Chapter 2: Finding a Soulmate

“Oh, mommy,” Brian said excitedly when his mother told him of Mrs. Henderson’s suggestion that Brian baby-sit for her daughter two days a week. “You mean she wants to pay me for watching Tamara?”

“Yes, honey, but I want you to think about this carefully,” Amy Kendall said. “This’ll tie your time down even more and you won’t be able to play with your friends much.”

“I don’t care, mommy.”

“You really need to get out of the house, more, dear,” she pleaded.

“No, mommy, I like doing this work, taking care of Marietta and Tamara, too.”

It was Brian’s consistent answer; he had no desire to be out playing with other kids, particularly the boys in the neighborhood who always seemed to pick on him. And now the girls did too. His beating by Megan Tompkins was devastating; he and Megan used to play together in the past, but now she only wanted to beat him up and tease him and make fun of him.

“Ok, we’ll try it for two weeks,” his mother finally said.

*****
Amy Kendall and Sylvia Henderson quickly had become close confidants, in spite of their different positions in life; Amy held down a low-lever clerical job on the second shift at St. Vincent’s Hospital while Sylvia, a college-educated retired Army officer was vice president of operations for the community’s largest hospital, Community Memorial. Sylvia found she liked Amy immensely, and found her to be an intelligent, well-grounded woman who rarely complained about the bad luck she’d already had in her life. Their common interest was the well-being of their children, and from that the two women grew in friendship.

It was to Sylvia that Amy expressed her concerns about Brian’s growing girlishness, and the boy’s recent words that he might like to be a girl. The topic came up when Amy called Sylvia back to tell her that Brian would accept the chore of watching over Tamara after school twice a week for two weeks.

“It’ll be a trial, Sylvia,” Amy said. “I must tell you I’m uneasy about this whole thing.”

“Amy, I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Sylvia replied. “I don’t want you uneasy about it, but I want you to know I trust your son one hundred percent. I have no qualms over Brian’s sense of responsibility.”

“Of course, Sylvia, so let’s try it, but Brian’s trustworthiness was no issue with me either,” Amy replied.

“What’s bothering you, Amy?”

Amy was silent for a moment, uncertain whether to bare her true concerns about Brian to a person who was a total stranger just a few weeks earlier. Amy, however, felt a warmth and sincerity in the woman that she found in few others; no way could she have gained such responsible jobs at such a young age without being a solid person.

“Well, Sylvia, if I tell you my real concerns, I hope you’ll keep this conversation between just the two of us,” Amy began. “I need to share my thoughts with someone who is sensible, and you seem that person.”

“Amy, let me assure you, this is between you and I. I’ve always respected confidences. You may have not known but I had top secret clearance in the Army since I was assigned to Army Intelligence.”

“My issue is with Brian,” Amy began. “I think you’ve noticed he’s hardly like most boys. What other boy would welcome caring for a younger sister, and now your daughter, over playing outside with his friends?”

“I wondered, too.”

“He really looks forward to it, Sylvia, and won’t go out and play ball with the boys and he really has no other friends. He’s teased constantly about his looks, particularly his breasts. It’s no wonder he won’t play with the others.”

“Kids can be so cruel sometimes, and to such a sweet boy,” Sylvia commented.

Amy continued: “Just last week he was beat up on our block by a girl, who held him in an armlock while a bunch of the kids taunted him and played with his breasts, calling him ‘Bernice.’

“I don’t know if he’s not strong enough to fight back, or if it’s just not in his nature, but I am ashamed to admit that he seems to react as a girl might in these situations and ends up in tears. I hate it, Sylvia, and I feel the hurt as much as he does.”

Amy paused, feeling she was near to tears as she related this.

Sylvia replied, her voice soft and warm: “Oh, Amy, I’m so sorry to hear this, and sadly, I’m afraid Brian feels the hurt many times more than you do. Kids at that age are so sensitive. You’re so right to be worried.”

“And the worst of it is that now he’s telling me he should be a girl, that he wishes he was a girl, and that he hates being a boy,” Amy blurted this out, adding: “How can he think that?”

“My God, Amy.”

“So you see why I am concerned about him taking on this chore with Tamara,” Amy continued. “I’m so worried I’m just driving him into this girlish behavior. I feel like a failure as a mother.”

“Stop right there, Amy,” Sylvia said, using a military-like stern tone. “You’re not at fault, Amy, and don’t make yourself the center of Brian’s problems. You’ll just make matters worse.”

“I guess you’re right, but what can I do?”

Sylvia suggested the possibility of canceling the trial job for Brian, but Amy said, “No. All three of them, Marietta, Tamara and Brian are looking forward to it. Let’s do the two weeks and see where it goes, OK?”

“OK, but I think I may have some ideas for you, but I’d like to think about this a bit,” Sylvia said. “I think Brian is a bright, caring lovely child and I share your concerns. Let’s talk in a few days.”

*****
Brian looked forward to those days when he would care for the two girls. It gave him something to do after school, and also gave him an excuse to avoid getting involved in any activities with other boys, like a pickup football game or something. He could tell other boys that he had to “babysit” his little sister, and that would end their questions or ideas about bullying him.

He escorted Tamara and Marietta from school back to their upper flat, often holding hands with the two little girls, sometimes even skipping part way home. The girls had tons of energy, but the heavier Brian, feeling the heft of his breasts bouncing as they skipped, soon gave up the skipping, breathing heavily.

“You don’t have to be with the girls constantly, once they’re home,” his mother told him. “They can play together and all you need to do is to check up on their periodically.”

Brian, however, found himself more often than not joining in with the two girls, often dressing dolls and playing an innocent game of house where he was always the “mommy.” He tucked his legs as he sat on the floor of Marietta’s bedroom, handling the dolls with great daintiness and care.

Once a week, he took the girls into the kitchen where they baked cookies, giving a partial batch to Tamara’s mother when she came by to pick up her daughter.

“You make the most scrumptious cookies, Brian,” Sylvia told him after she finished the second set of cookies. “I can’t do half as good.”

Brian smiled; everyone said his cookies were tasty and crisp. His cooking, however, had its drawbacks, since he found himself sampling his own creations and soon was gaining weight again, most of it ending up on his hips, thighs, tummy and breasts. Indeed, as he looked around at the girls in his sixth grade class he realized his own breasts may have become bigger than any he saw. He was embarrassed by this, of course, but for some reason he enjoyed have the soft mounds of flesh, prompting him to reflect more and more on becoming a girl.

He even introduced the two girls to sewing, a skill he had taught himself after watching his mother on the sewing machine. He loved the tiny intricate work he could do on the machine and had even sown a pink doll’s dress he created out of his own pattern. It was a crude job, he admitted, but Marietta loved the dress and her main doll wore it all the time.

He was, he realized one day, doing only things that girls seemed to do, and he felt comfortable and happy doing them. He tried to think of one thing he did well that other boys did and he couldn’t think of anything.

*****
Since Sylvia Henderson saw Brian only twice a week when she picked up her daughter at the Kendall household, she could see easily that Brian was gaining weight and was growing noticeably fatter. His own mother, seeing him each day, didn’t seem to notice at first until Sylvia mentioned it to her a week after their initial discussion about Brian.

“Amy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Brian seems to be gaining weight,” Sylvia said, raising the subject delicately, recognizing that most mothers don’t like being told something negative about their child.

“He has a tendency to put on weight,” Amy replied. “I guess he gets that from me. I’ve always been a little chubby.”

“Oh dear, I know. Every child has a different metabolism, so I’m not really criticizing, but Brian is such a sweet boy and so smart, I think he needs more physical activity.”

“You’re right, Sylvia, but I can never get him to go out and play with the boys,” Amy said. “He feels he’s no good at sports and now they all make fun of him.”

“Well, maybe if he lost some weight and put on a little muscle, he’d feel better about it,” Sylvia said.

Amy realized that what Sylvia said was accurate; Brian had become too much of a home-body and seemed locked into doing so many girlish activities that he had little opportunity to exercise or tone up his muscles.

“He’s not really that fat, Sylvia,” she said, still responding defensively. “But I know he could get some more exercise. I just can’t seem to get him involved in anything.”

“Maybe I can help,” Sylvia replied.

Amy realized that the other woman might just have an answer. Sylvia, she knew, had been an Army officer for 20 years before retiring, and still had a trim, firm figure of the young athletic woman she had once been. She also had the disciplined life style that Amy would love to emulate, but never seemed to be able to do so.

*****
“Brian, I’ve taken the liberty of signing you up for Saturday classes at the Boys and Girls Club on North Avenue,” Sylvia Henderson told him as she stopped by to pick up Tamara one day after school.

“What?” Brian asked, somewhat shocked at the idea.

“Well, honey, I’ve talked this over with your mother and we think you’ll like doing this,” she said. “You don’t have to do it, of course, but we both think it’s a good idea.”

“What kind of class?”

“Aerobics for teens,” she said.

“Aerobics? What’s that?”

“Well honey, it’s not too tough, but it involves doing loosening up exercises of all types, and it helps you to feel a little bit better and is good for your health,” Sylvia said.

“I don’t know, Sylvia,” Brian said, feeling very skeptical about the proposal. Would these classes mean he’d have to wear shorts and a tee-shirt and show everyone his chubby thighs and breasts?

As if sensing the boy’s concerns, Sylvia hastened to say that he could wear whatever he wanted to the classes, including sweats to provide him some cover.

“And they won’t be asking you to do things you can’t do,” she said. “Most of the kids will be like you so you won’t be out of place.”

“Is it like a class for fat kids?” he asked, shamed at being associated with such children, feeling he wasn’t fat, just a bit chunky.

“Well, yes,” she admitted, “But not just for fat kids. It’s for kids who need a little more activity in their lives. It’ll be fun, and it’s both boys and girls. You’ll like it.”

“And my mother likes the idea?”

“Yes, and don’t worry about the cost,” Sylvia said. “It’s part of your pay for helping care for Tamara. You’ve been such a great help, honey.”

“Maybe it’s OK,” he said finally, “But I want to talk to my mother first.”

“I need to know by tomorrow, and the first class is at 10 a.m. Saturday,” she said with a smile.

*****
Even though the idea of taking such a class seemed so embarrassing, Brian took his mother’s advice and agreed to accept Mrs. Henderson’s offer. “You really need to start getting more exercise,” his mother said. “Maybe this will help, and if you don’t like it, you can quit, but I asked you to give it a try for at least three sessions.”

“OK, mommy,” he said.

It was mid-October when the classes began, and already most of the leaves had been stripped from the trees as autumn descended quickly in this northern city in the upper Midwest. Brian dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a loose fitting tee shirt, covered by a hoodie; even so the bike ride to the Boys and Girls Club was a cold one and he was glad to enter into the warmth of the two-story brick building where the moisture from the swimming pool seemed to add a steamy feeling to the whole building.

He registered, was given a locker assignment and a key and directed to the Boys Changing Rooms. He was surprised to see there were no other boys in the place getting ready for the class, and began to wonder if he misunderstood the time and place for the class. He looked at the information sheet he had been given and was surprised to see a warning near the bottom: “Please DO NOT put female items in the toilet. Use special receptacles.”

He double-checked the sheet and realized he was in the correct place and at the right time. Well, OK, he told himself, he better lock up his hoodie and bicycle lock key and get ready to report to “Workout Room No. 2” as instructed on the sheet.

At precisely 10 a.m. (not a second earlier or later, as he was a stickler for being on time), he entered the workout room, following two chubby girls wearing shorts that exposed their soft thighs.

He looked around; there were about 15 young people in the room, and one tall stern looking women with short-cropped brown hair streaked with gray. All of the others appeared to be girls, either his age or a little older. What’s this? He wondered, looking at the older person, who must be the instructor.

The woman looked at him, nodded slightly and walked toward him, carrying a clip board, looking at it as she walked.

“You must be Brian,” she said, greeting him, her stern demeanor giving way to a gentle smile.

“Yes, ma’am. Am I in the right place? Is this class just for girls?”

“No, Brian,” the woman assured him. “We usually have more boys in the class, but for some reason you’re the only one this session.”

“Oh,” was all he could say. Maybe he should just bolt out of the room, he thought.

“Oh, they won’t bite,” she said, with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“OK, ma’am.”

“Didn’t you wear shorts today?” she asked. “You’ll get too warm once we begin our exercises.”

“No ma’am, I didn’t know what to wear.”

“OK, but next time, you should wear shorts, dear. You’ll enjoy the classes more.”

*****
Brian took his place, as ordered in the midst of the second row of girls; they had been assembled in three rows of five each. As he looked about, he noticed only one or two girls who might have been his age; the others appeared to be mainly 13- and 14-year-old girls. They all seemed to have one thing in common: they were fat, and while some could be described as chubby a few were downright fat.

“Now young people,” the instructor said, “Let’s have some fun.” There were a few groans, since it was obvious some of the girls may not have welcomed the idea of exercising on a Saturday morning, instead of lying in bed until after noon lunch.

She began: “We’ll make this fun for all of you, but it’ll be work too, and you’ll soon learn that you like what happens to you.”

“First of all, I want to get us to know each other well, so let’s introduce our selves, telling only your first name and what school you attend, then I want each of you to turn to the girl . . . er . . .person on your right and introduce yourself in more detail and spend a few minutes talking together. Let’s all be friends.”

She paused for a minute, then said: “I’ll start and tell you my name. I’m Mrs. Goldsberry, but you may call be Debbie for the class periods, and I went to Woodrow Wilson High School . . . many years ago.”

Her introduction brought chuckles to the class, and the introductions began.

Brian felt frightened and shy, afraid to introduce himself as “Brian,” since it would single him out as the only boy in the class, but as the girls began introducing themselves he could see most of them were also shy and maybe a bit scared. Mrs. Goldsberry had to tell several of the girls to speak up so that they could be heard.

Finally, Brian’s turn came, and he tried to speak out loudly, but his voice came out as a high-pitched squeak as he said: “My name is Brian and . . . ah . . . I go to John Muir Middle School.”

He heard a couple of snickers in the group, and all of the girls looked around at him, many not realizing there was a boy in the class. It finally dawned on him that will his longish hair and his cherubic face many must have thought him just one of the girls.

“Now girls,” Mrs. Goldsberry said. “Yes, we have a boy in the class, and usually we have more than one. For some reason, Brian is the only boy here, and I want you all to welcome him as one of us.”

Brian reddened as he noticed every girl in the class looking at him, some smiling and detecting a smirk on several of the faces. He gave a tentative wave as if to acknowledge the attention, and then brushed the hair from his eyes as he lowered his hand, a habit he had seemed to adopt.

“Hi, I’m Amanda,” said the girl to his left after the general introductions were completed. She was one of the heavier girls in the class, having already developed a large belly, wide hips and grossly flabby thighs.

“I’m in 7th Grade at John Muir Middle School,” she said. Brian was struck by her incredibly pretty face and sparkling blue eyes.

Later, he introduced himself to the girl, saying to her, “You go to Muir, too? Funny I never saw you there, and we’re both in the same grade.”

“I never saw you either, but it’s a big school,” she said.

The he mumbled something about hoping she didn’t mind having a boy in the class.

“No, I don’t mind,” she said. “Just so you don’t show off as one of the strong boy types.”

He giggled. “Do I look like one?”

“No,” she said. “Or else you wouldn’t be in this class.”

“What do you like to do, Amanda?” he said, trying to make conversation.

“Oh I don’t know, but I do like to cook and bake. Can’t you tell?” she said, giving out with a slight giggle.

“Me too,” he said. “Can’t you tell?”

Amanda and Brian laughed together, both realizing that their love of cooking — and sampling their own creations — had made them both overweight, along with other things.

“We’ll have to have a bake-off, you and me,” she proposed. “See who makes the best cookies.”

“Hmmmmmmmm, I’ll win, easily,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Everyone says I make the best oatmeal cookies anywhere.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Mrs. Goldsberry interrupted the buzzing conversation with a loud whistle blow; it would become her way of getting attention from the class, and she used it often, both to begin and exercise and end one. The class soon learned, as friendly and warm as she could be, she demanded military-like precision during the exercising.

The participants were lined up again in three rows of five each, Brian smack dab in the center of the girls, thankful to be somewhat hidden behind the others as the exercises began. At first they consisted of simple arm-waving actions, but Brian was surprised that after only a few repetitions his arms felt heavy and he was growing a bit breathless. He was further surprised that Amanda — even with her extreme weight — seemed to be handling the exercising more easily.

He was further chagrined to find he had great difficulty in reaching down in attempts to touch his toes, while most of the girls seemed to do it more easily.

Finally, after about ten minutes — it seemed like an hour to Brian — Mrs. Goldsberry blew the whistle signifying a short break, and the class either sat down on the floor or went to the water cooler for a drink. Brian collapsed where he stood, Amanda joining him on the floor next to him. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely.

Amanda, to his amazement, didn’t seem winded at all. “You must be hot in those sweats,” she said, kindly.

“I didn’t know what to wear,” he said.

“I didn’t either and I wanted to wear sweats, too,” she admitted. “I hate wearing shorts and stuff that shows how fat I am, but my mom said everyone else in this class will look much the same.”

Brian smiled, realizing he hated, too, to expose his soft, flabby body to others, especially his breasts and fat thighs.

“Well, I can see you’re not one of these macho types, Brian,” she said. “And I like that.”

The class lasted an hour, and Brian felt totally exhausted at the end, even though all of the exercises were light and required little physical strength. Most of the girls seemed to hold up better than he did in the exercises and he felt discouraged when it was over.

“I hope you’re coming back next week,” Amanda said, as they left the room to change into clothes.

“I think so,” he said, realizing that he indeed did need the exercise the class provided; he could hardly keep up with the girls in the class.

Amanda gave him her email address and suggested they contact each other online; she also had a Facebook page, she said.

“I’ll show you how to set one up,” she said.

“I’d like that,” Brian said.

“Maybe we could bake cookies together,” she suggested.

He nodded and said something that he immediately wished to take back: “Just like two girl friends.”

Amanda giggled. “Yes, just like girl friends,” she said, quickly correcting herself to say: “Just like two friends.”

Brian rode home on his bike, tired but refreshed from the class and happy to have a new friend. The thought of being “girl friends” together lingered in his mind, a sweet memory of his first day in the “Aerobics for Teens” class.