Joan and Sam work things out. Joan finally expresses her needs to Dr. Raspberry. Mom gets the pictures of Dad’s new living quarters developed.

Chapter 11

Boys Don’t Cry

Monday at work seemed like any other day. Still, for some reason, the wood actually smelled sweeter that day. Mr. Ferris asked me if I could work another five hours a week. I apologized, and told him that would be impossible. He looked at me quizzically and I explained about my new painting career. He laughed, shook his head, and we both got back to work. I tried to think of something new and exciting to do with Sam for our birthday celebration.

I stopped by the paint store on the way home to make sure Mr. Hospin had the paint that Mom wanted. I knew that if he didn’t have it, he’d try and force an alternative on me. Of course, he did have it in stock. I began to wonder about my own loyalties as I realized buying the paint from him would add fifteen dollars to the cost. Finally, Mr. Hospin came over to me with a huge grin on his face.

"Joan!" He greeted me like I was his long lost granddaughter. "I knew I was right about you." He continued. Hmm, was that a compliment? "The Moores called me first thing Saturday morning. They were absolutely delighted with the work you did for them. I’ve got a list of jobs here for you that will keep you busy all summer long!" Just a few minutes ago I was thinking of asking for a discount on the paint! And, here he was handing me a list of names that would keep me busy through Labor Day and beyond.

I took the list from him and gave him a warm hug. I told him that I’d be back that evening to purchase some paint. I left the paint store and headed over to the bank. With my deposit, I was closing in on $700 total in my account. More money than I’d ever amassed in my lifetime. I did the quick math in my head. If I did three painting jobs per week, added in my sanding money, I’d be able to bank a whopping two hundred and fifty dollars a week and still have sixty bucks left for myself. I made my way home and got started on my chores. I tried calling a few of the people on the list, but they weren’t at home. I guessed that most of them were at work.

At close to five, Sam came waltzing in carrying the paper. Had I invited him over for dinner and forgotten about it? With tears in his eyes, he gave me a hug. "Joan," he wailed, "you’ve ruined everything." With that he handed me the newspaper. The front page headline news was about a group of rowdy teen-aged boys being arrested for disorderly conduct on Saturday night. You have to remember, this was a small town and this was a big story here.

"It’s your fault they got arrested," he told me.

"My fault?" I said not believing what I was hearing. "What did I do? I was walking alone Saturday night minding my own business when your "friends" attacked me. You should be thanking me for getting you away from those assholes." His eyes began to well up as he explained what happened at practice that morning. Three of the boys arrested had been on the team. Two of them were starters; the second baseman and the right fielder. The coach, upon hearing the news, kicked them off the squad. No one had any proof, but they were all blaming Sam for what had happened.

"Sam," I tried to reason with him. "I didn’t do anything to get those boys arrested. They did it all themselves." He knew I was right, but for some reason had decided that I was to blame.

"You shouldn’t have said anything to the cop," he said with conviction.

"Oh, I should have just said nothing and let them go upsetting everyone and anyone they pleased. Sam, they were arrested after we’d already left. I have no idea what they did to push the officer over the edge." I took the paper and with Sam in tow sat down at the kitchen table and began to read. Due to their tender ages, the boys’ names weren’t mentioned. It seemed that I hadn’t been the only one to complain. After we’d left, the boys assaulted a group of young girls. The police had no alternative but to arrest them.

"Well, now no one on the team is talking to me," he said as the tears started to fall.

"Sweetheart, I’m sorry about that. They’ll get over it, I’m sure. Would you have rather been there when the cops caught up with them?" Sam knew I was spot-on in my assessment of the situation.

"I’m sorry Joan," he said as the tears continued to fall. I hugged him in my arms and rocked him gently. I knew that his talent would make them all forget about what had transpired Saturday night.

"I guess it’s not easy being a boy," I said teasingly.

"It’s harder than I thought it’d be," Sam surprisingly agreed.

"Well Sam, it’s getting late and I have to make dinner." He took my statement as an invitation to stay. I told him we were having salads with tuna draped over the top. He didn’t care; food was food. I set him to work peeling cucumbers. I let the dog in from the back yard and sure enough, she ran straight for Sam. He took that as his cue to play with the dog.

"Hey? I’m helping. I’m entertaining your dog," he said sincerely. I shook my head and got back to work. I told him to set the dining room table while I assembled the finishing touches of our dinner. He lighted the candles without being asked. It would be simple fare, but served in a fine dining atmosphere.

Mom arrived home right on schedule and engaged in her normal routine. Sam carried the bowls into the dining room. Mom didn’t even acknowledge his presence. She wasn’t being rude, it was as if she expected him there. I put out the butter and served up the fresh baked dinner rolls. Sam eyed them greedily. "Mom, if you want any rolls, you’d better take them now," I said as drool began forming at the edge of Sam’s mouth. He laughed and promised that he wouldn’t be that bad.

"Did you two see the lead story in today’s newspaper?" she asked rhetorically. "I’m not so sure it’s safe for you to be hanging out on the boardwalk anymore Joan," she continued. "There’s even talk of a curfew for those under eighteen." Her words sent me into immediate moping mode. The more I thought about it, I realized that it would never happen. This was the time of year when the business people earned enough to keep them sailing through the rest of the year. The local merchants' association would be up in arms at any mention of a curfew. Not to mention the vacationers themselves. They chose this bit of paradise for its friendly atmosphere. The only logical result would be better enforcement of the law by the police.

I voiced my opinions for both Mom and Sam. She considered my words carefully and agreed that I was probably right. Then she told me that she’d better never catch either of us in any trouble. I cast Sam a sideways glance. He smiled in return. "Aunt Joan, I have no intention of getting into any trouble. Baseball is far too important to me to mess it all up by becoming a rowdy."

"And Mom, when have I ever been in trouble?" I asked her wearing my most angelic smile. Mom burst out laughing upon looking at me. We all joined in, but it made me wonder; did she think I was some kind of troublemaker? Sam did indeed eat more than his share of the rolls. He had four of them! Mom and I each had one apiece. He’d better be a good pitcher if he planned on putting food on the table; especially with his appetite.

Dinner over and everything put away, Mom asked me if I was ready to hit the paint store. I told her that I would be in awhile, but first I had to call my potential customers and start scheduling appointments. At the mere mention of painting, Sam begged off. He said he had to get home, if he didn’t leave now he’d be late for dinner. We all burst out laughing again. He hugged me tight and kissed me goodbye. I made my way to the phone.

Half an hour later I had three jobs lined up for the week. I scheduled one for Wednesday, and two of them for Friday during the day. I had no idea how this was going to conflict with my dinner making chores. Hell, with the money I’d be making I reasoned I could buy us takeout and still be way ahead of the game. For nine hours work I’d be making almost twice as much as I did sanding for twenty. Maybe I should retire from wood working?

Mom and I made our way to Hospin’s paint. While I piled everything up on the counter, she began looking at wallpaper. There was no way I was taking on any more work. Enough was enough. I began writing out the check when Mr. Hospin told me that since I was his best customer, he was giving me a ten percent discount. It still cost a bit more than the Depot, but I was grateful for the ten bucks.

"Joan, now that you’re working all these jobs, when are you going to find time to paint our house?" I’d been wondering the same thing myself.

"I don’t know Mom, I suppose I could get the bulk of it done on Sunday," I replied. Sunday: my birthday. I’d be spending it painting the living room. Somehow, it just didn’t seem right. It was bad enough that I’d probably be exhausted by the time Darla and Sally came over on Friday. My appetite for work seemed to match Sam’s for food. I was getting tired just thinking about it. While I loaded up the car, Mom and Mr. Hospin became engaged in conversation. I cringed when he told her what a wonderful and industrious daughter she had. I guess I wasn’t too good at accepting praise, wherever it came from.

We made our way home and I put the paint away in the hall closet. I spent a few hours on the internet; reading and replying to emails and doing a bit more research on my "condition." Some of the sad stories I encountered made me wonder if I’d ever find true happiness. Why did anyone care what gender I was? It was nobody’s business but my own. Well, and of course my family’s. I smiled as I considered that Sam was a very important member of my family. Perhaps, the most important of all.

I went downstairs to say goodnight to Mom. She was working in her sewing room. For some reason the door was closed. I knocked before entering remembering the scene with Darla and Sarah. "Just a minute Joan!" Mom’s voice rang out. What was she doing in there? Was she hiding something from me? I quickly put such thoughts away when she told me to come in. I entered and told her I just wanted to say goodnight. She hugged me, kissed me, and told me that I truly was a wonderful daughter. I nearly melted at her words.

I woke up Tuesday morning feeling refreshed. Yes, it was Tuesday, but I still had a very long week ahead of me. Had I bitten off more than I could chew? I laughed as I realized that that was an impossibility for Sam. I arrived at work a few minutes early and started right in. I seemed to be getting better at the job, knowing instinctively when it was time to switch to a finer grade of sandpaper. Paul hadn’t said anything to me in days now. Had Mr. Ferris told him about me? That possibility made me sad in a sense, yet I knew it didn’t really matter. Still, I went out of my way to be nice to him as the hours fell swiftly by.

I considered for a moment stopping off at Darla’s after work, but knew I had too much work to do at home. On arrival, I put a ton of chicken thighs in the oven broiler, set the temperature on low and decided that I could get the ceiling painting out of the way before Mom got home. Yes, it was an ambitious task. The only part that scared me was standing on the ladder while it was perched precariously on the stair treads. My stomach did flip-flops every time I ascended. Still, by five-thirty the ceilings were finished. I’d do the walls on Sunday and worry about the trim next week.

I turned up the oven heat and began making the corn and mashed potatoes. I reasoned that tomorrow, we could have chicken and spaghetti. There’d be no need to waste any money on takeout food. Mom arrived home while I was in the middle of everything and began whining about why dinner wasn’t ready. I was feeling a bit annoyed but, decided not to complain. She’d either notice the freshly painted ceilings herself, or she wouldn’t. I had dinner on the table by six-thirty and she seemed to calm down as she slowly devoured my offering.

"What do you want to do this evening, Joan?" She asked me. I laughed and told her I was beyond exhausted. If it wasn’t so late already, I’d be taking a nap. I cleaned the kitchen up and made my way upstairs. Sam’s phone was busy, so I called Darla instead. We exchanged stories of what we’d been up to. She asked me why I was working so hard. I told her that I honestly had no idea why I was doing it. "Because I can" seemed to be the reason that made the most sense to me. I asked her if she had any plans for the party Friday night. She told me not to worry about it, that she had it all under control. I thanked her profusely as a layer of stress floated away.

Sam and I spoke on the phone for awhile. I asked him if things had been any easier with the guys. He said they slowly seemed to be coming around. Especially after the coach threatened to boot anyone involved in any kind of trouble. He went on to tell me he was a bit worried about the team’s future having lost three players. I asked him if they needed me to suit up. It took him a few minutes to stop laughing. Sure, I’d said it as a joke, but after awhile his laughter started to hurt. Whatever credibility I’d once had as a boy seemed to be gone forever.

He apologized as his laughter ebbed. We made arrangements to meet tomorrow evening at eight o’clock. Upon saying goodnight, I almost fell asleep with the receiver in my hand. It was just after nine, but it was time for bed. I went back downstairs to say goodnight to Mom and as I’d encountered last evening, she was once again in the sewing room with the door closed. I repeated my routine of knocking and she repeated hers of asking me to wait for a minute. At last I went in and hugged her goodnight. I told her that I had to go to work after work and started laughing. I went on to explain that dinner probably wouldn’t be ready until six-thirty.

Lying in bed, my head began spinning about all the work I had yet to do. Maybe I’d taken on too much? I dragged myself out of bed on Wednesday morning and sanded away like a zombie. I headed directly to the Whitley home from there. The bedroom job, a light green, was a piece of cake. I knew that one of these days I was gong to run into problems. Up to now I’d been able to use the tools and ladders that my customers had laying about. Still, I had enough to worry about for the moment. I took my pay and pedaled my way home. They hadn’t batted an eye on seeing me. I guess I was gaining a certain confidence with each passing successful paint job.

I arrived home at five-thirty and began making the spaghetti. We wouldn’t be late in eating after all. I knew after dinner I’d be taking a short nap before Sam’s arrival. I realized too late that I’d forgotten to check the mail. Mom came walking into the kitchen carrying the envelope that I’d mailed home. Should I just let her deal with it? Could she handle it? "Here Mom, I’ll take that," I said and reached for the envelops.

"But Joan, it’s addressed to me." I tried explaining that it was just a disposable camera that I’d purchased to take some pictures with at Dad’s. "And you sent it to me, how thoughtful." She said and put the camera away somewhere. I shuddered as I remembered that one of the pictures was of a very pregnant Doreen. Damn, how could I have been so stupid? "I’ll drop it off for processing after dinner," she said and changed the subject. There was nothing I could do about it now. Perhaps it was best if she knew the absolute truth of the situation.

I never did get a chance to take a nap. Mom and I sat at the table talking for quite awhile after dinner. She asked me about my plans for my party. I told her that Darla was in charge of planning the party. "Oh Joan, how could you?" She remonstrated. I laughed and replied that I was just too damned busy to worry about planning birthday parties. She never had commented on my ceiling painting. Had I totally wasted my time?

Sam showed up and we went for a walk. As long as he was around, my legs were sure to get a good workout. We found ourselves at Forbes Field, swinging on the swings. "I’ll bet I can go higher than you can!" he said and started pumping furiously.

Not in the mood to play that kind of game, I replied: "I’ll bet you can too." With his swing in the highest arc possible, he catapulted off purposefully and landed on his feet over fifteen feet from his starting point. He was off and running. Was I supposed to give chase? I really didn’t have that kind of energy having put in a full day and then making dinner. I stayed on my swing and lazily pumped to and fro. After about ten minutes Sam came back telling me that I was no fun at all.

"If you’re lucky, I’ll let you kiss me for awhile," I said seductively. He was simply bursting at the seams with energy. He grabbed my swing in mid-motion and held the chain till it came to a stop. He leaned over, grabbed my head, and began kissing me passionately. My body tensed and ached with hunger. I wanted the same thing he did. Maybe we could bring a blanket to the woods next time? We explored each other’s bodies for quite some time before I ended it, telling him I just had to go home.

Thankfully, he didn’t get mad at me. For awhile I was beginning to worry that he’d force me to perform oral sex on him. Not that I was opposed to the idea. It’s just that neither the timing nor the setting was right. We finally arrived at my front door. I swear, I’d never seen him this horny before. He thrust his bottom half into me repeatedly as we kissed goodnight outside my doorstep. Thank God my mother wasn’t watching us! There’d have been hell to pay. I’m sure she’d have found a way to blame it all on me, I laughed bitterly.

"What’s so funny?" He asked me.

"Did I laugh out loud?" I asked facetiously. He joined me in laughter and at last, we said goodnight. "Sam, have you given any thought to Saturday night yet?"

"No, I haven’t, but I’m sure we’ll think of something." He replied.

I made my way into the house and noticed once again Mom was in the room with the door closed. What the hell could she be doing in there? I considered just barging in, but I knew she’d never forgive me. I knocked softly on the door and waited for her to acknowledge me. We talked for a few minutes and I was off to bed. It’s funny, I now had permission to stay up till eleven and here I found myself in bed and asleep before ten o’clock. Ah well! Just knowing I "could" stay up if I wanted to would have to be enough.

Thursday at the shop Mr. Ferris informed me that I’d be doing some staining work on the pieces I sanded next week. The fun part he told me (laughing) is that when they’ve dried properly you get to sand them again. That didn’t sound like fun to me. I thanked him as he handed me my pay envelope and pedaled home. Sarah was indeed standing out in her driveway as I pedaled off in the other direction. Was she waiting for me? Now what? I wondered.

I was beyond tempted to take a nap when I arrived home. All I had to do was make dinner and go for my appointment. Still, the clothes weren’t going to wash themselves. I did my best to catch up on my weekly chores. Lately Mom had given me a bit more freedom with dinner preparations. Tonight, I was going to make burgers and baked potatoes.

Dinner came off without a hitch and soon Mom and I were on our way to see Dr. Raspberry. Our professional relationship was beginning to meld and soften. At first I’d been a bit wary when she donned her doctor hat. Now we were just two friends talking. She never once looked at the clock.

"Aunt Vivian… I’m sorry, Dr. Raspberry?" I was embarrassed.

"It’s alright Joan, you hereby have permission to always refer to me as Aunt Vivian. Truth be told, I like it better myself when you do."

"Well," I continued. I’ve been doing a lot of research on the internet. I was wondering?" I started and stopped suddenly. Could I go on with this?

"What is it Joan?"

"I was wondering when I could start hormone therapy." There, I’d said it. Maybe Dad would accept me better when I was his "actual" daughter and not just some "sissy boy" (as he described me.) I so wanted breasts of my own. If my voice started to deepen, I thought I’d die. The faint fuzz of a beginning mustache had appeared magically out of nowhere over the last few weeks.

Aunt Vivian eyed me silently for what seemed like forever. My eyes began to cloud over with tears. None had fallen, but like the borg had said: "resistance is futile." "You know sweetheart, I’m a psychotherapist and not a psychiatrist." I looked at her curiously trying to figure out what she was trying to tell me.

"That simply means that I’m not a medical doctor. I can’t write prescriptions." We sat there silently for another minute or two before she went on. "However, as you know, my husband is a medical doctor. Do you think you could talk to him for a few minutes?" She asked me pleadingly.

"If you think it will help, of course I will." I replied bravely.

"Just wait here for a minute, I’ll be right back." With that she was gone. She returned a short time later with Dr. Robert Raspberry in tow. I was sure he knew all about me, but could I sit here and discuss my condition with him? He set my mind at ease right off.

"So, Joan, Vivian tells me you want to start taking hormones. Are you aware of all the risks involved?" I assured him that I was. I’d read all about the potential side effects of estradiol on the internet.

"It’s just Doctor," I began haltingly. "I’m afraid that if I don’t start taking them now that some awful changes are going to take place." I fell silent with my last remark. I put my head down on the table and wept openly.

"It’s alright Joan," he said soothingly. "I’m going to prescribe a very low dosage of estrogen along with a mild anti-androgen to keep you in stasis for now."

"Will they make my breasts grow?" I asked hopefully. I knew that such a low dosage wouldn’t make me blossom. I just hoped that my question would help him, somehow see my need.

"Joan, I’m betting you already know the answer to that one," he went on. "The dosage I’m prescribing will have little or no effect on your developing secondary female characteristics. That’s not to say they won’t help you. They’ll keep your beard from growing, your voice from deepening, and limit your overall muscular development. This dosage will buy you time to figure out if this is really what you want to do." he finished. I felt like telling him I already knew what I wanted to do. I wanted, no I needed to be a girl; as real a female as I could possibly be. He studied my face carefully and read my mind. "It’s OK sweetheart," he assured me. "This may be a small step, but a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step." Not if you’re taking the bus, I thought cynically. With that he nodded at Aunt Vivian, pulled out his prescription pad and wrote me a prescription for 2mg of estradiol valerate to be taken daily with meals along with a prescription for Aldactone.

Aunt Vivian called my mother into the room and told her what we’d accomplished. She handed her my prescriptions and explained that our medical insurance would cover most of the cost. I was over the moon! I wondered whether the pills would affect my viewpoint? Would they make me more emotional? Would I see any changes at all in my body? I knew that most likely I wouldn’t, but I was hopeful.

Mom stopped at the drugstore on the way home. I waited in the car for her. For some reason I was ashamed. Ashamed that everyone in the store would know that the pills were for me. She returned to the car quickly with my prescriptions and a package of photos as well. Damn! I’d forgotten about them again. When had she dropped the camera off? She started the car, put it in gear and we made our way home.

We sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and smoking as she handed me the little blue box with the twenty-eight life changing pills inside. It wasn’t till years later that I found out that prescriptions for estrogen for someone my age were simply a "no-no." from the medical profession’s perspective.

Meanwhile, Mom carefully opened the envelope with the pictures and began going through them. Her mood seemed to darken as she viewed each and every one. Fortunately she only glanced briefly at the picture of Doreen. Thankfully, she didn’t grasp the significance of it. The next picture sent her over the edge though.

"I’m sorry Mom," I said as she looked about to burst into tears.

"They have a fucking maid!" She exclaimed. I’d never heard her use the "F" word before in my life. I wanted to grab the pictures from her, rip them to shreds and throw them away. Still, I thought that those pictures were the reason I was allowed to return home and not sent off to some Siberian Military Academy. After looking at all of them twice, the second time taking special note of her replacement, she handed them all to me. "Why did you come back?" She asked sincerely.

I couldn’t believe she was asking me that. I felt a mix of emotions. I was angry with her for even entertaining such thoughts. I felt horrible for letting her view those photos. I could no longer keep the tears at bay.

"I love you Mom! This is my home. Not some fancy mansion somewhere else. Wherever you are is home." She began crying as well. We hugged for a few minutes and said goodnight. I took my pills upstairs with me and put them in my medicine cabinet.. Tomorrow promised to be an interesting day. I set my clock and drifted off to sleep imagining my body changing with the consumption of the life altering medications…..