A Rude Awakening

I woke up when my phone started ringing. I knew it was my sister Caroline since the ringtone was Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline. Caroline thought I was a genius to be able to do something like that and had me put Croche's Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown on hers so she knew it was her husband calling. I had better add that Leroy was a nice guy, not a bad bad one.

"Whazzit?" I mumbled.

"Is that you, little brother? You sound like you swallowed a mouse."

"If you're calling at this hour I smell a rat."

"Cheese, you're suspicious."

"This had cheddar be good, sister."

"Gouda, if you can make lousy puns you must be waking up."

"Alright, alright! I'm awake."

"I'm worried about Mom, Harry. I just got done talking with her and she seemed… well… off."

"Maybe you should try calling her earlier in the evening?"

"That's not it, she was saying weird things and then she would sound perfectly normal. She kept getting my name wrong, calling me Pam or Carrie, like Great-grandma used to do."

"Hell! I do that with your kids. Start to worry when she calls you by my name."

"She did, Harry, I'm serious. I'm worried that she might be having memory issues."

"What, she's only seventy. She's not that old."

"You know I've been worried about her all alone in that big old house since Dad passed."

"And she'd kick your ass out the door and around the block if you said that to her."

"I'm not the one having memory issues."

I suppose that means you want me to go over and see her this weekend."

"Well, I do live two states away and you only have to drive for an hour to get there."

"You haven't been on the Interstate around here lately, have you. I hear they're going to install meters and charge for parking by the hour on the thing."

"Harry!"

"OK, OK! I'll go over on Saturday."

A Visit to Mom

Carrie! When did you get back. Why didn't you call me?" Mom greeted me.

"I haven't gone anywhere to get back from, Mom."

"What? I though you were in India or Iraq one of those places fixing up little kids and such."

"That's Carrie, Mom. Remember? She's the one volunteering with Doctors Without Borders. I'm Harry, the writer, I wouldn't be competent to put a bandage on a mosquito bite."

"Oh, silly me! Come in, Harry"

Maybe Caroline was right to be worried. My twin sister Carrie and I are a lot alike, but our own mother was pretty good at keeping us separate, even when we were trying to fool her.
 

I have to pause for a second here. As you might of gathered from the cheese puns, our family has a weird sense of humor. Mom and Dad named us twins Harry and Carrie, and we got no end of grief for it back in school.

I've heard just about every bad joke about Japanese suicide there is. It gets even worse - the blade the samurai used to kill themselves is called a tanto. You have to strain real hard to mix in the Lone Ranger's buddy when making fun of a kid.

Cheese jokes are a lot more palatable.

Alright, back to the story.
 

Naturally we talked in the kitchen, Mom can't rest until any guest has their stomach tended to. We sipped tea and munched cookies while I told her what I was up to and asked her what was going on with her. She seemed perfectly normal to me.

I noticed there was only one egg and almost no milk in the refrigerator, so I offered to go shopping for her.

No way! She'd go shopping and take me along for company. We got in the old Olds Land Yacht - it was new just before Dad passed - and off we went.

She filled the shopping cart and even threw in a box of Capt'n Crunch, my favorite as a kid. I didn't have the heart to tell her I didn't do sugared cereal any more - my thirty year old body didn't burn calories like my ten year old one did.

I bagged while she waited, putting the bags in the cart. When I finished she started off.

"Excuse me, ma'am. You need to pay." informed the checkout clerk.

"Oh, silly me!"

Mom ran her card and we left. We put the groceries in the trunk of the Land Yacht and we set sail for home. I closed my eyes and was almost asleep when a horn blared and Mom hit the brakes hard. The guy she almost T-boned gave her the finger and kept going.

"I'm sorry, Carrie. I didn't see the stop sign."

"It's OK, Mom. Want me to drive?"

"No, I'm fine."

She started up again and I realized I didn't recognize the surroundings.

"Where are we, Mom? I asked.

"Why, right on the way home."

"Are you sure, Mom?"

"Of course! I just turn…"

"Mom? Are we lost?"

"I don't know…"

"Let me look."

I got out my phone and punched her address into the GPS function. We were almost two miles in the wrong direction.

"Turn left at the next stop sign, Mom."

We got home, but now I was worried. There was certainly something wrong.

Things That Go Bump In The Night

Mom seemed normal for the rest of the day, but I was still worried. I decided to stay overnight just in case, even though I hadn't brought any clothes with me. Mom hadn't tossed any of Dad's clothes, so I could appropriate something for the day. He was a bit bigger than me, but not enough to be a problem.

I ensconced myself in my sisters' old room - much larger than the one I slept in as a kid - and spent some time traversing the Web looking for information on dementia. There was plenty there, but it wasn't at all encouraging. I didn't want my mother to be the one affected.

I was sleeping the sleep of the just when a loud thump awakened me. Blearily, I investigated and found that Mom had fallen on her way to the bathroom.

I rushed over to her and helped her up. She didn't seem to be hurt, but she stared at me and exclaimed "Carrie! You can't go around like that. You should at least wear a nightgown. Didn't I teach you better than that?"

"Mom, I'm Harry. Carrie is away overseas."

"Nonsense, young lady. You must get dressed."

"Are you heading for the toilet? Let me help you."

So I got her there and closed the door. I ran into her bedroom and found Dad's bathrobe and put it on.

She still thought I was my twin, Carrie. I have to admit that since I had been living my life as a woman named Sherry for the last several years I might not have been as successful at turning it off as I had hoped I would be. In fact, the only time Harry made an appearance was when I came home to visit Mom.

I got Mom back in bed, then found my own. Sleep was a long time in coming, memories of the past flooded my mind.

In The Beginning

The 'which twin is it?' game had always been one of our favorites, at least until it became obvious I had a bra stuffed with old socks and she had a bra stuffed with real girl.

When Mom and Dad started to be able to tell I wasn't Carrie we were both disappointed. At one of our gab sessions with Lucy, Carrie's best friend and accessory before and after the fact to our various plots, we started lamenting my bumpy boobs.

It was Lucy that came up with the answer. One of her relatives had lost a breast to cancer and had a replacement. She had gotten to see it one day when visiting (Lucy was a snoop, just like us) and she told us all about it.

We were barely teenagers at the time, but precocious. We instantly decided I needed fake boobs so we could keep playing the game. But just how does a kid manage to get himself fake breasts? Not so easy, but possible.

Now Mom and Dad were both big on logic and reasoning and, even at that tender age, Carrie and I were nascent researchers. The phrase look it up! had been drummed into our heads since the time we could read for comprehension. Along with that, learn to ask the next question became a mantra.

The family being rather well off, we had been gifted with our own computers and trusted to use them without filters. It didn't take us long to learn how to erase a cache and delete a history when we thought it necessary, and we were soon far more digitally adept than our parents.

So we searched for breast forms and boy did we get results. Seriously weird results, for sure, which we of course had to read through. And the pictures! I was glad I didn't look like some of those pictures of guys using breast forms!

We eventually found several places that would sell you breast forms if you sent them money. Quite a bit of money from our point of view, but if we pooled our resources from allowances, odd jobs and such we could just about do it.

You might think it odd that a sister would part with her hard earned money to help her brother buy fake breasts, but we were twins. I won't call it telepathy, but it came close. She knew I wanted them so we could continue to be each other. The logic was simple: She had breasts, I didn't. She couldn't remove hers so I had to add them to my body to shape it like hers.

Black and white logic, so obvious at that age.

So OK, what kind of fake breasts did we want and what size? Lots of choices there. When I asked her if her boobies were teardrop, triangular or round, the answer was painful. Her elbows are as hard as her breasts are soft. Actually, since we hadn't a clue we picked the cheapest ones they offered.

Next problem: how do we pay? Too young for a credit card. Can't ask Mom or Dad to write a check. Pam has a credit card, but she's at college. Caroline doesn't have either a credit card or a checkbook. Money order from the Post Office? Eureka!

Continuing problem: where do we have them sent. Mom and Dad are sure to want to know what we had gotten, so that was out. Maybe send them to Lucy's house - that might work. We could tell her folks it was a present for someone. Lucy was right there with us all the way. I didn't realize it then, but having Lucy be so comfortable with me as Sherry was a true treasure.

How we ever managed to pull it off remains a mystery to me. Some weeks later they arrived and we had to wait for a time when the folks were gone to try them out. Two Carries and a Lucy emerged triumphantly from the house and went for a walk.

After all that secrecy, we had neglected to realize that two Carries was one too many. The first time we met anyone who knew us it was obvious as hell what was going on. Word spread and Mom and Dad heard the story before the weekend was over.

Dad threatened to tattoo our names on our foreheads. Mom had on her famous pickle face. We thought we were in big trouble until Dad finally broke up and started laughing. They sweated the details out of us and gave us an A+ for creativity and a D- for failure to consider the consequences.

Then came the lecture about reasoning from false premises and cherry-picking your data. That lesson, painfully learned, has informed my life. Too bad Lady Elaine is incapable of learning it, but then if she had any brains she wouldn't get into enough trouble for me to write the next book.

(I suppose I should tell you that I write for a living, and Lady Elaine is my dumbass but sexy heroine. Together with her Faithful Maid Lucinda she gets into the most asinine situations.)

They reminded us we couldn't date until we were fifteen, whether we were male or female or who-knows-what. Then we were assigned to write a 1000 word essay on what could go wrong when a boy went out in public dressed as a girl. Some of the answers were pretty scary, so Carrie and I had to do some thinking.

But they didn't forbid us to do it. Our parents were pretty smart cookies. I was required to wear a bracelet with something blue on it when I was looking like Carrie and she had to wear some shade of red. Better than tattoos, I suppose.

School on Monday was pretty hairy, a couple of neanderthals tried to start a fracas, but Carrie and I were a pretty good tag team. They ended up red in the face and looking like jerks by the time we were done with them. Good thing there weren't more of them, we might have gotten the short end of the stick otherwise.

Most of Carrie's friends got used to Sherry after a while, but not all of them. Some of my friends decided I was too weird to hang out with, too. Group dynamics changed, but finally settled out. Oh yeah, Sherry never attended school, we knew that would be pretty stupid.

Thinking of all this made me realize how sad it was to see my logical, loving, clear-headed mother starting down the path to dementia. Maybe it was a blessing that Dad had dropped in his tracks and didn't have to go through the slow, agonizing torture of no longer being himself.

The Medical Maze

Back to the present. I called my sister and we agreed Mom needed to see the doctor. Easy to decide, but who will bell the cat?

Me…ow. Who else is right in the house with her? Who else has a job with no fixed hours. Who else gets stuck with trying to convince Mom to see the doctor without the use of a cattle prod and a lasso?

So I lied. It didn't work, Mom has a built-in lie detector that seems proof against incipient dementia. That detector worked when I was a kid, it worked when I was a rebellious teen, and it still works now I'm supposedly an adult.

"Carrie! You're dressed like your brother again. I told you I don't like that."

"I'm Harry, Mom, not Carrie."

"Nonsense! Do you think I can't tell my own children apart?"

"Mom. We'll be late for the doctor."

"I don't need any doctor. I'm fine!"

"Not for you, Mom, for me."

"Oh, for you. Why didn't you say so?"

Wow! I got away with it.

"Let's take my car, it's easier to park in the medical center lot."

"I suppose."

 
After I explained the problem to the receptionist, she gave Mom a clipboard and asked her to fill out the forms for her. Pretty sharp lady, it was the basic dementia test; you know - drawing a clock face, who is president, that stuff. I have to wonder how well the clock face bit will work in a few years when kids only know digital time.

We saw the doctor and he spent several minutes in conversation with Mom, asking questions that helped him understand her mental state. Finally he asked "Do you know why we're here, Elaine?"

"Of course. I'm worried that my daughter keeps dressing up in her brother's clothes."

Now that stopped both the doctor and me dead in our tracks.

"They used to do it all the time, you know. They're twins and they thought it was funny to try and fool us. I don't like it that she's a grown woman and is still doing it."

"Interesting. Perhaps I should talk with your… daughter… alone. Could you sit in the waiting room for a while?"

"Of course, doctor."

When Mom left I looked at the doctor and said "See why I'm concerned?"

"I wasn't expecting that. Your mother has been my patient for many years, but this comes as a shock. Of course it's been more than a year since I've seen her."

"She really doesn't want to see a doctor. I had to trick her into coming by saying the visit was for me."

"There are certainly indications of dementia present, but just how serious is hard to tell. I suppose I have to ask - you are the brother, aren't you?"

"Absolutely. I'm Harry and Carrie is off in the middle east somewhere with Doctors Without Borders. And yes, we did trade clothes and all that. So what can we do?"

"First I want to have her do some diagnostic tests to rule out things like vascular dementia, tumors, that sort of nastiness. We can take it from there when we have the results."

"But what do we do right now. I'm not sure she's safe on her own. She ran a red light and got lost driving the other day."

"Is there someone in the family available as a caretaker?"

"That would be me. Not that I'm looking for the job, but if she needs care then I'm the one who has the flexibility. I'm a writer so I have no set schedule other than the deadline to turn in my copy."

"Your mother is fortunate, then."

"But what do I do? How do I help? She's an independent cuss and won't take kindly to being told what to do."

"Just like most mothers. Just like most people, I suppose. We have pamphlets with the basics out in the waiting area, but I suggest you hit the library, there are several good books on coping with dementia.

"This may not be what you want to hear, but the bottom line in care for dementia patients is this - if it isn't harmful, then you have to go where she is. She can't come back to reality as you understand it.

"Some people get hung up on 'lying to the patient,' but for the patient, what they are thinking is what's real. Trying to change their mind is mostly futile. If they think that someone who has been dead for decades is mean because they don't come to visit, go along with it. Getting children confused with each other is fairly common."

"I'll try. It's hard to think of Mom losing it."

"One of the hardest parts of my job is seeing old friends go downhill and not being able to do anything about it. Find a copy of Making Rounds with Oscar, it's a good place to start."
 

"There you are! What took you so long, Harry?"

"The doctor had a lot to tell me."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"Just some good advice. Ready to go home?"

"Yes! I hate this place."

The Conference Call

I got Mom settled in front of the TV and went out into the back yard. I knew that my sisters were two time zones away, so it was evening for them.

"Hi Pam, It's Harry. I have some news."

"So tell me"

"Hold on, I want to get Caroline in on this. Let me set up a conference call."

"You know how to do that?"

"Face it, your brother's a genius. Too bad there wasn't any left over for my sisters."

"Good thing you're a writer and not a biologist. You're the baby of the family, it's us who got the good stuff."

"Who got what good stuff?" asked Caroline.

"Your brother the genius got all the good stuff. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

"We're talking geologic time here?"

"If you happen to have rocks in your head," I shot back.

"What's happening with Mother?" interrupted Caroline.

"It's not good, I'm afraid."

It's hard knowing your mother may be failing. It's just as hard to tell your siblings she may have dementia.

"What are we going to do, Harry?"

"Learn as much as we can. I suppose I'm going to have to move in with Mom, at least for a while."

"Can you do that? What about your writing?"

"I can write here. All I need is my laptop and about ten crates of reference material."

"I suppose you can take over one of the bedrooms and make it your office."

"I suppose. Mom isn't too far gone yet. The house is clean, the kitchen is well stocked and the yard is cared for."

"I know she has a service for the yard. One of my ex-boyfriends runs it." Pam said.

"Just how many ex-boyfriends do you have and is Steve aware of them?"

"Dozens and dozens. What Steve doesn't know won't hurt me… Of course he knows. Keeps him on his toes if he thinks he may be next."

"Well, if that happens you get the next shift with Mom."

"For better or worse, kiddo."

"Better for you, worse for me."

"Seriously Harry, thanks for being the one to do this. We're settled out here and I seriously doubt Mom would move out of the house until she's lost all her marbles."

"You and me both, sister. I'll let you both know when I know anything. Give Mom a call tomorrow night and be sure she's all right. It will take a while to figure out what to bring and close up the cabin."

"That's our very own Thoreau - cabin in the woods and writing great works."

"Thoreau didn't have air conditioning and I do. I'm not an aesthete, either."

Moving Day

I kissed Mom goodbye - at least she remembered I was her son Harry - and headed for the U-Haul dealer. I left my trusty Toyota and rented a van, then crept through the city on the sadly misnamed Freeway and finally got out into open country. An hour later I arrived at my little cabin in the woods.

I can hear all of you out there asking: How does an obscure writer afford to live in a nice cabin in the woods. Aren't vacation properties expensive?

The answer is: Yes they can be, but I got the place as the result of a nasty divorce and a wife who wanted to put the screws to her ex. She sold it for a song and only gave him a verse and half the chorus.

The next question is invariably: Where did you get the money? There the answer is slightly embarrassing. One drunken night in a bar some friends were inventing sick book titles. Knowing I was a wannabe writer, I was challenged to select one and do a short story to read the next time we gathered. In my youthful naivete and hubris I wrote a story entitled The Erotic Adventures of Tinkerbell. It was a hit with the drunken louts I hung out with, so I foolishly expanded it and it became a short novel.

In my arrogance, I submitted it to several publishers, receiving my first rejection slips. None of them included the usual polite 'you have promise so try harder' bullshit. Then one day I opened a particularly thick envelope to find a contract for the publication of The Erotic Adventures of Tinkerbella. Note the 'a'; at the end. The publisher didn't want to take a chance on anyone suing for copyright infringement.

The whole copyright thing is complicated. In Britain, a special act of parliament gave the royalties from the stage version of Peter Pan to Great Ormond Street Hospital in perpetuity. The European copyright expired in 2007 except in Spain, where it expired in 2017. In the US the book is in public domain but the play is good until 2023.

Oddly enough, the names of all the characters can't be copyrighted. Be that as it may, Disney has been known to sue the crap out of anyone they want to. Since The Erotic Adventures of Tinkerbella. certainly wouldn't make it on the Disney Channel, my publishers wanted to be careful. My book wasn't quite porn, but that little girl did get into some very interesting places - and people. Read the book if you want to find out more.

I made a modest profit on the book. I even had it published almost under my own name - Hairy Ballston.

I told you my parents had a sick sense of humor. There's a rumor that they almost named my older sisters Sandra Beech and Lotta Racket. I never had the nerve to ask them.

Who the hell would believe that was my real name on a semi-porn book? The real money came when someone in the Adult Film Industry got inspired by the book. They bought the rights for the film and I bought my cabin.

By the way, while my book was erotic and maybe soft-core, the movie is as hard core as it gets. They changed her name to Tinklebell - I'm sure you can guess why. You truly do not want to know where the fairy dust came from.

I write my work under an assortment of pseudonyms - can you blame me? Bodice Rippers and other romances are written by Sherry Chaleux - having a French name helps sales considerably. The mysteries are by Mary Payson - Erle Stanley Gardner is dead and he can't object. There are a couple of others I use for oddball stuff as well.
 

Meanwhile back at the cabin…

I assembled the book boxes and filled them with my books and other materials. I assembled the clothes boxes and hung up my suits, dresses and skirts.

One suit and many dresses and skirts. These days I live as a woman full time and have some very nice high-tech silicon forms that I can glue on when the spirit moves me. Once I was on my own I let Sherry out of the closet to roam around as she will.

You don't know just how hard it was to control my face when Mom started calling me Carrie. If that's the way she was going to see me, then I was perfectly willing to go where she was. I suppose that wasn't quite what the doctor had in mind when he said I needed to go to wherever Mom was, but there you go.
 

"Carrie! You're home. I was getting so worried."

Mom met me at the door but she was looking tired and worn.

"I told you I'd be home for supper, didn't I?"

"I don't remember. I was just so worried. And you're wearing your brother's clothes again. You know I don't like that."

We were back to Carrie again.

"I know mom."

"You're too pretty to keep looking like a boy."

"I am a…" I remembered what the doctor had said. "You're right, Mom. I'll get changed when I have everything up in my room."

"I hope you like what I did with it."

Oh-oh. I wasn't sure what to think of that.

"I'm sure it will be fine, Mom. Let me empty the van and take it back, OK?"

"You do that, darling."

So I schlepped it all up the stairs, putting the clothes in the bedroom and the writing stuff in my old room. I took the van back and reclaimed my Toyota and parked it in front of the garage, thinking that it would keep Mom from trying to drive her own car.

"Carrie, I want to go out to Eduardo's for pizza, just like the old times."

"Sounds like a great idea to me, Mom."

The family often went to Eduardo's when we wanted to go out or have a bit of a celebration. Great Italian food and some of the best pizza around. We kids almost always had the pizza, Mom and Dad were a bit more adventurous.

"We need to get dressed up, Carrie. You never know - there might be a fine-looking older gentleman dining with his handsome son who are looking for a pair of beauties such as we are."

"Mom, you're dreaming."

"A girl can dream, can't she? Your father's been gone a long time, you know."

You've got to go to where she is…

"I know Mom. What's your preference? Tall, dark and handsome or short, fat and rich?"

"Oh you!"

"Time's a wastin', Mom. Let's get dressed."

Good thing I brought Sherry's clothes.
 

I slit open the wardrobe box I knew had my dresses and skirts, took a handful and opened the closet door. What the heck? It was empty yesterday, today it was half full.

It took a few seconds to realize that's what Mom meant about hoping I'd like what she'd done. When Carrie went overseas she had a very tiny personal baggage allowance, so she had stored everything in the old family homestead.

Maybe I didn't need to bring Sherry's clothes with me after all. Hmmm… my sister may have a problem reclaiming her stuff when she comes back.

I looked in the drawers and sure enough, Carrie's bras, panties, pantyhose, stockings, garter belts and all kinds of things neatly laid out. Neatly placed along with her hairbrushes and other paraphernalia was a bright pink electric dildo.

I wonder just what Mom thought of that? I wonder if Mom even knew just what it was. No way I was going to ask.

I stripped, showered quickly and dressed in Carrie's underwear - we were still just about the same size. Actually, I had sized my inserts so we were the same size there, too. I swiped a green velvet dress of Carrie's, one I had always liked. Being early October the evenings could get cooler, so I wanted something to keep me warm.

I sat at the makeup table and did a quick job. No need to shave - a detailed and excessively flattering history of a family that had founded a tool & die works had paid for electrolysis. My jewelry box yielded a pair of earrings with clear green glass stones dangling from a fine chain, perfect for the dress.

I looked good, even if it was a stupid outfit to wear out for pizza. I was going to ask for a bib for both Mom and me.
 

"Large with sausage, green peppers and anchovies, olives on my half and onions on yours, with a small antipasto - right Mom?"

"You remembered!"

"How could I forget? We going to splurge and get a bottle of Chianti?"

"I shouldn't but it sounds delightful."

"None of your meds say 'no alcohol'?"

"I don't think so."

"Then we celebrate!"

I ordered and we sat down. The waiter brought the bottle and we poured - no sommeliers or fancy-schmatzy stuff at Eduardo's.

"To the wonderful woman who brought me to this earth!" I toasted.

"And the one who can take you out of it!"

"You remembered."

"I said it to you and the others enough times that I can't forget."

"Now Mom, were we really that bad?"

"Worse!"

"You and your brother were ten times worse than your sisters. What one didn't think of the other did. And always changing your clothes trying to confuse your poor father."

"We confused you, don't deny it!"

"A mother knows…"

You've got to go to where she is…

"I'm sure you do."

We sat and drank our wine. A teenaged boy and girl sat across from us - maybe fifteen or sixteen - both trying desperately to be cool and sophisticated on their date. How well I remembered!

I hoped it wasn't their first date. I remembered Carrie admonishing me never to take a girl to an Italian place on a first date. All that tomato sauce was just waiting to ruin her dress and make her look like a fool in front of the boy.

I was glad I was mature enough to ask for one of their plastic bibs. I had long ago learned that my breasts had a magnetic attraction to any morsel of food that missed my mouth. Dabbing at your boobs in public is not the best way to remain unnoticed.

The food came and we ate, reminiscing about the silly things we did as kids. Mom's memory seemed to be working perfectly. Too perfectly - she remembered some things I really wanted to forget.

We took most of the Chianti home; neither of us were big drinkers.
 

After seeing Mom to bed I showered and washed my hair. When I was thoroughly dry I glued my forms on to my less-than-manly pecs - Sherry - or maybe Carrie - was here for the long haul. I just didn't know how long or how difficult it would be.

Friday Night: Memories And An Old Friend

It had been a good week. Mom seemed to be her usual self, enjoying having her daughter back in the house. While it was great to see Mom happy, I did feel a little bit guilty impersonating my sister Carrie. Not that I was guilty about the crossdressing, but I realized that I had developed my own identity as Sherry. Not only was I part man and part women, I was part man and part two women.

Multiple personalities, anyone?

So here it was Friday night - an ordinary night to the working adult I had become. Living in a cabin in the woods there wasn't anything special going on any particular Friday night. Now that I was back in the family home, the memories of going out to party with friends came rushing back. The younger Harry would have been out the door by this time, the mature pseudo-Carrie was just a little afraid to leave Mom alone, despite the good week.

I was scanning through the cable, hoping there was something worth watching, when the doorbell rang. I got up and answered the door.

"Well, Doctor Ballston, just when were you going to let your best friend know you were back in town? Does that MD after your name make you too hoity-toity to slum with us common folks?"

Lucy Kesslere, our partner-in-crime from our school days and one of the few people in town who knew about Sherry. Lucy had been a fixture at our house, one of those girls who was always coming up with ideas and saying outrageous things. I mostly felt tongue-tied around her back then; as Harry I let the girls take the lead, teasing me much like my own sisters. When I was switched with Carrie I wasn't as shy, but had to work hard to keep up with her as if I were Carrie. There was only one way to handle Lucy, and that was to attack.

"Jesus! Home for a few days and next thing I know they're banging at the door demanding free medical advice. My diagnosis is a oversized mouth and an undersized brain. The case is hopeless, but long-term custodial care is an option. What kind of insurance do you have?"

I went on more quietly "It's Sherry, Carrie is still overseas somewhere. Mom refuses to believe that I'm Harry, so I'm going with the flow. Don't let the cat out of the bag."

"Sherry?"

"In the silicon enhanced flesh. Come on in and set a spell."

"How rustic."

"Who's at the door," called Mom.

"It's Lucy. We're coming."

"Why Lucy, it's been a long time."

"Ever since Carrie ran away from home. I came over to steal her away, ply her with drinks and go pick up a couple of bar-flies to dance with."

"Still the same old Lucy, eh?" I asked.

"I bet you're not the same old Carrie, however."

That bitch!

"Unlike some, I have matured."

"I suppose you have grown quite a bit," she said, looking directly at my breasts. "Can you live without her for a few hours, Mrs B?

"Of course. Go out and have fun. Maybe you can bring me back a mature bar-fly if find one."

"We'll keep our eyes open wide. It's come-as-you-are tonight. Grab your purse and let's go!"

"I…"

"The world is waiting. We don't want to disappoint the entire world, do we?"

So I went.

 
"Alright, Sherry," she asked when we got to her car. "What's going on?"

"Dementia, Lucy. We're all worried."

"No…"

"Yes."

So I tried to explain. As you might have guessed when she called me 'Sherry', Lucy is one of those rare women go gets it about a man who likes to wear dresses. She was just as quick on the uptake about Mom's problems.

"So what are you going to do?"

"To use an ancient idiom, go with the flow. I've been researching dementia all week. Sort of the Writer's Curse, do the research before writing the book."

"So are you going to write a book about all this?"

"Who knows? I'm still in the early research phase."

"And you're going to be Carrie until your Mom no longer needs you?"

"I hadn't thought that far ahead, but that just may be how it works out."

"That's a hell of a big commitment to make."

"She's a hell of a mom. She put in a lot of years to see me grow up right, how can I do any less?"

"Darned if I know. Right now you need some respite care, girlfriend."

"What about Walter?"

"Walter and I called it quits last year."

"Sorry to hear that."

"I'm not - mostly. We gave it a good try but it just didn't work. At least we don't hate each other like Carla and Bob. I wouldn't want to go through that."

"I knew that one wouldn't last."

"So did everybody in town except them. The divorce is nasty and they're fighting over the kids. At least Walter and I didn't have any kids to fight over."

"All this stuff almost makes me glad I never found anyone that I wanted to marry. Most of the stuff I write is Romance books about true love and happy ever after, but every time I look around it's divorce and stabbing in the back."

"Now that's not true! Look at your parents. They loved each other until your Dad died, and your Mom still loves him."

"Yes, you're right. Sometimes it's hard to concentrate on the positive."

"There will be someone for you, someday."

"Yeah, but it will probably be some guy who falls for Sherry and I'm only into girls."

"Picky, picky picky. I'll take any hunks you don't want."

"Already planning divorce #2?"

"Now that #1 is final."

Naturally, we went to our old haunt, the Bleaker Street Pub, and there I had to convince several people that I was my sister. Not as difficult as it might seem, we had lots of practice in impersonating each other.

Things got a little hairy when Billy-Bob (he always hated that name and prefers to be called BB) started talking medical stuff. He's a nurse, I'm a writer that knows enough to fake an almost believable hunk of a doctor who's only purpose it to make the heroine's heart flutter. Well, maybe not the heart, but I can't just come out and say what's fluttering, can I? Frankly, I'm more attuned to the heroine.

The point was, I got to relax and forget my problems for an evening. Even if my old friends thought I was my sister, we shared those old friends so it was good.

The bad part? When I got home I got a lecture about being out past curfew, I'd never get up in time for school tomorrow. All I could do is apologize and go to my room. Maybe she'd forget about it in the morning.

That Might Work

Sunday was quiet. I spent much of it dismantling my old twin bed and hiding it in the closet next to my useless Harry clothes. I got a piece of plywood to expand the surface of my old school desk, set up my computer stuff and went out to buy a decent chair. That old wooden thing I used as a kid just didn't cut it any more, even if I'd padded my bottom.

With that accomplished, I went down to the den and plugged in my cable modem and wi-fi unit, spent a few minutes chatting with the tech and reading strings of letters and numbers from the bottom of the modem and I was back on line.

Somehow I couldn't get Mom to understand why I had to put that stuff on top of the TV. Why did I need it? I finally told her I had taken up Voodoo and it was a shrine to the Great God Google, the patron of unreliable information. At least she knew enough about Google to get the joke.

No more excuses, I was going to have to start turning my words from thought waves into electrons, which would then be converted into magnetic variations on a hard disk. Actually, two hard disks - I run a dual backup, no way I want to lose any work.

Remember I spend as much time doing research as I do writing. I can reel off glib things like how a word processor works because I often need a geek to explain why something improbable works. I can speak pigeon geek, but fluency? For the birds!

Actually, once I was set up, my Muse started working overtime. I've always thought that Sherry is a better writer than Harry, and being Sherry/Carrie full time had me typing as fast as my Aqua painted fingers could hit the keyboard. I had just successfully fought off the advances of Baron Badanovski, the slimy ruler of Direland. (OK, her faithful Maid Lucinda had done the fighting while Lady Elaine screamed and generally got in the way.) Lady Elaine was swooning in the manly arms of Prince… Prince? - What the hell did I name the Prince? - when the phone rang.

"Mom? Is that you?"

My sister, the actual Carrie was on the phone.

"Not Mom, your sister Sherry is staying with her. Hi Carrie, I guess you got my letter."

"I did. What's happening with Mom?

I'm afraid she's lost a few marbles and they're rolling around on the floor. One of them is that she is very annoyed with you because you've been wearing boy's clothes again. You do know you're too pretty to be wearing your brother's clothes?"

"Oh Lord!"

"It gets better. Lucy was mad at you because you didn't even call her and you'd been in town almost a whole week."

"Are you trying to ruin my reputation?"

"Don't worry. Sherry took her out and plied her with alcohol and she forgave you. Me? I'm not so sure which, really."

"I can't leave you alone for five minutes, let alone a year. Maybe you ought to come over here where I can keep an eye on you."

"Would I have to wear a burka?"

"Not here, but it's hot enough that your falsies would feel really nasty."

"Another reason to go with implants."

"You wouldn't!"

"There are times I wish, but it's so permanent!"

"Still too much on the male side to make a commitment?"

"Hey, I'm man enough to be a woman."

"Enough. This call is costing a fortune. What are you going to do with Mom?"

"Wait, watch, talk to doctors, learn as much as I can. And hide her car keys."

"Is that necessary?"

"It may be. I can play chauffeur."

"I love you, Sherry. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Especially if people think you're me."

"They'll never know the difference. Love you, sis."

Bridges

"Carrie, dear, could you move your car for me?" Mom asked.

I was deep in a creative fog, so it took a second to answer.

"Can you wait a minute, Lady Elaine is trapped deep…"

I stopped. Car… Move… Mother… Uh-oh!

"Why would you need to move my car, Mom?" I asked.

"Why so I can go to my bridge game. We play every Wednesday. I'm the reigning champion, you know."

"Mom, remember that while I'm here you don't need to drive yourself, I'm your chauffeur. Give me a minute to save my work."

"Now darling, there's no need to stop working. I've been driving myself to the game for years and years."

"Where is the game?"

"At Carlene's house this week."

"Then I'm certainly going. I can hang out with Lucy while you defeat all comers and remain champion."

"I suppose if you want to see Lucy…"

"I do. Are you ready?"

"Of course, dear."
 

"Sherry! Praise be to the lord for her favors!" Lucy cried when I came in with Mom.

"Lucy, I never knew you cared."

"You could be a Barbary Ape for all I care, just so long as I have someone to talk with while the old biddies play bridge."

"Ook?"

"I just wish we could go to the library and travel through L-space and get away from here. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Eek!"

"No?"

"No - I just wish my books sold as well as Sir Terry's."

"You should put them on disk for the world, then."

"You're bad."

"You started it."

"I take it you aren't a bridge fan?"

"I never could keep track of all those cards and remember what was trumps. Mom got exasperated with me when I tried to play."

"Mom got exasperated with me for not letting her drive herself here."

"That must be tough."

"It is. She's not bad enough to burn down the house or anything, but I really don't want her driving. There are a couple of dents in that big boat she drives that she can't explain."

"I remember a couple of dents in your father's car that you couldn't explain."

"That was Harry. I'm Sherry, remember?"

"Now just who is having memory problems?"

"I can't remember."

"You're impossible. Come into the kitchen and help me make the snacks."

"And what do society women snack on at a bridge party?

"Tasteful little sandwiches without crusts, pita wedges with spinach-artichoke dip, Chex mix and sliced cucumbers so they can claim it's healthy."

"Only one problem."

"And that is?"

"I'll eat up all the spinach-artichoke dip before it leaves the kitchen."

"A girl after my own heart."

"And what would you do with my heart if you got it?"

"Brandish it still beating to the Sun God?"

"Too messy. I don't want to have to dry clean this skirt."

"I think the participants were traditionally naked at such affairs."

"I fear my identity is highly dependant on remaining clothed."

"You want to use the vegetable peeler to make stripes on the cucumber?"

"Better than peeling off my skirt."

"Not from my point of view."

"Eh?"

"Think about it. I'll explain sometime."

"Does this involve bodices getting ripped?"

"The buttons are there for a purpose, don't you think?"

"You do realize that every time Lady Elaine is about to get screwed she gets her bodice ripped. I have to give her a simply enormous clothing allowance in order to keep writing my books."

You ever think of giving her a lover who wasn't in a hurry?"

"Jeez! Next thing you'll be wanting Baron Badanovski to use a condom."

"Did they have condoms in Lady Elaine's era?"

"Damned if I know. I couldn't get away with being that descriptive, the publisher would freak out."

"Would they? I've heard rumors about your first book."

"They're more than rumors. It got made into an out-and-out porn film. I made lots of money and try not to tell anyone how I got it."

"We'll have to watch it together sometime."

"I've never seen it. I don't want to see it."

"Seriously? It's probably on You-Tube by now."

"Not likely. Community standards and all that sanctimonious crap."

"Maybe Screw-Tube?"

"Now that's an idea. I bet I would make a lot more money than I do writing books."

"Google it and see."

"Alright, I will… Hmmm… Well damn - there is a screw-tube but it's a part for watch straps."

"How disappointing! A strap and it isn't even used for B&D."

Actually, she did look a little bit disappointed at the news.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"Quarter after."

"Time to serve the repast. You take the platter and I'll bring the tea."

"Deal."
 

Hanging out with Lucy was great fun, even if I had to leave Lady Elaine stranded in a dank, dark cave - all caves in romance novels are dank and dark or gleaming with glittering jewels - while I had a good time. Besides, her Faithful Maid Lucinda would keep her entertained until I got back to her.

Turns out that Lucy, a CPA, worked for a firm that still held to the quaint notion of closing early on Wednesdays. For an outfit who's business lived and died on an extensive and complex computer system, they sure had some old-fashioned notions.

Somewhere along the way she asked what I was writing and I explained Lady Elaine's predicament. Trapped in a cave with Baron Badanovski in one direction and the Malevolent Maw of Doom waiting to swallow her up in the other. I still was trying to figure out how to get her out of there.

"I don't suppose the hero could be waiting just below the edge of the Malevolent Maw to rescue her?" she asked.

"No! No! No! Against the rules. Lady Elaine is a plucky lass who rescues herself even if she is a blonde bimbo and dumb as a post. That's mostly thanks to her Faithful Maid Lucinda's resourcefulness and ability to make Lady Elaine look good. Selfless lass, that Lucinda."

"Hummm… How about she finds an invisible bridge and crosses safely to a trumpet fanfare?"

"Has possibilities. Can the trumpets and have one of the Baron's Hell-hounds bound viciously with a gaping red-tinged jaws, but the lithesome wench dodges. Lucinda gives the beast a whack with her parasol and the Hell-hound skids toward the Malevolent Maw, only to encounter the invisible bridge and slide halfway across the pit. Then the creature freaks out and falls to his doom leaving the resourceful damsel able to flee to safety, her virtue still intact."

"Just so long as the Hell-hound didn't leave any fleas to harass the fleeing maiden."

"No - too close to crabs. Lucinda would never let Lady Elaine get an STD."

"Not unless the Baron actually did catch her."

"I suppose the Baron is evil enough to have crabs. Never gonna happen though, I want to milk this series for all it's worth. Once he puts it to her the dramatic tension is gone forever"

"Do you ever picture yourself as Lady Elaine?"

"Yes."

"You do?"

"I wouldn't dress like this if I didn't enjoy doing it."

"But why?"

"That's a question that doesn't really have an answer. The best I can do is that it feels good. It feels right."

"I assume those are falsies."

"Certainly. Best money can buy."

"Do you want to… go all the way?"

"I don't think so. I'm not attracted to men, so it just wouldn't make sense."

"So you would be a lesbian?"

"The language can't handle things like that. Too many variations with too many people. Can you imagine six pages of newly created words to cover each possible combination?"

"Put it like that and it gives me a whole new perspective. So if I got you into bed there wouldn't be a word for it?"

"With any luck I would be incapable of forming coherent words. You wouldn't be disappointed if my breasts fell off when I took off my bra?"

"That sounds gross!"

"Actually, they're glued on so you wouldn't have to find out."

"Really? Glued?"

"Next best thing to having the real thing."

"Do you want the real thing."

"Yes."

"So why haven't you done it?"

"That would be permanent. I hadn't made up my mind until just recently. Since I've been Carrie in public for the last couple of weeks I realize it's time to make it permanent."

"I had no idea."

"Most people don't. You're the first person I've been able to tell this to. Are you still interested?"

"C'mon Sherry, just say it out loud. We're adults, I want you in my bed, I've wanted that with Harry since we were in high school but Harry was a nerd that didn't notice. When you were being Carrie it just didn't seem right to come on to you. When you're Sherry it's the best of both worlds."

"Even if I did get implants?"

"I don't know. Remember that old commercial? 'Try it - you'll like it!' We can see if it works when you do it."

"Uh, Lucy. We need to talk about something else for a while. I'm having an ungirlish reaction."

"I'm making you hard? The girl's still got it." She shot her clenched fist into the air. "Too bad we can't attend to that little problem."

"Not with eight gray-haired ladies in the next room, we can't."

"Too right. Who would have thought we'd be in our thirties and still trying to evade our mothers to have sex?"

"Too bad my cabin is so far away."

"My place is a lot closer, and I have a queen size bed."

"I thought we were going to change the subject.

"How 'bout them Mets?"

"No good - balls and bats, y'know."

To tell you the truth, I really don't remember what we talked about. I was distracted.
 

We could hear the party breaking up and Mom and Mrs Kesslere found us in the kitchen.

"Carrie, would you mind if I stole your mother for a little while?" asked Lucy's mother.

Lucy cracked a big smile.

"Despite her just trouncing me at cards, I still love her."

"Of course not. I'll steal your daughter in exchange."

"We haven't been to the botanical garden in just ages. There's no time like the present, and then we'll have dinner somewhere that has outdoor seating. We don't want to waste these warm days in October."

"See Lucy, our parents are showing us the ways of wisdom. I'm sure we can find something to amuse us while you're enjoying nature.

"Excellent! Have a good time, Mom."

"Don't stay out too late, darling. You have school tomorrow," Mom admonished.

Mrs K gave me a look and I just shrugged my shoulders.

"Got it covered, Mom. Don't worry. Have a good time."

"School, eh?" asked Lucy.

"See why I'm worried."

"Yet she still can play bridge and skunk everybody."

"Dementia can be very erratic. I'm starting to learn how to handle Mother."

"I'm sorry, Sherry."

"Part of life. She nurtured me, I'll nurture her."

"And we can nurture each other. There's a bed waiting for us."

"Was I really that dense as a kid that I didn't notice the signals you were sending me?" I asked the woman laying warmly in the bed.

"Damn right you were!"

"Is it too late to apologize?"

"After the last couple of hours there's no need. No hard feelings - other than those you've just put to good use."

"I suppose this is where I ask 'Did the earth move?' "

"Not the earth, lover, but you move very nicely. I kind of like watching your boobies bounce while you're sliding in and out."

"Really?"

"Really, even if they don't look all that real just hanging there."

"One of the reasons I think I'm ready to get implants."

"Hormones?"

"No, I enjoy looking feminine but I don't hate my penis."

"Funny, I don't hate your penis, either, and I think I'm in love with your hands and tongue."

"You have a certain talent yourself. For a first time we seem to know just what the other wants."

"Will there be a second time?"

"If we can manage to work it in our schedules. I really wish I could stay the night, but your Mom will be bring my Mom home soon. A few hours is OK, but she has fallen twice going to the bathroom at night so I don't want to be gone overnight."

"Would it upset her if I spent the night?"

"I… I don't think so. She is firmly convinced I'm Carrie, even if I spend hours every day at the computer writing like Harry."

"Now that I finally got you in my bed, I don't want to let you out of it."

"The feeling is mutual. Let's not rush into things, you don't need another failed marriage and I don't need to screw up a first one. You've been a friend too long for us to end up hating each other. Besides, when I get my implants you may change your mind."

"Actually, I'm kind of looking forward to seeing the real thing bouncing."

"Genuine imitations, anyway."

A Very Tentative Query

We reluctantly showered and retrieved our clothes from where they lay abandoned in our haste. Like an attentive date, Lucy accompanied me home to find our mothers waiting."

"Gee Mom!" I wined. "You didn't have to wait up for us."

That had Lucy's mother smiling.

"We were good girls, really we were." affirmed Lucy.

Very good from my point of view!

"I'm sure you were, darlings. Lucy, could you help Elaine put up some tea, I need to talk to Carrie for a minute."

"Sure, Mom. C'mon Auntie, show me where things are."

So they went off to the kitchen and I was alone with Lucy's mother.

Carrie, have you noticed anything odd about your mother lately?"

"I'm afraid I have…"

So I told her about my concerns and the doctor visits.

"I'm so sorry," she said when I had run down. "Something just didn't seem right this afternoon. Elaine was a demon at bridge today; she skunked us all, but there were several things she said that just didn't make sense."

"That's why I'm staying here for the duration."

"But don't you have responsibilities with Doctors Without Borders?"

"That's another thing. Aunt Carlene, she's convinced I'm Carrie, but I'm Harry."

"No! You're still doing that silliness after all these years?"

"I'm afraid it's not silliness, it's who I am. I've been living as a woman for many years. I came home as Harry so Mom wouldn't be confused and she got mad at Carrie for dressing like Harry."

"That's confusing."

"It certainly is! There's one thing I've learned in studying about dementia - You've got to go to where she is… she can't come back where I am. Since that's where I want to be, it's not a hardship. The hardship is watching my mother go downhill."

"Oh darling, I'm so sorry. Is there any way I can help?"

"Just be her friend, spend time with her. I think she's gotten isolated as her condition got worse, but being all alone it wasn't so obvious."

"She has been a homebody for quite a while."

"And I've been off in my cabin in the woods writing for a living and didn't notice. Our phone calls seemed OK, but Caroline got worried and asked me to see her. Caroline was right to be worried."

"So you did become a writer. We've kind of lost touch. What do you write?"

"Whatever somebody will pay me for! My mainstay is bodice-rippers, pretty ironic considering how I dress, isn't it?"

"You're kidding!"

"Nope. The adventures of Lady Elaine are quite popular. Named after Mother as a joke. Lady Elaine is a ditz, about as far from Mom as you can get."

"You can't … You don't mean… You're Sherry Chaleux?"

"Oui! You are maybe a fan?" I asked in an atrocious French accent.

"I am! Then Lucinda is…"

"Your daughter."

"Well I never!"

"Never what?" asked Lucy as she came back."

"I'll tell you later, dear. Emma, that looks lovely, just what I need."

"Your Lucy is such a help."

"A pleasure, Auntie."

The rest of the conversation was trivial, but I was coming to the realization that I couldn't take care of Mother alone. To use a much-maligned phrase - It takes a village.

The Letter

I had fallen into the habit of checking the mail each day when it came through the letter slot. Today's missive contained something different: a letter with FINAL NOTICE prominently printed on the envelope. Mom was three months behind on her electric bill.

I found Mom in the kitchen and asked her if she had forgotten to pay the bill.

"Oh, your father takes care of that. I don't worry about it."

"Mom, Dad isn't here any more."

"I know, dear. I do miss him."

"So how can he be paying the bills?"

"He always did."

You've got to go to where she is…

"That's all right, Mom. I'll take care of it."
 

I felt like a voyeur combing through Mom's desk, looking for bills and bank statements. Dad left her pretty well off, and her Social Security and investment income was direct deposited into her bank account. The money was there to pay the bills, they just hadn't been paid.

So I got on line, set up access for her bank account, the utilities and other bills and arranged automatic payments for them all. I called up the guy who handles her investment portfolio and had a talk with him. Fortunately he's an old friend of the family and knows us all. He was sorry to learn of Mom's difficulties and gave me an overview of how her money was invested.

Lucy came in handy here, as I am not all that sophisticated in high finance. She explained he basically had almost all of it in solid, conservative investment instruments so that the chances of her losing her principal were very small. There were also some pretty good protections against the stock market tanking and wiping her out. As she had been living on the interest of the investments, her principal had actually grown over the last few years.

Sometimes the news is good.

It took a few days and some swearing at the computer, but eventually it was done. Since I had access to all of her information, I didn't even need to have her sign anything.

I did call my lawyer, Chad, to make sure I wasn't doing anything to land me in jail, and he assured me I wasn't as long as I was acting in her best interest. People like me would have a very hard time in jail.

A Slight Interruption

With three weeks to go until the deadline to submit the latest manuscript, I had maybe four chapters to go. The work, which had been progressing steadily as I settled into my sister's identity, came to a screeching halt.

Why? Once the idea of getting implants had been firmly implanted in my brain; I couldn't get it out. So I spent quite some time researching just what was involved. Not that I hadn't done that before, but I needed detail!

With the details in my fevered brain I started looking at plastic surgeons. Plastic surgeons who would give me implants without a note from a doctor. Damn, made me feel like a school kid having to have a note after being out for a day.

I didn't have a doctor's note for the simple reason I didn't have a doctor. When I found a lifestyle that let me dress as I pleased I just started dressing as I pleased. I kept just enough Harry clothes for the occasional visit back home, otherwise I was Sherry.

So, in three weeks I had to go to the Big Apple to formally submit my manuscript and get new pictures taken for the hardcover editions. Since the text would have flown there electronically over the Internet long before, I was really going to have some fun in the big city. I started frantically phoning plastic surgeons to see if I could get the implants done while I was there. There are a lot of people who do boob jobs in the Big Apple.

Not so many who take men for clients for such things, but I did find one and she would soon receive a substantial part of my next advance. I had to go to a local lab and have a few tests, but that didn't bother me a bit.

Now the only problem was what would happen with Mom? I would be gone for five days - too long for comfort.

As had become our custom, Mom, Aunt Carlene, Lucy and I were out for dinner at Eduardo's on a Friday evening. Like many other people in the early stages of dementia, Mom did very well in the company of old friends. Not as vivacious as often in the past, but following the conversation and occasionally contributing. When Lucy asked how the book was coming I told her about my upcoming trip to New York City. Lucy and her mother immediately picked up on the problem, but were careful not to let on.

"Why Elaine!" cried Carlene. "That makes for simply perfect timing. Remember we promised to take that train excursion someday. Wouldn't it be perfect to do it while Carrie is off being professional?"

"I don't know…"

"We can have fun, two carefree schoolgirls on a field trip."

"Remember the trip to see that Shakespeare play, Carlene?

"Indeed I do. The guy that played Benvolio was a hunk."

"Wasn't he! Those codpieces were a scream."

"I asked William if he wanted one and he told me that any more than he already had and I would be uncomfortable.

"It's been a long time since I got uncomfortable like that, Carlene."

"We could get lucky and meet a couple of dirty old men on our trip, you know.

Lucy and I were just about busting a gut at the two old biddies, our mothers! talking about their husbands' cocksmanship. Really!

"Now really, mother, should you be discussing such things in the presence of your innocent children?" Lucy was the soul of innocence - not!

"I'd be more inclined to believe innocent if you weren't divorced and sleeping with your best friend."

Well damn! Lucy couldn't hide anything from her mother any better than I could.

"Do you have a new boyfriend, Lucy?" asked my mother.

"In a manner of speaking."

"I bet you do more than speaking, dear."

"I'm not going to talk about it."

"That's always best. Joel wasn't much of a talker but he did have a way about him."

"Why Mother!" I exclaimed, "I do believe you've turned into a dirty old woman."

"All I did is get old, darling. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

"Well, if you two are looking for a couple of mature studs, perhaps we should sign you up for a cruise to Mexico or the Caribbean."

"Just as long as they don't expect us to play shuffleboard," Mom said. "I'm too young to play shuffleboard."

"I'd rather play with a shuttlecock any time, Elaine," chimed in Aunt Carlene.

All in all it was a very interesting evening. Sex talk with our mothers and then sex later when Lucy spent the night.

The Big Apple

It may seem strange that someone who lives in a cabin in the woods would enjoy visiting the overcrowding and artificiality of New York City. The operative word here is visiting! It would drive me nuts to live in a lousy little apartment at the top of a pile of concrete and steel with a billion people all around me.

But there are theaters and museums and a whole list of things to see that you can find only in a big city with lots of people to support them. To be able to walk down the streets with my skirt swinging and my hair blowing free is a wonderful feeling. To know in just a couple of days I would not need silicon in my bra to feel like a woman only enhanced the pleasure.

So I visited my agent, who beamed to see me again, and not only because he gets 15% of my money. He's the only one in the business who knows that Carrie started out as Harry.

I visited the publisher and ceremonially handed over a thumb drive with the latest adventures of Lady Elaine and the evil Baron. No matter that they already had it in their computer banks because I sent over the Net. They ceremonially handed over a deposit receipt for my advance on the next piece of schlock I was going to write. Please don't tell any of my fans I said that, though.

If you're one of my fans then I guess I'm out of luck.

Next the photographer's studio, where I was primped and painted and polished for my Author's Photo. The photographer was a bit miffed that I wouldn't show any cleavage - after all Lady Elaine almost always depends on her cleavage to get what she wants.

That was a full day. I went back to my hotel, had a nice meal and luxuriated in a bubble bath, hoping to relax and get some sleep. No matter how much I wanted to have breasts, the idea of someone filleting my tender body was not too restful. Yes, I know that's not really how it's done, but tell that to the monkey gibbering in the back of my brain.

That row of asterisks is the surgery. You don't really want to know what I felt like, but I do have to tell you what craziness was in my head when I awoke from the surgery.

The pre-op instructions say you need someone to drive you home after the surgery, but in the Big Apple that's just silly. I may be crazy enough to get implants and live my life as a woman, but I'm nowhere near crazy enough to try and drive in Manhattan!

My original plan was to take the bus to the hotel, it was only about ten minutes on a direct route. That didn't seem all that bad. What I hadn't counted on was how the pain meds messed with my head.

No way I was riding the bus!

A very nice nurse with a New Joisey accent that you cut with a knife put me in a taxi and the taxi driver was instructed (read a big tip) to make sure I was delivered safely to my room. They figured I couldn't get in too much trouble that way.

I conked out completely, but ran into Lady Elaine roaming New York City trying to figure what was going on. Damned if the Baron wasn't hot on her trail, but he kept getting honked at by the cars he was dodging to catch her.

Now this had some plot possibilities. Could I get away with sending Lady Elaine through a time warp or have her face the wrath of an Evil Magician and get sent to modern New York? Hell, If Janet Evanovich could get away with that paranormal crap with Stephanie Plum and Diesel, why couldn't I do the same?

Well, maybe because she's a famous author and I'm the second string.

As soon as I thought about that, along came Stephanie Plum after the Baron, hollering about him needing to go down to the police station to renew his bond. The baron sneers an aristocratic sneer and ignores her, so Stephanie hands her Taser to Lady Elaine, who drops the Baron in his tracks.

Lady Elaine is overjoyed at how easy it was for her to escape his clutches and tries to swipe Stephanie's Taser. Next thing we know, along comes Stephanie's sidekick Lula and she and Lady Elaine get into an argument about who can show the most cleavage.

I tell you, those pain meds were strong! It all seemed logical at the time.

 
So I vegged out wearing a heavy-duty bra that was ugly as sin, taking sponge baths and eating room service trays for the next two days. Then I ran out of happy pills and started to think again.

What a shame!

I got my post-op checkup and everything was healing nicely, so I boarded a plane and headed home. I don't advise hitting turbulence with newly implanted breasts, it's not fun. I may forgive the pilot about the time I forgive the Weather Gods.

Lucy picked me up at the airport and refrained from hugging me, which I greatly appreciated. I was whipped! I also spent the next couple of weeks explaining I had had 'some minor surgery' while I was in New York, so I wasn't doing much for a while.

I was hesitant to show Lucy my new breasts, which were oddly placed and tie-dyed in yellow, brown and purple. She kindly refrained from kissing them to make them better - that would come in time.

 
Things once again settled down while I was waiting for my new breasts to drop and fluff. Drop and fluff is actually a technical term my surgeon used to describe what would happen. The inserts were placed higher than their final position because gravity would make them drop. The fluff part describes the how the inserts soften and round out after a while. Wearing that ugly bra is essential to keep them in place and prevent bottoming out which means the inserts could start to migrate toward my stomach. If all went well, in about three to six months my breasts would be looking natural.

 
Life with Mom was a strange blend of what had been our normal roles. Much of the time she was the woman who raised me and loved me. She could still offer a sharp observation on something we saw on the TV or read in the paper, but then she became confused and frustrated by some small task that she had done thousands of times before.

We still went shopping together, visited friends, did the things people do, only I had to gently guide her when she forgot something or got confused. I was becoming the parent and she the child.

Her one consistent belief was that I was Carrie. There were times when she fretted that she hadn't heard from Harry in a while, but she could forget she had been talking to Pam ten minutes after she hung up the phone. Not too much later she would be telling some story of our childhood in excruciating detail. I never knew what would be coming next.

I needed to get back to work, so I started plotting to have Lady Elaine kidnapped once again, but needed some new way to do it. She had already been kidnapped by pirates, the Baron, assorted Evil Princes, a Sultan, a Shiek, and a horny, megalomaniac goatherd just for variety's sake. Too bad cowboys were out-of-period, having her lassoed and hogtied had a certain charm. I was running out of people crazy enough to think she was worth kidnapping, let alone putting up with her if they succeeded.

I was in my creative fog considering the possibility of having her snatched by a troop of Wild Geese - the Irish mercenaries, not the birds that shit all over the park sidewalks - when my cellphone rang.

"Hi Caroline," I answered my sister.

"Harry?"

"Nope, Sherry. Harry is no longer with us."

"No shit?"

"I've been taking my laxative faithfully, so that's not my problem."

"Sherry! So you finally did it."

"Indeed I did. Just don't tell Mom, she's confused enough already."

"And she still thinks you're Carrie?"

"Too true. I gave up trying to set her straight."

"Sherry, how is Mom?"

"About the same, still mostly there but there are times…"

"What do you think of getting the family together for Thanksgiving? Is she up to it? Are you up to it?"

"I think that might be doable. Mom is at her best in a crowd of people she knows."

"I talked to Pam and she wants to do it if it will be good for Mom. Sherry, we don't want to miss any time with her if she's losing it."

There was a distinct sniffle as she said that.

"Sis, neither do I."

"We can all get there a few days before Thanksgiving so we can help. It wouldn't be fair to have you do everything."

"Darn right. I'm still moving a little slow these days."

"Huh? Why?"

"I had my top surgery done."

"I hope you didn't overdo it, some men have very inflated ideas."

"Same size as Carrie when everything settles down. And there is no inflation involved. They call them Gummy Bears because they have a semi-solid filling."

"And someone will want to be chewing on them, I suppose."

"Without a doubt. Lucy and I are an item these days."

"I'm starting to think Mom's not the only one back home with a few screws loose."

"I assure that Lucy is very tight when we screw."

"Sherry!"

"Hey - I should ignore a straight line like that?"

"A refined woman would have done so."

"Which is why I didn't."

"And which is why there will be more than one turkey at Thanksgiving. At least it won't be a Tom."

"And I shall gobble in a polite and feminine manner."

"I give up. See you in a couple of weeks, sis."

Thanksgiving

Sometimes Chaos can be a good thing. The old place was filled to the rafters, but we managed to find places for both visiting families to sleep. I graciously volunteered to sleep at Lucy's place to make room. Hey - I'm a writer, I make up stories for a living. I don't claim they're convincing stories.

Mom was in her glory, everybody but Carrie and Harry were home, although for her it was everybody but Harry. I had my doubts that we would make it through the holidays with everyone not telling Mom that Uncle Harry was now Aunt Sherry who was pretending to be Aunt Carrie, but Mom wasn't interested in unraveling such mysteries.

Lucy and Carlene would be joining the family for our repast. I had been informed that since she was going to be my mother-in-law someday she was now Carlene and no longer Mrs Kesslere, which was news to both Lucy and me. As Lucy and I grew closer I confess to occasional speculations on the mother-in-law part.

As for me, I simply loved being Aunt Sherry full time, not having to worry about who knew or who would be offended. I was me and I was Sherry - with one notable exception. Fortunately the names rhymed and Mom didn't really catch it when somebody slipped.

We had all the old family favorites at the meal, but the nice thing about having brother-in-laws from different families was that they brought with them some of their own family favorites. I was skeptical about the Brussels sprouts, but you put enough garlic and butter on anything and it tastes good. I went back for seconds.

We had reached the stage where the mountains of dishes had been washed and dried, the turkey carcass was simmering in a big pot to make soup stock and those of us in the kitchen were contemplating a postprandial snooze when the old land line phone rang. It took a second or two to realize what that bell meant, with the ubiquity of cell phones nobody has a simple bell ringing when their phone goes off any more.

It was Carrie, calling from wherever she was to wish the family a Happy Thanksgiving. I was glad to hear from my far-off sister, but once again we were faced with the Two Carrie Conundrum. Mom was confused, but soldiered on. We learned that they had actually imported some turkeys for the Americans in the group and even though the stuffing came out of a box it was a good dinner. We taunted her with glowing descriptions of our dinner, what else can you do for a sister?

The big news was that she would be home for Christmas, and bringing along her fiancé. Mom kept looking between me and the speakerphone, just what was I going to do? Carrie finally hung up and Carlene came to the rescue, taking Mom off for a quiet talk.

"The shit is about to hit the fan, Sherry," Pam stated the obvious.

"I wonder what her guy is going to think of a duplicate copy?"

"Not quite a duplicate, you have a semicolon where she has a colon."

"Speaking of shit…"

"Be careful," Lucy said. "You'll scare her guy off spouting that crap," Lucy warned.

"If he can't take it then he's not the right one for Carrie. Too bad Harry isn't around with Dad's baseball bat to scare the guy off."

"Just as long as you and Carrie don't try to play 'guess which twin is which' with the guy," ordered Lucy

"Don't worry, I'm taken, although we may have to go back to wearing blue and pink bracelets when the family is home."

"Taken, eh?" Lucy asked with such innocence that Pam busted out laughing. "With who?"

"You, dear girl. I've been trying to get the nerve to ask, but I can't let Carrie get one ahead of me. Will you marry me, Lucy?"

"Three cheers for sibling rivalry!" crowed Pam.

"I haven't said 'yes' yet."

"Honey, don't try to outdo this broad with a cliffhanger ending. She's a professional," warned Pam.

"Yes."

"I think I just went over the cliff."

"Did you remember your parachute?" asked Lucy

"Nuts! I knew I forgot something."

"Happy landings."

"I'll aim for your bed."

"Get a room, you two," admonished Pam.

"And just where do you think I've been sleeping the last couple of days?"

"Who's sleepy, Mom?" asked my nephew Kurt.

"No one. Your Aunt just had a wake-up call. She just proposed to Miss Lucy and Lucy accepted."

"Way to go, Auntie! Now the right-wingers won't know if they should hate you because you used to be a guy or hate you because you're a girl marrying another girl."

"From the mouths of babes…" was all I could say.

"Hey - you're the babe around here, even if you're getting old."

"Begone, young whelp! You, too, shall become old if I don't put you in the ground first!"

"Yeah? You and what army?"

At which point Lucy stepped behind him and poked a finger into each side of his ribs.

"Meet my General, young doubter."

"No fair!"

"My sister fights dirty, kid," smirked Pam. "Why do you think I got out of the house and married your dad?"

"Because you're seven years older than me and couldn't stand not being the cutest one in the family any more," I answered.

"He's all yours, Lucy. I don't want him."

"Sold!"

As much fun as it was to joust with my sister, I still had no idea how to deal with Mom.

Pillow Talk

Back at Lucy's place, we settled into bed. I stared at the ceiling and mused "Did I do the right thing today?" I felt Lucy's hand tighten on my thigh and hastily added "Not in proposing, but what will happen with Mom?"

"The logistics part is simple. My lease is up at the end of the year, so I move in with you and we take care of your mother together. We get married and I start calling myself Mrs Ballston, flattening all of the assholes who snicker at the name."

"Want to borrow Dad's baseball bat?"

"I could tie pink ribbons around it so it would look more feminine. They might come in handy if I have to tie them up to assert my dominance."

"I bet the IRS just hates to come up against you in tax season."

"Me strong like bull - keep 'em cowed."

"I notice we've avoided talking about Mom."

"Yeah. Maybe because we don't know what to do?"

"It seemed like the simple solution to just let her think I'm Carrie, since Carrie was half a world away. How will Mom be able to handle two of us? Can we convince her that Carrie and Sherry are different people?"

"We have to try, Sherry. My Mother will help."

"I know she will. Not to borrow trouble, but what happens if your mother starts to slip? What do we do then?"

"All move in together and open a nursing home?"

"And which one of us gets to retrain as a nurse?"

"Think of it as research for your next book."

"You're full of good ideas tonight."

"I'm also full of turkey and stuffing. Sherry?"

"Yes?"

"Do we want to have children of our own?"

"I want to say yes, but is it fair to bring them into such an unsettled situation?"

"People have been having children in far worse situations for as long as humanity has been around. It may not be fair, but I think we'd make pretty good parents. There is a time limit, the doctors advise me to have any children before I hit thirty-five or the chances of complications start to go up pretty fast."

"Deadlines. The curse of a writer's life. Now one more deadline."

"We aren't going to solve it all tonight, go to sleep, love."

An Old Friend

We were up early to join Lucy's mother for breakfast, leaving my family to fend for themselves. Since she worked for a progressive company, Lucy had a long weekend for Thanksgiving. Since my boss did whatever I told her too, I didn't have to work either.

"What are you two looking so smug about?"

"As if you didn't know. I think I caught a keeper this time, Mom."

"Strange as it may seem, I think you did, too. Your Uncle Phil may not be so agreeable, though."

"I'm not surprised - or worried. Uncle Phil still thinks we're living in the middle ages and is scared shitless that the renaissance is coming."

"And he still thinks women should be barefoot and pregnant."

"I still want to wear shoes, but we're talking about the pregnant part."

"Don't tease an old woman."

"We appreciate it you haven't asked when you are going to have another grandbaby three seconds after I proposed."

"It must have been at least five or six seconds after you proposed that Kurt gave me the news."

"The kid runs faster than us middle-aged types."

"So - have you set a date?"

"Before the end of the year. There's a CPA I know tells me we can claim the whole year on our taxes even if we get married five minutes before midnight on New Year's Eve. Besides, I want Carrie to be there."

"Oh my! And Elaine still thinks…"

"Yeah, I've been trying to tell Mom I'm not Carrie ever since I came back and it hasn't worked. Not even when I came home as Harry. She just got mad that Carrie was dressing like her brother."

"I simply hate losing my friend like this! Lucy honey, shoot me if I start to go that way. Please!"

"Mom…"

"I know honey, it's just an expression; but there are entirely too many people shooting off guns when they get frustrated these days. Maybe we should all move to Oregon."

"That's a little drastic, don't you think?"

"Of course you're right."

"I'm starting to think that the only thing we can do is wait for Carrie to come home and have the both of us talk to Mom together. Only problem is I remember the first time we got caught being two Carries - not fun at all."

"Lucy, you never told me that story."

"There are some things that are better when parents don't know."

"Tell me that when you two have teenagers of your own."

Now that one set me back, and I could see that Lucy had a strange look as well.

"And how many times did your father say he hoped you would have children as bad as you were? What goes around comes around."

"We'll just send them over to Grandma's house if the going gets tough. Problem solved!"

"Yup. I'm definitely moving to Oregon."

It All Comes Out In The Wash

I had kind of hoped that things would slow down for a while so I could turn my attention to Lady Elaine. I had decided it was time for her to be waylaid by brigands again. Not that this would be a new experience for her, she had been previously waylaid your run-of-the-mill handsome young rogue, a former pirate who had retired from briganding on the high seas to briganding on the dry land, revolting peasants - not physically revolting, the revolutionary kind - and an Evil Sorcerer. I was debating whether to have a Wicked Old Crone or a band of Gypsies do the deed this time.

The Wicked Old Crone had the possibility of cannibalism and a big stew-pot over a roaring fire. Naturally, the Wicked Old Crone would have to remove Lady Elaine's clothing before tossing her into the pot, and removing her clothes always had the advantage of several pages describing the process, not to mention her lush body.

On the other hand, a band of Gypsies - and I know that it is no longer PC to call them Gypsies, but a more modern circumlocution would be out-of-period - could involve a tall, handsome, dark, mysterious young man with flowing hair and dashing mustaches. I could keep the roaring fire, kill the stew-pot and have them dancing frenetically in a clearing in the wilderness to the strains of a weeping violin.

I took the dark, young man and filed the crone for a later book. Damn, I'm good when I get going!

I was contemplating whether a Gypsy would intone 'Stand and deliver!' or simply come galloping up, leap daringly upon the horses drawing the carriage and bring them to a halt when Mom interrupted my thoughts.

"Carrie?"

Uh-oh. That tone of voice didn't sound promising.

"Yes, mother?"

"There's something wrong with the washer."

"OK, I'll come look at it."

I saved my work, backed it up just to be sure and followed her down to the laundry room. Sure enough, the washer didn't sound right. I opened the lid and found it was stuffed to the brim clothes."

"Mom, you have too big a load."

"I wanted to get it all done. They all fit inside."

"I know, Mom, but there needs to be room for the clothes to swish around."

"Oh…"

I was starting to realize just what Mom went through when teaching us how to do laundry properly.

"I'll take care of it, Mom. Why don't you go relax for a while."

"Is that all right?"

"Sure it is, you just take it easy."

I had been recovering from surgery pretty well, the swelling was much less and my incisions were no longer bright red. Even the bruising was mostly gone. However, lifting sodden clothes out of the washer and dropping them into a laundry basket was not recommended exercise for an optimal recovery.

I contented myself with muttering about how I volunteered for this. Laundry was women's work and I was (mostly) a woman now. I could sure use some of Lady Elaine's serfs or wenches to do this for me, but I suppose the life of pounding a keyboard all day is an improvement on beating laundry in a tub.

Trust Walk

If you've ever been to a corporate "team building" exercise - no snickers from the onlookers, please - you may have encountered something known as a trust walk. The victims - I mean participants - are paired up, one is blindfolded and guided through a maze or obstacle course solely by directions from the other. It's supposed to help you grow closer to your fellow workers and learn to trust their judgement.

You may notice that I have chosen to work alone.

Want to kick it up a step? Try trusting your sister to choose the music for your wedding. I consulted with my bride-to-be and she said "Go for it. Caroline had good taste and it's one less thing for us to worry about."

I can hardly wait to see what tune will be playing when I walk down the aisle.

Changes

Having made two very major changes in my life, I now had to cope with the results. First, the name. My lawyer tells me that there is no law against using any name you want as long as it isn't for fraud. This is good because Sherry was who I was unless I made a trip back home.

Now that the changes in my body made my breasts permanent, I wanted to have the name permanent. Besides, bureaucrats are damned hard to convince that your name has changed without an official piece of paper attesting to that fact - unless you're a woman who gets married, of course.

Once I had scheduled my surgery, I had Chad, my lawyer, e-mail the right forms, I signed them and made photocopies of various documents and snail-mailed them back. Old fashioned, I know, but electronic forms are just too easy to spoof. Just ask anyone who has helped that poor Nigerian Prince in his hour of need.

I was incredibly surprised when the finished court order arrived in my mailbox only two weeks after the surgery. I had to wonder how many bodies Chad threatened to exhume in order to get service like that.

Papers in hand, I headed down to the DMV and filled out more forms, sat on a hard bench and waited, explained what I wanted, filled out another form since I had the wrong one, stood in front of a white square painted on the wall and had my picture taken.

It was then that a miracle came to pass - I actually liked my picture! I went home a happy woman, hoping that Mom hadn't got into any trouble while I was gone. No problem - she was watching one of those sappy Hallmark movies and was completely enthralled. No matter how far I progress in my path to femininity, I will never be able to stand a Hallmark movie. As a Romance Writer, even I have standards!

Another downloaded form and I sent the paperwork for my new passport to the appropriate office. Ditto Social Security. The buggers at the SSA were firm that I was not female but they grudgingly changed my name. That was important because the IRS relies on information from the SSA when you file your taxes.

Another change was that Lucy got tired of deciding which place to sleep in and just moved in with Mom and me. At first I think Mom thought it was one of the sleepovers that used to happen when we were kids.

On her good days, I came close to having Mom figure out why Harry was not going to be coming home, but that mental block between Harry and Sherry was as firm as ever. She just got confused when I tried to tell her that I wasn't Carrie and Carrie was going to be home for Christmas.

It hurts to see your parent so painfully confused.

Lucy was my rock and Carlene made quite an effort to be with her old friend. What else could we do?

We Can Still Elope!

Call us naive, but Lucy and I thought we would have a small and simple wedding. Lucy had no wish to be the star of another extravaganza like her first time around and I had no interest in being the transgendered curiosity up there with her. Just family and a couple of close friends, maybe a sit-down back at the house. And we would darn well have it catered.

I guess I just don't have enough experience at being a woman. No way we were going to get that past our mothers.

Seriously, Mom couldn't really figure out which of her children I was, but the word wedding seemed to have unlocked some wellspring of her robust self - at least as far as planning a wedding. Fortunately, Carlene was there to moderate the plans, but neither parent was constitutionally able to associate simple with wedding.

"What do you mean you'll just wear a nice dress?!!!" Carlene's anguished cry echoed from the walls and ceiling. "You're a bride! You're both brides. Nice dress, indeed!"

"Oh dear, Carrie," Mom echoed, "that just wouldn't be proper."

"Mom, we're too old to go for all that stuff. We…"

"What would your brother Harry think if you didn't look like a bride?"

"Mom, remember…"

I stopped right there. You've got to go to where she is, she can't come to you.

OK, go with the flow…

Cue the shopping scene!

I'm just not going to go that far. If you're reading this you have undoubtedly read a multitude of shopping scenes with the mandatory 'getting undressed in front of your mother,' 'squeezing into the corset,' 'falling off the high heels,' and 'there's a beautiful woman in the mirror' sub-plots. Even though I'm a professional there is no way I can make that scene fresh.

We did it, we got the dresses and I certainly did enjoy showing my mother my new breasts. They hadn't really dropped or fluffed to my satisfaction, but they were starting to look like the real thing. I even managed to let Carlene get a peek.

I may have big girl boobs but there's still a lot of little kid in me.

The Fabulous Expanding Wedding

Remember back a little while ago I was talking about having a small wedding for family and close friends? Turns out that my mother was not the only one living in a fantasy world.

Take a look at the guest list:

Bride #1:

Mother	1
Sister Pam	4
Sister Caroline	5
Sister Carrie	2
Aunt Josephine	2
Lawyer Chad	2
Bride #2:
Mother	1
Ex-husband	1
Maid of Honor	4
Sister Sally	3
Sister Samantha	4
Brother Jerry	3
Uncle Phil*	2
*His wife made him come even if he was a right wing grump.
Both Brides:
Officiant	4
Misc old friends	12
Misc Neighbors	7
Grand total:	57!

 
Too bad it's the middle of winter and we couldn't just go and get married in a park. OK, we booked the hall at our officiant's oddball church, put up with the sarcastic comments about it not really being a church and how we could send out for pizza if we couldn't find a caterer on short notice.

Not!

 
Mom did her best to be part of the planning and offered to pay for her daughter to get married. After all, isn't paying for the wedding something the bride's family does? Then what happens when they're two brides?

For further complications, what happens when the mother of this particular bride is no longer able to understand her own finances?

Is it a conflict of interest for me to provide my mother's money to pay for part of my own wedding?

The Calm Before The Storm

Life was good. I appreciated having Lucy in bed with me every night, Mom seemed to be happy with Lucy living with us, even if she rather thought of it as one of the sleepovers we had when we were kids.

The new book was coming along nicely. I had left Lady Elaine frantically whipping the horses on the wagon she had stolen when her Faithful Maid Lucinda discovered the tall, dark, handsome Gypsy was really a demon from the nether reaches, even if he could dance like a demon possessed. Hey - I just write 'em, I don't explain 'em.

I was trying to find some semi-plausible reason for Lady Elaine to go through a pseudo-marriage ceremony with another woman so I could do an Alfred Hitchcock and write myself in as the other bride when the phone rang. It was the one and original Carrie.

"Sherry? Caller ID says it's Sherry now."

"Indeed it is. Congratulate me, sis."

"What for?"

"Want to be a bridesmaid?"

"NO! Who?"

"The lovely Miss Lucy Kesslere."

"So she finally snagged you."

"The wedding is New Year's Eve. Will you be there?"

"We just landed in New York. We're going to take a couple of days to adjust to the time change and see a few things, then we'll be home late Wednesday."

"Cool. You're saying 'we.' Does that imply you have someone for us to meet?

"More than imply, sis. Hjalte is right here with me."

That's pronounced Yell-ta if you don't speak Danish.

"Darn! With Dad gone and Harry out of the picture, there's no one left to protect your virtue."

"Who says I have any virtue left to protect?"

"There is that. I guess we better move Lucy's queen size bed over from her old place so you have a place to sleep. I assume you aren't interested in twin beds?"

"Mom didn't raise no dummies, Sherry."

"It will be good to see my other half again. The only problem is we will again have two Carries around the place."

"Do we resort to forehead name tattoos?"

"Hush yo' mouth, chile'."

"This is going to be fun. See you Wednesday."

It's Almost What?

There's a story Dad told about a husband who was so wound up in getting to his destination he left his wife behind at the rest stop. He could really string it out and make it funny, but we never could believe someone could forget something so obvious.

That is, until I almost forgot Christmas was coming.

Between transitioning, proposing, planning a wedding, watching Mom and figuring out where to put Carrie and her man, Christmas almost got lost in the shuffle. It's a good thing I had a yearly reminder on my computer set for December 11 that told me to get the Christmas decorations out.

Not that I've needed it, living alone I didn't do much about Christmas except return to the old homestead at the proper time. Whether it was sentiment or inertia, I had never deleted the reminder. Thus it came to pass that I abandoned Lady Elaine and her Faithful Maid Lucinda in mid-crisis and went up to the attic to start toting boxes. Mom had been efficient, the Christmas boxes were all together and the contents marked. I schlepped them down to the living room.

As an active woman of the house, I helped Mom cook dinner. So far she was pretty much OK in the kitchen as long as I made sure the stove units were turned off and the sharp knives were racked properly. It was a good feeling to have dinner ready for my almost-wife when she got home from work.

Since Pam had developed an allergy to pine trees, we no longer had a real tree. Dad had bought a very realistic fake tree that had all the LED lights already on it. This had two advantages - Pam didn't get hives and Dad didn't get frustrated trying to string the lights, only to have them die before he was done when one of those cheapo, tiny incandescent bulbs blew out. Much easier to just remove the dust bag from the fully assembled tree and be done with it.

We were about halfway done when Lucy opened a box simply marked 'stuff' and pulled out an atrocity.

"What is the devil is this?" she asked.

I looked over and saw she was holding the most ugly Christmas sweater on the planet, the one with the reindeer nose boob on it.

You'll notice I did not include the head of the person wearing that abomination. For a guy that desperately longed to have breasts, such mockery didn't sit well. Dad bought it for Caroline one Christmas when she was getting a little too fond of displaying herself for her boyfriend and made her wear it when he was over. She got the message.

Somehow, since Dad bought it, Mom couldn't bring herself to toss it. I hadn't seen it in years because I was not around to help with the decorating.

"Ah Lucy, I'm afraid I haven't told you about the Ballston family tradition."

"And that is…"

"The newest member of the family gets to wear that sweater on Christmas Eve."

"The wedding is off."

"Oh Lucy, please don't say that. We love you, dear." Mom fretted.

"I'll reconsider, but only if Sherry wears the sweater."

"Wait a minute. You're not the newest member any more. Carrie is bringing home her beau. You get a reprieve."

"Sherry, making a Danish citizen wear that sweater might spark an international incident."

"Why? Denmark is a lot closer to the north pole than we are. They must know Santa better than we do."

"You'd better consult the State Department before doing anything rash."

"Did you know that Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer must have been transgendered?"

"Nothing could shock me after seeing that sweater."

"It's true. Both male and female reindeer have antlers, but males lose them in November and females the following May. If Rudolph had antlers like all the pictures show he must have been a she."

"Does that mean female reindeer are hornier than males?"

"Haven't the faintest."

"Enough with the biology, where do these elves go?"

"On the shelf, of course."

A Quiet Evening At Home

To some spectral observer glancing into our living room that evening, it would appear that the mother and her daughters were spending a quiet evening at home. Mother was knitting a sweater and watching something on the television. The dark-haired daughter was staring abstractedly into the ether and the blonde-haired daughter was absently playing with her smartphone. A peaceful scene of domesticity if there ever was one.

As they say, looks can be deceiving. The mother was fretting because she wasn't sure who she had started knitting the sweater for. The dark-haired daughter was busily plotting some outrageous misfortune to inflict on Lady Elaine and the blonde-haired daughter wasn't a daughter at all, but a future daughter-in-law. And all three of them were trying to be patient, waiting for the return of yet another daughter and her beau.

At last the doorbell rang and the dark-haired daughter, the one variously known as Carrie or Sherry or previously Harry, rose and answered the door.

"Hi sis! You need some freckles with that look."

The genuine Carrie stood there with a head-full of auburn curls, something she had not possessed when she left for her stint overseas.

"Hey, a girl can go wild in the Big Apple after spending a year in some nasty backwater patching people together. Like the look?"

"I do, although don't blame me if it confuses Mom. She's sure I'm Carrie and I haven't been able to change her mind."

"Sherry, meet the most wonderful man in the world. Hjalte, meet my sister Sherry and my best friend Lucy - the pushy blonde she's going to marry."

"Pushy, why you red-haired hussy, I'll show you who's pushy."

I felt a firm pressure at the small of my back and was quickly moved forward several inches. Carrie caught me and we embraced gently but warmly. "Those things look real," Carrie whispered in my ear.

"A dream come true, sis," I whispered back. Then more loudly "Come in, come in!"

When we got to the living room I said "Mom, Carrie's home."

"Mom stood up and looked confused. Carrie lifted her up and gave her a hug and a kiss. "I love you, Mom. It's been too long!"

"Carrie?"

"You bet, the genuine article. Has my sister Sherry been taking good care of you?"

"Sherry? Uh…"

"Mom, I want you to meet Hjalte, my fiancè."

Hjalte had been standing by with a bemused look on his face. I certainly hoped Carrie had briefed him as to what he was going to find when she brought him home. The man was gallant, he took our mother's hand and kissed it with a bow.

"I am so glad to meet you at last, Mrs Ballston. Carrie has told me many nice things about you."

Oooh! That lovely accent was enough to set any girl's heart a-flutter, even a girl like me who wasn't into guys.

"I'm glad to meet you too, Yell…"

She stumbled a bit over his name.

"Yell-ta, madam. Not a name common on this side of the Atlantic."

"I see. Can we offer you some tea or coffee?"

Always the perfect hostess, that's Mom.

"Only if I can help you make it, Carrie said. "I'm looking forward to cooking in a real kitchen again, not under a giant tent."

Carrie went off with Mom, leaving us to entertain Hjalte.

"Have a seat," I offered. "Have you been in the US before?"

"This is my first time. I did spend several years in England, however. I must say I wasn't prepared for just how big this country is. The only one of your states smaller than Denmark is Hawaii. Your country is almost as big as the entire European Union."

"I may be about to find out how big it is myself. My publisher is trying to put together a book tour for me."

"Carrie said you were an author."

"I am, but most men aren't interested in my books. I write romance novels."

"I will still give them a try. I'm afraid I am not as good at reading English as speaking it."

"You seem to have a very good grasp of our idioms."

"At least the British ones, but in the last year talking with Carrie and other American doctors has improved my English tremendously."

Just then Mom and Carrie came in with drinks and, of course, the cookies I had been baking, relieving us of the need to talk for a few minutes.

When our mouths were no longer full, Lucy and I started telling tales of the things we had done as kids, making sure that Hjalte got to know just who he was going to marry. Lucy already knew all the stories, having participated in most of them. We even told a couple of stories that we hadn't told Mom before.

See how much I love my sister?

When Mom started to yawn I helped her upstairs and made sure she was tucked into bed, savoring the irony of how she used to do that for me ages ago. The four of us talked late into the night, catching up with our lives and trying to see just who we had become.

I do have to wonder what Hjalte thought of his brother-turned-sister-in-law, but he didn't seem to be all that phased by our honesty. I later found out that gay sex had been legal in Denmark since 1933 and Denmark has consistently been in the forefront of LGBT rights.

Carrie picked a good one.

Storm Clouds On The Horizon

I was talking with Carrie and Hjalte one evening, learning about some of the things going on in medicine in the far-flung corners of the world when Hjalte mentioned that there was a lot of concern about a new virus that had originated in China. Seems the stuff was spreading at a phenomenal rate and people were starting to get worried.

I was skeptical, China was a long way away - why should we be concerned over here? So they talked about the Spanish Flu and the Asian Flu and Polio, diseases that spread worldwide and caused massive suffering. They were particularly concerned because Trump had dismantled our national response to pandemics.

I wasn't concerned, but we all know how that turned out. I was too busy thinking about getting married to worry about things like that.

Christmas

Christmas in a house with no children is a very relaxed affair. It no longer has the urgency of a kid just fidgeting and longing to rip and tear the wrappings to see what's in the next present. It does have its advantages, though, like continuing to snuggle close to the other warm body in the bed. That present was successfully unwrapped on Christmas Eve, so there's no urgency on Christmas Morning.

Now when I refer to early I am referring to early as in sunrise. Then there's early for an elderly woman, which is far earlier than the kind of early practiced by two pairs of lovers content to stay in bed and enjoy, shall we say, continued companionship.

When Lucy and I heard Mom moving about we arose, threw on our robes and went out to greet the day. My slugabed sister, not quite convinced that Mom needed a good deal of help these days, was conspicuously absent.

"Merry Christmas, Carrie, Merry Christmas, Lucy.'

"It's Sherry, Mom. Carrie is still in bed."

"You are?"

"Wrong sister, Mom. I'm Sherry, Carrie has the red hair now."

"Oh yes. Red hair doesn't run in our family."

"Nope, it comes from a bottle, she had it colored."

"Oh."

"Let's get dressed and have breakfast, then we can open our presents."

"Of course dear."

I was glad that Mom could still dress herself without help. I may look and think like a woman, but having to dress my mother still seems just plain wrong.

So we did the present thing, called Caroline and Pam, then went over to Lucy's mother's place to visit with her family. There were enough kids there to capture the Christmas Spirit of frenetic activity missing at our place.

All in all, my first Christmas as Sherry was a very satisfying one.

The Wedding Preparations

I hated to do it, but we had to tell the family there was no room at the inn for wedding guests. With Carrie home and Lucy's apartment no longer available, there just wasn't any place to put them. They understood and booked hotel rooms.

Carlene, the quintessential Women's Club Lady, had a friend who, while she wasn't a professional, could cater the expanded wedding. At least the fare would be simple, if not the wedding itself. I hoped that Hjalte the Dane appreciated that we were going to do it smorgasbord style.

We had decided to get married far too late to book a band or DJ for the reception, but Lucy solved that problem. Her ex actually did DJ work on the side and would take care of the music for our wedding. Having two brides was not the only thing non-traditional about our wedding.

Somehow it all came together and at six o'clock on New Year's Eve Lucy and I walked down the aisle together, there being no groom to be waiting at the other end. I was glad that Mom had insisted on a real bridal gown. A low cut gown to display my very own cleavage. Not as much as my bride was able to show, but certainly a dream come true for this former boy.

The Vows

Well, this is kind of embarrassing. For all that I make my living with finding the right words to convey an idea, I was stuck for what words to use to tell Lucy just what I felt for her.

When I write I usually have to wait for an idea to bounce around inside my head for a while before it manages to come out. Living by myself in a cabin in the woods helps a lot, solitude is a great inspiration. Once the idea is ready I have to get to a keyboard and see if my fingers can keep up with the flow.

Solitude had not been a part of my life since I got that phone call from Caroline in early October. Coping with Mother's dementia, finally admitting to myself that I was never going to go back to being Harry, delivering my manuscript to the publisher, getting a boob job and discovering that the old best friend I hadn't seen in some time was really my soulmate, asking her to get married six weeks after I found her again then getting married another six weeks later while fitting in three major holidays?

That has to be the worst run-on sentence that I ever put on paper. In fact, it isn't even a sentence, it's only a part of one that doesn't even contain a verb, but it gets the job done. What it didn't get done was finding the right words to say to Lucy when we stood before the preacher. I think I should write an essay on procrastination, but I'll work on it next week.

But I did find the words, and here they are:

 
"Lucy, you know I make my living as a writer, and something pounded into my head since Mrs Waters taught fifth grad English is that cliches are verboten in good writing. Yet here we stand in a situation that is simply inundated with about every cliche imaginable. I love you had been mouthed innumerable times, till death do us part comes a close second, at least until you end up in divorce court. Isn't the bride beautiful! is certainly true of the bride I'm looking at right now and isn't the groom handsome! is one cliche I am pleased to dispense with.

"We romance writers have a great deal of fun with the geek who can't see the signals the girl is sending, and sadly I was one of those when we were kids together, but in the stories the geek finally gets the message.

"Message received, love. I don't care if it's a cliche - I love you and we are going to live happily ever after.

"The End."

 
I should have known that Lucy would not let it go at that.

 
"Sherry, you may be the writer, but I have a pretty good history of making up stories in my head. You're just lucky that when I put them down they just don't come out like they were in my head or I'd be outselling you.

"But when we were kids, when Carrie, Sherry and Lucy would go out on the town it was always Sherry that made my heart beat a bit faster. If it was Harry, Carrie and Lucy you still managed to get my heart going. No matter who you were, you were always off in la-la-land, probably plotting your next masterpiece. You don't know how many times that I wanted to whack you over the head and scream 'Are you ever going to notice me?'

"Every time I almost started screaming I couldn't do it because I didn't want to scare off my friend. You went away and got famous, I stayed home and got my CPA. How could a nerdy CPA complete with a glamorous author?

"It wasn't until you came home that I realized that love is not a competition. Once I figured that out, once I began to see you as a the person I grew up with, the rest just fell into place.

"So Sherry, I'm going to say 'I love you' right back and promise you that whatever the end of the story is, we will be there together to see it."

 
So we kissed the brides, ate a wonderful meal with friends, danced to the DJ and welcomed in the new year with fireworks.

We were sure that that happy ending was right there to walk into.

Epilogue

That would have been a great place to end this scribbling, but reality just refuses to tie itself up so nicely. Nobody knew as 2019 flipped over into 2020 that we would be living in a horror story and not a romance. If I could have plotted it any other way I certainly would have, but reality will admit of no co-authors.

Lucy and I were two of the lucky ones, we both had jobs that didn't need us to go into some confined space and breathe other people's exhalations. Carrie and Hjalte were our advance warning system, they got the dope from reliable sources outside the USA, so we took Covid-19 seriously from the start.

Ironically, Carrie and Hjalte, being hospital staff, were among the early victims. They pulled through with fairly mild cases and went on to be among those who tried to keep thousands of others alive. They lost many colleagues to the virus and battled heroically for many, many months without a break.

Their marriage plans were shot to hell - they found a JP in Philadelphia, where they were living, and tied the knot with strangers signing as witnesses. No family, we weren't traveling by then, but they wanted to be married if the worst happened.

We followed the CDC guidelines and ignored the politicians. I mean seriously - who could believe the nonsense the political types were spouting? We wore KN95 masks when outside. I did most of the shopping, going in and out as quickly as possible. We disinfected, we washed hands, we tried our best, we really did.

Despite all that, Mom came down it it in late August. It accelerated quickly and we rushed her by ambulance to the ER, then held our breath. She passed in mid-September, in isolation and all alone since we were not allowed to visit for fear of spreading the damn virus even farther. Sometimes life just sucks.

Was it more merciful for her to pass in a matter of a couple of weeks instead of spending years with her mind slowly crumbling? I don't have the answer, that's for sure. It was something we never talked about. Dad keeled over in his mid-sixties, mom's dementia started in her early seventies. None of us expected them to fail so soon, so we never talked about it.

So part of why I wrote this is to beg anyone who has parents of, say, fifty or more to have that conversation. Maybe even forty. It's damned hard. Nobody wants to do it. Dad used to say 'nobody gets out of this world alive' when he was in a philosophical mood, but…

Yeah, but…

Believe me, you do not want to be the one who had to make those decisions for your parents without knowing just what they want done. I had to do it, and I hated it. The job was all the more difficult because Mom had never made a living will or a medical power of attorney.

Dammit, if your parents don't have those forms do not wait a single day more! And if you're the parent, don't let your kids flounder around if you suddenly get sick or - I'll say it - drop dead.

End of sermon.

 
Neither Lucy or I came down with it, and we have no explanation. Carlene stayed home, thanking her stars that she was retired, until Mom went into the hospital. We all decided that it would be best if she moved in with us and we all made it until the vaccines were available.

We all were first in line to get that needle. By the time the second booster was available, Lucy and I decided that if we were going to be parents, now was the time. That's what got me to write this memoir - the pregnancy test just came back positive and I started writing.

We may just be able to find that happy ending after all.