Dear Jaycee -

Welp, I did it. That’s right. I made all of my dreams come true. It’s like you always said - “If you can dream it, you can do it.” I dreamt it, and I did it.

Seven things. You and I set seven goals for ourselves over the years. I kept them in a notebook. I keep a lot of things in my notebook. This one was the most important.

I skimmed the list right after you left. It was perfect. I knew what I needed to do. And one by one, I did everything. Everything. You’d be very proud.

FIRST GRADE. You and I on a pristine December day, stuck indoors, hanging in our room. I was already well into dressing up at that point. I remember distinctly you and I shutting ourselves up in your room for hours, just trying on all your dance outfits. Pink tutus. White tutus. Black tutus. All kinds of leotards and tights, and giggling at all of them.

One day I was wearing a pink tutu, and you were wearing a black tutu, and we were dancing, and being happy, and then we decided to watch “The Nutcracker” on VHS - can you believe it was that long ago? As we watched, you said to me, “Kellen, one of us is going to be the Sugar Plum Fairy someday.” I wrote it down.

And a decade later, voila! I was profiled in the Seattle Times. Something about the first transgender Sugar Plum Fairy. I don’t know. You wouldn’t have cared for it. I know that, except for performances and stuff, you didn’t really care for the limelight.

SECOND GRADE. You and I tagging along with Dad to a Washington football game. That was a lot of fun, remember? I don’t remember the score of the game or the opponent, but I remember we sat near the cheerleaders. I was instantly drawn to cheerleading. By drawn, I mean drawn. I spoke of nothing else for a week, if I remember correctly.

You said to me, “Kellen, one of us is going to be a cheer captain someday.” I dismissed it at the time with a giggling fit. But a funny thing happened, and here I am. Cheer captain at Phelan High School. I’m wearing “cheer” sweats right now. Wish you could see it.

THIRD GRADE. You and I now at the eighth grade talent show. Last day of school. Both of us anxious for summer. Antsy paying little attention to the acts on stage.

Until, that is, the dance team came out. Wow. I was impressed. So was everyone, and so were you too, Jaycee. I remember, you leaned over and told me, “One of us is going to be on the dance team someday.” I giggled. I wrote it down. Have I told you how funny things happen in life? Nothing really ever turns out the way you want it to. You of all people should know.

You should see my dance costume. It’s the cutest thing. I stuck a picture of it in the envelope. Hope it helps you imagine.

FOURTH GRADE. A cold night for football, this time of the high school variety. We were shivering. I remember that night because you let me wear your training bra. I was wearing your panties, too. I never told you that. Anyway, this time the majorette was the focus. You and I couldn’t take our eyes off her, with her shiny costume and skirt. That was another goal of ours. To be majorettes. Remember that?

I do. Every time I twirl a baton in a parade I think about it. You should see it. I’m not going to lie. I’m kind of beautiful.

FIFTH GRADE. Womanless beauty pageant. Every boy loathed it but me. Check that, every boy loathed it. Because let’s face it. There was a girl in the womanless beauty pageant.

I hadn’t even told Mom and Dad about my dressing up yet when I was thrust into a light blue ballgown and a red wig and made to sing in front of a billion people. I really don’t like attention - except in beauty pageants. That’s right. You always said, that day, after I won, when I was fussing over my gown and hair and whining about cracking a nail, one of us would become a beauty queen. Me again - surprise!

SIXTH GRADE. I’ve told Mom and Dad now. You know. You were there. You remember how that conversation went. It took some negotiation to get them to let me wear leggings to that high school football game. Somehow I convinced them. They chalked them up to curious onlookers as “thermal-wear.” Somehow I doubt the pink North-Face jacket I put on when I got cold in the third quarter helped that argument.

Anyway, at that game we were pointing and giggling, naming boys in the student section we wanted to kiss. Remember that? And remember how you said one of us would get a boy to kiss us at a football game someday? My boyfriend Dawson is sitting here as I write this. I could kiss him right now. Heck, I just did.

SEVENTH GRADE. Last but not least, our night on the town after Homecoming. I’m dressing up virtually everywhere but school now, and that includes when we went out for girls’ night. It was me, you, and your friends Debbie and Pauline. I was wearing a tattered sweatshirt and leggings and looked like a mess. You three were still in your gowns.

And then you asked your girlfriends which one of us had the best shot as being named Homecoming Queen. Without hesitation, they pointed at me.

“Kellen does.”

Remember that? I blushed out loud. And then even more so when you said, “It’s Kelly.” I’d never even thought of getting a girl’s name before. And you gave it to me - like that! Your spontaneity. One of the many things I miss about you.

Kelly Butler is a homecoming queen now. She’s the most beautiful one you’ve ever seen, if she says so herself. And she couldn’t have done it without you. You taught me not to be ashamed of who I was.

Unfortunately, through no fault of your own, you left too early to see the fruits of your labors. How many more sleepovers, ballet recitals, and double dates we could’ve had I’ll never know. Kids, don’t drink and drive.

Dawson’s telling me that’s no way to end a letter. Oh my god, he’s so cute! You’d love him. And speaking of love, I love you. I love you every day when I fix my hair or do my makeup or laugh or cry, because I know before I did all those things with anyone else, I did them with you.

Save me a place up there.

Your prima ballerina, cheer captain, dancer, majorette, beauty and homecoming queen, boy-crazy sister,
Kelly Butler