“My God, Holmes, why are you dressed as a woman? “

“This is the real me. Watson. All the opium and melancholy were just trying to deflect my agony over living as a man.”

“Extraordinary! How long have you felt like this? When did you know?”

“When? Elementary, my dear Watson.”

Hello, my name is Hortense and I’m a dryad.

I know that and now you know that. Everyone else thinks that I’m a satyr named Horny. I have this enormous thing that I just hate. It has a mind of it’s own when I get around the other nymphs, I hate that too. You think that you human transgender people have it bad? We’re always naked so I can’t present as myself with clothing. I’m hairy all over too. I try to act as feminine as possible but having a huge erection all the time just kills the effect. If I try to put a feminine sway in my hips it just sets my testicles to swinging. Unfortunately they match the erection.

I tried to tell my family about my true nature but they didn’t understand. Dad thought I meant I liked boys(we are ancient Greek myths after all.) I mean, I would love to have one of the satyrs chase me. I might even let him catch me! But they wouldn’t want the real me. The ones who would chase me would want that disgusting thing I hate. Mom said I was just as pretty as any nymph in my own satyrish way. Huh? Mom, Satyrs aren’t pretty! They aren’t even handsome. They’re just the epitome of excess male virility. I look like just the opposite of what I feel I am inside.

There’s just no hope for me. I can’t live like this. I’m going to consult the Delphic oracle. Maybe she can help me. I just know what she’s going to want first, too. I’ll do what I have to do.

Whew, that was disgusting. She’s a wrinkled old hag to boot. She said “to thine own self be true.” I think she stole the line from somewhere; it’s way more clear than most of her pronouncements. So:

...........................................................My name is Hortense and I AM a dryad......................

An Achaean Tale

Achilles is such a sissy! No other boy I know would be happy to hide here among his mother's maids. He gossips with the other girls and does the most exquisite embroidery when He could be out with my brothers and the other young men. I know I would much rather be hunting or drilling with weapons. My father was amused when I did that until last month when my bleeding started. Now I have to be a young lady. I hate embroidery! I hate gossiping about the other women of the court! I hate painting my face and wearing robes that keep me from running free!

I want to go back to the training grounds with Patroculus and the other boys. Patroculus is the best runner and wrestler among the boys our age. The only one in our age group who ever beats him is me. He's also very cute. I kissed him once. I wanted to do it more but if father found out I would have been in here ages ago.

Achilles was never very good at sports or weapons training. He is weak and cries when he gets a bruise or scrape. I never did that. But he's a boy and his mother couldn't make him stay in her room disguised as girl if he refused. I tried refusing and got a spanking even though I'm a woman now. Achilles likes it though. He calls himself Hymenia now and spends more time primping in front of a polished bronze mirror than he ever did practicing his spear work.

Achilles is supposed to be hiding from Ullysses of Ithica. Ullysses would make him go to the war in Troy if he could find him. I think he likes being Hymenia better than he liked being Achilles anyway. He stays in here all the time whether there are strangers who might be spies around or not. Patrolucus is leading the young men now. If Achilles isn't found he will be leading them off to Troy.

He has to be Hymenia today though. There is new merchant in the town. The queen has invited the man to bring his wares to the palace. Hymenia will be swooning over the fine fabrics and perfumed cosmetics he is supposed to have. I might as well just keep trying to do my embroidery when he gets here. Maybe if I get enough done I'll be allowed to go out in the garden for a while. Sometimes I can see Patroculus exercising from there.

**********************

The peddler is here. I tried to stay in the corner and sew but the queen said I should come look at the things he brought. I think she is trying to be kind, so I didn't complain. As we had been told he has brightly dyed fabrics and threads finer than anything we can spin as well as face paints. There are also cleverly wrought gold and silver thimbles, some bronze mirrors though they are not as good as the one Hymenia stares into, a lot of hair ornaments and OH! There is a set of finely worked armor with a good sword and two excellent javelins. I had go to past all of the finery to examine them. I picked up the sword and stepped clear of the cluster of maids to lift it and feel the weight and balance. It was well made with a grip of horsehide and an engraved pommel that was just the right weight. The blade was honed to a fine edge. I set the blade down and was reaching for the javelins when the peddler stopped extolling the quality of his scented lotions and grabbed me.

“I have you now Achilles” he exclaimed. “I am Ullyses, king of Ithica, and I have come to hold you to your oath. I had heard that you were hiding amongst your mother's women. but I knew that no real man would be able to ignore the weapons for long when forced to examine all those feminine things.”

I turned with my fist raised to make the man release me when the queen cried out “no! You mustn't take my son.”

The old peddler proved to be not so old and quite strong as he prevented me from striking him. Even as I shouted at him to let me go or I would geld him the queen's words registered. She nodded to me as Ullysses' back was turned from her and mouthed “yes”. So I kicked the king of Ithica in the balls and when he let me go I said that I was indeed Achilles and I would go to war. So tomorrow I set sail for Troy ….. With Patroculus!

DECISION

I was with my children when the messenger came. I try to spend some time with them every day despite the demands on my time as the lady of the manor. Even Joa joins us from his lessons as the heir, though I think it may be the treat I always bring as much as time with me and his siblings that draws him. His younger brother Balo is still young enough at five to look forward to the stories and cuddles and of course there is Salene, my daughter whom I love to dress in all of the little girl’s finery I never got to enjoy. I have to remind myself to let her have time in her old kirtle to play with abandon or she would live perpetually as the doll I never had.

A royal messenger would normally go to my husband Joachim first and only after any official communications were delivered would he bring me letters from my family. Still, it was nice that I heard from them much more often than most young wives as the barony had much business with the crown. Today he came directly to the solar where we were singing old songs and laughing at silly lyrics.

“From your mother the queen” he said as he bowed and proffered a sealed pouch. It had the royal seal rather than the family seal I was used to seeing.

“Joa, can you divide the cakes with the others while I read this? Save me one of the cinnamon ones.” I said as I opened the packet. There were two sheets of parchment inside but one was not in my my mother’s familiar hand. This was the work of one of the court scribes.

Selena, baroness of mountainreach
from
Her serene highness Maronica, regent

your brother the king is dead. You are hereby summoned to the court immediately.

I cried out and burst into tears at that point, unable to read farther. My younger brother Rolando had been my great champion and my great friend. When I knew that I had to be a girl it was Rolando I told first and he was my advocate to our parents and older brother and later to the whole kingdom. He shouted down the ones who shouted at me and argued eloquently with everyone else. He had stood by me as the spell was cast that made me a woman, adding his will to mine. I had cried when Oskar, our older brother, died in battle and when my father died and left Rolando the throne but this was like a physical blow. I would have fallen to the floor if the messenger hadn’t caught me.

My shout had brought guards running in immediately with my husband only a little behind them as the alarm was repeated throughout the grounds. I waved their pikes away from the messenger and found Joachim through my tears. I handed him the parchment as my children embraced me. Joachim joined us with one arm around me even as he held up the message to read in the other. We were married to ensure the loyalty of the Western reaches of the kingdom and give them a feeling that the royal family cared about them. We were lucky. Duty changed to love over the years until I don’t think either of us could imagine life without the other at our side.

The rest of the official document when I had recovered enough to read it was filled with a royal warrant to take horses and supplies at mail posts as needed to meet the summons and other legal bits. The letter from my mother was utter nonsense until I had pricked my finger and touched it with my blood over the stain of her blood. I knew of this spell of course but she had never had the magicians put it on any of her letters before. The frankness of her words made if clear why it was needed.

Selena, baroness of Mountainreach
from
Maronica regent of Skrye

Dearest Daughter,

I mourn Rolando as you do but I have had several days since he took ill to think and plan for this while hoping it wouldn’t happen. The court physician believes he was poisoned by eating spoiled stewed eels, a dish that as you know he always loved. There is no reason to believe that anything else was responsible. Already in the few hours since his death rumors are heard that it was a deliberate poisoning attributed to any of several families of Skrye as well as the Kiltans or the dukes of Maldery.

I fear that the kingdom will be torn into warring provinces as each noble family blames others for Rolando’s death and stakes their own claim to the throne. I do not believe that anyone will support Chrysilla. Your niece is too young at four to command much support even if she were male. The only solution I can see is the return of your fathers third son. Enough of the nobles would rally to Appelon to keep the kingdom together without a civil war.

Selena, darling, I do not ask you to make this sacrifice. You must search your heart: weigh duty and the horrors of widespread insurrections Against the happiness I know you have as Selena. Whatever you decide send back word (just one word, yes or no) by messenger and delay your departure for a day after he leaves. I will prepare for the return of the prince or for war.

Love

Maronica, regent of Skrye
.

I sent the messenger back late today after speaking all afternoon with Joachim and then with the children. I have wept for my brother and for the kingdom. The time for weeping has ended. Tonight I will lay with my husband. Tomorrow we leave for the capital with such forces as can be raised so quickly.

Hi! It’s me again, Josh. You remember I told you last year about my sister getting hit by a car and me making a foolish promise without thinking first. Things have been pretty good since then for me and my buddies, Mike and Chas. We were all starters on the ninth grade football team and now I’m playing basketball. I have a girlfriend too, so I keep pretty busy. Deanna is pretty but more importantly she is really nice. Before I started dating her Chas told me that Brittany Jones liked me and I should ask her out on a date. That was cool because everyone knows that Brittany is the prettiest ninth grader in our school but she’s really mean too. She only talks to certain people and says bad things about everyone else, sometimes even when they can hear her.

Deanna isn’t like that at all. She’s friendly to everyone, even the kids most people won’t talk to. Like Candy, the girl who’s in choir with us. All of her other classes are in the special-ed wing. She doesn’t look like the kids with downs syndrome but she seems a lot like them otherwise. Deanna stands next to her and helps her learn the songs. She even helps her after school. Of course that means that I talk to her too. She has the right name because she’s really sweet. Whenever she sees Deanna or me she runs right up to us and gives us a big hug. Brittany is still mad because I wouldn’t date her so when she saw Candy hug me she told everyone I was dating a retard. Deanna just told them she was jealous because I was her boyfriend and she got better grades than Brittany.

My sister Debbie has to come to the special-ed wing here in the high school three afternoons a week for therapy from her accident last year. I get out of study hall a few minutes early to meet her and make sure she makes makes it through the crowds of hurrying teens and onto the bus before I go to basketball practice ever since she got knocked down the second time she was here.

That’s why I was going into the special-ed area two days ago. Three guys had Candy pushed against the wall and one of them was putting his hand in her top. The only one I knew was from football practice where he was an offensive lineman on the varsity. I think his two buddies tried out but they got cut early. Candy was crying and looked really scared. So that’s when I acted without thinking again. I didn’t go get a teacher. I just yelled and ran right at them. Luckily one of the special education teachers heard my yell and called for help on the intercom.

I didn’t get into trouble except with coach Tracewski for missing practice but I did have to listen to him and the cops and everyone from the vice principal to the school nurse tell me I should have gotten an adult. I got to practice yesterday when Candy and Deanna stopped hugging me long enough. I’ve got some bruised ribs and my hand hurts but the worst thing is that I have a black eye that just kept looking worse all day and a huge bruise on my other cheek. And tonight is the big Christmas concert for the Choir. I’d be up there in front of everyone looking terrible. I was complaining about that at lunch yesterday when Deanna said she could fix it up with make-up so I’d look O.K. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be up there wearing make-up either.

“Hey, It won’t be the first time you’ve worn make-up” Mike said. Then he went into the cloud on his phone and called up the picture mom took the night before Halloween last year. There I was in a long gown with a padded bra. My hair was in a girly hairstyle and I was clearly wearing make-up. At least that started a conversation about something other than my “fight”. After Mike had shown everyone the picture I ended up telling everyone the whole story. Deanna made him send her the picture because she said I looked cute as a girl. I don’t know when I agreed to it but she said that she’d get her mother to pick me up after basketball practice so we could go to the mall and get make-up that matched my skin better than my mother’s did and have the woman at the cosmetics counter in Kohls show her the best way to cover up my injuries.

Practice was boring because I couldn’t scrimmage but I did the running and some of the drills one handed. After showering I went out to find Deanna, her mom and my mom talking about Halloween last year. I’d forgotten to call mom and tell her I wouldn’t need a ride. It seems that in addition to keeping the pictures she’d kept the dress too. I’d grown a bit taller without gaining a lot of weight so she thought I could still wear it if the hem was let out a bit. I’m not sure how that came up but I arrived in the middle of the conversation. I apologized for not calling and mom went home while Deanna and her mom took me to the mall.

The chair at the make-up counter is right out in the middle of the store so everyone would be able to see the woman putting make-up on me but it seemed too late to back out after Mrs. Larsson had driven us all that way. First she used a cleanser on my face and neck even though I had just showered. She showed me the sponge she wiped it away with and my quick shower had left a lot of dirt in my pores. Then she put a moisturizer on my skin. She kept explaining what she was doing but I didn’t pay a lot of attention since Deanna was going to do my face tomorrow and I didn’t really think we would need that stuff anyway. I had to sit a while until the moisturizer was absorbed. The lady kept talking about how I should do this stuff every morning and before I went to bed. I don’t think I would do that even if it didn’t smell so girly.

I started paying more attention when she got ready to cover up my bruises. Just regular make-up wouldn’t work to cover them so she said we needed some to red to cover them first. She took some blusher and brushed it over my cheek and then used a smaller brush to do under my eye and on my eyelid with another reddish powder. Then she said the rest was going to be almost like a normal make-up. She took a stick of something she called concealer, which was what I thought was all we needed, and put some on my bruised cheek and a bit on the scrape on my forehead even though that wasn’t very bad. When she took a brush and spread that out I thought we were done but Deanna said it wouldn’t look right and I should let her finish. After that she took some foundation like mom had used last year on a sponge and put it on my whole face and neck so my complexion was even with no sign of where the bruises had been covered up. Again I thought that was enough but apparently I needed powder over that to set it and then she took the blush again and put some color in my cheeks which were now too pale.

Looking in the mirror I could see that I did look a lot better than when I came in except for my eye. The woman took the concealer again and put some dots under my eye over the red powder and spread them them with a small brush. She told Deanna she would have to be very gentle on this part because of how bad my eye was but she didn’t hurt me at all. She was telling us how she did this at a shelter for women who had been beaten up so she had had lots of practice. Now just the top of my eye was red over the bruise. She took another little sponge on a stick and very gently put powder on them and then used an even smaller one like a pencil to do darker powder above that before using a brush to mix them before making the both eyes match. Looking in the magnifier mirror on one side I could see I had make-up on but in the regular mirror I looked pretty normal.

Deanna thanked the lady and I did too of course. Then she said we’d buy all of the stuff the woman had used on me. The eye shadow came in a little box with some other colors and so did the blush. She even got the cleanser and moisturizer. The lady said I had to be sure to use them that night and tonight after wearing makeup as well as before putting on make-up to keep from getting blemishes. I guess she meant zits, and who wants zits? It cost almost a hundred dollars! I said I was just going to have to let my bruises show but Deanna put it on her credit card along with a couple of other things. She said she wanted it anyway and she had plenty of money left in this months allowance. Her dad is the president of the bank but she doesn’t act like she’s rich so sometimes I forget.

I thought we would wash the make-up off then but Deanna said I might as well leave it on since it looked so much better. We went to the bookstore and Deanna went into a shoe store where she looked at some sandal things with little heels while I looked at some Air Jordans knockoffs. They looked good but they were really pretty crappy. Deanna said I should get my foot measured and at least try them on but after walking in them a bit I knew I could never play in them. So she bought the sandals and we went to the food court for a snack while she called her mom to get us.

At first I could feel the make-up on my face and kept wanting to touch it so Deanna said it was a good thing we left it on so I could get used to it. Then she decided that it would be a good idea to do it right after school today. That way I would be comfortable with it by the time of the concert. She’d do a touch-up when the girls were doing theirs if I needed it.

Deanna stayed at our house for supper and we both worked on some homework before dad and I took her home. She gave me the cleanser and moisturizer along with a bag of the little sponges and reminded me to take my make-up off and moisturize before I went to bed. It was funny but I really had forgotten I was wearing it.

Today was the last day of school before vacation and we didn’t have basketball practice so they could shut down the school for two weeks. The choir and band concerts tonight at seven will be at the township hall. Deanna rode the bus with me but said we would have to hurry so she could go home and get ready too. I took a shower right away while she helped mom get us a snack. They told me to use the cleanser on my face and neck after I shaved and use the moisturizer. That way Deanna could do my make-up right after we ate. So that’s what we did. I looked almost like when the woman at the store did it except Dee used more blush and it showed more but wasn’t too bad. We didn’t have time to do it over, anyway. I just had to be careful when I changed into my choir clothes.

I still looked O.K. when I got backstage so Deanna just dusted my face with powder again to make sure the make-up wouldn’t run because of the stage lights. I got kidded some about wearing make-up of course but it was just fun and ended fast when Mrs. Gibbon, the band director, said that maybe all of the boys should have their faces powdered so they didn’t shine so much when the lights got hot. I think she would have done it if there had been time enough. I think she’s planning on it for the spring concert.

The band played and then we sang some songs with Mr. Carol (great name for a choir director, huh) at the piano before we sang two more songs with the band .After the concert Deanna came home with us while her parents went to some Christmas party for a charity the bank was sponsoring.

I changed my clothes and removed all of the make-up with the facial cleanser and used the moisturizer afterwards so I wouldn’t get zits. When I got back downstairs mom was showing Deanna all of the pictures from last Halloween. Mike just had the one with both me and Debbie but there were several more. Suddenly I was getting puppy dog eyes from Deanna because she never got to see me looking pretty and besides we had the right make-up now instead of my mother’s colors. Deb and mom both joined in too. I thought dad might help but he just
said he was going to go get drunk. He didn’t of course; he just went into the family room and turned on the basketball game.

I protested that I had just taken the make-up off but they all said it needed to be redone for wearing with a fancy dress. I never had a chance since they had it all planned out. Mom had pressed the dress which didn’t need to be let out since I would be wearing the sandals Dee had bought yesterday in my size. There were bags of oatmeal for stuffing my bra in the refrigerator. In the end I sat at the sink while mom washed and conditioned my hair. Deanna used the cleanser and moisturizer on my face again. While my hair was in rollers I let Debbie do my nails and toenails. Deanna made her do them over. By then mom had brushed out my hair and put a comb in it to hold it in place. They helped me put the bra and slip on before sticking the bags of oatmeal in the bra. Wow! Never stick anything right out of the refrigerator in your bra (If you wear a bra).

Then Deanna started on re-doing my make-up. At first it was about the same as before except that she used more of the concealer stick, putting some under the eye that wasn’t bruised, too and some on my nose and forehead. She did something with two colors of blusher, too. The big changes started with the eye make-up. It seems that since it isn’t good to share eye make-up so she had bought me my own eyeliner and mascara. She used different eye shadow colors that were a lot more obvious because she said it brought out my pretty eyes. The little box of blusher turned out to be for lips too and soon my lips matched my nails. It seems I also have my own bottle of clear lip gloss and sealer to go over that.

I had to replace my socks with clear hose that I had also suddenly acquired before stepping into the dress and putting on my sandals. I got to look in moms full length mirror in her bedroom before she started taking pictures. I really did look like a girl all dressed up for a fancy dance. In fact some of the pictures are of me and Deanna slow dancing to some songs from her phone. After that dad came back into the dining room and we played a game of Risk that was almost over when Deanna’s parents arrived to pick her up. I learned how to touch up my lips after eating some Christmas cookies with milk but otherwise things were almost normal when I forgot what I was wearing. So I just finished using the facial cleanser and moisturizing one last time, I hope. There’s an awful lot of my make-up left though.

As I watched the green light above the camera turn to red my stomach tried to rebel one more time. I didn’t want to do this. Our grief should have been a private thing, shared only with our family and the small community of our friends. Jan’s death had been hard enough without the media avalanche we were being buried under. I was about to interviewed once again when all I wanted to do was cuddle with Bea and our remaining children as we tried to comfort each other. Someone had to speak out though and I am much more accustomed to public speaking than Bea is. Not that I was prepared for what I was faced with. I’ve somehow become as much a story as Jan’s murder.

We have been adamant in our statement that we don’t want the man executed. It’s not that there is any doubt of his guilt. He boasted about killing the “abomination” on his website and posted pictures of her body. That video almost killed Bea. She ended up in the hospital less than half way through after we made the sheriff show it to us. I forced myself to go back and watch the rest when she was stable and sleeping in the ICU. I really hope he is right about the existence of hell; he deserves to be punished eternally for what he did to my daughter.

We have fought hard to separate our principled objection to the death penalty from the horror of what he did. Many people have had trouble understanding that. Since last Friday I’ve been called a hypocrite after I attacked that reporter, Crandall. I am philosophically a pacifist but still have a temper. When Crandall suggested that my son Joe bought on his own fate by becoming Jan, I attacked him and had to be hauled off by the other members of the press. I would normally have more self control but I’d been berating myself for days for failing to protect her. It was one more attack and I wasn’t going to let her be hurt again.

So against legal advice, the same advice I’d give to someone else in this situation, I’m going to try one more time. I’m going try to explain that Jan really was a female. I’m going to try to explain that only a total ban on execution protects the falsely convicted and those who may be able to rehabilitate themselves. That becoming murderers ourselves does nothing positive. That it does nothing to discourage others from killing. I’m going to try to explain that I’m human and grieving. That I shouldn’t have become violent.

I’m going to try not to cry this time.

I was a little embarrassed as I approached the table. Karl is new to our school but he’s already found a couple of other guys to sit with. That was just going to make this a little harder. “Hi, can I sit here?"

They all looked up at me but it was pretty clear who I was looking at. He looked kind of surprised but said “yeah, I guess so.” I set my tray down and looked at him before starting my lunch.

“I wanted to talk to you about the bus yesterday. I saw the way you looked when I had my backpack on the seat so you couldn’t sit with me. I didn’t want you to think I didn’t like you. I do like you and I hope we can be friends and teammates.”

“Then why did you do that?”

“Have you heard about Michelle, the girl who was Mike Evans?”

“Yeah, everybody’s talking about that. Three different guys have pointed him out to me.”

“That’s so gay” Harry Balz threw in.

“Mike and I have sat together on the bus ever since kindergarten. We weren’t best friends or anything. We were just the two boys our age on the bus that first year and we have always been friends. I was worried that she would want to sit with me now too. I didn’t want anyone thinking I was a girl too. So I was happy when he didn’t get on the bus yesterday morning and then you saw my soccer jersey and sat with me at the next stop. All day yesterday guys were making jokes about him and I was laughing too. Then before English class yesterday Gary Mooseby was making jokes about her when she came in. Sorry. I’m having trouble figuring out when the pronouns change. Anyway, Michelle was crying and I realized that it was my friend who was crying. So I knew I had to save that seat for her.”

“So, he really thinks he’s a girl?” came from Zach, a guy I didn’t know very well, “that’s crazy.”

“We talked on the way home yesterday. She wasn’t on the bus in the morning because her parents took her in to see the principal one more time. She said that the reason she has been gone for seven weeks was that she was in a hospital. When he was getting ready to go to his cousin's wedding he just broke down. He was thinking about the nice dresses his sister and the other girls would be wearing while he was about to put on his boxers and he just froze. His dad found him just sitting there not answering when he asked why he wasn’t ready. His dad wrapped a blanket around him and took him to the emergency room. He, or I guess she now, woke up in the car. She just blurted out the truth when her dad asked what had happened. So they sent her to Shady Grove Home to get over the stress breakdown. The doctors there said she had to be a girl or keep having breakdowns.”

“So He’s crazy and queer!” Harry exclaimed.

“I don’t understand it very well either, but I think she has to be a girl now.”

“You’re going to hang around with him. Then you must be queer too” said the other guy at the table. I didn’t know him and he’d seemed to busy eating to pay attention to what we were saying until now. Maybe his empty tray explained his joining in now. Anyway, it looked like I could have not bothered to do this.

“No, I’m not and I don’t know if she is, at least the way you mean it. Anyway, she has always been my friend and now she needs friends. I’ll leave now if you want.”

“Yeah” said Harry. “We don’t want any faggots around”

I picked up my tray and looked around the lunchroom for a new seat. As I stood there Karl picked up his tray with me. “See you guys around.” he said and joined me in walking away.

“Karl, that was cool, but you know you're going to have it hard enough as a new kid here. Hanging around with me right now will make it worse. I gotta stand by Michelle but you don’t even know her.”

“I guess you better introduce me if I’m going to be taking a bunch of flack about her. You’re right, being new may be hard, but I think it will be easier with the right kind of friend. I want the kind of friends who don’t walk away when things get tough.” So we shook hands and walked across the lunchroom to where Michelle was just sitting down. I think she and I have both gained a good friend.

This is a true story. At least for the first three sentences.

I’ve made several stabs at a Halloween story over the last few weeks, not so much to win the contest but as a small thank you to Sephrena for her support of Big Closet. None of them was working. They were cliched, forced or just bad. I guess my desperation had reached a greater level than I had realized. I had come to the attention Mr. Stopholes as he introduced himself when he appeared next to my computer desk. Who’d have thought that a devil would be deathly scared of my big excitable mutt! I finally got Cabal into his crate, grabbing and loading my shotgun in the process. That didn’t worry him at all.

“It will do no good to shoot me. I’ve never really been alive in the mortal sense.”

“Then why are you scared of Cabal” I asked.

“I have no desire to spend however many years that animal has left as a chew toy. He has no soul and I have no power over him. You, though, I can help. I can end your perpetual struggles with writers block and as a bonus you can live the rest of your life as a woman, or a man passing in drag, if you prefer.

“And?“

“Surely someone as literate as yourself knows what your side of the bargain is. As you claim to be totally agnostic, the payment should seem small enough.”

My agnosticism was taking a major hit, but the prize was devilishly tempting. I had to ask, “If I agree, just what exactly would you do?”

“You would find that you can write whenever you want. Inspiration will always appear. Additionally, as you seem to want your penis, you will be able to live as a woman until you reveal yourself.”

“That’s it? That’s all my soul is worth?”

“I can throw in sufficient income to live comfortably, but no more than that since it isn’t the primary bargain.”

“So, one-hundred and fifty thousand a year of current buying power?”

“I said comfortably, not luxuriously.” Sixty Thousand a year.”

“a hundred Thousand. Today’s buying power.”

“seventy-five”

“seventy-five thousand a year adjusted for inflation?”

“That’s what I said.” he snapped.

“You people have a reputation, you know. So, to be clear, Elimination of my writer’s blocks, The ability to pass as my feminine self and seventy-five thousand U.S. dollars a year going up to adjust for inflation. And I live my normal lifespan. For my Soul.”

“Yes! Do we have a bargain?”

“ We do.”

After we shook hands, I handed him the title and keys to my Kia Soul with 231,000 miles on the odometer.

“Excuse me, I have a story to write.”

The lynching tree is the oldest living thing on our farm. It was here when the first white men
came and it’s still here and growing. I guess the black folks around here have always called it that. Back when I was in elementary school Reverend Amos James began calling for the tree to be destroyed as “a symbol of white oppression.” That’s when everyone started calling it the lynching tree. Before that we just called it the big oak.

That’s when my dad did a smart thing. He invited some other black preachers and the county historical society officers to the farm. Mom served iced tea and little sandwiches to them on the picnic table under the old oak tree. The tree guy from the university talked about how old it was and how much longer it could live.

Then dad talked. He talked about how a farmer has a duty to the land; to preserve it for future
generations while taking a living from it. he said that he wouldn’t allow anyone to cut down the tree because that would be a dereliction of his duty. Then he said that He didn’t think grandpa ever knew about this part of the history of the land he bought in nineteen-seventy two, that he would have been as saddened and angry about it as he was, even if that probably wasn’t as saddened and angry as the descendants of the hanged men. Then he turned toward the historical society people and said that he would like a historical marker like the ones at other places in the county at the road where it passed the oak to commemorate the lynching victims.

You could tell they didn’t like the idea. They said that it would make the county look bad; that it
would just stir up old resentments. Dad offered the first one hundred dollars for the marker and those preachers fell over one another pledging support from their churches. In the end the historical society people decided that it was better to have a plain official marker rather than one dedicated by the black citizens of the county as a couple of the preachers proposed.

It took a while but eventually a granite post with a bronze plaque appeared on the edge of the road right of way. It said:

In memory of the black men lynched on this tree

in 1831 Jonas for attempted escape and striking an overseer

In 1840 brothers Servius and Publius for possessing abolitionist tracts

In 1931 James Rupert Willers for trying to organize a tenant farmers union

The historical society people didn’t want the word black included but dad and the preachers were paying and they won.

Before that we used to sit in the shade at that table for lunch when we were picking peaches and the big oak was a favorite place for us kids to play. Now that just doesn’t seem right. The table is on the other side of the orchard. The younger kids dare each other to touch the tree but no one plays there. My friend Gary, who’s mostly Cherokee, says that his Grandfather always called it the spirit tree. He thinks we’ve all just become more sensitive to what was always there.

Dad knew that not everyone would be happy about the marker so he put a trail cam in the tree looking at it. The first guy to damage the marker was caught on camera and had to pay for the repairs along with a fine. When a group calling themselves spirit of the confederacy showed up they knew about the camera. Two guys wearing ski masks climbed over the fence to take it down. They didn’t know dad had put an alarm on the fence to ring in my bedroom. Always before it had just been an animal hitting the fence. That’s why it was one of my chores in the summer to check on the alarm. I was riding out there on my dirt bike when one of them shot at my headlight. I was not really in pistol range even if he was sober, so he missed. I drove down into the gully and called dad, then realized I should have called the police and did that before leaving the bike and sneaking home through the orchard like dad said to.

Now the alarm still rings in my bedroom but the camera is a model I can monitor from my laptop. If it’s an animal I go back to sleep. If it’s people, I wake dad and my older brother Zack. They will both stand behind the corners of the house with their deer rifles while mom calls the police. That hasn’t happened in a couple of years once word got out to the radical groups that the marker was monitored.

That’s why when the alarm went off at two a.m. last Christmas Eve I expected to see a possum or maybe a deer. What I saw was Darius Gower from my advanced calculus class wearing a dress and carrying a rope as he approached the tree. Darius is one of the smartest kids in school. He’s in more advanced classes than anyone and still is supposed to have all A’s. I heard some of the other black kids teasing him about that once, saying he was an Oreo for studying so much, but he just keeps getting A’s.

As he got closer to the tree and about to get under the camera’s field of view, he adjusted his grip on the rope. That’s when I saw the hangman’s noose. I hollared for dad as I was pulling on my jeans and shoes before heading out the door. I ran as fast I could in the dark but Darius had tied the other end of his rope to a branch and dropped off with the noose around his neck just as I got there.

I was really glad I had climbed the lynching tree so many times when I was younger. Even in the dark I reached the branch the rope was tied to easily. Being a farm kid, my Leatherman is always on my belt outside of school. It was there when I put my Jeans on and I needed it now more than ever before. When the rope proved difficult to cut I changed to the saw blade and Darius dropped to the ground.

I didn’t know what to do next. The 4-H first aid class hadn’t covered hanging victims. I pried the
noose open as gently as I could in case there was a spinal injury. Darius wasn’t breathing. I decided that I would have to do chest compressions and hope there was no serious neck injury. That’s what I was doing when dad and Zack arrived in the truck. We put a blanket over him while Zack and I traded off on the compressions until the ambulance arrived.

We didn’t learn what happened after that until late Christmas day. It was after a supper of leftovers from Christmas dinner that a strange car came down the driveway and Darius and a black couple who turned out to be his parents got out. Darius was wearing a dress again, but not the same one. Once they were inside and mom had offered coffee and cookies Mr. Gower said that Denise wanted to thank us, especially me, but she wasn’t allowed to talk much. Then Darius, who we learned was now Denise, kind of croaked out “thank you. I would have died but I didn’t need to.”

Mrs. Gower mostly talked after that. His, no her, family had known Darius was Denise for a few months. They had been working on a transition plan including consulting her cousin, Rev. James. His comments were real negative but they were going ahead anyway. Until last night’s Christmas Eve Service. Rev. James had called out Denise by her dead name, which is what they called her old name, and screamed in his usual preaching style that she was going to hell and her family with her for supporting such an abomination. She started crying and ran out of the church with Mrs. Gower behind her. Mr. Gower stayed behind to confront the preacher but was cut off by several deacons. Denise kept crying all the way home, running to her bedroom still in tears. Mrs. Gower said that she had been real emotional since starting on estrogen so they thought it was best to let her cry it out, having said all they could think of already in the car. Later that night she snuck out of the house and took the anchor rope from her dad’s boat.

She rode her bicycle to our place because the slave Publius who was hung on the tree was one of her ancestors. It seems that being smart runs in the family since he and Servius had taught themselves to read when it was illegal to learn. She decided that if she was going to commit suicide it would be on the lynching tree. You know the rest, except maybe that Jefferson Davis High School is about to have it’s first black female valedictorian…...If Denise doesn’t get that name changed too.

Patience, practice, perseverance……..That was my new years resolution this year. I didn’t come up with that on my own, though. It is what Mr. Jolden, my karate teacher, says whenever someone in the class is struggling. I’m not as good as some of the kids I started the class with but that’s not Mr. Jolden’s fault. Unlike some of them, I only take one class a week. I started going because dad said that spending all my free time practicing guitar and making videos wasn’t good for my health. He was right; I was looking kind of fat in the videos. Now I swim at the Y on Tuesdays and go back on Thursday for karate. With school and homework too, it seems like I never have enough time for everything.

That’s why last December I wasn’t very happy with the videos I had posted of holiday music. I had rushed so much to get them done that they were really just generic versions of the songs. The guitar solos were bland and the vocals, which were never my strong suit anyway, might almost have been done by a computer generated voice. There was nothing of me in them. That’s when I realized that Mr. Jolden’s wisdom applied to more than just karate. So I made them my new years resolution. More like very late December resolution since I announced it to my family on the twenty-eighth.

Originally, I just meant that I had to prepare better and wouldn’t post anything until I was sure it was the best work I could do; but Jan, my big sister, said that I should look at the overall effect of the videos too. She pointed out that I often edited them to show my finger work on the guitar, also showing my badly chewed up nails with once even some dirt under what was left of them. Like most fifteen year old boys I sometimes had pimples that seemed to be magnified by the camera. I got a haircut just before school started in September and again just before Thanksgiving as mom said I couldn’t go to grandma and grandpa’s looking like a bum. In between those those times I just washed it in the shower and kept it back with a sweatband when needed, like when I got going good on a guitar riff. Jan said that all of that kept me from having a professional looking video. She also thought that wearing whatever jeans I had worn to school that day and an old concert souvenir tee-shirt didn’t look I was serious. I wasn’t surprised when mom agreed with her but dad said that she was right, too.

So, for all of January and part of February I didn’t post any new videos. I worked on learning new songs, tried to write some songs and really worked hard on my playing, listening to and copying the riffs from some of the greats and then trying to change them on the fly enough to be my own. I listened a lot to the great jazz improvisers too. I would love to do with the guitar what John Coltrane did with his sax. One result of that was the song Patience, Practice, Perseverance. It is definitely in my own genre of indy-rock but the chanted chorus of those three words and the solo that precedes them is a deliberate tribute to “A Love Supreme”. I hoped it would be ready to record when I started streaming again.

I struggled to stop biting my nails, unconsciously doing it when I was stumped by a lyric or even just fretting over an essay for history class. Jan had agreed to be my image consultant. At first, that mostly meant some taking better care of my hair by using shampoo and conditioner instead of Dial soap. She also got me to brush it every day. It helped when Samantha, my biology lab partner, commented on how much nicer my hair looked. The bar of Dial was also supplemented by a jar of Noxzema skin cream for washing my face. Jan said it “might” help with the pimples. After two weeks she took me to a hair stylist. I came out of there with a more layered look (Jan’s description) that would hold up well to my guitar playing without flying all over. I still needed the sweat band to be protect my eyes and the stylist took that into account. What Jan sprang on me after I was in the chair was that I also got a manicure with acrylic nails. They weren’t long or anything and just natural color. She said to just keep in mind how much they cost before I started chewing. She also set up appointments every two weeks to maintain my new look.

I had to admit that the new look was better when I recorded a session just to check it out. As a bonus I somehow found the right words for the second verse of Patience, Practice, Perseverance that had been eluding me while I was playing it for that recording. I also got my buddy Al to come in and play his harmonica on an arrangement of Bill Withers’ song “Lean on Me” where I did a bluesy improvised solo. I wanted him to see the results of the changes on the video. He agreed to dress up more for when we did the song for u-tube. It would be the first thing I posted when I started doing videos again and had the most hits of anything I’d done until then. It also got me my first offers for sponsorship.

I kept on practicing as the weeks went by but it was my patience and perseverance that really got tested in the last half of January. Mom decided to help Jan with finding a me a new performance wardrobe. Shopping for clothes with two women should be against the Geneva convention. I spent hours that could have been used to practice on my guitar walking up and down three different malls, looking in windows, trying on clothes and waiting while they both tried on things. The only thing we bought for me the first week was a pair of sweatbands to replace the ones I had that were looking a bit tattered. I argued that they gave a certain rock vibe by their very raggedness but Jan reminded me that I agreed to listen to her about my image. As a compromise, I kept the old ones but agreed to wear the new ones for recording. The rest of that week was spent figuring out my “look.” Mom kept saying something about “like Justin Bieber. Look how successful he was”. Fortunately, as my official image consultant, Jan was as revolted by that idea as I was.

Jan said that she didn’t want to change who I appeared to be, just clean up the look and also take advantage of how my body looked now that I was exercising twice a week. The second week we went back to the malls and I tried on some of the same things again as well as some new ones. It would have gone a lot faster if we didn’t have to spend just as much time in the woman’s stores as we did the first week. Mom and Jan don’t waste a shopping opportunity! For all of that shopping in clothing stores, the first purchase was made at the music store. I just went in for some new strings when I saw the rack of novelty tees. I didn’t even check with Jan. I had to wear this shirt if it caused a riot. I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t, but who could resist. Under pictures of Les Paul, Chet Atkins and Jimi Hendricks it had bold lettering saying THE HOLY TRINITY. That shirt set the style of my new wardrobe. We were dressing a guitar crazy kid. We got a couple more pairs of jeans so I would always have nicely pressed pair to record in and a couple of tight tee-shirts to show off my arms and pecs while incidentally not being too hot under my recording lights. We got a couple of polo shirts, one of which had a treble clef on the pocket and the other just plain blue that mom liked because it went with my eyes. I could still wear some of the band shirts if they were in good shape. I’m kind of hard on my shoes. Jan said I couldn’t wear my beat up cross trainers but I don’t like stiff heavy shoes or boots. We ended up getting new Nikes that would only be worn for performances and kept clean.

Then both women went crazy. I thought we had everything. It turns out that we were only half done. I never even heard of the idea of accessories. I had one belt that I moved from one pair of pants to another as I changed clothes. Now Jan said I could keep my look fresh by changing accessories. We did find a belt with a cool guitar buckle and another engraved with “Give peace a chance.” In the goodwill store Jan found a wide leather man’s wristband with what appeared to be a genuine antique silver peso coin in the center. She thought it would look good in the close-ups of my hands. Mom spotted a cool watch with a wooden face that I could wear in other videos. An inexpensive nickle ID bracelet offered another option. Jan wanted to get several cheap rings and change them for each video but I just wanted one, a gold ring with a black onyx stone. I wanted consistency on my hands when I’m playing. I think that’s the only argument I won that week.

I sort of won another one, or at least Jan did. Mom finally agreed to let me get my ears pierced. She’d been saying “no” ever since I first brought it up last summer. Jan convinced her that I should have a few sets of studs so they could be changed for different looks. Mom turned around completely. She must have held a hundred studs and small rings up to face in order to find the three pair we got. We combined those with the gold chain I got for Christmas from my grandparents. Actually, I wore the chain all the time except in Karate class where no loose jewelry was allowed but Jan agreed it made my image in the videos classier. That completed my new look.

Almost! I was still getting some occasional pimples, though Jan thought it was less often since using the Noxzema skin cream. To cap off the two weeks of shopping torture I was dragged to the cosmetics counter to have various brands and colors of concealer held up to my face in search of a perfect match. Later, Jan showed me how to blend it in and brush it over with powder so it didn’t show.

The first two weeks of February I got so wrapped up in my guitar that dad put his foot down. I had to stop long enough to eat meals at the table. I had to spend at least a half hour after that doing something other than homework or music and be in bed by eleven on school nights. He also brought home a big plywood cutout of my guitar he’d made for a background in my videos. We hung it in the rec room where I recorded. I could hear the improvement in my playing from the intense practice and almost just wanted to keep doing that. But I knew it was time to perform. I called Al and we did the “Lean on Me” video live after only a couple of run-throughs. I returned the favor by playing lead guitar and singing on Muddy Water’s “Baby, Please Don’t Go” so he could play the Little Walter harmonica part. We ended up posting that to u-tube, too.

After all of that shopping, it was ironic that my big breakthrough recording was made wearing a karate Gi. By April, with the success of “Lean on me” and a couple of other covers I was ready to do one of my own songs. I wanted to do Patience, Practice, Perseverance or the three Ps as I was calling it in my head. First, I wanted to talk to Mr. Jolden. I felt he should get co-writer credit on the lyrics and I wanted to talk before the song about those words and where I heard them. That lead to another idea.

Mr. Jolden didn’t want any songwriting credit, saying that the words weren’t lyrics until I made them be. He wasn’t so sure about my other idea. He’d never heard “A Love Supreme” since he mostly listens to country music. He was happier with the idea after I played it for him and showed him the proposed script where I talked about how John Coltrane continued a heavy practice schedule even when he was the greatest saxophonist of his generation and about hearing Mr. Jolden say those words and applying them to to my music as well as karate. He knew then that I wasn’t trying to make myself out as a karate expert or exploit my limited skills.

Two weeks later we recorded Patience, Practice, Perseverance at the Y with dad on the camera and my karate class as a live audience. I had already recorded my opening monologue for the video to splice in later but did it again anyway and ended up keeping it. Then I stepped onto the mat and bowed to Mr. Jolden who spoke those three words as he had so often. I began playing as soon as he finished speaking. This is a high school aged class but I was able to recruit four guys with deeper than average voices to chant the three words on my signal which was pointing my right foot at them below the camera range as I finished the solo. Getting the timing on that down actually took some practice but the guys had worked hard for just chips and soda the first session and frozen pizza the next time. I was pleasantly surprised by the acoustics of the gym. I had feared that I would have to record the song again at home and dub it over the video. The song ended with me turning back to Mr. Jolden and bowing again before leaving mat

I ended up with an almost six minute video including the monologue and some of the applause which I faded out to end the video. It’s been viewed over a million and a half times and the audio version has done well on the streaming services. We advertised me playing it live at Mr. Jolden’s next open house recruiting demo at the Y and he had the best turnout and most new students ever. It’s opened up a lot of opportunities for me, too. I just need to work out what’s best for my long term goals. So, Patience, Practice, Perseverance.

This is sequel to An Achean Tale and will make more sense if you read that first. I had no plans to write a sequel but the idea of the unknown tomboy's reaction to the amazons just wouldn't go away. There will not be any more of these. It was too hard to keep this light in a war. I basically just glossed over truths about casualties and the fate of female captives. I read a bowlderized version of the Illiad almost sixty years ago. Since then it has always been a part of the accepted cultural background of my life without ever reading a decent translation. That may have to change.

**********************************************************************************************************************************

Ullysses knows! I should have realized that all those Myrmidons wouldn’t be able to keep a secret from that wily old fox. I just hope no one else finds out. Ullysses will keep his mouth shut as long as I keep leading our army to victories. It wouldn’t help his reputation for cleverness to have everyone find out he’d been fooled by a mere girl. For now I’m leading the Myrmidons in battle by day and sharing a tent with Patroculus by night. I wouldn’t want to have to give up either of them.

I’m not the only girl on the battlefield though. There is this really cool band of woman archers supporting the Trojans. They are called Amazons. They can fight with spears and swords too. I wanted to learn more about them so I broke through the Trojan lines right in front of them. When we closed with them they dropped their bows and fought us. It was great! I never got to fight other girls before. The Trojans rallied when Hector came to our breach and drove us back but not before we had taken one of the Amazons prisoner. Her name is Briseis and I’ve claimed her for my own captive. All of the other leaders have claimed slave girls but I was happy with Patroculus. He’s not jealous. He says it will help my disguise. I kissed him when he said that. I kiss him a lot now. Besides I don’t like girls that way.

Briseis was happy to learn that I’m a girl. If she had been claimed by one the other generals and raped she would have had to kill him or else kill herself. That’s an Amazon rule. I’m finding out other things too. They don’t cut off their right breast like the men say they do. That would be really gross! If they are too big breasted they just use a really tight strap of soft leather to hold themselves in and protect from bowstrings. She’s going to show me how to make a pair of them to help me hide and fit in my armor if I start getting bigger. You need someone else to buckle the strap but I have Patroculus help me into my armor anyway. We talk about fighting styles too. I can’t give a captive a spear, even a practice spear, but I am using what I learned from her about facing a bigger, stronger opponent. I’m big for a girl but not as huge as Ajax or Hector, the Trojan prince. Besides it’s just nice to have a girl to talk to who knows about things besides embroidery and hairstyles.

The war had kind of stalled. We can’t take the city but the Trojan’s can’t drive us off the beach to end the seige. Then the Father of Chryseis, Agamemnon’s captive, raised the money to ransom her. Agamemnon is the brother of Menelaus and leader of the Achean armies. The war started when Menelaus’ wife Helen ran off with Paris, a prince of Troy. I don’t blame her. I’ve seen Paris and He’s Hot! Not as hot as my Patroculus but a lot better than an old man like Menelaus. Apparently refusing to ransom a princess is an affront to the gods so Agamemnon should have accepted the gold and took another girl to sleep with. He didn’t think he would find another one as pretty and of such high rank though. We started getting beaten badly on the battlefield until the augers were consulted to find out why. They said that the gods would not favor the Acheans while Cryseis was being held without ransom. The other leaders and I said that he had to give her up. We were tired of getting beaten and feared we might be defeated entirely if things kept on like they were.

When Agamemnon gave up his captive he insisted that as the commander of our armies he could take any other girl he wanted. He chose Briseis. I don’t know if he wanted tame the wild Amazon or if he did it to spite me for being called the greatest of the Acheans by the oracle when everyone knew that he thought that should be him. I refused to give her up of course. If he took her to his bed she would kill him and then be killed herself. It got so bad that I had started to draw my sword and so had Agamemnon. Ullysses jumped between us and called for all the others to do the same. We were reduced to shouting insults at each other across a mob of kings and princes. He said I was too girly to know what to do with a woman anyway and I said he probably needed a boy to lift his aging member up before he could use one. Then we started to draw our swords again. I shouted that his was too limp to be of any use before I was pushed out of the tent by the press of bodies.

I went back to my own tent and told Patroculus and Briseis what had happened. That’s the only time Briseis ever kissed me. I was just about to kiss Patroculus so he wouldn’t feel left out when Ullysses and several other leaders of the Achean army came into the tent. I made them go back out until I was ready to see them. First, I kissed Patroculus, then the three of us talked about what we could do. Then I kissed Patroculus again and called the committee into my tent.

“We have to end this fighting among ourselves” Ullysses opened. “Else the Trojans will be able to just watch our army disintegrate without ever lifting a weapon. Agamemnon is right that as our leader he has the power to apportion the spoils of battle. Just as all of us forced him to give up Cryseis, we will force you to give up the Amazon.”

“If you take Briseis then I’m done with you” I said. “The oracle said I would lead the Acheans to victory. Without me you will lose.” The three of us had decided that that was my strongest argument, so I led with it.

“Instead of answering me Ullysses spoke to the other generals. “Let me reason with Achilles alone. Too many of us against him alone may stiffen his resolve not to listen.” They reluctantly agreed and left. “Now girl, why are you making so much fuss about a bed mate you aren’t even using? Do you want to destroy the Achean army for your vanity's sake?”

“If I yield her to Agamemnon she will kill him or herself” I said. “You cannot take an Amazon to your bed without her consent. She will not leave this tent without a dagger she is quite able to use. You know the quarreling about the new leader would break this army into a dozen or more small bands”

“Yet if you do not give her up the army will be broken anyway.” mused Ullysses. Then I saw that he truly deserved his reputation for cleverness when he continued by saying “So you must yield her up to Agamemnon but she cannot reach his bed. I think we can do that if we work together.”

“What is your plan, Oh wily Ullysses?” I asked. This was beginning to sound like fun. To be a part of one of Ullyssess’ legendary schemes was almost as good as kissing Patroculus. Well, maybe not!

When he had finished it was agreed that he would tell the others that he had given me until sunset to give up Briseis voluntarily. When they came Patroculus would tell them that I would not follow Agamemanon if he did not relent. On this I was adamant. The rest of the army could follow that blowhard bully, but I would not. In any case I would not come forth from my tent while they took Briseis away.

Just at sunset the same group of men who had come earlier approached my tent where they found Patroculus barring their path with Briseis beside him. Patroculus delivered his message and had listened to their arguments for about the time it would take a man to run from one end of the Achean camp to other when Ullysses spoke out angrily saying that they were wasting time to no account. He grasped Briseis by the arm and passed her to an aging general to lead her to Agamemnon’s tent with two common soldiers as an escort. The others stayed to harangue Patroculus some more and insist on seeing me. A few minutes into Ullysses eloquent speech on the duty of all the Acheans to follow Agamemnon there was a commotion in the part of the camp occupied by the Ithicans. Men were shouting that the enemy was trying to raid the chariot horses. Men in other parts of the camp took up the cry adding conflicting orders to protect the other horses or run to the fight. Some yelled that the prisoners awaiting ransom were going to break loose. Ullysses’ shipmates performed their parts well, as they had done before. There was instant chaos everywhere.

In the confusion that enveloped the camp Briseis and her escort continued as best they could toward the center of the tents and Agamemnon. As they passed a large compound of supply wagons a young woman with only one breast leapt into their path. Thrusting her spear into the leg of one soldier with her left hand. she struck the other on the helmet with her sword. Fortunately, the blade was turned by his attempted parry so that he only went down stunned. Seeing her chance, Briseis snatched the general’s sword and cloak as she threw him to the ground. Then both women disappeared between the wagons and into the maelstrom of warriors running in every direction.

Of course, I was the “Amazon” rescuer with one breast strapped down and the other padded. I snatched up my cloak to cover my feminine appearance as Briseis covered herself with the general’s cloak. We made our way back through the camp to the Myrmidon area where Briseis went into an empty tent guarded by two trustworthy men dicing by a small fire in the front with coins I had given them. Tomorrow while everyone watches Ullysses and I play out our argument about my not fighting she’ll leave the camp. I even kissed Ullysses when I got back. Right after and before I kissed Patroculus.

I used to believe that people weren’t deliberately cruel; that everyone was struggling along as best they could to play the hand they were dealt. Then I met Joseph Fieldings. Joseph, Not Joe! I had seen him around town a few times and had been told that Joseph was best avoided. He was on parole for nearly killing a man in a bar fight and the smart money said he’d soon be going back to prison.

His brother Steve was one of my co-workers in the English department at George Patton High School. Steve made no bones about being an alcoholic. Not a mean one like his brother, just apt to party away every cent he had on payday. His wife Suzy laid down the law. He could have the bottle or her and the girls. He attends a meeting before work every day and always makes himself available when students are looking for help with substance issues.

Every year the English department puts together a team to enter the booster club's four player scramble golf tournament. Several years ago we were siting around waiting for the steak dinner and our prizes (third place, thanks mostly to May Bronkowski who coached both the boys and girls golf teams as well as teaching freshman composition). Joseph came up to our table with a tray containing two shots of tequila, a couple of lime slices and a salt shaker. He set the salt, a lime slice and one of the shots down in front of Steve.

“Third Place. Gotta celebrate; so bottoms up, Bro.”

I don’t think I’ve ever met an artist who could have done justice to Steve’s expression at that moment. He was simultaneously disgusted and angry while fighting to restrain himself from grasping the liquor and pouring it down. The rest of us were just shocked. It had to the coldest, meanest act I had ever witnessed. Steve was OK being around alcohol but this was taking it to another level. I took the decision away from him when I reached over and tossed down the shot, not bothering with lime or salt. Joseph glared at me but stalked away. Thinking the matter had ended, we went back to second guessing the putt that cost us a tie for first.

“This is Steve’s” Joseph snarled as he put another shot in front of his brother.” Not yours.” At that point I had a pretty good idea what the guy he had beaten up had been looking at.

“Yes, it’s Steve’s and he can do what he wants with it. Steve, would you like to give me that shot?”

“Yes”

I swallowed that shot the same way as the first one. I really don’t like tequila but I didn’t think asking for bourbon instead would work. I got a long glare before Joseph once again stomped off. We went up to get our dinner then and had just started doing more eating than talking when Joseph returned. He slammed another shot on the table in front of Steve but I don’t think he even realized how much he spilled. He was staring right at me.

“You, keep your hands off of this”

Realizing that this time he wasn’t going to walk away, I got to my feet as I tossed down my third shot to go with the IPA I’d had on the course and the two I’d had here in the picnic area. If I’d been sober I might have realized I could just have dumped that one. I thought of that while I was hung over the next day. Steve and Harp, our fourth player, were up with me while May was stepping between us with a canister of mace extended. It looked like we were about to make gossip for the next dozen tournaments when Ike Johnson appeared. Ike is the football teams biggest booster, both in funds and size. He got his engineering degree from State on a football scholarship and told me once that he got his first pair of cleats when a booster saw him practicing barefoot for traction when his mother couldn’t buy the shoes that month.

“Hey, Joseph, we need your opinion on extending the roof over the concession stands. Do you think it would block the view of too many seats? “

If you weren’t standing as close as I was you would never have realized that Joseph was being forced to walk away by the arm around his shoulder and a huge black hand clamped on his arm.

After dinner and the awarding of the prizes along with a speech from the booster’s president things began breaking up. All of that beer and tequila made it’s presence known to my bladder.. There was no way I could make it home without a pit stop. Fortunately, the line for the men’s room was long and growing. I had a good reason for not going in there. Instead I headed for the porta-john located between the fourth tee and the sixteenth green. By the time I got there I was in desperate straights. Jerking the door closed behind me I dropped my golf slacks and panties, hitting the sticky seat just in time. I’d just had time to wonder if maybe just this once I shouldn’t have stood up when the door opened. In my haste I hadn’t locked it. Joseph stepped forward with his hand already pulling down his fly when he saw me. Saw my panties.

“You’re queer”

“No, I’m a woman, but there is no way a known trans-woman can be a school teacher in this district. My mother’s dementia is getting worse so I can’t leave. Please don’t tell anyone.”

I was sure that was a waste of breath but it was the only hope I had.

“So your a fuckin’ pansy!”

Then he zipped up his pants and left.

I used to see him around once in a while before he went back to prison. Everyone said it was best to avoid him and I know they were right. But I’m still teaching at George Patton.

The Muse dropped this on me tonight. There wasn't time before Halloween to edit it after a waiting period. I hope it worked all right anyway.

I guess I’ve learned not to make promises with no idea what I was committing to. Maybe not because I would do it all over again. You see, my little sister Debbie who’s seven got hit by a car when she was chasing a soccer ball into the road. She’s not very tall and ran out from between two parked cars. The lady who hit her first never saw her; she just felt the impact that threw Debbie into the car coming the other way. We were all so scared that she would die. When dad called my friend Mike’s house where I was staying at 11:30 on the third night I was sure that she was dead. Then he said that she was breathing on her own, that the doctors thought that there was a good chance that she would live now. That was like the best Christmas and birthday I ever had put together.

After Debbie was in the first hospital for almost three weeks they moved her to another place where they do rehab. The thing is a lot of that rehab stuff hurts. I guess some of it hurts a lot. She just wasn’t doing it like mom said she had to. That’s when I opened my big mouth. “Hey sis” I said, “It’s only six weeks till Halloween. You have to get stronger so we can go trick or treating”

“Yea!” she said with the first sign of enthusiasm she’d shown in several days. “Can I pick our costumes? I’ll find something really good.”

“If you get strong enough to walk up the doorsteps we can be anything you want. But you have to work hard to get well” You see what I did there don’t you? It worked though. Debbie began trying so hard after that that the therapist had to make her take it a little slower.

For the next five weeks Debbie did her therapy and planned Halloween costumes. We were going to be Chip and Dale like she had seen at Disney world last year. Then it was Spider-man and Mary Jane. I liked that one. Every time I saw her for the first four weeks it was a different set of costumes. When I came into her room at the start of the final week at the rehab center we were going to both be Disney princesses. She would be Cinderella and I would be Belle. I was just as enthusiastic in talking about it as I had been with all the others. She’d see another movie or something that night and be all excited about another set of costumes tomorrow.

Dad and I went to my soccer game for the junior high team the next night before picking up a couple of pizzas. Mom was meeting us there and we were going to have a movie night with Debbie and her roommate Ashley's parents. That’s when I found out we were watching Cinderella followed by Beauty and the Beast so we could see our costumes. That’s when I started worrying. The girls had gone on line and found a web site that sold all of the Disney princess gowns. They had it up on Debbie’s phone for mom to order gowns with all the accessories.

“Are you sure, honey” mom asked “You won’t be able to change your mind if I buy them.”

“Yup, I’m sure. It’ll be great! We’ll be so pretty.” she beamed.

“What about you Josh? You’re not going to change your mind are you.”

I really wanted to but Debbie had worked so hard and sounded so happy. I knew I couldn’t back out. “No, It’ll be really great.” I replied with a lot of forced enthusiasm.

Mom ordered the Cinderella costume in a girls size seven for Debbie and started filling out the form for the Belle costume. Then she looked at me and looked at the order form again. “This costume just doesn’t come big enough for you Josh. You’re 5’11’’ and weigh 160 pounds right?”

I started to let out a big sigh of relief when I saw Debbie’s expression. She really was disappointed. So I opened my big mouth again. I said “can’t we make a costume? We have ten days do it.” That’s why I found myself on the night before Halloween doing a final fitting. I’m wearing a long blue dress from the Goodwill store that Mom had a lady she uses sometimes alter to look more like the gown in the movie. I have on a slip to help puff it out and a bra stuffed with bags of oatmeal (Mom says real breast are that heavy, too). Mom styled my hair the best she could. It really isn’t long enough but Debbie says it looks pretty. Now she’s doing my make-up so she’ll have it all worked out and won’t take long tomorrow. She wants to take pictures tonight too. Tomorrow I’m getting out of school at two to get into my costume and go to Debbie’s after school party before we go trick or treating.

School was bad. I was going to wear a tigers cap but Mr. Phillips made me take it off. Everyone saw my hair. Even my friends were teasing me but some of the guys got really mean until Mike and Chas got mad. Nobody wants to fight my buddies. The freshman football coach at the high school already has them picked out for his offensive line next year but we have been talking about staying with soccer. Mike is taking his brother out trick or treating with us so I won’t have any trouble with anyone we know then either.

I went to the office and mom signed me out right at two. We stopped for some stuff at the supermarket and pulled into the garage just in time to meet Debbie’s bus. She still has a little trouble getting off the bus so I lifted her down and got a big smile in return. When we got into the house I ran to take a shower with a shower cap on like we planned last night. Mom was going to help Debbie with her costume while I was doing that and then help me with my makeup. When I got to my room the dress and stuff wasn’t on my bed like it was supposed to be. “Mom, where’s my costume” I shouted.

I was glad I still wearing my robe when instead of mom answering Debbie came into my room and said “hurry up and get ready. We have to leave soon”

“My dress isn’t here” I said. “do you know where mom put it?”

“Mom talked to me when we were going to pick up the dress after the alterations” she said. “she wanted me to know just how special you were to wear it. I kind of knew that, but it gave me a better idea even if it isn’t really a costume." So that’s why I’m wearing a T-shirt that says “world’s greatest brother.” …..And a Tigers cap.

This is a story I had given up on. It just seemed trite. Then I realized I was telling it from the wrong viewpoint. Mathew's viewpoint may may offend or trigger some people, but here it is.

It was the worst holiday I can remember. No, it was the worst day I can remember, period.

I was in the kitchen helping Mary cut up a pork loin for our traditional New Years day family dinner of shrimp cocktails followed by chop suey when Jeremy came down the stairs. I couldn’t take it all in at once. It was all just total perversion.

His too long hair was in a high ponytail held by a lacy elastic. He was wearing one of his sister’s Sunday dresses and had clearly borrowed one of her bras, too. I remember wondering, as if it mattered, where he had found the high heeled shoes on his feet. They were too big to be belong to Martha or his mother. He had smeared lipstick on his mouth and some kind of color over his eyes. Mary and I both just gaped at our sixteen year old son. Then we found our voices simultaneously, shouting over and through each other.

“Jeremy Allen Pierce!” From Mary.

“Jeremy! Get out of those clothes right now! And wash your face!” I roared; before adding, still yelling, if not so loud: “and get back down here.”

Jeremy just stood there, looking down at his high heels. It became obvious that he’d used some kind of eye-liner as it ran down his cheeks. Finally, he looked up at us.

“Mom, Dad, this is who I am, who I’ve always been. I’ve know I was a girl for as long as I can remember. My new years resolution was to tell you that I’m Jennifer, not Jeremy. I know what the bible says about men in women’s clothes, but I’ve never been a man. I never will be.”

He started to say more but I’d heard enough. “You may not be much of a man but You’ll never be a woman. I don’t know where you got all of this “Woke” nonsense from. It wasn’t from us or anyone at the academy. Go change into your own clothes, NOW!”

He defied me!

“No, dad: I can’t go back. I prayed so many nights for the courage to do this. I prayed so many other nights to just die. I don’t think I can do it again….. I won’t go back.”

I have never struck my children. My father had hit me too many times to no benefit that I ever saw. I might have then if Mary hadn’t grabbed my arm and shouted at Jeremy to go. Knowing she was right, that I was out of control, I let her turn me away from my son. I could hear him sobbing, hear Mary sobbing.

I turned back toward Jeremy and spoke with all the calm I could muster. “I’m going to the church to pray and talk to pastor Franks about helping you. Don’t worry. He can keep secrets. No one needs to know about this. Now go and change.”

Again, he defied me!

He looked back at me and stopped sobbing just long enough to choke out a faint “no” and then again louder “NO! I WON’T.”

Mary got between us again, but I made no move toward him. I hesitated for a second, but I knew what I had to say. It was my duty as his father, to save his soul and to protect the rest of our tight knit congregation from his willful sins. “You cannot live your perverted lifestyle here. I am going now to church where I’ll pray for you. When I return you will be dressed in your proper clothes and I’ll cut off that hair. I was wrong to allow it.” I went out the door without my winter coat and walked the seven blocks to the church

Jeremy was gone when I returned.

The temperature dropped into the teens that night with wind-chills in the single digits. Jeremy couldn’t have gone to any of his friends dressed like that. They all attended Calvary Academy just as he did. Neither they nor there parents would take in a boy in a dress. At least he took his heavy jacket, perhaps because the academy jackets were the same for boys and girls.

I heard Mary crying off and on all night. I got up and paced. I could hear stirring in Martha’s bedroom, too. She had wisely stayed in her room this morning but I knew that her brother's leaving had affected her. I had done the only thing I could do. Pastor Franks had agreed that Jeremy’s soul was at risk. That was more important than freezing weather.

I didn’t have a very productive day at work on the second. I couldn’t concentrate. I was remembering times with Jeremy, trying to find where I’d gone wrong. Or maybe Mary had. No. I wasn’t going to blame my failings on my wife. It was my duty to teach my son to be man. I hadn’t. I was checking my phone every few minutes, too; hoping he’d call or text that he was ready to come home. Overall there was a bit of carry-over at work from the holiday that helped to conceal mental wanderings.

In bible study that night pastor Franks talked about staying true to christian values that are under assault by the “woke” liberal agenda. He even cited Deuteronomy and talked about queer men pretending to be women. He didn’t mention Jeremy, of course. No one knows about him yet. I knew It was aimed at me, reassuring me that I had done the right thing; the only thing a Christian could do. I just sat there checking my phone, thinking of the parable of the prodigal son. I wanted to welcome my son home.

It was cold again that night. About one a.m. I got up and dug Jeremy’s sleeping bag out of the basement. I hung it over the front step railing with his favorite knit hat stuffed inside before opening the garage door and sounding the car horn four times. If he was in the neighborhood yet...

It was still there in the morning.

That day it was Trent’s day to control the radio. We had long ago agreed to play CBN and NPR on alternating days rather than have a volume war. I hoped that he might benefit from the Christian programming and I suspect he felt the same way about me and NPR’S woke slant on life. I was having a hard enough time concentrating when a segment came on about the fate of homeless young men. I hoped Jeremy wasn’t becoming a drug addict like the boy they were interviewing, but having turned his back on God he was certainly in danger of it. I just couldn’t listen to any more of it.

“Turn it off, please.” I said.

“Why? It’s my turn to choose the station.”

“Just turn it of,...Please.” “”
“Fine. I’ll play that hip-hop station then.”

“No, please. Just until they change topics. Jeremy’s out there.” Then everything I’d been holding in came out. “He’” and then I turned away so he wouldn’t see my tears.

Trent turned of the radio, then shut down both of our machines.

Handing me a clean shop rag, he asked “Jeremy is out where?” Why?”

I’m not sure why I told him. All we had in common was working next to each other. I guess I just had to talk about it. Andy came over at one point but let Trent wave him away without ever asking why we weren’t working. He’s a good boss. He’ll square the down time with accounting, somehow. When I finished Trent just handed me another rag and then stared up into space for a bit.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Matt.” he said. In a shop full of random profanity, He doesn’t curse. He’s not a Christian but says the words have lost all meaning from overuse. It was almost as shocking as if Mary said it.

“Blasphemy won’t help”

“Somethings got to get your attention. Don’t you pay any attention to the radio when NPR is on? LGBT kids are at high risk for suicide. She may have just lay down and froze somewhere. Were you paying any attention to the programs about transgender people? You didn’t even make an effort to understand you daughter. You just threw her out in a Minnesota winter….. Did you even call the police?”

If I wasn’t so emotionally drained I think I would have hit him. As it was I just stared at my hands and wrapped and unwrapped them in the wet rags I was holding.

“It’s not like that. Jeremy isn’t one of those sick people. He’s just, I don’t know, confused?”

“It doesn’t sound to me like Jennifer is confused. She may have been optimistic about your reaction but you had better pray that she was realistic enough to have a plan B. Or maybe knowing you as well as she does it was plan A. You’ve known that kid all her life. Do you really think she would do something this drastic if she had a choice.”

“Pastor Franks has been praying for him. Mary and I and Martha are all praying for him. Tell me what else I can do and I’ll do it.”

“You stubborn idiot.” Suddenly he stood up. “let’s go” Raising his voice he called to Andy “Sign us out early, please. I’ll explain tomorrow.”

“Where? Are we going to find Jeremy?”

"If you’re very lucky we might find Jennifer. More than likely we won’t. You have to learn some things. Or maybe unlearn some things.”

“I don’t need to listen to a bunch of woke propaganda. I need to get my son back.”

“I guarantee you won’t get your child back if you don’t work with the people who have some insight into the problem. You said to tell you what else you could do. As things stand now the best you’ll get is that she’s safely in the foster care system. Now, let’s go.”

I followed him to the locker room and then to his truck, not really knowing why. It didn’t feel like the best thing to do but it was doing something. That, I realized, was something I needed. Instead of starting the truck Trent pulled out his phone. He touched the chrome icon and the microphone before saying “transgender support near me.”

“The closest seems to be an LGBT services coordination center, whatever that means, in St. Paul. I’d hoped for something closer.”

Then he started the engine and mercifully turned off the radio before we set out. The twenty minute drive was mostly passed in silence. I kept thinking about what he’d said. Increased risk of suicide. And praying. Trent seemed content to leave me to my thoughts.

The LGBT services coordination center occupied a storefront in a less than desirable part of St Paul. I let Trent explain our presence as I still seemed to be following passively where he led. The shirtless young man in a leather vest at the reception desk just spoke into an intercom. “Shirl, we have a couple of guys here who need to see you.” and returned to the craft magazine he was reading when we entered, something about leather.

I was reassured when the tall, forty something woman who came out was more professionally attired in a bluish gray skirt and white blouse. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Shirley White. Please follow me. When we had been seated in a pair of molded plastic chairs she asked “how can I help you?”

I let Trent once again do the explaining.

“So you want me to help you find a girl you’ve already thrown out once?”

That broke through my apathy. “I didn’t throw him”

“HER! You don’t misgender people here! If she’s presenting as a female then she’s female.”

“O. K., but I didn’t throw her out. He,….. She, she ran away while I was I gone.”

“What else could she do? She already told you she couldn’t go back to being a boy. Did you think she’d wait for you to beat her into submission.?”

I leaped to my feet, face burning, fist clenched. I glared at her for moment and then slumped back into my chair just before the big young receptionist crashed through the door.

“Thanks, Arnie. It was a false alarm. I was a little too quick with the button.”

“You’re sure your safe?” he asked as he somehow hovered simultaneously over both Trent and I.

“It’s all right. I miss-interpreted the gentleman's agitation”.

“Do you need me to stay?”

“No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

We sat quietly as he left and then Shirley spoke. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. I just spent two hours holding the hand of a girl who was beaten for what’s in her panties and let some of my anger about that out on you.”

“The girl,” I choked out, “it couldn’t have been jer er jennifer, was it.”

For the first time since we met her Shirley’s face softened and she answered in a quieter, deeper voice. Hearing it , I realized what she was, or had been. “No, this girl is black. She was beaten up by an angry John. She would have been safer working a few miles away where their looking for boys. But she isn’t a boy.”

“Thank you. At least I’m sure my…..daughter will never face that danger. She would never.”

She cut me off. “People do what they have to to survive: or they don’t survive. You have no right to judge J’Marra. But, getting back to finding your daughter. I can’t help you. We’re an unofficial volunteer organization. State regulations don’t allow them to refer minors through us. We can’t afford all of the background checks they want. You need to speak to Janet Wilkins over at county social services. I work with her for indigent clients who are over eighteen. Part of her job is LGBT liaison for the branches. If a trans minor has been picked up by the police or contacted any of their branches she’ll get a report.”

“Can you call her?” Trent asked,” or give us her number?”

“She won’t discuss a minor over the phone or without proof of your relationship. You’ll have to go to her office.”

Janet Wilkin’s office was back across the river in Minneapolis. Unlike the coordination place it was in a big modern office building full of municipal and county offices. Having left my apathetic state, I tried to express my gratitude to Trent on the drive over there.

“Trent, thank you. You have truly been my good Samaritan. When my pastor offered nothing, abandoning my child who has been a member of his flock, you have stepped up and given me hope despite the cost of time off and travel. You deny being a Christian but you have acted in a manner Christians aspire to.”

“You know, Matt, I’m the farthest thing from a Christian but I like a lot of the things Jesus is supposed to have said. Like about loving your neighbor. By the way, did you know that wasn’t original to him. The answer he gave about the greatest of the commandments was a quote that would have been recognized by Jewish scholars of the day. But, He had the right idea. Anyway, we're here.”

Evidently, Shirley White had called ahead about us and we quickly found ourselves speaking to Janet Wilkins. Or rather, she was speaking to me.

“You gave your child an ultimatum that forced her onto the streets. Why will she be better off if I help you.”

“I never meant for Jeremy to leave. I just left and expected both of us to be more level headed when I returned. I thought that given a bit of time he’d see that the whole transgender thing is just liberal “woke” nonsense. I thought he’d be back in his proper clothes and ready to apologize for his behavior.” I paused. “I was angry at him for defying me but I’d never cast him out.”

“You’re an idiot. You didn’t listen to what Jennifer said and you’re not listening now. Take this pamphlet, sit in the extra chair in the corner and read it. Maybe that can get some facts through to you.”

I was almost angry enough to stomp out of her office, but Trent pulled the chair he’d been sitting in next to the other one; guiding me with his shoulder as he did so. After about fifteen minutes I looked up from the pamphlet, having read it all. I was aware that Mrs. Wilkins had been on her computer, paying me no attention. It felt like being a six year old in the bad boy corner.

Evidently she was paying more attention than I thought. When I stopped reading she looked over her monitor at me. “Any questions?”

“This part about brain waves. Does that mean boys who are transgender think like girls? Have feminine brains”

“It means that transgender girls, who are girls because the brain is where gender identity is, have physically male bodies. What they try to do is minimize the conflict brought about by that condition. That means dressing and presenting in as feminine a manner as is practical, and where feasible using drugs and surgical intervention to bring the body into harmony with the mind. You don’t have a son, you have a daughter who has some medical issues.”

“At any rate, I think I have found her. A trans girl wearing a Calvary Academy jacket who will only identify herself as Jennifer was arrested for trespassing at the North Side Mall yesterday. That’s what they usually charge persistent panhandlers with. She’s being held in a county juvenile facility. With a misdemeanor charge she could be released to a parent. HOWEVER, I am going to fax them with instructions that she is not to be forced to go with you. You will have to convince her that she is safe with you or she stays with the county.

I was mostly silent again as we made way our back across the river and then North of St. Paul to a fenced compound with some sports facilities and a playground surrounding three big buildings. I was trying to reconcile what I’d read and heard that day with what I knew as gospel truth. After passing through security both at the gate and the marked visitor entrance we were placed in a kind of small parlor and told to wait. After a few minutes a woman came in, accompanied by Jeremy. He was wearing a uniform with a pale blue top and matching pants with a drawstring waist. The same lacy elastic held his hair in a high ponytail.

Seeing me as he entered the room, his face lit up. “Dad” and then as quickly went flat, eyes seeking his toes.

I needed that joy to return so badly. I hesitated and then spoke. “Jennifer, lets go home.”

I had just started on dinner after a long day at work when Tommy came running into the kitchen with tears and snot running down his face again. “Tommy, what happened?” I asked as I knelt down to lift his five year old body to my breast. Of course, I already had a pretty good idea what was wrong. It was what was wrong way too often.

“Jack was pulling on tiger’s tale an’ tiger bit him an’ I laughed”. Jack is my sister-in-laws seven year old son. They lived across the street from us. Jack was my idea about what was wrong even if the explanation didn’t make sense yet.

“So why are you crying if Jack is the one who got bitten?” I asked.

“ He got mad ‘cause I laughed an’ he hit me in the nose and an’ he kicked me in the belly”

“ Honey, I’m sorry he hurt you again. Let me get a tissue and clean you up; then you can have a cookie, O.K. “

“O.K. Mom. Do we any fudge stripes?”

As I cleaned up my boy and got his cookie I was thinking that this had gone on long enough. George would have to talk to his sister and make it clear that she can’t just keep saying “boys will be boys” and ignore Jack’s bullying.

“Mom”, Tommy interrupted my thoughts, “I don’t want to be a boy any more.” My first thought was that if this was Jack's fault, I’m going to kill that brat. I knew better, of course. If Tommy was transgendered it had nothing to do with bullying. But mothers are not always logical. Then my education and training kicked in. As a pediatric nurse I had a little training but no experience in this area. I mentally floundered for a reaction. I wanted to be supportive without endorsing the idea too strongly. I was pretty sure what he meant but Tommy’s logic could be confusing at times.

“Do you think you are girl?” I asked.

“I’m a boy. You know that.”

Why don’t you want to be a boy?” I asked. It looked like this would be one of his forty question conversations.

“Cause Jack beats me up all the time” he answered.

“So you think he would stop hitting you if you were a girl?” Maybe, I thought he isn’t transgendered, just tired of getting hurt.

“No, Jack hits girls too. He hits Suzy and Jean." I was informed.

Now he had me confused, a not entirely unique experience. So I had to ask “
Then why do you want to be a girl?”

“ Ew! I don’t want to be a girl. I want to be a cat like tiger so I can bite Jack too.”

Thirty-six barking dogs make an incredible amount of noise. Even eliminating the nine puppies leaves me with too many dogs to look at fairly in one session. I’m beginning to think this plan may be harder than I thought. O. K., eliminate the two very old dogs. I need pets that will live a number of more years. Just look at dog sized dogs. Pekes and miniature poodles are for old ladies. That gets it down to nineteen dogs. After two and a half hours of playing fetch, scratching bellies and a bit of testing for previous training I have six dogs to see again tomorrow. Next time I’m bringing earplugs! The volunteer warns me that some of the dogs I’m interested in may be gone by then. That’s fine. I’m making a long term commitment. Fifteen minutes or less with a dog is not enough to do that.

I put the earplugs in as the volunteer (why don’t they wear name-tags?) leads me thru the kennel doors. All six of my dogs are still here. They also got in another dog last night he thinks I might like from the ones I picked out before. She’s a beautiful little English springer bitch in liver and white. She even has papers, which is not a factor for me but I do like springer spaniels. Buster(who calls a bitch Buster?) has obliviously been well trained. She has the friendly disposition that seems to be standard with springers. At three years old she is just what I want. That leaves one more dog to choose. I work too many hours to leave one dog home alone.
I played with each of the other dogs again before picking out a nameless yellow lab mix who was dropped off here undernourished and flea ridden last month. The vet thinks she’s about four or five years old. She has had some basic obedience training but will need some work. I really liked a Jack Russel male named Scott but I have to have two males or two females. I’m not starting a puppy farm. The shelter includes a certificate for neutering with each dog but I won’t use them. Looking at Buster’s (that name has to go) pedigree I may even let her have a litter. As a final test we put the two dogs in a run together and leave them alone for several minutes. Then I go back in the run and pet first one and then the other. They get along and aren’t overly jealous. I can go in and sign the paperwork, pay the fees and load up my two new dogs.

Nancy, the woman I’m left with by the first volunteer asks for my drivers license and starts filling out papers. The unnamed Lab mix is all mine in minutes. She wanted a name to put down but I explained that I had promised the neighborhood kids that they could name the dogs which may have put me in danger of losing my grumpy old guy status. John Leonard down the street can have it. When she started on Buster’s paperwork she stopped almost immediately. Buster, who’s pedigree says is she named “Hunter’s Queen Maeve,” came in with another dog from the same deceased owner who’s family made a donation to the shelter and asked that the two be placed together. The kennel workers should have been told about that but since they only came in last night not everyone would be aware of it yet. Did I want princess, too? I wasn’t really planning on a third dog but she told me that the two had been together all of Buster’s life. The family felt that it was best that they stay together. She claimed that at ten years old Princess(Grand Champion Princess Gertrude not of Bavaria) shouldn’t add much more work to the two active dogs I was adopting.

I’d put a lot of care into choosing my two dogs. I wasn’t going take a third one at random so I suggested that princess be brought out to the run where Buster and the lab were waiting. Re-inserting my earplugs I went back to the kennel and played with the dogs for a few minutes before a volunteer named Sue(they do have name-tags) came in with us carrying a Pekingese. No! I want dogs, not pampered rats. That high pitched yapping was cutting right through the barrier of the earplugs. An extended version of the usual canine greeting ensued(not describing butt-sniffing; not that kind of story) while I mentally reviewed the other available dogs. I was thinking about maybe getting Scott and having him neutered after all. Then that damn yapping rat looked up at me and started licking my ankles since my butt was out of reach. I only picked her up to protect my expensive support hose. Then it was only common courtesy to scratch behind her ears, right? She just curled up in my arms after a quick lick at my nose and made herself at home. O.K. how much longer is a ten year old pekingese going to live anyway. I could handle it that long.

I drove home with two dogs in the carriers I had brought with me and the princess in my lap. Fortunately she was willing to lie there quietly. By the time I put Princess on the ground and had leashed the other two dogs I was surrounded by children. I’m not sure where they all came from and have no idea how the news of our arrival spread so fast. Questions were coming like shotgun pellets. “Is that one a boy or a girl” “what kind of dogs are they” “can I pet him?” “Can we really a name them?” “I thought you were getting two”

The dogs were trying to get away from the commotion and princess was cowering right between my feet. “Quiet, everyone!” I said as authoritatively as I could. “You’re scaring them. They are all girls. You can have a contest to name the big ones but I have to like the names. Stay away from them when I’m not around until we find out if they like kids. The little one is named princess and she’s too old to learn a new name. Especially stay away from her because she’s old and dogs like her aren’t always good with kids anyway. They are called pekingese because they come from China. The yellow one is mostly a Labrador retriever. She doesn’t have a name at all yet. The brown and white one is an English Springer Spaniel. Her official name is” I had stop and look at the papers on the car seat. “Hunter’s Queen Maeve (forget Buster, that will always be the boxer who bit my dad when he tried to spank me) but that’s way to long. I’m going to walk the dogs around a little while so they learn where they live. A couple of you at a time can come pet them.”

So that’s what happened. I walked the dogs around the yard and the meadow out back. Kids came and spoiled them until I said it was someone else’s turn. The walk lasted longer than I had planned on before everyone had a chance at petting while the others argued about names. When I finally returned to the truck Daniel, one of the older boys stepped forward. “We think that she” he said pointing to the springer, “should have her name shortened to Queen. Then since you have a queen and a princess she” pointing to the lab, “should be Duchess.” It seems I was living with royalty.

I finally got the dogs inside and set up another bed for princess. Food and water were put out and refilled. I don’t think Duchess has any experience with free feeding. I’m sitting back in the recliner with princess on my lap and the other two curled up under my footrest. Reaching for my book I think about what I’ve done. I’m committed to three dogs. Two are bred for hunting. I’ll put my shotgun to it’s intended use. I can’t kill myself with it now.

I didn’t sleep well. Princess definitely felt that she should be in my bedroom. She whined at the door and scratched on it for what seemed as long as two nights before she gave in. She was in Queen’s bed this morning. The other two seemed to understand that the beds I had put them in are were where they belonged. When she finally got quiet I still couldn’t sleep. I’d eliminated the worst solution to my problem but the problem remained. I couldn’t keep on pretending to be a man.

I got up with the alarm despite my lack of sleep. The dogs would have to be walked soon or I could clean up the consequences. I’d taken a long week-end to get my new housemates settled in and plan for the future. I pulled on a pair of Jeans and a t-shirt with my corporate logo. I got Duchess and Queen into the two dog rig I’d purchased for them and tied a length of parachute cord to princess’ collar. I’d have to make a return trip to the pet store. After a nice walk and fixing breakfast I would have to find another reason to procrastinate. I do want to spend time with each dog individually before returning to work.

Serious thinking while keeping three dogs under control just didn’t happen. In the end I tied princess to a fence post and jogged up the road and back with the big dogs. It was that or carry her. She thought I should have carried her and let the neighborhood know about it. I forgot to bring waste bags so I’ll have to go back and clean up on this afternoon’s walk. Hopefully I wouldn’t get any irate phone calls before then.

After breakfast I walked into the living room and took my shotgun from the corner where I’d left it three nights ago. An Orvis side by side twenty gauge, it had been a much appreciated bonus from a satisfied customer in the days when I still did much of the work on major projects myself. It might have tipped the balance when I l held it that night. I couldn’t use such a beautiful piece of craftsmanship to do something so ugly. So I’d removed the shells and went looking for dogs. Wiping it down, I put it back in the gun safe. The decision had been made to live. Now I just needed to decide how I was going to live.

The problem was made worse by how well I’d pretended. I was a tomboy who loved hunting and fishing with dad. I loved just about anything outdoors. That led to the creation of my company soon after I left college. Green Engineering, Cyrus Green CEO and janitor. Also shovel jockey, chief surveyor and forester. I, now we, set up environmentally sustainable retreats with fish and game management plans for wealthy clients on land they purchased for vacation homes. I got started when I was asked to look at plans my college roommate’s family were making for a place in upstate New York. His dad liked my ideas and the work I did to carry them out. He told some other Wall Street people about me and what was going to be a summer filler while I waited for something to open up in forestry became a career. I’d built up a lot of muscle doing that work. I am worried about how much of our success is based on my appearing to be a man’s man, an expert outdoorsman when I’d always been an outdoorswoman. The success of the company meant I had resources to transition but it also meant that I was responsible for the livelihood of forty people. I have to tell my family, too but I don’t think they will be too surprised. There have been broad hints over the years that they would accept me if I was gay. I don’t think they will have any trouble with the real reason I’m different.

As much as I’ve thought about this and dreamed about it, I just don’t know where to start. Monday I’ll call a therapist I researched several years ago. Today I’m going to go shopping for the clothes I haven’t worn since I got too big to sneak into my mothers stuff. I don’t know. Should I do something that public already? Maybe just get some nice body wash, facial cleanser and shampoo. My years of working outdoors haven’t been kind to my skin and hair but I never dared to do anything about it. At least I’ll get Princess a leash when I’m in town. There’s a decent plus size clothing store about thirty miles away. I’m just not a Walmart kind of girl. I’ve thought about getting cash from the ATM and going there in the past. I was afraid to even risk my banker finding out I was a woman. This time I have to do something. Either use the shotgun or make the move. Getting the dogs means I can’t just check out so I guess I’ll check out the dress shop. I doubt they’ll believe in a six foot one, one-hundred and ninety-five pound girl friend so this is it. I wonder if they have anything suitable for dog walking?

I didn’t have to announce my return to the dogs. They mobbed me at the door. As excited as I was to wear the beginnings of my new wardrobe it was clear that the girls had other priorities. I just unloaded the poop scooper and the new leash. The rest would have to wait. We all took a short walk together while I dealt with this morning’s mess. Then I took each dog individually to the field behind the house to try them off leash. Princess and Queen both showed the results of good trainers. Queen responded well to the whistle. I wasn’t surprised that Princess didn’t. Show dogs don’t need long distance control. Duchess tried. She’d had some training of some kind. She just wasn’t consistent on any of her commands. If we work on it she’ll be ready to hunt by this fall.

It took most of another hour to remove the tags from my purchases and put most of them away. After a shower to wash off the men’s products I’d used that morning I dressed in a mauve pants suit that I was afraid made me look like I was trying to be Hillary Clinton. It was that kind of store. I have to get some casual clothes when I go to the city Tuesday. At least the manager was not shocked by an apparent man as a customer. Others had been drawn to the plus sizing she offered. I’d bought panties but had not found a bra in my band size that wouldn’t require serious stuffing. The shoe store in the mall hadn’t carried anything in a women’s size 12 so I didn’t bother with stockings either. I have to wear support hose most of the time anyway. But there will be no doubt in anyone’s mind when I take the dogs for their last walk of the day. This is the home of the royal ladies with a duchess, a princess and two queens.

I have tried to give the flavor of J'Marra's speech without overdoing the profanity. I just can't picture her in a stressful situation not being course. It's part of her street cred and automatic now. You may recognize her name from one line in The Worst Day. Dorothy's comment made me realize that her story needed to be told.

I was trying to get interested in a fashion magazine from the hospital library when she came into my room. I wasn’t too disappointed to be interrupted since the articles all seemed to be aimed at cis-white girls. The matronly looking woman with dark caramel skin and cornrow hair in a red pantsuit smiled at me and said “ J’Marra Franklin? I’m Maybell Jones, a social worker here at the hospital. I’d like to talk to you about what will happen after you’re released tomorrow.”

“Hi, Mrs. Jones. What do you mean? I thought I would be done then.”

“Not completely”, she said as she shuffled some papers in a file in her hand. “You’ll get medical instructions for aftercare and probably one or more follow up doctor’s appointments. But that’s not why I’m here. You have no family listed and no address or occupation. That puts you at high risk of being back here again with more injuries. I’m here to address that.”

“No I won’t! Rodney took care of that nigger. He won’t come back.”

“Rodney is your pimp?”

“Fuck! I never said nothin’ about no pimp.” I could hear the street coming back out in my voice after reacting to Mrs. Jones like she was one of my old school teachers. Rodney will beat me worse than that mo-fuckin’ John did if some social worker starts in on him.

“J’Marra! There is no call to curse at me. I’m trying to help you. You’re only nineteen years old. Can’t you call on a parent for help; Maybe go home for awhile.”

“I can’t go back to Texas.”

“Texas? How did you ended up being a sex worker in Minnesota?”

“I just kept going North until they turned me back at the Canadian border because I didn’t have any I.D. I threw away everything with that name on it the day I ran from the center.”

“A youth center?”

“Yeah, I was there for about six months after a year on the streets in Fort Worth. They insisted I was a boy. If I could live like that I would never have been thrown out.”

“How long has it been since you talked to your family? Do you think there’s any chance of acceptance now?”

“Mo-fuckin’ deacon Caleb Michael Bronner don’t accept nothin’. It’s what he says is the lord’s way or get out. Bastard found out I was wearing dresses when I was fifteen. He beat me so I couldn’t even get up. No hospital that time. I lay on that back porch in the heat for two days before I could leave. I’d be dead if my little sister hadn’t slipped me some water and food after I made it to the alley.”

I stopped so drink some water from the Styrofoam cup by my bed. “I could hear him beating on Sarah for helping me. I heard her scream.” I paused again. “I can go back to whorin' when I get out.”

“I’ve seen your injury report.” she said. “You have severe genital bruising as well as broken ribs. I don’t think you’ll be doing that for a while. Why not look at this as an opportunity to try something else.”

“I need the money. Waiting tables and such don’t pay for my hormones. Rodney gets them for me.”

“You’ve been getting them here, right? No one has called you a boy?”

“Yeah, they’ve been great. The doctor said I needed the hormones to help heal, too. Only one with a problem was the E. R. doctor. He had trouble talking into his recorder about traumatized testicles and penis on a girl. He kept saying he and then apologizing, and I said it confused me too.”

“O.K., you’re nineteen years old. If you were to apply for a job and enroll in an educational program I can probably get you approved for Medicaid. They will cover your doctor visits and such including this hospitalization but not hormones at this time. I can also authorize some assistance in finding a room. Shirley White from the LGBT resource center, the woman who has visited you, can help with hormones once she has a prescription.” She started writing on some papers in her folder as she continued. “would you like to try that?”

“Yes, but Rodney won’t let me. Fucker don’t like losing merchandise.”

“J’Marra, I’ll make you an offer You can’t refuse. You clean up your language, work hard and study hard. I’ll have a couple of the deacons from my church talk to Rodney. They’re combat veterans who’ll have no trouble convincing him to forget you.”

“Deacons like my old man helping me? No way!”

“No, not like your father. If he was like that I wouldn’t have married Thomas. Now, what about it? Should I refer you to the job center?”

“Fuck Yeah! I mean, Yes Ma’am.”

My computer sent me to this page on the cloud when I tried to open up one page to work on my latest story. Maybe some one here can explain how it happened. I just turn on the computer and type. I have no idea why it does some of the things it does. This seems to be all there is of this page.

Project girl

Hi Lucy, this is the place I told you I would make to help you. I didn’t know what to do when I caught you trying to wear mom’s clothes yesterday. When you stopped crying and told me you were a girl then I really didn’t know what to do. Everyone says I’m smart so I figure I can make a plan to help you. I read a lot about transgender kids (That’s what the doctors call girls and boys who have the wrong body) all last night after mom and dad went to bed. I even found some websites with stories about kids like you. Don’t look for them! I’ll be in a lot of trouble if dad knows I read some of them. I’ll download some good ones for you on your kid’s tablet after I learn how to hide things on it with a password. You don’t want to get caught with them yet. You can read this whenever you want to here at SmartRickies’ Space on the cloud but I won’t leave anything about it at home. Maybe I’ll put the stories here too. I don’t know how much cloud space they need. So I’ll show you how to get here and give you the password tonight. Don’t write it down! I know you did. Go tear it up real small and throw it out. If you forget I’ll tell you again. Don’t worry, I’ll make a really good plan. I’m going to read Machiavelli and Sun Tzu again first. Their kind of boring but everyone says they are the best on planning a big project.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

what’s a Machiavelli and Sun Tzu?

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

They are two old dead guys who wrote books on how to plan important things.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

O.K. Lucy, I did a lot of reading about how to do big things like getting you to be yourself. The first step is to define the goal. I think that what you need is to able to live as a girl and grow up to be a girl and then a woman. I can’t do any more until I talk to you when we’re alone again and see if I understand the goal right.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The second step is to determine what our resources are. That means what we have that we can use to make it to our goal. We have the internet, which is great, $50 in Christmas money and two kids. We’re smart kids but you’re only seven and I’m only twelve even if the tests say I can read and write like college student. We need help. I know you said you were scared to tell dad and mom but I think we have to. We don’t have to tell our Mother. She won’t help anyway. I hope you read this before we get to talk after school tomorrow.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucy, I’m still going to try to help you. I won’t tell mom and dad. You sure cry a lot more when your a girl. I put a neat story on here for you. It helped me understand why you have to be a girl. It’s called Shoes. I have to do some more reading too. Maybe I can find out more about what you need from psychology books. I sure hope I don’t have to read too many. They are even more boring than Machiavelli.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The brother in Shoes is cool.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Yeah. I liked him too.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I like my brother better.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

thanks

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucy, I hope you are reading this since you won’t talk to me. I am not being mean. You need to talk to doctors. They cost a lot of money, especially If we can’t use dad’s insurance. I don’t know if they would even talk to us if he doesn’t say it’s O.K. Talk to me tomorrow, please!

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I’m glad you like the dress. I told them it was a birthday present for my little sister (Just three months early). Maybe if we get some more money I can do it again at a different store. I read some more stuff about boys who are girls last night. Do you think you can tell Dr. Wiltzie if I can get mom out of the room? She can send you to the other doctors you need to see. I don’t think she can tell our parents if you don’t want her to. She may not be able to get you in to see the other doctors unless she does though.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucy, we don’t need this any more so I’ll just put some more stories here for you. I told you mom and dad wouldn’t hate you. I thought you would never stop crying when Mom found the dress but everything is going to be great. I had to show this to dad and all the stuff I’ve been reading too. He’s picking the stories and I can’t use the internet except for school for two weeks after he saw some of the stuff on that fictionmania site.

For morels I search
walking in the green woodland
aha--I see one