Mister!” I heard him shouting.

A moment later he had my friend Joe inside.

“Your friend young Katz is about to get a buzz cut,” the barber said. Katz is my surname.

“Why?” Joe turned to me.

“Cuz dad says I’m SUCH a girl,” I said in response. For Joe, I could say more. Actually, I could say him everything. But Mr. King was here and I didn’t want him to know what was happening in the family.

“Well…” Joe started, “sometimes you really are.”

“WHAT?!”

“Sometimes,” he said. “Usually you are cool.”

“But I’m not. How could you?” I felt I was on verge of tears.

“Here you are!” dad exclaimed entering the barbershop.

“Why hello Mr. Katz to you too,” Mr. King said.

“Oh! I’m sorry,” dad apologized, “hello everyone.”

There was a pause as if dad had forgotten what to say.

“Doctor has called from the hospital,” he said at last.

“Something with mom?” I asked worriedly.

“Well, yes. Your mother woke up,” dad started. “She’s fully conscious now and she wants to see her girl.”

“Whom?”

“You!”

“Why me?”

“Because only you pass,” dad responded. “By the way, what are you doing here?”

“I’m getting buzz cut,” I retorted.

“Why?” dad wondered.

“Because,” Mr. King said, “you named someone in this room SUCH A GIRL!”

“I did?”

“You did,” I confirmed.

“Oh boy…” dad exclaimed. “You really are such a girl!”

 

 

 

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this may be rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
My thanks to Monica Rose for proofreading and help.
Copyright... are you kidding?

 

 

The whole of my childhood I spent in a hunters' settlement in Alaska. There were ten of us kids. We were kinda schooled at home. But actually, our teachers were my mom and my best friend Jeff's dad.

When kids reached fourteen they went to Fairbanks. They lived in a dorm and attended high school there. That is how it would be for both of us, Jeff and I. Because we both were fourteen.

For vacation, kids were coming back home. All the older kids were coming and staying in the village for the summer. Jeff would come too. But I wouldn't be coming back. Because my mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. It was inoperable and was now in the terminal phase. Doctors sent her home from Fairbanks. They said she would not survive to the fall, to August maybe.

Jeff's dad had a radio. If there was an emergency and a doctor was needed and, I mean it was a real emergency, he would call for help and Chieftain would come. We had a kind of airport here but no regular flights. Only when needed. For the needs of the Post, Chieftain was coming once in two weeks if the weather was good.

For not very emergency medical problems there was old Hedwig. She was a retired nurse and, at the same time, people thought she was a witch. Jeff's grandfather said Hedwig was already old when he was a kid.

The time with mom wasn't a pleasant farewell. Mom had frequent fits of dry cough. The cough was so deep and hard that it made her puke. Between the coughing fits, her breath was short and the only thing she could do was sit. Mom had some pills but they weren't helping much. I thought maybe some herbal tea would give some relief.

Hedwig was coming to our home to see her but she couldn't help much.

“On the other side of Hansen oxbow, there is a marshy, thinned-out forest island where mother bears raise their cubs. In the middle of the island is a glade where cranberries grow. Those berries could help,” Hedwig mused.

“What cranberries!” I exclaimed. “It's June!”

“Maurice, no!” Mom whispered in-between her coughing fits.

I was named by my father Maurice, who was named by his Grandfather. Only my name was French. I even didn't speak French.

“Your Mother is right,” Hedwig said. “That place is for females only.”

“Your dad was killed there,” mom muttered.

That was new to me. Well, I knew my dad was killed while hunting two months before my birth. Nobody said how and where.

“She's right,” Hedwig confirmed mom's words. “No male, bear, or human, is welcome on this island.”

“Why did you tell me about it then?” I asked.

“Find someone to go there,” the old witch offered.

Yeah… Find someone… Female… All the females I knew were adults with kids all day staying around their homes. There were some girls. They were too young. The girl had to be strong to go out there.

The Hansen oxbow was three hours by foot from the village. Then you had to use a boat to get to another side of Hansen. It was half of the mile or maybe a little more. On the other side, who knows how much to that glade with berries?

The oldest girl I knew was Becky, fifteen years old. She was here for summer vacation with her parents. Becky wasn't my friend by any means. There were some older girls but they, well, they were adults, and who was I to talk with them?

My only friend was Jeff. He could be the help I needed to bring the boat to Hansen. And even a girl could paddle to the other side of the stream.

The problem - where to get a girl.

I didn't tell my mom but I went to Hedwig.

“How do bears know there is a male and not a female here on the island?” I asked.

“I'm not sure. They simply know,” Hedwig replied. “When I was your age, I'd crossed Hansen oxbow for the very first time. I was with my mom. Mom said if you keep quiet, bears don't come close. But a big mother bear came to us so we both raised the hems of our dresses, showing we were females. She stared at us and let us go. The hardest thing was to stay quiet.”

“Did she only look?”

“Who knows? Maybe she sniffed. A man's and woman's sweat smells differently.”

“What if I wear a dress and wash in the river before entering the island?” I offered.

“I don't know. I really don't know,” Hedwig said. “Your mom will never let you go.”

 

 

Who said I'd ask mom's permission?

Friend or not but Becky supplied me with an old dress. It was a little too short but otherwise, it fitted well.

Jeff got the boat. It was a jon boat used to service some of the boats in the bay.

Hedwig knew I was about to go. She saw me in the dress and had approved my look after I'd arranged my bits not to be visible with the hem raised.

The day was a week before the summer solstice. I got a basket for berries and Hedwig gave me a miniature barrel for water. It was some two gallons. The barrel had two straps around it and a handle for easy carrying. She said there was a well in the middle of the glade. The water was medicine like the berries of the glade.

It was four in the morning when Jeff and I left. The sun was up. It doesn't go down in summer.

I changed at the river.

“You look girly,” Jeff stated.

“Ha-ha… Not funny!”

“I'm not teasing,” he stammered, “but if I was a bear, I'd believe you're a real girl. Sure…”

“You think?”

“Yeah…”

Jeff took my boy's clothes and waited with them till my return. We would go fishing whenever we had free time. So yeah, Jeff was fishing while I was gone. I couldn't imagine him sitting and waiting and reading a book or something like that.

I was now a girl in a boat. Paddling took me more than an hour. The sun was already high when I arrived on the island.

I was all sweaty, so I took the dress off. And I washed in the river. I had no towel so I waited for the water to dry before putting the dress back on.

The direction was to the North. The landmark was two tall fir trees. They were clearly visible and it was easy to keep in the right direction.

Walking took me more time than I had expected. It was hot and humid. The barrel, even when it was empty, was heavy.

The cranberry glade was easy to spot. They were the only berries there. Cranberries were dark red, almost black, and tasted like honey.

The well was dark and its sides were covered with dead grass. The water was cold but not ice cold. In the hot weather, the water was rather refreshing. I dipped in it once and then collected berries still naked waiting for the water to dry. The strange thing was there were no mosquitoes around the well.

The sun was turning to the west when I rushed back. There was no landmark to follow. I followed my track and managed to lose it so I was back to the river when the sun wasn't high. Another hour later, I crossed the river and found Jeff waiting for me.

Jeff took the barrel and another three hours later, we were home. What about bears? I hadn't heard or seen any. Not a single bear at all!

 

 

I didn't believe berries and water would help. But it was the last measure. There was nothing more I or anybody else could do for my mom.

Mom wasn't stupid and she knew where the berries and water were from and who brought them to her. But she was too weak to complain and scold me.

She had to take four berries every six hours and drink a half cup of water twice a day. The same water she used to gargle her throat once a day.

Two weeks later, mom started to cough out some black goo. She wasn't feeling better but, for sure, she wasn't getting worse. Something was happening and it looked like an improvement.

I knew I would need to cross the Hansen shortly again. I washed Becky's, now mine, dress and hung it in the backyard to dry. Mom saw it hanging there but didn't say a word.

The berries and water I brought back were enough for three weeks. For my second attempt, Jeff got a rowboat with oars. It was a great improvement. This time I crossed the oxbow in thirty minutes because I was rowing this time.

I saw a mother bear but I didn't see her cubs. She didn't look my way. It seemed as if she had ignored me.

While at the well, I collected old dark berries. There were new white berries too. I dipped into the water afterward and rested waiting to dry off.

The second time went much better. I knew the way. I was rowing instead of paddling this time. It took me and Jeff a few hours less than it took the first time.

 

 

Have I mentioned Jeff and I were fishing a lot? It was the only useful thing we could do in summer. In winter, we used traps to hunt squirrels. Their fur was valuable, if not damaged. It was torn if they were shot. So traps were kids' jobs. In summer, their fur was shabby so we had time for fishing.

For fishing, we were coming to another oxbow of the Black River. On its Northern bank was our favorite place. When the weather was hot and the water had warmed up, we skinny-dipped there. We both were fourteen. We both got bushes in our armpits and groins. We looked almost alike. Almost… Jeff's thingy was getting bigger every time I saw him naked. Mine on the other hand was the same. Or maybe it was even shrinking. It was hidden in the bush. Jeff stared at me and his thingy erected. I felt vulnerable and covered myself. Like a girl. The groin and the chest. At this point, I realized that my chest wasn't flat. But I didn't say a word. I turned my back to him.

“Don't gap at me,” I said. “I turn you on!”

“My thing gets hard a zillion times a day,” Jeff replied, “for no reason at all.”

Strange… My thingy was getting hard only in the morning and it was limp after I took a leak.

I looked somewhat girly because of my hair. Jeff's dad shaved Jeff's head every two weeks. My mom shaved me before too. But she was sick and too weak to do that now. My hair was getting longer. It was good for bears to be mistaken I guessed. So I didn't ask for a haircut.

 

 

The third trip went the same as the second one. The weather was warm but not hot. The glade with berries was protected from the wind and I got sweaty again. I dipped into the well before coming back.

Mom was getting better. She was coughing black goo out. She could now walk around. And she tried to do some chores at home. She didn't need to. I had done everything.

“I'll wash your dress,” mom offered.

“It's not mine! It's Becky's,” I complained. “I wash it after every use.”

“The dress and underwear have to be washed differently. I'll show you,” mom insisted.

I was a little embarrassed to wash my underwear and the dress in mom's presence. She said to wash not with soda but with soap. Because my new things were finer than usual boy's things.

 

 

The fourth time was the last. These were the last days of August. I and the other kids had to move to Fairbanks in a few days. The new school year was starting.

Mom was getting better with every day. Hedwig had arranged mom's appointment at the doctor's office.

It was one of those rare events when the Chieftain had no empty seats left. The flight to Fairbanks took less than two hours because it was less than two hundred miles.

Fairbanks is a big city. With a web of streets and a lot of cars. And a lot of people didn't answer when you say “Hello”.

Hedwig had arranged a place for mom to stay. It was at the home of some of her distant relatives. We got there from the airport.

It was a two-story house with red clapboard siding.

“It's good you are with a daughter,” the hostess said, “you may both stay in the same room.”

We didn't correct her I was really a boy. Mom wanted me at her side for help. And I wasn't eager to stay at the dorm either.

“It's your hair,” mom said.

It was on the longer side now. And I still looked more like a kid and not a young man. Like Jeff looked now.

The doctor declared mom was getting better. Though he couldn't explain why. The only thing he could do was to offer mom a course of chemotherapy. Mom agreed. Chemo made mom sick more than she had been before. Or it looked like that to me.

I was at mom's side almost constantly. Except for the time I was at school. The principal knew my mom was here with cancer and was getting chemo and needed my assistance. He was kind enough to arrange my classes and other activities so that I have as much free time as possible. I had no gym and was doing my homework in study hall when others had gym.

Mom was taking less water and berries and we were good with what we had for six weeks. Mom was getting better after her chemo. But she was weak and her coughing fits were more frequent.

I knew I needed to return to Hansen oxbow. There was a flight scheduled with the mail and some mail orders. I got to our village on Friday night. Our home was in the same building where little kids were schooled. So it was well stoked for heat.

I left early in the morning while It was still dark. I have dressed as a girl already. I had new tights, a long woolen skirt, boots, and a raincoat. Now that it was October, it was cold. During the night, the temperature was dropping below freezing. The river and the oxbow were still without ice but patches of snow were already here and there. The rowboat was where Jeff and I had left it in August.

The sun wasn't up yet but I could see where to go in the twilight. I saw the bear on my way to the glade. She was standing on her back legs and sniffing the air. I waited for her to go away and then got to the well.

All the berries were from this year. Old berries were gone. But the new ones were already luscious. After I had the berries and water, I considered washing off my sweat. But then I decided to dip into the water. The bears were here on the island. It was better to be cold and have all the sweat washed off instead of being eaten by a bear. The water was cold but it wasn't so bad afterward.

When I came back to the village, it was dark already. I had what I needed. But there was no way for me to get back to Fairbanks.

There was a tap on my door and I was still in my girl's clothes. I panicked. The door opened without invitation and Jeff's dad stepped in.

“Don't worry Marcy,” he and others called me Marcy instead of Maurice. “I have called for Chieftain to come tomorrow. So, you could bring some important documents to the court.”

“Huh?”

“Be ready at seven in the morning and I'll bring you to the airport,” he said.

The next morning, he brought me to the airport a mile away from our village.

“Give it to your mother,” he said handing me an envelope.

“And where are the documents for the court?” I asked.

“Don't be silly,” he said instead with a chuckle and hugged me farewell.

 

 

We now had enough water and berries to last till Thanksgiving. The only problem was that we had no money. I was okay as I was getting free lunch at school. Hedwig's friend refused to take money for our stay, but we had no money for mom. She had to stay here for the second course of chemo that was coming in two weeks.

Then I remembered Jeff's dad. I handed his envelope to mom. We thought it was a kind of Get Well card. It was a card. And money. The money the villagers had collected for mom. It was more than enough for mom's stay at Fairbanks.

 

 

For Thanksgiving, both mom and I got back to our village. Mom because the doctor said the medicine had nothing more to say about mom's healing. He said mom was practically healthy. There was still some risk for cancer to return. But the doc could do nothing about it.

For me it was Thanksgiving. All kids were coming home for Thanksgiving. And mom had finished the berries and water. I had to get some water and berries for the final time. If berries were not under the snow. And if the well wasn't ice-covered like Black river and oxbow.

It was dark when I left in the morning. I was wearing snowshoes over my boots and pulling a toboggan with an empty barrel and basket. The oxbow was all ice. No boat this time. I found the well easily and there were berries laying ON the snow. Like gems.

The well wasn't frozen. On the contrary, there was steam over it. Like it was warm. And it was warm. Or I had said so to myself. To force me to dip in it. As a superstition of good luck. I had a towel this time with me so no waiting to dry off.

I was so happy it was all over. Mom's healthy again and… There was a sloshing behind me. Not the sound of toboggan sledding but sloshing.

I turned around and a mother bear was sniffing suspiciously at the barrel. Three cubs were behind her. I panicked and I was about to turn around and run. But no one could outrun a bear. And I couldn't move. I was petrified. I remembered what I had to do.

I raised the hem of the skirt over my head.

“Please go away, please go away…” I repeated the words like a mantra in my head.

I felt the bear sniffing my groin.

“… please go away…”

She grumbled and I heard her sloshing away through the snow.

I waited another few minutes with the hem of the skirt still over my head because I couldn't move. Then I sighed. Because I didn't breathe all this time. And my hands started to shake. I was simply standing here and waiting for my nerves to calm down.

I managed to make the bear think I was really the girl.

I adjusted the skirt's waist and tights and my bits… And there was nothing to adjust. Just the skirt and tights. And no bits.

“Mom… Something happened and I'm fully girl now,” I said when I got home at last where mom and Hedwig were waiting for me.

“Well's water washed everything you didn't need from both of you,” Hedwig said, “cancer and manliness.”

The End

 
Do not complain

 

 

Note to readers. This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.

 

 

My dad moved from Poland to America a month ago. With me in tow, because he couldn't leave me alone in Warsaw. I usually was alone. Because Dad was on expeditions. All of the time. And I was left alone. Officially, he was with me though we were together only when he was at home. It's complicated. So I was used to staying alone.

Dad moved us to Boston because he was offered a position at the university and it was about Uruk expansion in the Near East. Yes, it's about archeology. But living in the United States, he couldn't leave me alone like he could in Poland. CPS wasn't that relaxed in the U.S. I had to be with an adult. The only available adult was my dad's grandmother's brother, Jacek. I think that made him my great uncle, I don't know how to describe my and his relation in English. I just called him Gramp.

Jacek was old. Like really old. Almost eighty.

He had a house at the seaside somewhere in the North. Dad said Portland. Then he said, Maine. Another time he said it was New England. So I wasn't sure where it was exactly. I got his address on a piece of paper in my wallet in case I ever got lost and it was Scarborough, ME. Nothing like what Dad had said before.

When we got to Boston, Dad introduced me to Jacek. He was due to leave the next day, which meant that I would be living with Jacek.

 

 

One of the things we did before my dad left, was that he and I went to the local high school. Dad said he would arrange for my school records from Warsaw to be transferred here.

My name isn't hard to spell. If you are Polish. The dude from the school office with the name tag “Earl” got my name, Przemysław, and typed it on his PC on the third attempt. Then he tried to say it but failed.

“Call him Pem,” my dad said.

“Him?” both the secretary and Earl wondered.

Come on people! I'm rolling my eyes here. With all the tick marks in all the proper places, how could they mistake me for a girl? Puberty may have missed me but there were my papers in both Polish and English, including medical records if someone still had a question.

Earl attached a Post-It sticker to my file with “Pem Boy” on it.

“Welcome to Scarborough High!” he announced. “You are officially our student now!”

“What next?” my dad asked.

“Come to the office a week before school starts for the schedule of your classes,” the secretary said.

I had three weeks to adjust to my new life in the United States. I didn't want to but I had to.

 

 

I was now living with an older man I had never seen before. Jacek was also living with a woman. They weren't married, but it was as if they were married. She, Sarah, was younger. Something about seventy or maybe even in her late sixties. She wasn't Jewish like I thought though her name was Jewish. She was American and she wasn't Catholic and she didn't speak Polish. Jacek spoke Polish but his Polish was worse than my English. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe it would help me to learn English faster.

When Jacek and Sarah were younger, they were partners and owned a restaurant together before they sold it. Jacek said they would teach me to make meals.

They did prepare meals at home but more often we went to the restaurant they owned at one time. They tried to make me like American food. Things like hamburgers. Or burgers as they called them. I didn't like them, I just couldn't. When it was possible, I opted for fries. And lettuce. American salad was awful. I didn't know how to make what I liked but I did know that I didn't like American food.

My mom had passed away when I was a kid and I didn't learn anything from her. But I did remember some things. Like brushing my hair before bed to keep it healthy. I had let my hair grow to cover my ears. That was because my ears were too big and I wanted to hide them. Dad had his hair long too but his hair was down to the middle of the shoulder blades. He let his hair hang loose, he tied his hair in a turban when he was in the field.

Sarah said I wasn't dressed properly and that I needed something new that suited my age. She took me to the store. Jacek left it to Sarah and he said he didn't like shopping with her.

Sarah and I drove in her car to the next city to an enormous shopping center called Maine Mall. I was used to shopping in thrift stores because I could spend less money and then have spare some money for my personal needs. This time, I got no money and Sarah was with me all of the time.

She wanted me to try things in bright or pastel colors.

“I think you think I am kinda girly,” I complained.

“Oh no! I know you are a tomboy,” she replied.

I was relieved. She knew I was a boy. Sometimes she misspelled my name, like Tom or Pam. But I didn't argue. For non-Polish people, Polish names were unusual. At home, I was called Pshemek while here it was shortened to Pem. I got used to it.

But my new things were in bright colors or pastel. I decided not to complain too much because I was already complaining about the food. I didn't want to seem like a spoiled child.

One day, Jacek had to go to the hospital. Sarah said it was nothing serious. But they liked to say “Better worry than sorry”. They made Sarah my guardian if something happened to Jacek.

 

 

I had still some time until school started. I wanted to improve my English. TV didn't help. It was boring. There were no kids my age around.

I spent a lot of time with Sarah. In the kitchen mainly. She showed me how to sew. Like a torn-away button or some repair.

We talked about her a lot. Like when she was a little girl. About her mom and dad. How she met Jacek. About how they were hippies and decided to be a modern family without marriage. How she couldn't bear a child. How they struggled but couldn't adopt because they weren't married. I wasn't sure it helped my English but it really helped to get closer to Sarah.

We listened to music that Jacek and Sarah liked when they were young. Then we listened to songs Sarah liked and Jacek didn't. But Jacek was in the hospital and couldn't complain.

At home, back in Poland, I was in a choir. I didn't read sheet music, but I could sing what I heard. One of my teachers said it was very wrong for me not to be able to read the music while another said it was okay as long as I sang without mistakes. Anyway, I could sing what I heard. I sang for Sarah some of her personal favorites. Like Forty-Eight Crash. Or something more melodious like Soley Soley. Sure they were girls' songs. But as I had mentioned already puberty had spared me. My voice was kind of soprano after it had changed. As one music teacher said, it was a countertenor while another said it was a male soprano. I didn't know which one of them was right and I didn't care.

“You sound so sweet,” Sarah gushed, “even better than Sally.”

She was talking about Sally Carr, the performer of Soley Soley.

My dad once said men were getting high-pitched voices lately. He said he didn't know that countertenor existed when he was my age. Nowadays there was a bunch of young adult countertenors in a church choir. They sang the soprano part together with the girls. My dad is a baritone by the way. With his long hair and beard, he is the most handsome man. And he is my dad!

 

 

It had become time to go to school and get my schedule. The school wasn't far from my new home, so I went there alone. I wasn't a kid, after all, I was fifteen years old. I didn't need someone to hold me by hand.

After some mayhem and some misunderstanding, the person with the name tag AP Hopkins found my file.

“What this is here for?” she asked indicating a Post-It sticker with “Pem boy” on it.

“My name is Pem and I am a boy,” I replied.

“Have you seen a counselor yet?” she inquired.

“No…”

“Then it's too early for it,” she said and removed the sticker.

She opened my file and tried to read my name but failed.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Pem.”

She took another sticker and wrote “PAM” on it and attached it to my file. AP person looked me up and down.

“See a counselor first,” she ordered.

“Where?”

“The second door on the left down the hall.”

Americans were using the word ‘down' a lot even if it wasn't down. Anyway, I got to the door with the table “Counselor, Ms. Croft.” I knocked and was ushered in.

“AP Hopkins said to see you first,” I repeated AP's words.

“What's your name?”

“Pem Kalecki.”

She looked at her PC.

“Kaleki,” she said. It was the way Americans pronounced Polish names. The c was ignored.

“It says Pam,” she added then.

“Let it be Pam then,” I agreed. It sounded almost the same. So what is the difference?

“So you are transitioning?” she asked.

“Transitioning? Where?” I wasn't sure I understood what she was talking about.

“Well… Let's try differently… You think you were born in the body of the wrong gender…”

“No… I don't… I mean I'm okay with a body I was born in.” I hope I said it right.

“Then I don't see the reason why you have to see me,” Ms. Croft said. She made some notes on her PC and dismissed me.

I came back to the office. AP Hopkins handed me my schedule, a book called “Students' Handbook” and a piece of paper with my locker number and lock combination. I got my student ID. Freshly laminated. It looked almost the same as my old ID in Poland. The picture was even the same. The name was different.

I went home to read the students' handbook and explore the schedule of my classes.

The handbook's part for boys could be described in one word - behave. Student attire should not disrupt the educational process. Sure, the book is about girls. Let them worry about their skirts, makeup, jewelry, tops, hairbands, tights, leggings, and so on. I was glad that I was a boy and was spared from worries about my looks.

The schedule had civic… No, it's civics. So it had to be something different from Honda. My foreign language was French. At home, my foreign languages were English and German. I didn't know a word of French. Then there was Home Economics. Why domestic economy was so important to have a separate class? An alternative for Home Economics was Shop. The classes were at the same time. One for boys and another for girls. I assumed the shopping was for girls. Because Sarah liked shopping and Jacek didn't. I wasn't sure I disliked shopping because it was cool when you didn't have to worry about money.

 

 

Jacek came home from the hospital after a few days. It wasn't something serious, he was just old. Sarah offered another shopping trip. It was called back to school. It wasn't back to school in my case because I wasn't at this school before. Anyway… I needed things for school and if Jacek and Sarah were ready to pay, I was more than eager to take this offer.

The first thing this time was the gym uniform. It had to be in school colors.

“Have student ID, dear?” the sales lady in the store asked.

“Sure. Here it is,” I replied and handed her my new ID.

“Scarborough High, Sophomore. Running shorts and tee in white with red trim, white knee socks, ankle socks, white sports bra,” she recited.

Wait! What bra? The saleslady handed me my student ID back. And yes, it said I was female. I didn't check it at school so it was my fault. Shit. What now? What now? Raise an issue and become a troublemaker even before school starts? If the sports bra is the only girly thing I have to wear I could survive. Not a big deal.

I ended with four changes of every thing. It reminded Sarah of something.

“You need new lingerie for school and formal events,” she said.

Even if I was a boy, she was right. Though I never used that strange word, lingerie, for my underwear. I ended up with a bunch of things that were coordinated. Those were Sarah's words. I didn't see the sense. It was underwear. Nobody sees it, so what is the difference in what color it is? And why do briefs have to be the same color as bras? And then it dawned on me that Sarah saw me as a girl. Maybe boyish but a girl anyway. The same as Jacek. And I thought it was because of his American accent. Shit. Why couldn't I stay in Warsaw?

 

 

Sarah persuaded me to buy a couple of skirts and a dress. I was like in a fog that was probably why I agreed. I planned to put those girly things in the back of my closet and never wear them. But… A couple of days later, it was Tuesday and the first day at school.

“There is only one first impression,” Sarah said. “How people will see you today they will see you the same way the rest of the year. So dress prim and proper, be demure and polite. Be the best you can be.”

After some discussion and Jacek's last word, I ended in a short denim skirt and a white tee. And sure, I had a bra. By the way, all my bras were padded and I looked as if I had tits.

 

 

I felt like an idiot. I was the only one in a skirt. Maybe not the only one in the whole school but the only one in the group I was assigned to - homeroom. Nobody laughed at me and nobody pointed at me but more than a few of them looked me up and down. Mostly boys. Some of the girls too.

I was introduced as a new student Pam Kaleki. I didn't even try to correct them that my surname was pronounced Kaletski - it was useless. The next period was English and it was in another room and another group. Some people were from my homeroom but some were new. The third period was science. Again, another room and different people. This time we sat at tables in couples. I was paired with a boy.

He looked me up and down. I was used to it already.

“I like you,” he said.

“You don't know me,” I said.

“I like what I see,” he insisted. “You are not like other girls. My partner last year was constantly talking about makeup and worrying about her nails. I had to do our assignments alone. You don't wear makeup.”

After a pause, he introduced himself, “Kevin. And you are Pam? Short for Pamela?”

“Pem. Short for Przemyslaw, it's a boy's name, because I'm a boy,” I said. I tried to play it from another direction. Maybe this time their eyes will open and they will agree, ‘Oh, yes! She's a boy! What a terrible mistake!' They will laugh for a while, and then all this mayhem will die and I'll be Pshemek a boy again.

“Ha-ha, I like your sense of humor,” he replied looking me up and down. I was the only person wearing a skirt in this room. “Your Pshe-something is unpronounceable. Better to just make it Pam.”

“No prob. At home, I'm Pam too. I'm used to it.”

“Your rents don't speak Polish with you?” Kevin wondered.

“I live with my dad's grandfather,” I said grandfather though Jacek was dad's granny's brother. I guess that made him some sort of uncle, but it was already too complicated, “Jacek Beck.”

“Oh, I know, the best homemade burgers in Maine,” Kevin exclaimed.

It was clear now why Sarah and Jacek were so unhappy after I rejected their burgers. They were known for the best hamburgers and I didn't appreciate it.

The classes went by lazily. It was the first day of classes. Still, neither teachers nor students were serious about their studies.

The next period was lunch. Students were more enthusiastic in the cafeteria. I stood in line to get my meal then I found an empty table away from the main mass of kids and sat down for my meal. Unexpectedly, the food was good. Not like homemade good food but better than what I got in some places in the mall while shopping with Sarah. I had opted for French fries. Without milk. Almost all kids had milk with everything they ate. I wasn't ready to experiment. I liked fries with ketchup and without milk.

“May I?” the voice disturbed the train of my thoughts. I raised my eyes and it was a boy. Probably older than me. Or maybe just seemed older.

“Sure. I don't own the place,” I replied.

“I saw you in homeroom. You Pam?”

“Yeah… For the foreseeable future I'm Pam,” I said.

“Morgan,” he introduced. Then after a while, he added, “You aren't like other girls.”

“You are not the first to say that today,” I retorted. “It's because I'm a boy.”

“Very funny,” he snickered. “Don't take me wrong, I like what I see.”

The silence that followed could have been termed loud. I didn't know how to respond. Or did I need to continue the conversation? At home, nobody said they liked how I looked. Was it politeness or a flirt? He, just like Kevin, didn't believe I was a boy. What I was expected to do? Morgan looked like a nerd. Maybe he was just being polite to a new student.

Little by little, step by step, I got to know other students I had classes with. I wasn't talkative but some of them liked to be with me. Maybe because I listened better than I talked. I didn't say I was the boy after my experience with Kevin and Morgan. It was useless. It was the same with correcting the pronunciation of my surname. Useless. It was like they knew better than I did how to pronounce my name.

In physical education, I learned that I was good at volleyball. I was accepted onto the team. It was great and strange at the same time because I wasn't good at any sport at home. In Warsaw, I mean.

But it was a girls' team and I was kinda a girl and I changed with other girls. I turned away from them to not be seen and not to stare at them when they were undressed. They thought I was shy.

“I'm like you,” one girl said. Sheila, I guess. I thought she saw I was a boy. And she's a boy too. So maybe not so bad.

“You are as flat as me,” Sheila added. “I'll show you later how to make your boobs look bigger.”

She wasn't a boy.

When I got home Sarah was happy and excited and wanted to know everything that happened at school. At first, I was reluctant to tell her but I got involved in the conversation and was eager to tell her everything.

 

 

The next morning, I wanted to dress in jeans, but Sarah said I had to keep the good image of a polite and demure girl. I ended up in a skirt again.

During breakfast, Sarah showed me my part in the pill organizer she and Jacek were using for their medications.

“What this is about?” I asked.

“Your vitamins,” Sarah said. “Though food seems tasty, after processing, storing, freezing, cooking, and baking almost no vitamins are left in it. So you will take three pills every morning. The big one is basic vitamins and minerals. The other two you need as a young and growing girl for your health and protection.”

One pill was really big and brown like a cockroach and it was hard to swallow. The other two were little and went down well even without washing them down. I did as I was told and just swallowed my vitamins.

Today, I decided to try another approach. I went to the counselor again. I told her I felt I was a boy.

She sat me down in front of a computer on which some tests appeared.

“Answer all those questions,” the counselor said. “Be honest. Don't hurry. Don't try to be someone you are not.”

Some questions were kinda of the same as others but the wording was different. I answered them all. It took me almost two hours and I would be late getting home after school.

Once I was done, the counselor talked to me in her office.

“You can't feel like a boy,” the counselor said, “because you're evaluated as a girl, sometimes a tomboyish and sometimes girly girl.”

How could I be a girly girl when I was a boy?

“I guess you've lost a bet to come here and take a test,” she said, “I won't report you to the office if you promise not to come to me with such nonsense again.”

I could be reported to the office as a liar and troublemaker. Shit… So I agreed never to come again.

 

 

Life became routine. School, volleyball practice, classes. Some classes were more boring than others. Like French. I didn't know much but I liked the teacher. Monsieur Henri. Science classes with Kevin. A little talk with Morgan. He lived two blocks away from us and we got to meet every day at the same school bus stop.

Sarah would not allow me to wear jeans to school.

“It will get colder and you'll wear them a lot and you'll see they are more boring than skirts,” she said.

Eventually, it got colder and I got sheer pantyhose first and then thick opaque pantyhose but I was in a skirt every day.

Then there were some special days I didn't understand the meaning and importance of. Like homecoming and Halloween. In both cases at school, there were dance parties but I didn't attend. Maybe I was a girl but I wasn't ready to be so much a girl as to go to a dance party. And Jacek, as well as Sarah, said I was too young to date. I didn't plan to go on dates anyway.

Another special day was Thanksgiving. I didn't know what it was but Jacek said Dad would be home for Thanksgiving.

I helped Sarah to clean the house thoroughly. Then helped her in the kitchen. No burgers this time. The Thanksgiving food was more like real food, not like American food.

Dad was supposed to be here a day before Thanksgiving but he wasn't. He called Jacek and said he would come directly to Thanksgiving dinner.

So the bell rang and I opened the door and there he was. Dad. And I was in a dress specially bought for today.

“Oh!” he exclaimed instead of saying hello.

“Huh…” I answered.

“Nice dress,” dad complimented.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Sarah said you'll like it.”

“I assume the Pem-boy sticker didn't help, they all decided you're a girl,” Dad simply stated. “Didn't you complain?”

“It's complicated. I was complaining about their food. And I didn't want to look like a spoiled brat. No, I didn't complain…”

“Want me to help resolve this prob?” he asked.

“No!” I replied maybe a little too eagerly.

“Have a boyfriend already?”

“DAAAD!”

“Just asking…” he shrugged.

“Jacek and Sarah say I'm kinda too young to date,” I explained

“Pam! Don't keep your daddy in a doorway!” Sarah shouted from the dining room, “Ask him in.”

“Daddy…?” dad rolled his eyes. “Jacek and Sarah pretend to be extra modern though both of them are so traditional and conservative.”

We moved to the dining room. There were all the pleasantries that usually take place at family reunions - hugs and how are you while not waiting for more or less detailed answers. Then we sat at the table. That is Jacek and Dad sat and Sarah and I were serving.

Sarah praised me because some of the dishes were eating were made by me. Jacek and Dad complimented Sarah and me because of the meal and because we both were dressed for the day. I liked it. The praise and compliments, I mean.

 

 

After Thanksgiving, Dad didn't leave. He had a job to do in Boston. After some consulting with Jacek and Sarah, they decided Dad would stay here and go to Boston every day. Because the Interstate 95 to Boston wasn't overloaded and it took some ninety minutes to get to his job. It would be the same as if he was living in some Boston suburb.

The next Monday, Dad was still at home and he saw Morgan come by and we went together to the school bus stop. Dad smirked at me as if it was something special.

After Thanksgiving, the schedule at school was changed. The girls who played field hockey now joined the rest of us in the gym. If you think only boys are bullies, you are wrong. I was flat and my English was really bad. I didn't complain too much.

One of them heard what I didn't say. Or I didn't know I said it. So I got an enemy for life. And I didn't know how to get out of this situation, because I didn't know how I got there. And she didn't say because she was offended and she didn't speak with me.

Another change was the Home Economy class before lunch. Now it wasn't about meals. The teacher called the new program - grooming. The word was new to me. Other girls were excited so it was probably something good. We all ended up applying an eyeliner and we had to start applying it every day. Make-up before school was our new drill.

During science class, Kevin stared at me. I knew he didn't like girls with make-up. He said it the first day we met.

“Not my idea,” I said.

“What?”

I waved my hand around my face indicating the eyeliner, “This. What you see. I know you don't like it.”

“Why would I?” he kinda wondered. “You look good and I like it.”

His words made me blush. Compliments usually made me blush. I was getting narcissistic probably.

“By the way, I learned that you're right about one thing,” Kevin started.

“I'm always right,” I retorted. Then I was curious about what was I right this time. “About what?”

“I got to know your P-sh-something name is boy's name,” he said.

“Didn't I say you? And I said I'm a boy so don't claim that I've lied to you…”

“Nice try,” Kevin interrupted me. “I don't understand why you say you are a boy. You are not over-the-top girly, but you definitely are not even a tomboy.”

“But I am…”

“Sure,” he interrupted me again. “Look at you - pink hair band, pink blouse, white pantyhose, lavender skirt…”

“Not my choice,” I said. “If it was my choice I would get my shirt white and skirt with tights black.”

“Skirt with tights is what every boy prefers,” Kevin said with a chuckle.

I'd lost it again. It's because of my bad English. Probably.

 

 

I didn't meet Morgan at lunch because after a schedule change our lunch periods weren't at the same time. But I wasn't at lunch alone. I was with other girls from the volleyball team.

 

 

At home, Sarah was ecstatic to know I'd need to apply some make-up every day. I needed my own make-up. A shopping trip was due. Dad was at home early. He, like Jacek, didn't like shopping. He offered me some money to buy what I liked because what Sarah bought me wasn't always my favorite.

Dad opened my purse to put some money in it and he dropped it as if there was a snake in it.

“What's this?” He inquired pointing at the pantyliner pack. “Do you use them?”

“Well…” Who would like to discuss intimate things with their Dad?

“You don't need them,” Dad exclaimed, “or do you?”

“Well…” there was no way I could escape. “I have a thingy and I can't allow for it to be seen. I prefer it wasn't here at all. But it is and I have to tuck it and it starts to burn after a while and a pantyliner helps to soothe it.”

“I'll think about it,” Dad replied unexpectedly calmly.

 

 

We were ready to go but Sarah's blood pressure shot up suddenly. It wasn't the first time. This happened sometimes, and quite often lately. She took her medicine and lay down. And she couldn't go to the mall now.

I needed some basic make-up and I could use Sarah's. She said - “No!”

If she said no, then it was no. I could go by bus to the mall.

“I'll go with you,” dad offered.

I understood that he wanted to talk with me, but he didn't want to in the presence of Sarah and Jacek. We were never truly alone at home.

We drove his car. Mostly in silence. Then Dad didn't make a turn to the mall exit.

“Aren't we going to the mall?” I wondered.

“The mall in December is like an overcrowded battlefield in the nuthouse,” he replied. “I know a better place. A colleague at the university suggested it.”

That better place was at the seaside. Not exactly on the coast but ocean and sails were visible in the gaps between houses. The store looked more like a warehouse because they were selling to beauty professionals mostly. You had to know what you wanted. I didn't. Dad didn't either. Dad had magic in his looks, hypnotizing every woman around. The clerk determined my skin type and tone and offered what was the best for me.

Next… We didn't have plans for what to do next. We just strolled down the street. Every building was a store. Gift store. Boutique. Hosiery. Baby shop. Fishing supplies. Another boutique. Bridal store. And another boutique again.

“Let's see what they have,” Dad offered at the third boutique.

I didn't complain. They had what I liked. Or preferred, if to like was the wrong word. Black, navy, and gray. Straight narrow skirts. Blazers. Shirts, not blouses. Camisoles to wear under blazers. But they looked better with boobs I didn't have.

The next store was shoes. Ordinary black. Without bows.

Then a bridal shop. Dad had his hand on the doorknob already.

“Daaad!” I stopped him.

“Huh? Oh… Maybe you're right. Still too young,” he relented.

The last stop was at the restaurant. Anything but burgers. This time it was seafood. Lobsters. Fishes I didn't know the names and forgot immediately what was on the menu. Dad ordered for us both.

“I've noticed you don't agree with Sarah's taste,” he started.

“She tends to make me look like a little girl. I'm sixteen in two months.”

“I'm asking if you are okay with Sarah turning you into a girl.”

“Ah… this. I'm ok I guess. Why not?”

“Sure… Why not?”

“Are you saying that I'm a boy and I have to be a boy?” I inquired. “I tried. Nobody believes me. And to tell the truth, I like it more like it is now.”

“You have to see a counselor,” Dad stated.

“I have already,” I replied, “she dismissed me and she said she will report me to the office if I'll come again.”

“Really? You told the counselor you're a boy and want to be a girl?”

“No! She thinks I'm a girl who tries to pretend to be a boy.”

“Is it a school counselor?”

“Yeah…”

“You need an appointment with a real one,” Dad said.

“Ha… Those cost a fortune… I've checked on the internet,” I said.

“You have checked?”

I nodded.

“It proves you really need one.”

“But…”

“Leave the fortune thing to your daddy. Deal?”

“Deal,” I relented.

 

 

The next morning, Dad left for work early. The same as every other day. Sarah helped me to apply an eyeliner. I didn't have time to practice the day before.

“Had a nice talk with your daddy?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah… He says I need a counselor.”

“Sure you need to,” Sarah confirmed, “every girl who was born a boy needs.”

… “What?!”

“I say you really need one…” Sarah said.

“No, not that. The born the boy part. Did you know I'm a boy?”

“Sure. I'm not blind and I'm not stupid,” she retorted.

“But…”

“You needed a gentle push. And you accepted it. You go now in your own direction,” Sarah explained. “Every girl like you needs such a push and all the support she can get. I know it.”

There was kind of a hint. Or I only imagine it? Can't be…

“I was born Timothy. Jacek gave me that gentle push,” Sarah said, “I know how it is.”

 

 

The End

Doomed

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this is rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… are you kidding?

Edited by Rosemary.

 

 

Puberty started when I was twelve. Not too early and not too late.

My older bro’s puberty started with a growth spurt and hair in all proper places, including his face. He started to shave when he was sixteen.

My puberty started with erection and acne. The first part was kinda pleasant, though sometimes unpredictable. Embarrassing sometimes. Like popping out of the blue in front of a girl. Not big but visible. If they noticed, and they usually did, it was, “Pervert!”

I wasn’t. I didn’t mean it. Otherwise, that part was ok.

My acne wasn’t good. It was terrible, looked bad, and hurt.

“Wash your face thoroughly,” Mom offered.

As if I wasn’t. I washed it every time I got to the sink – even at school during lunch period. Know what? Washing didn’t help.

“It’s a healthy thing,” the doc said during the yearly visit. “It's a puberty thing. Acne will go after puberty and will be over with you.”

Girls have acne too. Carla, who’s with me in the school marching band, had it as terribly as me. She played piccolo while I had C flute. So Carla had acne but then after Halloween she didn’t.

“How? How did you do it?” I wondered.

“Doctor gave me pills. I take one a day. Pimples were gone in one week,” Carla explained.

“My doctor said it’s natural and there is no cure,” I whined.

“My doc said the same,” Carla retorted.

“But… You said your doc gave the pills…”

“That’s another doc. My bro’s girl gave me his card,” she explained. “But he isn’t free. I paid fifty for the visit and sixty for the pills. Three years supply.”

I calculated in my mind – sixty dollars for three years. One pill a day.

“It’s almost five cents per pill. Almost free,” I stated.

“They are expired in a bulk pack,” Carla said.

“Expired!?”

“Yeah… So what? Big pharma wants you to throw away good things and pay a fortune for new.”

“But… Isn’t it dangerous?”

“I’m still alive,” Carla stated the obvious.

I got the doc’s card. His office was on Dorchester Avenue. In South Boston, one could get anything if they knew where to look for it and were ready to pay.

The sign on the door “DR R.E. Gonzalez MD” was the only proof it was the doctor’s office. Inside the office looked rather like a warehouse. Dirty shelves loaded with dusty boxes of various sizes.

I got two bottles. Because I’m a boy. Boys are not girls and they have to be treated differently. I had to take two pills a day. One from each bottle. The pills were minuscule so the bottles weren’t big. I paid almost two hundred. No new smartphone then. Maybe Santa will be kind and will bring me a new one under the tree.

One pill in the morning and another before bed. Acne was gone in two weeks. Since then my face was clean as if acne didn’t exist at all. Expired or not, the pills worked!

 

 

Our family lived in Boston in a cramped apartment. I shared my bedroom with my elder bro. He said that he was sharing the room. Anyway, we lived in one room and it wasn’t great fun to be a pawn of a bossy brother.

He graduated eventually and was about to leave for college. I would have the room all for myself. It wasn’t destined to happen.

Rents announced they were moving to Alaska. My rents, both Mom and Dad, were scientists. As my Aunt Margaret said, one scientist in the family is a problem, and two scientists – are a disaster. We were about to move to Kotzebue, Alaska. They said there would be an excellent place for their geology investigations. They both were on cloud nine telling me this great news.

They showed me pictures of our new house. It was a house, not an apartment. A real American two-story house with a garage. I would attend a local school and my school records were transferred already.

We packed all our things and sent them to the moving company. We had only essentials with us for the plane trip to my dad’s brother, Uncle Paul. We would stay at his place for two days and then move to Alaska.

Uncle Paul was a scientist and he moved to the middle of nowhere a couple of years ago when he was offered a lab. So now he, Aunt Margaret, and my cousins, Kinga and Jake, lived in Waterloo, Iowa.

When we were already at Uncle Paul’s place Dad’s mobile rang. The delivery company had called. They said there was no house at the address they were given. Several calls later dad got to know that our new house was only in the plans. He managed to arrange some storage place for our things. He and my mom left for Alaska the next day.

I had to stay at my uncle’s home for the week to ten days. I had only a toothbrush and a change of underwear. Well, I had my anti-acne pills. And my flute. All other stuff was in Alaska now.

What to wear? The only reasonable option was to buy something. But my rents didn’t leave me any money. As my aunt said, two scientists in the family – a disaster.

Since it was only a week or two I decided to borrow some of Kinga’s clothes. She was kind of a tomboy and we both were the same size.

I got army green shorts and a coordinated tee. Shorts were a little shorter than mine and the tee was tight and not so long as my usual tees. I checked myself in the mirror. The clothes were somewhat on the girlish side, but I didn’t look like a girl. My short hair helped a lot too.

 

 

There weren’t many things I could do at my uncle’s house. I stayed with my cousin Kinga who was the same age: fourteen. We were hanging around the house.

My other cousin Jake, was two years older, and he preferred to spend time with his buddies. I was familiar with such an attitude. It’s like with my bro who’s four years older than me, and didn’t like to spend his time with babies. Babies like me. His words.

Aunt Margaret, Kinga, and I were in the kitchen when Jake came home.

“Come with me to school tomorrow,” Jake said.

“Why?” Kinga asked.

“Our football team, dancing squad, and school band are going to Dubuque for Independence day.” Then he added, “any help for the parade will be appreciated.”

“I’m not assigned to your school,” Kinga complained.

“You will be,” Jake retorted, “West High is the nearest public High School to our home.”

“Jake’s right,” Aunt Margaret said, “you’ll attend West High this fall.”

 

 

I went with Kinga to keep her company. The field near the school was filled with kids of various ages.

“Football team and others are still here,” Jake explained, “for a farewell briefing. They leave tomorrow morning.”

After some uproar, all the kids separated into four groups. Three of them were those leaving the next day.

The fourth group was kids marching in the fourth of July parade. It was formed of kids in small packs gathered at one end of the field.

Kinga and I stayed with Jake and his friends.

“You said you have one baby sis,” one of the boys said, “but I see two.”

“Sylvie is my cousin,” Jake said. My name is Sylvester but usually, I’m called Sylvie in the family.

“Cool… I’m Bob,” the boy said.

He was ogling me as the bullies did back in Boston. I didn’t want the fight to start.

“I’m a boy,” I warned him.

“Sure,” Bob chuckled, “as you wish.”

“No… Really… Don’t you see my haircut,” I complained brushing a hand over my cropped hair.

“Who would guess otherwise?” another boy said with a serious face looking me up and down.

Other boys burst out laughing adding to my embarrassment. I felt stupid. There was nothing I could say to convince them I wasn’t a girl. Jake with Kinga didn’t say a word in my defense.

Three teachers approached us. I moved away from them. I was strolling along the edge of the bleachers.

“Sylvie! Come here!” Kinga shouted and waved her hand urging me to come nearer.

“Wazzup?”

“Mrs. Seda here,” Kinga indicated a teacher, “wants us both to carry a school banner.”

“I’m not from this school,” I said.

“It’s Independence day, not some school event,” the teacher said. “What school do you attend?”

“Kotzebue.”

“Oh…”

It was clear she didn’t know where it was.

“Alaska,” I said.

“I see…”

Kinga and I were put aside while the teacher explained to other students how they will be arranged. Meanwhile, the clouds covered the sun and it was getting chill.

“Has it to be summer?” I complained.

“You two, come here,” the teacher urged us nearer her after she was over with the other kids. “What’s your size?”

“Twelve,” Kinga replied.

“Very well,” the teacher murmured. “Here.”

She handed us two plastic bags.

“It's a gym uniform in your size. Put it on for the parade. And please, put a bra underneath.”

“Hey, I’m a dude,” I complained.

“What’s your name?” the teacher asked.

“Sylvie,” Kinga replied not waiting for me to say.

“Very well. Sylvie, you may stay without a bra,” the teacher said, indicating my chest. “After you make sure your nipples aren’t poking through your shirt.”

I looked down and there were two little tents over my nipples.

“It’s not fair,” I whined.

The teacher shrugged and then added, “If the day is chilly you may want to put danskins under your shorts.”

“What are those danskins?” I asked Kinga after we left.

“Pantyhose,” she said with a smirk and giggled.

 

 

“How was it?” Aunt Margaret asked when we got home.

“Wonderful!” exclaimed Kinga.

“Terrible,” I whined.

“Oh?” wondered my aunt. “Details, please.”

“Sylvie and I will carry the school banner. And we got gym uniforms for the parade,” Kinga gushed.

“That’s great!” Aunt Margaret complimented.

“Everyone thinks I’m a girl,” I complained.

“Once for a change,” Aunt offered. Four years ago my uncle’s family moved to Waterloo. When our two families lived in Boston, Kinga and I were inseparable, and she was mistaken for a boy. Nobody complained. She was a tomboy and acted like any other boy and she looked like my carbon copy. Now we still looked alike, Kinga was still a tomboy, but she was definitely a girl and I, at her side, was mistaken for a girl – even with my hair cropped short.

“Those boobs don’t help,” I slapped angrily at my erected and unwelcome nipples. They were sensitive. I’d even say they were over-sensitive and slapping made me wince.

“They are called breasts. Don’t use derogatory language,” Aunt complained.

“No matter what they are called. They don’t belong here!”

“Sometimes it happens,” my aunt said. “Your nipples are really prominent in the cold.”

“But I have to live with them!”

“Be a girl. Not a big deal,” Kinga blurted. “A week is left. Then you’ll go to Alaska.”

Aunt looked at me, “just a week,” she said.

I shrugged.

 

 

“It’s that stupid tight tee,” I complained the next morning getting ready for the parade. “They are invisible under MY shirt.”

“They are visible indeed,” my aunt said.

“What?”

“I said they are visible under your tee.”

“My bras are almost invisible,” Kinga tried to console me.

“Almost…”

The gym uniform was black shorts and a maroon tee with white “Waterloo West” and “Wahawks” on it. Both tight and skimpy, and yes, my nipples were poking through the shirt and something else through the shorts.

“Not good,” Kinga commented.

How could it be otherwise? I was a boy.

Kinga handed me some elastic thing with three stripes in one, “Put this on instead of your briefs.”

“Turn around, please?” I asked.

She turned and I turned around to face the wall. I fought with that mysterious garment and at last had it in place. It was skimpy but somehow covered my bits when my penis was tucked down and back. I pulled shorts on and the bulge was gone and no underwear lines were visible.

The next thing was the bra. It wasn’t like you see in the movies with cups with straps. It was an elastic band. It felt like a bandage. The nipples were invisible with the tee on. But my chest looked as if I had breasts.

“Isn’t it padded?” I wondered.

“It’s not a padding, it’s protection,” Kinga replied.

The morning was cloudy. What day it will be we didn’t know. Aunt Margaret ordered us to put pantyhose under our shorts.

We were ready to leave.

“You two,” Aunt Margaret stopped us. “Shave your legs. I’ll let you not go outside with that fur all over your legs.”

“We’ll be late,” Kinga whined.

“No back talking and hurry up!” aunt ordered.

I hadn’t shaved before. It was the very first time for me. I couldn’t say there was some hair on my legs. I didn’t see it, but Aunt Margaret did.

We were almost late. We went upstairs to the bathroom and some twenty minutes later we were done.

“Don’t you see the difference?” my aunt asked when we came to the kitchen again.

I didn’t but I said nothing. I felt the difference. The sensation of pantyhose over shaved legs was kinda weird. Neither good nor bad. Weird.

We went to Morris Park. It was the starting point. We formed a column and waited for our turn to start marching down East Ridgeway Avenue. It was nine-thirty in the morning already. Someone had said the parade will start at eleven.

The clouds had cleared and the sun was shining. Pantyhose-clad legs shone in the sun. I was getting hot with the hose and bra on. I wasn’t used to wearing so many layers in the summer.

Kids left their positions and gathered in small groups. The boys were all in tracksuits. The girls were in shorts and tees. Everything was in school colors and with school signs.

The parade itself wasn’t a bad thing. I knew how to march. Like in marching band. I showed others how to swing and turn in tact. It was much more fun than just marching. Even Mrs. Seda, the teacher, complimented us.

I saw Aunt Margaret and Uncle Paul in the crowd. Aunt Margaret was taking pictures of us with her smartphone.

After the parade, we got home and Jake disappeared instantly to meet his buddies. Kinga and I were about to change into something more comfortable.

“Put something dressy on,” aunt offered.

“Why?” Kinga asked.

“It’s a holiday,” her mom explained. “We’re going out to the Olive Garden restaurant for dinner.”

“Shorts will not work?”

“Not this time, honey.”

“Jeans?”

“Neither.”

“What then?”

“You may coordinate some neat skirts with blouses,” aunt explained.

“Worse than going to church…” Kinga whined.

“I’ll put chinos with a shirt I had on when I came here,” I offered.

“You will NOT,” Aunt Margaret turned to me.

“Why not?” I wondered, “those are the only things I have.”

“Everyone thinks you are a girl. You were marching like a girl. Our neighbors complimented my pretty daughter and niece. Not nephew. Niece. Pretty.”

“You promised,” Kinga added.

“I did?”

“You did,” Aunt Margaret confirmed.

 

 

I was trapped. I was sure I agreed to only march with Kinga as a girl at the parade. Both Kinga and Aunt Margaret thought otherwise.

I was changing with Kinga in the same room. There it downed to me that a girl was undressing in front of me and there was no erection. That didn’t bother me. It was just strange. Maybe this stage of puberty was over and the next step like a hairy face or growth spurt was coming. I didn’t know.

I had a denim skirt and a flannel-looking blue plaid shirt. Kinga was in a shirt dress that was like a regular shirt but longer and was tied with a ribbon of the same material. She looked good. I looked like a boy in a skirt. I had white trainers while Kinga’s sneakers were pale blue and coordinated with her dress. To be a boy wasn’t so complicated cause there were not so many choices. What else?... We had bras. Her bra was white, my bra was black and lacy. Kinga said its edge was visible under my shirt and it looked sexy and provocative. Exactly what I needed. Sexy and provocative.

The next step was Aunt Margaret’s approval.

“Put pantyhose on,” she said to me.

“Why?”

“Your legs are white. Like painted white.”

How could it be otherwise? I didn’t remember the last time I sunbathed.

Kinga gave me pantyhose and it was different than the one we had for the parade. That one was shiny, while this one was matt. To say the truth, I liked it. It kept my bits securely in place.

“That’s better,” Aunt Margaret gave the nod.

She ushered us both to the master bedroom.

“You need some accents,” she said rummaging through her jewelry.

“There they are,” she handed something to Kinga and another something to me.

“What’s this?” I wondered.

“Earrings,” Kinga replied.

“They are not rings,” I didn’t agree.

“It’s their name ‘earring’ and they can be any form really,” Aunt Margaret explained.

I didn’t know what to do with them and was staring at Kinga. She looked at me and sighed. Aunt clipped those on Kinga’s ears. I tried to do the same but was doing something wrong.

“Let me help you,” Aunt Margaret offered and clipped those things on the lobes of my ears.

“It hurts,” I complained.

“It will go,” my aunt said.

“Have we finished yet?” Kinga asked.

“Just one thing left,” the aunt said.

She took something that looked like a pencil but most probably wasn’t. She aimed that thing at Kinga’s eye. Kinga flinched back.

“NO!” she shouted.

“It’s just an eyeliner,” aunt explained.

“You were about to poke my eye,” Kinga whined.

“Not poke but draw a line around your eye,” the aunt said.

“Why?”

“For you to be pretty.”

“I’m pretty enough for my liking. I didn’t agree to be girly. That was Sylvie. Paint her,” Kinga snapped.

“As you wish,” the aunt said turning to me.

I was trapped. I didn’t remember I promised to be girly. I agreed to pretend to be one.

“Close your eyes,” Aunt ordered. I felt her touching my eyes with something sharp.

“Eyeliner – check…” Aunt murmured.

She took the fancy-looking bottle and spritzed it on my wrists and neck.

“You are ready!” she exclaimed and stepped back to have a full view.

“Not yet…” Aunt started to rummage through her jewelry again and handed me a bunch of shiny hoops.

“What’s this?”

“Bracelets,” Kinga said.

“They will fall off,” I said.

Aunt Margaret just squeezed three over my left palm and another four over my right one. The result was dangling with my every move. But they didn’t fall off.

“See?” aunt rather stated.

“I thought you were more tomboy than me,” Kinga mused.

“You framed me,” I retorted. “And I am the boy.”

“Look at yourself,” Kinga said.

 

 

The rest of the day was ok. Uncle Paul was looking funny at me. I thought I looked like a boy in a skirt. He said I was prettier than Kinga.

The food was better than anything I’d eaten before. My mother wasn’t good in the kitchen. I was experimenting with food but usually, the result wasn’t very tasty.

Then there was a line dance contest. A man was playing banjo and the lady was showing the steps and everyone had followed her steps. In the beginning, the crowd was big with those who didn’t follow the steps falling out. After a few dances, there were only two of us left – Aunt Margaret and me. We got badges and were photographed for the local paper.

After the restaurant, we went to the Amphitheatre to watch the fireworks.

 

 

Kinga was a loner at school, the same as I was. There were no kids of our age in the neighborhood, so we were spending time at home. I was reading “The Grapes of Wrath” while Kinga was reading “Little Women”.

About an hour every day, I spent practicing the flute while Kinga practiced gymnastics. Like stretches, jumps, and tumbles. When I was done with the flute, we were jumping and tumbling together.

While reading our books we usually sunbathed in the backyard. Kinga was in a bikini and I was in bikini bottoms. Then one day a neighbor complained about a topless girl prancing in our backyard. I wasn’t prancing. There were two options – to put a bikini top on and have tan lines or put a tee on and remain white.

Aunt Margaret said there was a tanning crème and I opted for a bikini top and tan lines. That couldn’t be much of tanning. I planned to leave for Alaska next week. Dad called and said they had our things in storage and both were undertaking a voyage to the mountains. I had to stay in Waterloo till the start of the school year. Great! Shit!

 

 

Six weeks were left before the start of the school year. I’d finished my Steinbeck book and didn't know what else to read. The books that were on Kinga’s list I had read a year before. Practicing flute and tumbling with Kinga were the only things I had to do. Boredom!

I started to experiment in the kitchen like I did at home in Boston. Here I had Aunt Margaret to help me. Or rather, I was helping her.

Kinga was too much of a tomboy to be engaged in the kitchen business. Or any other domestic chore, like dusting, cleaning, vacuuming, and laundry as those were exclusively Aunt Margaret’s duty. But she was working in the hospital and sometimes overtime. When Aunt Margaret was late from work, Jake or Uncle Paul ordered pizza. While Kinga and I were like helpless babies incapable of making dinner. Or laundry. Or clean the house.

We were dying of boredom rather than doing something useful. I didn’t force Kinga to do something. I started it alone, but she sighed loudly and joined me, complaining that I was more girl than she. But it wasn’t a girl thing I guessed.

The summer was nearing the end and I was getting ready to leave and meet the polar bears. Mom called. Mom and dad moved into our new house and it was okay, but there was a problem. The school. There was no high school in Kotzebue. Only elementary and junior high up to eighth grade.

“We can send you to boarding school in Anchorage or you may stay with Uncle Paul and Aunt Margaret. If they agree to keep you,” mom said.

I passed the phone to Aunt Margaret.

They talked for another half an hour and I didn’t understand what it was about. Because I heard only one side of the conversation.

“You stay with us,” Aunt Margaret announced after she disconnected. “Your mom will make the needed documents and send them to me to be your guardian. So I could take you to the doc and school.”

“The school will start soon,” I said, “do we have time for documents to come.”

“You’re right,” aunt agreed, “We’ll go tomorrow and see.”

The next day in the school office. Aunt Margaret started to explain about my parents in Kotzebue and no high school there. And two mad scientists in the family. And the kid left here in Waterloo for summer. And her other kids are already in this school. And…

Aunt’s phone rang.

“Sorry,” she said and answered. “Yes… Yes… No… WHAT!... Coming…”

“I’m leaving. There was a great car crash and all surgeons are needed. This is Sylvie,” she introduced me and left.

The pregnant pause followed. I didn’t know what to say and if at all I had to say something.

Then the teacher entered the office. I knew her. It was Mrs. Seda. The same who arranged for Kinga and me to carry the school banner. After the mandatory ‘Hi’ she turned to me and looked me up and down.

“I know you,” she exclaimed. “You have won a line dance contest I guess. Or wasn’t that you?”

“It was me but I won together with my aunt.”

“Sylvie-boy. Right?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I confirmed.

“Boy?” the secretary wondered.

“She claims she’s a boy,” Mrs. Seda explained.

“We are the most LGBT-friendly school in the entire state,” the VP stated. “But we need a doctor’s confirmation about your transition. Are you transitioning, right?”

“Huh?... What? No… But…” I wasn’t. Transition into what? No, I wasn’t. Definitely.

“Thank goodness!” Mrs. Seda sighed. “I take you on the dance squad without tryouts.”

“I can’t. I play the C flute and I want to be in the school band,” I complained.

“Ms. Reed has already one flute too many as far as I know,” VP said.

“I don’t know how to dance…”

“Says the girl, the winner of the line dance contest,” chuckled Mrs. Seda.

It dawned on me that I was a girl in their eyes. But I wasn’t. Why wasn't my aunt here when I needed her the most?

 

 

I was a girl all summer because my aunt asked me to be. Because it was less complicated – because few people thought I was a girl. At the end of the summer all Jake’s friends, all our neighbors, and a lot of other people I didn’t know were sure I was a girl.

And now I was starting school as a girl. Just wonderful! Crap!

Well! I decided to go with the flow. I didn’t need to dress girly or anything. I’d do everything like Kinga did. She was a tomboy, wore no makeup, and preferred jeans and shorts.

Shit! It didn’t work. I was in the dance squad and she wasn’t. Instead, she was on the gymnastics team. I wanted to be there too but I was already assigned to the dance squad.

A dance squad is something like cheerleaders but with more dancing and less jumping. Everything else was the same. Uniform in maroon with white trimming. Tight long-sleeved tee and short pleated skirt with panties showing.

Wearing squad uniforms to school was mandatory every game day. Other days dancers were expected to look their best. Like with a little makeup, shaved legs, and armpits. And to wear something fashionable, preferably a skirt. Oh crap!

The only positive thing in that school was gender-neutral bathrooms for confused students. Like me. Confused, hah! I wasn’t. I was mistaken!

 

 

Kinga wasn’t any help. She dressed tomboyish and girly at the same time. I had to find my style or I would end up in skirts on an everyday basis. I adopted the army style. Olive green and camo pattern. Tees, tactic pants, boots, beret, dog tag, steel bracelets, makeup shades black and olive. I looked classy. People said so. Aunt Margaret said so. Jake said I was hot. He called me army chiquilla. His buddies called me the same. Anyway, I thought I wasn’t too girly.

Kinga met some new friends: Tracy, Elle, and Pat. They were always socializing after school at home, or Elle’s place, or in the mall. They talked about fashion, boys, music, boys, school, and boys. I had no fashion or music sense so I could talk only about school. The school theme was enough for me at school. I didn’t spend too much time with them as a result.

“No dating before you are sixteen,” Aunt Margaret insisted. Despite my army appearance, I didn’t look masculine enough for any girl to go on a date with me. The no dating policy was addressed to Kinga I guessed. She talked about boys, not I.

Aunt Margaret wasn’t the only mom declaring a no dates policy under sixteen. Only juniors and seniors were dating.

We met Jake with his fourth girlfriend in the mall. Kinga and I were raiding the mall for Christmas presents right after Halloween. We noticed them in the food court sharing one seat. She was sitting on his knees. The mall was crowded, so I guessed that was why.

Kinga and I were measuring new Jake’s trophy when there was ‘Ahem…’ behind us.

We turned around and there was a man in a suit with a tag that was like an id. Not a name tag like most salespersons had. On the tag, there were a lot of words in the fine print.

“Hi here. I’m Anthony Spencer, the HR manager of this mall. You both look very alike: sisters probably. It’s exactly what we need for this season. Would you be interested in becoming Santa’s helpers? From four to eight on weekdays and whole days on weekends.”

“U-huh…” I said.

“Oh, yes!” Kinga said.

“Ok then. Let’s go to my office. I’ll give you contracts for you and your parents to sign.”

The contract was several sheets full of text in weird law-ish language. I never was good at reading and understanding instructions. I preferred when someone told me what to do. We took those contracts home. Aunt Margaret glanced them over and signed.

“Work at the mall can’t be an excuse from doing your homework,” she said. Then she warned, “Don’t spend hard-earned money on silly things.”

She didn’t say what those silly things are though. I didn’t plan to spend it at all. I lived at my aunt’s home and I wasn’t her kid. Someone had to pay for me. My parents only sent money if someone reminded them over and over again. I couldn’t live on charity. I planned to give my earnings to my aunt.

The next day after school we went directly to the mall with contracts.

Mr. Spencer gave each of us a big plastic bag with our costume and showed us to the employees’ locker room to change. We got lockers to keep our things. He said we were responsible to keep our costumes clean and tidy.

The outfit was elfish green with some white accents. It was much better than those worn by the Santa’s Helpers I’d seen in Boston. Those were green-red-white-black striped rags. Our outfits were green tights, green leotard, green cap, green coat, and green skirt, all with white fur trimming. And white boots on one-inch heels. The overall look was ok except for the skirt. The skirt was of some heavy material and it was kinda full circle and standing out like a tutu raising the coat's hem. It made the leotard bottom look like panties. Gross…

“May we be without skirts?” I asked.

“Without skirts? Undressed?” Mr. Spencer wondered.

“Not undressed, no. The coat without the skirt covers more than with it,” I said removing the skirt and twirling in front of him. “You may add Santa’s belt, only white, to tie over the coat.”

“Sounds good and looks good even without a belt. But… Hm-m…” he hesitated. “The costume was approved by the marketing department. Come with me.”

We followed him to the marketing department and found that the outfit was soft and comfortable, not restricting our movements. The boots were easy to walk on despite the heel.

We entered a big room with desks and computers and only one middle-aged woman. Mr. Spencer explained to her the problem with the skirt and what I proposed.

“I’m ok,” the woman said. “I guess Sandra’s boutique has white plastic Santa belts. Something else?”

We were sent to Sandra’s boutique where we got belts and started the first day as elves.

Being on the side of Santa and managing kids in the line was the easiest part. Usually, we were like mall guides showing where what was located. We were not regular staff so we had to take mom’s kids by the hand and lead them to the desired store. And then come back to Santa’s place.

Parents dumped their kids into the playroom before their main shopping. It was our territory too.

Four hours later we were exhausted. Four hours… I thought about the weekend with horror…

 

 

We got used to heels and to constant walking around with kids. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed the first few days, but it wasn’t easy either. Practice after school and before the mall, and homework after we got home when it was dark already. But the money was good.

Our last day was Christmas eve. We finished at five and Mr. Spencer took us home in his car still wearing our costumes. He said we could attend evening service in our outfits for more kids’ amusement. We politely omitted the fact we didn’t attend any church.

After we got out of his car there was another car that belonged neither to my uncle nor to my aunt. It couldn’t be Jake’s because it was almost new and had to cost a fortune.

We entered the house and found my parents together with Uncle Paul and Aunt Margaret in the living room.

In half a year mom had called only twice to say our new home wasn’t ready and the next time I had to stay in Waterloo. And then not a single call as I knew. I felt dumped and abandoned.

We stood there in silence.

“Oh…” dad said at last.

He took Kinga and held her at arm’s length, “Look at you, who could guess you’ll grow to be almost as beautiful as Kinga.”

“I’m Kinga,” Kinga whispered, “and she is Sylvie.”

I half expected my rents would make a scene and I could revert to the normalcy of being a boy. Instead, they were ok with me being a girl. I was doomed.

 

 

QModo, 2022

I was in a traffic jam. It was a dead jam, not even crawling. There was no way to escape while it was a one-way street. Like most streets in the neighborhood of Portland High School where I’d worked. One way streets usually worked well to prevent traffic jam to form but not today. The only exit from employees parking opened into Chestnut Street. It was a one-way street. I was driving down the Chestnut Street then the right turn into Congress Street. Then again there was the right turn into Elm Street, a one-way street too. After crossing the Cumberland Avenue Elm Street was coming to Turnpike exit and... The traffic jam was almost dead.

I got an apartment within walking distance from my work. It had a designated slot in the underground parking. I was usually walking on foot to the school and back home but not today. Today was Mom’s birthday and after work, I was about to drive to my parents' home in Oakdale. It was within walking distance too. I was walking from there to school one mile every day as a high school student years ago. I needed my car to go to Woodfords were I’d ordered flowers for Mom.

I was sitting in my Scout in the middle of Elm Street and waiting for the jam to start moving. The cyclist squeezed between my car and the curb. While driving he bumped in the right-wing mirror and flipped it. I looked to the right. No damage was made just the mirror turned a little. There was some building with the blind wall facing the street. I undid my seat belt and reached for the mirror to turn it back and at this moment I noticed something in it. I mean in the mirror. No, it wasn’t cracked or damaged some other way. It was showing something that wasn’t there. I mean I could see the door in the mirror and there was no door at all. As I’d said the wall was blind. The wall with the door in the mirror was the same I was facing from my car. There was graffiti on it and it was the same in the mirror too. But in the mirror, there was the door and it wasn’t in front of me. I was about to examine what I saw but traffic started moving and cars behind me started honking and I had to move along.

I promised myself to come here later, maybe a few days later, and investigate that mysterious door.

The rest of the day went as it was planned and like I had predicted it to go. I got a bouquet at the florist for Mom. On the way to my parents’ home, I picked up my fiancée Valery at USM.

My Mom was unbearable as usual. She reminded me and Val that it was my fault she couldn’t go to college. And that Dad because of me went to Community College instead of Uni. Well, that was a reason I years ago had gone to Boston Uni instead of USM. Then I rented an apartment and didn‘t live at their place though there were still free rooms. The home actually was not of my parents’ but my Grandfather’s. He lived in a detached so-called mother-in-law house.

My fault was that I was made at their Prom night. They didn’t use a condom and I was found guilty. I was always found guilty during my childhood when I was living with them. I never was good enough, there never was a word of encouragement or praise for me. What was mother’s love I got to know from my friend’s Mom.

I usually don’t visit my parents too often because of Mom’s rants. I come for their birthdays and for some bigger feasts like Christmas and Easter.

 

 

It was the first school day this year. Val had moved to my apartment after the previous school year ended. Today I’d escorted Val to USM first then stopped by Vegan Food Truck at Back Cove Trail. Then I got my fries and strode toward school looking around for nothing in particular.

I was coming down Elm Street and there was the same blind wall with graffiti on it. The morning rush hour was already over and the street was secluded. There were some students and teachers coming to school but not much of them. There was a minivan parked at the curb but I couldn’t start twisting its mirror to check the wall. I sighed and said to myself I’ll have a pocket mirror next time.

While passing the minivan I glanced at it. Its polished side was reflecting the wall with graffiti and there was a door. Yes, it was the same door. When I turned to the wall there was no door. Then I turned to the minivan and there was I in the mirror and the door behind me. Following myself in the mirror I took small steps toward the door. I felt the wall with my back already. Still looking in the mirror I groped the door and took its knob firmly in my hand and turned around. There was a blind wall and my hand was empty. I turned back to the car and groped the door again. I grabbed the knob and turned it and the door cracked open but I couldn’t see what was behind it. I pushed it open but I had to step through the doorway to open the door. At the same instant, I was standing again with my back to the wall and there was no minivan.

“What the fuck?” I exclaimed.

“Watch your language, Ms. Kilian,” the voice said.

I turned to it and there was my colleague history teacher Malcolm Bender standing.

“What?” I didn’t get what he’d said really. We called each other by first-name usually not a surname.

“Good morning to you too Ms. Kilian,” he said.

“Good morning, yeah, but what damned ‘miss’ Mal and…”

“It’s a bad omen, Ms. Kilian, to get detention on the first school day. And you’ll get one if you wouldn’t watch your language at this instant. The school will start in…” he glanced at his watch “… in seventeen minutes. I’ll escort you. Maybe a teacher at your side will help you not to get into more trouble.”

I looked around. Everything was the same. There were the same people coming down the street toward the school. I looked at myself and I was different. My tee was dark purple and I had a backpack. Backpack’s straps were showing my tits… Yeah, tits, boobs, breasts, whatever. Then there were jeans and white trainers. Malcolm thought I was a girl student. I was twenty-seven. I had graduated from this school almost ten years ago. And I was a man without fucking tits. I looked down and there were my… breasts. So I was a girl. HOW? And WHY?

I went along as I went along literally at Malcolm’s side down to the school. I knew only that I was the daughter of my parents because of my surname. I didn’t know what grade I was and what name I…

“Hey, Sandra!” One of two girls closing to us shouted. “Oh! I’m sorry Sir… I mean good morning. I didn’t recognize you. I thought you were Sandra’s Daddy.”

“Good morning Sir, hey Sandra,” another girl chirped too.

“Why good morning, Ms. Clayton, Ms. Spencer,” Malcolm answered their greeting. He nodded his head first to one and then to another girl. “I guess it’s safe to leave Ms. Kilian at your side. She was trying to get into serious trouble this morning.”

He strode away while we left here.

“What trouble, girl?” the first one asked.

I was ahead of her and I was the first to ask: “How could you mistake Bender with my Dad… dy?” It was hard to even pronounce that word – daddy.

“Kenzie said who else could be an adult beside you,” she motioned her head to the second girl.

“Oh, as always!” Kenzie exclaimed. “When we are wrong – it’s my fault when we are right – it’s Drew.”

“How much time do we have?” I asked.

Kenzie glanced at Smartphone she was holding in her hand. “Oh my… Let’s run to assembly!”

 

 

The day was a continuous nightmare. After the second period, I got to the bathroom together with my two friends. I thought maybe it was kind of hypnosis and I was the same me but others didn’t see me like this. No. I was a girl. And I had to sit to take a leak.

Kenzie and Drew were my BFFs and we were together at all our classes. We were sixteen and we were juniors. I felt like there was something between those two. It looked like they were an item. No, they were not showing it. I felt it. Maybe they really were. As I thought about it I noticed that boys didn’t flirt with us. But we were kind of pretty. Maybe I was not but Kenzie and Drew were. During the lunch period there were some ‘Hey’ there and here from other girls and a few boys.

The last period was PE and Kenzie with Drew guided me to my locker room. While changing I was trying not to look at girls. I planned to reverse to Earl, that’s too old me. The teacher couldn’t ogle his nude students. The girls’ PE teacher was Madeleine Bond. Students and other teachers behind the back called her Mad Bond.

When we were ready to start Mad Bond lined us to make announcements.

“There are still openings in lacrosse and volleyball. Those who aren’t in any team have come to tryouts at four. It’s mandatory.”

And I hoped to get home as soon as possible.

“Good for you,” Kenzie whispered.

“How so?”

“Cheerleaders don’t need to go. Then only Drew and I go.”

Am I on cheer squad? Oh my… Cheerleading was always worse than rocket science for me and now here I am! I couldn’t understand what they were squeaking cause cheering pitch was too high. Then their jumps and splits and cartwheels and… and… they all had their individual names. I probably could learn Mandarin faster than anything cheer-ish. Anyway, I could go home immediately after…

“Cheerleaders don’t forget your practice starts at five Monday-Thursdays. Except for today because of tryouts.” Oh, that’s good.

The class ended shortly. My friends left waiting for tryouts while I hurried home.

At home, things were the same and different. The new dark purple Kia Soul was standing at the garage door. Everything was handled with care. The hedge was trimmed, the lawn was mowed, the porch was painted, the driveway was paved. There wasn’t anybody at home. I had a key in the backpack. Inside was maintained and clean too. Furniture wasn’t so worn like… like… How do I say about things that were in my – Earl’s life? Upstairs my old room was my room in this life too. But it had a bathroom attached and it was a little bigger and well… it was a girl’s room. Scent, coloring, things were showing it was definitely a girl’s room.

The main task was to find a mirror. There were two in the room but those were on vanity and on the closet door. I looked in the vanity drawers – nothing, in the drawers of the chest – nothing. In the third drawer of the desk, there was a folding mirror. Not big maybe a little bigger than a postcard, the size I actually needed. I put it in the backpack and ran to Elm Street.

Ten minutes later I was panting while standing at the blind wall with graffiti in Elm Street. I took a mirror from my backpack, unfolded it and was looking at it pretending I was looking at myself. There was the door in it. Thank goodness... Staring into the mirror I made short steps toward the door till my back was touching the wall. I groped behind me with my left hand till it was on the door-knob. I turned it and cracked the door open. I made a big step backward.

I was standing at the wall in the Elm Street as if nothing had happened. I had no mirror in my hand and I was Earl. I checked my watch and it was 3:52 PM. Well, classes were over and it was time to get my fiancée Valery at USM Library.

 

 

A few years later after my break with Val, I’d considered checking the door again. I was so unhappy with my current life. I was ready to step through this door and live that another maybe a little better life. With a folding mirror in my jacket pocket, I came to Elm Street and found the same wall but graffiti was different. I looked in the mirror and the door was here. I followed myself in the mirror to the door till my back was touching it. I took the doorknob in my hand and turned it. And nothing. I could turn the knob a little bit but not much. The door was locked.

Family home

I tore the wrapping paper off. Inside was the bear. It was soft. I hugged him and buried my face in his artificial fur. And it felt soooo good…

 

 

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this may be rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
My thanks to Monica Rose for proofreading and help.
Copyright... are you kidding?

 

 

I needed a suit coat. Not a tuxedo, just a suit. For occasions like funerals. Let's say, especially for funerals. It was something I could not order online or buy at Walmart. For all other apparel, Walmart was enough. But not for this.

I wasn't sure I could find a suit for me in Millinocket. Especially since I had to go to Portland anyway. To Portland because my mom had passed away.

She lived alone in our old home on the coast. I was about to say on the beach but it was really a coast. Very little sand between the rocks. When we were kids, for us and our friends, it was the beach. We, I mean I, and my younger brother Aron. He and his wife lived literally next door to mom. Maybe not exactly next door but on the same street.

Mom refused to move into Aron's house. And Aron's wife refused to move into mom's house because they, Aron and his wife Pat, lived in her family home. You know how stubborn old people could be. Mom was not the only one who was old. Pat and Aron were too. Not me. I was different. I lived and worked in Millinocket. I retired, at last, a month ago.

Aron didn't call the funeral home. It was Pat's idea most probably. To leave all duties for me. Maybe I would want something special. She used to say this.

So now it was already the second day since mom had passed away. I had to arrange the cremation and a funeral. And buy me a suit. And everything had to be done in one day because tomorrow will be Christmas Eve. I was seventy-six, not a boy anymore.

About that, not a boy thing. I was never a boy. When I was younger, I didn't know how to name it or what to do about it. So I kept myself under the radar. Just so. I thought I was the only one like that in the world. I kept to myself. After the army, I was a forest ranger in Millinocket. Until I retired the last month. I lived there. Nothing fancy, just a place to live away from the crowd.

A cemetery and funeral home were behind the Back Cove. Not much to arrange there. Cremation had to be at six. I had four hours to get the suit.

Years ago, it would have been East End or Downtown on the other side of the Back Cove. Nowadays all the stores had moved to the mall. The Maine Mall. I had to get onto the highway. Then pass the airport. Sorry, it was named Jetport now. And only then I could get to the mall.

I was in the mall now changed into an exquisite suit of anthracite color. It didn't fit well. Because it was made for a young man, not a fossil like me.

“We will alter it for you,” the assistant offered. “Just give us an hour. Maximum of two.”

I looked at my watch and saw that it was a quarter to four.

“I don't have two hours. I have to be back at Deering at six,” I said.

“Ok. An hour,” the assistant agreed.

I had an hour to kill. The mall two days before Christmas. I couldn't stay there. I went outside. Maybe I'll find something not so crowded. I looked around. There was a nail salon. Handmade Christmas tree decorations. Huggles International. Wooden toys.

I opted for Huggles. Because I was curious about what it was. I stepped through the door and I was kind of dropped into a fairy tale. I was surrounded by stuffed animals. Of all possible sizes and all possible species.

I wanted a simple Teddy bear when I was a kid. I dreamed about it. But I was a boy and I had a firefighters' truck. And the tank. And sword. And gun.

“May I help you, sir?” the saleslady approached me.

“I want them all but I don't have a house big enough,” I exclaimed with a chuckle.

She giggled in response.

“Maybe a classic one?” she offered, “Teddy the Bear?”

She took the bear from the shelf and handed it to me. It was big. Like three feet big. And it was very soft. But not acryl soft. I didn't know what material it was but it wasn't synthetic.

“I'll take it,” I said.

“Don't you want to try to hug it before you buy?” the saleslady asked.

“No, I don't,” I responded. “If I'll start the hugging I'll be lost here for eternity. And I have things to do. And…”

“Yes?” she said questioningly.

“I pay you now, but I want you to send it to my mom's home at Lennox Street.”

“No prob,” she agreed, “I'll arrange this for you.”

I wrote down the exact address, paid with my card, and left.

I was back in the apparel store when my suit was brought there. I didn't have to wait. The suit fitted properly now. I changed into it and left. I had to go directly to Evergreen cemetery where the cremation was scheduled. I had no time left to go home to change.

The funeral was depressing. All funerals are depressing but this one was special. Because it was my mom. And because there were only Aron and Pat and me. Mom was too old to have friends. She was ninety-nine and she had outlived everyone she had grown up with. A couple of neighbors came and left. Aron's kids didn't come. I couldn't understand why. Was it because it was the Christmas season or simply indifference?

 

 

Mom had left the Christmas tree already decorated. When we were kids, it was the mom who decorated the tree. I only helped her.

I spent the night alone. Then the courier delivered the parcel from Huggles International. It was wrapped in red paper with a golden ribbon and a bow. I put the thing under the Christmas tree. It was the only present here.

When I was a kid, the house was always full. My grandparents, dad's father, and mother, had a bedroom on the first floor. The guestroom on the first floor was occupied by dad's baby sister, Kelly. For me, she was Aunt Kelly. She was in university when I was in elementary school.

On the second floor was the whole of our family. Mom and dad occupied the master bedroom. Next to them was my little room. Then there was a studio. It served as an emergency bedroom when relatives were staying at our home. And then there was the bedroom for the twins, Aron and David. Aron's twin, David, died from an overdose when I was in the army.

Over the years, the house gradually emptied. Kelly was the first. She moved to Albany after marriage. I was drafted and after I returned, I moved to Millinocket. Aron moved to Pat's place after their marriage. Then my grandparents and later dad passed away and mom was left alone.

Kelly's youngest son, Sean, wanted to move in with his wife, Irene. Sean was my cousin and he had the right to live at our family home. The same as I or Aron. But… Nobody had said anything but I suspected Pat and Aron played dirty and Sean and Irene rented a house in Falmouth instead.

It could be a solution. Somebody at mom's side. Not just somebody… Irene was a nurse. Maybe mom would be still alive.

 

 

The weather wasn't what one could expect for Christmas. Overcast for two weeks. Inclement or sleet depending on the temperature. Pure Portland-ish. As always.

Christmas morning dawned. I went downstairs to the living room with mom's decorated tree. Under it sat the lonely present from me to me. The steady thrum of rain on the windows filled the room.

I managed to sit down on the floor in front of the tree. Don't laugh! At seventy-six, it's a challenge.

So I took the present and tore the wrapping paper off. Inside was the bear. The same stuffed Teddy the Bear I had bought two days before. It was soft to the touch. It was made for hugging. I hugged him and buried my face in his artificial fur. And it felt soooo good…

 

 

I opened my eyes and looked around. The thrum of the rain was the same, but the room had changed. Was it bigger? And there were more presents under the tree. Not so many as when I was a kid but more. And there were more sounds. Somebody was busy in the kitchen.

I turned toward the sound and Irene was standing in the doorway. I could see mom behind her.

“Someone has found her Christmas presents already?” Irene said with a chuckle.

“Who is it with you, sweetie?” mom asked from behind Irene.

I glanced down at myself. I was kneeling on the floor and I was in a long flannel nightshirt. I turned my head back to face Irene and mom and my pigtails bobbed.

“What have you got this year, Cindy?” Irene asked.

“It's Graham,” I said. Graham was my name when I was Graham so I felt I needed to give that name to my bear. Then I added, “Graham is a bear.”

“Isn't he big?” mom said. It dawned on me that she was not my mom anymore. Granny? Yep. Granny. “Almost as big as your daddy.”

“Graham has a greeting card for you,” Irene said showing to my lap. No. It's wrong. Not Irene. Mom. Mommy. If it was a dream it was the most natural and sweetest dream.

Mommy was right. There was a card attached to Graham's neck with golden lace. On one side was “Christmas greetings from Huggles International.” and then in the fine print: “Feel the magic of soft touch.” Maybe that was true and not only the promotional slogan?

 

 

 

 

Note to readers. This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.

 

 

I've been assigned a book to read over the summer. In previous years, I'd somehow managed to dodge the whole reading thing. Why bother with books when you can just watch a movie? I'd rather dig into stuff you couldn't find on TV — like the dusty old issues of *Popular Mechanics* and *Scientific American* I'd discovered in the attic.

This time, though, things were different. My English teacher, Mr. Braun, must've figured out I'd been skipping the required reading.

“Your personal summer reading plan, Matty,” he said — Matty's my name, short for Matthew, by the way — “is *Gone with the Wind*. And don't even think about watching the movie or skimming the Reader's Digest version. The film leaves out some key moments from the novel. Trust me, it's a good read.”

I picked up the book from the school library. The librarian assured me I'd love it. It was massive — practically the size of a Bible — but with a bright, colorful cover. Vivien Leigh was on it, wrapped in Clark Gable's arms. I didn't know who they were, but their names were printed on the back. It looked like some sappy girly romance to me.

I spent three days holed up in my room with that book. I didn't exactly fall in love with it. It wasn't bad, just… not my thing.

 

 

My parents weren't thrilled with me. They were fine with Emma, my sister, though. She had a ton of friends and didn't spend every day cooped up in her room like I did. To be honest, they weren't really friends — they were more like a squad. They did stuff together, like cheerleading, as if it were some kind of business.

“Matty, you don't have any friends,” Mom complained.

“What about Nathan?” I said.

“Nathan doesn't count,” Emma cut in. “He's my ex-boyfriend.”

“I didn't steal your boyfriend,” I shot back. “We're friends because of cars.”

“Yeah, but you only met him because of me,” she said.

“I met him because I had to babysit his little sister during your dates. You could've asked any of your precious squad, but no, you dumped it on me.”

I didn't have a big group of friends, and I didn't have a girlfriend either. Maybe that was a flaw. But I hadn't taken Emma's boyfriend. Nathan was my friend, not my boyfriend.

 

 

I was at home, plowing through *that* book. I'll admit, it was starting to grow on me — maybe it wasn't half bad.

Emma was off with her squad. They were all over the place — our house, then the backyard to practice, then some field for stunts, then someone else's place, then back here again. I was used to their constant back-and-forth. I knew them, and they knew me.

I headed to the kitchen for a drink. As I passed the living room, I spotted a kid on the couch — definitely too young to be a cheerleader.

“Hey,” I said, sticking out my hand. “I'm Matty. Who're you?”

“Ricky,” he replied, shaking my hand.

“Ricky, like Richard the Lionheart?”

The kid grinned ear to ear.

“So, what're you doing here?” I asked.

“Jill said you'd take care of me.”

Fantastic. Just what I needed.

“Who's Jill?”

“She's my sister…” His voice trailed off as it hit him — Jill had totally ditched him. His lip started to quiver.

“Hey, little man, easy!” I said, pulling him into a quick hug — mostly to head off a full-on crying meltdown.

 

 

Kids seemed to like me for some reason. I didn't get it. It's not that I hated them — I just preferred hanging out with people my own age. But somehow, the only company I ever got was kids. Like Ricky now, or Nathan's little sister, Sally.

Babysitting at their houses was easy enough. They had their toys, their favorite board games, their rooms — everything to keep them comfortable. Here, though? Ricky only had me, and I had no idea how to keep him busy.

“How'd you get here?” I asked.

“On Jill's bike,” he said.

“Isn't her bike a bit big for you?”

He pictured himself on it, giggled, then got serious. “I don't ride. There's a second seat for me.”

“I need that bike,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

We headed outside to track down Emma and her squad. The girls were doing cartwheels in the backyard.

“Which one's your sister?” I asked.

“That one,” Ricky nodded toward the group. Helpful. They were all girls.

“Jill!” I shouted.

“What?” A redhead with a ponytail spun around. I knew her face, but I'd heard the squad call her Liana, not Jill.

“I need your bike,” I said.

“Huh? Oh… okay, I guess. What for?”

“We're going to see fire trucks.”

“Be home by six,” she replied.

Six? I wasn't planning to spend the whole day with this kid.

“Please, Matty,” Emma chimed in. “We're running short on time.”

A whole day with a kid. Fine. I'd bring the book.

“I'm taking your camo backpack,” I told Emma. “For the book. To read. Please.”

Why was I even saying “please”? I was doing *her* a favor, not the other way around. Her camo backpack was the only small one she owned that wasn't obnoxiously girly — just big enough for a book and a wallet. My school bag would've worked, but it was huge and clunky.

Guess what color Jill's bike was? Not pink — worse. Pink with glitter. Something was seriously off with girls' taste. Why not gray? All my clothes were gray or faded denim — easy to wash in one load without worrying about colors blending. At least the bike was a guy's frame, even if the paint job was ridiculous. The kid's seat wasn't in the back — it was up front, like a regular seat, so Ricky sat between my arms as I pedaled.

When I was Ricky's age, my dad used to take me to the fire station. I loved it. We went a few times — watching the trucks roll in, get washed, hoses unrolled, and coiled back up. The whole routine was weirdly hypnotic.

The place hadn't changed much. Only the trucks were newer.

“Can me and the kid watch you work?” I asked one of the firefighters, then tacked on, “Please… sir,” remembering my manners.

“Sure thing, miss,” he said.

Damn it. Not again. They thought I was a girl — probably because of this glittery monstrosity of a bike. Good thing Emma wasn't around. She'd have called me Matilda just to mess with me. I hated that name. Who'd even name their kid Matilda?

We watched the crew do their thing. I figured I'd read the book, so I pulled it out of the backpack and cracked it open — right as two fire trucks rolled into the yard, caked in mud up to six feet high. We ended up watching the guys hose them down and clean the insides instead.

Believe it or not, we spent four hours just staring at people working. Ricky was thrilled. Me? I didn't read a single word. I just lugged that book around like a prop to prove I had it.

 

 

The next day was Tuesday. Like always, I waited for Emma and her friends to clear out before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

Guess who was there? Ricky.

“Hey, man,” I said. “What're you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he replied.

“The girls don't practice on Tuesdays. So why are you here?”

“They went to the mall,” Ricky said. “I asked to stay with you instead.”

Why did I ever learn to be polite when I should've mastered swearing first?

“I see,” I said, keeping my cool. “But I've got a couple of things to do first, okay?”

Ricky nodded.

“Today's my wash day,” I explained. “Gotta load all my dirty clothes into the washer.”

“Okay,” he said. Then, “Can I watch you work? Please?”

What?!

“It's kind of personal, you know? Like underwear and stuff.”

“Oh… okay. I'll wait here then.”

“Just a couple minutes,” I promised, bolting back to my room.

Tuesday was laundry day. I didn't have much — mostly gray stuff that all washed the same — so it was one full load for four hours. Bedsheets were Mom's problem; she used the other washer for those.

Sixteen minutes later, I was back with Ricky.

“Next up,” I said, “is my aunt's place. She's away, so I've got to water her plants and feed her cats.”

We stepped outside, and I noticed my bike was missing. Jill's sparkly pink disaster was there instead. I seriously considered repainting it. Maybe no one would notice.

 

 

Aunt Nora lived near the port. She ran a ballet and dance studio, and her apartment was on the second floor above it. The studio was closed — Aunt Nora and her assistant Sylvia were off on vacation.

So, the cats.

First, Jacobina. They thought she was a boy at first, and named her Jacob, but then the vet said she was a girl. Hence, Jacobina. She's a massive black longhair, practically a Maine Coon, and super friendly.

Then there's Simba, a Siamese tom. He's shy, not big on strangers, and only tolerates Aunt Nora and me. That's why I'm the only one who can look after them.

I handled the dirty work — cleaning litter boxes and filling the automatic feeders and water fountains. Ricky was busy with Jacobina, petting her and playing. Simba perched in the doorway, keeping one eye on me and the other on Ricky and Jacobina.

Once that was done, we headed downstairs to the studio — a big room with a mirrored wall. Not just a mirror — the *whole* wall was reflective, making the space look twice as large. A barre ran along it. I showed Ricky what it was for, doing some basic warm-up moves — shifting from first to sixth position, then a side stretch and a front stretch.

Ricky just said, “Oh!”

 

 

I was about to head home when my phone buzzed. It was Nathan.

“Yo, I've got a Gremlin. '73. Green. Runs,” he said. “You in?”

“I've got a kid with me — Ricky. That cool?”

“Yeah, Sally's here too.”

So, we went to Nathan's place instead of home to babysit my laundry. That could wait.

The Gremlin wasn't too beat up — light dirt, minimal rust, bucket seats, manual transmission.

“Three on the tree?” I asked.

“Nah, it's got overdrive,” Nathan said. “He's from Canada.”

“Who's from Canada?” Ricky piped up.

“The Gremlin,” Nathan replied.

Sally was sulking inside, ignored while Ricky hung out with Nathan, me, and the car.

As Nathan said, the Gremlin was runnable. The oil was there — black and sludgy, but there. The battery was dead, though, and not a drop of gas. No big deal when you've got a real garage like Nathan's, not just a carport like my parents.

We added gas, swapped the battery, and cranked the engine. It didn't start right away — or on the second try. Thirty minutes later, it finally roared to life.

Sally stayed inside, pouting over being left out. Ricky climbed into the driver's seat, twisting the wheel left, right, left, right — like a kid playing pretend. Nathan was on the left side of the hood, tinkering with the throttle. I stood on the right, peering into the engine bay.

“This tube's swelling,” I said, pointing at a hose near the bottom. It bulged more with every right turn of the wheel.

“Something's gonna — ” I didn't finish. The tube burst with a loud *BANG!*, splattering me from neck to toe in hot, stinking fluid.

It must've looked ridiculous — Nathan snickered, and Ricky started bawling.

Then the burning hit. I screamed, the acrid stuff searing my skin. Nathan grabbed the hose and blasted me with ice-cold water.

Out of nowhere, Nathan's mom stormed over. “Nathaniel Benjamin Devereux, what are you doing to that poor girl? Stop it *now*!”

Nathan cut the water. I stopped screaming, though my skin still stung — just not as bad.

“What's going on?” she demanded.

“Power steering blew,” Nathan said. “I think.”

“He's right, ma'am,” I added.

She turned to me, wide-eyed. “Oh my God…” Then, softer, “You need a shower, *now*. Come with me.”

I followed her inside to the bathroom — I knew where it was from babysitting Sally. “Leave your clothes on the floor, dear,” she said. “I'll handle them later.” Then she left.

My clothes were toast. The power-steering fluid had eaten through them; they shredded when I peeled them off. Maybe Nathan had something I could borrow. Later. For now, I jumped in the shower, shampooing my hair and scrubbing myself three times to kill the stench.

Finally, decent, I slid the curtain back and stepped out. My rags were gone. On the laundry hamper sat a fluffy white towel and a stack of clothes: white panties, a matching sports bra, a powder-blue dress — not too long, not too short — white ankle socks, and white sneakers.

Now what?

Did I run out naked, yelling I was a boy? Or just take what I was given? Then I remembered Nathan's mom calling me “girl” and Nathan not correcting her. Did they think I was a girl? Was I supposed to whine like some teenager or just roll with it?

I slipped on the panties, tucking everything down and back — no bulge allowed. The bra was clasp-free, more like a vest. Pointless for me, but if I was going with it, I had to wear it. It had padding — probably for protection — but now I had fake boobs.

The dress was mid-thigh, buttoned to the waist, short-sleeved. Cute — if I were a girl. The socks had ruffled hems; the sneakers had pink hearts on the sides but could pass as unisex.

Dressed, I stepped into the kitchen. Nathan and his mom were there with Ricky and Sally. I braced for the kids to laugh, but they just stared.

“I didn't expect that dress to look so good on you,” Nathan's mom said.

“Thanks, ma'am. I'll return it once I change,” I replied.

“Oh, no, no — it's a gift! I've wanted to give you something for ages,” she insisted.

Nathan said nothing, just eyed me up and down. I blushed.

“Your phone rang while you were in there,” his mom said. “Emma called. Jill took your bike — hers now, I guess — and you'll get it back after you drop Ricky off.”

I didn't even know where Ricky lived.

“Emma said Water Street 9,” she added. “Know it, sweetie?”

Yeah — three blocks from Nathan's, on my route to school.

It was past seven. Sunset at eight — not much time. I hopped on the bike — Jill's glittery nightmare. Pretty sure I flashed everyone; a guy's bike and a short dress don't mix. Nathan and his mom didn't comment. Sally flashed her underwear all the time — she's a kid, so no one cares.

We reached Ricky's place just after sunset. Maybe the dark would hide the dress. I knocked, and Jill — aka Liana — answered.

“Oh! Pretty dress!” she said.

I pedaled home, sneaking in through the back door where the bikes stayed. I crashed right into Emma.

“Oh!” she gasped.

“No Matilda cracks!” I hissed.

“Who's Matilda?” Dad called from the kitchen. Then he saw me.

Moment of truth, I thought.

“Finally ditching that awful tomboy phase,” he said.

“Dad,” I started, “it's me — your son.”

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Come with me.”

We walked to the big mirror in the foyer.

“What do you see next to this old man?” he asked.

“You're not old,” I said.

“Fine, as you say. And the girl?”

“Just a girl,” I sighed. I *did* look like one, but…

“I won't stand in the way of your happiness,” he said. “You're a girl now, and I'll accept you as one. Want to be a boy? We'll help you.”

“I don't need help — I *am* a boy!” I snapped.

“I wouldn't be so sure,” he replied, calm as ever.

This was nuts.

“But — ” I started, ready to argue I'd been a boy my whole life. Then it hit me: I could just change into my own clothes — boy clothes — and everything would snap back to normal.

I bolted to the basement laundry room. Empty. No washer. No baskets.

“Where… where is it?”

“It broke,” Dad said from behind me. “Everything inside got shredded.”

“Everything?”

“Everything,” he confirmed. “All you've got is what you're wearing.”

“Maybe Emma can lend me something…” I mumbled.

“Up to you to ask her,” he said.

Then mom was at last home and she mumbled I was beautiful. Then she added it was a good sign my boyfriend's mom was giving me a gorgeous dress as a present and then she went to bed after a twenty-four-hour shift in the trauma ward.

 

 

I borrowed a nightdress from Emma to sleep in. She didn't own pajamas — just nightdresses. I lucked out with a cotton one; the rest were sheer nylon or so short they barely covered my butt. Whatever.

I hand-washed my panties and bra, hanging them to dry on the shower curtain rod. No big deal — Emma did it all the time.

In the morning, I shuffled downstairs to the kitchen in the nightdress — Emma's nightdress. Dad and Emma were there. Dad sipped his coffee, skipping breakfast as usual.

“Gotta run, ladies,” he said, kissing my forehead — something he'd never done before — then Emma's, and left.

Mom wandered in, yawning. “Morning, girls.”

After her first coffee, she eyed me up and down. “Light blue's your color, honey. Mid-thigh looks great on you.”

Emma glanced at the hem, checking Mom's claim.

“Oh boy, you shaved!” she gasped.

“My hair got torched by that power-steering goo,” I said.

“Tell me what happened yesterday, dear,” Mom yawned. “Your dad's version was a mess — typical man.”

I filled her in — yesterday, the day before, the whole deal.

“Damn work!” Mom exclaimed. “I've missed so much of my girls growing up.”

 

 

I had nothing to wear. Literally. I suggested Walmart for basics, but Mom shot it down.

So, we hit the mall — just me and her. Emma wanted to tag along, but Mom said she'd be a distraction, and anyway, she went with her friends all the time.

Mother and daughter outing. I wore Mom's leggings and a gray hoodie with pink lining — the only options left. Emma's stuff was too skimpy.

We started in the boys' section. Disaster. The sales assistant insisted the girls' department had better “tomboy” stuff — cut for girls like me who wanted a boyish look. Boys' clothes wouldn't fit right, she said, and Mom should know that. Dragging me here might confuse me, and make me hate being a girl.

We retreated to the food court. Mom needed coffee to recover.

“At least we tried,” she said.

“Yeah…” I mumbled, figuring she needed a nod of support.

“Anyway,” she went on, “I'd love having two girls. You could share clothes, save money — like you're already sharing a boyfriend.”

“He's not my boyfriend,” I groaned.

“Does Nathan know that?”

“Dunno… For some reason, he thinks I'm a girl.”

“Some reason…” Mom echoed, then spun to the waitress. “Miss, could she pass as a boy?”

The waitress squinted at me and tilted her head. “No way, ma'am. You'd need a different candidate.”

“What am I doing wrong?” I sighed.

“Maybe it's Nora's dance classes,” Mom offered.

“Huh?”

“You stand in third position half the time — usually on your toes.”

“I'm sitting now, and she still said I'm a girl,” I grumbled.

“Dunno,” Mom shrugged. “It's your attitude, your moves, something. I'm a trauma surgeon, not a girliness expert.”

She sipped her coffee; I ate my ice cream. Ready to go?

“How'd you like your dress?” she asked out of nowhere.

“I'm a boy,” I said. “I don't like or dislike it.”

“You wore it yesterday. How was it?”

“It's short and straight. I flashed everyone. A skirt would've been better — denim, with pockets.”

“I see…” she nodded. “Ready?”

We hit the girls' section. Mom aimed for tomboyish stuff — I got a couple of pieces — but she snuck in girlier things too: denim skirts, cropped tops, pantyhose. “For another image, if you want,” she said.

She called it a sprint. Five hours. She was wiped from her last 24-hour shift.

Back home, she napped. But it wasn't over. Emma, Jill (aka Liana), and Ruth — the girl I secretly adored — ambushed me. I had to model everything. I changed in front of them, glad I'd tucked my junk; no bulge showed. Emma tried on some of my stuff too. Jill and Ruth were bigger, sparing me the reverse show.

“You've got the basics,” Ruth declared.

 

 

Part of me wanted to go back to normal, but I was also… excited. Curious? I wanted to test this new look. So, the next morning, I went downstairs for breakfast in a tee and leggings.

Emma was there in her nighty. Dad sipped coffee while Mom messed with the stove.

“Oh…” Dad said, pausing. “I approve.”

“Of what?” Mom turned. “Scrambled eggs?”

“Yes, please,” I said.

“Take my spot,” Dad offered, standing and tossing his cup in the sink. “Gotta run, ladies. See you…”

He kissed me and Emma on the forehead, Mom on the cheek, and left.

“I'm almost late,” Mom said. “You girls behave.” She kissed our foreheads and bolted.

I sat, eating scrambled eggs and sipping orange juice. A crumb stuck to my lip — or so I thought. I brushed at it. Not a crumb — a painful pimple. Herpes. Toothpaste usually fixed it; it'd pass.

I washed dishes, then hit the bathroom to deal with it. In the mirror, it wasn't small anymore — swollen, then burst, now an ulcer.

Emma had left. Alone, I panicked as it grew. Mom? She's a trauma surgeon, not a pimple expert. Dad? He worked at a pharmacy.

I called him. He picked up fast.

“Something wrong, princess?” he asked. *Princess?* He'd never called me — or Emma — that.

“I've got a pimple on my lip. It's growing, turned into an ulcer, and I don't know if toothpaste will cut it or if it's worse than herpes…”

“Got it,” he said. “Probably herpes. Check the bathroom cabinet — behind the mirror — for acyclovir. If it's not there, come to me. Got bus money?”

“Yeah, I'll check first,” I said. “Acyclovir?”

“Yep. Call me either way.” He hung up.

Their bathroom was off their bedroom. No acyclovir. Damn. But their closet door — a full-length mirror — caught me. In leggings and a tee, I looked… girlier than some of Emma's squad.

The doorbell rang. Who now?

I raced downstairs and peeked through the peephole. Nathan. I opened the door.

“Oh,” he said, staring. I blushed. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“I ran into Emma. She said you were home. I called — you didn't pick up. Got worried.”

“I was in Mom's bathroom, looking for medicine,” I said. “Didn't hear it.”

“You okay?”

“Just a pimple. Heading to Dad's by bus.”

“I've got the Bronco. Grab your purse — I'll drive.”

I didn't have a purse. Day two of accidental girlhood — Nathan didn't know. I dashed upstairs. No phone. I grabbed my wallet, keys, and Emma's camo backpack. The phone was on the kitchen table — six missed calls from Nathan.

 

 

We rode in silence. Neither of us talked much, ever. He'd tinker with cars; I'd watch, and learn. I saw myself as his friend, maybe an apprentice. He was seventeen, I was fifteen — he knew way more about engines.

Plus, the Bronco's loud. Small talk's pointless.

“You take a cab?” Dad asked when I walked into the pharmacy.

“No. Why?”

“You're too early for the bus.”

“Nathan drove me,” I said.

“Nathan — your boyfriend?”

“He's not! Just a friend,” I insisted.

“Kid, no 'just friend' drives you around for a pimple unless he's your boyfriend,” Dad said. “I'd like to meet him someday. Not now, but soon.”

He handed me a tiny tube — one inch long.

“What's this?”

“Acyclovir. Apply it straight from the tube — no fingers, no rubbing, no kissing.”

“DAAAD!”

“Just saying,” he chuckled. “You're too young for that anyway.”

 

 

Back in the Bronco, I asked, “Why'd you call earlier?”

“There's a Riviera,” Nathan said. “Wanna see?”

“Where?”

“Gallant's.”

Our usual shorthand. Gallant's was a scrapyard twenty miles north of Portland and Riviera had to be Buick Riviera.

“Take me home,” I said. “I'm out.”

I needed to fix this damn pimple first.

---

At home, Emma was still gone. I had two missions: cure the pimple and read *that* book. I wasn't even halfway through. Sigh.

The doorbell rang. Again? I peeked out — Aunt Nora. I opened the door.

“Oh! Look at you!” she exclaimed, skipping a hello.

“Hi,” I said. “What?”

“Finally leaning into your feminine side…” She scanned me — up, down, up — grinning wickedly, head tilted.

“Why feminine? I'm not — ”

“When's the last time you saw your dad in leggings?”

“Uh…”

“Exactly,” she laughed.

“What's up?” I asked, then winced — rude? — and added, “I thought you were in Europe.”

“Vacations aren't forever,” she giggled. “Adults get two weeks. I'm back — need my keys. Called Max; he said you were home.”

Max is Dad, her brother. I handed her the keys.

“Studio opens Monday,” she said. “You coming?”

“Sure.”

Besides old cars, I liked dancing — not ballet, just dancing. Line dancing, maybe. For posture. To feel taller. Something like that.

 

 

I had two weeks for myself. Emma and other girls were at the camp for cheerleaders. Ricky and Sally were at some camp for kids. I wasn't sure if they both were at the same camp or different ones. Nat was busy with Gremlin or with Bronco. Mom and Dad were at work.

I was at home usually in leggings and tee or hoodie if it was chill. Nobody said anything. I got used to it. It was comfortable, because why? Only riding the bike with my junk tucked down and back was like a punishment for having it. Sometimes I thought my junk was good only for taking a leak.

I did what all the other kids did at summer break. Reading, mowing lawns, dusting, washing… And reading again.

The day did come and I finished the book. Did I fall in love with it? No, I didn't. It was too big. And it had no characters that I liked. Especially Scarlett. Bitch.

Then I thought I had to come to some conclusion. It will not end this way. I kinda come to my teacher and say I've read the book. Where is the proof? Sure thing, there will be some essay. Or something like that.

I started making notes. And then it downed to me – the book wasn't about Scarlett O'Hara. Because the book's title was Gone with the Wind. That bitch wasn't gone. Melanie was gone. The woman I'd prefer to be like. If I were a girl. Where Scarlett was fighting and bitching Melany was giving and loving. Then Melanie got what she gave – love and respect. Yes, she died young, but Scarlett didn't exactly win in the end either.

Why not men? The teacher would ask probably that question. Because in this book men were the circumstances that helped the main character, Melanie, and her bitchy counterpart Scarlett to evolve.

 

 

August was coming to an end. Emma and her friends were back. As well as kids, Sally and Ricky, too. We were getting ready for school. This year would be Emma's and Nathan's senior year and mine sophomore.

I tugged on jeans and a button-up for school, feeling the weight of ‘boy mode' settle back in. The rents and Emma didn't say a word.

In Maine the week before Labor Day was the first week after summer break. And yes, I was right, my English teacher Mr. Braun asked for an essay based on the last read book. The task wasn't personal for me. For others too. But they had to read different books, everyone had their own assignment. The essay had to be how the book's title related to what we had read.

I had my notes and the essay wasn't a problem. I handed it to Mr. Braun the next day. Will know the result after Labor Day probably.

Then the long weekend came. Our school football team went to Concord for one day. Cheerleaders too. Adults were busy with something. I got Ricky and Sally to babysit. Because Nathan was gone too because he's a football player. It's how Emma got to know him. Y'know the cliché – cheerleaders and footballers.

With two kids in tow, I went to Payson Park. It's not far away on foot and has a great children's playground. So I was sitting on the bench and rereading my favorite places from that book. Kids were playing and I kept an eye on them. Somebody sat down on the bench on my left. It was Mr. Braun, my English teacher.

“I've read your essay, Matty,” he said after we exchanged our greetings. “And I want to praise you. Once a mischievous unkempt tomboy you have grown into a smart responsible young lady.”

WHAT?! What young lady? I always was in boy mode around school!

“Thank you, sir,” I said instead.

“There was only one girl years ago, who noticed the great character of Melanie in this novel. This girl is now a vice-principal in our school.”

“Huh…” what else could I say?

“By the way,” he asked, “Matty is short of Matilda?”

“No! It's short of Mathew!”

“Ha-ha, I like your sense of humor,” Mr. Braun patted my back and stood up to leave.

“Mathew? Ha-ha…” he left shaking his head.

 

 

The End?

2025, QModo

 

Escaping the heat

 

It was a mistake to go outside. The sun was high and the asphalt of the parking lot was emanating heat. The only escape was to come back to the mall or any store on the left or the right of the main entrance.

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this is rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… are you kidding?

 

 

I was tired. No… I was exhausted. Yes. Exhausted. Four hours back to school shopping with mom and my sis Becky.

My part was done in twenty minutes. Because I knew what I needed. And I hated it. Or them. The fact I was male and the fact I needed male things and the fact I had to shop for those male things. But I had to pretend I was ok with it. Or them.

I was sixteen and Becky was thirteen. My things were already in the trunk of mom’s car. I was with mom and Becky as a packhorse. Accompanying them from store to store. Witnessing them getting things cute and not so cute. And having no say in it. Cuz I was a boy. And cuz boys don’t understand and are dumb in all things girly.

But I wasn’t. I just had to pretend I was.

My sis was in new blue tights and a new orange skirt and mom held a lettuce green blouse against Becky.

“Let’s get an independent opinion,” mom offered.

“What do you think Kevin?” Becky asked.

“Huh?” I pretended to be caught off guard.

“Men are color-dumb,” mom said.

“Boys…” Becky muttered.

“Looks good on you,” the saleslady offered.

I had to pretend the green blouse and orange skirt with blue tights looked stunningly. As if…

I was a boy and was dumb in all things fashion related. I had to be such if I was a real boy. The saleslady said it looked good. Saleslady would say anything to sell. She was SALES-lady, not ADVICE-lady.

After the second trip to mom’s car to place Becky’s plunder in the trunk, we had a break. Mom and Becky opted for the salad. I was outnumbered and didn’t get pizza. I liked salad but it wasn’t enough to regain the strength. I was six-two and almost two hundred pounds and salad for me was less than a light snack. But it was mom and Becky’s day and I had no voice there.

Mom had coffee, I had root beer and Becky was slurping a banana smoothie. Sis had a new eco-friendly paper straw and was feeling proud about it.

Becky had already shoes, bottoms, and tops beside the school supplies of course. What else does she need?

“What next?” I asked.

“Underwear,” mom replied.

“Really?” I wondered. “You bought all new underwear for Becky’s birthday three months ago.”

“Becky needs a bra,” mom stated.

Becky didn’t. She had nipples but no tits. I glanced at her chest and she looked flat.

“You’ll not understand. You’re a boy,” mom said.

Becky giggled and blushed. I sighed.

“I’ll wait for you outside,” I offered.

“OK,” mom agreed. “It will not take more than an hour.”

“Will you need my hand afterward?” I asked. I wasn’t sure it would be only a bra. An hour is definitely too much for underwear.

“Thanks, dear, but I don’t expect it will be much,” mom replied.

We separated at the food court. Mom and Becky turned to Sear’s and I went outside.

It was a mistake to go outside. The sun was high and there was no wind. The asphalt and concrete of the parking lot were emanating heat. There was no shadow to hide. No tree and no shelter. The only escape was to come back to the mall. But I was tired of it.

I swiftly examined the seemingly blind wall. It wasn’t blind. On the left side, there was Lana’s salon. Next to it were car parts for Korean cars. On the right side of the entrance, there was Warner’s Antiques and some toy store.

I turned to Warner’s Antiques. I didn’t plan to buy anything. Just to kill time there. When I came nearer to Warner’s Antiques another store Huggles caught my attention. They had a teddy bear in their window. Just a teddy bear. ‘Toy store’ was written on the door just above the ‘We are open’ sign. There was ‘The magic of soft touch’ in fine print below that sign.

I pushed the door open and the old-fashioned bell rang. Like in the movies. I half expected the interior to be black and white like in those old movies. But, no, it was in full color.

There was a counter and a salesman behind it with the name tag ‘Harris’. Shelves were lined at walls with all imaginable stuffed animals. Bears, hares, dogs, cats, flamingos and crows, and even bees. As I said – all imaginable.

Stuffed animals especially those cute bears, puppies, and kittens always fascinated me. But I didn’t have any. Cuz I was a boy. Boys don’t play with stuffed animals. Now I was sixteen and was too old to play no matter what. I could pretend I was looking for a present. For my sis maybe. She had already some. But can it be too much cuteness in the girl’s room?

I scanned the shelf and then another. A dog similar to Pluto caught my attention. Milk chocolate brown fur with an ivory-colored belly.

“May I?” I turned to the salesman.

“Why of course!” he replied.

I took the toy in my hands and he (I just knew it was he) felt different. Not like other stuffed animals, Becky had already.

“All natural cotton wool and aspen shavings,” the salesman said.

I put the dog to my face. He smelled a new toy.

“He’s for my baby sister,” I said to the salesman.

“Your sister has to be a very lucky young lady to have such an appreciating brother,” he replied. “Try to hug the dog. Feel the warmth.”

I hugged him. I mean the dog. It felt good. I felt good.

“Yeah… I feel the warmth,” I confirmed looking up at the salesman.

I looked up. The salesman looked giant to me. I looked down. I wasn’t me anymore. I looked up again and my pigtails bobbed.

“Do you like it?” the salesman asked.

“Yes, I do, sir,” I replied like any polite little girl.

The bell rang announcing there was another visitor. I turned around and saw mommy and Becky stepping in.

“Don’t you have enough toys, Rachel?” Becky exclaimed rolling her eyes.

“He is special,” I replied.

“He?” Becky snickered. “Let me guess… Pluto?”

“No!” I retorted. “Rebecca, meet my new friend Kevin.” Then I turned to Kevin and said, “Kevin, please meet my older sis Becky. She may be annoying sometimes but all other times she’s the bestest older sis the girl could dream of.”

“Soapy phase?” Becky wondered. I stuck my tongue at her. She did the same to me.

“GIRLS!” mommy growled turning to our side and putting the plastic card in her purse.

“Ready to go?” she asked then more calmly.

“Yeah,” Becky replied.

I turned to the salesman before leaving.

“Thank you,” I said, “for everything.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” Harris replied, “Kevin and Rachel.”

I waved a hand to him while exiting and he winked me back.

 

 

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this may be rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
My thanks to Monica Rose for proofreading and help.
Copyright... are you kidding?

I was what I hated – big and sturdy. Already at sixteen, I was six-eight and two hundred fifty. For the last three years, I was growing almost half an inch a month. With all unpleasantries in tow. Like bone and joint pain, dizziness, and headache. The only relative built similar to me was mom's brother – uncle Bjorn. Other men in the family were… How to say it more politely? Tiny. Like my dad. And he looked like our surname Igel (hedgehog in German) meaning – short and skinny with a small pointy nose.

I looked the same as my dad when I was a kid. I expected and hoped to grow into a man like my dad and then transition effortlessly. To transition, because I wanted to be a girl. No. Wrong wording. I didn't want to be a girl. I was a girl. After my puberty, I could forget the transition. It was impossible. As a man, I was almost a monster, as a woman I would be what? Monstress?

The only thing I got from my dad, besides his family name, was his first-generation Bronco. It was my grandfather's car before, then it was my dad's and now it was mine. Inline six, three on the tree, switchable four-wheel drive, oil-and-lube machine, doing its fourth odometer cycle. Good car. Economic in 2WD mode. Better mileage than dad's new F150.

It had a key ring pendant in the form of a hedgehog. Rubber foam. Only a little bit of that rubber at the key ring was left. I needed a new pendant. Preferably a hedgehog. No, I wasn't desperate to get a new keychain charm immediately. I was looking for it whenever I got an occasion.

 

 

My senior year had just started. It was September and grandfather's birthday was nearing. He was collecting salamanders. Not alive. Figurines. Metal, wood, stone, glass… You name it. To get one he didn't have yet would be the greatest present. I went through all of Portland's antique and curiosity shops with a toothcomb. Old Port and East End, Bayside and West End. And nothing.

I found myself at the mall. The biggest one in Maine. It was called Maine Mall. I was here to buy a button-down shirt and necktie. Grandfather was old-fashioned. Men had to wear shirts and neckties. He wore them every day. Even at home. I had to be dressed properly when visiting him. Because of my growth spurt, I didn't have a shirt in my size. I couldn't get it in Walmart because there was almost nothing in my size.

I got the shirt and tie I wanted. I also found three curiosity shops and checked them for salamanders with no joy. I noticed another antique shop on the outside facing the East parking. I checked it as well. Nothing. The next door to it was Huggles Intl. I didn't know what it was. I stepped inside and found that it was a soft toy store.

“Do you have a salamander?” I asked a salesman just to be sure I had done and checked everything.

“Let's see…” he started elongating vowels, “what we have here… one big fluffy… one small… Yes, we have two. One fluffy and one thermal.”

“What do you mean thermal?” I didn't want fluffy. But I was curious about another sort.

“There it is,” the salesman placed a salamander on the counter. It was one foot long and was heavy as if filled with sand.

“It is sand,” the salesman confirmed, “rather than granulated silica gel. Put it in the microwave to warm up and it stays warm for a long time. And it absorbs moisture. Very good for older folks.”

“I'll take it,” I said not even asking about the price. Then I tried my luck once more, “Do you have any keychain charms? Hedgehogs maybe?”

“Why yes!” the salesman exclaimed. “In three sizes.”

He put three pendants on the counter. Sizes from two to five inches. Soft and fluffy. I liked the biggest one. It would be ripped when keeping it in a pocket. But if I were a girl, I could keep it in a purse. But I wasn't a girl to have the purse to keep the charm.

Anyway, I bought the pendant I liked the most. Just as I was about to leave, thunder rumbled outside. I instinctively turned to the window and noticed the first big waterdrops falling. A moment later it was raining cats and dogs.

There was no hope of running to my car and staying dry.

“Downpour doesn't last long usually,” the salesman said. “Wait here,” he gestured to the sofa against the wall.

I wasn't in the mood to get soaked. And I was in no hurry. So I accepted the salesman's offer readily and sat down on the couch. I had time to investigate my purchases.

The salamander was heavy. Like it was filled with sand. Okay, it was filled with sand. But it wasn't a simple sack filled with sand. The sand was evenly distributed. If I raised the tail the sand didn't flow to the head. And vice versa. This salamander wasn't something to be kept on a shelf. It was different than all other salamanders grandfather had already. It was practical.

Then I looked at the hedgehog pendant. Almost five inches. Fluffy. Soft. Light. Pleasant to touch. I closed my eyes and brushed its fur against my cheek and it fell so good I could start purring.

“As I predicted, the rain is almost over,” the salesman said.

I opened my eyes and glanced through the window. It was drizzling instead of raining. I looked down at my purchases ready to go. But my hands were not my hands. Even more! My body wasn't my body. I liked what I saw because it was a girl's body. But I wasn't me.

“I'm hallucinating,” I muttered.

“You are not,” the salesman said.

I turned to him.

“You have changed me!” I exclaimed.

“Don't you like what you see?”

“Yeah, I do. But… But how?”

“The magic of soft touch,” the salesman said as if his words were the most reasonable explanation.

I stood up. I was shorter than I was before. Probably a foot shorter. I was wearing an olive shirt with two mounds visible and tactic pants with lot various pockets. And boots. Army boots. I patted pockets and in one was a wallet. There I found my ID. Evelyn Igel. Not Fred Igel. Definitely a girl. The same birthday. The same address. The same car.

I put my purchases into the bag and left the store.

“Thank you, sir,” I said as I stepped through the door.

“You are welcome, miss,” he replied, keeping the door open for me.

I liked how it sounded, miss.

 

 

I found my Bronco where I had left it. It wasn't the same car though. I'd spent three years repairing it. New head, new piston rings and skirts, tubes, and wiring. New paint.

This car looked like it did three years ago when dad had bought his F150. It not only looked old. It worked like it was old. Didn't want to start. Sparks and distributor's cap were the constant problems as I could remember when it was dad's car.

I knew how to repair it and where to get parts and what parts to buy. I had done it once. It was the minor price I had to pay for what I had gained.

 

 

When I got home I was happy I was alone. I wasn't ready to interact with my family. As Fred, I was neither friendly nor unfriendly to others the same as others to me. Neutral. Businesslike.

So I wanted to look at myself. See what I was. I measured myself at the door frame. Five nine. More than dad. Eleven inches less than me as Fred. My weight… Rents had weight scales in their bathroom. So I weighed one hundred thirty. Twice less than my old self.

Then I undressed and checked my body. The fuzz of light brown hair on arms and legs. Bushes under arms and below. My body was not fat but not too muscular. And not skinny. I had some under-skin material to make my body look softer. My breasts were not big but no way I could be called flat-chested. Waist twenty-seven, hips thirty-two, and chest thirty-one. Not an hourglass figure.

The room looked almost the same as my room before. I didn't want to make it look masculine. Because I didn't want it to be a boy's room. And I couldn't make it look feminine because I wasn't a girl to others. Now in my closet dominated denim and army clothing. Not a single dress or skirt. Things I preferred to wear when I was a boy.

My thoughts drifted back to that soft toys' store… Huggles… Yeah, Huggles Intl. International probably. It didn't matter. What mattered was that I was given a blank page. Only the body. I would determine what kind of girl I would be. Tomboy, girly, athletic, dance, poetic… Anything. I didn't know… I wasn't sure what I wanted.

I'll go with the flow and…

 

 

“I'm home!” I heard the front door slamming and dad shouting.

“In my room!” I shouted back. My voice was girly but not squeaky girly. Softer maybe. And… I liked it.

Anyway, I had to put something on and go downstairs to meet dad. I put on the same pants and shirt. I couldn't put on shorts and something sleeveless with hairy arms and legs. When I was a boy it didn't bother me. Even on the contrary, it was ok to be hairy. But now things were different as I was a girl. Then I put on trainers instead of boots.

I found my dad in the kitchen.

“How goes it with the Bronco?” he asked.

“Need to change distributor cap, maybe spark plugs,” I responded. “Won't start and the fourth cylinder doesn't work.”

“How do you know?”

“It sounds like that is the problem.”

Dad grabbed his beer and relocated to the living room to watch TV.

We had to wait for mom to come home and make dinner. When I was a boy she didn't like me in the kitchen, especially after my growth spurt. I was willing to help but my size… I didn't know how things were now.

Usually, we had some meat with mashed potatoes and salad. I started to peel potatoes. I made a pot of them. Mom still wasn't at home. I checked the fridge what we had for salad. We had cucumbers and arugula. The cucumbers were big. I had to peel and seed them first. Then I washed the arugula and put it in a spinner centrifuge.

“Sorry, I'm late,” mom said entering the kitchen through the backdoor, and then, “Oh…”

“Whatcha doing?” she asked after a while.

“Helping?” I tried.

“Why?”

“Dunno… Don't you like it?”

“Nah… It's ok. I like it,” mom said, “will you help with the meatballs?”

“Yup.”

We the two of us got busy in the kitchen. Didn't talk much. Only kinda pass this or pass that or me asking if I did it right.

“Lyn in the kitchen?” dad wondered taking the second beer from the fridge. “It's long overdue!”

In this life, I was in the kitchen only to grab some snacks. The same as in my boy's life. But in the boy's life, it was mom's order. In this life, who knows why. But it would change from now on.

And… I got to know I am Lyn in the family. Not Evelyn or Eve.

Dinner went by mostly in silence. I could tell that my parents were eager to ask why such changes were taking place but didn't ask. I wasn't sure I knew why.

And then I learned that two meatballs were my limit. Not eight. Not even three.

After dinner, I was back in my room getting ready for school tomorrow. According to the schedule I had all the same classes including the workshop. In my old Fred's life, there were two girls in the workshop. Casey and Mel. Now there will be three of us girls.

 

 

The next morning, I dressed for school the same as I was dressed the day before. I left the Bronco at home and rode the bus like the other kids. I was a loner the same as Fred had been. It was good. I didn't know how girls interacted. And I wasn't ready to be friends with someone I wasn't a friend with in my old life as Fred.

The last period was the workshop. Yes, I was the third girl there. We talked about new projects. Metalwork and welding had to be included.

I thought about a piece of decorative fence. But then our teacher said, “Miss Igel, don't you want to repair your Bronco for the class project?”

“Oh, yes! But I'm unable to take an engine out,” I replied. In my old life, I did everything alone. I was strong. I was really strong. Now I had maybe one-third of that strength. If not even less.

“Mister Brown, would you like to join the Bronco project?” the teacher asked.

“Sure,” the boy in question agreed. Mr. Brown aka Nicholas Brown was my next-door neighbor. I knew him from my old life. We weren't close friends. Not because was something wrong with him. I was a loner. We had some classes together though.

“For next week, prepare the plan for what has to be done,” the teacher gave the first task.

“Will you come to my garage after school?” I asked Nick.

“Sure. When?”

“The thing is a little dirty. We need to change clothes. Is four ok?”

“Will be,” he replied. I liked it, him being laconic. I wasn't talkative too.

 

 

“To what extent are you ready to help me?” I asked Nick when we met after school in dad's garage.

“What do you mean?”

“Engine, gearbox, and transmission are the bare minimum,” I started. “The second level – add suspension to the above. The third – add bodywork. Like repainting, new rubber parts, tubing, and wiring. The maximum is everything I have listed plus the interior and glass. And… to be clear, I pay for everything – parts, materials, tools. Your word.”

“I'd like the max, but not sure ‘bout time.”

“If it is planned well and we do not fool around, I'd say we could finish by January or February. Depending on orders arrivals.”

“You have thought about this project before?” Nick asked.

“Sure I have! It's a good car. It's worth being repaired.”

“I'm in.”

“I'll do the list of what to do and what to order for the next class then,” I offered. Because I knew. Because I had done everything before. Some things had been twice and some other things three times. Because then I didn't know everything. Like that new skirts have to be thicker because oil nowadays is thinner.

 

 

I had to get ready for my grandfather's birthday. He was conservative. Men had to be in neckties and shirts, and women in dresses. I didn't know how to wear a dress. Well, I did know how. But I didn't know where. On an everyday basis, my mom was in jeans, leggings, and shorts. But at my grandfather's place, she was always in a dress. So I had to be in a dress too. Being in a dress will show my legs. I needed to shave them. Or maybe to wax them.

After dinner the same day, I asked mom.

“Who are you? And where have you hidden the corpse of my daughter?” she said with a chuckle.

“In the barrel of waste oil,” I replied with a hint of a smile. “Will you help me?”

“Sure I will. When?”

“I want to be in a dress for my grandfather's birthday.”

“You in a dress?”

“I want to be like you, ok?”

“It's so out of the blue,” mom mumbled. “We have two days. Three, if we start today. I'll call Marcia.”

Marcia was mom's childhood friend. She owned the salon in East End. So mom called her friend and got an appointment at nine.

I was waxed. Not only legs. Everything that could be waxed was waxed. Including eyebrows. It hurts. Burns, to be more exact. Mom insisted on nails. The flesh was pushed away and cut off. Now they looked longer though they were the same. Then my nails were polished with transparent lacquer. Twice.

We got home barely before midnight.

“We'll get a dress for you tomorrow,” mom said, “I'll be home early from work for you.”

 

 

At school the next day Casey noticed I was different.

“Beautifying for a new boyfriend?” she asked after homeroom.

“What boyfriend?”

“C'mon! Don't you notice how Nick looks at you?” Casey giggled.

“I see changes,” Mel joined demonstratively sniffing the air, “and I smell love.”

“Stop it guys! It's for my grandfather. I'm getting ready for his birthday tomorrow.”

“Eww…” Mel sighed. “By the way, he is cute, your new boyfriend.”

“Sooo cute I almost envy you,” Casey added.

My arguments didn't work. They teased me all day. They almost persuaded me Nick was cute. To say the truth, he was. But just one day ago I was in a boy's body and I wasn't ready for such radical changes.

 

 

I was at home at three and found mom already waiting for me.

“Have some ideas about what type of dress you want?” she asked.

“I don't know anything about types,” I admitted. “I want to look like you. If it's ok.”

“I'd love it,” mom said hugging me.

We got into mom's car and she drove us to the West End. Not the mall. A boutique.

We got dresses. Every dress has its name. I didn't know those names yet. From my tomboy's perspective, they were sleeveless, knee length, with some underskirts, and background color milk white with fine roses printed on. The dresses were identical only mine was bigger. Because I was bigger than mom. Then we got shawls to wrap ourselves if it was chill with the same fine roses printed on a silverfish gray background.

We got shoes in a milk white color. I got flats and mom got pumps with two-inch heels. Because I was tall and mom was short. Sorry, petite. And purses in the same color. But they were called clutches though they didn't look like clutches I had repaired before.

 

 

The party the next day went by like I was in a daze. It was an avalanche of compliments for mom and me. And for dad for being in the company of such beautiful ladies.

To tell the truth, mom looked stunning in her new dress. So I assumed I did not look too bad either. We didn't look like mother and daughter. Rather like sisters. She looked young. Because she was young – thirty-seven, while dad was forty-four.

The party didn't last long. Grandfather had cerebellum dysfunction and couldn't stay active for long. It was three when we left and we were at home at four.

Before we entered the house we were invited by our neighbor Ralph Brown to a BBQ party. He said they were celebrating Equinox. I thought it was just a weekend and a warm sunny day.

Dad and mom accepted the invitation. Mom and I went to change. Though we looked good in our dresses, a barbeque wasn't as formal as grandfather's birthday party.

I changed into shorts and a cropped top with spaghetti straps. Because the day was warm. And because my arms and legs were hairless. After I changed, I went to the rents' bedroom for mom to check my makeup. I was still helpless in this area. But I was learning. I found mom dressed the same as me. Only the colors were different.

A couple of minutes later, we joined dad in the neighbor's backyard. It was a warm day and everyone except him was in shorts and tees. Mom and I were complimented again.

“Hi,” somebody said from behind me.

I turned around and there was Nick. Haven't I mentioned he's my next-door neighbor? He is.

“You look beautiful,” he mumbled. Then he blushed.

He looked good as well in his torn denim shorts and a black sleeveless tee. I felt my cheeks getting hot for some unknown reason. Cute was probably the best word for how he looked.

My friends were right. I wanted to be his girlfriend. The hardest part of it was already accomplished – I was a girl.

 

 

House sitting
 

I lost all my savings. I lost my job. I could survive anything but the loss of my best friend.

 

 

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this is rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… are you kidding?

 

 

 
 
- 1 -

Events in my life started snowballing immediately after my sixteenth birthday. Dad insisted for I get a status of an emancipated minor. As if he predicted something. I got a job at Grigio's place. That wasn't something fancy just washing dishes and busing tables. Not much money but anything counted.

Dad was in a wheelchair after the car accident eight years ago. Mom was lost in this accident and I got into the hospital for six months and lost a year in school. Add to this mom was found guilty in that incident and all insurance as well as the whole family wealth went to the truck company for their cargo and damaged semi. “Nothing personal, strictly business,” they said.

We had to sell our home and moved to this not-very-fancy neighborhood. We rented half of the house. Dad was working from home doing some occasional programming. Neighbors were friendly. I got a new friend here too. His name was Arnold. He was the same age as me but a year above at school 'cause I'd missed one year. Arnold was living with his aunt Marina because his parents were both killed during a burglary while he was at summer camp.

Our nearest neighbor was Ned. His full name was Needle because his hippie parents made him under the pine tree and needles were what they remembered the most. Previously he worked as a delivery trucker and he wasn't working now though he wasn't old enough to be retired. He was kind of famous in the neighborhood because of the moonshine he sometimes produced for himself and his crony Ben Kramer.

The next house was of Arnold's aunt Marina Grant. Their home was the only two-story house in the neighborhood.

The last house was of Narama Vivek. He was dark-skinned and as he said himself he was of Bengali descent. He was kind of a counselor.

We all lived on one side of the street. On the other side, there was a line of box elders and a fence of Miller's scrap yard.

 

 

To be the emancipated minor meant to live separately from dad. Dad asked Ned about my accommodation as well as Arnie's aunt. They both agreed but only Ms. Grant had enough place. It was a bedroom in a basement but it was better than staying in Ned's dining room.

Dad's constant sitting in the wheelchair and his lack of movement caused ulcers on his thighs. Some were very bad and transformed into tumors. I didn't know this was happening and dad's getting into the hospital was a shock not only for me. The tumor was very aggressive and fast spreading. It was affecting on its way dad's right kidney and the colon. Dad was gone on the twelfth day in the hospital.

 

 

Two years ago Arnie opened as gay. Not to everyone. Only his aunt and I knew. It was the reason I didn't stay in Arnie's bedroom though there was enough place for another twin bed. Not that I was afraid of him. Both Ms. Grant and I knew my being in the same room with Arnie would cause him to fluster. The same as for a teenage boy living in one room with a girl.

Our friendship didn't change. We still were best buddies. We attended the same school and worked at the same Grigio's restaurant but on different shifts usually. Our manager Arthur couldn't understand how real WASP Arnie befriended trash Polish me. It usually was in a form of a joke but as he was saying, again and again, it was annoying. Well, I was of Polish descent, my name's Mark Nowak, and I had a terrible accent but I worked hard and there were no complaints. My parents came to the states when I was five. They both were AI programmers and our life was getting better and better every day. That's until that fateful car accident.

After Arnie opened up as gay I tried to imagine what it would be to be attracted to boys but I failed. There was no attraction no matter how much I tried. It could be so much simpler to be friends with Arnie if both of us were the same. Arnie was a very handsome boy. He was tall and muscular. He was smart and well-mannered. I thought he was excellent dating material for any girl but…

 

 

Kids at school were waiting for spring break to start. Those free days were very valuable, especially for those who worked after school. Like Arnie and I.

Almost a week to spring break our neighbor Ned got into the hospital. He went to his GP for routine checks and tests and something in his liver was found that needed a deeper investigation. Ned asked us to feed his cat Rob while he'll be in the hospital. It was my task because I and Mr. Vivek were the only two who were accepted by Rob as friends. Ned gave me his spare key and I had to come and feed Rob and clean his litter box and then give the key to Mr. Vivek for the time I was at work busing tables in Grigio's restaurant.

 

 

It was the second day of spring break in the afternoon. Arnie and I were at work and his aunt was visiting her friend. Mr. Vivek was looking for Ned's cat Rob. The beast was nowhere to see and Mr. Vivek was calling him and walked around our houses and between trees on the other side of the street. Our street was kind of a quiet one. Almost no cars were passing it. This time there was an FD truck rushing at full speed toward the Mud Pond Farm. As a result, Mr. Vivek was injured badly and was taken to the hospital immediately while Rob was waiting for us in the place where it all happened.

The Deputy sheriff came to Ms. Grant's home already after sunset and informed her about what had transpired on our street. Mr. Vivek was in the hospital. He was unconscious and the deputy asked us to house-sit at his house.

Mr. Vivek had Ned's and his own keys when he was struck by the truck. Ned had another “emergency” key at his backdoor under the pot with some plant that looked like aloe but wasn't. So no problem here. I'll feed Rob and then will lock the house and leave the key to Arnie's aunt.

We were looking for Narama's spare keys around his house like in the kitchen, the living room, or the basement, and didn't find any.

Hospital staff refused to give us the keys or anything that was in Mr. Vivek's pockets because we weren't relatives and Mr. Vivek was still unconscious.

Aunt Marina said she would look at Narama's house during the day. Someone had to house-sit it at night. There was no problem locking it from the inside. This way the one who had locked it had to stay here. The only logical outcome was for me to stay at Mr. Vivek's house for the night.

I grabbed my toothbrush, a book I was reading, and underwear change and moved to our unfortunate neighbor's house.

I'd been at Mr. Vivek's home a few times before but it never was more than a couple of minutes each time. I looked around the living room and the kitchen, the only places where I'll be hanging around. Eh… and bathroom. The rooms were nothing special - the same furniture, the same sundries like at any other house, magazines on a coffee table, pictures on walls. One strange thing was that curtains and table cloth and couch spread were more colorful than I'd seen anywhere else.

I'd read two chapters of a book I was reading, brushed my teeth, and was ready for night's sleep on the couch in the living room.

Before I got to bed I checked my savings I was about to spend tomorrow. I had four notes, twenty bucks each. It had to be enough for a Bluetooth keyboard and a refurbished tablet. Nothing fancy, just an old refurbished demo piece. The guy in the store promised tomorrow will start the Easter sale and they had some not-very-expensive models I could afford.

Yeah… Four worn-out pieces of green paper. I hoped and prayed it would be enough. Another twenty dollars I'll have it next week. But till that time I'll need to spend some of what I had and the Easter sale would be over…

 
 
- 2 -

The new day dawned bright and sunny. A good sign… I took a quick shower (I wasn't at home and the heat wasn't cheap) dressed up and before heading to aunt Marina's place for breakfast I checked my valet. There were five crisp new twenty-dollar notes. Money is never too much but I prefer to have my money and my money was worn-out notes. And four - not five. I rubbed them between my fingers and there was relief print new notes still have. I looked through them at the light and they seemed ok but… But they all had the same number. Then the number was identical up to the last digit on all five of them.

Counterfeit! It wasn't just colored pieces of paper. It was a crime. I didn't know who did it. Someone had stolen my money and put counterfeit. Most likely that someone is waiting for me to emerge from this house… Or maybe for me to pay using sham money… Or maybe ‘by accident' notice the sham in my valet… Or… Will not happen!

I burnt the sham in the kitchen sink and washed the ash down the drain. It's done!

I'd checked all my pockets before stepping out of the house. Thank God I was clean. But I was poor again. I didn't need to hurry to the mall and I could help aunt Marina at home before my shift at the restaurant started.

 

 

At work, I changed into my uniform the same for all kitchen staff which was white pants and a jacket. I put rubber gloves on because we were using detergent liquid for busing the tables and without gloves, the hands' skin after work was dry and cracking and almost bleeding.

I put a spare pair of gloves into my jacket pocket and there was something. I pulled it from the pocket and it was another bunch of sham money. The same twenty dollar notes sporting the same number up to the last digit.

Someone had a grudge against me. I was alone in the locker room. This time my hands were in the gloves and there could be no fingerprints on the notes. There was no way I could burn them. I couldn't leave them in my locker too. I checked my locker and other pockets of my uniform. The bunch I had in my hand was the only one. I put the money on the shelf under the pile of spare paper towels and left the changing room to start busing tables in the main hall.

 

 

Some couple hours later our manager Arthur asked me to the changing room. There were two police officers and another two civil detectives waiting for me.

“We have been informed you are spreading counterfeit in this place and around,” one officer started. “Do you want to make a statement?”

“It's not me,” I replied.

“Very well…” another one said. “You don't mind if I ask you to empty your pockets?”

“What choices do I have?” I asked.

“We can lead you handcuffed to our car and bring you to the precinct where the same will be done without your permission.”

“Handcuffs suit Poles…” snickered Arthur.

“Ok, then,” I agreed and emptied my pockets on the table. There were the spare pair of rubber gloves, suede cloth for drying off bused tables, and Life Savers to keep my breath fresh.

“That's all?” the officer asked.

“Yeah…” I confirmed raising my hands. I thought it was just a sign I didn't have anything left in my pockets but the first officer took it literally and stroked his hands along my sides checking if I'd told the truth.

“Your locker, please,” the second officer ordered.

I unlocked the locker and stepped to the side allowing them to see what was inside.

“Put everything on the table and empty pockets of your street clothes.”

I did as he said. From my pockets, I placed on the table another package of mint Life Savers, a half-empty package of tissues, a key to aunt Marina's house, and valet.

“Empty your valet,” I was ordered. There was nothing special in the valet: some change (three dollars and seventeen cents in coins), student ID, school library ticket, public library ticket and expired state lottery ticket. That lottery ticket was very dear to me. It was bought by dad a week after he left for the hospital and never returned home. Maybe it was the sign of our family's bad luck not a charm I had thought. Who knows…? There were some sentiments and I wasn't ready to throw that ticket away.

“It had to be somewhere…” Arthur muttered.

“I'll check it,” one of the not uniformed detectives said. He checked the shelf and all the inside sides of my locker and then behind it and under it. He found nothing. Only some twenty minutes later he found the bunch under the paper towels.

“Don't touch it,” another detective ordered. Both officers and both detectives were in latex gloves, I was in rubber gloves and only the manager Arthur was bare-handed. That second detective was old, maybe even over sixty years old. That's older than anyone I knew here. So he took the top note by its sides and looked at the light but not through the note as I did before. He was looking as if the note was a mirror.

“We have a thumb!” he exclaimed. He opened his case and took a jar with a powder and a big round soft brush women use in the movies over their faces. With this brush, he spread the powder over the note and some pattern was visible now. He stuck a transparent tape over that pattern and it became even more clear.

“Take your gloves off, son,” he said to me. I did as he said and he examined my thumbs.

“Your thumbs are too small and the pattern is wrong. You've caught the wrong fish, Alan,” the old detective said turning to the first police officer.

“What now?” this one muttered under his nose.

“Mister,” the old detective turned to Arthur, “would you be so kind to show me your right thumb.”

“What?! NO!” Arthur shrieked.

“Mister Ford, your situation is complicated already. Please show your hands,” the first police officer ordered, “otherwise I'll be forced to take you under arrest.”

“Not me! Not me!” Arthur shouted and then whispered almost inaudibly, “First Niggers, then Wetbacks, and now Polaks… What will happen to this country?”

Arthur showed his thumbs then.

“Your right thumb and fingerprint match,” the older detective said, “there is the angled scar on your thumb that matches the mark on the fingerprint.”

 

 

That was a day. Had I to be happy or depressed now? I'd lost my money and will need another few months to save every penny to get enough money for a tablet. If there will be another refurbished one so cheap as it was today. On the other hand, I was free and even not a suspect. Not so bad I guess.

 
 
- 3 -

My sleep was disturbed despite the outcome of the previous day was not so bad. I woke up with a terrible headache. The pain was so strong that there was some dizziness. Maybe I had eaten something wrong the day before and it was kind of poisoning. I couldn't think of anything that could be so harmful as food yesterday.

Someone was banging at the door and it may cause my head almost to explode. I rushed to the door and swung it open. The very bright light made my headache unbearable and forced my eyes to squint. Here was Arnie at the door.

“What excuse do you have today?” he demanded angrily.

I had no excuses. What for? I tried to say so but instead, I just mumbled something because my mouth was like filled with cotton and my tongue worked like it wasn't mine.

“By the smell, it was Ned's booze yesterday,” Arnie snarled. He squeezed between me and the door frame and headed into the kitchen. I couldn't understand what was happening to me. I dragged myself following him into the kitchen. He stirred something in the glass of water and gave it to me.

“Drink this,” he ordered.

I took a sip and it tasted sour and had bubbles like lemonade.

“Don't savor it,” Arnie chuckled. “You look like you're drinking it for the very first time in your life.”

Well, it was the first time. I didn't say it. There was happening something I didn't understand. Something similar to what was happening yesterday. Out of the blue, our manager from Grigio's restaurant wanted to show me as a criminal and send me to jail. Today I was poisoned and Arnie acted as if it was my fault.

That drink helped. I wasn't still fresh and ready for the day. The pain was subsiding.

“Take the shower and I'll make you coffee meanwhile,” he offered.

Hot water didn't feel good. I started with ice-cold water instead and gasped as the fish pulled out of the water. A few gasps later the cold water made the most cobwebs in my head vanish. I was almost the regular myself again. I adjusted the water to my usual hot water and washed thoroughly.

I tried to clear my throat while I was alone in the bathroom. My breath was rasping. Had I the flu?

I put on fresh underwear and then jeans and a polo shirt.

When I came back to the kitchen I found Arnie sipping his coffee and my mug waiting for me. That was very strange. Really. I didn't drink coffee before. My dad was a coffee addict but not me. I didn't remember Arnie drinking it let alone enjoying it like he was doing now. His aunt Marina was rather a tea person and there was no coffee at her home. For me, it tasted awful because it was bitter and it was even worse than beer.

“What are your plans for today?” Arnie inquired.

“Huh… Erh… To feed Rob I guess…”

“Who's Rob?” Arnie asked.

“Well… Rob's Ned's cat?” I wasn't sure anymore regarding the world around me.

“Ned has no cat,” Arnie replied, “and never had. Mel has an allergy to cat fur.”

Who was Mel? Ned lived alone. He never told me he had someone in his life, male or female. By the name Mel, it could be both. I was wise enough to not ask.

“At noon I have to be at Grigio's place today…”

“Don't you remember? You were fired just yesterday!” Arnie raised his voice as if scolding me.

I didn't remember. That's I wasn't fired as I did remember. If I was what will I do?

“I've talked with Jack,” Arnie said. Jack's the owner of Miller's scrap yard.

“I've vouched for you,” he added. Why was I so special that someone had to vouch for me?

“Don't let me down Mark, at least till noon. Jack likes booze the same as you and he usually is tipsy at lunchtime. Don't let to catch you drunk before lunchtime. Deal?”

“Deal,” I replied. I didn't like booze! How could he say otherwise?

“Let's go,” Arnie said and turned to the entrance door. I followed him outside and a shining blue metallic Dodge Challenger was standing.

“Wow!” I thought to myself. I didn't dare to say something or express my emotions openly. It seemed the whole world around me lived its own life and I was just an observer and not a spectator here. I turned to Arnie and only now I noticed he was dressed much better than usual. Those were seemingly the same jeans and shirt. One could see the class looking at him – jeans, shoes, shirt, wristwatch.

“C'mon, I can't wait for you the whole eternity,” Arnie ushered me.

Despite the Miller's scrap yard being on the other side of the street, we needed to drive three blocks down the street and after a couple of turns come to the entrance gate and the office. The boss there was Jack Carter. Miller's was only the name of the business, not the owner's name.

Jack was inside. He was in dirty overalls. There was a stub in the corner of his lips still smoldering.

“So this fuckster is young bloody Nowak?” he asked. “And you say motherfucker will stay as sober as a judge all day long?”

“I vouch for him,” Arnie confirmed.

Only then Jack turned to me, “I pay cash, one bloody third. Twenty fucking percent of the bullshit you sell is your bloody bonus. If I find you fucking sleeping or drunk – you're in deep DEEP fucked shit! Capeesh?”

“When do I start?” I asked.

“Now. Change, motherfucker,” he motioned his head to the door at the end of the office.

I changed into dirty though the cleanest overalls I'd found and came back into the office.

“Come, I'll show you my kingdom,” Jack offered and all three of us went outside.

Arnie headed to his car. Meanwhile, the black Tacoma appeared at the gate.

“Oh my…” Arnie whispered turning as white as a sheet of paper. He was about to scurry between the piles of old cars but those in Tacoma were faster. They didn't exit their car and started shooting automatic guns.

I stood there rooted to the spot. Jack dropped to the ground and yanked down the leg of my overalls forcing me to the ground. Neither Jack nor I were the targets. They came for Arnie. He couldn't escape. He had no chance. Those attackers didn't bother to exit their car and check if Arnie was really dead. He was.

 

 

The rest of the day I spent in the police. There were the same police officers who interrogated me yesterday but they didn't show they knew me. Officers knew much more than I did. They said Arnie was a head of the drug dealers' circle. The new gang in the city was expanding its zone of influence and it overlapped with Arnie's territory.

The officers brought me home. When we got home, they questioned aunt Marina. When the police left she blamed me that I knew about Arnie and didn't say to her. I didn't know. I didn't know anything anymore.

Then she cried. I tried to console her. I wasn't very successful and she cried a lot. There was nothing we could do at the moment. Arnie's body was kind of evidence and police officers said it will be returned for a funeral some two days later.

Neither of us was in the mood to watch TV or read a book. We called it a night and I went to Mr. Vivek's home for another house-sitting night.

 
 
- 4 -

I woke up with an extremely full bladder. It was possibly caused by the tea I drank yesterday with aunt Marina. I jumped from the bed and scurried to the bathroom dropped my shorts down and was about to plop on the toilet. It downed to me suddenly I had no thingy to be worried about of getting smashed over the toilet rim. I had no thingy to pee. I was still drowsy and the urge was great so I just sat down. The process was like somewhere inside me while outside my body the pee flowed by itself.

My business was done but I still sat here. I was afraid to examine myself or look at myself in the mirror. Was I sorta castrated? I cleared my throat and tried to speak. My voice sounded to me like one of a kid. It didn't creak like yesterday and that was the only plus.

I looked at last between my legs. Yes, as I predicted there was nothing. There was nothing to shake off. I had to wipe it with toilet paper. It looked like a girl. Was I a girl? I grabbed my chest and there were two mounds. Not big, not more than half of a handful each but those definitely were tits with nipples sticking out.

The word phantasmagoria popped into my head. Was it that or something else?

I tried an approach I'd done the day before – the ice-cold shower. It didn't help. The cold was congealing and unbearable but I was still a girl and I didn't know what to do with it. I switched to the hot water and showered as usual. After I rubbed myself dry I wrapped a towel around me and headed to the kitchen.

What next? What disaster was about to happen today? I lost my best friend yesterday. I'd lost my job at Grigio's place. I'd lost all my savings. Well, I had a job at Miller's scrap yard but… But I was a girl now! I couldn't work at Jack Carter's place. Oh… Oh my God! What I will do now? For the first time in my life, I didn't know what to do. There was nobody who could help me. I felt so miserable and abandoned. Then it started almost without my intention. The tears were falling and I was weeping now.

I have never cried before. Maybe only when I was a kid. I didn't cry at dad's funeral. I was an emancipated young man and I had to prove to myself and to others, I was a real man and not a kid.

I didn't know how long I was crying; I didn't watch the clock. Eventually, I calmed down something. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. When I was back in the kitchen the phone rang. It wasn't the phone hanging on the wall. A moment later I found a smartphone near the couch in the living room. It read ‘Marina'. I answered it.

Aunt Marina was here.

“Hello dear!” she started. “Mr. Vivek has called from the hospital and we talked a little. He asked to come to the hospital. Arnie is busy right now. Would you be so kind to come to the hospital?”

“Oh… Ok…” I responded. So Arnie was alive if he was busy!

“He is in the trauma ward, room F17,” aunt added.

“I see… Have I to bring something?” I asked. My voice sounded girly even to me. Aunt had to know I was a girl. She didn't wonder about my new high-pitched voice.

“No. He didn't ask,” the aunt replied and terminated the call.

My clothes were where I'd left them the day before – on a chair. I always keep my underwear covered with the tee because I didn't like my underwear exposed. I lifted the tee and my underwear was gone. That's MY underwear was gone. There were two pieces of apparel that weren't mine. Maybe they suited my new body better than shorts. I knew how they have to look on the girl's body. But not how to put them on.

It took me more than thirty minutes to dress up in jeans and a tee. Unbelievable! Thirty minutes to put jeans and tee on. Put my wallet into my jeans' back pocket and left, with my smartphone in my hand.

 

 

The trip to the hospital was like being in a daze. Everything around looked something different than it was the day before. There was no scrapyard on the other side of the street. There was a long blind wall of something instead.

The asphalt on the street wasn't cracked and homes looked fresher. Everything looked better – houses, driveways, lawns and flower beds, cars. Everything. Even trees on both sides of the street.

I arrived at the hospital by bus. Mr. Vivek's ward was on the sixth floor. The nurse showed me to his room.

He was alone in the room reading a newspaper.

“Good morning, Mr. Vivek,” I greeted him.

“Rita?” he raised his eyes and looked at me.

After a while, he was like, “So you were a boy a day before?”

It was more like a statement.

“How do you know?”

“Girls use purse to carry her wallet and smartphone,” he said.

“Huh…”

“And your name is? Or rather was?” Mr. Vivek asked.

“Mark,” I replied. “Marek for family and friends.”

“That's close to your present Margaret,” he stated, “Rita for friends.”

“Rita…” I said. “Rita will do,” I agreed.

“Sure it will,” my neighbor said.

I realized suddenly he was extremely calm about me formerly being a boy. It seemed like some conspiracy.

“What's going on?” I asked trying to sound as calm as possible in those circumstances.

“I'm a keeper of the artifact that helps to slide into a parallel universe.” Mr. Vivek started. “It's activated by a person's fears and worries and guides the person in their sleep to the world where their fears and worries are compensated.”

“Do you slip into another world every night?” I wondered.

“No, I'm not,” he replied, “cuz my only worry is to slip into another universe.”

“What will I do now?”

“Go back and lock my house,” Mr. Vivek said, “and start living your new life.”

“Why not stay another night at your home and let real Rita come back?”

“You don't understand,” Mr. Vivek complained. “The slip is driven not by your wish but by your fear. I don't know someone coming back. Don't you notice how far away from your original world you are now?”

His rationing sounded fair.

“Everyone will notice I'm different.”

“Maybe. Just try your best to adapt. Don't tell anybody what happened to you. Nobody will believe you if you say you were a boy.”

I left the hospital with Mr. Vivek's home key in my pocket. I was crossing the street to get to the bus stop. I heard people shouting something. I turned to the sound and a girl was waving a hand at me. I didn't understand what she wanted. Then something bumped me in the back and I blacked out.

 
 
- 5 -

I woke up in the hospital. Aunt Marina was at my side.

“You're a lucky one,” she said after she noticed I had my eyes open.

“Sure…” I muttered and touched the bandage on my forehead. My head was splitting. My chest was hurting badly. What a piece of luck! Really.

“The good news – you have got only a mild concussion,” the aunt said.

“Is there bad news?” I wondered.

“It depends… Your sternum is broken…”

“What's that?”

“Breastbone,” aunt explained. “You are NOT allowed to dance.”

“Dance…?” Good, I wasn't allowed; I didn't know how.

“And you will stay in bed for at least ten days.”

“Oh… Ok,” what could I say else?

“You'll not be able to attend tomorrow's service,” the aunt said like it was something extra important.

“Ok,” I said again.

“Have you forgotten? Tomorrow is Easter…”

“Everything that happens is under God's will!” I replied.

Maybe it was a little harsh but what else could I say? I had to stop her from trying to suggest something. Something that I didn't understand. I didn't know the girl whose life I was about to live. I met her only this morning and saw her only in the mirror.

What dance? I didn't dance.

What service? Yes, I was catholic but not as much as attending every service. Easter isn't a regular Sunday. But I had missed already a few Easter services.

“Sister Agnes wants to visit you,” aunt interrupted my thoughts.

“Who?” I had no siblings, neither brothers nor sisters.

“Your homeroom teacher…”

I had a sister in this life and she was my teacher… Just wonderful!

“What? Are you ok?” the aunt asked suddenly.

“What?”

“You said something about your sister being a teacher in this life,” the aunt said worriedly.

Oh my…! I was thinking aloud.

“I have forgotten all my life,” I replied. What else could I say? That I was Mark? Who slipped into Rita's body and her soul was now in some unknown parallel universe? I would be locked somewhere for the rest of my life. No. I will rather play the ‘I have forgotten everything' card.

“But I remember that I went to the hospital to get Mr. Vivek's key,” I said. “Do you get it? The key?”

“Calm down. I got it,” aunt Marina assured me.

“At least one thing is done,” I sighed with relief. “What happened to me? Have I got into an accident?”

“You were hit by a delivery truck moving backward. He didn't see you because you were in his blind zone.”

“Blindspot,” I corrected her.

“Exactly,” aunt nodded. “I see you haven't forgotten everything.”

“Only my life before this morning,” I replied.

“It's a concussion,” aunt stated calmly, “I'll ask the doctor about it. Maybe there're some pills or therapy.”

Then it downed to me something very unusual. Something VERY unusual.

“You mean sister Agnes is like a nun?”

“Yes…”

“You mean I'm attending catholic school?”

“Why yes,” the aunt replied.

“What I remember it costs a fortune to attend it,” I wondered.

“It costs something though I wouldn't call it fortune,” aunt shrugged. “So what about sister Agnes? Would you like to see her?”

It was time for me to shrug, “Well… I guess, yes.”

 

 

I was pumped with painkillers when I was with aunt Marina. In time, they, painkillers, cease to work. Exactly this happened and my head was in a vise. The light was causing the pain to be unbearable. It made me squint. Add to this pain in the chest.

When a young woman entered the room my only wish was for her to leave asap. She was in her late twenties or early thirties. I'm not good at determining age. She was younger than my aunt and sure she was older than me.

She was enthusiastic about what they will sing tomorrow and about the concert after the service. Meanwhile, my only wish was to howl in pain. The pain made me puke. Then she, sister Agnes, called the nurse and I got two pills.

The pain didn't subside but the sister was sitting quietly and I felt better.

After an eternity or maybe some twenty minutes I was able to speak again.

“I'm sorry, sister. I don't remember anything. School, friends, church, chorus. Nothing.” I murmured.

“Really nothing?”

“Really nothing,” I confirmed.

“Just let the Lord guide you and you will come back to us and your life,” the nun said almost in a whisper.

I wished it could be so simple.

 

 

One problem was solved at last. Aunt Marina got a key. Mr. Vivek's house key. That house and that damned artifact there were locked at last. No one will slip away into another parallel universe. For now, at least.

The next morning was Easter morning and the hospital was secluded. Despite it being Sunday and visiting hours.

I got a visitor. Mister Vivek in a wheelchair was in my room's doorway.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“I'm here to help you to remember your life,” he said making with his fingers quotation marks.

“Thank you. It would be great. This life is so much different than my previous one,” I replied.

“Tell me what you know and I'll correct you if it's different here,” he offered.

“Ok. I lived with my dad who was in a wheelchair after a car accident.”

“Mom,” Mr. Vivek said, “your dad was killed.”

“My dad knew he was about to die and arranged for me to become an emancipated young adult and I got room in the basement of aunt Marina's house. Aunt Marina isn't my aunt. She's an aunt of Arnold who's my best friend here.”

“Marina has adopted you and you are not emancipated. I can't say you and Arnold are friends.”

“You and I were house-sitting our neighbor Ned's house and you were hit by a passing fire truck while chasing Ned's cat Rob.”

“There is no neighbor Ned and no cat Rob. I was hit by a fire truck when I exited my car.”

“Arnie and I work at Grigio's place. He's a waiter and I'm busing tables.”

“Grigio's is a posh place. You both don't work there. Arnie's parents had money. You've got a wealthy uncle Zigi. Money isn't an issue for you both.”

“Arnie and I attend Memorial High. He's junior and I'm sophomore.”

“You both attend Holy Family Academy and you both are juniors,” Mr. Vivek said.

Shit… How could I be a junior at catholic Academy when I was a sophomore in a public school.

“Arnie and I. We live together. Why are we not friends?” I asked. It was really important for me. In my previous life, Arnie was not only my best friend. He was actually my only friend. And even in the last world, where Arnie was killed, he proved he was my best friend no matter who I was. He cared. And I cared too.

“You were. You were a tomboy. You both did all things together. Like restoring and repairing Gremlin. It belonged years ago to Marina's boyfriend. It was left in Marina's garage when her boyfriend left. Then you both belonged to the same hiking club. Last year you changed. Maybe puberty or something. But you called him a kid. Retarded even. Because he was still in his juvenile activities. You were in choir and later in a local Polish community dance group, in drama and debate club. And he's the same, Arnold.”

“Bitch…” I muttered.

“It's not a word for the young lady to say,” Mr. Vivek replied, “but you're right.”

 

 

I was released from the hospital on Tuesday. But I was staying at home because I had my chest bandaged and my physical activity was still restricted. Even simply bending over the sink to wash my face or brush my teeth was painful.

Teachers thought I was the same egghead Rita. They didn't see a problem with me staying at home for a week or two.

At home I was alone. Marina was away running what errands she needed because of her active social life. Now that we didn't need to house-sit Mr. Vivek's house during the daytime she was free to do whatever she wanted.

I used the time to explore the world around me. My room wasn't in the basement. It was next to Marina's master bedroom on the second floor. Arnie's bedroom was on the first floor near the backdoor. His room was unlocked the same as Marina's or mine.

I didn't spy on him. I just checked things that were on the open. Books, magazines, hiking club trophies. He had an Appalachian trail map on the wall with flags stuck on places he had visited. Maybe with me.

No girls' posters on the walls. Because he was gay probably. Or wasn't he in this world? I didn't dare to ask. He had a Mazda Miata poster instead. He had a crush on this car.

The garage was occupied by Gremlin. Disassembled one. It was green when it was new. It was clear for sure, this thing will not ride in the foreseeable future. The engine was disassembled too and there were no piston rings and no head gasket. Getting spare parts for the car not anymore in production was probably a challenge. Add to this the factory was closed years ago.

 

 

Then the very first period started. I panicked. I thought it was something caused by a truck accident a week ago. I said it to Marina. She stared at me for almost five minutes as if I was kind of alien.

“As I said I had forgotten everything,” I tried to make an excuse.

I knew boys and girls were different. But I never bothered to get in-depth knowledge of how different they were. At first, I thought the only disadvantage of being a girl was a bra and needing to sit to pee. Now the period was added to the list.

That thing didn't stop the day it started. Almost four days. It will be back in four weeks. Couldn't science find something to stop it from happening?

 

 

After the period ended at last I kind of was a normal human again. I still had my chest bandaged. I moved around slowly and carefully to avoid blackening out. But I got used to my new situation and I could live with it.

I started in the kitchen. Like doing some meal for us. I sorta knew how to do it. Because I had a dad in a wheelchair and buying pizza or Chinese was expensive. So I did chores at home and everyday meals.

In my old life, both Arnie and aunt Marina liked what I did. Now they ate it with me. But they stared kinda funny at me at the same time. Maybe my first time wasn't exquisite. The next day I made cordon bleu. Everything perfect. Roasted to a golden brown, with no melted cheese leaks, parsnip purée at the side, and Romaine lettuce salad with very little garlic and some macerated dried cranberries.

“Don't you like it?” I asked. I was on the verge of tears. I tried so hard and I was sure I got it perfect. Almost. But something was wrong anyway.

“It tastes heavenly,” Marina assured me.

“But something is wrong?” I inquired.

“Nothing wrong with it,” Arnie said circling his finger over the plate with his meal.

“Cordon bleu,” I offered.

“Yeah. Cordon bleu is perfect. But you are vegan,” he stammered.

“I? Why?” I wondered.

“You just decided so,” Marina said. “And it's one of the reasons you are not friends anymore.”

“Because of the meal?”

“You may be kind of assertive sometimes,” Marina explained.

“Have I been always such a bitch?”

Arnie snickered.

“First. Watch your language,” Marina started. Then she added, “a year maybe. After you've joined the debate club.”

“I don't remember,” I said.

“I've noticed you are like another person now,” Arnie said, “after that accident. I like you more this way.”

“Me too… And… And I want to revert it to what it was before. When we were friends.”

“Sounds like a plan,” aunt Marina chuckled.

“I have forgotten all this year at school and a lot more,” I said. “I'll need to repeat my junior year. Can I?”

“Sure,” Marina agreed.

“So it's up to you,” I turned to Arnie offering him my hand, “friends again?”

“Friends again,” he shook my hand and then unexpectedly hugged me and gave me a peck on the cheek.

 

 

 

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this is rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… are you kidding?

Edited by Rosemary.

At fifty-five, Fred had no home. There was an address where his bills and other correspondence were coming. But the address wasn’t his home.

He had no family, either. Some people thought they were his family, but they weren’t. He hadn’t had any family since he was five.

Since that time, Fred knew he wasn’t him. Since the time he was five, he knew he was a girl. He didn’t want to be a girl, but he was. Fifty years later, Fred still was a five-year-old girl. He was denied the way to grow up as a girl. He was stuck there.

Fred thought of himself as a pervert, because what man will think he was a girl. He didn’t want to stay in contact for a long time with other people, because they would see.

He was the technical supervisor of NUR Macro Printers’ Northeastern division. ‘Technical supervisor’ sounded important. In reality, he was a technician solving all possible mechanical, computer, chemical problems. Sometimes those were even design questions.

He never stayed more than a week in one place. No matter where he was, it was thousands of miles away from his parents’ home in South Dakota. It suited Fred.

Sometimes a day or two; even three went by without a call.

Fred used the free time for window shopping, but men weren’t supposed to be window shopping. He strode at a steady pace through the mall and shopping arcade as if he had the aim to get somewhere. He stayed for a few minutes in a store where men were normal, and then he returned as before and checked windows on his way.

Some stores were for both ladies and men, and he liked them. He tried to spend as much time there as was possible. The time was enough to make a choice. Then he needed to try something on and buy it, or go looking for another piece.

 

 

Fred was in Baltimore and he was waiting for some printer parts to be shipped directly from Israel.

While he was waiting, he went to one of Baltimore’s malls. After walking its back and forth, he noticed a store with a sign “Huggles Intl”. It sounded odd; almost eccentric. It had only one window beside the entrance door that had an assortment of various stuffed animals. Fred had an urge to enter but… What a normal man his age would do or buy in such a store if he wasn’t a pervert. Well, he could be the grandfather looking for the present for his grandchildren. But Fred wasn’t grandfather. He wasn’t even a father because he wasn’t married. Fred believed everyone would see he was buying a stuffed animal for himself.

Maybe later, but not today.

When he was a kid the only animal he possessed was a crocodile. Not an alligator but a crocodile. Because its nose wasn’t round. It was rather frightening, and in no way was it cute. Maybe it was ok for a boy, but he wasn’t a boy.

The ordered spare parts came in the morning of the next day. Then Fred had more calls waiting for his attention and he left Baltimore. He didn’t go back to the mall and didn’t enter the store under the sign “Huggles Intl” although he was almost ready to.

 

 

While he had another two days free he checked out another mall.

He found a small clothing store. It had only one changing room, and one had to wait in line to try things on. There weren’t very many customers. Including Fred, there was a woman in her late fifties or early sixties and the saleslady.

He was looking for a tee. Just a tee, but it had to meet his conditions. First, it had to be without pictures or slogans. Second, it hadn’t to be a bright color. Third, its neck had to be a little wider than a regular crew neck. Fourth, the material had to be softer than cotton.

Fred found a few shirts he liked and wanted to try on but the changing room was occupied by the woman, who was trying on dresses. She was alone, so she was coming out of the room in a new dress, asking the saleslady for her opinion. The salesperson usually wasn't the best advisor.

So there was the woman in a dress facing both the saleslady and Fred, who was waiting in line.

“What do you think?” the woman asked.

“Mmmm…” said the saleslady.

“Absolutely not your color,” said Fred, and both women stared at him. The dress was in autumn colors in some fine geometric pattern. It was nice but it had short sleeves and was somewhat loose in the bodice. It was mid calf length and would work for an older woman who wanted to hide flaws in her body shape.

“My eyes are brown,” complained the woman.

Fred squinted to look intensely at the woman’s eyes. “Ah, yes. So what?”

“Don’t they match?” the woman asked.

Fred just shrugged. Then he added, “The style definitely doesn’t suit you.”

“What?” The woman seemed shocked. “But it has to be a dress. I was told it has to be a dress… I’m sixty, it can’t be girly…”

Fred turned to the saleslady, “You are the professional here. Athletic style dress in shades of steel-blue and silver. May I try my tees on now?”

Fred tried his selection and went to pay for two that suited best. He had to wait because the saleslady was with the woman looking for another dress. They found something at last, and the woman went to change. The saleslady came to the cash register.

“Will you wait for the lady to change?” she asked. “We want your opinion.”

A few minutes later the woman emerged from the changing room. She was in a shirt dress. It was button-down (or button-up, Fred wasn’t sure what direction was right). The color was light steel-blue. It was knee-length and the sleeves reached below the elbows and they were kind of rolled up. The top button wasn’t done and there was a hint of cleavage. Only a hint. It had a narrow black leather belt showing a narrow waist and enhancing the otherwise modest breasts.

“The only minor complaint would be the leather belt. A strap of the same…” Fred didn’t finish because the woman interrupted him.

“Wasn’t I right?” she exclaimed and tied the material strap instead of the belt.

Both the saleslady and Fred gave her thumbs up. The woman looked younger than her sixty. How much younger wasn’t the question of great importance.

“You’re lucky you’re a man,” she sighed.

“Are you unlucky to be a woman?”

 

 

Fred’s grandparents lived with the rest of the family in the same home when Fred was a kid. They were of German ancestry and they spoke German when they were home. German nursery rhymes and fairy tales and stories were commonplace. Only later did Fred and his siblings started reading English books.

 

 

Fred’s company was facing a problem with yellow color. It was yolk yellow previously and now it was changed into a lemon yellow. The looks of all new billboards had changed significantly.

The head office said their former supplier had gone bankrupt and the color they were supplying was the only yellow that was weather resistant. Regional offices were free to find their supplier. After some investigation, Fred found them in Halberstadt. The city’s in Germany. Well, it’s in the Harz.

As a kid, Fred knew two regions in Germany where the vast majority of all fairy tales took place. Those were Harz and Schwarzwald, so he wasn’t reluctant to fly overseas, and after solving his business problem, visit the Harz.

All agreements and supplying plans were signed and Fred had two days until his booked flight home. He went to Wernigerode, the city where almost every street looked built after a picture in a fairy tale book.

He was sitting at a table of a street café sipping his drink, and just enjoying being there.

Down the street, a brand new shining Escalade stopped and its door opened. At the same moment, the previously quiet street was filled with marching music of “Eins, zwei, Polizei.” Fred instinctively turned to the sound and there on the opposite side of the street was a store under the sign “Huggles Intl”.

“Sieben, acht, gute Nacht,” the music blared and Fred continued in his mind, “Neun, zehn, Kapitän,” as he remembered this rhyme from his childhood. But the song instead was again “Eins, zwei, Polizei.”

Fred would never come here again, so why not enter the store and let himself look at all those stuffed animals. Why not? “Fünf, sechs, alte Hex”.

He opened the door and the bell rang. As he closed the door the street noise was muted completely. Inside there were the shelves filled with stuffed animals in all possible shapes and sizes. There was a sitting area of three armchairs and there was a counter with a cash register and a salesman behind it.

The man had a name tag ‘Tim’. The man was young or he looked young. Fred had expected a woman or an older man but this man was young though Fred couldn’t say exactly.

Tim didn’t urge Fred. He didn’t say a word and just smiled a faint smile. He took an animal and handed it to Fred. It was an alligator. Symbolic, thought Fred. This one was soft round and cute. It was one foot long, the size good for hugging.

“You may try it here,” Tim motioned to the sitting area.

Fred sat in one of the armchairs and hugged the alligator. It was soft and huggable. There was music but Fred couldn’t say where it was coming from. It wasn’t the schlager from outside. It was a Bach violin suite and it was simple and heavenly at the same time.

The testing time was good, but everything good comes to an end. The alligator was perfect for hugging and just - perfect. Fred pushed himself forward for his dangling feet to reach the floor. He was on his own feet at last and he readjusted the hem of his dress because its hem rode up when he was pushing himself forward.

“Caroline! Here you are!” a young woman from behind him exclaimed. “Steven was right we’d find you at Huggles.”

Fred turned around and at the same instant, he knew he was Caroline; five-years-old, and the woman was the mommy. She had an older brother Steve and their daddy was in one of the military bases here.

Mommy paid for the alligator and all three of them: Mommy, Caroline, and the alligator left the store. Caroline turned around and glanced at Tim. Their stares met and Tim winked knowingly.

They were back on the street and the same song was still blaring “Ja, ja, ja, was ist das?” Steve and daddy were waiting there.

“Who’s your new friend?” daddy asked.

“His name is Fred,” Caroline declared.

“How do you know? Does HE say it to you?” Steve teased.

“Yes, he does!” Caroline retorted and stuck her tongue out at Steve.

“Ja, ja, ja, was ist los? Was ist das?” Escalade was still there roaring the song.

“Was ist los?” Caroline echoed teasingly. “Ich bin das Mädchen!”

“What next?” daddy asked.

“Window shopping,” Caroline offered.

“Girls!” both daddy and Steve groaned rolling their eyes.

“Boys!” mommy replied accompanied by Caroline’s giggle.

 

 

This story is my little “Thank you” to Monica Rose. Five years ago I was lost and she took me by hand and led me here to BCTS. My stories are her deed.

 

 

Note to readers, don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this is rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
Copyright… are you kidding?

Edited by Amanda Lynn

 

 

My problem was that I was alive. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t want to die, ever.

But I was the oldest one in our team and I was in charge. Like the captain is on a ship. I was leading my boys into the fire to fight it. The used tire recycling plant in Gorham was burning. The rubber was chopped into the fine grain and stored in enormous piles. That was the first infraction, but it wasn’t the only one. The ways between piles as well as openings were obstructed by crates, tires, and equipment.

Pushing fire hoses we were moving like in the war. One obstacle after another we were coming nearer and nearer to the pile from which the fire started. We couldn’t do much at first attempt cleaning the way because of the smoke and soot. Rubber smoke is very special it’s like slime. It etches and it glues.

When fire hoses were in place another team came in and we were released back to change filters. That was repeated again and again. Another two burning piles were localized. I sent my team outside to breathe some clean air. I was fiddling with a compressor. I was growing up in a handyman family and I knew machinery. Then the roof fell down. We were aware of it happening at some time but we were not aware it will happen where no fire was. Malcolm and Jack were coming to see what was taking me so long for me to repair that damn compressor. We were buried under the wreckage and were saved only an hour later. Malcolm and Jack were lost. Malcolm was my deputy and Jack… Jack was my nephew.

I was a widow and had no kids. My wife’s sister Andrea lived together in the same home. She was a single mom of Jack. Jack had married two years ago. His wife Barbara gave birth to Jacilynn eight months before his death.

The owner of the plant was found guilty but it didn’t return the ones who perished. Jack was dead and I was alive. I was reminded of this fact every time I faced Jacilynn, Barbara, and Andrea. As we were living in the same home I was tormented by my guilt non-stop every day.

I was alive but it was a kind of formally. I got my lungs filled with rubber smoke. It was eating me from inside. I was coughing that slime out of me but my breathing was insufficient. It was getting worse every day.

 

 

Enough about me. Jacilynn or short Jaci was more interesting to observe or be with her. She was a tomboy. She had few friends but not many.

“Why aren’t you with other girls?”

“They are silly.”

“How so?”

“They don’t climb trees.”

“Really? Why not?”

“They say they will tear frills.”

“Frills?”

“The white thingies they have attached to them.”

“When those are torn away girls will climb?”

“NO! They will cry.”

“Maybe not?”

“They DO. I say they are silly.”

“So why are you not with boys?”

“They cry too when I win.”

“Boys don’t cry.”

“They DO. I say they are dumb.”

“All boys?”

“Yeah…”

“I’m a boy.”

“You are not.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Ask mom.”

“If I’m not a boy I have to be a girl.”

“Oh NO. You are not.”

“Really?”

“Really. Look in the mirror.”

“So who am I?”

“You are like me.”

“But I’m old.”

“Well, nobody's perfect.”

Where she’d got this line I didn’t know. But talking with her was always great fun. I didn’t complain when she was coming to unexpected conclusions.

 

 

“There comes IT,” Jaci whined.

“What it?”

“The pink squad,” she sighed heavy theatrically putting a hand on her forehead.

Those were Barbara’s friends. They always had some small present for Jaci but it never was what she liked. Everyone likes presents but not Jaci. Usually, it was some miniature stuffed animal. Some were really cute but anyway…

“Ewww, I’m not a farmer. I don’t need them.” Good, she complained not to them but to me.

“Just put them on the shelf.”

“I CAN’T!”

“Why not?”

“They watch me.”

“Then turn them to face the wall.”

“It’s unfair. I’m not so cruel.”

 

 

Sometimes there were moments when I preferred for Jaci to surrender to her mom and become more girly for day or two. Those were moments when they attended church. That wasn’t every Sunday. It was rather those bigger holidays like Christmas or Easter or some other holidays. Barbara wanted to put Jaci in a dress and not a simple dress but with frills. Then put underneath white tights. Sometimes they were with pastel prints like flowers, hearts or something. Sure she wanted to make Jaci’s hair and put some ribbons in it.

Jaci was fighting fiercely, she was pouting, she was stomping. Then she was defeated. Andrea had said something to her and Jaci had changed in her outfit without a backtalk.

The next time Barbara and Andrea wanted Jaci in dress there was the same fight. Until Andrea said something and Jaci surrendered.

I always wondered why it was so big deal for Jaci to change into something more girly. I wasn’t a girl for one. Boys don’t have an alternative to be one way or another so I probably will never understand the difference.

 

 

Once a month I had to go to the hospital and get a prescription for dry-powder inhalers. They were expensive but another alternative was an oxygen generator.

This time I went with the whole harem. That’s Jaci for a checkup before the new school year. She graduated from the first grade already. How fast those kids are growing I have to say… then there was Jaci and Barbara with Jaci. There was Andrea. Because she needed some prescriptions from her doctor, I wasn’t authorized to know, I didn’t complain. I preferred do stay ignorant sometimes. The colors were brighter this way.

We parted in the parking. Barbara and Jaci went to their special tomboy wing. Andrea and I entered the same building but Andrea’s Doc was on the seventh floor while mine on the second. We parted in the elevator. I preferred to go upstairs on foot but my strength wasn’t the same as even a couple of years ago. I was fifty-two and some at seventy looked better than I.

I was early. I still had twenty minutes. I went to the restroom. Not that I needed it but I could take a leak in advance before the urge. Restrooms in the hospital were unisex. That’s a relatively big room with a toilet and metal rails attached for handicapped. The sink was low for those in a wheelchair, and a mirror above the sink. I did my business, washed my hands and splashed some cold water on my face. I usually don’t look into the mirror. I don’t like what I see. This time I had to make myself presentable.

When I raised my eyes to look at myself I saw the door behind me in the mirror. The door in the restroom is ok. But the entrance door was to my left. This additional door was behind me. It had a doorknob relatively high. Like doors in public pools to prevent unattended little kids to enter the pool area.

There never was a pool in this hospital. I turned around to investigate the door. There was NO door. The wall was evenly tiled from the floor to the ceiling and no hint there ever had been a door.

I turned again to the mirror and there was a door behind me as well as the entrance door to the left.

I will ask the doctor I thought. No! Stop! I couldn’t. How could I? “Hey, Doc there is a door in the bathroom mirror that otherwise isn’t here.” The next thing I will be locked in the room with soft walls.

Not a big deal. I’ll do it. Still facing the mirror I stepped back till I was touching the door. The doorknob was exactly above my left shoulder and I grabbed it with my right hand. I couldn’t twist my left hand so much to take the doorknob in it. The doorknob felt like any other. I tried to turn it. I had to apply some force as if the lock needed some oiling. The door cracked open but I couldn’t see what’s behind it. To open the door more I had to step through the doorway and I did it.

The feeling was like I fell into the beaver hole. It had happened to me a few times while walking alongside the river shore when I was a kid. I was shorter. I was short. I was a kid. A kid was staring at me from the mirror. He looked alike Jaci but different. He was a boy. He had to be a boy. I was a man before, why.

I was in the same restroom. There was the entrance door to the left and another door behind me in the mirror. I could reach the doorknob with my left hand. But I hadn’t enough strength to turn it. I couldn’t reach it with my right hand not turning back. As I did so there was no door.

I was stuck here. What will I…

There was a rap at the door and it opened not waiting for my response.

“You are way too long here, Dottie,” the man in the doorway said.

I raised my eyes at him and… JACK! Oh my! JACK was back! Jack WAS back! Jack was BACK!

I stared at him and tears started flowing down my cheeks. Jack dropped on his knees in front of me.

“Hey, baby, what happened? Why are you crying?”

“I’m so happy I found you and you found me. Those are tears of joy.” How couldn’t they? The guilt was washed from me. The guilt that was burdening me for eight years was washed off.

 

 

Jack took me to the same wing where Barbara went with Jaci before. Jaci’s doctor checked me too. She said I was one healthy girl.

“Nonsense. I’m a boy. You have mistaken me with my sis,” I said.

“What’s your name, boy?” she asked with a chuckle.

“Well, dad’s called me Dottie.”

“And that is the short form of…” she waited for me to fill in.

“Dux, the leader in Latin,” I retorted proudly.

“It’s shorter than Dottie so Dottie can’t be its SHORT form.”

“What then?”

“Dorothy. Your full name is Dorothy,” doc stated.

“It can’t be,” I complained. “Dorothy is a girl’s name and I am the boy.”

“Oh my…” doc whined.

 

 

Don’t get me wrong. I did know who and what I was. I’d seen how I was dressed and I was sure I had to be like Jaci. I didn’t want to betray her.

We all were about to go home. On our way to the car I said en passant “I said I’m a boy and doc didn’t complain.”

Jaci glared at me suspiciously. “So what?”

“Dad and I are two boys here. Boys sit in the front and you’ll sit with other girls.”

“WHAT? I’m older and I’ll sit…”

“GIRLS!” Jack, sorry, dad interrupted us. “You both sit in the back.”

Once dad said who would complain. I sat at one side and Jaci at another and nana sat in the middle. We didn’t talk till we got home. We, I mean Jaci and I. Adults talked. They didn’t say anything important. They talk to impress us kids. To show how many words they know.

At home, dad launched a TV and was switching through channels. Jaci and I were left to do whatever we wanted while mom and nana busied in the kitchen with food for dinner. I didn’t like lounging. I never liked it. The best choice was to help nana and mom. But wasn’t it too girly?

When Jack was growing up he and his mom, as well as my wife and I,  we were in the kitchen together, then we were eating together and we were watching TV together. What has happened here that Jack isn’t helping? If the only man wasn’t helping those tomboys (that's Jaci and Dottie) wouldn’t help too.

“Dad. There was a lady on TV and she said the best chefs are men, that's true, isn't it?”

“I guess it should be if she says so.”

“Why do we let girls do our work then?” I motioned my head toward the kitchen. “Without us, they’ll do everything wrong.”

“Well… Common… You too, Jaci. Let’s overtake the kitchen.”

The three of us moved into the kitchen.

“It’s men’s job,” I stated proudly. “Will you help us?” I asked astonished mom and nana.

“Why of course,” nana agreed.

“I’ll peel potatoes.”

I was assigned to potatoes and Jaci to carrots and parsley. We washed our veggies and then got peelers each. As my old self, I used only a knife. But for kids the peelers are indispensable.

While working I tried to keep the same tempo as Jaci. She was the older one so she had to be the better one whatever we did. I’d checked my skills and I had them still, maybe some polishing was needed. Jaci had finished already when I had two potatoes left.

“Your veggies are a regular shape,” I said her as if I was complaining.

“I’ll help you,” she said and grabbed the last potato. She was the first anyway. We high fived after we finished.

 

 

After the dinner, Jaci and I washed dishes while nana and mom didn’t know how to do it right. Then after some yawning in front of the TV, it was nearing the time to go to bed. Mom prepped us a bath with bubbles. Nana urged us talking about flowery scents for her sweet little girls etc. etc.

She said everything wrong and she almost ruined otherwise a good day. My sister-in-law was a kinda girly girl not like my late wife. She dreamed about a girl but she had Jack. She loved him but she didn’t know what to do with a boy. I mean it literally. I was here and Jack was with me. Otherwise, Andrea was sighing heavily mumbling “Boys…” or “Men…” Boys aren’t rough and rude. They fight for justice. Tomboys are the same. I know while my late wife was a tomboy. Well, they are not exactly the same. Tomboys are more emotional. All the girls are.

The girly girl will cherish while tomboy will fight. And they both will come to the same result but in different ways.

Barbara was like Andrea. She didn’t understand the difference. I could help but I wasn’t so close to the family that I could. Jaci was a girl and Barbara was sure she, Barbara, knew better.

Barbara’s girliness made Jaci fight, but not for justice. Jaci was fighting back and she was closing in the cocoon.

It was a little sidetrack, back to the bath now. We had been urged into the bathroom the tub looked enormous and it was full of bubbles.

Water was warm but not hot so we could dive and I knew from earlier that these bubbles didn’t irritate eyes.

“I’m a SEAL,” I stated.

“Who?” Jaci didn’t get my idea.

“The SEAL, Navy Sea, Air, and Land Teams,” I explained. “I’m on a mission to dive under this drifting ice and defeat the enemy boat masked as the duck.”

I winked to Jaci and dived under the water. Jaci probably hadn’t done it before so she hesitated. But as her baby sis was under the water already she couldn’t be a sissy here. So we were under the water fighting the duck and the dolphin. Then nana came and said the water was getting cold. We were rinsed under the shower, put in our pajamas and sent to our room.

 

 

My first day as Dottie came to the end. Was I happy? Definitely. Jack was back. I was with Jaci. Jaci had said once I was like her. I really was now.

 

 

The next morning teeth were brushed and faces were washed. Then we ran downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast.

“GIRLS! No running!” mom exclaimed.

“We are not,” I complained.

“What? So how do you name your scurry?”

“We are moving fast not wasting the time,” I explained calmly. “Time is money.”

“Well,” mom sighed. “Sit down and eat.”

She poured cereal into the bowl and added some milk.

“You see?” I said to Jaci. “Girls do it all wrong again.”

To tell the truth, it wasn’t wrong. I wanted for us to start doing it by ourselves.

“WHAT?” Mom couldn’t believe I was complaining.

“I’ll do it myself,” I said. I first poured some milk and then added cereal and on top of it, I added a spoonful of brown sugar. I took the spoonful of that mix from the bottom of the bowl and stuffed it into my mouth.

“Hmmm, hmmm, it tastes heavenly, it’s so yummy. Wanna try?” I offered to Jaci.

Jaci took a spoonful too and she was showing it tasted much better.

“Oh, you two,” mom sighed shaking her head.

After we finished I took bowls and spoons into the sink.

“Girls do it all wrong,” I explained. “Remember Dad said the men are real chefs.”

I guess mom got a message at last. It will be this way or Jaci and I will be out of the kitchen.

 

 

We had another couple of weeks before classes started. There was no way we would go camping or something like that. We’ll spend two weeks at home.

Instead of sulking, I thought it was a good time to build the defense system. Nana and mom as all girls were helpless and we, I mean Jaci and I, were here to defend them. The first thing we had to build was a surveillance contour around the home. We used almost all the stuffed animals and dolls we had. We put them on all the most strategic spots. To disguise them we arranged them in silly combinations. No one would think they really were our combatants. They were instructed what to do when the enemy was nearing.

The next step was to disguise ourselves. Who would think the girly girls were actually grim warriors? We changed into dresses for disguise. To make it more believable we had socks with frills and sandals instead of sneakers. The most important part was to find a way to carry our weapons around. Purses were evident and they were too small.

There were still some stuffed animals that didn’t fit the surveillance scheme. Jaci had a raccoon and I had a penguin. What we did next was wicked. I never was proud of it. We did it because it was inevitable. Penguin and raccoon were dissected and we managed to seam zippers into them. We used almost a week but we succeeded at last. We had a carryable supply each.

Jaci was with her raccoon everywhere as I was with the penguin. We had top-secret super high energy bars stocked in them for a real emergency.

Everything at home was settled correctly and every animal and doll knew their task. We could move to the next stage of defense. We went outside and mixed with some silly girly girls so everyone will see we’re like them.

Practice makes perfect. We practiced our disguise a lot and were perfect. No one would ever guess we really were tomboy warriors in disguise. Even Jaci and I sometimes think we are really sooo girly. Who’s guilt it was? Jaci’s, cause she was the big sis, the bestest one the girl could dream about. Or Dottie’s, cause she started the disguise and we’re not recognized as tomboys anymore.

Landlord

“I want a sister,” Becky used to say.
“What if it would be brother?” I tried.
“Boys are stupid! Oops! I'm sorry. I don't mean. That's I don't mean you. I'd like you to be my sis.”

 

 

Note to readers. Don't read if you don't like poor grammar, this may be rough.
This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.
My thanks to Monica Rose for proofreading and help.
Copyright... are you kidding?

 

 

Landlord… Sounds majestic, doesn't it? That was the only good thing about being the landlord. It sounded special. Especially when I was sixteen. I was an emancipated young adult and being the landlord was the main source of income.

Mom had arranged it. When she was still alive. She knew the end was coming. Faster than she and I wanted and expected.

I was taking care of the house now. I knew everything about it. How things operated and how to keep them operating. Because I was the only man at home for more than ten years. When I was five, dad was killed in a car accident. Since then, it had been just mom and I. Until she was diagnosed with cancer a year ago.

Mom lost the battle with the malady. But she did everything to save me from child service. Because we had no relatives who could take care of me.

 

 

My name's Boris. Seventeen-year-old well-built young man. This summer was my last summer break as a high school student. Next year, I'll be a senior and then… Who knows what happen after that? The coach wanted me on the football team. Or wrestling. Or… I wasn't interested. I wasn't interested in being the man I was. But who cared?

I had inherited the house and it had to be the source of my income. The only source. The house was built by my great-great-grandfather. It was later modernized by his son, then by his grandson, my grandfather. My dad didn't add anything because he'd died young. I did try to keep it presentable.

For my living, I had rearranged the shed in the backyard with a bathroom and kitchenette. It was enough for me. The only problem was that it was cold. Not only the winters in Rhode Island are cold. I'll insulate it this summer. Or I'll spend a fortune on heating gas again.

 

 

The house was tenanted by the Walker family. Emily and Joe both worked in Providence. They worked kinda in the hospital but I wasn't sure. They didn't say and I didn't ask. And young Becky. She said she was seven.

Becky was at home keeping me company. Or vice versa. I was at home most of the time doing this and that. Like insulating the shed.

I had some cardboard and veneer leftovers and made a castle in the backyard. Next to my shed. Becky moved some of her toys to the castle. It was big enough for her to arrange a tea party with her dolls. And me.

“I want a sister,” Becky used to say when there was an occasion. Or without occasion.

Her parents Emily and Joe were young. They could have more kids. Have they planned? I didn't know. And sure I didn't ask. Anyway, another kid could be a boy or a girl.

“What if it is a brother?” I tried.

“NO!” Becky snapped out. “Boys are stupid!”

Then her hands shot to her mouth, “Oops! I'm sorry,” she said. “I don't mean. That's I don't mean you. I'd like you to be my sis.”

It made me chuckle and sigh at the same time.

 

 

The summer was coming to an end. I had finished the shed. And I had some money left. I had more money than I planned to have because I'd spent less.

I asked Emily if I could buy something for Becky. Maybe a doll or something.

Becky heard us talking though.

“I don't want a doll. I want a sister!” she announced.

Emily sighed. I understood it wasn't a theme she wanted to talk about.

“Take her to the mall,” she said, “but don't spend too much.”

The mall was next to the hardware store. In a hardware store, I was like at home. In the mall… There I understood I got myself into trouble.

We were strolling aisles up and down. I waited for Becky to offer something or to ask for something. She didn't want a doll. So no toy store. Even more, there was only one toy store here. To buy her clothes? Toiletries? Jewelry? I wouldn't do it without her mom.

Then we moved to the end of the side aisle next to the exit to the underground garage. There was an antique store. We spent there almost an hour. It was like a museum.

Next to the antique store was another unsightly store with a sign “Huggles International” over the door. We entered and it was filled with stuffed animals. And I mean filled.

“Oh,” I managed to say.

“Oh,” Becky echoed me. She was fascinated. The same as me.

The saleslady approached. Her nametag said, Monica. She didn't say a word just looked at us questioningly.

“Becky here wants a sister,” I said. “So we are looking for some feminine animal. But not a doll.”

Then I added quietly to myself with a sigh, “I would be happy to fill this position but…” Constant being with Becky made my urges to be more feminine hard to struggle with.

“Fox,” said the saleslady interrupting my musing, “definitely.”

“Huh?” I was caught off guard and wasn't ready to respond.

“I say fox could be the perfect animal you are looking for,” Monica, the saleslady, explained giving a huge fox to Becky.

Becky was shocked. The animal was almost as big as Becky herself.

“Sit here on the sofa and try how it is to hug her,” Monica guided Becky to the settee. Then she turned to me, “and you, sweetie?”

“Huh?” it was the second time in the row for the most sensible answer.

“Everyone needs a hug sometimes,” Monica said as she was talking to a kid. “Try this one.”

She handed me a wolf. The most peaceful and romantic wolf. But not a dog.

“You have time while Becky is lost in a hug with her fox.”

What had I to lose? I accepted the invitation and sat down next to Becky. She was hugging the fox with a dreamy expression on her face. I hugged the wolf. The soft touch was not the only special thing about him. The wolf, I mean. But the smell. The smell of the new toy and the smell of Christmas tree decorations from the attic and the smell of mom making hot chocolate with vanilla when I was a kid. That smell. And the feeling of peace.

Someone tugged on my sleeve.

“Huh?”

It was Becky. Something was wrong with her.

“What?” I asked and something was wrong with my voice too. It dawned on me. Becky's face was at my eye level.

“Earth to Sarah,” Becky said with a giggle waving her hand in front of my face as if trying to check if I wasn't sleeping.

I looked down at myself and I was dressed the same as Becky. The tee, shorts, trainers, and ankle socks.

I pinched my arm. No. I wasn't dreaming.

“Give me your wolf and take my fox,” Becky offered.

I was reluctant. What if it will change me back? I didn't want to change back! Tears welled in my eyes as I hugged the wolf in a death grip.

“It's ok sweetie,” Monica, the saleslady, stroked my head, “you'll never change back. I promise.”

“Really?” could I trust her?

“Really,” she assured me, “from now on it's your new life, Sarah Elizabeth Walker.”

I looked at her and she nodded her head. Then I turned to Becky and she had a grin plastered on her face.

I cautiously released the grip and let Becky take the wolf. I took the fox from her hands at the same time.

“Thank you, sis,” Becky said casually.

The bell rang announcing a new visitor when I was about to hug the fox. Becky and I turned to the door and there was mommy. Or was it Mrs. Walker? No! Mommy.

“You promised no new toys,” mom scolded. As if scolded.

“Those are not toys,” Becky said.

“They are our new friends,” I added.

“Friends?” mom asked with a smirk, “introduce us then.”

“Mom, meet my newest friend Alice,” I said turning the fox to face mom. I hoped Becky was ok with Alice as the name of her fox.

“And this is my new friend Boris,” Becky said and then added, “Boris, please meet my mom.”

“Friends… you say,” mom sighed, “ok. But only this time.”

“Weee!” we both cheered and locked mom in the group hug.

Mom paid and we left. Becky with Alice and I with Boris the most romantic wolf.

I turned to Monica while stepping through the door.

“Thank you, ma'am,” I said.

“You are welcome, sweetie,” she replied.