“Peter, do you want to tell me about it?” I asked gently.
“About what?” Peter asked.
“About why you want to kill yourself?”
“My parents came back early and caught me. Mum, walked out of the room saying I wasn’t her son anymore and dad…”
I slowly woke up; I had no idea how long I had been out. I ventured in the living room.
“Glad to see you are awake, you must be Sam?” a woman said.
“I am, but…”
“June,” she said. “One of Chris’s friends. She’s asleep at the moment, but I was asked to keep an eye on you.”
June saw my puzzled look.
“You won’t be left alone until we are happy that you have got over last night,” she added. “Hungry?”
“I’ve been hungry for months,” I answered.
“You’ll have to be careful of how much you eat, at least for a while. Your stomach won’t be used to eating large meals,” she said.
June went into the kitchen.
“Tea or coffee?” she called.
“Tea, please?” I replied.
“Can you make one for me as well?” Chris said, emerging from her bedroom. “Sleep well, Sam?”
“Yes I did, thanks,” I answered. “And Chris…”
“Yes?” Chris said.
“I want to thank you for saving my life last night. I had literally reached the end of the road; at least I’d thought so. Then you showed me such kindness. Did you mean what you said last night, about being my friend?” I started to cry.
“Yes I did, Sam. I wish I’d known you earlier. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to…”
Chris didn’t finish, she also burst into tears and we hugged each other. June came back into the living room with the tea.
“Good, I always feel better after a good cry. Now you are awake, Chris, I’ll go and let you two have a good talk. Girl to girl,” June said.
After June had left I asked, “What did she mean, girl to girl?”
“Well Sam, with your long hair, slim body and longish fingernails, you do look like a girl. Even more so wearing my jim-jams.”
“But I’m a man,” I said.
“Are you? Why did you want to kill yourself?” she asked.
“I told you why.”
“Tell me again.”
“Because my family has rejected me, because I’ve no friends, no job,” I said.
“That’s not the whole reason is it?”
“Yes it is.”
“Sam, if I gave you a choice, now, between wearing male or female clothes, which would you choose?”
“I… I’m… er,” I stammered.
“Sam, I know the answer. You told me last night that you copied your sister, read her magazines. You said you learnt girl things,” Chris paused.
“So,” I said.
“Sam, that’s the real problem, you don’t know who you really are. Your body says male, and even that’s confused. Your mind, well I think your mind is unsure. Part of it wants to be female, another part wants to be male and the rest is undecided.”
“I’m not sure where you are going, Chris.”
“You need to resolve that conflict, one way or another. If you don’t, it will tear you apart and, who knows, the next time you try to kill yourself, you may succeed. And there will be a next time,” Chris replied.
“How do I do that?” I asked.
“Let me make a phone call. You go and get dressed.”
I went to the guest room and took my top off. Something was nagging me, something I’d forgotten.
“Shit, must have a wash,” I thought.
You forget these simple things when you haven’t been able to do them for so long.
I went to the bathroom and had a wash. I looked round for a deodorant and, finding a new one, used it.
Back in the guest room I started to get dressed. Cotton knickers, pop socks, jeans and a t-shirt, they were a bit loose, but were okay. The shoes, flat heel court shoes, were a little tight, but wearable.
“Chris,” I said after walking into the living room, “any chance of a bra?”
“You want one?” Chris asked, smiling.
“Yes. I’d feel happier wearing one.”
“Do you want padding?”
“No, I don’t think so,” I replied.
Chris fetched me one and then went to get dressed. I removed my t-shirt and put the bra on, then put the t-shirt back on. I sat and waited for Chris to emerge from her bedroom.
“Just got to brush my hair,” Chris said, after finally coming into the living room. “Yours could do with brushing as well.”
She brushed her hair and then tossed the brush to me.
“I used your new deodorant, I hope you don’t mind?” I said while I brushed.
“Not at all, we girls always share things.”
I finished brushing and turned to look at Chris.
“You look really cute, I could go for you,” Chris said.
“Yeah, right.”
“I mean it. You really are cute.”
“You are embarrassing me,” I said.
“Come on, we’ve got to go.”
“Where?” I asked.
“I’ve arranged for some tests to be done. I want to know if your enforced diet has caused any damage,” she answered.
She dragged me out of her flat and into the car.
We drove to a large private hospital and we reported to the reception desk. Chris spoke to the receptionist and we sat down. We waited for about thirty minutes and Chris’s name was called. Following the nurse to a consulting room, where we met a female doctor.
The next hour was full of x-rays, blood tests, sight tests and physical exams. We went for lunch while the results were tabulated. Two hours later, we were back in the consulting room.
“First of all, there is no physical damage, at least none that a well balanced diet won’t fix, but we found something unusual in the blood tests,” the doctor told us. “It seems that there is a total lack of testosterone in Sam’s blood, there is a small amount of oestrogen, but nothing out of the ordinary.”
“What does that mean, doctor?” I asked.
“We are not sure why you have no testosterone, but your body has not developed any of the secondary characteristics. To correct this, and to start puberty, you will have to take hormones,” the doctor said.
“Female hormones?” I asked.
“If that is what you want. At the moment, your body is a blank canvas. You can go either way. The problem is, we don’t know what effect hormones will have on your condition.”
“Sorry, doctor. I don’t understand.” I said.
“If you start on hormones, any hormones, will that kick your testosterone production in, or are you incapable of producing testosterone?”
“Chris, what do you think I should do?” I asked.
“Well, you have been unhappy as a male and you almost lost your life,” she said.
“True,” I said, “But will it be any better as a female?”
“A good question, but ask yourself this, which sex do you prefer to dress as?” Chris said.
“But if I go down the female route, who would go out with me?”
“I would for a start, and I know a couple of other girls who would as well,” she said.
“You’d go out with me, knowing what you know?” I asked.
“Clothes do not make the person, they are just body coverings. It’s what’s inside the person that counts. There is an old saying ‘Do not judge a book by its cover’ and it’s just as valid today. You are the same person whether you are wearing a skirt, trousers, trunks or nothing at all,” Chris said.
“It’s a pity that not all people are like you, Chris. Then maybe this world would be a little better off,” the doctor added.
“Thanks, Tracey, but most people are blinded by convention and anything out of the ordinary, anything that defies that convention, is labelled as a freak, or gay or both,” Chris said. “Sam is outside of that convention and almost killed himself, thanks to humanities’ desire for everyone to conform to the ‘norm’. But there is no such thing as ‘normal’ when we are dealing human beings. Everyone is different, everyone is special and everyone deserves to be able to live their life how they want to live it.”
“Wow, Chris. Where did that come from?” I asked.
“Sam, as a Samaritan, I have to deal with people who feel they have nothing to live for, just like you did. It is a waste of a precious life, but in the main they feel hounded, or persecuted or unloved and alone. Some want to die because they have brought shame or dishonour on their family. Their problems just get too much for them,” Chris paused. “I haven’t got a magic wand, I can’t make their problems disappear, but I can help them see that it’s not the end of the world they think it is. We win some, we lose some, but we, in the Samaritans, never give up listening and trying to help.”
“Well, Sam. What is your decision?” Tracey asked.
“I’ve made two, no make that three. First, I’d like to have female hormones, second, I’d like to join the Samaritans, if they’ll have me and three, I’d like to take you out, Chris,” I said.
“In that case, I’d like to monitor your hormone levels over the next year or so, just in case your testosterone production starts,” Tracey said.
“And I would be happy for you to take me out,” Chris said.
*****
Well I started hormones and puberty (girl was that painful); my body never did produce testosterone. The Samaritans accepted me, Chris had something to do with that, and Chris and I did go out. We married a year later. I thank whoever looks over me everyday for my meeting with Chris. I can honestly say that the worst day of my life was, in actual fact, the best day of my life.
Part 3: Back to Peter.
The doctor came out of the room, leaving the door open, and spoke to us. Oh, I didn’t mention that the doctor was Tracey, the doctor I’d seen.
“A few bruises, but otherwise he seems to be okay,” Tracey said.
“Thanks, Trace,” I said and left her with John.
“How are you feeling, Peter,” I asked.
“A bit better,” he said.
“Can we talk about it?” I asked.
“About what?”
“About your dressing.”
“You wouldn’t understand,” Peter said.
“Oh but I do, you see… Sam is short for Samuel.”
“But you’re a girl!” Peter exclaimed.
“No, Peter. I’m a boy; okay I look like a girl. I have breasts, long hair and my fingernails are painted red, but I am a boy. Chris over there is my wife.”
Peter’s eyes opened wide. He couldn’t believe I was a male. He looked at my t-shirt and saw the outline of my bra, then at my tight fitting jeans and finally at my high heel shoes. I looked like a woman. I didn’t tell him about the police officer calling me sir; I was still legally a male.
“So, won’t you tell me?” I asked, gently.
“I have, had a twin sister, she died last year. Anyway ever since I can remember we’d been dressing alike. One day she gave me some of her things and we pretended to be sisters. We never told anyone about it, but from that day our relationship changed. It was as if I became her sister. We became closer than ever, we knew what each other was feeling, thinking even,” Peter said.
“This went on until she was killed in a road accident, but she didn’t die, she lived on… in me.
“I started dressing more and more, I suppose I was taking more risks, but it felt natural. Then, today, I was discovered and I ran away from home. Mum didn’t want anything to do with me and dad just kept hitting me,” Peter broke down and started to cry again.
I remembered my parent’s rejection, the loss of friends and job and I started to cry. Chris became very concerned.
“Sam, you alright?” she asked.
I nodded my head. “Yes, I’m okay, love. It just crept up on me. I’ll be alright in a minute,” I answered.
She came over and gave me a kiss on my cheek. “You’re doing fine, my darling. Just fine.”
“Peter, do you know who you want to be?” I asked.
He looked at me and thought.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Sometimes I want to be Petra, other times, me.”
“Petra?” I asked.
“My sister,” Peter said.
“You said that being a girl felt natural, which do you prefer?” I was gently probing.
“As Petra, I think,” Peter paused. “Yes, I prefer to be Petra.”
There was another knock on the door and I went to see whom it was.
“Social Services are here,” John said.
“Thanks, I’ll be right out,” I said.
I turned to Peter and said, “ Peter, I’ll be a few minutes. Chris will look after you.
I left the room and found John; he was talking to a guy, who I took to be from Social Services.
“Sam, this is Joe. Joe, Sam,” I shook hands with Joe as John did the introductions.
“Pleased to meet you, Sam,” Joe said. “What have we got?”
“A fourteen-year-old boy who’s threatened to kill himself. It appears that his family have rejected him,” I said.
“Why?” Joe asked.
“In simple terms, since the death of his sister he has started to become his sister,” I said.
“With psychiatric help, he should be able to get over that,” Joe said.
“NO!” I screamed. “It’s not something he has to get over, it’s something that people will have to come to terms with. I agree he needs help, but the right kind of help.”
“I don’t think you are qualified enough to be able to say that,” Joe said.
John held his hand up to silence me.
“Joe, I think Sam is more than qualified, she is our transgender specialist,” John said.
“Thanks, John,” I said.
“That may be, but Peter is now under the care of Social Services and it will be up to us to decide what help he needs,” Joe remarked.
I had a very bad feeling and I was starting to dislike Joe.
“Where are you going to put him?” I asked.
“Initially, in an orphanage until he can be assessed and then into a foster home.”
“Chris and I will look after him,” I told Joe.
“I don’t think that will be wise,” Joe said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Foster homes are normally run by married couples with stable backgrounds.”
“Are you saying that Chris and I haven’t got a stable background and, Joe… we are married,” I spat out.
“So Chris is your husband?” Joe asked.
“No, Joe. Chris is my wife. The reason I am the groups transgender specialist is that I’m a transvestite; actually I may even be transgendered myself. There is a difference you know.”
“That makes it impossible then,” Joe said.
“Just because I am different?”
“No, but you may inadvertently influence Peter.”
“You mean I may turn him gay or into a queen, is that what you are getting at?” I was starting to get angry.
“No, that’s not…erm...” Joe was struggling.
“Look, Peter has already had two traumatic events in his short life and you shoving him into an orphanage will probably be the third. I will not stand by and see you ruin his life,” I said.
“Peter is now no longer your concern. We will look after him and, if necessary, I will get an order banning you from interfering,” Joe said.
“If anything happens to Peter, you’ll have to answer to me, personally. I will make your life hell, and that’s a promise,” I said.
“Is that a threat?” Joe asked.
“No, Joe, just a statement of fact. I will not allow you or your department to ruin Peter’s life, it’s too precious.” I turned and went back into the room.
“And Joe, that goes double for me,” John added.
Back in the room, I started to prepare Peter.
“Peter, I’d like you to go with Joe, he’ll look after you,” I said.
My words sounded hollow, even to me and I didn’t believe Joe would look after Peter. I gave Peter a card.
“If you need to talk or help, ring me, anytime,” I said and with a heavy heart, led Peter out of the room.
I saw the shock on Joe’s face when he first saw Peter and I felt sick.
“Peter, this is Joe. He has promised me that he will look after you,” I said.
As Joe led a sobbing Peter away, I started to cry, so did Chris. I had a bad, bad feeling and there was nothing I could do to protect Peter.
*****
Joe took Peter to a local orphanage where the staff were kind and found him some male clothes. Peter was shown a bed and soon he was fast asleep.
Social Services had a very large caseload and it would be a few days before anyone was assigned to Peter. In the meantime he became more withdrawn and wouldn’t talk to anyone. He couldn’t dress, which made things even worse, and, somehow, some of the other children found out about his dressing.
The staff at the orphanage did all they could to protect Peter, but they were understaffed and overworked and the taunts Peter had to endure were missed.
Peter’s parents still refused to have anything to do with him and with the constant taunts and bullying, the pressure was building up.
I constantly phoned Social Services for updates and was always fobbed off or left on hold until I cleared down. I had a visit from the Police who told me that Social Services had filed harassment charges against me. I had to back off, unfortunately Peter was just one of the cases I also had to deal with. And yes, I also let Peter down.
After five days, Peter couldn’t stand it anymore. Late one night, he stole a knife and ran away. It was the last time anyone ever saw him alive.
After his body was found, I made good my promise and contacted the press. The resulting publicity would do little to help Peter, but it may help others. There was a public enquiry, which found Social Services wanting and severely criticised their head, who was forced to resign, as was Joe. It wasn’t really their fault, they were overworked, but it was still a fourteen-year-old boy who died. He deserved better, from all of us.
Peter’s parents were also in the spotlight and they moved away and changed their name, I think they became foster parents to problem children, so maybe some good as come out of it.
Myself, well Chris and I also came under close scrutiny and I was laughed at and called a freak, but I am old enough not to let it bother me. And anyway, I had Chris and she had me, but it was a very bad time for me and not only because I had ‘lost’ Peter. I would carry the burden of letting him down forever and I vowed not to let it happen again.
I visit Peter’s grave three times a week and make sure there is always flowers on his grave and that it is kept clean.
I will never forget Peter.
*****
He had to get away, he just couldn’t take anymore. He briefly thought about calling Sam, but he had let him down once and would do so again. No, he would call no one this time.
He got hold of a knife and let himself out of the back door, no one saw him. He knew where to go, a place he could be alone. Where no one would stop him, where he could be with Petra.
Once he arrived at the secluded spot, he looked round to make sure it was deserted. It was time. She could wait no more and he wanted to be with her. His only regret was that he was dressed as Peter and not as Petra.
Sobbing, Peter plunged the knife into his wrist and pulled the blade towards his elbow, he then repeated this action on his other arm. The warm blood gushed out of both wounds. He sank to the ground and rested his back against the wall. He wouldn't make any phone calls this time. This time nobody would stop him. No one cared anyway.
“Petra, I’m coming. This time we will never be parted,” he said to the night air.
Suddenly, he was gripped with panic. As his blood pressure dropped, his brain frantically closed down non-essential organs, liver, stomach, kidneys and the like. It also diverted the remaining blood away from the extremities, trying to keep his heart, lungs and brain alive. But the brain was fighting a losing battle.
“Mummy!” he cried.
He died, as he had lived his life since his sister’s death. Alone, frightened and in pain.
Authors Note: There is a group in the United Kingdom called The Samaritans; anyone in desperate circumstances can call them all day long, all year round. They do not criticise and they do not judge, they listen and they try to help. There would be a lot of people not alive today if it wasn’t for the Samaritans. I have no knowledge of how they work and so the procedures I describe are all from my head, but they have my deepest admiration and respect.
I recently read a biography of someone who has become a good friend and parts of it troubled me. I don’t know why, the events she described are fairly common for a very large proportion of the transgender community and so, they shouldn’t surprise me, but they troubled me. I was sitting in Victoria Station, London, waiting for my train and I was thinking about this. By the time the train had left the station, I had a working plot and was putting pen to paper.
This story has not been edited and there are errors and holes throughout, but I did not want the story corrected. It took on a life of it’s own and I didn’t want to change anything. So please forgive me my mistakes, as it’s difficult to type when your eyes are full of tears. ~Samantha