I didn't used to be a girl with a bright future.
I used to be a "loser" at West High.
I used to be a boy named Martin Rawlings.
This is my story.
Chapters 1--15
Through a series of unfortunate events, Martin's body is transformed, and his life takes a turn for the worse.
[Note: Cautions apply to the entire story.]
I wasn't always the girl you know. I didn't used to go to a great school. I didn't used to have a gang of great friends. I didn't used to think that I mattered all that much.
I used to live with my brothers and my parents over on the west side of town.
I used to go to West High School.
I used to be a boy named Martin Rawlings.
This is my story.
It all happened because I was in love.
I was madly in love with my brother Pete's motorcycle.
Pete had gotten the motorcycle so he could get to his classes at the local community college when our parents couldn't spare one of their cars for him. It mostly sat in our carport, but sometimes he would ride it to school, and sometimes, if he was in a good mood and I begged him hard enough, he'd give me a ride on it. My parents were scared half to death, of course. That was part of the fun. When I was on it, I was in heaven, and when I wasn't, all I could think about was when I'd next be on it. In class, instead of paying attention to the lesson, I dreamed of riding down country roads with the wind on my face and all my cares left far behind. I got in trouble for it, but what did I care? I was already branded a "loser", which is what they called us boys at the bottom of the social pecking order, and it wasn't like I could fall any lower.
The trouble started with me just looking at it. It was a warm June day, my parents were at work and Pete at the campus and Biff was somewhere or other, and I had only a half-day of school. I felt it call me. I was just going to take a look and then go back to whatever boring stuff I usually did. The motorcycle was standing in the carport, just begging me to come closer. When I did, I saw the key still in the ignition. Pete was always doing that. It was a miracle it never got stolen.
It couldn't hurt to just sit on the motorcycle, could it? So I swung my leg over the saddle and sat on it. Not in back, where I sat when riding with Pete, but in front, where I could reach the handlebars. After pretending I was riding all over the place with it, I thought, now that I'm here, I could see if I can start the engine, but I won't go anywhere.
Well, one thing led to another and before long, I was on the open road, enjoying the wind on my face and the thrill of speed. Just like riding a bike, not so hard, is it? Then I saw that the road in front of me made a sharp right turn at the bottom of a hill, and then I saw the gravel.
The last thing I remember was going "oh, shit!"
[Note: Cautions apply to the entire story.]
When you've had a head injury, you don't just wake up. It's more like bits and pieces start to sort themselves out like a jigsaw puzzle, only over months. And the pieces sometimes unsort themselves for a while. At least, that was how it was for me. I have pieces of memory from early August, and longer ones from later in the month.
At some point I realized that I had been in a serious accident, with broken bones and a bad concussion. I hadn't worn a helmet (because I wasn't going to actually ride it, right?) and they said it was a miracle I was even alive. They told me I had spent a month and a half at the University medical center and had been in a medically-induced coma for a month while they pumped gene therapy drugs into me to encourage my brain to heal. I wasn't healing as fast as they hoped, which said something about how bad the concussion was.
But by September, most of the casts were off and my brain was working well enough that the doctors thought I could go back to school, although I should avoid anything that might bang my head. I hoped my brain injuries hadn't hurt my survival skills -- I needed to be in top form to survive at West High. They let me go back as a sophomore, even though I had missed freshman year finals. I don't know if I'd done well enough or if they just didn't want to have me around any longer than they had to.
I'd hoped that I'd get out of gym class, which I hated, but no such luck. The other classes were okay, although I got a lot of headaches, especially when the other guys harrassed me too much.
Now I should say that sports, and especially football, are a big deal at West High. West High is like a small town. The parents all know each other; most went to West High themselves. And in the fall, most of the conversation, in school or out, is about whether the team will win the next game. If the team wins, especially the big game with Hollingsworth, everybody screams and drives around honking and throwing stuff. And that's the grown-ups. So the guys on the football team are gods. They can do anything they want, and nobody will say anything. Even the freshman team is a big deal. The basketball team is a big deal, too, but those guys are just demigods.
For some reason, my gym class was always getting out when some of the football players were coming in. They liked to hang out and harrass anybody they thought was a wimp, which meant pretty much anyone who wasn't on the varsity or one of their buddies. I didn't do well in gym, anyway, so the class kept proving I was no good as a guy. And then I'd get to the showers, and they and the jocks in my class would make fun of people's private parts and pop them with towels. I always had a splitting headache after gym, what with the concussion and all.
[Note: Cautions apply to the entire story.]
It was in the boys' shower that it started. Tom Prescott, one of the football players and a ringleader of the jock clique, was pointing at my penis, when he shouted, "hey, what's with your dick? It looks like a little boy's dick. Hey, little boy, whacha doin' in high school?" I did my best to ignore him, but that night I looked in the mirror for the first time. My penis was about half its usual length and smaller around, too. My scrotum was shrunk and pinning my balls to my crotch. I also noticed that my nipples were sore.
I started worrying that puberty was throwing some new humiliation my way, then I started worrying that I was worrying for nothing. I actually started measuring it. To my distress, a week later, it was a half an inch shorter. I couldn't even stretch it to the length it was a week earlier. I thought about asking my father about it, but I couldn't imagine him coming back with anything but one of those idiotic man-to-man platitudes. I thought about my mother, but she was uncomfortable with anything that reminded her that I was male. She had trouble even washing my underwear.
I was still seeing the neurologist every two weeks, so I brought my measurements to my next appointment. At first, he thought it was just some adolescent thing, but I insisted he examine me. When he did, he said, "I think we need a second opinion." He gave me a very thorough examination, including blood tests, and set up an appointment with a colleague before he let me go.
It was October by then. Every week, I got sent to a different specialist, each one more eminent than the last, and each one did a thorough exam. The third one noticed that I was a few inches shorter than at my first exam. The fourth one noticed that my nipples were enlarged and my chest had started to develop breasts. By then, my penis was so short that I had to sit to pee, and my scrotum had flattened into my crotch. I had no idea what had happened to my balls. I started wrapping my chest with several ace bandages to flatten the breasts out, but it made the nipples hurt and I started getting backaches.
The fourth doctor didn't set up another appointment. "I have a few ideas, but I'm not ready to say anything yet. I'll have someone call you." Four days later, yet another doctor called -- in person, not through a receptionist -- and asked my parents and me to come in.
[Note: Cautions, themes, etc., apply to the entire story.]
When we got there, the doctor -- Dr. Newcomb -- ushered us into his office. He must have been really somebody, because it was big and carpeted and had lots of mahogany and leather furniture. I didn't know if this was how he always looked, but he looked nervous and sweaty.
"I'm -- I'm not a neurologist. I'm the director of research for what is usually called 'gene therapy' here at the University. We've been working with other gene therapy groups on techniques for regrowth -- and corrective growth."
My parents looked as perplexed as I felt.
"One of the uses is regrowing lost limbs, or correcting congenital defects. That's still experimental, but we all hope to have it FDA approved in a few years. Our work here is more experimental. One group of patients we work with are people with gender dysphoria." He must have realized we had no idea what he was talking about, because he tried to clarify it. "You know, men who feel they're a woman in a man's body, and vice versa? The usual treatment is sexual reassignment surgery. We're trying to do it using gene therapy techniques."
"And what does that have to do with Martin?" my father asked.
"One of our subjects was in the coma ward at the same time your son was. We're still running tests to be sure -- by the way, Mr. Rawlings" -- here, he looked at me -- "could you stop by the lab on the way out and leave us another blood sample -- but we think that whoever was actually doing the work, taking samples and injecting the material mixed up our subject and your son."
"You mean, your guy got the brain drugs and our son got the sex-change ones?"
"Essentially, yes."
My father looked stunned. We all did. Then he sat back and said, very quietly, "then you've got to fix it."
The doctor looked even more nervous and sweaty. He'd been sitting with us, like it was a social visit, but now he got up and stood behind the desk. "I'm afraid that isn't possible. I'm sorry." He rushed ahead. "Once the genes have been delivered to all the cells, there's no removing them. Maybe we could have done something if we'd caught it, say, a half-hour after the vectors were injected. But now it's too late."
My father isn't the rant-and-rave type, so he just stared at the doctor. Finally he said, "don't you have a treatment to turn women into men? Couldn't you use that?" My dad is pretty smart. I'd never have thought of that.
"Unfortunately, we can't do a second gene therapy -- any kind of second gene therapy. For some reason, the two therapies interact, and you get bad results. We've tried it in animals, and the results were hideous."
"So I'm going to -- turn into a girl?" I sputtered.
"Externally, yes. You'll develop a normal-looking clitoris, labia, and vagina with a cervix, but there won't be a uterus or ovaries behind it. There's a gland that puts out female hormones, so you'll have breasts. We've even developed an approximation of female sexual response."
I could see that my parents had mentally checked out. Any kind of discussion of sex made them uncomfortable, I'm sure that hearing about the sexual parts that their son was in the process of growing was tripping all their circuit breakers. I was still thinking, "this isn't real, I'm going to wake up and it was all a bad dream." Except I knew it wasn't.
I don't think it ever occurred to my brothers that there might be any reason not to tell everyone about what the doctor had told us. I survived the first day after we met with the doctor only because the word hadn't really gotten around yet. The second day, I could hear the whispers and see the pointing and smirks from the minute I got on the bus. Soon, the bolder guys would make open taunts, like, "sissy, you're a sissy girl now," or "why aren't you wearing a dress, stupid?" I was able to sort of ignore them during my classes. Gym class, of course, was another story.
It started the minute I got into the locker room to change for gym. "Hey, girlie, whacha doing in the boys locker room?" "Isn't your name Martina now?" I raced through changing and hustled into the gym. I didn't even take time to put on my gym shoes before going in. In the shower, after gym, it was much, much worse. Tom Prescott started by getting everyone to look at my crotch, then trying to grab it. Several of his buddies tried to, too, but I punched them. Or tried to, anyway -- they had no trouble avoiding my punches. But at least they kept their distance, sort of. I didn't really wash and just sort of wiped the water off with my towel before jumping into my clothes and rushing out of the locker room. I swore to myself I'd never go in there again.
The next day, the whispers and taunts continued. I was starting to get used to it, or at least inured. When I was supposed to go to gym class, I took my books to the library. Mrs. Tomlinson, the librarian, was very strict about quiet, so I didn't need to worry about people bothering me there. I expected trouble, but nobody said anything. I went to all my other classes as usual, but went to the library during gym class. After a week of this, I got called to the office. They told me I had to start going to gym class. I told them, no way in Hell, They said I'd get an F. I said I didn't care. And that was that. Afterwards I though: I should have done this years ago.
By now, my penis was completely gone and my crotch didn't look a lot different from a girl's. At least, if the pictures on the web were any guide; it's not like I'd ever had seen any girls naked in real life. I also noticed that my hips were wider, so my pants were really tight there. On the other hand, they were now a few inches too long. The worst part, though, was that the pants legs rubbed on my thighs and it was driving me crazy. It was a mix of feeling turned on and hurting. My crotch and thighs were very sensitive now. If I lay in bed and gently tickled and stroked down there, I got really, really turned on. I finally got my mother to pay for some new pants, shorter and wider, and it helped a little, but not that much.
At home, things weren't easy, either. My dad was mostly interested in suing the hospital, the doctor, and the University. He didn't want to think about what I was going through. My mom would barely look at me. And my brothers thought that my predicament was the funniest thing that ever happened and were forever making jokes at my expense. They were always threatening to come into the bathroom when I was on the toilet or taking a shower, though fortunately they never did.
The bathroom was a problem at school, too. I had to sit down even to pee and a lot of the boys, if they were in the bathroom when I was, they'd pull themselves up and look over the partition at me. I complained to the assistant principal and he said he couldn't do anything unless he caught somebody doing it. That just told those boys exactly what to do to stay out of trouble. They'd post a lookout as soon as I went in. I asked whether I could use some bathroom other than the boys' bathroom. The teachers didn't want me in the teachers' bathrooms and the popular girls decided to claim they would be afraid to use the girls' bathroom if I could use it and got their mothers and their friends' mothers to complain, even before I asked. I hadn't even suggested it yet. I asked about the handicapped bathroom, but they said it had been converted into a supply closet because they never had handicapped kids, and besides, I wasn't handicapped. So I tried to hold it in as much as possible.
The doctor had recommended counselling for me. First, my parents had me go to the school psychologist, but she was useless. I didn't have any of the problems she'd been trained for, so she simply talked to me as if I had one of them. I'd talk about the bathroom problem and she'd offer me studying advice. Or suggest I have a talk with my parents. Then my parents sent me to a shrink that the school social worker recommended. He was worse. He spent the first session asking about whether I had the hots for my mom and seemed to think my transformation was because deep down inside I really wanted to be a girl. The second session, he tried to get me to take my clothes off so he could "accurately assess" my problem. I decided there wasn't ever going to be a third session.
Not everyone was trying to make my life miserable. My fellow "losers" would sometimes secretly warn me and help me hide if they saw the bullies coming, but if they got caught, they'd catch it, too. And some of the "uglies" -- that's what they called the girls on the bottom of the social heap -- would sometimes come over when no one was looking and tell me they thought it was really awful and unfair what was happening to me, but they couldn't do much because they were afraid of the popular girls. I couldn't blame them.
Every year, at Thanksgiving, we get together with my dad's sister and her family for dinner. This year, it was at our place. My mom put the turkey in to bake and a little while later, Aunt Edith, Uncle Boris, and my cousin Teresa showed up with salad and deserts. Aunt Edith and my mom would then work together to make the rest of the meal.
My brothers had been making fun of me all day and they didn't stop when my Aunt and her family came in. "Hey, Martina," Pete would say to me, "got a boyfriend, yet?" Biff chimed in, on cue: "would that make him -- I mean her -- gay?" Then Biff would mince across the living room. "Don't you think she looks cute?" We'd done a little of this sort of thing to Teresa, which used to get her so mad she would punch us. Then Dad would tell us to be nice to her, which would quiet us down for a while. Dad wasn't saying anything to them at all now. And while they were doing this, my breasts were killing me under the ace bandages and my crotch was driving me crazy.
My aunt and uncle just stood in the entrance to the living room and stared as my brothers teased me. I remember my aunt having this appalled look on her face. Then she turned to my dad and said, "Claude, aren't you going to do something?" He just stood there. Then she got him to go into the front hall, and a few minutes later, he stormed into the living room and started yelling at my brothers.
"How can you do this to your own brother? You should be supporting him." They looked stunned. "How's he getting treated at school?" They just stared. He looked at me.
"Like they were doing to me now," I said. "Sometimes worse. I stopped going to gym, it was so bad."
He looked at Biff. "Is it true?" Biff nodded. "You should be defending your brother. Haven't you heard, 'he ain't heavy, he's my brother'? I'm very, very disappointed in you. In both of you." It didn't make much sense to me, either. Pete wasn't even at my school, so how could he defend me?
Both of them got really quiet, and after a few minutes, they politely excused themselves and went downstairs to the TV room. Aunt Edith and Mom went into the kitchen. That left Uncle Boris and Dad in the living room in the upholstered chairs talking about work and cars and Dad trying to sue the hospital and Teresa and me on the couch, saying nothing.
"Want to go upstairs and hang out in my room?" I asked. She nodded, and we quietly snuck out of the living room. I don't know if my dad even noticed. I showed her my CD collection and asked if there was anything she'd like to hear. She kept looking at me like she was trying to figure me out. She picked out a CD and I put it on. She sat on the floor with her arms around her knees and I sat on the bed. She was wearing a simple shirt dress which wouldn't have actually hid what she had on underneath, except she was sitting so I couldn't. I suddenly wondered: is this intentional? Has she learned exactly how to sit so no one can see? Was this something I needed to learn?
"You know, Martin, you're a lot nicer to me than you usually are."
"Making fun of you isn't any fun now, now that I know what it's like to be on the receiving end. I'm sorry now that I was so mean to you in the past. That was really shitty of me. Also, it's nice to be around someone who isn't picking on me. My own age, I mean."
"Is it that bad? Don't you have any friends?"
"I used to have some guys who would talk with me about stuff, like music or motorcycles or what we'd do when we got out of West Hell -- that's our name for West High. But they're afraid to be seen around me now."
"Martin?" She looked straight at me. "I'd be willing to talk to you. I'd even try to help. I think I could get my parents to help, too. I know you're going through Hell right now. Just -- well, just don't be mean to me any more, okay?"
"I promise," I said, with as serious an expression as I could manage. "I really appreciate you being willing to talk to me. The worst part of all this is that I don't have anyone to talk to." I told her about the shrink. "And Dad and Mom just don't want to think about what's happening to me, so there's no point in talking to them."
We listened to another CD, just rocking and grooving on it. When it was over, I said, "you know, there's something you might be able to help with, but it might be a little embarrassing."
"For me? Or for you?"
"Both, maybe. You see, my body's turning into a female body, and there's lots of stuff I don't know about it. I can't talk to my mom about it. I figure, your mom must have helped you when you were growing up and getting, uh, you know."
"Breasts? Menstruation? Sex?"
I blushed a little. "Yeah, that kind of stuff."
"Maybe I'm not so easy to embarrass as you think. How far along is your, ah, transformation?"
"Pretty far. I have breasts and my crotch looks like what those medical web sites show for a woman's crotch. I've been squashing my breasts with lots of ace bandages, but it hurts like hell. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Do you mind showing me? I won't make fun of you."
I was afraid I was going to get really embarrassed. At least I didn't have to worry about getting a hard-on. I pretended it was another one of those physical exams and took my shirt off, then the ace bandages. If she'd smiled or giggled, I don't know what I'd have done, but she kept a serious expression and looked carefully at my chest.
"They look like full-sized breasts all right. A little bruised -- I don't think the ace bandages are doing them any good. I'll ask my mom, but I think you're going to have to get used to the idea that you'll need a bra."
"Oh, great. That's all the guys at school need, to see me in a bra."
"There might be a way to make it less obvious." She didn't sound too hopeful, though. "Anyway, do you want to come by this weekend? I'll check with my parents if it's okay, but we're not doing anything."
Mom called us to dinner then. Teresa helped me wrap my breasts up before we went down. We spent dinner mostly talking about neutral subjects, like sports, or how we were doing in school, but every now and then Uncle Boris or Aunt Edith would ask about my condition or what I was enduring in school. Nothing too personal, and always in a way that I could avoid going into more detail than I wanted to. I had a feeling they were listening to every word I said and maybe some I wasn't saying. They also asked my parents things, but whenever it was about me, the questions just slid right off like they were made of Teflon. I was mostly enjoying being able to eat without my brothers persecuting me.
After dinner, I followed Aunt Edith, Teresa, and my mom into the kitchen to help with the cleaning up. The other guys went into the living room. Aunt Edith gave me a questioning look.
"If I'm here, Pete and Biff won't be tempted to pick on me." She went back to scraping plates.
"Hey, Mom?" Teresa said. "Can Martin come over this weekend?"
"Certainly. Not Friday, we have some chores to get done and your dad has to work that day. But Saturday would be fine."
"When?" I asked.
"All day, if you want. We get up by 8:00; if you're there then, we could feed you breakfast. We go to bed arond 10:00. P.m.," she added.
"I don't think I could get anyone to drive me over that early."
"If you have trouble getting a ride, one of us could fetch you."
"That's really nice of you, but I'll try to get my mom or dad to drive me."
By the time we finished cleaning up and dividing up the left-overs, it was dark. We all sat around in the living room for a while making small talk, and then my aunt and uncle and Teresa left.
I got my mother to agree to take me over to Teresa's. The earliest she'd leave was 8:00, though. She said she'd pick me up if I gave her a few hours' notice. So, Saturday morning, I packed up a few CDs and got driven to my aunt's and uncle's.
When I got there, they were just finishing breakfast. Teresa was still in her pyjamas, working on some toast, and looked surprised to see me. I apologized for getting there too early, but Teresa said it was fine and offered me a muffin. I showed her the CDs, but she said it was too early. We went upstairs to her room.
"I talked to my mom, and she thinks you probably need a bra. You can't keep squashing your breasts like that, and since you say the nipples are sore, you need a bra that protects them. She also says you can get bras that make your breasts less obvious. But you need to go to a store that specializes in bras. We can take you shopping next weekend."
"Thanks. It's sort of scary, but I guess that's what I need to do."
"Anything else I can help you with?"
"There is something. I hope it's not too stupid." I think I blushed again. "What do you do about when your pants legs bother you -- irritate your legs right up here." I pointed to right near my crotch.
"Is it getting red and all?"
"No, more like it, uh, tickles or itches or something." I didn't want to describe it more accurately.
"Is it better when you don't have pants on?"
"Oh, yes. When I'm alone in my room, I take them off, and it's so much better. But I can't walk around the house or outside in just my underwear."
She looked like she was weighing her words. "I don't know if you'll like this suggestion, but: would you be willing to try a skirt? It wouldn't have pants legs to irritate you. And it wouldn't have to look all girly."
I thought about it for a minute or two, but the way my legs were bothering me kind of pushed me over. "Okay, I'll try one. But -- would you have one that fit me?"
"I've got one in a one-size-fits-all size. It's sort of flowery and long, but I don't think it's too bad." She went into her closet and pulled it out. It was long and crinkly and had some sort of pink and blue pattern. "Do you want to put it on now?"
I nodded.
"I'll turn my back while you change," she said, and turned. I took off my shoes, then took a deep breath, slipped off my pants, and pulled the skirt on up to my waist. Within a few seconds, I felt relief.
"You know, maybe you can take off the ace bandage. No one here is going to tease you about it." I pulled my shirt off, and she started taking the bandages off. When she was done, I could see my breasts kind of slumping down. They weren't exactly pin-up size, but they weren't tiny. And I had to admit, on a girl, they wouldn't have looked half bad. I tried putting my shirt back on and looked in the mirror. The breasts weren't all that obvious, but you could tell they were there if you looked. I stood back and looked at myself. It had been a long time since I'd looked at my whole body in the mirror. I hadn't even looked at my face since October, when what little beard hair that I'd had had been gone for weeks.
I looked like someone else.
I looked like a girl. A fashion-challenged girl, but still a girl.
It wasn't just my chest that had changed. I was shorter, my hips were wider. And my face looked different. I couldn't figure out exactly what had changed, but it didn't look like I remembered it.
"It's so weird. I'm looking in the mirror, and I'm seeing a girl. Not me. The skirt and the no bandage and ...."
"Hey, Martin. Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You don't look a lot different from when you came in. I know it sucks. I know it's not what you want. Hey, I'd be pretty upset, too, if one day I started looking like a boy. But maybe you need to start getting used to it. I mean, suppose you'd gotten this horrible burn scar. You could have gotten one in that motorcycle accident. You'd have to get used to looking that way."
"I guess you're right. But -- I don't think I'm ready yet."
"Now, can you turn your back so I can get dressed?"
After she got dressed, I tried looking in the mirror again. If I didn't think about it being me, I could see that "she" wasn't bad-looking. Maybe even a little pretty. I shuddered and felt a heavy rock drop down through the bottom of my stomach. I turned away.
"Let's go downstairs and talk to my mom."
"Dressed like this?"
"Why not? It's not like it will bother them. It's not half as weird as what they already know about you.
When her mother saw me, she looked me up and down, but said nothing and her expression was pretty casual.
"He's wearing a skirt because pants rub in sensitive places."
My aunt nodded. "Do you like it?" she asked.
"It's a little girly for my taste."
"Maybe when we go shopping next Saturday we can find something that's a little more masculine-looking."
I plopped down on a chair. "What's the use?" I moaned. "I'm going to look like a girl no matter what I do."
Teresa started to say something, but her mother interrupted. "Give him some space. Let him feel it. It's going to take a while for -- it'll just take a while. Martin: do you want us to leave you alone?"
I shook my head. I was trying to hold off tears, but I didn't want to be alone. "But I'm keeping you from whatever you were going to do today. And I'm sure I'm boring Teresa."
"This is more important."
"What's more important?"
"How you're feeling. Helping you deal with all this."
Now I did start to cry. The idea that how I felt was important to somebody besides me, that they'd drop what they were doing to make me feel better. I couldn't take it in.
I won't bore you with the details. Short version: I spent the next fifteen minutes or so crying and feeling sorry for myself and Aunt Edith stroking my shoulder until I'd cried myself out.
Once I was able to do more than whimper, Aunt Edith and I arranged that we would all go clothes shopping next Saturday. She extracted from me the fact that my boy-underwear wasn't fitting right any more, so she added that to the list. Bras, skirts, now underwear. And shirts that would hide my breasts, sort of.
Teresa suggested we go for a walk.
"Dressed like this?"
Teresa rolled her eyes. "Is that all you can say? Nobody's going to think anything weird, even if they see us. Most people are inside, or if they're outside, they're working and won't pay attention to us."
We got on our shoes and coats and walked the block to the nature preserve. It was warm for the end of November, but that's still not warm, and my legs got cold. I reminded myself that outdoor gym class in gym shorts was even colder and soldiered on, but by the time we got back, I was cold through and through. Uncle Boris was in the kitchen, and when he saw us, he made some mugs of hot chocolate to warm us up.
"How's it going?" my uncle asked.
"Should I be honest?"
"Of course."
"Pretty shook up. I looked in the mirror and I don't look like me any more. Nobody's going to see me, they'll see some girl."
He'd been standing while Teresa and I sat, but he squatted down until his eyes were level with mine, in a sort of man-to-man attitude.
"When I look at you, I see my nephew Martin. Your appearance may have changed a little, but I still see the same Martin." He stared at me for a few more minutes. "Your appearance is not you. It's what's inside that's you, okay?" Then he stood up. "What do you say we download a movie and make some popcorn?"
"A horror movie!" Teresa squealed. Then she got a serious look on her face and asked me, "do you like horror movies?"
I didn't, actually, but didn't want to disappoint her. "As long as they're not too scary." So we downloaded a campy horror movie, which took us to dinner time. I thought I should call my mom for a ride, since she wanted a few hours notice, but Uncle Boris said he'd drive me. I stayed for dinner -- leftover turkey.
When it was time to go, I went to change into my pants.
"Don't you want to keep the skirt on?"
"I don't want to have to deal with my family's reaction. I don't know how I'm going to explain it if your mom really does buy me a skirt next week. It really was a lot more comfortable, though," I added wistfully.
I changed, but she insisted on giving it to me in a bag. "Don't worry about the skirt," my uncle said as he drove me home. "Edith will talk to your dad and straighten it out."
When I got home, my brothers were in the living room watching the TV there. Since Thanksgiving, they hadn't dared to harrass me. They looked all stiff and nervous, like they didn't know how to act around me. Actually, my parents did, too. It was like I was living with strangers.
On Monday, I plunged back into West Hell, doing my best to just focus on schoolwork and ignore everything else. Wednesday night, I called Teresa but got my aunt.
"Everything's straightened out. They won't bother you about wearing a skirt or a bra or whatever. Whether at home or out."
I spoke to Teresa, but she said couldn't talk long because of homework. She suggested I text her, but not expect her to answer right away. I had to look around on the web to find out how to text on my phone. I texted "see you Saturday" and went to bed. Next morning, I saw a reply that was sent an hour or so after my message: "Saturday see you :)"
Meanwhile, at school, I saw some signs that Biff was trying to stick up for me. When I saw him with his friends, a lot of the time he was arguing with them. One time I thought they'd get into a fight, but he just stormed off. I don't think it did much good, though.
Saturday, I put on the skirt and I didn't bandage my chest. My mom didn't say anything, but did take me over to my aunt's. I couldn't help noticing that she didn't talk to me, except for the essentials. It was a very quiet ride. Just as I was getting out, she said, "maybe you should look at the bus routes. I think there's a crosstown bus that goes near your aunt's house."
Aunt Edith said we'd go to the bra shop first, but before we went, she got me to measure myself for underwear. Then she sat me down.
"Martin, you're going to have to decide how you'd like us to introduce you to the salespeople: as a girl or as a boy. If we present you as a boy, you'll end up having to give more explanations than I think you want to. If you don't want that, I think you'll have to put up with being my niece and having people refer to you as 'she'. I'll go with whatever you decide, but I'd like to settle it now, not when we walk into a store."
I thought about it: letting them pretend I was a girl was one more step down a path I really didn't want to go, but I really didn't want to have a long conversation with every salesperson, and I really, really didn't want people to look at me like I was a freak all day. I sighed and said, "I'll go as your niece. What's my name?"
"Martina?" suggested my aunt. "That way if we slip up and call you 'Martin,' it won't be so obvious."
I winced. "That's what the jerks at school have been calling me. But maybe I can stand it for one day. If I have to use a girl's name, I'd like to think about which one."
The lady at the bra store was just what I'd expected: a hearty, big-chested lady in who looked like one of those society matrons out of a Marx Brothers movie. Aunt Edith introduced me.
"This is my niece Martina. She's getting fitted for her first bra. She's not too wild about it and she'd like something that doesn't make it too obvious."
I was afraid the lady would start getting chummy with me, but she didn't. Either my aunt's comments or my hunched shoulders and unhappy face must have signalled to her that I wasn't in the mood for being jollied or for nosy questions.
"I'll see if I have something in a Minimizer. I think you want it to fit right," she directed to me. I just nodded. "Any other things I need to think about? Special closures?"
My aunt replied for me, "she's having sore nipples, do you have something that won't rub or press on them?"
"I'll see." She turned to me and in what I guess was her most clinical way, she said, "Martina, I'm going to have to measure you. You'll have to pull up your shirt. If you want, we can go in a dressing room. Do you want your aunt or -- is that your cousin?"
"Cousin. No, I'm okay with just you. In a dressing room." It wasn't as embarrassing as I thought it'd be. The exams at the sex-change lab (that's what I was calling it) were worse. She told me to stand up straight with my shoulders back, took a few measurements, looked carefully at my breasts, and then went out to her stockroom. A few minutes later, she returned with a stack of boxes and started putting bras against my chest. When she'd narrowed them down to a few, she showed me how to put one on and got me to try them all. We found one that wasn't too uncomfortable and didn't press too hard on my nipples, which were still a little sore. I took a deep breath, left that one on, and put my shirt back on. My aunt bought three and also bought some women's panties in what I assumed was my size.
The next stop was a clothing store. I basically put myself in Aunt Edith's and Teresa's hands, and they found me a denim skirt that went over my knees and didn't look too girly and some shirts that were loose enough that the bra didn't show much. They also picked up some cotton T-shirts, which they said would make it so you couldn't see the bra through the shirt. They found a sock store at the same mall and picked up some knee socks. They also insisted on getting a package of black tights. When I protested, they said that men also wear tights and I would need them if I wore the skirt in winter. I didn't talk much, but still the sales people called me "miss." It grated, but I didn't protest.
We stopped off at a fast-food place for lunch, then headed home. The bra felt funny, but my back and chest no longer hurt and my nipples just felt tingly instead of sore. On the way back, Teresa was lost in thought, then looked at me and laughed.
"Am I so funny?"
"No, I was just thinking about a story I read, and you were reminding me of it. It's Kafka's The Metamorphosis"
"What's it about?"
"It's about this guy.... Uh, maybe I shouldn't have said anything."
"You might as well tell me, I'll find out anyway."
"It's this guy who wakes up one morning and finds out he's now a giant cockroach. His family isn't very nice to him. I'm sorry, that's not how I think of you. I shouldn't have said anything."
"You've got a point. Things could be a lot worse. Maybe if they'd done the brain treatment on me the same time as the sex-change, I would have been turned into a giant cockroach. Can you imagine what they'd say at school if I'd shown up as a giant cockroach?" We laughed all the way home.
Back at their house, I changed into my new clothes. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a boyish girl, but I had to admit, I now had a "look."
"It actually looks kind of cool," Teresa said after I'd looked at myself for a while. "But I have to agree, you're not a 'Martina.' If you end up going as a girl much, we'll have to come up with a better name."
"What do you mean, 'going as a girl'?" This was getting to be too much. I'd spent the morning letting myself be called "miss" and I didn't want to think about having to do it regularly.
"Be reasonable, Martin. There are going to be times like today when you can't pass as a boy, and it'll be easier to just let people assume you're a girl. You can still be Martin the rest of the time."
Uncle Boris called us downstairs, which cut off further discussion. My aunt and uncle looked at me and pronounced my clothing a success, then we all went out to a movie and then came back for dinner. When it was time for me to go home, I mentioned my mother's comment about busses, so Uncle Boris looked up the bus routes. I asked Teresa if we could get together again next Saturday.
"Oh, Martin, I'm sorry, but I have friends coming over."
"And you don't want me around then, I guess." As soon as I said it, I felt like a petulant little kid.
"Martin, it wouldn't work. Right now, you need all my attention when I'm with you. I'm not putting you down, you're in a tough spot right now. But I can't pay attention to my friends and give you the attention you need at the same time. Why don't you come over Sunday afternoon? I'll try and get my homework done by then."
I agreed to that and tried to look grateful. Uncle Boris had printed out some timetables and we all worked out times and routes for next Sunday. Then my uncle drove me home.
I tried wearing the bra and T-shirt combination to school. I had to wear one of my new shirts over it, because my old ones were too small. I expected people to find out and harrass me for it, but I actually didn't have much trouble. Either they didn't notice, or they already assumed I was wearing one. The harrassment wasn't better, but it wasn't worse than last week, which I counted as a plus.
Meanwhile, I was discovering things about my body. At home, I'd always spent a lot of time in my room, but more so now that things were so weird at home and I didn't have any friends. I'd taken to feeling my breasts and my crotch a lot, mostly to get used to what they were shaped like and to the feelings I got when I touched them. It felt funny to be shaped that way, and I guess it was a way of getting used to it. I was discovering that gently rubbing my breasts or just touching the insides of my thighs or pretty much anywhere near my crotch turned me on.
Anyway, I'd be rubbing somewhere and I wouldn't want to stop, and then, after another while that just felt better and better, I'd have a feeling sort of like what I had when I had a penis and I'd jack off, only different. I'd heard that girls masturbate. I didn't exactly know how they did it, but I wondered if this was it. I also wondered if Teresa did it. I was sure her parents would have let her know that it was just fine for her to do it. Once I got the hang of it, it wasn't hard for me to get myself off. One time, I managed it just rubbing my breasts and tickling my nipples. This must be what Dr. Newcomb meant by "an approximation of female sexual response." I have to admit, I liked it, but at the same time, I was weirded out by it.
I was trying out wearing the skirt at home. It really was a lot more comfortable and it felt kind of cool to be able to move my legs around without pants legs pulling on them. Sort of like being naked from the waist down without actually being naked. I came down to dinner once or twice wearing it and nobody said anything. I think they were trying to pretend it wasn't happening. I didn't blame them. I even went out a few times after dark, when I figured no one would see. But the cold air got under my skirt, and I was really cold!
I tried the tights a few times, just to see what it felt like. It felt really funny, cold and hot at the same time. But one thing I noticed: I didn't have the same problem with my thighs that I had with pants. They didn't rub me the same way. Mostly, they didn't move around at all. I thought about wearing them under my pants at school.
I'd go back and forth. One minute, it all felt perfectly logical and normal, the next minute I felt like I was getting swallowed up by quicksand. Every move I made seemed to be pulling me into being a girl. It felt like it was turning me into not-me.
I survived the week. I spoke to Teresa on the phone once, and texted her almost every night. I don't know what I wanted, maybe just to know that someone would talk to me and would return my texts.
I spent Saturday Christmas shopping. I went to a mall on the other side of town, to practice using the bus. It also had the advantage that I wasn't likely to see anyone from West High there. I wore the skirt with knee socks. I got called "miss" most of the time, but I ignored it. It was cold outside and, with just knee socks, my legs were numb by the time I got on the bus. Maybe tights weren't such a bad idea, after all.
I tried wearing tights the next day on my trip to Teresa's, and they were a lot warmer. I had to walk a mile from my house to the bus, wait for the bus, then walk a mile and a half to Teresa's. I was still cold, but it wasn't as bad as the day before.
When I got there, I went up to Teresa's room. We listened to music for a while, then Teresa asked me, "Martin, have you considered just living as a girl? Or at least trying it out.?"
"What do you mean?" I could feel the walls closing in on me. It seemed like everyone was calling me a girl, putting me down.
"It would be a lot easier. Maybe change schools and register as a girl. You'd still be the same person--"
I interrupted her. "What is this? Is everyone in league with the sex-change mad scientists? I'm a boy, dammit, but you and your aunt -- and the jerks in school -- you're all out to make me what I'm not. Like the guy in that story."
"Martin --" she protested, but I was really going now.
"Is that why you've been pretending to be nice to me? So you can get me to act like a girl? And maybe make fun of me then? You're trying to turn me into a giant cockroach! You and your aunt and uncle, you're all as bad as the kids at school!"
I was screaming now. And so was Teresa.
"You're awful!" she shouted. "You promised not to be mean to me and now you've broken your promise! You're just as bad as your brothers! I hate you! I never want to see you again!"
I could feel tears coming into my eyes. I grabbed my jacket and ran down the stairs and out the door. It was a lot colder, so I ran all the way to the bus stop. I only had to wait for about 10 minutes, so I didn't freeze.
By the time the bus had reached center city, my anger had cooled and I was beginning to feel like I'd been unfair. My accusations were ridiculous, I was just upset by the whole sex-change thing and had dumped it all on her. As we got closer to my stop, I was also realizing that I'd just driven away the only friend I had. By the time I reached my house, I felt like I was the one who was just as bad as the kids at school. I wanted to kill myself, I felt so bad.
In my room, I thought, well, you could at least apologize. Even if she never wants to see you again, at least you'll have done one halfway decent thing. I spent the rest of the afternoon writing a letter:
Dear Teresa,
I was wrong. I was unfair. Your suggestion was a a reasonable one, and I'm thinking it over, and even if I decide not to do it, I know you did it with the best intentions. I was just frustrated with lots of things, none of which are your fault, and I took it out on you. You've done nothing but good to me and I treated you like shit. I'm sorry. I don't deserve to have you forgive me, but I'll ask anyway. I'll do whatever you ask. But if you don't want to see me ever again, I'll understand. Whatever happens, I wish you the best. You deserve that much.
I went out and found a mailbox and mailed the letter. Then I came home and texted Teresa: "I was wrong. Please read letter."
At dinner, my dad asked Biff if he'd managed to get the boys to lay off of me.
"I tried, Dad. I really did. But they won't listen to me. Now they won't be my friends and they're harrassing me, too. I've almost gotten in a fight several times. I never realized what jerks -- total jerks -- they are. I'm not sorry for myself that they aren't my friends, but I'm sorry for Martin that I can't do anything for him."
My mom and dad got this empty look that really scared me. I think Biff and Pete were scared, too.
School was much harder to face now that I didn't have a friend in the world. I hoped Teresa would get the letter and at least know I didn't mean what I said. I didn't want to get my hopes up that she'd maybe forgive me. Monday, Tuesday went by. Wednesday night, I got a call. From Teresa.
"I got your letter," she said.
"I'm sorry I said those things to you. I was really a jerk. A total jerk."
"You were being a jerk, but I shouldn't have said what I did, either. I know you're under a lot of strain, and people who are under a lot of strain say things they don't really mean. I'll forgive you. But, please, try not to take things out on me. It really hurts when you do that."
"I promise. But I don't know how much my promise is worth now."
"It's okay. You made up for it with that letter. I have a lot of respect for a guy who'll admit he was wrong. One thing, though. You keep talking like being a girl is something horrible. But I'm a girl. Don't you think it's a little insulting to me, and my mom, and, well, all of us to act like it's the end of the world? Think about it."
I said I would.
"Now that we've got that out of the way, do you want to come over Saturday? I still need to do some Christmas shopping and would love to have company."
"I'd love to. I've taken care of my family, but I'd like to get stuff for your parents and I could use your advice."
The rest of the week of school was almost tolerable. Nothing had actually changed at school, but Teresa was back to being my friend.
I took the bus over on Saturday and we went shopping. I was getting used to going out in public in a bra and a skirt and tights. Nobody ever even looked twice at me.
I was having trouble figuring out what to get my aunt and uncle. They were suddenly a big part of my life -- Teresa, too -- and I didn't feel like I could give them sort of random presents. "You know, I don't really know what your parents like. I mean, I've always just gotten your dad a tie and your mom something for the kitchen, but now that I think of it, that makes it sound like I'd gone to a store and grabbed the first thing I saw on the 'for Mom' and 'for Dad' tables."
"You know Dad likes to cook, even if he doesn't do it that often. Um... He likes classical music. No, rennaisance music, really. You know, before Bach. But I don't know what he has, if you're not careful, you'd probably get him something he already has. Oh, I know! He likes Legos. It's kind of a secret vice, he doesn't want anyone outside the family to know. I think it's cool, but he's afraid other people will think he's immature.
"I don't know about Mom. I usually get her a scarf or a blouse, but that would be hard for you. She also likes books. She's got all of Jane Austin's books, she majored in English in college."
Teresa had gotten her Dad a T-shirt that said, "Champion Beer Drinker." I think that was some kind of in-joke, because she also got him some flower bulbs. I don't remember what kind, but they must have been the kind you can plant in the winter. She was going to buy another blouse, but then found a necklace. After that we went to one of the toy stores where I got her dad a Lego railroad car, and then to the bookstore. I must have spent an hour looking for stuff I thought an English major might like. I finally settled on Little Women, and just hoped she didn't already have it. I wasn't sure I wanted to think about why I wanted that book to be her gift from me.
We wandered around a little longer to see if there was anything that jumped out at us as being just right for someone. At the last store, a poster shop, Teresa ran into a friend of hers.
"Hi, Teresa! Long time no see."
"Hi, Carol. This is my cousin Martin. Martin, this is my BFF Carol Vanderbrook."
I could see her trying to figure it out. "Is Martin a girl's name now?" she asked.
"It's a long story. If I tell it to you, you've got to promise to keep it secret, at least for now."
"It won't be much of a secret if you tell it at the mall. Can I come over? I'm almost done shopping. If I can ride with you, I'll tell my mom. And then you can tell me."
Teresa looked at me. I shrugged. "Sure," she said. "My dad's picking us up at 3:00."
So Carol called her parents and said she'd be going over to Teresa's, and Teresa called her dad to ask if it was okay for Carol to come over. ("It always is," she said.) My uncle drove us home and fed us hot chocolate. Then the three of us ended up in Teresa's room. She told the story of the motorcycle accident, the mix-up at the hospital, and mentioned the crap I was going through at school.
"I was saying, he might find it easier to pass as a girl. He's still thinking about it."
"She -- I mean he -- did a good job of fooling me. Is your body really -- I mean, is everything --"
"Yes, I look like a girl under my clothes. I mean, I haven't seen a lot of naked girls, but from the pictures I've seen, yeah, you'd probably never guess I used to be a boy. And Teresa is right," I sighed, "it'll probably be easier if at least sometimes, I just let people think I'm a girl. I'm sure the salespeople at the mall thought I was. I'm still not ready to do it with people who know me."
"We're still working on a name," Teresa continued. "He doesn't like 'Martina,' because the kids at school tease him with that. And I don't think he looks like a Martina, anyway."
"How about Melanie?" Carol suggested. "It also starts with M, and it's nice and smooth."
We batted around a few other names, like "Michelle" and "Moira," but I didn't like any of them as much as Melanie.
"Melanie it is, then," pronounced Teresa.
We listend to a CD. Carol asked, "was it tough, suddenly finding out you were going to be transformed into a girl?"
"You have no idea."
"Probably not. I imagine it would turn me upside down. I don't know what I'd do if I found out I was going to turn into a boy. I mean, there's nothing wrong with being a boy, but I'm happy as a girl."
Teresa and Carol started talking about mutual friends, and I just leaned against the wall, eventually stretching out on the carpet. It was nice and friendly and I enjoyed just being around people who accepted me and weren't being mean to me. Teresa started stroking my hair while they talked. It felt a little weird, but it was nice. Eventually, my aunt called us down to dinner. I don't remember what we said or did, just that I felt relaxed and at home in a way I hadn't felt in who knows how long. My uncle drove Carol and me home, and when Carol got out, she said, "goodbye, Melanie." It took me a second to realize she was talking about me. It felt kinda weird, but also kinda nice, like she was accepting me -- maybe more than I was accepting myself. It left me with a glow that lasted all the way home, and maybe even a little afterwards.
I could never have believed it, but it seemed like I was almost getting used to all the crap at school. I also wondered if they were getting bored by it. Besides, there was Christmas to think of. At home, I was pretty much always wearing my skirt and thinking maybe I'd like a second one. I was also texting Teresa. I tried not to do it too often, maybe once an evening, and she'd reply in an hour or so.
Two days before Christmas -- the first day of Christmas break -- I woke up to a nasty surprise. I'd been dreaming that I was peeing in my clothes and was feeling my legs and pants all wet. When I woke up, I still felt sort of damp down there. When I felt around, it felt sticky. It was blood. I totally freaked out, but quietly. Was there something wrong with their sex-change thing, and now I was dying? I got up and found some blood in my pj's, and some on the sheet, but it hadn't made it onto the matress. I took the sheet and the pj's to the bathroom and quietly washed the blood out, because I'd heard that you won't get a stain if you wash it out soon enough. I discovered that the blood was coming from my vagina. It felt so weird to put those two words together: "my" and "vagina." It wasn't really bleeding, just sort of oozing. I washed it off and stuffed some toilet paper inside. I put on some underwear -- my new underwear -- and stuffed lots of toilet paper inside.
As soon as I thought someone would be in, I called Dr. Newcomb's office. I must have been on some kind of VIP list, because he called me back in about 5 minutes.
"Doctor, I'm bleeding. From my, uh, vagina." I said the last word kind of quietly.
"Is it a large quantity? Would it fill a cup?" He sounded worried.
"No, it's just sort of oozing."
He sounded relieved. "You're just menstruating. You know what that is, right?"
"What!?! Yes, I know, but why am I, uh, you know?"
"It's something our subjects -- our patients -- wanted, and it wasn't hard to add."
"So now I'm going to be bleeding -- how often?"
"About once very 28 days. It's usually pretty regular."
"Oh, jeez! I gotta sit down." I was already sitting down, but, whatever. "And you didn't think to warn me about this? You wanted it to be some kind of Christmas present? Thanks, Santa!"
"I didn't want to get you worried. You were upset enough already." No, you didn't want us to get any madder at you.
"So, do you have any more surprises for me? When does my head fall off?"
"You're head won't fall off, don't worry." Doesn't this guy have any sense of sarcasm? "Hmm. Oh, yes, you may lactate a bit certain times of the month."
"Lactate?" I thought I knew what he meant, but I didn't want to.
"You have functional milk glands. Most men, do. Well, the hormones your body is producing at certain points in your monthly cycle will stimulate them to produce milk. With the right stimulation, you could get them to produce enough to nourish a baby. It probably won't be very much, but I thought I'd warn you."
I went and changed the toilet paper and peed. It was pretty messy. Then I texted Teresa:
"Dr Newconb's Xmas surprise: I'm menstruating."
To fill up the time, I wrapped my Christmas presents. About 20 minutes later, I was almost finished, when Teresa called me.
"You're kidding, aren't you?"
"I wish I were. Now I have to figure out how to not bleed all over everything. I should have paid attention in health class, I guess."
"Do you want me or my mom to come over and help you with it? I could take the bus, or my mom could pop over on her lunch hour. Or you could come here."
We arranged that I would take the bus over. She would show me how to use a tampon and a sanitary napkin, and then we'd walk over to the local drug store and I would buy my first "feminine hygene products."
When I got there, she gave me a washcloth and sent me into the bathroom to take off my tights and underwear and wash up. When I finished, I suddenly felt weird about letting her see my body like this, but I didn't see any alternative, either. I steeled myself and went into her room.
"I've got a tampon and a sanitary napkin. You could try using one, or we can do both so you can see how to do it yourself. I don't mind showing you, but I'm not going to do it for you each time!" She looked at my red face and added, "I admit it, I kind of like embarrassing you a little. Revenge for all the mean things you used to say to me, I guess."
She got me to pull up my skirt and sit on a towel on her bed. Then she showed me a tampon and how to slide it into my vagina. I was afraid I would feel weird, but by this point, we were too involved in what we were doing. She then showed me how to put a sanitary napkin into my underwear. "If you're using a tampon, you have to change it every couple of hours. And you shouldn't wear just tampons during your period, you should sometimes use a pad." I put my underpants and tights back on. I didn't go back to the bathroom to get dressed because, well, she'd seen it all already.
"Thanks for helping me out. I don't know who else I could have talked to. I don't think my mom could have dealt with it."
"Probably not."
"But -- isn't it a little weird for you, doing it with your cousin, knowing that I'm really a boy, or at least used to be?"
She shrugged. "It isn't weird for me. I guess my parents raised me not to be self-conscious about my body. I mean, I don't take my clothes off at school or anything, but if I'm in a situation where I need to get undressed, like skinny dipping or a physical exam, it doesn't bother me that much. I don't mind a boy seeing me naked, as long as I think he isn't going to use it as an excuse to be mean to me. Which a lot of boys do, by the way."
We walked over to the drug store, which was a half-dozen blocks away. On the way, she explained the different sizes and absorbancies I might need. When we got there, she pointed out the boxes of tampons and pads, but I had to actually pick them out and carry them to the register. I was feeling embarrassed and afraid the salespeople would notice, but the cashier didn't really even look at me. I might just as well have been buying cough drops.
I stayed for dinner. During dinner, her dad said to me, "as often as you come over, maybe you should just move in." Teresa giggled and I felt my face getting warm.
"I'm sorry, maybe I am over here too often."
"Your uncle is just teasing you a little," my aunt explained. "He's really saying that we all like having you here. You're welcome any time. But do call first," she added with a smile.
Around the time I discovered Dr. Newcomb's "Christmas present," as I started calling it, we got a call from a local TV reporter, Gary Saunders. He'd apparently heard about my little mishap at the hospital and wanted to run a story about it. I thought I needed that like a baseball bat to the head, but my Dad thought it would help put pressure on the hospital to settle the malpractice suit. We talked with the lawyer and also with my uncle, because he had a lot more experience with PR and talking to the press than my Dad. So we agreed to an interview to take place sometime between Christmas and New Year's.
The lawyer and my uncle had me in for a couple of sessions where they explained to me what I needed to emphasize and what I should downplay. They thought I should mostly say how weird and unhappy it made me feel, and though I should mention some of the bullying, I shouldn't make a big deal about it since it might make people think that the school was the problem and not the hospital. I thought that was backwards -- the sex change wasn't fun, but what was really making me miserable was all the crap I was getting at school.
Anyway, a few days after Christmas, we met on a sidewalk across from the hospital. I insisted I didn't want it near my house because the last thing I wanted was for people to go drive by to see where the freak lives. It was a grey day so they had lights set up so we wouldn't look like zombies. The reporter looked like he thought he was the biggest celebrity on the planet. He had a fancy suit and a tie with the TV station's logo and his hair was slicked up in a fancy wave and he had this big self-satisfied smile on his face. Yeah, he didn't make a good impession on me.
The lawyer had had me put on my boy-jeans which were really too small and a band T-shirt which was also now a little too small, so I would look like I was supposed to be a boy, but they would also see that I had boobs and a girl's butt. It was kind of humiliating.
They started off with some shots of me and Mr. Saunders with the hospital behind us. The hospital hadn't let them inside (I couldn't blame them), but they'd gotten some close-up shots of the outside. Then they got me to face the camera and Mr. Saunders started in.
"For KZTV, this is Gary Saunders, star reporter--" No, he didn't actually say "star reporter", but he might as well have. "-- and I have with me Martin Rawlings. Until six months ago, Martin was a normal boy, spending time with other boys, playing baseball. Then an unfortunate motorcycle accident landed him in here" -- he pointed to the hospital -- "where he was mistakenly exposed to an experimental treatment which turned him from a boy into --" (dramatic pause while they pointed the camera straight at me) "-- a girl. Martin, can you describe for us what happened to you?"
"Well, uh, it's kind of embarrassing."
"I understand. But we need to know. We need to know what they (points at hospital) did to you."
"My, uh, stuff started shrinking. It took a while. Months. And then I started getting, uh, breasts. I didn't know what was happening. I thought maybe I had some strange fatal disease. It was scary. Weird. Surreal."
"Would you say, humiliating?"
"Kind of. I mean, if I were a girl, at least it would be what's supposed to happen. But I'm a boy. It's like if I had put a West High shirt on in the morning and came to school and when I looked, I saw it had morphed into a Hollingsworth sweatshirt."
"Hollingsworth High is the arch rival of Martin's school," Mr. Saunders explained. "Did you have a lot of problems at school because of it? Or with your friends?"
"Oh, yeah! Lots of people act like I'm some kind of pervert, even thought it wasn't me that did anything. And my friends are afraid to say anything because the other kids might think they were perverts, too." The lawyer was watching, and I could see he wasn't happy."
"So would you say you're getting bullied because of it?"
I knew I was supposed to downplay it, but I'm no good at lying. "Yeah, kind of." I couldn't look at the lawyer.
"How is your family taking it?"
"They're trying to be supportive. Like, my brother is trying to stick up for me at school. But it's hard. It's weird for them, too."
"Are you starting to get interested in boys now?" He gave me kind of a leering look.
I looked at him like he was crazy, then I remembered I was supposed to look at the camera. "Right now, I don't have time to get interested in boys or girls. I'm still trying to figure out what's happening to me."
"This must be horrible for you, suddenly having to be a girl. Who would want that?"
I kept thinking what Teresa said, and I started getting mad. "What do you mean, 'who would want that'? Look: I didn't want to be a girl. I was, well, okay with being a boy. But I've got a Mom, and an aunt, and a cousin, she's been like the best friend and the biggest help to me in all of this, and" -- I pointed at the script lady -- "her, and all these girls and women. And if I say who would want to be like them, then I'm telling them, your lives are no good. And that's an insult and a lie. Being a girl is just as good as being a boy!" I practically shouted that last bit, but then I didn't know what to say next. I was sure the lawyer was super pissed at me. "But it's a big change, and getting used to it is hard. Really hard."
"Cut!" said Mr. Saunders. "I think we have enough." Then he shook my hand and said "thanks, boy. Keep up the fight." Fortunately, the lawyer didn't try to talk to me. My uncle and Teresa led me to their car. Teresa gave me a big hug.
"I really liked what you said at the end. I hope they air it. 'Being a girl is just as good as being a boy.' That's a great line."
"I'm sure the lawyer is pissed, though. He wants to say the hospital ruined my life, and here I am saying it's just as good as it was before."
My uncle answered, "he won't have any trouble spinning it. What you said just shows your injury hasn't defeated you, it doesn't say that what the hospital did isn't an injury. And you did say that it's causing you problems."
The next day, the TV station told us I would be on the 7:00 p.m. news. Most of what I said was there, especially my rant at the end. They somehow got a closeup of me when I sad the bit about "really hard." It was a real tear-jerker. But I couldn't help wondering if it would make things better or worse at school.
Due to reader demand, I am posting two shorter chapters as one post. I'll do this going forward when chapters are short and the chapters seem to fit together.
I don't know if it was because of my interview or just because Christmas was over and the people picking on me didn't have to worry about getting on Santa's "naughty" list, but things got a lot worse when I went back to school.
The biggest problem was that the harrassment started to get physical. Sometimes someone would sneak up behind me and try to pull my pants down. They usually managed to expose some of my underwear. Or they'd try to grab the back of my bra and let the band snap back against me. Sometimes two guys would corner me and feel up my breasts. They'd stop if a teacher came by, but if I told the teacher what happened, they'd say I was lying. I don't think the teachers believed them, but they didn't do anything, either. One time, when I was in class and the teacher stepped out, someone tossed a dirty condom on my desk.
The verbal abuse got worse, too. For one thing, the football guys started calling me "it" instead of "he" or even "she." Stuff like, "look what it's wearing today. Doesn't it look stupid." Or, "they say it's a girl, but it's so ugly, I wouldn't fuck it if you paid me." Or if I had books in my hands, they'd knock them down and say things like, "look, it's such a wimp it can't even hold a few books." The guys who always sucked up to the jocks started doing it, too, and then some of the girls from the popular girls' clique. I talked to the teachers, I talked to the administrators, I talked to the school psychologist, but nobody took it seriously.
I told my parents that the harrassment was getting worse, but just hearing that made them so upset that I didn't give any details. When they asked Biff, he just got a sick look on his face and said, "it's bad. Really bad."
The only thing that kept me going was visiting with Teresa. Sometimes she'd have some friends over, but I think she picked who it was, because they were all really nice and sympathetic to me. They said that West High had a reputation for people being pretty mean. Her parents were really nice to me, too. When I was at Teresa's, I felt like it was okay to be myself, whatever that was. I'd hoped I could hang out with her more during winter break, but it seems that for the past six months her family had been planning a vacation to Hawaii for that week, so she wouldn't be around.
One day, about a week before winter break, Tom Prescott and a couple of his buddies cornered me again and dragged me into an empty classroom. I started screaming, and one of them covered my mouth. Tom said, "let's see what it looks like under those stupid clothes," and one of his friends pulled up my shirt so the bra was showing. "Hey, it's got tits," he said, but not too loud, and put his hand on my breast and started squeezing. It hurt some, but it mostly felt gross and made me feel dirty. "It feels like a girl. Let's see if it has a cunt like a girl," he said and started pulling down my pants. He had to unbuckle the belt. They got me onto a desk and pulled my pants down past my shoes. He pulled down my underwear and put his fingers all over my crotch and then stuck one of them inside me. Somehow, I got a cramp there, so he had to push hard and it hurt. I bit the hand that was over my mouth. The guy yelled and then hit me on the head real hard, so my head rang like a bell and I was dazed. When I could see again, Tom's pants were around his knees.
Right then, one of Tom's flunkies stuck his head in the door and yelled, "teacher!" The boys started running out of the classroom. Tom was getting his pants back up when a teacher came in. I guess someone had heard my screams and called a teacher. Tom was still arranging his pants, and two of his buddies were still in the room with him.
"What's going on here?" asked the teacher. I'd seen this teacher, but I didn't know his name.
"Tom and the other guys dragged me in here and pulled my clothes off," I said. I was struggling to get my pants back up over my shoes, and my shirt was still pulled up. "They also hit me." I had a headache from the blow and I could feel a tender spot.
"He's lying, like he always does," Tom said. "He asked us to come in so he could show us his you-know-what."
I don't think the teacher believed him, so he waited for me to get dressed and then hauled all four of us to the principal's office. We all told our stories, and of course the principal believed Tom and his friends. Wouldn't want to mistreat their star athlete. The principal gave me a one-week suspension for being undressed, causing a disturbance, and for lying. They called my mother to pick me up, and got a teacher to walk me back to my locker to pick up my stuff.
My mom was completely silent when she picked me up. The principal had told her his story when he called my mom, but he told her again when she arrived, anyway. We both walked silently to the car and I got in the back. Only when we were on the road did I say anything.
"Mom, the truth is a couple of the jocks dragged me into a classroom and pulled my clothes down. I think they were going to--" I couldn't say it. "Please, Mom, believe me."
"I believe you, son. Oh, how I believe you!" Her voice was really tight. A block later, she pulled over, stopped the car, and turned to face the street.
"Mom--" I said. Then I noticed her shoulders were shaking. She was crying, but without making a sound. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she put a hand on my hand. We sat there, parked, for I don't know how long. At last she stopped shaking and faced the front.
"Yes, I believe you." Her voice sounded all broken up. Then she drove me home.
I was up in my room after dinner, and my parents were in their bedroom. I went down to get a snack, and I heard my mother's voice through the door. I stopped. I could clearly hear my mother say, in that same broken-up voice, "Claude, I don't know what to do. What are we going to do?" Dad said something I couldn't make out. Biff came down and when he saw me standing there, he stopped and started listening, too.
"Claude, I can't stand watching him suffer any more." She was crying. "He's out of it for a week. Two weeks with winter break, but after that, what?" Again, Dad said something we couldn't understand.
We listened some more, but she got quieter, so we couldn't hear what she was saying.
I talked to Teresa that night and told her the story. She was horrified, and called her parents over to talk to me. I told it to them, and they sounded horrified, too. I told them what I'd overheard my mother say.
"We'll figure something out," my uncle said.
"Should we postpone our trip?" asked my aunt.
"No, don't, you all have been looking forward to it for so long. I'll be okay. After all, I'm out of West Hell until after you get back, anyway."
"Just hold on," my uncle said. "You're not going back to that place if I can do anything about it."
I spent the week in my room. I tried dressing in my "girl clothes," then in my "boy clothes." It didn't feel any different. Actually, it didn't feel like anything. To add to my troubles, I got my second period. Another thing to get used to. I texted Teresa and sometimes talked to her on the phone, but she was busy with schoolwork and with getting ready for the trip. She told me I could text her while she was away. She would check from time to time. "Just sit tight and don't do anything stupid." On Saturday, my mom and dad drove me to the airport to see them off.
After Teresa and her family left, I got really down. I kept thinking of the future, and every possibility looked miserable. I could live as a girl, but any school would find out I was born as a boy. My driver's license, whenever I got one, would say Martin, sex male. I could try to live as a boy, but I'd already learned that wouldn't work. And even though Uncle Boris had sort of promised that I wouldn't have to, I was pretty sure that, sooner or later, I'd have to go back to West High, or else some place just as bad.
The only comfort I had was my CDs. I started to listen to real emo groups, ones about how awful life is and how people suck, and it made me feel better while I was listening. But the end of winter break kept getting closer.
Biff and Pete were out a lot, so I had time to wander around the house. I discovered my mom had a bottle of sleeping pills. I kept thinking about taking the whole bottle. I'd heard that alcohol makes them even more deadly, and I knew where my parents kept their vodka. Vodka and sleeping pills, the phrase kept running through my head.
Friday morning, I woke up and knew, if I was going to do it, today was the day. My parents would be around on the weekend, I didn't think I could sneak the pills or the vodka with them around. Plus, they might find me before I was dead. I wrote a letter to Teresa, saying I was very sorry, and that I appreciated all she had done for me. She and her parents had done the best they could, but it was better this way. I waited for my brothers to go out. It was about 10:00. I walked out to the mailbox and stood for a long time with the letter in my hand. If I dropped it in, there was no going back.
I pulled open the door. It felt like it was happening to someone else. I put the letter in, and let go. I walked back home. I went in and got the pills, then went to the kitchen and filled a glass with vodka. I took them up to my room. I took the pills one by one, each with a mouthful of vodka. The vodka tasted terrible, and my stomach started to feel upset, so after half a glass, I switched to water. I went to lie down, then I decided to write a will.
"Please let Teresa take whatever CDs she wants. She is also welcome to take my bunny." I had a stuffed bunny rabbit that I'd had since I was a little kid. I slept with it almost every night, but I'd hide it in a drawer so my mom couldn't find it. He was going to be with me when I went to sleep for the last time, but after that, he'd need a good home.
I wrote a note to my mom and dad. "I know you've done your best, I appreciate it. But this is better. I won't hurt any more. Goodbye." I went to lie down again. Then I thought: I should send a goodbye to Teresa. So I texted, "Thanks for everything. I love you. Goodbye" I don't know why I said "I love you." Then I turned off the ringer. I had my skirt on, but I was getting cold, so I put the tights on. I looked in a mirror. I looked like a girl. Maybe even a pretty girl, I thought. I'll die a girl. It didn't seem so bad.
I turned on my CD player, put my headphones on, and lay down. "Now I lay me down to sleep," I thought. It was the last thought I remember having.
Chapters 16--34
Martin, now Melanie, adjusts to a new family, a new school, and a new sex.
My throat was sore. It hurt like hell. That was the first thing I was aware of. After a while, I noticed I couldn't close my mouth. I remember a long time of just being a sore throat and a mouth stuck open. And I noticed a finger tip hurt, like someone was squeezing it with pliers. And my arms hurt, I couldn't tell exactly where, but there was a sort of burning, pulling feeling, a little like I'd been stung by a big yellow jacket.
I opened my eyes, but couldn't figure out where I was. About then, I remembered I was supposed to be dead. I flirted with the idea that this was the afterlife, but I gave that up pretty fast. I guess I didn't take enough pills, or they were the wrong kind.
I noticed I couldn't move my hands. At first I thought I was paralyzed, but finally figured out that my hands were tied down somewhere. I still wasn't thinking too clearly. I tried to say, untie my hands, but I couldn't form words. I couldn't even control my breath. The thing in my mouth must be a breathing tube. I started to thrash around.
Somebody came over. "She's awake," I heard. I wondered who she was talking about. She disappeared. A few minutes later, someone else in a white coat came by. "Can you hear me?" I nodded vigorously. "Are you ready for me to take the tube out?" I nodded again. "Do you want it to stay in?" I shook my head really hard. "She's responsive." I realized they must think I'm a girl, not that I could blame them.
I won't say anything about taking the breathing tube out, except that it was uncomfortable. Very uncomforatble. My throat hurt even more, but it was nice to be breathing normally. After that, I just lay there, really bored, for the longest time. I looked around and figured out that there were IVs in both arms, and maybe other places.
Eventually, my mom and then my dad came in. They didn't say much, and I couldn't say much. My mom tried to hold my hand even though it was tied down.
"Why are my hands tied?"
"They were afraid you'd hurt yourself. " I wanted to say, that's stupid, but then I remembered I'd just tried to kill myself. "Oh, Martin--" she said and started to cry. I felt really, really bad, because I'd made my mother cry. I had a feeling I'd really fucked up. Finally, my mother calmed down and just sat with me.
"We sat by your bedside last night. We watched the machine breathe for you and prayed you'd be all right." I didn't know what to say.
I think I slept for a while, because the next thing I knew, my mom was gone, and all I heard was the beeping of all those machines. I wondered what time it was. Then I wondered what day it was. Finally, a doctor -- well, someone in a white coat -- came by. He got me to answer some questions, including "how many fingers do I have up?" I was tempted to lie, but then I figured he'd just leave me tied up and full of needles until the next time he came around. He walked away, and a little while later, some nurses came and started taking the needles and gadgets off of me, but they didn't untie me. They wheeled me all over the place into a room with three beds, and then they untied me. There were two guys like football players on either side of me. "Psych ward?" They nodded. "Locked?" They nodded again. "Shit," I said.
"What time is it?" I asked.
"4:30"
"A.m. or p.m.?"
"4:30 p.m. And before you ask, it's Saturday."
I found out why I was still alive. Teresa had looked at her phone when she got up to use the bathroom and she saw my message. She immediately guessed what it was about, flipped out and woke her parents. They read it and figured it out, too. They tried to call my parents but couldn't reach them, and nobody answered at home. They then got the number of the police and called them and persuaded them to go by. Aunt Edith being a social worker, she must have known what to say. They found the back door we never lock, searched around, found unresponsive me, the notes, the pill bottle, and the glass of vodka, and called an ambulance. If I'd lain there until my parents came home, I'd have been dead. Teresa had saved my life.
My mom and dad came in occasionally, but mostly I just looked out the window. It was nice, other than the fact that I couldn't go to the bathroom by myself. There were woods across the street and pigeons flying around. I didn't have any roommates, and I got all my meals in my room under the watchful eye of a nurse, so it took a while to figure out I was in a women's ward.
I asked the staff when I could go home.
"The psychiatrist will have to give her okay before you can leave. She'll be in on Monday." Well, more one day I won't have to go to West Hell. I thought, hey, why don't I just not go, like I did with gym? Why had I thought that killing myself was the only way out? It seemed so simple now, just refuse to go! I suddenly felt so stupid.
Sunday afternoon, Aunt Edith and Uncle Boris visited me. They'd come straight from the airport. Teresa wanted to come, too, but she was too young to be allowed to visit, so my folks took her home. They both gave me big hugs and cried and said they were so grateful I was still alive, which made me feel guilty. "I wish you could have waited a few more days to see what your old Uncle Bore could come up with. Well, you're alive, that's what counts."
On Monday, the psychiatrist visited me. She was nice, not like the analyst the school recommended. I told her about the sex-change and about the hell at school. I told her I just couldn't face another day at West Hell or any other school.
"Well, we'll just have to make sure you don't go back there, won't we?" She talked with my parents and my aunt and uncle, they'd all taken the day off. She arranged with them that I should see her twice a week in the out-patient facility. The hospital gave me my clothes -- the girl clothes I'd had on when I lay down to die. Then the four of them brought me home.
Teresa was waiting in the living room. When she saw me, she jumped up and ran to me. Then she started punching me, really hard. She hit my arms and kicked my legs. It hurt like hell.
"I am so mad at you! How could you do this? Why didn't you talk with me first? Or my parents?" She was punching me the whole time and crying. I tried to pull away, but she shouted, "don't move. I'm not going to injure you, I'm just going to give you lots of bruises because you deserve it."
Nobody stopped her. She kept yelling at me and hitting me. I tried to fend her off, but she just hit my arms more. She pushed me over the back of the sofa and started spanking me, hard. Then she just stood there, shaking and crying, and pulled me over onto the sofa and hugged me and said, "thank God you're alive. Don't ever do that again!" She kept hugging me and we flopped onto the sofa. We arranged ourselves so we were sitting next to each other, and she held one of my arms with both hands. My parents and my aunt and uncle sat down.
"Martin, we have a proposal," my uncle started. "The quickest way to get you out of West High is for you to move into a different district. If you'd like, we'd like for you to come and live with us. The local high school is Greenwood, and you could go there. It's not perfect, but it's not as bad as West. Or we could see if we can get you into Gabriel School, which is where Teresa goes. It's a charter school, and it's different from the other schools. They run a tight ship, and you wouldn't have to worry about bullying there."
I just looked at him.
"Okay, that's probably too many choices. Would you like to come live with us, which would mean no West High?"
I didn't know what to say. It would mean leaving the people I'd known all my life. They weren't perfect, but they tried. But I thought my aunt and uncle would be better at dealing with my problems. And no West High sounded great.
"Mom, Dad, I don't want to leave you all, but maybe I would be better off with Aunt Edith and Uncle Boris. I'd still come to see you."
"We want what's best for you," my dad said. "If you're willing, we think you should go." My mom nodded.
"Okay, I'll come."
Teresa interrupted. "I haven't agreed yet." She let go of me and turned to face me. Her face was maybe six inches from mine. "Martin, if you come to live with us, will you promise, cross your heart and hope to die, that you will never, never try to kill yourself without talking with us first? Never, never, NEVER, NEVER, NEVER?"
I got lost in all the "never"s, but I said, "I promise." She grabbed me and hugged me.
"So, when would I move?"
"Tonight, if you're ready."
"Now's as good a time as any." Dad found me a suitcase and Teresa and I went upstairs to my room. I packed one or two boy T-shirts that I liked and some of the pants that fit me, but mostly I just packed my girl clothes and my warm clothes. Teresa packed my CDs and rolled up my posters. She saw the note I left, my "will."
"Bunny?" I showed her my bunny, still stuck between the matress and the wall where it must have fallen when the EMTs pulled me out. "Oh, he's so cute. Like you. But I think he wants to be with you. And I think he was really sad that you -- well, you know." She packed him gently in the suitcase with my girl clothes.
When we got downstairs, my mother had picked my clothes out of the laundry to take with me. I gathered my stuff. Biff and Pete were downstairs, and I hugged them and then my mom and dad. Then Teresa and my aunt and uncle and I went out the door.
On the way over to her folks' place -- my new home -- Teresa talked about her school. She made it pretty obvious she hoped I would go there.
"It's not like other schools. They have uniforms, one uniform for the boys and another for the girls. There's always somebody around from the school keeping an eye on things wherever you are, and if they think things are getting out of hand, they step in right away. I've never seen a fight, and only ever seen someone hit someone once, my whole time there. They're also strict about anyone saying nasty things about someone else. They take kids disrespecting one another just as seriously as disrespecting a teacher.
"But they encourage you to think. You can disagree with the teachers, as long as you're not disruptive. Sometimes you can convince them to change their mind. And they're good about encouraging girls to do well. My dad put me into Gabriel when I was in fifth grade because the regular school was saying stuff like: girls just don't do well at math."
The keeping an eye on things didn't bother me; I wished they'd done more of that at West High. I didn't mind a uniform, either, as long as it wasn't too uncomfortable.
Speaking of uncomfortable, my arms and legs were aching from where Teresa had hit me. I knew I was going to have some big bruises. But in a way, I liked them. I liked having Teresa care enough to be that mad at me.
When we got there, Teresa and Aunt Edith helped me get my stuff upstairs. "You'll stay in the guest room for now," said my aunt. "You and Teresa can decide if you will share a room or we'll make the guest room yours."
"Oh, I hope we can share a room! I always wanted a sister" -- then she corrected herself -- "or a brother, too, anyway, someone I could share a room with."
It was obvious she wanted to see me as a sister, not a brother, but it didn't get to me the way it would have. Maybe the suicide attempt had changed me. Maybe it killed the part of me that got so upset at the idea. Or maybe the part of me that could get upset at all.
The guest room was sort of half office, half bedroom. There was a bed with some cushions so it was sort of like a couch. There was a desk and a bookcase, but no dresser. There was a closet which was partly empty. We unpacked. I put the laundry my mom had gathered in the hamper in the bathroom. I piled the clothes that didn't go into the closet on the desk. Aunt Edith brought in some sheets and some extra blankets.
We hung around in the room, not saying much. I realized I hadn't showered in over three days, then I realized I'd forgotten to bring any soap or shampoo. Teresa said I could use hers, so I took a shower and put on clean clothes. It was still funny that "clean clothes" now meant a bra and girl-style underwear and a skirt.
At dinner, they all tried to make me feel like I belonged there, but I felt like only a piece of me was there. Another piece was in my old bedroom, and another was in the hospital, and another was still in that classroom where Tom and his buddies dragged me to.
At the end of dinner, Aunt Edith talked to me.
"Martin, I know you're still shook up by everything, but soon you're going to have to make some decisions. Not right now, I think you need some time, but we'd like you to be thinking about them.
"First, which school. Greenwood is pretty good, but it has some of the same problems as West High, just not as bad. If you want to go to Gabriel, we'll have to apply and see if they accept you. I don't know how long that will take. I think it would be a good place for you. They're known for being good at dealing with people with problems like handicaps or racism. They've had a few trans kids there, too. But they're old-fashioned in some ways and strict about behavior.
"Second, whichever school you go to, you'll have to decide if you want to go as a boy or as a girl. You know as well as I do what's involved with each.
"You don't have to decide right away, but we'd like to know this week if you can."
My uncle spoke up. "Martin, I don't know how you're feeling now. If you think you need more time to recover from all you've been through, please do. If you need more than a week, let us know. But the sooner you decide, the sooner you can settle into a new routine."
It took me a while before I could say anything. Nobody said anything. Finally, I said, "can I have a day or two to settle down?"
"Sure," my aunt said.
After dinner, I helped clean up. Afterwards, I went up to bed, but first my uncle and aunt each gave me a big hug and told me they loved me. My aunt told me, "no matter what you decide, we'll support you. It doesn't matter if you're a nephew or niece or somewhere in between."
I was beat. It had been a long day, but not in hours. But after I got into my pj's and into bed and Teresa gave a couple of good-night hugs, I lay in bed awake for a while, not really thinking. Maybe I was gathering the pieces of myself. Like my soul had to walk all the way to West High and then to my house and then to the hospital to pick up the pieces.
The next day, I had my first appointment with Dr. Gordon, the psychiatrist who had seen me in the hospital. My uncle took me over. He works in the admissions office at a college nearby, so he can duck out during the day. Dr. Gordon was real nice. She said she thought I had some acute stress disorder from the rape attempt, made worse by the constant assaults at school. I talked about the decisions I had to make, but she didn't give me any guidance, just encouraged me to talk about how I felt about them.
It was real quiet in the house during the day, with my aunt and uncle at work and Teresa at school. I mostly just sat or lay around in my room and listened to CDs or read books. When I couldn't stand being cooped up any more, I'd take a walk in the woods. When I got bored with that, I'd do chores around the house. I did the laundry. One time, I even vacuumed the house. It was better when Teresa got home, but she always had homework, so she could only hang out for a little while. By Thursday, I wanted to make my decisions, if only because I was tired of being in limbo.
I talked it over with Teresa first when she got home. "I think I want to go to Gabriel. That way, at least I'll know one person."
"Two. Carol goes there, too."
"Also, the idea that people don't harrass each other sounds like heaven. Is that really true?"
"If you don't believe me, do you want to call Carol and ask her?"
"No, I believe you. Also, I think I'll try going as a girl. I don't exactly want to, it's just that it sounds less complicated than getting everyone to see me as a boy who just happens to look like a girl." I sighed. "The trouble is, I don't know how to act like a girl."
"Why don't you just act like yourself? My mom and I can help you with anything you really need to know. And the nice thing about Gabriel is that a lot of it doesn't matter. They won't pick on you for not acting like a girl is supposed to act. You just have to behave. And do your work." She looked over at her stack of books and sighed.
"What if I don't get in?" I wondered.
"Try Greenwood. I know some people who go there, and they've survived. I'd go as a girl, though. There are a lot of people there who would never understand somebody being a guy who just happens to look exactly like a girl."
When my uncle got home, I told him, and then tried to help him with dinner. When my aunt got home, I told her.
"Do you want us to start calling you Melanie?" she asked "Or do you want to continue to be Martin when you're at home?"
"Either one is fine." What I actually meant was 'whatever', but I thought I'd practice being a little more upbeat than I usually am.
"We'll see how it goes."
The next day, Uncle Boris set things up with the school. West High would send my school records, Dr. Gordon would send a report, the doctors would send their records, and I would have an interview next week, after the paperwork got there. Teresa offered to lend me her spare uniform for the interview. "It'll look better if you dress like you're already going there."
Friday night, Teresa and my aunt inventoried my clothes, so we could go shopping the next day and buy what I needed. Some of the clothes I'd brought were from before my "metamorphosis" and didn't fit me. (I'd found the Kafka story and decided I liked the word, even though the story was pretty depressing.) Now that I was going to dress as a girl, there were things I'd need. Like another skirt or two -- one denim skirt wasn't going to cut it. I could have gone with pants, but the pants I'd tried were still pretty uncomfortable. More underwear, socks, and tights. Shoes. Some blouses and sweaters. And a nicer-looking outfit, maybe a dress or blouse and skirt.
So, Saturday morning, Teresa and my aunt packed me in the car to go clothes shopping. Carol had attached herself to the expedition, too: her words were "I wouldn't miss it for the world." In the car, Teresa and Carol did most of the talking, but since Teresa was in the front and Carol in the back, I could hear what they were saying, and they tried to include me.
My aunt asked me, "Melanie, do you think you'd like to come with us to church on Sundays?"
"Sure."
"Then you'll probably want a nice outfit. People at our church dress up for church -- we're a little old-fashioned that way -- and you'll feel out of place if you don't."
The three of them pretty much took over once we got to the mall. They were nice about it, and asked if I liked the things they were recommending, but mostly they treated me like a dress-up doll. I didn't mind. It was nice to be fussed over. I ended up with a longer skirt in some kind of cotton, a nice-looking navy blue skirt that went just past my knees, some white blouses and some pastel ones, some camisoles and a slip so my bra wouldn't be visible, some more underwear, now that they knew my size, and some more socks and tights. Oh, and some sweaters. They also got some pantyhose, saying that if I ever needed to dress up, I'd need them. They also got me some shoes. None of them were ones I would have ever worn as a guy, but they weren't super-girly, either. One pair was for dressing up, like for church. They did a good job. Nothing was super-feminine, but it was still nice-looking.
We also looked for pants, but we couldn't find anything that didn't rub too much. We tried on one pair that looked like silk pajama bottoms and didn't irritate my thighs too much, but I just couldn't see wearing it anywhere.
Finally, we went to look for an outfit for church. I was pretty tired by this time, so I wasn't paying much attention. They got me to try on a couple of dresses, but weren't satisfied with any of them, so I didn't bother even looking in the mirror. I did decide I didn't want any sleeveless dresses, though. Then they found a blue one, and this time, I did look in the mirror. It was kind of a shock. It was some kind of light blue satin with a darker blue sheer layer over it that moved, so some parts were lighter and others darker. It had a full skirt that went over my knees and puffed short sleeves. It looked really pretty and it made me look pretty, too. I wasn't sure I was ready to look that pretty, though. They all liked it, so they bought it and hoped I would someday like it, too. It helped that it was on sale. Finally, Aunt Edith picked out a navy blue shirtdress for me.
When we got home, Teresa and Carol insisted I model all the clothes for my aunt and uncle. They also started teaching me how I had to stand and sit so I wouldn't flash anyone. That pretty much took up the rest of the afternoon, and Carol hung around for dinner.
I wore the shirtdress with pantyhose and the slip to church. I noticed that my outfit was pretty plain compared to the other girls there, but I didn't think it looked too out of place. After church, Teresa introduced me to some of the high school kids there, but didn't say anything about my past. They asked if I was going to come to youth group. I said I didn't know, I hadn't even settled school yet. Fortunately, we had to go then, so I didn't have to answer any questions I wasn't ready to answer.
My paperwork got to the school, and they told me to come in Thursday afternoon. Teresa lent me her spare uniform: a skirt and vest. I could use my own tights and blouse. Fortunately, they were a bit big on her, because I was a little larger than Teresa, even after the shrinkage caused by my metamorphosis.
My uncle walked me into the school office. They seemed to know exactly who we were. That was pretty much how it always was there: they seemed to know who you were and what you were doing even before you did. They took my cell phone -- they had a cabinet with lots of little slots for cell phones -- and then had me sit down. I told my uncle I'd call him when I was done, and he left. After about ten minutes, the school psychologist called me in.
I sat up straight on the chair with my knees together, like I'd been taught, and pulled the hem of my skirt down. She looked at me patiently, and then asked, "tell me about what brings you to our school."
I was real nervous. I started with the accident and the mix-up at the hospital. Then I told about changing and the harrassment at school. I kind of glossed over the assault in the classroom (I had trouble saying the word "rape") and my suicide attempt. I knew the suicide would come up, but I couldn't figure out how to talk about it. I tried to remember how Teresa had told me that we were supposed to say "ma'am" or "sir," but I wasn't sure I was getting it right.
"Your records say 'Martin', but you've applied as 'Melanie.'"
"Well, ma'am, after the, uh, change, I tried telling people I was a boy, and I got nothing but trouble. People who didn't know me assumed I was a girl, and people who did know me acted mean or weird. I thought I'd try living as a girl for a while. It can't be any worse."
"That makes sense. From now on, as far as we're concerned, you're Melanie, but we'll know you used to be Martin. You're living with your aunt and uncle, now. Why?"
"I had to get out of West High, and moving to a different district was a way to do it. Besides, my, uh, change has been hard on my parents. They don't really know what to do about it. My aunt and uncle are a lot easier with it. I hope it isn't a problem."
"No, I just wanted to know the why. Now, tell me about this incident which got you suspended."
"Isn't it in the psychiatrist's report, ma'am?"
"Yes, but I'd like to hear it from you."
"Yes, ma'am." She looked amused, I think at all the "ma'am"s. I explained about people groping and grabbing me, and then how they pulled me into the classroom. When I described my clothes being pulled off, I started to shake. I finished with, "and then they hit my head, hard, and then I saw the boy's pants were down." I couldn't finish.
"Did he touch you?"
"With his fingers. Ma'am. A teacher came in before he had time to do anything else."
"I saw the school report." I was afraid it was all over. "Your version is a lot more believable. I can see you've been through a lot. Are you anxious about coming back to school?"
I nodded. "A little, ma'am." I suddenly remembered how I was supposed to be sitting and arranged myself. "But I can't just stay at home. And they say your school is a lot better than West High. I would be ...." I trailed off, not knowing the right word.
"Safe?" I nodded. "I guess that explains the suicide attempt?" I nodded again. She looked at me expectantly.
"I was afraid I'd have to go back to West High. I couldn't face that." I was looking at the floor now.
"It says you sent a message to your cousin after you took the pills. Were you hoping she'd save you?" Dr. Gordon had asked me that, too.
"I didn't think that was what I was doing. But she was the only person my age I knew who had stuck with me. I wrote her a letter, but I wanted to leave her something, I don't know, more personal. I didn't know she'd be able to get the cops there within an hour and a half. Maybe some part of me did want to live."
"I think that's why you're here now." We sat quietly for a few minutes. "I think you're very brave. Now, it's time for you to see Ms. Williamson. She's the principal. She'll decide whether you get in. Oh, and Melanie: if you do get in, please don't kill yourself." She said that last with an attempt at a chuckle.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't dare. Teresa would kill me if I did." This time, she did chuckle.
I sat on a chair outside Ms. Williamson's office for maybe five minutes. I figured she was talking with the psychologist. Then she called me in.
Ms. Williams was a large black woman. I think the word "formidable" was invented to describe her. She didn't look like someone you wanted to mess with. She was looking kindly at me, so maybe you were safe if she liked you.
"Hello, Melanie," she said, then added, "who used to be Martin."
"Hello, Ms. Williams." I was doing my best to say the right thing. She showed me to a chair, and I tried to sit properly.
"Is the 'used to be Martin' correct? Or are you just Melanie at school?"
"It's not a secret that I was -- or maybe really am -- a boy, ma'am. My parents still call me Martin, and that's fine with me. My aunt and uncle and cousin have started calling me Melanie. I'm fine with either name. I just thought it would be simpler to be called Melanie and be a girl at school."
"Just to satisfy my curiousity, do you plan on continuing to be Melanie after you graduate?"
"Ma'am, I haven't had time to think about that. I have a hard time thinking past the end of this year."
"Fair enough." Then she started getting more formal.
"Melanie, do you understand that we're a lot stricter here than at your old school?" I nodded. "You'll be supervised everywhere, and only allowed to be where you are supposed to be. Some students have difficulty with that."
"It will be worth it to me if it means I won't get harrassed, ma'am." I shuddered.
"Do you understand that you'll be expected to be polite and respectful at all times?" I nodded. "I see you've already heard about our dress code. You don't mind the uniform?"
"No, ma'am. It's nice, actually. Teresa lent it to me."
"In particular, you will have to be respectful of the other students, and of the teachers. Bad language and insults, even insults about people who aren't there, will not be tolerated. It goes without saying that physical assaults are not allowed."
"Ma'am, that sounds like heaven."
"Some of our methods are a little old-fashioned, do you think you can adjust?"
"Ma'am, I'll do my best."
She sat down in a chair opposite me. "Melanie, what do you hope to get out of coming to Gabriel School?"
"Ma'am, I'm hoping to be able to study and learn in peace. Not have to worry about what people will do to me. Maybe make a few friends."
She seemed satisfied, and went to her desk. "Your grades look good. A little lower this year, but that's not surprising. I see you got an F in physical education."
"I got harrassed a lot in the locker room, once I started, uh, changing. Especially the shower. Especially after the kids found out what was happening to me. I refused to go any more."
"Where did you go?"
"The library. I used to do my homework there, because they had to leave me alone there. You can ask the librarian."
"You realize you would have to go to physical education class here? Are you willing to do that if you can trust that you won't be harrassed?"
"Yes, ma'am. I didn't mind the activities, just being dumped on and jumped on all the time. I'm not very good at it, though."
"Don't worry, we only expect you to make an effort."
She looked at me, sort of examining me. Then she stood up, walked over to me, and shook my hand.
"We look forward to having you as a student. Can you start on Monday?"
"I think so. Ma'am." I was dizzy with relief and had trouble standing. She practically had to pull me up.
"Good. Stop by the nurse's office and then the guidance counselor to set up your schedule on your way out. Report to the office at 8:15 on Monday. We'll have someone accompany you for the first day or two until you get adjusted."
"Thank you, ma'am. I hope I won't give you any reason to regret it."
"I'm sure you won't."
I stumbled out of her office and looked around for the nurse's office. I walked by an open door and someone called out "Melanie!" It was the nurse's office. We went through the usual health questions, but one question got to me: "are you menstruating?" Six months ago I would have thought it was crazy. Now, all I could say was, "yes, ma'am. Twice so far." She told me she had supplies, plus there were tampons in the bathrooms. If I needed to, I could come to her any time, just ask a teacher.
The guidance counselor was a man. Like everyone else, he seemed to know my whole story.
"I've scheduled you with the same classes you were taking at West High," he said. "The teachers will help you get up to speed. Are you good at math?"
I shrugged, "I like it, sir."
"We'll schedule you for regular math at the same time as the advanced class. Once you're settled in, maybe we can switch you." He handed me a sheet of paper. "Here are the supplies you need to pick up for your first day. I assume your cousin can fill you in on the dress code." He reached out his hand. "Welcome to Gabriel, Melanie."
I shook it, and said, "thank you, sir." I retrieved my cell phone and called my uncle to go home. My new home. From my new school.
Teresa filled me in on the dress code. For girls it was:
We also had to have a "gym suit," which Teresa didn't explain.
I already had everything except the jumper or skirt and vest. And the gym suit. We went to the store that carried the school uniform and picked up one jumper, one skirt, and one vest in my size. I noticed that the jumper and vest had a patch with a yellow starburst. I wondered if this was part of the uniform or just a decoration. I recalled that Teresa's had had one, too. They measured me and picked out a navy blue package for me, which turned out to be the gym suit. Anyway, I took the opportunity to get the school supplies and a backpack just like Teresa's.
Teresa drilled me on correct behavior at Gabriel on and off over the weekend. I don't know if I actually learned anything, or just found more reasons to be nervous.
So, bright and early Monday morning, I put on my new school uniform, and my uncle dropped me and Teresa off at Gabriel school. She headed for her first class and I went to the office. A man who looked like he had just graduated from college was waiting for me. He had a sweater vest on with the same starburst patch as mine, though he wasn't in the school plaid. He showed me my locker, but I didn't have anything to put in it yet.
As he led me to my first class, which was English, I saw other students walking up and down the halls rather purposefully, but nobody just hanging out. It seemed awfully quiet, even though I could see people talking to one another, and I noticed that the ceiling and the walls above the lockers had some sort of panels. My guide saw me gawking and informed me that they were sound-absorbing. "That way, students can talk to one another and not have to shout."
The room was mostly full when I arrived. It had about thirty old-fashioned school desks in neat rows. The teacher said, "Miss Melanie Rawlings, I presume?" When I nodded, she handed me a stack with some papers and a few paperback books. "We're studying The Grapes of Wrath right now, have you read it?" I nodded again. "Then we'll be happy to have you join in the discussion." She directed me to an empty desk. Teresa had explained that we all had assigned desks, so I tried to remember which one it was. She told the class, "this is Melanie Rawlings. She's just starting today, as I think you're all aware. Let's try to make her feel welcome."
I planned to keep quiet the first day to give me a chance to figure out how things worked. I noticed that everyone addressed the students as "Mr." or "Miss" with last names, including other students, so I was "Miss Rawlings." The teacher rated a "Ms." Everyone seemed intent on the discussion. There wasn't any chatter, just people raising their hands and speaking when recognized. The teacher was mostly a moderator, but sometimes stepped in with observations or questions, or, occasionally, to ask a person to be more "respectful." I noticed for the first time that, atop the old-fashioned blackboard, there was a big banner that said "respect."
I tried to inconspicuously look at the stack the teacher had given me. It had a syllabus, a schedule of homework for the week, and a short list of supplies I needed.
My guide appeared just as class was ending and brought me to math. I noticed that Teresa was there, and waved. She gave me a big smile, but didn't wave. Maybe waving was not okay. I got the same little speech from the teacher as in English, and a textbook and a small stack of papers. Aside from the Mister- and Miss-ing and the lack of chit-chat, it could have been my class at West High.
The 10th graders all had lunch at the same time, so I sat with Teresa and her friends. She introduced me, and I apologized in advance that I might not remember them all right away. The lunchroom was quiet, like the halls, and I saw the same sound absorbing stuff there. The conversations seemed normal, with everyone using first names, not like the classroom. One girl, who I later got to know was Bethany, asked Teresa, "can I ask her about--?" but Teresa said, "come on, give her a few days before you start giving her the third degree."
I had to use the bathroom, which meant the girls' bathroom. I thought it would be weird, but I went in and used a stall and although people gave me a second glance, nobody said anything. I already had the impression that everyone knew everyone, so maybe they were just noticing a new face. I hoped so.
They had one funny class, though. It was called "Respect," like the banner over the blackboard in each classroom. What it mainly was was us discussing interactions during the day. We sat with desks in a circle and students would bring up things that had happened at school or elsewhere, or the teacher would bring up a situation, and we were supposed to figure out how to handle it with respect. Fortunately, we got some coaching from the teacher. There was a lot of trying to figure out how someone else might feel, and even some role-playing. I found out later that for most of the students, it was their first year at the school, so it must have been the beginner class.
My guide brought me to the girls' locker room when it was time for Phys Ed, but didn't follow me in. One of the girls noticed me standing around looking puzzled, and said, "New here?" I nodded. "Well, you have to change into your gym suit. Find an empty locker." I dug out the navy blue package and pulled out something with short sleeves and a zipper. I looked at the other girls. They were undressing completely and putting on something that looked like a shirt and a pair of loose shorts with elastic cuffs sewn together. The other girls were stepping into it and pulling it on and zipping it up. I undressed, but couldn't figure out the suit. Maybe I would have been nervous about undressing, except that I was so busy trying to figure out the gym suit. Another girl, who was already suited up, came over and helped me with it. I expected people to make fun of me, but all she said was, "new?" I nodded. "Pretty dorky, huh? But it's kind of practical. Come on, get your gym shoes on." That I could handle.
I was the last one into the gym. Everyone else was sitting on a bench or standing and stretching. The coach, a woman wearing a suit similar to ours, but with utter self-assurance, gave me a smile and said, "Miss Melanie Rawlings?" I was beginning to get used to this.
"Yes, ma'am. Sorry I'm late."
"Trouble with the suit?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Did anyone help you?"
"Yes, ma'am. I don't think I would have figured it out if someone hadn't helped me. I'm sorry, I don't know her name."
She directed us in a series of calisthenics: push-ups, sit-ups, and some more complicated ones I didn't recognize the names of. I think the directions were more for me; the other girls seemed to know what to do already. Some of the girls were pretty athletic and did one sit-up after another for the longest time. Another girl, who was fairly fat, looked like she was having trouble doing even one of each, but to my surprise, nobody made any disparaging comments. Her partner simply said words of encouragement and counted what she managed to do. I think I was about average for the class. By the end of it, we were all sweaty and I was tired all over. She had us run across the gym and back in groups of three, and then gave some people suggestions for how to run. Finally we did some basketball practice. Not games exactly, but dribbling, throwing, and shooting baskets. The athletic girls would do trick shots, even blocking one another. People like me just dribbled and shot, and if we missed, one of the girls who was waiting would retrieve the ball and give me another chance. The fat girl and one or two others got two extra chances, though they got it in pretty often.
I was really nervous about the shower, but the other girls just took off their suits, grabbed towels from a bin, and marched into the showers. The showers were individual stalls, which I was grateful for, but nobody seemed to care if people saw them. And nobody seemed to be paying any attention to me. When I was drying, though, I caught one girl sort of staring. When she saw me see her, she said, "I'm sorry. You're Melanie, right? The new girl? I heard your story and, well, I wasn't expecting someone who looked like any other girl. I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable. Especially your first day."
"It's okay," I said as I continued drying myself. "I figured everyone would be curious and asking all kinds of questions. In fact, I'm surprised you were the only one who stared."
"Oh, we wouldn't. It wouldn't be respecting you."
"Boy, it's sure not like West High. By the way, what do I do with the suit?"
"There should be a basket with your name on it on the shelves by the wall. You bring it home on Friday to wash it. Maybe earlier if it gets really stinky. You leave your shoes and gym socks there, too. And your gym underwear, if you use any. The girls with big boobs usually bring a sports bra."
"Why the 'dorky' suit, anyway? Why not a T-shirt and shorts?" It was the first time since lunch I'd had the chance to just talk to someone.
"It's so you can do all kinds of things, like head-stands and stuff, and you don't have to worry about flashing anyone. And since we're all dorky together, we don't mind that they make us look dorky."
By now I was dressed. My guide was patiently waiting for me just outside the door to take me to my last class, which was study period. It was right next door to the library, so we could go directly in to look at reference books. I took the time to go through my textbooks and all the papers the teachers had given me.
And then it was time to catch the bus to go home. Teresa and my guide were waiting for me and they both showed me where to wait for the district school bus. My guide asked if I needed him the next day, and I said I thought I could find my way now and thanked him.
When the bus came, there were already kids on it. The bus served several private schools in addition to Gabriel. Teresa and some of the others made a point of greeting several of them by name, but when she found an empty bench, she put me next to her, next to the window. "There's a feeling at the other schools that Gabriel students are snobby and cliquish. We do tend to stick together, because we can trust that other Gabriel students will act respectfully, and we can't always with other schools. We've been trying to do stuff to make us seem less snobby, but it doesn't always work. So we have to be careful."
For the rest of the ride, I told Teresa about my day. She told me I did pretty well. "I'm sorry I didn't show you how to put on the gym suit. I had trouble my first day, too."
"It's okay. The other girls were very helpful. If I'd known how to do it the first time, I wouldn't have found out how helpful they are."
When we got home we went upstairs to study. Teresa changed out of her uniform, but I didn't bother. Actually, I kind of liked it. We went to our desks, me in the guest room and Teresa in her room. I kept needing to ask Teresa things about the homework, and one time, she asked me something about math.
"You know," she said, "it would be easier if we shared a room. And a lot more fun. Hint, hint, hint."
Homework and dinner took up most of the evening, but we finished up in time to spend an hour hanging out before we had to go to bed. I was pretty beat and went to bed a little early.
Content note: dream violence.
The rest of the week went so smoothly I got a little nervous. I got all my homework done. I had my third period, and thought I managed it okay. I started to participate a little in discussions, and I was learning the other students' names. People were friendly but a little distant. I kept eating lunch with Teresa, and her friends were a little less distant there. Bethany finally got to ask about me, and I told her the short version of my story which didn't go into the gory details. Even the sanitized version made them look on in horror. It surpassed their darkest suspicions about West High.
Tuesday, I was notified that I would take a different bus on Tuesdays and Fridays which would drop me off at Dr. Gordon's office. Wednesday, I rode the bus home alone, because Teresa was in chorus on Wednesdays.
By Friday night, I was feeling better about everything than I had in a long time. Living as a girl was working out, at least in the short term. School was working out. So when Teresa asked if we could share a room, I said, sure. It turned out that Teresa's bed was a bunk bed, which they'd bought hoping they'd have a second child, and the upper bunk was in the attic. Saturday, we went out to buy a mattress, a dresser, and some desk and bed lights. Teresa made room for my clothes in her closet. Her parents arranged the room with the dressers between the desks so we wouldn't distract each other, set up the lights so one of us could sleep while the other had light to study or read. And by Saturday night, I was moved in her room.
It had been a long time since I'd shared a room. At first, I felt like I had to interact with Teresa all the time, but that didn't work. I had to learn to ignore her sometimes, especially when we had to study. But it was also nice, to have someone to say good night to you and then, when we were in bed, to hear her breathing and know I wasn't all alone. I guess I still had some boy in me, because it also felt cool to be sharing a room with a girl, even if nothing was going to happen.
Teresa started giving me lessons on how to act more like a girl. How to sit, how to stand, how to walk, how to talk. She got me to brush my hair a lot, and reminded me to check how my clothes were fitting, so I would look my best. I couldn't believe how much time I needed to spend on my appearance just so I'd look "presentable." My voice had gone up in pitch, but I needed to raise my speaking voice even higher. I wasn't sure she was right, since some of the girls at school had lower voices than me, but I did what she told me, anyway.
I also spent a lot of time watching the other girls to see what they did, what they liked, what they talked about, how they acted friendly or not friendly. I really wanted to fit in so people would treat me like I was normal. I knew how to act like a normal boy, sort of, but now that anyone who looked at me would see a girl and not a boy, I was going to have to learn to act like a girl. I was really sick of being a freak.
Youth group was two Sunday evenings a month, and that Sunday was youth group, so at church, the kids my age asked again if I was coming. I said maybe next time, but I was still pretty stressed out about my new school. I also called up my parents, because Uncle Boris reminded me that they hadn't seen or heard from me in three weeks. I told them how things were going and they told me they missed me. They called me Martin, which was both nice and strange.
The second week of school went about as smoothly as the first week, except that every now and then, I'd get this weird feeling like everything was strange and weird and I didn't know where I was or how I got there, except that part of me knew exactly where I was and what I had to do. It was like having double vision. I'd have to stand for a minute and ask the part of my brain that remembered where I was and what I was supposed to do next. One time somebody noticed me standing there with a dazed look and asked if I was okay. I mentioned it to Dr. Gordon and she said it was called dissociation. She wasn't surprised it was happening, what with all the stuff I'd gone through, but as long as it didn't happen too often or make problems I shouldn't worry about it.
Then, one night, I think it was Thursday because I saw Dr. Gordon the next day, I had a nightmare. I woke up shaking and a second later, the light went on and Teresa was standing next to my bunk looking at me (I was sleeping on the top bunk.)
"What's the matter? You were screaming."
"Just a nightmare." I started remembering the dream, which was funny because usually my dreams start fading as soon as I wake up.
I heard Aunt Edith and Uncle Boris coming up the stairs and got down off the bed.
"Melanie had a nightmare," Teresa explained when they came in.
"Can you tell us what it was?" asked my aunt.
"I was back at West High. It was Halloween, and I was dressed in a school uniform, only it was very girly, lots of ruffles and bows and stuff, and it made me look like I was six years old. Everything was going fine, nobody was harrassing me, and then Tom Prescott and his gang dragged me off to the gym. The principal was helping them. They had this big altar set up and a bonfire with stones around it, and Ms. Williams was the priestess and the principal was the priest. They needed to sacrifice a virgin, and they'd picked me. It seems the accident in the hospital wasn't an accident, they had arranged it so they would have a virgin. I kept pleading with them, saying I was really a boy, but they said I wasn't any more. For some reason, I was more virginal than any of the real girls, or maybe they just didn't want to sacrifice any of them. Anyway, Ms. Williams was holding a stake. She was going to drive it through my vagina, and then they were going to cut out my heart and throw it on the bonfire. That's when I woke up."
I was still pretty shaken by the dream, even though it was just a dream. Teresa looked grossed out by it, my aunt and uncle just looked concerned. We all went down to the living room and my aunt sat next to me on the sofa while my uncle got me something to drink. Teresa sat on the other end of the sofa with her knees pulled up to her chin, looking at me. My aunt put her arms around me and held me close to her, and it made me feel a little better. After I'd had something to drink, my uncle put a blanket over us and gave Teresa another one. My aunt held me and stroked my shoulder until I fell asleep.
I told Dr. Gordon about it. She tried to get me to think about the things that were going well, but she also told me that she wanted me to tell her about things like this. I'd run out of things to tell her about the time before my suicide attempt. I was mostly talking about what it was like living as a girl and not knowing if I was really a girl or a boy or both or neither. And being afraid I wasn't going to be me any more.
I wouldn't have remembered the third week, except that two things happened. The first was that I got paddled. I was used to using curse words, especially when I was upset. We did this all the time at West High and nobody thought anything of it. I knew it was forbidden at Gabriel and thought I was doing pretty well, except that every now and then, the teacher would look sharply at me and say, "Miss Rawlings, what did you just say?" I'd replay what I said in my mind and realize I'd used one of those words. They told me I'd get two warnings and then I'd have to go to the principal's office.
Sometime in the third week, I used up my warnings. I got sent to the principal's office. She was waiting for me.
"Miss Rawlings, I understand you've been using certain words in class that we've made it clear to you you shouldn't use."
I was really scared. I wasn't sure what would happen to me, maybe get expelled. "Y-y-yes, ma'am. I'm very sorry and will try harder not to in the future."
"I'm sure you will. However, I think your intentions need some reinforcement. I think I warned you that some of our methods are a little old-fashioned."
Ms. Ellis, the psychologist came in. Her face looked grim. I was even more scared.
"Please pull down your tights and underwear," said Ms. Williams. I had to pull the waistband of my skirt up to about my chest to get to the top of the tights. I pulled them down to my knees. "That's good enough," she said. "Now turn around and bend over the desk." I noticed that there weren't any papers or anything on one end of the desk. I put my hands down on the desk and lay my face on them. I was really scared, mostly because I didn't know what was going to happen, but also humiliated, having my butt exposed like that. I felt like I was ready to cry, but I tried not to, it would have made me even more humiliated.
I felt someone flip my skirt up onto my back. I heard a whoosh and then felt something hard slap my butt, very hard. I couldn't help letting out an "oh!" I felt my butt starting to sting when the second slap came. It was all I could do not to shout or turn around and defend myself with my hands. I counted ten whacks.
"You may turn around and pull your clothes back up," Ms. Williams said. When I turned around, I noticed her holding a kind of paddle. I pulled up my underpants and tights as quickly as I could, but that wasn't very fast. They tended to get tangled, maybe because I didn't have much experience. Once I got them up and arranged, I slid my skirt down and tugged and twisted things until they looked more or less okay. Ms. Williams looked satisfied, while Ms. Ellis still looked grim. No one said anything until I was done.
"You may return to class. Please try to be more careful with your words in the future."
I don't know if I was supposed to say anything, but I didn't. I stumbled out of the office and back to class. I was having trouble believing what had just happened, and maybe I wouldn't have, except that my butt was still stinging. No one said anything when I got back, and we went on as if nothing had happened. My butt hurt for a while, but it wasn't intolerable. I was mostly shocked.
When we got home, I told Teresa about the paddling and how upset I was. She didn't seem to think it was such a big deal.
"That's one of the things they mean by being 'old-fashioned.' Most of us have gotten one. Some of my friends have gotten it twice. It's upsetting, nobody likes it, but you get over it. One good thing: they don't hold it against you. Once it's over, it's over. They're not into threatening to put stuff in your permanent record."
I wasn't sure I agreed with her, but I had to admit, it wasn't as bad as what I'd been going through every day at West High recently.
The other memorable thing was at the end of the week, I got switched to the advanced math class. I was just leaving math class, and the teacher asked me to stay for a minute.
"Miss Rawlings, I can see that you're not having any trouble keeping up with the work in this class. I think you are ready to switch to the advanced class, and I think you would find it more satisfying. It's your choice, though. Do you want to switch?"
I still wasn't used to talking one-on-one with the staff, so I simply said, "Yes, sir. I mean, yes, I would like to switch."
"Good. Drop your old textbook off when you have a chance. You can leave it on my desk if I'm out. And on Monday, report to Ms. Higgens class, in room 121."
So far, I hadn't made any friends of my own. I mostly just knew Teresa's friends. Usually, you make friends at school, but there wasn't any chance to hang out there except for lunch, and everybody seemed to have their own group there. I could have tried sitting with a different group from Teresa's, but I was still afraid of people being mean to me.
I tried joining the chorus, like Teresa, but there wasn't much free time there, either. Actually, for a while, we had less. The chorus director was shocked to discover I couldn't read music and made dire comments about schools in the West End not teaching children how to read. I couldn't just stand next to Teresa and listen to her because she sang soprano and I got put in the alto section. So Teresa had to spend what little free time we had left in the evening teaching me the alto parts and also to read music.
So the people I got together with on weekends were all Teresa's friends. Not that they were bad. They were fine with me hanging out with them on weekends, usually at somebody's house or other. They knew my story, though maybe not the worst details, but didn't act like it made any difference. As far as they were concerned, I belonged.
One thing, though: they didn't think much of my choice of clothes. "You need to come up with a look, at least one," they'd say. "You look like you just picked up the first thing you saw at the mall." So much for Teresa's and her mother's efforts at shopping for me. Especially, they thought I could look prettier if I paid more attention to how I dressed. I explained that I wasn't sure I wanted to be pretty. A part of me still thought of myself as a boy, and boys aren't supposed to be "pretty."
"That's pretty stupid," one of them said. I think it was Ellen Gundersen. "What's the matter with looking pretty? Do they think their penis will fall off if they do?" They all cracked up at that. They seemed to think the word 'penis' was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. I couldn't help thinking that my penis had as good as fallen off, even without me trying to be pretty, but I decided not to make a stink about it. "Besides," she added in a sly voice, "maybe if they were pretty, they'd get further with us girls."
One thing they did get me to do was to get a haircut. They all had different ideas of what I should do with it, from getting a 'butch' cut to growing it down to my waist. My aunt took me out one day and, with Teresa's advice, had my hair trimmed to a page-boy cut that was fairly feminine but still wouldn't have looked stupid on a boy.
Anyway, one day they were digging through our closet to find something for me to wear, and they ran across a petticoat on Teresa's side: one of those net things that makes a skirt pouf out.
"What's this?" someone asked.
"That's a petticoat I picked up at a thrift shop," answered Teresa. "It's short enough to fit under my school uniform, so one day last year, I wore it to school."
"Did you get in trouble for it?"
"Nobody said anything. I think a lot of people could tell, but it wasn't showing, so it didn't count as 'visible underwear.' I did have to work to keep it from pushing my skirt up too far when I sat down. It was fun. It spiced up the day. I should really wear it again some time."
"Maybe it will spice up Melanie's wardrobe. Come on, Melanie, try it on." They talked me into putting it on under the boring skirt I was wearing and pronounced it "spicier." Then they had me take the skirt off and put my school jumper on over it. They decided that was good, too. When they got bored with having me model it, the girls who were wearing skirts wanted to try it on, too.
They were still going through the closet, and they found the blue dress. When they found out it was for me, they all insisted that I put it on. "Hey, we finally found something that looks good on you," they said. They got me to walk around the house and show it off to my aunt and uncle.
"You should wear it to church tomorrow," said my aunt. I gave in, and said I would. After the girls had gone, I looked at myself in the mirror for a while. Part of me really liked looking like this. The haircut was a little boyish for the dress, though. Maybe shoulder-length hair would be better. I was lost in thought when Teresa came in. She came up behind me and gave me a gentle hug, then started fussing a little with the dress, arranging things.
"It feels funny," I said, "having someone else doing stuff to me. You know, putting your hands on my clothes and my hair. I know you're not doing anything to hurt me, and it feels nice, but it's not what anybody would ever do when I was a boy. Except my mom, when I was a lot younger."
"Girls do that all the time with each other. Grown-up women, too. It feels friendly, I guess. And since we can't see what we look like to other people, and we want to look our best, we do things like that for each other. Like, I don't do make-up much, so when I do, I get another girl to do it for me. By the way, do you want to go to Youth Group tomorrow night?"
"Can I go and not answer lots of questions about my past? I've been trying not to think about who I was and what I went through, it makes it easier to deal with all the, uh, stuff that's going on right now. Actually, I'd rather not talk much at all, just listen and enjoy being there. Like how I used to be when your friends came over."
"I think so. We can talk it over with the youth pastor tomorrow."
I did wear the dress to church the next day, and nothing awful happened. A few of the grown-ups complimented me on it. We talked with the youth pastor, Reverend Jennifer Smallman, and she said she'd try to get the other kids "to give you some time to open up."
Youth group was in a room in the basement with old couches and overstuffed chairs and a ping-pong table. I wore the blue skirt and a blouse, and I was more dressed up than most of the kids there. Teresa and I and one other girl were the only girls wearing skirts. When we got there, two boys were playing ping-pong, while a boy and a girl were figuring out what kinds of pizza to order. Everone else was sitting or lying sort of draped on couches or chairs. They reminded me of a bunch of cats, the way they were in each others' laps or leaning on shoulders. After Teresa introduced me, I found an empty chair where I hoped I wouldn't be the center of attention. I tried to sit so I wouldn't flash anyone, but Teresa and the other girl in a skirt didn't seem to care. Sometimes they'd shift position and their underwear would show, and sometimes they'd move or pull on their skirt, and sometimes not, and nobody seemed to care.
After they called the pizza order in, Rev. Smallman, who everyone called "Jen" or, if they wanted to be formal, "Reverend Jen," got us all to sit in a circle and so a sort of introduction game, where we'd say our name and one good thing that happened since the last meeting. When it was my turn, I told how I'd gotten switched to a more advanced math class. Then Rev. Jen introduced the topic: how we feel about people's differences. We did some brainstorming, and then the pizza came, which we ate in the next room, which had tables and chairs. Teresa sat with me, and a boy and the girl with the skirt and another girl sat down with us. They asked about school, and I told them I'd transferred to Gabriel from West High. They were blown away. The boy said, "wow, that must take some getting used to! Going from Animal House to the nerdiest, most uptight school in town." It turned out the boy and the first girl went to Greenwood, so they started talking about the reputations of all the schools in town, which meant they didn't ask me any personal questions.
The second girl was pretty quiet, so I didn't find out until weeks later that she was the only other kid there who didn't go to Greenwood. Her name was Amy and she went to Hollingsworth, West High's big rival, not that I cared about that stupid rivalry. Once I got to know her, I discovered we had a lot in common: we liked the same music, we thought the same things were funny. We even liked the same pizza toppings: anchovies and onions. But that was a long time later.
After pizza, there was some discussion of a planned camping trip, then a game that involved people getting up and running around, then some discussion of the topic. Some people had guitars and we sang some songs. We finished up with mutual shoulder massages and lots of hugs. It didn't seem so bad.
I was doing pretty well in my advanced math class, so the teacher suggested I try tutoring people in math after school. I started doing it one day a week, but after a few weeks, I went up to twice a week. I would hang out in the study hall, and if people needed help, I would help them, and if not, I would work on my homework. Except that there were always people who wanted help. They were almost always girls, maybe because the boys didn't want to admit that a girl might be better than them. Most of them were just confused about something, and after I walked them through some problems once or twice, they usually got it. But there was one girl who had real trouble: Sylvia Reynolds.
Each time I would show her how to do something, she would act like she understood, but then when she tried to do it herself, she would end up doing the craziest things. It took a couple of weeks, but I started to suspect that she really didn't understand much of anything about math. Her class was beginning algebra, but I started throwing in problems in arithmetic, and she couldn't do them, either. The only problems she could do halfway reliably were ones with arithmetic with positive, whole numbers. And that only if we hadn't done any harder ones. I wondered what she had actually been learning in all those math classes. How was it that no one noticed? I found out she was failing algebra miserably and they were threatening to kick her out of Gabriel. I got the feeling she was in a panic whenever she had to do any math and in a double panic because she was afraid of getting kicked out.
I started talking this over with my teacher. She didn't have any suggestions except to work on what she could do and go from there. Except that it probably wouldn't be in time for her to pass algebra. I felt really bad for her, so I talked it over with my aunt. Then I went to Ms. Ellis. She wasn't sure I should involve myself, but I said I just couldn't stand around and do nothing. I finally went to Mr. Wright, the guidance counsellor. They were all surprised that I was making a fuss for another student, but I said I knew what it was like to feel like the whole system is against you.
Meanwhile, I spent our time together just trying to get her to relax. I gave her little problems and puzzles that used basic arithmetic. A teacher from the younger grades gave me some problems that might get her into negative numbers and fractions without looking like it. Finally, they decided to let her drop algebra, since she wasn't learning anything and just getting depressed. She would need to take algebra or pre-algebra in summer school and pass it to stay in Gabriel. They reshuffled her schedule so she had study hall the same time as me, so I helped her during study hall and after school, too. So much for my free time. But it made me feel good that I could do something for someone else. The past six months or so, I'd been constantly needing help, so now I was paying it forward.
The tutoring helped with the friend situation, too. The students I helped in math got to see that I wasn't as weird as they'd thought from hearing about me. I guess they had thought I must have two heads or something. And Sylvia had quite a few friends, and they appreciated that I was working so hard to help her. She introduced me to a bunch of people at lunch. With all the people I was getting to know, I only ate with Teresa once or twice a week.
Sylvia also invited me out with her friends on weekends. They were different from Teresa's friends. They liked to go to the malls and hang out, which I wasn't wild about, but they were also into music. Making music. Most of them played some instrument. They also knew some boys who made music, so they'd all get together and some of them would jam together and the others would listen or bang on a trash can or something. They also went to a lot of movies, which Teresa and her family didn't do much. Sylvia liked to draw and could draw the most amazing pictures. When she wanted to, she could draw very lifelike pictures, but she also liked to draw caricatures. One time, she drew a picture of Ms. Williams and Mr. Wright on a nude beach together. She got all the body parts right, as far as I could tell. We all got a kick out of it.
About this time, my parents asked if I could visit them. I felt bad, because I hadn't really thought about my family, I'd been so busy with settling in to my new life. I had called them every few weeks when my aunt or uncle reminded me. So one Sunday afternoon, my uncle drove me over to my old home.
I was wearing a casual skirt and blouse and tights, and my hair was growing out of the boy/girl cut. When my parents opened the door, at first they didn't recognize me. They knew it had to be me, of course.
My mother said, "Martin, is that you?" I said "hi, mom," and reached out and hugged her, but she still didn't seem convinced. My uncle said goodbye, and I went in the house. She asked, "would you like me to get you something to drink?" in a nervous tone. I said, "you don't have to, I'll get it myself," and walked into the kitchen.
When I came out, she said, "you don't look at all like my son, but I know you're my son because you walk the same and you talk the same." She took me in her arms and gave me a hug and cried on my shoulder.
I could see that both my parents were having a hard time with my being even more like a girl than when I left, so I told them an edited version of what was going on with me. I told them about math, about tutoring, and about having to study all the time. "The nice thing is, everybody is nice to me. Nobody picks on anybody else. But we do study a lot." I didn't talk about school uniforms, or church dresses or anything to remind them of my sex change.
Biff asked if Gabriel had any sports teams. I told him they had some after-school sports clubs, mainly soccer and track, but no official school teams. Then he told me about West High. Things had settled down after I left, mainly because he didn't have any reason to fight with his old friends, but he didn't feel the same way about them. "I'll be glad to graduate and leave. The way they treated you, I saw a side of them that really grossed me out. I act friendly with them, mostly because I don't want to have any trouble, but I don't spend a lot of time with them any more. I tell them I'm busy with schoolwork. It's kind of lonely." He looked sad. Then he asked, "Martin, are you going to come to my graduation?"
"Why not?"
"You might not want to be around West High people."
"I don't think anyone will recognize me. Hey, my mom didn't. I can't see Tom Prescott succeeding where my mom didn't. Besides, they'll all be busy graduating."
Pete was just looking at me the whole time. I'd never known him to talk about deep stuff before, but when Biff finished, he said, "you know, you make a pretty good little sister." My mom sighed. "What do they call you now?"
"Melanie." I knew this kind of talk bothered my parents, but I couldn't figure out how to change the subject.
"Well, Melanie or Martin, brother or sister, I think you make a pretty good -- what's the word?"
"Sibling."
"Yeah, that. It's great to hear you're doing well. I'm proud to have you as my, uh, sibling. Put it there, sib." He grabbed my hand and shook it, then pulled me over and gave me a big hug.
My dad started talking about how things were at work. My mom brought in some brownies she'd baked in honor of my visit. We talked about the neighbors and about their summer plans. We didn't talk about mine. Finally, Mom and Pete went into the kitchen and made dinner. Biff and Dad talked about sports, especially the West High baskeball season. Then they talked about cars. I joined in a little then.
Dinner was -- polite. My mother kept looking at me. Sometimes I saw tears. I felt really bad for her. Finally, as we were just finishing, she heaved a big sigh and said, "I guess Pete is right. I have a daughter now instead of a son, but you're still the same person. You're still my child, even though you look so different." I could see how hard it was for her. I got up and put my arms around her and said, "and you're still my mom. And I love you." After a while, I went over to my dad, who was still sitting, watching us, and I put my arms around him and held him and said, "and you're still my dad. And I love you, too."
Later, after we'd cleared the table, Biff came over and said, "hey, what about me?" So I gave him a long hug and said, "you're still my brother, and I love you." Pete said he'd already gotten a hug and he didn't want to be greedy.
After we'd had dessert and washed all the dishes, it was time for me to go back home, as I now thought of it, but I didn't say that out loud. I gave everyone a big hug again, and then my dad drove me back. We didn't have much to say on the drive. I was mostly thinking how far my life had gone away from their lives. I didn't know what would happen in the future, but I didn't think we'd ever get any closer.
One day around the beginning of April, something happened that really upset me. When I got to school, people were buzzing about something, but I didn't pay much attention. When I got to my English class, though, I saw that some of the boys were wearing girls' uniforms, and I started to get nervous. Nobody said anything about it, and I sat down. When the class started, the teacher started calling the boys that were wearing girls' uniforms Miss So-and-so instead of Mister So-and-so. Some of the students would look at those boys and then look at me. I couldn't imagine what this was all about, but I was sure it had something to do with me -- after all, I was the only boy who normally dressed like a girl. I noticed that the other kids picked up on the "Miss So-and-so" thing and did it, too. I kept getting more and more nervous, waiting for something awful to happen. I had trouble concentrating in class. Finally, I asked the teacher if I could go see Ms. Ellis, the psychologist. My voice was pretty shaky, maybe that's why the teacher didn't ask me why. She did remind me to take my books with me "in case you don't come back before class is over."
Ms. Ellis didn't seem surprised to see me and she already knew about the boys in girls' uniforms. Word had gotten around about the boys before the first class, and they'd decided that if they were going to dress as girls, they would be treated as girls in every way. They'd have to use the girls' bathrooms and go to girls' phys ed. This made me feel worse. I told her how upset I was and how it brought back all the experiences I'd had at West High. I was sure it was a way to make fun of me and tell me I didn't belong here. I was kind of hysterical. She told me I could stay in the office as long as I needed to and could even go home. She kept talking to me and telling me that no one would let anyone make fun of me and they were fine with me just as I was. I finally settled down and went to math class late.
When I got out of math class one or two of the girls told me they'd heard I was upset, but I shouldn't worry, they had my back. I saw a teacher directing one of those boys away from the boys' bathroom. Later, when I used the bathroom, I saw one come in. He didn't look too cocky, mostly nervous, and he tried to sort of sneak into a stall and sneak out again, but one of the girls reminded him to wash his hands. There were two boys in our gym class. We were outside that day, and they were late coming out because they'd had to borrow gym suits from the school and then had trouble figuring out how to put them on. We all acted like they were girls but not our friends. By this time, I was still upset but not freaking out. After school I had my appointment with Dr. Gordon and talked about how upset I was. She said it was a productive session, though I was still upset at the end.
The next day, the boys were back in their usual uniforms: plaid pants, white shirt and plaid tie, and plaid jacket. I started to calm down. At lunch, though, I was sitting with Teresa and her friends when one of the boys who'd dressed as a girl came over. I tensed up and muttered to the girl next to me, "what's he going to do to me now?"
"I'm Dennis Lambert, from your English class, remember? I just wanted to apologize for getting you so upset yesterday," he said. "If I'd known how you would take it, I wouldn't have dressed that way and I'd have tried to talk the other boys into not dressing, too."
"If you weren't doing it to get me worked up, why did you do it?" I honestly couldn't think of any other reason.
"I think a lot of the guys just did it to be doing something different. But actually, I wanted to know what it was like to be a boy that suddenly had to dress and act like a girl. I guess I thought I'd understand what you were going through." He did sound contrite.
"And what did you find out? What was it like for you?" I asked like I was sure it would be something stupid. I was mad at all of them, but he was the only one coming over so I could yell at him.
"It was weird. It felt really weird."
"You have no idea. You have no idea!" I was shaking. "You think it's weird? That's what I feel like when I'm feeling 'normal.' Think what it's like when I'm reminded that I'm not normal, that I'm some kind of freak! You got to satisfy your curiosity and then change back the next day. I'm stuck here, neither boy nor girl. I came to this school trying to forget my nightmare at West High. I hoped that since I couldn't live as a boy, at least I could try to live as a girl and feel sort of normal. And then you and your buddies come along and remind me that I'm not. I thought people here would be better than at West High, but I guess I was wrong. I hope you had lots of fun, because I paid a high price for your fun."
He looked stunned. He muttered "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," over and over again as he backed away from our table.
I spent the next few minutes concentrating on my breathing, like Dr. Gordon had taught me, and managed to settle down. I apologized to the other girls for making a scene, but they all said they were glad I told him off, they'd have done it if I hadn't.
I started to feel better after that. By the time Respect class came along, I was feeling pretty okay. Like a lot of the classes, today's class talked a lot about understanding how other people might see things differently and I got to thinking about Dennis. He wasn't a mean kid, and it was unfair of me to compare him to the kids at West High. That night, at dinner, I talked it over with Teresa and my aunt and uncle. Teresa thought he had it coming to him, but I said I thought I kind of overreacted. I was also thinking that I needed friends and I wasn't going to have any if I cut people out of my life every time they pushed one of my buttons, but I didn't say that.
Next day, at lunch, I put my lunch down at Teresa's table and then walked over to Dennis's table. I felt a hole in the bottom of my stomach and I thought about how a prisoner who was going to his execution must feel. There were mostly boys at the table and they all looked nervous when they saw me.
"Dennis," I said, "I want to apologize for yelling at you yesterday. I still think you weren't very considerate, but you didn't deserve all the stuff I said. Especially the part about being like West High. That was really unfair. It's just that I've had a lot of stuff going on in my life the past six months or so and I guess I just dumped it all on you. I'm sorry. I did wrong. Can we be friends? Or at least, not enemies?" I put out my hand.
He stood up and shook my hand. "Friends." Then he took a deep breath and tried to smile. "If you want to eat with us some time, feel free. Any time."
"Thanks. Maybe another day. Right now, I'd better get back before my lunch is cold."
Teresa thought I'd been too generous, but I said, "you know how your father says, you can never have too many friends or too few enemies. He seems like a nice boy. I mean, at least he tried to apologize, which is more than anyone else did."
The next day, I told Teresa and her friends I was going to eat with Dennis and his friends. "Sort of a peace offering," I said nervously. Dennis's friends had already made a space for me next to Dennis. I don't remember what we talked about. I remember feeling that if I wasn't careful, I'd start talking and acting like I was a boy and I was confused enough as it was.
I ended up eating with them once or twice a week and got to know Dennis better. He really was a nice boy, always trying to do the right thing. He wanted to become a doctor so he could help people, and he liked Gabriel because it was about studying hard, which you need to do if you want to go to med school. He asked if we could get together some weekend. I didn't want to go to his place, but Teresa usually had her friends over at our place. I was also a little nervous about being alone with him without someone like Teresa around. We worked it out that he would come over, but Teresa and her friends would be in the basement while Dennis and I hung out in the living room.
When he was over, we talked about a lot of things. I told him something of what I'd gone through. One thing was nice: because he knew what it was like to be a boy, he could understand a part of me that Teresa and her friends couldn't. He talked about people seeing him as too nerdy and feeling pressure to be a little more, I don't know, macho maybe. Even at Gabriel, the other boys thought he could act a little tougher and a little rowdier. Part of the reason he went along with the cross-dressing was that it might make the other boys see him as more willing to break the rules.
Teresa and her friends would wander by every now and then on the way to and from the kitchen or our bedroom. One time Teresa sat down with us and talked with Dennis for a while, and later Bethany did, too. "It's almost like they want to check me out and see if it's okay for you to be around me," he said.
"I think it's because we know that guys can be pretty mean, even when they don't intend to. Being mean, even to your friends, seems to be a guy thing. We girls" -- I was trying to make sure he knew I considered myself one of them -- "have to look out for one another. And I still don't have a lot of experience as a girl. They have my back." I suddenly realized this was the first time in my life I could honestly say that someone had my back. It felt nice.
Content note: discussion of sex (chapter 28)
Easter was coming up, and Teresa had been after me to get an Easter dress. That's a nice simple dress in spring colors that is supposed to make you think of flowers and spring and, I guess, Easter eggs. So one Saturday, Teresa and Carol and my aunt took me out to get one. Dennis was coming over in the afternoon, so we tried to get done before he came, but things always take longer than you think. We went to a store that seemed to be for people who wanted to pretend they were in a Victorian novel. It had pictures of people in 19th century clothes promenading with parasols on the walls and old-style dolls on little shelves. They even had a line of dolls with outfits like the ones they sold for girls, so girls could dress just like their dolls. They also had outfits for grown-ups, which I noticed because Aunt Edith was looking interested in some of them.
Anyway, they settled on a jumper with a pink top and a light green skirt with little pink flowers embroidered on it which came with a combined blouse and slip that you were supposed to wear under it. It was actually like wearing a jumper over a dress, and the hem of the dress was supposed to show. They also got me white knee socks knit in a diamond pattern, black patent leather shoes, and a broad-brimmed straw hat with a pink and green ribbon. Even a month earlier I might have objected, but by now, I just thought, whatever. Actually, when I looked at myself in the mirror, I liked it. When we left, I kept the outfit on, minus the hat. On the way home, they took me by a beauty salon and got my hair trimmed, too. It was almost shoulder length and it didn't look like a boy's cut at all.
Dennis was already there when we got home. Uncle Boris had been entertaining him with stories about the crazy things some of the students at his college did while he made lunch for us. Then I walked in, all done up, and Dennis just stared for a minute, speechless.
"Wow," he said, once he recovered his voice, "that is really nice. You look really pretty." Then he remembered how I was having trouble with the idea of being pretty and added, "I mean, if you wanted to be pretty," and then I guess he realized he was just going to sound stupid and stopped. Dennis had never been good at small talk, but he was even more tongue-tied than usual. While we were eating lunch, I caught him just looking at me like he couldn't take his eyes off of me. My uncle seemed to appreciate how I looked, but he was more subtle. I was still a little torn -- I felt like I wasn't supposed to be attractive like that, being really a boy and all, but most of me liked it. I'd never had people just want to look at me. Maybe the word is "admire."
After lunch, I changed back into more normal clothes and spent some time talking with Dennis.
"You know," he said, "I know you are, or were a boy, or something like that, but you make a really great girl. I keep thinking about how you said you feel like a freak" -- he looked at me to see if I was upset by the word -- "but I think you're the opposite of a freak. I really like you as a girl, and I think maybe I would have liked you if I'd gotten to know you as a boy, too. Like there's a part of you that's you, whether you're a boy or a girl, and that's pretty fine."
I couldn't exactly follow what he said, but it felt good and without even thinking I reached over and gave him a big hug. He looked surprised at first, but then he hugged me back. I explained, "at Youth Group we hug all the time. It's nice."
Carol and Teresa came in just as we were finishing our hug. They teased us a little. They didn't quite call us lovebirds, but that was what they were hinting at. But then they said it was great that I had another friend. We all got to talking about random stuff and just enjoying being together. Dennis and I had stopped hugging, but we sat next to each other on the sofa. I had this sudden thought: I could hold his hand, or at least put my hand on top of his. But I didn't do it.
Some of the people at the church were going to hike to the top of a nearby mountain -- it was more like a hill, but everyone called it a mountain -- to watch the sun rise for Easter, and the youth group had decided to join them. I was now a regular with the youth group, and had even started to open up a tiny bit about my life. Anyway, there was a dirt road to the top, so it wasn't like a wilderness hike. I decided to wear my Easter dress, but with white tights and some substantial shoes instead the patent leather ones. Teresa decided to wear her Easter dress, too. Then Aunt Edith decided to go along, and she wore a spring-like dress. Uncle Boris came along, too, to keep us out of trouble, he said, but he wouldn't wear a dress, even though we voted that he ought to. We got up real early and went over to the mountain. It was still dark, but by the time we got started up the mountain, it was beginning to get light. We walked up in little groups, whispering because it didn't seem right to be too loud. At the top, we just stood there, and nobody said anything. When we first saw a bit of the sun peek out over the hills on the horizon, Reverend Jen gave a short sort of sermon, something like, "As the sun rises, so did Our Lord. And so will we all." Then we said the Lord's Prayer, waited for the sun to be completely above the horizon, and then we went back down.
We went home, had breakfast, and changed to go to church. The youth group hid eggs for the little kids' Easter egg hunt and then we went to the service. I was going to take my Easter hat off, but my aunt instructed me that women didn't take hats off in church. It made me think how funny people are: we think taking your hat off is a sign of respect (at least if you're male), but if you're a woman, or an Orthodox Jew, or a muslim, you leave it on to show respect.
After church, as I was talking with the other kids in the Youth Group, I realized how much I was thinking of myself as just a girl. It wasn't bothering me as much as it did even a month ago. But I still didn't want to forget my old life entirely. That was me, too.
If you know anything about teen-agers, you know that one big topic for them is: sex.
By this point, I'd learned about masturbating in my new body, although I usually thought of it simply as "doing what feels good." I generally did it every couple of days. To be honest, it was one of the few things that made me feel good about my changed body, and I not only didn't feel like stopping, I couldn't see any reason why I should. Not only did it feel good, it was a good way to calm me down when I was upset or worried. I talked it over with Dr. Gordon, and she agreed with me.
When I moved into Teresa's room, I was worried that I wouldn't be able to do it. After a week, I couldn't stand it any longer and I started doing it after I thought Teresa was asleep, but I tried to be real quiet about it. Then one night, when I was lying awake wondering if she was asleep enough, I felt the bed shake a little and heard quiet little moans from below, and I realized I wasn't the only one who needed to "do what feels good." I don't know if she knew I heard her, and I still tried to be discrete, but I stopped worrying that she'd think I was some kind of pervert if she heard me doing it. Actually, I kind of hoped we would catch each other doing it at the same time, so we could talk about it and not pretend that we didn't both do it, even though I was pretty sure we both knew the other did.
About this time, our Respect class started a sex education unit. It was a lot more instruction than the class usually was and covered a lot of stuff I already knew, but there was some new stuff, too. I think that because ours was a beginners' class, they couldn't be sure we knew anything at all. We went over sex organs, menstruation, masturbation, reproduction, basic kinds of sex, including gay and lesbian, birth control, and STDs. They also touched on transgenderism; I thought it would make me uncomfortable, but somehow they did it so I didn't feel weird. We did some of it with the boys and girls separate and some together. I didn't say much, but other kids did. I listened a lot.
All that was just background information. They even gave us some quizzes on what they'd taught. Then they had us talk about sex. To each other. Sometimes with boys and girls together. Talk about awkward! They had us talk about how to deal with feeling attracted to someone. And how to deal with someone who's attracted to you, if you're attracted to them and if you're not. We brainstormed things like if you both decide to make love and then one of you decides you don't want to go through with it. And a lot of stuff about feelings.
One day after class, I asked the teacher, "one thing I don't understand: I got the impression Ms. Williams is kind of old-fashioned. I'd think she didn't believe in students having sex. But here we have this real explicit course on how to do it."
"You're right. She doesn't believe in it. But she's also aware that some students are going to do it anyway, and if they're going to do it, she wants them to do it with Respect. She's just being realistic. Besides, the state requires sex education, and this wasn't something she thought was worth fighting over."
I talked all this stuff over with Teresa and her friends. They'd all already had the course, so they talked about some of the questions and discussions they'd had in their classes. They ended up talking about which girls they thought were lesbians. We knew that lesbians often tried to get into Gabriel because Gabriel had a reputation for being safe for LGBTQ kids. There were some kids who we thought got in mainly because Gabriel was worried about what was happening to them in their home schools. I wondered if that was the real reason I got in. I was the only transgender kid they knew of this year, but there had been others in the past. Then they got into what they would do if a lesbian student came on to them. Most said they'd say no, but Ellen said she might consider it if the girl was nice enough. "Besides," she said, "who knows better what turns a girl on than another girl?" But she said she'd still rather do it with a boy. "They're so intriguing. They're so -- different." I didn't say anything.
I also talked about it with Dennis. I liked talking with him because he could talk about almost anything without getting all weird, even though I was a girl and he was a boy and, even worse, we really liked each other. For instance, I was worried about being attracted to either boys or girls.
"If I feel attracted to a boy, does that mean I'm gay because I'm really a boy, or am I straight because I'm a girl?" I asked one day. "And how about me being attracted to a girl? I mean, I used to be attracted to girls, generally, and I don't feel all that different now. Does that make me a lesbian?"
I always felt like I was crazy when I said these things, but Dennis took them seriously. He seemed to understand how I felt like I was really a boy, but also I was a girl, and it didn't seem to bother him like it did me.
"Does it really matter? I mean, if you're attracted to them, you're attracted to them. Who cares what you call it? And if you do have sex with a boy, it's going to look like straight sex, because you do sex with your body, and your body is female. And if you have sex with a girl, it'll look like lesbian sex, for the same reason."
He's going to make a great doctor someday, I thought. I was sitting next to him on the couch, holding his hand and leaning against him. I'd started holding his hand if I felt like it and he didn't seem to mind. And leaning up against him was nice and warm. Teresa and I would snuggle on the couch, too, especially if we were watching a movie together, but she didn't sit still as much as Dennis. With Dennis, I would pretend I was a cat finding a warm spot to get warm.
I started wondering what it would be like to have sex with him. Not that I was planning to, but I was sure that someday I'd want to have sex, and I thought I'd want it to be with someone like him. It still felt gay, though.
And if it was a woman I'd someday have sex with? Would it feel lesbian? Dennis's explanation made a lot of sense, but my feelings still felt mixed up.
May is prom season. I don't think Ms. Williams approved of proms, but she probably realized she wasn't going to get away with nothing at all. However, the school does what it can to cool down Prom Fever. They don't call it a prom, but a High School Spring Dance, it's for all three grades, you can't invite guests, other than close family, and you don't go as couples. But students do what they can to make it prom-like. Girls get fancy dresses, most of the boys really dress up, sometimes renting tuxes, and both girls and boys stretch the definition of "close family" to cover people who you'd have to go back to the stone age to find where they're related.
This was Teresa and Carol's first prom -- I mean, High School Spring Dance -- and they wanted to get suitable dresses. Meanwhile, Aunt Edith and Teresa both thought I needed some summer clothes. I thought my blue church dress would do just fine for the dance, but Teresa and Carol wanted to at least get me to try on something.
So, one Saturday in early May, we went on a clothes shopping expedition. Again. I swear, I'd been clothes shopping more times since I started turning female than in my whole life up to that time. On the other hand, it was something to do that wasn't studying. They got me a white blouse with really short sleeves in some really light cotton that you could almost see through. I didn't see the point, since I'd have to wear something underneath so people wouldn't see the bra. Carol and Teresa explained with exasperated patience that seeing the bra was the point. They also got me a light teal sleeveless blouse. I got a short summer skirt and a flower-print sundress and some sandals. And a bathing suit. They wanted me to get a pink bikini, but I wanted a tank suit in a dark color. We compromised on a tank suit in light green. Finally, they insisted on getting me a miniskirt. It was like six inches above my knees and it felt like it barely covered my crotch. It was going to take all summer for me to get used to wearing them all.
Then we went to a store that had prom dresses. We met Ellen there. Ellen had what we call a lot in front and wanted a dress that would show it off without getting her kicked out of the dance. Teresa and Carol just wanted something showy. They each tried on a half-dozen dresses and picked out some for me to try on. There were one or two that I said I would consider -- for next year. Teresa picked a calf-length green taffeta dress with organza sleeves, and Carol, who has fairly dark skin, picked a knee-length sleeveless pink and black satiny dress. Ellen, though, got a long black gown in some slinky shimmery fabric that clung to her body and was open in front down to her breasts with a sort of slit down between them. There wasn't any way to hide a bra under it, so I guess the dress was designed to work without one. "Do you think the boys will like it?" she asked me.
"They'll be too busy trying to find their eyeballs after they jump out of their heads and fall on the floor when they see you," I said. She took that as a "yes."
I went out that evening with Sylvia and her friends to a church basement where some of her musician friends were hanging out. I met a friend of hers named Doris Spelman. She was an eleventh-grader from Gabriel. Sylvia's friends were talking about what they were going to wear to the prom. Doris said she was going to wear a tux, she'd made a reservation already.
"But you're a girl," I said, "aren't girls supposed to wear dresses to the dance? Will they let you in?"
"They just said formal attire. If a tux isn't formal, I don't know what is."
"You don't like wearing dresses?" I had a feeling I was making a fool of myself, but I wanted to understand.
"I don't like having to wear a dress," she insisted. "I think girls should be able to choose. If nobody's willing to be different, it's as if we couldn't. This year, I'm the one being different. Besides, I've heard that you say you're 'really a boy,' and you're wearing a dress, aren't you."
"Everyone acts like I'm a girl, so I might as well be one. And if you know about me once being a boy, you also know why I just want to fit in and not make waves."
I changed the subject. "So, will you dance with the boys or with the girls."
"Both. But that's not unusual at our dances. Girls dance with girls, and with boys, and with their parents and brothers and sisters. The boys won't dance with other boys though, which I think is stupid."
It was about this time that I learned a new word: street harrassment. (Well, two words.) Things like: one warm Sunday afternoon, one of the girls from the youth group was over, and we decided to walk down to the ice cream store for some ice cream. I was wearing my summer skirt and the sheer blouse and sandals, just to get used to it, and Teresa and the other girl were also dressed sort of summery. Anyway, we'd only crossed the first street when a car came by with the windows down and some boys in it. When they saw us, they honked and slowed down so they could stay next to us. They started shouting things at us about how they thought we were sexy and we ought to go riding with them. We tried to ignore them. Then they started telling us what they thought of our breasts and butts. We kept walking. There were people out on their lawns who saw us and those boys, but nobody said or did anything. Fortunately, they decided to drive off.
I told Teresa and the other girl that I was really scared of those boys. They told me they were a little scared, but this sort of thing happened all the time, and usually they'd just drive off like this time. Anyway, there was nothing they could do. "Just don't ever get in the car with them. Or even get close to their car," they told me.
Anyway, the night of the prom, Teresa's parents came with us. I found out that although we weren't supposed to have dates, some of the boys brought flowers for pinning on for the girls they liked. It was a little like having a date, except that sometimes a boy would bring flowers for several girls. Dennis was there, and he'd brought flowers for both Teresa and me. I thought that was a good way for him to guarrantee he'd get at least two dances with a girl.
The band played all kinds of music. There was some swing music and some music for ballroom dances and some rock and roll. We'd had some lessons after school in basic dancing to get us ready, but I still wasn't very good at it. Uncle Boris danced with Teresa while Aunt Edith danced with me, then my uncle danced with me. They were pretty good at it, I mostly tried not to step on anybody's feet.
Then Dennis asked me to dance. He was a pretty good dancer. I asked him where he'd learned to dance so well, and he said his parents had sent him for dance lessons after school for the past year. I don't know what kind of dance it was, I was just trying to sort of move in time with the music and not hurt anyone. I stared at his face so I wouldn't get dizzy or confused. I don't know if he thought I was in love with him or just hypnotized.
One of Dennis's friends asked me to dance while Dennis danced with Teresa. The friend wasn't much better than me, so we mostly just walked around in time to the music. He was trying to act grown up and manly and impressive, but not really succeeding. It was weird, because I could see myself doing exactly the same thing if I hadn't gotten turned into a girl. So even though he was kind of annoying, I couldn't get mad at him.
About that time, I saw Ellen in her super-sexy dress. I was really surprised because she was on the sidelines. I went over to her. "What's happening? I thought the guys would be lining up to dance with you?"
"I don't know, they look at me, but they don't talk to me. Even the boys I usually talk to at school. Maybe you were right about them trying to find their eyeballs."
"Well, I'll dance with you," I said. The band was playing a slow dance, so we just walked in time to the music. I wanted to take her mind off of not being asked to dance, so I asked her about what she was doing for the summer. After that dance, I got Dennis and another one of his friends to promise to ask her to dance. I couldn't help wondering: why couldn't Ellen just ask a boy to dance? But I knew she was afraid they'd think it was weird. Sometimes the world is just so weird.
Doris was there, and she was wearing a tux, just like she'd said. She'd cut her hair shorter than usual, so she looked like a girl trying to pass as a boy, but not really. I saw her dancing, sometimes with a boy, and sometimes with a girl. I was getting some punch when the music stopped, and she came over and asked me to dance. She was as good as Dennis, maybe even as good as Uncle Boris. She had me doing turns and one time even a twirl. I felt like I almost knew what I was doing.
"Who's that girl you were dancing with?" she asked. "The one with that risque' dress?"
"Ellen. I think she was hoping the dress would make the boys want to dance with her more, but I think she just scared them off. It's too bad, because she's a nice girl and fun to be with."
"She's not the only one," she said, giving me a knowing smile.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean you," she explained, like I was slow. "You are a nice girl and fun to be with." I couldn't figure out why she was saying it. She looked exasperated. "I'm flirting with you, you dope. C'mon, flirt back. You've got to get practice sometime."
"You dance very well," I said. She gave me a sort of "and?" look. "I'd say you've swept me off my feet -- but really, you've kept me on my feet."
"There you go. We'll have you flirting like a pro before long."
I suddenly started feeling that dissociation feeling again, plus feeling hot and cold at the same time. "I'm sorry, I'm getting a little confused." I didn't know why I said it. "It's like, um, I don't know if I'm a boy dancing with a girl, or a girl dancing with a girl, or a girl dancing with a boy, or--." I stopped. "I don't know what I'm saying," I finished.
"You think too much. Just go with it. Do what feels good." This made me think of what I liked to do in my bed at night, and I almost lost it. She had to hold me firmly until I got my feet to work right again. I looked around and saw Dennis dancing with Ellen and Teresa dancing with another boy. Sylvia was by the punchbowl, talking with a boy and a girl. I noticed she had a flower pinned to her.
"Hey, am I so ugly you don't want to look at me?" I was afraid she was mad at me, but when I looked at her, she was grinning. "Got your attention, didn't I?"
"No, you're not ugly at all." I tried to think of a word that wasn't just for boys or just for girls. "I think you're very good-looking. Attractive. I was just looking around to see how my friends were doing. I was worried about Ellen...."
"Yeah, we need to take care of Ellen. I'll dance with her and get some of the older boys to ask her. It'd be a shame for her to have gone to all that trouble to wear a 'fuck me' dress and then have it go to waste." I looked around nervously to see if a teacher had heard her. "Relax, I looked before I said it." When the music stopped, she pulled me a little closer and gave me a kiss. On the mouth. It wasn't a big passionate kiss, but I was still blown away. She gave me a sly smile and then went off, probably to find Ellen.
Dennis asked me to dance again. It went a little better now that I'd had more practice. I wondered if I should try flirting with Dennis. He always seemed so serious, though. "You dance very well." Repeating myself, I thought. "I'm really enjoying it. And you look so handsome. I've talked with you so much, but I guess I never really looked at you. Until now." I think he blushed, but the lights were low, so it was hard to tell.
I don't remember all the people I danced with. There were people I knew and people I didn't. I do remember that Teresa asked me for the last dance. She looked happy. "Isn't this a lot of fun? I think I've danced with half the boys here and with some of the girls. I think some of them were smitten with me." She repeated the word: "smitten," like she enjoyed the taste. "And I'm so glad you're here. It's like I have a sister to share it with." When the music stopped, she gave me a long hug.
I saw Dennis, and reached out for a hug. I don't think it had occurred to him to ask for a hug, but he seemed to like it when I asked him. It was one of those it-could-be-a-brother-sister-hug-or-maybe-more type hugs. Then we said good-bye.
I saw Ellen then. "It's funny," she said, "right after you danced with me, boys started coming up to ask me to dance. Some I didn't know, too. And a girl, at least I think it was a girl. She was wearing a tux. I think you were a lucky charm for me."
I went and said good-bye to some of the other girls I knew, but they were chasing us out by them, so it was time to go home. Doris just gave me a wave and a smile as she went past.
A couple more things happened before the end of school. The Saturday after the Prom, I was hanging out with Teresa and Carol and Ellen, and Ellen looked upset.
"Some people have been telling me that some people are saying that my prom dress was slutty and that I was a slut! They said other things that were too upsetting to repeat."
We were all indignant. "Who's calling you a slut?" Carol demanded.
"I don't know. Nobody will mention any names. They just look at me funny and say 'some people.'"
"What a bunch of cowards! Can't even insult you to your face!" Carol said.
"Do you all think I'm a slut?" Ellen asked.
"Gosh, no!" I said. You'll notice I was trying to keep my language clean -- I didn't want the wrong word to slip out at school and earn me another paddling. Everyone else said more or less the same.
"Were they boys or girls who were saying this?" Teresa asked.
"I don't know. It was girls who were telling me, though."
"I'll bet it was girls and they were just jealous, because they didn't have the nerve to wear something like that."
"Are you all jealous?"
"No. It's not something I would wear, but I don't think there's anything wrong with it. Although -- if you were hoping you'd get more boys asking you to dance, I'd say it didn't work very well."
Ellen looked at me. "Melanie, you used to be a boy. What did you think of my dress? Was it slutty?"
"Slutty? No. Maybe a bit more, uh, explicit than anybody else's. Actually, I liked it. I thought it looked cool. I'll admit, I had a hard time not staring at your breasts the whole time. They looked really nice." Everyone laughed at this except Ellen.
"So if you'd been a boy, you'd have asked me to dance? You wouldn't have thought I was a -- a -- whore?"
"A what? Is that what they called you? I would never think that! If anything, I'd have thought you were out of my league. Like, why would this beautiful, hot girl want to dance with a loser like me? And if you'd asked me to dance, I'd have been tongue-tied the whole time."
"You didn't look tongue-tied when we danced."
I shrugged. "I guess, now that I know you, I'm not so intimidated by you. And I know how nice you are."
"You don't think it was, uh, indecent the way I showed off my boobs?"
"All our dresses showed off our boobs. I don't think there was a male in the room who wasn't aware of our boobs. Your dress was just a little more explicit."
Carol interrupted. "The question is, what do we do about this -- gossip!? This isn't West High, we can't have people at our school talking about other people this way."
"We could talk to our friends and get them to talk about how disgusting they think talk like that is," I suggested. "You know, social pressure. I'm sure Sylvia and Dennis and their friends would think this is awful."
"We should talk to the Respect teachers and get them to bring it up in class," suggested Teresa. "See, Ellen, we've got your back." And, sure enough, next week, the topic of gossip and insults came up in class.
The next thing that happened was my birthday. That Saturday, Teresa and her parents and I went to my parents' house, and we had a little party with ice cream and cake. But Teresa gave me her present to me before we went: it was a light blue lacy summer nightgown. "I've got one like it, so we'll match!"
I decided to dress up for the party, so I put on my Easter outfit. I was beginning to get used to dressing like a girl, and I wanted to look nice. And I didn't think that there was any way I could dress that would make it any easier on my parents. When I got there, they seemed okay with how I looked. We all sat around the table and had lunch and then my parents brought out the cake and all. My dad gave me a bookbag that I could wear on my back, my mom gave me a shawl that one of her patients had given her a few years back. I guess it was her way of showing that she accepted what I'd become. Biff gave me a book of jokes, and Pete gave me a book on repairing motorcycles -- sort of a joke, since I'd given him "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" for Christmas.
Afterwards, Teresa took me out to the ice cream shop where a bunch of her friends and mine were waiting to wish me a happy birthday. They gave me little presents, like a hair band and a floppy hat and dark glasses. Someone asked if I'd ever "really" kissed anyone. I said I didn't think so. This was my sixteenth birthday, so they started saying, "sweet sixteen and never been kissed." Dennis was there, so they started saying Dennis should kiss me. At first I didn't want to, but they all insisted, and I thought, why not? Besides, it wasn't like it was some gross guy, this was Dennis. Dennis was saying, no, no, too, but he gave in, too.
Anyway, we turned to face each other, and he held my shoulders, but gently, and we looked at each other. I think I was blushing and I had a nervous smile. He was a little taller, so I had to look up a little. Everyone got real quiet. He bent over and rubbed his lips on mine and then kissed me. I was afraid he'd stick his tongue in my mouth, like some boys do, but he didn't. He just moistened my lips with his tongue and rubbed my lips a little, then kissed me again. There was something magical about it. I couldn't move. I just stood there looking stupid. Then he took me in his arms and hugged me, and everyone cheered. I buried my face in his shoulder so I wouldn't have to look at anyone. It wasn't anything I'd have ever wanted to do, but now that it was over, I was glad I did it. If by "did it," you mean "stand there looking stupid while this really, really nice boy gives you the most magical kiss you can imagine."
I couldn't help thinking that nothing like this would have ever happened if I'd stayed a boy. I'd have had a little celebration with my family and that would have been it. I'd have never had so many people show that they liked me.
The last thing was Biff's graduation. I was a little afraid I'd run into people who would harrass me again, but I decided to be brave. I'd go dressed as a girl, which is how I always dressed now, and if anyone gave me any hassle, I'd just give them a raspberry.
So I sat in the bleachers with my mom and dad and Pete and we watched Biff go up for his diploma. I also saw Tom Prescott go up and get his, and I was afraid he'd see me, which was ridiculous. Biff was going to the state university next year to study engineering. He told me Tom had gotten a football scholarship at a school in Texas, so I wouldn't have to worry about seeing him around town in the fall.
After the ceremony, we wandered around and took pictures of Biff and his friends -- his new friends, the ones he made after the jock clique kicked him out. I was glad he'd made new friends. He introduced me to them, and they were nice to me, even impressed that I'd done so well after all I'd been through. "See, there are decent people at West Hell," Biff said. One or two said things like, "Biff, you've got a cute sister," and, sort of joking, "hey, Melanie, are you doing anything next Saturday night?"
I did see two of the guys who had held me down in the empty classroom in January and I thought my heart would stop, but they just looked at me a little funny and then went on by.
People didn't call Gabriel students nerds for nothing. At West High, kids spent the summer lifeguarding or working at fast food places or just hanging out and getting into trouble. Gabriel students went to summer school. If anybody was doing something else, I didn't hear about it. Most of the people I knew were taking classes at Greenwood High, because the classes were free, but I heard that some kids were taking intensive music classes at the conservatory downtown.
Teresa was taking conversational French in the morning and a computer course in the afternoon. She'd gotten Bethany and another girl, Judy Klemp, to agree to go with her so she wouldn't be the only girl in the class. I decided to take a morning class in Spanish, so I could get to Spanish III or maybe IV by graduation. I thought it would look good when applying to college. Dennis was taking an advanced chemistry class in the morning, I guess to help him get into a good pre-med program. He seemed to have his life planned out. Sylvia was taking remedial algebra, and counting on my help.
The morning classes let out at 12:30, but my appointments with Dr. Gordon were still at 4:30, the way they were during the school year, and it took about an hour to walk to them from Greenwood High, so I had something like two or three hours to kill on Tuesday and Friday. Dennis's condo complex was almost on the way from Greenwood to Dr. Gordon's, so I got in the habit of walking home with Dennis and hanging out with him until it was time to go to Dr. Gordon. His complex had a pool, which made it even better. Sometimes he'd tease me: "do you love me for myself, or for my pool?" Sometimes I came over even when I didn't have an appointment with Dr. Gordon.
The summer school classes were a lot easier than the ones at Gabriel. I could get all my homework done in maybe a half hour each day. The other kids, though, kept complaining about how hard the class was. I hadn't thought of my Gabriel classes as so hard, maybe because we were all doing the same amount of studying, so it seemed normal.
One thing I didn't like about summer was the street harrassment. I never had any problems when I was walking with Dennis, but twice on the way to Dr. Gordon, I had cars slow down and somebody shout something out the window. The second time it was an older guy, which was really creepy. I finally asked Dennis to walk me to Dr. Gordon. He was happy to do it, but I felt bad making him waste an hour walking around. Coming home, I'd take the bus, which wasn't so bad.
On Saturdays, if I was hanging out with Teresa and her friends, we'd sometimes have trouble walking down to the ice cream shop, like in the Spring. I didn't feel so scared since there were a bunch of us, but it made summer less fun.
One time, though, I had a really bad experience. We were about to walk into the ice cream shop and three big guys, like football players, were going in at the same time. They started talking to us, saying something about how nice it was to meet up with a bunch of pretty girls and pretending it was a date. I was already feeling like, get me away from here. One of them said to me, "hey, girlie, what's with the long face? Lemme brighten up your day," and then pulled me over and tried to kiss me. I was so mad I punched him in the stomach as hard as I could.
"Hey, what was that for? I just wanted to give you a kiss," he said.
"And I just wanted to give you a black eye!" I yelled. "I guess neither one of us are going to get what we want." I added. Suddenly I was afraid they were going to beat me up, but the guy's friends just laughed and said, "she's got you there," but I was already starting to shake. I was suddenly remembering the time Tom Prescott and his gang dragged me into the classroom. I thought I was going to fall down or faint. I dimly heard one of the boys say, "hey, what's the matter with her?"
Somebody helped me onto a bench, but I hardly noticed. I was having some sort of double vision, or maybe more like double feeling. I could feel my shirt being pulled up, I could feel Tom's hands on my breast, I could feel my pants being pulled down. I saw Teresa and Carol looking at me, and I managed to croak out, "flashback." I couldn't stop the memories. I could feel Tom's hand on my crotch. I felt ashamed of being undressed and exposed, like I wanted to die. I felt even worse than when it actually happened.
I could hear Carol talking to me. She was sitting next to me and saying, "Melanie, it's okay. You're at the ice cream shop. You're not at West High. Nobody's going to hurt you." She was saying it over and over again. I nodded and started taking deep breaths. I couldn't remember telling her about the almost-rape, but I guess Teresa told her that something awful had happened to me there.
The boys came out of the ice cream shop and gave us all ice cream cones. The one who tried to kiss me came over and said, "Jeez, I'm really sorry, if I'd known you'd get so upset...." I realized he wasn't a mean kid, he just thought it was normal to kiss a girl without asking. I thought that, too, back when I was a boy. Teresa explained, "she had some really awful experiences at her old school."
My afternoons with Dennis were the opposite of this. We'd come to his house and change into our bathing suits and swim for an hour, and then come in and change and eat something and talk. Mostly, he'd talk about his plans for the future. I didn't say all that much because I hadn't thought about the future, and I thought he'd be bored if I talked about Sylvia and the street harrassment. When the weather was hot, we wouldn't bother to change after swimming, we'd just eat in our suits and then sit on a towel and talk and cuddle. I'd bring my sundress and just put it on over my suit when it was time to leave. We were always alone there, because his parents both worked, and his older brother was a lifeguard at a city pool and away all day.
One time, Dennis asked if he could touch my breast. He sounded kind of embarrassed about it, so I wanted to make him feel okay about it, so I said, "I'd love it." At first, he just touched me real lightly, through the bathing suit. I had to show him how to hold my breast. I told him I liked it, mostly to encourage him, but it took a few times before he felt comfortable really holding and, well, fondling it so it felt good. I started sliding the strap down on the bathing suit so he could touch my bare breast. It felt really good, like I wanted more. I also started unbuttoning his shirt, or, if he had a T-shirt, pushing it up, and stroking and tickling his chest.
At night, when I was in bed and playing with myself, or just thinking about it, I started imagining it was Dennis stroking my crotch and my thighs, and I'd get really turned on. Actually, it was more like I was getting swept away. I'd get cold chills, and I felt like I wanted Dennis to do this to me in real life more than anything in the world. It was wonderful and scary at the same time. I talked it over with Dr. Gordon, and she said it was pretty common for teen-agers to feel real strong urges like this. People usually called it "hormones." I guess I must not have had many hormones when I was a boy, because I never felt anything this strong until now. She thought that maybe the sex-change thing made these "hormone" feelings even stronger in me than in most girls. She suggested I not worry about it, and she didn't think it would be too bad if Dennis did end up doing what I wanted, but I should be sure to listen to how he felt about things and not push him into anything.
I wasn't spending all my free time with Dennis. Sylvia needed my help, so on the afternoons when I wasn't with Dennis, I would go over to Sylvia's to go over her class and help her with her homework. She could actually do the math, but she still panicked a lot and needed me to calm her down and walk her through everything. On the days when I saw Dr. Gordon, or if I was at Dennis's, I would go over to her house before dinner, eat with her family, and spend the evening helping her. Her mom or dad would then drive me home. I felt a little guilty mooching off of them, but they told me it was the least they could do for me helping Sylvia.
On Saturdays when I wasn't with Teresa and her friends, I would hang out with Sylvia and her friends. They had an above-ground pool in the back yard, so I'd bring my bathing suit and we'd paddle around or just sit and cool off. Usually Sylvia and Doris were there and Judy Klemp, the girl in Teresa's computer class. Sometimes her friend Nick, who she insisted wasn't her boyfriend and who played guitar, was there, too, and once or twice his guitar-player friend Jeff came. On days when there weren't any boys, we would sometimes just go naked in the yard and the pool. Sylvia and I thought it was a little naughty, which we liked, but Doris thought it was stupid to get so hung up on whether somebody else could see our bodies. "We all know what everyone looks like under their clothes." But actually, I didn't really. I'd try to see what the other girls looked like to see if the sex change really made me look just like them. I couldn't see much of their crotches, what with the pubic hair, but I did notice that Doris and Sylvia had bigger breasts than mine and Judy just had sort of bumps. Judy had kind of a boy's figure, anyway. I'd thought of Doris as some sort of butch lesbian because of how she looked at the prom, but now she was growing her hair back and wearing summer dresses.
"You know, Melanie," said Sylvia one time when we were hanging out all naked and naughty. "When you first started coming to Gabriel, and everyone knew you used to be a boy, a lot of people were wondering if you still looked like a boy under your clothes."
"Ugh," said Doris. "That's so disrespectful! Didn't they ask themselves how Melanie would feel?"
"Yeah, I thought it was pretty gross, too, and I didn't even know Melanie back then. Anyway, I heard that some of the girls in your gym class said they knew for a fact that you looked just like all the other girls, and after that, the talk died out."
"Yeah, I remember on my first day, one of the girls was looking at me, and she said she hadn't expected me to look normal. But she apologized. I guess she told everyone else, or maybe some of the other girls were looking, too. I didn't think about it too much, because I was expecting it to be a lot worse. It was so bad in the boy's gym back at West Hell -- that's West High, ha, ha -- I refused to go any more."
"I wasn't sure whether to tell you. I hope it's long enough ago that it doesn't bother you. And I hope you know now that when stuff like this comes up, we'll defend you. We have your back."
I shrugged. "It wouldn't have done me any good to be bothered by it. But I guess you're right, I had enough to worry about back then without worrying about that, too." It did make me feel a little less weird about checking out the other girls' bodies, though.
Saturday evenings, if I was at Sylvia's, we'd go over to that church basement where the youth minister had what they called a coffee house, which didn't have coffee, but did have pizza and pop and fruit and juice, and Nick and his musician friends would play and we would talk. Doris was really interesting to talk to. She thought for herself a lot and had her own ideas about everything. She said she was a radical feminist and had read all the big authors like Simone de Beauvoir and Andrea Dworkin and Naomi Wolf. When I asked her if she was a lesbian like everyone said, she said that was a stupid question. When she saw how I shut right up, she said she didn't mean I was stupid, just that I needed to think about it. She said the right question was were we being with people we liked and were we making love with people we enjoyed making love to. She didn't see anything wrong with her making love to boys or to girls, as long as she was treating them with respect -- the Gabriel girl was showing, I thought. And she didn't see why I shouldn't make love to a boy or a girl, either, if I wanted to and he or she wanted to and we weren't disrespecting anybody. It made me think of my feelings about Dennis. Then sometimes she'd sing a song called "R-E-S-P-E-C-T." Nick and Jeff knew all about how she liked it, so when she started, they'd switch to playing along with her singing and try go get her to go up on the stage, which was just a platform in the corner with a mic. Doris made me think of Ellen, who liked to talk about sex a lot, but I had the feeling Doris had done more than she talked about, while Ellen talked more than she did.
I decided that I would ask Dennis if he wanted to do more than just fondle my breasts. He was holding my back against his bare chest and playing with my breast one day, and I was really getting turned on. I had changed back into my skirt and blouse, but had left my underwear off so I'd dry out a little. I pulled all my courage together and said, "Dennis, would you be willing to, you know, touch me down there?"
He pulled back and looked at me. "I don't know if I should. It doesn't feel like I'd be respecting you."
"Why is it disrespecting me if I ask you to do something and you do it? I mean, it wouldn't be disrespecting me if you didn't, either. And you've been so nice and so -- decent -- to me, I can't imagine anything you did being not respectful. But if it's too weird, let's just forget I said it, okay?" We slowly got back to cuddling, but he didn't touch my breast. I've queered it, I thought.
The next time I was over, it was raining, so we didn't swim. We sat and talked about school, about what we'd do in August. Then Dennis said, "I thought about what you said last time, and I think I'd like to try it, if you still want to."
"Sure," I said. "But let's cuddle first." I unbuttoned my blouse and let him fondle my breast for a while. He started kissing me on the cheek and then lightly on my lips. He had one arm behind my back and one on my breast and I was feeling safe and really turned on. Finally I whispered, "whenever you want." He reached down under my skirt and started stroking my crotch with one finger, through my underwear. I reached down and showed him to be firmer and to stroke the insides of my thighs. I was getting more and more turned on. I pulled my underwear down some, using just one hand. Now he was stroking my bare crotch. I guess those sex education classes were good for something, because he found my clitoris by himself. 'Clitoris.' I could see the National Enquirer headline in my mind: "I was a boy and now I have a clitoris." He kept stroking and kissing me and in a few minutes I came. It was as good as when I did it myself, but even better because I wasn't alone. I was with someone who understood me and cared about me, and who I cared about. I took his hand out and raised it to my lips and kissed it. Then I snuggled up against him and said, "that was wonderful." He was looking at me, kind of thoughtfully.
I was turned so I was half facing him, and I was stroking his chest and all the way down to his shorts. I thought, I want to make him feel good, too. I sort of ran my fingers over the zipper of his shorts and I asked him, "would it be all right if I, well, go inside your shorts?"
"Do you want to?"
"I do want to," and I meant it. Suddenly getting him turned on and maybe coming was something I really wanted to do, I don't know why. "But I don't want to do anything you don't want."
I kept running my fingers over his zipper, and he didn't say anything. I wondered if I should stop, since I didn't know if it bothered him. After a few minutes, he reached down and unzipped and unbuttoned his shorts and slid them down a little, so his penis was uncovered. It was already hard, and when I stroked it, it got even harder and sort of stood out. I had an idea of what he might like, what with having been a boy, so I stroked his abdomen and his penis. I slid the shorts down further so I could tickle his balls. All the time, I was kissing his cheek. I alternated using my hand on his penis and stroking and tickling him. I could tell from his breathing and how he was stretching and tensing his legs and moving that he was really getting turned on. Pretty soon, he started coming and shooting semen all over his stomach and up to his chest, so I got a lot gentler with my stroking. When he finished and relaxed, I kissed him all over his face and told him it was wonderful. It wasn't a lie. I felt like by letting me jack him off, he'd given me something very special, and I was afraid he'd feel weird about what we'd done.
We talked for a little while. I think he was still afraid he'd done something wrong to me, and I kept telling him how right it felt to me and how much I enjoyed being with him. I didn't tell him about how I'd imagined him doing this to me for weeks already. I tried to imagine how Doris would talk to him, except I didn't think he would go for Doris. I offered to get him a paper towel or washcloth to clean up the semen. "There's a washcloth in the bathroom," he said. I cleaned him up, and we got dressed. He was still looking a little distant, so I hugged him, and he hugged me back.
That's how it started. By the second time, he was eager to do it. We'd undress and start making out and fondling as soon as we got to his house. If the weather was hot, we'd bring each other off and then go in swimming. Then we'd hang around in the house until it was time for me to leave.
But that wasn't enough for me. At night, in bed, I wasn't imagining him putting his hands on me. I was imagining him putting his penis into me. I knew what it looked like, I knew how it felt, and when I put my fingers inside me, it felt like it was just a taste of what I really wanted. I didn't know if I should say anything to Dennis. Maybe he'd think I was some kind of slut.
One time, when I was around Doris, I asked her about whether wanting intercourse with a boy meant you were a slut. I think she was going to say something about that being stupid, but she could see I was really serious. I'm pretty sure she could tell right away that this wasn't just idle curiousity. She sat me down and looked directly at me.
"Is this something you really want to do?"
"Yes," I said quietly, looking down at my hands.
"Melanie, please look at me. Does the boy you're thinking of want to?"
"I don't know. I haven't asked him. I'm afraid he'll think I'm a slut and won't want to be around me."
"Do you care about him?"
"Yes."
"Is he a decent guy? Does he care about you?"
"Yes, he's very decent. Maybe too decent. But I'm pretty sure he does care about me."
"Then ask him. He can say yes or he can say no. I don't think he'll call you a slut, but if he does, then you'll know he wasn't really decent. No decent guy calls someone who he cares about and who cares about him a slut."
That night, I had a dream of Dennis making love to me. I could feel him inside me. I could feel him holding me tenderly. I could feel him thrusting and each thrust turned me on more and more, until I kind of exploded with ecstasy. I woke up sweaty and throbbing. I wondered if I had orgasmed in my sleep. I couldn't get the feeling from the dream out of my mind.
The next time Dennis and I were alone together and he was holding my breast, I asked him. "How do you feel about, uh, going all the way?"
"You mean, with you?"
"Yeah. It was just, you know, this idea that kind of popped into my head." Talk about back-pedaling.
"Is that something you want to do? Is that what you're telling me?"
"Yeah, kind of. If it isn't too weird."
He let go of my breast and just held me. He was quiet for a long time. I weirded him out, I thought. "I guess it's pretty weird, huh?"
"No, I don't think it's weird at all. But I don't know if I'm ready for it. See, I like you a lot. And I like holding you, and, well, the other stuff we've been doing. But sometimes I feel like we've been going way too fast. Like my body's on a plane halfway to Tahiti, and my mind's still at home."
"Is it all right if I say I'd like to try it, but I'm fine if you don't want to?" I wanted to say, will you think I'm a slut, but I thought I'd just sound stupid.
"It's okay if you tell me what you like. The problem is, I feel like I'm supposed to want to, too. Like, if I were the big strong man you seem to think I am, I'd be making strong, tender love to you right now. But I'm not. I'm just a boy who wants to be a doctor someday and hopes like hell he'll learn enough so he won't kill too many patients. I guess I'm afraid I'll do the wrong thing and kill you. Emotionally, I mean."
I twisted around and reached around him and held him in my arms. It sounds like a cheap romance novel, but I felt like I loved him. I mean, I haven't actually read any romance novels, but it's like I imagine they sound like. "You won't kill me. Even if you hurt me, and I know you won't intentionally, I'll survive. I mean, I survived West High." I actually believed it at the time. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me. I just like being with you."
Well, the next time I was over, he said, "I've thought about it, and if you still want to, we could, you know, go all the way." We cuddled, took our clothes off, played with each others bodies for a while, and then he got out a condom. "See, I came prepared." I thought, I can't get pregnant, we don't really need this, but I didn't want to say anything to discourage him.
Just as he was about to push it in, I felt this spasm of anxiety and I felt my vagina cramp. I couldn't help gasping.
"I'm hurting you," he said.
"I just got a little scared and tightened up. Maybe if you can just gently stroke me down there for a while, I'll loosen up. I still want to."
He held me and stroked me and kissed me over and over again and after a while I started to feel like I was going to float away. He put a finger in, then two. I concentrated on feeling how nice it was to hold him and have him hold me. I felt his fingers sliding back and forth, and then I realized they weren't fingers any more. It didn't hurt at all. I started to relax and feel him in me. I felt him sliding up and down on me and how our sweat made it easy to slide. I could feel his chest squeezing my breasts and his legs on my thighs and I was beyond turned on. It just felt so good. I started to come, and I kept on as he kept thrusting, just like in my dream. I couldn't help moaning. I couldn't really think, I was just feeling how good it felt. I finally realized he'd stopped, but I didn't want to move. I just wanted to lie there in the glow and feel him in me and on me.
"Did you like it?" he asked.
I started to laugh. "Is the Pope Catholic?" I managed to get out and then nodded. When I'd recovered, I asked, "did you?"
He nodded. I gently stroked his lips with my finger, then kissed him. We lay there for a long time, just stroking and caressing one another. Then he reached down to hold the condom as he pulled out. He went into the bathroom and covered the condom in toilet paper and buried it in the kitchen trash. We got on our bathing suits and went to the pool, but before we went out the door, I took him in my arms and held him tight for a while.
That night, as I was in bed, I thought of the nightmare I'd had where I was going to be sacrificed at West High. "They can't sacrifice me now, because I'm not a virgin any more!" I thought. And I did stop having dreams (nightmares, really) about West High.
While all this was going on, I was spending most of my evenings with Sylvia. One evening when I came home, Teresa told me Dennis had come by.
"He thought he'd find you here, but then we hung out and talked for a while. You don't mind, do you?"
"No, of course not. He's very nice and, well, you're like my sister. Did you like being with him?"
"Yes. It took a little while, but I think we hit it off." She looked at me like she was afraid I'd be mad.
"That's great."
So by the time Dennis and I were making love, he was also coming over to see Teresa several times a week. I thought it was too bad we couldn't all three get together sometimes.
Anyway, it was after that that Dennis and I made love. We made love the next time we were together, and then the next time. Each time, we didn't really know if it would happen. We'd cuddle and caress and fondle a bit, and then it would seem like making love was a great idea.
The end of summer school was coming. I was helping Sylvia get ready for her final exam, which was taking a lot of time, and I was getting ready for my own. Teresa and I hadn't seen all that much of each other, but I think she had a pretty good idea that Dennis and me were a lot more than just buddies. Whenever she'd mention his name, I'd sort of smile.
One night she asked: "are you and Dennis having sex?" I hadn't expected her to ask. Actually, I hadn't been thinking much about her at all. I said, yes. I wasn't going to lie.
"Is it good?" she asked.
"Yes," I smiled.
"I'm glad," she said. Then she got more serious. "Would you be upset if Dennis and I, well, made out?"
I thought for a minute or two. "No, not really. I mean, I don't own him, and besides, it's you, not some stranger. Just be gentle with him. I think he's a little afraid of girls. And I'm glad you told me. It's not something I'd want to be surprised with."
About a week later, when we were going to bed, she said, "I have to tell you something. Dennis and I made out a few times, and, well, we went a little further."
"You all made love?" I was startled. I didn't think Dennis would go all the way that quickly.
"Not exactly, but we went most of the way. I hadn't planned on it, but, well, we were both enjoying making out, and one thing led to another." I couldn't help giggling at the idea of Teresa just letting "one thing lead to another." She always seemed so in control. "You aren't mad at me, are you?" she asked.
"No, not mad, just surprised. He sounded like he wasn't sure he wanted to, uh, get physical with anyone. But I'm glad for you. I was afraid you'd be feeling left out. And it kind of gives us something in common now, doesn't it?"
That night, I dreamed Dennis had a heart attack while we were making love, and I was trying to save him, but I didn't know CPR.
The next time Dennis and I were walking from school, he stopped me at a bench.
"Melanie. I should have told you before this, but: your cousin and I made love a few days ago."
"You did? She told me you all didn't go all the way."
"Well, that's true. But we might as well have, as far as I'm concerned."
"Was it good? I mean, did you enjoy it?"
"I did, at the time. I mean, it was fun. But then I got to thinking, and I just don't think I can handle this any more. One girlfriend was hard enough, but two -- I can't wrap my mind around it."
"So you want to stop making love to me?"
"I need to back off for a while. From both of you. I don't think you should be coming over any more, and I shouldn't be going over to your place, either." It sounded like he'd rehearsed this in his mind.
"Will we still be friends, at least? Will I be able to talk to you? I mean, I'd be okay with you not making love to me and stuff like that if I could still talk to you. And listen to you talk. I need a friend a lot more than I need a boyfriend."
He looked really miserable. He finally said, "I don't think we can be friends right now, either." He looked like he wanted to say more, but then he just sort of stopped and sat there.
"But you'll still be seeing Teresa, won't you?"
"No, not her, either. I'm sorry." We sat there for a while, not saying anything. Then he added, "I know you need someone to walk you over to your psychiatrist's, I'll see if one of my friends will go with you." Even while breaking up with me, he still thinks about my needs. For some reason, that made me want to cry more than anything else. And I did. I didn't make any noise, but I noticed tears running off my nose and dripping onto my skirt.
I don't remember the rest of the day. I don't know how I got home. That evening, I came into the bedroom while Teresa was getting ready for bed. "Dennis talked to me today. He says he can't deal with two girlfriends. He doesn't want to see either of us now. He doesn't even want to be friends. I asked if he would keep seeing you, but he won't. I'm sorry."
"You aren't mad at me? It's kind of my fault that he broke up with you."
"How could I be mad at you? I owe you my life."
"You what? What kind of crap is that?"
"Well, you did save my life."
She looked aghast. "So all this time, when I thought you enjoyed being with me, like, sharing a room and all, you were just, I don't know, pretending to be happy with everything because you felt you owed me? Oh my God!" She looked like she was going to be sick.
"No, no, that's not true! That's not true at all, I swear! I mean, it hasn't been perfect, but it has been really great to live with you and to share a room with you and to hang out with you. That's the honest truth. I've never lied to you and I'm not lying now."
She looked skeptical.
"It's more like I trust you," I continued. "You've never done anything to hurt me. I mean, of course you like to make out with him and maybe you'd have even liked go all the way. But you didn't do it to hurt me. You didn't do it to make him stop being friends. That was his idea. And I think it's stupid. I think he's missing out, not wanting to be friends with you."
"I'm not sure I didn't do it to hurt you. I was a little jealous, seeing how well you got along with him. I'm not as perfect as you say. Sometimes I'm mean. I don't want to be perfect. I want to be able to be mad at you or mean and I want you to be able to be mad and unreasonable and we can fight and then make up and love each other again. Like normal people."
"Well, anyway, I'm not mad at you. I'm just sad that it didn't work out."
We sat in the bedroom together, not saying anything. I kept thinking of Dennis and the idea of him fucking Teresa and me both. "You know," I said, "it's too bad it didn't work out with him fucking both of us." I reveled in using the forbidden word. "I'm imagining us kind of training him, like Pavlov and his dog, so whenever we wanted somebody to fuck us, we'd just call and he'd rush over. And if we both wanted, he'd do both of us, however we wanted." I started to laugh. "We'd tell him what we wanted him to do, and he'd say, 'Yes, mistress, your wish is my command.'" I said the last bit in the deepest voice I could manage.
Teresa started getting into it. "Why would he have to come over? We could just tie him to the bed in here. We'd have to tie him up and keep him in the closet when we weren't here, in case Mom came in." We were both rolling on the floor laughing. It wasn't really funny, but we both wanted to laugh. I think Teresa was kind of upset at Dennis breaking up with me, too.
The next day was Friday. Dennis's friend Zeke walked me to Dr. Gordon's. He was the boy that danced with me at the Prom, and he still kept trying to act more mature than he was. I gave him a little kiss when he dropped me off, and he turned bright red. My little revenge, I guess. It felt really funny not to have Dennis walking with me.
I hadn't talked to Dr. Gordon before about our love-making, and she scolded me a little when I told her about it. "You have to be open with me if I'm to help you." But she didn't stay mad long. I talked about how I'd felt with Dennis, and about Teresa and him and the breakup. By the end of the session, I was seeing that I hadn't treated Dennis like a person, either. I'd been only thinking about what I wanted out of him, not how he might feel about it. I tried to imagine how I would have felt if I'd had a girlfriend like me when I was a boy, but all I could think of was that I'd have been thrilled to death to be getting laid. I guess Dennis was different, or maybe I would have felt differently if it actually happened. But I couldn't ignore how he was kind of reluctant the whole time. And how broken up he seemed to be about breaking up with me. I guess I didn't understand him at all. Maybe I wasn't grown up enough for sex after all. Dennis kept worrying that when he was a doctor, he wouldn't know enough not to kill someone. Well, I didn't know enough not to kind of kill him. I felt like something you'd scrape off your shoe. She tried to tell me that everyone makes mistakes and even hurts people sometimes, but I still felt bad.
I kept expecting to feel really awful about losing Dennis, but it hadn't happened yet. I just felt kind of like a zombie. I went to Sylvia's on Saturday and Doris was there, so I talked to her about it. She gave me her number and told me I should have called her earlier, but I should still call if I needed someone to talk to. "We experienced girls have to stick together." Anyway, she kind of clucked sympathetically, but said, all things come to an end, and this was, after all, my first.
My aunt noticed how down I was, and asked me about it. "Dennis doesn't want to be friends with me any more." No way I was going to mention sex.
She put her arm around me and stroked my shoulder. "Yes, I know it's tough. You feel really close to someone, and then they turn their back on you." I was getting the funny feeling my aunt knew more than she was letting on. "I know it doesn't make you feel any better, but the only cure for a broken heart is time. And not being surrounded with reminders. Soon we'll be at the cabin in the woods, maybe you can get some heart-ease there." Being a social worker, she must have comforted people who'd had much worse things happen to them.
The next week was finals. I spend Monday afternoon at Sylvia's. Tuesday, when I would have gone to Dennis's, I told Zeke I didn't need him. I took the bus downtown and sat on a bench in City Square. I bought a coke and sipped it while I watched the pigeons and felt miserable. I expected someone to creep on me, but no one did. I took the bus to Dr. Gordon's and cried a lot.
I spent a lot of time with Sylvia, prepping her for the exam. It kept my mind off of Dennis, which was good. On Friday, we had finals. After class, Sylvia said she thought she passed. I walked over to her place and we went skinny-dipping and I tried to feel naughty, but I didn't feel too much. I ended up telling Sylvia that Dennis had dumped me, but I had deserved it, because I was too clingy. I think she must have been reading romance novels, because she started talking about how "faithless, fickle" boys were. After a while, she got me to start saying it. We took sticks and made little pretend ex-boyfriends and started throwing pebbles at those "faithless, fickle boys." But then I got on the bus to Dr. Gordon's and felt the yawning hole in my heart.
My aunt and uncle rented a cabin for two weeks each year up in the woods, on a small lake, and they took me with them this year. We packed up and left the day after the finals.
The cabin was a little one-story house with a kitchen, living and dining room, and two bedrooms. Teresa and I shared the room with two twin beds. The cabin came with a canoe and a dock. There was a kind of village on the opposite side of the lake, with a general store and a pizza place and such. So if any of us wanted to get some pizza or shop or just hang out, we'd paddle over in the canoe. There were other cabins like ours, but there were trees between us so we didn't see them.
Teresa kept me busy during the day. She insisted that her mom shouldn't have to cook because it was vacation, so Teresa and I would trade off cooking and washing up. The cabin came with some bamboo fishing poles, so we'd go dig up worms and fish off the dock. Some days we caught nothing, but other days we'd catch enough for dinner for everyone. Or we'd swim in the lake, or canoe over to town and hang out and buy ice cream cones at the general store.
But in the evening, I'd feel a big hole inside me. I'd lie in bed and keep remembering how it felt to have Dennis inside me or fondling my breasts and it would hit me that I'd probably never do any of that with him again, and my body would ache with wanting him. Other times, I would remember listening to him and him listening to my ravings about feeling like a freak and talking me out of it. I'd realize I'd probably never get to talk to him or listen to him like that again, and it would feel like a punch in the stomach. I'd start crying and feeling like I lost the only friend I ever had. I thought I'd never stop crying and hurting. Sometimes Teresa would come over and lie next to me and put her arm around me. It didn't make it hurt less, but it made me feel less lonely.
There were other kids of all ages who'd come into the village. We met two boys, Ned and Robert, who lived in some of the cabins on the other lake, the one on the other side of the village. They lived in the city where the state university is, which is maybe 200 miles from us. Anyway, we were sitting on a cinderblock wall outside the general store eating ice cream cones and talking and, after a while, the boys and Teresa started kind of flirting, just as something to do. I just slumped down and concentrated on my ice cream. Robert was nearest me, and he said to me, "hey, what's with the frown? It's a nice day, you've got ice cream and two boys who'd love to give you some male attention."
"No thanks," I said. "I don't need any 'male attention.'" I went back to making sure that every drop of ice cream went into my mouth and not onto the ground.
"What's with her?" he asked Teresa.
"Her boyfriend broke up with her just before we came up here."
"He was not my 'boyfriend'," I complained. "He was just a friend."
"You could have fooled us. You guys walked together, talked together, you were over at his place practically every day, if he wasn't over at ours. And --" I glared at her, daring her to say what she knew. "Well, you sure acted like boyfriend and girlfriend. Whatever he was, he stopped being it two weeks ago."
"Just give me some space, will ya?" I grumbled.
The breakup was a good excuse not to flirt back, but another reason was that I was a little weirded out by the idea of me flirting with a boy. I wasn't any good flirting with girls back when I was a boy, and besides, I still felt funny about acting like I was attracted to boys or with boys being attracted to me. I guess I was still thinking like a boy. The thing with Dennis had been different. There wasn't any of that romantic stuff. We were just friends who trusted each other and, well, liked giving each other pleasure.
Ned was speaking to me. "What?" I said.
"I was saying, we have a boat over on our lake and would you like to go out for a cruise? Your cousin wants to come, but she won't come without you. You can come with or without frown." I couldn't help smiling at that "with or without frown" business.
"Okay," I said. I'd finished my ice cream, anyway.
Their boat was basically like a large rowboat with an outboard motor. We all got lifejackets on and Ned started us up while Robert cast off. This lake was a lot bigger than ours, and there were lots of boats on it: little one-person sailboats, canoes, kayaks, other motorboats, even a windsurfer. He drove us around and pointed out the cabins and boathouses. They'd been coming for years and knew a lot of people.
There was a strong breeze on my face, so I shut my eyes and just felt the sun on my back and the wind blowing my hair around. Robert was sitting next to me and put his arm around my shoulder. I wasn't sure at first if I liked it or not, but then I decided I did. It was sort of comforting. My sun dress was sweaty and my legs were bare, so what with the wind, I was getting chilly, so I sort of snuggled up against him. It didn't feel gay, just friendly.
After that, we hung out together pretty much every day. Sometimes they'd come over and swim in our lake, or we'd swim at the beach on their lake. I didn't talk about all the stuff that had gone on since last September, so I didn't say much about myself. They boys seemed to accept that I didn't flirt or act all girly around them. One time we were all sitting on the dock and Teresa was sitting in on Ned's lap kind of snuggling and kissing, and Robert asked if I'd like to sit on his lap. "You don't have to kiss or anything if you don't want to." So I sat across his lap and he held me and stroked my back. Sometimes he'd kiss my cheek or my forehead. I didn't mind. It felt good and kind of restful.
"You don't mind me kissing you, do you?" he asked.
"No, it's okay. What you're doing is nice. I like it. Especially since I don't have to do anything. I've had a tough year, and it's nice to sit next to someone and feel good and not have to do anything. Or think about anything."
"What happened?"
"It's more like, what didn't? Anyway, I don't want to think about it. The best part of vacation is not being reminded of it." I was getting upset just remembering that there was a past year. "Can you just hold me and talk about your life and stroke all the bad stuff away?"
So he held me against his chest and stroked my head and back and arm and told me about his friends and being in the school band and the drama club and going to see rock bands when they performed at the university. I dozed off, lying in his arms and listening to the sound of his voice.
A little while later, Teresa shook me awake. "Time to go home and make dinner." I realized I was lying down on the dock and Robert was lying next to me and his jacket was laid on top of me.
"You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you," he said. We said goodbye, and Teresa and I paddled home.
The next day was the last day before we had to go home. We swam across the lake and met the boys at the village dock, and we all swam back to our cabin and had lunch. It turned out Uncle Boris knew Ned's parents from the university, but he hadn't met Ned. In the afternoon, we lay on the grass near the lake and enjoyed the sun. Robert and I lay next to each other and after a while we held each other and started stroking each other's sides and kissing in a lazy way, like it was just something happening to us. It felt good and was relaxing, having his body pressed up against mine and him stroking my back and my head and playing with my hair. I thought, I wish I could just stay like this forever.
Chapters 35--52
Melanie makes peace with being a girl (who was a boy, but isn't any more.)
When we got back, we still had a week before school started. I thought I'd gotten over Dennis while we were on vacation, but now that I was back, I missed him as much as before, though I wasn't crying myself to sleep any more. I remembered that Doris had said I should call her, so I did, and she told me to come on over.
When I got to her place, she was in the back yard wearing a bikini and lying on a towel sunning herself while reading a book. I was wearing the miniskirt and a halter top and feeling very exposed even though I was a lot more covered than she was. When she saw me, she sat up and got me to sit next to her.
"So what's up?" she asked.
"I'm still hung up on Dennis. I know it's stupid, but I feel like I'll never be happy again. And I'll be seeing him around every day when school starts. I'd talk it over with Dr. Gordon, but she's still on vacation."
"Did you talk to her before you left?"
"Yeah, but it didn't help much. I kind of felt like it was my fault he broke up with me."
"Why?"
"I'd been pushing him harder than he was comfortable with. I thought he was okay with what we were doing, but then he wasn't."
"What did you do exactly? Pester him until he finally did what you wanted?"
"I don't think so, at least, I didn't keep asking him. We started out just hugging and kissing, mostly hugging. Then he wanted to touch my breast and that was fine, but then I asked him to, you know, down there."
"Finger-fucking?"
"I guess. Anyway, he wasn't sure, but then the next time he said he wanted to. Then after a while I wanted him to, you know, fuck me. Make love, I called it. He thought about it, and then the next time, he said yes. We did it a couple of times, and then he said he didn't want to see me any more."
"So you asked him to do things, and each time, he thought about it and then said yes. I don't see how that's 'pushing' him. I mean, if he really wasn't comfortable with it, why did he say yes? How are you supposed to know that he doesn't want to if he says yes the first time you ask? You're not a mind reader!" She sounded indignant.
She went on. "I don't think you did anything wrong, and I don't think it's right that Dr. Gordon got you to think you did. It's the same old story: whatever happens, it's the woman's fault. It's your fault for asking. It's your fault for not understanding him better than he understands himself. That is just so sexist!"
I noticed the book she'd been reading: "Yes Means Yes." I guess that's what Doris was telling me: Dennis's "yes" meant "yes."
She continued, "I mean, you can't do anything about him breaking up with you. If he doesn't want to be with you any more, he should. But it doesn't make it your fault. Sometimes it's nobody's fault."
I sat on the ground with my arms around my knees. "I still miss him, though. I miss the sex, but I also miss him as a friend."
"He was really good?"
"Yeah. He listened to me raving about not knowing if I'm a boy or a girl and got me to feel better about it. I felt like I could talk to him about anything. He wants to be a doctor and I admired him so much because I think he will really try to help people. And when we were hugging and, well, you know, he was so gentle and considerate. I knew he'd never hurt me." I started to cry. It seemed like ever since I got turned into a girl, I was crying a lot more.
Doris had her arm around my shoulders and was stroking my cheek. After I stopped crying, she said, "I know it's tough, losing a friend. But if you want someone to listen to you 'raving' about, well, anything, I'd be willing to."
"You wouldn't think I was a freak?"
"Hell, no. You're you. Like I said at the prom, whether you're a boy or a girl or whatever, you're nice and you're fun to be with. Besides, I've never been a boy, and I'd love to hear from someone who knows what it's like to be a boy and a girl."
"I'm not sure I know what it's like to be a girl, I just know what it's like to be me."
"That's interesting enough." She found another towel and put it next to hers and got me to lie down next to her. My skirt rode up, so I pulled it down again. She started stroking my cheek again and said in a low, gentle voice, "so tell me, what did people call you when you were a boy?"
"Martin. My parents still do, when I call them or visit them. But I don't visit them much, they still have a hard time with me being a girl."
"Do you mind when people call you Martin? Would you like it if I sometimes called you Martin?"
"I don't know. When someone calls me Martin, it reminds me of my past, and sometimes it hurts, because I feel like it's a piece of me that I've lost forever. And sometimes it's nice, because I don't want to forget where I came from. It's like I'm one of those immigrants long ago who came here knowing they'd never see their homeland or their family or friends again."
She got me to talking about my life before the motorcycle accident. I hadn't really thought about it since my metamorphosis. I talked about hanging out with friends, about being with my brothers, even stuff like my underwear and shaving. It's funny, but when I told it to her, my life as a boy sounded kind of boring. She even got me to talk about jerking off. She said she'd seen boys do it and she'd done it to boys, but she didn't know what it felt like. I said it wasn't as intense as when I did it as a girl, but I didn't know whether that was because girls were different or because the sex-change treatment kind of overdid it. I had to admit, though, if they did overdo it, I wasn't going to complain.
Talking to Doris got me thinking: the doctors had said that if I really didn't like being a girl, in a few years I get an old-fashioned sex-change operation, but I wouldn't really be like a boy: I wouldn't be able to have normal sex or father a child. Sex as a girl wasn't bad, maybe better than as a boy. I already couldn't have a child, I wasn't sure I wanted to give up sex, too. Maybe I would rather spend the rest of my life as a girl. Lots of people lived their whole lives as girls and they seemed happy enough, maybe I'd be happy with it, too.
She talked about her life, too. She didn't have any brothers or sisters. She always seemed to know what she wanted to do and insisted on doing it, even if other people didn't understand. Her parents didn't really understand her, but they realized they couldn't change her and they seemed kind of proud of her. She was interested in all kinds of social justice things, not just feminism. She thought she might want to be an activist someday. She'd had run-ins with the school, though they seemed to respect her, too, because they never threatened to kick her out.
One time I told her, "you always seem so sure of yourself and full of energy. I'm always unsure of myself and never seem to know anything. I wonder why you want to be around me."
"Don't put yourself down. You've had an interesting life. Yeah, I know, it's been tough, but it's interesting to hear about. And you're real. Not fakey. And I like that you aren't full of energy. It's restful being around you. Besides, I really appreciate what you've done for Sylvia."
I went over to her place a couple of times that week. Teresa teased me about it. "You know she's a lesbian, right? Better watch out, she might seduce you!" she laughed.
"Would that be so bad?" I said.
"No, not really. It might be fun. You'll have to tell me what it was like if you all do do it; I've never done it with a girl."
I didn't mention to her that each time I left Doris's place, she would give me a kiss on the mouth. Nothing passionate, just a gentle kiss.
One time it was raining when I went over and we hung out in her room. She was getting me to tell about what it was like the last few months at West High.
"What finally got you to leave?"
"I didn't know I could leave. But I got suspended over -- over an -- incident. A really horrible one. And then I, uh, tried to kill myself. And then my aunt and uncle let me live with them and they got me into Gabriel."
"If you don't mind telling, why did you--"
"Try to kill myself? Things had gotten so bad, especially with that, uh, incident, that I thought dying would be better than going back. And I was sure they'd make me go back."
"What kind of incident?"
I couldn't speak for a few minutes. "A couple of guys -- the football stars and their friends -- they dragged me into a classroom." I started to shake just from thinking about it, but I couldn't stop talking. "They pulled my clothes off -- I mean, partway. And then Tom, Tom Prescott, he put his hand on--" I started to cry and my voice got shaky. "On my b-breast, and he said --- he said, 'it's got tits like a girl.'"
"'It'"?
"Yeah, all month they called me 'it'. Not 'you' or even 'he' or 'she'."
"That's awful!" she said and just held me and waited.
"Then he said, 'let's see if it's got a -- a cunt -- like a girl' and pulled down my underpants and put his hands all over. Then he pulled his pants down and --" I was wailing by this time. "And that's when the teacher came in and they said I'd pulled my clothes off myself and the principal believed them and not me." I was bawling like a little kid.
Then Doris's father knocked on the door and came in. "What's the matter? Why is she crying?" He looked really upset and concerned.
"Melanie was telling me about a really horrible incident at her old school."
"Is that true, Melanie?" he asked me.
I nodded. "I'm sorry to bother you," I added. "I didn't mean to make so much noise, but it was really awful. I hope I'm not getting Doris in trouble."
"Maybe I shouldn't have asked," Doris said.
"No, it's good. I can't talk about it to most people, it's too horrible. I've only ever told the whole story to my shrink. But I feel safe with you." I put my head on her shoulder. I was still sobbing a little. "I'm okay," I told her father, "but I appreciate that you -- you were concerned."
He looked a little dubious, but he left us. I put my face on Doris's shoulder and quietly sobbed and cried for a while, while she held me and patted my back. Then she got me to lie down on her bed and she stroked my back and my head and pretty much everything. After I was pretty relaxed, she got on top of me and massaged me all the way from my shoulders down to my feet.
"I don't think I can move," I said when she was done. "My muscles don't want to do anything."
"You don't have to. At dinner time I'll bring up some food and spoon feed you." I couldn't help laughing, which kind of hurt, because my stomach was sore from crying.
I did stay, though, and her parents gave me dinner, but at the dinner table. I explained that I'd been at West High and things were really awful for me for months, and that's why I'd transferred to Gabriel. I didn't tell them the details or that I'd tried to kill myself.
School was starting next week, so Aunt Edith took me on yet another shopping trip. She said I'd filled out and needed new bras, plus my tights were wearing out, plus she thought I needed some dressier skirts and blouses. So we went to the bra store and Teresa got me to get some racier bras as well as plain ones. Well, they seemed racy to me: mostly they were just lacy and one was sort of see-through, and one was black. Then we went to the mall and they got me more tights and underwear and a frilly white blouse and a long black wool skirt and another plain skirt and dress, since I still couldn't wear pants. I spent the rest of the weekend hanging out with Teresa and her friends.
When school started, I felt like an old lag. I knew where everything was, at least once I got my schedule, and I knew what to do everywhere. The first day, I ate lunch with Sylvia and her friends, so I could congratulate her on passing algebra. I saw Dennis there, too. Actually, he was in my English class again. He saw me, but he acted like he didn't know me. I didn't want to make a scene the first day back, but it bugged me. I mean, even Zeke said hi.
Finally, on Friday, I said something. I went over to Dennis's table. Everyone turned to look at me, and Dennis was looking nervous. Good, I thought. I looked straight at Dennis, like no one else was there, and I said, "Dennis, you don't have to be friends with me if you don't want. But at least admit I exist. At least look at me and say hi when I walk by. That's just respect." Then I walked back to Teresa's table and ate my lunch. Later, Dennis walked over and said he was sorry and we shook hands.
Homework, of course, started up the first day, so Teresa and I were pretty busy every evening, but Doris asked me to come down to the coffee house Saturday night with her and her friends and then spend the night at her place. "Sort of a pyjama party," she said, except that it would be just us two. We could go to her church the next day if I didn't want to rush home to go to ours.
So I packed a bag and a sleeping bag and took the bus down to the coffee house. I decided to dress nice, so I put on the navy skirt and a white blouse and some white knee socks. When I got there, I saw that the other girls had decided to dress up, too. Sort of. Everyone was from a different century. Judy was dressed like someone from the 1940's, Sylvia was wearing a dress from a Jane Austen movie, and Doris looked like someone from a Renaissance festival, with a long skirt and peasant blouse and lace-up bodice that showed off her breasts, only we were supposed to call it her "bosom." Her hair was by now over her shoulders and she tied it back with a thong. I was still thinking of her as a butch lesbian, but she sure didn't look like it now. More like a "wench." I told her that and she thought it was hysterical. The boys wore their usual bo-o-oring torn jeans and heavy metal T-shirts.
Sylvia, Doris, Judy, and I ended up squeezing together onto one of the ratty couches and got Jeff to bring us drinks. Nick and Jeff and us played musical couch for the rest of the evening, except that whoever didn't find a spot just kind of sprawled on top of the others. Nick insisted that we each sing a song, so Doris sang R-E-S-P-E-C-T, and Sylvia sang Material Girl, and I don't remember what Judy sang. I was last and didn't really want to get up in front of everybody, but they all insisted, so I sang Yesterday, except that I said "he" instead of "she" everywhere.
Around closing time, Sylvia's dad picked us up and dropped me and Doris off at her place. We got ready for bed. I was wearing the nightgown Teresa gave me, and Doris was wearing a long T-shirt. I started to unroll my sleeping bag, but Doris said it would be more comfortable on her bed, and there was room because it was a double bed. So I joined her. I'd hadn't shared a bed in I don't know how long and I didn't know how I was supposed to act.
"Do you mind if we snuggle?" she said. I was okay with it, so we hugged and held each other and she covered my face with little kisses. I wasn't surprised. I'd been kind of expecting something like this, since I knew she liked me and I knew she was a lesbian. But she was so nice to me and I felt so safe with her and I knew she wouldn't make me do anything I didn't want to. After a while, we were getting sleepy, so I turned over and she cuddled up to my back and put her hand on my breast. I put my hand on hers and then lifted it to my mouth and kissed it. Then I put it back on my breast and fell asleep.
Some time in the night, I got up to pee, and when I came back, Doris was awake. I lay down next to her and we started hugging and kissing and then stroking each other all over. She put her hand on my breast and started kind of playing with it. I put my hand on hers, too, but after a while, what she was doing started to turn me on and I couldn't think of anything but what she was doing to me. I was on my back and she was on her side and every now and then I would lift my head and kiss her because she seemed so wonderful. "I think I'm in love with you," I said. I don't know why, it seemed like it was just what I wanted to say.
She smiled and leaned over and kissed me. Then she moved her hand down under my nightgown and asked, "do you mind if I...?"
I whispered, "you don't have to ask. I'm sure I'll love whatever you do." It sounds a little stupid to say it now, but I was pretty far gone. She got a funny grin and gave me a long kiss on the mouth and then kind of sucked and kissed one of my nipples, which turned me on even more. She lifted my nightgown until she could reach my crotch and put her knee over one of my legs. She had one arm under my head and was kissing me on the face, over and over, while she gently stroked my crotch. I was really turned on, so I don't remember too many details, just her stroking me harder and harder, but never too much, and feeling her body pressed against mine and her kisses on my face, and then I was coming and trying not to be too loud and wake her parents. When it was over and I could notice anything, I noticed that Doris was on top of me, hugging me and kissing me and holding her legs on either side of mine. I stroked her back and noticed that her nightshirt had come up to her waist, so her butt was bare. I couldn't help giggling and rubbing her butt, it was just so cute, feeling her bare butt sticking out. I got this feeling that she was the most wonderful person in the whole world, so I gave her a big, tight hug and said, "I love you so much," and I nuzzled her cheek.
Then I asked her, "do you mind if I, you know, try to make you feel good? You did such a good job of making me feel good."
"I think the word you're looking for is 'masturbate,'" she replied.
"I dunno. That word sounds too scientific for what we've been doing. Like something that belongs in a chem lab or something. You know, 'mix the reagents in a beaker and masturbate for two and a half minutes.'"
Doris lost it completely.
She had to cover her mouth so she wouldn't wake up the whole house with her laughing. When she'd recovered enough to say anything, she said, "I almost peed myself! 'Masturbate for two and a--'." She fell over laughing again. Every time it looked like she'd gotten a grip, she'd say it again and crack up again. She finally gasped out, "where do you come up with these things?"
"I'm sorry, it was just what came into my head."
"Don't be sorry, there was nothing wrong with it, exactly. But it did sort of blow the mood."
"I'm sorry I blew the mood. You did such nice things to me, and now I won't be able to do it for you."
"That's okay, I wasn't ready for that, anyway. It takes me a while in a relationship before I can relax enough to let someone else make love to me." She looked at me carefully. "You don't mind me calling it 'making love'?"
"No, no, it's a beautiful word. Can I at least cuddle you and kiss you?"
She slid closer to me, and I put my arms around her and tried kissing her gently, the way she'd done to me. After a while, her eyes closed and her breathing slowed, so I figured she was asleep. I soon fell asleep, too.
In the morning, after breakfast, we went to Doris's church. It was a lot more laid back than Teresa's, and I think they were more liberal, too, because I saw what I thought were some gay and some lesbian couples. They had chairs instead of pews, and nobody dressed up. I was the most dressed up person there with my navy skirt and white blouse. The minister had nice pants and a short-sleeved shirt, and they had a guitar instead of an organ or piano. At the end, we all held hands in a circle and gave the people around us a hug and sometimes a kiss on the cheek.
It was time for youth group to start up. I was looking forward to hanging out with Amy. But when she arrived, it turned out she'd brought a friend.
"Melanie, this is my friend Eric. Eric, this is Melanie."
"Hi, Eric."
He grinned at me and said, "hi, Mel."
I forced myself to be polite. "Uh, my name is Melanie."
"But I like Mel better."
This got my back up. "Well, I don't. Please call me Melanie."
I got ready to walk off, when Amy said, "hey, chill out. What's the big deal with what he calls you?"
"That he can't be bothered to call me by my name. If it's really no big deal, why doesn't he just call me Melanie." Eric was still grinning as I walked off.
I hoped if I ignored him, he'd find somebody else to pester. I went off to the people putting together the pizza order to lobby for my favorite toppings. A few minutes later, I hear, "hey, Mel!" behind me. I ignore it and kept talking about toppings. A few minutes later, I see his head stuck right in front of my face.
"Hey, why didn't you answer?"
"I heard you calling for someone named 'Mel', so I figured you were talking to someone else."
"Come on, I'm just trying to be friendly."
"Well, you're not succeeding. Go be 'friendly' with someone else. Like they say, don't go away mad, just go away." He was getting on my nerves.
I wandered over to one of the couches to hang out with some Greenwooders and wait for the opening circle. I sat down and a second later, Eric plunked himself down next to me and put his arm around my shoulders. I hissed, "get your hands off of me!" and then grabbed his arm and pulled it out from behind me. I couldn't stand being that close to him, so I got up and walked away, and tried to figure out where I was going to go.
About then, it was time for opening circle. I made a point of sitting as far away from Eric as possible, which meant being way away from Amy and even from Teresa.
We did our usual check-in. Amy introduced Eric. When it was my turn, I couldn't think of anything to say, so I just gave my name and passed. Reverend Jen introduced the topic: what our real values are. We talked about it for a few minutes and then broke up into small groups. As I was heading to my group (which Eric was not in, I was glad to see), Eric came up and tried to talk to me.
"Mel, why can't you be friendlier?"
"Why can't you stop being a jerk? Just leave me alone, okay?" We went off to our groups. I was having trouble even remembering what we were talking about. Damn him! I thought.
The discussions in our group were interesting enough that I forgot about Eric, so when we went to go back into the big circle, it came as a shock when he came up behind me and grabbed my arm.
"Let go of me!" I screamed and tried to pull away. He held on. With my free hand I punched him in the stomach as hard as I could, which wasn't very since only my left arm was free and I wasn't at a good angle. But it was enough to make him let go. I was thinking, OMG, what did I just do? What is going on with me? We stood for a few seconds staring at each other. He looked surprised, and I was freaking out. He reached his hand out again, and I took off, screaming, "get away from me!" I ran down the hall to the bathrooms. This floor of the church had one-person bathrooms, so I ran inside one, locked the door and put my back against it, since I was sure he'd try to break in. I heard some loud voices. I slid down the door and ended up sitting on the floor with my back against the door. There was no window and nothing to look at but the side of the toilet and the toilet paper roll in the background. Somebody knocked on the door and said, "Melanie!" It didn't sound like Eric, but I still didn't answer, and they went away.
By now, I wasn't freaking out so much about Eric as about how I was freaking out. I don't think I'd ever really punched anyone until this summer, and now I'd done it twice. God, I'm a nut case. I'm a violent criminal. I can't be allowed to run around loose. I wasn't exactly crying, but I felt something wet dripping down my cheek.
About then, the light went out. It seems there was a motion detector switch, and you had to move around or it would think no one was there. I waved my hand and the light went back on.
Another knock at the door. "Melanie? It's Teresa. The pizza is here. Do you want any?"
"No, I'm not hungry. Hey, can you get me when it's time to go? Like, when our ride is here?"
"Okay," she said and went away.
After a while, I just stopped thinking. I felt like a robot someone had put in the closet and turned off. Every now and then, the light would go out, and I'd wave my hand to turn it back on. I was just blank.
Teresa knocked on the door. "My Dad is here." I dragged myself to my feet and opened the door. As we were walking out the door, Reverend Jen came up to me. "Can we find a time to talk this week? I'd really like to talk with you about what happened."
I shrugged a 'whatever.' "I'm pretty busy with schoolwork all week."
"Then ask your parents to call me."
I was like a zombie the whole way home, but when we got inside, I went over to my uncle and he put his arms around me and I started bawling. He got me over to the couch and my aunt came in. I put my face on his chest and cried and shook for the longest time. When I'd cried myself out, I leaned back in the sofa. My aunt brought a big handkerchief for me to dry my face with. Teresa said, "do you want to eat something?" She explained, "she didn't have anything to eat." I nodded, and my aunt went into the kitchen.
"Do you want to tell me what happened?" my uncle asked.
I nodded, but it took a few minutes for me to be able to talk, and I still kept having to stop. "This new kid. Eric. He started by calling me 'Mel' and refused to call me Melanie. Then he kept bugging me even when I asked him to stop. He kept trying to put his arm around me and asking me why I wasn't 'friendly.' I couldn't get him to leave me alone! Then he grabbed me and wouldn't let go and I freaked out and punched him and then ran off and hid in the bathroom until you came.
"It was so weird. I never hit people. Wait, there was that time this summer, at the ice cream shop. A guy tried to kiss me without asking. A big guy. I punched him hard, and then had a flashback. To the rape. Well, the attempted rape. I didn't have a flashback this time, though. I just feel like I can't go back to youth group."
My aunt was standing in the doorway listening.
Teresa said, "the youth pastor asked Melanie to call her, or at least for you all to call her." Then she said to me, "after you hid in the bathroom, we had a long discussion. You weren't there to tell your side, but we pieced it together from what people saw, and I think we had a good idea, anyway. It took a while, but I think Eric finally got it, and when he did, he looked pretty shook up. I didn't tell them your whole story, but I did tell them you'd had some pretty awful experiences at your old school. We're on your side, Melanie."
I started crying again. My aunt brought in a tray with some tea and some leftover fried chicken. I was still sobbing a little when I started eating. When I was done, I settled back on the couch. I noticed I was feeling better. Maybe I was just hungry.
"I don't know why I freaked out like that. I feel so stupid. It's not like he did anything really awful. He was just annoying."
My aunt spoke. "Melanie, he wasn't just being annoying. He was violating your boundaries. Every time you tried to set a limit, he ignored it, starting with your name. That's predator behavior. Not that I'm saying he is a predator, but it was threatening, and you had every reason to feel threatened."
"So I'm not crazy?"
"No, you've been through a traumatic experience. Your experiences at West High School taught you where that kind of behavior can lead, so you're more sensitive to it. Your reaction is not at all irrational."
I tried to laugh. "I'm lucky to be living with a social worker."
I felt like I'd been run through a wringer. I could hardly stand up. Teresa and my aunt helped me upstairs and got me dressed for bed. I suppose I could have managed by myself, but it was nice to have people take care of me.
The next day, school filled my mind and I didn't think about what I'd been through. But later in the week, my uncle told me that they'd talked to Reverend Jen and she wanted to come by that night after I'd finished studying. That night, I rushed through my studies. Reverend Jen came in and Teresa and I went down to the living room.
"I wanted to talk about what happened Sunday night. I'm really sorry I wasn't paying enough attention to notice what you were going through. It was my job to keep an eye on things, and I fell down there. I'm sorry."
It made me feel funny to hear a grown-up admit to a kid that she'd messed up. "It's okay. You did your best."
"Anyway, we had a long discussion about how we treat one another and especially about what Eric did. Eric had -- maybe still has -- some messed-up ideas about how to relate to girls. He thought he was supposed to take charge, and that girls are supposed to act like they don't like it even when they do. I think until you punched him and ran away, he honestly thought you were just playing hard to get." She shook her head, it looked like a shudder. "I think we need to spend the next few meetings talking about how we relate to one another, especially as men and women.
"But there's one thing we need to resolve before the next time. Melanie -- I don't know how to put this. Is there any way you can feel like coming if Eric is there? Or do we need to ask Eric not to come back? What would it take for you to feel safe again at our youth group?"
"Tell him not to come back? Oh my God, no. That would be so awful, seeing somebody kicked out, and knowing how awful that feels. I mean, everybody's a jerk sometimes. If he can just leave me alone and keep away from me, I think I would be okay with him being there."
She looked at me carefully, like she was trying to see something. Then she went on. "Would it help if he apologized?"
I thought briefly. "No, I don't want to talk to him at all. Just get him to not talk to me and avoid me. I'll avoid him, too. If he really changes, I'll know it sooner or later." I tried to imagine what it would be like. "It will be weird. But I think I need that, to feel safe."
I continued, "I really appreciate all you're doing for me. I don't feel like I deserve so much special attention."
"Melanie, you do deserve it. You're one of God's children, and you deserve love and respect and consideration as much as anyone. As one of God's servants, it's my job to see to it that you get it."
"Did you know our school has a class called 'respect'? Everyone spends an hour a day learning about and talking about how to show respect for one another."
"That sounds interesting. I'll ask you about it, since I might want to incorporate some of that in our program. But not tonight. I think you need to go to bed. And so do I."
We said our goodbyes, and then I went to bed.
Dr. Gordon was finally back from her vacation. I went in and talked about what Doris had said about Dennis. I was kind of mad at her for making me feel so guilty. She said she hadn't been trying to make me feel guilty and she didn't think I'd done anything wrong, either. It was just that I shouldn't be too surprised that sex was more than most kids my age could handle. I told her about Doris and how nice she was, but I didn't tell her about how Doris masturbated me. (I still don't like that word.)
She also said that things were going so well that I didn't need to come twice a week. From now on, I would just see her on Tuesdays. I wasn't sure I liked it, but I also seemed to be getting mad at her a lot, so maybe it was for the best.
That was the week that Teresa got her learner's permit. I talked to my aunt and uncle about me getting one, but they said they'd need to find out what was involved, my sex-change might make it complicated. We might have to get a lawyer and get all my official records changed to list me as 'female.' I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
I talked to Doris practically every day, though not for very long. We both had lots of schoolwork, plus she was starting to apply to colleges. She didn't think I could spend the night every weekend, because her parents or my aunt and uncle might think something was up. Maybe they would have been okay with it, but neither of us wanted to find out. Besides, she wanted some time with her other friends and she thought I should hang out with my other friends, too. She was a little like she was my mom, being so sensible. I did get her to agree to come over Sunday afternoon.
Teresa didn't ask me what I was doing with Doris, and I didn't tell her everything, but I'm sure she guessed. She'd say how nice it was that I had a new friend and give me a knowing smile. Meanwhile, almost every night I'd remember everything about my sleepover with Doris.
Doris came over a little after lunch on Sunday. Teresa and I were still dressed from church, and I noticed that Doris was also more dressed up than usual. Somehow she'd figured out that we'd all be dressed up and wanted to make a good impression. It's funny, but I was more nervous about Doris coming than I was about Dennis the first time. Anyway, she made polite conversation with my aunt and uncle when she got there, and then the three of us went upstairs to hang out in our room. We sat on the floor and talked. Doris spent more time talking to Teresa than me, and at first I was miffed -- wasn't she my friend? Then I figured out that she was trying to make a good impression on Teresa, just like she'd tried to make a good impression on Aunt Edith and Uncle Boris. Since I wasn't saying much, I had time to think, and I thought: she's really smart. This way, they'll want her over here and they'll be happy that I'm spending time with her. Especially since Teresa kind of knows what we're doing together, it's smart to get on her good side.
I noticed they'd started talking about political stuff like racism and feminism. I hadn't thought about what Teresa believed, it had just never come up, but it sounded like Teresa wasn't anywhere near as radical as Doris. I was afraid they'd start arguing, but whenever they got to a real disagreement, one of them would back off. I guess I'm not very smart, because I couldn't get all that interested in it. I lay down on my stomach sort of between them and listened to the sound of their voices and ignored the words. It was nice that way. Just listening to two people who really mattered to me. I was thinking of nothing in particular when I realized that someone was stroking my back. I made contented noises, and then I noticed that they were both kind of stroking me, sort of like how you pet a cat. It kind of blew me away, but I didn't want it to stop, either. I started making purring noises, and I heard someone laugh. Then Doris said, "I didn't know you had a pet cat," and Teresa said, "I didn't know, either." I kind of went, "mrow?" Doris started laughing and stopped petting me, so I got up on my hands and knees and rubbed my head against her, the way cats do. Then I rubbed my head against Teresa and said "mrow" again.
Uncle Boris shouted up the stairs that it was a nice day and we should take advantage of it, so we got our shoes on and went for a walk in the nature preserve. It was fun. There were places where it was wide enough for us all three to walk side by side, and then we'd hold hands. One time, we started singing "we're off to see the Wizard" and swinging our arms and laughing. So when the path got narrow, so we had to walk single file, we each held onto the person in front of us and started saying "lions! and tigers! and bears! Oh, my!" It's a good thing no one from the psych ward at the hospital saw us, or they'd have locked us up for sure.
When we got back, my aunt and uncle invited Doris to dinner. Doris was kind of careful at first, but Teresa and I just kept looking at each other and smiling and cracking up, and I mouthed "lions" and "tigers" and I'd crack up before I could get to "bears." Aunt Edith and Uncle Boris looked at us like we were crazy and then looked at Doris.
Doris rolled her eyes. "When we were in the park, they got into singing 'we're off to see the Wizard,' and then the lions and tigers and bears thing --"
"You did it, too!" I interrupted.
"Quiet. I'm trying to act mature. I'm going off to college next year, so I've got to get in practice."
Teresa was facing her, so she started mouthing "lions" and so on until Doris couldn't keep a straight face. Meanwhile, my aunt and uncle were smiling and not looking like they thought we were crazy any more. Or at least, not crazy in a bad way. "It does my heart good to see you children having so much fun together," said my aunt. It looked like Doris's visit was a success.
I'd gotten to the point that I wanted to spend every minute of every day with Doris. Teresa said I was "smitten" with her. But Doris didn't want to. She said she liked me a lot, and did want to spend time together, but she needed her own life and thought I needed one, too. It was like Chinese water torture.
Meanwhile, I'd gone back to doing math tutoring and singing in the chorus. Sylvia still needed help, but she mostly needed me to help her calm down when she got anxious. She could do the work when she wasn't anxious. I got to know some of the other girls better, now that Sylvia wasn't taking all of my time. There were even a few boys that came over for help now. One or two of them I didn't think really needed my help. I wondered if they were doing it just so they could spend time with me. It took me a while to think that, and when I did, it blew me away. I'd never been popular before, and I couldn't imagine why people would want to be with me so much they'd pretend to be dumb.
I got paddled again. Just like before, I was having trouble remembering not to use curse words. But this time I wasn't so scared or shocked. It was just like, oh fudge, here we go again. It still hurt and I was still upset about it. I talked it over with Doris that evening.
"I don't blame you for being upset," she said. "It is pretty obnoxious. I usually get paddled several times a year, and I never really get used to it. But I tell myself, at least you know the score. Being paddled helps me remember that there's a power structure here, and they can do what they want with us and we can't stop them, and if we want to have any say about what happens to us, we're going to have to be smart and organized and figure out how to game the system."
I wasn't sure it made me feel any better, but at least she was willing to listen. She's going to make a good activist someday, I thought.
The next weekend, the youth group was having a camping trip. We all brought sleeping bags and spare clothes and the church supplied tents and food. We left Saturday morning and got dropped off at the trailhead which was a few miles from the campsite. So we had to carry all the stuff to the campsite We complained the whole way, even though it wasn't really that bad. We set up our tents and then walked around looking for toads and salamanders until lunch time. I had to learn how to pee in the woods as a girl. I was still wearing skirts, so it was kind of neat to just wander off, lift the skirt a little and then just pee. For supper we roasted hot dogs on sticks and cooked potatos in the coals. And of course we roasted marshmallows for desert. Yes, Eric was there, too, but we acted like we didn't see each other, and it didn't bother me.
I was sharing a tent with two other girls who I didn't know very well. It turned out they had lots of friends, and they all decided to hang out in our tent. They started out talking about boys they had crushes on who I didn't know. Finally, one of them moaned, "sometimes I feel so horny I could just die!"
Everybody laughed sort of nervously, and then they got quiet. Another girl said, really quietly, "I know what you mean. We try to look pretty, but what is it for? Nobody talks about that. I mean, isn't it so some boy will want us and want to do, you know, stuff that makes us happy? Like kissing and holding and, well, you know. I used to think girls who got married right out of high school were crazy, but now I kind of get where they're coming from. Not that I'm planning to, myself."
I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I couldn't help asking, "there are boys, you know. Couldn't they, uh, help you out?"
I heard people making disgusted noises. "Have you tried talking to them? They're nice enough if you keep telling them that you don't want to be their girlfriend -- and if the pastor is watching. But if a girl lets one of them sleep with her, or even lets him get to second base, it's all over town the next day, what a 'slut' she is. Or they think they own you." Someone else said, "they're like Eric was to you, only in a different way. I wish we could 're-educate' them all."
It was dark and we hadn't bothered with flashlights. It was getting cold, too, but nobody wanted to leave, because it was warmer in the tent with all the people. I had alread gotten into my sleeping bag because the skirt and socks weren't all that warm. Somebody fetched some more eleeping bags, and we decided to double up in the bags and kind of pile together to stay warm. I ended up sharing my bag with a girl I didn't know who was feeling pretty cold by then. I was afraid it would be weird, but it was just cozy. Especially the part where I was warming her up. I wondered what the boys were doing. The boys' tents were on the other side of the fire, so we couldn't hear. I'll bet they weren't snuggling up together to stay warm, though.
Doris finally agreed to have me stay over the next Saturday. Teresa and I went over to Sylvia's, and the usual gang was there. We talked about what we were planning to do after we graduated. I was trying to act like we were just friends hanging out, but finally I leaned over to Doris and asked her if I could put my arm around her or something. I thought everyone would be too busy talking to notice, but just when I started talking, everyone was between sentences and they all heard.
"Hey, Dor, I see you have a new admirer," said Sylvia. I felt horribly embarrassed and tried to slink away, but Doris put her arm around me and pulled me over to her and said something like, "only the best!" I buried my face in her side.
Sylvia said, "Melanie, we're not making fun of you. We think it's great that you and Doris are together. We just like giving Doris a hard time."
Teresa added, "you can come out now." So I unburied my head and tried to act normal. And everyone seemed to be trying to be extra nice to me.
I didn't say much after that. Mostly, I was just enjoying watching and listening and feeling Doris's body next to mine and her arm around my shoulder. Teresa got in a long conversation with Jeff. It looked like they were hitting it off. It made me happy because I thought Teresa was a little sad that she hadn't had a boyfriend yet. I don't think Dennis really counted.
Sylvia's parents ordered us pizza and then took us to see a movie. Afterwards, we all went home, except me, I went to Doris's.
It still wasn't bedtime when we got there. Her family has this thing where before they go to bed, they sit in the living room and each have a little glass of wine and maybe say something about the day or maybe just relax. They had the windows open so you could hear the crickets and the birds and the wind in the leaves. I said I'd never drunk wine, so they gave me some sparkling cider instead. Even though it didn't have any alcohol, I felt sort of sleepy, maybe because the lights were low. They got me to talk about West High and switching to Gabriel. I wasn't going to tell them about having been a boy, but it kind of came up anyway, because it was hard to tell the story without it. Her mother said she'd heard something about it on the news. "Was that you?" She asked. They sounded very sympathetic.
Doris and I went up to her room and went to bed. We kind of lay next to each other, looking at each other and kind of feeling each other.
"Doris?" I said.
"What?"
"Am I too, you know, clingy?" I felt embarrassed to say it.
"What do you mean, 'too clingy'?"
"I'm afraid I'll make you not like me because I'm always wanting to be with you." And to make love to you, I thought. But I wasn't going to say it. "Your friends were making fun of you because I wanted to snuggle with you while they were there. DPDA."
"It's fine. It's kind of cute, actually. I kind of like it. It's nice to feel wanted. By the way, what you were doing wasn't 'DPDA,' you weren't, like feeling me up, or even kissing me while everyone was around. I've had guys do that. No, you were just right."
She leaned over and gave me a kiss. "Do you mind if I call you Martin?" she whispered.
"No, but--why?"
"I don't know. Maybe the idea that you used to be a boy. And maybe still have some boy in you. It makes you interesting." She was saying this in a sort of flirtatious way. Maybe turned on. She kissed me again, a long kiss, and started caressing my breast.
"Do you feel like having me do nice things to you this time?" I said. "You know, mas-tur-bate." I still had trouble saying the word.
She started laughing, but not as bad as last time. Then she said, "you're so cute" and grabbed my nose between her knuckles. Then she put her arms around me and hugged me and rolled me back and forth, saying "Martin. Melanie. Melanie-Martin." When she was done, we were lying side by side on our backs. Then she got sort of serious. "Sure. I'd love to have you 'do nice things' to me."
I turned to her and started kissing her face and shoulder. She slipped off her nightshirt and let me play with her breast. She had to show me how to do it so it felt good for her, because it was a little different from what I liked. After a while, she took my hand and put it down on her lower belly and had me tickle her for a while. I was giving her little kisses the whole time. She had to show me when and how to stroke her labia and her clitoris. I felt kind of stupid. When she was about to come, she had me hold her very tight with my arms and hold one of her legs with mine as she thrashed and strained, but it was all very controlled and quiet. When she came, she got real stiff and sort of whimpered. Afterwards, she lay there and breathed hard. When she'd caught her breath she pulled me to her and kissed my head and shoulders all over.
When she'd settled down, I said, "I'm sorry I wasn't very good at it. I guess I'm not really like a real girl yet, since you have to show me everything."
"No, 'real girls' don't always know what other girls like exactly without being shown. There's always some awkwardness the first few times. You're doing fine."
"But you did so well on me the first time."
"I've had more practice. Also -- now don't take it the wrong way -- but you're a lot simpler than a lot of girls. I do a few motions and bang! you're hot to trot."
"Well, the doctor did say 'an approximation of female sexuality,'" I said, sort of embarrassed. "I guess they figured, Keep It Simple, See."
"Don't put yourself down. You're just right." Then sort of dreamily, she chanted, "Melanie-Martin, Martin-Melanie,...." She kept chanting it as she put her arms around me and started kissing me. When she was done 'doing nice things' to me, we snuggled. Doris went right to sleep, but I lay awake a while thinking. The sex was fun and hit the spot, but it was the snuggling and lying next to Doris and feeling her body that really felt good. It was like there was a hunger or a need that I didn't know I had, but suddenly it was filled. I wondered if I might have felt the same way with Dennis, if we'd ever had the chance to spend the night together.
The next weekend, I visited my family. I stayed in my old room and my parents called me "Martin," but I continued to dress as a girl and mostly act like a girl. Biff was away at school, but Pete was around, and he called me Melanie. It was surreal.
We mostly hung around the house or ran errands. I didn't try to contact anyone I'd known before because, well -- what would I say? Besides, there were a lot of people I didn't want to remind of my existence. I wasn't sure they wouldn't follow me to the east side if they knew.
Anyway, we ended up going out for pizza Saturday night. We were sitting at the table waiting for our pizza to be done when I saw Ursula walk in. I'd had a crush on Ursula back in ninth grade, or as much a of a crush as I could have with things as they were, me being a "loser" and she being an "ugly." I never went anywhere with it, because the only thing I knew about boy-girl stuff was how my brothers talked about taking girls out and seeing how far they could go with them. I couldn't see treating Ursula that way. Or any girl. So when I saw her, I couldn't help calling out to her.
"Ursula!" I said. She gave me a puzzled look, like, who are you?
"Ursula, it's me, Martin. Remember?" I added. She walked over to us with a really confused look on her face.
"Who?" She shook her head, still confused.
"Martin Rawlings. From West High. Ninth grade. And part of tenth. You know, the vampire at your Hallowe'en party? Who pretended to bite your neck? The guy who got the involuntary sex-change?"
"Martin ?! Is that you? I can't hardly believe it. They said you'd killed yourself, that's why you weren't around any more. And you look so different. You really look like a girl now, nothing like the old Martin."
"Well, I'm not dead. But I'm going to a different school now, and I figured I might as well live as a girl, since living as a boy wasn't working out."
"Do they still call you Martin?"
"I'm called Melanie now. But I'm okay with Martin, from people who knew me back then. How are you doing? Surviving West High?"
She suddenly looked miserable. "They haven't killed me. Yet."
"Do you want to join us?" I looked at my mom and dad, a little late, but they seemed to like the idea.
She glanced nervously around the room. Her face twitched. "I don't think I'd better." She kept looking around.
"Do you want to talk sometime? Give me your number? Or I'll give you mine." I pulled a pencil out of my purse and jotted my cell number on a napkin and pushed it into her hand. She looked at it, then suddenly tore off a piece, took my pencil and wrote a number down and gave it to me. Then she sidled off.
"God, she looked afraid to be seen with us," I muttered. "It's like we're Jews in Nazi Germany or something." Nobody else said anything. Our pizza came and we went back to talking about Pete and Biff and the neighbors.
On Sunday, I talked to my parents about me going to church, but they decided it would be too complicated trying to explain who I was. Some of the people there knew about my metamorphosis, but I hadn't been around long enough then for them to get used to me as a girl. So they went and I stayed home. Surreal.
At dinner, at my aunt and uncle's, I told them about how Ursula had acted. "I'm worried about her. She didn't used to be so afraid. It looked like she was afraid of someone seeing her. I was wondering if I could invite her here sometime. Maybe she'd feel safer about talking to me. And Aunt Edith -- I hope this isn't asking to do work in your free time -- you might have a take on what's going on."
I called Ursula that night and invited her over for next Sunday afternoon. She sounded real depressed, but after I talked to her a while and told her about my situation, she agreed. She'd take the bus over -- I told her how -- and Uncle Boris would drive her home.
Teresa and I met her at the bus stop. She did a double-take seeing Teresa, so I introduced them. "Ursula, this is my cousin Teresa. She's real nice. She was my friend last year when nobody else would be."
Teresa simply said, "any friend of Melanie's -- Martin's -- is a friend of mine," and opened her arms for a hug. Ursula stood there for a moment, looking anxious, then let Teresa hug her.
As we walked back, I got a better look at Ursula. Her eyes had always looked sunken, but it used to be because of make-up. Now it wasn't. She used to look defiant, now she looked defeated. Her black nail polish was chipped and worn, like she'd put it on a week ago and hadn't done anything since. She was wearing black sweats instead of a black blouse and skirt.
At lunch, she was very quiet. She didn't join in any conversations, and gave one- or two-word answers to questions. After lunch, we went up to the guest room. Teresa poked her head in and said she'd be in our bedroom if anybody needed anything. Instead of sitting on the couch-bed, Ursula sat on the floor in a corner where she could see the door and put her arms around her knees.
"So, how's it going?" I started off.
"Martin -- Melanie -- can we talk about something less depressing? Why don't you tell me about what's been up with you since you left West High?"
I glossed over my suicide attempt and told her about moving to my aunt and uncle's to get away from the harassment. I told her in great detail what it was like being at Gabriel.
"God, it sounds like you died and went to heaven," she said when I was done. "What it's like at West High? Same old, same old, I guess. No, that's not true. It's gotten worse. All we want to do now, we 'uglies' and your 'loser' friends, is to get out. Evelyne has been taking lots of summer courses and hopes to graduate early. Even if they don't let her, she plans to apply to college for next year, anyway. Toshi -- well, she tried to kill herself right before school started, and her parents sent her to a Catholic school, and they won't let her see or talk to any of her old friends. Seth and Kurt and some of the other 'losers' have started smoking weed each morning and lunch time just to get through the day."
"How about you?" I asked.
She started to tear up. "You don't have to say if you don't want to," I said.
"No, I need to tell someone. But you've got to promise not to tell anyone."
I wasn't sure if I should, but she looked so miserable, I couldn't say no. "I promise."
"Okay." She didn't say anything for a while. Then she started talking, like she was talking to herself. "Did you know Kevin? On the basketball team? Last spring, he started coming on to me. He kept asking me out and wouldn't take no for an answer. I was able to avoid him in the summer, but this fall, he started up again, only real polite and considerate. One day, he offered me a ride home, and stupid me, I accepted. He drove me out into the country and told me how hot he thought I was and how he couldn't help coming on to me and how if I had any decency, I'd 'help him' with it. I kept asking him to take me home, but he ignored me. I realized I wasn't going to get home until I agreed to go all the way with him. I thought of getting out and running away, but we were miles away from anywhere and anybody and he could outrun me easily. So I finally gave in.
"It was awful. It hurt, but worst of all, I felt like I was a thing. Like a -- a dirty kotex. He wouldn't even use a condom. He took me home and I sat on the toilet for an hour and then took a shower for like an hour -- well, you know. I was scared I would get pregnant, too.
"After that, I didn't care. It was like it was happening to someone else. He'd take me off in his truck and fuck me and then bring me home or to school or wherever. I'd just go, whatever. I'm amazed I never got pregnant. But then he stopped and went back to calling me ugly. And people started saying I was a slut. An ugly slut. He must have told people, or maybe they saw.
"And I can't talk to any of my friends. We don't talk. We don't do stuff together any more. There's no solidarity. Just staying alive takes everything we've got. I don't know what the others are going through. I don't know what Toshi went through, to try to kill herself like that, but it must have been bad.
"So now I just go to school and back and spend the rest of my time in my room. I can't get interested in school work, I'm flunking courses and I don't care. I'd probably spend every day stoned like Seth and Kurt, except that I don't want to get to school any earlier than I have to, and besides, my parents would have a cow if they smelled it on me. When you saw me, it was like the first time in weeks I'd been out. I was afraid the whole time somebody from school would be there and start picking on me, that's why I ran off."
She stopped talking and sat there, looking lost and miserable. It really hurt to see her like that. Finally I said, "would it help if I put my arm around you? I mean, I know you know me as a boy, and it might remind you of, well...."
"It's okay," she said, and I could see tears in her eyes and on her cheek. "I know you'd never be like Kevin, even if you were still a boy." I slid over to her and put my arm around her shoulder. She buried her face in my chest and sobbed silently for the longest time.
Teresa peeked in the door, then tiptoed over to the desk and got something out of the drawer. Ursula looked up, tried to smile at her, but then buried her face again.
"Would you like Teresa to stay?" I asked. She shrugged. Teresa sat down on the other side of her. I looked at Teresa and just said, "West High." She nodded.
When she'd stopped sobbing and was just sitting there rubbing her thumb idly over her knee, Teresa suggested, "would you like some hot chocolate? My dad likes to make some about now."
Ursula half laughed and said, "sure, why not?"
When Teresa went out, I said to Ursula, "you know, you could talk to my aunt and uncle. My aunt's a social worker, so she's probably heard stuff like that and might have some ideas. And she'd have to keep it confidential if you asked. My uncle's pretty smart. If nothing else, they'd give you a sympathetic ear."
While we were drinking our hot chocolate in the living room, Ursula saw some paper and a pencil on the coffee table and started doodling. I didn't pay any attention, Ursula had always doodled, but after a while, Teresa noticed and said, "hey, that's pretty good."
"Naw, it's just some doodling."
"I wish I could draw half as good as your 'doodles'."
Now I looked over, and I had to admit, it was pretty good. A picture of a tree with fairies on the branches and wolves stalking around in the grass. My aunt and uncle took a look. My aunt gave my uncle a look I couldn't figure out. I said, "you know, I have a friend, Sylvia, who likes to draw. I should introduce you to her. Maybe if you come back again...."
I looked around, suddenly wondering if it was okay to invite her without checking with them, but my uncle said, "sure, we'd love to see you again."
My life was getting really complicated. What with school, romancing Doris, and trying to do something for Ursula, not to mention finding ways for Teresa and Jeff to have time together, and seeing our friends, well, it's like I had to have an appointment book to keep track of what was when.
One time, Doris came over for a sleep-over. At first, we thought she'd sleep in the guest room, but she said, no, she was happy to sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor. Then I couldn't bear to see her all alone on the floor, so I got out my sleeping bag and we snuggled on the floor. We didn't go any further, what with Teresa being there. Sometime in the night, Teresa got in with us, too, so I had Doris on one side and Teresa on the other. In a way, it was too much of a good thing, but it also felt really, really nice to have two people really liking me. Like having them next to me and snuggling made me feel liked in a way that just hanging out and talking didn't. It felt so nice and natural but different from anything, for a while, I thought I was dreaming it. Then, after I was sure it was real, I thought about Teresa wanting to be next to us. I thought: maybe Teresa is as hungry for snuggles as I sometimes am.
I was talking to Aunt Edith about what I could do for Ursula. She looked so miserable and beaten down, I wanted to cry. I wished there was a way to get her out of West High, but I didn't think her parents could afford private school, and I didn't think my Aunt and Uncle would want to take in another kid. All I could think of was to offer her a place where people would be nice to her and she wouldn't have to be afraid all the time. So I talked to my friends and we found Saturdays and Sundays when we thought she could come over and hang out with us. I called her up and asked her.
Ursula had bad news. "Martin -- I mean, Melanie -- my parents say I can't go hanging out. My teachers say I'm flunking everything. I have to stay home and study until I get my grades up. But when I try, I just feel like, what's the use? I can't even look at my homework."
I thought for a minute. "You know, I could help you with your homework. I'm tutoring people in math at Gabriel. Maybe some of my friends would help you, too. Do you think you'd have an easier time if you had people there encouraging you?"
She perked up a little. "I don't know. I could ask my parents, though."
"Gabriel School seems to have a reputation for being super-nerdy, maybe they'd believe that we'd spend an afternoon hanging out doing schoolwork. I mean, it would be true, we won't lie about it. But it's always easier when you're not alone. I don't think I'd have done as well if it weren't for Teresa doing her homework at the same time."
She said she'd talk to her parents. They might want to talk to my aunt and uncle, though. So I told Teresa and her parents. Teresa rolled her eyes and said, "what are you getting me into now?" But she said she was down with helping Ursula study. She'd seen how awful Ursula looked.
I'd told Doris and Sylvia and their friends about Ursula and they were sympathetic. When I told them about the homework situation, they were less happy, but said they'd try to spare some time. Sylvia spoke for everyone when she said, "It's not like we don't already spend most of our waking hours just on our own schoolwork."
The next evening, Ursula's parents called up and talked to my aunt and uncle. It seems her parents weren't mean, but they were really worried and didn't know what to do. I think hearing from my aunt and uncle that we were the kind of kids to actually focus on schoolwork and not screw around and that they'd keep an eye on things made them willing to give it a try.
So Ursula came over the next Saturday with a bunch of books and a list of assignments to work on. I helped her with math, Teresa helped her with English and writing. Ursula turned out to not need much help. She knew how to do the stuff, she just needed to not be so depressed before she could do it. A lot of the time she was just working by herself while we did our own thing and sometimes brought her hot chocolate and snacks. I actually saw here smile once or twice. By dinner time, she'd gotten them all done. She looked really depressed at the idea of having to go home. I'd hoped to spend the evening with Doris, but I thought Ursula deserved some fun time, since she'd worked so hard. We got the okay from her parents and Teresa and Ursula and I went over to the church basement to hang out with Sylvia and Doris and them. I got Ursula to do some drawings for Sylvia, and Sylvia did some, and they got along great. And I got some time with Doris. Ursula's parents picked her up around 10:00 and dropped me and Doris at Doris's and Teresa at home. So it all worked out.
Ursula's parents were impressed that she'd gotten everything done, so they were happy to have her come over again. She came over for a Sunday afternoon, and Sylvia dropped by. Ursula rushed through her work so she could do drawings with Sylvia. The third time she came, I noticed she'd gotten her Goth look together. She said she'd gotten "dressed up" just to come over. She'd dyed her hair red and green and put fresh nail polish on. Doris came by that time. Sylvia had her over one time for studying and a sleepover. But she still looked miserable when it was time for her to go home.
On the lighter side, Teresa's friends had been after me to go to school wearing Teresa's petticoat, but in a friendly way. After they promised they would have my back if I had any trouble, I wore it to school. I felt really conspicuous, the way my skirt stuck out, and I was sure everyone was looking at it, but nobody said anything, not even the teachers. Well, some of my friends said stuff at lunch, but they were all saying how cute it looked. I think some of the boys were sneaking peeks, but they didn't say anything. It took some getting used to sitting down and getting up, though, because I had to arrange the skirt and petticoat so it wouldn't show. I tried to make it look like I'd been doing it all my life and I was doing it without thinking. In the afternoon I realized I'd need to undress for gym and then everyone would see it, but by now I was feeling braver. I hadn't gotten into trouble yet. So I just took it off like I did anything else and put it in my locker, and after gym I put it on and acted like it was normal. Two of the girls did come over and say they thought it was pretty, but they weren't sure they'd have the courage to do it themselves. All in all, it was pretty positive. In fact, when I got home, I didn't want to take it off.
The church basement coffee house had a Hallowe'en party the Saturday before Hallowe'en. Ursula came dressed as Morticia, from the Addams Family. She even had some really wilted roses with lots of thorns; she said the guy at the flower shop had just given them to her 'cause he couldn't sell them. Teresa's friends scrounged up a short light blue peasant dress and a bonnet and had me go as Little Bo Peep. They insisted on putting make-up on me, including ridiculously rosy cheeks. It was my first time wearing make-up and while it did look cool, I didn't like the feel of it on my skin. They talked Carol into dressing up as one of my sheep. Teresa decided to be the Snow Queen. Jeff and Nick came as zombies. I told them it wasn't much of a stretch. Ellen was a mermaid, with a green sequined hobble skirt that looked sort of like a tail and a skimpy green sequined bra. Doris came as Abe Lincoln and Sylvia as a pirate. Even Dennis and his friends came: I guess he'd gotten over being so upset with me. Dennis came as Dracula and Zeke as a knight.
Yeah, Zeke. That night, Zeke spent a lot of time hanging around Doris and me. He really hammed up the knight stuff, saying a lot of thees and thous and fetching us drinks and stuff pretending he was slaying a dragon. As we were about to go home, he came over and awkwardly asked us if he could hang out with our crowd. Doris and Teresa said, "sure." On the way home, we talked about it.
"You know," said Doris, "I don't think I've ever asked somebody about hanging out, we just kind of did it. You know, you say, let's go to so-and-so's."
"Well, you asked me to hang out with you," I said.
"Well, you were a special case. You were too clueless to just show up, so we had to kind of give you a shove."
"Thanks -- I think," I said, sort of insulted, but not really.
"That's all right, we love just the way you are," said Doris. Teresa was sitting next to me, and she leaned over and gave me a hug, or as much of a hug as you can give someone when you're both belted into your seat. Then she started singing the song; you know, "I love you just the way you are."
I continued. "Anyway, maybe Zeke's the same. He seems to think he has to put on some kind of act for anyone to like him. Anyway, I think I'll make a point of letting him know when we're doing something."
"I guess that makes you his social secretary," said Teresa.
"More like his social worker," I said. "Or the clueless leading the clueless." Even more for my plate. Ursula, now Zeke. God! What's a loser from West High like me doing here, anyway?
I couldn't help thinking every now and then about how I was feeling so different about things now. A year ago, I would have thought wearing a dress was a fate worse than death, and as for looking pretty? Ugh. As for the sex change, it was like my life was over. But now I was dressing like a girl and (mostly) acting like a girl, and enjoying it. I even wanted to be pretty sometimes. I mean, some of it was a pain, like the harrassment, or having to be "ladylike" sometimes, but mostly it was fun. Maybe even better than being a boy.
It was a dark and stormy night.
I've always wanted to start a story with that line. I guess starting a chapter that way is sort of like that. Anyway, it was a dark and stormy night in early November, and I was once again having a "sleepover" at Doris's house. Doris had somehow gotten a vibrator, so after we went to bed and turned out the light, she got it out. We knew how you were supposed to use it, but it was more fun to pretend we didn't. We'd tried it on ears, necks, breasts, and we'd even held it in our mouths while it was running. The storm was so loud, we figured we didn't have to be all that quiet, and we were giggling and laughing like crazy. We'd thrown our nightgowns on the floor, and Doris was about to try it on my clitoris, when suddenly there was this huge crash over by her desk and a blast of cold, wet wind started coming in. Doris fumbled for the bedside lamp. When she turned it on, we saw a huge branch, as big around as my leg, sticking in the window and lying on her desk, and there were bits of glass and wood and leaves and papers everywhere. Including on her nightshirt and my nightgown, the pretty one Teresa had given me.
I was about to get off the bed and walk over there, but Doris yelled, "stay on the bed. Do you want to get glass in your feet and have to go to the emergency room? Let me get my slippers on, you stay here."
About then, the door burst open, and Doris's father turned on the light and looked in. Her mother was right behind. They looked at us and then at the tree branch. I was so embarrassed. There we were, stark naked on the bed. I was sure they'd throw me out, maybe both of us. I mean, not just sex, but lesbian sex!
Her father said, "you girls stay on the bed. Wait for us to clean up the glass. We don't want you getting splinters. Tabby, you wait here, I'll go fetch a broom and the vacuum."
As we sat their waiting, I thought about pulling the top sheet over me, but then thought I would just draw attention to myself. I guess Doris was embarrassed, too, because she said, "mom, it isn't what you think."
Her mother shook her head with a funny smile and gently said, "Dor, you don't have to lie to us. It's okay."
About then, I noticed the vibrator -- on the bed, in plain view. The jig is up, I thought. Doris sounded confused: "what do you mean?"
"I mean, if you and Melanie want to have sex together, or not to, or do something else, it's fine. I know you care about each other and wouldn't hurt anyone." She gave another one of those funny smiles. "You've always done what you thought best, and it's worked out pretty well. You're seventeen, so we thought you might start, well, experimenting. We'd glad that if you are, you're doing it where we know where you are and know you're safe --" she glanced at the hole where the window used to be "-- well, mostly safe -- and not in the back of a car or some other awful place."
"But -- why didn't you say something?" she gasped.
"We assumed you'd tell us when you were ready. We didn't want to invade your privacy."
I don't know where the conversation would have gone, but her father showed up with a broom with a rag on it, a brush and dustpan, a big trash can, and the vacuum cleaner. He must have had five hands to hold it all. He started pushing the glass and everything else on the floor away from the door and the bed, while her mom reached over and carefully picked up the bigger pieces of glass and wood. Once they'd cleaned and vacuumed a path to the dresser, her mom asked, "which drawer are your nightshirts in?"
"The bottom one. Oh, and please get a second one for Melanie. She looks chilly." I was shaking, but I think it was more because I was scared and blown away by the whole thing. After we both had gotten something on, I noticed that the vibrator was still on the bed. I saw her mom pull open the drawer in the bedside table and casually put the vibrator in, like it was perfectly normal for your teen-aged daughter to have a vibrator, but she should put it away when she's not using it.
"Come on downstairs, I'll make up the sofa for you. You can't sleep in here tonight. Melanie, we'll get the glass out of your nightgown tomorrow, I know you'll want to keep it."
By the time Doris and I had opened out the couch for a bed, her mom showed up with sheets and a whole pile of blankets and pillows. We made up the bed while her mom went into the kitchen and put something on the stove. "I'll make a nice pot of herb tea to settle you down," she said from the kitchen.
When we were done, we sat on the edge of the sofa bed. I was still shivering, but Doris looked stunned, like someone had hit her with a baseball bat. Her mom came over and took her in her arms and held her. I saw tears dripping from Doris's eye, but she didn't make a sound. Her mom must have seen how scared I was, because she said, "don't worry, Melanie, no one's going to do anything to you. You're fine. Come here," and she reached out to me and hugged me together with Doris. We stayed that way until the tea kettle started whistling.
Her dad came down about the time her mom brought out the tray with the teapot and the cups. "I got the worst of it cleaned up," he said, "and I pulled the desk away from the window so Doris's books and papers won't get ruined any more than they already are. I rescued Melanie's bag, too. I assume her clothes are inside. We'll work on it some more in the morning." We sat around the coffee table and drank our tea and didn't say anything.
Her mom said, "I think you two should get to bed." Her dad came over and gave each of us a hug. A man hug, but it was nice, all the same. Then her mom put her arms around Doris again and held her and stroked her back and head and murmered, "It's all right," over and over. Then her parents turned out the lights and went upstairs to bed.
I put my arms around Doris and pulled her into bed and tossed the covers over her. She was crying silently, but then started to sob. "What is it?" I asked.
"I don't know. It's like, I don't know, to think that all this time they've known what's been going on with me and all my boyfriends and girlfriends. It's like I've been walking around naked all this time and didn't even know it." She went back to crying on my chest while I held her.
We must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the sun was coming in the window and I could hear her mom bustling around in the kitchen. Doris was still asleep with her head on my chest.
Doris was in a better mood, especially after she'd eaten something. She and her dad worked on cutting the tree branch off that was sticking in the window and putting plastic sheeting over the window opening. I wanted to help, but they didn't want me messing up my nice clothes, which is all I had brought to wear. So her mom and I worked on getting glass splinters out of my nightgown, Doris's night shirt, and the other random clothes and rugs that had been on the floor and gotten broken glass rained on them.
Things were never the same between Doris and me after that. She didn't want to have me over for sleep-overs, because she couldn't stand knowing her parents knew what was happening.
"I don't understand," I said, talking to her on the phone one evening. "Isn't it great that they aren't getting all weird about you having sex? Lots of kids would die for parents who were cool about it." I kind of whispered, so nobody at our place could hear me.
"I don't know, it makes me feel like a little kid again. Having to have my parents' permission. And it's kind of weird thinking of them being mixed up in, well, what we were doing together. I mean, what are they going to do next, give me a dildo for Christmas?"
"You'd rather they were mad at you?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Does this mean you don't want to make love any more?"
"Look, Mel, it's not personal, okay? I like you a lot, and I want to, but -- I don't want to do it with anyone if my parents -- well, I know it sounds stupid, but I can't relax knowing that they're, you know."
"Will you at least keep being my friend?" I was suddenly afraid it would turn out like it did with Dennis.
"I'll always be your friend, Melanie. More than a friend. I've stayed more than a friend with all the girls I've, you know, been intimate with."
I couldn't help teasing her. "Have there been so many?" I sort of giggled, so she wouldn't think I was really putting her down.
"That's gross," she said. After a pause, she continued, "only three. A girl named Alice, who kind of introduced me to doing it with girls. She's in college now. There's you. And one other."
"Sylvia?" I guessed.
"How did you know?"
"I didn't, really. But you all seem to be more than just like, people who hang out together. Anyway, I won't tell anyone." I continued, "would you at least be willing to come over to our place sometimes? I think Teresa likes you, and she'd miss you if she didn't see you."
"I don't know. Not right now." She sounded really down.
After dinner the next day, I made a point of washing up in the kitchen with Aunt Edith, so it was just us two. I asked her, "you work with a lot of teenagers. If they're having sex, do their parents usually know about it?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I have a friend -- yeah, it really is a friend, not me -- and she was having sex with --" I tried to come up with something that would make it less obvious that it was me and Doris. "-- with her boyfriend regularly, and then she found out her parents had figured it out, and even though they were okay with it, she was really weirded out just because they knew. She thought parents never know unless they catch them."
She looked at me for a few minutes. I always had the feeling she knew more than she let on. "I think most parents don't want to know. But if they are willing to accept the idea, I think they can usually guess."
I went back to washing, and she went back to drying. "You know," she added, sounding like she was being very careful with what she said, "if you want to talk to me about any sexual relationships you might be having or thinking of having, my door is always open."
"You wouldn't get mad if Teresa or I told you we were thinking of having sex?"
"No, I wouldn't. I'm not going to encourage you, I think it's the kind of thing you need to decide for yourself. But if you need advice or help, or, for instance, birth control, or just a shoulder to cry on, I'm there for you. You and Teresa. Maybe you can let her know that."
That weekend, we were all over at Sylvia's, and Doris was really different. She didn't say much, and when I tried to snuggle up next to her, she didn't exactly push me away, but she didn't put her arm around me like she usually did.
"What's up, Doris?" I asked. "You aren't giving your opinion about stuff, or talking about feminism or capitalism or the environment or power or anything, like you usually do. You sound really depressed."
"I just feel like, who wants to hear the opinions of some stupid kid? I don't know anything, I just like to think I do."
We all started talking at once.
"What do you mean, 'stupid kid'?" said Sylvia. "You're really smart and you've read a lot of stuff. And you do know a lot of stuff."
"I don't. I just kid myself that I know anything, and I've fooled you all into believing it."
"That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard," said Sylvia.
"You know a lot more than I do," added Judy.
"Is this some kind of, 'I'm a girl, so I must be dumb' BS?" said Jeff. "Don't tell me you buy into that sexist crap." I'd never thought of Jeff as a feminist, so this was quite a surprise to me.
"Dor, what's going on?" said Teresa. "Why are you suddenly so down on yourself?"
She turned away from us. She looked like she was trying not to cry. Finally, she said, "I don't want to talk about it."
Suddenly she reminded me of some of the guys at West High who thought they were hot stuff. If something happened that punctured their image, they'd get morose and say stuff like, "I don't want to talk about it." Even some of the other "losers" would get like that.
"Let's leave her alone," I said. "I think we're just making her feel worse." We went back to talking about stuff like movies, or what we wanted for Christmas, or what we'd like to do for vacation, and of course griping about teachers. Sylvia told us about how the library was going to show some of her drawings. Jeff talked about the latest drama with his band, which was always on the edge of breaking up. I sat next to Doris and put my arm around her. I didn't want to bug her, but I didn't want her to feel all left alone, either.
We decided to go out for pizza, we figured Sylvia's parents had paid for our pizza too many times already. Everyone else was walking ahead of us, Doris and I were straggling behind. I stopped and look straight at Doris.
"I don't know if this will help, but I want to be honest. I think you're amazing, and someday you're going to do great things, and when I read about you or hear about you on TV, I'll be able to say to my friends, I knew her way back when. Even if you don't believe in yourself right now, we believe in you. I believe in you."
Doris got sort of a lopsided smile and said, "I guess I really do have an admirer. And, hey, you never know, maybe you won't be saying that because you'll be with me." We hugged each other and kissed.
I said, "I'm proud to be one of your admirers." Then, hand in hand, we double-timed it to catch up with the rest of them.
Things were going okay with Eric. Eric kept his side of the truce -- he didn't try to get near me, or talk to me, or even talk about me. I tried to act like I was ignoring him, but I kept catching myself trying to see what he was doing or hear what he was saying. I couldn't hear the words, but I could tell that he was getting along great some of the time, but sometimes I'd hear, "Eric, no!" or "That wasn't okay!" and there'd be some serious sounding conversation and he would look dejected for a while.
Teresa told me some of it. "Basically, he's a nice guy, but sometimes he comes out with some really sexist stuff or he does something that's not okay, and we have to yell at him and then explain things to him. It's like no one ever taught him how to act, or they taught him the wrong things. But he is getting better. Slowly."
"I wonder if we should try talking to each other again. You know, me admitting he exists, and vice versa. On a trial basis. I mean, we can't pretend each other doesn't exist forever." Teresa agreed, so I called Reverend Jen and we worked it out for the next youth group night.
I thought Eric would come over as soon as I got there, but he just stayed with other people. Finally, I went over and said, "hi."
"The pastor told me we didn't have to avoid each other, but I thought you hated me so much, you wouldn't want to have anything to do with me."
"I never hated you. I hated how you were treating me. If you can, like, not touch me without asking first, and give me space when I ask, and, yeah, call me by my name, I'll be okay with you. And I'd rather not have to avoid you. It was getting really weird."
We didn't say anything for a little bit. Eric was looking down at the floor. Then he said, still looking down, "I'm sorry about how I treated you that first night. I think I understand how it felt to you. I just didn't think. And it was weird. I don't know why I acted like that. I don't usually act like that with anybody. I think I was nervous or something. I was a real jerk."
"Forgiven," I said. I hated seeing him so down on himself. "Why don't we try talking like normal people? You know, talk about school, or what we do for fun, or rag on our least favorite teachers. Or argue about pizza toppings. You know, 'anchovie lovers unite! You have nothing to lose but your pepperoni!'" That got a little smile out of him.
Over the next couple of youth groups, we talked a lot. Part of it was that he was new, but part of it was that except for the four of us, everyone went to Greenwood. It's not that they were exactly unfriendly, but they had all that school stuff in common and got tired of having to explain stuff that everybody except us knew all about. So a lot of the time we ended up together.
I talked about Gabriel School, which he thought was fascinating, it was so different from anything he'd ever seen in school. He talked about Hollingsworth, which seemed like a nicer version of West High. I found out that he had an old truck which he repaired himself. He'd even rebuilt the engine by himself. He lived with just his mom, his parents had gotten divorced when he was around five and his father didn't go to much trouble to see him. His mom did her best, but she worked long hours to support them, and she was trying to find a boyfriend who might be a half-decent stepdad for Eric, which took up a lot of whatever free time she had. He worked after school every day to bring in some more money. It sounded like a tough life.
Once we ran out of school and home stuff to talk about, we'd talk about how we saw things, or how people relate. I would talk to him about stuff we'd learned in Respect class, and it would always blow him away. For instance, all he knew about relating to girls was acting macho and trying to impress them.
"Isn't it a drag to have to pretend to be something you aren't all the time?" I asked. "And what good is it if they like what you pretend to be, but you don't know if they like who you really are?"
"Yeah, when you put it that way, it sounds stupid, but what else is there? I mean, if you like a girl, what do you do? I just hang around them and try to act cool, but they don't seem to get the message."
"You could try just telling them you're interested."
"You mean, just say it?"
"Yeah, you could say, Suzy so-and-so, I like you. If she acts like it's okay, you could go on to suggest some things to do together."
"You mean, like, 'Melanie, I like you'?"
"That's it." Typical Eric, to use my name.
"Melanie, I like you," he repeated.
"Yeah, that's pretty good."
"Melanie." He looked me in the eye. "I like you. I mean it." I just stared at him. It didn't compute at first.
"Aw, jeez, I guess I did it wrong again."
"No, ..." I felt really tongue-tied. "No, you did it just right. It's just that -- I don't know, I don't know what. I feel so confused."
He looked dejected again. "I shouldn't have said it."
"No, if that's how you feel, you should say it. It's a really nice thing to say. It's just that, well, I need some time to figure out how I feel about it. It's sort of unexpected."
We had opening circle, but I was too distracted to say anything. Then we had the topic, and I was busy thinking about that. But then we broke up into small groups. Eric was in my group and we ended up sitting next to each other. I kept remembering how he put his arm around me that first time, and I felt like I really wanted him to do it now. I don't know why, I just did. It was all I could think of. When we were done, I got up my courage.
"Eric, I don't know how you feel about it, but I was just thinking -- well, I'd like it if you put your arm around me."
"I thought it really bothered you if I touched you."
"Only if you do it without asking. That's all I wanted, for you to respect how I feel." When we got back into the circle, Eric sat down in front of a couch and I sat next to him and he put his arm around my shoulders. It felt so nice. I leaned my head on his shoulder and it felt even nicer. He leaned his head on top of mine. I whispered into his ear, "Eric: I think I like you, too." Reverend Jen and some of the kids on the opposite side of the circle were looking at us, and Reverend Jen kind of smiled but didn't say anything. I think word got around by mental telepathy or something, because other people would turn around and secretly look at us. Eric had a few things to say about the topic, but I didn't. I think I was distracted. Actually, I don't remember what the topic was. It didn't make much of an impression, I guess. At least, not compared with snuggling with Eric.
When pizza came, Eric and I sat at the same table. Teresa joined us, and then Amy.
"You know we're going to tease you unmercifully," said Teresa.
"I don't know about teasing, but I think you all looked so cute together," said Amy. "Eric and Melanie in love. We could make a movie about it."
"We're only in like," I insisted. Then I looked at Eric and he looked kind of hurt, so I added, "So far, anyway."
"Keep us posted," said Teresa. "Weekly progress reports."
Eric and I found a spot on a couch and he put his arm around me again and I leaned on him again, too. He started playing with my hair. Amy came over and sat next to me and leaned onto me, so I put my arm around her. Then one of the Greenwood boys came over and tried to lie on our laps. I don't know who else would have tried to pile on or how, but Reverend Jen picked that moment to call us together.
When it was time to go, Eric kind of awkwardly said, "are we 'in like' enough that we can trade phone numbers? And maybe ask you out sometime?"
"Sure," I said. But he still looked nervous even after we'd put the numbers in our phones.
"Would you get upset if I happened to ask if I could, uh, kiss you?"
I couldn't resist teasing him. "Why? Is that something you might just happen to say?" But then he looked so sad, I couldn't keep it up. "Yes, I'd love it if you kissed me. If you'll give me a hug, too. But -- well, I'm not a very good kisser."
He didn't say anything, he just put his arms around me and looked me in the eye, real close. He was a few inches taller than me, and I suddenly thought, I'd probably be his same size if I hadn't gotten that treatment. Maybe like him in other ways, too.
He gently kissed me on the mouth, pulled back, then did it again. Then I squeezed him to me. Teresa came by to tell me her dad was here to pick us up, so I said goodbye to Eric.
In the car, Teresa said to me, "you are definitely smitten with him. I see he's got your number."
"My phone number. He wants to get together again. A date, I guess. I don't know when I'm going to squeeze it in, though."
I was busy with schoolwork that week, so I sort of forgot about Eric, but not really. So when he called me Wednesday night, it was a surprise, but it's not like I wasn't kind of hoping for it, too.
"Do you want to see a movie tomorrow night?"
"Thanks for asking, but weeknights I have to study. It'd have to be a weekend."
"You study every weeknight?"
"That's a Gabriel School thing, I guess. They don't want idle hands, or something."
"How about Saturday?"
"I already agreed to go out with a bunch of my friends. I might be able to manage Friday night, though. I could do my Friday night homework on Saturday morning. What movie?"
"I could manage Friday night, I'm not working then. I was thinking of 'District 99.' It's a sci-fi movie about a future where the rich control everything and keep everybody practically like slaves, and this guy who's trying to start a revolution."
"Sounds violent and depressing. I'm not sure I'm up for that. Is there anything playing that's a little more, uh, upbeat?"
We went through the movie listings and settled on one called 'Who?,' about two guys who aren't related but look exactly alike and end up in the same vacation town and everyone mixes them up.
On Friday, Eric came by to pick me up right after dinner. My aunt and uncle invited him in and kind of looked him over. They were friendly and welcoming, but they made sure they had his address and phone numbers and my uncle kind of surreptitiously got a look at Eric's truck. Once we were on our way, Eric asked, "are you parents always that suspicious of guys?"
"My aunt and uncle, not my parents. I think they're a little protective of me because I've had some bad experiences with high-school kids. This is the first time I've gone out with someone who wasn't from Gabriel School. And they don't know much about you. Well, actually, they do know about how you and I, let's say, didn't exactly get off on the best foot when we first met."
"I guess I'll have to be on my best behavior, then."
"What other kind of behavior were you thinking of being on?"
"Jeez, can't I do anything right?"
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't tease. Hey, this is the truck you fixed up, right? What kind of stuff did you have to do to it?" A nice safe topic. It turned out it was also one he could talk about for hours. I breathed a sigh of relief. But I was going to have to watch my smart-ass comments in the future.
The movie was better than I expected. I ended up laughing so hard I almost choked on some popcorn and Eric had to pound my back so I could breathe again. After the movie, we went to my local ice cream shop. I had hot chocolate and strawberry ice cream, and Eric had a coffee float.
"You know," I said, "I think this is the first real date I've ever been on."
"You've never been on a date before?"
"Oh, I've gone out with friends and hung out and seen movies and stuff, but this is the first time somebody's, like, asked me out and planned an evening together. You're my first." I kind batted my eyes at him. But then I suddenly felt a little weird. It was so girly and cutsy-dumb. I mean, I wanted to act like a girl and live like one, but this was getting kind of over the top. Was I going to turn into one of those girls I could never stand to be around?
Eric didn't seem bothered by it, though. He just said, "put it there!" and we high-fived.
Eric brought me back around 11:00. My aunt and uncle were still up and invited Eric in for coffee and cakes, but he said he had to get home, since he was working in the morning. He gave me a hug and a kiss on the porch, and then he left.
Doris called me up and asked if I was going to the Trangender Day of Remembrance service.
"Transgender what?"
She put on her most patient, explaining-to-idiots voice. "Transgender. Day. Of. Remembrance. It's a ceremony to commemorate the TG people who have been killed in the past year just for being TG. They're having one in town next Tuesday night. You should come."
"What's that got to do with you or me?"
"Uh, didn't you 'trans' from boy to girl about a year ago? I think that means you count as 'trans'gender. And I'm going because I know someone who is 'trans'-gender. You."
When she put it that way, I did sound pretty stupid. "Okay, I'll rush through my homework to get ready."
When Teresa heard about it, she wanted to go, too, and then her parents thought they'd go. So we had transportation.
The ceremony, or whatever it was, was in a Unitarian church. Someone had gotten the idea to put up posterboards, sort of like what you have at a science fair, for some of the people. Each one was for a different person. They had pictures, newspaper clippings or print-outs of on-line stories about the person who was killed, and sometimes things people had written or drawn. One had a hair ribbon that the victim used to wear. I noticed that a few were from around here. One was a 22-year-old TG prostitute who had been found downtown beaten and strangled with her bra. There was a police report on her board saying they never found the killer. They only knew her street name, so they couldn't look for next of kin. The writings on her poster were from other prostitutes. I wondered if she had a family. I wondered if they'd have admitted they were related to her. There was another for a trans man in the capital. I didn't know there even were women who got themselves turned into men. She was shot by some coworkers when they found out.
The ceremony was pretty simple. They'd read off a name, tell a little bit about him or her, and someone would light a little candle and take it back to where they were sitting or standing. Each time it was a different person. I ended up lighting one for a trans boy in Mexico. There were more victims than people attending, so most of us ended up with several candles. They had the lights out, just a couple of candles in front to see the words and to light our candles, so it started out dark and got lighter. When they'd read off all the names, we all stood in silence for a couple of minutes. Someone from the newspaper took some pictures. Then we walked out and blew out our candles and left them on tables by the posters. I started to think: I could have been one of them. Maybe in the future I might get murdered, and they'd read my name off next November. It felt creepy.
There were a bunch of people from the LGBTQ center in town who told me they were trans. Some looked like normal people and some looked a little funny. I didn't feel like talking to them, but Doris and Teresa told them my story. They thought I should come to their meetings, but I said I was pretty busy already. To be honest, I just wanted to live like a normal girl. I didn't want to think about any of that other stuff.
The next week was Thanksgiving. This year, my family came over. My brothers were pretty cool, they called me Melanie and treated me like their sister. My mom and Dad tried calling me Melanie, but you could tell it was hard for them. After dinner, we were all hanging out in the living room, when my mom asked me, "what do you think the future is going to be like for you?"
"I'll try to get into a college, if I can afford it. After that, get a job, I guess. Isn't that what everyone does?"
Then she asked, looking pretty uncomfortable, "do you think you'll have a family?"
"If I meet a nice guy, maybe." She sort of winced, but tried to smile. "Or, who knows, maybe a nice girl."
When she heard that, she turned away and said, "God forbid," and wrung her hands. I guess girl-on-girl action was too weird for her, even if one of the girls used to be her son. Then she put on a kind of fake smile and faced me and started asking me about school.
After my family had left, my uncle talked to me.
"I looked into what you'd need to do to get a learner's permit or a license. The problem is that your birth certificate says 'male', so DMV will only issue you a license that says 'male', but you look female, so they might not believe you're you when you try to get the license. And even if the picture looks like you, they may think it's a fake. Nobody really knows what will cause problems and what won't.
"As for changing your birth certificate, the problem is that you're under 18. They won't change the sex on a birth certificate before someone has SRS. We can argue that the gene therapy counts as SRS, but the guidelines say that you can't have SRS before you're 18. So they may kick up a fuss about your age.
"It may be complicated and we may need to go to court to straighten things out. Is this something you want to do? Are you ready to commit to what may be a long unpleasant slog?"
I thought for a while. "I'm not sure how I feel about it yet. Part of me wants to do it so I can live like a normal something, and part of me doesn't want to kill off my old self. And part of me is just afraid of doing anything that might, you know, mess up the situation I have now. Can I have some time to think about it some more?"
"Of course. Take as much time as you need."
On Saturday, Ursula came over and we hung out with Doris and Sylvia. And Dennis. It seems Ursula and Dennis had hit it off. I didn't ask her, but I wondered if Dennis not being ready for sex was part of what she liked about him. Maybe it made her feel safe. And I knew Dennis can be really nice and gentle. They spent a lot of time talking to each other and some time snuggling on the couch. It hurt a little, seeing Dennis doing with Ursula what I'd wished he'd kept doing with me, but then I told myself, Ursula needs this more than me. And I've got Doris and now Eric, sort of.
I mentioned to Doris that Eric and I were getting to be like boyfriend and girlfriend. But I told her she was still special to me. "Being with Eric doesn't mean I'm not willing to have sleepovers with you, if you ever feel like you want to." She told me she was glad I felt that way and I would always be special to her. Then she kissed me and we kind of hugged and snuggled. One time we were on the couch and Dennis and Ursula were there, too, so we all got squeezed together real tight.
Eric and I started going out together once a week or so. Sometimes we'd just go for a walk. One time, he took me skating. I'd never skated before, so he had to hold me up a lot, which was fun. And sometimes, if we were walking and no one was around, we'd stop and hug and kiss for a while. Sometimes he'd stroke my back. It seemed a little like he was feeling me up, but it felt good, and I'd stroke his back and the back of his head while we were kissing.
Sometimes, when it was almost time to go home, we would sit next to each other in the truck and put our arms around each other or kiss and stroke each other's face. One time, he started to stroke my front and touched my breast. Then he stopped. "I guess I should ask you first, shouldn't I?"
"Yes, you should ask, but it's okay if you want to -- touch my breast. Asking first makes it so much more --" I started to blush. "-- sexy, romantic, something like that."
Eric had one arm around my shoulder and went back to kissing me, while with his other hand he just lightly touched my breast through my clothes. I could see he was trying, but it wasn't doing anything for me, so I took his wrist. He pulled away.
"I'm doing it wrong, aren't I? I should stop." He sounded hurt.
"No. I mean, I want you to keep doing it, I just wanted to show you how you could do it so I'd like it more. Here." And I tried to get him to cup my breast with his hand and caress it, but he was stiff and hard to move. It was like he was taking it personally that anybody had to show him anything.
"Eric, can you just relax?" I gave him a long kiss, hoping it would get his mind off his pride, and I took his hand and caressed it and kissed it. I knew explaining it wouldn't work, I'd have to get him in the right mood to let me do it. Damn it, why do boys have to be so complicated? I finally got him to caress my breasts, but it was a struggle. And we had to go home right after that.
The next time we tried it, it went better, but it was still awkward. "Eric, I hate to say it, but the front seat of your truck isn't the most comfortable place to be, well, exploring each other's bodies."
"We could try doing it at my place. My mom is out most evenings, so we'd be alone." We decided we'd try it if things worked out sometime.
It was getting near Christmas, and Eric invited me to a Christmas party at one of his friends. It wasn't too bad, but I didn't know anybody and there was drinking. They had a mistletoe over a doorway and people were having fun catching other people under it and demanding a kiss. At least three guys got me to kiss them that way. They were nice about it, so I didn't mind. And Eric got a few kisses that way, too. But then some of the kids there started insisting I should drink something and I got afraid that they were trying to get me drunk, so I asked Eric if we could leave.
"We have an hour or two before you need to get home. Do you want to stop by my place and, well, mess around a little? Only if you want to, and only as much as you want to." I said yes, and next thing I knew, we were in his mom's bed and he was kissing me and caressing my breasts and back and everything.
Pretty soon I had my blouse and bra off and he had his shirt off and our hands were everywhere. By now, he seemed okay with me guiding him. I didn't need guidance because of course I'd been a boy and had an idea what he might like. I worried a little that he'd wonder why he didn't need to explain or show anything to me, but he didn't say anything. He started to slide his hand under my skirt, but I stopped him and said, "not tonight."
"You don't like it?"
"It's the kind of thing I think I'd like if I felt really, really comfortable with you. But we're not there yet."
We went back to cuddling and caressing and kissing, but I could tell he was disappointed. Pretty soon we had to leave, anyway. Why couldn't he just snuggle and kiss, anyway?
It sounds like all I was thinking about was sex. I mean, I was thinking about it a lot, but aren't teenagers supposed to be obsessed with sex? But I was doing other things. School. And friends. Doris was working on college applications and freaking out.
"I've applied to a dozen places, but I'm sure I won't get in. I know there are people with much better grades and test scores. And extra-curriculars! I haven't done anything! There are people who do a dozen sports, are in all the school plays, have been to Africa. How can I compete with them?"
She had her heart set on going to University of Chicago, and even though she'd applied other places, she was convinced that her life wouldn't be worth living if she didn't get in there. I tried to calm her down. I told her I thought she had a good chance and if they didn't accept her, it was their loss. It didn't seem to help. Mostly I just held her and caressed her and listened to her rave. I'd hold her for a while, then she'd work on an application until it got too much for her and I had to hold her again.
The church basement coffee house had a Christmas party, so our Gabriel gang went, including Urusula. Eric had to work so he couldn't come, which made me sad but also kind of relieved for some reason. Alice, Doris's friend who was at college now, showed up, and they and Sylvia spent a lot of time catching up. I hung around them and they tried to include me, but it was mostly about stuff from before I knew any of them. Zeke was there and he hung around me quite a bit. I told him I had a boyfriend, but he said he just liked being around me. Teresa and Jeff were hanging out with everyone and even though you could tell they were a couple, they were pretty laid back about it. I realized it somehow wasn't like that between Eric and me, but I couldn't say why.
Christmas was pleasant. There isn't a whole lot to say about it, which is kind of why it was so nice. My family came over for Christmas Day, but the rest of the time we just kind of hung out, saw movies and stuff. It snowed, so we made snow men and snow women, had snowball fights, and generally relaxed.
The youth group had a sleep-over for New Years. We had music and dancing and games and a talent show. Eric and I danced a lot together, but I also danced with other people, including Teresa and Amy. At midnight, we lowered a glitz ball and everybody shouted and hugged and then we all piled up in a pile. Since the pile kept falling over, we had to keep piling up again. Finally, we got out sleeping bags. The boys were on one half of the room and the girls on the other, but Eric and I arranged to be close enough that if we stretched our arms out we could just hold hands. I don't think we were supposed to be that close, but Reverend Jen sort of looked the other way.
One of the bands I liked -- Black Rose -- was going to play at the arena at the University in town, so Eric got hold of tickets for Saturday night. I insisted on paying for mine, since the tickets were expensive and I knew money was tight at his place, and he gave in. So that night, Eric picked me up in his truck and promised to have me home by midnight.
The warm-up band was pretty good, even though we'd never heard of them. I think they called themselves the Hot Potatoes or something. They played a lot of songs that were easy to sing along to even though we'd never heard them before and there was a lot of call and response and clapping and stomping on cue. So we were all really worked up when Black Rose came out.
They were awful. I mean, the songs were good, but they did a lousy job of playing them. I think they were drunk or high or something. The drummer and the guitarist couldn't keep in sync. The lead singer kept losing track of the words. At one point, he wandered so close to the edge of the stage, he would have fallen off if people in the mosh pit hadn't pushed him back. One of the roadies came up and led him back to the middle of the stage and then sat on a speaker on stage keeping an eye on him.
After about twenty minutes of this, Eric and I just looked at each other and started working our way to the exit. I could see that other people had the same idea. By the time we got to the truck and headed for the parking lot exit, there was starting to be a line.
We had something like three hours before I had to be home, so we went over to Eric's place. His mother was out for the evening, so we had the place to ourselves. I'd been going back and forth about whether I was ready to go all the way with Eric and finally decided I'd do it. I left my coat and purse in the living room and we both went to his mother's room -- with its big bed -- to make out. Bit by bit, he took off his shirt and I took off my blouse and camisole and bra. Finally, I said, "it would be okay with me if we got naked." I'd imagined something really romantic, but it ended up with him sitting on one side of the bed taking his pants and socks off and me on the other taking off my skirt, tights, slip, and underwear. We got under the sheets and started exploring each others' bodies.
"I gotta know," said Eric. "Are we going to, you know, do it tonight? I mean, I'm cool with it if you don't want to, but I'd like to know one way or another."
I was starting to have a sort of out-of-body experience, but I managed to say, "yes, I'd like to. But let's take it slow and gentle. And -- do you have a condom?" I felt kind of stupid. I'd been thinking of making love, I could have perfectly well gotten one myself.
He looked sort of sheepish. "I've had a pack for a while."
We went back to feeling each other up. He felt up my breasts and ran his hand down my crotch. I felt up his chest and his butt. When I got to his penis, it was hard. He started to push it into my crotch.
"Please, take it a little slower." He went back to fondling me, but I could tell he was more interested in putting it in. I wanted it too, why couldn't he just be patient and wait for me to be ready? I could sort of feel my vagina clench up.
"Can you just gently stroke me? I need to relax down there." He tried, but I had to use my hand to show him and say "gentler, please" a few times. Once he had the hang of it, I stopped paying so much attention to him and started paying attention to how it felt. At one point, he got up and got a condom and went back to stroking me. Then he stopped to put it on. He tried to put his penis in, but I had to say, not yet. He seemed a little frustrated, but once he started fondling and stroking me I forgot about it. Finally, somehow I was ready and he got it in. And it felt good, almost as good as with Dennis. Feeling his body on me, his arms around me, hearing him moaning, it all felt good, and that was all I could think about, how good it was.
After I came, and I guess he came, too but I wasn't really paying attention, I just felt this glow. I couldn't help thinking how this would never have happened if that mix-up at the hospital hadn't happened. I couldn't help just blurting out how I felt.
"This was so nice. It's times like this when I'm glad I'm a girl. I'd never have had anything like this if I'd stayed a boy." It shows how high I was that I didn't think anything of saying it, even after I said it.
"What? What was that?" Eric asked. He sounded mostly puzzled. I suddenly got nervous about what I had said.
"What was what?"
"What you were saying. Something about staying a boy."
"I was just babbling."
"That's some weird babbling. Like, I don't know, you used to, what, pretend to be a boy?"
"It didn't mean anything, I just get these weird ideas," I protested.
"You're a lousy liar." It's true, I can't lie to save my life.
"What if I told you that I used to be a boy, but through some sort of medical mixup, I got turned from a boy into a girl?"
"I'd say that you were bullshitting me. Or maybe needed to see a shrink." He didn't say anything for a while. "Okay, I'll bite. Tell me your delusion. I want to hear it." He tried to make it sound like he was acting like it was a joke, but he sounded pretty tense.
"What if I said there was this gene-therapy lab at the university hospital and one of the things they were working on was something for guys that want to be, you know, women?"
"Go on." It sounded like an order.
"And I was in for a concussion, and they were going to give me this gene therapy thing to fix the concussion, only they got me mixed up with one of those--" I couldn't continue.
"You're -- you're not joking, are you?" His voice sounded kind of hollow. He suddenly sat up, pushed my legs apart, and stuck his head down by my crotch. "Oh, what's the use, I wouldn't know what to look for," he muttered. He stared at me from where he was sitting between my legs. "You're not making it up?"
I wanted to say, yeah, I made it up, but he'd already said I was a lousy liar. "I thought everyone knew." A lie. I knew he'd never heard about this. "I was even shown on television."
"Oh, yeah, I think I remember seeing something like that. Was that the news story where this boy was standing in front of the hospital and they were saying they'd given him this weird sex-change treatment?" He was sounding pretty upset. "That was you?" I hoped he would give up, but he didn't. I finally squeeked a tiny "yeah?" and gave him a don't-hit-me smile.
"You're really a guy!?" He started looking horrified. "The 'girl' I just fucked is really a guy!?" He started out slow and kind of dead, but was almost screaming when he finished. "A -- a she-male." He started backing away from me off the bed.
"Eric, please!" I pleaded.
"You mean all this time I've been going out with a guy? You pretended you were a girl to get me to fall for you? You made me think I was kissing a girl and making out with a girl and -- and fucking a girl, and all this time you were really a guy?"
"Eric, no!" I was crying, but he wasn't listening.
"You think I'm some kind of fag? You think I want to fuck guys? You think I want to kiss and hug and make out with guys?" He was screaming, "get away from me! Jesus, what have you done to me?" I rolled away from him, but kept looking at him over my shoulder in case he tried to do something to me.
I was afraid he'd kill me, but he went into the bathroom, still saying, "I've been fucking a guy. Oh, God!" I heard the water running. Next Day of Remembrance, they'll be saying my name, I thought.
I tried to get my clothes on as fast as I could. I wanted to be ready to run. But it was hard. First, I got my underpants on backwards and had to take them off and put them on again. When I tried to put my bra on, I couldn't feel the hooks, so it took forever. I gave up after I got two hooks on (I think.) I started to put my tights on, but realized they were inside out. My toe caught somewhere when I was putting the second leg on and I had to pull it off and redo it. How long do I have before he comes out and kills me? Camisole. Blouse -- half the buttons, and not the cuffs. Fumbling for the hook on the back of the skirt. Dragging the slip on under it. I could hear Eric taking a shower and still moaning, "oh, God! Oh God." I located my shoes and shoved my feet into them, then ran for the living room to collect my coat and purse. I tried to be quiet going out the door so maybe he wouldn't follow me right away. Down the front steps, onto the sidewalk, and into the darkness.
I didn't know where I was going, I just knew I wanted to be far away from Eric whenever he decided to come after me. I saw the moon low in the sky and figured that must be West. I knew Teresa's house was west of here, so I found a street that was going that way and started walking.
At first, all I could think of was how upset I felt. I'd think about the sex and then Eric's reaction and I'd feel like my feelings were bouncing like a ping-pong ball. I just wanted to jump out of my body. I wanted to be anywhere but here and anybody but me. I started feeling tears on my face. "Hurt." That was the word. I felt so, so hurt. I kept walking and feeling humiliated and ashamed. And hurt.
After a while, I started feeling like, this isn't fair. What was I supposed to do? I didn't choose to get turned into a girl. Or to be born a boy, either. I just wanted to feel normal. Some kind of normal. Was I supposed to tell everyone I met, hey, I'm a tranny? Wear a scarlet "T"? I started feeling self-righteous indignation. That went on for a while.
Then I started feeling guilty. You should have told him. It was a lie. A lie of omission. And then you seduced him. Just a slut, I'm a tranny slut. I was feeling miserable and kind of sorry for myself. I'm the lowest form of life, I deserve to die. I thought, I want to kill myself. Except if I do, Teresa will kill me.
About this time, I noticed that my legs were cold. I started noticing where I was. I was on a country road in the middle of nowhere. I couldn't remember when I'd last seen a house. There'd been woods, I remembered, but now there were open fields on both sides of the road with stubble from harvested corn or something, all covered with dry snow. The wind was blowing across the fields and under my skirt and it was really cold, especially when it would pick up some loose snow and blow it onto my legs. I kept walking, hoping I'd see a house, or at least some woods. I was starting to worry that I'd freeze to death.
You know, you should call your uncle and ask them to pick you up. Maybe they can figure out where you are. The moon was about to set, if I waited any longer it would be too dark to see anything. I opened my purse and felt around for my phone, but couldn't find it. I squatted down by the side of the road. It was really awkward because my shoes were sort of high heels, and even though they weren't real high, they weren't real steady on the dirt and gravel by the side of the road. I dug through the purse again. Still no phone. I tried dumping everything out on the edge of the road. Tampons, address book, envelopes, a red ribbon, hairbrush, even a compact. But no phone. Then I remembered: I'd taken it out to charge it. I must have forgotten to put it back in. I'll bet it's still on my dresser.
Now I started to get scared. I was feeling really cold, not just my legs. My coat was cute, but not really warm enough for spending hours in the cold. I gathered all the stuff and put it back in the purse. I looked around in what was left of the moonlight to make sure I hadn't left anything. Then I started walking again. I told myself, if I saw a car, I'd flag them down. But I didn't remember seeing any cars or any traffic at all.
I don't know how long I walked. I couldn't see any houses. Keep walking, I thought, maybe something will turn up. The fields turned into woods, so the wind was less, but I was still freezing. I couldn't feel my legs or my feet. Or my crotch. I was shivering. I kept stumbling because I couldn't tell whether my foot was on the ground or not. I kept thinking about how freezing to death is supposed to be a comfortable way to die. This must be God granting my wish to die, only now I wasn't so sure. If I do die, will Teresa figure it counts as suicide? Or just a tragic accident? If she decides it was suicide, will she follow me into wherever it is we go after death and beat me up for all eternity?
I noticed a light on the road. I turned around, almost falling, and saw headlights coming my way. I tried to walk into the road, but my legs weren't working right, so I just waved my arms. The lights came to a stop beside me and I saw the outline of a pickup truck. I heard "need a ride" in a familiar voice. A voice from my nightmares: Eric.
I shouted, "no, thanks!" and tried to hobble away. I'd rather die, I thought.
Eric got out of the truck and walked over to me. I felt like a zombie or some movie monster was coming over to eat my brains or something and tried to walk as fast as I could, but I ended up stumbling and falling onto my hands and knees. I'll bet I tore my tights. Great, not only will I die, but I'll die with ragged tights, like the stories where you get taken to the ER with ratty underpants and die of embarrassment. I couldn't feel my hands, I must have torn them up, too, but somehow the tights bothered me more.
I felt Eric lift me to my feet. "Don't be an idiot. You're going to freeze to death out here. Let me take you home." When he let go, I started to fall, so he put his arms under my back and my knees and carried me across the road to the truck. "Hell, you're half-dead already," he muttered. He opened the door, but I couldn't climb up into the seat, so he had to kind of heave my butt onto the seat and push my legs inside, like I was a crash-test dummy. He buckled the seat belt around me. I would have been mortified if I hadn't been so out of it. He closed the door, then disappeared. When he came back, he tossed my shoes inside.
"Do you have your purse?" he asked. I opened my coat and showed it to him. He got in and turned the truck around.
"What were you doing out here, anyway?"
"Walking home," I mumbled.
"You wouldn't have gotten home this way, it's like fifty miles before the next town." He turned on the heater full blast. I just lay there, soaking in the warmth.
"I wish you'd stayed. I settled down after a while and went to find you, but you were gone. I've spent the past hour or so going down every road out of town trying to find you."
"I thought ... kill me." I was having trouble speaking. The heat had stopped the shivering, but now I was so limp I could hardly move.
He didn't say anything for a while. I saw lights, he made a few turns, and drove on.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you like that. It just, well, hit me somewhere. I felt awful, but I shouldn't have said those things." He might have said some more stuff, but I was getting too drowsy to hear anything.
The next thing I knew, he was shaking me. "You're home. You gotta go in now." He had to put on my shoes and help me walk up to the front door. My uncle opened the door before we had a chance to ring.
He took one look at me and asked, "what happened to you?" He and Eric walked me into the living room. My aunt and Teresa were standing around watching. "You're freezing!" he said. "What happened? Why are you so cold?"
"Eric and I, well, we had a fight, and I ran off and tried to walk home. He found me before I froze to death." My uncle looked skeptical, but asked Eric if he wanted something to eat or drink.
"No, I'd better be going. But -- Melanie, we have to talk. Can we talk tomorrow after Church?" I nodded, and he left.
Teresa and Aunt Edith got me upstairs and undressed me and gave me a bath. The water felt scalding, but they said it was just warm. When they decided I was thawed out enough, they wrapped me in a terry-cloth bathrobe and Uncle Boris brought me some hot herb tea. I felt like a baby they'd given a bath to.
"Do you want to talk about it?" my aunt asked after I'd had some tea.
I shook my head. "Maybe tomorrow, after I talk with Eric."
Eric was at church the next day, but didn't try to talk to me until after the service. He told my uncle he'd drive me home and then he led me into a corner of the library.
"I'm sorry I said all that stuff. It was really uncalled for." He sounded kind of stiff, like he was reading a script. He didn't really look at me.
I wanted to say, "it's okay," but I couldn't make myself do it. Actually, it's not that I wanted to, it was more that I thought I ought to.
After a few really awkward minutes, he asked, "were you serious about what you said last night? Saying you used to be -- a guy? You're not just messing with me?"
I shrugged. "I know it sounds weird, but it's true."
He looked like he was struggling with something. "I don't get it. What is that all about? I mean if you did somehow, like, change, what happened? You said some stuff last night, but I didn't really take it all in."
I took a deep breath. "A year, well, a year and a half ago, I tried driving my brother's motorcycle --"
"You know how to drive a motorcycle?" he interrupted.
"Well, no, that was the problem. I kind of wrecked the motorcycle and almost killed myself. I don't actually remember. I got a real bad concussion, they thought I'd die or at least have brain damage. They took me down to the University hospital for this experimental gene-therapy treatment. Only they were also doing some experimental sex-change treatment on someone and they mixed us up."
I expected Eric to interrupt, but he was just staring at me. A little like last night. "Nobody noticed until a few months later, when my parents took me to the doctor to find out why my body was, well, changing. They started investigating and finally figured out what had happened, but it was way too late.
"Anyway, the kids at West High were making my life hell. I started feeling like I'd rather be dead. My parents finally took me out and my aunt and uncle arranged for me to go to Gabriel. I decided to start living as a girl then. And here I am!" I tried to sound upbeat and chipper. He was just staring at me. I waited.
"Do you think there's any chance we can still be, well, friends, at least?" I was still hoping we could somehow patch things up.
"I don't know. I gotta figure out if I'm okay with it."
"Okay with what?"
"With you being, uh, trans-, you know, a boy turned into a girl. It's -- well, it's not right. Guys are supposed to be guys. Girls are supposed to be girls."
"It's not like I can do anything about it, about what I am."
"I guess not. I still don't know if I'm okay with it."
I couldn't help asking. "And if you're not okay with it?"
He didn't say anything, but the way he looked at me, it was like I wasn't human. I felt a cold hole in my stomach. We sat in silence for a few more minutes.
"Guess I gotta go. I promised you a ride home, you coming?"
"No, I need some time to think." He didn't seem too heartbroken. Me, I couldn't imagine sitting next to him for the 15 minutes or so it would take to get home. I wandered in the direction of the sanctuary. Once I was safely out of Eric's sight, I tried calling my uncle, but there was no answer. Probably still on the road.
Eric's words rattled around in my brain: "I don't know if I'm okay with it." They felt like a knife in my gut, but I couldn't put my finger on why. I was still standing around in the hall when Reverend Jen came out of a room. Her office, I guess.
"What's wrong?" My face must have been showing how I felt.
I tried to put some words together, but nothing came out. She put her arms around me and I put my arms around her like a little kid and just started bawling. She didn't say anything, just held me and acted like this was something that happened every day. After a little bit, she led me back into her office and onto a little couch. I leaned on her shoulder and cried some more while she stroked my head and shoulders. I noticed she left the door open, maybe so no one would think anything funny was going on.
"Do you want to tell me?" she asked after I had mostly stopped crying.
"I don't know if you know, but, uh, I used to be a boy." I was almost getting used to saying it.
"I know, Teresa told me back when you moved in with her. I didn't say anything because I thought it was for you to decide when you wanted to talk about it."
"Anyway, Eric and I were boyfriend and girlfriend, but last night, when we were, you know, messing around, I let it slip that I used to be a boy and he flipped out. I thought he was going to kill me. I ran out and tried to walk home and almost froze to death before he found me and brought me home." TMI, I thought.
"Anyway, we talked today and he said, I don't know if I'm okay with you being a girl who used to be a boy. And he looked at me like, I don't know, like I was a stranger. I felt so hurt, like he stuck a knife in me. I don't know why."
"Do you love him?"
At first I didn't know what to say. I'd never thought about "love."
"I like him. I like it when he holds me and caresses me and all. I don't know about love. But I do want to be close to him and I want him to want me. At least, I did."
"It must be pretty awful when someone you care about says they don't accept who you are. It's like they get to decide whether it's okay for you to be what you don't have any choice about being."
"Yeah, it's like he still kinda thinks I'm a freak. That's one of the nicer things they called me at West High. But, oh God, it still hurts." I leaned against her again. I cried silent tears onto her sweater until they wouldn't come any more. She called my aunt and uncle and they came and picked me up. When we got home, I told my aunt the same story I told Reverend Jen, but I had the feeling maybe she guessed I'd been doing more than just "messing around." I spent the afternoon on my bed feeling miserable. Teresa came over every now and then to give me a hug, or as much of one as you can give someone lying face down on a bed feeling sorry for herself.
That evening, when we got to youth group, I told Reverend Jen I might need more than the usual amount of time at check-in and she just nodded. Eric showed up, but looked sort of uncomfortable and sat on the other side of the room. I didn't know if that was because he felt bad about how he'd treated me or if he was bothered being so close to a tranny she-male. I told myself I didn't care, but I did.
Before I knew it, it was my turn to talk. It took me what seemed like hours before I could find my voice.
"Guys, there's something I need to tell you all." I saw Teresa stare at me, looking concerned. "I look like a girl now, I even feel like a girl, but I used to be a boy. A year or so ago, I got a bad concussion and was in University Hospital. I was supposed to get this experimental concussion treatment from their gene therapy lab, but they got me mixed up with someone who wanted their experimental sex-change treatment." How many times was I going to have to tell this stupid story? Every time I told it, I felt more like a moron. Pretty soon I won't have any brain cells left.
"I started gradually turning into a girl. My, ah, you know, genitals started shrinking and turning into girl's ones and I started growing breasts. I tried to hide it, but pretty soon everyone could tell I had a girl's body. The kids at West High -- you all know how bad they can be. They were worse. About when I thought I'd rather be dead than spend another day there, Teresa's mom and dad agreed to take me in and try to get me into Gabriel School, where they don't let kids pick on each other. I decided that since I looked like a girl and not anything like a boy, I'd just start living as a girl.
"Maybe I should have told you all in the beginning, but, honestly, I just wanted not to have to think about it any more. Well, now I've told you. If you all decide you don't want a tranny freak in your group" -- Reverend Jen winced when I said this -- "just let me know and I'll leave."
I was sitting between Amy and a Greenwood girl and they both told me, "no, we want you to stay" and "you're not a freak." They both tried to hug me at the same time, which didn't really work, but I appreciated it anyway. I heard other voices saying the same thing. I couldn't help looking at Eric. I think he looked a little ashamed, even though I hadn't said anything about him. "Good," I thought.
Reverend Jen stepped in before anyone else could say anything.
"Melanie, is there anything you want from us? What would you like?"
I don't know where the words came from, but I heard myself wailing, "I just want to be normal! I want to feel normal! I'm tired of being a freak!" Not really an answer.
Nobody said anything for a while. Then one of the boys said, "can we ask you some questions?" Reverend Jen looked like she was going to say no, but I just shrugged and said, "might as well get it over with."
"Are you like a real girl all the way? I mean, even under your clothes?" I heard some groans and some people say, "come on!" I answered anyway.
"I'm not an expert on how girls look naked, but as far as I know, I look like any other girl. I don't have a dick. I can't have a baby, but otherwise, I've got all the girl equipment." They want TMI, I'll give 'em TMI. "Oh, and the breasts are real, too. No boob job." Periods, too, I thought but didn't say.
"Did you have any trouble with which bathroom to use?" somebody else asked.
"Only at West High. The girls made a fuss so I couldn't use their bathroom and the guys -- well you can guess what they did when I used the boy's bathroom."
"Was it hard to get used to wearing girl clothes and doing girl stuff?" That was a guy asking.
"It was weird at first, but I got used to it. Now I kind of like it."
It went on like this for a while, then Reverend Jen said it was getting time to order dinner and did we want to continue check-in or break. They voted for break. When we got up, a lot of the girls came by to hug me and tell me they wanted me there. Some told me how brave I was, which I didn't really understand. What choice did I have? Most of the boys told me they wanted me to stay, too. Some made a point of saying that, as far as they were concerned, I was a girl and my past didn't matter. Some even told me they thought I was cute or sexy. Eric didn't say anything. Some people gave him funny looks, but nobody said anything about how the guy who was practically joined at the hip with me for months was suddenly acting like I didn't exist. Fine with me, though.
As we were getting ready to go home, Eric came over and said, "you know, you didn't have to tell them."
I cut him off. "What's it to you? You're don't even think I have a right to exist." He tried to answer, but I just walked out. My uncle was there, so I could get right into the car without listening to whatever Eric had to say.
I spent the next week wrapping my head around what had happened. I realized that whatever Eric and I had had going was dead. Stone-cold dead. I might have been able to get over what he did Saturday. I could imagine finding out was a shock and he didn't handle it well. It was his "I don't know if I'm okay with it" that killed it for me. He wasn't in shock any more. But he still honestly thought it was up to him to decide whether I had a right to exist or something. I couldn't stand that. It was too much like West High. I'd never be able to forget it or forgive him, any more than I'd ever be able to forgive Tom Prescott. I'd practice being civil, but we'd never be closer than strangers.
"You should have dumped him long ago," Doris advised me.
Doris had finished her college applications and had more time on her hands, so we were hanging out more. She seemed a lot less stressed out than last fall. I'd told her all about me and Eric.
"Back when he wouldn't let you show him how to fondle you. That was a bad sign already. He was showing you that he cared more about his pride than how you felt. You should have told him about being trans right at the beginning. If he's not going to accept it, better to know right away so you don't waste any more time with him."
"You're right, I guess. But I was tired of telling everyone the freak show of my life. And I wanted him. Maybe I still do, even though now I could never stand to be with him. At the time, it seemed worth it. And it felt nice. At least, when I wasn't having to train him how to treat me. I liked having him want me. I liked having him hold me. I really liked the fucking while it was happening. Before he flipped out."
"Sounds like we need to introduce you to a better class of fuck-buddy. You need to get laid by someone who isn't a jerk."
We were hanging out in her living room, kind of draped over each other. It looked like Doris had gotten over her embarrassment about her parents knowing she was making love. I mean, we weren't exactly doing foreplay on the couch, but we were being pretty affectionate. My hair was down past my shoulders and she was making braids in the hair that she could reach from the front. There was a fire in the fireplace and her parents were sitting around reading. Sometimes they'd look up at us and they'd have a sort of "aw, aren't they cute!" smile. We'd all had some wine and I was feeling pretty mellow. I wondered if she'd go for the idea of me spending the night. I wondered if there was any way we could spend the night together at my aunt and uncle's. It would mean admitting to them that I was, well, fucking. I was pretty sure that they knew it was happening, but I wasn't sure I was ready to talk about it out loud with them. But they had told me they were relieved I wasn't going out with Eric and they mentioned Doris and Dennis as people they felt better about, so they probably knew about everything. If I waited until they "caught" me at it the way Doris got caught before talking about it, I wouldn't just feel embarrassed, I'd feel stupid.
"You know, maybe it's time for you to stop hiding your head in the sand."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You've been trying to pretend you've always been a girl. But you haven't. Maybe you should try talking with some other boy-turned-girl people. Maybe you would get more comfortable with your -- history."
"You mean go to some trans group down at the LGB-whatever center?"
"Yeah, something like that. It doesn't have to be that, but I can't think of anything else offhand. Oh, by the way, it's getting late. Do you want to stay here tonight?" She leaned over close to me and whispered, in a stage whisper and like it was really naughty: "in my bed with me." I giggled and nodded. I think it was the wine, I felt like giggling about everything.
I'd talked about it with Dr. Gordon, too. I'd told her the whole sorry story. Anyway, she'd asked me how I was feeling.
"Hurt. Really hurt. I mean, he acted like he loved me. And I kind of loved him, too. And to have him suddenly act like I'd betrayed him or something. I mean, I couldn't help being what I am. I wasn't doing it to hurt him. I wasn't doing anything at all, it got done to me!" I was sobbing.
"Of course you were hurt. That was very hurtful. And unfair." She gave me a few minutes -- and some tissues -- to settle down. "I'm more concerned about whether it hurt your sense of yourself as a person. Do you feel like you aren't worth as much?"
"Well, I feel like I blew it by not telling him right away. From now on, I'm not going to go out or even be friends with someone who doesn't know I used to be a boy. If they're going to reject me, I want them to do it before I have a chance to care about them."
"When I first started seeing you, you kept saying you felt abnormal, like a freak. I wondered if this might have made you feel like you were abnormal, or weren't really a girl."
"No, this didn't make me feel that way. I mean, I know I'm different from the other girls because I used to be a boy and they didn't. But I don't feel like being different that way makes me all that different from the girls who are different in some other way. I guess it helps that pretty much everyone knows about my past and they still think I'm a normal girl. Like, Doris thinks it's interesting that I used to be a boy, but it's interesting the way it would be interesting if I'd lived in England.
"I guess that's why I didn't really think about saying what I did to Eric. I'd gotten used to everyone knowing about me being a boy until not too long ago and nobody caring. That's why it hurt so much, what Eric did. Since I left West High, nobody'd ever treated me like that. And right after I'd opened myself up to him like that. You know, when I make love with someone, it's like I take down all of my protection. It's like my soul is naked. I can't imagine doing it any other way."
"It's that way for most women, I think. And many men, too."
The next Youth Group, Eric wasn't there. I asked Amy about it.
"He said he didn't want to come. He's -- well, he's being a real jerk about you being trans and all. Says he doesn't --" She looked at me: "do you really want to hear this?" she said dubiously. I nodded. She sighed. "He says he doesn't want to be around queers. Says we had the choice between a normal guy and a -- pervert -- and we chose the pervert." She added, "I slapped him." "I mean, what can you do about it?" she continued. "Wave your magic wand and turn back into a boy?"
"Isn't he your friend?" I asked.
"Was. I could be okay with it, sort of, if he just didn't like you. But he's being such a bigot about it. I won't be friends with bigots."
Youth group started, so we didn't talk any more about it. I kind of wanted to think of him as a total jerk. But I couldn't help thinking how, even when he was so mad at me that night, he still worried enough about me that he drove all over the place to find me. He's a jerk, but he did save my life. I shouldn't have blown him off like I did at the end of the last youth group.
The whole youth group, I felt bad about it. I felt like I'd been unfair to him. And I had not only driven him away from me, I'd screwed things up between Amy and him. I had trouble focussing on what was going on and I didn't have the heart to sing.
When it was over, I went over to Reverend Jen. "Amy says Eric won't come any more because I'm here. And she won't be friends with him any more because of how he's acting. I feel like it's my fault. I don't want him to feel like he can't come. I don't want him and Amy not talking to each other because of me. It was me, I don't know, me surprising him with my being trans and all that made him so mad and upset. Maybe I should leave so he can come."
"Melanie, it's not your fault. You have every right to be here and so does he. You're not keeping him away, he is. If he's upset by finding out something about you at an inopportune moment, he can talk about it. If he's bothered by being around someone who is trans, he can talk about it and work through it. He's choosing to run away instead. As for Amy, you didn't make her do anything, that was her decision. If that's anyone's fault, it's Eric's. I can't tell you what to do, but I think you should stay."
"I still feel bad about it."
"That's because you care about him as a person. It speaks well of you. But you can't work through his anger for him. He has to do that. Now, go home, your ride's here. If you need to talk some more, give me a call."
I didn't have a chance to bring up him saving my life and how I wished I hadn't just blown him off the last time I saw him.
A couple of days later, I wrote a letter apologizing for blowing him off and saying I was grateful that he'd driven around looking for me and saved me from freezing to death. I even said I was sad not to see him at youth group. A week later, it came back -- unopened. He'd scribbled "return to sender" and slapped another stamp on it, just to be sure, I guess.
Doris kept bugging me til I looked up the trans groups in town. Basically, there was one, which met every second and fourth Thursday. I agreed to go, but only if she'd come with me.
"But I'm not trans," she protested. "Oh, well, we can go together, and if they don't allow non-trans people, they can throw me out."
"Then I'll leave, too."
The group met in a room at a Methodist church sort of downtown. My uncle and I picked up Doris and he drove us over to the church. We found the parish house, where only one room had a light on, which we figured must be the place. There were about twenty people milling around. Someone pointed us to a table with name tags and told us to write our names and preferred pronouns.
"Maybe I should put down 'male pronouns'", Doris whispered to me.
"Do it and I'll tell everyone at school you're planning a sex change," I hissed. But she was already writing "Pronoun: she, her, etc." on her tag. We stood around feeling awkward for a few minutes until someone said they were starting. We found two chairs next to each other in a circle of chairs.
We started off by saying our names and pronouns and, if we felt like it, something about ourselves. Well, I thought I could handle the name part. But I was still nervous. When it got to me, I said, "I'm Melanie. I use female pronouns, but you can use whatever you want." Verbal diarrhea, I thought. I couldn't help adding, even though I felt stupid doing it, "and this is my friend Doris. She's just here to give me moral support. I hope it's okay." Doris rolled her eyes.
Somebody said, "of course. Welcome to both of you." And the person next to Doris said their name. Her name, since she said "female pronouns."
Now that I'd said my bit and wasn't so nervous, I could look around at the people. There were all ages. I think we were the youngest. Some looked like regular men and women, and I'd have assumed that's what they were if we were anyplace else. I mean, they came in all shapes and sizes, but that's like normal people. Some looked like guys trying to look like women, some looked like butch women. And some I wasn't sure about. I could see why they asked us to say what pronouns we wanted. I was a little weirded out just by being there, and a little more by the people who didn't look like regular people. But then I thought about how Eric had been with me and I didn't want to be like that, so I told my weird-out to get lost.
After the intros, they explained the rules, like how you weren't supposed to tell anybody outside what people had said here and you were supposed to let people say their piece without interrupting and not answer back or argue with them. Some of the people talked about the stuff they were dealing with. Sometimes it had to do with transition, sometimes it was just life. I was feeling like maybe I wouldn't have to do anything and feeling glad about it when the person who seemed to be leading the group asked me, "Melanie, do you want to say anything about yourself? You don't have to."
"I guess I don't mind, but -- I don't know what to say. I think I'm pretty boring," and sort of laughed. Nervous. Doris muttered, "you are not boring!" so everyone could hear it.
"Do you want to say how you came to realize you were female? Or how you managed to do your transition? You look like you're about --"
"Sixteen."
"You look like you've been on hormones for several years. I didn't know they were giving hormones to children that young."
"It's a little complicated. Kind of a weird story. Actually, I didn't, like, realize I was female and ask for a sex change. I didn't actually want to be a girl at all. And I didn't exactly take hormones, either. I mean, I guess I have hormones in me, but--." This was sounding pretty stupid. "I guess I have to tell the whole stupid story. You see, I was a boy until about, what, two years ago. I got a real bad concussion, they thought I'd die or have permanent brain damage, so they sent me down to the University Hospital for this experimental gene-therapy treatment that was supposed to repair the brain damage. Only the people who do the gene-therapy stuff were also testing this gene-therapy sex-change treatment and they mixed me up with the guy who wanted the sex change, and nobody realized it. My brain recovered anyway--"
"Sometimes I wonder...." Doris interrupted.
I gave her a dirty look. "-- but then my body started changing. It wasn't until I'd mostly changed into a girl that they figured out the mix-up."
"You mean, your body just started growing and shrinking in various places, all by itself?" someone asked. "No surgery?"
"Yeah. My, uh, penis and all just kind of gradually shrank into my body and when it was done, I had a, well, a vagina. And I started growing breasts. And my body shape changed a little, too. It was weird. After six months or so you wouldn't have believed I'd ever been a boy, even if you saw me naked."
"Weren't you upset?" someone else asked.
"I don't know. I kind of didn't have a chance. The people at school were so awful about it, picking on me, calling me names, stuff like that, that I was too busy worrying about just kind of staying alive. The school didn't do anything because it was the popular kids who were doing it and I was one of the losers who nobody cared about. Then some guys tried to rape me, and then I tried to commit suicide, and, well, my aunt and uncle arranged to get me out of that school and into this school where they don't allow kids to bully other kids. By then, I looked completely like a girl, so I figured it was easier to just say I was a girl. I've been living as a girl ever since. My cousin helped me a lot. And my friends." I looked at Doris.
I looked around. I thought maybe they thought I was making it all up. "If you don't believe me, you can ask the people at the gene-therapy department. Dr. Newcomb is the guy who runs it."
The leader said, "I've heard of Dr. Newcomb. We've asked him to give us a talk about his research. I didn't know he'd gotten to the point of actually treating people."
"Do you feel any dysphoria?" someone asked.
"Maybe we shouldn't be interrogating her," someone else said.
"It's okay. What was that word?"
"Dysphoria. When you feel like you're in the wrong body. Like you're really a boy, just stuck in a girl's body. And unhappy about it."
"Well, it was hard at first. Life as a boy wasn't all that great, but it was what I was used to. And all your life, everyone acts like being like a girl is the worst thing in the world. But once I started living as a girl, it wasn't so bad. I've gotten to like it, actually. Some of the girl stuff is pretty fun. Once I got past my 'boys aren't supposed to like girl stuff' attitude. And I've got some really nice friends. Like Doris." I put my arm around her and she tried to look proud and humble at the same time.
"But what do you feel like inside? Is your essence male or female? Do you identify as a boy or a girl?"
I was having some trouble understanding what she wanted. "I dunno. I guess I feel like me inside. I don't feel like I'm any different from what I was before. Inside, I mean. Is that what you're asking?"
Fortunately, they stopped asking me stuff I couldn't answer and went on to somebody else. I heard a lot about families that wouldn't have anything to do with someone after they said they were trans, or wouldn't let them see their kids any more. And legal problems. Like when their driver's license and stuff say they're one thing, but they've changed themselves into the other sex. I'm pretty lucky, I thought.
After all the discussion, we had a break where we milled around and had juice and coffee and cookies and stuff. This guy came over to us and told us how they were glad we came and we should be sure to come back. He was really nice, not macho like some guys. Then he asked me, "I can't help wondering, though. Your experience is so different from most of us. What do you think you could get out of coming here? Is there some sort of support we can give you?"
I said, "I mostly came because Doris said I should."
"Melanie," she said, with this long-suffering look. "I said you should because you keep telling me you feel like a freak. All this 'am I really a boy or a girl?' stuff. Maybe the people here can help you. Or at least show you you're not a freak."
The guy -- his name was John, by the way -- laughed and said, "we all feel like freaks some of the time. You get used to it. It's nice getting together like this because here, being trans is normal. And people understand what you're going through. It's normal, when you've switched genders, to be a little confused about what you 'really' are."
Some other people came up and talked with us. They were all pretty nice, and they didn't ask me questions I couldn't understand. One of the women asked if she could give me a hug, and I said, yes, but I wasn't sure if I liked it.
On our way back from the support group, I told my uncle I'd like to change my legal name and gender. I don't know why, except that I couldn't see any reason not to any more. It wouldn't change who I was, I'd still be a girl who used to be a boy, but it would make things like getting a driver's license easier. I wouldn't have to be explaining my history to every cop and bureaucrat.
A few days later, Zeke came up to me at lunch and asked me out.
I guess I should say, it didn't happen out of the blue. Zeke had been trying to be friends with me since maybe the fall. I'd been letting him know when we were hanging out, like I'd said, so he'd been around. My friends all kind of looked at him like the puppy that follows you home. The biggest problem was that he was still trying to seem all grown-up and like he had it all together. A little before Thanksgiving, I'd finally kind of told him off.
"Zeke, you're a nice guy, I think we all feel that way about you. But when you make like you're so mature and cool, it drives us up a wall. Well, me, anyway. I mean, we're not grown-ups and we are immature. Even when we're trying, we do stupid stuff. So when you pretend you don't, first of all, we don't believe it, and second, it means we can't talk with you about stuff. About all the stupid-feeling stuff that's going on with us. And when we do silly or dopey stuff, it feels like you're thinking we're stupid." Then I thought, that's a little harsh. When he didn't say anything, I added, "Oh jeez, I didn't mean to be that mean about it. We still like you. It's just that you'd be easier to take if you could lighten up and be yourself."
He didn't say anything. He kind of slumped down. After a while, I took his hand and held it. I kept wanting to say something, but I remembered how my Aunt kept saying sometimes you have to just let people sit with something. Finally, in a choked-up voice, he said, "It's kind of hard. I have to keep reminding myself that you -- you wouldn't do anything to be mean and try to listen to you and not get mad. If anyone else had said that -- Well, I guess I have some thinking to do." He got up to go. We were in the cafeteria and it was about time for class.
"Just remember," I said as we were leaving, "we do like you, however you are." He got a half-smile and then we went off to our next class.
It took a little while, but he started to act more like a kid. He got more puppy-like, but in a cute way, and we made a point of saying how he was more fun to be around now. And he was, we weren't lying. He started coming up with crazy fun ideas. Some of them were just crazy, but some were pretty good.
He did especially like hanging out with me. A lot of the time, it would be me and Doris and Zeke kind of all together and sometimes Teresa and Jeff, too. I asked Doris if she minded that he seemed to have a crush on me and she said as long as I wasn't planning to dump her, she didn't mind me and Zeke hanging out. Actually, she seemed to think he was a pet. If he was lying down, she'd come over and start petting him like a cat.
Speaking of his crazy ideas: one day, a little before Christmas, he said, "we ought to do a MST3K."
"A what?" I asked.
"Mystery Science Theater 3000," he patiently explained. "You watch some cheezy sci-fi movie and make fun of it. I could download a movie and show it on your wide screen TV." So one Saturday afternoon, that's what we did. Zeke and Doris and I, and Teresa and Jeff and Dennis and Ursula, we all made popcorn and hung out in the basement while Zeke hooked his laptop to the TV and played a movie about some alien tomatoes that would grow in someone's garden and then come in and kill and eat them and then leave their seeds in the next garden. When the US army came, they shot the soldiers and the tanks with seeds. We got to snuggle and laugh and eat popcorn and snark at the movie.
So, anyway, he asked if I wanted to go to a movie with him and I said yes. There's a movie theater in town that shows old movies and it was having a "Star Wars" festival. The movie he wanted us to see was one I'd never heard of and he hadn't heard much either, but he said, "if it's good, we can enjoy it together and if it's bad, we can make fun of it together."
He asked Doris if she wanted to come, too. I think we knew he was just being nice because Doris and I were something of a thing, but Doris said she'd pass. She also said, "don't do anything I wouldn't do." To which I said, "what exactly is there that you wouldn't do?" One good snark deserves another. I guess she thought so, too, because she just laughed.
Anyway, we decided to make an Occasion of it by dressing nice. I wore a pale pink blouse with a kind of scarf tied around the collar and a royal blue over-the-knee skirt with pale pink tights and black Mary Janes. I'd washed my hair (!) and put it back with a hair band. I thought it looked nice. His dad was going to take us there and my uncle was going to pick us up.
So Friday night, Zeke and his dad came in. Zeke had on navy blue pants, black shoes, a light blue shirt, and a scarf tied sort of like an ascot. "You look like a movie producer!" I said. I think he took it as a compliment.
"You look pretty nice, too," he said. "Quite the lady."
His dad and my aunt and uncle talked a bit. We'd both been over to each other's houses, so it's not like they didn't know who we were, but they sort of pretended they wanted to know who their kids were going to be going out with.
We got dropped off at the movie theater. Zeke insisted on buying the tickets. "Can I just this once play the mature, masterful guy?" he'd pleaded and I said okay. The previous showing hadn't quite ended, so we sat on a bench in the foyer.
"Can I put my arm around you?" Zeke asked.
"Only if you give me a kiss," I said. I was feeling pretty daring. So we turned towards each other and he put both arms around me and slowly pulled my face to his. He gave me one very light kiss on the lips, then waited a second or two and gave me another, deeper one.
"I hope this is okay. I'm not a very good kisser. I mean, I haven't done it much -- except with relatives, like my mom. Okay, she's not a relative, she's my--" I shut him up by planting my lips on his and gently rubbing them and then giving him a long kiss.
"I think you kiss just fine. You take your time so you don't mash my lips and so I have a chance to get prepared. It's really, uh--" I realized I was sounding too practical, not romantic enough. "Really sweet. Really romantic." I should have shut up then, but I went on. "Like the first kiss I got from Dennis." As soon as I said it, I knew I'd blown the mood again. "Oh my God, I'm sorry, I'm so stupid, I shouldn't compare you to--"
"Come on, Melanie, you're not stupid. And I don't mind if you compare me to Dennis. Hey, if I'm half as good as Dennis, I figure I'm doing pretty well. Let's try again. Make sure it wasn't just an accident." We both laughed nervously. Then he gently pulled my shoulders until our lips were touching and he gave me another one of those light kisses and then a deeper one and rubbing lips and a long kiss. It was good the first time we did it, but even better the second time.
"Can I just put my head on your shoulder?" I asked.
"Uh, sure," he replied. I scrunched up next to him and leaned my head over.
"It's not that I don't like kissing you, it's just that I'm really feeling like being close to you. Can you just hold me?" I asked.
"No problem."
He sounded kind of not sure of himself, so I said, "mmm, that's really nice." It was, too. I felt like I was floating away.
After a while, I don't know how long because I was in heaven, the people started coming out of the theater, so we stood up and waited to go in. Zeke put his arm around my waist and I put my hand on top of his shoulder. "You know," he said, "this is how you stand for some kinds of dances. You know, waltz, cha-cha, that kind of thing. Maybe we should take dance lessons together. Maybe, next prom, we could actually know what we're doing!"
"What a concept!" We both laughed.
We sat together in the middle of the theater and we snuggled through the movie. Well, as much as you can when you're in separate movie theater seats. Considering how much people like to neck in theaters, I'm surprised they don't make them so you can get rid of the stupid barrier between the seats. The movie turned out to be not so bad, so we just watched it and didn't try to make fun of it.
I called my uncle after we got out since he was driving us home. We waited on the same bench as before. I was feeling a little sleepy, so I laid my head on his shoulder and he put his arm around me. It was even nicer than before. He started stroking my back and I just went, "mmmm," like before.
"I wish we could stay like this forever," I said. "Except I'm afraid it might not be too comfortable for you."
"I'm fine with it. Really."
"I think I should try holding you while you lean on me. Come on, let's at least try it." So we shifted around and I put my arm around him. After a while, I took my other hand and stroked his hair and gently brushed his face with my fingertips. It was nice, too. I felt like I wanted to do nice things for him and give him some taking-care-of. I rubbed my check against his head, since I couldn't turn my head enough to actually kiss him.
About then, my uncle came in. He looked at us and got a sort of indulgent smile, but told us it was time to go. We dropped Zeke off at his house. I walked him to the door and we had a last hug and kiss, more of a brother-sister kind of kiss, but still.
That night, I kept thinking how nice it was to hug him and kiss him. I thought it would be real nice to lie next to each other and hold him or have him hold me. It was weird. Just a month earlier, I'd made love to Eric. I'll still call it "making love," even if it did turn out badly. And here I was mooning over another guy and he was about as opposite of Eric as I could imagine. With Eric, there was always some problem or other. With Zeke, I just did what I felt like and it was always fine. I didn't know if I wanted to make love to Zeke, or ever would, but I was sure if we did do it, it would feel right.
I also thought about how I really liked him, but I also liked Doris, only in different ways. I couldn't say I liked one more than the other, it was just too different. It's like when you like chocolate ice cream, but you also like orange sherbet, and you think: is there some way I could have both?
There's not much more to tell. I mean, life went on, but it would be pretty boring to tell. Just the sort of stuff that I guess any teenage girl does.
Doris got into University of Chicago, just like I said she would. Now I'm studying like crazy, so maybe I'll have a chance to get into University of Chicago, too. I'm missing her already. She thinks I'll be okay with Zeke to comfort me and I can't get her to see that I need her, too. The hospital finally settled for enough to put me through any college I want, so at least I don't have to worry about paying for it.
Ursula's family decided to move so she could go somewhere else besides West High. They rented a place in Greenwood's district and rented out their own house and she started there in the fall. I don't know if she ever told anyone but me about what Kevin did to her, but at least she's a lot more cheerful now. She's still together with Dennis, but she also has friends from school. And the art teacher raves about her drawings, she says Ursula has real talent.
Getting my legal name and gender changed is turning out to be more of a problem than I thought. Every couple of weeks, my uncle's lawyer fills us in on the latest stupid excuses the state bureaucrats have found to not recognize that I'm not a boy any more. Teresa already has her license and I still haven't gotten my learner's permit.
I ran into Eric and his mother in the mall that summer. It was kind of awkward. It seems he'd told her that I'd dumped him, so she was mad at me. Also, he hadn't mentioned I was trans. We got all that straightened out, but she looked like he was going to get an earful later on. I sort of felt bad for him, but sort of not. Anyway, I guess that's sort of settled.
It's sad about my family, though. It's more like they're my aunt and uncle and Aunt Edith and Uncle Boris are my real parents. We see each other at Thanksgiving and Christmas, but that's about it. My life has changed in so many ways and they can't relate to the way I am now. And honestly, I can't really relate to the way they are, either.
Actually, I'm having trouble these days even relating to how I used to be. When I think of what happened back when I was Martin, it feels like it happened to somebody else.
I talked about that with Dr. Gordon in one of our last sessions ever. She asked if I thought it was more because I was a girl instead of a boy or more because of all the other changes. I couldn't answer her then, and even though I've thought about it ever since, I still don't have a good answer. For a while, I was sure that it was all because I got out of that Hell of a school and into a place where people were on my side helping me. But then I thought: if I'd moved in with my Aunt and Uncle but stayed a boy, I don't think I'd have ever been such good friends with Teresa. I don't think I'd have gotten friends I could tell everything to, people like Doris and Sylvia and Carol. Or even Dennis. I think I'd have been like Zeke, only like he was before I lectured him. Trying to be what I thought a guy was supposed to be like and not even trying to figure out who I really am. I'd have looked cool on the outside, but inside I'd have known something was missing.
But now I think: I don't really need an answer. Maybe it's like when you have a mom and a dad. You don't have to decide who did more to make you you. You're just glad they were both there. I'm glad I got out of West Hell and into Gabriel School. I'm glad I have a family that knows how to support me, even if it isn't the one I was born into. I'm glad I've got friends who have my back. And, last but not least, I'm glad I'm a girl.
(The End)