CHAPTER 35 -- Home Again

When we got back, we still had a week before school started. I thought I'd gotten over Dennis while we were on vacation, but now that I was back, I missed him as much as before, though I wasn't crying myself to sleep any more. I remembered that Doris had said I should call her, so I did, and she told me to come on over.

When I got to her place, she was in the back yard wearing a bikini and lying on a towel sunning herself while reading a book. I was wearing the miniskirt and a halter top and feeling very exposed even though I was a lot more covered than she was. When she saw me, she sat up and got me to sit next to her.

"So what's up?" she asked.

"I'm still hung up on Dennis. I know it's stupid, but I feel like I'll never be happy again. And I'll be seeing him around every day when school starts. I'd talk it over with Dr. Gordon, but she's still on vacation."

"Did you talk to her before you left?"

"Yeah, but it didn't help much. I kind of felt like it was my fault he broke up with me."

"Why?"

"I'd been pushing him harder than he was comfortable with. I thought he was okay with what we were doing, but then he wasn't."

"What did you do exactly? Pester him until he finally did what you wanted?"

"I don't think so, at least, I didn't keep asking him. We started out just hugging and kissing, mostly hugging. Then he wanted to touch my breast and that was fine, but then I asked him to, you know, down there."

"Finger-fucking?"

"I guess. Anyway, he wasn't sure, but then the next time he said he wanted to. Then after a while I wanted him to, you know, fuck me. Make love, I called it. He thought about it, and then the next time, he said yes. We did it a couple of times, and then he said he didn't want to see me any more."

"So you asked him to do things, and each time, he thought about it and then said yes. I don't see how that's 'pushing' him. I mean, if he really wasn't comfortable with it, why did he say yes? How are you supposed to know that he doesn't want to if he says yes the first time you ask? You're not a mind reader!" She sounded indignant.

She went on. "I don't think you did anything wrong, and I don't think it's right that Dr. Gordon got you to think you did. It's the same old story: whatever happens, it's the woman's fault. It's your fault for asking. It's your fault for not understanding him better than he understands himself. That is just so sexist!"

I noticed the book she'd been reading: "Yes Means Yes." I guess that's what Doris was telling me: Dennis's "yes" meant "yes."

She continued, "I mean, you can't do anything about him breaking up with you. If he doesn't want to be with you any more, he should. But it doesn't make it your fault. Sometimes it's nobody's fault."

I sat on the ground with my arms around my knees. "I still miss him, though. I miss the sex, but I also miss him as a friend."

"He was really good?"

"Yeah. He listened to me raving about not knowing if I'm a boy or a girl and got me to feel better about it. I felt like I could talk to him about anything. He wants to be a doctor and I admired him so much because I think he will really try to help people. And when we were hugging and, well, you know, he was so gentle and considerate. I knew he'd never hurt me." I started to cry. It seemed like ever since I got turned into a girl, I was crying a lot more.

Doris had her arm around my shoulders and was stroking my cheek. After I stopped crying, she said, "I know it's tough, losing a friend. But if you want someone to listen to you 'raving' about, well, anything, I'd be willing to."

"You wouldn't think I was a freak?"

"Hell, no. You're you. Like I said at the prom, whether you're a boy or a girl or whatever, you're nice and you're fun to be with. Besides, I've never been a boy, and I'd love to hear from someone who knows what it's like to be a boy and a girl."

"I'm not sure I know what it's like to be a girl, I just know what it's like to be me."

"That's interesting enough." She found another towel and put it next to hers and got me to lie down next to her. My skirt rode up, so I pulled it down again. She started stroking my cheek again and said in a low, gentle voice, "so tell me, what did people call you when you were a boy?"

"Martin. My parents still do, when I call them or visit them. But I don't visit them much, they still have a hard time with me being a girl."

"Do you mind when people call you Martin? Would you like it if I sometimes called you Martin?"

"I don't know. When someone calls me Martin, it reminds me of my past, and sometimes it hurts, because I feel like it's a piece of me that I've lost forever. And sometimes it's nice, because I don't want to forget where I came from. It's like I'm one of those immigrants long ago who came here knowing they'd never see their homeland or their family or friends again."

She got me to talking about my life before the motorcycle accident. I hadn't really thought about it since my metamorphosis. I talked about hanging out with friends, about being with my brothers, even stuff like my underwear and shaving. It's funny, but when I told it to her, my life as a boy sounded kind of boring. She even got me to talk about jerking off. She said she'd seen boys do it and she'd done it to boys, but she didn't know what it felt like. I said it wasn't as intense as when I did it as a girl, but I didn't know whether that was because girls were different or because the sex-change treatment kind of overdid it. I had to admit, though, if they did overdo it, I wasn't going to complain.

Talking to Doris got me thinking: the doctors had said that if I really didn't like being a girl, in a few years I get an old-fashioned sex-change operation, but I wouldn't really be like a boy: I wouldn't be able to have normal sex or father a child. Sex as a girl wasn't bad, maybe better than as a boy. I already couldn't have a child, I wasn't sure I wanted to give up sex, too. Maybe I would rather spend the rest of my life as a girl. Lots of people lived their whole lives as girls and they seemed happy enough, maybe I'd be happy with it, too.

She talked about her life, too. She didn't have any brothers or sisters. She always seemed to know what she wanted to do and insisted on doing it, even if other people didn't understand. Her parents didn't really understand her, but they realized they couldn't change her and they seemed kind of proud of her. She was interested in all kinds of social justice things, not just feminism. She thought she might want to be an activist someday. She'd had run-ins with the school, though they seemed to respect her, too, because they never threatened to kick her out.

One time I told her, "you always seem so sure of yourself and full of energy. I'm always unsure of myself and never seem to know anything. I wonder why you want to be around me."

"Don't put yourself down. You've had an interesting life. Yeah, I know, it's been tough, but it's interesting to hear about. And you're real. Not fakey. And I like that you aren't full of energy. It's restful being around you. Besides, I really appreciate what you've done for Sylvia."

I went over to her place a couple of times that week. Teresa teased me about it. "You know she's a lesbian, right? Better watch out, she might seduce you!" she laughed.

"Would that be so bad?" I said.

"No, not really. It might be fun. You'll have to tell me what it was like if you all do do it; I've never done it with a girl."

I didn't mention to her that each time I left Doris's place, she would give me a kiss on the mouth. Nothing passionate, just a gentle kiss.

One time it was raining when I went over and we hung out in her room. She was getting me to tell about what it was like the last few months at West High.

"What finally got you to leave?"

"I didn't know I could leave. But I got suspended over -- over an -- incident. A really horrible one. And then I, uh, tried to kill myself. And then my aunt and uncle let me live with them and they got me into Gabriel."

"If you don't mind telling, why did you--"

"Try to kill myself? Things had gotten so bad, especially with that, uh, incident, that I thought dying would be better than going back. And I was sure they'd make me go back."

"What kind of incident?"

I couldn't speak for a few minutes. "A couple of guys -- the football stars and their friends -- they dragged me into a classroom." I started to shake just from thinking about it, but I couldn't stop talking. "They pulled my clothes off -- I mean, partway. And then Tom, Tom Prescott, he put his hand on--" I started to cry and my voice got shaky. "On my b-breast, and he said --- he said, 'it's got tits like a girl.'"

"'It'"?

"Yeah, all month they called me 'it'. Not 'you' or even 'he' or 'she'."

"That's awful!" she said and just held me and waited.

"Then he said, 'let's see if it's got a -- a cunt -- like a girl' and pulled down my underpants and put his hands all over. Then he pulled his pants down and --" I was wailing by this time. "And that's when the teacher came in and they said I'd pulled my clothes off myself and the principal believed them and not me." I was bawling like a little kid.

Then Doris's father knocked on the door and came in. "What's the matter? Why is she crying?" He looked really upset and concerned.

"Melanie was telling me about a really horrible incident at her old school."

"Is that true, Melanie?" he asked me.

I nodded. "I'm sorry to bother you," I added. "I didn't mean to make so much noise, but it was really awful. I hope I'm not getting Doris in trouble."

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked," Doris said.

"No, it's good. I can't talk about it to most people, it's too horrible. I've only ever told the whole story to my shrink. But I feel safe with you." I put my head on her shoulder. I was still sobbing a little. "I'm okay," I told her father, "but I appreciate that you -- you were concerned."

He looked a little dubious, but he left us. I put my face on Doris's shoulder and quietly sobbed and cried for a while, while she held me and patted my back. Then she got me to lie down on her bed and she stroked my back and my head and pretty much everything. After I was pretty relaxed, she got on top of me and massaged me all the way from my shoulders down to my feet.

"I don't think I can move," I said when she was done. "My muscles don't want to do anything."

"You don't have to. At dinner time I'll bring up some food and spoon feed you." I couldn't help laughing, which kind of hurt, because my stomach was sore from crying.

I did stay, though, and her parents gave me dinner, but at the dinner table. I explained that I'd been at West High and things were really awful for me for months, and that's why I'd transferred to Gabriel. I didn't tell them the details or that I'd tried to kill myself.