(Rich deals with his past and meets someone not unlike himself.)

Struggles

Silence

Rich never said anything to his mother about being raped, not in the days after it happened, nor the weeks; not ever. Lia knew something had happened, or at least she suspected. He wasn’t the same, even more moody than before. Lia’s youngest son had evolved from the happy boy of twelve to a silent and moody fifteen year old. She had seen this in him before but this time it was different, more pronounced, almost permanent. She just didn’t know what to do about it.

She considered confronting him, finding a perfect moment when it was just the two of them and asking him what was wrong. That didn’t work the last time and he became closed and angry. She was afraid of embarrassing him and driving a further wedge between them. No, she thought, she needed to just be sweet, loving and caring, in hopes he would come to her.

Lia Bromely, the mother, was almost certain she knew what was bothering her son and if she was right, her mother’s intuition told her that it was best to leave it alone. Lia knew about her son’s forays into a girl’s world, knew about his fantasies. She had known he was like that since he was a child. She knew about the dresses in Gramma’s attic and even knew about the dress he had pilfered from the box that was going to the church bazaar a couple of years ago; the one he hid in his closet.

What convinced her that she knew what was going on now was that the dress in the back of Rich’s closet disappeared at about the same time his mood changed so much. She guessed her son was growing up, becoming a man and realizing he had to put the silly girl stuff behind him. Lia the mother knew that it was probably hard for him to give up something he obviously enjoyed so much but growing up is always hard. What was it from Corinthians, she asked and then looked it up. “When I became a man, I put away childish things” she read. That is what was happening with her son, she was sure, and she knew he would be a better man, and later, a better husband and father because of it. As much as it broke her heart she decided she needed to let him get through this on his own.

As a mother of two sons, Lia considered questioning Gary, the older brother but then dismissed the thought. Rich and Gary no longer had a close relationship like they did when they were younger. Gary had turned into an aggressive, cocky and self-assured boy. He was a handful for her and for Winn, the father. He did pretty much what he wanted to when he wanted to do it and as parent they always feared that he would be brought home by the police or worse. Rich was the opposite, of course, so Lia didn’t consider the frigid almost hostile relationship her 17 year old and fifteen year old had as troubling. It was probably for the best but she knew any mention of Rich to Gary would probably not be in Rich’s best interest.

Naturally rape wasn’t a word Rich could associate with what was done to him by the older man. In fact, he didn’t even think about it, at least not consciously. He stopped talking like he did before. Rich Bromely withdrew mostly, to his room at first and then, after he had healed, physically healed, he turned 16 and got his driver’s license and a job. And for the rest of high school his junior and senior year, Rich worked at the country club, helping the grounds crew in the summer and as a bus boy for the restaurant in the winter. He didn’t date and he stayed away from friends and especially street corners. After all, there wasn’t anyone he could really talk to because there was nobody like he was. That is until he met Sam.

Rich didn’t know anything about Sam Rangel when he met her at the first assembly of their senior year at Johnstown High in 1963. Yes, Sam was a girl but Rich didn’t really notice that when she introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m Sam.” She said in a rather gravelly voice. “I guess you know everyone.”

“Yeh, you’re new, right.” Rich answered glancing over at the teen with short hair wearing a checkered shirt and pants and loafers. “Hope you play football, our team sucks.” Rich added making small talk while looking back to the center of the gym where the principal was about to speak.

Sam laughed deeply and smiled. “Uh, no. Don’t play football. Wish I could. Do you?” Sam looked over at Rich and waited for him to see her, notice her.

Rich barley heard what Sam said. He was thinking about other things; and watching Barb and Buzz who were sitting several rows in front of him. He missed the closeness he used to have with Barb but he was also admiring the skirt and blouse she was wearing. Rich tried not to think about how he would love to be wearing the skirt and blouse. Thoughts like those seemed to somehow lead to awful things. He had discarded the dress he took from the box for the church bazaar and the bra and panties lay untouched in his bottom drawer.

“What? No, I don’t play football.” He finally answered and then looked over and saw Sam, saw that she was not a boy as he had first presumed. Rich blushed and stammered. “Oh, sorry. Of course you don’t play football. I, uh, I…”

“You thought I was a boy, didn’t you.” Sam said proudly. “Well, I’m not exactly a boy but I’ve dreamed of playing football.” She paused waiting to see Rich’s reaction. “Seriously, I could make the team.”

Rich didn’t know what to make of Sam. He just couldn’t process what he was seeing. Now that he took a close look he knew he was face to face with a girl but he didn’t know any girls who looked like this, dressed like Sam dressed; the short hair, no makeup, and yes, she was definitely wearing a boy’s shirt. Rich doubted she was wearing a bra, or needed one. Sam was short and stocky; not necessary short for a girl. She had dark hair and a dark complexion. Rich agreed ‘she could make the team’.

Samantha Rangel grew up near Philadelphia and had always been a tomboy. Her parents fought if for many years forcing her to wear dresses to school. Samantha would protest and resist but her mom would prevail sending her little girl off in the morning in a cute dress and her long hair in pony tails. What Mrs. Rangel often got back in the afternoon was a completely different person; dress torn or muddy, no ponytails and sometimes a scrape, or bruise. Mr. and Mrs. Rangel were summoned many times for a conference with the principal or school counselor. They were invariably told of Samantha’s escapades, playing touch football with the boys, fighting. Each time they promised to do their best to make Samantha conform to her gender but over the years they were the ones who had to conform. They presumed their only daughter would grow out of the “boy” phase as they understood it; 'tomboys' were tolerated if not accepted and most, if not all, grew up to be beautiful wives and mothers. Sam didn't grow out of it. Samantha, at age eleven, finally cut her own hair, from shoulder length to a shaggy two inches. From then on she was Sam. The Rangel’s didn’t waste any more money on dresses, except for one Sam would reluctantly wear to please the grandparents, once in a while, and while the school continued to protest to Sam’s parents that she needed to wear “clothing appropriate for girls” they tacitly accepted the girl who always came to school in pants and shirt. What really bothered Mrs. Rangel was that when her teenage daughter got her first period she never asked her mom about it. She just dealt with it on her own somehow.

Now Sam was in a new school for her senior year and she didn’t like it. At her school in Philadelphia she had a couple of friends and well, everyone else was used to her. Nobody dared tease her; she knew how to fight and wasn’t afraid to take anyone on, even the boys. She threatened to run away and begged to stay in Philadelphia for her senior year but it wasn’t like her parents didn’t love her. Mr. and Mrs. Rangel accepted that Sam was different, they didn’t encourage it but after so many years they just knew Sam was Sam; fun, outgoing and a force. To them Sam was more like a son than a daughter. They wouldn’t let her stay in Philadelphia because they were afraid that without them Sam would come under influences that they could not control, and that would consume her. So Sam came with her parents and moved to the little Pennsylvania town because her father was transferred there to run the local state highway maintenance facility. He knew how to fix roads and plow snow, how to manage such operations. He promised to teach his daughter how to drive one of the snowplows.

Rich finally realized he was sitting next to a very different person and that he had not introduced himself.

“Oh, I’m Rich. Rich Bromely. I’ve lived here all my life. Where are you from?” He asked.

Sam told him her story often being a little blunt about being different from the other girls. Sam didn’t actually tell Rich she felt like a boy, or wanted to be one. She really didn’t have to. Everything she said had a boy’s point of reference. Rich found himself intrigued by this person who was so confident being different. To Rich it just seemed so easy for Sam. She could be so boy-like and no one would dare challenge her. Sure he knew the whole town would talk, he knew Sam would be the focus of gossip for weeks on end, perhaps their whole senior year, but he was sure she wouldn’t be confronted. He almost laughed when he thought about how he would be received if the situation was reversed; if he wore a skirt and blouse to the first assembly his senior year. If he survived just getting to school without being beat up he would be expelled. But here was Sam, a girl, wearing boy’s clothes and looking like the right tackle of the team that went 1 and 7 the year before.

When she finished all Rich could say was “Friends. I could use one and I pretty sure you will too.” They shook hands like two guys and agreed to be friends. Rich offered to show Sam around town.

“Hey, the first game is Friday and it’s an away game. I’ve got the car. Want to go?” He asked.

“Neat.” She answered. Sam looked over at her new friend and smiled broadly. Rich saw in that smile just a hint of girlness but he felt something that was missing in his life, something he had not felt for a very long time. Rich Bromely felt like he had a real friend, a friend he might be able to talk to, to confide in; a friend who was, Rich happily thought, also a boy.

* * * *

Rich parked his father’s ’59 Buick Invicta in front of the house on Highland Avenue where Sam lived. He had hoped that she would be waiting for him; he didn’t want to have to knock on the door, but when she didn’t come out he climbed the three steps to the porch and knocked. A middle aged woman wearing a dress opened the door.

“You must be Rich. Come in. Sam’s upstairs and will be down in a minute.” She said noticeably not using a pronoun. She invited Rich to sit and he almost felt like he was picking up a date. Rich was relieved. Sam’s mom seemed so nice, so normal. Rich almost expected Sam’s mom would be like her, more masculine than feminine, perhaps wearing a shirt and pants like Sam was when they met. Maybe Sam switched, he thought, sometimes being more like a girl than a boy. Would she sashay down the stairs in a skirt and top, he wondered.

“You’re a good driver, aren’t you Rich.” Mrs. Rangel asked. “I’m worried about these mountain roads. Just be careful.” She pleaded.

“I will.” Rich promised sensing that the woman wanted to say more.

“Sam needs a friend here. She’s, uh, different.” Mrs. Rangel looked toward the stairs to make sure Sam wasn’t coming yet. “We’ve given up. We just let her be Sam. She’s not a bad kid actually but I refuse to think there is something wrong with her. She is just, well, just not very girly.” She said with a hopeful look that said she wanted the teen boy to understand the complication of growing up.
“Well, Mrs. Rangel.” Rich began, thinking about what to say. “I could use a friend too. Don’t worry. It won’t be easy in this little town but we can look out for each other.”

Mrs. Rangel just gave Rich a funny look not sure what the boy meant as Sam came trampling down the stairs two at a time. She was wearing a white shirt that was too large for her with the top button undone and the sleeves rolled up. She had a man’s tee shirt underneath. She was wearing jeans and cowboy boots. Her hair was different, brushed back with some kind of gel into a duck-tail. There was a clear scent of her father’s cologne.

“You’re a brave young man.” Mrs. Rangel whispered to Rich before Sam made it to the bottom of the stairs. Rich couldn’t say anything as the two flew out the door giving assurance to Sam’s mom that they would be careful and home by 11:30.

The two seventeen year olds drove out of town toward Legonier where Johnstown HS was playing their opening game of the 1963 season.

“You’re mom’s cool.” Rich told Sam.

“Yeh. She gave up trying to make me be frilly a long time ago.” Sam explained. “I’m just the way I am. You don’t seem to have a problem with it.” She said almost as a question.

“Never knew anyone like you. You didn’t pick the most popular boy to be a friend. I don’t have many friends.”

“So you settled for me?” Sam asked playfully.

“I didn’t mean it like that. But I was thinking its kinda neat not having some jerk guy as a friend, and I can’t seem to be friends with girls.”

“Jerk guy?” Sam wondered why her new friend, a boy, would think of other boys that way. “I think I know what you mean.” She answered half-heartedly. “But I’d love to have some guy friends, I mean real guys.” She said not meaning to insult her new friend. She recovered quickly. “Jocks, I meant guys who are jocks. You told me you weren’t into sports.”

“I like to play basketball but no, I hate jocks.” Rich said blushing at the possible two meanings of the word. “I don’t hate the guys who wear them.” He added.

They drove for a couple of miles without talking. Rich changed the radio station. “I don’t have one, by the way.” Rich said without looking at his new friend.

“Neither do I.” Sam replied quickly taking a breath before adding “But it’s a thought.” She laughed.

“What? A jock strap? But you, uh.”

“No I don’t actually need one but I wouldn’t mind…..” Sam stopped. “You already think I’m weird.”

“No. Really. I just never met someone like you. Different yes, weird, uh, oh, maybe a little.” Rich reached over and gave Sam a friendly push on the arm, chuckling but then became serious.

“What if I tell you I’m a little weird too?” He said without thinking.

“You don’t have to make something up just to make me feel better.” Sam said.

Rich pulled the Buick off the road and put it in park. He looked over at Sam and wondered if he should tell her about the way he felt and how there was nothing he could do about it. In an instant he felt both angry and jealous. He was angry that the thing he had given up had resurfaced without any prompting on his own. He had thrown away the dress and he no longer slept in the panties. He had a job. He worked and went to school and stayed away from everything that could go wrong. It wasn’t enough and here he was confronted with it again.

Most of all, however, he was jealous. It seemed so easy for Sam. She was so open and so self-assured. She didn’t seem to care what people thought and well, yes, Rich knew there was a double standard, even if he couldn’t explain it. Samantha, a girl, could wear boys’ clothes, in school or anywhere, with little or no difficulty. Where was the outrage? Where were the authorities, the doctors, the shrinks, the clergy? Why wasn’t she removed from her parents and placed in a home that would raise her like a girl, instead of a boy?

Rich knew instinctively as a boy, nearly a man, that if he wore anything even remotely girly to school, or anywhere public, the result would be swift, painful, devastating and permanent. His life would be over.

“Well?” Rich heard Sam say. “What’s going on with you? Do I bother you?”

Rich didn’t answer right away.

“Why did you pull over? What did you want to tell me? Are you…” Rich didn’t let Sam finish.

“It’s not that.” He almost yelled. “It’s just that, well, uh, you’re a girl right?” He finally asked trying to recover.

“Yeh. Sort of.” Sam answered.

“But you’re trying to make people think you a boy, right?” Rich postulated.

“Well, Einstein, now that it’s out in the open. To tell the truth, I am a boy. I mean, that’s just how I’ve always felt and nothing can change that.” She continued. “So what’s your point?”

Rich wanted desperately to tell Sam but couldn’t. He just didn’t know how and couldn’t find the words. He put the Invicta in low and hit the gas enjoying the squeal of the tires on the asphalt as he roared back onto the highway.

“Just trying to understand.” He yelled over the noise.

Rich and Sam were friends for the rest of the year but were not close. They stayed in touch when Rich went off to college until he went into the Army. Rich Bromely loved and admired Sam so much but he couldn’t risk the temptation of being near someone who made being different seem so easy.