“Part of my responsibility to the pack is to help new sisters cope. Since my appearance never changes, a lot of times the new girls find it easier to talk to me during their dormant phase.” Emily continued. “So I take it upon myself to train them in our ways. I prepare all of our new girls the way I'm preparing you, Erin. I didn't want our relationship to start out on a suspicious footing.”

“I get it, I'm just another trainee to you.” I was hurt. I had strong feelings for Emily, I thought we had a serious connection. And here I was being told she was simply training me like she'd done with so many others before me.

'The T-club is a trip,' I thought taking my seat across from Emily. I couldn't wipe the perma-grin off my face. It was a friendly atmosphere which helped me to relax, even though a small part of me still felt apprehensive about my surroundings. I wasn't sure what we were doing in here. “I still don't get it, Emily.” I admitted to my companion.

“Take a look around. Tell me, what do you see?” Emily didn't appear to have many answers for me tonight.

I scanned the room again, taking in the whole scene. I wanted to provide a good description to my interrogator. I rather felt like Daniel-San in the Karate Kid, with Emily playing a young and beautiful Mr. Myagi. I wanted to answer my Sensei correctly. “I see a bunch of men suffering from various degree's of gender-identity-disorder. Most of them seem to be MtF cross-dressers. I see a group of creepy men in the far corner, I guess they are curious, or here to admire. There's some transsexual women in various groups, and a gang of FtM's staking claim to the back-bar.” I looked up for her approval, having read up on my TG terminology I was sure I'd accurately described the scene.

But Emily's expression reflected her inner disappointment. “You're over-thinking it. Look again.” Her tone was forgiving, but stern enough so I'd know to take her assignment seriously.

I'd looked the place over twice, once on the way in and again when Emily asked me to. But I humored my new mentor and examined my surroundings for a third time. Unlike the first cursory glances, on this attempt I focused in on the faces of the patrons below. Smiles lit up every countenance I scanned. On the dance floor, grinning faces bounced around like rolling waves on a rough sea. At the bar, the the customers waiting to be served and even the weeded employees behind the counter all wore a pleasant expression. “They're all so...so happy.” I said after a pause.

As I answered, Emily's eyes lit up. She could sense an 'Ah -ha' moment brewing in her eager pupil. “And why do you think that is?” she asked, like a teacher demanding an expanded explanation.

“If I had to guess” and I did, “I'd say it's because they're being themselves?” The upward inflection at the end of my statement revealed the uncertainty I felt. “They're happy to feel like...and be treated like women.”

“You're on the right track.” Emily encouraged me. “Keep digging.”

I thought for a second. “They're happy to be themselves in front of others who are like them.” I felt confident in my answer now.

Emily seemed satisfied with my reply. “And could that help explain your own present happiness?” Emily posed a good question. “You've had a beaming grin plastered across your face since we got here. Don't you feel a sense of belonging?”

I really couldn't deny it, but what she was saying didn't make sense completely. “If I understand you right, what you're saying is I like it here because I'm... trans-gendered?” I wanted to make sure we understood one another.

Emily nodded yes. "You'd have found it sooner or later, we all do."

“Well yeah, since my run in with Heather. But before that I was all man.” I protested.

Emily countered my claim gently. “Erin didn't just fall out of the sky. She came from somewhere.” she reveled in a soothing voice. “Somewhere along the way, you just buried her under Aaron. Search your memory, I think you'll find that Erin goes back a lot further than last month.”
 

The shades were tightly drawn throughout the entire house. The living-room was dark save for the dim flicker of a General Electric brand color television. Next to the highly advanced, American made contraption sat a cheap, plastic toy from a turn-quarter machine. A small gold sticker with black lettering indicated the low-tech toy was 'Made in China.'

There was an audience of one for Mr. Reagan's performance that afternoon, and his viewer didn't seem to be paying close attention. Eight year olds seldom follow politics. Instead, young Aaron paraded around the faintly illuminated room, dressed head to toe in clothes he had taken out of his mothers closet. It was a fun game he'd recently discovered, though something told him that it must be done in secrecy.

'Latch-key kid' was one of those 1980's buzz words that the media tossed around, and Aaron fit their description. Every day after school, Aaron let himself into his house with a key hidden under a rock in the back yard. Aaron's parents weren't abusive or neglectful for doing this, half the kids on the block lived the same way. It was common in working class neighborhoods where both parents held jobs. So every day after school, Aaron had a couple hours to himself before his parents returned from work. It was summer now, and that only meant more alone time. Lately he had been using this time to play his fun, new dress-up game.

But on this occasion, as Mr. Reagan began to speak from a podium on the streets of some European capitol, Aaron heard the sound of his father's heavy footsteps coming down the hall. It seemed that his dad left work early that day. The lad was mortified at the prospect of being caught in the clothes he was wearing, but froze up in his place. In seconds, his father stood before him. The man Aaron called 'dad' wore a look of shock and disappointment, clearly visible even to the eight year old.

Aaron's father smoldered, thinking about the parenting style he and his wife selected for raising their son. He'd never struck the boy, something his own father had done to him many times when he was young. He and his wife were a progressive couple in a lot of ways, but this was too much. As a proud father he had made plans for his son's life. He developed certain expectations, hopes and dreams for his only heir. But most of all, he didn't want to see his boy have a tough life and be ridiculed by others. A strong reaction would likely scare this out of the boy, and only a strong reaction would do...

Aaron suffered a black-eye that afternoon at the hands of his enraged father. After being struck, he was forced to go to his room, get changed immediately, and remain there until summoned. Alone behind his door, he cried from the physical and emotional pain he'd endured. But the tears stopped falling. The boys expression hardened with resolve and his mind went blank. He could hear the television through his closed bedroom door as he removed his mothers clothing for the last time.

“General Secretary Gorbachev, if you seek peace, if you seek prosperity for the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, if you seek liberalization: Come here to this gate. Mr. Gorbachev, open this gate! Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!”

Ronnie and I never did agree. Here he was trying to tear down a wall the very day I'd decided to build one.
 

My incomplete memory of that day was whole again as though the fog of time had lifted, if only for a moment. I remembered the black eye, it was the only time my father ever hit me. But somewhere along the line I managed to block out the reason behind the beating. Probably because the incident was never discussed again. I now knew Erin had been a part of me since I was very young, though that day in 1987 caused me to wall her off.

My memory seemed to belong to both Erin and Aaron at once. If that was the case, if the two sides of me shared memories, perhaps what Heather and Emily both said was true. Erin had been lurking within me all along, waiting to emerge when the time was right. In a flash of recall, the way Emily described this club came flooding back, 'It's a place you always wanted to go.' I now realized why I felt so happy to be here, and yet slightly apprehensive at the same tine. I was happy being true to myself, but feared the potentially dreadful consequences. But understanding that nobody would suddenly appear and punish me for being myself, I felt that apprehension melt away like snow in springtime.

I'd figured out that Aaron and Erin were just two names for the same person. The wall within came tumbling down.
 

Heather slinked her way through a maze of tables, chairs and waitresses on her way to distract Emily and Erin. Neither of her dupes saw her as she approached, even when she stood right before them. “Who let you two in here?” she said playfully sliding up next to Erin on her side of the booth.

“Heather. How's the moon treating you tonight?” there was a passive-aggressive tone to Emily's question.

“Like a lady ought to be treated, Em.” Heather said casually. “More importantly, how is it treating our newest sister?” she turned to me and asked with a great deal of affection.

“Fine I guess.” I thought I'd be happy to see Heather again. Instead I found myself angry with her for leaving me no way to make contact. Reading me like an open book, Heather picked up on the vibe.

“I'm glad to hear that, Erin.” Heather sounded sincere. “You might be wondering why I didn't contact you this month. I should probably explain.” She paused to make sure she had my attention. “Or maybe Emily would be better off telling you?” she gestured to my 'date' across the table.

“You want me to explain my role in our sisterhood to her?” Emily asked, I sensed tension between them. Emily was glaring at Heather now.

Heather returned the glare, “Or I could do it, either way.”

To me it was like watching two gunslingers in a stare-down. Emily spoke next without flinching.

“That's OK, I tell it so much better than you.” Emily was undaunted. “See, Heather here asked me to keep an eye on you last month. Us bumping into each other in the mall wasn't mere coincidence. I saw you go into the theater too, and I kept an eye on you after you emerged as Erin. It was a full moon night, all the other sisters would have been forced to change. Only I could safely keep an eye on you.” Emily's confession sounded remorseful.

My heart sank into my stomach. “You were spying on me? Why didn't you tell me earlier?” I asked in a wobbly, meek voice. “Why didn't you pull me out of that theater?”

Emily did her best to answer. “I thought my cover was blown when you saw me at Sam Goody. After that, if I tried to pull you out of that theater, you might have resisted and caused a scene.” Emily sounded ashamed. “Letting you change in that theater was my best option at the time.”

I was satisfied with Emily's explanation, and suspicious about Heather's intentions. Why had she brought this up? Still, I had a few more questions for Emily. “You could have told me later, after we met at the club. Or any of the times I saw you throughout the month. Why didn't you?”

“Part of my responsibility to the pack is to help new sisters cope. Since my appearance never changes, a lot of times the new girls find it easier to talk to me during their dormant phase.” Emily continued. “So I take it upon myself to train them in our ways. I prepare all of our new girls the way I'm preparing you, Erin. I didn't want our relationship to start out on a suspicious footing.”

“I get it, I'm just another trainee to you.” I was hurt. I had strong feelings for Emily, I thought we had a serious connection. And here I was being told she was simply training me like she'd done with so many others before me.

Emily reached across the table between us and grabbed my hands. “But there's something special between us Erin, please believe me...”

I pulled my hands away from Emily, causing her to trail off at the end of her sentence. “You should have told me last month. I thought I could trust you.” The venomous sting of her betrayal hurt me badly.
 

Deep within the confines of Heather's over-sized but stylish purse, the almost imperceptible vibration of a cell phone caught it's owners attention. Nobody else at the table noticed. Heather knew it was Vanessa, texting from the parking lot to say mission accomplished. “Well, I can see you two have plenty to discuss...” Heather looked casually at her watch, “...and I just realized I'm running late for an appointment. Please excuse me.” Emily and Erin were silent for a second. Standing up to leave, Heather smiled triumphantly as she heard Emily and Erin resume their strained conversation. “Dance puppets, dance.” Heather said aloud softly to herself.
 

I was watching Heather walk away as Emily resumed pleading with me to forgive her deception. I'd forgiven her already, but my suspicion of Heather left me sick to my stomach. Emily's loud, squeaky voice faded to a 'Wah-wah' noise, kind of like the one Charlie Brown's teacher made. Still looking in Heather's direction, I heard her voice clearly though softly. I was not intended to hear these words.

“Dance puppets, dance” Heather said from a distance as she walked away.

My 'Dumbo-ears' that I noticed earlier while drying my hair could apparently be focused like twin satellites. I didn't have bionic ears, the fact that they stuck out ever so slightly just happened to pick up Heather's faint voice. If I was suspicious before, now I was positively convinced something was up with Heather. I didn't know what though, and so I couldn't let on that I heard Heathers words. So I pretended to argue with Emily. “How dare you treat me like some sort of criminal!” I said accusingly, interrupting Emily's apology.

I wasn't listening to her frantic reply, I was too focused on Heather who seemed to be leaving the club in a hurry. But I had to maintain my ruse. “How dare you say that to me!” I shouted, just in case Heather was still listening in.

“Erin, that doesn't make any sense, are you even listening to me?” I heard Emily ask. When I didn't answer or even look at her, she continued to blather out apologies. From the sound of it, she was on the brink of tears. But as I watched Heather stroll into the hallway leading out of the club, I ended my charade.

I interrupted Emily's flurry of apologies. “Em, listen.” she fell silent. “I'm not actually angry with you. I feel the connection between us too.” Emily looked baffled. I'd went from fuming mad to totally civil with zero notice. “I think Heather is up to something, and I wanted her to see us arguing.”

“I don't understand, Erin...” I interrupted before Emily could finish.

“Think about it, both of us were sitting up here, having a good time, and suddenly Heather appears. Moments later, we're arguing and she's leaving.” Emily seemed to understand. “Besides, Heather is the one who asked you to spy on me, and we hadn't even met when she asked you to do it.” Emily nodded in agreement and I continued, “And as she walked away, I heard her say something I wasn't supposed to hear.”

“What was it, Erin?” I had Emily's undivided attention. She'd always been secretly suspicious of Heather.

I cleared my throat, “She said, 'Dance puppets, dance.'”