Do not complain

 

 

Note to readers. This is a work of adult fiction. No resemblance to reality should be inferred or expected.

 

 

My dad moved from Poland to America a month ago. With me in tow, because he couldn't leave me alone in Warsaw. I usually was alone. Because Dad was on expeditions. All of the time. And I was left alone. Officially, he was with me though we were together only when he was at home. It's complicated. So I was used to staying alone.

Dad moved us to Boston because he was offered a position at the university and it was about Uruk expansion in the Near East. Yes, it's about archeology. But living in the United States, he couldn't leave me alone like he could in Poland. CPS wasn't that relaxed in the U.S. I had to be with an adult. The only available adult was my dad's grandmother's brother, Jacek. I think that made him my great uncle, I don't know how to describe my and his relation in English. I just called him Gramp.

Jacek was old. Like really old. Almost eighty.

He had a house at the seaside somewhere in the North. Dad said Portland. Then he said, Maine. Another time he said it was New England. So I wasn't sure where it was exactly. I got his address on a piece of paper in my wallet in case I ever got lost and it was Scarborough, ME. Nothing like what Dad had said before.

When we got to Boston, Dad introduced me to Jacek. He was due to leave the next day, which meant that I would be living with Jacek.

 

 

One of the things we did before my dad left, was that he and I went to the local high school. Dad said he would arrange for my school records from Warsaw to be transferred here.

My name isn't hard to spell. If you are Polish. The dude from the school office with the name tag “Earl” got my name, Przemysław, and typed it on his PC on the third attempt. Then he tried to say it but failed.

“Call him Pem,” my dad said.

“Him?” both the secretary and Earl wondered.

Come on people! I'm rolling my eyes here. With all the tick marks in all the proper places, how could they mistake me for a girl? Puberty may have missed me but there were my papers in both Polish and English, including medical records if someone still had a question.

Earl attached a Post-It sticker to my file with “Pem Boy” on it.

“Welcome to Scarborough High!” he announced. “You are officially our student now!”

“What next?” my dad asked.

“Come to the office a week before school starts for the schedule of your classes,” the secretary said.

I had three weeks to adjust to my new life in the United States. I didn't want to but I had to.

 

 

I was now living with an older man I had never seen before. Jacek was also living with a woman. They weren't married, but it was as if they were married. She, Sarah, was younger. Something about seventy or maybe even in her late sixties. She wasn't Jewish like I thought though her name was Jewish. She was American and she wasn't Catholic and she didn't speak Polish. Jacek spoke Polish but his Polish was worse than my English. But maybe it was for the best. Maybe it would help me to learn English faster.

When Jacek and Sarah were younger, they were partners and owned a restaurant together before they sold it. Jacek said they would teach me to make meals.

They did prepare meals at home but more often we went to the restaurant they owned at one time. They tried to make me like American food. Things like hamburgers. Or burgers as they called them. I didn't like them, I just couldn't. When it was possible, I opted for fries. And lettuce. American salad was awful. I didn't know how to make what I liked but I did know that I didn't like American food.

My mom had passed away when I was a kid and I didn't learn anything from her. But I did remember some things. Like brushing my hair before bed to keep it healthy. I had let my hair grow to cover my ears. That was because my ears were too big and I wanted to hide them. Dad had his hair long too but his hair was down to the middle of the shoulder blades. He let his hair hang loose, he tied his hair in a turban when he was in the field.

Sarah said I wasn't dressed properly and that I needed something new that suited my age. She took me to the store. Jacek left it to Sarah and he said he didn't like shopping with her.

Sarah and I drove in her car to the next city to an enormous shopping center called Maine Mall. I was used to shopping in thrift stores because I could spend less money and then have spare some money for my personal needs. This time, I got no money and Sarah was with me all of the time.

She wanted me to try things in bright or pastel colors.

“I think you think I am kinda girly,” I complained.

“Oh no! I know you are a tomboy,” she replied.

I was relieved. She knew I was a boy. Sometimes she misspelled my name, like Tom or Pam. But I didn't argue. For non-Polish people, Polish names were unusual. At home, I was called Pshemek while here it was shortened to Pem. I got used to it.

But my new things were in bright colors or pastel. I decided not to complain too much because I was already complaining about the food. I didn't want to seem like a spoiled child.

One day, Jacek had to go to the hospital. Sarah said it was nothing serious. But they liked to say “Better worry than sorry”. They made Sarah my guardian if something happened to Jacek.

 

 

I had still some time until school started. I wanted to improve my English. TV didn't help. It was boring. There were no kids my age around.

I spent a lot of time with Sarah. In the kitchen mainly. She showed me how to sew. Like a torn-away button or some repair.

We talked about her a lot. Like when she was a little girl. About her mom and dad. How she met Jacek. About how they were hippies and decided to be a modern family without marriage. How she couldn't bear a child. How they struggled but couldn't adopt because they weren't married. I wasn't sure it helped my English but it really helped to get closer to Sarah.

We listened to music that Jacek and Sarah liked when they were young. Then we listened to songs Sarah liked and Jacek didn't. But Jacek was in the hospital and couldn't complain.

At home, back in Poland, I was in a choir. I didn't read sheet music, but I could sing what I heard. One of my teachers said it was very wrong for me not to be able to read the music while another said it was okay as long as I sang without mistakes. Anyway, I could sing what I heard. I sang for Sarah some of her personal favorites. Like Forty-Eight Crash. Or something more melodious like Soley Soley. Sure they were girls' songs. But as I had mentioned already puberty had spared me. My voice was kind of soprano after it had changed. As one music teacher said, it was a countertenor while another said it was a male soprano. I didn't know which one of them was right and I didn't care.

“You sound so sweet,” Sarah gushed, “even better than Sally.”

She was talking about Sally Carr, the performer of Soley Soley.

My dad once said men were getting high-pitched voices lately. He said he didn't know that countertenor existed when he was my age. Nowadays there was a bunch of young adult countertenors in a church choir. They sang the soprano part together with the girls. My dad is a baritone by the way. With his long hair and beard, he is the most handsome man. And he is my dad!

 

 

It had become time to go to school and get my schedule. The school wasn't far from my new home, so I went there alone. I wasn't a kid, after all, I was fifteen years old. I didn't need someone to hold me by hand.

After some mayhem and some misunderstanding, the person with the name tag AP Hopkins found my file.

“What this is here for?” she asked indicating a Post-It sticker with “Pem boy” on it.

“My name is Pem and I am a boy,” I replied.

“Have you seen a counselor yet?” she inquired.

“No…”

“Then it's too early for it,” she said and removed the sticker.

She opened my file and tried to read my name but failed.

“What's your name?” she asked.

“Pem.”

She took another sticker and wrote “PAM” on it and attached it to my file. AP person looked me up and down.

“See a counselor first,” she ordered.

“Where?”

“The second door on the left down the hall.”

Americans were using the word ‘down' a lot even if it wasn't down. Anyway, I got to the door with the table “Counselor, Ms. Croft.” I knocked and was ushered in.

“AP Hopkins said to see you first,” I repeated AP's words.

“What's your name?”

“Pem Kalecki.”

She looked at her PC.

“Kaleki,” she said. It was the way Americans pronounced Polish names. The c was ignored.

“It says Pam,” she added then.

“Let it be Pam then,” I agreed. It sounded almost the same. So what is the difference?

“So you are transitioning?” she asked.

“Transitioning? Where?” I wasn't sure I understood what she was talking about.

“Well… Let's try differently… You think you were born in the body of the wrong gender…”

“No… I don't… I mean I'm okay with a body I was born in.” I hope I said it right.

“Then I don't see the reason why you have to see me,” Ms. Croft said. She made some notes on her PC and dismissed me.

I came back to the office. AP Hopkins handed me my schedule, a book called “Students' Handbook” and a piece of paper with my locker number and lock combination. I got my student ID. Freshly laminated. It looked almost the same as my old ID in Poland. The picture was even the same. The name was different.

I went home to read the students' handbook and explore the schedule of my classes.

The handbook's part for boys could be described in one word - behave. Student attire should not disrupt the educational process. Sure, the book is about girls. Let them worry about their skirts, makeup, jewelry, tops, hairbands, tights, leggings, and so on. I was glad that I was a boy and was spared from worries about my looks.

The schedule had civic… No, it's civics. So it had to be something different from Honda. My foreign language was French. At home, my foreign languages were English and German. I didn't know a word of French. Then there was Home Economics. Why domestic economy was so important to have a separate class? An alternative for Home Economics was Shop. The classes were at the same time. One for boys and another for girls. I assumed the shopping was for girls. Because Sarah liked shopping and Jacek didn't. I wasn't sure I disliked shopping because it was cool when you didn't have to worry about money.

 

 

Jacek came home from the hospital after a few days. It wasn't something serious, he was just old. Sarah offered another shopping trip. It was called back to school. It wasn't back to school in my case because I wasn't at this school before. Anyway… I needed things for school and if Jacek and Sarah were ready to pay, I was more than eager to take this offer.

The first thing this time was the gym uniform. It had to be in school colors.

“Have student ID, dear?” the sales lady in the store asked.

“Sure. Here it is,” I replied and handed her my new ID.

“Scarborough High, Sophomore. Running shorts and tee in white with red trim, white knee socks, ankle socks, white sports bra,” she recited.

Wait! What bra? The saleslady handed me my student ID back. And yes, it said I was female. I didn't check it at school so it was my fault. Shit. What now? What now? Raise an issue and become a troublemaker even before school starts? If the sports bra is the only girly thing I have to wear I could survive. Not a big deal.

I ended with four changes of every thing. It reminded Sarah of something.

“You need new lingerie for school and formal events,” she said.

Even if I was a boy, she was right. Though I never used that strange word, lingerie, for my underwear. I ended up with a bunch of things that were coordinated. Those were Sarah's words. I didn't see the sense. It was underwear. Nobody sees it, so what is the difference in what color it is? And why do briefs have to be the same color as bras? And then it dawned on me that Sarah saw me as a girl. Maybe boyish but a girl anyway. The same as Jacek. And I thought it was because of his American accent. Shit. Why couldn't I stay in Warsaw?

 

 

Sarah persuaded me to buy a couple of skirts and a dress. I was like in a fog that was probably why I agreed. I planned to put those girly things in the back of my closet and never wear them. But… A couple of days later, it was Tuesday and the first day at school.

“There is only one first impression,” Sarah said. “How people will see you today they will see you the same way the rest of the year. So dress prim and proper, be demure and polite. Be the best you can be.”

After some discussion and Jacek's last word, I ended in a short denim skirt and a white tee. And sure, I had a bra. By the way, all my bras were padded and I looked as if I had tits.

 

 

I felt like an idiot. I was the only one in a skirt. Maybe not the only one in the whole school but the only one in the group I was assigned to - homeroom. Nobody laughed at me and nobody pointed at me but more than a few of them looked me up and down. Mostly boys. Some of the girls too.

I was introduced as a new student Pam Kaleki. I didn't even try to correct them that my surname was pronounced Kaletski - it was useless. The next period was English and it was in another room and another group. Some people were from my homeroom but some were new. The third period was science. Again, another room and different people. This time we sat at tables in couples. I was paired with a boy.

He looked me up and down. I was used to it already.

“I like you,” he said.

“You don't know me,” I said.

“I like what I see,” he insisted. “You are not like other girls. My partner last year was constantly talking about makeup and worrying about her nails. I had to do our assignments alone. You don't wear makeup.”

After a pause, he introduced himself, “Kevin. And you are Pam? Short for Pamela?”

“Pem. Short for Przemyslaw, it's a boy's name, because I'm a boy,” I said. I tried to play it from another direction. Maybe this time their eyes will open and they will agree, ‘Oh, yes! She's a boy! What a terrible mistake!' They will laugh for a while, and then all this mayhem will die and I'll be Pshemek a boy again.

“Ha-ha, I like your sense of humor,” he replied looking me up and down. I was the only person wearing a skirt in this room. “Your Pshe-something is unpronounceable. Better to just make it Pam.”

“No prob. At home, I'm Pam too. I'm used to it.”

“Your rents don't speak Polish with you?” Kevin wondered.

“I live with my dad's grandfather,” I said grandfather though Jacek was dad's granny's brother. I guess that made him some sort of uncle, but it was already too complicated, “Jacek Beck.”

“Oh, I know, the best homemade burgers in Maine,” Kevin exclaimed.

It was clear now why Sarah and Jacek were so unhappy after I rejected their burgers. They were known for the best hamburgers and I didn't appreciate it.

The classes went by lazily. It was the first day of classes. Still, neither teachers nor students were serious about their studies.

The next period was lunch. Students were more enthusiastic in the cafeteria. I stood in line to get my meal then I found an empty table away from the main mass of kids and sat down for my meal. Unexpectedly, the food was good. Not like homemade good food but better than what I got in some places in the mall while shopping with Sarah. I had opted for French fries. Without milk. Almost all kids had milk with everything they ate. I wasn't ready to experiment. I liked fries with ketchup and without milk.

“May I?” the voice disturbed the train of my thoughts. I raised my eyes and it was a boy. Probably older than me. Or maybe just seemed older.

“Sure. I don't own the place,” I replied.

“I saw you in homeroom. You Pam?”

“Yeah… For the foreseeable future I'm Pam,” I said.

“Morgan,” he introduced. Then after a while, he added, “You aren't like other girls.”

“You are not the first to say that today,” I retorted. “It's because I'm a boy.”

“Very funny,” he snickered. “Don't take me wrong, I like what I see.”

The silence that followed could have been termed loud. I didn't know how to respond. Or did I need to continue the conversation? At home, nobody said they liked how I looked. Was it politeness or a flirt? He, just like Kevin, didn't believe I was a boy. What I was expected to do? Morgan looked like a nerd. Maybe he was just being polite to a new student.

Little by little, step by step, I got to know other students I had classes with. I wasn't talkative but some of them liked to be with me. Maybe because I listened better than I talked. I didn't say I was the boy after my experience with Kevin and Morgan. It was useless. It was the same with correcting the pronunciation of my surname. Useless. It was like they knew better than I did how to pronounce my name.

In physical education, I learned that I was good at volleyball. I was accepted onto the team. It was great and strange at the same time because I wasn't good at any sport at home. In Warsaw, I mean.

But it was a girls' team and I was kinda a girl and I changed with other girls. I turned away from them to not be seen and not to stare at them when they were undressed. They thought I was shy.

“I'm like you,” one girl said. Sheila, I guess. I thought she saw I was a boy. And she's a boy too. So maybe not so bad.

“You are as flat as me,” Sheila added. “I'll show you later how to make your boobs look bigger.”

She wasn't a boy.

When I got home Sarah was happy and excited and wanted to know everything that happened at school. At first, I was reluctant to tell her but I got involved in the conversation and was eager to tell her everything.

 

 

The next morning, I wanted to dress in jeans, but Sarah said I had to keep the good image of a polite and demure girl. I ended up in a skirt again.

During breakfast, Sarah showed me my part in the pill organizer she and Jacek were using for their medications.

“What this is about?” I asked.

“Your vitamins,” Sarah said. “Though food seems tasty, after processing, storing, freezing, cooking, and baking almost no vitamins are left in it. So you will take three pills every morning. The big one is basic vitamins and minerals. The other two you need as a young and growing girl for your health and protection.”

One pill was really big and brown like a cockroach and it was hard to swallow. The other two were little and went down well even without washing them down. I did as I was told and just swallowed my vitamins.

Today, I decided to try another approach. I went to the counselor again. I told her I felt I was a boy.

She sat me down in front of a computer on which some tests appeared.

“Answer all those questions,” the counselor said. “Be honest. Don't hurry. Don't try to be someone you are not.”

Some questions were kinda of the same as others but the wording was different. I answered them all. It took me almost two hours and I would be late getting home after school.

Once I was done, the counselor talked to me in her office.

“You can't feel like a boy,” the counselor said, “because you're evaluated as a girl, sometimes a tomboyish and sometimes girly girl.”

How could I be a girly girl when I was a boy?

“I guess you've lost a bet to come here and take a test,” she said, “I won't report you to the office if you promise not to come to me with such nonsense again.”

I could be reported to the office as a liar and troublemaker. Shit… So I agreed never to come again.

 

 

Life became routine. School, volleyball practice, classes. Some classes were more boring than others. Like French. I didn't know much but I liked the teacher. Monsieur Henri. Science classes with Kevin. A little talk with Morgan. He lived two blocks away from us and we got to meet every day at the same school bus stop.

Sarah would not allow me to wear jeans to school.

“It will get colder and you'll wear them a lot and you'll see they are more boring than skirts,” she said.

Eventually, it got colder and I got sheer pantyhose first and then thick opaque pantyhose but I was in a skirt every day.

Then there were some special days I didn't understand the meaning and importance of. Like homecoming and Halloween. In both cases at school, there were dance parties but I didn't attend. Maybe I was a girl but I wasn't ready to be so much a girl as to go to a dance party. And Jacek, as well as Sarah, said I was too young to date. I didn't plan to go on dates anyway.

Another special day was Thanksgiving. I didn't know what it was but Jacek said Dad would be home for Thanksgiving.

I helped Sarah to clean the house thoroughly. Then helped her in the kitchen. No burgers this time. The Thanksgiving food was more like real food, not like American food.

Dad was supposed to be here a day before Thanksgiving but he wasn't. He called Jacek and said he would come directly to Thanksgiving dinner.

So the bell rang and I opened the door and there he was. Dad. And I was in a dress specially bought for today.

“Oh!” he exclaimed instead of saying hello.

“Huh…” I answered.

“Nice dress,” dad complimented.

“Thanks,” I replied. “Sarah said you'll like it.”

“I assume the Pem-boy sticker didn't help, they all decided you're a girl,” Dad simply stated. “Didn't you complain?”

“It's complicated. I was complaining about their food. And I didn't want to look like a spoiled brat. No, I didn't complain…”

“Want me to help resolve this prob?” he asked.

“No!” I replied maybe a little too eagerly.

“Have a boyfriend already?”

“DAAAD!”

“Just asking…” he shrugged.

“Jacek and Sarah say I'm kinda too young to date,” I explained

“Pam! Don't keep your daddy in a doorway!” Sarah shouted from the dining room, “Ask him in.”

“Daddy…?” dad rolled his eyes. “Jacek and Sarah pretend to be extra modern though both of them are so traditional and conservative.”

We moved to the dining room. There were all the pleasantries that usually take place at family reunions - hugs and how are you while not waiting for more or less detailed answers. Then we sat at the table. That is Jacek and Dad sat and Sarah and I were serving.

Sarah praised me because some of the dishes were eating were made by me. Jacek and Dad complimented Sarah and me because of the meal and because we both were dressed for the day. I liked it. The praise and compliments, I mean.

 

 

After Thanksgiving, Dad didn't leave. He had a job to do in Boston. After some consulting with Jacek and Sarah, they decided Dad would stay here and go to Boston every day. Because the Interstate 95 to Boston wasn't overloaded and it took some ninety minutes to get to his job. It would be the same as if he was living in some Boston suburb.

The next Monday, Dad was still at home and he saw Morgan come by and we went together to the school bus stop. Dad smirked at me as if it was something special.

After Thanksgiving, the schedule at school was changed. The girls who played field hockey now joined the rest of us in the gym. If you think only boys are bullies, you are wrong. I was flat and my English was really bad. I didn't complain too much.

One of them heard what I didn't say. Or I didn't know I said it. So I got an enemy for life. And I didn't know how to get out of this situation, because I didn't know how I got there. And she didn't say because she was offended and she didn't speak with me.

Another change was the Home Economy class before lunch. Now it wasn't about meals. The teacher called the new program - grooming. The word was new to me. Other girls were excited so it was probably something good. We all ended up applying an eyeliner and we had to start applying it every day. Make-up before school was our new drill.

During science class, Kevin stared at me. I knew he didn't like girls with make-up. He said it the first day we met.

“Not my idea,” I said.

“What?”

I waved my hand around my face indicating the eyeliner, “This. What you see. I know you don't like it.”

“Why would I?” he kinda wondered. “You look good and I like it.”

His words made me blush. Compliments usually made me blush. I was getting narcissistic probably.

“By the way, I learned that you're right about one thing,” Kevin started.

“I'm always right,” I retorted. Then I was curious about what was I right this time. “About what?”

“I got to know your P-sh-something name is boy's name,” he said.

“Didn't I say you? And I said I'm a boy so don't claim that I've lied to you…”

“Nice try,” Kevin interrupted me. “I don't understand why you say you are a boy. You are not over-the-top girly, but you definitely are not even a tomboy.”

“But I am…”

“Sure,” he interrupted me again. “Look at you - pink hair band, pink blouse, white pantyhose, lavender skirt…”

“Not my choice,” I said. “If it was my choice I would get my shirt white and skirt with tights black.”

“Skirt with tights is what every boy prefers,” Kevin said with a chuckle.

I'd lost it again. It's because of my bad English. Probably.

 

 

I didn't meet Morgan at lunch because after a schedule change our lunch periods weren't at the same time. But I wasn't at lunch alone. I was with other girls from the volleyball team.

 

 

At home, Sarah was ecstatic to know I'd need to apply some make-up every day. I needed my own make-up. A shopping trip was due. Dad was at home early. He, like Jacek, didn't like shopping. He offered me some money to buy what I liked because what Sarah bought me wasn't always my favorite.

Dad opened my purse to put some money in it and he dropped it as if there was a snake in it.

“What's this?” He inquired pointing at the pantyliner pack. “Do you use them?”

“Well…” Who would like to discuss intimate things with their Dad?

“You don't need them,” Dad exclaimed, “or do you?”

“Well…” there was no way I could escape. “I have a thingy and I can't allow for it to be seen. I prefer it wasn't here at all. But it is and I have to tuck it and it starts to burn after a while and a pantyliner helps to soothe it.”

“I'll think about it,” Dad replied unexpectedly calmly.

 

 

We were ready to go but Sarah's blood pressure shot up suddenly. It wasn't the first time. This happened sometimes, and quite often lately. She took her medicine and lay down. And she couldn't go to the mall now.

I needed some basic make-up and I could use Sarah's. She said - “No!”

If she said no, then it was no. I could go by bus to the mall.

“I'll go with you,” dad offered.

I understood that he wanted to talk with me, but he didn't want to in the presence of Sarah and Jacek. We were never truly alone at home.

We drove his car. Mostly in silence. Then Dad didn't make a turn to the mall exit.

“Aren't we going to the mall?” I wondered.

“The mall in December is like an overcrowded battlefield in the nuthouse,” he replied. “I know a better place. A colleague at the university suggested it.”

That better place was at the seaside. Not exactly on the coast but ocean and sails were visible in the gaps between houses. The store looked more like a warehouse because they were selling to beauty professionals mostly. You had to know what you wanted. I didn't. Dad didn't either. Dad had magic in his looks, hypnotizing every woman around. The clerk determined my skin type and tone and offered what was the best for me.

Next… We didn't have plans for what to do next. We just strolled down the street. Every building was a store. Gift store. Boutique. Hosiery. Baby shop. Fishing supplies. Another boutique. Bridal store. And another boutique again.

“Let's see what they have,” Dad offered at the third boutique.

I didn't complain. They had what I liked. Or preferred, if to like was the wrong word. Black, navy, and gray. Straight narrow skirts. Blazers. Shirts, not blouses. Camisoles to wear under blazers. But they looked better with boobs I didn't have.

The next store was shoes. Ordinary black. Without bows.

Then a bridal shop. Dad had his hand on the doorknob already.

“Daaad!” I stopped him.

“Huh? Oh… Maybe you're right. Still too young,” he relented.

The last stop was at the restaurant. Anything but burgers. This time it was seafood. Lobsters. Fishes I didn't know the names and forgot immediately what was on the menu. Dad ordered for us both.

“I've noticed you don't agree with Sarah's taste,” he started.

“She tends to make me look like a little girl. I'm sixteen in two months.”

“I'm asking if you are okay with Sarah turning you into a girl.”

“Ah… this. I'm ok I guess. Why not?”

“Sure… Why not?”

“Are you saying that I'm a boy and I have to be a boy?” I inquired. “I tried. Nobody believes me. And to tell the truth, I like it more like it is now.”

“You have to see a counselor,” Dad stated.

“I have already,” I replied, “she dismissed me and she said she will report me to the office if I'll come again.”

“Really? You told the counselor you're a boy and want to be a girl?”

“No! She thinks I'm a girl who tries to pretend to be a boy.”

“Is it a school counselor?”

“Yeah…”

“You need an appointment with a real one,” Dad said.

“Ha… Those cost a fortune… I've checked on the internet,” I said.

“You have checked?”

I nodded.

“It proves you really need one.”

“But…”

“Leave the fortune thing to your daddy. Deal?”

“Deal,” I relented.

 

 

The next morning, Dad left for work early. The same as every other day. Sarah helped me to apply an eyeliner. I didn't have time to practice the day before.

“Had a nice talk with your daddy?” Sarah asked.

“Yeah… He says I need a counselor.”

“Sure you need to,” Sarah confirmed, “every girl who was born a boy needs.”

… “What?!”

“I say you really need one…” Sarah said.

“No, not that. The born the boy part. Did you know I'm a boy?”

“Sure. I'm not blind and I'm not stupid,” she retorted.

“But…”

“You needed a gentle push. And you accepted it. You go now in your own direction,” Sarah explained. “Every girl like you needs such a push and all the support she can get. I know it.”

There was kind of a hint. Or I only imagine it? Can't be…

“I was born Timothy. Jacek gave me that gentle push,” Sarah said, “I know how it is.”

 

 

The End