In a way, it all started when I ran across a school uniform in a thrift shop.
I'd recently moved to Chicago from my original home in Minneapolis, with my mother, after the breakup with my father.
The way things worked out, my new school would not accept me until after the new year, which left me at loose ends, as it was only mid-October; my mother worked in an office downtown all day, and so I was in a new apartment, alone, having to pass time in an unfamiliar city. Mom wanted me to stay home, of course, but I wanted to take advantage of my rare freedom. Public transit and cultural institutions and free time; when would I have all three again?
I'd always been interested in the evolution of how people saw their world, and for some periods, that is shown most clearly in their art, and here, the Art Institute and the Field Museum were within a short transit ride on the El; I tossed a coin to decide between them and the Art Institute won. Some days, I wonder what would have happened had it fallen the other way.
As I said, my mother works, and so I'd wait for her to leave in the morning, then leave, myself, taking the el downtown to the Art Institute. At first, I'd just wander the galleries and read the plaques (pausing to look at the evolution of the hook and eye fastener on armor, for example), and then hit the library branch near home afterwards, to learn what I should have observed.
But in the galleries, adults kept stopping me and asking why I wasn't in school, or if I'd wandered off from my tour group. Proving I was doing what I was supposed to be doing there was getting time consuming. So many well-meaning adults in the world! I began to understand the appeal of hiding and browsing after the museum closed, as in that mixed up children's book.
Well, and also branch libraries are not really big on art history. Eventually I figured out I'd get more information if I attached myself to a school tour and followed along, listening to the docent's lecture.
The first time I tried that, though, I must have stood out, somehow, because I got asked to leave. Somehow they figured out I didn't belong, seemingly effortlessly. It must have been more than my lack of a bagged lunch, though. So I'd have to think about how to blend in better. I'd have to find an ironclad way to avoid having my presence questioned; something that would make it inconceivable for them to consider checking if I belonged. (yes, that word does mean what I think it means, I'm sure.)
I was at thinking about that while browsing at a local thrift store, looked for a cheap way to increase the size of my wardrobe, when I saw it: a complete school uniform, in what seemed to be my size. It didn't particularly matter to me that it was a girl's uniform (yes, I'm small for my age, thank you so much for pointing that out.) It seemed the perfect disguise; surely anyone seeing it would automatically assume I was just a student they hadn't seen before. I'd dressed as a girl for halloween, and it didn't particularly bother me (I found myself oddly at home in the role, actually); all that mattered to me then was it was a disguise. Still, maybe the fact that I considered it so casually should have given me more pause...
As it was, I piled it in my cart, and went off in search of items to pad out my shopping, so it would seem less noteworthy.
I found winter coats, girls and boys. I had a good boy's coat from Minneapolis, of course, but the Chicago winters, while nothing to sneeze at, were not as severe as Minneapolis, and a lighter coat would be a welcome addition to my closet. And, indeed, my purchases passed without undue comment.
Taking everything home, I hid the uniform and the girl's coat in the back of my closet well before my mother got home and asked me about my day. I had a cover story prepared about spending the day at the library.
My mother joshingly threatened me with asking for a term paper on art history.
The next day, as soon as she left, I disinterred my finds and inspected them more closely; the uniform had some signs of wear; clearly, it had been worn for some for time. Perfect. I tried it on; I was going to need shoes and underwear. For shoes, I'd look for a pair of Mary Janes.
For my hair, I wanted something like a brown, curly, but coarse haired wig, and I'd have to keep an eye out for an unflattering pair of glasses.
And brown socks, a little fuzzy, I figured. I had a picture of this girl clearly in my mind.
I went out to shop for the rest of my disguise.
The uniform, thanks to to economics of resale, had been cheap; the shoes and the wig were probably going to be the biggest expenses. Fortunately, my mom had augmented my allowance, to aid me in getting around on mass transit; she insisted I eat a balanced diet, and avoid fast food, which raised costs considerably so she compensated for that.
She also worried about me traveling in the city, but I'd promised to stick to the museums, so she was willing to give me a little slack. I was going to "bend" that rule a bit, today, though.
From my reading of the transit agency's website, I knew that if I didn't pick up a connecting train at the Howard Street Station, I could, instead, switch to regular bus routes. Doing that, I'd quickly reach Andersonville, a major LGBTQ community in Chicago, where I could hope to find some understanding merchants.
It took some looking, but at last I found a couple of stores listed that ought not look sideways at me while I shopped. So off to the buses I went
The shoes were no challenge, as my feet had always been a bit small. The lingerie was pricier than I'd realized and put a strain on my budget, but at least I could get fitted so I knew I would have the right sizes. I'd have to economize on the wig a bit, though.
And that was the hardest purchase, as I'd expected, but for a different reason; a nice woman who ran the shop kept trying to steer me to wigs that would look pretty, whereas I was trying to be a bit plain and avoid attention. Finally I found a curly brown one in a back corner of the shop, which seemed to have been mistreated by a novice beautician; over the objections of the shop owner, I tried it on, and knew I'd found what I was looking for. The lady said if I ever thought better of it, she would give me a discount on the other one, but was willing to cut me a deal on the one I'd selected. After making sure I promised to be back for the Pride parade next June, she rang me up and I'd achieved most of my goals. The glasses, I found at Walgreens; reading glasses, with slight magnification and thick black frames.
Back home, using a YouTube tutorial, I fashioned fake braces out of beads (well, actually small pieces of metal hardware; the tutorial used beads, but I want unadorned braces) and paperclips. If I held my mouth tight as though embarrassed by my braces, no one should notice they were fake, and they should slur my speech as they got in my way.
My complexion, on the other hand, was a problem. I had disgustingly good looking skin, and the girl I was picturing clearly had problems with acne. (she also had bushy eyebrows, which eliminated the necessity of me trimming them, lest you think that the visualization induced nothing but hardships.)
At first, I experimented with covering the "acne" I didn't have, hoping that would look right. A few daubs of the wrong color foundation didn't do it, though. I used techniques from an old theatrical makeup handbook I'd found at the library, utilizing tissue paper and oatmeal, intended originally for monster makeup, here. After some Horrifying early failures, I found a look that was mild enough to evince mild sympathy rather than evoke pity. Perfect!
I even planned my lunch meticulously, figuring what flavor of yogurt my character would favor. I found an online survey, and chose the third most popular flavor of yogurt amongst teenage girls. I was clearly enough of a rebel not to be impressed by the most popular flavor, after all.
The uniform eliminated the need to make most fashion choices, fortunately. Having assembled the pieces, I tried it out. There, staring me in the face was a gawky, horse faced teenaged girl. She'd not stand out in a crowd. Fortunately, my voice had not changed yet; I would sound odd, but acceptably female.
The next day, I couldn't wait for mom to leave. Watching out the front window, as soon as I saw her round the corner on her way to the El, I stripped and donned my disguise.
Once finished, I prepared my bag lunch, keeping one eye on the clock. Grabbing my girl's jacket, I left through the back of my building, running to catch the last morning Express train to the loop.
Once there, I travelled the remaining block on foot. There, in front of me, was the Art Institute and it's iconic lion guarded front steps. No one had bothered me or even looked at me that I'd noticed; in my uniform and carrying my book bag, I might as well have been invisible. I was right on time, too; the school buses were just disgorging their student tours onto the steps. I stealthily crossed the street, and looked for a likely group of students to attach myself to.
Suddenly, my sleeve was tugged; "We're lining up over here," I was informed by a clear skinned red haired girl, in what certainly looked like a close match for my own uniform. I decided it was fate, and went where she had pointed.
"You must be in different classes from me; I'm Sally," she continued.
I had to quickly come up with a name. Thinking of the texture of my somewhat unkempt wig, I replied, "I'm Barb."
The two of us formed up near the back of the line, then we all filed into the building. Permission slips had evidently been checked before anyone got on the bus for the field trip, so my own carefully mud stained and torn effort was not needed, which was fortunate, as I hadn't even known what school to make it for. One officious looking student was counting people and looking puzzled at the list on his clipboard.
The tour went in and up the main stairs to the the room containing "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte", a pointilist masterpiece of people relaxing and strolling in a park, where all the tours at the Art Institute seem to start; It's in an area that spacious and easy to gather in, and is an easily understandable work of art.
"Wow! Imagine having to wear a bustle like that!" Sally remarked to me, looking at a figure in the foreground of the painting. As my own panties were slightly padded, I thought it best not to comment...
From there, we went down a hallway of dark, sepia toned portraiture from the Renaissance. I'd never been able to figure out if it was the lack of artificial light of the age, or if the museum just really needed to clean them.
"So dark; so many sour looking faces," I whispered to Sally.
"Yeah; I guess the food wasn't very good then. There always seems to be rotten fruit in the still lifes," she observed.
Listening to the docent talk about the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, I was glad I'd read up on the period; I could listen with half an ear, and split my observations between the art and Sally and her classmates.
Still, I was struggling to see how much the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood had been at odds with their rough contemporaries, the french Impressionists (who I was much impressed by), and noticing their devotion to more or less accurate representation of the figures in their paintings, when Sally nudged me and said to me, "That's you."
The plaque said it was "Beata Beatrix", by Dante Gabriel Rosetti, 1872. (You see why I went to the library after reading them? Who was he, and why was he important?)
I craned my face upwards in imitation of the figure, "You think? I don't see you here; I guess we'll have to look in the abstracts..." I joked. Sally responded by punching me in the upper arm.
From there, we passed into a more recent era. While looking at the Grant Wood's "American Gothic" (that famously dour farm couple) in the modern gallery, it occurred to me that Sally made a good companion for this sort of thing. I was enjoying myself and her company, and no one was trying to remove me from this tour; I was learning things, and felt contented.
When we sat in the lunchroom to eat our bag lunches, I carefully approached the topic of which school Sally went to. When I found out the answer, it was like a lightning bolt out of a clear sky. Hers was my school; the one I'd be going to in January! I'd somehow managed to connect with my future classmates. I immediately thought of all kinds of questions I wanted to ask her, but as I was supposed to already be a student, I bit my tongue and dared not ask any of them. Still, when it came time to leave, I boarded the bus with the rest, confident that I knew where it was going. That same officious kid counted us and again looked at his list askance, but didn't do anything about it.
Returning home, I snuck into my apartment and removed my disguise. I had plenty of time before my mother returned, but I wanted to be sure I did a good job of removing my makeup and "acne" before then.
That night, I thought a lot about the school group, and about Sally. I'd missed the camaraderie of being a student amongst my peers, even given the uncertainties I'd be facing at a new school, uncertain of where I might belong in the pecking order. And now, I found I was missing Sally; her wit and her observations. But suddenly it occurred to me I didn't have to. Sally had mentioned going to a football game next weekend. Certainly "Barb" could attend that, as well. A plan began to take shape in my mind.
But, of course, it was not easy. Outsiders hanging around schools are not considered quite the thing, these days. I was going to have to forge an ID, and it was not going to be valid in their database. The one break I got was that nothing I was wearing was going to cause trouble with the metal detectors popping up everywhere at school events these days. (At least, I didn't think my braces would set one off.)
A trip to my nearby library turned up a recent yearbook in the reference collection, and a poorly observant advisor had let a blow up of part of an ID form the background of some pages, I was going to have to mosaic several of those to restore its full appearance, and then shrink it to the real size, which I could assume was the size of a wallet ID pocket. I'd have to do a picture of Barb a little younger than she appeared now, but phone apps did that easily (I was careful to wear different clothing. It had to be my most androgynous outfit, but I managed. I made a note to get Barb more clothes.)
Of course, I was going to have to come up with a last name. Tired of always being towards the end of every alphabetical lineup, I decided on the last name "Abbott". Sally's last name was Ackerman; we'd end up pretty close together. My actual last name was Walsh.
The advisor hadn't been totally asleep; the ID number in the image in the yearbook was blurred out, but I managed to get a glance at one at a nearby convenience store, which offered student discounts, which allowed me to see how many digits they used, how formatted, and which were letters... I embossed the number I made up on my plastic fake with a heated paperclip.
The sign in front of the school supplied the name of the team and the colors. I made another note to get some scarves in school colors. The yearbook had shown the mascot; the local paper told me when the game was to start. I was set.
I changed in the laundry room in the basement of my building, securing the door by jamming a chair under the doorknob. After walking to the school, my forged ID seemed to pass the cursory examination at the gate to the field, outside the portable metal detector. I ran into the same officious kid from the field trip, but fortunately before he could question me more closely about my ID (which seemed to have attracted his attention somehow), an altercation broke out over some kids trying to sneak beer into the stands. I took advantage of the distraction to grab my forged ID back and dash through the metal detector. It stayed mute, and he failed to pursue me. I climbed into the stands on the home team side, looking for Sally.
There she was! Clearly the girls with her were friends. I waved and called out, and she waved me over.
I sat down on the edge of their group. One of them nudged me in the side and passed me a flat bottle in a brown paper bag. "Is this...?", I started. "Yeah; Vodka," said a girl I gather was called Sarah. "No, I better not," I said, passing the bottle discreetly back, "I hate the aftertaste of alcohol, So thanks, but no."
Actually, I have an addictive personality type, so I don't indulge in alcohol. I'm bad enough with sodas.
The other girls (except Sally, I noted interestedly) looked dismissive of me, after hearing this.
The home team won, by the way. It was a well fought game, the cheerleaders were cute and active, too; I watched them appreciatively, not realizing until later that Sally watched me watching them...
As we all filed off the bleachers, Sally touched my arm. "Want to hold a study session this weekend?"
"Sure, what subjects?"
"Geometry. I'm having some problems with proofs."
I was good at that! What luck.
"I'm pretty good at that. What time and where?"
"Saturday, 1 pm, my place?"
On the weekend. I'd have to pick up some casual clothes. I'd need to wear something other than my uniform, but I could do that the next day.
"Sure. What's the address?"
She named the address; she lived on the far side of the school from where I lived, but only a few blocks away.
And having made the arrangements, I said goodbye, and split off for the field house complex.
The game had gone long; I was going to have to change before going home and offering mom my ticket stub as proof of where I'd been. Fortunately, the field house was open to allow washroom and locker room access. I tried the door knobs and found a utility closet I could take off my disguise in. While I was in there, I heard footsteps and voices outside and I got really scared. I suddenly realized I'd made a fake ID for Barb, but not one for Dave! If I was caught, I couldn't establish my right to be there!
Fortunately, the people passed by; relieved, I stuffed my disguise into my backpack. Exiting the closet, I saw that kid from the gate again. He didn't seem concerned with me at that moment, though, as I was going OUT of the building. I walked the five blocks home, alone, in the dark, trying not to think of how scary this would have been as Barb.
At home, mom accepted my excuse, and just asked me to tell her ahead of time, next time. I showed her my ticket stub, and I described the action of the game and a few details of the cheerleader routines to her, which was enough to put her mind at ease.
The next day, I figured I'd start off with the resale shop. It seemed a likely source of casual clothes. I was looking for skinny jeans, what I gathered were called "Ballet" flats, and a sweater.
I found the flats, gold colored, but nothing else at the resale shop was in good enough shape for the main outfit. There was a bus stop out front, I figured another trip to Andersonville was in order.
Last time I'd been here, I hadn't bought any regular clothes, but I'd noted a couple of stores that seemed likely.
I went to the first one, fortunately still early enough that crowds were light. Going through the racks, I chose a pair of white skinny jeans, and a fuzzy pink sweater with some beadwork flowers on it. It had a V neck, so I'd have to be sure to shave my chest. Maybe I could contour a little, too, I thought. I took the jeans to a fitting room, and tucked my self back as I'd read about on the net, and indeed done the last two times I'd been Barb, and put my panties before trying out the fit of the jeans.
I had to turn the bottom of the legs up, and in fact, I turned them up a bit extra, exposing my ankles, as that was a style I thought I'd seen. Taking the flats out of my backpack, I put them on, and (wearing the sweater) went out to use the fitting room mirror. Yeah, I'd have to shave my ankles, but the look worked. "Oh! Cute! Nice butt!" I heard behind me. "You have a wig to go with that look?," she asked. Clearly, I'd been read, even though I was not wearing my disguise. I assured her I had everything I needed. I changed back and she rang everything up, giving me a 10% discount "just because you're cute. Come back anytime!"
Mission accomplished, I caught the bus back to my neighborhood.
Which left the dilemma of where to change. Before the game, I'd changed in the laundry room in the basement of the building I lived in; it had the advantage of water and a wash basin under a mirror. I'd proved I could jam a chair under the knob so that people would just assume the super had locked it again. Not ideal, but it should be secure, if I was careful not to need it when someone was using the laundry equipment. So that was covered; on to the next problem.
I'd managed to get a math textbook and an english text in a local used book store; they were the same edition used in our school here (probably from a student who hadn't turned theirs back in). They were a little marked up, but should serve.
So at 1 pm on Saturday, there I was in my girl's coat and my fuzzy sweater with my book bag at Sally's place. They were upstairs in a vestibule building, so I rang the bell and she buzzed me in. My pants were a little tight, so I climbed the stairs at a more decorous pace than Dave might have taken.
Sally met me at a door on the third floor landing; her mother was in the living room with her, and Sally introduced us. I said hello to Mrs. Ackerman, and we spread out on the living room floor. I lay there on my front, for a change feeling the little silicone pads I was wearing in my bra, with my lower legs raised and crossed at the ankles and my gold ballet flats waving in the air as we worked. It was such an idyllic scene.
After we'd worked for an hour or so, Mrs. Ackerman offered us cookies and hot chocolate. I accepted with alacrity, as it had been a cold walk over that afternoon.
"So, Abbott; I don't think I know your mother..," Mrs. Ackerman led off with.
I hadn't devoted much thought to my "family" when inventing my character, so I thought it best to stick close to the actualities: moved here (last summer, instead of last fall) from Madison (where at least I'd been), parents divorced, only child.
Another hour of work and we finished the chapters in the geometry text that would be on the next test. We talked for a few minutes while I stuffed everything back in my book bag, but I was at a disadvantage as all the people I'd met in school were Sally, Sarah, and the officious guy checking things on the field trip and at the game (whom Sally informed me was named Doug. She knew instantly who I meant when I mentioned him.)
But soon enough, I was walking home, smugly pleased that I'd pulled it off. Arriving at my building, I entered through a side basement door, blocked the laundry room door knob with a chair, cleaned my face, and changed my clothes. Returning home, I carried everything in my book bag, which I hid in my room. Mom was out, so I didn't even have to come up with an excuse for where I'd been all afternoon.
Between Thanksgiving and Christmas breaks, school was about to be out more often than in. Maybe it was for the best that my mother decided we should go visit relatives in Indiana for the holidays. I figured that Sally would barely notice I was gone, assuming that I was just busy with my classwork. I'd make a point of looking her up in the New Year.
I was trying to not think about how complicated THAT would be, when Dave would have a full load of classes, and Sally would still expect to see Barb from time to time. Maybe Dave could replace Barb in Sally's attention and Barb could just fade from the scene?
My enforced vacation from Sally (and Barb) led to some feelings of separation. It was like I was starting to MISS my double life. And what did that mean? I told my self it was just my lack of a social life, and a new school semester would soon deal with that.
Come the start of term, things got more difficult. As Dave, I now had to attend school regularly, which cut into my Barb time. I started working out how to carry my female uniform in Dave's backpack, including how to stuff the backpack itself into Barb's school bag after I'd changed. (how did superheroes ever manage this...) Thank goodness I only needed one set of textbooks.
The first day, in school, I introduced myself to Sally; she seemed disinterested. Of course; she knew Barb, she'd never met Dave before. But at least I'd ended up in the same home room.
Meeting her over lunch period as Barb, having changed my clothes, Sally told me what classes she was anticipated trouble with. She didn't mention meeting Dave at all; evidently I hadn't made much of a impression on her.
After lunch, looking for somewhere to change back, I went a little late. I was trying to find the supply closet I'd changed in the night of the football game when a voice behind me said, "Hey, young lady! Do you have a hall pass?"
I was cornered; it was Doug, the student from the field trip; evidently in addition to his other jobs, he was a hall monitor. Of course. I had to admit I didn't have a pass, and he then started to escort me to the office.
Started, I say... Along the way, I spied a book cart. Managing to run into it, I tipped it over, scattering textbooks everywhere, and made good my escape in the confusion.
The next week, in home room, I tried to lead Sally into a discussion of what subjects she was taking, hoping for an opening to offer her help, already knowing that she was worried about Geometry, but again, she brushed me off. Evidently, I wasn't wearing her down.
But she was noticing me; meeting her at lunch as Barb, she started talking about this annoying Dave person and how he wouldn't leave her alone. I decided to back off for now.
This, however, set a pattern; as Dave, she wouldn't give me the time of day. Not what I had been hoping for. There was no way things seemed to work out, though.
So, several times a week, I'd meet Sally for lunch as Barb, to ape a Monday-Wednesday-Friday class schedule. Changing into Barb at school got to be routine, but time consuming.
And I had to keep one eye on the clock, to allow time to change back before my next class. Even though it was study hall, they took attendance and would notice if I was missing. Every time I went a little over, cleaning my eyeliner off, or washing off other makeup, I was in the halls past the start of class, and Doug was on me like paint! He must have been watching me in the lunch room like a hawk. It was getting harder and harder to duck him.
After a couple of months of this, though, Sally passed Dave a note in homeroom, asking him to meet her at lunch. I wondered what she was up to; I hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed when Dave stood her up; this was one of those days on my schedule to lunch as Barb.
Meeting her at lunch as Barb, per usual, she was waiting impatiently outside the lunchroom for Dave to arrive. Noticing her agitation, I tried to beg off to change back, but she grabbed my arm to keep me from leaving. It seemed she was trying to introduce Barb to Dave! Which of course was not going to happen...
If I couldn't change, though, I wanted to get in line to get food. They were serving sloppy joes that day, one of the few things they did really well, and they could run short if you got there late.
Sally was impatient, as I've said, and she wasn't budging. Finally, I asked, "What are we waiting for?"
"I wanted to introduce you to this guy, Dave, you might like him, but he's not right for me."
"Oh, really?," I said, nettled by her characterization. Suddenly, I was fed up with the whole situation, even if it was of my own creation! And when I get annoyed, I get bull headed and do things I might regret later. But I never think of that at the time, unfortunately, so what I said was, "Well, I can tell you, he's never going to show. Let's grab some food before it's all gone!" But she wouldn't give up.
"Come on; I know him much better than you can; you haven't even met him yet. He'll be here!"
Stronger tactics were clearly called for. I played my high card, throwing caution to the wind, and risking her friendship. "I tell you he isn't coming! I don't just know him, I AM him. Come on, we don't want to miss lunch," I said quietly, grabbing her arm and pulling her. She seemed shocked and confused by my statement, so this time I was able to get her to the line.
"What? You are him? That doesn't even make any sense," she rejoined.
Looking both ways, furtively, I raised the edge of my wig, revealing my straight brown hair laying under my curly lighter brown wig, "See?"
"My goodness. You're ... Dave?"
"I was joining a random field trip that day at the Art Institute and I happened into one from our school. And that's when I met you; I liked hanging out with you, so that's how all that happened," I explained.
"But why were you dressed as a girl? Why ARE you dressed as a girl? Wouldn't it be much easier to manage as a boy?"
"I found a uniform at a thrift store while trying to figure out how to blend in on the tours, but it was a girl's uniform."
And then, looking embarrassed, I added, "But now, I find it's kinda nice. I'm still trying to figure it out."
"Wow. Just... Wow," She looked a bit shocked.
We got our food, but it was late in the lunch period. We hurriedly scarfed it down, barely before the end of period; She then had to get to class, and I didn't want to be late for study hall, so agreeing to meet after school, we parted ways.
As the afternoon progessed, my attention in class was distracted by wondering how Sally would react to all this, once she had a chance to think about it; I feared in my irritation, I'd lost her friendship.
I met her as agreed, still dressed as Dave, with a certain amount of trepidation. I led her to my now familiar supply closet in the field house wing.
"So now you know," I lamely said, once I'd secured the door against interruptions.
"Let me see you go through everything. Do you have it all here?" she asked.
"Of course; do you think I'd leave that in my locker? That would be just asking for trouble."
So while she watched I undressed down to my briefs. Then I had to unsecure the door and let her out, so she could wait outside the closet while I changed into my gaff and panties, and then re-secure it when she came back in. After that, I donned my training bra with the thin silicon pads, my socks, and finally my uniform with its skirt.
And, putting on the wigcap, I went through the routine of doing my makeup, finally putting on the wig. After the addition of my fake braces and my thick glasses, I was Barb again.
"See?"
"It's uncanny; it's like you're two different people. You really don't have acne?"
"No; Actually, I have clear skin, but I decided that acne and braces would get me more ignored."
"There's a lot here I'll have to think about," she said, and left, shaking her head, clearly in shock. We parted way, catching our respective activity busses, going our separate ways home.
I had a troubled nights sleep as I pondered what Sally could do in retaliation for my duplicity.
The next day in homeroom, she seemed a little warmer towards Dave. Clearly, she was still processing all this, but said she still wanted to see Barb at lunch on Friday, so I wasn't off the hook.
Friday at lunch, she had reached a decision, "Well, I think it's a little weird, but on reflection I decided I couldn't get through school without my BFF, Barb."
"But I really am not Barb. I've spent far more of my life as Dave," I replied.
"Tough; it's your fault for making Barb so friendly. It's Barb I'm close to, and you're just going to have to deal with it."
"But Barb isn't even really a registered student here. They're already looking for her as a trespasser, after the hall monitors reports."
"If I start hanging out with Dave, that could be interpreted certain ways I'm not ready to have, and that's that."
To be honest, I was glad to have an excuse to keep being Barb, even with the threat of official notice hanging over me. I was getting used to it, and the insights it was giving me were interesting.
I was musing about this right after that lunch, after changing. I was going to have to find more convenient places to change if I was going to have to keep it up all semester...
So the next week I was scouted for just such locations. Across from the lunch room was the band room, and several doors I hadn't tried yet. Testing one of them, it was unlocked; I went through it and found myself in total darkness in what sounded like a large room. By the sounds, there were clearly several people out there in the darkness, trying (and failing) to keep perfectly still.
Suddenly, a spotlight above my head blazed to life, focussed on what appeared to be the proscenium of a stage (in addition to my interest in art, preparing my move to Chicago, I'd been reading up on architecture...)
Suddenly, a figure strode into the spotlight, and began. "Two households, alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we... we... Line?"
"Lay our scene, Michael. It's a bit archaic, but you only have two sonnets in the whole play, as the narrator. I know the form is new to you, but surely you can remember them!" came an adult voice out of the darkness.
"Sorry. Lay our scene," he continued, and strode off as the curtain behind him opened, revealing...
Well, revealing a bunch of students with hammers, cloth, and paintbrushes, working to complete the scenery flats
Then, there came a click from behind me. Coming in, I'd narrowly missed a student standing by a bank of light switches. She'd just thrown all of them. There was now an annoying low hum, as all the lights in the house came on.
"Ah, fresh blood!," the adult voice said. The source proved to be a matronly woman, heading towards me from the front of the theater, "We can always use more help with the scenery and other 'tech' chores."
And at that moment we were plunged back into darkness.
"Such as lighting," she continued, "Would someone kill the spotlight on the main panel, restore the breakers, and Please! Remember NOT to turn on all the houselights while the spotlight is still on?"
I walked up to the stage, and mounted the stairs off to one side. The lady followed me, and introduced herself as Mrs. Phelps, the drama teacher. (In fact, the entirety of the drama department, amongst other miscellany, I was to learn.) I introduced myself as Dave, of course.
Remembering I was here on a mission, I toured the backstage area, noting several secluded niches that could serve as a changing area. And I had a modicum of talents I could apply to stagesraft, I felt.
Maybe this could be made to work?
I told Mrs. Phelps I'd have to think about it, and hurried out to get to my study hall.
Only to run smack into Doug.
"Dave, isn't it? I think we have an english class together. Do you have a hall pass?
"No," I responded, "I was going to study hall and stumbled into the theater. It was so interesting, I guess I missed the bell. May I have a pass?"
"I can't issue them, but I'll let you off with a warning, this once. Actually, they collect attendance slips in the theater. If you stay there to work on the play, it counts as study hall." Aha! Another piece falls into place!
Going back in to volunteer, I found that they took their time about collecting the slips.
Mrs. Phelps put me right to work painting the fabric flats of the scenery, something I found interesting enough. At the end of the period, everyone left and I had a minute or two alone gathering up my stuff. I promised myself I'd be back.
As, indeed, I was, the next day after lunch, while dressed as Barb.
Mrs. Phelps introduced herself again, mentioning "We can always use more help with scenery and...," here, she seemed to pause ever so slightly, and then continued, "costumes. The more the merrier, I alway say."
I wondered about that odd little pause (had she eyed me before she continued? No, I must be imagining things.) But my concerns soon got swept away in the work.
I had to reintroduce myself to everyone, of course. Turning in my attendance slip, I palmed two, and turned in signed slips for Dave and Barb at the same time. The student collecting them took no notice. At the office, they'd enter the one for Dave and be puzzled by the one for Barb, which should be just fine. I'd only have a problem if anyone came from the office to fetch Dave for some reason, a rare occurence indeed, usually only done for family emergencies.
At the end of the period, I again hung back, and then hid in a disused paint closet (all the paint was out, in use). Once the lack of noise made it clear that everyone was gone, I changed, and exited the theater. Possibly, had I been less ecstatic over how well this was working, I might have noticed Mrs. Phelps, through all the students passing between classes, standing outside her office door down the hall from the theater, watching me thoughtfully.
As it was, as I rounded a corner, I ran square into someone. As I was apologizing, I realized it was Doug! I turned to evade him from reflex, but I was dressed as Dave again (and it was between classes anyway); he just waved me on my way and bade me get to class on time. (Exposure to the bard tends to promote archaisms in ones words...)
A couple of weeks later, as I left the lunchroom to go to the theater, from lunch with Sally as Barb, I saw Doug's back in the hall again, moving away from me. Curious, I followed at a distance. He seemed to be escorting someone from the Principal's office. As we reached a corridor junction, he looked behind him, and seeing me, turned back and flapped his hand behind his back to gesture me towards the field house while he escorted the adult he was with towards the shop wing, off at a right angle from the path he indicated for me. He was helping me? What was going on? Puzzled, I went back to the theater.
I didn't have long to wait to find out a little more, though. A week later, Sally informed me that Doug had passed her a note for Barb in math class. Reading it, he was asking to meet me. And sure enough, there he was in the hall outside the cafeteria after lunch.
Clearly I looked nervous, because he started off with, "No, wait. I'm not after you; I helped you the other day! I just want to ask you something."
I faced him squarely, but stayed poised to run down the intersecting corridor. "Go on," I asked warily.
"I want to ask you to the next dance." he continued.
I was bowled over. My nemesis wanted to ask me out? "This is sudden. Can I give you my answer tomorrow, same time, here?"
"it's a bit untraditional..."
"I assure you, if I don't go with you, I won't go with anyone. I'm not shopping around for another offer," I told him. That seems to satisfy him, oddly, and he said OK.
After school, I found Sally. I was still a bit dazed, but I started in, "Doug asked me to the dance!", I said.
"What? You told him no, I hope," Sally responded.
"Well... Not so much. I said I had to talk to you first."
"Well, that's great, I can only think of two or three Thousand
problems with that idea..."
"What problems?"
"To start with, you aren't really a girl, in case you've forgotten, which means there are some details he might notice."
"Well, I'm not that sort of girl, certainly, so I'm not sure he'll notice anything.""
"Next, well, you don't have anything to wear yet."
"I know some really understanding shops in Andersonville that can probably set me up," I mused, "with some good advice from a friend," I hinted.
"
"Seriously, you aren't ready for something this social."
"I certainly didn't design Barb to have a social life, true, but it makes a whole bunch of problems disappear, if it goes at all well."
"And if it doesn't, it ends all of it for good, and you'll make National news. And Design Barb? You can't design a person. You had a caricature in mind of a teenage girl, and wound up as Barb, but as soon as you met us at the museum, she was out in the world and you have no more control over what happens with her than the rest of us do. I wish you'd realize that."
Besides, how can you attend the dance? You're not a student here. Then there's that you don't know how to dance; heck, I bet you've never even walked in heels."
"So how long will it take for you to make me minimally ready?"
"Well, apart from a couple of anatomical deficiencies, we have enough time for the bare minimum. But do you know what goes on at these things?"
"No. Never been to one."
"Dancing is just the least of what is involved. This isn't prom, at least, just a dance, so you won't have to meet the parents, but 'making out' is going to be on the menu."
"You almost make me sorry I'm not asking you."
"You're getting carried away by your successes. One failure, and it goes away big time."
"One dance, and he'll go away, start treating me like any other student."
"Who shouldn't be in the halls when you are, anyway."
"Come on, help me get a dress and learn how to not make any more of a fool of myself on the dance floor than the other students..."
"I still think no good can come of this, but I'll do it for my friend Barb. I'm not sure I'd go this far if it was just Dave asking, though," she said, getting way too metaphysical for me; my head ached when I even tried to parse that one, so I left it alone.
Using her connections, Sally got a copy of the play list the DJ was proposing to use at the dance. (Naturally, the student council wanted to add things, and the school admin wanted to omit others.) She'd gathered the tracks onto her laptop, and slipped copies to me so I could familiarize myself with them.
"Oh, and bring whatever you have like a suit," she added, when giving me my instructions at lunch.
"I've got a jacket and pants; not sure about a shirt, though. But I'm not going as Dave, remember?"
"Just bring it," she said.
So after school, with mom still being at work, I quickly made "Barb" presentable in her uniform and grabbed what pieces I could easily lay my hands on of my regular suit. Then was off to Barb's place.
When I was buzzed in, I stopping to say hi to Mrs. Ackerman really quick, and continued on to Sally's room.
Sally looked me over, "I see you eased up on the acne. I still can't believe you do that to yourself."
"I'll have to amp up the acne the week after the dance to make everyone forget how Barb looked normal then," I said, although actually, I was starting to have another plan entirely. "It is a little over the top, maybe, but I can't help but feel it helps keep people from looking more closely."
"I wish we could do something with your hair. It has such a 'bad hair day' vibe to it. Oh, well. Be right back," she said, and grabbed the parts of my suit from where I'd hung them on the back of a chair and left the room.
While she was gone, I looked over the playlist she'd gotten from the DJ. Most of the song's were current hits, but late in the list there was a scattering of slower older classics.
"What do you think?" Sally had come back into the room; she'd changed into my dress pants, seemed to have done something to her bust to flatten it under a satin-looking blouse, and my black suit jacket. Her red hair was drawn back in a severe ponytail, which she had tucked into the collar of her blouse, and she'd washed her face. It was the most boy-like I'd ever seen her. She still looked enthralling, though. She was wearing wedge heels to make herself roughly Doug's height.
Positioning myself across from her at arms length, I indicated I was ready to start when she was.
The early parts of the playlist were very recent; the dances for them mostly seem to me to be bobbing in place and arm motions with little shifts in position; or at least, that was all Sally could be sure I could handle. as she pointed out, dance floors tended to be crowded anyway and there wouldn't be much room for large moves. I still was not totally successful at handling it, though.
"You're holding yourself closed, somehow," she told me, "I have an idea thoug, but we'll have to go shopping first. Are you free tomorrow morning? We still have to get your dress, anyway. So we'll come back to the recent stuff."
I admitted as how I was available Saturday all day.
And then...
"Now we come to what the escorts love to throw in the mix: older songs for the slow dances. That's why I asked you to bring a suit," she said as she cued up the first slow dance.
Then, holding me closely, she took me by the hand and we started awkwardly moving around a small patch of her room.
Once I had seen all the movements, she cued up the music again, and we started over.
"You know, you threw me quite a curve," she whispered into my ear, holding me close as we danced.
"How's that?", I responded. I was distracted by the her delicious scent, quite drowning out that of the mothballs my suit had been packed in, as she held me close.
"Here I was all set to fix my BFF up with this guy, Dave, that kept trying to get my attention, and it turns out my BFF was that guy Dave."
"Well, why didn't you just take Dave for yourself? He wanted to get to know you better."
"I was more interested in Barb than Dave, but Barb kept missing my signals, so I figured, next best thing."
"Oh." OH...
"And here in the slow dance, at the end, it's traditional that the music pause a bit to allow time for those so inclined to express themselves," And then she kissed me. It was a slow, lingering kiss, straight to the mouth.
At this point, I'd rarely kissed anyone except relatives. It wasn't gross at all, though, I thought, through some sort of haze that surrounded me suddenly and slowed my thoughts...
I wondered if my necessarily heavy foundation allowed the flush I felt on my cheeks to show through. Evidently it did.
"I've been dying to do that for MONTHS," she whispered further.
Which left me to wonder how Sally would take my plan, now.
Saturday, we had some shopping to do, but mom was home, so I couldn't change at home. It was getting annoying, but I changed in the laundry room again. I could catch the bus route a block or so away, and with a transfer, get off near Sally's apartment building; She wanted us to go to Andersonville again. She explained to her mother that I'd asked for her help dress shopping.
Saying goodbye, we walked back to the bus stop.
She said we had a stop to make before the dress shop, but stubbornly refused to say more.
The bus wended its way to Andersonville. There, next to the places I'd shopped at before, was a dance shop.
"Perfect," Sally said. This was what she was looking for? It's not even the right kind of dance, I thought. But we went in.
The clerk looked bored when Sally asked after black leotards and white tights, directing us instantly. I couldn't tell if he'd "read" me (a term I'd picked in research on the internet) or not, but it didn't seem to matter one way or the other. We got what Sally was looking for and went next door to the dress shop, where we had considerably more trouble finding a black dress that fit me, with a low enough hem and a high enough neckline. Sally had brought some larger silicone pads for my bra, saying that I was under endowed for a high school student in our class, and if I hoped to get some later use out of the dress, I'd better take that into account. Personally, I was just trying to get through the weekend. But where had she gotten those pads from?
Returning on the bus, we showed the dress to her mother, who declared it nice and properly modest for a teenager.
Then, Sally thrust the tights and leotard into my arms and pushed me into the bathroom. "Change," she said.
"Into this?," I asked.
"Yes; you're holding your pelvis wrong, and we're going to have to do some aerobics practice to get you to change that, I think.’
So I went down the hall to the washroom to change; when I was done, I opened the door, but as I tried to exit, she thrust me back in.
Closing the door, she instructed me to take the leotard off.
I did as instructed. She looked me over, and shook her head. "As I suspected; wearing something that thin, you're indecent.
And with that, she boldly thrust her hand under my waistband, onto the front of my panties and their gusset.
"Oh my, Barb, what have we here? Thank goodness you decided to risk visible panty lines!", she said as my anatomy started to respond to her hand. Feeling the response, she pulled her hand back, but not before squeezing gently.
"Well, it seems you aren't totally oblivious. Let's revisit that in a year or so, shall we? Meanwhile, here, put this Maxi-pad," and with that she dug a couple out from the cabinet under the sink and handed one to me. She held another to her front to demonstrate where it went, "inside the front of your panties to soften your bulge a bit more, and then put your bra and pads back on under your leotard, Barb, as my mom might pop in, and we want you decent and complete." she finished.
She left the bathroom to let me to carry out her instructions in private. I was really dazed, and not a little frustrated, at this point, and it took a minute for things to subside and me to gather my thoughts, after which I did as she'd said, pushing things down between my legs at the same time.
Then, suitably modest, we went back to her room. She changed into her exercise wear (a bit fancier than mine) in the closet, and popped the aerobics disc she had into the laptop.
At first I was no better, although I could see that the women on the disc were holding their lower abdomens differently than I was, somehow. I watched how they moved their pelvis and hips and how they held that area, and I started to see the difference.
Sally tried to tug and position me differently, but it was sometime before I got the idea. It felt very different and strange once I got the hang of it.
We did another half an hour of aerobics as warm up.
Then she had me change into my new dress and the pantyhose we'd gotten, although I had to wear my (well, Barb's) everyday school shoes, as we'd stopped short of getting anything dressier this trip; I might have to correct that oversight, the coming week.
I got used to the air moving under my skirt, the slight constraints on my movements the dress imposed; and the feeling of the hosiery! I just hoped I wasn't developing a fetish, there.
Sally pronounced herself relatively happy for a second lesson, she gave me some pointers on which songs to sit out or stage a trip to the punch bowl during, but pronounced me as "Awkward, but not hopeless."
I was hoping to practice at least twice that week during the evenings, myself.
I let Sally give me a ride home, changing in the back of her parent's van instead of the laundry room. And then I wished her good night.
We actually only managed one more practice session that week, on Wednesday night; Right after school, we met, I'd changed in the field house supply closet again, and we hit the closest shoe store. We limited ourselves to block heels an inch higher than the shoes I'd practiced in, and held another practice session on the regular dances. Finally, Sally sighed and declared she'd done all she could do in the time allotted, and I wouldn't embarrass myself too much more than the younger kids.
The night of the dance, Sally picked me up in the van. Our parents thought we were at a study session at the local library, so we had until that closed for time. I changed in the cramped confines of her family mini-van again. I'd worn my undergarments under my regular clothes.
Thank goodness Sally was doing my makeup and I didn't have to try using one of those little visor mirrors.
There were two differences from my usual makeup routine: I only used colored spots of coverup to simulate acne, which left my face looking much more acceptable, and Sally put used eye makeup and false lashes, a first for me.
When she finished, she backed up as much as she could, looked me over, and went "Huh..."
"What? Is something wrong?" I said.
"No; that wig is really holding you back; some time I want to try an all out makeover on you. You could end up a knock out."
"Not what I've been trying for; unnoticed was the goal, remember?"
"Yeah, it just seems like such a waste."
Arriving at the school, I got out in front of the lunchroom entrance. Sally then drove around to the back parking lot, and parked as near as she could, in case we needed to make a fast getaway.
I'd arranged to met Doug inside the entrance, which had been decorated for the event. He gave me a small corsage, which, with his help, I managed to pin on my dress. The flower smelled divine. He complimented me on my dress, and I said I liked his suit (which I did. Mine was just black, but his was light blue, and his shirt was shiny and had ruffles. He'd shined his shoes, too. I was impressed with his preparations, but I was determined to hold true to the plan, despite all that.)
Going inside, we waited together at the edge of the dance floor, by the folding chairs. The first tune started after the DJ introduced himself; it was one I'd been fairly successful with in practice at Sally's, so I seized my opportunity to "get one on the boards", as it were, and dragged Doug out onto the floor. I felt I danced acceptably to that one. Doug did, as well, as was to be expected. After all, he'd been confident enough to ask me to a dance.
The next song was not one I'd liked, so I sat it out while Doug danced with another partner; he had good moves, viewed from the sidelines.
When he finished that number and returned, I said I was thirsty, and we made our way to the drinks table. Along the way, I thought I recognized Sarah, who I'd met during that football game, hurriedly leaving the area with a paper bag. Seeing this, Doug suggested that possibly the punch would not be the proper drink at the moment, and we went back to our seats, where he pulled a couple of bottles of water out of the book bag he'd left there earlier.
"So thoughtful!," I said and expressed my thanks to him of rescuing me from the perils of teenagers and altered punch.
We danced twice more, although not to any slow numbers, and then made our way back out into the hallway.
True to his reputation, Doug then used his hall monitor keys to pass us through the gate barrier across the hall, allowing access to the deserted part of the school. I quietly checked a door to the outside, and found that it operated normally and wasn't alarmed, which made me feel a little better, but I quickly moved down the side corridor anyway, forcing Doug's towards the theater. Entering it, I hit the switches for all the house lights. Trying to keep some distance between us, I quickly walked to the front and climbed the stairs at the side of the proscenium (there's that word, again!), and stopped by the curtains.
Doug climbed up on stage as well, following me, and moving towards me, said "Ever since I first saw you on the field trip, then again at the football game, last fall, I've grown obsessed with you. You're so different from the other girls; so much an individual. I can't figure you out."
"I wasn't even a student here, back then. I was crashing that field trip, you know, Doug," I said, backing away a little.
He moved closer, "And it was such a bold move! All of us students noticed, but none of the escorts figured it out! But when I found you this year, You mostly only hung out with Sally at lunch, and here in the theater."
"Yes; I'm more comfortable with other girls," I said, turning towards the wings at the side of the stage, and closing my eyes.
"It was awhile before I saw you anywhere besides at lunch; and then you escaped from me in the halls."
By the wings, I moved and turned further, and under cover of that turn, reached for the main lighting panel and managed to pull the lever for the spotlight. Sure enough, a buzzing sound resulted as it came on, and I peeked and saw my shadow in front of me. My eyes were downcast (and closed), my back to the lights. Doug took hold of my shoulders, from right behind me. I knew I'd have to talk fast. I started my speech.
"Doug; did it ever occur to you that you see me in the halls all the time? This is a disguise. I'll leave you with one thought: the interesting thing about uniforms is how seldom people look past them. Thank you for a marvelous evening I'll never forget, and for the dance." Turning, I kissed him on the cheek, keeping my eyes closed.
And with that, I moved backward into the deep shadows by the curtains. Right on cue, the buzz reached a crescendo and there was a pop as all the lights went out. I opened my eyes, wide; I could just barely make out the glow in the dark tape that marked up the stage for the scenery movers. Giving Doug the slip in the dark, I moved along the marked path to the exit.
Hitting the hall door, I yanked off my wig (just as I'd planned), and dropped it to the floor for him to find. This was the end of Barb, it seemed to me. Then I exited into the hall.
Pausing just after the door there, temporarily dazed by all the light, I suddenly heard Mrs. Phelps' voice.
"Barb, you're lost your wig. You look very nice tonight, otherwise. But do you want me to keep an eye out for it, dear? Without it, you are far too recognizable as Dave."
So she had known all along.
"No, Mrs. Phelps, Barb has run her course; Dave may be able to find the time to help with stagecrew from now on, though."
"Well, you know we're always glad of help. But I hope you have considered this carefully. I will miss Barb's assistance."
"But I'll still be available; it's just the same."
"No, it isn't. I'll miss Barb, Dave, and you may come to miss her, too."
That was to take me some time to realize, as it turned out. But I had a ride waiting, so I excused myself, and started running again. I ran to the exit to outside, and hit the crashbar. I emerged into the spring night air in the back parking lot, where Sally was waiting.
As I entered the van, Sally observed, worriedly, "Barb, you've lost your hair."
"I left it for Doug, to make him think and distract him more. It's served it's purpose."
"But it was so much a part of you...", she said, as I wiped down my face with a moist towelette and changed back to Dave from my dance finery in back.
"Barb was designed around the uniform; the wig was just a lucky find."
"There it is again; 'designed'. In this case, I don't think that word applies," she responded.
But just then, the conversation was brought up short by our arrival at my building. I said goodnight, and (grabbing my stuffed backpack) went inside.
And, having sacrificed the wig, I spent the remainder of the semester as Dave. I only occasionally felt the lack of my other life. Or so I thought at first.
Things did start to seem a bit more colorless and dreary without Barb, though...
Play prep, and study sessions in the library as finals approached made the time fly for the rest of the semester.
Working in the scenery shop was proving ... different. Where Barb had been a part of the repartee, Dave was the new guy, of unknown quality, and a bit of an outsider, coming on at the last minute. I had to painfully try to rebuild the friendships, and it was proving hard going, particularly with the other girls.
After a particularly unsuccessful attempt, Mrs. Phelps took me to her office.
"You know how some teachers have multiple positions on the faculty? Well, in addition to being the entire drama and media production departments, I'm on the counseling staff. Some of the faculty have expressed concern. When I originally met you as Barb, you were outgoing; you made friends amongst the other stage hands fairly readily, and even with some of the actors. Your "acne" was a nice touch, by the way. I'd see you talking to the others in the lunchroom, despite the fact that you didn't have any classes together. In fact, I checked the database, and I couldn't find you in any classes. I could tell you were wearing a wig, and I eventually realized it went deeper than a mere bad hair day. It puzzled me that you were trying so aggressively to go unnoticed. I figured out Barb was Dave only by observing Sally at lunch with you, dressed both ways, on different days."
"Was, Mrs. Phelps, was Barb. But Barb is over, now."
"Now, You are exhibiting some classic signs of dysphoria, and I'm worried. Barb may be over, but your other side isn't; it's repressed for now, and that is depressing you."
"You're a counselor, but you aren't MY counselor," I said; a stab in the dark. I had no idea who (if anyone) might be assigned as my counselor.
"Actually, I've put in a request to be assigned to you; while your grades haven't suffered, some of your teachers have noticed you're becoming withdrawn. I can also recommend a good specialist to see, one who deals with this sort of thing all the time, and isn't going to tell the school district anything they find out, if that worries you. I hope you'll take advantage of it, Dave, you are such a creative talent, and just now you seem so muted..."
Ten days later, and I still had to work studying for my finals.
It was a rainy Saturday. Mom was off doing some overtime at work again, and would be out all day. So I had nothing to do but study. I'd checked with Sally, but she didn't seem to be home today. And everyone else I studied with (in the library, for example) seemed to be occupied with their own worries.
Putting my school materials out on the dining room table, I was struck by an odd urge. After I set everything out, I changed into my dress from the dance. I didn't have the Barb wig anymore, so I wrapped one of the school color scarves around my head and did my makeup. I went into mom's room and looked at her shoes. There was one pair of heels that looked they would be just a little tight on me, so I tried them on. They barely fit, but I wore them anyway.
It really wasn't the same, but I felt the urge to do it anyway. When I was dressed, I set a timer so I be reminded to change back before mom got home for supper. It seemed easier to concentrate than it had in weeks, somehow. The time flew by as I worked through the essay I had to write for english. Between paragraphs, I got up to walk. The feel of the hosiery on my legs when they rubbed together was quite enjoyable, and I worried still more that I was developing a fetish.
When the alarm went off, going to clean off my makeup, I felt an odd reluctance. But I had to change back before mom got home, didn't I?
I was careful to leave everything looking untouched in mom's room.
Time was passing at school, though it had gotten to the point where I only looked forward to lunch, and even then, I sort of resented that I had to go as Dave; even scenery crew was becoming an obligation I had agreed to do; I missed Barb's friends amongst the stage crew. I was gradually getting some of them as friends myself, but I came to realize that somehow, most of Dave's friends had been left behind in Minneapolis and here, I'd mostly made friends as Barb.
For some reason, the only person that seemed to be glad to see Dave was Doug (and I was dodging him, to avoid disciplinary actions); even Sally seemed to be disappointed when Dave showed up instead of Barb. But Barb was over, as I kept reminding myself.
Finally, I accepted the inevitable and took Mrs. Phelps' recommendation to see that therapist. My mother made the appointment and waited with me during my first visit.
"Mrs. Walsh?"
"It's Ms, actually."
"Dr. Wilson will see your son now. Could you fill out these forms while you're waiting for him?"
And with that, I was ushered into a comfortable book lined office, with two armchairs. Despite the stereotype, there was no couch. Shortly, Dr. Wilson came out from an inner office; she was nicely dressed.
Taking a seat in one of the chairs (was which one I'd choose a test, I wondered?), she started off by telling me that she had responsibilities to the courts if I confessed a crime, to my parents whose insurance was paying for these sessions, and then to me and that was it; NOT to the school. Then we started in on general background as this was our first session.
Initially, I avoided the subject of Barb, not wanting to be seen as weird. The story of my life took most of the session, it seemed
When I got to recent times, I described more of my feelings, and she kept saying she didn't see any reason I should be unhappy. I was trying to find a way to explain things when I got annoyed and burst out that it used to be much better and I just wanted it to go back the way it was.
"And when was that; what did you do to your friends that changed it?"
As though it was MY fault!
"I stopped being Barb!" I blurted out, infuriated by her inability to understand this, And realizing what I'd said, I slumped in the chair; I'd brought up the weirdness myself, instead of hoping she's miss it.
But she immediately softened her manner, saying "I was wondering when you'd tell me about Barb. Mrs. Phelps mentioned her, but I thought I shouldn't mention her until you brought her up. So tell me about her, or rather, yourself, Barb."
So I told her about the field trip, the football game, and the lunches with Sally, which cheered me up somewhat, but that led to me telling her about Doug, and the dance.
That, of course, led to me explaining why Barb was no more, which depressed me all over again.
I did feel a sense of relief in being able to talk about it, finally, and yet...
"Barb doesn't exist anymore, she's a part of my past and I'm having problems NOW."
"Yes; You abandoned your wig for Doug to find. But that doesn't make Barb any less a part of you then when you discovered her. Tell me again about the beginning?"
And so I recounted the story of the resale shop, again.
"And that was the first time you dressed this way?"
"Yes, once I got it home. Well, except..."
That led to a discussion of past halloween costumes, and how I snuck into my mother's dresser when I was 10.
"But that's just normal curiosity, isn't it?," I asked, thinking of the rainy Saturday, so much more recent.
"Not necessarily," she replied, "But at least we're getting somewhere now. I see our time is up for this session, Barb. I'd like to see you in two weeks, instead of Dave, if you don't mind."
"But my hair..."
"Oh, I'm sure you can find a way around that. Come next session as you would prepare yourself for lunch. I think it will be most illuminating. And I see here in you file that you have a birthday coming up before our next session. Happy Birthday."
And on that cheery note, I gathered up my things and left. I was humming, thinking about things I might do to prepare for our next session, when I realized that she'd addressed me as Barb. And I'd just accepted it as normal.
But I also discovered I was looking forward to something for the first time in some time.
The next day, finals being over, was the distribution of yearbooks at school. I had a few friends due to stage crew, studying, my classmates, and Sally of course, so we all milled around signing each other's books. But there was one surprise waiting for me...
In english class, Doug asked me if I'd permit him to sign my yearbook. I was puzzled; we hadn't interacted much in class, but I said sure. He scribbled his signature on a page inside, and returned it to me with thanks.
At lunch, I mentioned the incident to Sally. She asked to see. I paged through the book, and found the page he's signed, which concerned scenery shop.
Most of the photos showed me as Dave, so I thought nothing of it. But Sally noticed that one photo showed Barb. Doug had written a message next to that one, which read: "To Dave; Thanks for an enthralling chase, and giving me much to think about; see you next year."
Sally told me, "I think he's got you mostly figured out."
"What do you mean?"
"Boy, are you dense..."
Actually, digging through the yearbook in more detail, I discovered another picture of Barb in the yearbook, this one while dancing with Doug, during her last night. They were both smiling, and didn't seem awkward at all. It seemed a proper memorial for her, somehow. I wondered if I could get a print of that photo in the fall.
School being out, the world should have slowed down, it seemed to me. In actual fact, of course, it did no such thing.
The morning of my birthday dawned bright and seasonably warm. My mom wished me a happy birthday, and made waffles. I had just finished them when the doorbell rang.
To my surprise, it was Sally; I'd never had her over to my place before (after all, she was Barb's friend, and Barb didn't live here, as far as my mom was concerned), but I guess she'd gathered enough info to find it. She had a big box with her. I introduced her to my mother as a friend from school, and excused myself. I took her to my room (my mother had warned me of the dire consequences of misbehaving with girls in my room, and I'd never given her cause to carry out her threats. I was sure she'd check on me, but should be cool with Sally's presence.)
So, after being sure the door was ajar as required, I unwrapped the package; inside, on a styrofoam head, was the wig that the lady in the shop had originally recommended. Seeing that, I hastily closed the door and secured it.
Sally said, "The lady, when I showed her your picture in the yearbook, said the original wig was a product of a series of errors and irreproducible, and gave me a discount on this one, which she said she'd promised you."
I looked at the new hair with doubt. Mom was just down the hall, but she did trust my behaviour, generally. Maybe just this once?
"Well, my therapist did ask to see Barb when I go back next week..." I was tempted.
"See? There's a demand for her to return. Want to see how she's changed since you saw her last?"
"What do you mean?"
"You have to keep a close watch on teenaged girls; they can change overnight. You might not recognize her, now that she has a girlfriend to consult on her style!"
Thinking about it, I let my curiosity get the better of my judgement, but first sent Sally off to distract mom while I showered and shaved. Fortunately, not too much hair had grown since the spring dance. My chest was still hairless, my chin less so, and I did my legs and arms, for good measure.
Redressing in my regular clothes, I returned to Sally. Back in my room, she'd started to set up. I motioned her to hold off, and sure enough, Mom stuck her head in, asking if we wanted anything at the store. We said no, and she left to do her grocery shopping.
"There. Now we should have at least 45 minutes. It always takes her longer than she thinks it will," I told Sally.
"And she trusts you here, in your room, with a girl?"
"It's never happened before; she's told me how she expects me to behave and what the penalties would be if I don't, though."
So I put myself in Sally's enthusiastic hands. She'd brought a bunch of beauty products with her in her backpack, having been certain that she could beat down any resistance I might put up, and, after setting up my desk lamp and moving my monitor to make room for her supplies, went to work.
First, she cleansed and moisturized my face. "Somehow, boys never seem to get taught skin care; they just wash their faces with soap and water and rub them dry with towels. Like anyone over the age of five gets like, mud, on their face that can be dealt with like that. Your skin's worst problems come from your skin, itself; all that peeling and patches of dryness. Its second worst problem comes from the stuff you clean it with. Skin care is much more complicated than merely washing for face," she informed me.
Then we got into the artistic preparations. Here, there were tricks I'd found on the internet that were not anything she'd ever needed, so I had to show her those.
I mentioned how I used an orange lipstick to color correct my chin and mustache area, and showed it to her. She had me apply that and the glue stick I used to flatten my eyebrows myself. Both were tricks I'd gotten off YouTube and the web. Then she selected a foundation color for me (something I'd always has trouble doing myself), which I applied heavily.
Once my face was an even colored blank, Sally took over. Looking me over in the light, she applied some contour to my cheeks and my nose, did my eye makeup, and finished it off with some lip lining, lipstick, and gloss.
I was sitting there, shirtless, so she also applied some contouring to my chest. I put my bra on. She put the little silicone pads I'd used in the bra, backed up, looked me over, and (shaking her head), said "Nope. Barb has developed a little since then."
She then took what looked like the same two larger pads I'd worn to the dance out of her backpack and started to position them.
"I've been meaning to ask you, where did those come from?," I said, curious.
"Secrets of girlhood. Some of us develop later than others, and we don't like it... Let's just say I knew they'd work and say no more about it."
Then she handed me the wig. It was the same color as my hair, mostly, but did have some lighter streaks in it. I pulled it on, adjusting it by feel; a lot more hair than Barb used to have, but still familiar. Some bobby pins to secure it.
Then Sally brought me my clothes from where I'd set them out before we'd started, with the dress from the dance. I sat down to put on my pantyhose and shoes.
And when I turned back to the mirror, my jaw dropped...
There was an entirely non-gawky and non-horsefaced girl looking back at me, in shock. Oh, and Sally, too.
At that moment, I heard the front door, and my mom called out, "You and your friend come and help me put the groceries away."
My resolve was formed in an instant; enough with being depressed; I'd to go for it. I replied, "Mom, I have something to show you, and you may not like it..."
"What? I swear you get more melodramatic every month..."
Sally looked like she wanted to hide under the furniture, seeing the gleam in my eye, and clearly not sure this move was the best idea.
But I was certain it was, and with that, I grabbed Sally's resistant hand, and dragged her down the hall with me to the entry way.
"Mom, my name is Barb and this is my girlfriend, Sally..." I introduced myself to my mother.
Mom looked me over, and then dropped into a handy armchair. "Well, that certainly explains the girls uniform and jacket in your closet and the odd note I got from Mrs. Phelps. So this is what you've been up to; Oh, honey, I've been so worried about you."
"I think things will get better from here. Wait; you found the uniform?"
"Yes, dear; the day after you brought it home from the resale shop, I think. You aren't nearly as good at hiding things as you think you are. Sally, I'm glad to meet you; I think I may have met your mother at PTA."
And with that, she stood up and hugged me, tears on her face. I found I was crying, too, for some reason.
"I'll miss my son, but I'll always love my child, and I'm very relieved to finally have some idea what's going on," she told me.
With that, she got a mischievous look in her eyes, "You know, you are my child, and I named you at birth. I wouldn't have called you Barbara, though," she said to me.
"Well, it started out as the first thing I could come up with, thinking about the texture of my wig. I suppose it's no longer appropriate, though. What would you name me?"
"Margaret. It has a lot of nicknames you can use, but the one with the most history in our family is Peggy."
I considered it; I'd be going back to the end of the alphabet where I'd started, anyway; a new first name didn't make that much difference...
"Peggy Walsh; Cool; I can live with that," I said.
And then mom said, "Sally, please look after my daughter; she's brilliant but a bit naive, not nearly as sneaky or clever as she thinks she is, and has much to learn."
And with that, I changed into my casual Saturday outfit. Assuring mom we'd be careful, Sally and I left to go clothes shopping. Mom gave me careful once over and pronounced her satisfied with my outfit, and gave us a few strictures on what to buy. Then reluctantly she let us go off in public.
We caught the bus; out of a sense of loyalty, we decided to start in back in Andersonville.
On the way, We discussed the minimum that Peggy needed for the summer, above what Barb had provided her with when she'd departed.
The bus made its familiar way through the city until, quickly enough, we found ourselves there soon enough. Getting off the bus, ahead lay the same wig salon that been so important in forming Barb's look (as well as, now, Peggy's). And in front of the shop, holding a package and looking nervous, was a familiar face.
"Hello, Doug, how's your vacation starting?" Sally asked.
Doug started, looked mildly embarrassed. Then he looked again, at me.
"Barb, is that you? You look fantastic!" he exclaimed.
"Thanks, Doug. It's Peggy, now. But it's all thanks to these shops and Sally here." And then, under my normal tone, I continued, "And with their help, you should be fine, too."
He colored. Sally picked up the conversational slack, "Want to get lunch? There must be someplace reasonable around here. Meet us here once you are done in there?"
We hit the lingerie shop first. I needed more underwear, so I picked up packs of plain panties, and sports bras. They did seem a little...mundane, to me. Almost boring.
But then we got to more traditional bras. The band size, ok, that's just a tape measure, but the cup size... How to estimate something that doesn't exist? Time to consult an expert. We did give some guidance: "She's a late bloomer. For next year in school, she should be the same size as me."
"Judging by those shoulders, may I suggest she should be a little larger? Nothing extreme," The clerk hastened to add, "But she will be more balanced that way." Clearly, the lady had done this sort of thing before.
Going into the fitting booth, she handed me another hanger, "And if I may suggest THIS under your panties may help them fit better?"
A lightly padded gaff. Under my panties, it helped my hips and rump curve more naturalistically, and took the place of the maxi-pad I wore to smooth things out in front. Perfect. And then I donned the bra.
She came back to show me how to adjust the straps. Finally, I put my jeans and shirt back on. There, in the mirror, was a perfectly healthy high school girl. Sally came up behind me, and I couldn't help but feel I'd arrived at last. Craning her neck to reach the side of my face from behind, she kissed me on the cheek.
I turned, and with her in front of me, bussed her properly, dead on the lips...
"Oh, my," she exclaimed.
Pausing to recover her breath, Sally then turned and whispered something to the clerk, who nodded and pointed off to one side. Sally went off, while I looked at sleepshirts, wanting something that expressed my personality.
When Sally came back, she held something behind her back. "You know, we took care of Dave's birthday earlier, but it's Peggy's birthday, too. I guess the two of you are twins, huh? I'd like to also give her a present, if I may."
"Actually, I might consider the date of the field trip as my birthday... Besides, you did give me a present; it's an integral part of what differentiates me from Dave," I said, pointing at my hair.
"Shut up and take your present," Sally said.
And with that she pulled out a lacy black bra and panty set, complete with garter belt.
"Wow. And you want to see me wearing them?," I asked, eagerly.
"Yes," she said "And eventually, not wearing them," she added quietly.
I blushed and, for a change, my makeup wasn't so heavy as to render it invisible...
While they were boxing everything up, the door opened, and in came a girl with her brown hair in a shoulder length pageboy, wearing cute round glasses. Admittedly, the effect was ruined by the clothes Doug hadn't had a chance to replace yet, but I have to say, she was cute.
"And you would be?," Sally asked.
"Denise, I think," she replied.
"Not bad, but not many nickname possibilities. Maybe Dee, though..," she said thoughtfully.
Denise had to consult with the clerk about sizes. We decided she should be the same cup size as me, though, to cut down on envy.
A side trip to another store to get her outfitted for a summer outfit later, we consulted our phones for a place to eat.
We settled on a nearby Subway franchise; I was skirting the edge of my mother's "No fast food" policy, there, but thought it was worth it this once. I could at least have them make my sandwich with spinach.
Sitting down, I took out my phone and sent a selfie, labelled "Peggy, Sally, and Denise at lunch" to Mrs. Phelps.
My phone dinged a reply almost immediately, "Peggy, it is good to meet you, you look very nice and together, dear. I must say, Denise comes as a bit of a surprise; I thought it would be a bit longer before we saw her; you've done a good deed, there. Dare I hope to see all three of you working on the fall play next year? We might be doing "Twelfth night"; meanwhile, enjoy your summer."
"Oh, what was in the parcel, by the way," Sally asked Denise.
"Actually, Barb's old wig," was her reply.
"Can I borrow that? My therapist asked to see Barb next session," I asked, immediately thinking of something amusing I could do with that wig.
"Oh, are you seeing Dr. Wilson, too? I have my first session next week," Denise told me.
Perfect; "Yes, I started just before the end of the school year," and I left it at that.
So, for might be the last time, I donned my Barb disguise, but I packed Peggy's outfit in my backpack. Seeing Barb for the first time, my mother hugged me again. So this is Barb? I'm glad you've outgrown your awkward phase so quickly, Peggy!"
At Dr. Wilson's, I signed in as Barb, giving the time of my appointment, so there would be no confusion.
The receptionist must have had this experience before; she was careful to use the name I signed in under when my time came, instead of "Dave Walsh", which the appointment was under.
When the name was called, I picked up my backpack and went into the office, choosing the same armchair as last session so as not to play with Dr. Wilson's head more than necessary.
As she entered, she stopped, and I caught her looking me over with a critical eye. "Wow. That's something! You weren't kidding when you said you were aggressively going for being not noticed. Are those braces you're wearing?"
"As I told you, made from paperclips and miscellaneous hardware, to distract attention. And they worked, too. Only three people ever paid particular attention to me this way."
"Three?" she asked.
"Sally, Mrs. Phelps, and Denise. You'll meet Denise later today," I told her.
"I will? I don't recall anyone on today's schedule by that name, and you didn't mention them last time... Mrs. Phelps warned me about you, and I can see she was right."
"Oh?"
"Yes; that you were clever, and developing quickly."
"Oh. Ask Denise about the theatre; you'll like it," I told her.
And then we discussed Barb's limited personal history; it was the same things I'd told her last time, just from a different perspective, apart from details like where I'd changed and where I'd shopped, which somehow seemed more relevant this time around. I kept one eye on my watch, though. When we were down to 10 minutes, I asked her if she minded me changing in her washroom. She looked understanding, and said it was fine.
I ducked in there, and quickly changed from Barb in my school uniform into Peggy in her casual clothes. Exiting, I told the doc, "See you in two weeks; I shouldn't have to change then, so we'll have more time."
Looking at me, she said, "Wait a second, I thought you meant change back to Dave; Barb?"
"Actually, my mother named me 'Margaret', but most people call me Peggy."
"Oh, dear; I'm not licensed for serious illness like dissociative personality disorder, you know," she said. I was pretty sure she was kidding, but thought best to explicitly make things clear.
"Don't worry about that; Barb was making a special encore appearance; I'm who you'll have to deal with from now on," I told her.
"I can see you're going to be challenging to keep up with. Already, I'll have to change your records; It's nice to meet you, Peggy. I'll look forward to our next session."
So I exited the office through the waiting room. Along the way, I saw Denise, who had the next appointment. "Hi, Denise. We still on for the Art Institute Van Gogh exhibit this weekend?"
"Yes. You'll remind Sally, won't you?"
"Certainly, when I see her later; I think she's got the tickets already. She wants to hear how it went with the doctor anyway."
"Ah; And how did it go, for you?"
"Very nicely; she's seems like a good person. You can give me your review on the weekend. Oh, and she's probably going to ask you about the night of the dance."
"Of course; it's sort of the center piece of my tale, when you left me for another girl."
"I'm so glad you seem fine with that. Ok, see you on Saturday," and I hugged her goodnight, and left.