This is a story that I really can't explain where it came from. I don't really know. It's also hard to explain what it's about, exactly. It's about a little girl that simply knew who she was, and anyone that doesn't agree is just not paying attention.

When I finally changed my name legally, not only was it an easy choice who I would become, but everyone around me already knew what I would choose.

Hrm. Maybe I need to go a bit further back. I mean, the name change was more like the ending than the beginning.

It was about twenty-five years ago, more or less. Let's call it Nineteen Eighty-Two, just for the convenience. I seriously can't vouch for the exact year it happened. I mean, when you think back to when you were a kid, and you remember a big event in your life... you know what year it was because people told you that it happened then, not because you were even really aware of what year it was, right?

I have a big sister, so in 1982 she woulda been... fourteen. Twice my age. Of course, I worshiped her. Whether they admit it or not, everyone that has an older sibling pretty much is fascinated by everything that big person that's not-yet-an-adult does. I wanted to be just like her, but I wanted to be me, too. So I'd ask her lots of questions about what she did when she was my age. Most of the time she'd just shrug her shoulders and ruff my hair — because she knew I hated that. Well, truthfully, I'd never tell her, but I loved it when she did it, but not so much with anyone else. I think she knew anyway, though, that I didn't mind.

The day dawned early for us. By dawned early, I mean Mom woke us up really early. The sun wasn't up yet. The morning-side of the sky was dark blue, though, so it was on the way... the dinnertime-side of the sky was still black, though.

Today was the day that “the family” would all be there. You see, we had a huge-ified extended family. Once every ten years, we all get together. They're spread out all over the world, but apparently it's always held here. Whoever is living in Horsey Acres (that's what everyone called the big old place — it has an actual name, but no one cares) were responsible for organizing and hosting it.

Let me tell ya, Horsey Acres is humongous. The house itself has five bedrooms (each with a private bathroom) in the family living area, plus the normal house-type rooms. Then there are big and awesome rooms that almost never get used — except, apparently during the once-a-decade get togethers of “the family” that was upcoming. Big, empty, smooth-floored rooms for dancing. Dining room with a table big enough to host an entire checkers tournament by itself. Other rooms like that. But there were also what Mom and Dad and Constance and Eric called the Guest Suites. It was like four bedrooms that shared a bathroom and had a little living room-ish area with a couch, and a TV and a little table with a couple of chairs. Horsey Acres had one hundred thirteen of these Guest Suites. Yeah. How many kids can say their houses have 457 bedrooms and 119 bathrooms? Now, I don't want you to think we were rich. Constance, Eric, and their two kids shared one of the Guest Suites. Constance was the one that ran the household staff Eric was the head of the ranch hands. “The family” owned Horsey Acres. Whoever was living there got to live in the family area and had a stipend paid to them from the DuSchonde Fund. Don't ask me what that fund is all about, I just know it's sort of, but not quite, “the family”'s money. The responsibilities of the family members living at Horsey Acres was to take care of all of Horsey Acres. Including the gigantic herd of horses, and of course the donkeys and mules that were smaller in number. I think at that point we probably had about a half-dozen each of donkeys and mules, but easily 300 horses. We groomed them all, made sure they had feed, and other such drudgery. But we also were allowed to claim one per family member that wouldn't be sold or traded as our very own. We learned to ride, we held steeplechases, we entered a few into actual races. So, like I said... Horsey Acres was really big.

Eric only reported to my dad, and Dad was just as involved as Eric — he used to say that he didn't feel right about just hiring folks and not having a hand in the day-to-day stuff. So he was pretty much a modern day horse rancher. He loved it there as much as any of us did.

Constance, well, I'm not sure she ever really reported to anyone, but she technically worked for Mom and Dad. Mom would do all the accounting and “business” stuff for Horsey Acres, and Constance would do most of the cleaning and cooking herself... but she would also make any of the four kids in residence do stuff and learn. Laundry, cooking, making our beds. Me, my sister, Tom, and Jerry. Yes, she was aware of the poor choice of names for her twin sons, but she'd never seen the cartoon when she named them. They were about the same age as my sister, maybe a little older. I think they were one grade ahead of her in school. Apparently, though, when “the family” was coming, she hired on extra help. Two other ladies for cleaning help for the two weeks that everyone would be there, and one for kitchen help for that two weeks. I don't remember any of those three ladies' names, though.

Anyway, at the breakfast table where all eight of us were eating that dark morning, Dad told Eric he'd have to handle the ranch hands, the race trainer, the groundskeepers, and pretty much the entire workforce for at least a day. Eric just said, “Okay, Bob,” and nodded. Eric always called everyone 'Bob' no matter who they were. Dad said it was some kind of weird inside joke. Mom and Constance were gonna be getting all the Guest Suites ready. We had over 400 people coming to visit for two weeks. Dad was going to go into town and getting the food he'd already ordered. Cheaper to ride a horse into town proper (about three miles) and drive the refrigerator truck back to the house instead of having a driver deliver it. Then he'd drive the truck back to town, then ride home. Then his part of the job was to organize the big walk-in refrigerator with all the food for “the family” for two weeks. Brr.

We kids had to help with the Guest Suites, but not unreasonably so. We each had to make five Guest Suites were in good shape. You know, dust, open the windows to air 'em out, and just generally make sure it's livable. Then we had the rest of the day to do whatever we wanted.

Oh, by the way. My sister's name was Jessica. But I never called her that, back then. Everyone else did, but my favorite series of books had a character I liked to pretend was me, and she had a big sister, too. So I'd call my sister “Beezus” instead of Jessica. She'd let me do it, but not anyone else. We had a secret, and we almost never fought. You see, Beezus was the only person in the world I ever told my secret heart wish. That I wanted to grow up to be just like her, instead of being a boy. Yeah. When we were alone, she'd call me “Ramona” like my favorite book character instead of Ethan, which was my boy-name. She would pretend with me that I was her little sister instead of her little bother. I mean brother.

We both looked more like Mom than like Dad, anyway. Dad has bright red hair and green eyes and was one of those guys that were tall and lanky. He was almost seven feet tall, I'd've sworn back then. He's really only six feet and five inches tall, but from the viewpoint of a seven-year old that's still under three feet tall... he was a giant. Mom, though, is still one of those women who never look nearly as old as she is, and just stays ruggedly beautiful. The woman who you can tell has had a happy life. She's tall, for a woman, too. Five feet and eight inches. Chocolate brown hair with light brown highlights from lots of time in the sun, blue eyes that can stare right through you and make you admit you took an extra cookie. Beezus looked like a younger version. She wasn't quite as tall as Mom, maybe a couple of inches shorter, still. She ended up the same height as Mom, with the same type of hair and eyes. I had the brown hair and blue eyes, too. I was also slight and short, even for my age. Eric would joke with Dad, actually, about my size, “Hey, Bob,” he'd say, “Little Bob over there is gonna make a fine jockey one day!” then he'd laugh and Dad would laugh with him and rub the back of his own neck. Dad did that when he was embarrassed.

That day, Beezus and I finished our ten Guest Suites, and checked on Tom and Jerry. Tom was on his third, Jerry was on his second. We decided to go for a ride in the woods. We went out and waved to Eric, who nodded as we went into the little household stable. He'd tell Mom and Dad where we went. We saddled up our horses, we both had mares, because they were smaller. Mine was really only a size or so bigger than a pony. Beezus had named hers Windsprite, which she said meant, “Fairy of the Wind,” which was a pretty cool name. Windsprite was a pretty dappled gray that made her look light blue when you were more than 30 feet from her. Mine was a deep red color, with markings on the face and feet that were dark brown. I asked her what a name that meant sort of the same, but for Trees instead of Wind because my mare looked like a stand of trees in the autumn. She said, “Dryad,” and so my pretty girl got that name.

We headed through the different pastures, making sure to shut and latch all six of the gates along the way. Then we were in the edge of the woods with the trail that had been worn since the 1700s twisting away into the shaded corridor. We were only walking the horses, because we enjoyed the smells and sounds of the woods, and we liked to be able to talk. Racing was silly, to us. I mean, the boys would act like they were the best in the world when they'd win a race, but the horses were doing all the work it seemed to us!

We had been going through the woods for about an hour when Beezus pulled something out of her saddlebag.

“Hey, Ramona,” she called to me, “Catch. It's almost lunchtime.”

Leave it to my wonderfully perfect big sister to remember to pack us up a lunch before we left. Mmm. Venison jerky, a sandwich (my choice of a grilled cheese or a peanut butter and banana — she knew I'd take the PBB, my favorite), and a bottle of Gatorade. She's so smart, she had brought a couple handfuls of carrots for Windsprite and Dryad. We slid to the ground and there was a creek nearby where the horses could get a drink. We sat on a mossy rock and just talked, like sisters do, while the horses calmly stood on the bank and drank when the mood struck them.

“You know you're gonna have to be Ethan for the entire two weeks, right?” she asked me.

I sighed, “Do I hafta? I mean, can't we get away at all so we can have some time so I can be me?”

“'Fraid not, li'l sis,” she replied. “There are so many cousins coming you won't believe it. I mean, last time this happened, me and Tom 'n' Jerry were all younger than you are now. You weren't even a thought in anyone's head. There's too many folks to try to dodge 'em all. We have a ginormous family.”

I mulled that over. A kestrel called out from the clearing a couple hundred feet away. Probably found a small rabbit or a mouse.

“I guess it's only two weeks,” I said, sadly, “But not even at night?”

“Maybe,” Beezus said, “but only in our rooms. Maybe I can sneak you an old nightgown of mine so you can be my secret li'l sis at least when you're sleeping. Will that help?”

I threw my arms around her neck and gave her a peanutty kiss on the cheek.

“Ew! Let's go wash up in the creek, and ride on for awhile,” my ever-so-reasonable sister directed, “We have most of the day, and I know Mom and Constance would appreciate us keeping ourselves scarce and outta their way.”

We poked our trash in one of the saddlebags, then remounted and headed out. We got to the clearing after a few minutes. It was really like a meadow in the middle of the woods, and the horses wanted to run a bit, so we let them gallop. When they wanted to slow down, we were all the way on the far side of the clearing/meadow, and we found a trail we'd never taken before. We grinned at each other and gently steered Windsprite and Dryad toward it.

“After you, Ramona,” said Beezus when we got to the narrowing part.

This trail was old. And thin. We had to go single file for awhile, but we were only walking again, so we continued to talk.

After a long while — I couldn't tell you how long, we were talking and I totally lost track of time in any way — we came out of the woods into an area way back that neither of us had been to before. The wind was whipping up something fierce, and the sky was all dark and nasty. It was gonna start raining any moment, and it was gonna be a gully-washer. We spotted what looked like a road aways a bit, and made for it. We had the horses going faster now, and they were all nervous, too. The rain started coming down and we were drenched, but before too long, we found what looked like an old stable out that dirt road. We walked Windsprite and Dryad to the back and pulled out our rain gear. We always kept one saddlebag on each horse with a drying blanket for the horse. Also an oil slicker and hat for the rider. We pulled off the saddles, because we weren't going anywhere soon. This was a stable, after all, so we posted the saddles and dried off the mares. We put our slickers and hats over a rail so we could grab them if we needed to head out into the nastiness.

There was no way to tell how late it was. It was dark because of the rainclouds, so we couldn't judge what time of day it happened to be.

“Mom and Dad will be worried by now,” said my sister after awhile, “We've already been here a couple of hours and we were at least three hours ride out before the rain started, if not more. I should head out back.”

“I don't wanna make poor Dryad go out in this storm... besides, it's kinda scary,” I responded.

“I didn't say we head out back, I said me. You could stay here and wait for us to come back with help. Get the trailer and the truck. I mean, that's a road right there, so it has to connect with the regular roads somewhere, right?”

“You don't mean leave me here all alone, do you?” I asked, and I know I was about to cry.

She reached over and hugged me, then ruffed my hair.

“See, your hair is already dry, and I'm sure mine is, too. Do you want them all to be worried about us?”

“But what if you get lost in the rain? What if you get hurt? You know they don't want us ever to ride by ourselves,” I replied, then inspiration struck, “And you know how much of a lickin' you'd get for leaving poor li'l ole me all the way out here by my lonesome?”

She grunted, and sat on one of the empty crates there.

“You're right... I guess. But it's gonna get chilly, soon. We're gonna need a fire. Help me gather up these old crates over by the open side, there where we won't smoke out and it won't get wet.”

That's my sister. Always with a backup plan.

We dragged the dozen or so empty crates over and I smashed them while she dried off her flint and steel kit, and found some old rags to use for tinder. It wasn't long before we had a small fire going. We talked and joked. We wished we had another packed meal. We knew it was getting late in the day, now. We decided now that the horses were dry and the saddles were dry, we'd re-saddle the mares so that we'd be ready to go if the rain let up.

I woke up with Beezus screaming for me to get on my horse and get out.

I started coughing and then realized that we were surrounded by fire. We both got onto the horses and we were trying to keep them calm.

“What about the oil slickers?” I asked.

“Forget 'em! Look, there's a hole in the fire over there!”

We got the mares pointed toward the flameless part and just gave them their heads. We went from too much smoke and heat to... still downpouring. Beezus turned and rode back toward home and I followed. We went as fast as we dared to take the horses in the rain and mud. We could barely see but about 50 feet in front of ourselves. When we made it into the woods, the trees stopped enough of the rain that we could hear each other shout above the torrent.

“When we get to the clearing,” Beezus was yelling, “book across it to the ford across the creek and then head for home! Come on!”

I was too scared to do anything but nod vigorously.

We picked our way through the wet and the trees and then came to the clearing. Beezus and Windsprite went straight across, but Dryad was a bit more skittish. I had to take her around the edge of the meadow. But when I got to the edge of the path we knew, I headed in, figuring Beezus would wait for me down by the ford.

She was waiting, but I don't think she would've had a choice if she wanted. The creek was already flooded.

“Can we make it across there?” I asked, raising my voice to be heard above the rain.

“I dunno, li'l sis,” she replied, “but we gotta try. I'll go first.”

She got Windsprite into the creek, and you could tell the horse was straining to keep her feet. The water came up halfway, covering my sister's riding boots. They came out on the other side and she slid off of the mare to calm her down even as she motioned me to come on across.

We're shorter. The water came all the way up to my saddle, so that only Dryad's head and neck were above the water. It seemed to take forever, but we made it across. We were both exhausted, but I told her she was a good girl and that she was getting as many carrots as she wanted from now on.

Beezus was back astride Windsprite, and we began picking our way through the familiar part of the woods. It was getting harder to see, and Beezus figured the sun was probably setting. I was just scared and trying to follow her carefully.

Even at the faster pace, it took us more than an hour to make it back to the edge of the woods because of the rain.

Of course as soon as we were back where we could see, we made our way back toward the household stables doublefast.

We ran the horses into the stable, where Tom was waiting.

“Holy smokes!” he exclaimed, “You two've been out all day! Our dad and yours are out looking and the cops've been called and everything! What happened?”

Beezus slid off and started working on the wet buckle for the saddle on Windsprite, while I did the same for the one on Dryad.

“We're safe, so there's no more need to worry. We even closed the gates on our way back in,” she explained to him

“Eep!” is the closest I can describe the sound that came outta me. “Um, Beezus... I think I forgot the last one! Tom, can you dry off my horse while I run back up and latch the last gate?”

He nodded and I sprinted for the last gate on the rise that's just where you can see Horsey Acres on your way back from a ride.

Okay, when I got there, I had shut it, but hadn't latched it. Whew. Dad would kill me if any of the horses got out. Selling season was coming up soon.

The latch was on the top rail, so I climbed up the gate so I could hold it in place with my legs while I fastened it. It took me a few tries, because the rain was still running into my eyes without a rain hat. Finally, I pushed the big metal clip into the stainless steel housing.

There was a big, satisfying, clunky sound, and the gate was secure.

I sat down on the top rail to swing my leg back over the gate so I could head back for the stables again.

There was a big bright flash suddenly everything hurt. I don't remember nothing else.

I couldn't open my eyes, but I could hear, and I could smell. It smelled like medicine. The rain seemed to have stopped. What happened? I heard Tom's voice off in the distance explaining something. It was hard to think. I hurt all over, too.

“... he just ran back out. It didn't occur to me to stop him until it was too late...” he was saying.

I wondered who he was talking to out here?

I wondered who he was talking about?

I'm was tired and so drifted back off.

I heard a beep and tried to open my eyes again. Didn't work. But I was indoors. I figured that out. It still smelled like medicine. I was thirsty. I coughed.

Then I heard Mom.

“Ethan? Are you awake baby?” she said.

“Thirsty,” I tried to say... it came out sounding like I had swallowed some sandpaper. Feeling like it, too. That hurt.

“Okay, Sweetheart, here's some water, sip from the straw. I'll put it to your mouth,” Mom said.

Sure enough, there was suddenly a straw at my mouth and I sipped. I was really thirsty, but the water was cold and just a bit made me feel better.

I still hurt all over. I whimpered and Mom was right there for me.

“Shh, baby. Does it hurt?” she asked.

I tried to nod my head but it felt like I was on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the County Fair. I whimpered again.

Mom explained a bit to me, “You're in the hospital. The doctors say you're going to heal up, but there are some things that are gonna be different. We're gonna make things as much like before as we can for you. Your eyes are bandaged shut because you may have lost your sight. You're bandaged mostly all over, actually. I'm gonna leave Jessica here with you, now that I know we're not gonna lose you. Your father and I have to be there to let all “the family” know what's happened. Some of 'em will start to get there tonight, after all. But as soon as we give folks an update, I'll be back here.”

She paused, then said, “If it makes you feel better, Tom has been kicking himself for letting you run out in the thunderstorm by yourself.”

That's when I fell back to sleep.

I woke up and heard a machine bleeping. I lay there and listened. I heard something that sounded like a piece of paper being shaken, and remembered what Mom had said.

I swallowed and it hurt. I needed another sip of water. “Beezus?” I asked the void. I still sounded and felt like I'd swallowed sandpaper.

“Ramona? You're awake?” came my sister's voice.

“Thirsty. Please,” I managed.

A moment later there was the straw at my mouth again. I sipped. I swallowed. I sipped again, and let the cool liquid waller in my mouth and over my tongue for a minute before I swallowed it.

“What happen?” I asked.

“Mom told you, right?” she answered.

I shook my head and asked, “How?”

“Oh that,” she replied, “Lightning hit the metal gate you were sitting on. Blew you clean off the gate, too. Your eyes are burned, you've got a lot of nasty burns, actually, you've got both of your legs on your left arm all having what the doctor called 'bone bruises,' which near as I can figure, means, 'near broken, but not quite,' from the way you were moaning in your sleep. You got nothing really broken, but... um... Maybe I should let the doctor or nurse out there at the desk explain the last bit.”

“What's wrong? If I'm not broken up and all, I just need to rest up, right?” I asked, pushing the question a bit more.

“Hang on, li'l sis, I'll get the nurse.”

I heard her chair creak — not something I probably woulda noticed if I hadn't been all ear-focused — and then heard her sneakers across a floor. A few minutes later, I heard the footsteps again, and then a lady's voice.

“Ethan?” said the voice, “You're awake?”

I nodded.

“Your sister tells me you want to know what's happened?”

I nodded again.

I heard a chair being pulled closer to me, scraping the floor. I heard it creak and the lady's voice began.

“Well, you were sitting on top of the metal gate when it got hit by a massive electrical discharge. Your, ah, genitalia were burned so severely that the doctor doesn't have much hope of saving it.”

“You mean my balls and peepee got fried off?” I exclaimed.

“Uh, not exactly fried off. But your parents have to decide whether the doctor should even try to fix the damage, or call in a specialist to do something drastic.”

“Oh. So that's a yes.”

“Um. I'm so sorry, sweetie.”

“I think I wanna just talk to my sister now, please.”

“Of course,” she said, “My name is Pamala, if you need anything,” she paused and put something in my hand, “press the button on that plunger and I'll come as quick as I can.”

Then I heard her scooting the chair back and then leaving the room.

I waited a moment for Beezus to say something. But she didn't. I knew she was just sitting there being all quiet, waiting for me to say something.

So I said something, “I hurt.”

“I'm sorry. What did you wanna talk about?”

“Well... do you think this is the time?”

“What time?”

“Time to tell Mom and Dad about me wanting to be Ramona a whole lot more than being Ethan.”

“Oh, that.”

“Well?”

“I'm thinking, squirt. The way I see it... if they have to cut off... you know... they'll be worried about why you're not upset.”

“Why wouldn't I be upset at that?”

“Because, dopey, girls don't have them.”

“They... we, I mean... don't?”

“That's the essential difference. Boys have 'em. Girls don't.”

“Why didn't I know this?”

“You're seven years old.”

“So?”

“Augh. You can be so dense sometimes. Little kids aren't supposed to know things like that. It's grown up stuff.”

“But you're not.”

“I'm not what?”

“A grown up! At least not yet...”

“Anyway... so now that you do know...”

“Yeah. I want it to go away. Wait, if it's burned up, then will I be a real girl?”

“As close as it gets, li'l sis.”

She hugged me then. We talked some more. I found out that it was almost suppertime when it happened, and it was about one in the morning now.

Mom came back. Apparently, she had trouble getting in because of Visiting Hours being over. But she came in and sat with us, and we all talked. Then a doctor came in. Well, they said it was a doctor, and she introduced herself as a doctor.

“Hello, Ethan, I'm your doctor, Jordan Quinnley. You can either call me Jordan or Doctor or even Doctor Jordan. I suppose you could call me Doctor Quinnley, but everyone does that. It's been about twelve hours since your accident, so we're gonna try to remove your bandages from your eyes. We have the lights dimmed, but if it's uncomfortable at all, you let me know, and we'll get you bandaged right back up. Okay?”

I nodded and I felt someone take my hand. Mom, probably. Beezus woulda just ruffed my hair.

I heard what sounded to me like cutting construction paper. and then I felt my head slightly swaying as they unwound the bandages.

“Okay. Try opening your eyes,” came Jordan's voice.

I cracked my eyes, and it wasn't that bad. They started watering, but as I reached to wipe them, Jordan grabbed my hand and stopped me.

“It's okay, we need you to let them flush, if you wanna cry, it would actually help.”

I giggled at that, and opened my watery eyes the rest of the way.

“Can you see, Sweetheart?” asked Mom.

“Mostly. It's blurry.”

“Probably due to the watering,” said Jordan, “Just let yourself get used to it a bit.”

After a few minutes my eyes still smarted, but I could see. I mentioned this.

Jordan said, “Feel free to keep them closed as much as you like. You only have Pamala and me that'll be in here tonight. You're what we call a time-sensitive case.”

She then turned to Mom and asked, “Do you mind if he hears our discussion?”

“Do you want to know what's going on, Ethan?” Mom asked me.

I nodded, “I want Beezus in here, though.”

“Of course, Sweetheart, she's right here.”

“I won't leave you alone, squirt,” came my sister's voice from somewhere off behind Mom in the room.

“Okay,” said Jordan, “Just remember, kid, crying's not only okay, it's good for you at the moment.”

The doctor's voice took on a businesslike tone and she began, “From the preliminary examination, I would recommend the second option that we gave you earlier. We discussed that option, but your husband seemed against it. But I see it as the only chance for your child to have a normal life at this point. I can have a specialist from France here by 7am. There's supposed to be an 18-hour fasting period before such a drastic step, but from what your daughter told me, neither of them had anything to eat since yesterday around lunchtime. Even assuming noon, that means by 6am we would be able to operate. There seems to be an aggressive infection, so we would need to operate as soon as the specialist arrives. Rush her straight into scrub-up and already have the patient anesthetized.”

Mom whimpered. Sounded an awful lot like I had earlier.

“I want you to do everything possible to try to save my son's anatomy as it was meant to be, first doctor,” said Mom, “I want this saved as a last resort. Only if his life is in danger from it remaining.”

“Frankly, ma'am, it is. Even now.”

This made Mom angry enough to yell and scream at Jordan, “So you're not even going to try? Just giving up? I want a second–“

“No.”

That last was from me.

“What?” asked Mom.

“I said no. Make me a girl. I want to live, and I've always wanted to be a girl anyway.”

“Honey, you don't know what you're saying–“ began Mom.

“Yes, actually,” said Beezus, “she does. Since she started Kindergarten, she's known that she wasn't really a boy on the inside. It made her so sad that she couldn't be like the other girls. She told me about it.”

“But–“ tried Mom.

Doctor Jordan was already leaning out the door to tell the nurse's station to get the night Psychologist up to the room.

“It really is for the best,” said Jordan to Mom, “and she seems to be a lot farther toward the mental part of the process than could have been hoped.”

“He,” said Mom in a hiss, “is only seven years old and will do as I say!”

“Mommy?” I said. I hadn't called her that in so long...

“Please? Think about it, you know I'm not anything like a boy. Can't I be your daughter?”

“Ethan?” Mom whispered, but I think she was well on her way into shock.

She turned to Jordan and said, “Alright, Doctor Quinnley. Get your specialist here.”

“She's already somewhere over the Atlantic. Comtessa Doctor Minuet Fiershonde.”

Mom turned back to me and Beezus, who was up and hugging me.

“What,” she asked, “am I going to tell your father?”

Beezus spoke up, “Tell him the truth. The only real choice was to let my brother, Ethan, become my sister, Ramona.”

“Ramona is a lovely name,” put in Doctor Jordan.

However, as the one who had spent hours reading the books to me before I learned to read them myself, Mom couldn't hold in her giggle.

“I have to admit that it's appropriate to you. I... I need to get your father here before that specialist arrives. I'll be back,” said Mom, and then she grabbed her purse and was out the door.

Well, I'm not gonna give you all the details. Yes, I woke up in a whole world of pain. And I spent almost the first whole week of “the family” visit in the hospital.

The day I was released, Jordan had a big talk with me. I had to use these things called stints. I asked if my sister could help me, and Doctor Jordan said that was okay, as long as Beezus was okay with it. Mom and Dad and Beezus came to get me. I was wearing my very first dress. Jordan got it for me, and told Mom and Dad that I needed to wear nothing but skirts or dresses for the next few months. Beezus did say she'd help me. She said it was gross, but she'd help me.

When we got back to Horsey Acres, Dad picked me up and carried me into my room. It was Friday, and I'd been in the hospital since Sunday night. Doctor Jordan didn't want to let me go unless I promised that I'd be careful and no hard activity — including riding horses — for at least another month.

I didn't figure out until Saturday night that Dad didn't have any intention of letting me out of my room while “the family” was here. I heard him and Mom arguing about me. It wasn't a good thing. When he came in to see me for goodnight and tucking in, I asked him why I couldn't eat dinner with the rest of everyone.

“Well, you could if you could wear shorts or pants,” he answered.

“But the doctor said I had to wear skirts,” I reasoned with him.

“I know, son, but I don't want you to have to deal with all the teasing because you're dressed like a girl.”

“But I am a girl now. Why shouldn't I be dressed like one? And why would they tease me?” I asked.

“Because you're not a real girl. And they all know that. It's just how things are,” he answered.

“I can take some teasing, I want to meet all of everyone. I won't get another chance for ten whole years! I'll be old then,” I protested.

“I said no, son, and that's final. Now, sleep well,” said Dad.

A bit later Mom came in.

“Ethan?”

“No one here but us Ramonas.”

“Sorry, Sweetheart, but it's going to take some getting used to. After all 'the family' has gone, we'll work on it,” she said.

“Dad was just in here and I don't think he wants me to be able to meet anyone.”

“It's not that he doesn't want you to meet anyone, Baby, it's just that he's trying to look out for you,” Mom replied.

“You too. Do I stink or something?”

“No!” answered Mom, “Of course not... but it wouldn't be a good idea. They all know you're a boy.”

“But I'm not a boy. Not anymore. I don't want, and never did want to be a boy.”

“About that... how do you know?” she asked me.

“How do I know, what?”

“How do you know you never wanted to be a boy?” she clarified.

“Mom, did you ever meet me before? I'm not a boy. The kids at school have said I was really a girl since Kindergarten, too. I agree with them. I play with the other girls at recess. The first day of Second Grade, Missus Williams said she'd never met a girl named 'Ethan' before. Wait'll I tell her that I'm 'Ramona' now, when I go back for Third Grade this Autumn.”

Mom sighed at me, gave me a kiss on the forehead and left.

I heard them arguing about me again that night.

The next day was both better and worse.

Beezus sneaked in and got me up and ready before Mom and Dad were even awake, and we went into the big dining room I mentioned before to have breakfast with “the family” that was all gathered.

“Well, this must be Ethan.”

“Why's he wearing a dress?”

“Are you sure they only have two kids?”

“I thought they said he died. Struck by lightning last week or something?”

“That's why we've not seen the kid, some kind of little deviant.”

I was a bit overwhelmed. This was a lot of people. But still, I would find out later that it wasn't but about a quarter of all of them. I was clinging to my sister's belt like it was a lifeline. She kept an arm around me. I felt safe with her. We took seats at the big table and no one around us said anything for almost the whole breakfast.

I was eating my biscuits and gravy quietly, when an older man across from us finally talked to me.

“Oh, for heaven's sake. This is ridiculous,” he said to the people nearby in general, then to me, “Dear, what's your name?”

“Ramona,” I answered.

Immediately, this tidbit was passed both directions around the table, along with accompanying speculations.

“Where do you live, Ramona?” asked the old guy.

“Here. Horsey Acres,” I answered after I swallowed my bite. Mom always taught us not to talk with our mouths full.

Over the course of breakfast, we got them to understand that I used to be the little boy named Ethan, but now I was a little girl named Ramona. It was easy peasy lemon squeezy to understand to me. But it seemed the adults had trouble with it.

I dunno if they were more upset that I had switched over or that Dad wasn't letting me out of my room while they were all there.

Then Mom and Dad came in. They were angry. Probably with me. Dad came up to me and took me by the arm and pulled me away from the table. It hurt, so I started crying. Beezus and the old guy came to my rescue, though. They convinced Dad to let me stay, as there wasn't much he could do about keeping me secret now.

“We will talk about this later, young man!” scolded Dad sternly.

“Young lady,” said the old guy.

“Excuse me?” said Dad.

“It is obvious that you have two very lovely daughters, boy. Stop trying to act like it's a bad thing. It's not the girl's fault she had an accident, but from her manners and the way she seems to be happy the way she is, I'm guessing this might be for the best,” said the old man this time. He was now my bona fide hero.

“Uncle Trayger, this is none of your concern,” said Dad to him. Kinda rudely, too.

Uncle Trayger reached over and extracted my hand from Dad's. Then he crooked an elbow to me and one to my sister.

“I believe,” he said, completely ignoring Dad's sputtering, “That I'm going to tour the facilities now. And these two young ladies would be perfect escorts and guides. Shall we ladies?”

Beezus laughed and took his arm. I watched how she did it and then took his other arm.

Uncle Trayger then marched us right past Mom and Dad. Right out the front doors. Right over to one of the rented golf carts so that folks could see all of Horsey Acres.

All day, though, there were stares and whispers. Fingers pointing, laughs. But Uncle Trayger made it all seem unimportant. Jerry started to give me a hard time at the racing stables, but Uncle Trayger just looked at him and said something that I couldn't quite hear. Jerry turned pale and left us alone after that.

By dinnertime, we'd had a couple of more arguments with Mom and Dad.

Most of the next week was more of the same. If I wanted to leave my room, I had to beat Mom and Dad waking up.

It was like they were ashamed of me. It made me sad.

Friday was my appointment with the Psychologist that the hospital set up. Mom and Beezus took me. I think Dad was relieved he didn't have to see me. We had to be there at 8 o'clock in the morning.

I wore what I thought was my prettiest outfit. It was a pleated and flared denim skirt, and a pink T-shirt that had writing in pink glitter on the front. It said, “Pixie,” on it.

Well, the lady Psychologist was actually really nice. She explained to us that she wanted to talk to each of the three of us alone and together. She wanted to see Dad, too, but understood that he had to stay at the ranch.

Her name was Andie. I don't remember her last name, because she insisted we all just call her Andie. She talked to me about how I felt before and since the accident. She also called me 'Ramona' the entire time. I liked her. Then she talked with Mom, then Beezus. Then she talked to us all three together. Mom looked like she'd been crying, so I patted her hand... but it made her cry more.

At the end of the day — seriously, we were there until almost dinnertime — she had Mom sign some papers, and promise to bring me back every week.

So. Life with my family was hard, after that. Especially my Dad. People at school didn't seem to notice, except that the teachers called me 'Ramona' now. Most of “the family” didn't really have trouble with it, either. It was mostly just Mom and Dad that had issues.

Uncle Trayger started visiting more often. Sometimes almost monthly. Always at least four or five times a year. He was Dad's uncle, and he told me that made him my “great-uncle” because of that. I agreed with him, he was a great uncle. He said he was checking on the assets of “the family” when he came, but I suspect he was looking out for me.

Mom eventually came around. Andie and Doctor Jordan had helped me through the years, too. When I started to develop like all the other girls, Dad was angry again. He eventually saw the wisdom of me being on what they called 'HRT' but was never happy about it. Dad never has liked what happened to me.

Really, all of the people from school never threw a fit of any kind. Dad kept steadfastly refusing to let me change my name, holding out some kind of weird hope that I wanted to be a boy again. There was the usual confusion with new teachers each year, but I had a pretty happy childhood with what seemed to me to be normal and average bumps along the way. Oh, it wasn't all rosy. There were always people both in school and in town that seemed to hate me just for being true to myself. The ER saw me at least a couple times every year. I thought about becoming a nurse or doctor, for awhile.

Ten years later, I had been talking to a lawyer about changing my name legally... finally. I was seventeen, and that meant that I could start thinking about my eighteenth birthday. I could sign papers legally then. So when “the family” got together in 1992, I made my announcement to them all that I would be signing the papers to legally change my name on my birthday in about two months. I would officially become Ramona Evelyn. Like I said at the beginning, no one was really surprised.

Mostly they were all happy for me. There were, of course, a few that were still uncomfortable around me, but for the most part, I was just another one of the girls by then. In fact, a bunch of us girls went on a giant shopping spree the weekend in the middle of the two weeks that time. Beezus led the “charge card charge” – she had just gotten engaged.

Me and Beezus never grew apart like some siblings do. We're still the best of friends, even all these years later. In fact, when she got married in 1994, she asked me to be her Maid of Honor.

She and her husband — and their four daughters — are the residents of Horsey Acres, now. She does pretty much what Mom always did, but Beezus has a big certificate on her wall that says she has a Masters degree in Accounting.

They're gonna host my wedding this autumn. Her eldest daughter... Ramona... is 13, and is going to be one of my maids of honor, but her mom is finally going to get to be my Matron of Honor. Like I said, Dad never did get past, “losing his son,” so I asked Uncle Trayger to give me away.

We figured out a nice way for both me and Beezus to get to stay there at Horsey Acres, too. It was my idea, but Beezus seems to be happy with it, and “the family” approved of the solution. This autumn, Constance and Eric will retire, then their son Tom and I will take over for them. It's all set to happen when we get back from our Mediterranean cruise and our honeymoon in Greece.