Chapter 16: Introducing Karen Hansson

Karen Hansson entered Susan’s Place, located in a neighborhood of 100-year-old houses, most of which had been turned into student housing. Most of the structures in the neighborhood were three-story duplexes originally build to contain three-bedroom units on each the first and second floors and a full attic on the third floor. All three floors had been remodeled to provide housing for eight students.

To the outside observer, the building appeared to be a residence for female students, with a small discreet sign on the front of the porch roof stating, “Susan’s Place.” The wide front windows of both the lower and upper units were covered with gauzy lace curtains that made it impossible for bypassers to view the interior, while still permitting light to enter the rooms.

“This is adorable,” Karen said as she entered the front door of Susan’s Place and came upon a lounge area, obviously created out of what must have been the living room of the original residence.

Karen was welcomed at the house by a Ms. Sonja Peterson, who said she was manager of the residence. As Karen soon learned, Ms. Peterson was a graduate assistance in gender studies at the University and a graduate of the social work school. She lived fulltime at the house and would oversee activities. Sonja (she invited Karen to address her by her first name) would be the place for Karen to go if she had any questions. Karen was also given a phone number to call in emergencies if Sonja was not available.

The lounge was neat and bright with the pastel tones of the walls and the furniture. The chairs were of light, almost dainty construction, and were arranged randomly about the room. There were two carrels, obviously meant for studying, painted in light blue and white shades.

A stocky girl dressed in light blue sweat pants and a pink tee-shirt with cap sleeves that exposed soft heavy arms and barely contained her tummy and modest breasts sat at one carrel, a laptop open.

“Daphne, this is a new girl, Karen,” Sonja said, addressing the girl. “And Karen, Daphne has been elected by the other girls here to be chairwoman of the house committee.”

Daphne rose, her six feet of height and wide body made Karen feel diminutive and inconsequential. She held out a beefy hand, taking Karen’s tinier hand in her own and gently shook it.

“Nice meeting you, Karen,” Daphne said in a husky, but soft-toned voice. Karen was impressed with the warm smile and glistening eyes that the large girl displayed and felt immediately at home in the setting.

Sonja took Karen on a tour of the place, displaying the kitchen on the first floor which still had the old fashioned cabinets, but an up-dated modern sink with a built-in stove and oven and a fixing table in the middle of the room.

The dining room held a table with ten chairs. The original breakfront, still finished in the original varnished wood, was filled with plates, cups, glasses and bowls.

“We have group meals here two nights a week, on Mondays and Wednesdays,” Sonja explained. “You don’t have to join us, but most of the girls do. If you do, we ask each girl to put in $3 a meal to cover the cost of food.”

“Do you have a cook here then?” Karen asked.

“No honey,” she said. “I thought you knew this is run on a cooperative basis. The girls themselves do the meals and we all pitch in to keep the place clean, clear the snow from the walks in winter and mow the lawn in the summer. Daphne tries to set up a chore list to meet each girl’s time constraints. We all have to do our share, even me.”

“That’s fine,” Karen said. “I’m not a bad cook, but could be better.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Many of the girls when they first got here weren’t good at cooking. I guess they weren’t expected to cook earlier in their lives.”

“Oh?” Karen said. “Are all the girls here like me? You know . . .”

“You mean, were they born as boys?”

Karen nodded.

“Yes, all of the girls here are in various stages of transitioning, just like you are,” Sonja said. “I’m the only GG here.”

“GG?”

“Genetic girl.”

Karen looked at Sonja closely; she also was tall and displayed strong, sinewy arms from a sleeveless blouse. She was truly a good-looking young woman with shore cropped dark hair and sharp-chiseled face. She reminded Karen of Angela, wondering which of the two would win in a fight. Sonja invited Karen to sit at the dining room table and then poured tea for the two and set out a plate of shortbread cookies.

“You’ll find we’re generally a compatible bunch of girls here, Karen, but that whenever you put eight girls under one roof, you’re bound to have some conflicts,” Sonja explained.

“I suppose so.”

“Each of you are in your own stage of transitioning, and most are on hormones. They produce mood swings, as you probably know, and that can cause some girls to get moody, or overly sensitive. But you’ll have to be tolerant sometimes.”

“I understand,” Karen said.

“You look like a sweet girl, Karen,” Sonja said. “I think you’ll do fine.”

Karen sampled a cookie, finding it delicious. Despite her concern about gaining weight, she reached for another.

“I shouldn’t have another, Sonja, but these are so tasty.”

“They are, aren’t they? Daphne made those. She’s a marvelous baker.”

“She seems like a sweet girl,” Karen said.

“She is and the girls here all love her,” Sonja said. “You’ll find it hard to believe but she was a linebacker in high school. And a good one, making all-state. She was even being courted for a football scholarship, when she confessed to hating the idea of hitting people.”

“Really?”

“Yes, and she’s such a sweetheart, too. We’re luck to have her as our house leader.”

Finishing their tea, Sonja said. “Now let me show you your room and I think your roommate is in so you can meet her.”

*****
Sonja led Karen to a large room in the rear of the second floor, explaining that the room had been the master bedroom of the second floor unit. “It’s a large room, and it easily has room for both of you, plus it has something special for girls — two large closets.”

Karen giggled softly, so enjoying being accepted as a girl with the habits of a girl.

“Ramini, can we come it?” Sonja said as she rapped on the door.

“Yes,” came a high, but strangely inflected voice from within. Karen thought for a minute that she recognized the voice.

Sitting at a computer table was a tiny, petite girl in a sari, with a dark, round face.

“Hi, I’m Karen,” she said, with a tentative wave of her hand.

The girl got up and rushed to Karen, hugging her tightly.

“Oh Karen, I’m so happy you’ll be my roommate again,” the girl said, her arms extending from the sari. She was short, and came up only to Karen’s the middle of Karen’s face.

“Again?”

“Yes, Karen, I’m Rajesh. You remember, Ray?”

“Ray! Oh my God, Ray. I wondered why you left me so quickly,” Karen said, as she recovered from the shock of seeing her former roommate from the dorms.

“Only now it’s Ramini, dear. You can just call me Rami, if you wish.”

“Ramini sounds good. It has a pretty sound.”

Ramini smiled: “Well, it means beautiful girl in India. My mother suggested it.”

“Oh, Ramini, how perfect.”

The two hugged again, soon both falling into tears.

“Well, I’ll leave you two girls to get reacquainted.” Sonja said. “If you need anything, Karen, just ask, and you’re able to move in anytime now, dear.”

“Thanks, and I expect my friends will be arriving in about an hour with my stuff,” Karen said.

Ramini explained that she had been removed from the dormitory room when her father learned that Kenny was apparently gay or a transsexual or something that in his mind was unsavory and unfit for the son of a prominent doctor. He was afraid that his son, whom he had long accused of not being manly enough, might be improperly influenced. Little did his father know, Ramini continued, that he had been wearing saris off and on since he was about eight years old, a practice his mother knew about, and even seemed to encourage. Ramini said she had been seeing a gender specialist for several months before entering college, and once her father was told of her desires her treatment to begin transition started. She was now beginning hormones.

“The weekend after I was taken from the dorm and relocated into a residence with mainly Indian students, I was attacked by one of the boys,” she explained. “It was then daddy found out about my own feelings.”

“Oh, that must have been difficult,” Karen said, remembering her own terrors.

“It was, but maybe it was for the best, since daddy was forced to accept the truth that I would never be a son he could be proud of,” Ramini said, tears gathering in her dark, lovely eyes. “Now daddy understands me. He’s not too happy about it, but he is a man of learning and so he knows I’m for real.”

“I just loved you as a roomie,” Karen said. “And I hope you liked me, too.”

“I did, Karen. You are so kind and gentle.”

“I think we both are. Maybe it’s because we’re both girls.”

The two giggled again.

“Just don’t use my lipstick,” Ramini warned in a teasing voice.

“But I’d like to try on a sari sometime.”

“Oh you may, darling, anytime. I think you’d look so beautiful in one.”

They giggled and then sat down on one of the twin beds in the room. Karen took Ramini’s hands in her own as they sat beside each other, their legs together. Karen was struck by the daintiness of Ramini’s soft hands and felt so at home.

*****
Karen returned home for the Thanksgiving weekend, accepting a ride with another girl from the area who had a car and had advertised for riders for the weekend.

The two-and-one-half hour drive from the University to Karen’s hometown was occupied mainly by Claire Livingston, the driver, a senior girl in education, jabbering almost incessantly about her boyfriend and his loutish ways. Karen wondered why she stayed with the boyfriend, who sounded like such a bore.

It meant Karen hardly had to say anything during the trip, particularly to answer questions about her own background, perhaps eventually having to reveal her gender status.

“You’re only a freshman, Karen?” the girl finally asked as they neared their hometown.

“Yes, just started.”

“You got a boyfriend?” Claire asked.

“Sorta,” Karen said, thinking about Gabe. “I’ve been kinda dating this guy and he’s asked me to a Holiday Dance his house is giving the weekend after this vacation.”

“But you’re not pinned or anything like that?”

Karen smiled. “Hardly. He’s just a sweet boy. A good friend, is all.”

“My brother needs a girl friend,” she said. “And he’s home for the weekend, too. Maybe you’d like to do something with him. He’s really nice.”

“Oh,” Karen said, blushing. “I’m sure my mother may have plans for me.”

“He could call you, couldn’t he? And, if you’re free, maybe you two could meet.”

“I suppose so, but I can’t promise.”

“His name is Aaron, and he’s good looking, too, really,” Claire assured Karen. “He doesn’t have two heads.”

Karen giggled. “OK. He can call me.”

“It’s time Aaron meets a pretty and smart girl like you,” she said.

“He can call my cell phone then. You have the number.”

Karen gave the girl permission for her brother to call, but she wasn’t sure that was the wisest course of action. She could have just said “no,” and let it go at that. Yet, the girl seemed nice enough and Karen needed to be sure she’d have a ride back to school on Sunday.

*****
Karen was worried about the reactions of the neighbors on her appearance as a girl. Fortunately, with the weather being cold, no neighbors were out to view the slender, pretty young woman alight from the car and carry her cosmetics bag while dragging her overnight bag on wheels into the building. The truth was that, except for Aunt Harriett, who lived across the hall, the families in the building rarely interacted.

“I don’t think the other residents even know whether I have an older son or daughter, Karen,” his mother stated on the phone prior to the visit.

Her mother had seen Karen leave the car from her second story window, and was waiting at the door to welcome. Karen was wrapped in a hoodie and wearing jeans as she entered the hallway.

“Darling, we’re so happy to see you,” Cecelia Hansson said, hugging the girl. “Come in, Sonny is so eager to see his sister.”

Karen was not sure how her brother would react; her mother said he had accepted it, even had begun bragging about how special his new sister was.

“Here’s Karen, Sonny,” Cecelia announced to her youngest son, whose attention was glued to a football game on television.

“Oh hi, Sis,” Sonny said, not turning his head, but continuing to look at the television.

“Sonny, hi,” Karen said.

She took off her hoodie, revealing a light blue long sleeved blouse with a violet vest.

“Look at your sister, Samuel,” their mother ordered.

“Ok, just a minute,” Sonny said. “It’s almost to commercial.”

Karen didn’t care about football in the least, except when her little brother played, or when he convinced her to join him in watching a game on television. She knew that she might find herself sitting with Sonny to watch several games during the Thanksgiving holiday period; she might even spend time passing the football around with him in the park across the street from the apartment complex in which the Hansson’s lived.

She smiled at the thought of passing the football around; in the past her lame efforts at throwing the ball sometimes brought taunts of “you throw like a girl.” Now she wouldn’t care.

The commercial came and Sonny got up off the couch. “Hi sis.”

“Oh Sonny, so good to see you,” she said, grabbing him in a hug. Karen moved to give her brother a kiss, but the boy — who was strong and as tall as she was — merely moved his head and struggled out of the hug.

“You girls, always so gushy.”

Karen giggled. She knew she’d have a great weekend with her little brother.

*****
During her high school years (when she was masquerading as a boy), Karen made few friends, with the exception of Angela. Therefore she was under no pressure to meet anyone she knew in high school, which relieved any tension over having to call anyone and face the questions around her new identity.

Normally she would have gotten a ride home from the University with Angela, but the girl was to spend the holiday with another girl at her home. Surprisingly, Angela’s new love interest was Doreen, the girl with whom Angela had fought in a quarrel over Karen’s affection. A week earlier, Angela had suggested that Karen join them in what she called a “threesome.” Karen wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but felt it might step over the bounds of her limited sexual experiences.

On the night before Thanksgiving, just after she arrived home, she got a call from Sara Alexopolous, a high school acquaintance and daughter of the owner of the Olympus Restaurant where she had worked before leaving for college.

“Kenny, this is Sara. How are you?” The call began.

“Fine, Sara, and you?”

“Fine, Kenny. I’m so happy you’re in town for the holiday,” the girl continued in the hurried way she always seemed to talk.

“Yeah, going back Sunday,” Karen replied.

“Well, how’d you like to make a little extra money this weekend? We’re down two girls on the wait staff and we’d love if you could put in some hours on Friday and Saturday. How about it Kenny?”

“Well, I don’t know, Sara.”

Karen probably could find time to work and she certainly needed the money, but she was anxious about revealing that Kenny was now a girl called Karen. Finally, she agreed to work some daytime hours — when the family restaurant would be the busiest.

“But, Sara,” she began, hesitating in her speech. “I’m . . . ah . . . no longer Kenny. My name is now . . .ah . . . ah . . . well, it’s Karen.”

“What?”

“I’m living now as a girl, so call me Karen.”

There was a stunned silence. “A girl? My gosh, Kenny . . . ah . . . Karen. A girl? Of course.”

“Yes, I made the change at school about three weeks ago, Sara, and I’m so happy.”

“Karen, that’s marvelous,” Sara said. “You always were a bit . .. how shall I say it?”

“A bit like a girl,” Karen finished the sentence.

“Most of the customers said that they liked that ‘nice young girl’ waitress they had,” Sara said with a laugh.

“But I don’t have a waitress outfit?” Karen said.

“Don’t worry? We have several around here that’ll fit you.”

Karen smiled. She loved the peasant skirts and tops that the girl wore at the Olympus; they flowed so beautifully when the girls walked.

*****
She had been home less than an hour when Cecelia Hansson told her new daughter: “Aunt Harriet can hardly wait to see you, dear. You better go over and say hi now.”

“I want to see her, too,” Karen said, her eyes sparkling as she thought fondly of the old lady.

“You’re beautiful, dear,” gushed Harriet Burkhalter as she opened the door to view Karen standing in front of her. Karen had put on a trim, dark skirt, a simple white blouse with a flat collar and a violet wool vest. She had fashioned her hair to flow freely, with a slight bob at the back and a bang to the right of the forehead. She wore stockings and black short-heeled pumps.

“Let me look at you girl,” said Harriet as she ushered Karen into the apartment.

“You look beautiful, too, Aunt Harriet,” she said sincerely. It was obvious the woman had gussied herself up, apparently just for Karen’s visit.

“I just had my hair done,” the woman explained. “But look at you. So totally like the girl I always knew you to be.”

“I’m so happy now, Aunt Harriet,” Karen said.

“You look just like Jean Simmons,” the older woman said, after they sat down. “But then you don’t know who I’m talking about.”

Karen smiled. “Oh yes I do. I watched her do Ophelia in the movie, and when I acted in the play I kind of followed her style.”

Karen told her onetime baby-sitter about how she helped her friend Tracy finish a sweater for her father. She said she was the envy of all the other girls in her group at the University because of her skills with the needle.

“I can’t thank you enough, Aunt Harriet, for teaching me to knit and crochet,” Karen said, reaching over to touch the old lady’s hands.

The woman grabbed hold of Karen’s hands, looked at them. “You always had the prettiest hands I ever saw.”

Karen blushed.

“If you’ll remember, I didn’t want to show you how to crochet at first,” Harriet said. “I felt you needed to do more boy stuff, like football and such. But you kept saying you’d rather be in the apartment with me, watching me crochet or talking to you about my early life. And I remember you pestering me to show you how to crochet and knit.”

“I must have been fascinated in watching your hands,” Karen said.

“I didn’t want to teach you. After all you were a boy, and I felt you should do boy things.”

“But even then I must have wanted to be a girl, auntie, or at least do girl stuff. I was never any good as a boy.”

Harriet Burkhalter smiled, her sweet, kind smile: “You’re such a beautiful girl, and you’ll make a beautiful woman, dear.”

*****
Karen got two text messages that night.

Gabe texted:

“This will be such a boring weekend without you, Karen. Mom and dad glad to see me. Back doing farm chores. Love, Gabe.”

And one from Mark Hamilton:

“Happy Thanksgiving. Can’t be home since team has a game Saturday at Kansas State. Thinking of u, Mark.”

She smiled when she saw Gabe’s message, and the sight of Mark’s name caused her to grow hot and flushed. She wanted to shout to the housetops: “He’s still thinking of me.”

Karen quickly texted back to Gabe:

“Aw, poor boy. Seems like we’ll both be tired after our vacations. I’m working at the restaurant. See you, K”

The reply to Mark took more thinking. She wanted to respond to him quickly, to show she also thought about him. Oh, yes, how much she thought about him, about his strong arms, about his warm kisses, about how protected she felt when with him. She wanted to tell him of her love, her deep, devoted love.

But she knew that would make her sound too eager, too possessive at a time when she knew he may not have the same strong feelings. Yet, he did bother to text her. She hadn’t heard from him in nearly a month, and now one simple text message, which took him no more than five minutes to write, got her all stirred up and excited.

Finally she wrote:

“Mark. Happy Turkey Day to you. I’ve been following your team on the Internet. Congratulations on a good season. By the way, I am living as Karen now and will soon begin transition to female. Keep in touch. Love to see you again sometime. As ever, Karen”

She looked at the message a long time before finally hitting the “send” button.

In less than ten minutes, the text alert went off:

“Karen. Really. Now a girl. Bet you’re a beauty. Mark.”

Karen’s excitement rose when she saw the message, and immediately she sent back to him a picture of herself wearing a short denim skirt, tank top and sandals. It was one taken by Gabe, and for a minute she wondered how fair it was to send a photo taken by one boy to another boy.

She attached the photo and texted:

“This isn’t a glamour shot, Mark, but it’s the only one I had handy. As ever, Karen”

Two minutes later:

“You’re still the prettiest, Karen. Hope to see ya’ soon. Mark.”

Karen was so excited she had trouble sleeping that night. Finally after playing with her small penis, she got so excited she came and soon was sound asleep.

*****
Thanksgiving morning, Karen helped her mother prepare the turkey and all the fixings for the late afternoon meal. Aunt Harriet was to join the family, as she had for the last half dozen years, since her children all lived far away. “We’re all family,” Cecelia Hansson told the old woman who at first resisted the invitation, saying she didn’t want to intrude upon the Hansson family’s celebration.

It was Karen’s pleading, then the 12-year-old Kenny, who convinced Harriet to join them, but only with the understanding that she’d bake her special sweet potato pie. “It’s far better than pumpkin,” she said.

Karen knew she’d have to endure Sonny’s need to watch the Detroit Lions annual Turkey Day football game; thus the reason for the later meal. It didn’t bother her, however, since she and her mother would be busy in the kitchen, giving themselves plenty of time for girl talk.

About noon, the phone rang, and Karen — who stood close to the kitchen phone — picked it up: “Hello.”

“Is . . . ah . . . this . . . ah . . . Miss Karen Hansson?” said a tentative, nervous voice of a young man.

“Yes, and who is this?” Karen asked using a rather stern voice.

There was a brief silence, and Karen was about to hang up.

“Ah . . .this is Aaron Livingston,” the voice continued, still nervous. “My sister, Claire, said I should call you.”

“Claire?”

“You know, the girl who you rode home with?”

“Oh, yes, you must be her brother,” Karen said, suddenly feeling empathy for this hesitant boy, realizing that the boy must have been goaded into calling her by his bossy sister. Remembering her own period as a shy boy, she felt a need to be gentle with this person.

“Oh yes, she said you might call me,” Karen said. “And how are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” the boy said, his voice seeming to gain confidence. “I was just wondering if you were busy this weekend.”

“I am kinda busy, Aaron, since I’m working both Friday and Saturday, but I’m free maybe in the evenings,” she said.

“Oh, maybe you’d like to do something? I mean with me? Like meeting for coffee, or a movie, maybe?”

After some hemming and hawing, the two finally agreed to meet at a local coffee shop at 8:00 p.m. on Friday night, which would give Karen time to clean up after completing her workday at the Olympus at 7 p.m. She would use her mother’s car, just so she’d not be relying upon Aaron to get her home if the date turned into a disaster.

“Be careful, dear,” his mother warned as she gave her the keys to the car. “Your license still says Kenneth as a boy. You don’t want to get stopped.”

“Oh she won’t, mother,” his brother Sonny chimed in. “She drives like a scared little girl.”

Karen giggled. How true that was!

*****
Karen considered cancelling the date with Aaron, mainly because she was so tired after she completed her workday on Friday — eight hours of being on her feet, with a short break during the afternoon lull when she and the other waitresses shared a few minutes of girl talk. Both the restaurant owner, George Alexopolous, and the head waitress, Sharon, were effusive in their praise of Karen’s appearance and how she looked.

“You’re the cutest girl working tonight,” Sharon said. “If I were another of the young girls working here tonight, I’d be jealous.”

Karen had hugged Sharon when the two met that evening. She had remembered how understanding and supportive the woman was when she worked there during the summer, still in his Kenny mode.

“Don’t say that, Sharon,” Karen said, blushing. “I want the other girls to like me.”

“Oh they will, honey. You always were a great co-worker, and I told them all about you so that there’d be no problems tonight with the staff.”

“Thank you, Sharon,” he said.

It was true; for the most part, the staff greeted Karen with a cheery “hi” and some even added a few sisterly hugs and kisses as they met. “So glad you’re one of us now, Karen,” one of the longterm waitresses whispered into Karen’s ear as they hugged.

The sole exception was from Beatrice, who wore a prominent necklace with a cross and was a stoic young woman with a permanently stern appearance. Her lips seemed perpetually pursed, giving her a business-like appearance. During her breaks, Beatrice retreated to a far corner of the restaurant, bringing out a small Bible from her purse, which she read, using her forefinger to trace along the lines of the page as she read.

Karen had worked with her before without trouble. In fact, Beatrice had proven to be a top-notch waitress, friendly — in a formal manner — with the customers and cooperative with the other girls, assisting others when they might be hurried.

She greeted Karen with a grudging “hello” and then averted her eyes from meeting Karen’s directly, quickly running off.

The restaurant’s owner, George Alexopoplous, greeted Karen with a smile as she approached him after changing into the waitress uniform.

“Aren’t you pretty!” George said, his jowly face crinkling with smiles. “That outfit fits you fine, dear.”

“Thank you, Mr. Alexopolous,” Karen said.

“I always thought you’d make a pretty girl, and I sure wasn’t mistaken. Now, if any of the customers or the boys in the kitchen hit on you or pinch you, dear, or bother you in any way, you let old George know and I’ll puncha them outa here,” the bushy haired owner said, his eyes twinkling.

Karen gave him a slight curtsey and a flirty smile in return.

“Daddy, you better behave too,” Sara, his daughter, chimed in followed by a good-natured laugh. Karen realized the owner’s daughter was teasing her father, since he was well-respected as a man of impeccable honesty and morality.

“You’ll have Section 3, sharing overflow with Beatrice, Karen,” Sara said. “I know you two have worked together before.”

“Yes, it’ll be fine,” Karen said, worrying nonetheless about whether Beatrice with her stolid evangelistic views would be happy with the arrangement.

Karen loved the swish of the colorful peasant skirt as she walked about carrying dishes of food or approaching a table with her order pad in her hand to say: “Hello, I’m Karen and I’m your waitress today. Welcome to the Olympus.”

She loved saying, “I’m Karen.” George had even made a badge that read “Karen.” Now, when a patron would say “miss” she would glow. It was all happening; there was no question. She was a waitress called “Karen” and she looked pretty. She noted many of the other girls used the word “waiter,” since it was the more politically correct term in the current day. Even though Karen shared in the idea that the use of the generic “waiter” was proper, she couldn’t resist calling herself “waitress.”

To Karen’s surprise, Beatrice turned out to be a great co-worker, easily taking up an extra table when Karen was overwhelmed with the huge lunch crowd that was traditional on the day after Thanksgiving. She seemed grateful, too, when Karen assisted in her section. Yet, Beatrice said nothing to Karen that night, except when necessary in the course of work. She treated Karen stiffly, without showing any warmth.

Karen quickly became aware that she often drew the attentive eyes of the customers, particularly the men. Her natural openness and friendliness seemed to further draw attention to her.

“What are you doing tonight?” one particularly friendly young man asked her after he had politely asked if she was a college student. She had responded that she was. The boy had acknowledged he was as well and attended a major university, studying drama. She smiled and said she was hoping to study drama, too, but was majoring in social work.

Realizing she had told the young man too much, she left the table; she could see the boy’s two companions talking with the boy, sometimes laughing.

It was when she returned with the check, the boy reached out his hand, grabbing hers gently and asking, “When do you get off work?”

“When I’m done,” Karen answered quickly, but accompanied the remark with a cute smile.

“Aww, you’re a funny one, eh?”

“No sir, I hope everything was all right tonight,” Karen said, withdrawing her hand, and dropping the leatherette folder with the check inside. “You may pay the cashier, sir.”

“Come on, honey,” the young man said. “I’ll stop by later and take you out for coffee or something.”

“Sorry, I have a date tonight,” she responded, feeling so happy she had an excuse to fend off the eager young man.

She couldn’t help eyeing him as he paid the bill and walked out; she had to admit he was handsome, maybe even of “hunk” quality. As she worked entering information into the computer for a customer’s bill, Sharon approached, and whispered: “So you got the eye of that hunk?”

“I guess, and he asked me out. Fortunately I had a date.”

“Good for you, Karen, but he’ll be back checking you out, I’m sure. The younger girls have had their eye on him for sometime, but you’re the first one he ever asked out.”

Karen blushed. He was cute, she had to admit.

They were still busy at the quitting time of seven o’clock, and Karen agreed to stay for another half hour or so. She was exhausted when she finally finished at twenty minutes for eight o’clock, and had been so busy that she had nearly forgotten her promise to meet Aaron.

Realizing she had no time to change, she asked Sara Alexopolous if she could wear the uniform home and wear it to work the following day. “Of course, you can,” Sara said.

Karen sat on a bench in the small staff room in the restaurant to count her stack of bills and coins that constituted her tips for the day. As she was separating out the portion she’d share with the other staff — the busboys and kitchen staff, as well as the hostess — Beatrice entered the room.

She eyed Karen stiffly and then placed herself at the other end of the bench. “I enjoyed working with you today,” she said in a flat tone.

“I did, too,” Karen said, warily.

“I’m fearful for your soul, Kenny,” the girl said, using the male name. She spoke quietly, but firmly. “I’m here for you. Look to God, Kenny. He will guide you from the sin you are committing.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Beatrice, but I feel I must live as girl,” Karen said simply.

“God will punish you. Look at Deuteronomy 22.5 and you will understand.”

“But God also wants us to be honest with ourselves, Beatrice, and I know I am female in my own soul. Please understand.”

“You’re a good person, Kenny, who is sinning. I will help you to see the light,” Beatrice said, her face glowing with intensity.

“Thank you for your concern, Beatrice, but I must go, since I’m meeting someone at eight,” Karen said, getting up to put on her coat.

“Please consider what I have said, brother Kenny. I will pray for your soul.”

Beatrice’s insistent behavior, though obviously sincere and caring, felt intrusive to Karen, and she worried about how to free herself from this girl without hurting the girl’s feelings.

“Thank you, but my name is Karen” was all she could think of to say.

With that, Karen turned on her heel and hurried out of the room, not bothering to put on her coat until she was in the parking lot on the way to her mother’s car. She would be a few minutes late, but she expected Aaron would be waiting for her patiently.