“Kristopher?”
My dad was the only person in the world who ever addressed me by that name. My mother would call me 'Kris' and my grandmother would refer to me as "Kristi" whenever he wasn't around. Not because she was afraid of him but because I asked her not to as it would only cause a scene with my father spouting out all sort of rhetoric on how I was the last of the Novoselic men and how I should be thankful and lucky to be the last male in the family--to know that the name and creed would live on.
There were nights that I wanted to come to dinner wearing a frilly dress and no shoes just to spite. No, maybe just to piss him off--preferably in front of a client or some old business acquaintance.
“Yeah?”
“It's yes, sir.”
“Yes. Sir.”
He gave up with trying to get a proper response from me, so it was to move onto pressing matter at hand: a letter had come from school.
“They said you have been skipping classes and that your hair is out of regulation.”
I nodded as I moved my hair away from my face.
“Elizabeth, I thought he was getting a haircut over the weekend?”
“There were play rehearsals. Kris, you said your hair was for your part in a play.”
“Mmm-hmm,” was my only reply.
“That head should be cut. You look like a lion with mange.”
“Maybe I like it like this. Maybe I'll just dye it blue.”
“You'll do no such thing.” Dad replied.
“I'll ask grandma to do it.”
“Elizabeth. He needs a haircut.”
I wanted to grab a knife from the table and and slice near the roots of my hair but instead I sat there.
“Why are you skipping class?”
“Didn't want to go.”
“You have to go. What do you plan on doing with your life? Move to California and work in the movies?”
I didn't answer because it wasn't a question; more of a comment about how stupid my life choices were up to that point. As I said, my father never noticed my artistic side and for that I could play any part I wanted in front of him and he would never know. But at that point, the actor was tired of being typecast and wanted out of the role.
My parents continued with simple small talk with each other. Talking of social issues and business problems and not on how they didn't notice the lonely kid in front of them who was having issues that no one could talk about; not like before. I got up and ran to my room; making sure that the door was properly slammed shut. I wanted to slam it again but that wouldn't help me. I wanted to smash the things around me...but I would regret doing so later.
I could hear the seething in my breath as I paced back and forth in my room. I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to me. I wanted to take out a knife and cut more than just my wrist or my legs. I wanted to slice through the costume I had on-the grotesque being that looked back at my in the window.
I sat down against the wall and leaned my head back in what could have only been the most uncomfortable position and looked at the speckled ceiling with tears in my eyes. I was a modern day prometheus...a freak of nature but no one else knew...I took my shoes off and kicked them across the room.
“Can't go on. Can't.” I whispered to myself. “Not going to.”
I removed my socks and then buried my head in my hands for am moment before standing up to take off my slacks and shirt.
I stepped into the closet.
“You could just hide in here,” I whispered with an unsteady tone to my voice. “Just stay in character,”
I turned on the light and walked to a stack on plastic crates in the back. I removed the stack to reveal a hidden rack of clothes; there were a few long dresses, mostly in dark colors or black and red--all kept hidden as I knew my father would never venture into my closet, maybe for a fear of what he would actually find. In this case, he would have been absolutely right.
I quickly moved to put one of them on and then ran out of my room; to the hallway where I grabbed my father's set of car keys, slammed the front door on my way out of the house and into the driveway. I jumped into the driver's seat of my mother's car and started the engine.
I actually had no idea how to drive--I had only read a driver's safety handbook and watched others. Thankfully, it was an automatic. I backed out of the driveway with no lights on seatbelt...until I found the switch to turn the lights on. Running on pure emotion had its advantages: you don't' think too much about anything else except for what you're doing but in the moment, I really didn't know what I was doing.
I knew I would be trouble IF my parents found me.
I'd be grounded IF I ever came home.
I'd never hear then of it if I damaged the car.
The car screeched to a halt at a red light and I haphazardly clicked the belt--thinking for a moment that maybe I didn't want to connect it. If I could reach I-40 I could floor it into downtown, drive over the side of the Hernando de Soto bridge and plummet 109 feet into the Mississippi River.
Problem solved, right?
My mind kicked off and thought that should I go by and say a kind of goodbye to Micheal. Nothing that would rouse too much suspicion; because you know, noting says nonchalance like driving a car in bare feet while wearing a small black dress. Nothing to think twice about, right?
I stopped the car in front of his house; opened the door and got out. The jagged rocks that made up the drive way immediately stabbed my heels and arches. There was no use in running, I just slowly walked to the porch steps so I could pick the rocks away that were close to penetrating my skin. I brushed myself off--though it did little good--to try and make myself more presentable.
I knocked on the door--wondering what if his uncle came to the door? It would have been the biggest conversation we ever had.
The locks on the door clicked and clacked.
There was a second that maybe I could 'ding-dong ditch' and run. My hair was dark enough and the front light wasn't on.
Until it was and at that moment I froze. If I was a deer, Mike’s uncle would have had a great shot.
Mike opened the door front door and stood behind the closed screen door.
“Kris?” He had on a pair of jeans and socks, no shirt.
“Hey, I just came by to--”
“New play?”
I must have either looked like a freak or a sorry sack case wearing an ill-fitting dress but the ability to play the part of a sad clown was in my repertoire and so Michael would ask two questions: “New play?” And then “what's it called?”
“No, Why-why do you ask?”
“The dress.”
“Yeah, yeah it's a part I tried out for.”
“You never mentioned a new one. What’s it called?”
Damn me for always telling him when I had new tryouts.
“It's not. I-I didn't get the part.”
He opened the screen door and stepped onto the porch.
“Something tells me you're lying.”
“I'm not lying, I really didn't get the part, I--"”
“Where are your shoes?”
“I left them at home.”
“You drove yourself to a tryout without shoes?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well, I was just watching TV, so--You want to come in, tell me what happened?”
“Um, yeah, thanks.”
I had been to Michael's less and less since he started dating Karen Anne--as she demanded more and more of his time and decided to tutor him herself, at her house of all places.
He turned the TV off and we sat on opposite chairs in the living room.
“Uncle's out. He had a chance to go hunting. Took it.”
“It was a big production.” I blurted out.
“Looks like it, since you're all dolled up.”
“Funny,” I replied as I stood up and straightened the dress out again.
“I mean, you're...sorry, never mind, so what happened?”
“Didn't go too well. The director pissed me off and--“
“How'd he do that?”
“He wanted me to.” I wrung my hands for one uncomfortable second too long. “You know what, it's not about a play.”
“Okay. Not a play. Silly coy then?”
“Soliloquy, no.” I stepped away from the chair and looked to the floor for a few moments.
“Kris?”
“It's me.”
“Lost your sheep there.”
“Do you know what I plan on doing? I plan to take that car and run it off a bridge.”
“Which bridge?”
“Does it really matter?” I asked as my lips quivered.
“Well, yeah, a few of them you could survive a fall from. Maybe a broken ankle, rib or two.”
“-I don't want to survive it.”
He stood up and stormed over to me.
“Look at me and you tell me why you think you gotta go and do something stupid!”
I turned my eyes away; I didn't want to look at him.
“Eyes! Here. Kris.”
You wouldn't understand.”
“I've seen a cow give birth to a two-headed calf. I've toured Graceland. I can understand a bit more than ya think!”
I just shook my head.
“Did I also forget to mention that I've seen Bigfoot?”
“Now you're just trying to make lite of all of this.”
“Nope. Tying to get you to smile. Is it working?”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Talk to me, let's hear it. Do it in a crazy accent if if will make you feel more comfortable.” He moved close to me--about as close as we had been on the day we first met.
“Do you really know who I am?”
“That sounds like a loaded question. How do I answer it?”
“I'm serious, Mike, this...it really hurts.”
“All ears here," he replied as he continued to look at me.
“I'm, how do I say this?” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I'm intersex.”
“Lost another sheep with that.”
“I'm both.”
“So, you're a girl and a boy, like all the parts and?”
“Yes. Well, kind of”
I winced a bit, expecting the worst; but maybe it would be for the best if he laughed; I could then leave the world without feeling like he would miss me.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, so, I'm sure you're not the only one.”
I don't know, not like there's a club I can pledge to, I--I'll go get into my car now.”
“No, you're not. You're going to stay right here until you get over, umm, stop thinking about this bridge thing.”
“My parents are going to kill me anyway.”
“Well, let's tell them that Kris is dead.”
“Kris is dead.My name's supposed to Kristina. My parents...after my brother died...I became the replacement son No one calls me by my real name except for my grandmother.”
“Even though?”
“Yep, even though.”
“Is that why you don't take PE?”
“P.E., no slumber parties, God forbid if I tried to actually wear a swimsuit I'd want to wear.”
“But you've been to Karen's...Oh-“
I nodded.
“So do you like guys and girls?”
“You know, for eight years of my life, I've been trying to figure that out.”
“Two words: Jungle Room.”
♦♦♦
“Good luck.” I kissed Mike on the cheek and left the room, leaving him to explain everything else to Danny. I didn't feel like telling my life story and have to stop every few sentences to answer some stupid question like “When did you first know?” Or “what do you really use to go to the bathroom?”
Not that I'd answer either of them.
I walked into the lecture hall for Mrs. Peterson's History 101. We always had it there as Mrs. Peterson loved to talk. Sometimes we'd even talk about historical events that actually mattered outside of the state of Tennessee. A lot of people used it as a study hall or as extended break for lunch. A few used it for nap time and weren't ashamed to snore loudly. Fortunately, Mrs. Peterson used a microphone at the lectern and she must have been hard of hearing because she seemed to never hear the chainsaws in back.
I normally sat near the front but on that day I chose to sit near the rear of the hall. Not out of embarrassment but more on a not wanting to be front and center. I would have that chance two hours later with the drama department. The back wasn't in shadows but it did allow one to simply blend into the seats. I had doubts that would happen as I clearly heard the questionable whispering. I would make them look for me instead of putting myself on center stage.
I had my notebook ready to go so I looked up to see if Mrs. Peterson had arrived and instead locked eyes with Heather--and they enlarged like saucers. What was she doing in the hall so early?
And why was she coming up to see me? And looking like someone had killed her grandmother?
“Um, Kris?”
“Huh?” I asked in shock as Heather had used my name.
“Um, nice earring.”
“Thank you,” I replied. They were yet another thing I hoarded over the years until then: Amethyst with gold and a lot of dangling crystals.
“About practice,” she said as she avoided eye contact with me.
“Yes?"
“I can’t make it this afternoon.”
“What’s going on?” I asked with sincerity.
“I. I need to do something this afternoon.”
“It's opening next week.”
“It’s just one rehearsal. The show will go on if I miss a day, you know?” She continued to look down and anywhere else as if I was a Gorgon.
“Okay, let’s do one of your scenes, right now.”
I stood up and for the first time since we met, she looked me in the eyes.
“I…I can’t”
“The fellow is distract, and so am I; And here we wander in illusions: Some blessed power deliver us from hence!”
“I…I…” Heather's voice flustered.
“Some blessed power deliver us from hence!”
“You’re pressuring me!” She then took a deep breath.
“Some blessed power deliver us from hence!”
Heather looked at me and her expression changed to a slight smirk. She had made the transition from student to thespian outside of their normal habitat.
“Well met! Well met, well met, Master Antipholus. I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now: Is that the chain you promised me today?
“Satan avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not!" I threw my notebook down and moved my hands back.
We had the attention of the lecture hall.
Heather crossed her hands as I recited the lines.
“Master, is this Mistress Satan? It is the devil. Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench: and thereof comes that the wenches say 'God damn me;' that's as much to say 'God make me a light wench.' It is written, they appear to men like angels of light: light is an effect of fire, and fire will burn; ergo, light wenches will burn. Come not near her!”
“Your man and you are marvelous merry, sir. Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here?”
“Avoid then, fiend! What tell'st thou me of supping? Thou art, as you are all, a sorceress: I conjure thee to leave me and be gone.”
Mrs. Peterson walked into the hall and the class pretty much ignored her.
“Give me the ring of mine you had at dinner, Or, for my diamond, the chain you promised, and I’ll be gone, sir, and not trouble you.”
“Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail, a rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin, a nut, a cherry-stone. But she, more covetous, would have a chain. Master, be wise: an if you give it her, the devil will shake her chain and fright us with it!”
“I pray you, sir, my ring, or else the chain: I hope you do not mean to cheat me so.”
“'Fly pride,' says the peacock: mistress, that you know.”
“Now, out of doubt Antipholus is mad, Else would he never so demean himself. A ring he hath of mine worth forty ducats, and for the same he promised me a chain: Both one and other he denies me now.”
Heather threw herself completely into her character as she waltzed back and forth across the row.
“The reason that I gather he is mad, besides this present instance of his rage, is a mad tale he told today at dinner, of his own doors being shut against his entrance. Be like his wife, acquainted with his fits on purpose shut the doors against his way. My way is now to his home to his house, and tell his wife that, being lunatic, he rush'd into my house and took perforce my ring away. This course I fittest choose; for forty ducats is too much to lose.”
The rest of the students stood motionless for a second or two and then clapped.
“You know it better than I thought you did.” I said with a slight grin.
“Miss Ashman and Kris...? Stay a bit after class, please”
“Yes, ma'am,” I replied as I picked my book from off the floor. People were now looking at me--as if I had done something wrong. They seemed to have enjoyed the freak show but didn't like the freak stuck around afterwards.
Mrs. Peterson allowed Heather to leave after giving her a short lecture about how the hallowed hall was to be treated with respect and that an impromptu Shakespearean scene violated that sacredness. I snorted at that; which is the reason I didn't get to leave with Heather.
“Do you think this is funny?”
“No ma'am.”
“What are you wearing?”
I really wanted to be sarcastic: “Clothes, ma'am,” but, I went with a safer choice. “It's a dress.”
“Why are you wearing a dress?” Mrs. Peterson reminded me a lot of my father. Not that I could put a wig on him and there she was; it was more in the tone.
“Why not?”
“You're a boy. Male. Adult male.”
“You see, that's what you think. That's what my ID says. That's what society, the country says I should be. I don't...and I would like to think that an institution that enshrines itself on creative and personal thinking would applaud that I'm spreading my wings into the wild blue yonder.”
“Are you through?”
I thought I kind of deserved a nomination for a Tony. “Yes.”
“That is a disruption to the learning process.”
“It was a scene from Shakespeare.”
“Your clothes.”
“It's within the dress code.”
“It's for a woman.”
“Then I don't want to see any woman wear any form of pants,” I replied with a bit of spite.
“Women can wear pants.”
“And I can wear whatever the hell I want.”
“Not to my class.”
I really wanted to strip down but I feared that Mrs. Peterson would have a heart attack at the sight of a pair of matching underwear.
“I was only trying to help Heather; to see if she knew her lines. She's good but sometimes needs a slight push and today she was receptive to it and it surprised me.”
“We are talking about you.”
“I apologized for the disruption at the beginning of class. It will not happen again.”
I took a step to walk away and Mrs. Peterson grabbed my arm. I had only been grabbed that way three times in my life: by a psychologist who said I had immense fantasies of cross-dressing; a doctor who scolded me when I refused to take my HRT drugs; and finally, my father--on every other day of my unnatural life.
I didn't know what to do as I felt her fingernails dig into the flesh of my arm.

WANDERLUST

It had been a few weeks since Prom and for some reason KA was still with Michael or maybe that was the other way around. They spent a lot of time talking about things. They even included me in some of their discussions and--as much as I wanted to feel great for my friend, I felt like I was slowly getting cut off.
I mean, I felt less like a friend and more like the girl in the movies that was a little crazy but also had an unrequited love to the guy who saw her as a friend.
“Maybe we should double date sometime.”
I looked up from my books as Michael sat up from the couch. We had skipped our afternoon study sessions due to Karen Anne wanting to spend so much time with him; so much so that his grades slipped a little. I had stepped up to save him but that required him to tell KA that his life--not to mention his truck--were in jeopardy if he didn't bring his grades up. I loved that we could spend more time together, even if the love wasn't mutually shared.
“That's kind of funny,” I replied.
“Karen Anne's dad seems to think that we're up to something.”
“Are you?” I asked as I moved my hair away from my eyes.
“No, not really. But the other day--”
I closed my textbook. He had my attention.
“Forget it, it was nothing.” He looked away from me for a moment and his face turned red. “But it wasn’t nothing.”
“Kind of heavy?”
“No, it's just that she tried to, you know, and then her mom came into the room.”
“Uh-huh.” I had a lot of thoughts but didn’t want to say anything.
“I can't talk about it, you know.”
“Keep it respectful. I got it.”
“Her parents must think I'm a perv.”
“I think they know how KA is--they're just hoping that someone can prove them wrong.”
“Kind of glad they do that, I--,”
“Mike!” A grizzled voice yelled from the other end of the house.
“Yes sir!”
Mike left the room to answer his uncle, a man I had seen only three times up until that day. I picked my books up as it was getting late.
Mike walked back into the room. “Ready?”
“Just about.”
“I need to run to the store before we stop at your place.”
“Fine by me,” I replied as we left the room.
We drove a few miles toward my house and stopped at a local grocery store. Mike never talked much about his uncle so I knew very little except that he was probably Mike's great uncle and had an unknown health condition. He would always send him to the store for mundane items. It was always a small list and always had some form of beef jerky on it.
We walked into the store and grabbed a small shopping cart.
“One day, I'm going to be doing this on a weekly basis.”
“Not gonna let the little woman do it?”
“Only if she wants to.”
“If it's Karen Anne, she's going to hold you to that.”
I had never seen Karen Anne's mother ever carry a shopping bag. Either food magically appeared in their house via a system of elves that would have made Santa jealous or Federal Express delivered them every other day. My vote is still on the elves.
Mike's list was larger this time with a case of Dr. Pepper, wheat bread, cheese slices and milk to go along with the beef jerky.
“Does he live off of this?”
“He said he used to camp out in the woods for days with a small cooler of stuff while hunting for deer. Always had the beef, or was it deer, jerky. Oh, and beer.”
“Can't send you for beer,” I said as we passed by the frozen foods case. I saw our reflection and how odd it looked. Here I was, dressed in a black shirt with my hair still way too long for the school dress code standing next to this taller guy who could have whoever he wanted and I guess he kind of did with Karen Anne.
“Couldn't do that. I can spend a few days out in the pastures as long as I got some fresh water.”
“And biscuits.”
“Oh yeah, gotta have the biscuits. But to sit up in a tree for hours, whizzing into bottles to keep the deer from smelling you just to maybe bag one. Give me a saddle and a horse to ride anytime over that.”
I had never figured out how many different versions of ‘being country’ there were and even though you'd never get me on a bull or in a tree, I wouldn't mind wearing the tight-fitting jeans if I knew who was waiting for me later.

♦♦♦

I took several short glances of my face in the mirror to see if everything looked okay. I refused to wear any make-up. I mean, why bother? Who was I trying to impress? I wanted to feel like myself and caking foundation all over my face, even if to hide a few blemishes here and there, would feel like another mask. The show was over. It was time to walk out of the dorm hall as me.
I closed my eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.
“Ready for the day?"” Mike asked as he stepped, fully dressed, out of the bathroom.
“Nope. I’m ready to jump right back in that bed.”
“No, you're not,” he replied as he wrapped his arms around me.
“You keep doing that and I'll drag you with me. You know that, right?” I said as I leaned into his arms
“Tempting. Very tempting.”
“You're going to drop me, aren't you?”
“I'd never do that to a lady.”
“But you want me to go out that door and dive into the cold, cruel world.”
“Shakespeare?”
I shook my head as I stood back up and then spun around on my heels.
“Seriously, how do I look?”
“You look great. How do you feel?”
“Like a little boy in a dress.”
“But?”
“It will pass once I get out that door.” I grabbed my satchel and my camera. “Here.”
I opened the case, removed the lens cover and handed it over to Mike.
“What's this for?”
“Richard's face.”
Mike nodded and gave a sly grin.
We walked out of our dorm room into the quiet hall. No one was in the hallway. Not that I wanted our entire floor to come out of their rooms and line up like it was a runway but I kind of wanted to get a reaction. At that moment, I was not thinking about any repercussions. I didn't care if someone took offense, swallowed their chewing tobacco or had their faces melt like that guy in ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark’. I had taken a brave step. I wasn't wearing a costume or living scripted lines, I was me.
I was happy no one was in the stairwell though as I nearly tripped over my own shoes as I stumbled down each step, laughing all the way. One could say I was drunk, especially as I zigged-zagged, almost skipping and swinging around the turns at each floor. I looked back at Michael once or twice. He tried to hide a smirk, but failed at it as he stepped down next me and took my left hand. We continued our haphazard descent to the first floor.
The door to the front area of the dorm room--a small meeting room with a TV in the corner along with Richard's office--opened with a loud creak--quite possibly done purposely by Dick so he could always see who was leaving, as the door was past his field of vision. He poked his head out of his office and his expression, which was usually a combination of constipation mixed with pissed-off, was...well, the best way to say would be shock. Not an ‘it's the end of world’ or ‘oh crap, a bomb just went off!’ But there was just enough of a puzzled look on his face.
Click-clack!
The camera shutter whirred and clicked along with the flash and I possibly had a great picture for my own version of the “The Daily Beacon” newspaper. Rick's face stayed the same, the same slight shock as we walked past his office. I opened the door and turned to meet Michael’s eyes and to see if Rick was still looking.
He was.
“Mission accomplished,” I whispered.
We sat in our same location for breakfast as we always did--near the coffee dispenser.
“Well, we made it so far.”
“Yeah,” I replied as I held a cup of coffee in one hand and my camera in the other. “Maybe we should destroy this picture?”
“If you want to.”
“Yeah I do want to keep it. I almost want to use it as a dart board.”
“What’s changed your mind?”
“I don't know...I guess I don't want to sink to his level. I mean, even if it’s just a joke between the two of us.”
Mike nodded as he took the camera from me and flipped a switch.
“What are you doing?”
He pointed the camera at me.
“Say cheese.”
Any other day, at any other time in my life I would have thrown my books at him or turned away sharply but I sat there with a smile on my face. No posing, just an honest shot.
Michael hesitated to take the picture--I guess to see if I would dodge the shot. I only smiled and nodded.
The flash whined and the shutter clicked,
“I hope I didn't get my thumb,” he replied as turned the flash off and passed the camera back.
“What other pictures are on that roll?”
“Ones we can't take to Walgreens.”
I'm sure I turned a little red at remembering that session in the middle of the breakfast rush.
We picked our books up and left for our respective classes.
There were a few glances from some people but for the most part they were either in a hurry to get food and dash to class or couldn't see through their sunglasses, courtesy of a weekend hangover.
My English class was across the campus and I took my time to get there--wanting to admire the view and the clopping of my thick-soled shoes on the sidewalk. It was a different kind of sound--one I never heard with tennis shoes or my Birkenstocks; it was something I never experienced before in the wild, short of standing in my bedroom, looking out the window and wondering why I felt different.
I knew why but it didn't click in my brain.
No, it clicked but someone was always turning the switch off by unlocking the door and berating me.
There were times that I just wanted to smash all my pictures, cut the images into itty-bitt pieces and then take a jabbed piece of glass and jab it into my left wrist and just sit and watch the blood flow...as my parents had made sure that blood would never flow from other parts of me. I came to the crossroads so many times and I only took small slices into my arm, under my long-sleeve shirt or where a watch would hide it. I didn't have to take PE at school due to taking so many medications for my so-called condition so no one would ever see the marks on me.
Karen Anne made the cutting stop for a while and when she did see one, due to my watch band snapping off I told her it was a paper cut from a playbook and I demonstrated how it happened and how it stung for a while. She let it go after that and I was afraid to tell her--for as much as she was my friend she was still a human being, not an ever-loving, all-forgiving goddess.
I walked up the steps to the English department and the door swung open.
“Thank you,” I replied with a smile to the guy I didn't know who held the door. He smiled back and nodded. That would not have happened last Friday as no one would have held the door for me in my khakis and slouched down look.
Half of the class was in the room, and about fourteen pairs of eyes looked at me as I stepped in. Eight went back to what they were doing, four turned around abruptly. The remaining pairs continued to look. I just pulled my books out and took the usual seat in the front row. I didn't pay too much attention to it at the time, but the volume in the room dropped to nothing, like we were now in an anechoic chamber. Anyone who walked into the room who was talking would abruptly stop. I didn't think it as a negative. I didn't think, “OMG, they're all. Looking. At. Me!”
A few minutes later, Mr. Stephens walked into the room at eight thirty-five, his usually time.
“Sorry I’m late class, had to get my kids off to school and traffic and-”
I looked up to see Mr. Stephens, his eyes were on me.
“And I hope everyone’s weekend was, was eventful. I'm assuming yours was, Mr. Novoselic?”
“Sir?” I asked.
“Your weekend, Mr. Novoselic. How was it?”
“Actually, sir, I guess Miss Novoselic would be a better choice and my weekend was okay.”
“Excuse me?”
“Or you can call me Kristi.”
“I'm a bit...so this is not a new production?”
“If all the world's a stage then, yes, you could say that.”
Mr, Stephens sat at his desk and put his hands on his head.
I kind of thought that maybe I should have given him a heads up but to be honest, then I would have to put out a declaration and get approval from every living thing; just in case I might have upset their fragile sensitivities but no one ever asked me how I felt when life slapped me down with the name Kris and the quasi-macho persona I was supposed to take up with that mantle: like I had to like football or I had to stare at a girl's chest--well I was kind of okay with that--but you know if I wanted to spend my days watching "Sailor Moon" and dreaming about wearing a bridal gown one day, then I was going to.
My next class was more or less a rehash of my first one with the exception that the instructor didn't look at me and addressed me as Kristi without any prompts. No one in my English class was there so I guess he just decided to go out on a limb. Besides, he had a larger gauge in his ear and that, along with advance quadratic formulas, took more of his attention.
“Hey,” a girl who seldom ever talked to me said as we left the building. “Looks good.”
“Thank you.”
“You're brave.” She said with a slight hush to her voice. Her name was Amanda Marks and she sat in the back of the class and stayed to herself. She never looked my way, not that I ever begged her to but she also never acknowledged my existence by walking right by me without a nod or a wave and at that moment she was talking to me as if we must have had slumber parties and passed folded notes to each other in high school. “I wish I could be.”
“No, just truthful.”
She was someone who was a lot like Karen Anne--the kind of girl who wouldn't give anyone who looked beneath her a second thought as it violated the social order in most schools. High school or college, it didn't matter, as there was always some sort of pecking order; there was always someone smaller, strange or introverted to pick on.
Amanda was not as brash as Karen Anne was about things though. She kept to herself during class and seldom did I ever hear her ask a question. She had very long blond hair and it always looked like it was in perfect condition; like she could go to sleep and "Poof" be ready for the day--Disney Cinderella style-- without having to wonder if her face had any marks or any hairs around her lips. I had wished that my DNA was more on the XX scale as it was on XY or wherever in Hell it actually was.
“Truthful?”
“Tired of faking my life. So...”
“So, you're really a girl?”
“Maybe, it depends on the day and how I feel sometimes.” I instantly regretted saying that; not knowing where she would take it. But it was true. There were days that I didn't feel like anything that could be identified in a textbook or a student questionnaire. There were always two choices but I was always forced to choose "male" and even if I did check "female" someone would change it; either my parents or the person behind the counter or with the clipboard. There were times when I thought that flashing them would get my point across but it was never worth the cost of a new psychologist and the time in prison.
“But you're in the guys dorm?”
“There are worse places to stay.”
“That's...that's a bit weird.”
“Yep,” I replied as she stopped walking.
“Your name really is Kristi?”
“Yes.”
“Great to finally talk to you, she replied as she turned the other way.
“You're welcome,” I said and then turned back to the way I was walking.
I took a few glances back to her to see if she was looking back.
She was.
I turned back around and felt a flushing in my face. I wasn't about to tell Mike about this--as much as I knew he would understand he would ask me why I looked back at her and I didn't have a good answer except that someone else acknowledged my existence.
I went back to the dorm room, threw my satchel on the bed and put the camera on my desk. I would have at least an hour before my next class and I thought about taking a short nap but that didn't happen as I heard voices outside the door: Michael and Danny! The door lock clicked and opened.
“I'll install it for you.”
“All right. I've been wanting to try it. I-“
The two looked at me as I straightened out my dress.
“New play?” Danny asked.
Mike looked at me for a visual clue, I didn't have one.
“No. New life.”
“What?” Danny asked.
“Close the door and I'll explain.”
“Does Karen Anne know this?”
“Actually,” Mike started.
“I didn't know she was into the kinky stuff.”
“She's not,” I replied as I looked in the mirror, “And no, I'm not either.”
“Then what's with the dress?”
“Let's start by saying that Karen Anne is not my fiancée.”
Danny stood next to the door with his hand very close to the handle. His body language read that he desperately wanted to flee in terror. I mean he had fights with the boyfriends of girls he tried to pick up at bars on an almost weekly basis and for some reason I? Was frightening, him?
“You're out of class early?" I asked Mike.
“Prof didn't show. We waited for, what? Fifteen minutes?”
“Yeah, yeah. Fifteen,” Danny sighed and took a deep breath. “Have you guys always been gay?”
“You're saying that like it's a crime.”
“So if I open that top drawer, what will I find?”
“Whips, chains and candle wax,” I stormed over to my dresser and opened the top drawer. “God, Danny, what do you think you'll find? Take a look.”
He stepped over as if I was going to grow tentacles or something and try to attack him.
“Socks and underwear. some are women's.”
“Those are new,” Mike stated.
“How long have you known about this? Wait a minute. Allie is a shortened form of Allen.”
“Allie is my real middle name.”
“So, the two of you? I need a beer.” Danny took a step back--it looked like he was ready to hit the floor.
“It's only noon.” I said as I closed the drawer.
“Tequila, then. So, you're a chick?”
“I'm both.”
“How?”
“Genetics,” I replied with a shrug.
“What about you and Karen Anne?” Danny then pointed to Mike. “You went out with her too”
Mike nodded as he stood next to me.
“I'm really in need of a beer.” Danny said as he tried to avoid eye contact with me.
“I'm still the same strange, weird, off in their own world person you've always thought of me.”
“Did you wear that to class?”
“Uh-huh and it felt good too.”
“Okay. So, are you still going to stay here? In the dorm?”
“Until they come and kick me out, yes.”
Danny locked eyes with me for a second. I wasn't irritated nor militant, but his eyes had a thousand-yard stare.
“Would it make you feel better if I wore pants?” The question wasn't asked to make him feel more secure, but more to point out that he was acting just a little bit like an ass. Like it was HIS life that would be forever under the microscope.
“I don't know anymore,” he replied. “I think...I think I might skip class this afternoon.”
“What is the big deal?”
“I'm just trying to get over the fact that I know a hermaphrodite.”
“Lets try to not use that term. It sounds like bad porn.”
“Well, I have seen one.”
“Don't want to hear about it”"
“You watched it with me, Mike.”
Mike's face turned red. “It just came up while we were browsing.”
“Whatever,” I replied, while wondering how something like that just comes up. I never understood the internet.
“And you're going to dress like that for the remaining of the year?” Danny asked with an expression that was one part exhausted and two parts bewildered.
“Yes. Maybe less.”

LIE A LITTLE

Our dorm shared the bathroom with the one next door. We weren't exactly friends with our neighbors, but we didn't barricade ourselves in our room...well, sometimes we did, especially at night as it would look peculiar if we were found sharing the same bed, regardless of how we could try to explain it. We were in an all-guys dorm, after all. I thought that I could handle being surrounded by a legion of guys of every shape, size and color and I could, sometimes.
Unbeknownst to my father, I had taken the liberty to become a bit, well, liberal after the first day of school. I stopped wearing boxers--even though there was an issue with something at times--going to a frillier style, and more form-fitting jeans. Granted, on my second day at campus, I looked like the guy "most likely to be trounced or pushed around" but I had my own personal bodyguard and I was in the theatre department, so I wasn't bothered too much. An occasional look or two and a comment from the backwater crowd that was to be ignored, nothing that a sneer or well-timed middle finger couldn't answer.
However, if my father had decided to just spontaneously visit then he would see my longer hair, earring in my ear (on the right ear), slim down shirts and a possible panty line if he bothered to look not that I would have wanted or expected him to; the longer hair would've done it.
"Kristopher Allen Novoselic, your hair is a rat's nest. It's worse than a rat's nest. It's a nest of a polecat. You’re almost an adult, you need to dress like one. Like your friend, Michael."
Michael, if he was ever in the room at the time of these dress-and soul-down sessions, would either reply "yes sir”, nod, or try to find some way to avoid being a part of the conversation.
"You can't go out looking like a slacking hippie from the sixties."
Funny thing to note about my family: my mom was a hippie during the sixties.
As I said, I owned one dress and it was hidden away, under the bottom drawer of my dresser--again, worn only once up to that time. There were days that I would open the bottom drawer and contemplate whether to just go ahead and wear it outside of the dorm and to my classes. I was sure my English prof wouldn't care. My math instructor was a graduate student with multiple piercings on his ears, face and possibly other places so he would probably shrug and then move on to solving a proof. Mrs. Peterson was one of those teachers who apparently didn't care if one came into class wearing a donkey costume as long as that person didn't act too much like an ass. Mr. Montesi, the theatre director, would have assumed I was method acting for some project I was working on. I had gotten by for so long pretending to be a guy that it was too easy.
Michael was never too stressed about it: it never bothered him. I once asked him if it creeped him out a bit--because it did me--but he suspected from the first day he met me that something was unique about me. I told him that that he was a horrible liar and would have to do better.
We usually left the dorm together and, if we had not been busy that morning, then off to the cafeteria for breakfast. Usually, we were very busy so only a quick cup of coffee and then off to our respective classes. Michael, against my suggestions, had taken a full course load in electronics and computer technology. He had heard (from Danny) that it was where the money was, and he had an old southern stereotype that he had to do what he could to support his future family. I could talk Michael out of a lot of things and he would take my ideas into consideration, but I knew it was never a good idea to say what he was doing was wrong or foolish. I mean, I was taking theatre classes without a clue if I would ever get to move beyond community theatre so, who was I to tell him that he couldn't make a living to know the physical address location of some gizmo?
We would sometime meet for lunch--but only for a few minutes as our classes overlapped on most days. It was okay but there were days that I had to complain to someone, I mean really unload on, in PMS fashion. I would want to rail and spit about my math class and how the professor-lite insisted that we solve it HIS way; which took over ten minutes for each problem and was done in a convoluted matter that Newton would rise from his grave—and like me, he’d be pissed.
"He's just showing you that it can be done in multiple ways."
"And a computer can have it completed in thirty seconds, right?"
"Sometimes faster."
"So, let's say I'm an engineer."
"Oh, I got to hear this," Michael moved his tray to the side.
"Shut up and listen."
"Aw’ight," he held back a chortle.
"Okay, I'm an engineer and I have a client with me and I'm working through an equation. Am I going to waste his time, using a napkin or a piece of receipt paper to run through it the long way or am I going to solve it as efficiently as I can."
"Maybe your client had the same textbook?"
Most of my afternoons were taken up by my theatre class. I had made it my mission to get in the face of the head of the theatrical department and demand to be able to work on the production of whatever play we were going to work on. I put up a fight for stage manager without even knowing the title of the play. I gave the third biggest performance of my life to Mr. Montesi. He asked how much I knew about Shakespeare and I rattled off every coherent fact I knew about the bard. He still refused to tell me the title of the play but challenged that if I knew everything about the play in two days then he would consider my request.
So, with being on the campus for only two days, I spent the rest of the day at the library researching every single play supposedly written by Bill. I was not going to be surprised by the plots of any of them. I deduced that "Romeo and Juliet" would be too cliché and no one performs "the play that must not be named" without suffering dire consequences.
Mr. Montesi stood in front of the theatre class and simply asked: "Who has read 'A Comedy of Errors'?"
My hand shot up so fast that everyone there thought I was high on caffeine, which was true--I had the empty cases of Mountain Dew thrown out of my room that morning as proof. Mr. Montesi had me explain the plot and I nearly acted the whole damn thing out on stage. With that, he handed me a copy of the script and a clipboard.
"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce your stage manager: Kris Novoselic."
I took my job seriously. I had to know everyone's entrance point and control the flow of the production. It also didn't hurt to know the play like the back of my hand. The cast worked with me, but a lot of them were second and third year students who took offense to listening to a short freshman with kind of long hair and glasses. Fortunately, the power of the clipboard gave me an upper hand.
"Say, is your tardy master now at hand?"
"Nay, he's at two hands with me, and that my two ears can witness."
Halley Nichols, Leslie Anderson and Brendon Ceseratto, third year students, walked about their marks in act two, scene one. Halley had made it her mission to method act her part of Adriana--even going so far as to dress in the period--with nothing on underneath her robes; talk like the character and refuse to bathe--stating that she would use herbs and perfumes of the era. Leslie portrayed Luciana but her strong southern accent did not mesh very well with the Shakespearean voice. If I oversaw casting I would have given her the part of a tree. She could be a sequoia or a magnolia; I didn’t care as long as she didn’t utter a single word! Brendon wasn't an actor as much as he was a comedian who always told a joke at the wrong time.
"Say, didst thou speak with him? know'st thou his mind?"
"Ay, ay, he told his mind upon mine ear: Beshrew his hand, I scarce could understand it."
"Spake he so doubtfully, thou couldst not feel his meaning?"
"Nay, he struck so plainly, I could too well feel his blows; and withal so doubtfully that I could scarce understand them."
"But say, I prithee, is he coming home? It seems he hath great care to please his wife."
"Why, mistress, sure my master is horn-mad."
"Horn-mad, thou villain!"
"I mean not cuckold-mad; But, sure, he is stark mad."
"Kris?"
"Yes, Halley?" I asked without looking up from my notes.
"Does he have to say cuckold?"
"Yes. Yes, he does."
"I don't like that word."
"Yet, it survives," Brendon replied to her.
"I mean, do you know what it means?"
"I'll show you," Brendon moved in for the kill.
"Can we return to the scene, please?" I asked.
"Can't he just say something else?" Hailey whined.
"Such as?" Brendon chimed in.
"I don't know."
"Oh, I got it! We could rephrase it to say: Oh, he so horny."
"He love you long time!" Leslie finished.
There were times, pretty much every day of rehearsal, I would look past the actors and to the back-stage, as if I expected the playwright to come on stage and cuss us all out in iambic pentameter. Sure, we were all students that sometimes needed to vent, but then there were times where we needed to pay attention and set our noses to the grind stone.
Crap, I still sound like my father at times.
I tried to keep a calm and relaxed demeanor so I wouldn't appear as a pompous jerk. That being said., there was one cast member who did not like me after the second day.
Not the second day of theatre, of school.
Heather Ashman.
Michael and I arrived on campus with a minimal amount of stuff so after my parents had said their goodbyes we went back and forth to the local stores in Knoxville to get the odds and ends for our dorm room. We met up with Heather on one of those trips. We didn't know who she was but she came up close to Michael as he was unloading a shelf from the car.
"Hi."
"Hello."
"Welcome to UT, fellow Vol."
"Thank you, I--"
I stood on the other side of the car watching her performance.
She was good.
Tight jeans?
Check
Loose shirt with a strapless bra?
Check
Eyes which proclaim “you're cute. Just take me now, big boy"?
One freaking check-a-rooney.
Heather had her hand on Michael's arm. She waited only seconds after he lowered the shelf and set it against the car to start touching him. Not that I thought that he would give into temptation even though she was much more endowed than I was at that time and she was able to express her feelings to him without a care in the world.
I figured if she was roleplaying, I could too.
"Yo, baby!" I shouted.
Heather looked to me with an expression that read one-part what the Hell are you? and two-parts No, seriously, what the Hell are you? Heather wasn't looking for a practicing goth--that being, black hair with a slight green streak, parted to the side, black jacket, earring in my right ear--maybe I went a bit too liberal that day--kind of way.
Michael didn't flinch--he never responded to anybody who said "yo"--as I strutted up to Heather.
"You're pretty hot."
"And you are."
"Smoking?"
"I was going to say annoying." She replied with a pinch of sarcasm mixed with arsenic.
"And to think things would be different here, you know, Mikey?"
Heather's eyes shifted back and forth between us; perhaps wondering if Michael was worth going through the trouble.
"I can be romantic, if that's your desire. I carved the name of my last girlfriend-"
"-Let me guess, in a tree?"
"A tree? No. Not a tree. A tree doesn't speak the love, you know? I carved it in my leg. Wanna see the scar?"
"Eww!"
And with that, she turned around and hurried away.
"Yo, baby?" Michael asked as he picked the shelf box back up. "Ten years of theatre class and that's the best you could think up?"
I wanted to assume that Heather could forgive me but I was sure she was still pissed on how I made her look in front of Michael and she seemed to love trying to hold her bitterness over me and it didn't really work. She learned soon enough that I could speak "bitch"--quite fluently when required. Heather's role was of "the courtesan" which was almost a typecast.
"Oh, stage manager?" Heather never called me by name.
“Yes, Heather?”
“I thought we were going to rehearse my scene?”
“We are, just not right at this moment."
"How long?" She asked with a tone that meant "I hate you."
"There are three scenes before we--"
She then ran off the stage.
“You have twenty minutes!”
I knew fully well that it would take her over thirty to get back to the auditorium. It was her daily routine to annoy me. And, once again, if I had control of casting; Antipholus would have been meeting a gigolo, then I wouldn't have had to deal with Heather or, perhaps I would have given the part to Leslie!
By that time, the scene had dissolved into chaos with Brendon and Marcus Howard--our two Dummios, I mean Dromios--involved in a sword fight with broomsticks.
"Can we go to our cue spots and get some quiet, please? C'mon people."
Theatre wasn't always that bad and, as I said, a lot of the cast listened to me. I wasn't a fool and they knew it. They sometimes didn't know that to think of me, especially as my wardrobe started to become increasingly "different" from the first two days of class, but I still held power. I would have so much have preferred to "A Streetcar Named Desire" or Even "Rocky Horror" as I wouldn't have to translate the scene to the members of troupe, But, alas.
"Thank you. Shane, Chad, you're up."
" How now sir! is your merry humour alter'd? As you love strokes, so jest with me again. You know no Centaur? you received no gold? Your mistress sent to have me home to dinner? My house was at the Phoenix? Wast thou mad, that thus so madly thou didst answer me?"
"What answer, sir? when spake I such a word?"
My journey back to the dorm was one of the few times of the day I had everything to myself. No one walked with me, which was fine, so I could feel free to think of things like weddings or what I would have done differently growing up. There were a few times I would just stop and stand still...wondering if it would have best if my brother had been the one to survive.
Yeah, dark thoughts sometimes broke through. I was never good dealing with negativity: yet another reason why I was in theatre. I could act like a boy with a functioning appendage. I could rehearse how I wanted life to be. I could pretend to be a different someone when I was around everyone else. I had been an excellent liar for quite a long time.
My dad seldom ever came to any production that I was in. You know those movies where the kid gets over some issue in their life and is the hero of the very last game, recital or nuclear physics test; and the crowd does that slow clap that erupts into massive applause and there's the kid's parents; beaming so proud and saying THAT'S MY OFFSPRING UP THERE, GOSH DARN IT!
My dad saw one play of mine: "The Little Engine that Could"
I had one line and I said it with all the gusto that a first grader could: "You can do it, Little Engine!" It came out as: "Ewe can do it, wittle engwin!" but I thought it was an energetic delivery nonetheless; like I totally deserved a Tony right then and there.
My parents worried that I was paying too much attention to dolls and starting to write in roly-poly cursive with hearts so they removed me from public school and from the second semester of first grade until middle school I was tutored in a home school-ish kind of environment; one away from prying eyes and questionable looks as I would go back and forth on how I was feeling that day.
My grandmother once took me out shopping with her and we bought a skirt. It was a dark green and I loved it when I first saw it. I stood in the junior’s department, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans; looking out of place, or at least like a tomboy; emphasis on the 'tom'.
"Do you like it?" My grandmother asked.
"Yeah."
"Well, then let's get it."
I held the skirt in my hands, wondering how I could ever wear it back home. My grandmother lived over one hundred and forty miles from Memphis so I had no fear that anyone would see me. But that was an issue in of itself: no one would see me. No one could, lest I open a pox upon my house.
We did buy it and I was able to wear it three times—all in my room and around the house. However, I fell asleep with it on one night and woke up to my father looking at me with such disdain his eyes burned through me.
"What are you wearing?"
"It's a skirt." I replied as I threw my blankets over me.
"Where did you get it?"
"Grandma."
"Of course. Take it off."
"Okay, I will."
"Now."
I had lived thirteen years as "Kristopher" and there had been, like I said before, days that I would drop the act and try to be more female than my father ever wanted to admit.
"Okay, I will."
"Now."
"No."
"I said take it off."
This was coming from the man who never let me go camping with the guys on my summer baseball team or have any form of sleepovers. It was like he wanted me to appear as a boy but knew I was a Pinocchio who had stopped taking a lot of the hormonal pills I had been forced on when I was younger.
"I'll take it off after you leave."
"Kris," He let out a sigh and gave one of the legendary Novoselic face palms. "Elizabeth!"
I moved my blankets further up, still feeling a little violated.
"Aaron?" Mom shouted from somewhere within the house.
"Upstairs!"
He walked out into the hall and closed the door.
"What is it?"
"You need to talk to him." The door did little to muffle his tone.
"About what?"
"Just. Just talk with him."
One would think that he would want to be the one talk to me about this, seeing that it was one of those times that I deserved an honest talking to by the man of the house.
My mother opened the door and looked at me with a questionable look on her face.
"Close the door, please."
"What's going on?" She closed the door and then looked back at me again.
"I bought something else while shopping with Grandma."
"What would that be?"
I moved the blankets off and bolted up.
She looked at me for a few seconds before replying: "It's a nice color, but I think blue or black would work better."
Mom took one of my shirts that had a similar hue, ripped pieces from it, took the remnants and threw them in the trash can.
"Put that away, hide it for now." She pointed at the dress.
"How can I talk to him about this? He never listens."
"And he never may. Your father is his father."
"Grandma said that too."
"Because she knows that once he decides on something his mind shuts up like a steel trap."
Dad was like that in everything: his business, family, playing Monopoly—it had to be done his way; a la Baron von Trapp before Maria arrived. The king ruled his castle and we (meaning, everyone else) were expected to know every unspoken edict by heart. I would have to go over the rules with anyone who came to our house, so, naturally, I never invited many people over. Our house was on the far east side of Memphis, Tennessee near Cordova. It was kind of out in the middle of nowhere to avoid the city. It was not palatial (although both Karen Anne and Michael used that word) but it was big and we had a pool, which was good for the hot and muggy summers. Too bad I never got to host any parties.
"He can be pig-headed sometimes."
"That's putting it mildly."
There were times when I hated to talk about my dad behind his back. Mom didn't really help by playing both sides of the fence. She wanted him to be happy but she didn't want me to be miserable. I never thought pretending to be one thing while really being another was a good balance. Wear the pants, be "the son" and try to not let anyone know that for five to eight days in a month you're cramping and bleeding. My dad knew of it, yes, he knew very well. He didn't like it as he said that hormonal shots, pills, regiments, therapies; they all should have washed me free of the "fe".
In a way, butting up against my dad was kind of like a "Karate Kid" exercise kind of thing. I had to learn how to think, act and speak around him and get good at it quickly to avoid dealing with his high and mighty attitude. This training allowed me to survive high school and segue to battlefield that was college.
An example would be our dorm room manager, Richard Mannis.
I'll let you take a wild guess what everyone referred to him as.
Yes, and to his face too.
Yes, he asked for it.
And yes, he deserved it.
“Kris, Kristo, Mr. Kristopher Novoselic.”
Richard sat at a desk in the dormitory main office. He was tall and always dressed in a white shirt and tie. It was like he was living an audition for a Christian Dior ad. He was one of those types that make you want to like him. You want to think he's cute--which, okay, he was--BUT--once he opened his mouth, the ugliness in his soul would belch out and make you nauseous.
"Rick, Rich, dorm master Richard Mannis."
"I want to talk to you about the noise from your floor."
"Then you need to talk to Jason and Mark, the resident Limp Bizkit fans."
He sat back in the chair, at an almost tipping-it-over level.
"I was not referring to music," he replied as he sprung up from the chair and stared through me. Yet another ugly trait he had--glaring into your heart and desiring to carve it out with a rusty spoon.
"Then what are you referring to?"
"I think you know."
"I'm not going to go play this game, Rick. If you have something to say, say it.”
"You’re both going to go to Hell, or out of the dorms. I’m not sure which yet."
There was one time that I made a sound. ONE time...and that sound could have been interpreted as a scream or yell, like I was screaming due to a movie or yelling because perhaps I slammed my thumb with a hammer. However, someone thought it just had to be something sexual.
Well, it was, but did Richard have to take it that way?
"Stay ever vigil in defending this honored hellhole of a hall, Dick," I replied with no emotion as I opened the hallway door. I never liked talking to him. He was always there though. If I was paranoid I would assume he made it his mission to be there whenever I came back from class.
Tragically, I was very paranoid.

TOO FAR TO DRIVE

We left the campus at three-thirty, ready to take a six-but we usually made it in under four-hour drive from Knoxville Tennessee to Starkville, Mississippi. The drive took us through Southeast Tennessee, then Alabama and Mississippi. We usually stopped in Birmingham and Tupelo before heading south to Columbus, where my grandmother lived.
It had been our fourth trip together to see my grandmother and our second to Starkville. Michael's parents had wanted him to attend Mississippi State because every generation of Nelson went to MSU's agricultural department, but he chose to go to Tennessee with me. He was a fan of the football team and he also had some project he was working on, so it worked out.
The drive took us close to the foothills of the Smokey Mountains and, for the most part, the southern wilderness of no radio reception so we spent most of the time either talking or in silence. Not the "I'm mad at you" silence, but more of the "let's look at the scenery" kind of silence.
“Is she still expecting us?”
“Yeah, she said she would have some dinner ready when we get there.”
“Gotta love your grandmother’s cooking.”
My grandmother, Rosemary Novoselic, was the MacGuyver of the kitchen. She could take four ingredients that you should never put together and come up with something unique and flavorful. She hardly ever made the same thing twice and when she did, there was always something just a bit different. Tragically, I can only make ramen and perhaps perform a few wonders with an espresso maker, so I guess you know whose cooking skills I did not inherit.
She liked Michael the very first day they met, and she was the only member of my family who knew that Michael was more than my "best friend" at the time and didn’t give me flack for it. She figured it out one day when she saw us standing in the field, holding hands. she said we were "too friendly" and asked how long we had known each other "like that".
"Do you still want to go to the game? I could leave you with your grandmother."
"No, no I want to go,"
"Whatever you say, Pinocchio."
"On second thought, maybe I’ll go shopping with grandma while you sit and write down statistics,”
"I only do that for your dad," Michael replied as he waved me off.
"So, you really don't follow the game? You don't like football anymore?"
"I like football. I'm just not going to be able to enjoy it because of this project."
"Which Danny's making you do?"
"But, since you'll be with me, it all evens out."
"Were you testing me?"
"You passed."
I wanted to slap his arm, but I also didn't want to go careening into a ditch on the side of an Alabama highway.
"So, if you're not going to watch the game, why are you going again?"
"I'm going to watch the game, through the laptop's webcam."
“I thought you’re not allowed to record football games for broadcast.”
“I’m not really broadcasting; I’m just capturing data and sending it through the internet to see if it’s possible to stream without excessive lag over a cellular connection. Also, the game’s blacked out in Knoxville.”
“You lost me at the capturing data thing or whatever. I think I’ll take that relational database class you’re always talking about.”
“Oh, and can I try out for a part in your next play?”
“No, you’d be too much of a distraction.”
“Because of my great acting ability?”
“I was thinking of your butt, but if you want to call it your great acting ability, go right ahead. You’re not going to get an argument from me.”
We arrived in Columbus, Mississippi a little after eight and it took fifteen more minutes to my grandmother’s house on the outskirts of town. Her house was at the very end of a long street that terminated at the driveway. She lived there for over sixty years and for fifteen of those by herself after my grandfather passed away.
When we had come down in the past she would put Michael to work; he didn't mind helping as he said that, one day, we wanted a place like it, but bigger...and a larger barn and a tractor with some weird sounding name. He knew how to operate the tractor; how to fix a fence, and what buttons operated the remote control to her TV, so he was usually ready to work for the first few hours if he had to.
Michael had not even turned the lights off when grandma opened the door to greet us.
I, of course, ran full tilt to her. Michael caught up with us eventually, as he carried two bags and a backpack.
"Grandma"
“Kristi, thank you for coming out."
"No problem."
Grandma broke away from me and turned her attention to Michael. I took the bags from his grasp.
"Hello, Michael. How are you?"
"I'm good, Mrs. Novoselic."
"You hungry? I have some supper waiting for you.” No one in my family ever dared say "No" when asked that and Michael learned quickly.
"Thank you."
It was after eight, but she two plates of salted ham, potatoes and spiced apples, you know, typical southern-country...stuff--hot and ready for us.
Usually, Grandma would sit at one of the chairs at the side and talk with us for a bit about the weather, her cats: farm/barn cats...cats without names but with attitudes.
"How’s school going, Michael?"
"It’s doing well, getting the core classes out of the way."
"Kristi?"
"It’s a little stressful. I’m okay though."
"I’m sorry, I have something for you two. I’ll be right back."
She left us to get up and Michael stood up for a moment, before he sat back down. There it was, the southern charm.
I never tried to guess the things my grandmother wanted to show me. She could bring out a photo album of pictures from 1892, a new recipe for pimento and cheese that scalds your tongue on contact or a dollar bill with John Wayne's picture on it (one of my Grandfather's treasured items). She once sent a pair of shoes that had so much sparkle they would cause blindness if worn in the sun. I got to wear them once and because they were heels I fell flat on my face.
"We need to figure out how to cook like this."
"We'd be better off hiring a cook."
"No, we can learn to do it all."
"Go out and kill a wild pig?"
"Wild? No, you raise it and fatten it up yourself."
"I'll make sure there's a spider web in the corner to help him along."
"Okay."
The phone rang, interrupting Michael's thought, which was probably along the lines of "I have no idea what that means but if it makes you happy." Grandma had a rule about the phone: if she hadn't answered it by the second ring, then pick it up because she hated trying to use her voicemail.
Michael obliged and answered the phone.
"Novoselic Residence. Yes sir."
Michael turned to me and mouthed: "your dad" and I tried to avoid choking on my water.
“Yes sir, we have a game in Starkville.
Again, one of Michael's good/bad points was that he was a terrible liar.
"Kris?"
I motioned with my hands which translated meant: "No, no, no! H-to-the-double-L, no I'm not here."
"He went to the store."
I gave Michael a thumbs-up for that. Kudos. Excellent use of the Pinocchio skill.
"Yes sir. I’ll tell him. Thank you. Yes, sir, I hope we win too. Goodbye.”
He hung the phone up as my grandmother slowly walked her way back into the kitchen. She held onto a small black box and a Polaroid camera.
“Who was that?”
“Dad.” I replied.
"What did he say?"
"He wanted to make sure we got here okay," Michael replied as he stood and waited for my grandmother to sit down.
"I told him you were coming down. Michael, stay right there for a moment."
She sat down in the chair across from me and handed the box to Michael.
"Open it, please."
Michael looked at the two of us for a second and then opened the box.
“Now I know that what you bought is important, but I hope you’ll like this. The only catch is: I want to hear you tell her.”
I had no idea what he was looking at, I had suspicions...but, again, for all I knew it could be a pocket watch or something.
"Whoa," he whispered.
"What is it?"
"Michael, close it," Grandma stated. "Kristi, stand up."
We were now standing opposite to each other.
"Okay, so--"
"Kristi. Shush."
Michael kept the box closed and then walked closer to me. He then reached out his hand and took mine.
"Kristina Allie Novoselic?"
"Yes, Michael Thomas Nelson?"
"I've loved you since I first saw you. Since that day, I wanted to know everything about you as there was something special there. I promise that I will--
"Yes," I replied...with the feeling of wanting to leave the room with him right now boiling up.
"Kristi, let him finish," Grandma stated-which made me cool my libido, a little.
"You make my days brighter and I can't think of anyone else I would want to spend my life with."
Michael had shortened down the impromptu proposal he had given to me a few months earlier. I didn't mind; I hoped he would improvise a bit more, but instead he went for the jugular and lowered himself to one knee.
"Kristi, will you marry me?
"My valiant knight, of course."
He opened the box and took out a white gold ring with a large stone embedded into the band. It was most likely older than the two of us. Michael then removed the first ring he ever gave me and switched it out for the newer...or, older one. I didn't look at the ring as he placed it on my finger; only his eyes. He glanced back and forth between my hand and my face but after it was on he looked at me.
We held an expression we had a lot of times--and tried to hide it when he had to. It was the one that told of everything you want to say to the other person. A sonnet would not suffice; a poem could not be up to par; and a song, has not enough notes to compose.
A camera flash, followed by a "whir-click", broke the mood, slightly.
"That was beautiful."
When I first met Michael, a flash of a different kind had gone off, a flash of anger. We didn't meet on very good terms and by that, I mean we nearly came to blows to the head. It wasn't beautiful. Kind of comical now but...
Michael Nelson's first day at Highland Academy was on October 23rd, 2001. He arrived wearing the traditional black slacks and polo shirt that all students were ordered to dress in but he also had a belt buckle that was not officially noticed until Thursday. I saw him in a few of my classes, as did Karen Anne (he was in her math period) and we ignored him, as his mannerisms made me think that he probably had a can of dip somewhere in his locker or in his car, pickup, perhaps saddlebags, maybe; along with the obligatory spit cup in the form of a Dr. Pepper can.
His Garth Brooks-isms "Ma'am", and "thank you" were. Just. So. Out. There. No one under the age of thirty talked that way anymore. I didn't make fun of him but I didn't acknowledge him either. I mean, come on: the thin, artsy guy had nothing in common with the Alan Jackson wannabe so we stayed on distant and opposite sides. KA once struck up a conversation with him in Math.
I wasn't put off by it.
He then said "see ya," later that day and held the school door open for her.
I had a slight issue with that.
He then had the gall to say, "good morning" to me on a day I had severe cramping. He just passed by in the hallway and said, "good morning”. It was more like "good mawnin”. I really wanted to ask, "what proverbial hole in the barn wall Nashville school did you come from?" but held back the venom.
I forgot all about him over the weekend until Karen Anne mentioned him on a phone call Sunday afternoon. Normally, one should allow their girlfriend to talk about anyone at any time, if it was tasteful and polite, not gossiping or spewing BS about someone behind their back. She talked about how he lived with his grandmother most of his life out on a farm and just recently moved in with his uncle to live in the "big ol' city"
"When did you talk with him?
"We kind of had a free period Friday."
"Oh," I replied as Karen Anne went on about how her friends were talking all about him.
"He's a pretty nice guy."
I wasn't sure how to interpret that phrase: he's a pretty nice guy. I wanted to think she was saying he was a nice guy. A chap who would help you out; a friend in low places. However, I was reading into it more so about how he was a "pretty, nice, guy". Yes, he was a tall, farmer's tan man and there was no way that Karen Anne could deny that if I asked her; but I didn't. I may have been a quasi-confused about my gender identity teenager, but I wasn't stupid.
The scales tipped on Monday though when I ran through the inside of the gym, as a shortcut to get to theatre. Normally there was never an issue as there was a walkway on the side of the gym for that purpose. However, on that day there was a floor hockey game in-session.
The class was in a frenzy chasing a small, red, plastic puck around the floor. Feet stomping and mouths yelling out like they were deep into a Viking raid with hockey sticks instead of broadswords.
The fury of battle must have been so intense that someone lost their weapon of choice and it flew out in front of me. I was running at the time and so we collided and I fell to the floor.
The gym fell silent for a moment, did they think the worse had happened?
Nope...it took less than five seconds before someone started laughing...or it took that long for me to start hearing it.
I got up off the floor and witnessed the implement of my current social destruction. I grabbed it and felt a bit of rage building up, like the power of the PMS goddess flowing over me.
"Who does this damn thing belong to?" I thought as I scanned the gym floor, looking at all the guys who were mocking me.
"Sorry, little fella," a voice I recognized said.
I turned to my side and saw him, Michael Nelson. "You need to hold onto your stick."
"At least he's got one!" Someone from the floor yelled.
"Didn't mean to trip ya up," he replied as he looked me in the eyes.
"Yeah, well you did."
"Kick his pansy ass, Nelson!"
Michael reached out for the stick but I interpreted it as a grab at me so I moved the stick and tried to hit him with it. He moved back, deflected the strike with his left and grabbed the stick with his right, effectively disarming me. I was shocked and extremely fearful as time flowed like molasses. What would he do?
Michael stood where he was, but two other guys ran in from each side and slammed me down to the ground. I tried to fight, but nothing was going to work. I really couldn't fight back, not against two people while pinned to the floor; I would have to take the abuse.
"Let him go." Michael ordered as he dropped the stick.
"What?"
"I said let him go!"
The gym fell silent again as Michael grabbed one of the guys and shoved him to the side. The other rolled out of his grasp.
Michael looked at them before focusing his attention on me. He was in the correct spot to smash my head in with his foot.
"He's got a problem with me. We'll settle it like gentlemen, not like wild animals."
Michael held his hand out to help me up. I grabbed it and felt a shock to my chest as he pulled me up. For a split second, I wanted him to pull me in completely--wrap both of his arms around me right there. It was a sonnet that I wanted to come true, right there for no sooner met but we looked, no sooner looked but we loved, no sooner loved but we sighed, no sooner sighed but we asked one another the reason--and that would've have been to do but--knowing how kids in a private school could be--I just hyped up my bravado.
"Thanks," I replied as I tried to avoid making eye contact with him again.
"When you want to talk about this?"
"Well, I--"
"What's going on here?" the coach had finally made it back and I took the chance to run out of the gym without another word.
"Nelson, what happened?"
"Just playing the game, sir."

♦♦♦

I woke up in bed alone, which was normal when we stayed at my grandmother's. I slept in the front room and Michael in the middle. It was strange waking up by myself, as he was there earlier in the night but....
He wasn't in the bathroom or in the middle room so I had to assume he was in the kitchen, but he wasn't there either.
"He's outside, Kristi."
I walked to the sliding patio door and looked out to the fence and there he was, fixing a broken section. I had no idea where he found the hammer or nails but there he was, sans shirt, repairing the damage. Come to think of it, the wood looked new too, like...
I walked through the house and looked out the front door: the car had been moved and the rear windows were opened. And to think I could never get him to go get me an iced cappuccino at 4:30 PM, much less at seven-thirty on a Saturday morning.
"Grandma?"
"Yes, dear?"
"Do we have any pepper bacon?"
"Yes, I'm getting it ready now."
I walked back to the patio door and, I guess I got lost in looking at him because the next thing I knew the door opened and there he was.
"What were you thinking about?" He asked.
"Things I can't talk about right now."
"I could tell," he replied as he took my hands.
"Oh really?"
"Yep, you’re drooling a little."
“I am not.”
He moved forward and kissed my cheek.
"You need a shower," I commented.
"Yeah, I know. The fence is back up, Mrs. Novoselic. It's gonna need some primer. I wouldn't use a whitewash."
"Oh, you got it fixed!" Grandma's eyes widen as she walked away from the stove and over to the door. I took her place at the stove as she stood next to Michael.
"Thank you, Michael," she gave him a light hug.
"You're welcome, ma’am."
"Go take a quick shower. Breakfast will be ready in a moment."
"Thank you," he replied as he nodded to me and walked out of the kitchen.
"So, have you planned a day?" Grandma asked as she went back to the stovetop.
"We're still going over dates."
"You should have it here."
"I think Michael would take you up on the offer," I answered as grandma placed a shallow plate of scrambled eggs on the table.
I ate lightly--not ignoring that Michael was in the shower, but grandma's second kitchen rule was to eat now and she would make more for anyone who walked in the door.
"I have something else for you, Kristi. It's in the closet in the living room."
"Okay," I got up and walked into the living room and passed a freshly-showered Michael as he went into the kitchen. Grandma pointed to a chair and invited him to sit.
"I made more eggs, bacon and some biscuits."
"Thank you."
I opened in the closet and looked around at several bags on the floor.
“It's in a bag on a hanger!"
I had missed that one. It was either a jacket, coat or something else. I took the hanger off and brought it into the kitchen.
Michael already had two slices of bacon between a biscuit and had taken a few sips of coffee.
"Open it up, Kristi."
Grandma's surprises usually came in threes. The ring (which I had not taken off since receiving it). Whatever the mystery bag contained and something later, maybe.
"She's going to love this," Grandma said as I tried to remove the red plastic without ripping it. Failing at that, I tore it open.
Within the bag was a short dress and blouse.
Were these surprises two and three or two-point-five?
"Go try it on, see how it looks."
I nodded and then walked out of the kitchen and into the first bedroom.
The dress and blouse were laid out on the bed.
I had second thoughts about wearing it.
I had always been so comfortable wearing my jeans and dark color shirts and these were so colorful. I thought maybe Grandma had accidentally watched an episode of "Extreme Makeover" and was dropping a major hint. I removed my t-shirt, unbuttoned the blouse and put it on instead.
The reflection in the mirror was strange...perhaps it was the shorts in combination with the solid colored blouse so I took those off and removed the dress from its hanger. I moved to the door and quickly locked it, mostly out of habit when my parents would barge in at the wrong time. The skirt was a little big, but it was something I could work with.
I looked in the mirror again and tried to touch up my hair. Still wasn't good with doing anything with it. It was down to my shoulders but I did very little with it, except to let it go where it wanted to. The brush on the dresser beckoned to me.
I opened the door, took a deep breath and recalled doing similar things when I was younger: putting on a runway show for my grandparents, even though my grandfather thought it was peculiar to see me walking past him in the living room in dress pants, like some miniature version of RuPaul or something.
Stage fright never bothered me: I never paid attention to the audience--they all just faded into a kaleidoscope of eyes watching a character. However, as I took a step out of the room, there would be four...or three and a quarter--grandma was not wearing her glasses--eyes staring at me. I closed the door as quietly as I could but the sound reverberated off the wood floor and the next thing I saw was Michael's eyes looking at me.
I tried to ignore them. I really wanted to have them become a blurred soup, lost in the darkness of a theatre gallery, but they were still there, looking at me.
I stepped up into the kitchen and Michael stood up.
"Oh, that looks so cute on you," Grandma said.
"Thank you."
Michael kept looking...or more like staring.
"What do you think?"
"You look beautiful."
"Yes, you do look beautiful, Kristi. Turn around."
I took a step back and turned around on command.
"That looks wonderful on you."
"Are you wearing that to the game?" Michael asked with sincere look in his eyes. He wouldn't care if I wore a gorilla suit or nothing at all. He was leaving the decision up to me,
"You should, Kristi," grandma agreed.
"Yeah, I think I will."
"Looks great on you," Michael replied--failing to hide the lust in his eyes.
"Thank you."

KAREN ANNE

Even though I said I would wear the dress, I was so on the brink of running to the bedroom and putting my comfortable clothes back on. I wanted to get back into my security blanket, but Grandma wouldn't have it and she made me sit down and tried to do something with my hair in the three hours we had before having to leave for Starkville. I could have refused but I really wanted her to do it. I sat patiently as she worked some form of southern grandmother magic and I left the house for the first time in a skirt, two clip-on earrings in my ears and my hair looking somewhat feminine.
Of course, the grim reaper of doubt was on my shoulder.
"All I need is for one person to recognize me. 'Hey, look, we have our very own Priscilla, Queen of the Desert'.”
"And that’s what you want, right? To be noticed for who you are? I'm not sure about the title."
“Yeah, but on my own time, after the procedures and all-instead of just-"
"Think of it as a dress rehearsal."
"Not helping,” I replied as I closed my eyes in a vain attempt to calm down.
“We’re not going to be near the team. We'll be on the Mississippi State side and no one knows me or you. So, when we’re at the stadium just relax and imagine your wedding day.”
“I have been.”
“That’s progress then.”
Thirty minutes later we arrived on the sprawling campus of Mississippi State University. Parking was a bitch as we drove from one closed-off section to another before we found an actual place to park.
We each carried a bag of some type: a satchel in my case with my playbook and notes. Michael carried his laptop bag on his shoulder and then grabbed mine. We walked up a slight incline road up to Davis Wade Stadium.
"My uncle wanted me to play football here."
"And your grandparents wanted you in the farming program," I replied as he took my free hand.
"Could've done both...but, then I'd miss out on someone important."
"Don't get yourself worked up."
"Too late,” he replied with a smirk and a wink.
The stadium towered before us with sides that ascended several stories.
“We have to climb all the way up there?”
“Shall I carry you?”
“You may have to.”
And yes, the climb was more than I wanted to do. And again, I was SOOOO glad I wore flats as an ever-so-sloping stairway to heaven was never be on my short list of fun things to do. I decided that if I made it to our seats I would stay there and not get up for a thing. The stadium could go up in flames and I would stay right where I was: fiddling with my stage directions while Starkville burned.
Our seats were just shy of St. Peter's gates—oxygen masks should have been provided with our tickets—but at least they were out of the sun and there were nachos close by.
Michael took the laptop out of his pack and like a choreographed dance he handed my bag to me in an under-over maneuver.
"Thank you."
I opened one of my binders and turned a page to look over my notes.
"Not going to watch the game?"
"I will. When it starts. Right now the only thing I see are people grabbing hot dogs and is that a deep fried turkey leg?"
The computer beeped and beeped again.
"No... no... no."
"What? What? What?"
"Can you hold this for a moment?"
I put my notebook down as he passed the laptop over to me. I held onto it as if it was infectious--with my hands on the sides.
"Tell me that I brought an extra battery."
I kept quiet.
"No. No! Yes!'
He clenched onto a rectangular piece of metal and plastic.
"Excalibur?"
"Toshiba!"
I passed the laptop back as Michael flipped it over, switched out the battery and flipped it upright;
while I went back to reading, and by the time I looked up there were a lot more people around.
"I'm going to let the program load up, then adjust the camera."
I nodded in reply.
"And now I’m going to go get a coke, do you want one?”
“Yes, thank you.”
"Want to come with me?"
I cringed at getting up at that moment. "Vertigo?"
"That's a no, then?"
"It's a thank you for going to get one for me too. I love you."
“Now, if I can find a place that won’t charge me three dollars for a large cup of ice and three drops of coke.”
"It's a football stadium. Good luck with that."
I went back to looking at my notebook for a few seconds and then looked up and thought twice about not going with him. When we were together, nothing weird would occur so now that Michael was gone I would probably be greeted by my entire graduating class from Highland:
“Hey, we’re all in the neighborhood…what’s with the skirt?”
Which wasn’t too far from the truth, as Mike stated to me when he returned with two cans of coke in hand.
"Take a wild guess who goes here?"
"Who?"
He took a moment to hand one of the cans to me and sit back down and then said:
"I was walking down the hallway when I heard this voice yell out..."
“Michael, Michael Nelson, right?” The person in question saw Michael, made a bee--or more like a wasp--line advance and hugged him.
“Hello, Karen Anne.”
The hug continued, and his eyes widened as she embraced him—in a ‘should I be surprised, scared or a little bit of both’ expression. Good thing for her that it was Michael and not some random guy.
“Oh my God, you remember my name.”
“Of course,” he replied as she held the hug on a bit too long- as if she never saw him before or wanted to see what would happen, like if he would grab her by the waist, lift her up and ask, ‘Good Lord, where have you been, girl? Let’s blow this place and be alone…you and me.”
She smiled as she finally let go of him.
“So, you go to MSU?”
“UT.”
“Yeah?”
“What’s your major?”
“Network technology. I’m working on a field project right now.”
“Great, do you want to sit with me at the game, catch up a bit?”
“I’d love to but I’m capturing the game to the college’s network. I need to keep the signal up so it’s watchable on the other end. It’s a test to see if it can be done.”
Her eyes glazed over at that; she had no idea what he was talking about, not that it stopped her from trying to reel him in:
“I’m working on my teaching degree. Gotta start at the bottom rung, right?”
“Yeah, I reckon so.”
“Were you on your way somewhere?”
“I was just going to get a coke.”
“Come on, I’ll show you where a machine’s at—Top secret, you know. No one wants to pay for a three-dollar cup of ice and fifty cents of cola.”
Karen Anne walked ahead of Michael but turned back to him every few seconds. Again, she was obviously looking out for a way to sneak into his life and wondering ‘is he with anyone?’
They arrived at a door and Karen Anne simply opened it up, like she owned the place. There was a lone Coke machine, sitting on the interior wall like a hidden treasure.
“It’s so great to see you. Have you heard from Kris?”
“He’s at the campus,” Michael replied as he fed money into the machine.
“You stay in touch?”
“Of course.”
“Have you been back to Cordova?” KA asked as Michael selected a soda and then put in more money.
“Once, but since school started, it’s been a little hard to go back and forth.”
“Thirsty?”
“Yeah, and I’m getting one for my girlfriend.”
“Oh?” I would have loved to have seen her face when she asked, but Michael said her tone was not fear or jealously and that she was just asking a question. He still doesn’t understand the bitch code.
“Yeah”
“Sorry about Prom, Melissa was a bitch for doing that to you.”
“That was a long time ago, Karen.”
He picked up the other bottle and tried to find a way out of the situation.
“Yeah. Hey how about after the game we all go out? Catch up on a few times?”
“Uh,” Michael stated as he attempted once again to try to find a way out of the situation.
He looked at her face and probably at the rest of her as well. I probably would have too if I had been there instead of him.
“What do you say?”
“Sure, that’ll be great, thanks.” And with that he failed miserably in getting out of the situation.
She walked with him for a little bit more but then said something about having to go meet up with her friends. She gave him ANOTHER hug and they parted company.
I glared the entire time it took him to walk back to his seat, which by then the rest of the row had filled up with people, a lot of them with cowbells for some reason.
"Take a wild guess who goes here?"
"Who?"
“Karen Anne. She goes to MSU.”
Michael said that with such calmness. Like it was no big deal.
"What?"
“She’s still a nice person. Helped me find the elusive soda machine and still looks pretty good.”
“But?”
“But my heart is with you.”
“Thank you. Do I worry too much?” I asked as I looked at him in earnest.
“I’m not going to answer that.”
“Why not?”
“Because, you can’t handle the truth.”
“You’re a jerk," I replied, so wanting to jump up and kiss him but still feeling a bit angry at KA.
"I'm right though."
"Still a jerk.”
“So, I hear. Excuse me.”
He typed a few keys and I was just about to go back to reading when he looked at me for a second too long.
"Yes?"
"KA invited us out after the game.”
“Repeat that?”
"Karen Anne invited us to go to a club in Starkville."
"Why?"
“She wants to talk with people she once knew.”
“She doesn’t know ME, Michael!”
“It's time to introduce Kristi to the rest of the world. We can start with Karen Anne.”
"I'd rather not," I said as the band played in the background.
"We have to start somewhere."
“What if it all leaks back? What if she asks her friends: "did that girl say where she’s from?" and they tell her that she must be from UT and she learns who went to UT from our school and comes up with my name and puts it all together?”
“You’re giving her too much credit.”
“I’m over-reacting?
“I plead the fifth."
As I've said a few times already, Karen Anne was my girlfriend. I had known Karen Anne during the times in my life I wasn't exactly sure what I was and I played the part too well. She was a girl who was my friend for a while and then my girlfriend for five months and a few odd days. Odd, in the fact that we were even together in the first place and odd in the fact that we "broke-up" without a fight. There wasn't a whisper of an argument between us at any time. We never bickered like a married couple, not even when we seemingly acted like a married couple.
My clothes, pictures, awards...my name all just screamed "boyhood" but my body didn't feel like that. I never felt right. Being with Karen felt...kind of right...but I'm sure that it was just a part of the role I was assigned to play. I was supposed to like girls and feel that elation at the smell of the right perfume or on the sight of the "right one". I felt that and a little more when I first saw KA.
As mentioned, she was a southern girl, a late nineties debutante in the flesh. She never wore jeans. Never. Not even in thirty-degree weather. Well, at least not until in high school and there were days that the dress uniform she wore, if you looked just right, violated the dress code...but maybe that was just the way I looked at her.
We met on her second day of school and by then she had already picked up on how to act to fit in with just about everybody. She wasn't snobby but she was on the cusp of being a part of the group of girls in every school: the “Heathers”, “Ashely’s”—the “Mean Girls” who seemed untouchable and who looked down on you. They never tortured, but they never talked to me very much either; not until Karen Anne reached out to ask me if I knew someone who could help her in math.
"I can."
"Can you?" She asked without any intonation to flirt with me. I admit, I was kind of disappointed.
"Sure. We can't let you fail on your second day, right?"
"How do know it's my second day?"
"You're in my Literature class."
"Oh," she replied with an honest look of shame on her face. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I'm Kris."
"Karen Anne English."
"Has anyone told you welcome to Cordova?"
"A teacher or two."
"Doesn't count. Welcome to Cordova. Your accent sounds like you're from Alabama."
"I'm from Tuscaloosa" she said with her eyes wide. "How did you know?"
I never told her that I noticed her jacket had a crimson "A" on it--for the University of Alabama.
♦♦♦
I wanted to follow the game while looking at Michael and my play notes. I really tried to not think about the inevitable: meeting with my former girlfriend and act like I didn't know her. How long would it take her to see who I was? I wasn't going to just flat out tell her, I didn't have to or should have even cared, but I did.
Damn it, Michael and his being nice to everyone.
Double damn it for me being anti-social to everyone.
And triple D for me choosing to wear a dress as I would feel like a little girl around Karen Anne and any friends she had who were going to be with us. I hoped for friends, in a way, as they could be there to keep her in line.
Yes, I felt like I was going to lose my fiancé in a few hours. Perhaps the coach could call several time outs and maybe an earthquake could occur, causing the stadium to fall and Michael and I would be saved only by wrapping his shirt around the railings as we hung on for dear life. Karen Anne would be on the field, alive, but bruised as she looks up and curses about the lucky girl wrapped around Michael Nelson.
"Where are we meeting you?"
Karen Anne called seconds after the final whistle. I gathered our bags as Michael turned the laptop off with one hand.
"We'll meet you there. See you." He flipped the cell closed.
"Do we have to?"
"If you really don't want to go-"
"No, no, I'll go for you."
"And will you have fun?"
"I promise I won't kill her."
"We'll go with that."
We walked down the long ramps back down to the ground level and with every step I felt an immense pain...I wished the pain was in my feet but it was in my head. It wasn't a headache or a migraine but if I could have it bottled and sold it would be as potent as arsenic.
“Michael!"
I looked ahead and saw her. HER. Karen Anne, standing in her "I am so beautiful, but I'll never say it--you'll just think it" style. I grabbed Mike's hand in a death grip. It was worse than not knowing your lines on opening day. I would have preferred to be naked on stage in a revival of ‘Mamma Mia!’--in Swedish.
“Oh God, Please. I’ll go to Africa, I’ll attend church. Anything!”
“Hey." She motioned us over to her friends. "This is Nola and Matt.”
“Michael," Matt replied as the two guys shook hands.
"Hello. This is my fiancé, Allie.”
"Ello," I replied with a slight European accent to my voice. Not so much British or Scottish, but just enough to play yet another part.
"Fiancé?" Nola asked.
"Family official as of this morning," Michael responded.
I avoided looking at Karen Anne. I wanted to see her expression but I was also afraid to see her face.
We all walked together to our vehicles which were parked in the same general area.
Karen Anne talked back and forth with Nola and Michael as I politely nodded to this and that; all while holding onto Michael's hand.
"Why don't you ride with us? We got room." KA pointed to an SUV. I assumed it was Nola's, Matt's; or his mother's.
"We have a few things I don't want to leave in the car; so, we'll follow you," Michael replied.
"Okay," she replied as she turned to Matt. "Keep it under forty."
Michael opened my door and then moved to the other side of the car.
We didn't say another word until the doors were closed.
"Shrek?" He asked.
"Billie Piper-esque."
"Don't know who that is but that was pretty good," Michael replied as he started the engine.
"You don't think she sees through it?"
"Nope."
"She still has it for you," I snorted as I watched her climb into the back seat of the SVU.
"Really?"
"Seriously? You couldn't tell?"
"Wasn't really paying attention," Michael replied as he shifted the car and moved to follow the chariot of the loser of The Second Battle of Nelson.

CAN’T WE JUST DANCE

Highland Academy had a Prom, kind of. Our school wasn't huge compared to the other schools in Shelby County so instead of a "Junior-Senior Prom", it consisted of everyone. If you were fortunate to date a senior as a freshman, well...good for you. I went to Prom with Karen Anne, of course; but it was four months, fifteen days, six days and five minutes into our relationship, which was beginning to wane...on both of our parts.
I confided with Michael on how our relationship was faltering. He just responded that love's kind of weird and he wasn't sure what it would take to have him say that he loved someone.
"I mean, really love someone--to look past the pretty face and see my future with said person."
"I've been doubting any future with Karen Anne." Which was a half a thought. The other half was: "I want a future with you."
"But you're still taking her to Prom?"
"Well, yeah...I mean she bought the dress."
"And the flowers..."
"And got a limo for all of us..."
"And you just rented a tuxedo. Not sure if you're the winner or the loser in all of this."
Michael and I would meet up with Karen Anne and his date, Melissa Cantour when the limo came by my house first. Melissa was, what's the best way to describe her without sounding like a condescending bitch? Never mind, I can't do that as much as I could stop breathing.
Okay, Melissa-never call her Mel's, Lissa or (S)Melly-Cantour was how Karen Anne could have turned out if she had sold her soul to Miranda Priestly. She was the debutante of our school except one would never want to ask about her celibacy. In fact, I never asked Michael about it either. He never would ask about Karen Anne and myself, so I kept the respect mutual.
The limo arrived at 5:45 PM and it took us to Karen Anne's house: a very "Dallas"-ish ranch house outside of town. There were no dusty roads or gravel paths: everything was pristine grass and shimmering concrete. I had been to Karen Anne's house twice (each time under the watchful eyes of her younger sisters) with that night being the second to final time I would step up to the door.
We stood at the doorstop in our barely fitting monkey suits as I rang the doorbell.
Karen Anne's mother answered the door. Mrs. English was, for the most part, an older twin of Karen Anne--she too, never wore jeans or sweat pants. One would think she was a vampire as she never seemed to age, never had a bad hair day and her face was always bright, shiny and happy.
I still wondered what she thought about me with her daughter.
"Oh, I see we have some classical southern gentlemen at our door."
"Yes ma'am." Michael responded.
"Good evening, Mrs. English," I replied.
"Please come in and I'll let Melissa and Karen know you're here."
We walked in and she quietly closed the door; but it still made a large "thud"--it was a heavy wood door that looked like Karen Anne's father had gone out and physically cut it from a solid oak tree. That wasn't quite off from the truth...I still don't know what Karen's father did for a living but whatever it was he was always working with his hands--building things bigger and better. He only said one thing to me: "Don't break her heart or I will break you."
We met the girls' who were complete in their too-expensive-for-one-night dresses and hair styled by someone who would never dream of using simple scissors. Michael was speechless for a moment.
"Prettier than a Nashville sunset."
Melissa merely nodded as he took her hand and we all posed for pictures.
Karen Anne; she did look beautiful...but she always looked beautiful in anything she wore while I looked...like some poor, awkward schlep with hair that was just a bit too scraggily that never tried anything with her.
Well, not exactly...we did do a lot of touching; or should I say massaging...we never did anything sexual. I loved the way she looked and I felt so inadequate in all departments in the very first time I saw her in a bikini (she 'innocently' asked me how it looked) and gave me subtle hints to take it off her but I just couldn't--for as much as I loved her I didn't love her.
I didn't even love myself and as the months went on we became more and more like friends once again. It came to an apex that night.
We arrived fashionably late to the sound of an ever-persistent bass drum beat. Tragically for Michael the DJ had no idea who John Michael Montgomery--'JM Squared who?'--was.
The girls left to the restroom, we were not sure at the time why.
"I'm not liking this, Kris."
"Why?" I nearly yelled over the bass.
"What do I have common with Melissa?"
"Well, I- Just enjoy yourself."
"Don't think I can. This was a mistake."
"Wait, just wait a bit. It's just Prom...not a tryout for "American Idol" or graduation day. Who's going to remember what happened here two or so years down the road. It's not your first rodeo, right?"
"I'd prefer the rodeo to this."
"Maybe you should ask her to go to one?"
He grinned at that. I wasn't sure if the grin was because it was a good idea or if he was trying to envision Melissa navigating the bulls and blood and the dust of mud of the arena.
The girls returned in time for a slow dance and we took our perspective dates to the floor.
I had attempted to teach Michael a few slow moves and he tried to show me how to swing dance-it looked awkward then...and it still looks awkward now due to our different heights; but, I still enjoy it...in a better than sex and chocolate kind of way.
Despite our ability to waltz, our slow dance was done like everyone else was--a gradual step to the right or left in a circle. Karen Anne's face showed boredom.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm good."
"Okay" I replied as the music swelled.
KA placed her head on my shoulder. You could say that it was an "aww" moment--if only I shared the sentiment.
The song continued and we both witnessed Melissa breaking away from Michael.
She stomped away, leaving him alone in a sea of couples.
"She left him," KA nearly yelled over the music.
"I can see that."
"I'm going to go see if I can talk to her; find out what happened."
I nodded as she let go of my hand and ran off the floor.
I took a few moments to walk over to Michael.
"Tell me again why I'm with Melissa tonight?" He asked.
"Because she asked you."
"But why did she ask me?"
I had a lot of different answers for him and a lot of them had to do with what was below his belt buckle, but I played it safe. "Maybe she really likes you and is just shy about it?"
"But I can't like her."
"What?"
"Me and a girl like that? Ain't gonna happen, she--"
Karen Anne walked in-between us.
"Kris, would it be okay if I asked Michael to dance?"
He looked at me and then to KA.
I nodded as they stepped away and Karen took his hands in a slow dance even though I wanted to know what had happened between Mels and Michael...and then what did Smellie say to Karen Anne?
I stood from the side of the dance floor and watched them slowly move and I felt jealous. There had been a few times that the three of us were together and times when KA and Michael talked about stuff but there they were, for supposedly one dance; perhaps for KA to find out what happened or maybe to place her head on his chest and breathe in the cologne that he always wore that made you want to buy western-theme clothes, a hat, and try to ride a horse at a fast gallop to a remote place where you can just stare into his eyes. Well, those were my thoughts, and when the music stopped KA was looking at my zoned-out face.
"We need to talk."
"Okay," I replied. Her tone was a kind of a cross between someone trying to say, "your mom died" and "I kind of loathe you, no offense," and does any conversation that begins with 'We need to talk' ever go well?
"We've been friends for a long time."
"Since ninth grade."
"And in that time, we've never argued about anything."
"True," I replied.
"Why not?"
"Because we agree on things."
"That's the problem."
I expected something along the lines of something shallow, like: "your hair smells."
"I've wanted you to disagree with me. I want a boyfriend, not a lady-in-waiting."
At that moment, the this could turn into a shouting match times in our relationship blasted through my mind.
"Why? I mean, you had good ideas. Why bicker about them?"
"But I want someone who will speak up for themselves., even with me."
"As much as you say that...I seriously doubt you're offering me a second chance."
"You're right. I'm not."
"Who is it?" I asked point blank. I wasn't expecting her to answer truthfully and I kind of really didn't care. I couldn't blame it on Michael, he wouldn't have known what to talk to her about me and I seriously doubted she would have asked him.
"No one...It's just the principle of it."
"I see."
There was a long pause, which became longer as the music stopped at that point.
"Well, I understand," I really wanted to act out a grandiose soliloquy, perhaps quote something by Sylvia Plath or John Hughes but nothing came to mind.
"Is that all you have to say? That you understand?"
"You want me to disagree you?"
"No. Well. Maybe."
"You've made your point. There's not much else to say."
I didn't hate her...I also didn't really love her so there wasn't a tearing of emotion like there should have been...like she may have been expecting.
"I want you to show some emotion."
"I am. I hope you'll find happiness with someone...even if he listens to everything you say."
And with that, I walked past her and out the door.

* * *
“So, you’re the one that got away?” Nola asked Michael from across a small table in a cramped college club. It was one of those places that allowed people under twenty-one but barred them from drinking any alcohol by giving them a vermillion letter on their wrist that glowed in black light.
The five of us-myself, Michael, Nola, Matt, Karen Anne--sat in a circle around the table.
Nola was a tall, olive-skinned, second year student. Matt was best described as a pre-hipster -hipster, complete with the goatee and John Lennon-inspired glasses. The only thing missing was a pocket-sized book of Nietzsche quotes in his front shirt pocket. He kept to himself throughout the conversation--the one KA controlled.
“Kind of. He was my ex’s best friend. We kind of went out for a few days-nothing came out of it though-told me he was seeing someone else and…well, that must be you.”
I nodded, still trying to hide the awkwardness of the situation. Here was my old girlfriend who didn’t seem to recognize me.
“I have to tell you; I used to have dreams about him.”
Michael looked down and then at me.
“He does get into your head,” I replied.
"So how is Kris doing?" Karen Anne went right back to Michael as if I wasn't even there.
"He's doing pretty good."
"Does he still do that high-pitch whiny voice when he gets mad?"
"Not so much now," Michael replied. "He's changed quite a bit."
"He was a character."
"Still is," Michael replied as he attempted to get a reading on me. My face was hiding any bitterness I had. My expression was like if I was a foreign exchange student on the first day of school who would just smile and nod at everything being said because she didn't have a freaking clue. But in this case, my face was hiding the rage of wanting to smash a glass over Karen Anne's head. After all, I promised Michael I wouldn't kill her.
"Where did you meet, Mike, Allie?"
"We were at a rodeo and--"
"Oh-my-god, you actually do ride?"
"Not so much anymore."
"I thought you were just saying that. Oh, I feel stupid."
I didn't respond to that.
"So, you don't live in Cordova?" Karen turned her laser targeting scope back at me.
"No, Jackson, Mississippi."
"Long distance relationship? Looks like you made it work," KA replied as she looked at Michael.
"Thank you."
Matt took the moment to stand up. "I'll be right, going to get a refill on this." He didn't look comfortable and I assumed that he wanted to get away from Karen's prying questions...or maybe he was just thirsty.
"I'll go with you," Michael replied--which made my heart jump. I wanted to grab at his hand but he looked at me, nodded and smiled as he spoke. "Can I get you anything?"
"No, thank you,” I replied as I put my hands on the table-in a desperate attempt to not look nervous.
"Karen Anne?"
"I'm good. Thanks, I--Whoa. That's a monster stone."
Michael took the opportunity to move away from the table with Matt as KA grabbed my hand to look at the ring.
"Did Mike give this to you? Look at this. It’s gorgeous."
"Thank you."
"When are you going to have it?" She finally released my arm from her grasp.
"We're thinking June."
"I can’t believe I let him slip right by me. You’re lucky."
"Thank you." I felt endangered at that moment; like an antelope trapped in the gaze of a lioness.
"What’s your major?"
“Theatrical Arts.”
“Do you see Kris sometimes?”
“A bit.”
"He was a math whiz but he was always talking about plays and musicals. His daddy tried to tell him it was a waste of time. He was an asshole."
"The dad or Kris?"
"His daddy. The guy was a control freak...I think he had a lot to do with why Kris was--I'm sorry, I shouldn't be talking about him like that. He's Michael's friend, and I--”
I looked at Karen Anne's face for a moment too long and she looked back at me--something was clicking in her brain. Nola's eyes jumped back and forth between the two of us like an eye-twitch tennis match.
"You really look familiar to me, are you sure we haven't met before?" Karen Anne leaned over the table a little bit and I tried to avoid looking at any part of her.
"Not unless you've been through Jackson, I-- Excuse me for a moment. I'll be right back."
Michael and Matt had come back to the table.
"Kri-Allie, I-"
"I'll be right back," I replied as I looked at Michaels' expression--he was looking at Karen Anne when he nearly called me by my real name.
I walked away from the table and to the restroom.
It was unoccupied, thank God, and it took a few moments to keep from screaming my head off.
Here I was, having a micro-breakdown in a strange place while my nemesis was no doubt trying to weasel her way into my significant other's life.
"Do you want to dance, Mike? Kind of relive things?"
"One, just one though."
"Of course. Silly boy."
"Can you still swing dance ?"
"No one from Tennessee forgets how to swing."
"I can make you happier than her."
"I don't think so."
"But look at me!"
"I am, but you don't light up my sunset."
"I can show you something that might raise your saddle horn."
I ran out of the restroom, not that she would do something or that he would fall for it but something terrified me. I went back to the table to see only Nola and Matt. I looked to the floor and there they were, swing dancing to Chris Ledoux.
It was kind of like Prom all over again for me, in a way and it got worse as I saw Karen move in and kiss him and by that, I mean she attacked his face for what seemed like an eternity.
Michael didn't wrap his hands around her body but he didn't fight her off either. He didn't push her away or slap her. Something I kind of wanted to do right then but instead I backed away.
The entire club grew cold, dark and everyone was staring at me; silently mocking me for not being able to keep Michael away from her--for allowing this to happen.
I kept backing up but I also heard Michael's voice.
"Kristi!"
I could only hear him saying my name in varying tones.
"Kristi?"
I ran out of the club and walked as fast as legs that were tired of walking could go.
"Kristi!"
I didn't want to say a thing to him.
I didn't have to: I could just find a pay phone, call my grandmother and stay for the night. Of course, getting back to school would be an issue as I never got a driver's license. The thought of having to call my parents was out of the question; I'd rather sleep in a field of rocks and weeds.
"Kristi!"
There was a bit of paining to his voice but his feet couldn't have been tired. He was, after all, so not putting baby in the corner.
I stopped-but I refused to turn around.
“I’m not going to apologize for not doing anything wrong. You don’t even like to dance.”
“Maybe I do.”
“No, you never have. Is that what’s wrong? I danced one song. I was going to ask you on the next song.”
“So, you want me to look like this so you can piss me off, don’t you?”
“No, I want what you want. It's always been like that. I love you however you want to look.”
Karen Anne had caught up to us, by the sound of her heavy breathing behind me.
“What’s going on?”
“Kristi, look at me, please.”
I bit my lip because I really didn't want to turn around. KA was not a problem for me but I had to wake up to Michael every day and he could hold this temper tantrum over me.
He waited three seconds and then gently trapped my shoulder to pull me around.
“You are the only one for me. You know that.”
“I know, I know...”
Karen Anne's face was a cocktail of two-part confusion and one-part frustration.
Michael moved in and placed his face against mine and then turned it to the side to kiss me.
“Wait a minute!” Karen's voice trembled a bit.
“I saw you and it was like prom all over again,” my voice pitched up and by then my accent vanished.
“W-wait. Wait.” Karen stammered.
“Didn't you say no one remembers prom?” Mike asked as he tried to get me to smile.
“Some of us do.”
“What. The. Hell?”
We turned to Karen Anne and I took a deep breath.
“Hello, KA.” That took a lot to say but for some reason it felt satisfying.
“Kris?”
“I’m sorry the evening ended like this.”
“Michael? What is going on? Are you a fag?”
“--But now, I'm not.”
We walked away from Karen Anne, Nola and Matt, not wanting to explain the situation to them. We accelerated our pace a little bit though because even if KA couldn't chase after us, the sound of her voice alone did.
“What the hell are you!”
We ran, once again, without another word to each other until the doors were closed and the engine was on and after we peeled out of the parking lot as Karen’s screams sounded as if she had been stabbed in the heart.
Maybe she had been-figuratively speaking.
“I’m sorry, Michael, for everything.”
“I have to admit, she tried hard.”
I looked in the side mirror as a crowd of people gathered around Karen Anne.
“Didn’t even care that I was sitting. Right. There. She asked me about my ring and everything.”
“She did that all through high school, you saw that-even when she was going out with you.”
“The class reunion is really going to suck.”

LEARNING TO FLY

Karen Anne was slow in acquiring Michael for herself because he was unsure about what to really do with her. She didn't like horses, guns, or got his humor like I did. Like I've said, I didn't see KA as my former girlfriend but more as my personal 'Jolene'.
She didn't change--much--after prom. There was a bit of frost between us, more from her than me and it was evident whenever she saw Michael talking with me about, well, whatever guys talk about; the stupid stuff, you know?
I was not ready for the day when she kissed him outside the school, right in front of me, because, that's what couples do. She didn't look at me--didn't have to--I felt the stigma radiating from her. They stood next to each other for a moment and then KA walked down the block to an awaiting car.
Michael stood by himself and stared down the block.
“It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”
“Not following you.”
“Shall we compare her to a summer's day?”
“I'm not sure what to compare her to,” he replied, much to my astonishment.
“She likes roses--the white and pink ones.”
We walked to the parking lot and to Michael's truck in silence.
Michael closed his door after I closed the passenger door.
“Don't know about this one either, Kris,” he stated as he looked at me with eyes like a lost puppy yelping in the moonlight.
“What do you mean?”
“Gotta ask you a question.”
“Okay,” I replied, ready for the question that he was most likely going to ask.
“I need to let her go. How do I do it?”
Not the question I had in mind, so I was lost for a second. I mean, two thoughts were going through my brain: I thought they were a good-looking couple, seemed to agree on things--almost a Johnny Cash and June Carter homage. It was sad to hear.
While the other one was: YES! Whoop-Whoop! Wave your hands in the air, girl!
“I shouldn't have danced with her.”
“No. No, it's okay, I mean we're still kind of friends even if we're not seeing each other. I don't think she hates me.” A terrible lie, I admit and I hoped he wouldn't run with it.
“She hasn't brought you up.”
“That's, that’s probably a good thing,” I replied as I bit my lip. “What did you say to Melissa?”
"Kind of wondered when you were going to ask that. Now I can get if off my chest.”
He started the engine.
“Wasn't my business. Thought you'd talk about it when you were ready.”
“I told her that I couldn't be with someone like her and I'm not feeling anything with Karen Anne.”
“Okay, well there are other fish in the sea.”
“Tennessee's land-locked.”
“We could take a trip to the Alabama coast: lots of seafood and--other fish.”
“Think I'll be a real cowboy one day. Out on the range, on my own, watching the herd. No prom dresses. No fake people.”
“No dance music.”
“A guitar is all one needs.”
We drove past Germantown Parkway and into the countryside of Cordova.
“So, I guess you won't be setting any long-term plans with Karen Anne?”
“Don't think so. I mean, she's not the right one for me. There's a lot there, we both know that.”
“Right, yeah, a lot there.”
“A bit too much,” he sighed. Perhaps Karen Anne had discussed the wedding scene with him too.
“Okay, so what are you looking for in 'ze perfect girl?” A simple question and when asked in the voice of Pepe Le Pew it deflects the why.
“I don't think she exists, Kris.”
“Come on, let it go. I'll throw a few out: Angelina Jolie?”
“Who?”
“Shania Twain?”
“I can dream about her, yeah, but the real one for me don't have to be famous,” Michael's speech would break down into the vocabulary of a bluegrass hillbilly drunk on real Tennessee Mountain Dew when he was either euphoric or depressively dreary. “She's just got to love me like I love her.”
“You're a better man than I,” I replied as I really wanted to tell him everything about me. Maybe he'd understand. We talked about a lot of stuff we even tried chew once (never mistake the spit can with the one with soda in it). We were such an odd couple that we belonged together but I wasn't about to blurt it out. I needed to tie him up or pin him down and then I could tell him.

* * *

I woke up in bed in the dorm, hoping that perhaps it was still Friday morning and the events of Saturday had been only a nightmare. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and saw a dress, wrapped in torn, red plastic bag in the closet.
No there was still a chance--I could have bought that some time ago and had forgotten.
I looked on my arm and saw a red mark from the club--Damn, it did happen which meant it was Sunday.
Michael was absent from the bed. He usually went to hang out with Daniel on Sunday afternoons but I thought that maybe he would have been too tired after the drive home--which I didn't remember a thing of.
I got up, threw on a robe and tried to not remember the events of the night before. There were so many things I could have done differently. I could have been Kristopher and not have to deal with anything except for having to face Karen Anne as she would most likely would have ignored me still. So, the snub would have happened and I would have to feign any issues with her trying to dance with Mike unless I exposed my naked myself, the real me I mean, to everyone in that club. Maybe Michael would have done it for me--express his love and affection for me regardless of how I looked, like he always told me.
However, why did we have to go to that club? Why did I think it would be okay to sit at that table with KA? I wanted to feel like I was invulnerable and for a moment I was. I didn't give a damn what people would think. I wanted the brassy sass to come out, so I could stand up at that table and spit my words out in anger: “Hey, Karen. My name is and has been Kristina. Deal. With. It. Bitch!”
I should have flat said no to going to that club and we wouldn't have. Michael would have told Karen Anne that we had to get back if I had said no and then I wouldn't have had to go through the panic attack. But then I would never had had the chance to tell KA about myself. Granted, it wasn’t the best way to break it to her.
A shower and two pop-tarts later, I stepped out of the dorm hall in jeans and t-shirt; not fully ready to repeat yesterday's MSU display. Campus life on the weekends was a lot like living in the suburbs of a small town-no one is out mowing lawns but there is a little bit of activity with some walkers, a few playing catch and others just sitting outside in the last few sunny days of the fall. It wasn't scorching hot nor humid. It was never as hot in Knoxville as it was in Memphis, where just stepping outside would cause you to sweat in locations you didn't even think had pores and those pores brought forth the most pungent odor that people would beg you to leave and take your stench with you.
“Look who's decided to join the living,” a voice stated from behind me.
“Yes, Rick, I decided it was time to rise from my grave and haunt the countryside.”
“Quite so,” he replied as he looked at me. “When is opening night?”
“This Friday,” I attempted to avoid any eye content.
“And how's it going?”
“Fine, thank you.” I kept any sarcastic comment or vile word to myself.
“What's with the ring?”
“It's an engagement ring.” I waved my hand at him.
“You're engaged? To who?”
“She lives in Memphis.”
“I assume she has a matching one?”
“Uh-huh.”
“When did you meet her?”
“High school.” It was like I was being interviewed. I could play his game. I was ready for my court room scene. But, alas, I would have to tell story after story because Richard couldn't handle. The. Truth.
“Congratulations are in order then.”
“Thank you.”
“Has she ever been here on campus?”
Ah, Richard was a slick one. If I answered one way then he could try and bust me for bringing a girl into the dorm hall. However, answering in the negative and he could build a case that Michael was my lover and we would go on all night sessions. Which was the truth, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Not yet.”
“I still think you're going to hell one day.”
“I hear it's a wide highway.”
“I wouldn't know,” he replied as he opened the door to the dorm and walked in,
I so wanted to flip him off.
No, first I'd slam into the wall, slap him across the face and then flip him off, Memphis style.
I usually spent Sunday's afternoons trying to memorize the play script and thinking about how the stage would be laid out; but the scenery was completed by the end of last week leaving one less thing to worry about. Now I just had to worry about actors getting their marks right, keeping the flow off their lines right and to try to avoid any feeling of wanting to kill them all with my clipboard.
I sat down on the park bench midway to the theatre and laid my head back.
Too much to take in from the day before.
I was a girl to the world for under twelve hours. I shouldn't have had to act like one--I was one, albeit one that was chemically and emotionally damaged by thirteen doctors and my father.
If they all knew that I stopped taking all the pulls I had been prescribed. I once took over nine different prescriptions: a few to halt estrogen; a bit to raise testosterone; more to balance out the emotional pain and birth control pills. I stopped taking all of them four days after arriving on campus; expect for the last set, which I ran out of a few weeks ago from that day.
I didn't want to deal with the emotional roller coaster but the Ferris wheel wasn't any better: manic for one day and depressive a few hours later. I assured Michael that I was still taking everything that I had to keep "on balance"--but I grew tired of taking them, for as much as they helped they also were for "Kris", not for me and I had not been him for a few months before high school ended. Of course, to simply quit taking everything was a stupid thing to do but I was a college freshman, trying to spread my wings and take a road less travelled. Can you think of any better reason than to be off one's meds?
I took my time walking around campus and tried to block out the negative thoughts that were at the doorstep of my sanity--no such luck. I was tired of the reversed Dorothy Michaels approach to life but afraid of the repercussions to come. Sometimes you need to jump off the high dive, even if it means to perform an awesomely painful belly flop.
Michael was back at the dorm.
“I'm sorry about yesterday.”
“Why?” I asked as I closed the door.
“I didn't ask you if you wanted to go there, I just assumed you'd be okay.”
I walked over and wrapped my arms around him. “We survived.”
“It could've been bad,” he replied and then kissed my forehead. “I screwed up.”
“Hey, no, I mean it wasn't our best audition and I would have loved a do-over, but it has made me think about you said. Rehearsals and all that.” I broke away, walked over to my dresser and opened the middle drawer.
“What do you mean?”
“Time to take off this mask.” I picked up a set of folded clothes and threw them on the bed, leaving the drawer empty.
"Can you take off the shirt too?”
“I plan on taking it all off and then some," I replied with a smile as I grabbed his hand. “Let's go.”

♦♦♦

“How does this look?”
The West Town Mall was not the best place to go if one wanted to buy things and remain incognito to the rest of the UT campus. Every store had at least one employee who was a student at the college, so someone would know where you picked up your new wardrobe, even if you shopped at Sears.
I dragged Michael from store to store, picking up this, that, and the whatnot. A dress or two, an actual blouse and skirt. I didn't want to rush but I also knew what I was looking for: anything that world annoy Richard, give a migraine to Heather, and cause my father to have a mild stroke. I had only store left to go to.
‘I'll sit out here with all of this cause I'm not going in there,” Michael stated as he rearranged several bags into larger ones. He stood several feet out of a Victoria's Secret and tried in vain to ignore what was inside.
“Fair trade. I'm thinking green.”
“Green isn't your favorite color.”
“True, it's yours.”
“Don't. Don't do that.”
“Why not? You're the one who gets to see them.”
“You need to go with what you want.”
“I want what you want.”
“You could always go without.”
“I could, but, no.” I replied as I walked into the store. “How about pink?”
“Why not?”
“I love the way you think.”
“Just go in there. I'll-I'll wait out here.”
“Should I bring them to you for approval?”
“N-n-no,” he stammered as he tried to avoid turning beet red.
We had a few eyes watching us by then. The sales clerks gave me a wide berth and it was safe to assume no one was going to ask me any questions other than ‘how you would like to pay?’ I took several gambles on styles because I had no idea what I was looking for and I still did not have any upper body that mattered at the time.
“When are you wearing these?”
“Tomorrow. Going to start slow though.”
“How slow?”
“Simple dress, maybe something off the shoulder.”
“Planning on giving Dick a heart attack?”
“Humph. He's a zombie with a nice haircut, and a button-down Oxford Blue but no heart. I can back off on the shoulder thing.”
“No, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing it the Novoselic way.”
“Damn straight,” I replied.
Michael pointed at the pink bra. “Are you going to model these?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“Can you promise you won't stare at me.”
“Can't promise that.”
“Then you won't get to the see pink one. It's almost see-through.”
“Then why get it?”
“It called me to me, Michael. It said: 'get your card out, buy me and blow his mind!'”
“How many did you listen to?”
“Enough that dad will be calling me about it at the end of the month.”

CRYING SHOULDER

I thought I had lost my chance to really get with Michael--there were so many times while we were driving home or going to school that I wanted to tell him how I felt when I'd see him glance at me. He was with Karen Anne still, but I wanted to think that we had something that was on the cusp of breaking through. Unfortunately, like a junior high school dance, we stood on opposite sides and made small talk, but no one ever took the first step. Maybe Michael didn't know what to say. I knew what I wanted to say but I didn't want to come off as an even larger basket case than he probably thought I already was.
I wanted to believe that he wanted me as much I wanted him. Everything was calm when he was around, and I felt normal. He didn't care if I said something crazy or started singing show tunes when we drove to school in the morning. I could've dropped a hint; I probably could have hit him over the head with a sledgehammer, but he still probably would not have responded. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him but saying something like that would cause the Earth to stop spinning. I desperately wanted to do it and if I could spend eternity with him, I would pull the brake.
I had spent that Friday in a shell while at school. I'd say “hi” when someone said it to me but otherwise I shied away from conversation and lied when asked if everything was okay. No, everything was not okay, but I would never admit it.
“Karen Anne wants me to come down to the coast with her family during the summer.”
“Sounds great,” I replied as I looked out the window.
“What's wrong?”
“Just wondering about things.”
“Like?”
“It's nothing,” I replied as I leaned back into the seat.
“You're sure?”
“No.”
Mike pulled into the driveway and I got out of the truck before the engine was off.
“Kris!”
I didn't want to stop walking but--
Mike got out of the truck and stood next to it like he was on the cover of a Garth Brooks album.
“You seem kind of, distant.”
“I'm just tired being the third wheel, you know?”
“Nope.”
“I'm in the way of you two.”
“Me and Karen Anne?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Nah. I just let her lead the conversation,” he replied as he walked over to me.
I kept my eyes on his face as I unlocked the door.
“What about the trip to the coast?”
We walked into the house.
“I was going to ask you about that. I don't think—”
“Mom? Dad?”
One of my parents were usually home--but sometimes they were in the back of the house.
We walked up the stairs to my room.
“I think she has something big planned.”
“That's an understatement.”
I threw my backpack on my bed and tried to avoid looking at my reflection in the mirror. My hair was greasy and there were pock marks on face--a game of connect-the-zits would be ready in a manner of hours.
“I mean I enjoy talking to her. She smells nice too.”
I nodded as I walked over to the dresser.
“Did you ever tell her you loved her?”
I shook my head.
“Me neither.”
“Do you?” I asked him as we looked at each other through the mirror.
“Did you?”
“I loved being around her”
“Not who you were looking for?”
“No,” I replied.
Mike slowly walked next to me but didn't look at me directly. “You still think there's a special girl out there for me?”
“Yeah, yeah...she just may be a bit scared to tell you. I mean, when you walk into school on Monday maybe she'll stand there in a blue dress and want to tell you how she feels.”
“What do I tell her?”
“Tell her she doesn't have to be afraid and she can be herself; as crazy as that sounds.”
I looked up to his face and our eyes met up in a way they never had before.
“Be yourself, Kristi.” He reached out and took my hands.
“You see what I look like, right?”
“You've always looked great to me.”
“Thank you,”
“I think I found the girl for me,” Michael said as he pulled me closer. “And she was here all along."
♦♦♦
Mrs. Peterson's released her grip, but the damage had done. Her eyes showed no emotion but I'm sure mine flashed eighteen years of fear and sadness. I went to a private school but that didn't change how people were on the inside. We were all meant to look the same with our pressed dress pants and school uniforms, but the inner ugliness was always there. A throwaway comment here and there; a snickering joke at my expense, up until I was with Karen Anne and then it segued to how we could be the perfect lesbian couple if I had a vagina.
If they only knew.
I slowly moved away, hoisted my satchel onto my shoulder and ran out of the lecture hall without looking back at Mrs. Peterson. I didn't want to think what I would have done if I was braver or felt that I would be in the right, which I would have been except in the court of public opinion. No, then I would be labeled as a freaky kid who hasn't been on his meds who thinks he's a chick.
There was more pain in my heart than in my arm. Hot flashes of anger mixed with fear ran through my head as the verbal assault hurt more than anything else. I instinctively ran to the theatre auditorium but stopped before going in.
I didn't feel like me anymore. It sucked that it only took one teacher's attitude to knock me back in time nearly three years; to the days of looking at my wrists and making small cuts with a razor blade. I stopped carrying one with me a long time ago but at that moment, I wanted it back. To see the red lines, the blood, but also knowing that my arms were going to hurt like Hell for the next several days. Still, it was a way to kill the pain in my head, to stop the voices telling me that I didn't fit in with anyone--not even in with drama geeks as they would show their true selves if they ever knew.
I didn't want to go into the theatre. I wanted to go home. A home, a home that was away from anyone else except for Michael; where we would have farm animals and I would burn the ramen and force us both to eat cold sandwiches for the rest of our lives. But, by God, it would be just us and not my parents. Not annoying dorm room monitors. Not bitchy college co-eds or teachers who thought they knew everything about me.
But no, I was at college--in the real world and I was trying to be the real me: Kristina Allie Fricking Novoselic who should have stood up to her dad a long time. Who should have told a few doctors to go to Hell and who should have snatched her life out of the jaws of gender identity a long time ago.

The theatre was dark except for the action onstage. I was late and the third scene of the fourth act was in progress as I ran to the side door and into the wings.
“I had to stay behind in my last class, Mr. Montesi.”
He turned around, adjusted his glasses and grinned slightly. “Not a problem, Kristi.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“We need to work on the timing of this scene.”
We both looked out at Brendon and Marcus, in full costume, were—despite having a good three months— stumbling over their lines and acting like they had no sense of rhythm or conversation.
“Hang on guys!” Mr. Montesi walked onto the stage and stood between the two of them. “The repertoire is not there. The two of you have been friends since birth. Almost blood brothers and I’m sure if Shakespeare thought of it, he would have mentioned that the two of you probably got into more trouble on a Friday night at a bar than anyone else except for Julius Caesar and that killer kegger at the Senate.”
I kept a straight face as the rest of the troupe volleyed their attention at Mr. Montesi and then at me.
“The two of you should almost be able to finish each other sentences as both Anthipholus and Domino—and as Brendon and Marcus. Now, if you prefer that I require you to say your lines like a drunken sailor, I can do that too.”
“Can I do this scene, Keith Richards style?” Brendon asked.
“I can do a decent John Lennon,” Marcus chimed in.
I rolled my eyes.
Mr. Montesi clapped his hands. “If only this was New York and the Ed Sullivan Show but it’s Knoxville so instead you’ll have to work more like Elvis Presley and Garth Brooks.”
I was reminded of Mike for a moment.
“Where’s our courtesan?” Mr. Montesi asked as he looked at the other actors.
“Heather said she couldn't make it.”
“Oh yes, that’s right--personal thing. Okay. Well, Miss Novoselic, will you please take your mark as her understudy for today?”
“Yes sir,” I replied as I went into the wings, laid my bag next to the podium where I would normally stand behind. Then I walked past the other actors—not wanting to make eye contact or explain anything to them, but here I was, stepping out to everyone.
“Why, sir, I brought you word an hour since that the bark expedition put forth to-night; and then were you hindered by the sergeant, to tarry for the hoy delay. Here are the angels that you sent for to deliver you.”
“The fellow is distract, and so am I; And here we wander in illusions: Some blessed power deliver us from hence!”
I opened the door and stepped into the stage light. I tried to not look at Brendon or Marcus, but I had to for the scene to work.
“Well met, well met, Master Antipholus. I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now: Is that the chain you promised me today?”
Brendon moved his hand to his chest to cover up the chain. “Satan, avoid! I charge thee, tempt me not.”
“Master, is this Mistress Satan?” Marcus screamed his line out as he pointed at me.
“It is the devil.”
“Nay, she is worse, she is the devil's dam; and here she comes in the habit of a light wench: and thereof-” Marcus was the guy in the group who cared only about his craft and thought that I was his “go-boy”. I let him know on the first week that I was not his servant, butler, costumer or intern. I was cordial and he took it okay but he always had a sneer for me. We kept everything on a professional level, for the good of the production; but I could feel the tension. “Come not near him!”
“Your man and you are marvelous merry, sir. Will you go with me? We'll mend our dinner here?”
“Master, if you do, expect spoon-meat; or bespeak a long spooner.” Marcus deliberately misspoke the line. I looked past it, again, for the sake of the production.
“Hold it!" Mr. Montesi yelled from the side of the stage.
“I mean, it’s just weird, Mr. Montesi”
“I do hope you’re using that pronoun to discuss the situation and not to the performer before you.”
“What's with the dress?"
“Mr. Howard. Another Shakespearean lesson is in order. In the original Globe Theatre, all parts were performed by men and younger teens, as in Juliet was a young man.”
“Okay, if he was in costume.”
“I’ve worn a costume for a long time,” I replied. “I’ve played the part of depressed little boy and I grew tired of the role.”
“But do you have to be near me to do it?”
I put my hands behind me and bent my back a little towards him. “Yep.”
“Lets’ crank it back a few lines, when the Courtesan enters.” Mr. Montesi commanded as he put his hands in the air.
For the first time since I knew him, Brendon was speechless.
Practice continued, and I jumped back and forth between my stage manager position and my quasi-understudy role until the final line was said and we all froze as the lights went out.
“Bravo! Now, can let’s do that again tomorrow and then at the dress rehearsal.”
The troupe nodded and clapped as the actors went backstage. I grabbed at the loose properties left behind.
“You did really good.”
I turned and squinted—the spot lights were still on—but I could still see Amanda walk to the front of the stage.
“Thank you. How long have you been watching?”
“A little bit, I—Are you free to talk?”
“Umm, yeah, I, I need to take these to the wings and—I’ll be right back. “
“Okay,” she replied.
I turned around and felt this immense knot in my chest. What did she want with me? I mean Amanda was kind of like Karen Anne, but I would have hoped that maybe she’d care that I was spoken for and I hoped that she wasn’t trying to come onto me. I admit she was cute, but relationships are not built on good looks.
We left the theatre together in a slight silence.
“Thanks for walking with me.”
“Sure.”
“Can you help me?”
“With what?”
"It's my boyfriend, Jacob." Her tone was not energetic or happy. This obviously was not going to be about how great he was or what I might know about guys (which was very little, even though—). No, her voice had a lilt of sadness and fear. I couldn't see any external bruises, but I saw the emotional ones with every nervous tic of her eyes and face.
"What's wrong with him?"
"I-"
"What is he like?" I asked as Amanda tried to avoid looking at me.
"What?"
"What attracted you to him?"
"Well, we-we met during the summer and he was so sweet and adorable and treated me like a princess. Telling me how I was this perfect girl and-"
"Sounds like a nice guy."
"He's still sweet and adorable," She finally looked at me but then lowered her head. "I'm afraid of him and he won't take no for an answer."
"No to what?"
"Everything, I- I thought that maybe I could tell him to leave me alone, I--But he won't. I've tried to get the nerve to cut him out of my life but--"
"You have to cut the people who hurt you out of your life. Has he ever hit you?"
She turned her head away and then lowered it down and she sniffled.
"I'll take that as a yes."

HAD TO GROW UP

We tried hard to stay “friends” at school. Fortunately, we had so few classes together that it was easy to avoid the “let me look at them all day with those eyes” while in class; but it was hard to see the other girls flirting with him—after they learned that he had broken up with Karen Anne. The break-up was not mutual with Karen Anne sputtering so much you'd think her head would explode or she would pass out and need to be resuscitated. I never thought of her being vindictive before but she kind of held a grudge towards Mike after that—or at least it appeared that way to me.
So, during school we kept our cool as the country guy with the broad shoulders and his emo-friend. His emo-friend who at times would walk a bit too close to him. Yeah, so we failed at times, but no one would dare say anything about it to our face. Not Melissa, KA or the student body.
But after school, either at his uncle’s house or at mine, if we were alone then we were not just ‘friends’. I honestly cannot describe to you how it feels to lay next to someone and feel the warmth of their skin against your own. We would snuggle most of the time—just to lie next to someone who thought the world of me.
There were close calls and all of them were usually at Michael’s as his uncle would see us looking guilty and sweaty. He wouldn't say anything else, just a nod and a wave of his hand after he told Michael what he wanted him to do. There was one time when I tried to wear everything underneath—to get into the full being. I figured that in time I would have to know how to wear one and well, I left a bra at his house—I still think Michael hid it—and didn’t think about it until after I got home.
My parents never came up to my room; as they assumed we were playing video games or watching TV. However, mom had some suspicions:
"How serious are you with him?" She blindsided me with this question after Mike had left the house and I had hugged him instead shaking his hand or giving a high five or a fist pound--the manly things.
"What do you mean?" I asked as I stepped into the living room. Mom was in her chair with her reading glasses on and a modern tome in her hands.
"You know exactly what I mean, Kris."
"We're exclusive."
"And that means?"
Did she want the truth? Did she really want to know about everything we had done? I mean, there was quite a list and all of it would cause her to turn red in the face and hide and tell me to stop talking.
"Are you having sex?"
I took a few small steps back and tried to not look her in the eye. I didn't have to say anything, but I followed my visual confession with a meek sounding, "yeah."
Mom turned her head back to her book but then closed it and took her glasses off. I was about to get an earful.
"I'm not happy that you're doing this behind our backs."
I sat down on the couch and tried to avoid making eye contact.
"What? Tell dad that I'm doing it with a guy?"
"What are you doing, exactly?"
"Would you like me to record them for posterity or as evidence?"
“Not amused.” She replied as her eyes bore a hole into my soul.
“Look, what do you want me to do, go on the pill?”
“Do you need to?”
“I have no idea how screwed up my body is right now mom. I’ll grow another head from my ass faster than I’ll grow a pair of breasts; let alone ever get pregnant.”
“Kris.”
“Mom, seriously. You can’t except me to find some girl who’s going to like me for who I am.”
“Karen Anne did.”
“Oh, if she only knew.”
“But Michael does?”
“Yes, and quite well.”
“I’m making an appointment with a gynecologist for you on Friday.”
“Oh, great. I can’t wait to add yet another prescription to my collection.”
I got and tried to walk out of the room, but mom stood up and blocked me.
“What about condoms? Are you using them?”
“Are we really still having this conversation?”
“Yes, what if you do get pregnant?”
“Then we will make it into one of those magazines at the checkout lines as the family with the first pregnant male in Tennessee.”

♦♦♦

I didn't tell Amanda to get a gun permit or to start learning how to use a katana, but I had to let her know sometimes you need to get away the problem.
“That’s why I’m here.”
“To get away from—?”
We sat in the corner of the UC building, tucked away behind large-backed chairs.
“My parents.” I replied with the least amount of emotion as I could. “Try to envision being told from the first time you could comprehend English that you were special. You were so special that no one could know about you and that you had to undergo procedures and prescriptions to fix what was wrong with you?”
“Conversion therapy?”
“Kind of, but no one tried to put electrodes on my nipples and scream “‘God hates you’. “
“But they told you what to do?”
“Well, all parents do that. I just mean they wanted me to be an alpha male, but I was an alpha bitch when I felt like it.”
“Jacob’s wanted me to drop out of school; said he’d take care of me.”
“Sometimes,” I hesitated to say it, but did with a slight hint of sadness, “you have to take care of yourself and do what you want to do. Do you want to drop out?”
“No.”
“But he wants you to—oh, you leave school and wait for him somewhere?”
“Well, I’d go to work,” she replied. “I’m not a huge fan of the classes I’m taking.”
“Amanda, you’re making excuses for him.”
“I am not.”
“If he really cares about you, then he will let you let you say your peace and allow you to walk out of his life. I mean, is that what you want?”
“I just want him to stop hurting me.”
“Sometimes they don’t. It’s so heavily ingrained…like it’s programmed in them to think we’re inferior. They see this partial person, someone who becomes their little project. Let me guide you through this Hell called life and as long as you listen to exactly what I say; eat what I say and never waver from it then I’ll be happy.”
“You’ll be happy?”
“I mean they’ll be happy. You won’t be but you’ll be conditioned to accept it so you won’t ruffle any feathers.”
"I don’t think I could handle if something happened to him because I left him.
"We do have to accept the responsibilities of our actions."
"Yes."
"But, we’re not responsible for what others think or how they react." I leaned my head back and laughed for a moment. "This is who I am. You need to be you and break away from him."
“I can't do that.”
"You can do whatever you want to do. You don't need him to tell you what to do."
"Just cut him off?"
"I don't know him, but by the sound of your voice, I would."
"What do I do?"
I jumped up from my seat. "Stand up!"
She stood up with a bit of fear in her eyes.
"Say your name."
"Umm, Amanda Marks?"
"Louder."
"Amanda Marks."
"No, tell me who you are. your full name."
"I'm Amanda Marissa Marks"
"Louder."
"I'm Amanda Marissa Marks."
"I need you to be louder--Yell, like Jacob's way over there--Let him know that you are who you say you are, that you're in charge of your life and you don't crap from anyone. Let him be afraid of you."
"My name is Amanda Marissa Marks and I don't shit from anyone! Including you, Jacob Alderson!"
Amanda had a new-found look in her eyes.
"You've crossed the bridge. Go live."
"Thank you." She moved forward and hugged me.
It was after nine, I had stayed so long with Amanda trying to help her…trying to play “Dr. Phil” at the least and trying to be a kindred spirit at the most. I had practice dealing with people who didn't understand me. I worked hard to not let them bother me—even the nurses who would look at me and say, “bless your little heart” like I was a deformed creature to be pitied because I had so much going on “down there”.
I made my way back to the dorm, thinking the entire way that maybe I should have enunciated my point to say her peace and walk away. Not to argue, listen to begging or partake in some back and forth that would break down into a shouting match or worse, a one-sided brawl with Amanda being the loser.
I just wanted her to be strong, to feel like everything could be hers--a never half empty kind of life--the kind I had felt since that morning, with a few exceptions.
I arrived back at the dorm; the lights were out. I flicked them on. maybe expecting to see Michael wearing just chaps (I have no idea what they are for, but, I would not have minded seeing him in just those) to surprise me but he wasn't there, which wasn't like him. He apparently had gotten the mail from the campus post office before going where ever he was.
I wanted to call him then, but I was late to come back due to talking with Amanda so if he wanted to go somewhere with...well, most likely with Danny, I guess it was okay.
The mail had one letter in it that was peculiar: It was from the University Administrator's office; did not a stamp but was addressed to Michael. It was already opened. I put it down, as it wasn't my business.
I got dressed for bed, which was still a pair of shorts and a long t-shirt; and looked at my arm in the mirror—there were a few small bruises. The thought of going to Mrs. Peterson’s office in the middle of the night and painting in a rainbow of colors crossed my mind—so did slamming her down with a baseball bat. However, as much as I wanted to do both there would be nothing to gain in the long run and I would only be stooping to her level and she would be able to say that I was some crazy thing or other with a vindictive streak. I did have a vindictive streak towards people who pissed me off…and so for tomorrow I would wear the camisole with the short skirt.
The door opened, and Michael walked in, looking like he had been hit by a freight truck with a bandage across his head.
"What happened?" I raced over to him and he let me hug him, but he looked away and then down.
“Just have to go to the bathroom. Hang on.”
I let him go as he opened the bathroom door, went inside and locked it.
It was something I never saw before. I never saw Michael get flustered or show signs of being pained, or maybe I just never noticed them.
“Are you okay? “I asked through the door.
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s fine. Everything’s okay.”
He opened the door, stepped out and again avoided looking at me directly,
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Eyes. Here, Michael. Please?”
He looked at me and gave a small smile. “You are beautiful no matter what you do.”
“Thank you.”
I lead him over to his desk and he sat down in the chair.
"I was out with Danny."
"And what, did you guys have an accident?"
“No, I—have a confession to make.”
Every. Single. Negative thought that I could think of exploded in my head like a warehouse of firecrackers going off; spontaneous and wild:
He was dying.
My parents were coming for a visit.
Aliens finally invaded.
We were invited to be on “Jerry Springer”.
He had secretly been texting Karen Anne all this time and the trip to MSU to use a computer to record a football was simply a pathetic ruse to be able to see her, which was why we sat on the MSU side.
“I got an after-school job at a warehouse, working with Dan.”
“Why?”
“He needs the money, we need the money. That surgery isn’t going to be cheap and—”
“Your classes?”
“It’s three days a week and a Saturday.”
“What were you doing?” I asked as I rocked back on my heels.
“Walking when I missed a low ceiling.”
“Doesn’t look like you missed it.”
“I know, but—sorry, I didn't want you to have to worry.”
“I would worry more if something happened to you.”
“Well, I wanted to make it a surprise to you—come back in with a little money we can save or use.”
“Thank you. You’re really thinking about the future.”
“Actually, I’m kind of thinking about that nearly see-through thing you got. I heard it calling to me.”
“Really?” I asked as I stepped towards him, “what did it say?”
Michael stood up from his chair and scooped me up into his arms. “I rather show you.”

CLOSE TO YOU

Our senior year was difficult for the both of us. From day one, Highland Academy was against us from spending any time together and mom made it a rule that we were to study in the kitchen, den or living room and Michael was not allowed upstairs. Dad was oblivious to the situation as mom told him she caught me smoking in my room—anything to avoid telling him that his son was sexually active.
“Everyone tries it, Elizabeth,” he said one night at dinner.
Michael sat across from me and avoided confirming or denying my father’s observation.
We also swore that we would never mention our attempts at trying chewing tobacco.
“I still don’t think it’s right. Very unhealthy. It makes you think you can move onto other adult things that cause distress to your life.” Mom looked at me and then turned back to dad.
“Of course, dear, it’s a terrible habit. Very unbecoming and leaves your clothes a mess. The proper gentlemen won’t smoke or chew, not even gum. You handle yourself in a calm manner; be respectful and reserved to hear what the next man has to say.” Dad looked at Michael. “Do you agree, Mr. Nelson?”
“Yes, sir,” Michael replied.
“Kristopher?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied. My hair was cut shorter- it had some length but looked ‘boyish’. I had not drunk the Kool-Aid or been brain-washed but it was just that if I kept up the appearance and played my part as expected then I could look forward to the days when I left the house, either by going to college, catching a plane to California or eloping with Michael to some undisclosed place. My mind was always on the third option.
“I’m thinking of going to Mississippi State” Mike said one day while we sat in the living room. “My parents went there. Grandparents too.”
He had a large envelope in his hand from the college filled with cards, pamphlets and a book that screamed “Come! To! Our! School! NOW!”
“What about your uncle?”
“No, he never cared about college. Said he didn't need it. Once said ‘show me a teacher who can load a shotgun and land a ten-point buck and I’ll think about it.’”
I nodded as Michael leafed through the book.
“I don’t know if I’ll go to school.”
“Why not?”
“Well, if I do then the fun gets to start all over again. The social awkwardness. Which restroom will I get to use? What dorm do I stay in?”
“We should get a dorm room together, wherever we go.”
“Do I really want to be in a guy’s dorm?”
“A room for two?”
“I still love how you think.” I said with a slight smile.
We agreed that we would attend the first school that accepted one of us. The issue of me going to school was paying for it: I never submitted scholarship applications, nor did I ever do extra work to embellish my academic resume. It didn’t really matter to me if I went because I knew I wouldn’t be able to go for the major I wanted.
In the spring of my senior year, a big envelope came back stating that The University of Tennessee accepted me. I submitted applications to various schools across the country: UCLA, Gonzaga, MSU and the University of Tennessee. I hoped for UCLA.
“Theatre? You will major in business and you can’t do that at some art school in California.” Dad said as he shifted his eyes into his I’m so disappointed expression.
“I don't want to work in a cubicle.”
I hated desk and classrooms and going to college meant four more years of desks and classrooms. Then, if Dad had his way, I would find myself sitting at still another desk in an office or in all day meetings which would make me want to take a running leap out a window. Also, Michael would never wear a three-piece suit to anything; not his own wedding or funeral.
“Business is not about where you work, it's what you do to support your family.”
“Like I can have one in Tennessee,” I muttered.
“What about that girl at to school? You should get in touch with her.”
“Karen Anne?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head.
“Even better. You'll be able to keep your mind on your studies without any distractions.”
Oh, there would be a distraction.

♦♦♦

I woke up with Michael’s arm draped over my head.
Not exactly the most fragrant wakeup call but I felt safe.
I moved his arm out of the way and got out of bed to take a shower.
I already had my wardrobe set it for the day, knowing full well that while Monday could be seen to others as a fluke: a nice joke, or a subtle nod to Tim Curry; a second day would cause a few eyebrows to go up, the ice caps to melt and the seas to boil.
Good.
It would cause more whispering amongst the crowds.
Bring it on.
Mrs. Peterson would have a conniption fit.
Let's get ready to rumble!
“Michael, wake up.”
“Prefer to sleep” he moaned.
“There are some things I'd prefer to do this morning too.”
“I'm open to that,” he replied with his eyes closed.
“Come on, time to wake up. You have an algebra test today.”
“Tell me when I will ever use algebra in real life?”
“When you have to get down and dirty with the numbers in Windows or something.”
“Is that a youth-anism?”
“No, it’s not a euphemism, but again, I do like how you think when you’re half asleep.” I leaned over and kissed him on the lips. “Feel free to grab a hold of me, we can skip breakfast if you like.”
“Agreed” he replied with a pull on my arm.
We did miss breakfast, so it was a pop-tart moment as we walked out of our room and walked down the stairs. As promised, I wore the camisole and skirt, but with a blouse over it—at least until Mrs. Peterson’s class.
“I forgot to tell you that I talked with Amanda Marks yesterday.”
“Who?”
“She’s in my math class.”
We walked into the stairwell.
“Okay, so what did you talk about?”
“Well, she said I was being brave for dressing like this and I just said I was being truthful to myself. But then, she’s in the auditorium watching us perform. Oh, and I got to be on stage, Michael. Heather wasn’t there, so-”
“Heather as in ‘yo baby’ Heather?”
“Yeah, so I was playing her part and-”
“Is this a permanent thing? Are you going to be in the show?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“Your parents are coming to see the play, right?”
“Oh crap, I-” I stopped and turned to face Mike; my face filled with dread. He picked up on it.
“It’s a good way to come out to them. It’s a big deal, you might as well be on-stage to show it.”
“Yeah, and why should I be afraid of them? I mean I told Amanda not to be afraid of her boyfriend.”
“Why would she be afraid?”
“He beats her up, a least that’s what she told me.”
“Sounds like a coward.” Michael snorted. “A little, sniveling coward.”
“I know, right? So, I told her to picture him across the room and yell at him, yell to Jacob Alderson.”
“Wait a second. She said Jacob Alderson?”
We stopped shy of the door leading to the first floor.
“Maybe Anderson. I’m not sure, why?”
“Jacob’s a running back on the team.”
“Okay.” I was waiting to hear if his uncle was a local mafia boss or something.
“He stands about six-foot six.”
“Probably has a puny brain.”
“Weighs about 280-mostly muscle.”
“Small penis too, most likely,” I replied.
“What did you tell her to do?”
“To tell him to get out of her life. I didn't tell her to bash his semi-small manhood.”
“Kristi.”
“No, I mean I said just that. No sarcasm, just helpful advice like how she should get away from people who hurt her. I could see the hurt there Michael. I didn't see any physical scars, but she had a lot of mental anguish.”
“Okay,” Michael replied with a sigh, “I’m thinking you may want to change your major to psychology or something.”
“That has been on my mind,” I replied as I opened the door into the main hall.
We turned the corner into the main area to see, like clockwork, Richard’s face looking at us for a moment.
“I’ve received another complaint about the two of you.”
“What about?” Michael asked.
“Some loud activity from your room?”
“Yet, no one ever hears the rock concert coming from the end of the hall.” I said without looking at Rick.
“I’m aware of the music and it’s being dealt with. But now, we need to deal with this situation.” Dick pointed directly at me, but he still didn't have my attention. “Here is the summons to a dorm disciplinary meeting. It is scheduled for today at three.”
Prick, I mean, Richard held out two envelopes. I took both.
“I love the short notice, Richard,” I said with dripping sarcasm, “but we all know that there cannot be a disciplinary hearing until we know what we’ve been accused of and then there is the meeting of the floor guard monitors who would then speak to you. So, unless the rules have changed since we paid our tuition and they revised the handbook after the fact, you know where you can stick these.”
I slammed the envelopes on the counter, took Michael’s hand and we walked out.
“I’ll see the two of you later then. Three o’clock.”
I really wanted to give him the finger.
My first class was uneventful with Mr. Andrews nodding in my general direction instead of calling out my name. It was okay, I didn't care too much. I also didn't mind the whispering around me-I didn't ask if it was about me and no one pointed at me so I thought it was a win-win situation for my mental health.
My math class was much like the day before with some people eying me but not the instructor. I looked to see if Amanda would show up, but she never did and that worried me. I wanted to believe that she broke ties with Jacob but that would mean that she would be in class the next day, not absent. Perhaps she was sick or upset from having to break up with him knowing full well that he wouldn't change--as sad as it is to think about.
I had to come to the same conclusion about my dad. He would never accept me for who I really was, and I had the genetic markers to prove it if I could afford to have them gone over and corrected on every single document. If they could overrule every doctor that wrote "boy" or "gender male" on everything then everything would fine; well, after I had a certain something removed because, well, I didn't want it there. Hopefully, Andrea could accomplish the same with her issue and she was just absent, and something had not happened to her.
I jogged across campus to one of the girls' dorm and walked up to the, I hope, was not the exact equivalent to Richard, manager.
“Excuse me?”
“Hello.”
“Is Amanda Marks in this dorm? If you can't tell me because of security, I understand.”
“She's here, I think. Let me buzz her room.”
She was not like Richard. For one, she didn't stare at me or answer my questions with more questions.
“Amanda, you have a visitor.” She spoke into the phone and then turned to me. “Name?”
“Kristi.”
“Kristi,” said into the phone. “I'll send her up. Thank you.” She hung the phone up and then looked at me.
“May I see you ID, please?”
“Sure.”
I handed my ID over and she looked at it for a moment, blinked, and then looked at me. “It says your name is Kristopher.”
“We're working on getting that changed. One day at a time, you know?”
“Yeah, okay,” she replied as she handed my ID back to me. She was becoming more like Richard as the seconds went by. “I can't let you go in.”
“Why is that?”
“I think it would be a risk. Now, please leave.”
I bit my lip, shook my head and walked out of the dormitory.
I really wanted to tell her off but how would that have helped me? I looked at my ID and wondered if I could damage the area around "sex" just to the point that it would be hard to tell what it was and then they would just accept me for how I looked. I found it irritating that while in high school I wasn't considered boy enough and in college I wasn't considered girl enough.
I sat on the bench in the quad area and, once again, pondered my existence. The two-fold way of it. I existed, me, Kristi, in body, mind and spirit but Kris was the one that everyone knew. It didn't matter about my hair or clothes--most people saw the boy and my ID and registration paperwork didn't help. Mrs. Peterson, 'Richardette' and Dick at the dorms--even my parents for the love of God!
I was already fighting a losing battle, but I had a few people in my corner. It would be a losing battle, at least at the college, but I was not going to let people give me the proverbial gun and tell me to shoot myself. I stood up from the bench and took off my outer shirt to reveal the camisole. It was time to go to Miss Peterson's class.
The lecture hall was half-filled. The ones who were there didn't look at me; they seldom did anyway except for what happened the previous day. I sat in the middle of the fourth row--and true to my word, I had on the camisole--which allowed the bruising on my arm to shine like the sunrise. No one asked about it, but I wasn't expecting them to, nor was I going to tell anyone how I got it.
Mrs. Peterson walked into class and looked at me for a brief second before she scoffed and walked to the podium. I avoided looking straight at her, seeing her only through my peripheral vision, a la Perseus versus Medusa.
Mrs. Peterson called roll and took a pause when she said my name. “Kristopher Novoselic.”
I knew she did it in spite and as much as I wanted to throw it back in her face--it would come back at me in spades, so I just kept on reading my textbook, hoping that her animosity would tone down a bit. I mean, it wasn't like I brought an army into class with me, had a banner or a flag unfurled in protest.
It took Mrs. Peterson less than half of the period to bring me into the conversation:
“Class,” Mrs. Peterson returned to the lectern and pointed at me. “What was said about the fall of the Roman Empire and what would befall nations all over the world, including our own when we allow people to do whatever they want without considering the social construct.”
My face was burning in anger and I couldn't hide it. She had the nerve to use me as an object lesson.
“When societies gave in to hedonism, they gave a blank check out to the leaders of those nations to not care about lawfulness. One day in America we will see men wearing dresses and proclaiming ‘I'm a woman! You. Must. Respect. Me.’”
“Everyone should be given respect, regardless of how you feel about them,” I answered.
“Should I respect, say, Charles Manson, a mass murderer?”
“He is a person, even if he committed a crime.”
“Shouldn’t he be punished for his crime?”
“You're equivocating me with a murderer?”
“I am saying there are rules that a society must follow and the ones who cannot follow that, should be dealt with.”
I picked my books up and placed them into my bag. I didn't look at anyone, not even at Mrs. Peterson as I stepped up onto the platform. “Excuse me, I forgot to wear my pink triangle today.”
I left the lecture hall and walked across campus, back to the quad area in front of the dorm.
I wanted to scream, lift the bench from its concrete supports, and throw it in anger. It was like how I had to deal with a child psychologist who insisted that I act like my assigned-self, a young man.
A young man with a rather conspicuous part of his anatomy that did not match anything on any other boy. To look at the world as a male. I couldn't do it. I didn't really understand what the doctors meant by that. I always wanted to ask if my treatment had anything to do with the extra payments he received from my parents? Was there something extra in all the medications they gave me? Some of the ones I ceased taking years before or in such small doses the effects were hampered by my already out of control hormones?
I always had some adult tell me that something was wrong with me and it was like, “thanks, that so explains why I slice at my arms and wish to throw myself off a building.” I could fool the students and teachers at school; I acted out my part with my parents and the rest of the world, but I could always see my crappy performance and would heckle myself that it wasn't working out.
Why shouldn’t I be happy in whatever I did?
Why was I trying to wedge myself into some mold that wasn’t me—I was different, and I liked being that way. The rest of the world could think less of me.
Fine, people do that to all the time to others.
They could pretend I didn’t exist and I’d just raise my voice louder
They could try and harm me, extend the trial out past college and into forever or kill me.
Yeah, that did scare me a little.
Fear times ignorance squared.
I decided to put it all to the apex—and maybe get some direction on where I would be for the rest of my academic career at UT: I would go and have that “meeting” with Richard even though it was pointless, and I didn’t give a damn on what he had to say.
I walked into the front room of the dorm and hoped that this would only take a few minutes. I walked to the office and saw that, for the first time since ever, it was closed. Dicky wasn’t keeping his watchful eye over all that he surveyed.
I knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
I took a deep breath and opened the door, expecting to find Rick along with some school officer, or at least our floor monitor—who never seemed to be around—but it was just Richard. I didn’t feel perturbed, at least I didn’t want to give off that vibe, but I felt this fear, like a shark underneath the waves, just below the surface, ready to break the glassy waters.
I closed the door.
“Please, have a seat.” Richard said as he held his hand out over his desk to one of the two chairs set in front.
I declined to sit,
“Thank you for coming to this meeting, Kris.”
“Kristi.”
“So, you say.”
“I do.”
“As dormitory master, I have to abide by the rules set forth by the school administration regarding the health and safety of the students within--”
“So, they finally fixed the central elevator?” I asked.
“As dormitory master, I have to abide by the rules set forth by the school administration regarding the health and safety of the students within the confines of the building. Safety and well-being implies that we abide by the rules and to courteous and conscientious to our fellow dormitory persons.”
“You have that memorized so well.” I said as Richard handed the envelopes he tried to give to me earlier in the day.
“Kristopher Novoselic, you are in violation of behavior un-becoming of a University of Tennessee student and in accordance to the dormitory rules you are to be removed from student housing.”
“Show me the rule.”
“It’s in your handbook.”
“Show it to me, you have to have one to quote it.”
He nodded as he lifted a stapled pack of old photocopied papers and handed it to me.
“This is from 1960. Where is the current one?”
“I am able to use whatever information I have available to keep order in this hall.”
I leafed through the yellowed pages for a moment or two.
“According to this, we’re still segregated.”
“Good times,” Richard replied without missing a beat and with zero emotion.
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the person who holds onto your chances of staying in this dorm.”
“Getting serious now. Do I need a lawyer?” I asked as I threw the pages on the floor,
“You just need to answer a few questions.”
“Fine, whatever. I have practice.”
“What are you trying to do, with the dress?”
“Besides pissing you off?”
“I’ll let you know if it’s working. Go on.”
“I don’t have to answer that question.”
“Not acceptable,” Richard replied with a tone that was almost a whine; like a pig or maybe Hitler.
“I don’t recall having to care what you think.”
“You should.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what you really are.”
I tried to look at anything else in the room EXCEPT at him but his eyes—those beady, soul-sucking eyes that made you feel like he could open your head and rip out your brain with just the power of his mind. I eventually locked eyes with him.
“Which. Is?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“You’re a deviant.”
“Coming from you, that’s sounds like a badge of honor.”
“And a perversion of nature.”
“Says the guy who wants to know about my sex life.”
“You deserve to die.”
“And now you’re threatening me? Get in line, Dick.”
“I don’t need to. I can pick up this phone and tell the administration everything I know.”
“You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know you’re gay.”
“You know what, Richard? It doesn’t matter. I know there are a lot of people on this campus who are and. It. Doesn’t. Matter. They’re not bothering us, we shouldn’t bother them.”
“They’re not in my dormitory.”
“McCarthyism much?”
“He was on to something,” he replied.
“I’m a girl, Richard.”
“That’s the dress talking.”
“No, it’s me. My name is Kristina or Kristi if you like. And I have been in this hallowed dorm as you call it for the past few months. Now, that being stated, you are now in violation of the rules of not having a female administrator or representative in the room with you. Now, if you excuse me I have a rehearsal to attend.”
Richard pushed his chair away from the desk as I got up and walked out the door.
I again fought back the urge to flip him off.

FAZE

Our Senior Prom was different.
I didn't get to have a dress—even though my grandmother swore that she would make sure I could wear one—we nixed the idea of renting tuxedoes and buying corsages but had no plans for that Saturday in late May.
Michael was at the front door early on Saturday morning. I answered the door, possibly looking like death warmed over. He was wearing a cowboy hat, something he did on occasion and I loved the way he looked in one.
“Good day, sunshine.”
“You're too happy. What time is it anyway?”
“Seven. It's great that you're up.”
“I'm up now, since you've been banging on the door.”
“Where are your parents?”
“No idea,” I shrugged as I stepped forward and hugged him.
“I have a surprise for you, but you need to get ready.”
“How so?” I asked as I stepped away.
“Jeans, loose shirt, or whatever you're comfortable in. I'll wait down here.”
“Can I get a hint?”
“Nope,” Michael replied with a smile.
“You know, just for that. I am going to take a long shower.” I said as I walked to the stairs.
“I can turn the faucet on in the kitchen.”
“Different piping system," I smiled back.
“You can't blame me for trying.”
I took a quick shower, not trying to keep him waiting for too long. Michael stayed downstairs the entire time I got dressed: we had agreed that it was best to keep up the appearance of two friends to my parents, even though mom was aware, as Michael didn't want to be on their bad side. He wanted to the gentleman, but I would lead us astray-sometimes.
An hour later, I had written a short note that I had gone out with Michael and would be back soon.
“Where are we heading?” I asked as Michael opened the passenger side door.
“Franklin, Tennessee.”
“Where is that?”
“Near Nashville, ma'am,” he replied with a tip of his hat. "Remember when you said I should take Mels to a rodeo?"
“Yeah.”
“Well, I thought, why don't we go instead? I mean it’s like the Prom with the crowds but with better music.”
“No tuxedos.”
“There are a few rodeo clowns who wear suits.”
“Sounds like fun. Yahoo!”
“More like, a Yee-haw, but it’s a good first try.”

The trip took over three hours as we stopped at various locations that looked interesting. It could have been a train station, an odd rock formation or some person doing a handstand on the side of the road. He wasn't asking for money, just performing, I suppose.
We arrived at the Williams County Fairgrounds a little after one o'clock in the afternoon to a parking area with so many trucks that Mike commented there must be a few bartenders wondering where their customers were at. I felt kind of out of place as the only shirts and jeans I had were boyish. I tried to do something with my hair earlier, but it didn’t happen. I figured that we would just walk around like friends, but Michael took my hand and kissed my cheek.
“You're about to enter into a whole new world.”
“Of cows?”
“Bulls, horses, maybe a goat or two.”
“You're sure you want to hold my hand?”
“Of course, I do. It's a rodeo, not high school. The crap’s on the ground, not walking around.”
I squeezed his hand as we stood in the line to enter.
I had never heard more songs that had a steel guitar and fiddle than that afternoon. It wasn’t too hot as the clouds masked the sun at just the right point to make the cool breezes feel even better. We watched people of all types riding horses as fast as could around what looked barrels and instantly change direction, i guess a time trial. We saw some crazy guy on bull that tried to get him off its back less than a second after the chute was opened. The rider stayed on for a few tense seconds before he was thrown to the side of the bull; and, yes, a pair of clowns—one in a suit and the other in a dress—worked to distract the animal as the rider struggled to get up.
“They’re the real stars,” Michael said as he clapped.
“The clowns?”
“Oh yeah. They stand in front of a bull with a bad attitude to distract him from the guy he threw off. They have to be one step ahead of it or they get the horns too.” He pointed at the two as they waved their hands and moved in tandem in front of the bull.
“They’re in wedding attire?”
“Yeah, they’re married. They’ve been doing this for years as a couple. We should take their place.”
“We’d have to get married first, right?”
Michael looked to the arena and then took a step away.
“Well, since you mentioned it.”
He reached into his pocket with one hand and took my left hand with the other.
"Kristina Allie Novoselic?"
"Yes, Michael Thomas Nelson?"
"I've loved you since I first saw you. Since that day I wanted to know all about you as there was something special about you. You’ve been my best friend, and we’ve gotten out of some weird situations and I want to thank you for being there for me and I promise that I will always be there for you, however or whoever you want to be. You make my days brighter and I can't think of anyone else I would want to spend my life with. "Kristi, will you marry me?

♦♦♦

I stood next to the outside of the dorm hall with tears streaming down my face and my heart feeling like it would crack a rib or two. I wished Michael had been there to slam Richard's head into the wall; or we both could have taken turns at him. What I had said in there was the truth and I was happy, in a way, to say it to him but I also felt like I had loaded the rifle and personally handed it over to my executioner; or at the very least, I was in for mountains of paperwork, administrative hearings and several calls from my father about the hell I most likely unleashed.
I was okay with that.
The thought of being separated from Michael was a bigger hit to me. Yeah, I’d probably be alone in the women's dorm room, either in some protected area--like in a hastily reconfigured janitor's closet or next to a dorm hall monitor. We would have less time to spend with each other and I would miss having him sleeping next to me--as having him close was the best thing in the world--and that thought made me smile as I stepped away from the dorm room and walked to the theatre.
The stage was lit up but no one was there. I slowly walked down the aisles became at the time I was kind of afraid of everything--or at least of some people. My podium was where it normally was, devoid of any demonic looking teachers or letters from dungeon--dorm--masters.
"Kristi!"
Heather stepped out of the wings and ran to me. I wasn't sure how to feel at that moment--I mean for as long as we knew each other, she had the fondest disdain for me and I guess my expression tipped her off.
"I. Want. To apologize to you, I mean I just thought about it yesterday and I thought, wow; I was a bitch."
"Excuse me?" I had no idea what she meant.
"I tried to steal your boyfriend."
"Fiancée', actually," I replied as she hugged me.
"Even worse. I mean--I see why you were like that and I--"
"It's okay," I replied as she stepped away. "We're used to it."
"Also, I want to thank you for what you did and about Miss--Holy shit, where did that come from?"
Heather looked at my arm.
"Miss Peterson." I replied.
"She grabbed you?"
"Uh-huh," I sighed, "but I'm okay. What doesn't kill you makes you strong, right?"
"You should report her."
"Some battles are avoided to win a war, you know?"
Heather's expression stated that she wasn't sure how to answer my question as the other members of the troupe filed in with Mr. Montesi rushing in from behind.
“Everyone on stage. Quick. Quick, quick now! Tally ho and all the sort.”
Heather and I joined the rest of the group. I got a few friendly waves and a look of arrogance from Marcus, but I didn’t really care.
“Everyone have a seat on the stage. Wherever. That’s good.” Mr. Montesi paced back and forth and looked up a bit. “We have a small problem. We have received threats.”
“I knew we should have performed Macbeth; less controversy,” Brendon raised his hands in mock anguish.
“Maybe 12th Night?” Marcus interjected.
Mr. Montesi shook his head.
“Death of a Salesman?”
“Madame Butterfly?”
“Marcus, Brendon?”
“Yes sir?” Marcus laughed for a moment.
“Hush.”
There was some muffled laughter from the rest of cast.
“What was the threat about, Mr. Montesi?” Halley asked.
“A part of me thought it was a hoax—theatre hating pond scum of the lowest caliber. I guess if we erected goal posts at the ends of the auditorium, maybe. Anyway, it may very well be nothing. In fact, I admit I shouldn’t have told you. Keep it to yourself, they told me, but you’re all old enough to know about security matters and I just want you all to know that there will be security present on opening night. So, I suppose we will kind of be like a football game—we just won’t sell beer.”
“What was the threat?”
“They didn't say, Chad. The office just said there was be heightened presence of campus police. If all goes well, we will have quite the captive audience. Let’s get going. We’re starting at the beginning of Act Three.”
We all got up and walked to the back of the house as the lights went down.
The stagehands and actors crisscrossed past me as I readied a headset.
“Test check, Mr. Montesi?”
“Check, Kristi,” came the reply. “One minute to start.”
“Yes, sir.” I waited a moment as the actors moved into their places. “Mr. Montesi?
“Yes?”
I hesitated my question, for fear that is would sound like I was either feeling like I was extra special or that I was a pariah on the production. “Was the warning about me?” I asked, possibly loud enough for everyone to hear if everyone wasn’t in their own world.
“Don’t worry about it, Kristi. Everything will be fine.”
“Yes, sir,” I replied as I clicked the microphone off “Curtain!”
Practice continued as if nothing was wrong.
Technically, that was true. Nothing had happened, and it didn’t help to dwell on an imaginary boogeyman—but of course, I had to. I had to think of the worst; the 21st century of a witch hunt or a tar and feathering party. I mean I had a radio on me so I could contact out for help and I had a cell phone to notify the police or Michael, but I didn't like the anticipation.
I took several deep breaths. I had to break away from my thoughts; concentrate on the comedy before me.
“Kristi?” Mr. Montesi’s voice came over the radio.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m in the audience, near the back, we need to adjust the lighting on the right stage for tomorrow night. Please note that.”
“Acknowledged,” I replied as I scribbled down the instruction.
Yes, if I could keep busy—any minor detail would do: lightning, a microphone issue, earthquakes, birds, snakes, airplane: anything to keep my mind off what I knew would be impending doom.
My cell vibrated in my pocket and I took a second longer than I normally did to think about looking at it. The caller ID read it was my parents, so I declined to answer.
“You okay?” Heather asked as she stepped up behind me. She was in costume; one which left so little to the imagination that Shakespeare would have had to excuse himself.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“So, about Miss Peterson?”
“I’m not going to confront her. My word against hers and I’m not going to go down as some scapegoat to her twisted idea of society.”
“Who said anything about confronting her? I hear the power is in the pen, right?”
I had to smile at that—as she was so right. It appeared that we both missed out on a possible earlier friendship. Maybe I really shouldn’t have said “Yo, baby” to her.
“I can help with your list of demands.”
“I don't have any demands.”
“You do. To be seen for who you are, right? To not have to sit in the back of the room like some freak of nature.” Heather replied.
“Been there, done that.”
“And you’re telling me it doesn’t piss you off?”
“It would have been fine if my parents had just signed my birth certificate as they should have—but—but they didn’t. I was talking with Amanda Marks about it.”
“I’ve met her, kind of sweet,” Heather replied with a hint of sadness to her voice. “I mean, she’s an okay person.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah, I did, but—Jacob.”
“Don’t let him stand in your way. If anything, you’d be the best thing for her.”
“I don’t know,” Heather twirled her hair between her fingers as she fidgeted with the gold prop chain. I seriously hoped she wouldn’t get her hair caught in it. “I mean, look at me, I’m--”
“Strong, out-going and willing to get what she wants, right?”
“But, you’ve seen her. I don’t have much of a chance.”
“Why do I feel we should have talked a few months back? Let’s go talk with her, after practice.
“Kristi?” Mr. Montesi’s voice broke the conversation.
“Yes, sir.”
“Make a note on spotlight four. It’s a bit too dim and I want Marcus to enter in from stage left instead of the center.”
“Yes sir.” I turned to Heather. “Sound good?”
“Yeah, you’ll be there, right?”
“I will. And you’re on in thirty seconds.”
“Thanks.”
The rest of the dress rehearsal went on as normal. No one was put off by the earlier threat and several jokes were made about how it must have been from one of the fraternities or a football player who suffered trauma in high school after having to read “Romeo & Juliet”. I admit, I even fell into the self-induced poppy field that is all going to be okay; not like the building would be rigged to explode or anything.
We lowered the curtain at seven forty-five and everyone pretty much fell where they were standing except the make-up department who tried to get everyone who had breads or other prosthetics to come back to the wings to have them carefully removed.
Marcus and Brendon ripped each other’s off in a “this will hurt me more than it does you” competition.
Both lost.
I handed over my long hand-written list of notes that Mr. Montesi has me keep track of—as my playbook margins were already filled with short-hand hieroglyphs and then went out to the auditorium to see Michael sitting in the middle row.
“How long have you been here?”
“The last few scenes.”
I ran to him and he almost picked me up and over his shoulders—and as much as I would have loved that—he lowered me down.
"Are you back to your stage manager job?"
"Yeah, but I'm fine with it. Heather's good with her part. I really misjudged her then, I mean she admits she was being a bitch now that she knows."
"Knows about the 'us' part, right?"
"Uh-huh, she just thought I was some goth punk."
"Aren't you still?"
"I think the correct term is "emo", now. I'm not emo."
"Is that short for emotional, because if it is-"
"You're so hilarious. How was work?" I asked as I took a short look back to the stage.
"Long, hard, draining, but worth it. I get to work with my hands."
"I know something you can work with your hands."
"I like how you think," he replied.
“But first, we have a short, kind of get together,”
“Get together with?”
“Heather.”
“As in?”
“Yes,” I replied. “And Amanda.”
“I’m going to be so out-numbered,” Michael whistled.
“I spoke with Richard today.”
‘Why?”
“I’m not going to have him threaten us. Oh, anyway it was just a threat and he is just scum.”
“Scum?”
“I’m trying to keep my words on a PG-level,” I replied as Heather walked down the aisle.
“Heather, this is Michael Nelson.”
“Hello, fellow Vol, right?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, not one of my better lines.” She replied as her face turned bright red. I’m not sure if Michael noticed or cared to acknowledge it.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be. Let’s do this before I get cold feet, turn around and run away.”
I took my cell phone out and made the call.
“Hello, Amanda?”
Heather’s eyes widened—I never mentioned I had Amanda’s phone number.
“Yeah, I was just wanting to know if you wanted to talk.”
I looked to Heather and gave a thumb’s up.

We met up with Amanda as an Italian entry located on the strip and sat in a booth in the far corner of the restaurant. It was an eatery known for its cheesy calzones and speedy delivery to the campus…at least according to Danny, as always ordered pizza from them.
Amanda and Heather sat across from Michael and myself. It was kind of a strange set-up and to be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure if I could get anything sparked between them because, well, I didn’t know how it was going to go.
“So,” Amanda said as she looked at everything else besides the three of us, I’ve never been here.”
“They got a wonderful salad,” Heather said, “you can ask to have it severed in a bowl made from calzone. To. Die. For.”
“All kinds of cheeses?”
“Skies the limit.”
I tried to hide a smile, no such luck, as Michael patted my leg—unseen by the other side of the table.
I felt my cell phone buzz in my purse and retrieved it. There were thirteen calls, all coming from the Memphis area.
“My parents.”
“They called me five times today. No voicemails.”
“Dad hates talking to machines. Excuse me,” I said as Michael got up to let me out. “Hello?”
"Why am I'm getting calls from a lawyer for Stephen English about his daughter? What's going on?" My dad’s voice was a mix of frustration, slight annoyance with a slow rise of anger on the side.
"Karen Anne?" I asked as I walked away from the table.
"Was that her name?"
"Uh-huh," I replied as Michael walked over to me.
“What happened? He says something about she's being seen for mental anguish.”
“I don’t know, maybe she couldn't take the truth.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Kristopher.”
“Yeah, about that,” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m not your son.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not your son. I still don’t understand what would make a father mutilate his daughter with parts of her dead brother."
“What are you talking about?”
“Really? You’re going to play the ignorance card on this?”
“Elizabeth!” Dad called for Mom and did not bother to hide his anger. “Kristopher Allen, we have had this discussion.”
“I came out at school.”
“Came what?”
“Came out. It was a wonderful looking skirt, it goes with the green streak in my hair.”
“Green? Elizabeth!”
I wasn’t acting, I was being a bitch. I mean, I knew what buttons to push. I knew how to piss my father off and I had just given him two pieces of the triangle.
“Aaron, what is going?” Mom’s voice was loud and clear over the phone.
“Will you talk some sense into him, please?”
“Hello?”
“Mom?”
“Kris, what is going on?”
“Hi mom. I go by Kristi now.”
“Kristi?” She asked. I could feel my father’s veins pulse in his forehead as they turned a deeper shade of scarlet.
“Yes, please put the call on speaker.”
“Okay, one moment, I—Can you hear me?”
“Ask him if he ever got a haircut?” Dad muttered
“No, I haven’t, dad. It’s still kind of long.”
“Kristopher.”
“Kristina. But, okay, if that’s the way want it then, fine, I came to college as your so-called son, I am going to come home as your daughter. Oh, I’m getting married next year.”
“Kristopher Allen Novoselic!” I flipped the cell phone closed.
“You realize you just told your dad off?”
“Yes, and it felt so liberating I want to do it again!”

QUEEN OF SORROW

We stayed for as long as time allowed at the restaurant; until we had to get back to the campus, and it turned out that Amanda volunteered to drive Heather back, which allowed us extra time without having to break any speed limits to get back ourselves.
“Did you see how they got along so well?” I asked after I closed the car door.
“Are you playing Cupid?”
“More like Emma.”
“So, you were trying to get them together?”
“Yeah, you couldn’t tell?
“I’ve found that girls can say and do a lot of things that guys can’t without someone getting more nervous than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“Like flirting with each other?”
“That and trying on each other’s clothes.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
“Swimsuits?”
“Ah, yes, the unwritten woman code,” I said with a slight smirk.
“Did you just make that up?”
“No, Karen Anne did.”
“Of course,” Mike replied as we drove onto the college access road. “She has taught you well.”
“Amanda needs someone who will look at her like a princess.”
“So, she needs a lady in waiting?”
“No, another princess—Heather mentioned that she liked her.”
“Okay. I’m still not really understanding.”
“Heather is like me, kind of, someone who has been told their whole life to be like, like that.”
“That?”
“Yes, to be that: a cog that fits squarely into the gears; no questions, just do as your told.”
“And as your birth certificate says?”
“Uh-huh,” I replied as we parked in front of the dorm hall. “She’s been so crushed by people telling her to wear this, adjust that and go chase after that guy. Maybe that’s not what she wanted. Maybe she was looking for a feminine touch; a soul partner. And, boom, enter Amanda.”
“And she told you all this?”
“In her eyes, Michael, they were spilling out the frustration.”
“You really do need to change your major.”
“I know, right?”
We walked into the front lobby to see Richard’s door closed. It was kind of a relief to not have to see his face, but I also had to wonder what he had planned for us. I told Michael it was all a threat and for the most part it was, but one couldn’t help thinking of the worst.
We climbed the stairs to our floor and walked to our door to see two envelopes taped to it.
“Richard’s form of mail call?” Michael asked as we each took a letter. I unlocked the door and we walked in.
Michael opened the first letter.
“What does it say?”
Michael bobbed his head a few times and rolled his eyes a bit.
“Richard really hates us, or at least you, and so that means the both of us.”
“Let me guess: some babbling about safety and security and sexual perversion will not be tolerated.”
“Close. You’re to report to the academic counselor tomorrow.”
“That’s probably what this says too,” I replied as I opened the other letter.
Michael stepped into the bathroom as I sat down at my desk and opened the letter.
I read the first line and clenched my hands into fists. It was from the school academic advisor.
“Michael Nelson!” I yelled.
“Voice?” He said through the door, like that would stop me.
“You haven’t heard my voice yet!”
“What?” He asked as the toilet flushed. I closed my eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Maybe I had read the line wrong, so I started again from the top. Nope.
“How are doing in your math class?” I asked with a bit of cattiness to my tone.
“I could be doing better,” he answered as he opened the door. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t been to class for the past three weeks.”
“I was there yesterday.”
"Are you ready to stop lying?"
He looked at me with his mouth agape. "I'm not."
"You are."
I shot my hand out with the letter precariously hanging between my thumb and forefinger, like it was toxic.
"I can explain that," he replied as he took the letter, folded it up and put it in his pocket.
"All ears here."
“I’m not good at this, the college thing.”
I replied with a raised eyebrow and a rolling hand motion to ask him to continue.
“The math, computers, using a darn voltmeter—it’s not what I want to do.”
“Then why did you sign up for them?”
“Danny said they were a good step into some good money in the future but cost and some of the reading is completely crazy. Relational databases? Two pages about system memory and three-hundred and twenty pages about the philosophy of business science.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Same here. So, after I got that job with Danny I just decided to the best I could with classes and work as much as I could when asked.”
“So, you’ve skipped class? A month’s worth?”
“Well, Danny said he’d take care of that if I recorded the football game for him. It was blacked out here.”
“Wait, what did he do?”
“He changed my grades. Hacked into the records. I didn’t want him to do it, but I was worried—”
"Don't you dare say you were worrying about me."
"I'm daring to."
"I'm fine," I replied as I sat on the bed.
"You don't see it from my side of the fence."
"What do you see?"
"I see that we have to pay for the surgery and you're going to be able to make it big in whatever you do. I'm just--I just thought that it was for the best to do what I know I can do and let you finish."
"That was stupid," I replied with as much piss and vinegar that I could and as soon as I said it I felt a sickness in my stomach, throat and mouth.
"I think I just heard your dad there." Michael replied with a slight look of sadness.
I wanted to throw up at that moment.
"Oh, my God...you're right. I'm sorry. I'm--" I ran over to him and hugged him; while crying at the same time. Instant tears, only seconds had gone by but I heard that phrase in my head repeat itself hundreds of times.
I wanted to wear a night gown; my father would say “that was stupid’.
The day I had a period; “stupid doctors said they’d take care of that”
I wanted to join a private drama troupe “that’s a stupid thing to do.”
And here I was, being the spitting image of my father, except with longer, colored hair; insulting the only other person in the world who gave a damn about the real me.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whispered in his ear.
“I don’t deserve you, but we got each other anyway, don’t we? He asked as he hugged me back.
"You know what I want, Mike?"
"Hmm?" He asked as we took a short step away from each other.
"I don't want to have to go through all of this. I’m going to drop out at the end of the semester."
"And do what?" Mike asked as he grabbed my hand.
"Whatever the Hell we want, right? Do we really need to go sixty-thousand dollars in debt to get a piece of paper that says we might have learned something?" I pulled him closer to me.
“I could do more in a metal shop than with a computer,” he said. “Maybe some wrought iron work, farm-related business.
“Yeah, we could work out on a farm or something.”
“What? And leave this paradise?” Michael asked as he looked around the room. “That’s crazy talk.”
We looked at each other for a few moments, letting the feeling of what we were going to build.
“You know, this could be our last night in this room. We should sleep on the upper bunk,” I motioned to the lone bed that was hardly used.
“Sleeping is the farthest from my mind.”
I woke up hours later and the thoughts of what we were going to do with the rest of our lives running out of control. The sex-infused euphoria that not entirely worn-off but I had to focus on the truth: we couldn't go anywhere we wanted to. We just couldn’t go out and get a truck with a camper on the back, throw a dart, and live John Denver style; at least I couldn’t do that without the medications I would had to take and I had my doubts that a small-town drug store would carry—much less ever heard of—the injections that I needed after my parents had subjected my body to everything else.
Michael was right, it was expensive; even still under my parent’s medical insurance and he would find out one day and put a stop to it; leaving me to be more disfigured than I already was. Would it be possible for me to sue my parents for childhood trauma and stress?
Michael woke up a few hours later to see me sitting at my desk with my clipboard and playbook binder laid out.
“Have you been up all night?”
“No, just this morning, going over my notes; I-I’m sorry about what I said.”
“No,” he got up from bed, wearing only a pair of boxers, “you were right. We should have talked about it.”
“What will your uncle say?”
“He’ll be relieved; as he won’t have to pay for it. What about your parents?”
“They’ll be furious. Of course, they kind of are now, so, same old same old.”
“Your mother too?”
“I don’t know,” I answered with a sigh.
Mom never outwardly defended me in front of my dad and seldom did she say that I should be myself. She took a hands-off approach to the subject matter. She called me Kris and avoided using any pronouns about me which I wasn’t sure if she was being nice to me in code by stating my name in lieu of he or she. It would have been nice to have her tell me in private that she believed in who I was trying to be.
I wanted to think that maybe she was waiting for me to do something with my life and when I was out from under my father’s thumb that she would stand up to him and tell him off; or maybe leave him outright. She didn’t want to tell me about our dirty laundry and I probably would not have taken it well if she did.
The only thing she did confide in me was the existence and death of my older brother. She even took me to the cemetery where he was buried. We drove to Memorial Park in Memphis, past the grotto and to a rather large monument for an infant. The large granite sculpture of a baby boy with the engraved “Kristopher Alexander Novoselic”.
I hated my brother for dying; had he lived then my life may have been different. I would be Kristi from day two; a little girl with a slight deformity that could be removed but instead it was like my father wanted to throw me onto a potter’s wheel and mold me into the boy who should have lived.
And yes, on that day, I picked up the disturbing thought that maybe I should have been the one to die and that death was just taking it’s time, playing with me, until the day I finally decided to do myself in—as Kris was the one wanted by everyone; the one who would play football or maybe excel in business. The one who would have a happy prom picture with, maybe, Karen Anne English and have that wedding with hundreds of people and he could then come to a cemetery and note the small plaque on a tiny plot on the far side of a grey and cold graveyard. He could see that he had a little sister; if his parent would tell him.
Michael laid his hands on my shoulders and I snapped back to reality.
“You okay?”
“Uh-huh, just-just a little tired. You really need a shower.”
“Want to join me, one last time?”
“Have we before?” I asked.
“No, because it is kind of cramped.”
“Let’s do it anyway,” I replied as I closed my binder.

Two hours later I was at the university office; a building I stepped foot in once to hand in registration paperwork. The building was old, but, so was the rest of the campus and it still had that ancient but dignified look to it. The Martin Luther-esque letter left on our door did not state what the meeting was for. I thought it was simply about how I called Richard "dick" and he didn't like it.
I was escorted into an office with, I suppose, an academic counselor by the name of Mark Styles. He had a PhD after his name and reminded me of my dad as his face scowled as I stepped in.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Kristopher.”
"Kristi,” I replied.
“How long have you gone by that name?”
“In my mind, all of my life. Outwardly, a few months. Here? A few days.”
“Do you think of yourself as female?” He asked as he raised his eyebrows up. They were so bushy, I had to wonder if he brushed them in the morning, had to go to a stylist every month.
"Yes."
"But you're in a male dorm room."
"Yes, because that's what is on my birth certificate."
"We are here to discuss an issue that occurred in Miss Peterson's lecture on Monday."
"Then why bring up what dorm I'm in, I--"
"Miss Peterson reported that you disrupted her class and attempted to assault her."
"Wow, I didn't know this meeting would be about that."
"Did you disrupt her class?"
“She wasn't in the room at the time and I don't know, maybe two minutes had gone by, it was at the start of the block hour.”
"She states you were insubordinate to her."
"I only disagreed with her; and that was after class; after she made me stay late."
“And then there was the assault.”
“Assault? You said attempted.”
“Did you attempt?”
“No, but she did scratch me.”
“Where?”
“Are you asking me this to prove anything or to say it would be a defensive attack by Miss Peterson?”
“What I’m saying is--”
“I know damn well what you’re saying,” I yelled as I stood up from my chair. “You’re trying to get into my head like Miss Peterson did. Find some way to piss me off so I’ll say or do the wrong thing, like stand up for myself when I’m getting the third degree by someone who isn't campus security and I don’t even get to face my accuser.”
“Miss Peterson does not have to be present for these proceedings.”
“And you know what, Mr. Styles, Miss Novoselic isn’t going to be present for this facade either.”
I grabbed my bag and walked out the door. I was pissed that I didn't lean across the desk and throttle him, but I was also proud of myself for holding onto my temper—as I was ready to explode, and it wouldn’t take much to do it.
My cell phone rang with a number on the screen that I never heard of. It was a Knoxville number, but I had no idea who it was and the thought about chucking my phone onto the roof or into the nearest trash can sounded great at the time.
I kept my composure, took a breath and answered the call in a stern, but not too bitchy way. “Hello?”
“Is this Kristina Novoselic?”
“Yes,” I replied with a bit of annoyance to the “old man voice” on the other end of the call.
“This Donald Marks at Wyatt Industries.”
“Okay,” I asked, trying to not sound annoyed at the probable sales pitch that I sometimes got due to my father’s name.
“We have you listed as a personal contact for Mike Nelson.”
My demeanor changed instantly. “Yes?”
“There’s been an accident.”

♦♦♦
I ran across campus to the dorm parking lot; hoping that maybe he went with Danny and left the car even though I still didn't have a license. The car wasn't there, and I had to wonder if I could run four miles or so to the hospital, across a bridge filled with heavy traffic. I decided I could do that and possibly swim across the Tennessee River if push came to shove.
I ran across campus to the main road--thinking about might have happened to Michael. His supervisor said he was struck in the upper arm by some equipment, but he didn't know the extent of the injury or wouldn't tell me over the phone. Maybe it was just a break or a burn or something simple. I hoped for that.
A horn honked like mad behind me and I moved further away from the road before I turned around to see Michael’s car with Danny at the wheel. He unlocked the passenger side and I climbed in.
"How is he?"
"It's a pretty big gash."
"Gash? Oh, my God, what happened?"
"Do you know where we work at?" Danny asked as he floored the accelerator just as Michael did. I had to wonder who taught who to drive.
"He said you guys move boxes."
"No, we cut metal,” Danny said while a making motions with his hands. "Big, hulking sheets of metal. The saw must come apart or something."
"Dammit," I whispered. "He's okay though?"
"He was conscious enough to think that you'd try to run to the hospital."
"He knows me well."
"Yeah, that reminds me of something. Something I have to say."
"Huh?
"Do you know how much he talks about you?"
"Yeah."
"A lot. And I want to apologize to you for being a jackass all these years, I mean--"
"Did you change Mike's grade?”
"I really wanted to see the game, but I had work to do here."
"Ingenious."
"But I couldn't get past the teacher's handwritten notes; they used them to override my changes."
"So, you know?" I asked.
"Yeah, but we have a workaround. Mike’s going to stay at my place and--”
"We were planning on leaving the school at the end of the semester."
"I know that too."
"Thanks, Danny."
"You're welcome."

Danny dropped me off at the entrance of the emergency department and I went in but had to fight with the nursing staff about who I was and who I came to see.
"Are you family?"
"I will be in six or seven months," I replied as the nurse behind the desk gave me the "I really don't care" eyes.
Danny walked in ten minutes later to see me stewing in a seat in the corner.
"Should have said you were his sister or his goth brother."
"That's funny, " I replied with my eyes closed.
"Sorry, I meant--"
"Yeah, I know," I said as I looked back to the nurse’s station. They didn't rush us back so it was safe to assume that he wasn't dead but a part of me felt that the staff wouldn't care if he was and left me in the waiting room as he passed away.
“I’m going to just go back there.”
“They kind of frown on that, security and all,” Danny pointed at the burley guard standing in the other corner of the room.
“Let him stop me.”
“Just wait a few more minutes, after that you can probably stay with him all night.”
“And you bet I will,” I replied as the intercom crackled.
“Kris Novoselic”
She pronounced it wrong, but I didn’t care as I ran up to the counter with Danny lagging.
The nurse gave us a set of badges and buzzed the door, allowing entry.
“Room 33A”
I ran down the hall, not exactly sure where to find the room.
“Next right, Kristi!” Danny yelled from the doorway.
I raised my hand and waved, which I hoped he recognized as my way of saying “thank you.”
“I’ll catch up.”
I turned the corner and looked at the signs on the wall. Room 33A was halfway down the hall and the door was closed and the windows was covered by a dark film. I didn't want to open the door for fear of seeing him in a pool of blood or wrapped up like a mummy or something.
Danny came up from behind me and opened the door.
“Nelson, you dead?”
I cringed at Danny’s dark humor, considering where we were, as we walked in.
“Not all of me, Dan.”
Mike was on an elevated bed with his left arm wrapped in gauze and tubes. His expression brightened when he saw me.
“Kristi.”
“You were right,” Danny said as he leaned up against the far wall.
“Did you try and walk here?”
“I tried to run,” I replied. “I would’ve taken a swim if I had to. What happened?” I asked as I wanted to just rush in and hug him but, his expression showed he was in pain.
“It’s cur to the bone.”
“Shit, what?” Danny asked.
“Almost straight through like a hot iron. Thank God for painkillers.”
I wanted to cry.
“Don’t cry, Kristi, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.”
“What are they going to do?”
“Probably cut it off. I got another one.”
“It’s not funny,” I choked as I stepped over to the other side of the bed and grabbed his hand.
“I know, but, it’s okay, I mean, they got stuff to fix it with.”
“We can rebuild him,” Danny commented.
“That could take, take a long time,” I stammered.
“It’s okay, Kristi. Do you think less of me? Am I half the man I used to be?”
“You’re a quarter,” Danny stopped mid-sentence as I shot a death stare at him.
“I’ll be okay, if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, Michael.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m lying” I blubbered.
“This doesn't’ change anything and think about it. It’s still cheaper than four years of college.”
“Stop making jokes.”
“Is it the drugs talking?” Danny asked.
Mike nodded and then looked at his arm. “Yeah, I hate to be without them right now.”
“I’m going to stay here with you.”
“No.” Michael replied as he shook his head.
“Mike-”
“The show needs to go on.”
“Damn the show, you nearly lost your arm!”
“I haven’t lost it, it’s right here. You. Go. To the play. You said so yourself that the director would forget to turn the lights on if you didn't do it.”
“But--”
“I’ll be here when it’s over. Danny, can you bring her back afterwards?”
Danny nodded.
I leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I love you.”
“Love you too. Now get going. I’ll be here.”
“See you later, Mike,” Danny waved as he moved into the hallway.
I didn’t want to leave. Michael couldn’t physically make me leave and I would have loved to see Danny try to force me out but I surrendered to the request and we left the room to go back to campus.
The drive back was quiet. Danny didn't say a word until he pulled the car up near the theatre.
“Call me when you’re ready to go back.”
“I’m ready now.”
“He does know you well.”
“Yeah, he does,” I opened the car door but hesitated to get out. “Do you think he’ll lose his arm?”
“Don’t know, sorry, but as he said, he’s got another one.”
“Yeah, that helps.” I got out of the car.
“Kristi.”
“Yeah, Dan?” I was not happy with the joking manner everyone else was in.
“He’ll be okay. Just imagine he’s out in the audience or if you like, I can get a picture and blow it up to poster size and put it in the audience.”
“How about a cardboard stand-up?”
“That may take a few days.”
“The poster is a good idea. I can get the troupe to sign it.”
“I’ll get going on it then.”
I felt my mood lighten a little “Thanks, Danny,” I replied with a wave as a I closed the door.
It was close to six as I ran into the theatre,
“Kristi!” Mr. Montesi raced up to me. “Thank God. Are you okay?”
“Umm, yes sir?” The rest of the troupe looked at us for a moment and then went back to what they were doing. I didn’t see Heather, but assumed she was in the wings getting ready.
"Have you seen Heather?”
"No sir, she isn't here?”
Mr. Montesi cleared his throat and shook his head. “I need everyone to come out to the front. Front and center, right now!” I walked with him to the stage area.
His voice boomed throughout the auditorium—Mr. Montesi never needed a bullhorn.
The troupe slowly came onto the stage, all of them bewildered as much as I was because Mr. Montesi never raised his voice unless he was laughing. I had never him get angry, unless it was a part of a dialogue and he was trying to articulate the lines.
We became even more so when four campus security guards along with two Knoxville police officers entered. Mr. Montesi ran towards them and they spoke back and forth in a quiet tone. One of the officers looked at the stage and soon all seven of them were looking at us.
Mr. Montesi’s closed his eyes for a moment, sighed and then called my name.
“Kristi!”
The entire troupe looked at me as he walked back to the stage, followed by the two Knoxville officers. I had no idea what could be running through their heads because I was trying to figure out my own thoughts. Did the college call the police on me because for my “insubordination on multiple levels” or that I had one too many dresses in my dorm? Oh, yes, it would because I was in the dorm and Richard finally got someone to listen to him and they called out the big guns.
I stepped down from the stage as Mr. Montesi tried to whisper something to me but the officer cut him off.
“Kris Novoselic?”
“Kristi,” I replied.
“Could you come with us, please?”
“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
The officers showed no emotion; like twin androids with no sign of life behind their eyes.
“We need to speak to you about Heather Ashman.”
“I’m coming with her.”
“Sir, we need-”
“With all due respect, she is my student. She goes, I go.”
The eight us left the theatre and the two Knoxville policemen, Mr. Montesi and myself went into his office. Mr. Montesi sat at his desk and I sat on the opposite side. The officers stood on the side.
“Do you know Heather Ashman?”
“Yes, she’s in the drama department.”
“Are you friends?”
“We haven’t always been but just recently we’ve—Your line of questioning leads me to think something’s happened to her.”
“Yes, she’s dead.”
“What?”
“Campus police found her two hours ago,” Mr. Montesi stated.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she talk about anyone threatening her?” The second officer took over.
“No.”
“Have you received any notes or emails?”
“I have no idea how to use e-mail and no, nothing, why?”
“There was a note found with her with a reference to Kris Novoselic.”
“What does it say?”
“The TBI has it now,” the first officer replied.
“Are you living on campus?” The second one asked. It was like they were playing the roles of bad cop and shitty cop.
“Yes, for now.”
“For now?” They both raised their eyebrows at my response. Like I could possibly do anything to Heather with everything else going on in my life at that time.
“Never mind, personal business. I am in the dorms, so yes, I’m here.”
The officers looked at each other and then at me.
“We need you to come to the station.”
“Why?”
“We need you to answer a few more questions.”
“No, not until you tell me what happened to her. I mean, how did she die?”
“That’s not confirmed. The note had your name on it and she had a playbook with your name on it as well. We needed to know—”
“She didn’t commit suicide she wouldn’t have she just went out with Amanda. Have you talked with Amanda? We need to go find her, she-” I got up and went for the door.
“Kristi,” Mr. Montesi motioned for me to come back to my chair.
“No, I introduced Heather to Amanda and Amanda has had a boyfriend who beats her and--”
The officers’ faces stood cold and blank as they had earlier, not seeming to care about what I had to say.
“If her ex found them together then he might have killed Heather, thinking she was me.”
They avoided looking at me and one reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.
“Please contact the station as soon as possible. Thank you.”
He handed the card over to me with a robotic gesture and the two left the office without another word.
Mr. Montesi ran his hands through his hair as he walked to the doorway.
“Are you okay?”
“Can I have a few minutes, sir?”
“You can have the rest of the afternoon off. I’m canceling practice for tonight.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Montesi stepped out of the room in a catatonic silence and closed the door.
“It could have been me.” I mused as I closed my eyes. “Oh, Heather.”

LIFE

Practice was indeed cancelled, and we were all dismissed from the theatre. I ran back to the dorm hall to be in a private place to try and call Mike and pour out my sorrows about Heather along with my anger towards Amanda and life in general.
There were security cars parked in front of the dorm. I thought maybe karma had finally bitched Richard out or maybe the elevator finally fell. If so, I hoped he was in it.
“Kristopher Novoselic.”
“Richard,” I replied as I looked at all the campus security officers. “What’s going on?”
“We have a problem.”
“Yes, we do.” I replied, not really wanting to get a verbal battle of wits. I was already kind of afraid, sad and pissed.
“No, I mean we really have a problem.”
“What?”
“Your dorm room was broken into.”
I ran down the hallway, into the stairwell, and leaped over every other step until I arrived at my floor. I was further greeted by even more security guards and the occupants of the other rooms.
I had a pit growing in my stomach. The same one I had when I had to suppress my feelings in front of my dad. A dark pit of despair where once you are thrown into it, may God have mercy on your soul if you ever climb out. Every step towards the open door, surrounded by red marker tape, was more difficult than the last.
“You can’t be up here, miss.” A campus cop said as he tried to block my way in. As flattered as I was that he correctly gendered me, I reached into my backpack and flashed my student ID
“This is my room. What happened?”
He looked at my ID and then at me; which caused him to squint.
“I need to see-”

I walked past the guard and walked into the room, but I really wished I hadn’t.
Everything was thrown around. No one was there to look for anything, they were there to simply be an ass or to leave me with a pain in mine. The beds were knocked over shelves were thrown around and. pushed aside. All our clothes, no, all our belongings were strewn about except for two items: Michael’s laptop and my camera were missing.

Everything was torn to ribbons; quite literally—as if the perpetrators were a regiment of renegade, pissed-off seamstresses with scissors in hand. Whoever did it wasn't seen by anybody—or maybe no one cared to get involved.
Every stitch of clothing we owned, destroyed.
Our books, sliced.
Everything else couldn’t be identified. I’d also have to tell Michael that his laptop and my camera were gone; possibly pawned-off, smashed, or kept as some sort of trophy. I pondered calling Michael; but he probably wouldn’t be able to answer his phone.
I called Danny instead.
“Holy hell,” he said as he walked into the room.
“Yeah, it’s as bad as looks. Don’t bother to sugarcoat it to make me feel any better.”
“Any idea on who?”
“A few, but I can’t accuse on hunches.”
“Sure, you can,” he replied as Dick walked up behind him.
“Kris?” Dickie’s voice was as cold as the Knoxville police earlier.
“Daniel Rollins, dorm advisor Richard Mannis.” I made the introduction as quick as possible.
Danny looked at Richard for one moment and then turned back to me with an expression that read “who does this guy think he is?”
“Yes, Richard?”
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to say this: You’re being evicted.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Nelson has been ordered to move out due to academic failure and you are to leave due to your difference in physiology.” He handed two envelopes over to me but Danny intercepted them.
“What’s your problem, man?”
“Excuse me?”
“Their dorm room was broken into, they were robbed, one of her friends is dead; Mike’s in the hospital and you got the balls to come up here and act-No, you. Are. A flippant asshole. Has anyone ever told that to your face?”
Richard tried to hold onto his trademark smug look.
“What’s your major?” Danny asked in the most outright sarcastic tone I had ever heard.
“Psychology.”
“Of course, it is. Do you enjoy being an ass?” Danny asked as he leaned on the wall and crossed his arms.
“You are to vacate the dorm hall immediately.”
“She’ll leave when she finds what little is left in her room.”
“She?”
“Haven’t gotten to that chapter on human sexuality yet?”
Richard only glared at Danny. I did want to search for anything worth salvaging but I also really wanted to see how this would end.
“What is your major?” Richard asked.
“Annoying stuck-up assholes like yourself.”
“You have fifteen minutes, Kris.”
“You have fifteen seconds, Dick, before I throw you out of this room. Down the hall and into the death trap of an elevator. Begone, foul demon!”
“Okay, I can go to the women’s dorm and--”
Richard smiled and shook his head. “You’re not allowed.”
"She’ll stay with me," Danny glared at Dick. “Five seconds, man. Please give me a better reason to want to kick your ass other than I think you’re pathetic.” Danny stepped further into the room. "How do you guys fight the urge not to deck this bozo?"
"Hey!" Rich interjected; finally, he was losing his cool.
"Or would you prefer the term circus entertainer?"
"It's not easy. But I've told Michael he's not worth the jail time," I replied as I found a pair of Mike's jeans that were not destroyed and the dress that was hidden in the lower drawer,
"I agree."
I got up from the wreckage and looked at Richard as he stepped back and into the hallway to allow us to leave.
"Good luck with those student loans," Danny remarked to Richard.
I looked back to see Ricard smile and close the door. He relished in another's despair.
I took what was probably going to be my next to last walk down the stairs. King Richard's "decree" stated that I could come back tomorrow to clear the room.
"I finished the poster you asked about."
"You did?"
"It's in the car," Danny replied as we walked down the stairs.
"Not sure how I'm going to get anyone to sign for it."
"We'll just sign it and then hang that bad boy in his room."
"Thanks again, Danny."
"No problem."
We stepped into the front room of the dorm and I had to stop at the door.
"I'm kind of going to miss this place."
"You'll be in a new room by tomorrow. You're a first year so they can't just kick you out with no place to go." Dan opened the front door for me as he continued: "And I pray to God that you report that mini-Hitler in there."
"We're on each other's hit lists, apparently."
"He just needs a little black armband and he's set."
I only nodded.
"Well, as I said, you can stay with me tonight--"
"I think I might stay with Mike tonight, he should have a room by now."
"If he hasn't walked out on his own."
The drive back to the hospital was quiet—I had everything going around in my mind, mostly about Heather and my thoughts that Amanda’s boyfriend, Jake had killed her. Yeah, it was like a plot from a Hitchcock movie or from the mind of Poe—but at that moment it sounded more than plausible—it was the freaking absolute engine driving my train of thought.
Amanda and Heather plus an ex-boyfriend who can’t let go decides to stop anything from happening.
I took my cell phone out and pondered calling Amanda—sure, it was a little late, but-
I flipped the screen opened and called.
The phone rang two times before a voice came on the line.
“Hello?” A gruff, male voice answered.
“Is Amanda around?”
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?” I asked.
“You’re the one who called.”
“This is Kristi.”
The line then clicked off.
“I’m about to go on that hunch.”
“About Heather?” Danny asked as he pulled into the parking lot.
“Yeah, I just tried to call her, and some guy picked it up instead.”
“Wrong number, maybe?”
I flipped the phone closed. “No, I’ve called it before when I got them together the other day.”
“Try calling it back.”
“I will, after we check on Michael.”
Danny nodded as we pulled into one of the few spots left in the lot.

“What?”
My eyes were saucers.
No, they were like giant skillets, complete with the handles.
The nurse at the waiting room area looked at me with stone, cold eyes.
“He was transferred to Nashville.”
“Why?”
“We do not have a surgeon on staff who could perform the procedure.”
“What’s happened. I mean I thought it was just a straight cut?”
“Who are you?” The nurse asked.
“She’s his fiancé, I’m his cousin. Why we’re we not informed?”
“We called his family and they agreed to the transfer.”
I stepped away from the station and walked over to the wall. Maybe to cry, but more so that I wouldn’t jump and attack the nurse.
“Okay, so what’s the situation then?” Danny asked.
“I can let you speak with the charge nurse, if you will take a seat in the waiting room.”
“Thank you. We will.”
I lightly pressed my hand against the wall even though I so wanted to slam my fist through it.
I really wanted to hit something, but Richard wasn’t around and my father was about four hundred miles away.
The thought of hitting either of them cheered me up a little.
Danny sat in the chair next to me as I turned around and slid my back down the wall and sat on the floor.
“Sorry, Kristi.”
“Huh? No, it’s nothing. This is all growing pains; it’s all normal.”
“Normal?”
“Has Mike told you anything about my family?”
“No, well, I mean—he did say something your dad.”
“Whatever he said, I probably told him about it.”
“Like how you’re named after someone else.”
“Yep. Named after my brother.” I replied as I stared ahead at the blank space between myself and some guy who was sleeping in the strangest position in the chairs in front of us.
“You’re named after your brother?”
“Twin.”
“Didn’t know.”
“Genital reconstructive surgery before the age of seven.”
“Really?”
“They tried a little rewiring. Didn't work out very well. That’s why dodgeball was so easy.” I said with a slight laugh.
“You should have, you know, come out back then.”
“At a private school?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Dumb idea.”
“Not dumb, but you know how other people are—especially to the weaker ones.”
He nodded.
“I mean look at what's happened now.”
“Not of any of that’s your fault, you know that, right?”
“Not what my father used to tell me. He’d say ‘Kristopher, you are different, young man. And you are a young man. No matter what that doctor’—My dad had switched my doctor because one of them started listening to me and how I felt about who I really was, and that hormones, conditioning or mutilation was going to make me feel any different. They would have to brainwash me—and the next doctor started me on that.”
“Brainwashing?” Danny asked as the man in the chair across from us roused from his sleep.
“Yeah. Imagine being this little kid with a massive hormone condition wreaking havoc on their body and some person in a suit tells you that you’re a special little boy. A boy with a genetic defect—that defect being some external parts but it’s all “wrong” on the inside. It wasn't wrong. It was fine. It became wrong when they went inside and tried to snip everything in there.”
I was crying by then; I’m not even sure if Danny understood me.
“I was saved from it all by a doctor who refused to do anymore alternations until I was older and by then I just played my part of a son so my parents wouldn’t have to say they had some freaky mutation kid or explain why I had dresses in my closet. Just two people understood me. My grandmother and Michael and now—now I can’t see him when I need him the most.”
Danny got out of his chair and kneeled in front of me. “Hey, just say the word and I will drive you to him.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“Don’t ask. Otherwise, I’ll have to throw you in the trunk and drive you there anywhere. But the front seat’s more comfortable.”
“Thanks, Danny. You’re not like who I thought you were.”
“Yes, I was. Still am, but—but I’ve gained a heart, and you’ve gained courage.”
“Why are you dropping “Oz” references?”
“Hey, we have a perfect candidate for the witch.”
“I know of two,” I replied.
“Can I be one of the munchkins?” The old man in the chair asked.
“Kristi Novoselic?” A woman’s voice shouted from the other end of room.
We stood next to a larger large woman who looked like she loved her job but could use an IV in arm of coffee-and it was only a bit after eleven.
“We had him transferred to our center in Nashville as we do not have an attending here who could perform the surgery.”
“What kind of surgery?”
“Amputation of the arm. There was a lot metal in the muscle tissue and bone.”
“He’ll lose his arm?” I felt like dying at that moment.
“It would appear so.”
“When did he leave?”
“Almost four hours ago.”
“Do you want to go out there, tonight?” Danny asked.
“They wouldn’t let us in in the middle of the night.”
The nurse nodded in agreement.
“Thank you,” I replied to her and closed my eyes. “I want to go out there now, but—But he’d tell me that he’s okay and that I’m worrying about him for nothing. And then tell me some Nashvillian saying to go with it.”
“Probably.”
“Then I’d have to talk about the dorm room and Heather.”
“Then we’ll wait until morning.”
“I can’t skip my classes again.”
“I thought you were dropping out?”
“We’re not dropping out; just moving on.”
“So, what's the problem with going in the morning?”
“Don’t you have classes? Ones you can’t just go and skip?”
“Yeah, and truth be told, Mike told me that no matter what, to keep you here in Knoxville.”
“Why?”
“Like you said, he knows you well.”

We left the hospital and went to Danny’s apartment. He asked if I’d prefer taking his room or the couch and I chose the couch—even though we both knew it was incredibly uncomfortable—along with a lot of blankets to buffer against the nearly squashed cushions. It wasn't my own room or the dorm, but it was okay for the night: to feel a b it of comfort from the outside world and how it felt so crushing. I wanted to think that it would be the same if I was just “Kris” but I knew it wouldn’t be. For one, Karen Anne would never had let me go to UT.

MISS YOU

I had several dreams during the night.
Not all of them were nightmares, but they came close as they all revolved around real people in my life. I couldn't recall anything that they said, but it was more of their expressions—the lifeless, dead expressions they had with every face that flashed in my head. My parents, teachers, Karen Anne, Dick, maybe even Elvis, I don’t know…but they all stood along a line that lead to a door and ultimately closed it on me.
The door was to small walk-in closet, with just enough space that I could lift my hands and turn around but no more—not without pleading for light, food or air. I don’t remember if I gave in to their voiceless demands of if I stood my ground, I only remember waking up on the floor with the blankets wrapped around me legs and arms.
I got dressed and Danny dropped me off in the parking lot next to the English building. I looked like a mild train wreck and probably smelled like one too as I walked into class with only a pen and a borrowed notebook. I simply couldn’t wait to tell Mr. Stephens about what happened the previous day and how campus security, and Richard for that matter, were so helpful in assisting me in replacing my books.
I sat in my chair and almost wanted to put my head down when I looked at the faces of the people around me. Their expressions were silent; almost like my bad dreams a few hours ago. Was there some news about me floating around? I really needed to figure out how to use e-mail, once I got a hold of a computer to use, that is; as maybe something had been distributed about Heather. Something officer, I hoped, and not some hideous rumor about her or me.
“What?”
“You don’t know?” One guy asked, his expression moving from disdain to questioning.
“About what?”
“Have you checked your e-mail?”
Funny how this guy who never talked to me in the past had suddenly decided to speak to me on that day of all days.
“No, I don’t have— “
Mr. Stephens walked into the room and his frightened eyes zeroed in on me.
“Kris, Um, Kristi, I need to see you in my office.”
The rest of the class was divided into two camps: ones who didn’t care and the others who watched me get up and walk out for the room. They even continued to look in our direction as we left the classroom.
I sat down in Mr. Stephens office—it was incredible about how many offices I had to sit and wait in the past few days.
Mr. Stephens returned to the room. Along with another teacher, I didn’t know her name, but she stood quietly in front of the door.
“Mr. Stephens, what's going on?”
“Do you check your e-mail?”
“No,” I sighed, “I don’t even have a computer as it was stolen last night out of my dorm along with my camera and me sense of security. Why?”
Mr. Stephens looked to the other teacher who nodded. He then handed over a manila envelope. I was almost hoping that it was a sweepstakes or at least a newspaper clipping stating that they captured whoever killed Heather.
I opened the file.
It was a collection of pictures.
Pictures, I had seen before, but from the other side of the lens.
Pictures that showed me, over-exposed and for all to see.
“Where. Did. These. Come from?” I could barely get the words out.
“They were sent to every email address in the student directory.” Mr. Stephens said as he tried to avoid looking at the folder.
“From who?”
“From your account.”
“And from my stolen camera.”
I threw my head back over the back of the chair; in hopes that maybe if I struck it hard enough I’d either wake up and it would be Sunday morning again.
“Have you spoken to campus security?” Mr. Stephens asked.
“They weren't any help when my dorm was broken into to begin with.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“I was going to let you know. If it’s alright with you, sir, I’d like to go the administrator hall. I kind of feel they’re going to want to talk to me anyway.”
“Of course. We’re doing a review on the last few sections, but I can give you a copy of the information tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stephens.”
I stood up and walked out the door.

The hallway was silent, which was just as well.
I only wondered how far those pictures had gone. Were they confirmed to just the school e-mail or out in the wild? The pictures were of me, every single one of them, well, maybe a few of Michael but he was in a suit in a few of them.
I could have blamed Michael for not removing the memory card from the camera. I also could have read the manual and removed it myself. There was no one to blame except for whoever stole it to begin with and why send them out?
To scare me? Successful, since I was alone.
To put me in my place? No, because I wasn’t sure exactly what my “place” was supposed to be; I was just getting started trying to find it.
To make my life a living Hell? I would have told them to get in line.
The rest of the walk to the administration building was uneventful until I walked inside. There was a conclave of guys standing in the main hall. They all were talking to each other until they saw me and then the room literally fell silent.
It would appear THEY checked their e-mail.
I tried to avoid eye contact with them as I walked down the hall.
It was like being in a fish tank with someone threatening to tap on the glass. I didn't ask to be placed on display and I sure as Hell was not going to sign anything. One of the members of the gawkers coughed. It wasn't from a cold or a frog in his throat, but an attempt to get me to stop and look at who made the sound.
I wasn't going to play the game and tried to avoid them.
“Hey!” One of them shouted.
I didn’t turn to them but gave flashed my middle finger in their general generation.
“If you want to. I’m game.”
I should have known better than to have said or done anything.
I walked into the building.
"Kristopher Novoselic" a middle-aged woman said from behind a large desk and high-back, almost throne like, chair. She had looked at the information on my student ID and either completely ignored what I was wearing or assumed I just liked wearing dresses, so I couldn't fault her too much.
"Kristi," I replied.
"What can I help you with?"
"I have a lot of issues going on right now."
"How so?"
"Well, a friend of mine was killed on the campus."
Her eyes widen slightly.
"Do you have their name?"
"Heather Ashman."
She looked at the large computer on her desk and moved her mouse.
"I have a message that states that campus security wants to speak with you."
I felt my heart race. I mean, did they send a message to everyone?
"Can I ask how they knew to send that message to you?"
"It was sent to all of the advisors."
"Well, okay, campus security is on my list to talk to you, along with--"
"Miss Peterson?"
"Yes."
Her eyes avoided mine.
“I don’t want to file anything against her right now.”
“Did you have a conference with Mr. Styles?”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” I said with a bit of disdain. “He didn’t really care to hear my side of the story, just what he wanted to.”
“There is a disciplinary hearing being scheduled.”
“For Mr. Styles or Miss Peterson?”
“For you.”
“Me?” I asked as my heart rate accelerated. “For what reason?”
“Striking a teacher.”
“She hit me.”
“Falsification of your enrollment forms.”
“I identified as a male for eighteen years, so I was in the guy’s dorm. It was time to make the change and I planned to let the school know at the end of the semester.
She only raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, what about my dorm room being broken into? Or the fact that someone’s sent my private photos to everyone on campus?”
She sat back in her chair and stared at her desk with a dour expression; like she couldn’t care less or that the images were of someone else entirely; no way could any of them be of me; but they were.
“Would you excuse me, please? I will be back in one moment.”
“Sure,” I replied as she had already walked halfway to the door.
The fact that no one seemed to care about the death of a student; or even knew. I wanted to slam my hands on the chair, but I didn't.
The room felt a little cold or maybe it was just me as this was the second day I was completely without Mike, as he had not answered his phone when I tried to call—everything went to voicemail—so I had no idea if he was alive or dead. I kind of wanted to be the one in the hospital with a missing arm or dead, I suppose as it would have saved me from what I was feeling at that time: loneliness, bitterness, a fear for my life and a sadness that Heather lost hers.
I left the office, figuring that “Madam high and mighty” was either finding some way to get the police to remove me by force or to have me kicked off the campus on some trumped-up charge.
I ran out the side door and across campus, back to my dorm.
Richard sat in his office and his face rang a look of shock to see me standing there.
“I’m going up to my room.”
“It’s been re-keyed.”
“Yet the elevator is still not working? I love your priorities.”
He shuffled through a small stack of paperwork on his desk and then handed over a key on a colossal-sized key ring. I looked at the gargantuan metal ring and then at Richard with all the disdain I could muster before I walked into inner hallway and to the stairwell.
The sounds bounced around the empty stairwell as I climbed back up to my floor.
The door was repaired, and the lock was back on.
I opened the door to see the room had been cleaned up and emptied of everything except the beds and the dressers.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered. “He wanted me to see this.”
I seriously thought about breaking the promise I once gave Mike: that I wouldn't scratch Richard’s eyes out.
I sat down on the stripped lower bunk bed and took out my cell phone.
No calls from Mike but three calls from my parents.
I wanted answers and my best and worst theory would be to call Amanda again.
“Hello?”
“Amanda?”
“Hey, how are you doing?” Amanda’s voice answered with an eerie calmness.
“I’m okay,” I lied. “I just wanted to know how did you and Heather go?”
“We were okay, but decided that it just wasn’t going to work out, I mean, we were a bit too— “
“Different?”
“Yeah.”
“Amanda, where are you?”
“I’m on my way to class.”
“Are you okay?” I asked as I stood up.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”
“And what about Jacob?”
“Oh, well, we had…we had a little talk.”
“A talk. Is he going to give you your space?”
“Well, you know, we’re— “
Her words, her tone, everything sounded like she either in denial of the situation or was putting on a front.
“Who is that?” I heard a male voice say.
“It’s a friend, Jacob.”
“Is that that fairy guy?”
I really wanted a baseball bat at that moment.
“Her name is Kristi.”
“Her? Well, hang up.”
“Amanda, you need to get away from him. You said that— “
“Hello? The male voice was now on the phone.
“Is this Jacob?”
“Yeah.”
“This is Kristi, the person you thought you killed the other day.”
“Excuse me?”
“I know you also stole my camera and my boyfriend’s laptop.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you need to stay out of our business.”
I bolted up from the bed. “Listen up, asshole! I’ve dealt with people like you all my life. You want a fight with me, you got one. I’m not afraid of your alpha male bullshit. Do you hear me? I so want to report you to the police for even touching Amanda and just looking at Heather.”
“You’re a crazy man-bitch.”
“What an original put down. Where and when, Jacob?”
The phone clicked off. I threw the handset in burning anger, breaking the back off. I really wanted to smash something else, but the room was already cleaned up.
I walked to the other side of the room. Amanda didn’t ask me about Heather, so maybe she knew more than she wanted me to know. I closed my eyes, wishing that, again, this was all a dream, or at the most a fever-induced hallucination and that Mike would walk through that door at any moment to save me from the pain.
I looked at the door in anticipation.
It never opened, but my phone buzzed.
I walked back over, looked at the caller ID and answered the call.
“Hey,” said a drowsy-sounding, but welcoming to hear, voice.
“Michael, how are you?”
“I’m fine, but I’m gonna be in pain when the drugs wear off.”
“Did they-”
“Yep, fortunately, I drive an automatic.”
“Michael,” I wanted to sound happy that he could joke like that, but my heart wasn’t in it.
“What’s wrong?”
“You got a few hours?” I said as I paced back and forth.
“I got all the time in the world for you.”
I slid my back down the wall and to the floor.
“We’ve been officially kicked out of the dorm.”
“We can stay with Danny until the end of the semester.”
“And Heather’s dead.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line “The same Heather?”
“Yes. I think I got her killed.”
“You didn’t do anything,” Michael responded in his best way to raise my hopes.
“I put her with Amanda and then Jacob must have found them together.”
“You can’t control what other people do. Listen to me, okay?”
“Uh huh,” I was simply blubbering by then.
“You were just trying to help her, you can’t think that you did anything to make it happen.”
“I caused you to lose your arm.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“If I didn’t want this surgery.”
“I would have worked if you didn’t,” Michael replied on the other end. “I’m from farmer stock. We’re gonna do something with our hand, like it or not.”
“Not funny.”
“I thought it was, I’ve been working on that joke all day.”
“Are you still in Nashville?”
“Yeah, Uncle David is here. We’re coming back through Knoxville to get you as soon as they let me out of here.”
“To save me?”
“I was thinking of something else, but I wouldn’t mind coming in on a fast horse and hoisting you up. You may have to help hold the reigns.”
“I’ll do whatever you want me too.”
“I want you to stand up. You’ve lying against the wall, aren’t you?”
How did he know?
“You need to get up and get back to life.”
“You don’t know about the pictures, do you?”
“What pictures?”
“The ones that were on the camera, but are now all over campus.”
“The ones I didn't erase?”
“Uh-huh,” I replied.
“Has anyone said anything about them?”
“I think the school is avoiding me on purpose and I’ve had a few looks, but only from people who recognize me, so it hasn’t been, well, everyone recognizes me. It’s been Hell, Mike.”
“We did say that this would be a change.”
“Yeah but I didn’t want it to a when it rains it pours kind of thing. I just wanted to wear a flipping skirt and be me.”
“The bull fears the new manure, because he don’t know what do with the new kind of crap.”
“Uncle David saying?”
“Yep. He still likes you, by the way.”
“What if he didn’t?”
“One less wedding invite to go out.”

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD

After speaking with Michael, I admit, I felt better. He was alive, told dark humor jokes and he lowered down my high as a kite anxiety level to a point where I could touch the ground. I still disliked my father, the administration was still on my case, Richard was still a jerk and Heather was still gone but, for a few minutes, I knew that none of it was my fault.
There was still some sadness though with dad never accepting me for who I am; the school for not listening to me to begin with; Richard for being dick for reasons known only to Satan himself and Heather being dead—at the hands of some sniveling coward who bullied his girlfriend.
I decided to take it all in stride. I still looked like a mess from the day before but I didn’t really care. I would be late, but I went to my history class with Miss Peterson.
I would be late because I walked across campus and didn’t really care what she thought when I opened the door to the lecture hall.
All eyes were on me as I walked in.
“You are late, Kristopher.”
“Kristina, or have you not seen the pictures yet?”
There were some gasps and a few snickers from the class.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but you know the rules. No one is allowed in after five minutes.”
“And you know the rules about putting hands on students,” I replied as I lifted my sleeve to reveal the bruising she had left.
The class was silent.
“I would have loved to have said something to the administrators about you, Miss Peterson, like how you did to me, or how you have been since the start of this week. But, you know, I’m not you. I will never be like you or this stereotype that you think I’m supposed to be.”
“Mr. Novoselic?”
“Miss! Miss Novoselic. For crying out loud, does someone have a copy of that stupid picture to show her?”
I ran to the front row of seats and picked up a guy’s binder as he tried to hide it. I took the binder and slammed it open on the lectern.
“Surprise, it’s a girl!”
Miss Peterson tried to feign looking at it.
“Everyone knows about it now, including you.”
“This is pornography.”
“No, this is a personal picture. Mine. One that was stolen from my room and sent to everyone on the internet. If you even considered me normal then you would say that I was taken advantage of and raped every time these pictures are shared.” I flipped through them; whoever the guy in the front row was, he had the lot. “But you won’t. No, because I’m different to you.”
Miss Peterson refused to look at me but quietly said “You can take your seat.”
“I’m not going to. I’m done with your class and people like you who want to preach one way about history, one way about society. There’s so much more to me. Too bad you didn’t want to know.”
I picked the binder up and threw it on the floor in front of the guy I took it from. “And you need therapy, pal!”
It felt good to walk out of class, enough that I would have loved to make an encore of it and to maybe see if Peterson was either fuming or uncaring about everything. I assumed she would be fuming but would refuse to give me the satisfaction of seeing it on display. There were so many times that I wanted to do that to my dad but I never had the gumption to try as it was easier to just crawl back into my shell and nod in agreement to everything...well, almost everything.
I walked to the theatre instead, in hopes that the play was still on for Friday. I was almost there when my cell rang. It was a local number and I was almost afraid to answer it as I didn’t know who it could be.
“Hello?” I asked, waiting for the voice on the other end of the line to tell me that someone else I knew had lost an appendage, died, or that my pictures were going to be on some online message board for perverts to gawk at.
“Kristi Novoselic?”
“Speaking.”
“I’m Detective Davidson, Knoxville police,” he spoke in a strong southern drawl. “Can I ask you to come in please?”
“Give me some time to get a ride out and I’ll be right there. Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
I flipped the phone closed and wondered if they had made a break in the case and needed me to verify that Jacob was a jackass who would stoop to kill to get his way.

Danny picked me up and we drove to where he worked to pick up Michael’s car.
“Can you drive?”
“Of course,” I replied as I opened the passenger side of Danny’s car to get out.
“Legally?”
“No, but I can’t have you drive me everywhere.” I said as I got out and closed the door; the window was down.
“I think you should go where you need to go to and then park the car back at the campus.”
“What else did he tell you?” I asked Danny as he leaned over to hand me the keys.
“To always keep two eyes on you.”
“Two?”
“Yep.”
“Thank you. I’ll see what the police say about Heather and then, yes, I will drive it back to the campus.”
“You won’t take it anywhere else?”
I shook my head.
“Good to hear. Let me know how it goes.”
“Will do,” I replied as I walked away from Danny and to Michael’s car.

The car had his scent and the mix of semi-new-car-smell. This was the first time I was on the driver’s side of it. He had asked me a few times if I ever wanted to drive but I refused because it wasn’t my car and, to be honest, his driving terrified me and I feared he’d tell me to drive his way, which would have caused us to get into a single car-wreck, maybe a pile-up or abducted by aliens on a lonely East Tennessee highway.
It took a little bit of time to get downtown but I finally arrived at the police station. I walked into the building and approached the desk.
“Detective Davidson, please.”
“One moment,” came the reply from the officer at the front desk.
One moment became several minutes and I took the time wondering how to rephrase my theory about Jacob to maybe include Amanda. Maybe she was a part of it as she didn’t show any signs of feeling upset at the loss and she would’ve been the last one to talk to Heather, the last person to see if she was alright.
I didn’t understand how she could be with him after everything she told me. Had he pulled some sweet line; a freaking perversion of a sonnet to get her to stay? How he was sorry for how he treated her and he would never do that again? I was three seconds from grabbing my hair and pulling it out when the detective arrived.
“Kristi?”
“Yes.”
“This way, please.”
We walked into an office that was very drab; either he spent very little time there or he just didn’t care to personalize it.
“Thank you for coming in,” he stated as I sat down.
“I have a lead on what happened to Heather.”
“We know what happened to her. That’s why I called you in.”
I wanted to stand up and start my diatribe towards Jacob but I held my tongue.
“How well did you know Heather?” He asked as he sat in a chair across from me.
“Um, well, since the beginning of the term and we’ve been in the drama department but we haven’t really been on friendly terms until this week and--”
“Your name was on a note that was found near her.”
He reached for a file on the desk and took out a photocopy of a hand-written note.
“We’ve contacted her family and they gave us permission to let you see it.”
I wanted to avoid looking at it, wondering if it was written under duress. Had Jacob twisted her arm or tortured her to write a meaningless, mock, suicide note of some type. However, I took the note because it was the last I would hear from her.

“To Kristi Novoselic. Dear Kristi, I’m writing to tell you this wasn’t your fault. You’ll think it is, as I know you will; you’re like that—always trying to help, even when no one understands. You and your boyfriend are like that, something I saw when I first met the two of you. I really wanted to get to know you, even more so after I learned you, you were a woman, and I thought that there would be a chance after we talked a bit and I so wanted to dream of it, to hold onto you, but, I didn’t think you’d ever move away from your boyfriend.
I tried to see if I could feel something with Mandy, yes, she likes to be called Mandy, not her so proper name, but she still wanted to hang onto her boyfriend—even though he’s an insufferable jerk—as he walked in on us and didn't seem to care so much as he wanted to join in and Amanda welcomed it; but I didn’t. I felt used, more than I ever had in my life and I have felt that way for a long time. Maybe I was too stand-offish to the right person, maybe I didn’t try hard enough,
I admit I am giving up. I’m not strong enough to be who I want to be without the right person beside me. I wanted it so much to be you, but, it’s not meant to be. Michael’s a lucky guy and you’re his world. I don’t know if anyone will remember me as anything but a lost actor but I hope that they will. O, never say that I was false of heart. Though absence seemed my flame to qualify. As easy might I from myself depart. Heather Ashman.”

I sat there for a few minutes but it felt like an eternity.
There were no tears, I was in too much shock.
I hadn’t noticed how she really felt and all the times she would come up to me; never say my name or look me in the eyes? It had to all happen this week?
“Miss? You okay”
I turned to the detective. “Can I keep this?”
“Yes. Are you alright though?”
“I didn’t say anything to her before-”
“You can’t blame yourself.”
“You’re the second person to tell me that today,” I said with a small laugh.
The detective cleared his throat and then stood up. “Do you need anything?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Thank you, I guess I need to get back to school I-”
I rose, robotically, and walked out of the office as if on auto-pilot.

I waited until I was in the front seat of the car to cry my eyes out and that took a bit of time—so much so that it was almost five before I started the car and drove back to campus.
I parked in front of the theatre and looked at myself in the mirror. I was a mess, just like the day before. I had pretty much forgotten what day it was with everything piling on and on. I took once last glance, shrugged my shoulders, and walked to the theatre.
The entire cast sat in the front row. Mr. Montesi stood on the stage and addressed us all in a somber tone; so much so that I wanted to go and put a radio microphone on him.
“They have officially announced Heather’s death and a memorial service has been scheduled for Sunday afternoon. The administration has asked me to decide whether to continue the show in light of what’s happened. I will not force anyone to perform if they choose not to.”
I immediately rose to feet. “Mr. Montesi We need to do the show, if only one production, for Heather. I’ll do it all myself if I have to.”
“The show must go on, sir.” Marcus said as slapped his hands to his knees and stood up.
“I’m in,” Halley said.
“Me too,” Leslie concurred.
The other members of the troupe stood up; and Brendon raised his prop sword.
Mr. Montesi clapped his hands. “Thank you, everyone. Then, let’s get started with rehearsal.”
“Mr. Director, sir,” Marcus said as he turned to the rest of us.
“Yes, Marcus?”
“I’m only speaking for myself,” he walked a few steps towards me and put his left hand in his pocket, “but I think I know who should sub for Heather.” Marcus pulled out the prop gold chain and held it out to me.
“I see, sir, you have found the goldsmith now: Is that the chain you promised me today?”
“Can’t have anyone else play the part, right, Kristi?” He said with a wink,
‘Thank you, Marcus.”
“Kristi I will still need your assistance for the first two acts!” Mr. Montesi yelled as he walked to the back of the set.
“Yes sir.”
“Let’s get ready then.”
Over the next hour the cast and crew assembled for final set, stage and make-up checks. I threw the courtesan costume over my clothes and did a little bit with my hair before the make-up department dragged me into the left wing of the stage and went over the top with my face and hair. If she had more time, I would have asked her for a good shade of lipstick but I decided to just her be the professional without my input.
I took a step back from the edge of the wing to bumped into Marcus who was standing a bit too close behind me.
“Sorry,” he said as he raised his hands up in defense. “Just wanted to talk to you for a moment.”
I tried to hide the fear I felt—with my clipboard in my hand I had some protection against his attitude and just because he took the time to put in a good word for me I still felt some animosity.
“Look, I admit that all of this is kind of strange or seems like it but, but I’m on your side with what you’re doing. I’m in disguise myself.”
“Really?” I asked.
“His name is Ryan, he’s trying to be a nurse; to do something in his life while I’m here.”
“Being yourself and what you want to do. It’s college, not life. Not yet.”
“Yeah. Tell that to my grandmama. If she knew she’d throw me into a pool of holy water.”
“I don’t think you’d melt.”
“You’re getting married?” He asked as he pointed to my hand—I refused to remove my ring for the scenes.
“Yes.”
“Good for you. That’s great. So, I’m sorry that I had to stay incognito about it all.”
“Take your time to make your grand entrance, Marcus. But don’t act like everyone else.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I’m jealous that I can’t be like you.”
“You should only be yourself.”
“Places!” Mr. Montesi’s voice broke through over the radio.

MOST OF ALL

“So, they’re still going to perform the play?” Mike’s voice still had a tiredness to it.
“Yes, I think it will be a great tribute for her.”
“You would’ve done it all yourself if they didn’t.”
“You’re right, I replied.
I sat at a small, built for two, but three people could possibly sit at it if they used tea saucers as dinner plates, table as I talked with Michael over the phone.
Danny was on the other side of the room on his computer.
“I wish I could see it.”
“We could come and break you out of the hospital. How about a horse and we make a run through the front doors?”
“Go on,” He said with a laugh.
“That’s it. I haven’t really thought past getting the horse inside.”
“Were you able to get some of our things?”
“Yeah,” I replied as I looked in the corner of the room at a few large bags. Our stuff was thrown into black garbage bags and held hostage by Richard. Danny and I had to play “bad cop, bad ass cop” to negotiate for its release. The clothes I had just bought were shredded to quilt-starter proportions so I had to ask Danny to drop me off at a store—as I promised I would not drive the car.
“Your mom called.” Mike said this with too much happiness in his voice,
I felt the blood drain from my face. “What did she say?”
“She wanted to know why you never answer your phone and I told that it’s been a crazy week and that I was away in Nashville.”
“Did you say for a school project or something?”
“Couldn’t lie to your mom.”
“So, I guess they’re not coming tomorrow after all.”
“No, they’re still coming to Knoxville tomorrow. Something about seeing an old college friend of your dad’s.”
“Maybe we can just lock the theatre doors or maybe they’re not going to come see me after my last phone call.”
“You know your dad, he’s kind of unpredictable. That runs in your family, doesn’t it?”
“Nope, it strolls by and gets to know everyone.”
“I miss you, Kristina.”
“Miss you too.”
“Danny taking care of ya’?”
“Yes,” I replied. “He’s been very nice.”
“Good to hear.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you’ll do anything you put your mind to so he needs to keep both eyes on you. Tell him thank you for me.”
“I will.”
“Don’t break a leg now.”
“Aww, but if I do then we can kind of match.”
“I hear ya. Goodnight Kristi. Love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Bye.”
The line beeped that he had ended the call. I looked at the phone for a moment and closed my eyes.
“How is he?” Danny asked.
“He was tired. He said thank you.”
“You’re both welcome. Got a question for you.”
“Okay.” I got up from the table and walked over to the desk.
“Jacob doesn’t have the laptop, or at least he didn’t send the email from within the college IP system.”
“The what?” I asked.
“A computer has a given name on the system, made up of a set of numbers. The school uses a specific number range and this is not outside the range.”
I looked at him with a blank expression
“Jacob lives off-campus, so the numbers would not be part of the school’s mix. Jacob doesn’t have your laptop but I can tell who does, or may know.”
“How?”
“I sent an email back to Mike’s account with a few pictures I culled off the internet. You wouldn’t want to look at them.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I replied as I bit my lip.
“Anyway, I sent the pictures as a shockwave file with a payload attached to it and our guy took the bait. The attachments were designed to scan the hard drive and pull up file names. Nothing destructive, just poking around. I’m not going to get arrested for doing anything like this. I got my sights on Heather Locklear. She’s still hot.”
“I have no idea what that means. Who has the laptop?”
“The biggest dick we know.”
“I’ve met a few this week. You’re going to need to be more specific.”
“Richard Mannis ring a bell?”
“No,” I closed my eyes for a moment. “No, no. Seriously?”
“Looks like he used Mike’s laptop to do a few things, browse to a few sites that—I wouldn’t show this to my blind grandmother.”
I walked over to the couch and moved away from the area with an exposed, duct-taped spring.
“Again, how did you fight the urge to not punch him in the face?”
“We didn’t want to lower ourselves to his level. So, is there anything you can do?”
“Sorry, not without him using it against us. I say we just go and get the laptop from him.”
“If he hasn’t gotten rid of it already.”
Danny nodded. “Sorry.”
“I’ve always gotten a creepy vibe around him.”
“He likes you.”
“Say what?” I asked as I tried to get THAT thought out of my mind.
“You couldn’t tell?”
“No, why would I?”
Danny clicked a few keys and turned the system off.
“Just noticed that he’s stand-offish with you in person but he took all the photos off of your camera that were of you, not Mike.”
“That’s just so perverted,” I said with a shudder.
“Mm-hmm.”
“I seriously want to just go and kick his ass.”
“Ah, now we’re talking.”

I woke up in the morning to the sound of knocking at the door. I stared at said door as the knocking continued and my brain went into overdrive as to who it could.
The FBI finally coming to get Danny?
The police?
Ed McMahon?
I got up from the couch and tiptoed up to the door.
“Kris?” I heard my father's voice.
“Arron, please, just try.” Mom voice sounded muffled through the door.
“Okay. All right, I I’ll try,” he said with a hushed voice before calling out: “Kristi.”
I wasn’t sure how to feel hearing that. I mean, it sounded like he was trying to bridge the gap. I unlocked the door and opened it.
“Hi.” I said with the best smile I could so early in the morning.
“Kristi, what are you doing here. Whose place is this?” Mom asked.
“This is Danny’s. He’s a friend of Mike’s from High School.”
At that moment, as if on cue, Danny walked into the room wearing only a towel.
Mom shot a look at me that read she didn’t approve and Dad turned his head down.
“Come in?” I asked them as Danny walked back into the hall.
“Good morning, Kristi’s parents. Sorry. Force of habit!”
My parents were hesitant to walk inside as it felt like forever before they stepped past the threshold.
“What happened at school” Dad asked.
“Would that mean, why am I here instead of at the dorm?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Michael told us. But he didn’t say why.”
I walked to the couch and removed the blankets; but I should have left them there as it looked better with them piled on than without. I moved my parent’s attention to the table and had them sit down.
“It’s all because of the dorm manager. He’s had it in for us since we arrived and now he decided to just throw us out. Which is fine because our room got broken into and everything was destroyed anyway.”
“You were robbed?” Mom asked.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And did you call the police?” Dad asked.
“Yeah, just waiting for them to solve the case, I guess.”
“What are you wearing?” Dad asked as I looked down at the oversized t-shirt I was wearing did little to hide the fact that I had on a pair of hot pink panties. I tugged at the shirt a bit but then made a hop over to a bag lying against the wall. I grabbed the bag and went into the hallway to put on a pair of pants.
“Better?” I asked as I stood in the hallway.
Dad didn’t; reply but simply sighed as I walked back into the room and stood in front of them,
“Okay, I admit, this is all of the sudden for you, but it’s been in the making for a long time.”
“Been in the making?” Dad asked with a slight rise of annoyance in his voice.
“I can myself see for who I am, and I hope you can too.”
“Kristi,” Mom began while taking my left hand, “we’re just kind of worried that this is all moving so fast.”
“What did you spend six hundred dollars on again?” Dad asked, effectively priming the fuse to detonate the bridge I was trying mend.
“Clothes. I mean, jeans and shirts only go so far and they weren’t going to help when I decided to let everyone know.”
“Does everyone know?” Dad asked.
“Everyone who has an e-mail address.” I replied as I sat down.
“Is that why I have been getting calls from the school?”
“Maybe,” I replied with a shrug, not really wanting to get into it again.
“Do you know how many letters and phone calls I have received from the university?”
“How many?” I asked with as much calmness that I could; knowing full well that if I raised my voice, Dad would match it and as much as I wanted to, I really didn’t want to start anything in front of Danny.
“Seven. I also received a certified letter from some shrink in Tuscaloosa about Karen Anne English.”
“Dad,” I stood up to say more but he threw a hand out in front of me, as if I was still six.
“You’re sending nude pictures of yourself to everyone?”
“No, that was stolen from my camera.”
“But you took them?” He asked.
“Yes, because I’m a stupid teenager; and that’s what we do.” I replied, matching his tone.
“Why, Kristopher, why?”
“You know, Dad,” I sat back down on the couch and avoided eye contact with them. “We’re all here, like this, because you don’t talk to me. You tell me what to do, but you don’t talk to me. Hardly anyone ever did. Yeah, I kept away from them but that was because you tried to drive it into my skull that I’m so different no one could accept me for me and so I’d have to be this little boy. That didn’t work. It hasn’t worked since I got to wear a dress at grandma’s.”
“I told Mama it would get you the wrong ideas”
“The wrong idea?” I asked as I bolted up. “The wrong idea was to pump me full of whatever hormones this or that doctor said to do. They had no idea what do with me and so now, here we are with body image issues and hormones that are so shit out-of-whack.”
“Kristopher.”
“Aaron,” Mom whispered; Dad either didn’t hear or he just ignored her.
“I. Am. Not. Kristopher.”
“Yes, you are.”
“Aaron,” her voice went up a notch, but he still didn’t react to her.
“I am not. Look at me!” I almost wanted to rip my shirt off, if just to prove a point. “Kris died nineteen years ago. I am your daughter. I have always been that. I have a copy of my original birth certificate.”
“Don’t tell me, your grandmother?”
“You said not to tell you.”
“That document was amended and the error was adjusted.”
“There was no error! All there was a was vestigial organ that you had someone Rube-Goldberg to make it work! Doesn’t change a thing, dad.”
Danny walked out from the hallway and quietly moved past us.
“I’m engaged now, did you know that?” I asked as Danny closed the front door.
“To who?” Dad asked. I had assumed he meant Karen Anne.
“Michael”
“You are not marrying a boy, and a country boy at that.”
I took more offense to the “country boy” comment as I shot a death glance at my own father,
“That is not going to happen as long as I am standing here, breathing!”
“Aaron!” Mom’s voice was shrill, as if she had had enough.
“What, Elizabeth? What?”
“Look at her! Yes, she. She is our only child. Our daughter.”
My dad put his hand on his face and closed his eyes—a Novoselic gesture that usually meant “please, please, just shut up and get out of my face” other times, it stood for “that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard”. I was unsure which way to interpret it at that moment.
Mom’s expression showed a bit of spark like she so close to telling him off but her old-school southern personality kept her from lashing out in too big of a fury.
“Now, we need to talk about this, as a family. Together.”
“What’s there to talk about?” Dad said. “This is a stage, a project; like those plays you perform in, right?”
“No. It’s real life, Dad. I really wanted the two of you to come up here and see everything that we’ve been doing and show how normal we are and how everything was going great but, it’s kind of blown now with Michael’s accident and everything else that’s happened.”
I walked to the kitchenette area and turned back to them.
“Just tell me you want me out of your life. Just flat out tell me that you don’t accept me.”
“Kristi,” Mom replied as she shot a pained look at my dad.
“It’s simple, really. Tell me that you can’t and will never accept me like this. That you’ll forever feel like I’m some disgrace to you.”
Dad didn’t exactly look at me but at least his expression wasn’t daggers or disgust, it was more of a weariness. An expression that maybe he was either dying on the inside and just didn’t want to say anything or he was really dying. “Let’s talk about it later. Don’t you have a class to get to?”
“Yes sir,” I replied as I walked out of the room and into the hall.
I got ready in the bathroom and tried to get dressed as if the day was like any other, even though I had absolutely nothing except a few things I could recover from the plastic bags and what I had bought the previous day. I picked out a simple skirt and blouse and it looked okay; although my missing ring made it so incomplete.
I took a deep breath as I would have to look at my parents as they mentally tore me apart with their eyes: ‘Oh my God, he’s wearing a dress? What next, a mermaid tail?’
I walked back into the front room to see my parents talking in hushed tones. They stopped and turned to me.
Mom face brightened into a smile and she walked over to me. “Your hair.”
“I know, I need to work on it.”
“It’s looks lovely, doesn’t Aaron?”
Mom had placed Dad—and to an extension me—on the spot. The feeling that I was going to dry heave right then and there shot up.
“You look...good.” Was his reply.
“Thank you,” I replied without completely breaking down at that point; although I wanted to I felt that it would be too soon to just wrap my arms around him and cry. “Good” was a Novoselic male term of endearment so I took that compliment as the world but held it in.
“My classes are over at one, since I’m not allowed to go to Mrs Peterson’s.”
“Why is that again?” Dad asked.
I pointed my hands at myself and moved them down.
“I think I’ll have a talk with the dean,” he replied.
“Going to the stores?” I asked mom.
“I might do that, Aaron?”
Dad simply nodded as he crossed his arms and placed his hand on his chin.
“I’ll see you both later.” I replied as I walked out of the apartment.
“Walking?” Dad asked.
I hadn’t thought how I was getting to school as I promised not to drive, and I think Danny took the keys from me.
“We’ll drive you,” Mom said as they followed me out of the apartment. “And we all have lunch together.”

BIGGER THAN ME

First period went as smooth as it did at the beginning of year with no one making any comments or asking any questions. Mr. Phillips didn’t look my way as much as he had earlier in the week. It was almost Zen that morning.
I mean, my parents drove me to the building without any negative comments from my dad. He even told me to “have a good day” which I took to heart with a light smile on my face which was passed on to others around me. It was like we were all high on sunshine and lollipops and everything was right with the world.
Second period started off with a slight hitch though with Amanda standing next to Jacob at the door. I tightened the grip on my bag, thinking that I would have to fight someone who could kill me with a simple flick of his finger. It was a good day to die.
They both saw me and stepped away from the archway. The feeling of fight or flight took hold even though I didn’t see anyone else with them and they walked together, holding hands.
“Kristi,” Amanda stared. “This is Jacob.”
If I had a gun, my hand would have been on the trigger with the safety off.
“Not going to do anything,” Jacob replied as he took a step back.
“He’s not, we-. We’ve been talking about what happened between us, all of us.”
“I’m a jerk, okay? You were right about me.”
“Huh?” I asked as I tried to see any deception in their faces but who was I kidding? My ability to read faces was shot by then so I could only count on them telling the truth and not trying to grab and throttle me.
“I was pissed when Amanda told me everything you said but, you were right. I’m even quitting the team for her.”
“Quitting?”
“Can’t ever go pro, so, might as well do something that will support myself and a family, right?”
I think my expression was blank at that moment.
“Kristi?” Amanda asked as she waved her hand in my face.
“Sorry,” I replied as I slacked my grip on my bag. “I mean, don’t quit if it means something to you, I-”
Jacob took a step back and wrapped his arms around Amanda. “She means more to me and I’ve been an ass to her. Not doing that again.”
“We’re going to see a consular and get some help, for the both of us.”
“Great,” I said as Amanda came over and hugged me. I still felt like it was a set-up.
“I’m sorry about Heather.”
I nodded in reply. I’m sure her name would come up in their therapy sessions.
“Is the play still on?”
“Yes, we’re only doing one performance tonight, for Heather.”
“We’ll be there.” She looked back to Jacob who immediately answered with a nod.
Amanda took a few steps back to Jacob and kissed him on the cheek. “I have to get into class.”
“Yeah. Well, I’m going to go and talk to the coach.”
“Is he’ going to be mad?” She asked with an honest-to-God look of fear in her eyes.
“Furious,” Jacob replied. “See you, love!”
I waved to him with one hand as Amanda grabbed my other.
“We talked so much the past day about how stupid we’ve been with each other and he just started crying. I have never seen him do it before but he did then; he was on the floor and everything and I could have been the biggest bitch in the world and throw everything back at him but I didn’t.” We walked into the hallway as she continued. “So, he said he would quit football and to something else. He said he’d do it for us. I said that he had to do things for himself, not for me but he said he wanted to do it for us. For us, can you imagine?”
“That’s quite the turnabout.”
“I know, right? To think he hated you without even knowing you after that phone call.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t. It was the tackle from Hell he needed to feel. Sometimes we all need someone to knock us on our ass. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I answered with as much happiness I could give for her even though I didn’t understand exactly what I did to deserve any thanks. I had to bite my lip—out of her sight of course— at the thought that if I hadn’t said anything to her everything would be kind of okay still.
Mike would still have lost his arm, we would have been entangled in some weird love triangle with Heather; and Jacob and Amanda most likely would be booked for an episode of Jerry Springer but everyone would be alive. I didn’t want to think Heather had to die for someone who didn’t know or care about her to gain clarity on their own life but maybe she would have wanted it that way. I only wished I could have asked her.
I still sat next to Amanda during class. It felt good to have someone choose to sit next to me as I usually chose to sit by myself or watch the shifty eyes of people who were “forced” to sit next to me. The ones who would shuffle their desk or chair over half an inch or so, as a universal way to say they were disgusted by my retro punk look. Amanda didn’t move her chair; not a screech was heard. It felt so good that if I wasn’t engaged I don’t know what I would do.
In the past, I would never be late for class if I could help it and I could not help but to refuse to step within thirty yards of Mrs. Peterson’s class. There was no way in Hell I was going to give Mrs. Peterson any more of my time. She was not going to live rent free in my head.

I took my parents up on the offer to have lunch with them. If it all went downhill I could get up and leave; as I had done countless times in the past, and go back to my room. My room being a few miles away, but it was better than letting Mrs. Peterson get under my skin.
“Have you seen Michael since the accident?”
“No,” I replied with slight sad tone to my voice. “He said it wouldn’t help if I was there; and that I should keep up with my studies.”
Dad simply nodded as his eyes scanner the menu. He pulled into the first place that was open, not too crowded, and that did not serve any, in his terms, “rabbit food”.
“I mean I’ve wanted to go up there every day and I call him when I can but usually he’s zoned out due to the pain meds they have him on. I guess I’ll wait until he’s better.”
“Michael Nelson?” Dad asked in his ‘I’m getting ready to go on a diatribe, please pay attention to the whiteboard’ business voice.
“Yes, dad. We’ve been going to school together for over two years.”
“And you’re engaged to him?”
“Yes,” I raised my hand up; wondering if it was a good idea—he would obviously see the ring and know who it was from.”
“Mama give it to him?” Dad’s expression toned down a bit from ‘give them Hell’ to a hushed one.
He laid the menu down and sighed.
“Daddy gave Mama that ring in 1943, two days before he was shipped off to the war. She held onto it even when it was reported he was shot down over the Pacific. She wouldn’t take it off, she said, even if she saw him dead. It wasn’t worth thousands of dollars, he never said what it was worth as Mama wouldn’t hear of it. It could have been form a carton of Crackerjack. She didn’t care. It meant a lot to her. But when he died she put it with Daddy’s ring and said she would will the set to you.”
“So, there’s another ring?”
“If you have that one, then Michael has to have the other one.”
My mom tried to hold back her tears but failed.
“I’m not dense or closed-minded, Kristi. I just had things planned out and you did not go along with those plans.”
“Dad.”
He held his hand up and I felt the need to dash out of there before our server arrived to take our order.
“It’s going to work out, just not in the way I thought I wanted it to. So, on Monday, we’re going to start the process of having your birth certificate amended to read out your real name: Kristina Allie Novoselic.”
“Really?” I was very close to fainting.
“Well, if I don’t, then you and Mama would do it anyway and I want to be involved.”
I looked at mom, wondering if I was dreaming or if dad was dying but she only smiled and took a hold of my hand.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just say that if you have a problem, you can let me know about it now, okay?”
“Yes sir,” I replied.
“Now, what are you going to do for the rest of the quarter? I’ve talked to the dean. You’re going to be allowed to withdraw without a penalty to your academic record; but you’re not going to be able to come back to campus.”
“Even after what Mrs. Peterson did?”
“We have to pick our battles, Kristi. This isn’t the time or place. We need to build our case. Then come back around and take over.”
I nodded with a slight smile.
We talked during lunch, about my life and everything I was doing. I had to wonder if my dad had some form of dementia or maybe he had been swapped out by aliens as this man in front of me was interested in my life when a few nights ago—not to mention most of my life—he seemed forever disappointed whenever I decided to something for myself and be who I wanted.
We talked for hours on just about the everything we never shared with each other. The blood vessels in my mind hemorrhaged as I desperately desired to know who or what flipped the switch in my father’s head. What made him not care as much about the dress I wore or my tinted hair? I wanted to ask that million-dollar question but decided that getting my dad to open his heart and reveal his true emotion would take an act of business or an IRS investigation. He was trying to reach out to me after over eighteen years and I wanted to let him continue by answering any question he had.
Our next stop would have been at the theatre for a final dress rehearsal, but I asked if we could stop by the dorm for a moment. I had not forgotten that Richard had my camera and maybe he still had Mike’s laptop and I wanted them back before I left UT. He wasn’t going to keep them as trophies.
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
“How long?” Dad asked without any impatience. “We want to make sure have good seats.”
“We roped off a section for family so you’re covered. I’ll be right back.”
I walked straight from the front doors to the dorm master’s office. Richard was not at his desk, but I saw something that was—a camera strap, connected to a camera. Specifically, mine.
I walked into the office, picked it up and confirmed it was mine by a few tell-tale scratches to the body.
“Found what you were looking for?” Richard’s voice asked from the door frame. I refused to turn and look at him.
“Yes, how long have you had it?”
“A few days,” he replied with a coolness in his voice.
“Didn’t think to give it back to me?”
“I can now.”
“Enjoy yourself?” I asked as I tried to put up a brave front.
“There was an interesting aesthetic to the pictures.”
I turned around as he closed the door.
“Those were private,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Then why were they on the camera?”
“Because that’s mine too. Why did you steal it?”
“I didn’t. I found it in the hallway.”
“Before or after you trashed our room?”
“I don’t really remember,” he said with a shrug. “But I do remember that you kept saying you were a girl and I thought, delusions of grandeur there; he wants something that he’ll never have, but then I saw the pictures. You were telling the truth.”
“No shit?” I asked.
“You’re still a freak of nature.”
“And you’re still an asshole.”
“I have a fascination for the unnatural. To find out what makes things like that tick.”
“Things?”
“Well you’re not either, right? In the middle.”
“What I have between my legs does not identify me and it’s none of yours or anyone else’s business how I want to identify. But you are not going to call me an ‘it’, or a ‘thing’. I’m not some social experiment for you to gawk at.”
“Oh, but I did.”
I felt sick hearing him. “I’m leaving.”
“Why?”
“I have my camera; I can assume that you’ve hidden or thrown Michael’s laptop away so-”
I wrapped the camera strap around my arm and moved towards the door but Dick took a step forward and blocked me.
“You would be great in a ménages à trois.”
“And you would be great to shut up and get out of my way.”
“So, you can then, interesting.”
“Step aside, Richard.”
“Do you try multiple positions?”
“Move, Rick.”
“Could you show me?”
“Go. To Hell, Dick!” I swung my camera and struck him in the face with it. I then moved to jab my elbow into his chest—as I tried to recall any of fighting moves Michael tried to teach me. I threw several punches, but they seemingly bounced off him, like I might as well hadn’t done a thing.
I found myself with my left arm pinned behind my back and his other hand on my chest.
“Now you’ve just made it difficult.”
“Are you telling me that no one can hear what’s going on?”
“I doubt they’d care.”
He moved his hand higher and pushed his arm against my throat.
“You really disappointed me, Kris, I kept getting these mixed signals from you and now I really want you.”
I closed my eyes to control my breathing and to try to block out what he was saying.
“You were misunderstood by everyone and you latched onto the first person to acknowledge that you even existed.”
“No, I had a girlfriend,” choked the words out; by letting him talk I could buy more time.
“Did she know?”
“No.”
“Were you afraid of what she would think?”
“Yes.”
Richard had loosened his arm on my neck a little but still held my other arm behind my back and the pain was intense.
“Does she know now?”
“Yes, I told her last week.”
“Do your parents know?”
“Yes.”
I wanted to scream. I wanted someone to knock on the door or at the very least barge in and see everything in front of them.
“You’re lying. They have no idea that you’re dressing up in skirts and panties, do they?”
“They do. They accept it.”
“Do you know what you’re going to do for me?”
“What?”
“Anything I ask, or a few more pictures are going to go out, perhaps to your Dad’s company.”
“Go ahead,” I replied.
“Aww, but that would be such a burden to him, with the world knowing that his only son has hermaphroditism.”
I could feel the tension on my neck lighten up allowing me to bend my neck in and rotate my body out of his grip. I then slammed my foot into his groin and screamed bloody murder because my arm felt like he fractured it.
Richard charged at me and we tumbled against the wall.
“No one cares what will happen to you! Not your parents, not your boyfriend, this school, no one!”
I didn’t respond as I tried to get up.
Richard pulled on my arm and tried to pull me up but I wouldn’t stand. He then grabbed my hair and yanked it like a rope. I screamed in agony as he jerked my head back and forth.
“You’re just a freak of nature! And you should’ve been killed in the womb.”
I couldn’t do anything but cry at that moment, not from the pain in my arm or my head—although they hurt like Hell—but from his words.
He squatted down and pulled my hair again.
“I saw something I wanted in you. Sad that you’ll never get it.”
I wanted to get up and hit him, but my body was shaking too much. I closed my eyes in hopes that I could catch my thoughts and my breath. I heard a ‘click’ and opened my eyes to see an unfolded pocket knife.
He moved the knife to my face and I feared that he would do it like using it to slit my throat or slash my face. Instead, he sliced at my hair, chopping it off in large clumps.
“You’re a worthless thing!”
Richard lifted me up into a keeling position; I was mentally drained.
“I’m not worthless,” I mumbled through chattering teeth. “I’m not a thing.”
“You may be useful for one thing,” Richard said as he unbuckled his belt.
I tried to turn away but he grabbed my shoulders and I stopped feeling anything as my head shook back and forth. I know I screamed out something, but I didn’t know what it was.
There were several loud knocks, followed by several booming sounds coming from the door.
Richard’s grasp loosened as I could see four brightly lit figures appear behind him. Two of them grabbed at him while the other two yelled my name out. I wanted to think it was real; the sounds were loud and the voices, while scrambled, were not ghostly or like a hallucination but with my vision so blurry and sharp pains all over my body I thought maybe it was all just the same nightmare from Saturday night and I would wake up to see Michael next to me, we were still in the dorm.
“Dick, I am so going to bash your head in!”
“With what?” Richard replied to the voice I could almost recognize.
“This is that fella?”
“Yes sir.”
“Kristi?” I fully recognized my mom’s voice and her face slowly came into focus.
My parents were with me, but who was keeping Richard at bay?
My arms hurt too much to move around and I could only see the wall and my scared mother’s face.
“Boy, if you were my kid, I would have flung you into the wall. Thank God you’re not.”
“Let me go.”
“Don’t think so, Dickie.”
“You have no idea how much trouble you’re going to be getting into.”
“Shut up, Richard!” I yelled from the other side of the room.
“Keep still, Kristi.” Mom said as Dad got from off his knee and walked away.
“Son, do you know who I am?”
“No, and I don’t care,” Richard replied.
“Oh, you will. You will.”
“Not the best way to meet up again, Mr. Novoselic?”
“On the contrary, Michael. Your timing couldn’t be more perfect.”
I so wanted to jump from the floor and run to him, but it felt like daggers were going up and down my arms.
“He wanted to get here so fast, we took the roads at near NASCAR, you know?” A voice that I never heard said with a strong southern drawl.
“I do, sir, I do.”
“Randy Nelson.”
“Aaron Novoselic.”
“Don’t just stand there, boy, go over-.”
I heard a pair of boots step over to me and I cringed as I thought it could still be Richard, but I was relieved to see it was Michael.
“Are you okay?”
“Are you a dream?” I asked with all the smile I could muster at that moment.
“I know you’re mine. You okay, Kristina?
“With you here, how could I not be?”

HOMEWARD BOUND

The police arrived soon after with Detective Davidson leading the group. He looked straight at me as the officers went into Richard’s office.
“Miss Novoselic?”
I was ready to charge into him as I knew he was going to dive on in that, here I was, causing more commotion, more destruction to his calm and tranquil town; like Knoxville was freaking Mayberry.
“You all right?”
I only nodded to him.
“What happened?”
“That dick in there,” Michael pointed to the office door, tried to rape my fiancé’”
I didn’t expect him to say that in front of my parents and the mixed company that surrounded the front room.
“And you are?”
Michael dropped stood up and extended his hand. “Sorry, sir. Michael Nelson.”
They shook hands and the detective took a step back to see the officers standing with Richard, who had a bloodied face.
“What happened to him?”
“Well, he had his pants kind of at his knees and he went down pretty hard when we tackled him. Let’s just say he isn’t gonna be doing any kind of modeling or whatever he used to do with his pretty face.”
I started to cry because I remembered what almost happened.
I was ready to do whatever Richard wanted me to do to get out of that room, even if it meant degrading myself to him; I just wanted to make it out alive. His hands moved in slow motion and I feared that no matter what I did, he would still find a way to hurt me even more.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“For what?” The detective asked.
“I shouldn’t have gone to his office alone.”
“I’ll need the two of you to come down to the station and make a statement.”
“Detective,” My father walked up to him. “My daughter’s been through a lot today. I’ll make my statement now. Can she come back later?”
My father locked eyes with the detective, who then nodded.
Michael’s uncle stood on the other side of the room, away from all of us. “He said he should stay on the other side, in case he felt the urge to hit Richard again. I kind of want to do it myself.”
We looked at the detective and hoped he didn’t hear us.

I stood up next to Michael and soaked in everything: there was blood on the floor and on five people, with my father, Michael and Richard covered with the most. There were crowds of students surrounding the doors and the front windows with their phones out recording what looked like the end of a boxing match. I was sure campus security wanted us to leave as soon as possible,
“Oh hey, I found something for you.” Michael reached into his pocket. “I’m going to need to borrow your other hand.”
I held out my left hand and Michael laid my grandmother’s ring in it.
He then lightly took my right hand and moved my fingers. He then picked the ring up and placed it back on my finger.
“Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.”
“Oh, and we picked up something from your grandmother.” We walked to the far side of the front room as both of my parents walked to the opposite end of the room with the detective.
“You went from Nashville to Steens and then back here?”
“Yep.”
“Why?” I asked while the police stood next to Richard while two EMT’s looked at him.
“Uncle wanted to see the farm. He said it still has promise.”
“He met my grandmother?”
“Yep.”
“How did that go?”
“You’re completely avoiding what I said earlier.”
“Yes, because I want it to be a surprise. I need a nice surprise after all of this. Okay, the suspense is killing me, what is it?”
“It’s a white dress. Your grandma said it was very pretty and I wasn’t going to argue.”
“Okay, I can’t guarantee I’ll wear it.”
“You don’t have to wear anything if you don’t want to.”
“You’d like that.”
“I like whatever makes you happy, m’lady,” he said with a slight bow. “But for now, I think you should go talk to one of those guys over there.”
I wanted to will away the pain I felt but that would be impossible. Two other EMT’s ran into the room, spoke to one of officers who looked in our direction and nodded.
“Okay, I’ll go. For you.”
“Thank you.”
Hours later, the prodding stopped, the questioning stopped and it was declared that my arms were not broken. Members of the administration were not happy and wanted us off campus. They even went so far as to cancel the play—considering all the “negative press” during the past week.
I wasn’t even able to go to the theatre to say goodbye as the local police said it was for the best if we placed some distance from the college for the time being. I wanted to say a few things, but I kept my peace and held my head up high as I got into Michael’s car and we started our caravan back to Memphis, Tennessee.
“I’m going to need to get an automatic,” Michael said as he fastened his seatbelt.
“I’m going to need to get a license.”
“Yep. That too.”
Michael has already grabbed everything from Danny’s apartment before he came to the dorm. He also had a lot planned out for the evening before Richard destroyed it.
“This is the biggest secret you’ve ever kept from me.”
Michael nodded in reply.
“Any other surprises?” I asked as I tried to keep up with my parent’s car.
“I wanted to say I kept one of Richard’s teeth.”
“That’s kind of disgusting. Could we bronze it?”
“Now I wish I had.”
“Probably for the best you didn’t,” I replied, even if it would have been somewhat creepy and probably illegal to keep a knocked-out tooth it would have been a great conversation starter.
“Your dad fights like Jerry Lawler.”
“The wrestler?”
“Oh yeah. It looked like he wanted to pile drive Dick into the floor. I would have paid to see that, you know?”
Now it was my turn to nod. I didn’t understand wrestling, but I tolerated watching it on Saturday mornings whenever I used to spend time with Michael. I thought the acting was atrocious—after I found out that it was acting—like a horrible soap opera for guys. A soap opera with more skin than anything on “All My Children” and I admit I watched it just to see that. I had no idea who was a good guy or a bad guy, I just saw all these chests moving around.
“I’ve never seen that side of him.”
“He accepted me earlier today, I mean like earlier today.”
“Is it the end of the world?” Michael asked as he motioned an explosion with his hands.
“I know, right? It’s like I was waiting for death to just come right there or to have him say he was luring me out to see if I would fall for something like that but—”
“But?”
“He said he’s going to switch out my birth certificate.”
“Did aliens kidnap your dad and replace him?”
“He accepts me, Michael. Me. As Kristina and not-”
“Kristopher?”
“Yes.”
“What about your surgery?”
For most of life, up until the week before I hated the semi-functional appendage hanging from me but at that moment, I really didn’t care about it anymore.
“I don’t know, I mean, in the grand scheme of life now, it’s nothing. What do you think?’
“It’s not my decision. It’s all yours, Kristi.”
“It doesn’t define who I am.’
“True,” he replied with a slight grin.
“What’s that for?”
“I’ll have to show you later.”
“You’re evil.”
“With you, yes.”
Due to my driving skills, it took longer than six hours and three fill-ups before we arrived back in Memphis. I used to think I’d never want to see it again; just to look at it fade in a rear-view mirror or out the window of a plane but at that moment, I welcomed the always under-construction highways and horrendously bad drivers.

It was after midnight before we made it back to the house. It was lit up like a Christmas tree with every light on, something that would have caused my dad to explode in a vocal tirade about wasting electricity. I assumed they had been home for a few hours before us, so I had to wonder why they were still on. My parents’ car was parked in front of the garage along with another car that I did not recognize.
We walked to the front door and stood on the porch.
“Here we are. Home.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“A little,” I replied as I blew my hair away form by face.
“It’s just temporary. Maybe we can look for an apartment.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I replied as I turned the knob, it was unlocked, which was stranger.
Had we been robbed? We’re my parents tied and bound to the floor by whoever it was that owned that car?
We walked in to see my parents in the sitting room with my grandmother.
“Grandma!” I felt like a seven-year-old again as I ran to her.
She stood up to meet me in a hug.
“I’m so happy you’re all right, Kristi.”
“Thank you.”
“Michael. Come, come,” Grans waved him over and pulled him into us as soon as he was close enough to grab.
“She’s here now, mama, so what’s going on?”
“I kept your father waiting dear, just so I could tell all of you.”
“Tell us what?” I asked as I looked at my parents. Apparently, grandma has kept them occupied with small talk—perhaps about why she had turned nearly every light on—until we arrived.
“I’ve been thinking about the future, how I’m getting old and how much I missed when you worked on the farm with your Pa.”
“I know, I know, but you haven’t had a farm operation in quite a while.” Dad replied as he sat up on his chair.
“I’ve been planning to start it back up and eventually hand it to a new owner.”
“You’re selling the farm?”
“Aaron Malone Novoselic, that’s complete crazy talk. No self-respecting southern farmer sells her land, no matter the price.”
“What are you getting at, mama?”
“I’m going to hire out and start again with some livestock. I’ve found a young couple to help me for a few seasons and then, maybe I’ll retire to the coast and let them take over.”
“Retire to the coast?” Dad asked.
“I said I would never sell, doesn’t mean I won’t take an extended vacation.”
“Okay, sounds like a plan. Who are you asking to help you?”
“A hard-working couple. They’ve been given a bit of hard luck in the past but I see a bright future for them, they just need a chance. And now they’re here to consider it.”
I tried to hide my fear and shock as we stood before the three of them. Grandma smiled at the two of us; mom looked like she was near tears, and my father-
My father was smiling—and he wasn’t having a heart attack from doing it!
Michael wrapped his arm around me and I tried to hide the fact that I was looking at my dad’s face but at that moment our eyes were locked with each other’s.
My father broke the silence with a small cough as he stepped towards us.
“Your idea, mama?” Dad asked.
“Of course, dear.”
Dad nodded as he looked back to mom. She made a rolling motion with her hands, as if this was all planned by everyone but me.
“Think you can handle farm life?”
“Yes sir.”
“What do you plan on doing with the rest of your life, Michael?”
“To take care of Kristi the best I can.”
Dad reached his hand out and Michael took it in a hand shake.
“You do that. You take extra care of my daughter, you hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Dad then turned back to me. And put his arms around me. “Kristi and I love you, little girl, I’m sorry I never said that to you,”
My heart could have stopped at that moment and I would have died happy.
The world could have come to an end, and I would feel elated.
I took a step towards my father and closed my eyes—thinking that I would wake up at that moment but instead I felt his hands on back in a loving embrace.
“I won’t let anyone ever hurt you again,” he proclaimed with a quiver in his voice. “Can you ever forgive your father?”
“Yes,” I replied through tears that never flowed out when it came to my family.
Ones of happiness.