Alright, alright, I give in! I've resisted the making of an author page, and in fact demanded that it be removed from mine when they were first instituted. But there have been too many people asking for easy access to my stories.
Unfortunately, it seems you can't have anything be a part of more than one Outline, so my Drabbles in Melanie Ezell's Drabble Theatre can be found:
... and, of course, my "blog" entries - Edeyn's Blog
Sk8r Grrls - SURGE project, Episode 1! Title graphic now included! This was the very first TG Fiction piece by me. I hope folks enjoy reading it again -- or for the first time! | |
Sk8r Grrls Episode 01 by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney In Which We Meet Our Heroines (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Original Publish Date: 25 May 2007
Original Header Text:
My first effort here -- actually, my first effort at TG Fiction at all -- Feedback welcome. I write a lot, but mostly no one gets to see it but a few. Idea for this hit me and I had to share. Be gentle?
Time seemed to slow down as Allie rose higher and higher, her jump taking her to just the right point. Her hand raised to make the spike, moving through the air as though through syrup. As she contacted the volleyball, time returned to normal and surrendered the whoosh-spang sound of another perfect delivery.
The coach's whistle tweeted and she shouted, "Great! Just like that tonight, girls! Remember, tonight's our last game and the tryouts for both Basketball and Cheerleaders are Friday! Get showered, get dressed, and get outta here!"
The scattered giggles as the practice ended was normal, and the girls moved toward the locker room.
"Wilson! Hold up a second..." asked the coach. Allie waited a moment while Coach Byers tossed the last of the balls back across the court.
"So, I still don't have your sister's physical. No luck convincing her to try out for the squad?"
Allie bit her lip and sheepishly looked up at the coach as she responded, "She doesn't think she has the ability. I'll still try out though --"
Coach Byers waved her hand dismissively, "Yes, and you'll make it, but do you realize what kind of routines we could do this year with a set of twins like you? Look, I know she has the ability, I've seen her playing around with you and your friends before practices. I'm actually kind of offended that she didn't come out for volleyball. As a personal favor for me, c'mon. It's Monday, get your sister into the doctor for that physical this week. I wanna see both of you here on Friday."
Allie glanced quickly over to the bleachers where Annie sat chatting with a couple of their friends.
"I'll try. I will, really. But I can't promise anything. Annie's kind of... shy, y'know? Look, I gotta shower. Last time I came home smelling like sweat, Mom nearly had a seizure and I got a lecture on how 'unladylike' even playing a sport is. See you tonight, Coach," she once again made the excuse for Annie and ran off to shower.
Over on the bleachers, Mary (the tall, blonde girl), asked the others, "When they get out here, you all up for showing the guys up over at the Skate Park?"
Suzy and Jenni murmured assent, and Annie looked guilty.
She brushed her dark auburn hair back behind her ear and asked, "If we do, will there be time after? I mean I gotta change and then get home so I can get to the game with our parents..."
Jenni (the other blonde), mock-smacked her forehead, "Oh! The game tonight. Yeah, how about we just grab some cones in the courtyard, then? Plenty of time that way, and Bridgette, Allie, and Lisa can get back for the game easy enough."
Nods went around the circle as a latina girl you could only describe as 'lanky' joined them from the locker room, followed by a girl-faced freckle with bright red hair. Bridgette and Lisa were filled in on the plans as the foursome of practice spectators packed away their homework. When they finished and Allie still wasn't out yet, Brigette mumbled under her breath in Spanish as she trotted back to the locker room looking for her.
Annie looked at her friends and meekly reminded them, "You know, none of you should let me stop you from hitting the Skate Park. I can make it home alone. There's no reason you should have to give up fun stuff just because of me."
"Martyr much?" came Allie's voice as she and Bridgette returned.
"I wouldn't be able to hit the Skate Park anyway -- Coach is letting me start tonight," she added while beaming proudly.
The quiet catcalls and giggles traveled out the door as the seven moved around the school to the front where there was still an ice cream kiosk set up in the student courtyard. They got their cones, and moved down the street to a public restroom on the edge of one of the city's parks.
The seven filed into the restroom, hair was fussed with, backpacks re-shouldered, and after being sure they were the only ones inside, six filed back out and casually blocked access inside. About ten minutes later there was a light tapping from inside. They glanced around and assured themselves that no one was watching and knocked on the door in response.
As the door opened and the slight figure slipped out to join them, Allie nodded in approval and they moved again, this time along the sidewalk toward the Wilson home a few blocks away. Anyone looking at the group now would see a young boy walking with his sister and her friends. Allie reached up and ruffled her brother's hair, now tied back in a ponytail.
They were always quiet between the Change House (as they'd come to refer to the public restroom) and Allie and Andy's house, and today was no exception.
About a block short, the six girls stopped and Allie gave her brother a hug.
"We've gotta figure something out, sis. I almost asked you if I could borrow your blue tights last night at dinner," she said, "And Coach severely wants us both on the Cheer Squad."
Andy had a sad look in his eyes as he returned the hug, "I know... And sure, by the way, you can borrow them. They're in your dresser, after all," he tried to quip to brighten the mood.
All the girls felt like one of their best friends had to die every night.
"I'll see you at the game, in about an hour. I've got to think of a reason to give Dad for how I 'forgot' to turn in the JROTC application last week. They published the new members in the paper today," he told them as he shouldered his backpack and walked toward home.
After a few steps correcting his walk into one a bit less 'girly' than Annie's, he kept his eyes on the ground in front of his feet.
The remaining six girls turned as one and walked back toward the school, but it was several minutes later when Allie finally broke the silence and spoke.
"Alright, girls. Here's our new project. We have to figure a way to get Annie a girls' thumbs-up physical so she can tryout for Cheerleading on Friday. We have three days. Any ideas?"
She looked at them all and was exceedingly happy they had deigned to befriend her and Annie over the Summer.
Bridgette, Lisa, Mary, Suzy, and Jenni had been the Sk8r Grrls of the school... and were friends since the day they all had met in Kindergarten. Allie and Andy (well, it was Annie, really... but dressed mostly unisex that day "just in case") had found the Skate Park and showed up with their boards. That was the day they moved in, and they had been quickly adopted into the tight-knit Sk8r Grrls sisterhood.
Sk8r Grrls - SURGE project, Episode 2! Okay, we're going to include the extra content as sub-chapters (check the outline on the right!), and I'm going to try to get one of these re-published along with said extras every other day! This was the very first TG Fiction piece by me. I hope folks enjoy reading it again -- or for the first time! | |
Sk8r Grrls Episode 02 by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney In Which We Meet The Wilson Family (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Original Publish Date: 25 May 2007
Original Header Text:
Wow. Thanks for all the great responses! The initial seven parts of this story literally lined up in my brain like books on a shelf, so as quick as I can put them into words and type them, I'll post them. And it's in a format that doing it as a serial should be easy. I love writing. I've been accused in the past of, "having a love affair with the English Language"
"I'm hooooooome!" shouted Andy as he opened the door and sidestepped Random, the family's over-sized puppy, as he galumphed out the door in a near-miss tackle.
"Ooph! We so shoulda named you Hobbes, shouldn't we, boy?" laughed Andy from under the happy pet.
He picked himself up, and spent a few moments ruffling the big dog's fur both ways. They'd been offered a lot of money for Random before, but none of the five of them wanted to even think about giving him up. He was a long-haired mix... half-Chow, half-White German Shepherd. He had a beautiful cream gradient that was darker around his head-mane and faded as it went both back and down. He weighed about 110 pounds, but was trim. When he stood on his hind legs and put his paws on Andy's shoulders, his nose was even with Andy's forehead.
With a last scritch behind the ears, Andy left Random outside to romp a bit while he went inside. As soon as he opened the door, Evan said, "Dad's gonna be home in ten, Mom's already noticed you weren't on the list. Just a warning," without looking away from concentrating on the XBox.
"Yeah, I know. It was a mistake. But c'mon, Ev, you know there's no way I'd survive that JROTC crap," Andy replied sheepishly as he headed for the stairs.
As his foot hit the bottom step, his mother's voice came from the kitchen, though.
"Andrew? Your father'll be here soon. You know he'll want to talk to you about this. May as well wait in here."
She swung the door between the living room and the kitchen open and tossed a dishtowel at him, saying, "May as well make yourself useful while you stew in your own juices," and she smiled.
Well, at least she wasn't angry.
He nodded and told her he'd be right there, before he went upstairs with his backpack... just to be safe. Couldn't have them accidentally looking through it. He tossed it into the closetspace shared by his room and Allie's, then used the back stairs down into the kitchen. He pulled the dishtowel off his shoulder and started drying.
"Wanna tell me what you're gonna tell your father?" asked his mother as she was scrubbing the last of the pans.
For a moment, Andy just continued to dry and put away dishes, then he sighed and said, "Mom, they'd kill me. I have no interest at all in JROTC. Why doesn't Ev join, he plans on being in the real thing in college next year, anyway?" and gave her what he hoped was a pleading look.
"What's wrong with your eyebrows? Stop doing that and making that face. I don't know, Andrew. Evan looks at JROTC as playing pretend. Your father just thought it would help you make friends of your own instead of being alone all the time. We're just worried about you in the new town, the new school. Allison found that wonderful group of girlfriends, but we never see or even hear about any friends of yours."
"Ah, Ma, just because I don't talk about my friends, doesn't mean I don't have 'em."
"I know, Andy, but we'd like to meet them."
"They're, uh, shy."
She quirked an eyebrow up at him.
He gave her his best Don Adams impression, "Would you believe infectious?"
She smirked and shook her head.
He continued in the tradition of Agent 86, "How about dying?"
She sighed and mumbled under her breath (it couldn't have been all bad, she was smilingk still) before going on as though his protests never happened, "I think your father will be fine if you just join a club — any club(!) — at school. Future Haughty-type Folks, Young Political Snotlings, Those-Who-Raise-Cows-In-Pens, How-To-Be-A-Bully-Target, Junior Make-Things-Go-BOOM... what else've they got here?"
Despite his mood, Andy grinned. He often thought his mother would implode from lack of air when she did that never-take-a-breath thing. I mean, okay, so she was a singer, and so she totally had the whole breathing control thing going on, but still... I know, right?
"I've hung out with Allie and her friends some. Did homework today with the ones that aren't on the volleyball team while we waited. They got some ice cream after practice and I headed home. See? There I am being all companionable," he grinned at her while putting the last of the plates away, and before grabbing the first bowl, and hoped she'd buy it.
With a shrug and another patented early-teenager-does-it-best sigh, he answered her last question, "But really... I dunno. I mean, this school is not only a different place, it's a different type of school completely. It's high school, Mom. They have all the preppy clubs like FFA and FBLA and FTA. I mean, I like to sing with you, I could join Choir, but that'd get me beaten up if the jocks -— and oh yeah, the JROTC no-necks -— were to find out. That's the problem."
He paused, thinking about what he was going to say and cocked his head before he continued, "If I wanna be in an activity, I want it to not only be something I'll enjoy, but I want it to be something that won't get me squashed like a bug. Does that make sense?"
At that moment, the back door swung open and Roger 'Wilco' Wilson came dancing in like every night, huge smile on his face. "Evie! Lovely as usual, m'dear..." he stopped to kiss her and she slapped his hand away from her bottom.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry. But when you're lucky enough to have such a wondrously beauteous wife who's given you the perfect family, and then you land your dream job? Every day is better than the last one. Ah, youngest child of mine... how was school today?"
Andy couldn't help but grin at his goofy father as he tried to change the topic, "It was alright, nothing stand-out. How was work?"
"Work? What's that? Oh! The fun thing I get to do that they actually pay me for... it was a blast — as usual. They told me today that they picked up three more sponsors for my show... apparently, I'm popular as well as good-looking. Yep. Face just made for radio," the grin never leaving his features as he plopped into the hammock-chair in the corner of the kitchen
Well, it was supposed to be the corner for a breakfast nook, but why worry about having two tables to keep clutter free? That corner had the best evening light for reading a paper and the hammock-chair fit so nicely. Evie brought him a root beer and the paper. He had his favorite creature comforts.
She looked over at Andy as he finished drying dishes and motioned him to sit at the table with her head. Roger would be discovering any moment that Andy hadn't applied for JROTC.
With a shake of the paper as he folded it, Roger looked over the top of the paper and fixed Andy with a look. He smiled and said, "Well. At least we've taught you to own up to things you've done and not be afraid of being in trouble. For that, I'm proud of you. But," of course, that was the word that usually preceded all the bad stuff, "now you've gotta explain."
Ah, the doom of parents. Making a kid explain the why of it when she or he has done something wrong. Diabolical.
Roger settled back into the comfy chair and waited. Evie let out a whoosh of breath and kissed Andy on the forehead before exiting to the living room through the swinging door.
Andy slumped and told his father pretty much what he had told his mother, before looking up at his father and smiling, "I'm not in too much trouble, am I?"
Roger tried to look stern, but couldn't hide the grin that was much more comfortable on his face.
"No, I wouldn't force you to do it if you feel that strongly about it. But we do need to get you involved in something. Do they have a campus radio station? Maybe you can be the high school version of your old man? Hey, maybe I could do a guest appearance for you."
Andy responded before he really thought about what he was saying, "Hey! Yah! They announced this morning that they were looking for freshmen staff, and... ah wait, I'm not sure that would be such a good id—"
Too late.
"Great! Then it's settled. Tomorrow you go and see what you can do about getting into the Radio workings there at school. Oh, and, go and pick up your room before we head to your sister's game. Know if she's gonna get to play tonight?" came the response and query from his father before Andy could finish his backpedaling objection.
"You haven't even been up to my room, how would you know if it was --"
Roger grinned and held up a single finger, "The old man knows, young one."
A bit at a loss at the sudden shift, he replied to the question about the game, "Um, yes," then shook himself and got excited for Allie, "she's going to get to start tonight! So, of course, they're gonna win, right?"
Roger laughed and answered, "Of course! Go get your room picked up and I'll round up your mother and brother. Car in ten minutes!"
They filed into the gymnasium, the collapsible bleachers already pulled out, and Andy fought the urge to wave at his friends. That would draw attention from everyone in the place, the girls were popular-ish and well-known. He pulled the baseball cap down over his eyes a bit more as they sat in the upper bleachers, the only place where there were any seats left.
The commentator announced the starters for both teams, and that this was the last game of the season for the Lady Wildcats. The students and parents applauded and the referee got the show underway.
It was close, and everyone in the crowd was glued to each movement of the ball. Allie was taken out about halfway through. She sat on the bench for awhile, catching her breath and re-hydrating, nursing her ankle a bit from a poor landing that gave it a bit of a slight twist. With less than a minute left on the clock, she could have headed for the showers, but the score was tied at 20 each. No sane person would have left at that moment.
After they won, Coach Byers ran over and took the microphone from the commentator, and announced that the players on both teams were invited for pizza at Mama Alex's, on her.
As the Wilsons were headed to their car, Mary followed by Suzy and Jenni caught up to them.
"Hey, Ann...dy," called Suzy, "we need your help with some of our Algebra and you're kinda the best student in the class. Allie, Lisa, and Bridgette will be at that pizza party and we've got nothing else to do anyway... what do you say?"
The elder two Wilsons turned and grinned at the three girls, while they tried to convince the younger of the two boys to come with them instead of climbing in the car.
Evan, already in the vehicle, leaned over and whispered, "Three hot girls are begging you for help. If you don't go, I'll never respect you. Not that I will anyway, but don't even delude yourself that there's ever a chance if you say, 'No,' for real."
Andy blushed, and looked at his parents, "Go ahead, Andrew," his mother said while his dad just grinned all goofy-like as per normal.
"We'll see you back at home, be there before ten -- there's school tomorrow," he warned Andy.
Andy nodded and closed the car door as Evan gave him a thumbs up through the back window. They watched his parents drive off and then Jenni reached over and thwapped Suzy in the back of the head.
"Watch yourself, genius. Don't blow Annie's secret."
Suzy just grinned and rubbed the back of her head as the group started to walk away from the parking lot. As they moved through the cars, the rubber band came out of Andy's hair, and the ball cap was deposited in a purse. His walk became more feminine, and suddenly there were four girls.
"Sorry 'bout that, Annie," murmured Suzy when it was clear that her friend was firmly herself.
At least firmly enough herself for the darkened sidewalk.
"S'okay, Suzy. Omigawd, I feel weird without a bra and boobies," she joked in a horrible 'valley girl' accent.
They all giggled and she finally asked, "Okay, whose house are we going to do the homework at, then?"
Mary laughed, "How many of us are in your Algebra class, smart girl?"
"Brigette and... oh. Thanks," Annie said, once again grateful for such wonderful girlfriends.
"Quite the rescue, there... whose idea was it?" she asked, folding her arms and grinning at her friends with mock-severity and a scoldingly arched eyebrow.
"Bridgette's, actually. On the way back to school earlier. We figured you'd have enough 'Andy time' to fill your quota for the night by the time the game was over. Thank her tomorrow," replied Jenni.
"So!" exclaimed Suzy dramatically as she struck a pose, "Annie Wilson, this is your night!"
"You need some de-stressing, Allie told us," explained Mary amid all the giggling at Suzy, "Okay. The Skate Park is well-lit. We have an extra board and a bra with some gym socks stashed at the Change House under the sinks. Okay, so it's not as good as the foamy inserts you usually use, but... game to show the boys up with us for a few hours?"
"Really?" asked Annie, and her voice caught for a moment.
"You are all so great. You know, I never really had friends before? Even as Andy? Let's show those walking egos that anything they can do, we can do better. Race ya to the Change House!" and she was off.
"Cheater!" laughed Mary as she and the other two sprinted after Annie.
Sk8r Grrls - SURGE project, Episode 3! Okay, we're going to include the extra content as sub-chapters (check the outline on the right!), and I know I said I was going to try to get one of these re-published along with said extras every other day, but the broken arm kinda put a crimper on that! This was the very first TG Fiction series by me. I hope folks enjoy reading it again -- or for the first time! | |
Sk8r Grrls Episode 03 by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney In Which A Villain First Appears (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Original Publish Date: 26 May 2007
Original Header Text:
As long as I can keep up this pace, I'll do it. I'm glad folks're enjoying it. ^.^ If I had the artistic ability to go along with the words, this would so be being done as a manga-style comic. Hee. I have a very definite idea of how the characters look in my mind and they all have lives of their own. Well, on to writing Episode 4!
The Skate Park had a name, but it wasn't important because anyone that used the place didn't use the name. It had a series of a dozen quarter-pipes, four half-pipes of varying sizes, and two dry swimming pools. There was a shop that sold every manner of gear, snacks, and you could order parts for decks there, too. There were always five 'wheelguards' on duty to make sure everyone was following safety rules. There was a nurse and paramedic that sometimes volunteered there, too. All in all, a parent could feel perfectly fine about letting their teens and preteens hang out at the Skate Park. Almost nobody ever bought their gear from anywhere else, so that meant that admission was free. Another bonus.
The four girls arrived to find there was an impromptu stunt tourney underway. Not wanting to interrupt, they made their way over to an area not currently in use by the participants. As usual, Suzy was the first one on the fly. Helmet and pads strapped on before walking in, she took three steps and leapt into the air above the larger of the two empty pools. Moments later, all four were flying and sailing around the thing at high speed, laughing and whooping the way only a group of friends having a great time can do.
Now, the seven Sk8r Grrls were sort of the Queens of the place. Anytime even one of them were there, they would draw a crowd -- which was something Heather "Heathen" Olinski loved about them. They were great for her business. Sort of like having local celebrities around for endorsement. If any of them bought a certain brand chin strap for their helmet, she had to order more immediately or risk running completely out in the next week. It was an entrepreneurial dream. Growing up, she had been the only girl interested in the least in skateboards at all. Now, she sold more skateboard gear and parts than any store within 100 miles, easy, despite Constitution being considered kind of a backwater.
Her mother had first called her 'Heathen' her days at Washington High to shame her into giving up her 'boyish' pasttime, but now she wore the moniker like a badge. These girls were good. They were very good, in fact... maybe she could get the big dawgs to come in and get a look at them. Maybe she could even be their manageress/agent... She shook herself out of daydreaming and watched as they chained a grind around the edge of the pool.
Annie went first, and when she was almost outta speed, from down below came Mary. Annie reached out and handed her onto the edge and Mary shot off at speed. Then she did the same for Jenni, and Suzy finished the circumference. They'd never done that before, way nifty.
Heathen flipped the sign on the counter to, 'Watching some thrash,' and stepped out onto the snack table deck to get a better look. "That was kickin', girls! Where'd you learn that?" she shouted when they finished a second time around the pool.
They all came to a stop on the top and grinned over at her, waving, and Jenni shouted, "Hey, Heathen! Close down for a bit and come play! We're three short tonight!"
The invite was really all the excuse she needed (and was waiting for), so she zipped back inside, popped her cash drawer and put it in the safe. She kicked her board up to her hands and headed outside. After about a half hour of improv with the fourteen year-olds, she realized... that 24 wasn't nearly as young as she needed it to be. She called out that she was breaking off, and slid to a stop.
That's when she noticed that the stunt tourney had no audience.
The boys who were competing had realized the lack of crowd, too. The stunt tourney was dead.
"Aw, c'mon! You chicks always get the crowd. It's just the novelty of girls on boards, I tell ya!" spouted the standard anti-girl-skater crap from Thomas Wexler, also known as 'The Train Wreck' by most of the skaters around. Not because he fell down a lot, but more because it was hard not to watch him when he was in action. His buddies with him grunted their agreement, of course.
"Oh, look!" said Annie, "It's the Train Wreck! We're so not worthy! Shall we swoon now, girls?" the sarcasm obvious even to Wexler.
"He's so dreamy!" added Suzy with a squeal, "Can I kiss his wheels?"
"Now girls, no need to make fun," scolded Jenni, "After all, you know we must be kind to those less able than we are."
"Stow it, freaks! We could take you anytime. So you're girls with custom decks and know how to kick it a bit. You're still only girls, and there's no way you could hold your own against us. We leave you alone and let you skate here just to keep from causing problems," erupted Walter Nguyen, Wexler's best crony.
"Shut up, Walt. Let 'em skate in peace. We all know I was winning the tourney anyway. Let the little girls have their fun. It's not like they could make it in a real tourney," was Wexler's response. He tapped the guys standing next to him on the shoulders and turned back to the half-pipes.
"Do you really believe that, Thomas?" asked Mary in that scary-quiet way she had about her.
He stopped and smirked at her, "If that's a challenge, name your terms."
"Threes. We choose ground, you choose goals, Heathen chooses participants. Saturday," her completely cool and calculated expression actually creeping out most of the onlookers.
He barked a laugh as he elbowed back through the crowd toward her.
"Done. And we play for boards. Me and my guys versus the little girls here and their friends. Let's get outta here, guys, get some burgers," and with that the snickering and oh-so-superior jerks left the Skate Park.
The crowd was already abuzz with excitement. Saturday was only five days away. This would be the biggest event ever at the Skate Park.
Heathen turned to the four girls and said, "Look. I love you all, but I don't want trouble here. He was outta line and if you want, I'll let him know next time he's here. Forget about Saturday."
"Forget about it? Heathen, he called us out. We can't let that pass!" said Jenni with exasperation, "...or... don't you think we can take 'em?"
"Oh, of course you can! I didn't mean that!" protested Heather, "But you know he'll try to say you cheated, or that I cheated for you!"
Suzy, though in general 'the quiet one' replied, "Then make sure the judges you get are beyond accusing. Simple."
Heathen eyed the girl in the braided pigtails, "Yeah. Simple. Okay, girls just... you know how well-off his folks are, don't do anything to get 'em angry at me or my place, promise?"
There was a chorus of, "... promise!" and they all looked satisfied.
"I don't feel much like skating anymore tonight, gang," said Annie, "Let's head over to Mama Alex's and see if we can catch the others and let them know what's going on this weekend."
Suzy and Mary mumbled their agreement and all four kicked up their boards as they headed out of the Skate Park. Heathen watched them go and sighed again, wishing she was ten years younger and could participate.
After the bright stadium-type lights of the Skate Park, the town outside seemed pitch black for a few moments until their eyes began to get adjusted to the early evening light. The moon was just rising and there weren't enough stars to add light of their own yet, so they held hands to make each other feel better.
The walk across town was, of course, filled with talk of Wexler and company. Angry talk.
"When exactly did we decide that boys didn't have cooties, anyway?" asked Jenni, "Weren't we screaming and running anytime a boy got near us just a couple years ago?"
Annie covered a laugh by coughing before adding her own observations.
"I may be a bit biased, but I'm pretty sure guys have terminal cootie-ness until they're about thirteen, then they just evolve into one of three subspecies, or a combination thereof: jocks, geeks, and creeps. Jocks are the sports nuts and the ones that play sports. Geeks are the ones that get that whole I-know-more-than-you-because-I'm-male vibe. Creeps are the ones that are completely unjustifiably impressed with themselves. Wexler's like a part of the mixed breed of a jock and a creep."
She paused a moment, then added, "Then there are the ones lucky enough to be without cooties at all and turn out to really be girls!"
She grinned and mock-fluttered her eyelashes at the other three, bringing all of them to a fit of giggles.
Mary's addition to the conversation was simply, "I think he's scared of me."
"Mary," replied Suzy in a careful-sounding tone, "everyone is afraid of you but us. You're like a mini-goth in training. Besides: creep, jock or whatever... Thomas Wexler is a hottie. Not that I'd ever let him know I think that."
"AUGH! I can't believe you let us know that!" laughed Jenni, "That's so... you totally have completely horrid taste!"
You could hear Annie's grin in her voice slightly as she began, "Now, B—"
"—illy Green!" the other three finished in a joint shout before dissolving again into giggles at Annie blushing brightly and her consternation.
"Whaa- what do you mean?" she asked in a hissed whisper as she kept her eyes on the ground.
"Oh come on, Annie," Suzy replied, "Anytime we bring up boys, you mention Billy Green. Anytime we ever see him, you very studiously look the other way. It's so obvious you have a crush, or at least you think he's cute. That's not a bad thing. It's even more evidence that you're one of us, girl!"
"I dunno..." said Annie quietly, "Um what if there's a girl I think is cute, too? Is that evidence that I'm NOT one of --"
"Of course not!" scoffed Mary, "Like my Dad'd say, we're at the age where we explore our sexuality. It's no big deal. Even if you turn out to like girls, it doesn't make you a boy. You're prolly the girliest of the Sk8r Grrls and we'll still accept you no matter how frou-frou you become!"
She laughed at the absolutely poisonous look Annie was now giving her.
"Just so you know, Annie," began Jenni seriously, "if I'm yer girl-crush... I'm not into it. And, Annie, about this weird doubting you're a girl..."
She cocked an eyebrow and tried (unsuccessfully) to bulge just the one eye with the arched eyebrow at Annie.
"Stoppit," Jenni ordered as she clasped her hands in front of herself and in a squeaky mocking voice said, "Oh, dearest Billy Green, come and take me away from all this! I love you and will -— OW!"
Annie glared at Jenni as the other girl rubbed her head. "ANYway... what are we gonna do about Wexler?"
Jenni's giggling and grinning caught up the rest of them as they walked.
"We win this Saturday, of course," finally answered Mary matter-of-factly, "I don't know about any of you, but I plan on adding another board to my collection this weekend. Dibs on Nguyen's for Lisa -— he has a shorter deck than the others, so it'll fit her better."
She looked around at the attempts to hold in giggles and rolled her eyes, "Oh for pity's sake. Get your minds out of the gutter!"
The conversation continued pretty much along those lines until they arrived at Mama Alex's and swung the door open. Jenni went in first and stopped short, making a strangled sound as Annie bumped into her from right behind, as she was walking a bit too close.
"What's wrong?" she asked, annoyed, as she stepped past her friend.
She frowned at Jenni and turned to see her parents sitting with Allie, Bridgette, and Lisa. She bolted back out the door and leaned against the wall outside panting as her heart tried to burst from her chest. The other three hastily beat a retreat as well.
Frantic, she dug in her pocket for the rubber band for her hair. Her mind raced as she tried to control her panic.
[They had their backs to the door,] she thought desperately, [Maybe they didn't see me. But Ev. He was sitting where he could see!] she forced the burgeoning panic back down and forcefully told herself, [He's a boy. He didn't notice anything. Calm down!]
She tied her hair back as Mary dug in her purse for the ball cap and very nearly ripping off her bra and the socks stuffing it, shoved it at Suzy with a hissed command to, "Hide it!"
Grabbing the ball cap and jamming it over her ears, she then started taking gasping lungfuls of air as she sank to the sidewalk.
"Andy?" came Evan's voice from the door, "We thought that was you four," then he saw the state of panic Annie was in and asked with concern, "You okay, li'l bro?"
The other three discreetly hid the Annie-maker items while Evan was distracted and waited for Annie to answer her brother as Andy.
"Um, yeah, just a bit winded from the walk, I think," he said.
Yep. Andy was back. He hated lying for any reason, but it was necessary this time.
"I'll be okay in a minute, you know I'm a wimp. You guys go on inside, I'll be there in a second," said the gasping young boy, the adrenaline draining from him now that the emergency was over.
"Really. I'm fine. Be right there," he tried to reassure the girls and his brother.
Evan shrugged and frowned, the kid needed looking after. He turned and went back inside, followed by the three girls.
Inside, Allie excused herself as Evan came back with the three girls reporting that Andy was winded and right outside.
"I'll go check on him, Dad... Mom."
She stepped out and immediately moved to hold Andy as sobs wracked his shoulders.
"Shh. It'll be okay, little sis, it will. We can plan this right, I know we can," she murmured to him, comforting as much as possible.
"Did they notice? That was way too close. I can't go in there! Your teammates know Annie, not me!" his voice was getting tight again.
"We're just about done in there anyway. I'll go and see if I can walk you home, okay?" she told him, not really asking, but reassuring.
He nodded as she got up and went to inform the parental units of the plans. The other five girls opted to join them, and the three volleyballers told Coach Byers across the dining room goodbye and thanks before heading out to the lot to meet up with Andy. The six took him over to a quiet and dim corner where there were a few vans so no one could see and in about five minutes, Annie was again with them. She was still pretty shaken up.
They began to walk and after about a block was between them and the pizza parlor, Annie seized Allie in a huge hug and just cried into her sister's hair. The other five remained silent and just stood in a loose circle around the twins while she got it out of her system.
After she had calmed down, she sniffled a few times and wiped her eyes, "Sorry about this... I was just... I mean... What if... And then Ev... Suddenly..." she paused and deliberately took a few deep breaths to get herself under control.
"Thank you. All of you. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have friends like you to watch out for me."
She stopped again and looked at each of the six other girls in turn, "I want an honest answer from all of you. Am I a freak? Do you let me hang out with you out of pity or morbid curiosity? I mean, all of you would be who you are without me. But without you, I'm just... just..." she took another deep breath, "Just Andy."
Sk8r Grrls - SURGE project, Episode 4! Okay, we're going to include the extra content as sub-chapters (check the outline on the right!) where there will be as many bits of extra content as the number of the chapter (for now) -- that is, chapter four will have four sub-chapters and chapter seven will have seven sub-chapters etc. up to the point where the plot splits, but for now I'm going to focus on getting the chapters actually out and to you all. This was the very first TG Fiction series by me. I hope folks enjoy reading it again -- or for the first time! | |
Sk8r Grrls Episode 04 by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney In Which The School Gets A New Lunchtime Announcer (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Original Publish Date: 26 May 2007
Original Header Text:
This one took me a bit longer. Sorry to keep anyone waiting! Unfortunately, this will be the last chapter this weekend. I have to go out of town tonight and won't be back until late tomorrow night. I'll hopefully have Episode 5 ready Monday afternoon. Oh, yeah, in the comments, feel free to theorize and question -- helps keep the braincells with the story in 'em firing!
Annie steeled herself. She needed to do this. There was no way around the conclusion that beyond this door was a conversation she just couldn't look forward to having. For the third time in as many minutes she stepped to the door and put her hand against it to push open. For the third time she went weak in the knees and stepped away again without going through the door.
Why was this so difficult for her? She thought about her father's reaction. She shuddered and made a fourth attempt to go through the door, but with the same result as before. She had even considered having Allie do this for her this morning, but would that really help? She shook her head as she dismissed that possibility again, for the same reasons that she dismissed it right after waking up... Allie already was doing way too much for her on a daily basis, in Annie's estimation.
Trying to distract herself, she thought back to last night and coming home. They had all stopped by the Change House and Andy had come back, but not before the small group had stood in the park and comforted her after her statement about being nothing without them. Lisa had decided they all needed to take the, 'Oath of Sisterhood' that she had heard about at Girl Scout summer camp two years before.
Maybe Lisa made it all up. Or maybe she actually remembered some girls doing all those silly things. But, really, it didn't matter. The point of the whole thing had been to make Annie feel better about herself, and it had worked quite well. She knew all five of the other girls would be there for her, as certain as Allie would be.
When she -— sorry, he -— had arrived at home with Allie a short while later, he had nodded a greeting to Evan and then trekked up the stairs. Evan's only greeting had been a grunt of acknowledgment as he dueled with Darth Malak, his lightsaber flashing on the television screen. Andy announced, "I'm home, Mom'n'Dad. Going up to get ready for bed. Prob'ly read a bit before sleeping," toward the kitchen before his sojourn upstairs, and Random not far behind and licking at Andy's hand.
"G'night, Andy," said Allie as she looked at him sympathetically. She went into the kitchen for her customary graham cracker and banana snack before bedtime. There was some talking after that Andy couldn't quite make out in the kitchen, so he ignored it.
Anyway, this wasn't getting her task done. She shook herself back into the present and smoothed her skirt, took a deep breath, and pushed through the door.
"Um, hi," she said to the girl at the desk, "I'm Annie Wilson, I'd like to apply for the Freshman spot that's open?"
Behind the pretty brunette were four huge letters hung on the wall:
"You're the first Freshman girl we've had interested, and we needed two boys and a girl. Chances are, you're a shoo-in. I hope you like it here, I'm a senior and I'd like to make certain it wasn't a completely testosterone influenced atmosphere after I'm gone! Though we'll still be the only girls on staff," she paused to grin infectiously at Annie.
"Oh! Sorry, I'm Kate. I'm the Station Manageress, sometimes fill-in talent, and fact-checker," she said with a broad smile and stuck her hand out to be shaken -— which Annie did, grinning back at the girl and starting to warm up to her.
"It's way more... professional... in here than I expected," said Annie as she looked around, "No offense or anything, but I was expecting little more than a closet with lots of CDs and a microphone."
"I know, right?" Kate giggled, "Last year, some big muck-de-muck from the east coast that owns some radio stations donated money to give us a real studio, with a producer box and everything. I think he was, like, part of the graduating class of Ancient or Archaic or Antediluvian or somesuch."
"Aunty whonow?"
"Just a big word that means old," replied the older girl with a smirk.
"Well, nice to meet you, Kate. What exactly will I be doing? Typing up the scripts, that kind of thing?" smiled Annie.
"Oh, sure sometimes, but we desperately need a woman's touch on the broadcast. The guys in all the shows right now are good, but, well, they're such... guys. If I wasn't here, I have no doubt that there'd be a much higher rate of fart-jokes-per-hour than there already is. Here," Kate thrust a few pages at Annie, "read this aloud. Focus on not rushing and enunciating while still projecting your voice."
Annie was startled, but took the pages, and glanced over them a moment. She cleared her throat and read:
"This is Kay Ay Tee Ess radio, voice of the Wildcats. Broadcasting at ninety-six point three megahertz. Top story today in sports news: The Lady Cats win last night sets a new record for the most winning seasons in a row for any school in our conference at a whopping thirty-three. Let's hear it for Coach Byers and her girls! Today's rumor mill story is from a source who has asked to remain anonymous. Apparently, there's going to be a throwdown this coming weekend, folks! The first 'be there' event of this Fall. The much vaunted Sk8r Grrls are having a skate-off at the Skate Park Saturday against Tommy 'the Train Wreck' Wexler and his boys, The Train Wreck Crew, so even if you aren't into skateboards, this could prove to be a battle of the Titans, gals and guys! The stakes are high but the pride is higher. The trophies they're playing for are none other than the other group's boards -- along with bragging rights, of course. Stay tuned between classes for updates. I'm insert your name here -— er, I'm Annie Wilson, Kay Ay Tee Ess."
As soon as she finished the piece, she looked up at Kate in shock.
"We only did that last night! And you gotta wait for us to tell the others who weren't there before you run this story, please?"
"Huh?" responded Kate, "What are you talking about? Oh, I get it... are you one of the Sk8r Grrls the story was talking about?"
Nodding vigorously, Annie replied, "Yes, but three of the girls weren't there last night and we didn't have a chance to tell them about it yet. Please let us tell them first? Can you wait until after lunch?"
Kate giggled yet again, then said, "Sure! Tell ya what: you come back and read the text again for a hot mic about halfway through lunch hour. You've got a great voice for radio, and you're definitely gonna be in demand to broadcast around here."
"Really? But I thought, you know, being a Freshman, I'd only do the grunt work and stuff..." Annie tried to protest.
"Nope. You've got what it takes," said Kate with satisfaction, then with a glance to the wall clock she stood and said, "Now, we've both gotta hurry if either of us are gonna make it to first period without being tardy. See you at lunch."
She then motioned Annie out the door as she followed, then locked it up behind herself.
With her major hurdle for the day down, Annie rushed to her locker and grabbed her books. She stumbled through the door of the class just as the final bell rang, and grinned sheepishly at the frown the teacher was giving her. She hurried to her seat and tried to look interested as her mind wandered pretty much everywhere but where the teacher was trying to point them. None of her friends were in class with her until fourth period, but that was okay. Less teasing about staring at Billy Green or even them noticing that she also stared at Natazja, who were both in her first and third period classes.
Right after the bell to go to lunch had rang, Annie and Allie found each other and excitedly exclaimed in unison, "I have news!"
With a giggle for each other they headed for the cafeteria. Annie went first and told the whole group. "I'm now officially part of the school radio station... 'I'm Annie Wilson, Kay Ay Tee Ess,' y'know? In fact, they want me to read the lunch period bulletin in about twenty minutes. Oh! And we need to tell these three about our 'deal' with Wexler."
"Deal?" asked Bridgette, "What deal? Wexler's probably the biggest tool on campus, what would possess you to make a deal with him?"
Suzy and Jenni tag-teamed the explanation from last night. Lisa was a little miffed that she'd have to give up perfectly good babysitting cash to help prove what was already obviously true, but decided that this was more important.
Annie turned to Allie and asked, "Okay, what's YOUR news? Make it fast, I have to go in about five more minutes."
"It was Bridgette's idea, really. We think there may be a way to get you a physical so you can try out for the Cheer Squad! Variation on how we got you enrolled," she said, arching an eyebrow at her twin and then nodding at Bridgette to explain.
The Latina with the gorgeous hair grinned broadly, "It's actually way simple. Okay. We already figured out that the doctor would know if Allie stood in for you for a physical. So... who says you have to go to the same doctor? The Clinic across the street from the main hospital gives students free sports physicals with their Student ID. So we go this afternoon and Allie goes in and gets a quick physical using your ID. QBP ¹!"
Annie blinked. It couldn't really be that easy, could it? She looked up at the clock and eeped. She excused herself and went to dump her tray off before racing from the cafeteria to the Broadcast Room. She arrived a bit out of breath, but was already getting it under control by the time Kate poked her head out to see if she had arrived yet.
She rushed Annie into the sound booth, "Hey, Rookie! Okay, same script as this morning, just a quick 60-second newsbite between songs. Roger will signal you when to begin from the Producer's Box. Put these headphones on. Oh, and remember to actually insert your name, this time?"
Then she was gone. Kate was a whirlwind. Annie may take some time to adjust to her, but was already liking the older girl.
She read her script flawlessly and then held in her excited whoop until she made it out of the booth.
"That was great, Rookie!" laughed Kate, "I think you're gonna do fine. That's all we need you for today. There's a staff meeting every Monday after school, and come in tomorrow morning to get the script for tomorrow's lunch reading. That's your first official assignment: Lunch News. Think you can handle it?"
"Yes! That felt so nifty," gushed Annie, then she had a thought, "Um, I may be trying out for Cheerleader, will that conflict?"
Kate's smile could only be described as a beatific as she replied, "Oh, no, there won't be any kind of conflict for Cheering. I'm Captain of the Squad this year, so if it conflicted, I wouldn't be here. If you make the Squad, then I'll actually have non-selfish reasons for making sure the schedule here fits with the Cheering. Alright, I guess I'll see you tomorrow morning!"
The rest of the school day was as forgettable as usual, and since Volleyball was done, the girls all met up right after school to put Operation: Cheerleader into effect. They walked across town to the Clinic, went inside and Allie presented Annie's Student ID.
"I'm here for a sports physical, if you can fit me in," she said to the nurse as she handed her the small piece of laminated cardboard.
"Have a seat right over there, the doctor will call you when she's ready," said the bored lady.
The girls sat and had barely settled when a door swung open and another nurse called, "Miss Wilson?"
It was over about twenty minutes later and the group were all excitedly chattering as they walked to the park. Better to goof off near the Change House, that way there was as much Annie-time as possible. There were a couple of large trees with lots of low-branches they tended to relax in, on, and against while at this park.
Eventually, the conversation turned to Annie's near-miss the night before, and a mood of seriousness descended over all of them as they talked.
"I don't really know," said Annie, "it's just... Allie can tell you, I never had a problem hiding the real me before, but since I've been able to actually be myself so much, it's just harder. Every night I dread going back to being Andy more and more."
Mary, as usual, was the one that made the observation that they were all thinking, anyway, "You have to tell your parents. Tell them soon. You're sure they won't understand?"
Allie answered, "I keep telling her that I think they'd be fine after a while, but she's afraid that before they accepted her, they'd do the things like what she's read about online when this kind of thing goes badly. Make her cut her hair, out her to the school, or worse. It's not really a good situation for a chick in Annie's situation."
Bridgette murmured, "Kobayashi Maru ²," under her breath, then added louder, "It's a massive no-win situation, mi cuchuras. If we keep hiding the truth, it just plain will be discovered sooner or later. It's a matter of time. That will end badly for her, and likely for us, too. And if she tells, there's a good chance that the reaction won't be anything close to good, either," she looked up and into Annie's eyes, "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, mi lindura, but I'm incredibly grateful that I'm not you."
"I know, right?" replied Allie with a sigh and no small amount of melancholic wistfulness, "What if they decide that she's a freak and ship her off to some kind of all-boys military academy to make a man of her?"
"I'd kill myself," said Annie flatly, "Seriously, it would be by my own hand or else the boys would kill me and call it an accident. Or Mom and Dad could kick me out and I'd be a fourteen-year old bag lady. Or lock me in the basement and homeschool me, not letting me have contact with the outside world. Or --"
"We don't have a basement, Annie," put in Allie, side-hugging her sister to comfort her.
None were sure if Suzy's offering to the pot were serious or not -— she could out poker face a tree, "Allie could always tell them she's a lesbian first, then say she was only kidding, Andy's really a girl instead."
Jenni groaned at the suggestion, then she had an idea of her own to toss into the mix: "You know how everyone always says, rip off a band-aid quick and get the pain over with? Well, we need to figure a way for them to be told when they can't get to Annie. Like over a weekend or something. We all go on a weekend camping trip and leave a note and pictures of Annie. Would that work?"
"I dunno," said Lisa, "but that sounds like the best suggestion so far. Sooner is better than later, though, or poor Annie'll just go all 'a-splode!' from the weight of secrets and depression. You ever seen an imploding skull? Too much SyFy Channel is NOT a good thing. This weekend's out, we've got to deal with Wexler. Next weekend though? Is there time to plan a trip and talk my parents into letting us use the back 40?"
The assumption that the camping trip would be on Lisa's property was simply precedent. Anytime the group had needed somewhere 'outdoorsy' since they were old enough to do anything, it had been on Lisa's family's farm somewhere. Even the seventh grade camping trip with the local Girl Scouts had used the Keller property's dense woods.
It was beginning to get dusky, so they meandered over to the Change House, found Andy, and walked as a group toward the Wilson home. The car was already there, so they all knew that both of the elder Wilsons were there, and the girls also knew from experience that Tuesday nights were 'leftover casserole' night at the Wilson's -- with plenty of dinner for all of them. Cell phones came out and parents were called.
When they all filed through the kitchen door, however, the looks on the adults' faces were... not something a teenager ever likes to see.
"Oh, hello girls," Evie said, "Roger and I need to talk to Allison and Andrew for a few moments. Could you join Evan in the living room, please?"
The seven teens exchanged glances and the girls that didn't live there crossed the kitchen and went through into the living room, holding the whispered theories until they were ensconced as X-Box spectators.
"So. Andrew," Roger began, "How did your day go?"
"Um, fine, I guess..." Andy replied a little confused, "Oh! I went to KATS and joined, like I said I would. The Station Manageress said she needed two Freshmen boys and a Freshman girl, so I was in, easy," then he grinned, thinking he worded that quite cleverly.
"Did anything else special happen today?" asked Evie innocently, "I mean, I know we've raised all three of you to be independent but also to tell the truth, so you wouldn't lie to us, right?"
"What do you mean?" asked Allie, her heart beginning to pound.
"We received a call earlier, from a doctor at the free clinic informing us that she had faxed our daughter, Annie's, sports physical over to the school so she could participate," said Roger calmly, "At first we told her that our daughter had already had a physical before Volleyball. She insisted that she had just performed the physical and that we wouldn't be charged, as Annie had presented her Student ID. That's when the name registered. Your mother told the nice doctor that our daughter's name was Allie, not Annie. The doctor said that she was certain it was Annie, because she had written it on the sheet herself, since the nurse was busy elsewhere. But then she remembered having had seen her patient's sister in the waiting area. Then she offered us an explanation for our confusion. Maybe her twin sister had convinced her to try out for Cheerleading and the girls hadn't gotten around to telling us yet. I agreed that yes, that must be it. Then we hung up and your mother and I have been discussing it ever since. Now, do you want to let us in on why that doctor was so sure that we have twin daughters, not daughter and son?"
²: Kobayashi Maru is a reference to a part of the Star Trekâ„¢ universe Mythos. The 'Kobayashi Maru' test is given to cadets nearing graduation in Starfleet Academyâ„¢. It is a lose-lose scenario in which the point is to see how the cadet responds to a command situation in which there simply is no right answer
Extra Content
Everything you ever wanted to know about Mary, but didn't think to ask... | |
Sk8r Grrls Character Profiles by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney Mary Holmes (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Some basic facts about her:
Now, Heather Rose Brown and I discussed the look of all the characters, and I was ecstatic with her take on Mary! Here are the sketches that she gave me of Miss Holmes as the conversations progressed:
First Rough Sketch:
Here, she's stretching before hitting the ramps in the Skate Park. Her right arm is pulling right leg in a stretch, very girly and ballet-ish, so to compensate she's glaring at whoever it is looking at her. Using the fence to balance, her things in a pile at her feet. That's a rough pose for anyone, but... in combat boots? She just oozes awesome. I know, right?
Second Iteration Sketch:
Some clothing shading detail was added here to come more in line with the character's personal style, her hair and face defined a lot better and you can just FEEL the malice in that glare now! Notice the little skull on the choker?
Third Iteration Sketch:
Details, details, details! The fence wire filled in with enough detailing to provide a backdrop, the board and backpack shown better, the overall defining lines cleaned up, and the cargo pants made camouflage.
Final Sketch:
Final revision, with more board details added, and notice the little white pupils in the "eyes" of the skull crash helmet.
So this is just a basic profile on Mary Holmes, more to come on her and both basic and more coming for the other Sk8r Grrls!
Everything you ever wanted to know about Jenni, but didn't think to ask... | |
Sk8r Grrls Character Profiles by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney Jenni Orliss (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Some basic facts about her:
Now, Heather Rose Brown and I discussed the look of all the characters, and I admit at first I didn't like her take on Jenni. But with just the first revision, I realized that she knew art better than me. Heh. Here are the sketches that she gave me of Miss Orliss as the conversations progressed:
First Rough Sketch:
Okay, so I could see Jenni clowning like this, but she just... didn't look right. I almost told her to scrap it and try something else, but instead pointed out some things that didn't work for me, like the blonde afro and such. Though she did get the wardrobe dead on.
Second Iteration Sketch:
With the addition of the curls, it looked so much better! Unruly hair instead of an afro, but there was something wrong with the face... oh! She looked too pudgy. Martial artists aren't pudgy (despite what Chris Farley would have you believe)!
Third Iteration Sketch:
Alright! She took away the chubby cheeks, and even gave her head a slight rotation so that it looks like she's working to pull off the balanced board. The slight droop to one eyelid suggests she just finished winking, instead of being cross-eyed, which also was inspired and way better.
Final Sketch:
Final revision, with the bench finally fleshed out and giving more of a feeling of spur of the moment to her antics. Rather like she just leapt upon the bench and began acting out to get a giggle from whoever her target may be.
So this is just a basic profile on Jenni Orliss, more to come on her and both basic and more coming for the other Sk8r Grrls!
Sk8r Grrls - SURGE project, Extra Content! Reader Discussion Number 1! | |
Edeyn Hannah Blackeney's Sk8r Grrls Extra Content Reader Discussion #1 What is Annie's Full Name? (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Alright, it has come to my attention, thanks to a few querulous readers that Annie doesn't have a name.
That is, 'Allie' is short for Allison, and 'Andy' was short for Andrew...
What the heck is 'Annie' short for?
Please discuss and suggest! Reader input is a good thing!
Everything you ever wanted to know about Andy, but didn't think to ask... | |
Sk8r Grrls Character Profiles by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney Andy Wilson (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Some basic facts about him:
Now, Heather Rose Brown and I discussed the look of all the characters, and her take on Andy is the most recent! Here are the sketches that she gave me of the boy Sk8r Grrl in progression:
First Rough Sketch:
Here, he's leaning against a comics/magazine rack, to himself probably having to be Andy because the parents are around. His nose in a manga, very geeky and typical, though unconsciously standing kinda femme, anyway. Notice the long hair.
Second Iteration Sketch:
Cleaned up the general lines, the hair is a bit too-neatly kept for a boy, and in general looks like a tomboy more than a boy. I know, right? You can now make out some of the manga detail, but not enough to identify it. It's likely one with a transgirl main character, though!
Third Iteration Sketch:
Background added to make the bookstore as a locale for the scene more obvious, the manga being only part of andy's interest in being there.
Final Sketch:
Final revision, with more background details added, and lots of general cleanup notice the enthralled expression on his face.
So this is just a basic profile on Andy Wilson, more to come on him and both basic and more coming for the other Sk8r Grrls!
Heather Rose Brown's awesome moonlit windowbox illustrations | ||
Sk8r Grrls Concept Artwork by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney Annie / Andy Wilson (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
I asked Heather Rose for a very specific pair of drawings. Everything the same in them except one was to be unhappy little boy Andy, and a week later a much more contented Annie. Both were to be reading while sitting in the windowbox seat of her/his bedroom. The passage of time shown by the movement and change of phase of the moon. I even sent her storyboards. She gave me an amazing piece of work in return. What a difference a week makes! Here they are:
Moonlight Andy
Moonlight Annie
Sk8r Grrls - SURGE project, Extra Content! Reader Opinion Poll Number 1! | |
Edeyn Hannah Blackeney's Sk8r Grrls Extra Content Reader Opinion Poll #1 Which name fits Annie Best? (Art by Heather Rose Brown) |
Now I'm gonna ask you kind folks to vote on it!
There have been many suggestions, in both public and private, for what name Annie should be given as a long-form name. That is,
Okay, for those of you that've been awaiting anything about the Sk8r Grrls webcomic, I have a bit of a preview for you. Yaaaaay!
Oh, and... I so completely, totally picked the most awesomest right choice of artist for this project!
I saw these and wanted to cry, they were so good... Click on the thumbnails to get the 600 x 379 versions -- had to reduce them slightly to fit the requirements of TopShelf, but the originals will be used in the comic. I had to share these!
Oh, and for concept sketches of Mary, Lisa, Bridgette, Suzy, Jenni, Allie, Annie, Roger & Evie, and Evan...
go here: ( Sk8r Grrls Concept Sketches )
Heylo folks! Heather Rose and I are coming up on production fast now! Honest! Really! I mean it! Stop looking at me that way!
Major appreciation to my artist, Heather Rose Brown! She's worked so incredibly hard on these, getting every little detail to my specifications, taking an average of four tries for every character concept sketch! She's so talented and so hard-working. I stand / sit / float in awe...
Your Main Cast of Heroines | ||||||||||||
Bridgette Ganleigh |
Mary Holmes |
Lisa Keller |
Jenni Orliss |
Suzy Williamson |
Allie Wilson |
Annie Wilson |
Images in the table are links, click on them to go to the full-sized Character Concept Sketch for the character it shows
Finally! Here we have the first page of the first issue of the first volume of the first book of Sk8r Grrls Comix! This is the only page done so far, but seeing as how today is the ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY of first posting the first Sk8r Grrls Episode, I kinda felt like it was necessary! Hope you all enjoy! | |
Sk8r Grrls Comix Book 1 Volume 1 Issue 1 Page 1 Writer: Edeyn Hannah Blackeney Artist: Heather Rose Brown In Which We Meet Our Heroines |
This story didn't arrive fully formed in my head like Sk8r Grrls. Instead I got brief flashes of scenes. Then, I thought about it, and that works. So... this story will be a lot darker than Sk8r Grrls. The "Blurred for Plot" tag is because I don't want to give away some of the bigger plot twists by assigning genre
Emily smiled as she handed Jeff his towel and drink when he trotted off the court. It was always easy to sucker the older kids into a one-on-one with him.
“Nice game, Shortround,” she teased him. The two had been best friends since before Kindergarten, when he and his mother had moved into the old house nextdoor and became neighbors. Now, they were both gonna be high-schoolers next fall and brother and sister before the end of Summer.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied mock angrily, “We all know I'm short. Hey, it makes money for us. That's another fifty bucks. Let's grab the 'rents and treat them to pizza for once.”
She nodded agreement and waited while the sweaty, four feet and eight inches tall boy downed half of the bottled sports drink and draped the towel around his neck.
They light heartedly sniped back and forth at the bus stop, and on the entire trip back home.
There were police cruisers all over the place, though. Something exciting? In their neighborhood? They barely glanced at each other and wordlessly challenged each other to a footrace to the action before taking off.
The finish line was Jeff's house.
Got the first two "flashes" of this done already, and I'll *try* (no promises!) to put one out per day... Okay, here's part 2
"Wait. You're not serious. My mother?"
"I'm afraid so, young man. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you."
"But that's impossible. I was two years old and we'd just moved here from Wisconsin. There's no way my mother was in Florida when you say. So she's not guilty. Look, I've seen the cop shows, I know you people just want to close annoying cases. Ask Matt... er... Mr. Tomkins, he lives next door and has all my life. And he's her fiancé!"
"We already have. I'm sorry, Jeff, but from the time table he gave us, if your mother lied about —“
“Shut your filthy mouth! Don't you DARE call my mother a liar, asshole! She was just killed yesterday in a burglary by a guy that you people let go just the day before! Now, you're not only trying to turn her into a criminal, but insulting a dead woman, too? And you still haven't caught the guy that did it yet! I'm outta here.”
He explosively stood, knocking his char backwards, and stormed to the door. It was locked.
“Let me out! You can't keep me here, I told you I know how cops work!”
“Actually, we can. You have no relatives that you can think of, and we can't find any, either. You're technically a ward of the state, now,” calmly responded the detective. Then he nodded to the mirror in the room.
“Your neighbor explained how he was about to marry your mother, though, and offered to take you in. The judge is gonna allow it, but it's a temporary solution, at least.”
The door came unlocked with a -click- and Jeff ran out. Out of the room. Out of the building. Out of his mind with grief. Straight into the arms of Emily and Matt in the small park across the street from the police station. Then he let himself cry.
Finally a few of the plot threads are poking their heads above the water in this one. Thanks for being so patient, folks! I think I'm enjoying this one
Detective Warner was not having a good week. 'Standard Procedure' was causing him nine types of headache. It seemed that not a single case he picked up this week was going in a good direction. The bank robbery was looking like the manager. The two arsonists had hired Jimmy 'The Lockpick' Forsythe as a lawyer. The guy he'd drawn down on was going to sue the department. The dead lady's DNA in that burglary gone sour matched an unsolved crime in Florida. He needed to get his re-certification for firearms before Monday. Oh, yes, and his best friend was dating his baby sister.
So the growl at Janice when she called for him to wait a moment when he was on his way out was completely justified. At least, to him it was.
“Grumpy much?” she asked, looking actually concerned. The brunette was the best case records researcher he'd ever seen. She was good at her job, too.
“What is it this time?” his weariness with pretty much the world-at-large showing through his normally only slightly-rude exterior.
“Sorry, Kerry, but I think you need to see this. And I know you're not gonna like it, but, hey, you're supercop, you can handle anything, right?” and she turned, obviously expecting him to follow her back to her office.
I was in the middle of writing Sk8r Grrls Episode 11, but FTS-4 invaded my brain, so, this one first, Sk8r 11 later tonight :) Enjoy, folks!
Jeff took the dishtowel from Emily and started to dry and put away while she was washing and rinsing. Matt had received a call after dinner and rushed out without a word. The two kids worked in silence for a moment before Jeff nervously cleared his throat.
“What's up, Shortround?”
“Ah, Em, have you ever had thoughts about yourself that, well, most people frown on? I mean, like they think it's wrong? Things that preachers give sermons about how wrong it is?”
Emily stopped. She looked over at Jeff. She looked back to the sink of dishes. She swallowed as she plucked the dishtowel from him and dried her hands.
“The dishes will keep,” she said, taking him by the shoulder and turning toward the den.
They sat on the couch, one at each end, facing each other.
Emily blew out a breath, then began.
“I was thinking along those lines just earlier. When my dad took you to do 'guy stuff' and it didn't occur to him that I may want to go. I mean, I like to do all the same stuff you do, don't I? So I started asking myself if I wanted to be a boy... like those transwhatever people on the talk shows? Really, I'm better at any sport but basketball than you. I like fishing, hunting, camping. I'm so stereotypical tomboy that it's almost a joke. But then I started thinking about other things. I like being a girl, too. I like playing with my hair. I like that I can just be in the mood to dress up pretty and no one thinks it's odd. I think what it comes down to being for real is that I hate being treated like I can't do something because I'm a girl. I mean, if you weren't invited to go to a movie because you're a boy, wouldn't that piss you off? And... you didn't mean this to be me confessing my feelings, did you? There was something you wanted to say to me. Or at least ask me about. Right?”
Jeff looked up at her and blushed. Then he nodded and took a big breath. He started shaking and took another big breath. After several more, he looked her in the eyes with tears beginning to run down his cheeks, and finally spilled what he was trying to say... “I think I may be gay.”
I see the plot unfolding! The temptation is going to be great to post more than one part per day, but I'll endeavour my hardiest to resist. Just a hint for one of the Pop Culture references... Detective Kerry Warner has a younger brother and an even younger sister. Okay, enjoy, folkses!
Kerry Warner stared across the table in disbelief. Sheila, his partner, reached over, put her hand under his chin, and lifted, shutting his mouth.
“And so,” Jimmy Forsythe was saying, “I'm afraid you're gonna have a hard time even trying to convict my respectable clients here, with the alleged arson.”
Kerry opened his mouth again, to say something, and was kicked in the shins from each side, so he shut his trap.
Wendy Sparkman, A.D.A. in charge of violent crimes, spoke up, “Mister Forsythe, that sounds like the feeble arguments of a man who knows he's already lost. We're done here,” she motioned to the two detectives to rise as she stood herself, and then turned and walked out the door without a look back.
Once out in the hall, she groaned and looked at Kerry and Sheila. “I hate that little toad. You know he's so good at keeping his clients out of jail that he's called, 'The Lockpick' by a lot of them?”
“Uh, Wendy, you okay on this one without us arresting officer types? We have to go on a run halfway across the damn country to pick up some guy in Florida for another case we're working,” explained Kerry.
“Don't forget the files we gotta grab while we're there, Yakko,” put in Sheila Kazuon.
“Oh, yeah, I'll crash and burn — pardon the pun — with or without you on this one,” Wendy said with a sour look. She walked off the other direction then, mumbling to herself about ethics classes in college.
The two headed for their unmarked cruiser. Well, Kerry called it that. Sheila called it his rattletrap of an excuse for a car.
“Pitiful the amount of info on the wire on this case, you read this?” he asked her. When she shook her head he reached into the back seat and grabbed the file printout, then handed it to her. “Read the kidnap part to me then, 'cause I only skimmed.”
She flipped through the pages and read, “Case number eff ell enn vee pee dee dash one nine nine six dash two four six oh one. The state of Florida versus Marlene Ugg on behalf of Lee Ugg. Holy shit is that a real name? Mister Lee Ugg attests that his former wife, one Marlene Ugg, used the visiting privilege as non-custodial parent to abscond — who the hell says, 'abscond,' anyway? — with their two-year old child. Wow. No one will ever accuse these joyboys of constructing testimony, will they? Where we going, anyway?”
“The range,” he answered, “I don't wanna go halfway across the damn country and not have my carrying papers in order. You need to re-cert while we're there?”
Okay! This is about the time of day I'm gonna shoot for posting daily updates of this story, so I hope you're all enjoying it!
Emily knocked on the door, then stepped back next to Jeff. After a few moments, a bored looking high school girl opened the thick oak and just looked at them.
“Um,” said Jeff intelligently.
Emily took over so he wouldn't back out now, “We need to see Miss Scroggs, please. It's kinda important.”
The girl verbalized a disinterested sound that would have been a grunt, if it hadn't been born of trying to be cool. She turned and walked further into the house.
“Do we, y'know, follow?” asked Jeff. Emily shrugged, shook her head and reached over to take his hand so he would know she was there for him.
They waited about five minutes, then the door swung wide and the beaming face of their Speech, Debate, and Drama teacher faced them. She was tiny. Well, bigger than they were, but not by much, she was short enough and fit enough, that she could probably pass as a frosh in high school easy.
“Hey! I didn't expect to see either of you until classes start this Fall. Oh, Jeff, I heard about your mother, I'm sorry. What can I do to help you?” she said and asked as she vacillated between topics.
“Is there somewhere we could, um, talk private?” asked Emily, shooting a glance at the teenager trying not to look interested behind her mother.
“Oh! Of course there is. Devin, looks like I'll be busy for awhile, Come back down and get me when it's time to leave for your appointment if I'm not done. This way, kids,” she said, leading the way to a comfortable looking den.
After they were settled, Emily started, because Jeff was way too embarrassed. “We're sorry to bother you at home and all, especially since it sounds like you had plans with your daughter, but... well, we kinda thought you would understand the problem.”
“Oh? What problem is that — and why do you think I would understand? And Devin isn't my daughter — do I look old enough to have a daughter older than you two? — she's my younger sister,” said the young teacher.
“Well,” said Jeff, speaking at last, “last spring you chewed out the class for making fun of the gay character in that play we were watching. It just seemed like you felt pretty strong about it.”
Katarina Scroggs suddenly realized that one of these two kids — probably Jeff, from the worried looks around the room, anywhere but at her — was going to come out to her as gay. She could almost hear Grans saying, “Proceed delicately, Kit-kat.”
“Ah. Well, anything either of you tell me will go no further, and I'll do whatever I can to help,” she reassured them.
Jeff looked over at Emily, the fear may as well have been written on his face with a Sharpie. “I — I think I may be gay. I'm not sure but I caught myself staring at another boy's butt at the park the other day. And I liked it...” was all he got out before his lip started to tremble and his voice quavered, “I miss my Mom!”
Emily reached around his shoulders and hugged him, saying nothing.
Katarina laid a hand on the boy's knee as she crouched in front of him so she could look up at him, saying, “There's nothing wrong with being gay, despite what the kids at school or even what the people in this town will say. That being the case, I suggest you keep it a secret except from people you trust because just nothing being wrong with it won't keep small-minded folks from taking their fears out on an innocent.” She paused a moment, then went on, “I have a couple of questions, though, can I ask them?”
Jeff nodded as tears started to come down his cheeks.
Katarina nodded back and asked, “Have you started any of puberty? Hair under your arms or on your legs? Voice cracking?” she waited while he shook his head and sniffled, “I'd say this was the first sign then. Look, anytime you need to talk, I'll be here for you. Think of me as a big sister — unless we're in school, then I'm strictly Miss Scroggs, got it?”
The three talked about things until Devin came and knocked on the door to fetch Katarina.
Finally! A piece of REAL information revealed! Or is it? Hee! Have fun trying to figure it all out
"Mr. Ugg? Sir I must inform you are not to discuss details nor to ask questions of us about the case for which we're fetching you, until we are at our destination and in the presence of the Assistant District Attorney overseeing the case at our end. Clear?” rattled off Sheila. She looked to the west, at the bulge of Epcot Center in the distance, like a wart on the horizon's otherwise blemish-free skin. That party pooper Kerry wouldn't even consider getting a day pass. The man in front of her nodded in reply and she led him to the car.
Kerry shook the man's hand and introduced himself, then tossed Sheila the keys. “You get first driving shift on the way back.”
* * * * * * *
Jeff wandered through the park. Ignoring other folks there. It was dusk, but he wasn't afraid.
Am I really gay? I mean, yeah, I was staring at another guy's ass. Does that make me automatically gay?Oh, Mom, I wish you were here. I mean, Katarina is a help, but... I talked to you about everything. How am I ever gonna make it without you? Matt's great, but will they let me stay with him? Or will they put me in some home? Or maybe there's a long lost relative that I don't know and that doesn't know me that I'll have to go live with?
He sighed and kicked a rock out of the grass and onto the bike path, then went over and kicked it out onto the road. Even talking to Emily wouldn't help.
She loved you, too, Mom, but she just can't understand. It's not the same. She still has Matt. I don't wanna leave here, it's the only place I know.
He walked over to a crooked tree, leaned against it and sank to the ground. As it became darker, he allowed the tears to crawl down his cheeks and chin before plummeting unhindered to the absorbent beyond of his t-shirt.
* * * * * * *
Emily finished her homework and put her books back in her backpack. Jeff was 'taking a walk' and so was still gone. She reached over and turned off the lamp and sat massaging her temples. Another of those stinking headaches was coming on. She sank back against the soft cushions of the plush loveseat and closed her eyes.
She had no idea how long she had snoozed, but the key in the front door brought her fully awake. The beautiful woman that came strutting in was completely visible to her by the light over the porch. She started to ask who she was, but she realized that sitting in the dark, the woman hadn't seen her yet. It was obvious the woman was right at home. She had long brown hair done in an up-do... a French twist leaving a couple of curly bits coming down in front of her ears. A gorgeous calf-length evening gown, slit up to the thigh and showing the tops of her stockings, with a matching wrap, heels, and purse. She couldn't make out any of the fine details, but the woman moved through the darkness as though she was familiar with the house. As the intruder arrived at the stairs, the long, lacquered nails reaching for the banister, Emily moved quietly to the overhead light and flipped it on. Emily drew a sharp breath and the lady whirled around halfway up, shock and fear on her face.
“Daddy?”
My goal, by the way, is that when people get to the end of the story, they'll understand evrything by then, and won't have to be confused anymore -- honest! Hope you all enjoy!
Kerry Wagner and Sheila Duquesnes were experts on Nascar. At least, they were now. By the time they were one hundred miles out of Florida, they were both wishing Sheila had forbid the man to talk at all. He never shut up. Well, not quite true. He shut up when he was eating. Or sleeping.
They were at the last rest stop before home, less than forty miles to go now. They had stopped so that Ugg could, as he put it, “... hit the pisser and tap the lizard.”
“I swear, Yakko, if he even mentions Jeff Gordon again, I'm pulling my piece and to hell with consequences,” said Sheila, glaring at Kerry as though it were all his fault.
He chuckled. He reached out and patted her leg sympathetically and said, “And we have to bring him back to Florida once everything's cleared up.”
She looked toward the rest stop building that housed the restrooms. She looked down at her holster. She glared at Kerry again.
“Note to self,” she said nastily, “Make Yakko buy earplugs.”
Kerry was still laughing heartily when their guest returned to the car.
* * * * * * *
Jeff left the house early. It was Saturday, and the time at the park wasn't enough last night. When he came home last night — quite late, actually — it had sort of shocked him that not only was Matt's car gone, but Emily was nowhere to be found, either. They didn't seem to be around this morning, either. With a shrug, he rinsed his cereal bowl out in the sink, then stomped into his sneakers and set out. His backpack had traded schoolbooks and supplies for a novel, a sketchpad, his journal, and his discman with the CD that Gerald Knudson had loaned him. He contemplated the three parks in town, and decided that none of them would do for being alone to think on a Saturday. So he headed toward the Elementary School playground, instead.
He sat atop the huge wooden structure that had the tunnels to crawl through, swinging bridges, poles and slides, net ladders, monkeybars... and other stuff and idly wondered why they didn't have cool stuff when he was a little kid. His thoughts drifted back to his personal issues soon enough.
“Hey, kid,” said a voice from behind him.
Startled, he turned and saw the girl from Miss Scr— ah, Katarina's house. Her sister, he thought he remembered.
“Mind if I join you?” the older girl said, “Seems like you've found my favorite thoughtful spot.”
He shrugged and motioned her to climb on up, which she did with the ease of long practice.
He was afraid she was going to ruin the whole purpose, but she just nodded and sat down next to him, staring at the treeline on the other side of the large empty space between the playground and the creek. She sighed the sigh of someone with a lot on their mind, but didn't speak to him, already lost in her own thoughts. So he nodded slightly to himself, and set about losing himself the same way.
Silence.
Okay, even though it may seem like I'm diverging into 4th and 5th plot tracks, this is all headed for a convergence. Really. Honest. I mean it. Stop looking at me that way! Anyway, I hope you're enjoying it!
Wendy leaned against the wall outside the 'interview' room, and a moment later Sheila joined her. The two women looked at each other, and both giggled.
“Ow. My pride,” said Wendy.
“No kidding,” remarked Sheila, “as far as that man is concerned Women's Lib never happened. No wonder his wife left. Did you hear that remark about women wearing pants being 'just a fad' that we would get past sooner or later?”
“Do you want Kerry to finish the rest of this? I mean, I don't think the courts will see it any other way than to give him custody,” asked the ADA.
“No, I can handle it. Yakko's got that mean streak about anything referring to people being owned,” responded the detective.
“Ugh,” said Wendy, “Er — no pun intended — yeah, I can see the line, 'That there woman stole what was rightfully my property and the fruit of my loins,' pissing him off. Well, I don't think there's much else to do, though. I'll finish up, you go get your partner and the kid, and we'll meet back up later.”
* * * * * * *
Kerry knocked on the door a third time, stepped back off the porch to see if there was any activity upstairs, then checked his notebook again for the address.
“Can I help you, mister?” said a voice behind him.
He turned and there was his goal. “Jeffrey Parker?”
“Maybe. Hey, I know you...” said the boy.
“You need to come with me to the station, kid. There's a lot of stuff going on that you need to know about,” Kerry informed the boy.
However, the response took him off guard, “No.”
“Whaddaya mean, 'No,' kid?”
“Are all cops as dumb as you? I'm not going anywhere with you. Don't try to make me, either. Crime Watch. Who will they believe, the kid that lives here or the guy attacking him? Besides, I'm younger and faster, you're out of shape, and I know the neighborhood.”
This kid was smart. “Look, son, I —“
“Don't. Just... don't. I know you were right in the station. I'm not your son, for one. I came home and searched and found my mother's diary. Her real name wasn't Janette Parker, it was Marlene Ugg. I know she took me from my father when I was two. But she's not a criminal. She saved me from him.”
Kerry took a step forward, to try to comfort the boy, but Jeff interpreted it as an attempt to rush him and took off running.
“Aw, piss in the wind!” exclaimed Kerry. He grabbed his radio and called dispatch while he ran to the car, wondering why whatever deity was in charge hated him.
* * * * * * *
Emily stared up at Brenda. That's what she'd been told to call her. She was still having trouble believing that this woman that looked almost like a model was her father. The door swung shut again, and she said, “Clear.”
Brenda smiled down at Emily. Emily shuddered. “I'm sorry, Em. I just... I couldn't... I mean... When you... We were... And then I... After your... ah... I'm just sorry,” she said and reached to give Emily a hug. Emily flinched away.
With a sad smile, Brenda said, “If it's any consolation, your mother knew and supported me as a part of Matthew. So did Janette.”
“That's supposed to help me deal with the fact that my father looks like he belongs on the stinking cover of Cosmo?”
Brenda looked sharply around, “Please, Emily, call me Aunty Brenda? I brought you out here to help you understand. But you're not even willing to talk to me? You gave me the silent treatment all the way here, all night.”
Emily frowned. “Do you think Jeff will find the note we left?”
“I put it on the microwave, he can't miss it as soon as he uses it. We'll be back tonight and he'll have had a good alone-time day.”
"Fine," the girl finally said, "EXPLAIN. But, dearest Aunty, this had better be good."
Discuss! Please? I wanna know what everyone thinks is going on. You may, after all, be right! Take a chance, talk about your theories... wild, logical, or just random. Hee!
“Devin, could you get that?” called Katarina Scroggs from the kitchen. Homemade quesadillas have so much less fat, but you had to watch them like a hawk. She heard the door open and Charlie Brown's teacher, then the door close.
A wide-eyed boy fairly flew into the kitchen as she was pulling Devin's quesadilla off of the griddle.
“Whoa. Jeff. What's the hurry?” she asked as she slid her creation neatly onto a plate. She glanced at Devin, and in the way that close sisters have, they communicated without words. So she started a quesadilla for Jeff, then.
“Um. If I were to tell you that the police were after me, but it was for something that I didn't do, would you let me hide out here?”
She paused in sprinkling the onions and peppers into the cheese. “But why would you tell me that, Jeff? I'd have to let your guardian — Matt Tomkins, right? — know that you were here, but yes, I would give you sanctuary as long as you could assure me it was for something you didn't do.”
Devin reached across the table and took his hand and squeezed it, then let it go. Not trying to get overly familiar, just showing support. “Us Thoughtful Spotters gotta stand together.”
Neither of the teenagers said anything more until Katarina turned and set a plate in front of each before taking her own and setting it on the table, as well.
“Now,” she said, “for dinner conversation, you need to explain your hypothetical situation a bit more.”
Jeff told her everything he knew. His mother had kidnapped him from his father. That he had hit her and tried to stop her from divorcing him, then used his money and the fact that he put that money into the Mayor and City Councils' pockets to get custody of him. And that the cops wanted to get him to go back to Florida, now.
“Wait,” inserted Devin, “your mother put all that in her diary? Sorry, I don't mean to be rude or anything, but wasn't that just asking for it?”
“No,” answered Jeff. He paused to chew and swallow, then went on, “It was more like describing the stuff he did to her, then there was no entries from the divorce until six months later, when she started writing again about, 'that horrible man trying to take my baby from me' — and with what that detective had already told me at the police station the day after she died, I put it together. There's entries ranting about him for two years, then they stop with one talking about losing custody, but having a plan. They just stop there for years, then start up again with normal stuff around my seventh birthday. What she got me, y'know, like that.”
“Wow,” said Devin.
“Yes,” agreed Katarina, “very soap opera. Okay, Jeff, you can stay here until Matt comes to get you, but I'm gonna call over there. I'll leave a message if he's not there. Devin, you get him set up in the guest room.”
“Yes, ma'am,” the two answered in unison.
He grinned at her and she punched him in the arm, returning his grin.
* * * * * * *
“Wow. Okay, Aunty. I think I can handle that. It makes more sense now. But Mom? Really? That's almost... spiffy,” Emily was saying as she mopped the last of her gravy from the plate. Brenda looked much more relieved, and the other two ladies were smiling. Hard to believe that they were both really guys, too. And her mother had been the one to get him started in this crossdressing thing? Before they'd even gotten married? All because of this Cosplay — or was it called Crossplay? — stuff and a bet. Whoa. Just. Wow.
“And it's time we headed back, Em,” said Brenda, leaving cash and a tip on the table and giving quick hugs to the other ladies. “I'll visit again soon, girls,” she said, “it'll be easier since I don't have to hide it now.”
With that, the two of them got into the car and began the drive home.
* * * * * * *
“Devin. Please, help me. You're the only friend I have other than Emily that knows, um, what I am. It's Florida, where the president's brother is in charge. They'll hang me or shoot me or something, I just know it!” pleaded Jeff.
“Don't worry. I have a plan. We're gonna sneak out in a bit, but first we gotta hide you in plain sight. You ever done any acting? Plays and the like?”
“A bit,” he answered, following her into what he figured was the guest room.
She looked back over her shoulder at him and grinned, “Good. Do you trust me?”
“I guess so.”
“Sit on the bed,” she told him as she shut the door behind them, and locked it.
She walked to the closet and opened it, pulling out a skirt. She turned to him and said, “Okay, strip.”
Hrm. I really don't know how many chapters there will be in all, but it's becoming evident that people want some "Behind the Scenes" stuff. So, when I'm done with this series, I'll post a list of scenes I would write to clear up confusion and directions for how to get me to write the one YOU wanna see. Hee! Hope folks are enjoying reading it as much as I'm enjoying writing it!
Brenda sat and thought about what Emily had said. She had tried to explain to her that she didn't think she was any less capable of doing activities with her as Matt than Jeff was, but he had been trying to act like other men did with their daughters. She apologized. Many times. She was on her way to the shower when Emily ran up the stairs, saying something about a detective and a kidnapping and Jeff over at a teacher's house.
She sent her back downstairs, and told her that her father would be down shortly.
Matt stepped out of the bathroom in a pair of shorts. His towel over his left shoulder and a t-shirt in hand, all traces of Brenda vanished — unless you realized that the faint irritation on his chest was from removing breastforms. He headed down and to the kitchen to find his daughter impatiently waiting by the back door.
“Okay, Dad,” said Emily, “I'll meet you in the car.”
She explained the whole situation from the message on the answering machine to him on the way. They were walking up to the front door of the Scroggs' home when Katarina came out the front door, looking worried.
“Emily! Have you seen Devin? Oh, you must be Matt. Um, I don't know how to say this, but they're gone,” she babbled, obviously a bit at a loss for what to do. “I mean, I figured they were just being quiet last night, but they were late to come down for breakfast, so I went up and they just... weren't there. The beds didn't even look slept in.”
Matt looked to Emily and she took Katarina's arm, leading her to the car. Between the three of them, they started searching the town. None of the fast food places, none of the diners, not even the one coffee shop. Driving past the park, Katarina pointed.
“There's Devin. Stop and I'll find out what's going on,” she said.
They parked and got out, Katarina jogging over to the bench that Devin was sitting on with another girl. When she got to them, she rounded the bench, and promptly forgot whatever she was going to say as the two kids grinned up at her. Devin held her finger to her lips to shush her, then motioned with her head for Katarina to leave.
She frowned at them, and shook her head, saying, “Sorry, but no. Matt and Emily are here with me to get Jeff. You can take it up with them what you're gonna do about that detective. Up. C'mon.”
The two hung their heads and stood.
Emily and Matt had caught up as the two girls turned around. Their jaws hung open as they realized that the other 'girl' was Jeff in a skirt, blouse, and wig.
“Jeff, is that you?!?” gasped Matt.
“Yeah. Devin's been trying to help me think of things to do to get out of this whole going to Florida thing... we've got a good couple of ideas, too,” he answered. His height was good for a girl, and the clothes and wig plus the makeup that Devin had helped with made him look at least like an ordinary girl. Until you noticed that she stood completely wrong and tended to scratch at her bra.
“That's all I needed to hear,” came a voice just before two of the passersby grabbed Jeff suddenly. “Calm down, kid,” said Kerry as he walked up, “This is my partner, Sheila Duquesnes and a friend of ours from the station. Hold him tight, Will, he's sneaky.”
Matt stepped over and demanded, “What is the meaning of this? He's thirteen years old, you can't arrest him without talking to his Guardian — and that's me. Let him go. Now.”
“Sorry pal, no can do. Here,” he handed Matt a folded piece of paper, “your Guardianship has been revoked. His actual father is here to get him from Florida. I'm really sorry, kid, your old man is a real asshole, but there's nothing I can do.”
“At least let him change clothes before you go,” put in Emily, “He's not done anything to deserve being embarrassed!” She hoped that at home she could help him find another way to get away.
“Em,” said Jeff, finally speaking, “don't worry about it. I'm not even trying to get away, and maybe being dressed like this will make the jerk not want me. Talk to Devin. She's got the details.” Then he looked over at the detective. “Okay, let's go see my, ah, the guy my mother was married to.”
With that, the police walked with a not-struggling Jeff to their car and pulled away.
As soon as the car doors shut, Devin whirled on Katarina. “Kat, get out your cell, call Carter and Billings, tell them to be at Carter's office when I get there with these two, use up favors if you have to,” she ordered her older sister, then spun on the other two, giving them the same treatment, “You and you. To the car, move it. Make sure you have your credit card, I'll explain in the car.”
And Katarina was left bewildered, alone, and with her cell phone out making a call as the redheaded dynamo that was her sister ushered the two off.
A little later than normal today, but I crashed and crashed hard this morning. Slept for a whole five hours. Anyway... *ahem* Happy Independence Day to those in the United States! Er... to those not in the United States, um, Happy Wednesday instead! As a bonus, later today I'll be posting an extra chapter of Sk8r Grrls and Family Tragedies and Secrets, both. Yaaay, me! Okay, here's the story, enjoy!
Carter Mortimer grinned across the desk at his best friend, then cleared his throat and mock-formally said, “Judge Billings, this man has retained my services to act as legal agent for his recently deceased fiancé's son in the Emancipation process — that would be the gray form, Randolph, yeah, that one, we backdated it — and as such I formally request that you not allow the minor in question to be removed from the state on the grounds that doing so would be placing him under the direct influence of the man he's attempting to achieve Emancipation from. I realize how irregular it is to drag you not only to my office for this, but on a Sunday, your Honor, but the situation seems to be desperate. If you grant this request — yeah, sign right there — then we have to rush this over to the police station.”
Randolph shook his head as he chuckled, “You always did get off on the pomposity of being a lawyer, didn't you? Sit down and shut up, 'Counselor' and lemme read this stuff.”
Matt and Emily were confused, but Devin lounged on the leather sofa in the office as though she hadn't a care in the world. She had instructed Matt to take care of the fees for the lawyer as soon as they got there. Carter had processed the credit card and handed Matt a receipt, at which point the Judge had arrived.
The judge scribbled something approximating a signature on several of the pile of forms that Carter had seemingly pulled from the air as needed. “So,” he said as he capped his pen and re-pocketed it, “you filed the Emancipation intent form... six days ago? Isn't that the day after the kid's mother died? Oh. There's an issue and you want it retroactive.”
Carter grinned again and dropped into a seat. “Yep. From what I've been told, this may be desperate action, but it's necessary,” he replied, then flicked a glance and the redheaded bombshell-to-be lounging in his favorite spot. “Hey, Randolph, out of curiosity... I know what I owe to Kat and Devin. But what kind of tethers have they attached to you?”
With a bit more bluster than a thirty-four year old Judge should be capable of, Randolph Billings harrumphed impressively, and mumbled something about privileged information.
* * * * * * *
Sheila Duquesnes looked in the rearview mirror at the kid, calmly sitting there in his skirt and wig as if it were what he wore everyday. Well, except for sitting in a way unladylike position. Poor kid, she thought, Having to go with that jerk. Well, maybe the skirt idea that girl that was with him had might work. Ugg didn't seem like the type to be dumb enough to 'free the beast' in public, though. He might lose interest. Perhaps. She pulled into the station parking lot and looked over at Kerry. His mouth was set into that tight line that meant he didn't like the situation, but was thinking of a way out of it. Best not to bother him.
Another thought occurred to her, “Hey, kid. Your mother didn't have a will that you know of, did she? I mean, if she named someone else as your Guardian...”
Jeff shook his head, “No. She was only thirty-one, Ma'am.”
Kerry gave Will a quick thanks for the assist, and sent him on the way, and gave Sheila a look that drained the last hope she had for the young teenager... the look that said, “I got nuthin'.”
With Jeff walking just completely calmly between them, the three went inside the station.
United States Independence Day Special Number One! I've been thinking... rather than the whole, writing a 'Behind the Scenes' what would people think about simply having a no FTS-questions barred chat session that I could log and then post? Just answering the questions and explaining things? Here's part 13, though we're getting close to the end, and this is the longest FTS chapter yet! Hope you all enjoy it!
Last Minute PS: I got wrapped up in another movie (Stranger Than Fiction), sorry, Sk8r Grrls will be in the next hour -- promise double!
"Mister Ugg,” said Wendy, “when the Sheriff in your county informed you that the abduction case may have a lead, you requested transport up here and we didn't balk. Now, we're just asking you to be patient until the detectives on the case of your ex-wife's murder return. So please, sit, have a cup of coffee, feed the vending machines... I don't know. Exercise some patience. Just because you want them to be back sooner does not make it so, and yelling at me about it does nothing to improve the situation.”
She left the lounge area, and went down the hallway, as she rounded the corner, she nearly ran into Warner and Duquesnes.
“Oh good grief,” she said, relieved, “that man is driving me nuts! He's waiting in the lounge, just go to him. I'm leaving.” And with that... she left.
“I can't,” said Jeff, “I thought I could spook the fella by wearing this getup, but I can't do it. Is there a bathroom nearby where I can change before going in there?” he asked, hefting his backpack.
Kerry sighed and nodded, then pointed down the hall a bit. “Too bad though, kid, if you could act all girly, it would be bound to get under this guy's skin.”
Jeff nodded and then walked to the men's room and went inside. A few minutes later, he emerged in the cargo shorts and T-shirt he'd been wearing the day before when Kerry had seen him. His face looked like he'd made an attempt to scrub the makeup off, but he ended up looking more like a raccoon.
Sheila grinned and asked, “Anyone else in there?” and when he shook his head, she took the backpack, handed it to Kerry, and said, “Wait here.” Then she took Jeff by the hand and took him back into the men's room. She pulled a small tube of lotion out of her purse as the boy just looked at her oddly.
“Makeup is designed to stay on, even with soap. You have to remove it properly. I don't have any cold cream here, but lotion will do in a pinch as a substitute. Here,” she said, squeezing a bit onto a paper towel, “close your eyes.”
Jeff complied and she cleaned him up, then had him rinse his face and dry it again.
They exited to see a bored Kerry leaning against the wall, pack at his feet and juggling what looked to be three 'hacky-sack' bean bags. He stopped when he noticed them and slipped them into a pocket.
The three proceeded the rest of the way up the hall to the station room, and through that to the lounge.
* * * * * * *
Devin got into Carter's car as she instructed Matt and Emily to follow. Judge Billings just waved and walked to his own car. They followed the lawyer, both still kind of bewildered about what was going on, exactly.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What just happened?”
“Not a clue.”
“And you're okay with that?”
“Not especially.”
“Oh.”
They were silent for a moment or two before anything else was said.
“Em?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay with... Brenda?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Oh.”
Further conversation would have seemed forced and contrived to either one of them, so again, silence reigned for a bit.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“You said Mom and Janette both knew and supported you as, um, Aunty Brenda. What did you mean by 'supported' you?”
Matt sucked in a breath through his teeth and then blew it out slowly.
He started to explain, “Well, your mother was the one that got me started in college with the cosplay... and then crossplay. So we started to see if I could be as convincing as a normal girl as I could as a girl pretending to be a Japanese cartoon. As for Janette...” he paused and got a goofy grin, then said in Brenda's voice, “Janette really knew how to treat a girl.”
Emily's eyes bugged out. “Don't do that!” she exclaimed, “The girly voice and the boy face is just... creepy, Dad.”
Matt chuckled, then glanced over at his daughter and finished, “Janette and Brenda were lesbian lovers, Em. Janette walked in on Brenda one day when I lost track of time when it was my turn to watch over the two of you. You and Matt weren't quite three years old, and when it was my turn to watch the kids... well, let's just say that Janette was interested in Brenda before she was into me.”
Then they pulled into the police station parking lot behind Carter and Devin.
* * * * * * *
Taking a deep breath, Jeff put his hand on the handle for the door and looked back at the two police officers. They made 'shoo' gestures, and he pulled the door open and went in.
Lee Ugg looked up at him disinterestedly from the television, “Yes? What now? More delays?” he asked, then noticed it was a kid. Disgusted by all their stupid delaying tactics, he growled at the boy, “Well?”
Startled, Jeff blushed and looked at his shoes, then back up at Ugg, “I — I was told that you're my natural father?”
All the color drained out of the snarling Floridian's face, “What the hell are you wearing? This damfool pants fad is bad enough, but no daughter of mine is going to have a boy's haircut! Well, we can take care of that later, Jessica. Come give your daddy a hug!” then he opened his arms wide and beamed at Jeff as if he had just offered him the keys to Fort Knox.
A little later than usual today, but after posting two chapters of this, and a Sk8r Grrls episode yesterday, I figured I deserved a bit of rest! Read and enjoy!
"I don't care what the damn DNA says, science is freaky anyway, that's the sloppiest police work I've ever heard about, let alone seen! Now, you two clowns have a lot of work to do on this case to straighten this mess out, or I'd suspend both of you with no pay for this pile of shit. The only reason I'm not is I don't want to make someone else have to come in and sort out your stupidity! Get out of my office!” shouted Captain McCullough.
Kerry and Sheila exited as quickly as they could.
They went out to the car and sat. Not moving. Not saying anything. They just sat. For at least an hour.
“What the hell was that?” asked Sheila.
“An example of police efficiency. Don't list the physical details of the victim of the crime on the police report, to protect them,” replied Kerry. Hands on the wheel at ten and two. Back straight. Feet planted flat on the floorboard. Keys firmly in pocket.
“Okay. We need to start over. There's no question of the DNA, right?” his partner asked.
“Right.”
“Then where's the girl?”
“I dunno.”
“And is Jeff, Janette's — or Marlene's — son?”
“We should check that.”
“Start the damn car already, we're drawing some stares and it's hot as hell.”
“Oh,” was his clever retort.
They drove out to the Tomkins' house.
Matt was at work, and the two kids answered the door. Were they smirking or scowling? Somewhere between was the safe bet.
“Can I help you, detectives?” asked Emily.
“Ah. Sorry, kids, is your dad around?” asked Kerry.
“It's Monday. We're only 13. It's eleven in the morning. Where do you think he might be? Wait. Don't answer that... wouldn't want you to fetch my Dad's long, lost husband from Florida,” replied the girl.
“The only thing worse than being made fun of by a kid,” said Sheila, “is when they're right. Look. We're sorry. We're trying to fix things.”
“Uh-huh,” said Jeff, glaring at the two, “just trying to help.”
“Look, kid,” said Kerry ”fact is, we're back to where we started. I have to figure out who burgled your home, who killed your mother, where the daughter that your mother ran off with went, and,” Kerry paused and looked sheepish, “where the hell you came from.”
Emily shut the door in their faces.
They stood there, trying to decide whether to knock again, when the door was opened and a brush with hair in it thrust at them.
“Hair from Jeff. You have thirty seconds to leave before we sic the dog on you. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-” came the imperious voice of Emily, girl Empress.
The two adults sprinted for the car, started it, and pulled away.
Kerry looked over at Sheila, who was chuckling.
“What? You think that was funny?” he demanded.
“No,” she answered, “but that girl is going to be damn scary when she grows up.”
Okay! I woulda posted earlier, but TopShelf wouldn't even load. Hrm. I dunno if it was down or just my ability to access it. The latest plan is this: when the story is all done, I'm gonna schedule a time to be on IRC for a total FTS Q&A -- no question about the series will be unanswered (as long as it's ASKED). I'd really like anyone that has questions about it to be there, as we're rapidly approaching the end. Scott Ramsey and Eric have theorized a lot -- but so have some others! Please keep an eye out for when I'm gonna do it. When it's done, I'll post the (cleaned up) log of the session as a DVD Special Feature 'Behind the Scenes and Making of FTS' the next day. Okay, here's part 15, enjoy!
"Why did you give them my brush?” asked Jeff as he followed Emily into the kitchen.
“So they'd leave us alone,” Emily answered, “besides... um, aren't you curious? Don't get mad, but, don't you want to know? I mean, what if your mom wasn't your mom?”
“She was,” said the scowling boy, “and she still is. That's where I was day before yesterday when I came home and that cop was here. I was visiting her. I plan to every week on Saturday. You can come too, if you like, but I get time alone with her.”
“I'm sorry, Jeff,” she said quietly, biting her lower lip, “I'd like that, though.”
“Whatever,” he snapped and stormed up the stairs.
“Wait. Jeff.”
He stopped and spun around.
“What?”
“I just... well, I can't help thinking of everything that's happened. I mean, if Janette was this Marlene lady before you two moved here. And if she had a daughter named Jessica, but not a son named Jeff. Where did you come from, and where is Jessica?” reasoned Emily.
A thought occurred to her.
“Jeff... how well do you remember things from when we were small?” she asked.
He leaned against the wall of the stairway, propping one foot up on the handrail as he looked at her.
“I don't really. I mean, we were both only two when I moved here with Mom. The first real thing I remember is the mudball fight,” he answered.
Emily grinned in remembrance, herself, “The morning of the first day in Kindergarten, right? So we both went to school for the very first time with giant brown blobs on our clothes. Ugh. Daddy made me wear that horrible frothy pink dress and your mom made you wear a white shirt and tie.”
He nodded, and returned her grin with a small smile.
She grew serious again and said, “Okay... hear me out. What if you happen to be this Jessica person?”
He startled and tumbled down the three steps he had climbed.
“Are you nuts? I'm not a girl... and I don't wanna be a girl!”
“Gee. Thanks,” she said wryly.
“What? Oh, come on! You said just the other day that even you weren't sure you wanted to be a girl!” he protested.
“Not quite. I said I thought about being a boy, but decided I liked being a girl sometimes,” she pointed out to him.
“So... what exactly are you asking or suggesting, then?” he asked, deflating.
“Well... I don't know how to ask this... do you know the difference between a girl and a boy? Because, if you're not sure... There's this video that Dad used to explain things about, ah, boys and sex and stuff to me last Spring. Just... come on,” she said, helping him up off the floor and dragging him into the living room.
* * * * * * *
Jeff stared wide-eyed at the paused screen. He rewound, watched the screen in slo-mo, and paused again.
“So. Not only do I find out just how humongous and weird Mom lied to me, but that is sex?”
“I'm sorry, Jessica,” said Emily.
Jeff stormed to his feet and loomed over her, “You are NEVER to call me that ever again! Do you understand me?” he nearly screamed, angrier than she had ever seen.
Emily yelped in fear, all color draining from her face as she nodded in fearful assent.
He spun and stomped back and forth as he ranted, and Emily suspected it was more to her— ah, himself than to or at her. “I am a boy! I always have been, and I always will be! Not you, and not anyone can tell me differently! I'm not going with the Ugg, guy. If they try to make me, I'll run away, and no one will see me again!”
He stood panting and on the verge of tears. Emily got up and went to him to hug him. They were still there when Matt came in the front door.
Okay! I won't be posting part 17 until late tomorrow, as I have plans for all day today (Saturday) and most of tomorrow (Sunday) but it'll be posted before midnight board time! Here's part 16, enjoy!
Matt was driving, Jeff was staring out the window in the passenger seat and Emily was sitting behind him with her hand on Jeff's shoulder. They were coming home from the police station again, this time from giving more DNA to prove that Ugg was Jeff's father. Last night, he hadn't bothered them, after Emily had frowned at him and flicked a gaze to the kitchen, clearly telling him they needed to be left alone. Emily had done the talking as they had left the station, telling about the discovery that she and Jeff had made. Again, Matt wished he'd been able to move them to a larger town. He didn't know what to say to Jeff, so he said nothing.
When they pulled into the driveway, there was a teenage girl with red hair sitting on the steps. She stood and dusted off her backside and waved, smiling. Jeff and Emily waved half-heartedly as they got out of the car. Matt recognized her as the imperious girl that helped Jeff a couple of days before and nodded before going inside to leave the three alone.
The three walked over to the park, not really saying anything. They sat in the shade and, eventually, they told Devin of the prior night's information overload. Her eyes widened, but then she nodded.
“Wow,” she said, “I mean when I dressed you up the other day, I didn't see a bulge in your underwear, but I just figured you had a tiny dick. Sorry, but I guess it's just smaller than even I guessed.”
Jeff scowled at her, saying, “Look, this isn't a joke to me,” then he looked embarrassed and mumbled, “What's a dick?”
Again, she nodded sagely, and replied, “Slang for boyparts, dude, the worm-y looking part. But then, you'll learn all that in Health class this fall. No, you need to think of it that way, and you won't be so hung up on it. You just have a very small dick. Don't just think of it as a small dick. Own it. Some other guy laughs because you have a tiny dick. Fix 'im with a completely 'I don't give a shit' stare and say, 'Yeah? So?' and move on.”
“Wait,” said Emily as she stood up, “You totally don't have a problem with this?”
The older girl shrugged, “Why should I have a problem with it? It's his dick.”
“You mean,” asked Jeff, hope making his voice quaver a bit, “you don't care that I'm really a girl?”
Devin laughed. She looked at Jeff, then barked another laugh, before drawing a deep breath and settling herself. She was still grinning when she answered, “You. Are so not a girl... it's almost painful, Jeff.”
Emily settled back down as the beatific smile filled Jeff's features.
Okay, I guess it doesn't have to wait until tonight, seeing as how I'm sitting at the computer while my hostess snoozes softly nearby. Trying not to wake her, as it appears she needs a full eight hours of sleep instead of the three that I do. Well, here's part 17, then, so enjoy!!
“Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait,” gasped out Kerry between sucking in lungfuls of air to laugh, “Jesus, my sides hurt! BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Sheila watched him and despite herself, it started to amuse her, too. She giggled, swallowed it, then burst into all-out guffaw like her partner had. Wendy waited patiently until both were done and wiping the tears of mirth from their eyes.
“So,” said Kerry, still chuckling and stifling the harder laughter, “let me see if I got this straight. Jeff is, indeed Janette Parker's aka Marlene Ugg's son. But Lee Ugg. The bastard sitting in there, is not the father despite the only conclusion to be reached from legal documents being that the kid was conceived during the time that his mother was definitely married to said rich inbred? So, now we got yet another mystery within this case? Oh, my achin' ribs...”
“And, hee hee hee, and we get to tell Ugg? Omigawd, this is like Christmas come early!” added Sheila, giggling again.
“Are you two about finished?” asked Wendy with a sigh, “Because there's more to the story than that. The DNA provided in the brush had the same result but that's why we wanted a second sample from a more easily read source. Jeff has XX chromosomes. What with Ugg's surety that he had a daughter, this leads me to believe that our poor, deceased mother had a few tricks up her sleeve. And Ugg has a paternity test that needs to be overturned, that shows he's the father.”
The two detectives sobered.
“Um,” said Sheila, “how exactly is that possible? Did he have it fixed way back when and that's how he got the win in the original custody case?”
“Eleven years ago,” stated the ADA, “1995, to be exact. They were still determining paternity from blood tests at that time. DNA wasn't used for something so mundane. Apparently, the real father has the same blood type as Ugg does. Kind of adds to the whole thing. This is turning into a regular Holmes and Watson style mystery, isn't it?”
Kerry tried to say something, but his mouth still didn't want to open without laughter of some sort spilling out once the dam of his lips parted. So he opened his mouth and giggled, then snorted before slapping both hands over his mouth to hold in the mirth. After a moment, he finally had a handle on it and was able to speak.
“So we get to tell the kid the news, right? I'm pretty sure that if a thirteen-year old kid has a shit-list, Sheila and I are both fairly high on it, just now,” he said, still grinning.
“No, Detectives, I'll deliver the news while you question Mister Ugg on any male employees, relatives, or neighbors that were around in the early days of his failed marriage,” Wendy answered.
Kerry was no longer laughing.
Whee! What a fun weekend I had! La la la la la la la! I hope everyone out there had a weekend even half as awesome as mine, and then we may have a whole overabundance of feel-good out there! Here's part 18 of FTS, hot outta the keyboard, enjoy!!!
Matt scratched his head.
“So... you're telling me that Jeff is transsexual?” he asked, confused.
“No,” replied an exasperated Emily, “well... maybe? Look, Jeff doesn't have boyparts down below.”
“Oh, is that all?” asked Matt.
Neither of the kids knew how to respond to that in any way.
* * * * * * *
Lee Ugg didn't know what to say. The lawyer he'd hired locally to help him with this entire ass-pile of occurrences assured him that the DNA test was showing that he couldn't be that boy's father, which didn't come to any surprise. But then, they kept insisting this Jeff kid was his daughter Jessica, and that he wasn't really the father. So, he thought, stewing things over, if everything they say is true, then Marlene really was cheating on me. I really did have the right to take the girl... or boy... according to the prenuptial. Hell, I only wanted the girl to hurt Marlene. Woman aughtn't try to stand up to a man that way. It ain't proper. Dammit. I knew I shoulda had that new-fangled DMV test instead of the other one. But my lawyer assured me it would prove things. Well. Now that I signed that paper this lawyer said was a good idea, I don't have to worry about no kid no more. But who could be that kid's daddy? Harry was too old, Mark couldn't get it up for a woman if his life depended on it — damn fairy — and Robin... wait.
“That filthy sum'bitch!” Ugg suddenly shouted, leaping to his feet.
Kerry pushed back and motioned to the two uniforms to restrain the man.
“AlrightalrightalrightalrightALRIGHT already! Lemme go, I'll calm the fuck down,” he swore as he jerked his arms out of their hands and plopped down in the chair again.
“Okay, Mister Dee-tective, I think I know who it may be,” Ugg said, scowling after he calmed down, “Clever little assface, too. Look, Marlene's family ain't whatcha call, 'classy' like mine was. So I sneaked around the city and found me an expert in that there whosismagadger... deportment. And hired her. At least, I thought it was a her. Turned out she was one of them transpesticide guys. I mean, I may not have finished high school — what with my family's money, I didn't need to — but I should be able to tell a man from a woman. Little fucker sneaked in and got a piece of my pretty new wife that I wouldn't let any man near. Right under my nose. Bitch is lucky she's dead, now.”
“Mister Ugg,” sighed Sheila, taking notes, “the name of the potential father?”
He scowled again, “I dunno if it was his real name, but I guess it's one of them gussied up ones that go both ways.”
“And, sir, what was it?” asked Kerry.
“Robin Masters.”
This one doesn't have a lot of new conflict and confusion -- makes me feel like I've failed if haven't caused at least one headache per chapter -- but does offer up some good old-fashioned information dissemination and resolution. Part 19, enjoy!
“Masters, Robin. Born in 1974 in Miami, Florida. Made living as a female illusionist illusionist, performing a magic act in drag. This lasted until 1995 when a publishing house became interested in his crime novels and he became an overnight sensation. He now resides on the island of Maui in Hawaii on an estate he has modeled after the one that housed the character Thomas Magnum from the popular, 'Magnum P.I.' television show. The estate in the program was owned by a novelist named Robin Masters,” read Sheila from the back of the book.
“So, you think he's the same one?” asked Matt.
“This is funny,” she said, completely not paying attention, “The bio keeps saying 'he' and 'his' but the picture on the back is him as a girl. Wow. I wish that I looked as good.”
“Detective Duquesnes?” prompted Matt.
“Hmm? Oh. Sorry. Um, the police out there are getting a DNA sample for us, we should have it FedEx by morning. I'm sorry, I just... I don't think I'll ever understand some of these guys that dress up like girls. I mean, I know what transsexuals get out of it... they're girls in their brains. I know what transvestites get out of it... er... off of it. But these guys that just like to dress in women's clothing? I like how it feels, yeah, but gimme something that's not tight and no heels,” she rambled on, “I was a Psych major in college, and actually wanted to be a therapist for the Transsexual Community. But I could never wrap my noggin around the garden-variety crossdresser.”
Jeff sat grinning. Not only wasn't Ugg his father, but his real father might be some famous author. Then the big dumb detective ruined his mood again.
“So,” he said, “you're really a girl.” This guy had a knack for saying just enough to truly piss off whoever he was talking to at the time.
Jeff looked over at Matt and Sheila talking and interrupted, “Excuse me, Detective, but is it true what I've heard, that sometimes, if you're accused of something but you were provoked, you don't go to jail for it?”
Sheila and Matt both darted glances to Kerry — who was oblivious — and then she sighed and answered the kid, “Yes, technically. But —“ and that was all she got out.
She didn't see exactly what Jeff did, but it involved moving quickly and a flurry of feet, and now her partner was on the floor in the fetal position crying. Whimpering, “What'd I do this time?”
Coughing to hide her laugh, she helped him to his feet, “We'd best be going, folks, Yakko needs to be getting back to the Water Tower.”
Wheee! It was a fun ride for me, I hope you all had as much fun! Now, I know there's a lot of questions surrounding elements of this story, but I'm more than happy to help provide the answers! Tonight, at 7:30pm Central Time (at -6 GMT), I will be in the chatrooms to answer any and all FTS questions that are left! I'll log the session and clean it up, then post it as a DVD Special Feature for FTS! Go [ here ] for more information. Here's Part 20, the Final Chapter, enjoy!!
“... and that's the meat of the story, doctor. It all happened at the beginning of this summer. Turns out that the Robin Masters, author, magician, female illusionist guy really is my biological father. He didn't want to uproot me, though, and has given Guardianship to Matt Tomkins. He started sending these amazingly huge checks though, to help out with money. That's how we're able to afford for me to come see you. We filled that prescription you gave me last week, and I thought about things. I can deal with being the smallest guy in high school. At least, with this medicine, I won't have to deal with, um, breasts developing or a period starting. And you said when I'm eighteen, I can start the hormones that'll let me be boy, instead.”
“Hm? Yeah, I think things worked out amazingly well. When I think about having to go with that Ugg guy? Ack. Scary thought. I know he would have tried to make me be this idealized daughter he had in his head. I would have been one of those runaway street kids you hear about.”
“Emily's been awesome about the whole thing.”
“Ew! No way! Even if I didn't like other guys, she's like... my sister or something!”
“Yes, that's what I said. I'm pretty sure I'm gay. And yes, I know I'll likely get my ass kicked more than a few times if I come out at school, being as small as I am. That's okay, I'm not ready to come out.”
“Yup! That's right, Robin — that's what he prefers I call him, which is good because calling him 'Dad' when he looks pretty much identical to Drew Barrymore is just... well, creepy. Anyway, Robin is gonna fly all five of us out to Maui to spend the entire Summer next year! Talk about awesome plans for vacation!”
“Yep. Matt and Emily because they're kinda like family to me, and Katarina and Devin just because I wanted to invite them for being so awesome.”
“It is kind of weird to find out all these horrible things about Mom, though. I mean, she married that asshole because apparently her parents forced her to do it, then she cheated on him with a guy that looks more female than half the women in this town, then lied to Ugg about who my father was, then kidnapped me from Ugg when she didn't get custody.”
“Hm? No, I read in her diary, she didn't force me to be a boy. I wouldn't wear dresses or anything. Wanted my hair cut like 'other boys' and stuff. So, yeah, I guess even at two years old I knew who I was for real on the inside.”
“Well, the lawyer guy, Carter Mortimer? He managed to sell it and the car, and put the money in a trust fund for me. There's a new family moving in there this coming weekend, actually. I think their name is Wilson.”
As promised, the Special Edition! Special Features (clickable) include -- Cast of characters breakdown, the “Behind the Scenes” Author Interrogation IRC Log, and a quick description of
MY personal favorite part of each Chapter. Maybe having the whole story all at once will make it easier to enjoy!!!
Emily smiled as she handed Jeff his towel and drink when he trotted off the court. It was always easy to sucker the older kids into a one-on-one with him.
“Nice game, Shortround,” she teased him. The two had been best friends since before Kindergarten, when he and his mother had moved into the old house nextdoor and became neighbors. Now, they were both gonna be high-schoolers next fall and brother and sister before the end of Summer.
“Yeah, yeah,” he replied mock angrily, “We all know I'm short. Hey, it makes money for us. That's another fifty bucks. Let's grab the 'rents and treat them to pizza for once.”
She nodded agreement and waited while the sweaty, four feet and eight inches tall boy downed half of the bottled sports drink and draped the towel around his neck.
They light heartedly sniped back and forth at the bus stop, and on the entire trip back home.
There were police cruisers all over the place, though. Something exciting? In their neighborhood? They barely glanced at each other and wordlessly challenged each other to a footrace to the action before taking off.
The finish line was Jeff's house.
* * * * * * *
"Wait. You're not serious.
My mother?"
"I'm afraid so, young man. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you."
"But that's impossible. I was two years old and we'd just moved here from Wisconsin. There's no way my mother was in Florida when you say. So she's not guilty. Look, I've seen the cop shows, I know you people just want to close annoying cases. Ask Matt... er... Mr. Tomkins, he lives next door and has all my life. And he's her fiancé!"
"We already have. I'm sorry, Jeff, but from the time table he gave us, if your mother lied about —“
“Shut your filthy mouth! Don't you
DARE call my mother a liar, asshole! She was just killed yesterday in a burglary by a guy that you people let go just the day before! Now, you're not only trying to turn her into a criminal, but insulting a dead woman, too? And you still haven't caught the guy that did it yet! I'm outta here.”
He explosively stood, knocking his chair backwards, and stormed to the door. It was locked.
“Let me out! You can't keep me here, I told you I know how cops work!”
“Actually, we can. You have no relatives that you can think of, and we can't find any, either. You're technically a ward of the state, now,” calmly responded the detective. Then he nodded to the mirror in the room.
“Your neighbor explained how he was about to marry your mother, though, and offered to take you in. The judge is gonna allow it, but it's a temporary solution, at least.”
The door came unlocked with a -click- and Jeff ran out. Out of the room. Out of the building. Out of his mind with grief. Straight into the arms of Emily and Matt in the small park across the street from the police station. Then he let himself cry.
* * * * * * *
Detective Warner was not having a good week. 'Standard Procedure' was causing him nine types of headache. It seemed that not a single case he picked up this week was going in a good direction. The bank robbery was looking like the manager. The two arsonists had hired Jimmy 'The Lockpick' Forsythe as a lawyer. The guy he'd drawn down on was going to sue the department. The dead lady's DNA in that burglary gone sour matched an unsolved crime in Florida. He needed to get his re-certification for firearms before Monday. Oh, yes, and his best friend was dating his baby sister.
So the growl at Janice when she called for him to wait a moment when he was on his way out was completely justified. At least, to him it was.
“Grumpy much?” she asked, looking actually concerned. The brunette was the best case records researcher he'd ever seen. She was good at her job, too.
“What is it this time?” his weariness with pretty much the world-at-large showing through his normally only slightly-rude exterior.
“Sorry, Kerry, but I think you need to see this. And I know you're not gonna like it, but, hey, you're supercop, you can handle anything, right?” and she turned, obviously expecting him to follow her back to her office.
* * * * * * *
Jeff looked at the room. It was going to be his when the 'rents got married anyway, but somehow, now it seemed kind of alien. He had already unpacked his belongings, what little there were. He sat on the bed and just stared out the window. A bird was sitting on a branch just outside, happily chirruping along, not a care in the world.
A knock at the door presented Matt's head sticking inside.
“Feel like hitting the park obstacle course with me?” he asked.
Jeff nodded his assent and stepped into his running shoes. It was something to do and keep his mind off of... things.
They passed Emily getting home as they were heading out the door, “Heya, Shortround, Dad... where ya going?”
“Guy thing, Em, go ahead and get dinner started, we'll be back soon,” Matt replied as they got into the car.
She went inside and threw her backpack against the kitchen cabinets. She was just as good — if not better than — any boy at that stuff, and yet her dad never let her do it. It's not like she enjoyed girly stuff. She could handle being a 'tomboy' in the eyes of everyone else, but she often wondered what it would be like to actually be a
boy.
* * * * * * *
Kerry Warner stared at the report in front of him, then scowled at Janice. She shrugged and smiled. “This can't be happening,” he said, “the dead lady is the only suspect in this?” She nodded again. About halfway down the fax was the major charge against Jeff's mother:
ABDUCTION OF A MINOR (2 YRS)
* * * * * * *
Jeff took the dishtowel from Emily and started to dry and put away while she was washing and rinsing. Matt had received a call after dinner and rushed out without a word. The two kids worked in silence for a moment before Jeff nervously cleared his throat.
“What's up, Shortround?”
“Ah, Em, have you ever had thoughts about yourself that, well, most people frown on? I mean, like they think it's wrong? Things that preachers give sermons about how wrong it is?”
Emily stopped. She looked over at Jeff. She looked back to the sink of dishes. She swallowed as she plucked the dishtowel from him and dried her hands.
“The dishes will keep,” she said, taking him by the shoulder and turning toward the den.
They sat on the couch, one at each end, facing each other.
Emily blew out a breath, then began.
“I was thinking along those lines just earlier. When my dad took you to do 'guy stuff' and it didn't occur to him that I may want to go. I mean, I like to do all the same stuff you do, don't I? So I started asking myself if I wanted to be a boy... like those transwhatever people on the talk shows? Really, I'm better at any sport but basketball than you. I like fishing, hunting, camping. I'm so stereotypical tomboy that it's almost a joke. But then I started thinking about other things. I like being a girl, too. I like playing with my hair. I like that I can just be in the mood to dress up pretty and no one thinks it's odd. I think what it comes down to being for real is that I hate being treated like I can't do something because I'm a girl. I mean, if you weren't invited to go to a movie because you're a boy, wouldn't that piss you off? And... you didn't mean this to be me confessing my feelings, did you? There was something you wanted to say to me. Or at least ask me about. Right?”
Jeff looked up at her and blushed. Then he nodded and took a big breath. He started shaking and took another big breath. After several more, he looked her in the eyes with tears beginning to run down his cheeks, and finally spilled what he was trying to say... “I think I may be gay.”
* * * * * * *
Kerry Warner stared across the table in disbelief. Sheila, his partner, reached over, put her hand under his chin, and lifted, shutting his mouth.
“And so,” Jimmy Forsythe was saying, “I'm afraid you're gonna have a hard time even trying to convict my respectable clients here, with the alleged arson.”
Kerry opened his mouth again, to say something, and was kicked in the shins from each side, so he shut his trap.
Wendy Sparkman, A.D.A. in charge of violent crimes, spoke up, “Mister Forsythe, that sounds like the feeble arguments of a man who knows he's already lost. We're done here,” she motioned to the two detectives to rise as she stood herself, and then turned and walked out the door without a look back.
Once out in the hall, she groaned and looked at Kerry and Sheila. “I hate that little toad. You know he's so good at keeping his clients out of jail that he's called, 'The Lockpick' by a lot of them?”
“Uh, Wendy, you okay on this one without us arresting officer types? We have to go on a run halfway across the damn country to pick up some guy in Florida for another case we're working,” explained Kerry.
“Don't forget the files we gotta grab while we're there, Yakko,” put in Sheila Kazuon.
“Oh, yeah, I'll crash and burn — pardon the pun — with or without you on this one,” Wendy said with a sour look. She walked off the other direction then, mumbling to herself about ethics classes in college.
The two headed for their unmarked cruiser. Well, Kerry called it that. Sheila called it his rattletrap of an excuse for a car.
“Pitiful the amount of info on the wire on this case, you read this?” he asked her. When she shook her head he reached into the back seat and grabbed the file printout, then handed it to her. “Read the kidnap part to me then, 'cause I only skimmed.”
She flipped through the pages and read, “Case number eff ell enn vee pee dee dash one nine nine six dash two four six oh one. The state of Florida versus Marlene Ugg on behalf of Lee Ugg. Holy shit is that a real name? Mister Lee Ugg attests that his former wife, one Marlene Ugg, used the visiting privilege as non-custodial parent to abscond — who the hell says, 'abscond,' anyway? — with their two-year old child. Wow. No one will ever accuse these joyboys of constructing testimony, will they? Where we going, anyway?”
“The range,” he answered, “I don't wanna go halfway across the damn country and not have my carrying papers in order. You need to re-cert while we're there?”
* * * * * * *
Emily knocked on the door, then stepped back next to Jeff. After a few moments, a bored looking high school girl opened the thick oak and just looked at them.
“Um,” said Jeff intelligently.
Emily took over so he wouldn't back out now, “We need to see Miss Scroggs, please. It's kinda important.”
The girl verbalized a disinterested sound that would have been a grunt, if it hadn't been born of trying to be cool. She turned and walked further into the house.
“Do we, y'know, follow?” asked Jeff. Emily shrugged, shook her head and reached over to take his hand so he would know she was there for him.
They waited about five minutes, then the door swung wide and the beaming face of their Speech, Debate, and Drama teacher faced them. She was tiny. Well, bigger than they were, but not by much, she was short enough and fit enough, that she could probably pass as a frosh in high school easy.
“Hey! I didn't expect to see either of you until classes start this Fall. Oh, Jeff, I heard about your mother, I'm sorry. What can I do to help you?” she said and asked as she vacillated between topics.
“Is there somewhere we could, um, talk private?” asked Emily, shooting a glance at the teenager trying not to look interested behind her mother.
“Oh! Of course there is. Devin, looks like I'll be busy for awhile, Come back down and get me when it's time to leave for your appointment if I'm not done. This way, kids,” she said, leading the way to a comfortable looking den.
After they were settled, Emily started, because Jeff was way too embarrassed. “We're sorry to bother you at home and all, especially since it sounds like you had plans with your daughter, but... well, we kinda thought you would understand the problem.”
“Oh? What problem is that — and why do you think I would understand? And Devin isn't my daughter — do I look old enough to have a daughter older than you two? — she's my younger sister,” said the young teacher.
“Well,” said Jeff, speaking at last, “last spring you chewed out the class for making fun of the gay character in that play we were watching. It just seemed like you felt pretty strong about it.”
Katarina Scroggs suddenly realized that one of these two kids — probably Jeff, from the worried looks around the room, anywhere but at her — was going to come out to her as gay. She could almost hear Grans saying, “Proceed delicately, Kit-kat.”
“Ah. Well, anything either of you tell me will go no further, and I'll do whatever I can to help,” she reassured them.
Jeff looked over at Emily, the fear may as well have been written on his face with a Sharpie. “I — I think I may be gay. I'm not sure but I caught myself staring at another boy's butt at the park the other day. And I liked it...” was all he got out before his lip started to tremble and his voice quavered, “I miss my Mom!”
Emily reached around his shoulders and hugged him, saying nothing.
Katarina laid a hand on the boy's knee as she crouched in front of him so she could look up at him, saying, “There's nothing wrong with being gay, despite what the kids at school or even what the people in this town will say. That being the case, I suggest you keep it a secret except from people you trust because just nothing being wrong with it won't keep small-minded folks from taking their fears out on an innocent.” She paused a moment, then went on, “I have a couple of questions, though, can I ask them?”
Jeff nodded as tears started to come down his cheeks.
Katarina nodded back and asked, “Have you started any of puberty? Hair under your arms or on your legs? Voice cracking?” she waited while he shook his head and sniffled, “I'd say this was the first sign then. Look, anytime you need to talk, I'll be here for you. Think of me as a big sister — unless we're in school, then I'm strictly Miss Scroggs, got it?”
The three talked about things until Devin came and knocked on the door to fetch Katarina.
* * * * * * *
"Mr. Ugg? Sir I must inform you not to discuss details nor to ask questions of us about the case for which we're fetching you, until we are at our destination and in the presence of the Assistant District Attorney overseeing the case at our end. Clear?” rattled off Sheila. She looked to the west, at the bulge of Epcot Center in the distance, like a wart on the horizon's otherwise blemish-free skin. That party pooper Kerry wouldn't even consider getting a day pass. The man in front of her nodded in reply and she led him to the car.
Kerry shook the man's hand and introduced himself, then tossed Sheila the keys. “You get first driving shift on the way back.”
* * * * * * *
Jeff wandered through the park. Ignoring other folks there. It was dusk, but he wasn't afraid.
Am I really gay? I mean, yeah, I was staring at another guy's ass. Does that make me automatically gay?Oh, Mom, I wish you were here. I mean, Katarina is a help, but... I talked to you about everything. How am I ever gonna make it without you? Matt's great, but will they let me stay with him? Or will they put me in some home? Or maybe there's a long lost relative that I don't know and that doesn't know me that I'll have to go live with?
He sighed and kicked a rock out of the grass and onto the bike path, then went over and kicked it out onto the road. Even talking to Emily wouldn't help.
She loved you, too, Mom, but she just can't understand. It's not the same. She still has Matt. I don't wanna leave here, it's the only place I know.
He walked over to a crooked tree, leaned against it and sank to the ground. As it became darker, he allowed the tears to crawl down his cheeks and chin before plummeting unhindered to the absorbent beyond of his t-shirt.
* * * * * * *
Emily finished her homework and put her books back in her backpack. Jeff was 'taking a walk' and so was still gone. She reached over and turned off the lamp and sat massaging her temples. Another of those stinking headaches was coming on. She sank back against the soft cushions of the plush loveseat and closed her eyes.
She had no idea how long she had snoozed, but the key in the front door brought her fully awake. The beautiful woman that came strutting in was completely visible to her by the light over the porch. She started to ask who she was, but she realized that sitting in the dark, the woman hadn't seen her yet. It was obvious the woman was right at home. She had long brown hair done in an up-do... a French twist leaving a couple of curly bits coming down in front of her ears. A gorgeous calf-length evening gown, slit up to the thigh and showing the tops of her stockings, with a matching wrap, heels, and purse. She couldn't make out any of the fine details, but the woman moved through the darkness as though she was familiar with the house. As the intruder arrived at the stairs, the long, lacquered nails reaching for the banister, Emily moved quietly to the overhead light and flipped it on. Emily drew a sharp breath and the lady whirled around halfway up, shock and fear on her face.
“Daddy?”
* * * * * * *
Kerry Wagner and Sheila Duquesnes were experts on Nascar. At least, they were now. By the time they were one hundred miles out of Florida, they were both wishing Sheila had forbid the man to talk at all. He never shut up. Well, not quite true. He shut up when he was eating. Or sleeping.
They were at the last rest stop before home, less than forty miles to go now. They had stopped so that Ugg could, as he put it, “... hit the pisser and tap the lizard.”
“I swear, Yakko, if he even mentions Jeff Gordon again, I'm pulling my piece and to hell with consequences,” said Sheila, glaring at Kerry as though it were all his fault.
He chuckled. He reached out and patted her leg sympathetically and said, “And we have to bring him back to Florida once everything's cleared up.”
She looked toward the rest stop building that housed the restrooms. She looked down at her holster. She glared at Kerry again.
“Note to self,” she said nastily, “Make Yakko buy earplugs.”
Kerry was still laughing heartily when their guest returned to the car.
* * * * * * *
Jeff left the house early. It was Saturday, and the time at the park wasn't enough last night. When he came home last night — quite late, actually — it had sort of shocked him that not only was Matt's car gone, but Emily was nowhere to be found, either. They didn't seem to be around this morning, either. With a shrug, he rinsed his cereal bowl out in the sink, then stomped into his sneakers and set out. His backpack had traded schoolbooks and supplies for a novel, a sketchpad, his journal, and his discman with the CD that Gerald Knudson had loaned him. He contemplated the three parks in town, and decided that none of them would do for being alone to think on a Saturday. So he headed toward the Elementary School playground, instead.
He sat atop the huge wooden structure that had the tunnels to crawl through, swinging bridges, poles and slides, net ladders, monkeybars... and other stuff and idly wondered why they didn't have cool stuff when he was a little kid. His thoughts drifted back to his personal issues soon enough.
“Hey, kid,” said a voice from behind him.
Startled, he turned and saw the girl from Miss Scr— ah, Katarina's house. Her sister, he thought he remembered.
“Mind if I join you?” the older girl said, “Seems like you've found my favorite thoughtful spot.”
He shrugged and motioned her to climb on up, which she did with the ease of long practice.
He was afraid she was going to ruin the whole purpose, but she just nodded and sat down next to him, staring at the treeline on the other side of the large empty space between the playground and the creek. She sighed the sigh of someone with a lot on their mind, but didn't speak to him, already lost in her own thoughts. So he nodded slightly to himself, and set about losing himself the same way.
Silence.
* * * * * * *
Wendy leaned against the wall outside the 'interview' room, and a moment later Sheila joined her. The two women looked at each other, and both giggled.
“Ow. My pride,” said Wendy.
“No kidding,” remarked Sheila, “as far as that man is concerned Women's Lib never happened. No wonder his wife left. Did you hear that remark about women wearing pants being 'just a fad' that we would get past sooner or later?”
“Do you want Kerry to finish the rest of this? I mean, I don't think the courts will see it any other way than to give him custody,” asked the ADA.
“No, I can handle it. Yakko's got that mean streak about anything referring to people being owned,” responded the detective.
“Ugh,” said Wendy, “Er — no pun intended — yeah, I can see the line, 'That there woman stole what was rightfully my property and the fruit of my loins,' pissing him off. Well, I don't think there's much else to do, though. I'll finish up, you go get your partner and the kid, and we'll meet back up later.”
* * * * * * *
Kerry knocked on the door a third time, stepped back off the porch to see if there was any activity upstairs, then checked his notebook again for the address.
“Can I help you, mister?” said a voice behind him.
He turned and there was his goal. “Jeffrey Parker?”
“Maybe. Hey, I know you...” said the boy.
“You need to come with me to the station, kid. There's a lot of stuff going on that you need to know about,” Kerry informed the boy.
However, the response took him off guard, “No.”
“Whaddaya mean, 'No,' kid?”
“Are all cops as dumb as you? I'm not going anywhere with you. Don't try to make me, either. Crime Watch. Who will they believe, the kid that lives here or the guy attacking him? Besides, I'm younger and faster, you're out of shape, and I know the neighborhood.”
This kid was smart. “Look, son, I —“
“Don't. Just... don't. I know you were right in the station. I'm not your son, for one. I came home and searched and found my mother's diary. Her real name wasn't Janette Parker, it was Marlene Ugg. I know she took me from my father when I was two. But she's
not a criminal. She saved me from him.”
Kerry took a step forward, to try to comfort the boy, but Jeff interpreted it as an attempt to rush him and took off running.
“Aw, piss in the wind!” exclaimed Kerry. He grabbed his radio and called dispatch while he ran to the car, wondering why whatever deity was in charge hated him.
* * * * * * *
Emily stared up at Brenda. That's what she'd been told to call her. She was still having trouble believing that this woman that looked almost like a model was her father. The door swung shut again, and she said, “Clear.”
Brenda smiled down at Emily. Emily shuddered. “I'm sorry, Em. I just... I couldn't... I mean... When you... We were... And then I... After your... ah... I'm just sorry,” she said and reached to give Emily a hug. Emily flinched away.
With a sad smile, Brenda said, “If it's any consolation, your mother knew and supported me as a part of Matthew. So did Janette.”
“That's supposed to help me deal with the fact that my father looks like he belongs on the stinking cover of Cosmo?”
Brenda looked sharply around, “Please, Emily, call me Aunty Brenda? I brought you out here to help you understand. But you're not even willing to talk to me? You gave me the silent treatment all the way here, all night.”
Emily frowned. “Do you think Jeff will find the note we left?”
“I put it on the microwave, he can't miss it as soon as he uses it. We'll be back tonight and he'll have had a good alone-time day.”
“Fine,” the girl finally said, “EXPLAIN. But, dearest
Aunty, this had better be good.
* * * * * * *
“Devin, could you get that?” called Katarina Scroggs from the kitchen. Homemade quesadillas have so much less fat, but you had to watch them like a hawk. She heard the door open and Charlie Brown's teacher, then the door close.
A wide-eyed boy fairly flew into the kitchen as she was pulling Devin's quesadilla off of the griddle.
“Whoa. Jeff. What's the hurry?” she asked as she slid her creation neatly onto a plate. She glanced at Devin, and in the way that close sisters have, they communicated without words. So she started a quesadilla for Jeff, then.
“Um. If I were to tell you that the police were after me, but it was for something that I didn't do, would you let me hide out here?”
She paused in sprinkling the onions and peppers into the cheese. “But why would you tell me that, Jeff? I'd have to let your guardian — Matt Tomkins, right? — know that you were here, but yes, I would give you sanctuary as long as you could assure me it was for something you didn't do.”
Devin reached across the table and took his hand and squeezed it, then let it go. Not trying to get overly familiar, just showing support. “Us Thoughtful Spotters gotta stand together.”
Neither of the teenagers said anything more until Katarina turned and set a plate in front of each before taking her own and setting it on the table, as well.
“Now,” she said, “for dinner conversation, you need to explain your hypothetical situation a bit more.”
Jeff told her everything he knew. His mother had kidnapped him from his father. That he had hit her and tried to stop her from divorcing him, then used his money and the fact that he put that money into the Mayor and City Councils' pockets to get custody of him. And that the cops wanted to get him to go back to Florida, now.
“Wait,” inserted Devin, “your mother put all that in her diary? Sorry, I don't mean to be rude or
anything, but wasn't that just asking for it?”
“No,” answered Jeff. He paused to chew and swallow, then went on, “It was more like describing the stuff he did to her, then there was no entries from the divorce until six months later, when she started writing again about, 'that horrible man trying to take my baby from me' — and with what that detective had already told me at the police station the day after she died, I put it together. There's entries ranting about him for two years, then they stop with one talking about losing custody, but having a plan. They just stop there for years, then start up again with normal stuff around my seventh birthday. What she got me, y'know, like that.”
“Wow,” said Devin.
“Yes,” agreed Katarina, “very soap opera. Okay, Jeff, you can stay here until Matt comes to get you, but I'm gonna call over there. I'll leave a message if he's not there. Devin, you get him set up in the guest room.”
“Yes, ma'am,” the two answered in unison.
He grinned at her and she punched him in the arm, returning his grin.
* * * * * * *
“Wow. Okay, Aunty. I think I can handle that. It makes more sense now. But Mom? Really? That's almost... spiffy,” Emily was saying as she mopped the last of her gravy from the plate. Brenda looked much more relieved, and the other two ladies were smiling. Hard to believe that they were both really guys, too. And her mother had been the one to get him started in this crossdressing thing? Before they'd even gotten married? All because of this Cosplay — or was it called Crossplay? — stuff and a bet. Whoa. Just. Wow.
“And it's time we headed back, Em,” said Brenda, leaving cash and a tip on the table and giving quick hugs to the other ladies. “I'll visit again soon, girls,” she said, “it'll be easier since I don't have to hide it now.”
With that, the two of them got into the car and began the drive home.
* * * * * * *
“Devin. Please, help me. You're the only friend I have other than Emily that knows, um, what I am. It's Florida, where the president's brother is in charge. They'll hang me or shoot me or something, I just know it!” pleaded Jeff.
“Don't worry. I have a plan. We're gonna sneak out in a bit, but first we gotta hide you in plain sight. You ever done any acting? Plays and the like?”
“A bit,” he answered, following her into what he figured was the guest room.
She looked back over her shoulder at him and grinned, “Good. Do you trust me?”
“I guess so.”
“Sit on the bed,” she told him as she shut the door behind them, and locked it.
She walked to the closet and opened it, pulling out a skirt. She turned to him and said, “Okay, strip.”
* * * * * * *
Brenda sat and thought about what Emily had said. She had tried to explain to her that she didn't think she was any less capable of doing activities with her as Matt than Jeff was, but he had been trying to act like other men did with their daughters. She apologized. Many times. She was on her way to the shower when Emily ran up the stairs, saying something about a detective and a kidnapping and Jeff over at a teacher's house.
She sent her back downstairs, and told her that her father would be down shortly.
Matt stepped out of the bathroom in a pair of shorts. His towel over his left shoulder and a t-shirt in hand, all traces of Brenda vanished — unless you realized that the faint irritation on his chest was from removing breastforms. He headed down and to the kitchen to find his daughter impatiently waiting by the back door.
“Okay, Dad,” said Emily, “I'll meet you in the car.”
She explained the whole situation from the message on the answering machine to him on the way. They were walking up to the front door of the Scroggs' home when Katarina came out the front door, looking worried.
“Emily! Have you seen Devin? Oh, you must be Matt. Um, I don't know how to say this, but they're gone,” she babbled, obviously a bit at a loss for what to do. “I mean, I figured they were just being quiet last night, but they were late to come down for breakfast, so I went up and they just... weren't there. The beds didn't even look slept in.”
Matt looked to Emily and she took Katarina's arm, leading her to the car. Between the three of them, they started searching the town. None of the fast food places, none of the diners, not even the one coffee shop. Driving past the park, Katarina pointed.
“There's Devin. Stop and I'll find out what's going on,” she said.
They parked and got out, Katarina jogging over to the bench that Devin was sitting on with another girl. When she got to them, she rounded the bench, and promptly forgot whatever she was going to say as the two kids grinned up at her. Devin held her finger to her lips to shush her, then motioned with her head for Katarina to leave.
She frowned at them, and shook her head, saying, “Sorry, but no. Matt and Emily are here with me to get Jeff. You can take it up with them what you're gonna do about that detective. Up. C'mon.”
The two hung their heads and stood.
Emily and Matt had caught up as the two girls turned around. Their jaws hung open as they realized that the other 'girl' was Jeff in a skirt, blouse, and wig.
“Jeff, is that you?!?” gasped Matt.
“Yeah. Devin's been trying to help me think of things to do to get out of this whole going to Florida thing... we've got a good couple of ideas, too,” he answered. His height was good for a girl, and the clothes and wig plus the makeup that Devin had helped with made him look at least like an ordinary girl. Until you noticed that she stood completely wrong and tended to scratch at her bra.
“That's all I needed to hear,” came a voice just before two of the passersby grabbed Jeff suddenly. “Calm down, kid,” said Kerry as he walked up, “This is my partner, Sheila Duquesnes and a friend of ours from the station. Hold him tight, Will, he's sneaky.”
Matt stepped over and demanded, “What is the meaning of this? He's thirteen years old, you can't arrest him without talking to his Guardian — and that's me. Let him go. Now.”
“Sorry pal, no can do. Here,” he handed Matt a folded piece of paper, “you're Guardianship has been revoked. His actual father is here to get him from Florida. I'm really sorry, kid, your old man is a real asshole, but there's nothing I can do.”
“At least let him change clothes before you go,” put in Emily, “He's not done anything to deserve being embarrassed!” She hoped that at home she could help him find another way to get away.
“Em,” said Jeff, finally speaking, “don't worry about it. I'm not even trying to get away, and maybe being dressed like this will make the jerk not want me. Talk to Devin. She's got the details.” Then he looked over at the detective. “Okay, let's go see my, ah, the guy my mother was married to.”
With that, the police walked with a not-struggling Jeff to their car and pulled away.
As soon as the car doors shut, Devin whirled on Katarina. “Kat, get out your cell, call Carter and Billings, tell them to be at Carter's office when I get there with these two, use up favors if you have to,” she ordered her older sister, then spun on the other two, giving them the same treatment, “You and you. To the car, move it. Make sure you have your credit card, I'll explain in the car.”
And Katarina was left bewildered, alone, and with her cell phone out making a call as the redheaded dynamo that was her sister ushered the two off.
* * * * * * *
Carter Mortimer grinned across the desk at his best friend, then cleared his throat and mock-formally said, “Judge Billings, this man has retained my services to act as legal agent for his recently deceased fiancé's son in the Emancipation process — that would be the gray form, Randolph, yeah, that one, we backdated it — and as such I formally request that you not allow the minor in question to be removed from the state on the grounds that doing so would be placing him under the direct influence of the man he's attempting to achieve Emancipation from. I realize how irregular it is to drag you not only to my office for this, but on a Sunday, your Honor, but the situation seems to be desperate. If you grant this request — yeah, sign right there — then we have to rush this over to the police station.”
Randolph shook his head as he chuckled, “You always did get off on the pomposity of being a lawyer, didn't you? Sit down and shut up, 'Counselor' and lemme read this stuff.”
Matt and Emily were confused, but Devin lounged on the leather sofa in the office as though she hadn't a care in the world. She had instructed Matt to take care of the fees for the lawyer as soon as they got there. Carter had processed the credit card and handed Matt a receipt, at which point the Judge had arrived.
The judge scribbled something approximating a signature on several of the pile of forms that Carter had seemingly pulled from the air as needed. “So,” he said as he capped his pen and re-pocketed it, “you filed the Emancipation intent form... six days ago? Isn't that the day after the kid's mother died? Oh. There's an issue and you want it retroactive.”
Carter grinned again and dropped into a seat. “Yep. From what I've been told, this may be desperate action, but it's necessary,” he replied, then flicked a glance and the redheaded bombshell-to-be lounging in his favorite spot. “Hey, Randolph, out of curiosity... I know what I owe to Kat and Devin. But what kind of tethers have they attached to you?”
With a bit more bluster than a thirty-four year old Judge should be capable of, Randolph Billings harrumphed impressively, and mumbled something about privileged information.
* * * * * * *
Sheila Duquesnes looked in the rearview mirror at the kid, calmly sitting there in his skirt and wig as if it were what he wore everyday. Well, except for sitting in a way unladylike position. Poor kid, she thought, Having to go with that jerk. Well, maybe the skirt idea that girl that was with him had might work. Ugg didn't seem like the type to be dumb enough to 'free the beast' in public, though. He might lose interest. Perhaps. She pulled into the station parking lot and looked over at Kerry. His mouth was set into that tight line that meant he didn't like the situation, but was thinking of a way out of it. Best not to bother him.
Another thought occurred to her, “Hey, kid. Your mother didn't have a will that you know of, did she? I mean, if she named someone else as your Guardian...”
Jeff shook his head, “No. She was only thirty-one, Ma'am.”
Kerry gave Will a quick thanks for the assist, and sent him on the way, and gave Sheila a look that drained the last hope she had for the young teenager... the look that said, “I got nuthin'.”
With Jeff walking just completely calmly between them, the three went inside the station.
* * * * * * *
"Mister Ugg,” said Wendy, “when the Sheriff in your county informed you that the abduction case may have a lead, you requested transport up here and we didn't balk. Now, we're just asking you to be patient until the detectives on the case of your ex-wife's murder return. So please, sit, have a cup of coffee, feed the vending machines... I don't know. Exercise some patience. Just because you want them to be back sooner does not make it so, and yelling at me about it does nothing to improve the situation.”
She left the lounge area, and went down the hallway, as she rounded the corner, she nearly ran into Warner and Duquesnes.
“Oh good grief,” she said, relieved, “that man is driving me nuts! He's waiting in the lounge, just go to him. I'm leaving.” and with that... she left.
“I can't,” said Jeff, “I thought I could spook the fella by wearing this getup, but I can't do it. Is there a bathroom nearby where I can change before going in there?” he asked, hefting his backpack.
Kerry sighed and nodded, then pointed down the hall a bit. “Too bad though, kid, if you could act all girly, it would be bound to get under this guy's skin.”
Jeff nodded and then walked to the men's room and went inside. A few minutes later, he emerged in the cargo shorts and T-shirt he'd been wearing the day before when Kerry had seen him. His face looked like he'd made an attempt to scrub the makeup off, but he ended up looking more like a raccoon.
Sheila grinned and asked, “Anyone else in there?” and when he shook his head, she took the backpack, handed it to Kerry, and said, “Wait here.” Then she took Jeff by the hand and took him back into the men's room. She pulled a small tube of lotion out of her purse as the boy just looked at her oddly.
“Makeup is designed to stay on, even with soap. You have to remove it properly. I don't have any cold cream here, but lotion will do in a pinch as a substitute. Here,” she said, squeezing a bit onto a paper towel, “close your eyes.”
Jeff complied and she cleaned him up, then had him rinse his face and dry it again.
They exited to see a bored Kerry leaning against the wall, pack at his feet and juggling what looked to be three 'hacky-sack' bean bags. He stopped when he noticed them and slipped them into a pocket.
The three proceeded the rest of the way up the hall to the station room, and through that to the lounge.
* * * * * * *
Devin got into Carter's car as she instructed Matt and Emily to follow. Judge Billings just waved and walked to his own car. They followed the lawyer, both still kind of bewildered about what was going on, exactly.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“What just happened?”
“Not a clue.”
“And you're okay with that?”
“Not especially.”
“Oh.”
They were silent for a moment or two before anything else was said.
“Em?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you okay with... Brenda?”
“I don't know yet.”
“Oh.”
Further conversation would have seemed forced and contrived to either one of them, so again, silence reigned for a bit.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“You said Mom and Janette both knew and supported you as, um, Aunty Brenda. What did you mean by 'supported' you?”
Matt sucked in a breath through his teeth and then blew it out slowly.
He started to explain, “Well, your mother was the one that got me started in college with the cosplay... and then crossplay. So we started to see if I could be as convincing as a normal girl as I could as a girl pretending to be a Japanese cartoon. As for Janette...” he paused and got a goofy grin, then said in Brenda's voice, “Janette really knew how to treat a girl.”
Emily's eyes bugged out. “Don't do that!” she exclaimed, “The girly voice and the boy face is just... creepy, Dad.”
Matt chuckled, then glanced over at his daughter and finished, “Janette and Brenda were lesbian lovers, Em. Janette walked in on Brenda one day when I lost track of time when it was my turn to watch over the two of you. You and Matt weren't quite three years old, and when it was my turn to watch the kids... well, let's just say that Janette was interested in Brenda before she was into me.”
Then they pulled into the police station parking lot behind Carter and Devin.
* * * * * * *
Taking a deep breath, Jeff put his hand on the handle for the door and looked back at the two police officers. The made 'shoo' gestures, and he pulled the door open and went in.
Lee Ugg looked up at him disinterestedly from the television, “Yes? What now? More delays?” he asked, then noticed it was a kid. Disgusted by all their stupid delaying tactics, he growled at the boy, “Well?”
Startled, Jeff blushed and looked at his shoes, then back up at Ugg, “I — I was told that you're my natural father?
All the color drained out of the snarling Floridian's face, “What the hell are you wearing? This damfool pants fad is bad enough, but no daughter of mine is going to have a boy's haircut! Well, we can take care of that later, Jessica. Come give your daddy a hug!” then he opened his arms wide and beamed at Jeff as if he had just offered him the keys to Fort Knox.
* * * * * * *
"I don't care what the damn DNA says, science is freaky anyway, that's the sloppiest police work I've ever heard about, let alone seen! Now, you two clowns have a lot of work to do on this case to straighten this mess out, our I'd suspend both of you with no pay for this pile of shit. The only reason I'm not is I don't want to make someone else have to come in and sort out your stupidity! Get out of my office!” shouted Captain McCullough.
Kerry and Sheila exited as quickly as they could.
They went out to the car and sat. Not moving. Not saying anything. They just sat. For at least an hour.
“What the hell was that?” asked Sheila.
“An example of police efficiency. Don't list the physical details of the victim of the crime on the police report, to protect them,” replied Kerry. Hands on the wheel at ten and two. Back straight. Feet planted flat on the floorboard. Keys firmly in pocket.
“Okay. We need to start over. There's no question of the DNA, right?”
“Right.”
“Then where's the girl?”
“I dunno.”
“And is Jeff, Janette — or Marlene's son?”
“We should check that.”
“Start the damn car already, we're drawing some stares and it's hot as hell.”
“Oh.”
They drove out to the Tomkins house.
Matt was at work, and the two kids answered the door. Were they smirking or scowling? Somewhere between was the safe bet.
“Can I help you, detectives?” asked Emily.
“Ah. Sorry, kids, is your dad around?” asked Kerry.
“It's Monday. We're only 13. It's eleven in the morning. Where do you think he might be? Wait. Don't answer that... wouldn't want you to fetch my Dad's long, lost husband from Florida,” replied the girl.
“The only thing worse than being made fun of by a kid,” said Sheila, “is when they're right. Look. We're sorry. We're trying to fix things.”
“Uh-huh,” said Jeff, glaring at the two, “just trying to help.”
“Look, kid,” said Kerry ”fact is, we're back to where we started. I have to figure out who burgled your home, who killed your mother, where the daughter that your mother ran off with went, and,” Kerry paused and looked sheepish, “where the hell you came from.”
Emily shut the door in their faces.
They stood there, trying to decide whether to knock again, when the door was opened and a brush with hair in it thrust at them.
“Hair from Jeff. You have thirty seconds to leave before we sic the dog on you. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. Twenty-”
The two adults sprinted for the car, started it, and pulled away.
Kerry looked over at Sheila, who was chuckling.
“What? You think that was funny?”
“No,” she answered, “but that girl is going to be damn scary when she grows up.”
* * * * * * *
"Why did you give them my brush?” asked Jeff as he followed Emily into the kitchen.
“So they'd leave us alone,” Emily answered, “besides... um, aren't you curious? Don't get mad, but, don't you want to know? I mean, what if your mom wasn't your mom?”
“She was,” said the scowling boy, “and she still is. That's where I was day before yesterday when I came home and that cop was here. I was visiting her. I plan to every week on Saturday. You can come too, if you like, but I get time alone with her.”
“I'm sorry, Jeff,” she said quietly, biting her lower lip, “I'd like that, though.”
“Whatever,” he snapped and stormed up the stairs.
“Wait. Jeff.”
He stopped and spun around.
“What?”
“I just... well, I can't help thinking of everything that's happened. I mean, if Janette was this Marlene lady before you two moved here. And if she had a daughter named Jessica, but not a son named Jeff. Where did you come from, and where is Jessica?” reasoned Emily.
A thought occurred to her.
“Jeff... how well do you remember things from when we were small?” she asked.
He leaned against the wall of the stairway, propping one foot up on the handrail as he looked at her.
“I don't really. I mean, we were both only two when I moved here with Mom. The first real thing I remember is the mudball fight,” he answered.
Emily grinned in remembrance, herself, “The morning of the first day in Kindergarten, right? So we both went to school for the very first time with giant brown blobs on our clothes. Ugh. Daddy made me wear that horrible frothy pink dress and your mom made you wear a white shirt and tie.”
He nodded, and returned her grin with a small smile.
She grew serious again and said, “Okay... hear me out. What if you happen to be this Jessica person?”
He startled and tumbled down the three steps he had climbed.
“Are you nuts? I'm not a girl... and I don't
wanna be a girl!”
“Gee. Thanks,” she said wryly.
“What? Oh, come on! You said just the other day that even you weren't sure
you wanted to be a girl!” he protested.
“Not quite. I said I thought about being a boy, but decided I liked being a girl sometimes,” she pointed out to him.
“So... what exactly are you asking or suggesting, then?” he asked, deflating.
“Well... I don't know how to ask this... do you know the difference between a girl and a boy? Because, if you're not sure... There's this video that Dad used to explain things about, ah, boys and sex and stuff to me last Spring. Just... come on,” she said, helping him up off the floor and dragging him into the living room.
* * * * * * *
Jeff stared wide-eyed at the paused screen. He rewound, watched the screen in slo-mo, and paused again.
“So. Not only do I find out just how
humongous and weird Mom lied to me, but that is sex?”
“I'm sorry, Jessica,” said Emily.
Jeff stormed to his feet and loomed over her, “
You are NEVER to call me that ever again! Do you understand me?” he nearly screamed, angrier than she had ever seen.
Emily yelped in fear, all color draining from her face as she nodded in fearful assent.
He spun and stomped back and forth as he ranted, and Emily suspected it was more to her— ah,
himself than to or at her. “I am a
boy! I always have been, and I always will be! Not you, and not anyone can tell me differently! I'm not going with the Ugg, guy. If they try to make me, I'll run away, and no one will see me again!”
He stood panting and on the verge of tears. Emily got up and went to him to hug him. They were still there when Matt came in the front door.
* * * * * * *
Matt was driving, Jeff was staring out the window in the passenger seat and Emily was sitting behind him with her hand on Jeff's shoulder. They were coming home from the police station again, this time from giving more DNA to prove that Ugg was Jeff's father. Last night, he hadn't bothered them, after Emily had frowned at him and flicked a gaze to the kitchen, clearly telling him they needed to be left alone. Emily had done the talking as they had left the station, telling about the discovery that she and Jeff had made. Again, Matt wished he'd been able to move them to a larger town. He didn't know what to say to Jeff, so he said nothing.
When they pulled into the driveway, there was a teenage girl with red hair sitting on the steps. She stood and dusted off her backside and waved, smiling. Jeff and Emily waved half-heartedly as they got out of the car. Matt recognized her as the imperious girl that helped Jeff a couple of days before and nodded before going inside to leave the three alone.
The three walked over to the park, not really saying anything. They sat in the shade and, eventually, they told Devin of the prior night's information overload. Her eyes widened, but then she nodded.
“Wow,” she said, “I mean when I dressed you up the other day, I didn't see a bulge in your underwear, but I just figured you had a tiny dick. Sorry, but I guess it's just smaller than even I guessed.”
Jeff scowled at her, saying, “Look, this isn't a joke to me,” then he looked embarrassed and mumbled, “What's a dick?”
Again, she nodded sagely, and replied, “Slang for boyparts, dude, the worm-y looking part. But then, you'll learn all that in Health class this fall. No, you need to think of it that way, and you won't be so hung up on it. You just have a very small dick. Don't
just think of it as a small dick.
Own it. Some other guy laughs because you have a tiny dick. Fix 'im with a completely 'I don't give a shit' stare and say, 'Yeah? So?' and move on.”
“Wait,” said Emily as she stood up, “You totally don't have a problem with this?”
The older girl shrugged, “Why should I have a problem with it? It's his dick.”
“You mean,” asked Jeff, hope making his voice quaver a bit, “you don't care that I'm really a girl?”
Devin laughed. She looked at Jeff, then barked another laugh, before drawing a deep breath and settling herself. She was still grinning when she answered, “You. Are so
not a girl... it's almost painful, Jeff.”
Emily settled back down as the beatific smile filled Jeff's features.
* * * * * * *
“Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait,” gasped out Kerry between sucking in lungfuls of air to laugh, “Jesus, my sides hurt! BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Sheila watched him and despite herself, it started to amuse her, too. She giggled, swallowed it, then burst into all-out guffaw like her partner had. Wendy waited patiently until both were done and wiping the tears of mirth from their eyes.
“So,” said Kerry, still chuckling and stifling the harder laughter, “let me see if I got this straight. Jeff
is, indeed Janette Parker's aka Marlene Ugg's son. But Lee Ugg. The bastard sitting in there, is
not the father despite the only conclusion to be reached from legal documents being that the kid was conceived during the time that his mother was definitely married to said rich inbred? So, now we got yet another mystery within this case? Oh, my achin' ribs...”
“And, hee hee hee, and we get to tell Ugg? Omigawd, this is like Christmas come early!” added Sheila, giggling again.
“Are you two about finished?” asked Wendy with a sigh, “Because there's more to the story than that. The DNA provided in the brush had the same result but that's why we wanted a second sample from a more easily read source. Jeff has XX chromosomes. What with Ugg's surety that he had a daughter, this leads me to believe that our poor, deceased mother had a few tricks up her sleeve. And Ugg has a paternity test that needs to be overturned, that shows he's the father.”
The two detectives sobered.
“Um,” said Sheila, “how exactly is that possible? Did he have it fixed way back when and that's how he got the win in the original custody case?”
“Eleven years ago,” stated the ADA, “1995, to be exact. They were still determining paternity from blood tests at that time. DNA wasn't used for something so mundane. Apparently, the real father has the same blood type as Ugg does. Kind of adds to the whole thing. This is turning into a regular Holmes and Watson style mystery, isn't it?”
Kerry tried to say something, but his mouth still didn't want to open without laughter of some sort spilling out once the dam of his lips parted. So he opened his mouth and giggled, then snorted before slapping both hands over his mouth to hold in the mirth. After a moment, he finally had a handle on it and was able to speak.
“So we get to tell the kid the news, right? I'm pretty sure that if a thirteen-year old kid has a shit-list, Sheila and I are both fairly high on it, just now,” he said, still grinning.
“No, Detectives, I'll deliver the news while you question Mister Ugg on any male employees, relatives, or neighbors that were around in the early days of his failed marriage,” Wendy answered.
Kerry was no longer laughing.
* * * * * * *
Matt scratched his head.
“So... you're telling me that Jeff is transsexual?” he asked, confused.
“No,” replied an exasperated Emily, “well... maybe? Look, Jeff doesn't have boyparts down below.”
“Oh, is that all?” asked Matt.
Neither of the kids knew how to respond to that in any way.
* * * * * * *
Lee Ugg didn't know what to say. The lawyer he'd hired locally to help him with this entire ass-pile of occurrences assured him that the DNA test was showing that he couldn't be that boy's father, which didn't come to any surprise. But then, they kept insisting this Jeff kid was his daughter Jessica, and that he wasn't really the father. So, he thought, stewing things over, if everything they say is true, then Marlene really was cheating on me. I really did have the right to take the girl... or boy... according to the prenuptial. Hell, I only wanted the girl to hurt Marlene. Woman aughtn't try to stand up to a man that way. It ain't proper. Dammit. I knew I shoulda had that new-fangled DMV test instead of the other one. But my lawyer assured me it would prove things. Well. Now that I signed that paper this lawyer said was a good idea, I don't have to worry about no kid no more. But who could be that kid's daddy? Harry was too old, Mark couldn't get it up for a woman if his life depended on it — damn fairy — and Robin... wait.
“That filthy sum'bitch!” Ugg suddenly shouted, leaping to his feet.
Kerry pushed back and motioned to the two uniforms to restrain the man.
“AlrightalrightalrightalrightALRIGHT already! Lemme go, I'll calm the fuck down,” he swore as he jerked his arms out of their hands and plopped down in the chair again.
“Okay, Mister Dee-tective, I think I know who it may be,” Ugg said, scowling after he calmed down, “Clever little assface, too. Look, Marlene's family ain't whatcha call, 'classy' like mine was. So I sneaked around the city and found me an expert in that there whosismagadger... deportment. And hired her. At least, I thought it was a her. Turned out she was one of them transpesticide guys. I mean, I may not have finished high school — what with my family's money, I didn't need to — but I should be able to tell a man from a woman. Little fucker sneaked in and got a piece of my pretty new wife that I wouldn't let any man near. Right under my nose. Bitch is lucky she's dead, now.”
“Mister Ugg,” sighed Sheila, taking notes, “the name of the potential father?”
He scowled again, “I dunno if it was his real name, but I guess it's one of them gussied up ones that go both ways.”
“And, sir, what was it?” asked Kerry.
“Robin Masters.”
* * * * * * *
“Masters, Robin. Born in 1974 in Miami, Florida. Made living as a female illusionist illusionist, performing a magic act in drag. This lasted until 1995 when a publishing house became interested in his crime novels and he became an overnight sensation. He now resides on the island of Maui in Hawaii on an estate he has modeled after the one that housed the character Thomas Magnum from the popular, '
Magnum P.I.' television show. The estate in the program was owned by a novelist named Robin Masters,” read Sheila from the back of the book.
“So, you think he's the same one?” asked Matt.
“This is funny,” she said, completely not paying attention, “The bio keeps saying 'he' and 'his' but the picture on the back is him as a girl. Wow. I wish that I looked as good.”
“Detective Duquesnes?” prompted Matt.
“Hmm? Oh. Sorry. Um, the police out there are getting a DNA sample for us, we should have it FedEx by morning. I'm sorry, I just... I don't think I'll ever understand some of these guys that dress up like girls. I mean, I know what transsexuals get out of it... they're girls in their brains. I know what transvestites get out of it... er... off of it. But these guys that just like to dress in women's clothing? I like how it feels, yeah, but gimme something that's not tight and no heels,” she rambled on, “I was a Psych major in college, and actually wanted to be a therapist for the Transsexual Community. But I could never wrap my noggin around the garden-variety crossdresser.”
Jeff sat grinning. Not only wasn't Ugg his father, but his real father might be some famous author. Then the big dumb detective ruined his mood again.
“So,” he said, “you're really a girl.” This guy had a knack for saying just enough to truly piss off whoever he was talking to at the time.
Jeff looked over at Matt and Sheila talking and interrupted, “Excuse me, Detective, but is it true what I've heard, that sometimes, if you're accused of something but you were provoked, you don't go to jail for it?”
Sheila and Matt both darted glances to Kerry — who was oblivious — and then she sighed and answered the kid, “Yes, technically. But —“ and that was all she got out.
She didn't see exactly what Jeff did, but it involved moving quickly and a flurry of feet, and now her partner was on the floor in the fetal position crying. Whimpering, “What'd I do this time?”
Coughing to hide her laugh, she helped him to his feet, “We'd best be going, folks, Yakko needs to be getting back to the Water Tower.”
* * * * * * *
“... and that's the meat of the story, doctor. It all happened at the beginning of this summer. Turns out that the Robin Masters, author, magician, female illusionist guy really is my biological father. He didn't want to uproot me, though, and has given Guardianship to Matt Tomkins. He started sending these amazingly huge checks though, to help out with money. That's how we're able to afford for me to come see you. We filled that prescription you gave me last week, and I thought about things. I can deal with being the smallest guy in high school. At least, with this medicine, I won't have to deal with, um, breasts developing or a period starting. And you said when I'm eighteen, I can start the hormones that'll let me be boy, instead.”
“Hm? Yeah, I think things worked out amazingly well. When I think about having to go with that Ugg guy? Ack. Scary thought. I know he would have tried to make me be this idealized daughter he had in his head. I would have been one of those runaway street kids you hear about.”
“Emily's been awesome about the whole thing.”
“Ew! No way! Even if I didn't like other guys, she's like... my sister or something!”
“Yes, that's what I said. I'm pretty sure I'm gay. And yes, I know I'll likely get my ass kicked more than a few times if I come out at school, being as small as I am. That's okay, I'm not ready to come out.”
“Yup! That's right, Robin — that's what he prefers I call him, which is good because calling him 'Dad' when he looks pretty much identical to Drew Barrymore is just... well, creepy. Anyway, Robin is gonna fly all five of us out to Maui to spend the entire Summer next year! Talk about awesome plans for vacation!”
“Yep. Matt and Emily because they're kinda like family to me, and Katarina and Devin just because I wanted to invite them for being so awesome.”
“It is kind of weird to find out all these horrible things about Mom, though. I mean, she married that asshole because apparently her parents forced her to do it, then she cheated on him with a guy that looks more female than half the women in this town, then lied to Ugg about who my father was, then kidnapped me from Ugg when she didn't get custody.”
“Hm? No, I read in her diary, she didn't force me to be a boy. I wouldn't wear dresses or anything. Wanted my hair cut like 'other boys' and stuff. So, yeah, I guess even at two years old I knew who I was for real on the inside.”
“Well, the lawyer guy, Carter Mortimer? He managed to sell it and the car, and put the money in a trust fund for me. There's a new family moving in there this coming weekend, actually. I think their name is Wilson.”
Janette Parker / Marlene Ugg - The dead woman. Mother of Jeff that did what she needed to do 11 years ago, illegal or not, fiancé of Matt Tomkins
Jeff Parker - Our Heroic Protagonist
Emily Tomkins - Matt's daughter and Jeff's best friend
Matt/ Brenda Tomkins - A widower father that happens to be a crossdresser, fiancé of Janette Parker
Kerry Warner - Police Detective having a really horrible Summer
Sheila Duquesnes - Kerry's partner, amused at his expense a lot
Katarina Scroggs - Teacher at the local middle and high school, in Drama
Devin Scroggs - Katarina's younger sister, high school student, befriends Jeff, dynamic personality
Lee Ugg - Our Villainous Antagonist
Wendy Sparkman - Assistant District Attorney
Carter Mortimer - Lawyer that Kat and Devin know, that owes them favors
Randolph Billings - Judge that Kat and Devin know, that owes them favors
Robin Masters - Author and GenderQueer personality, lives and works as an author out of a private estate on the island of Maui, in Hawaii... oh, and Jeff's genetic father
Jimmy Forsythe - Criminal Defense Attorney, also known as "The Lockpick" for his uncanny ability to turn what the DA's office thinks are sure thing convictions into walk-aways
Captain McCullough - Captain of the local police station
Will (no surname given) - Random police officer friend of Kerry and Sheila. If anyone died in this series, he'd be a Redshirt
Edeyn: Okay... The floor is now open for any and all questions involving the story "Family Tragedies and Secrets" by... well, ME! *grin* No holds barred, ask whatcha wanna!
Holly_Logan: I've read it up to about Saturday.
Edeyn: Sunday - Wednesday won't take you long to finish, Holly.
Holly_Logan: I know. Just had other priorities. I did not realize you were wrapping it up quite this soon. Starting to read Chapter 16, now.
Sephrena: Will there be a small continuation to show Jeff become himself and how he relates through school?
Edeyn: Yes and no... not being evasive, but pay close attention to the last couple of sentences in Chapter 20 -- he's VERY likely to pop up in Sk8r Grrls at some time.
Sephrena: Ahh, OK. I was interested in the F to M surgery and how the character deals with it. There's not too many of those around to learn from or glean from. It made me wonder how Jeff would deal with other kids and their meanness at school.
Edeyn: I have a few FtM friends to ask about that, so I'm sure if it's really wanted, I could write something.
Sephrena: Is it possible you might do a deluxe edition of the story? Maybe in .pdf with some pictures inside?
Edeyn: Possible... I don't know how likely though. *grin*
Sephrena: Erin could do for you if you had the pictures. It would be fun to see. *smile* I'd read it over.
Edeyn: I can make .pdf files. *grin* Hmmm. Maybe I could provide it as a premium feature.
Sephrena: Yes, that would be good. *smile*
Holly_Logan: Up to Chapter 19 now.
Sephrena: Devin was whose child?
Edeyn: Devin and Miss Katarina Scroggs are sisters. Kat is a teacher at the middle and high school -- drama teacher. Devin is 16, Kat is 23.
Sephrena: So, Devin may show up in the other story as well. Hmm.
Sephrena: For me, as a reader, I tend to look for the characters reactions, emotions and in depth feeling inside the story.
John in Wauwatosa: To get on subject, Chapter 20 was a shock.
Holly_Logan: Reading 20, now.
John in Wauwatosa: Beyond a love of Magnum PI, Why Robin Masters? Or was the androgynous name a draw?
Edeyn: I was seriously sitting and writing that chapter, and when I needed a name (in Lee Ugg's thought-monologue). I heard my landlady's television playing the Magnum P.I. theme, so the name became Robin... Robin Masters *smile*
John in Wauwatosa: Motivations are a key to my enjoying a story. I hope my silly stuff provides that to my readers. The Ferrari was nice. That and Maui. I was there once and I HAD to write it into my stories.
Sephrena: I am just offering what I like as a suggestion for a future story you may do. That if you could include the "TG experience" and the coping with and how they are treated along with their inside emotions and families. I would be so humbled to love it as I do a handful of others. Sk8r Grrls does come close, too. But FTS had such potential and the character was just so ripe to explore. I know why you didn't touch on it though -- the story style.
Holly_Logan: Sudden ending... The whole last paragraph could go and nobody would have missed it.
Edeyn: Actually, Holly, no it couldn't go... and a lot would miss it. It's a major link to the Sk8r Grrls storyline. The main character of Sk8r Grrls is Annie Wilson.
Holly_Logan: FTS is rather disjointed compared to your other work. Even though it came out in a short period of time. I had -- and still do -- trouble following it.
Sephrena: It's like a TV show. The episode's scene changes between commercials, mysteriously blotted out.
John in Wauwatosa: Is Sk8r Girls before or after in time line? I'm assuming after because of the house.
Edeyn: Right after. The events of FTS take place in June-July of 2006. Sk8r Grrls begins in the last week of August 2006. The conversation between Jeff and his therapist in Chapter 20 is in the last week of July 2006.
Holly_Logan: At least I was able to figure out the 2006... LOL... I got that from the 1995 blood test at age 2.
John in Wauwatosa: PLOT SPOILER: Do Jeff and Annie ever meet, swap stories, unwanted body parts?
Edeyn: I guarantee you, they will never swap 'unwanted body parts.' *grin*
Sephrena: I'd think Jeff and Annie would need to be genetically similar for that to occur -- near clones.
Holly_Logan: If they swap unwanted body parts, I think that would be a medical first, wouldn't it? I know of one time it was tried, well, one way, but did not work.
Sephrena: China's big on that, with discount pricing.
Holly_Logan: At least, the parts needed here.
Edeyn: Meet... yeah, I think Jeff and Annie will likely meet, as they're both now Freshmen in high school at the same small town school.
John in Wauwatosa: At least she/he is getting what he/she wants. Darn on the parts, there goes my used body parts business.
mishell: Is Jeff's and Annie's therapist the same person?
Edeyn: Yes, actually... Jeff and Annie have the same therapist *grin* It was mentioned in Sk8r Girls that the therapist had another trans client. *smile*
John in Wauwatosa: They might be a big help to each other. The bit with the car and the fence was a naughty red herring.
Sephrena: Devin.
Edeyn: Think harder, Sephrena. *smile* I just gave you the answer -- Jeff.
Holly_Logan: No spoilers, please. That was the last Sk8r Grrls I've read.
Sephrena: Oh, you mean Jeff and Annie.
Edeyn: Yes. Feel free to theorize about FTS here, and I'll confirm or deny. *smile*
Sephrena: OK. Here is an unfair question, but some here may want to hear it. Between FTS and Sk8r Grrls, which story appealed more to your senses?
John in Wauwatosa: Did you have both stories in mind at the start, or did one evolve from the other? My stories tend to sprout up at random, but usually from something I was working on -- or the news.
Edeyn: Different parts... I like writing the flashcard style in FTS, but there's major appeal in the flowing timeline of Sk8r Grrls, too. I started thinking about FTS right after I did Sk8r Grrls 8, but didn't start it until just before Sk8r Grrls 10.
Holly_Logan: I like Sk8r Grrls much better because of the style.
Sephrena: Between both, I liked the hardships Jeff faced in FTS. Annie was more or less coddled by others and was shielded from some very bad plot twists.
Edeyn: Because Annie has a much more supportive family -- and isn't originally from such a socially backwards area.
Sephrena: I think Edeyn can try many more styles. All styles are valid. Just some readers prefer a movie, as to say, a TV episode with commercial blanks inserted. I would be interested to see some other ways she can present her stories.
Holly_Logan: I'm not saying do not do it. Just that it didn't appeal to me.
Edeyn: Oh, I'm gonna keep experimenting. *grin* Never fear that.
Edeyn: Which is fine, Holly... I mean, I'd love it if every reader loved every story I wrote... but I'm realistic enough to realize that just isn't gonna happen. I know that even people who identify themselves as fans of my stuff... will not like it all.
Holly_Logan: Too much seems to be missing, or just hinted at on first read.
Sephrena: I think it was on purpose to make us think.
Edeyn: Exactly, Sephrena!
John in Wauwatosa: Experiments are fine, just some are best at a shorter length. FTS was the right length.
Edeyn: One of the stories I'm currently working on isn't TG... but I may post it to TopShelf anyway, for people to see if they like the style.
John in Wauwatosa: Worth a try.
Sephrena: Go for it*smile* I'd love to see it.
Holly_Logan: As I said, it is not what I like, but more power to you for trying something different. Heck, as disjointed as it is, I might not be able to edit it, but I'd have been willing to give it a try.
Edeyn: I wanted to write a story that wasn't obvious from the keywords what the f*$% was going on. Which is why I coined the "Blurred for Plot" tag.
John in Wauwatosa: FTS is almost the way I outline -- when I do. A series of very short scenes.
Edeyn: I don't outline, I just sit down and write. I'd sit down and spend about 30 - 60 minutes writing and immediately post.
John in Wauwatosa: I rarely outline but sometimes I have to when I'm collaborating with another writer. Why do you write, what drives you to?
Edeyn: Oooh, loaded question, John... but I'll happily answer. I love to communicate, simply put.
Sephrena: Well, I do know Edeyn is a speed typist. I think she smokes through keyboards at regular intervals.
Edeyn: I love to talk. I love to write. I love to sing and to dance. I've been described as 'having a love affair with the English language' and I've also been described as 'the verbal equivalent of a neutron bomb' -- Powerful, devastating and inescapable.
Holly_Logan giggles
John in Wauwatosa: I can't type to save my life, but here I am -- I must be punishing myself.
Sephrena: Creativity through being and essence, expressing her thoughts through the music of words.
Edeyn: On a slow day, I'll write about 3500 words.
John in Wauwatosa: My sister suspects I do it to empty out the clutter in my head. --
John in Wauwatosa: 3500!!!
Edeyn: A week ago, I was working on stories and on a deadline for the newsletter I'm editor of... I averaged about 11,000 words per day for 9 days straight.
Sephrena: She is a speed typist. Her mind runs faster than most of ours.
Edeyn: I look at stories the way Michaelangelo described his sculpting: He revealed the statue, I reveal the story. Though I'm not claiming to be the Michaelangelo of writing!
mishell: Edeyn has gone through 2 keyboards since she moved in.
NOTE: Mishell is the Landlady/Owner of the boarding house that Edeyn lives in.
John in Wauwatosa: Four or five pages is a good few hours. But then, I juggles a lot of wordy characters.
Holly_Logan: I can speed type, but then it takes ten times as long to fix the typos -- if I can even understand what I wrote! *giggle*
Edeyn sticks her tongue out at Mishell
Sephrena: She makes very few errors at all.
John in Wauwatosa: I never can understand what I write if I go too fast.
Edeyn: I've been here almost 3 months! 2 keyboards is NOT unreasonable!
Sephrena: Hehehe! I knew it!
John in Wauwatosa: One for each hand?
Edeyn: No, I went through the original one I moved up here with, and then the MS Ergonomic one that I bought ($1.50 @ Goodwill!) and have another normal one.
Sephrena: Her skills at writing and typing definitely impress me. Superior to anyone else I have ever heard of or seen.
John in Wauwatosa: I wear out keyboards too, but from hitting the backspace key so much,
Edeyn wrenches the topic away from how many keyboards she wears out and back to the question John asked
Edeyn: I guess, when it comes down to it, talking/writing is my artform... I believe in storycrafting with the whole of my heart, mind, and soul. My greatest hero is Jim Henson... who took stories that were already old, and simply told them in a new way. The essence of Storycraft is just that... a story should change with EVERY retelling! My list of daily stuff... I keep 17 personal blogs, 3 political blogs, 4 roleplaying blogs, 9 fiction serials -- 2 at TopShelf ... 8 now, I guess -- plus I always have at least 3 short stories in the works and a novel... and then there's talking with publishing houses.
John in Wauwatosa: Daily blogs? I feel so lazy by comparison.
Edeyn: Sometimes... usually at least 4 - 5 entries weekly...
Edeyn: If you're interested in some of my other stuff... well, the blogs I'd rather keep personal for now, but I've got a page at
Fictioneer that I've posted a fantasy serial's first 8 parts on. http://edeyn.fictioneer.org
John in Wauwatosa: Where are the *twins* going next, other than maybe running for office?
Edeyn: What twins?
John in Wauwatosa: Our Sk8r Grrls, the Wilsons
Edeyn: But this chat is about FTS, John. *wink*
Sephrena: Krunch have you read Edeyn's FTS story?
Admiral_Krunch: I'm afraid not, though I got my computer back today *big smile*
Sephrena: Well, that is definitely a plus!
Edeyn: http://bigclosetr.us/topshelf/fiction/3489/family-tragedies-and-secrets
John in Wauwatosa: Okay, will we see more of Jeff and Co as a separate story, or is all rolling into Sk8r Grrls?
John in Wauwatosa: Krunch, you missed an interesting one. Odd style, but it works.
Edeyn: I'm thinking there'll be more Jeff stories stand alone, but you'll see Jeff, Emily, Devin, and Kat. At least as background characters in Sk8r Grrls, too.
Sephrena: I'd love to see a sequel story showing dealing with life in school, not necessarily as a daily but as going through school at high points and events until each resolves, to get Jeff's experience. Sort of a longer FTS style, similar to Emily by Sarah Lynn Morgan.
Edeyn: Is that story on TopShelf?
Sephrena: Yep, and its a beautiful one. Highly rated.
Edeyn: I'll have to read it to see what you're talking about Sephrena.
John in Wauwatosa: Emily covered a whole life -- and a bit beyond.
Sephrena: Trust me, it's an experience that is grand. In the same style you used.
John in Wauwatosa: It's been a while, but generally so... but each scene was longer.
Sephrena: Exactly.
Edeyn: I covered 20 chapters in 18 days, with FTS. Day one and day 12 had 2 chapters each. *grin*
Edeyn: I have a question for all of you...
Edeyn: Why is EVERYONE so convinced that Devin is a transgirl?
John in Wauwatosa: I'm not voicing my opinion, yet.
John in Wauwatosa: Where did Jeff come from? Your own life experiences but greatly altered? A friend? Too much late night TV?
Edeyn: Truthfully, John, I'm not certain exactly where Jeff came from in my brain.
John in Wauwatosa: So, Jeff is Whole Cloth?
Edeyn: I mean, I remember when I was a kid, reading a newspaper story of a non-custodial mother kidnapping her son and raising him as a daughter... they were caught when she was in 7th grade and had to dress out for PE for the first time. I think there was something of that in there, just reverse polarity. I'm certain there were other things that added to the creation of Jeff.
John in Wauwatosa: He/she is a twist on the usual TG fiction character.
Sephrena: Jeff is a male in soul and mind.
John in Wauwatosa: Some characters I've created were inspired by other writers' characters, some by readers, some by people I met, some... I have no idea,
Sephrena: I found Jeff refreshing. I'm just frustrated more dipping into his psyche or personality or emotions did not occur. I was so wanting to feel him, and got so little of it inside the story. *smile*
John in Wauwatosa: The weakness of the Flash Card style, as Edeyn called it.
Sephrena: Yes. But that is because she had such a strong character and so little was mentioned about him.
John in Wauwatosa: But it looks like a great way to test a character or idea.
Edeyn: Okay, I know Holly didn't like the Flash Card style... what about the rest of you? I mean, I'm not even claiming to have pulled it off best... I think I could've improved on it.
Sephrena: I do like the style, in the longer format like Emily. Short format, I do not particularly like.
John in Wauwatosa: In a short story like this, it was a break from the usual style.
Edeyn: Part of why I did it soooo short, is I wanted to be able to provide a bit everyday, and short enough that folks could read it at lunchtime.
John in Wauwatosa: I liked how fast things developed, I'm impatient at times -- wordy me -- but it did leave out a lot and some useful data had to be left out. A bit like a radio play.
Sephrena: Well, it wasn't enough for me to digest as a lunch. Maybe a light snack. *smile*
Edeyn: Well, some of that data was left out on purpose, John, to strengthen the feeling of mystery. *grin*
Edeyn: And to answer the privately asked question: No, Jeff and Kerry will not likely EVER get along.
Holly_Logan: I'm positive they will not.
John in Wauwatosa: For a *rush* job, and I mean that in a nice way, it was remarkably good. What would the slow burn version have been like?
Edeyn: Hmmm...
Sephrena: Full tale? Or longer version same style?
Edeyn: I would have been working on making sure I didn't reveal too much with every scene, but it would have been connected a lot more solidly. It was chronological, but the time between the scenes was a bit random.
John in Wauwatosa: Full, fleshed out tale but as a series of scenes, Emily-ish or like Sk8r Grrls.
Edeyn: I think it would have been a hybridized version, if I'd taken the time to do it. Still flash cards, but each card would be longer and more detailed, and there would be time stamps so you could follow the timeline a lot better.
Sephrena: OK, same style longer. Instead of Tuck, Jeff.
Edeyn: Ooh. Good comparison.
John in Wauwatosa: But Jeff speaks better and is sane.
Sephrena: 12:09 7 June
Sephrena: Jeff looked over at Matt and Sheila talking and interrupted, “Excuse me, Detective, but is it true what I've heard, that sometimes, if you're accused of something but you were provoked, you don't go to jail for it?”
Sephrena: 12:17 7 June
Sephrena: She didn't see exactly what Jeff did, but it involved moving quickly and a flurry of feet, and now her partner was on the floor in the fetal position crying. Whimpering, “What'd I do this time?”
Sephrena: Yeah like that, sort of. *smile*
Edeyn: Close, but I'd likely put a timestamp at the beginning of the flash card.
Sephrena: Cool. *smile* that would be different from Ellen and unique.
Edeyn: I don't see a need to verify the second or minute that everything in scene occurs.
Holly_Logan: Good.
Sephrena: Although X-Files opened with time and date and location for each segment.
Edeyn: Right. Like that.
John in Wauwatosa: With so few words to tell the tale, not realizing a clue too soon would be difficult. You didn't have the verbal *padding) to hide it.
Edeyn: Right. But I think I did a good job of packing each flash card with info, though.
John in Wauwatosa: You set your self a difficult task, a solid try.
Edeyn: A lot of the time, the general high points of a story hits me all at once. Like the first 8 chapters of Sk8r Grrls did. FTS did that, but... it was different... there was no feeling of how to get from A to B, B to C, etc. So I didn't write the between bits. *grin*
Edeyn: Does that make sense?
Sephrena: Is the web comic for Sk8r Grrls coming along superbly? Or are you still trying to finalize hammering out details?
Edeyn: Both. We're working on pages, but still detailing characters.
Edeyn: Heather Rose is working on Walter Nguyen right now. *grin*
Sephrena: Yay!
grover: Did you know what the end was going to be when you started?
Edeyn: Yes. I thought of pretty much all the scenes, but nothing in the in-between of the scenes... and that bothered me a bit. But then I decided to let it rip, and just not write the in-betweeny bits.
Sephrena: I think it takes a unique mind to attempt that short style you used.
Sephrena: I don't have the gumption to do it. I cant separate my movie viewing of reading and need to feel the characters. Interruptions are like shell shocking.
grover: It was interesting tying together a bunch of scenes like that. Almost Pulp Fiction-like. Kinda.
Edeyn: Oooh, I LIKE that comparison, Grover... thanks muchly! If I were to show the scenes out of order, it would work!
Sephrena: Flashbacking them?
Edeyn: Some college friends of mine and I once took 2 VCRs and a blank tape and put Pulp Fiction in chronological order... boring and sucky movie... only interesting in the way Tarantino presented it.
Edeyn: So... I'd like to know who each of your favorite characters were -- and why?
Sephrena: Jeff for me. Vibrant rare F to M, and a chance to experience something along the lines of what I went through, in a way.
mishell: I liked Devin. She is the least known, but one of the most powerful characters.
Holly_Logan: Not Lee Ugg, or Kerry, that is for sure.
Edeyn: I worked hard on the characterization of Jeff... I'm tired of not seeing strong (and LIKEABLE) FtM characters.
grover: Me too. I really liked Devin. She really moved the plot along behind the scenes.
Sasha_Nexus: I liked Devin too... she helped Jeff when he really needed it... a wonderful friend.
Edeyn: Devin... Devin simply DEMANDED to be written! I didn't have a choice there. She's got her own force of personality.
Sephrena: Get someone to summon her to life. *smile*
grover: Jeff was cool in being a good kid but one that knew his mind.
Edeyn: Lee Ugg -- I so based him on a cross between my genetic father and my mother's mother.
Holly_Logan: Not a main character, but I liked the way Sheila seemed to be open-minded.
Edeyn: I didn't WANT anyone to like Lee Ugg. *smile*
Sephrena: Did you go through with a bad father, Edeyn?
Edeyn: I had a great stepfather, Sephrena.
Sephrena: Oh, OK. Why the not liking part? I mean how can a great father-type you had be crossed into Ugg?
Edeyn: Lee Ugg was meant to be the villain... and yet, he was guilty of no crimes... so I had to find ways to make him villainous.
Edeyn: Sephrena, my natural father... bad guy. My stepfather... awesome.
Sasha_Nexus: I ended up having to do a cast of characters as I read... so many names and not enough time to get to know who was who in the course of the writing and if you don't know what name goes with which character it is hard to follow the action.
grover: Another strong character that dictated the entire plot was the Mom. It was almost like Drowning Mona's plot.
Edeyn: Yay! Janette Parker... dead woman... really strong character. *grin*
Edeyn: Kerry Warner... why the no-love for Kerry? I really liked writing him. He was competent... but bumbling. He tried to understand... but failed.
Sephrena: Annoying twit is why. Came across almost like anime comic relief.
Edeyn: Kerry didn't have all the information most of the time... he largely WAS the comic relief. What's wrong with that? *grin*
Sephrena: You did leave one point open, the possibility of a TG gene and Robin Masters passing it on.
grover: It does look if everyones guesses about lee being involve in Janet's death was baseless.
Edeyn: Yep... I loved the theorizing that went on. A lot of the time, I'd read the comments and say to myself, "Damn! I wish I'd thought of that!"
grover: Addonna is taking advantage of that with Blue Moon.
Edeyn: Heh.
Edeyn: It seems like the major complaint, was the variable time between the disconnected scenes. Each scene was between 2-10 minutes... and sometimes it was a half hour between them or less... sometimes it was several days.
grover: Plus, when I Game Mastered, I always kept a open ear to what the players were chatting about. Got some of the best games from them!
Edeyn: I've been gaming for nearly 29 years... and a GM for about 25 years. *grin* I played my first game of D&D when I was 3 and a half. I GM'd the first time when I was not-quite 7.
Edeyn: Anything about FTS is still fair game! Stuff you wanna know (or think you wanna know). Stuff you suspect! Theorize and I'll confirm or deny!
Pippa: I don't think there's anything I suspect, other than what was there.
grover: Did Robin Masters know he had a kid?
Edeyn: No. Not a clue -- but he didn't doubt it, either.
Edeyn: When Ugg is being questioned about what male relatives and such it could have been, once it was known that Jeff wasn't his child.
Pippa: The problem with ultra-short chapters is, if you blink, you miss them.
Edeyn: Lee Ugg didn't know what to say. The lawyer he'd hired locally to help him with this entire ass-pile of occurrences assured him that the DNA test was showing that he couldn't be that boy's father, which didn't come to any surprise. But then, they kept insisting this Jeff kid was his daughter Jessica, and that he wasn't really the father.
grover: So when Lee Ugg told everyone he had a daughter and Jeff responded he was a boy everyone took his word? Right?
Edeyn: Ugg did, at least.
Edeyn: The bit of part 18 I was proudest of... was one word. "Transpesticide."
grover: I did get a laugh from "Transpesticide."
Pippa: Short Stories need to be concise, with limited numbers of elements. one of the "problems" with FTS, is that it wanted to have novel-length scope, but just be a vignette. It mostly works, but it's a big challenge to the reader.
grover: And, Pippa, a huge challenge to keep the reader interested enough to work it out.
Pippa: Yes. I found it quite daunting.
Edeyn: Well, I'm gonna post the whole thing as a big blob tomorrow, with DVD Special Features. *grin* Maybe that'll make it easier
Pippa: I'm not sure I like the nomenclature of "DVD Special Features" applied to a short story.
Edeyn: Why not, Pippa? I'm gonna put in links to character profiles, this 'Behind the Scenes' bit...
Pippa: Short Stories are meant to be simple, and profound. They shouldn't need reference tools, character guides, plot notes, or exposition.
Edeyn: And character profiles and this Q&A will hurt that? Special Features aren't things that are needed... they're extras, added just for fun. I know several people who never touch the Special Features menus of their DVDs.
grover: My question is : Was this a short story?
Edeyn: I feel like it was more of a mini-series type.
Pippa: Micro-series. Pico-series? Nano-series?
Edeyn: 20 parts is not nano, pico, or micro. *smile*
grover: Nano-serial? Short Serial then?
Pippa: When the "parts" are 400-word glimpses, I'm not sure what to call it. 8000 words is a short-story.
Edeyn: Most of the parts were short, some were long...
Pippa: A short-short story.
grover: So, short story in volume, but serial in style?
NOTE: Definitional arguments about what constitutes a Short Story have been deleted, as they're not really relevant!
grover: How about just how Janette knew Jeff was a boy? I mean the kid was what -- two years old. Did she start it, or did she just let Jeff decide?
Edeyn: Chapter 20 covered that a bit, "Hm? No, I read in her diary, she didn't force me to be a boy. I wouldn't wear dresses or anything. Wanted my hair cut like 'other boys' and stuff. So, yeah, I guess even at two years old I knew who I was for real on the inside." In the diary, was details of everyday life. How she fought with Jessica, trying to get her to wear dresses and be girly. How Jessica insisted she wasn't a girl, she was a boy.
grover: OK, I can buy that. I do have a background question. Is it really that likely Jeff didn't know the physical differences between male and female where he grew up?
Edeyn: Yes, yes it is. Hang on... I explained it really well in a private message.
grover: I'm from farm country so I knew the differences very early on. "Mama, what are those two goats during?"
Edeyn: I'm from the Ozarks. Farm country, yes... but those questions just aren't answered. *smile* Here, I'll post the email in here.
grover: Ah...
Edeyn: Alright, my turn for some background *smile*
Edeyn: I was raised not only in the Ozarks, but the kind you see on the Beverly Hillbillies -- that wasn't all a joke. I have an uncle that lives in Bugtussle, Kentucky. Western KY, Northern AR, Southern MO, Southeastern KS, and Northeastern Oklahoma. I was sheltered a LOT -- not as much as Jeff obviously has been, nor as much as most of my cousins and family were. If I hadn't had a twin sister, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have been that sheltered. Sex is dirty, and you're dirty for even thinking about looking at yourself, let alone touching yourself. I was an Air Force Brat -- not a lot of exposure to other kids my age because we moved before I could make friends. However, my parents divorced when I was rather young, and we went back to the Ozarks where my mother was raised. Southwest Missouri. Washburn, population (at the time) 279. The schools are so small, that if they have indoor plumbing, there's not fancy-schmancy urinals. The first time I ever laid eyes on a urinal, was in high school, and we'd moved to Cassville, Missouri (all of 7 miles from Washburn, but it was leaps and bound different from what I had known) population of just under 3,000 when I was in 8th grade. That's right, the middle school didn't have urinals, either. Also, you didn't shower with the other kids in PE.
Robyn is a California girl - northern SF Bay Area
Edeyn: Nope. Showers weren't until high school (grade 9). Also, Health class wasn't available until high school... I was in my Freshman (required, thank gawd) Health class in the middle of the first week. We went in and the pull-down window-shade type visual aid had a big picture of a vagina. The teacher began, "Alright boys," because they had separate Health for male and female, "How many of you have seen one of these before?" Me and two other kids raised our hands in a class of 37. "Alright, how many of you know what it is?" Same three hands. "Alright, you three, write down what it is and what it's for on a piece of paper and fold it, then hand it to me." One of the other two then admitted he didn't have a clue. The teacher then 'anonymously' read the answers aloud. The other boy that answered was read first. 'That there is a pussy. Momma has one, but Papa don't, though Papa calls me one a lot.' Then my answer was read. 'That is a vagina. Girls use them to pee the way a boy uses a penis.' As you can see, even the two that sort of knew, hadn't a clue. We were 13 and 14 years old. Puberty didn't start hitting these kids for the most part until they were already in high school... typically, you'll see freshmen that look like little kids, and then sophomores that look like, well, your typical high school student image. Mind you. I left out the majority of detail about myself because I just wanted to give you info about the atmosphere of the area.
grover: More 19th century than 20th.
Edeyn: Much.
Edeyn: The Beverly Hillbillies was NOT exaggerating the area. I have RELATIVES in Bugtussle, Kentucky. I'm actually only a 3rd cousin from some of the actual Hatfields... as in the STILL feuding Hatfields and McCoys. Southwest Missouri is the heart of the Ozarks, which is the common name for the lands, villages, and towns of the hillfolk of the Ozark-Ouachita Highlands... a Mesa in the midst of the Great Plains whose top is a bowl. The "Ozark Mountains" is actually the rim of the bowl-mesa.
grover: Oh my. And I thought I was from the backwoods. We used to get fresh milk and veggies delivered by wagon.
Edeyn: Last November, Job Announcement in the Newspaper, "Wanted: Rural Mail Carriers. Pay is $85 per day, six days per week. Must provide own mule or donkey" So, now you see the environment? Yes, they're keeping up with technology... as much as possible...
grover: I think I begin to see.
Edeyn: Certain advances are USELESS there. Computers, they have... but cable is hard to run in the area. Satellite works.
grover: Problems with cell phones? LOS
Edeyn: One of the few completely dead areas for Sprint and Verizon. Alltel and AT&T are the only two choices for an area about 100 miles across. Alltel is really the only one that's worthwhile there, though. This is the environment Jeff and Emily have grown up in. Annie and Allie from Sk8r Grrls have it better -- they just moved into the area, so they're much more savvy.
grover: It also explains why Kerry and Sheila mayhap were unfamiliar working a case like this.
Edeyn: Exactly!
grover: Getting off the subject somewhat. So roleplaying was approved there? Here in South Carolina there are always groups claiming RPGs teach devil worship and witchcraft!
Edeyn: There are there, too. I've been EGGED by an 80+ year old woman for trying to run a HERO-System game out of the library.
Whew. Some of these were hard to narrow down, others were easy!
Okay, here's the deal. Our DSL line snapped Friday night (7 September 2007). No internet — and because we have VOIP, no telephone — until Monday (10 September 2007) at the earliest. Augh. What's a girl to do? Well, if she's me, she writes one of the stories she's been putting off that's swimming around her braincase. I started at around 5pm and finished at around 9pm (yeah, 2000 words per hour or thereabouts, folks).
It feels to me like there's something missing toward the end, so comment away and maybe something'll click and I can 'fix' it.
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.
I'm a lucky woman, and he's a lucky man... and we both have a love of thunderstorms.
She took it and opened it up, peering in at the picture of Mama that always smiled at me from inside it. Once again, just like every time I set eyes on that tiny image of her, I wished that I'd've had the courage to really know Mama. Granny poked at it, muttered under her breath, snorted once or twice as she cussed at it, then snapped it shut and handed it back.
My entry for the, "What It Was, Was Magic!" contest on Stardust.
I hope you all enjoy it, it was fun to write and think about the old folks back where I grew up, talking and rocking on their porches. Just barely over 2000 words, this one.
Big city. Out in the country. Old neighborhood. New development. It don't matter none where you've lived in your life, really. Chances are, we all can recognize the Group. There's one of 'em in every area. I'm talking about the small group of older folks that have been friends for about as long as they've been alive, that everyone around knows all of 'em and they know everyone — and near everything about all of everyone what knows 'em. They sits around somewhere, usually at a deli, or a library, or an old store with decent sitting spots out front. They sit themselves there and they'll talk about just about anything and everything. They'll tell the same stories, the same ol' way, dozens of times to anyone'll listen, and act like it's the first time any of 'em have laid ears on the tale. Shoot, they'll even get all confusticated 'bout whose story is whose, and argue about it. But it don't matter none. They're gonna be friends until they's all meetin' up in front of the Gates with some seats and a checkerboard, annoying ol' Saint Peter and keeping him from his business. But, every incarnation of the Group 'ventually finds its way to three topics, every time they meet up, while their rockers or whatever seats they have are creakin' away in the quiet parts between their jawin'. The weather. Heck, everyone is guilty of that one, now and again. Politics. That is, they'll sit around and see which of them can come up with the most 'maginative complainings 'bout whoever is in charge for now. And local high school sports talking. Now, it don't mean diddly whether the members of the Group are men or women or both. Sometimes, they've even got an audience, and that just encourages the rumination and gets them all to filibusterin' what would put even the most experienced Senator-types to shame. I'm from a not-so-huge town. Alright, I'm from a piddle of a town down middle of the Ozark Mountains. So, as you prob'ly figure, we had us a good set of the Group. Six of 'em. Rodney, Yancy, Stumpy, Laverne, Esne, and Coetta were the old codgers and biddys. Now, I wasn't there for it, but I heard tell of a session took place while I was a senior in high school...
® "Any of y'all remember the basketball finals from three years ago, or am I the only one of us ain't touched in the head?"
© "What kinda finals you meanin'? I didn't think they been further'n Sectionals until this year since way back 'fore any of us were more'n a spit."
¥ "No, you idjit woman. Not the boys. Just 'cause your grandson is the high-fallutin' star of the show these days don't mean the boys are the only ones what can do a good job. Some them girls are mighty fierce on the court."
£ "Oh, yeah... that was the one where we come back from thirty points behind, right?"
§ "Thirty-seven points, actually! I was still followin' the radio commentary from when I just retired from it. What the heck happened there, anyways? Wished I'd've seen it."
¥ "What it was, was Magic!"
ᆠ"You old fool, if you don't pipe down, someone's like to think your oatmeal's gone off again. I was there, and it didn't look like no hocus-pocus to me. Our girls needed a kick in the pants, and they got it. Shoot, the girl that showed up halfway through third quarter is what saved us. She had a spark about her, somethin' special in her eyes, a certain... panache. Yeah, panache is a good three-dollar word. She had a panache to her, showed them spoiled little babies what a good leader can do for a team. Won with the last basket that was put in the bucket at the buzzer."
§ "We've had an awful lot of them 'favorable upsets' in the past few years, ain't we? I had to go and retire and miss all the fun."
© "They've been in a lot of the girls' teams, lately, now that you mention it."
® "Yeah, like that volleyball tournament last year. My granddaughter was playin' in it. That was just plain odd. We was seeded last, and then we go and win every match we play, and it's all thanks to one girl makin' all the saves, havin' the great serve... Was that the same girl as in the basketball finals couple year 'fore that?"
£ "Rumormill said that girl weren't even on the team roster."
¥ "I heared me somethin' about that, I think. What happened with that, she get in trouble or disqualified? What was that?"
® "What it was, was Magic!"
ᆠ"Oh good grief, you old men go gray and just lose your senses? Would they've let her play if'n she weren't s'posed to be there? They's just got 'em a girl with some skills to back up the brags they been makin' for years. I dunno if she was the same as the basketball girl, but if she was, why would it be so surprising to be good in one sport when you was good at another one?"
© "Maybe that girl is why our girls're doin' so well these days. They got themselves a ringer. Should we maybe be gettin' the school board to give 'er an award of some kind or somethin'? No. She's just doin' her duty by her school. What else's she done for us, anyways?
¥ "How's about the big golf game over t'Midland Fields Course couple years back. Could that be her, too?"
® "Wasn't that a boys' golf tourney?"
£ "I know what he means. Yep, it was the boys on the team, but golf's one of them co-educational sports. Most girls just ain't all-fired interested. Was a girl what hauled their keisters outta the fire. Most amazing round of golf I've ever seen, and my husband (rest his soul) was out on the links every durn weekend, May to September!"
§ "What it was, was Magic!"
ᆠ"Tarnation. You boys are sure hung up on that. What, she use her broomstick as a putter? You all sayin' that was the same girl again? I wasn't there for that game, golf course is no place for my rheumatism. Way I heared it, though, the li'l gal swinging iron that day had the power of Babe Ruth and the precision of a surgeon. Like that pro guy, whatzisname. Leopard Forest."
© "Well, I just know it was her in the soccer game 'gainst Central."
§ "Didn't we lose that one?"
© "Not that one, t'other one."
¥ "Oh, you mean that one three years ago? First time we beat Central in over 20 years. Not that you'd've knowed it from the past few seasons. Shoot. We whoop up on 'em every time, now."
© "I says that was the same durn girl! 'Nother one'a them sports where the boys and girls play together, but ev'body knows it same as I do, that girl is the one that won it!"
£ "What it was, was Magic!"
ᆠ"Don't you start encouragin' the menfolk, you old bat. You'd think the old farts were wantin' t'be in a faery story, what with the way they're a'lettin' on. So, since you all seem to be in agreement. Tell me more about this mysterious magic girl, then."
£ "Well, she's gotta be a runner type, too... did the four hundred meter dash at the state track meet — and didn't she do the triple jump? Well, she did the 300 meter high hurdles as the only girl even competin' there, and the long jump, too. Won everything she was in, I know that."
® "Now't you mention, I think I sawed her at the big cross country meet a couple months ago when I went to see my girl's twins run. The same girl beat everyone there. Everyone. Even the boys with their too long to be natural legs. Kids these days are so dadgummed lanky and just long every which way."
¥ "Was she the place kicker what won the Conference Game for the football team last year?"
© "I think you might be right. Couldn't find pads to fit her, so she risked it out on the field in just the uniform and helmet, then ran like the dickens after she kicked so they wouldn't spread her on the field like jam on toast."
§ "I seem to recollect that she was the one that took on all the other schools in Quiz Bowl this year single handed after we weren't able to field a team with any smarts worth a plug nickel. Single handed, I tell you. Won the whole kit and kaboodle like it weren't no more'n a mild pop quiz. Didn't blink. Yep. She's the one what made the other schools sit up and take notice that we weren't slackers in smarts or sports anymore. That li'l girl seems to be as smart as she is good at the sports."
® "The girl's downright amazing, alright. Too bad none of us knowed who she is, though. Hmph. Anyone all that mysterious and secretive, why I just don't trust 'em."
£ "Aw, she's just not wantin' credit, I says. It's a series of selfless acts of school spirit. All of it, the past few years... she's gotta be a senior now, this'd be the fourth year. Whoever she is, I'd like to thank 'er for giving back the pride to the school and town. Don't rightly know what to make of all that she was..."
© "What it was, was Magic!"
ᆠ"You five can make up stories about witches and giants and faeries all you want. Such nonsense. Pfeh! Magic, indeed. I'm going home, you lot keep entertainin' yourselves.
Yep. That's how I heard it happened. Must've given the listeners quite a chuckle to see the 'Pillars of the Community' talking about magic to explain sports, of all things. Heh. My granny Esne weren't as amused by it as I was, though...
She came thumpin' in the back door, already a bellowin' fit t'be tied.
"Jack! Boy, get your lazy — oh, hullo Jill," she yells as she came in, though that last bit — the greetin' to me — was at a much more, ah, genteel volume.
"What's up granny Esne?" I asked, not yet havin' a clue as to what she was all fusticated and bothered by.
"Lemme see your locket a minute, girl," she demanded with her hand held out.
"But granny Esne," I protested as my left hand protectively closed about my beloved necklace, "Daddy's fixin' to be home any minute now. You know I don't wanna disobey you, but I don't wanna —"
"Just hurry up, youngun, and I should be done 'fore my daughter's husband makes it here. I hafta check on something important to us all: you, me, and your poor mama what passed on."
Reluctantly, I reached behind my neck and unhitched the li'l catch on my locket chain, and handed it over to granny Esne as I gritted my teeth and waited.
She took it and opened it up, peering in at the picture of Mama that always smiled at me from inside it. Once again, just like every time I set eyes on that tiny image of her, I wished that I'd've had the courage to really know Mama. Granny poked at it, muttered under her breath, snorted once or twice as she cussed at it, then snapped it shut and handed it back.
"Alright, Jack. Put it back on and get changed, then go change into your dress for graduation. I think I fixed the memory changer on it so that folks won't question you showin' up four years ago right after my daughter died. Your Daddy'll still remember you as Jill from when you were still a baby, but the best I can do for the town is make 'em not question Jack disappearin' and Jill showin' up. This'll be easier when you leave for college, 'cause no one'll know you there."
Yep. That's how I heared it.
She waved goodbye to her friends as they dropped her off, the skirt of her school uniform rippling slightly in the light windy day in Spring.
She paused a moment, just looking around like she always did. With a deep sigh, she began moving forward through the gate and headed toward row 11.
Grass needs mowing.
She arrived at her destination and settled down to the ground, then leaned forward as she knelt, plucking the weeds from around the large marble headstone.
After just sitting there for awhile, staring at the words on the stone, she brushed her short auburn hair out of her eyes and opened her mouth to speak. Nothing came out.
I guess I don't have to say it out loud, anyway. I just. I mean I really don't know what to say, even today. It's been a year, and I'm still kind of in shock. I didn't know...
That's not an excuse at all, is it? I wish I could take it all back, I wish I hadn't been so stupid, I wish I could have seen how wonderful you were...
She sighed another deep sigh.
I'm sorry.
The wind fluttered her hair and she pushed it back again, as she sniffled and tears slowly began to squeeze out of her eyes.
I read your diary... after. I don't think I've told you that before. I was helping Mom go through your things, and saw it sticking out from under your mattress. I hid it from her. I don't know why, but I wanted it to be just between you and me. I mean... I really never know how to say anything to you, now, despite spending every Saturday afternoon here. It was like a window into your head, helping me to understand just how horrible I had been. I know it doesn't do any good now... but...
A quiet sob escaped from her lips.
I'm so sorry.
Her shoulders shook silently with the quiet sobs for a few minutes before she looked up at the monument-in-miniature in front of her.
I saved up and got one more fitting for you. Mom and Daddy haven't seen it yet, but I think they'll like it. I know they'll understand. You didn't need to be afraid of them. You shouldn't have believed me. Would you like me to read it to you?
She paused, straining as though listening for an answer.
Alright. I hope you like it. It says,
Her voice quavered slightly as she read the words aloud.
I'm so so sorry.
A bob-white began cheerfully calling out from outside the fence of the graveyard.
I went too far. I shouldn't have been so... so... me. You reached out to me, and I pretended to be a good person so that I could hurt you. I mean, in your diary, you were always so forgiving. Always looking for something good in all the evil crap I did to you.
"How could I have been so uncaring and idiotic?"
This last was said aloud, in a wail of frustration.
And now... and now... and now I've missed my chance, and robbed you of everything. You were so happy that I was 'accepting' you as Madison. The locket -- you know, I kept that locket and the picture I have in it is the one I took with you in pigtails and smiling -- the damn locket that I used to trick you.
I wish you'd never have believed me.
I wish you'd have hit me or kicked me or cursed at me or ANYTHING other than running home after I ruined your life at that party.
I wish I hadn't been such an evil bitch.
I wish I had taken the time to read and understand why you needed to be a girl so bad. The internet, the library, something...
I can't imagine what you felt like, but I know I'm completely responsible.
She looked down at the newspaper clipping she had clutched in her hand. The one she clutched every Saturday afternoon for nearly a year.
Newbrook Teen Commits Suicide | ||
14-year old Brian Petersmeyer was found in his room in Newbrook last month. A note left behind explained that it was too painful for him to carry on. His parents say that he showed no signs and even seemed happier of late than he had been in a long while. He also leaves behind an older sister, who declined any comment but was obviously distraught. By all accounts, young Brian was a likable, intelligent, and even popular young man who was looking forward to starting High School this fall. His teachers gave glowing reports about his behavior, his work, and could think of no hints he had given any of them. Likewise, classmates all reported that though no one could think of anyone that disliked Brian, he was, "rather quiet," and seemed shy. The only hint that anything could have been wrong was the fact that he had yet to begin a strong pubertal surge. His voice hadn't broken, nor had he grown or "filled out" as the other young men his age have started to already do. Perhaps this was just a tragic case of impatience. |
His parents reported that he attended a, "High School Party," with his older sister the night before -- which was his birthday -- and perhaps the despair over his late development pushed at buttons that no one else had even realized were there. He was found nude except a towel about his waist on the floor of his room and wet (presumably just out of the shower), with three empty bottles of undisclosed medication content lying near him. Also on his bed was the note his parents found and another paper burnt to ash, which was guessed to be a "first draft" of the note. Any loss of a child is tragic, but the suddenness of this particular incident seems to be doubly so. We at the Courier express our condolences to the family. |
I didn't understand, and I wasn't interested in understanding. I only saw the opportunity to hurt someone. Someone that didn't deserve it.
She looked up at the puffy Springtime clouds making their way through the bright blue sky and stared for a moment.
I didn't mean anything I said in that note. I was just trying to think of things to hurt you. You were beautiful in that dress, Madison. No one had a clue until I told them right before you ran out.
Ugh.
I'm such a horrible person. To ruin everything for you. And those pills.
Why did I leave those pills?
I didn't realize how badly I was hurting you, not that I cared at the time.
She sniffled and rubbed her nose with her sleeve.
Those words I wrote... they will be in my brain forever, but I... it's all my fault!
I wish there were a way to get you to forgive me. I know I don't deserve it, but... I want it more than anything in the world.
"The world would be better off without you and sick freaks like you, look under your pillow."
She threw her head back and very nearly howled with the wails that were coming from her chest.
How could I have said such a thing? How could I have done such a thing?
The gravel-crunching sound of tires and a light beep of the horn signaled that her parents had arrived to take her home. She could hear them get out and close the doors before walking across to her. They were discussing the headstone.
"It's beautiful!" said her mother as they approached from the backside.
"There she is," said her father, "Wow. It's so big."
Then to her, her mother asked, "Wait. You spent all of your car savings from the past 3 years on this, didn't you?"
She nodded. They circled around the headstone and her mother took the girl into her arms as silent sobs once again wracked her young body.
"Oh, honey..."
"No, Mom," she interrupted, "I had to do it."
"How could they get the wrong stone, though! Who is Madison?" asked her father.
She pulled back from her mother and wiped her tears away.
This is it. It's time for me to come clean to them... Happy Birthday, little sister...
"Mom, Daddy, there's some things you should know about Brian..."
I pulled her close and kissed the top of her ear, pushing ever-so-slightly through her upswept hair. I leaned back and looked into her eyes, the world outside of those amazing eyes ceased to exist and I knew just how lucky I was. She was the one that Mom had always told me I'd find one day. That I'd know the girl that would be tied to me as surely as the sky is tied to the horizon as soon as I looked her in the eye for real.
I pulled her close and kissed the top of her ear, pushing ever-so-slightly through her upswept hair. I leaned back and looked into her eyes, the world outside of those amazing eyes ceased to exist and I knew just how lucky I was. She was the one that Mom had always told me I'd find one day. That I'd know the girl that would be tied to me as surely as the sky is tied to the horizon as soon as I looked her in the eye for real.
This amazing girl in my arms as we danced around the gymnasium. The streamers, the music, even the guys thinking they were being sneaky about spiking the punch... it all just added to my one perfect moment.
She smiled up at me and moved her hands from my shoulders to the sides of my head as she pulled me to her for a kiss. Y'know... that kiss could have lasted three seconds or three years and I'd never know the difference. I'd probably still be there kissing her today if the Geography teacher hadn't barked a, "break it up, kids!" at us.
Casey's wonderful eyes twinkled as she threw back her head and laughed, hair flying wildly around her head as I spun her around on the hilltop.
"Yes! Scott, YES! Now put me down, before I throw up!"
I set down my new fiancé and fumbled in my jeans pocket for the ring-box and slipped my great-grandmother's ring on her finger.
"My Caity," I whispered to the tiny person with the wrinkled eyes that was grasping my littlest finger. I looked over to Casey, who was obviously exhausted, but smiling. Grinning from ear to ear.
"Scotty," she said with a note of awe in her voice, "Scotty, we have a daughter."
I smiled at my beautiful wife, and gently removed my finger from my daughter's grasp.
"Today... is a big day for this family," I said, trying to sound as though I wasn't bubbling over with unbelieveable amounts of sheer emotive wonderfulness.
"You gets a degree. So, of course, I can't let you outdo me... so I gets a degree. So you go and give birth. Just can't stand to be topped, can you?"
She threw back her head and cackled as the nurse looked at us both like we were nuts.
"No, Scotty. We agreed no more Allison until Caitlin is old enough to talk to about it. I know how much it means to you to be able to be Allison, but we agreed NOT at home until then."
She kissed me, and it was impossible to resent her when she did that.
"Look. I know it's been months, but well... you're overdue for a 'business trip' anyway. Seriously. Go into the city, have some Allison time for a weekend. We'll be fine here. I'll take her shopping for new shoes and some shorts for preschool in a few weeks."
I stood watching my perfect little angel sleeping. She was so amazing.
She opened her eyes and smiled at me.
"I love you, Daddy."
"... and that'th why Nutrithion ith important!" the big grin with the missing two front teeth on her face made 'Grains' even more precious as she recited her lines. The play was over, and we stood up with the rest of the crowd of proud parents and began making our way to the aisle.
"Scott! Casey!"
I looked and smiled at Caity's teacher.
"Evelyn! Wonderful job with the kids. I've never seen a finer First Grade nutrition facts play."
She smiled and shook my hand, then hugged Casey.
"You know you have reason to be the most proud. Your Caitlin was the only one that remembered all of her lines."
I smirked, "Well, she got her looks from her mom, she had to get something from her wastrel of a father."
Another straight 'A' report card. Well, that's a trip to get ice cream, at the very least.
I walked into the kitchen where she was standing on a stool 'helping' her mother with something with lots of flour.
"Aw, there's my flour-girls!" I quipped.
"Daddy!"
I swept my daughter up into my arms and kissed her flour-coated nose.
"How's my fifth grader?"
"Not yet, Daddy, not until next Fall and I start school again."
"Nope. Nuh-uh. It's a law. You're considered a fifth grade girl as soon as you finish your last day of fourth grade."
She threw her head back and laughed in the same way as her mother.
"I love you, Daddy."
I threw my drink in his face, and wished I'd actually had something alcoholic so that it would've burned his eyes.
"I said no, creep!" I hissed.
"You want I should have Ox escort this fella out, Allison?" asked Tanya, the bartender.
I nodded and pressed my lips into a thin line. She motioned toward the door and Ox -- who was surprisingly small given his nickname and profession as bouncer -- waded through the nightclub's patrons.
"Problem, Tanya?"
"Yeah, Ox, this jerk won't take, 'No,' for an answer. See to it he gets the message what that little word means, willya?"
He nodded and I'd swear I saw amusement in his eyes, but as he reached for the guy's arm, the jerk reached out to cop a feel.
A hand slapped his out of the way and then grabbed me by the back of the neck. I found myself suddenly kissing a very familiar mouth.
"She's mine, okay buddy?" said Casey, then she threw her head back and laughed the way I loved so much as Tanya and Ox both dropped their jaws at the revelation that I was lesbian.
"Moooom! Daaaaad! I'm hooooome!"
I shoved the suitcase under the bed and it dropped into the hole, then pulled the carpet over the hole and stood, just as Caity came into the bedroom.
"Dad, where's Mom? I have to talk to both of you about something important."
"She's over at Janeen's place, or actually she's probably on her way home by now. What's up, Caity?"
My daughter grinned at me and answered, "No, Dad, won't work. You have to wait until I can talk to both of you. This is serious."
I reached out and gathered her into a big hug.
"Everything is serious to you. And every other twelve-year old in the world."
"Daaaaad!" she sighed exasperated.
I sat and held my head in my hands.
"It's okay, Scott. Really. It doesn't have to be today. We can tell her after we get back.
"I chickened out, Casey. She's fifteen. She's a smart girl, I could have told her when she was ten and she'd have gotten it. Instead I keep hiding it from her and I'm just so tired of hiding who I am from my daughter."
"Scott. Stop it. Caity loves you. I get jealous of you two sometimes!"
I looked at her.
"I'm serious! If she was any closer to you, they'd have to pick her out of your nose!"
"Oh goodness, Allison, that dress is perfect on you! The corset gives your figure just the right, 'Oomph,' too!"
I grinned at Casey, "You really think so? I mean, when we go to the Convention next month, I want to look perfect. Those catty wenches from the Laser Removal booth are gonna get an eyeful this year!"
"Yes, Ally, I really think so. Tell you what, let me change into something a little more upscale while you grab our purses and we'll go out for dinner."
I kissed her gently, not wanting to make a mess out of either of our lipstick.
I headed into the living room and was reading the Cosmo on the endtable when the front door swung open and Caitlin walked in.
"Oh, hi, Caity, how's my best girl?" I asked and smiled at her.
She wasn't smiling back. In fact she looked downright horrified.
Oh.
Hell.
"Honey, I can explain..." I began.
Her scream brought Casey running from the back room in just her bra and panties.
"So, a year ago your daughter came home a day early from a camping trip and discovered your secret of Allison?"
"Yes, doctor," I answered as I finished explaining the incident that set us on the rocky road we were travelling down at breakneck speed.
Casey gave my hand a squeeze and I chanced a look over at the other couch. Nope. She was still sulking at having to be here.
"Would you say that was an accurate accounting of that day, Caitlin?" she asked my daughter.
"Yeah, they sent me on a lame-o camping trip so they could play their pervert games."
"Caity!"
"What, Mom? You condone his being pervy, that makes you as big a perv. Or are you just a lesbian and like him as a chick?"
Wow. It's so high up here. Well, I guess Forest Fire Watchtowers need to be able to see a lot. Let's see... dressed "appropriately" so that Caity won't be embarrassed further. I failed her. One of the two most important people in my life and I failed her. Well, this'll help. I won't be in the way, and with the papers I sent off to my lawyer... they'll be taken care of and never have to worry about money again. Rope's tied off on the rail and the other end is, um, done. I just have to jump...
The end of the barrel was cool against his temple. That seemed odd, somehow. It was supposed to be hot... so torridly igneous it would sizzle upon the unprotected skin. His gaze locked onto something in the nonexistent distance, unfocused and unblinking.
For countless eons, he was a petrified redwood, waiting. Nothing of his being was able to even twitch, yet in his Phantasia the effort put forth striving to raise the courage was truly a task that would tax reserves for entire cities.
A hard swallow made the long journey down his esophagus, and from his eyes brave pathfinders broke trail across his cheekbones and down to the precipice of his chin.
They say your life flashes before your eyes, when you know you're about to die. But this was more like a meandering, and it wasn't everything, just... some.
A four-year old boy, proudly waiting for Daddy to get home from work, so he can show him. He had spent all afternoon in big sister's room, getting the pretty lace set just right. Daddy's home, yay! Hoping he likes his pretty dress! He was so pretty! Daddy had to love it! But Daddy doesn't look happy, and he's taking a breath like he does before he yells at naughty children...
A quiet, inexorable sob escapes his throat at the fusion of shame burning through, beginning behind his eyes and blooming like a slowly unfurling blossom at this first memory, even as his synaptic soldiers march inexorably on to the next. His hand trembles with the weight it bears, but he holds himself steady as he witnesses the events unfold in his mind, waiting to see if there is anything that may convince even him that it would be worth putting that weight aside.
A seven-year old boy, standing in the living room, with his head hung, wanting to explain to his Dad that he does respect him. That he loves him more than anything in the world. That he just can't help himself, and anyway he wore socks so no one else'd know his toenails were painted, anyway! -- The look of disappointment is worse than any grounding or beating he could have had delivered upon him...
The haunted disappointment that resided behind those sharp, cold blue eyes that day -- without any visible changes, the stream brimming from his wide open eyes increases in flow to a near river and there are spasms upon the hand-carved oaken handle resting its smoothness within his palm. His breath, slow and even... instead of ragged, quick draws as one would expect.
An eleven-year old boy holding his breath, as his Dad's uniform boots stood centimeters from his face, and the quiet static that was interspersed with the voice of his auntie dispatching here and there around the city. He can't let himself be caught. He had promised never to do this again, and the only punishment more severe than disobeying was lying. This was lying about disobeying. He began to relax as the boots took a step away, but then the shadow darkened, as the officer bent to examine under the bed...
A throb in the leg that still had a limp from -- from... from the response that Dad had that day. But he knew Dad loved him, right? He knew, Right?
A sixteen-year old boy, thanking whatever deities might be possibly real that it was Hallowe'en. He sat in the indecently short skirt, with the fashionably torn tights, along with the rest of the outfit. He had known he looked hot, hot enough to get any boy -- and some of the more interesting girls -- bothered for him. The calf-length, stiletto-heeled boots had been the perfect complement. But here he just wished he could find the courage to vomit, but that would take him across the cell too close to the three large men ogling his not-quite factual curves. Aunty had tried to talk the Sergeant into not putting him in with the rest of the men arrested that night, but the fat old man had just laughed and said he would be fine until Dad got there. And now, he could hear his father's raised voice coming from down the locked up hallway...
At least that time, Dad had jumped on the explanation to save face that it was a High School Hallowe'en prank. Though the furious look on his face as he stood and waited for those leering men to finish what they were doing was still frightening to think about... better than thinking about what they were doing, but frightening, itself.
A twenty-two year old boy -- yes, still a boy, for you couldn't call him a man. He sat in his best dress, a ballgown made in a modern twist on the Victorian Era, and his love of boots had gotten him to purchase a pair that matched. His jewelry, his makeup, even his nails were all perfect as they caressed the short barrel of the gun. All of this went through his head so fast. He could leave. Abuse is abuse, the police would be there for him, wouldn't they? Maybe Aunty would. A great sob shook her shoulders as she pressed the tip against her temple again. As her finger toyed with the idea of not-squeezing, the door opened without a sound and there stood her father, still in his patrol uniform. His eyes burning with a hatred that couldn't be for his son daughter. Fathers love their sons daughters. He opened his mouth and spoke, "For once in your life, be a man and just do it..."
"But, you CAIN'T cheat Death!" she protested, her accent slipping through slightly as her stress rose.
"Look, Vaughn, I just --"
"No! Now, you just simmah ohn down now, and you listen t'ME!" she shook her finger in my face, her pretty brow furrowed in her worry and consternation.
I sighed and waited, she worried too much.
She made a visible effort to calm herself, and when she spoke again, the accent was again supressed.
"You don't make a deal involving Death and expect to come out on top. If you don't lose your soul, you lose something worse."
"Look, sweetie, it's fine. Death misspoke, probably because of that weird Royal way of referring in plural, and she included me when she did. Not my fault if the way she phrased it was wrong. I'm a lawyer, there's no way to catch me in this loophole."
"I don't like it!" she snapped, stamping her (cute!) little foot, "Tell me EXACTLY what was said!"
I chuckled at the memory.
"Okay, hon, it was like this..."
]]Wow, Death is HAWT! I wonder if there's a Mister Death?[[
Yeah, I know. Whatever. Look, I'm a guy despite liking to dress as a woman sometimes. At least I'm enough of a gentlepig to not say it out loud, right?
"Parker Jordan Quinnley," she said -- in a way old-school type of voice just dripping with pseudo-Victorian-esque charm that I think was a put on and completely fake (was 'owest' even a word ever?), "Thou owest a forfeit of thyself at this time. Thou may choose to make mine such a forfeit now, of thine own self... or thou may choose to instead make mine the firstborn child of ours."
Now, of course the first thought I had was that of any straight man (crossdresser or not) or lesbian woman would have thought after seeing her -- ]]is she offering to sleep with me?[[
I knew that couldn't be it, so I clarified... okay, very bluntly.
"What do you mean by, 'firstborn child of ours,' -- are you saying you want to have my baby?"
"Such insolence. Thou hast proven unable to comprehend. I shall explain that as I have not been a mortal woman since the time of Queen Elizabeth the First, I long ago exhausted mine supply of womanly fervor along with the last of mine eggs to make the journey from within mine body. I meant instead --"
Bingo. She thought I was a woman. I mean, I've thought about being one before, and it might be fun to try one of those belts that stupid warrior adventurers are always seeming to find in dungeons sometime, but... "Whatever. Then I accept the second choice, assuming that you cannot become pregnant by mystical means."
"I cannot."
"Then... I'm free to go?"
"Until such time as thou must deliver upon thy promise thou art free. Thou shalt be visited upon the closure of thine three-day."
"I dunno. I still don't like it."
I grinned and pulled her into a hug.
"Look, she said she'd been a mortal woman a few hundred years ago. To me, that says she took over for someone. In all the old texts, it refers to Death as male. So, I'm thinking she used a condition that was never reworded for the Women's Lib movement. I'll be fine, and it's been three days already. No one's shown up --"
Of course that's when there was a knock on the door.
I went to answer it, and sure enough, there in all her hotness, was Death.
"I have come to collect from thee," she said in that freaky-cool voice.
I smirked at her.
"And how, pray tell, do you expect to do that?" I asked (yeah, I'm a moron).
"Just so," she said as she clasped my hand.
I blacked out, and when I woke up, Vaughn was half-crying, half-laughing hysterically as a man I didn't know stood over me, shirtless, zipping his fly.
"Mine presence will be here to collect the seed gestating within thine womb ten moons and three weeks hence," he picked up a now-familiar cloak and scythe that happened to be leaning against my sofa, "Good day, madam."
I sat bolt upright. I knew what had happened, but this was just plain WRONG!
Vaughn was bringing herself back under control.
"I told you, Parker, you cain't cheat Death..."
I just looked at her, and hefted myself off of the floor. So, I was not only a woman, but pregnant now? This could be interesting, but wait... I was going to have to give up my baby?
I looked over at Vaughn.
"How could this have come from a stupid game of cards?"
She answered in a sad tone, "You cain't cheat Death... she owns the casino."
I stood there, knowing what they expected me to say. But I didn't want to say it. They wanted me to talk about how no one could know, how no one could be at fault.
My best friend was in the prettily lacquered pine box 4 feet away.
I looked down at my notes. I looked around the packed-in room at all the hypocrites. This was a small town. This kind of thing made the press come out. There was even a newsvan outside, and a guy with a camera in the back of the room.
"Excuse me a moment. Before I go on, I need to, ah, gather myself," I stalled.
There was a murmur at the irregularity of it, and I folded up the notes that Lance's mom had written for me.
"Sorry, folks, but... he was my best friend. I won't be long, just need a breath of air first."
Then I motioned to Kirby and headed toward the door.
We stood outside for a minute at the foot of the stairs and then the two from the newspapers in town and the lady from the evening news and her cameraman, followed us outside. Not wanting to intrude on us. I started walking with Kirby, he was being quiet and waiting for me, but all of the news folks caught my hand motion to follow us from behind my back as we walked around the corner of the building.
We were standing there waiting when they got there, and when they saw us waiting for them, they all looked kinda embarassed to be horning in.
"You folks want to know the real story of what happened, you'll be in there and ready when I get back up there. Kirby. I want you to make sure no one shouts me down, no one stops me, and no one leaves. Can you do that?"
He looked at me kinda strange and then as understanding lit his eyes, he gave me that slow nod of his.
"Alright. You folks. Go back inside. Tell them we waved you off if anyone asks. We'll be in directly."
After they had gone back inside, Kirby let out a sigh.
"What're you going to do, Sara?" he asked, concern in his eyes.
"Screw them. I'm not going to lie to make them feel better."
He nodded his slow nod again, and we headed back inside.
I walked slowly with my head down up the aisle, listening to the whispers in the gathered. I unfolded the notes again, and... I began.
"Lance Seniewicz... was my best friend. So many people here, if you look around, were shocked at his death by his own hand. So many people here cared for him..." I paused to swallow a sob that fought to escape.
"And so many people here," I looked around the room at his mother, his sister, the teachers that showed up, "... are bald-faced liars and acting like to try to win an Oscar."
There were, of course, gasps of surprise.
Kirby stepped forward and quieted those that looked about to protest with a glance. I could hear one of the newslady people whispering into a recorder.
"Lance was forced to commit suicide, as much as if those responsible tied the rope and pushed him out of that loft themselves. You want me to tell you the story? You want to know the truth?"
I glared at them all, took a settling breath, and started in.
"Lance was a small guy, liked the arts and was good at them, he was gentle, kind, respectful, and he would do what those he was supposed to respect told him to do. And they took advantage of that to destroy him. Did those things make him want to be a girl? No. Why would they? Is it only girls that like to dance and sing and read and act? What about Fred Astaire and Bing Crosby? Is it only girls that are respectful? Why would boys get in trouble for sassing back, then? No. He was betrayed by those who should have protected a wonderful, sensitive boy like Lance."
I stopped for a moment, breathing hard in my anger, feeling good to let it out. There were several people that were fidgeting uncomfortably, and would likely have gotten up and left if some of the boys there hadn't stood up to back up Kirby and joined him in his great baleful stare.
"Here's what happened. Saint Ezekiel's was going to have a Spring Showcase. Dancing, singing, acting, all rolled up together. Lance should have been the star of the show. He should have been the one they focused on. But his teachers," I pointed at Miss Gult, Miss Juniper, and Miss Holsteader in turn -- the Drama, Choir, and Dance directors respectively.
"... but his teachers," I continued, "decided that they couldn't have a specimen like Lance represent them and show how their best was 'unmanly' and inferior to their other darlings. Ladies and gentlemen, Lance was more of a man than anyone. Sorry, Kirby, but it's true. Lance stood when a girl entered the room. Lance did all the old-fashioned gentleman things for a girl, even me who he was as close to as his sister. Lance was the kind of boy that would become a man that any woman would FIGHT just to say they got to date him once. Lance... was the bravest man I've ever known."
Lance's mom finally couldn't take it.
"Sara! How could you disrupt this funeral like this!? Young lady, you sit down or I've half a mind to --"
I just stared at her.
"Wait your turn, Mrs. Seniewicz, I'll get to your part in this," I said infinitely more calmly than I felt.
She turned the meanest shade of red I've ever seen.
"How DARE you, you little dy--"
"Sit down, mother, before you say something to make this worse," said the quiet voice of Emily, Lance's big sister as she looked at me with tears streaming down her face and nodded for me to go on.
I took another breath and bit back the sob that was still trying to have its way with me, "These three women decided that the best way to achieve the goal of having a 'real' man represent their ambitions was to destroy my best friend."
All three made noises of protest, but then stifled themselves as two of Kirby's goon squad stepped to the end of the aisle they were sitting in.
"Knowing that he had no real choice but to accede to them, and knowing that his only recourse would be to have his mother plead his case, they first went to Mrs. Seniewicz before ever trapping Lance into the situation that they did. And damn her to hell... she agreed to help them."
Emily looked revolted and unbelieving. Her mouth gaping, she looked at her mother for a sign -- ANY sign -- that what I was saying wasn't true. To her credit, Lance's mom had the decency to look guilty. Emily stood, and at first I thought she was going to leave as she was approaching Kirby, but she went and hugged him, then came up on stage behind me, and gave my shoulders a little squeeze of encouragement.
I was now guiding everyone in that room. Even those I was accusing -- the guilty. No one was making a sound without looking to me for approval first. No coughs, no throat clearing... nothing.
"This began in October. You see, everything they told Lance was going to be featured in the Showcase were pieces specifically for a girl. His voice would be able to handle a contralto and counter tenor piece. He could dance any piece that a girl could, they argued. Only a real actor could convincingly pull off being a blushing bride. All of the women's parts in Shakespeare's time had been men. Every word, calculated to force him to a point of not being able to refuse. And when he got home, his mother... rather than being outraged for him or even sympathetic... told him he WOULD practice those parts and to 'help' him, she sent him to school dressed in his sister's clothing the next day. The humiliation my poor, dear friend put up with. Being spat upon, roughed up by boys he had no chance of overcoming if he didn't allow them their way, jeered... only thing is Kirby and the jocks still watched out for him because he was their tutor and more importantly... their friend."
Kirby gave a growl in the general direction of the teachers.
The sob finally escaped and I wept. I couldn't help it and Emily gave me a hug and held me while I cried. Seeing this moment as a chance to break the spell I had everyone under, the three teachers from the boys' school began clamoring for proof. Everyone there knew it was true, but they were right, if there were no proof, it didn't happen.
Unfortunately for them.
"Lance was NOT the idiot they thought him to be, as he put up with this garbage for months. He had the top grades in his school. Not his class. The entire school. And they thought he wouldn't see through what they were doing? They were planning the real Showcase in other rooms with their chosen while one of them would be forcing Lance to be as feminine as possible. He knew. He actually had acquired copies of the actual Showcase, and had learned them. He was NOT going to let them beat him. When he left all of this with me, I was aghast. I never thought I'd use that old word that Mister Jacobs taught us in Freshman English, but there it is. It's the only word that fits. Aghast. For what they were doing was ghastly."
The looks on those old crones' faces... their eyes widened and their mouths opened in a little 'o' each and they lowered themselves back to the chairs.
"Then, in March, he found out that his mother was in on it. He picked up the telephone to call me, and heard his mother discussing things with his teachers. How he wasn't breaking. How she was going to step it up and force him to dress as a frilly LITTLE girl both at home and at school. She was bigger than him, it's not like he could actually refuse."
I tried to bore a hole through the evil woman's nose with my eyes.
"And as he was sadly deciding he would put up with that for the two months left, he heard his mother admit to having been feeding him estrogens since the plan began."
Emily's hands tightened on my shoulders, and I continued.
"When he was finally able to get to a doctor in April, the doctor explained why he had a tender chest. Why he was more emotional. Why he couldn't, ah, get excited. And the doctor then explained that he was now irrevokably sterile. Lance could never be a father. He could discontinue the hormones -- he hadn't explained to the doctor what his mother had done... oh, hello, Doctor -- and he would continue about puberty, but he would never have an easy time of ... well, of sex and getting an erection, and he would never have viable sperm."
I felt something wet hit my shoulder and looked up at Emily's face. She was crying, still, but the look of hatred she was giving her mother was... downright frightening.
"All of this, Lance gave me copies of for safekeeping," I said speaking directly to the cameraman, "and if it sounds melodramatic to say that it's safe and ready to go to anyone if something happens to me, so be it. It's safe, and it will come out later today, whether something happens to me or not."
I stopped and took another breath.
"I was asked to give this eulogy because they all thought Lance was ignorant of what they'd done, and that they could sweep what they'd done under the rug. Lance was above that. He would never have used what he had, as long as he won. And he would have won by their rules."
I was having trouble breathing now.
"I was the one that found him, four nights ago, on the night that he died. I tried to get him to go to the hospital. You see... you all wanted people to think it was a shock, and there was no note. Well."
I was taking breaths in between my lurching, body-wracking, shoulder tremors that were the form my sobs took.
I found him behind the dumpster by the old playground. Still in his party dress that he'd had to wear to school. He was vomiting and bleeding and had been badly beaten. I helped him to his feet and then I helped him home, while he slowly told me what happened. There were three boys at school. Yes, I have their names. They caught him on the way home. They first beat him. Then they..."
Emily broke down and slumped to the floor wailing.
"My baby brother! No! Nononononono!"
Kirby went to her.
Mrs. Seniewicz looked shocked for real. She sat very still and her eyes asked me to go on. I had the weirdest calm about me. The hurt and everything just melted away. I looked into the camera and continued, matter-of-factly.
"They raped my best friend. In his mouth, in his ass, and in his mind. They told him that each of their favorite teachers had told them to stop Lance at any cost so that he wouldn't steal their Showcase. They figured that since he looked and -- to their minds -- acted like a girl, they would show him what it was like to be a girl."
The three teachers were finally hit by the magnitude. They were shaking their heads in denial.
"I sat in the barn with him for several hours. Holding him while he cried. Trying to get him to go to the doctor."
I looked up and a sense of well-being and peace washed over me, now the story was out.
"Lance was as close to me as to his sister. But to me... he was my soulmate. I loved him. I love him now. I would do again what had to be done. I left, and took the gun out of my father's desk. Then I went and found those three. They were still sitting around at the town square. They didn't know me. The four of us went out to the woods, and they didn't have any idea what was going on until the pop of the gun into their faces. Did I mention that I'm the junior girls' firearms champ for this state? I went back to tell Lance it was all better. That maybe he could love me as much as I love him. When I saw him, I couldn't believe it. He was more than that. The note fell out of his hand and I took it. I have it here:
I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough.
...he wasn't strong enough?"
"In closing, let me just say, Lance Seniewicz was the strongest man I've ever known."
I stepped back as everyone in the room looked at me in horror.
I wrote this story in about 90 minutes tonight. It is well known and documented that forced ANYTHING is something I despise. I guess if anything, this story is a reaction to the recent spike in forced stories appearing here on TopShelf.
Zombies.
Mummies.
Michael Myers (the one from Halloween, not the funny guy).
And... for girls like me... the worst and most frightening and soul-shredding of the slow-moving terrors... the one that shakes us to our very core and turns us into gibbering crying piles of emotive waste...
Puberty.
The years of absolute despair and horror as my body inexorably changes, into what I know I am not. I should have been one of the lucky ones. I told my mother. I wanted to be me, I begged to be me.
And I had to watch as I changed so slowly into who I was not.
Everyone always told me that I was the "very image" of my father. He's tall, rugged, square-jawed... like a nice and well-heeled version of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. I have watched as I became a copy of that sort of being.
I wasn't even screaming on the inside, I was numb. My mother knew about me. My mother knew and let it happen anyway, and took every opportunity to compliment my masculinity and how easily I would find a wife and be a good father and how I was a perfect specimen of manhood. She knew it was the worst torture for me, but because of HER values and expectations, she wouldn't let the rest of the family know. If ever I tried to tell anyone, she'd talk over me, and give me a dark look.
You always hear about how in letters like these, people like me talk about how wonderful their parents were, but they just didn't understand. Bollocks. My mother understood. My mother is a clinical psychologist with a reputation for being the shrink that all the TG folks in the area want to be under the care of. She's won humanitarian awards for it. Not that she ever mentioned this to me, I found it on the internet. I went searching on my own for help and kept being recommended back to my own mother as the "best" choice.
So, I'm not going to say that my parents did right by me, that it's just me. No, frankly, the way you'll find me is all her fault. She did rather the opposite of right by me. I do hope my father refuses to forgive her.
Well, I'm ready to go. I just need to press send and the whole of my mail contacts will get my message. No need to hurry, you won't get here before the deed is done. I've left the door unlocked though, so that my roommate won't lose deposit for a destroyed door from would-be rescuers.
Hannah is psyching herself up to tell her girlfriend everything...
I have to tell her.
It shouldn't matter, I've told myself at least a thousand times.
The surgery was years ago, when I was still in college... and I've been down the road of not telling before.
It ended, ah, badly.
It's ridiculous that it should even be a factor in feelings for the one you've already confessed love for, but there it is.
I have to tell her.
Would it be any easier for me to tell because she was another woman?
I mean, I've read stories on the net of a straight girl in my position telling her new boyfriend, or even putting it off until she has a husband-to-be...
There are those that insist that a girl like me MUST disclose this kind of information about my past, because simply not telling is "lying" to my partner.
It's not fair!
I have to tell her.
I tell myself that she loves me, that she'll laugh at how silly it is for me to have worried, take me in her arms and calm me down.
But do I know for sure?
I have to tell her.
I tell myself that if she really loves me, it doesn't matter, so why bother telling?
If it does matter... does that mean she doesn't really love me?
I have to tell her.
Let me go over this.
I love her.
I want her to be a part of every aspect of my life.
Does that include my past?
Yes.
I have to tell her.
A single tear leaks from my left eye.
What's the worst if I don't tell her and she finds out some other way ten years from now?
Am I lying to her?
No.
Not technically.
I have to tell her.
Do I want to risk losing this wonderful love?
No.
I have to tell her.
Do I want to risk her feeling betrayed because I didn't "technically" lie to her ten years from now?
No.
I have to tell her.
I stand and check in the mirror -- knowing that my reflection gives no inkling of my medical history provides no comfort.
I walk out the door, lock it, and take a deep breath of the cool Spring air.
The gallery is only a few blocks, but each step is excruciatingly slow.
I put my hand on the door and pause, filling my lungs and quieting my nerves.
I wave at Ferris at the reception desk and he smiles and waves back -- would he be so friendly if he knew?
I have to tell her.
I timidly knock on the door of her private studio.
I have to tell her.
I have to tell her.
After we embrace, another tear makes its journey, and she notices something is wrong.
"Hannah?" she asks, "Baby, what's wrong?"
I take a deep breath and look her in the eyes.
I have to tell her.
"Aimee, I have something I need to tell you, if I'm going to be completely honest with you, and I need you to not say anything until I'm done or I'll lose my nerve and I've just spent all morning getting myself ready to tell you so please don't interrupt or say anything unil I've said it, just nod," I ramble, fighting down the choking fear.
She nodded.
She is so beautiful, not just in her looks, but she's the most beautiful person in her outlook, her personality, everything about her...
I have to tell her.
Another deep breath.
"When I was in college, I had a small, ah, corrective surgery," I begin.
There is a glimmer in her eyes like she knows what's coming but won't admit it to herself.
I'm sorry, Aimee.
"It was something I had been wanting since I was old enough to realize that I was different."
She settles onto her stool, waiting.
"I saved up the money to have it done, and, well... my mother came from Denver to go with me to a certain clinic in Colorado..."
She looks sympathetic -- I think she knows where I'm going with this and it doesn't look like she hates me.
"My father wasn't so supportive at first, and lectured me on how I should stay how God made me... but Mom... Mom knew I really didn't have a choice."
I am crying now.
Aimee starts to come to me to comfort me, but I motion her to stay where she is as I wipe at my now-streaked face.
"It didn't really take that long, and the recovery was the hard part... there aren't even noticeable scars."
She's smiling at me and crying, so it's going to be okay.
"I'll just come out and say it."
I lick my lips nervously and she smiles encouragingly.
"I used to have to wear a special... garment... to hide that I was different from other girls."
Another nod.
"The surgery fixed that and I threw it away, because now no one can tell..."
She stands and walks to me, arms outstretched, and this time I don't stop her.
"Nobody knows I used to have eleven toes!" I finish triumphantly through my tears as my beautiful, wonderful lesbian transsexual girlfriend shows that she accepts me for who I am, not who I was, and that how differently I grew up doesn't bother her.
I whispered the wish again. I had long since stopped believing in wishes and faeries and all the silly things a child -- girl or boy -- were supposed to still hold dear to heart as fact at an age most thought quite sad. Over a decade ago. Harsh for a 17-year old to realize. But if the opportunity presented itself, I'd make the wish. Every time. Just in case.
Of course, voicing the wish always made the cold feeling take my stomach again. It wasn't a difficult wish... but I knew it would never really come true.
But that wouldn't stop me from making it.
My shoes crunched as I shuffled through the grass that had fallen frozen with dew in the after-sunset temperature drop. I could see my breath. I jammed my hands in the pocket of my pullover hoodie and turned my gaze from the sky.
Mom looked up at me, but didn't say anything as I walked in the front door and started kicking the snow off my boots. My little sister smiled, but I think she could tell I was in a bad mood because she went back to watching whatever inane tweeny show on the Disney Channel she had been absorbed in before I got there.
I was in such a bad mood. I hate being in a bad mood.
I tromped up to my attic bedroom -- at least I had some privacy. I threw myself onto my bed and stared at the sloping ceiling as I began to consider and worry the largest problem in my life at current.
The Spring Dance.
It wasn't long before I would have to make a decision.
Am I a slightly geeky (okay, I can dream that it's only slightly) boy that's going to ask the slghtly geeky girl he's been flirting with for three years (since 8th grade History) to be his date...
Or...
Am I a freaky and geeky girl-that-everyone-knows-as-a-boy lesbian that's going to hope that the slightly geeky girl she's been flirting with since moving to town is okay with being a lesbian and will consent to accompany her as part of this town's first 'official' lesbian couple?
Or...
Or am I the moody androgyn that no one is sure about and frankly rather frightens most other students that will attend the Spring Dance solo and not dispel any questions about gender...
Or...
Am I the creepy kid that silently rages against the establishment (at least in the eyes of the peer group) and will boycott the event in protest -- not because of a lack of date?
I looked in the mirror and was both elated and scared out of me geeky little mind. Mom hadn't said anything weird, just... said before I made a decision, and before I told my father my decision especially, she wanted to take me shopping for a suitable dress for the dance. Then, if I decided to be the me that she and my sister knew about... and decided to ask Maja to the Spring Dance as the real me... I'd be prepared already for the fallout.
My mother had taken me dress shopping.
Formal dress shopping.
And she acted, well, cool about it. Like this wasn't the first time she'd taken a teenager out to look for a formal gown. Like she was bored with it. At least, she had when the staff of the shop had been there. She'd even remembered to call me Heather instead of Donovan. When the salesgirls had wandered off giggling at what they thought was my being picky, Mom would lean close and tell me how exciting it was to finally get to do something special with her eldest daughter.
I wasn't being picky, I just had no idea what I was doing.
But... it looked like we had found it. Not to be a drama-llama, but... we'd found THE dress.
I was sure of it.
I was ecstatic.
I was about to faint.
I sat there, literally dumbfounded. Maja looked about as scared as I know I am. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, and I sat on the edge of the recliner. She had just asked me to the Spring Dance.
As her girlfriend.
What the hairy heck?
Apparently, she'd known there was something 'different' about me. And she'd picked up that I was moving toward making it public. So she took matters into her own hands and showed up at my door to ask me something important.
And when Mom and Petra had left the room (I knew they were in the kitchen with cups pressed against the door, but I'd tell them anyway and Maja didn't have to know) she kind of gathered her courage and asked me if I was straight or if I liked girls.
I answered before I realized what she'd said.
Tricky girl. I'm pretty sure I'm falling hard and fast for her.
Turns out she'd seen me and Mom the day we went dress shopping. We went 90 miles away so I wouldn't be recognized, but she was visiting someone with her family there that day and had recognized me anyway.
After I haltingly accepted her invitation, she asked to see my gown so she could color match.
Surreal.
So far, so good. Spring Dance minus twelve days and my first day at school as Heather. Only one teacher so far even halfway slipped, but she recovered and nothing happened.
It's crap dealing with the thickheads, though.
I'm a sissy.
I'm a fag.
I'm ... many things worse.
At least no one's gotten physical.
Yet... scary thought.
Only real difference other than being called by my not-yet-legal-but-in-the-works name is that I'm wearing girls' jeans instead of boys. My hair is the same. No makeup. No jewelry. Same shoes (leave me alone, they're COMFY), same glasses, same T-Shirt they've all seen me wear (which is a Girl Genius Tee...) a million times --
Oh, yeah, and Maja and I are an official couple... and the first lesbian couple at this school.
Ever.
He stared at me.
Okay, he didn't look angry. Maybe we shouldn't have hid all of this from him. I mean, he had to know eventually.
After he agreed to be the chauffeur for me and Maja on the night of the Spring Dance, I had asked Dad if he'd give me his opinion of my gown. I think his brain filtered it out.
Here I stood in my satin and tulle, light fuchsia ballgown, and I think it's the first he's ever seen or heard about my being Heather instead of Donovan. He's away on the truck a lot, and Mom has been so supportive... I guess I assumed she had come out to Dad for me.
Apparently, that was too much of an assumption.
He stared at me.
I waited for the only man in the world whose opinion mattered to me to voice said opinion.
I remembered his patience when I couldn't learn all the boy stuff. Playing catch with a football (it never lost a bit of wobble), camping... that was an experience. He just would smile and say something to the effect that some men weren't sports dudes, or outdoorsmen, or... whatever. He was always proud of me anyway.
I waited for the hammer to fall.
I didn't want to disappoint him, but I needed to be me. Mom kept saying he'd understand. That he'd accept me. That... well... this was just unnerving.
Emotionless and expressionless...
He stared at me.
Hand in hand.
That's what Maja and I had decided, and that's what we did.
I saw that the theme for the event was, Catch A Falling Star, and thinking back to my silly wishing on shooting stars... I started a nervous giggle.
It kind of grew into a quiet, hysterical giggle.
Maja squeezed my hand and waited for me to get myself under control, and then we walked in.
Like any high school dance, you could hear the buzz and murmur of the crowd from the parking lot before you walked up to the gymnasium doors, even.
But when we went in, we received a total silence.
Every eye on us, under the big mylar-covered star and tail that were arching from one basketball goal to the other above the whole of the thing.
I wish I could say that it was all because we were just that gorgeous.
I wish that the deejay hadn't stopped the music when everyone stopped moving.
I wish I could say that they were all in faces that were smiling.
I wish the teachers / chaperones hadn't stopped and stared, too.
I wish I had let Dad walk us in like he wanted.
I wish I could say that they were all welcoming, and not hostile at all.
I wish I could go back and change my mind?
I whispered my new wish again. I had recently begun believing in wishes and faeries and all the wondrous and magical things a child -- girl or boy -- were supposed to hold dear to heart as fact. I'm 17, but... realize that my life had recently become wondrous and magical. So, if the opportunity presents itself, I make my new wish. Every time. Because...
Of course, voicing the wish always made the warm feeling grow in my stomach again. It wasn't a difficult wish... and I knew it would really come true someday.
And that's what kept me making it.
My shoes clicked as I stepped carefully through the grass onto the stepping stone walkway that led to Maja's front door. I could see my girlfriend's silhouette. I slipped my hands the around the wrap upon her shoulders and turned my gaze from the sky.
... And as she then kissed me at the end of our evening, I thought back to the Spring Dance.
I walked away, and couldn't help grinning as I heard a single cricket begin to chirp happily.
Fate is kind
She brings to those who love
The sweet fulfillment of
Their secret longingLike a bolt out of the blue
Fate steps in and sees you through
When you wish upon a star
Your dreams come true
Once upon a time...
So.
There was a boy. At least, that's what everyone around him said. He was loved by his parents -- even his father made it known how much he loved the boy, even though it was not something that was considered 'okay' for men to admit to anyone but a wife. Yes, society is a strange thing, but we'll not get into that just now.
Anyway, the boy knew his parents loved him. This means they would never lie to him. So he must be a boy. They wanted the best for him, and to these two wonderfully caring adults, that meant the best education. They searched all around the land, and the found a school, nearly on one of the edges of the vast country they lived in, that fit what they wanted.
They knew that the best teachers taught at private schools because they were compensated better, so it had to be a private school. But most private schools were boarding schools and they didn't want their son to have to deal with not having them close at hand until he was ready to be an adult his own self -- they firmly believed that loving parents would be involved in their children's lives as much as possible. The school they had found was one that allowed students to not board if they lived in the nearby town. So the little family moved to the not-so-small village known in their vast land as Bahstun, which had this school on its outskirts when the little boy was but 10 years old, just old enough to begin at the Williston School that fall.
And that is where our story really begins...
Turns out, boys do wear skirts. Depending on things like culture and societal norms -- which seemed to the parents to be very silly limiting factors on the expression and fashion sense of a child, so they set about seeing what they could do about it.
They told and showed him that in most of the world, skirts for boys were called, "kilts," and were accepted as normal even in their own country, to a point. Some boys and men in their country were so proud of having ancestors from the kilt-wearing countries that they wore kilts, too!
But, the little boy pointed out that the kilts were kind of limited in colors and designs, and not all that fun-looking. The two parent people had to agree with him and researched some more.
The next examples they brought to their precious child were of the berobed nobles of many cultures, and the rich colours and designs that the robes could be found in. Again, these were available in their own country by those proud of their heritage.
But... the little boy pointed out that the men in the robes could easily be just wearing the robes over their clothing and be expected to remove the robes.
Again, they had to agree and returned to the library.
This time, they had what they thought must be the answer.
Their answer was that it didn't matter, as society and culture are made up of many differences. They asked the little boy if he wanted to wear skirts, was that what this was about?
Well, of course, but he didn't want to offend anyone.
Why, who would be offended by something so silly as the type of garment someone was wearing. That would be quite a strange thing! Laughable, in fact!
The little boy was wise well beyond his tender years. But he also trusted that his parents would protect him -- or see to it he was protected when they were unable to be with him -- if such a thing were to happen.
So it was that it came to pass that the little boy arrived for his first day at the Williston School and was promptly informed by the Headmaster that he would have to return home to dress in a way that would cause less confusion, and would comply with the Dress Code of the rules of the Williston School.
Confused, the little boy used the telephone in the Headmaster's office and his parents retrieved him only a short time after they had delivered him.
The three of them spent the remainder of that day, aside from breaks for meals and enjoying a rollicking good television program together that afternoon, studying this new information the Headmaster provided that was the Williston School Dress Code.
Male students, it proclaimed, would be dressed in a certain way each day, in a way that showed that individuality was allowed -- but only slightly. The little boy cried out at the allowances made, as they were so minor as to be non-existant. He asked what a male student was, and received in reply that it was something he needn't worry about at the moment, but that they (the two good parents) would explain it fully before they returned with the little boy to the school.
Female students, it proclaimed, would ALSO be dressed in a certain way each day, but the individuality that was allowed was much more widely varied and showed much more character allowed. There was also such that said the hair of a female student must be styled long, but again the variety in the hairstyles that were allowed as long as they were long comprised quite a long list, indeed! The hair of the male students was outlined to be preferred to be short and above the collar, but that if longer than that must be worn in a specific type of style with no variation.
The little boy explained that if he had to choose based on this Dress Code, that he would be a female student. He had already surmised that female was different from male, and assumed that the parents that so lovingly went over this material with him would answer his question about what a female student was the same way they had answered his question about what a male student was.
The parents sadly informed the little boy that the Headmaster would consider the little boy to be a male student.
The little boy asked if there was no way he could be a female student, instead?
The parents returned to research and found that because of the difference in the Dress Code, the Williston School was not allowed to actually state that one Dress Code was for male students and the other for female students, due to something called a Sexual Discrimination Law (the little boy was told that he wouldn't need to know what that was in detail until he was an adult). So, if the Headmaster tried to protest, he would be breaking an actual law! So long as the little boy adhered completely to one Dress Code or the other and did not switch between them, the Headmaster could only protest and nothing more. The little boy could not be punished.
The Headmaster did, indeed, protest, but a man named Mister Uhturnee who was a friend of the parents accompanied them that morning and pulled the Headmaster aside to talk when he protested. Mister Uhturnee kept spelling a word the little boy was unfamiliar with, and sounded like a sneeze when he tried to pronounce it privately to himself. Ay See Ell Yoo, Ackloo.
The Headmaster decided that the little boy could be considered a female student as long as he adhered to the Williston School female student Dress Code, and to keep from causing problems with the other students (who might be jealous, the two good parents explained to the little boy) would have to pretend to be named something different and instead of being called he or him or his would have to be called she or her or hers.
That wasn't too difficult and if it meant that he (sorry, she) wouldn't have to wear the boring clothes from the Williston School male student Dress Code, then she would gladly pretend her name was different.
... And they're still alive today!
A Thoughtstorm is when your mind randomly goes in many directions, but not like a brainstorm... rather kind of aimlessly...
It starts... kind of... like this...
Dripping from the corners of my mouth like butter dribbling off fresh from the oven rolls
Was it a dream where you see yourself standing in sort of sun-god robes on a pyramid with a thousand naked women screaming and throwing little pickles at you?
Someday, they're all going to figure out just how insane you really are, chica...
I do not think it means what you think it means
You know, I am wondering, what is in the bag?
Why am I the only one that ever has that dream?
And then... it continues more like... in a general direction... very Goldblumylogical...
This is a computer
Computer
It computes
Pukes
Vomit
Nonsense
I'm not making any sense
Making any
Creating
I create worlds because I'm a writer
Worlds
Worlds at War
Comic Books
Nonsense
That's circular, back to Comic Books
Comic Books
Unimportant to most people
Most folks call 'em green onions but they're really scallions
Dragnet
Monotone
That's why people hate me
But Comic Books are not unimportant to all people
Exciting
Fantasy
Ah! Science Fiction
Which is written, like what I do...
Like...
Hey, does that mean that some people like me?
Of course, I have it now, mean is another word for average
The average is that I must write, whether I feel up to it or not, if for no other reason than therapy.
So you can see why I feel that I must write.
Or not.
It's not about whether or not what I write is actually worthy of being kept, I keep it all. Or at least I try.
But now and then... now and then I write something that is obvious that must be kept so as to say something... worthwhile.
Like the letter to the School Board, what protested the treatment of that girl. They say, "Well, she's really a boy," all they want.
Don't make it any more true.
Of course, how much matter it makes she got someone like me on her side... well... that would take some thought.
Methinks, then, that I awoke in but an instant at the sounding of the chimes, meant to rouse me from the arms of Morpheus and to call my return clarion from prowling the lands of Noddis Ca'raan. And then whilst most distractedly and in a spate of uffish thought, mine arm didst throw off of myself the winsome companions of my mattresses -- indeed of my bed itself -- both furred and shirred. They did not cry out, for I had not given them voice nor leave to make words.
To my feet I ... stumbled. Much as I would prefer to boldly state that I sprang immediately to stance, it was instead more of a churlish and unpatterned series of rollicking thumps upon my bedchamber carpets punctuated by the cracking of my spine.
But stumbled, I did. In my stupor, still valiantly efforting to throw off the influences of the King of Dream, I made my way to the chamber containing the mad device used to whisk away all of mine offal and waste.
Groggily, as I settled there bemoaning my utter lack of some of the delightfully arcane brew of the Ethiopians (the one that restores the potence and senses of all those with the proclivities toward glacial awakenings), the terrestrial stage coalesces into existence and envelops my being...
I've got to stop falling asleep reading Victorian Literature.
Why am I without my damn coffee?
Who the hell is moaning like the dead?
Oh.
That's me.
"Valery!"
He better not have already left and not made me a pot of coffee.
"Val? You awake?"
There's an answering moan from down the hall. Okay, so he's not awake yet. The good news is that he didn't leave me coffeeless. The bad news is... he didn't leave yet so - I - have to make coffee.
Let's see if I can fill you in, all narrator-style while I finish pulling my sorry ass upright and make it to the kitchen.
Name's... well, my name NOW isn't the same as it was when I was young, so you can just call me ... you can just call me Lysandra. The pile of flesh and bone in the back room of my apartment is my irksome brother Val. Valery for long. Where's the filters at? Why can I never -- ah. So. Why am I narrator of this little light opera? I guess you could say I have the knack for it.
We need a decent coffeemaker. One with a timer. It all started deviously enough -- you can't say it started innocently no matter what you wanna say -- with my girlfriend setting out to guilt me and Val into a brother and sister duo for Vaudeville Night. Yeah, I'm a lesbian, you got a problem with that? Yeesh. Coffee needs to hurry up. I'm heckling my audience that isn't there instead of them heckling me. Slow it may be, but at least this is coffee I'm waiting on and not that chai tea crap that Beaux is always trying to foist on me... I'd rather do without than that. You know what the Jedi Master of Coffee said...
"Brew, or brew not. There is no chai."
Back to my... narrative. So my girlfriend wants us to do some kind of brother and sister act with a twist. She wants me to be the brother and Val to be the sister. Hmph.
Val's game for it, he's a crossdresser anyway. I'm okay with it. But there's something I didn't trust.
"Cassie! You got the coffeepot going?"
* S I G H *
So he steals my thunder at a cool name and interrupts my narration at the same time. Who needs brothers? My name's not even Cassandra or anything. It's stinking "Cassie" on my birth certificate. No one ever accused our parents of having an imagination.
Since he's probably lumbering to the toilet and then in here, I'll make this quick as I can:
We're to do it in period costume. Victorian era -- which she knows I love -- and it doesn't occur to me to object until she's gone.
If anyone's clothes were more uncomfortable than a Victorian-era woman's... it was a Victorian-era man's formalwear.
Damn her. I'm gonna be sore for the next week.
Oooh!
Coffee's done.
blink
blink
That's the cursor. My hands are on the keyboard. The text editor is open... and nothing is being written.
blink
blink
blink
Thing is, it's really hard to be "inspired" and make use of creativity, tap into that muse... when you don't feel like you deserve it.
blink
blink
blink
I used to be good at writing. I used to be able to crank out the stories and poems and just... enjoyed it.
blink
blink
blink
But then I was accused of doing something terrible, horrible, no-good, and really bad. Then it turned out that even though I didn't know I had done it, I was the one responsible for it.
blink
blink
blink
I did my best to apologize and even try to explain (though I really had no idea about it myself). Then... the theories began as to the why.
blink
blink
blink
One theory was that I did it all on purpose, with forethought and malice, to have material to write about. Since it was known that I was a writer, this seemed to be to most... kinda plausible.
blink
blink
blink
I haven't really been able to write anything of substantial volume since then.
blink
blink
blink
It's been more or less a year. And it's not getting any easier.
blink
blink
blink
I've written some.
blink
blink
blink
But just not a lot.
blink
blink
blink
I've even tried to begin the reworking of my older stuff to see if that helped.
blink
blink
blink
See how much it helped?
blink
blink
blink
I'm not sure if I'll ever recover from this downturn.
blink
blink
blink
But I do know if I don't...
blink
blink
blink
I'll really never be truly happy again...
blink
blink
blink
It's almost hypnotic.
blink
blink
blink
The cursor.
blink
blink
blink
Hushed, but definitely talking.
There's a few whoosh-klump noises, too. I think I'm in hospital. I think I'll open my eyes, get a good look around, ask folks what's going on.
Ack. That's a lot of light for a tiny crack open. Didn't even part my eyelashes.
Whoa.
I must be pretty messed up, because trying -- and failing -- to open my eyes just wore me out. Maybe I'll have a look around later... right after I take a nap.
"Did you actually get to talk to her?" she asked me excitedly.
"Yep," I answered with a grin that made fixing my lipgloss in the tiny mirror in my locker next to impossible.
"Well? This is driving me crazy! She only talks to a few people each week. You're like the only person I know of in the entire school who has actually talked to her and she's supposed to be from here. She has to go to this school, we're the only high school in the entire county. Unless..."
I looked at Haylea with a frown and asked the question she obviously left off there for me to ask, "What? Unless what?"
"Unless," she smiled slyly, "Unless you think she could be a middle schooler."
Psh. Shyah, right.
"Psh. Shyah, right. C'mon, Haylea, you've been in that chatroom as much as I have --"
"More."
"I know, right? You know that's no middle schooler. She's so..." I grasped in the dark for the right word.
"Wise?"
"She says she's fifteen. Wise doesn't cut it. Insightful. Yeah, that's the right word. She's so insightful that it's downright amazing. I mean, she reads in that chatroom all week as people present their problems, and then chooses like, what, two or three people every weekend to talk to in her private chatroom? And everyone she talks to has been energized, and inspired and..."
There was a laugh from a few locker-doors down the hall, and I glared over at the freak boy pushing his much-taped glasses up his nose again. What the hell? Where does someone like him, someone like THAT piece of rejected social refuse get off laughing at me?
"Is there something you have to add to the conversation, Bags?"
"Hm? Oh, no, Lucretia. You seem like you're enjoying yourself and I don't want to ruin that." And he said it without so much as a hint of irony. He was deadpan serious.
Of course, that meant I HAD to take the bait, even though I knew it was both a trap and folly.
I sighed mightily, a sigh for the heroine of an epic tale, and asked, "Okay then, schmot guy... ruin it... HOW, exactly pray tell?"
He shook his head and said, "You've been my best friend since before kindergarten, Cree, I don't want you to think I'm making fun of you. But I've seen what this chick writes about in her 'sermons' in that room -- yes, I gave in and checked it out -- and she's not that special. You make it sound like you're joining a new religion."
I just kind of stared at him for a minute. Then the bell rang and he just turned and smiled as he waved with his customary, "See ya at lunch!"
Argh. Boys can be so frustrating! Why the hell was my best friend one of them?!? Okay, a bit of background here... Yes, he's my best friend and yes, he's social refuse... I'm not exactly popular myself -- today's jump in interest due to actually being one of those chosen to talk to Hypatia not withstanding -- but liked enough that associating with Bags (Wilson Kenton Bagston) didn't make people hate me by association. Most didn't really hate him so much as he just wasn't someone anyone tried to include. He was kind of invisible. Well, except to me.
"I don't know why you even bother to talk to that guy," was Haylea's mumbled comfort a moment later.
"Because, Haylea, like he said, we've been best friends since we were kids. You don't just abandon friends."
"Are you kidding, Cree? Where do you think you are? This is high school for crying out loud!" she grinned so I would know she was at least partly kidding.
"C'mon, class... at least I like Drama."
"I'm just saying, Cree, that you need to be careful who you talk to on the internet. She could be some fat creepy old guy sitting in his basement."
"Come on, Bags. You're being paranoid."
"No, Cree," put in Haylea, "he's right about this, I've seen that Dateline NBC thing and there are some serious sickos on the internets."
"Okay, yeah, he is right," I smirked, "but I already had Miss Akane tell me what she thinks. She sat in on one of the weeklies last week and logged the chat. I asked her today during Drama, and she says that from the tone and voice that Hypatia writes in, she's about 95% sure to be a girl, and one about our age, though a very well-read and well-spoken one at that. Trained Psychologist win."
Bags realized I'd outdone him and went back to his burger.
"Anyways, Haylea, it's like... it's like she knows us, but even though we don't talk to her and hang out with her, she's willing to listen to our problems and wants to help us get through rough patches. It's like having really heavy girltalk with you, but without having to feel like we have to match it with a story. You know? She's not trying to make me feel like she's got it as bad, but I get that she's got this massive sorrowful being to her, y'know?"
"I have got to make her list for the private chat sometime. I go in there like every night," grumped Haylea.
Bags snorted.
= = = = = Welcome = = = = =
= = = = = = t o = = = = = =
= = = = Advice Chat = = = =
login: girloutofplace
passx: **********
checking . . . . . .
Welcome back, Hypatia!
Room?
(M)ain (H)ypatia's Astrolabe (L)ounge (E)xit
M
entering . . . . . .
Users in room: 384
Hypatia> Hello, all.
Hypatia> Before anyone gets too excited, there will be no more sessions involving me.
Hypatia> Do not be upset, as I did warn everyone that this could happen.
Hypatia> My friends in school are, I believe, close to figuring me out.
Hypatia> We talked for nearly an hour today after school about, 'Who Hypatia Might Be,'
Hypatia> ... and for me, that's too close for comfort.
Hypatia> I'm sorry for those of you I have not been able to talk to... maybe someday in the future I can do this again.
Hypatia> But, if you all knew the real me, you would not be so eager.
Hypatia> I'm not the kind of girl most of you now -- or ever -- want to associate with IRL.
Hypatia> Goodbye.
Hypatia has logged off.
I closed the door as quietly as I could and sneaked back downstairs. That was Hypatia. THAT was Hypatia?!? Whoa. Maybe... Um. Maybe I should talk to someone about this. I mean, I would usually go and talk to Hypatia! I sat in the kitchen and scowled at the lemon cake.
"Hello, Cree! We haven't seen you around in ages!"
"Hm? Oh, hello, Mrs. Bagston. I was just waiting for Wilson to finish up whatever computer geek stuff he's doing and then we're gonna catch a movie with Haylea and Ramona."
"Oh, okay, would you like a piece of that lemon cake you're staring down, with a tall glass of milk while you wait?"
"Hm? Oh, sure! Thanks. Say, Mrs. Bagston... you ever find out something wonderful about a friend that you're not sure you can tell anyone, even that friend?"
She sighed heavily and turned from the window, letting the curtain drop and guillotine the silvery trace as the hand that had held the wispy fabric now moved to curtail the moisture leakage. It had come to this. She was certain, in her own odd way, that she wouldn't be missed. All the torture she had been put through, all the emotional blackmail, all the guilt-ridden conversations... all the denial.
No, she wouldn't be missed. Not the way that he would be.
He was the golden child. The perfect son. As if the world-at-large even had the desire to see him for what he truly was. No, anyone that knew him was absolutely certain from the time he was born... he was the best and the most wonderful. Never making a mistake. Not in public -- and only in private when she had been the only witness.
Such a loaded word, that one. Complex, and simple in its entirety. Witness. Merriam-Webster defines witnes in many ways:
Transitive Verb definitions:
Intransitive Verb definitions:
The origin of the word comes from Middle English - witnesse - which in turn comes from Old English - witnes - and the first known use as a noun was prior to the 12th Century C.E. (for those of you that don't do historic dates well, that means before the year 1100), and the first known use as a verb was during the 14th Century C.E. (the 1300s). There are a myriad of words related to witness, both synonyms and antonyms... attest, attestation, authenticate, avouch, certify, confirmation, corroboration, disproof, documentation, evidence, proof, substantiation, testament, testify (to), testimonial, testimony, validation, vouch (for), voucher...
Such babble filled her mind, and she knew it was simply some part of her mockery of a mind. A vestige of perhaps something good in her that wanted to survive, telling her not to do what she must.
As a sort of tribute to the son that never really was, before she carried out her goal -- no, her duty -- she dressed him slowly and carefully in the three piece suit. The gift of an Armani man's suit was never what he wanted. But he had mustered acceptance for it with all the enthusiasm that was expected. No, there was nobody that ever saw past his façade to the truth. Lies that even convinced himself for a short time.
The absurdity of what she was doing struck her for a moment as she slid the precise Windsor knot to his throat one last time. She even let slip a giggle. Or maybe a chuckle. Only a woman truly knows how to tie a tie on someone. She stifled the aberrant behaviour lest she become hysterical.
She looked at the bedside clock. The one that was destined to take up residence in the evidence locker at the local police station, at least until a coroner made a report -- probably longer. Barely ten minutes had passed since she wept in the moonlight.
Another moment of inappropriate humour... men get dressed so much more quickly than women...
It would take the police about seven minutes to respond after she made the call. She would be here, waiting for them. So would he. Would they ever understand what drove her to this? Not likely. Even with all of their "sensitivity training" and the role-plays that today's police undergo... not likely at all.
She reached out and lifted the telephone -- an old style, rotary, what they used to call a Princess style. He had thought it something that would be overlooked and not attributed to deviant proclivities. And of course, he was wrong.
Her hand, the same left hand that held the curtain, delicately dialed the three digits.
An inkling of a moment passed before a soothing and businesslike woman's voice answered, "Nine-one-one emergency. What is the nature of your emergency?"
She sucked in a breath through her teeth.
"I - I want, no, I need to report a death."
The operator's tone didn't change, but she could imagine the saddened look on the faceless woman's features as she asked, "Please stay on the line, ma'am, until I can transfer you to the ambulance --"
"No, you don't understand. I need the police. I've just murdered my son."
They say there is an answer to everything. Note that... not every question, but everything. Even tongue-in-cheek authors admit it. Forty-two is the supposed answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything.
Some answers are easy to supply.
Other questions require questions of clarification before an answer can be supplied.
And then, there are the questions that have obvious answers that cannot be articulated. Most of these are quite personal. But the question recognizes the answer to which it belongs.
This is a true storybit about one of those answers, and it is about the question that belonged to her.
My life has never been easy, even discounting being transgender. I was always a geek. I've worn glasses since grade two. I was short except for grade eight. I was the only not-completely-white kid in the entire school from Kindergarten to seniors in high school. I looked at the world oddly. There were rumours I didn't believe in God.
** Author's Aside: those rumours were true by about halfway between age seven and eight, but I faked it until around nineteen and still fake it to avoid hassle in some situations, like family.**
But I didn't know I was a Question until I was nearly thirty-three years old. I began feeling depressed and lonely, even in a room full of people I liked. Reflecting back on my life, there were never any people who "stuck with me" once they knew me for long enough in person. A year, more or less a year either direction. I hid all of this, or at least the fact that it was getting to me, and carried on. I made a Plan. Not a good Plan, the kind of Plan that end in a well-written note left behind.
And then, my Answer found me. She was sure from the moment she saw a graphical representation of me, before she knew anything about me. She set about manipulating events so that the two of us would meet. At least, meet in a virtual sense. I knew as soon as I read her words on my screen. Before I saw her own graphical representation. But I refused to believe. She couldn't be my Answer. I have no Answer and am doomed to carry out my Plan in a few weeks. But... a Question's Answer cannot be denied simply because it is not believed. The truth is... the Truth.
Tentatively, contact was made. Then expanded. And in a relatively comparably short time, contact was no longer a choice, but a necessary part of daily life. Eventually, too long a time later and yet short by outside estimation, I accepted the Truth. My Answer had found me, and I her Question.
My Answer not only yearned for me as I yearned for her, but knows everything about me without having to be told. She sees my secret selves, inside the mask the world sees. She truly Answers everything about me, and makes me complete. The only true magic left in this world, is that connection, between a Question and Answer. We are all Questions, and we are all Answers. The wonderfulness is that as I am, everything I am, everything I have been, everything I will be, is the Question to her Answer and the Answer to her Question. This is the amazingly rare situation that is in operation. There are hard times. There are fantastic times. There are times when it is so difficult that one or both of us even doubt our connection being forever.
The moment of Truth, is that anything I can suffer to make her suffer less -- or that she may suffer to make me suffer less -- is always an inexpensive cost.
She leaned over my desk, her ample bosom heaving. The dame was obviously hot for me. Too bad I was only into other men... coulda been fun.
"Oh, you've just gawt ta help me and my muddah's aunt's roommate's grandottah's husband's cousin's dawg's groomah's brush suppliah's accountant's mistress' bruddah's son PLEASE mistah Dirkenhammerwoodsteinovitch," her accent breathed impressively -- seriously, that's impressive to say all in one breath.
Name's Peabody Aloysius Dirkenhammerwoodsteinovitch. I go by Al -- wouldn't you? I'm a private dick in a town that just seems to need guys like me. Fed up with pretty much everything. Dealt a hand by life make's a body want to just fold... but you can't fold in life. It's like there's too much starch. But I got all the skills I need in this line. I'm a snoop. I don't mind ticking off the boys in blue. I can sleep in my office chair and not mind the rumpled trenchcoat or loose tie. And I can mix a metaphor so wrong your apple pie cries wee-wee-wee all the way to the bank.
So, I had my clodhoppers up on the desk and my fedora down over my nose when I heard the click-click-click of high heels in the hall. Mine is the only office on this floor so I sat up and then leaned back to ease my feet to the floor. I was catching my breath from the exertion when the door swung open.
I've gotta get that doorknob catch fixed.
A moment later, the chick attached to the legs wearing the heels that were clicking timidly stepped around the corner and pegged me with her eyes. She had on a dress with more slink than that springy kid toy thingamacallit. Oh yeah. A Slinky. Perfectly styled dark auburn hair and bright blue eyes -- probably contacts, nobody has eyes that colour. She had a face like an angel. Or at least what the religious outfits tell us an angel's face looks like.
"Are you mistah Dirkenhammerwoodsteinovitch the pee eye what knows whats he knows?"
Too bad she had a voice that sounded like a hoarse gorilla mimicking a frog. Where the heck was that accent from?
She walked over to my desk in way too many tiny steps -- I think her skirt must have been too tight. She leaned over my desk, her ample bosom heaving. The dame was obviously hot for me. Too bad I was only into other men... coulda been fun.
"Oh, you've just gawt ta help me and my muddah's aunt's roommate's granddottah's husband's cousin's dawg's groomah's brush suppliah's accountant's mistress' bruddah's son PLEASE mistah Dirkenhammerwoodsteinovitch," her accent breathed impressively -- seriously, that's impressive to say all in one breath.
"Help with what, uh--?"
"You can calls me Bella, and you've gawtta help me and Marlene!"
Marlene seemed to me to be an awfully strange name for the dame's mother's aunt's roommate's granddaughter's husband's cousin's dog's groomer's brush supplier's accountant's mistress' brother's son -- sheesh she's already gawt -- er -- got me doing it.
"Okay, Miss Bella --"
"Oh, it's not Miss..." she corrected me, the way a tomato corrects a naked hamburger. She turned about as red as a tomato, too. It didn't suit her, though.
"Okay, Mrs.--"
"'Fraid nawt."
"Ms.--?" I let out hopefully.
"Sorry, mistah Dirkenhamm--"
"Just call me Al, s'easier," I told her, trying to buy some time on the cheap. Two things are never cheap though... good whiskey and time when you truly need it.
"Okay, Alseazyer," her accent breathed again, "I happen to be bonuh fee-day one hunnert percentagees midwest American boy. An' so's Marlene!"
It clicked. I knew why the dame was here in my office and blocking my airflow. Yes, dame. If you'd lay your peepers on her melons, you'd know she was a she even if she was a he dressed very convincingly like a she that wasn't no he pretending to be a he and was in fact a she instead of being a he like she claimed she was really a he just looking like a she. I don't know why she brought 'em with her, but they were about the same size as the breasts attached quite convincingly (for a she that was really a he that looked like a she) to her chest wall. She and this Marlene were being forced to be chippies!
"Alright, Ma'am--"
"I really do prefuh to be called suh..."
"Sir then. Is your mother's aunt's roommate's granddaughter's husband's cousin's dog's groomer's brush supplier's accountant's mistress' brother's son -- there has to be a better way to say that -- being held prisoner?"
I could see the cash rolling in on this job... a daring overtime breakout taking special equipment purchased with a finder's fee and bought with a discount... maybe she could hold off until the weekend and Thanksgiving for holiday pay --
"No."
"Hah?"
"No, he's -- that is my nephew is -- nawt being held prisonah."
"Your nephew? But why --?
"It's moah fun, Alseazyer, to say it th' long way," she giggled and... bounced at me.
"Then how are you being forced--?" I broke off. I was sitting forward, listening with more ears than a cartoon elephant's pet mouse, it was interesting in spite of me.
"Whoevah said innything about forced?"
I opened my mouth and shut it again.
"Well, I'll take the job, just tell me what I have to do," I finally said, shaking my head as I reached to shake the hand of the dizzy dame.
She grabbed my hand and pumped it for water, and sealed the deal... I'd always prided myself on my word and a handshake being a contract for me.
"Oh, goody! We just gotta get you in the right dress--"
"Say what how who now?"
"What how who now?"
"No, Bella, I mean what do you mean me in a dress?"
"Oh!" her eyes lit up, "You'll be gawjeous! I had hoped when I saw th' ad fer another Professional Impersonatah, you'd be pretty..."
So the she who was a he that only looked to be a she that wasn't no he but a she seemed to have all the wiles of a she that was really a she and not a she that was really a he that just looked like a she that wasn't no he but a she. And I looked down at my hand still shaking hers.
Me and my big mouth.
Rain is kinda nice for the image. Me, standing on a corner, trenchcoat, rumpled tie, and fedora cocked down low over my forehead, rain dripping off whilst I lean unconcernedly on the lamppost. Adds to my Mystique. Adds a bit to my Nightcrawler, too, but that's another yarn.
Noircotic
by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney
... Remember, folks, you asked for it...
Just another day like any other day in this city. The sun was hiding behind clouds threatening to open up and douse everyone, the city government was made up of hidden agenda jerkfaces, and... the school system was rife with bullying.
Big deal, right? There are real problems that should be focused on, right?
I used to think so. Let me relate what changed my perceptivities. That is so a word. Just because I made it up, doesn't make it not a word. It's just not one of those fancy dictionary words.
The rain, that one doesn't really bother me. I'm a detective-for-hire, a gumshoe, a private dick, a flatfoot, a sleuth, a snoop, a nose that knows, an op, a peeper, a flashjack, a prowl jobbie, a P.I., a shamus, a sherlock, ... and rain is kinda nice for the image. Me, standing on a corner, trenchcoat, rumpled tie, and fedora cocked down low over my forehead, rain dripping off whilst I lean unconcernedly on the lamppost. Adds to my Mystique. Adds a bit to my Nightcrawler, too, but that's another yarn. As for the government, hmph. Everyone who has ever run for any kind of politic office has a hidden agenda, even if it matches up with what they says is their public agenda. It goes with the territory.
It's the bullying what provides the backdrop for our little adventure, this time around.
Oh. I guess, I should introduce myself all proper like, for those who don't know me and mine already. Name's Peabody Aloysius Dirkenhammerwoodsteinovitch. I go by Al -- I mean, come on. My esteemed parentage admitted to being under the influence of extralegal substances when they was thinking of names for me. Coulda been worse. I coulda been a gal. My name woulda had to been Hortense Arthelda. Anywhat, I'm the P.I. what knows what he knows. That's my slogan, anyways.
I got me an assistant or apprentice, depending on how you decides to be looking at things. Adds a feminine touch to the office, smiles pretty at the potential clients, sharp as a tack even while sitting there all demure and unobtrusively noticing everything, very professional and wears a dress or skirt with heels most days.
His name's Sherman.
I was hired mistakenly by his uncle awhile back, who thought P.I. stood for Professional Impersonator, and come to find out, Sherman wasn't too keen on being part of the act, either. I signed on before I realized what his uncle wanted, really, and when I fulfilled my obligation, Sherman -- or Marlene, if you go by "Uncle Bella" -- asked if I had a job for him. He always wanted to be a private eye. Turns out, he likes looking and acting like a like a dame, but hates being on stage. Hey, he has the gams for it and is a whiz with the warpaint.
It's enough to make your schnoz gout blood, if you give it too much headspace.
So Sherman is sitting at his desk, his getaway sticks crossed all primly whilst he's sliding varnish onto the tips of his mitts, and my office door bangs open. I still gotta get that looked at. But there's a frail standing there this time, looks to be about dead on her pins.
"Come on in, Kitten, have a seat, tell us your troubles," kid couldn't have been more than in high school, and if the coat she was a rack for cost half a sawbuck, I'll eat my hat with a nice avocado glaze.
The relief on her face was there until the pain replaced it when she sat herself down and took a load off. She almost stood right back up, but I sat down opposite and knew that Sherman would be taking notes.
"Get us a coffee, Marlene, and a hot cocoa for Jane," I tossed over my shoulder at him.
"Shoah thing, Mistah Peabody."
His accent wasn't as... broad... as his uncle Bella's, but it could be there when he was annoyed. And he called me Mister Peabody instead of Al when I called him Marlene. Ah, I could handle it. Didn't want to confuse the pint-sized dame too awful much.
"M-muh muh-my name isn't Jane!" was the first thing out of the side dish.
"Sorry, doll, didn't think it was, just calling you that until I get your moniker out of you. Relax a minute or two, won't hurt you none. From your uniform, I'm guessing you go to Our Lady of Whatsit High School?"
"N-nuh nuh-not my uniform, neither. Got beaten up by girls at school and then they sewed me in," she spouts, turning slightly and I can see the stitches keeping her skirt and blouse hitched together so's they can't be taken off without hurting.
Sherman's back with the coffee and cocoa and sets them down before clicking back to his desk and fixing his lipstick before writing down what's been said.
"Sorry, Jane, that this has been done to you, but you have my word we'll stop this kind of thing from happening."
I'm thinking an easy case at last. Go in, get the Principal -- or Father or whatever you call the Priest what serves as Principal at a Catholic school -- to make it stop.
"So, can you tell me what happened so I can get things started?"
The little twist nods, and a tear slides down her cheek, and she says, "Ah-ah ah-all I wanted to do was go home. I didn't wanna buy their stuff in the baggies, I just wanted to go home."
Now my financial brain is kicking in, when I hear drugs is involved. I keep my face sympathetical and nod at her to get her to continue.
"Alright, Jane, so what'd they do?"
"I told you, my name isn't Jane!"
Oops. Don't make the client angry.
"Sorry about that, sweetheart, so what is your name?"
"Walter."
Sherman swallows a snicker and I sigh as I realize it's going to be another one of those days.
When the night calls out |
When the night calls out |
When the night calls out |
When the night calls out |
When the night calls out |
When the night calls out |
When the night calls out |
Living in a real life can never be how you picture it when young |
There are times that others' praise is all that keeps you going |
Years ago, more or less a decade my mind tells me I believe |
They talked about my strong potential in the futures, now |
My life has been a disappointment in most ways, to me if no one else |
I'm nobody's dream girl, though maybe not a nightmare either |
I've lost and gained so many times I've begun to wonder lately |
How could I have strayed so far from what I wanted? |
In the quiet of night |
In the quiet of night |
In the quiet of night |
In the quiet of night |
In the quiet of night |
In the quiet of night |
In the quiet of night |
In the quiet of night |
In life you gotta learn to do what you can |
Never let the happy thoughts simply fade away |
Life means you gotta fight to win your passage |
Never let the happy thoughts simply fade away |
How many lives must I begin again? |
How many more times can I just stand back? |
How many hopes can I watch be broken? |
How many chances for me myself I? |
How many people believe in me still? |
How many folks think I have destiny? |
A poem and a statement all wrapped up in one tidy package. I wrote it this morning after a conversation with a friend... that really led to places that it shouldn't have but was a fun and entertaining conversation, anyway!
Rough, tough, and virile but not overly done.
Cute, kinda boyish, and short a few parts,
That's never dampered his pride in his farts,
This av'rage Joe at the bar playing darts.
Not quite the type to stay hooked on his phallus,
Neither the kind that would live in a palace.
Never been pretty, nor prone to poke fun,
When asked 'bout his past, won't cut and won't run --
Though he won't offer, he'll talk 'til he's done.
Tells of his time that he gave thought to the op,
Had one little problem, though, made him say, "Stop."
Heard 'bout a rumor that men can't get off,
Quite the same way that we girls! *smile and cough*
Better, and longer, and hassling the 'Hoff!
"Hey, wait just one minnit!" sez my manly friend,
"Just how is that fair? They've just got a dead end!
No frickin' way that I can tell Pastor."
Went to see Grandpa, Confucius Master,
Over his private, way big disaster!
He put to his ancestor his burning thought,
Then waited outside to see what had he wrought.
Worried and pondered and rubbed at his chin,
His grandfather's voice rung out 'bove the din,
'Dude lacking penis like shark with no fin!'
When Grandfather turned out whole lack of help,
He went to see mother -- not father, who'd yelp.
Spoke of the future and of his resolve,
(Argh! All the other things ending in -olve,
Mess with my story: revolve and involve...)
Sed, 'Surely salvation should be close at hand,
Know fear to dwell safely at home in this land.'
All in all Momma had words to becalm,
Then again mothers are always a balm,
Then she admitted she re-phrased a Psalm.
Our poor dear downtrodden and heroic boy,
Found him a storefront that sold an, um, er, toy.
Has his own lady -- don't misunderstan',
Knows of his problem and stands by her man,
Of his new toy she became a big fan.
He knew his decision to become a guy,
Would be lots of trouble but he had to try.
Their love life was stilted due to his lack,
And when his new toy was fun in the sack,
Two-headed dildoes became their new tack.
His one big regret in the life he'd not crave,
Was that he'd sure miss it, the 'riding the wave!'
This new improved tool be all he'd now need?
The idea was odd, but picking up speed,
His girlfriend, for sure, a beast that was freed!
I ask you, dear reader, is he less a dude?
He's scratching and belching, and sometimes quite crude!
I know a Transman who's witty and fun,
Rough, tough, and virile but not overdone,
This tale, though funny, is still a true one.
In my own opinion, he's still 'such a guy,'
Pulls pranks on his fellas, like, "Zip up your fly!"
Sad fact remains that he hasn't a schlong,
But calling him 'girl' is just plain dead wrong,
His logic for non-op: a needless dong.
His solution's elegant and quite refined,
His mammaries cut off, so no need to bind,
Nothing inserted where sun never shines,
He doesn't have what it takes to make signs,
In the fresh snowfall unless it's with Heinz.
A lot of guys out there may think that it's sick,
But multiple orgasm's such a NEAT TRICK!
My buddy, mon frere, the man with a cunt,
Likes all the man things: to spit and to hunt,
Screams at the Teevee when his team takes bunt!
Edeyn Hannah Blackeney
I was awake. I knew I was awake, because the pain told me so. It is said that you don't feel pain in your sleep. So, if I was feeling this, I must have been awake. I don't think I wanted to be awake.
I opened my eyes. Nothing changed, so I held a hand in front of my face. Well, I tried to hold a hand in front of my face. My knuckles encountered something rather solid, and I still couldn't see what was going on. I closed my eyes again. If there's no real difference between closed and open, may as well keep 'em closed and keep stuff from getting in them, right?
I began to feel around and figure out what was going on. I was in a smallish space. I was laying flat on my back, but there was cushion under my head, like a pillow. I had a couple of inches of 'wiggle room' to the left and right both, and the top my hand had hit was about eight inches above my face. If I flexed my foot, there was about the same amount of space below my feet as to each side, and feeling above my head was the same, but above my head was a hollow metal sound when I knocked on it. There was no light coming in anywhere, so either this... box... was airtight, or it was nighttime. I had to hope it was just nighttime, because comfy or not, I had to have air.
After my little exploration, I lie there for a bit and for some reason, just couldn't keep my eyes open.
I was awake. I knew I was awake, because the pain told me so. It is said that you don't feel pain in your sleep. So, if I was feeling this, I must have been awake. Though, it wasn't quite as bad now. I wondered how long I'd dozed. Couldn't have been too long, as it was still dark eyes open or eyes closed, and I was still breathing normal, so either scenario would have played out.
I lie there, again, and started to once again get sleepy. I forced myself to stay awake and then realized I could hear water. Not running water, like from a tap, but like waves washing to and fro. That's what was putting me to sleep. Well, I'd just have to see how long I could stay awake, and began counting out seconds to get a rough time count of minutes passing. One one-thousand, two one-thousand... five fifty-nine one-thousand, six oh one-thousand, six one one-thousand...
I was awake. I knew I was awake, because the pain told me so. It is said that you don't feel pain in your sleep. So, if I was feeling this, I must have been awake. Though, it was much less than that first time now. Damn it all, I'd fallen asleep again. Still dark, open or closed. This was getting tedious, and now I had to wee. I shifted on the cushions below me and started to think about how I'd gotten here.
Why would someone set me adrift in a coffin (as that's what I'd come to think of my box as by now) but make certain I'd be comfortable and warm? There had to have been some planning on the warmth as the cushions seemed to put out a bit of heat, as though filled with fresh water-bottles. My head started pounding again, so I let the train of thought fade. Obviously, it hurt to think.
My other option was to let my mind wander over stuff I didn't have to think about. I'm in a box. I'm on water. Probably the ocean. Most likely somewhere in Cape Cod Bay. How did I get here? Ow. Okay, too specific. Do I have amnesia? My name is Eddie Palmieri. Sometimes known as Eddie the Engineblock. I work for a legitimate businessman. His name's Salvatore Hadrian. Ohh. That's right. I agreed to talk to the cops. Okay, so he's not so legitimate, but he's a businessman, and I've been in it up to my elbows. I want out, I want a real family like you see in the flicks. A house, a little white-type fence, kids, lawn mower... I can't get that being a 'free-range bodyguard' for Heavy Sal Hadrian. Well, looks like Sal got wind of me. I tried to tell the cops there was no way to get me out.
"It's Eddie, not Ed," I grinned, "and if you've been trying to catch him so long, then you know what he's capable of, he finds out I'm defecting, get me? How can I get out without him knowing or coming after me?"
"Look. I give you not my word, because I don't think that would be good enough for you, but the word of the entire Boston Greater Metropolitan police force, that our contact inside is the best at what he does. He's the one that tipped us you might be willing to jump on the shop," he said as he stood back up and put his hands in his pockets.
I chuckled. "Kid, er, sorry. Officer, the saying is 'jump ship' not 'jump on the shop,' and I'm telling you, your insider has to have been made already. Heavy Sal doesn't have people checked out. He checks them out his own self, and he was a private dick in the seventies, before he decided to engage in extralegal-type activties. Nobody gets in that organization without him knowing every skeleton in their closet on a first name basis. They may think they do, but they don't. I won't be telling you kind gentlemen anything, unless you can guarantee me out under those circumstances."
He looked up at the mirror in the room -- which anyone that's watched any cop shows or flicks since 1960 knows is a window with his bosses on the other side where toughs like me can't see 'em. I was beginning to like the kid, he really was trying, and he was just his organization's version of me. A working stiff trying to impress the honchos.
The door opened and a couple of suits filed in, and introduced themselves, but I wasn't paying attention. Their names weren't as important to me as the kid's, and his was more out of curiosity now, and I could do without it. I think he'd given it to me already, but at the time, I didn't care as much as I would for rat-testicle soup.
"Mr. Palmieri --"
"Eddie," put in the kid. I was really starting to like him. I wonder if he plays golf?
With an annoyed-type look at the kid, the suit started again, "Eddie, then. Eddie, we really need this. Crawford wasn't just talking out his ass when he gave you word of all of us. We have over one hundred officers at different levels working on the Hadrian case at any one time. There's not a meatier main course for us. You will be removed as quickly as it can be arranged, and Hadrian, while he'll know you were gone, will not know how you did it, how we did it, and will never be able to point a triggerman at you. I swear on my mother's soul -- and yes, she's dead, died at 72 last year."
"What's his name?" I asked.
The other suit was the one that answered oh-so-intelligently, "What?"
"I said, 'What's his name?'" I repeated.
"Whose name?" asked Crawford (gotta remember that).
"The guy that'll be getting me out," I answered.
"He won't be using his real name while undercover, Eddie," said the first suit.
"Oh," I replied, "I know. But if you really have a guy in there already, one - you'll know his name and two - I gotta know who it was could beat Hadrian's background check."
The suits looked at each other and did that thing with the puffing out cheeks and rubbing a hand up over the face from the chin to the forehead and back over the hair. In unison. I wondered if they practiced that.
"Robin Carlotti."
The suits whipped around with angry faces to stare at my buddy Crawford as I grinned.
"Alright, fellas. That wins you my cooperation. You have three weeks to get me safe or I change my mind and tell Hadrian what you've told me today," I said and then stood up and held out my hand for them to shake.
Well, if Sal's killed me, I hope the cops get the jerk. This is no way to die. I'll suffocate before I starve, at least.
I'm told that it's a peaceful way to go, when it's not a pillow being held over you.
You gently just drift off to sleep and then never wake up.
I was awake. I knew I was awake, because the pain told me so. It is said that you don't feel pain in your sleep. So, if I was feeling this, I must have been awake. Though, it was just a vague echo of that first time. These naps must be awfully short, because I'm still not having trouble breathing.
I let my thoughts drift over all the bad things I've done for Heavy Sal Hadrian, over the years.
Oh, at first, it wasn't so bad.
It was Papa's friend Sal.
"Yes, Mister Hadrian," I replied, "three A's, two B's and only one C last report card." I was rightfully proud of my achievement.
"What grade're you in now ...fifth? ...sixth?" he asked with a grin.
"Eighth," I answered, and fought the scowl at being called a little kid back. Wouldn't do to let Papa know I'd been rude to his friend.
"Eighth grade? Already?" he asked, and looked surprised. So it was just an honest mistake, after all. I was glad I'd hidden that scowl.
"Yessir. Last year before high school," I replied, all puff-chested and proud.
"Well. At your age, a young man has to start thinking about the important things. College is in your future, m'boy," he said with a big grin.
"You want I should go to college? I want to, but I don't think Papa makes enough. I mean, I shined his shoes for a week for enough to buy that comic book," I pointed at the four-color treasure through the window of the shop he'd stopped me outside of.
"Ah, but Eddie, do you know what a scholarship is?" he asked. "It's money from companies and even the government for kids what make good grades to go to college and continue their learning educations. And a young man can get a job. In fact, I'll tell you what. I'll help you out. You come to me with your next report card and show me you have nothing lower than a B, and I'll have some work for you. You can save up what you make from me, and with the better grades, get better scholarships and then you can get to go to college."
I didn't buy the comic. I went home and got a big gallon-pickle jar from Mama and put some masking tape on it, then wrote on it with a black marker, 'College,' and put my fifty-five cents in it. Any money I got after that from chores or even just finding it on the sidewalk went in that jar -- or the others that came after it. When Christmas break came, I went to find Mister Hadrian, and showed him my straight-A's report card. From that day on, just before my fourteenth birthday, I was in the employ of Salvatore Hadrian, Private Investigator.
I'd run and get cigars from the Tobaccanist. I'd get the morning and evening papers from the newsboy on the corner. I'd shine the shoes for the fellas waiting to see him in his office. I'd take a letter across town on the bicycle Sal bought for just such a purpose.
"Keep it," he'd say, "you've earned a bonus, you're a good worker."
It was a few good years, and my pickle jars were in my closet.
I was awake. At least, I thought I was awake. I moved my leg. Yep. I knew I was awake, because the pain told me so. It is said that you don't feel pain in your sleep. So, if I was feeling this, I must have been awake. Though, I had to move now to feel the pain. And it looked like I'd fallen asleep again. Wait. Wasn't I just gassed? I was quickly becoming thankful that I wasn't claustrophobic. Aw, man... I think I had pissed myself.
I lie there a few moments, just listening to the sounds of the water washing up and down. Yeah, I may as well sleep, right? Whazzat? Is that a motor?
I knocked on the roof of my coffin.
"Hey!" I yelled, but decided not to yell anymore. I could tell the cushions were muffling it. Wait, above my head is metal. I began banging on it for all I was worth.
Then I heard a voice between bangs, "There's someone in there! Call the Cops, or the Coast Guard or something!"
This was not what my father wanted for me. I thought that fairly often, these days. I shook my head to make the thoughts go away, and opened up my ledger. With Engineblock disappearing, I only had to manage eleven, ah, free-range bodyguards for Heavy Sal Hadrian. Well, until Salvatore found him another fella to round out his 'Double Half-Dozen' again. In this business, you needed guys like Engineblock and Niner, but at least Heavy Sal used the threat more than he acted on it. Heh. Kind of like the 'good' gang of mobsters in that Keaton movie back in the '80s... what was it called again?
"You okay, 'Minder?" asked Kneebiter.
"Hmm?" I responded, "Oh, sorry, I was trying to remember the name of a movie from about twenty-five years ago. You get my age and the mind sometimes wanders randomly."
I grinned at him and realized that I have never known the man's actual name.
"Hey, Kneebiter."
"Yeah, 'Minder?"
"What's your name? I mean the one on your license. I don't think I've ever known it," I explained with a sideways grin.
He laughed. Good laugh. "S'Bobby. Roberto Ignacias Vitolio Augustine Langella."
Wow, what a mouthful... hey, wait, "So why'd you get hung with 'Kneebiter' instead of just using your initials? Seems like it would sound like a name of distinction, dignified even, for a... bodyguard."
"Well, mister free-range bodyguard manager, if you've not noticed, I'm not exactly what one would call 'lanky' when called upon to be doing a bit of descriptiveness about me, now am I?" he stated with an air of mock-haughtiness. "'Rival' woulda been nice -- sheesh, I bet my old man was hoping for that, really -- but when any of the other gents in a profession like this are, shall we call it a bit taller? You get hung with the silly names. Being so short is what determined my career path in grade school, you might even say. Short kids learn to fight dirty, my dear Mookminder."
We both laughed and continued with the boxes.
"Johnny Dangerously," I said suddenly, with total satisfaction.
"What?" asked a very confused Kneebiter.
"The movie I was trying to think of. I thought of it," I explained.
He shook his head and chuckled, and I would almost swear I heard something mumbled like, "Crazy old man..." but I'm not certain.
"You know," I started again when we were stacking the smaller ones up, "Before Salvatore got into the game, I was working for old man Bony Becelli. Doing a bit of free-range bodyguarding, myself. Only we called it 'being a Tough' back then. Didn't have much cause to hide what we was."
"Okay, Hands," came the brogue hefting his broomstick almost as though he really meant to use it, "you have your money to give to that bastard Becelli, now get out of my store!"
I raised my hat and settled it back on my head with a grin, "See you next month, George."
For just a moment, I thought George might actually have the panache to thump me with his stick. Then he just set his shoulders and pointed, so I strolled out, nabbing an apple on my way. My day was done, it was just after lunchtime, I was twenty-three, and it was a beautiful Spring day in Boston. Perfect day to take Paulina out on the boat, if the Boss would let me use it.
I started up the car -- an old clunker of a '57 Chevy -- and drove back across town, taking the long way to see the water. Life in 1974 was great, and I was in with a bunch of great fellas living the good life. The life of a Tough for Boss Bony Becelli was pretty easy, even if you had to rough some of the... what did Numbers call 'em? Oh, yeah... even if you had to rough some of the clientele around now and then.
I came around the corner leading up to the Pub where Boss did most of his business, and Big Antony staggered out before limping around the corner to an alley. I parked and sat tight to see what was going on.
I stepped outta the car to buy a paper from a kid, then went back and sat there, reading when nothing was happening. Over the next half hour, I saw way too many uniforms and a few of the trenchcoat brigade going inside what was thought to be a pretty safe place for gangsters. Three paddywagons full of my... colleague-types left. Most of them were carried out all unconscious-like. Then I got spotted. That private dick that had been helping out the cops looked right at me. I shoved my paper to the side and reached for the keys, but then the guy reaches up and scratches his nose to hide shaking his head at me. Was that a signal? He lowered his hand and grinned at me and looked away. I sat there wondering, and nothing happened to me. Soon enough, all the cops were gone, and they'd taken Boss Becelli along with 'em. I still sat there, not really knowing what to do, my idea for a boating excursion with Paulina forgotten.
The tap on my window scared me like so I nearly wet myself. I looked up and there was the guy. I rolled my window down.
"Let's take a drive," says he.
I just kinda nodded and reached across to unlock the other door. He walks around like we was best buddies and opens it, kinda tosses my paper into the back seat and gets inside. He shuts the door and looks at me.
I look back.
"You hafta start the car, Hands," he reminds me, "Or, you want I should call you Vincento? I think that would be all friendly-like, seeing as how I'm gonna be your new employer. I like to make my employees feel that they can trust me."
I startled and started the car. We drove around, he paid to fill up my gas tank (Sheesh, fifty cents for a gallon! It was getting so a fella had to be involved with folks like Boss Becelli just to afford to drive around!), and we talked. We talked about how he had been setting up Bony Becelli for a fall so he could slide in and take over. We talked about how he had organized plans for the area. We talked about how he was gonna need a fella with a good head to oversee a bigger group of Toughs -- though he called 'em "Free-Range Bodyguards" instead. I kinda liked the sound of that, it made it sound respectable-like.
"How many Tou -- er, how many of these Bodyguards are we talking about here, mister Hadrian?" I asked, because if his plans went over, I knew a couple of guys that would want in on this operation on the ground floor.
"Oh," says he, sounding almost lazy as he watches some kids playing stickball while we drive through Southie, "twelve should do it. Heh. A double half-dozen... plus the guy what will be managing the mooks, and reporting back to me. Whaddaya say, kid, wanna be my Mookminder?"
I stretched and groaned.
"Whaddya think, kid, am I gettin' too old for this nonsense?" I asked, joking around.
He didn't answer right away, the little punk.
"Um. I dunno, I guess not. I mean, I know you can still take me, if you wanted to," he said, all nervous-like.
"Ah, whaddya sayin'... you think I should be thinking about retirement and golf, kid?"
"What's wrong with golf? I used to play every so often with Engineblock... gonna miss that, I think," he trailed off in a mumble.
"Nah, nothing wrong with golf. That Leopard Forest fella is fun to watch. Maybe I should think about maybe taking it easy. Maybe I'll talk to Salvatore. Maybe I'll even talk to Paulina," I mused. That's all it was, were musings at that point.
"G'head, take off. I gotta talk to the Boss, and then I'm takin' Paulina out for our 30th Anniversary dinner, then we're gonna go home and watch 'our' movie together. No grandkids over tonight."
Kneebiter nodded and grinned, then strolled out whistling.
The flowers, the little guy with the violin... if I didn't know better, I'd say you were fixin' to make an honest woman outta me, Vincento Fanteoni!"
I smiled at her. Paulina was as beautiful now as she was three years ago when I started working for Salvatore. He was a great Boss. Better than old Bony Becelli ever thought about being.
"And what, my dear lady, makes you think that you know better?" I asked, hoping my eyes were sparkling at her as I stood up and stepped around the tiny table.
The violinist switched to a soft tune as I pulled the ring outta my pocket. You coulda heard a pin drop in the place, as every single eye was on me as I knelt in front of her.
"Paulina Grimaldi, would you do me the honor of allowing me to be your husband?"
I wandered into the offices where Heavy Sal Hadrian still ostensibly was a Private Investigator. He kept his paperwork up and could technically be called in on police consulting jobs, as he had a squeaky clean record and was still on their rolls since the early 1970's. The thought that he could be called on to help solve crime made him laugh, I think.
"Boss, me and the Kneebiter're all done downstairs. Those boxes seem heavier than they were last August," I said, settling into one of the leather chairs, and noticing Sal notice me wincing. Maybe I should bring it up.
"You okay, Vincento?" he asks me, all concerned. We been buddies a long time now.
"Yeah, Salvatore, the kid just got me thinking. I maybe be getting too old for my end of this business," I answered. There, I said it.
Sal was already over at his minibar, pouring me a scotch. He handed it to me with a small smile.
"Truthfully, old friend, I was waiting for you to want it to happen. Your end is a bit more wearing than mine. Though, I couldn't have done all this without you," he grinned, handing me the tumbler.
"You saying you wouldn't mind if I were to kick back?" I asked, taking a sip of the 21-year old Glenlivet. I sucked some air through my teeth, "That's some good scotch, Sal."
"It better be for what I paid for it, eh Vinnie?" he laughed. "No, I wouldn't mind. Like I said, I expected it eventually."
He stood up and opened his door.
"Nicola, go to the safe, get Vincento Fanteoni's folder, bring it to me," he told the girl at the desk. Then he turned around and smiled.
"What file? You still keepin' tabs on me like the old days, Sal?"
I wiped my face and took a swig of the beer -- good brand, have to remember that -- then asked, "Whaddya mean, Mister Hadrian?" I was always careful not to be too familiar with my employer in public unless he brought it down casual first. I mean, I'm responsible for the man's well-being, I need to be professional.
He swallowed the last of his bottle of beer and motioned the waitress to bring him another before replying, "Six months ago, when I recruited you. Well. When I poached you out from under that has-been Becelli. I knew I could trust you to stick with me more than you had with him."
"Well, yeah, Boss. I mean, with old Bony it was just a job, but you treat me like I'm somebody. I gotta respect that," I answered, then the thought filtered to the top of my brain. I asked, "Not to sound like I'm not loyal, but how do you know I been sticking with you, Boss?"
He laughed, "Remember, Vincento, what I do for a living!"
He laughed again and that's when I caught on he didn't mean the extralegal activities what I watched out for him while he was occupied with. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, so I asked him.
"How exactly am I s'posed to feel about you keeping tabs on me, Boss?"
"Flattered," he answered, chuckling again, "I stopped watching you this afternoon and your file is going in my safe. You've proven yourself much faster than I expected. I've been checking out every guy you send me, and every guy I find on my own. I don't expect to have less than a year watch time on any of 'em. But you," he paused to swig his new bottle of beer, "you have real character."
"Notice what the green one has in it. I expect you to stay on and train a replacement for yourself, and one for Eddie, but there's a sheet in that folder for every financial quarter you've worked for me. My version of a retirement plan," he pointed out.
Now I was curious. I opened up the green folder and there was a stack of papers all the same. Then I noticed what the papers were. I looked up at my employer.
"Sal. This is... this is generous to the extreme."
"Hey, you're my number one employee, don't think I can replace you. Ten thousand Great Britain Pound bearer bonds, one hundred thirty-three of them. Currently worth exactly two million, six hundred sixty-nine thousand, two hundred eighty-five dollars and sixty-nine cents as of the trade rate last night."
I was dumbfounded.
I looked over at his clock.
"Hey. Sal. I cannot express my gratitude enough," I said, standing and giving him a hearty hug, "but I have got to go. It's mine and Paulina's Anniversary tonight, and if I'm late, she'll make any of us mooks look like kittens."
"Go! And wish Paulina a Happy Anniversary for me, okay Pal?"
I left with my mind whirling, got in my old restored '57 Chevy, and sat there a moment. Then I thought about it and opened the black folder.
Everything was in there. Every piece of gumshoe work Sal had done on me, and every job I pulled for him, and even every legitimate job I did as his bodyguard when he took the rare P.I. jobs for real. Pictures, letters, a couple of mini-tapes, and... a letter?
Robin Carlotti
P.S. - You and Paulina have a Happy Anniversary
Alright... the idea behind this is thinking back on how things have happened in my life badly. This is, on a basic level, I guess, my fantasy of how things could have gone. This was the first such scene in my life that occurred to me to write about. There may be more, but I don't know. This was difficult for me to write. Only about 1000 words, with the intro and title.
We sat at opposite ends of the couch, almost mirroring each other's position, half-facing. I kept opening my mouth to talk, and she sat patiently, with an expression on her face that was a bit curious and a bit bemused. I mean, it's not often a twelve-year old invokes the family rules of Serious Discussion.
Uncle Ben told me that the tradition went all the way back to the mid-1700s, when one of our ancestors first was accepted into a tribe of the Principal People -- uh, that's Cherokee Native American, to most folks. That ancestor was a boy about my age, that eventually made his town friends with the nearby village. He also eventually married one of the girls from that tribe. When he realized that none of the People really took anything he had to say as more than just unimportant jabber, rather than getting angry like most young fellas would've back then, he told his wife and both their families that he was making a set of rules for Serious Discussion.
In case you're curious, there's only five rules. Anyone in the family can call for a Serious Discussion. No one is allowed to laugh at anyone else. No one else is allowed to talk until the person that called it is done. No one is allowed to get angry at anyone else. Anyone can ask any questions they want, as long as they save 'em until the end and the one calling it is done.
Well, I had come home late, and Mom was annoyed. So annoyed she hadn't noticed that I was wearing different pants than when I'd gone to school. Before she could say more than, "You're late, young man!" I had held up my hand and calmly said, "I'm calling for a Serious Discussion. You and me only, one-on-one, with an option to others into the topic later. I want a private one on one with a few more folks, too." Don't ask me where I found the courage to do it. But Mom's angry look just... went away. She got the grandparents out of the house and over to another relative's house, Dad (well, my stepfather... but he was Dad to me) was bowling that night, my younger siblings were over at an aunt's house from tonight until Sunday after church. Then me and Mom went into the living room to the couch.
We sat at opposite ends of the couch, almost mirroring each other's position, half-facing. I kept opening my mouth to talk, and she sat patiently, with an expression on her face that was a bit curious and a bit bemused. She reached out and gently took my hand, and nodded encouragement at me. I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth.
Then I shut it again, and looked sheepish for a second. I cleared my throat and said, "Mom... I've really got no idea how to tell you this, but I gotta try." She nodded at me and squeezed my hand, then released it, settling back to listen.
I thought a moment, then went on, "Remember a few months ago, when I was upset that I couldn't go with Aunty and Kasey bra shopping, and you explained to me that it was something only girls should worry about?"
She nodded.
"Well... then I, uh," I stammered. This was so hard. I felt... dirty, and wrong. "I, um, I think I must be a girl, then."
Her eyes bulged and she opened her mouth, but I raised my hand up all calm again and said, "No one else is allowed to talk until the person that called it is done." She frowned and sat back.
I took a deep breath and went on, "Well, my chest has been all sensitive and sore and... I just... augh... I've never really been... whew. This is hard to get out. Mom, I'm sort of not only not your son but I've never really been a boy in the way I think and act and everyone else notices and now there are things that are weird and so I think I may be a girl in more than just the way I think and I really don't know what to do and say and I'm..." I paused and looked over at her, and saw the expression I'd figured I'd see, which was all kinds of confused... so I went on.
"I think I must be a girl and my breasts are developing, Mom."
I stopped and waited for her to answer, now.
"But," she said, looking totally confused, "I know what you look like, I changed your diapers..."
"We learned about something called, 'intersex,' in school -- it means you're between being a boy or a girl."
"I don't know about this," she said, "this isn't a prank is it? I mean, really? You're talking about being a 'morphodite' right? That's really rare."
"Actually... about one out of every fifty-nine people are intersex in some way -- some are hermaphroditic, like you said -- and that's a lot of people. Most that are don't realize it though. Only about one in ten thousand that are ever realize it in their lifetime. So, only about one out of five hundred ninety thousand know that they are, so people think it's a lot more rare than it is."
I waited a moment so that I could see if she understood what I was saying. Numbers and my mom weren't really on speaking terms.
"Mom..." I said, and my voice quavered. Dangit, I'd hoped I'd make it through this, "I'm so scared."
She took me in her long arms in a hug while I lost the fight with my tearducts.
"Shh. Shh-shh-shh," she said softly as she held me and let my sobs melt into her shoulder, "It doesn't matter. We'll figure out what to do."
So, it looks like there'll be more of these. I don't think any of them will be easy for me to write, but I'm finding them oddly... cathartic. Cleansing, even. Another fantasy of how things could have gone. If I write more, they won't be in chronological order.
I was exhausted. And sore. And soooo thirsty.
I brushed the hair out of my face, sweaty mess. I pulled it behind my head and used the pillow under me to hold it there.
"Hello?" came a voice from the door.
I looked up and saw a nurse smiling at me.
"Er, hi... um, I don't think I know you," I said as politely as I could. Polite is hard when your brain is foggy.
"You wouldn't remember me," she said with a slight giggle. Yeah, giggle, not chuckle... I liked her already, "I didn't arrive until you were already in labor and cussing at the doctors."
"Ah," I grinned, "sorry about that..."
They had been totally wrong. The doctors. I wasn't able to carry to term, so they were right about that, but twins were rarely full-term, anyway, right?
"Not a problem. Edeyn, was it?" she inquired, "I'm here because two little girls new to the place as of an hour ago or so would like to know if they'll be dining with their mother?"
"Oh!" I said, the exultation flowing through me and throwing me wide awake now, "I'd like that very much! I, um, I'd like to breast feed... if it's possible. The meds I'm on won't hurt them, will they?"
"We kind of suspected that your situation would make you lean to wanting to breast feed," she admitted with a smile, "No, we already checked all your medications and there should be no problems. I'll go and get them, they're kinda hungry."
And with that, she left. I was a mommy. The thrill and terror of that filled me at once. Granted, I was gonna be in the hospital for a couple weeks more, but...
The friendly nurse returned with a double bassinet. She helped me settle my daughters(!) in each arm, and showed me how to let them attach. She advised me to only try to feed one at a time, and switch off next time with the second one going first.
I held my babies. I began to feed for the first time. I think I felt truly alive for the first time...
Third one of these. I'm definitely enjoying writing them, as it's always better to think of pleasant things. A fantasy of what might have been if events had allowed, this one set between the first two installments. Another dedication in this one, too, maybe I should go back and dedicate the first one to my mother...
"Ungh!" I complained, hanging on to the bed as my best friend pulled the laces even tighter.
"Hush, you," she scolded -- and I could hear her grin. "You knew I'd have no sympathy for you as your Maid of Honour, and you knew I'd pull you in tight!"
I giggled as much as I could, and let my mind wander back over the preparations for the park Handfasting. I would be entering from the North, and Lisa from the South, meeting in the middle as we would be throughout the rest of our lives. Our gowns were made identical except for length and color -- I'm taller, and hers was Royal Blue with White trim while mine was Forest Green with Canary Yellow trim. Juliette sleeves, lace-up bodices, soft leather dyed-to-match flat-heeled ankle boots for both of us. It was the wedding I'd dreamed about.
My mischievious Maid of Honour was trying lifting the dress up to go over my head and avoiding messing up my hair and makeup. The flowers she'd woven into my hair I had no doubt were done like Lisa's as well.
We hurried now, and I hugged her again as she ran out to take her place near the friend conducting the ceremony and my soon-to-be wife's Maid of Honour who was out there waiting for us. They had made sure that I... and I guess Lisa, too... didn't have anything to freak out over. I stepped out of the changing tent, and smiled up into Uncle Ben's beaming face as he stuck out his arm to walk me up the aisle and give me away.
A day I'd been waiting for and looking forward to for over a year, now. Heck, if I let myself admit it, ever since the day that first message arrived for me online. It was finally here, and as the musicians began to play the song written for our wedding, I paused where I was supposed to and saw my beautiful soon-to-be wife standing in my mirrored spot across the clearing, smiling at me brightly as she clung to her father's arm, dapper Dutchman in his suit. She looked even nearer to happy tears than I was.
I'd be lying if I said I remembered every detail, as I was too caught up in staring into her eyes and she into mine. But I do remember the wrapping of the silk ribbon around our clasped hands, binding us before everyone there as we both knew we had been since we met years ago.
"You are now handfasted, partners and wives, in all that you may do from this day forth," she intoned.
Grinning as broadly as anyone else there, she finished, "You may each kiss your bride."
Neither of us waited until she finished the sentence.
Another fantasy, and it looks like dedications are gonna be the norm for these. I think these pieces are helping me, but writing them is really painful. I sat sobbing for a good two hours halfway through this one, and if you want to see the real story of what happened, it's in my blog on here. I'm not going to link to it, it's easy enough to find.
"Edeyn!" called Michael, "Hey, I, uh, I need some cash, if you've got it."
I groaned, but it was just for his benefit. Inwardly, I was giggling at the sheepish grin on his face.
"What for this time, little bother?" I asked, grinning.
"Well, you know that girl you and Amy introduced me to a few nights ago? She, um, I want, er... we wanna go to the movies," he answered, ignoring the 'bother' comment completely. Smart kid. He knew better than to contradict me when he wanted something.
"I thought you were going out to chinese with me tonight?" I asked him. He'd been here nearly a whole week and was only gonna be here a few more days.
"Oh!" he said as he thumped his head with the heel of his palm, "Fat Cracker forgot again. Um, I wanna, but, this girl is dang cute, sis..."
"I will never understand why you not only allow, but encourage your so-called friends to call you that! Well, do you think she'd like to come to chinese with us? I mean, Mom can't meet her from 400 miles away, so I'm your de facto guardian, boyo, and I should meet any girl you wanna date."
"That's a great idea! I'll go call her!"
He moseyed off outside to make the call. Cell reception in this apartment was crap. Yes, he moseys. I don't think I've ever seen the kid hurry. He worked hard to make other folks think that because he was big and moved slow, he was dumb, too. He said it made them underestimate him. He was right, but I still shook my head and giggled. He was visiting for his holiday break from school, just like I promised him he could when he was hurt back in September. Hey, what sixteen year old wouldn't want to spend two weeks being introduced to girls in an actual city by his big sister (who happened to be an intersex transsexual lesbian) when the alternative was a week at grandpa Stumpy's house being fed turnip greens and whatever-the-hell-it-was stew?
He came back inside (moseying), and smiled, "Yeah, she likes chinese, too, so she's in. We just gotta pick her up on the way. I told her around six, alright?"
"That sounds fine, little bother," I said, grinning at him again.
"Hey, promise me you won't call me that in front of her, okay?" he asked, suddenly serious.
I looked up at him, as he was taller than me now, and replied, "Only if you promise not to call yourself 'Fat Cracker' around her -- and no Randy Quaid Cousin Eddie impressions!"
He laughed out loud. Ever since the steel plate was put in his head, he made fun of it good-naturedly, by doing impressions from the National Lampoon's 'Vacation' series of movies.
"Laugh it up, chucklehead, but you need to go shower and get ready if we're leaving in time to pick her up by six. Scoot!"
I would very much like to think I would find a point in which I had no more of these fantasies "in me" as it were. Unfortunately, I don't think that time will come anytime soon, so I'll continue to contribute these almost memories as necessary.
"Hey!"
"Unnnnng," I groaned.
"Hey!"
"Lemme 'lone!" I grumped. What was she so darned cheerful about?
[THWACK!] "Lissen, you dummy! It's Christmas morning, let's go!"
Suddenly I was alert. I sat up and rubbed sand out of my sleepy eyes and grinned at my cousin. We quickly and quietly brushed our teeth and made our way to the kitchen.
It was a magical morning, Christmas morning 1983. The adults were all snoring -- and how... I sometimes wondered how they managed to sleep. Kasey climbed on the counters to get the stuff all ready while I lit the fires. The fireplace in the living room and the stove for cooking. The two of us made the most quiet breakfast in history. Flapjacks from scratch (with chocolate chips!), with homemade maple syrup, sausage gravy, drop biscuits, fried eggs, bacon, grits, hash browns, and grill toast from the fresh bread we made last night. I was setting the plates and food on the table on while Kasey was squeezing the orange juice.
We washed our hands and grinned at each other and marched right past the bright tree with the meager few gifts and went to wake up the grownups.
Grampa was the first one up, like usual, and he laughed with his big old laugh he always did. Grandmother sat and just smiled quietly while Mommy actually got to sit with us all for a good breakfast while my baby sister was all full of didn't fuss. It was like she remembered Christmas morning, too.
I was content with what little things we got for the holiday, I mean, we were way more poor than any other family in the small town, but it didn't matter. I think the book that I got was my favorite thing that year, it was almost the same as brand new.
When we had eaten, and the presents were put away, Grampa pulled even more magic out of the air. Just like always. He somehow made the television work perfectly, with no fuzziness at all, and we all sat and watched It's A Wonderful Life for the first time that year. We bundled up and went out to build a snowman together and we giggled as Grampa helped us, and eventually had a snowball fight with him.
We won, but I think he let us win.
After eating at lunchtime, we were tired, and Kasey and I curled up together on Grampa's lap and started to nod off.
"Don't worry," he told us, "don't worry at all. I'll be here when you both wake up. Go ahead and sleep."
So we did. We settled in and let ourselves nod off and cuddled into his arms.
And now... well, go look at my blog. The one titled, 'Fred,' that is.
"Augh. I totally just spent two hours working on the problems on the wrong page! Not fair! Dangit!"
A light baritone chuckle drifted out of the kitchen to me sitting at the table in the dining room that November morning in 1991.
"Retrain of the Jet-Eye. How d'ya wantcher eggs?"
I opened my mouth to grouse at him, but he was right. I needed to just let it go and do the RIGHT assignment. I laughed.
"Over medium. You makin' bacon?"
"What's an egg without pork, girl?"
Okay, so my Uncle Fred and I tended toward the junk food that wasn't so much sweet as savory. But we both enjoyed the heck out of it. We ate healthy, most of the time. But comfort food is a necessity at times.
Y'see, we were commiserating, along with my dad. There hadn't been snow. There was supposed to be snow. But there hadn't been snow. We were supposed to get enough snow that I could make enough for those new boots I wanted (functional, comfortable, and winter-worthy, but really kyoot with enough heel to be unmistakably feminine), and he could make enough to get a new double-deck VCR so he could copy movies... Dad just wanted enough to take Mom out for dinner at The Rib. Hm? Oh, yeah, snow meant drives and walks to be shoveled at a good price.
"Make it tender but not crisp and nasty like Mom likes it."
"You've always had better taste than my sister, kid."
A noise of protest directed at both of us came from the woman on the couch with her nose in Julie Kenner's new superhero-romance weird mix novel.
I shut the book and stepped around the corner into the kitchen to watch the master at work. I think he loved to be in the kitchen almost as much as I did. Lightly whistling through his teeth as he grinned at his creations -- barely audible, but I knew what to listen for.
"So, since the storm missed us completely --"
Furrows pushed his brows down toward his nose.
"-- got any other ideas?"
He flipped the bacon and slipped a couple slices of wheat bread into the toaster as he resumed whistling, though with a look on his face that showed he was... plotting.
I waited patiently, knowing there was gonna be something, and besides... it smelled so good in here...
The toast popped up and he expertly plopped them on a plate and covered them in tender and lean bacon, an over-medium egg and a slice of cheese each before the plate somehow levitated to my hands.
"Well, the way I see it, in an Indian Summer, there's leaves to be gotten rid of... we just got to get our hands on some rakes, maybe borry a leaf-blower, and we're in business anyway."
I murmured my approval for both the open-faced sandwiches and his idea around my mouthful of the first bite.
"Hrglk. Mmrrfxqin. Sxjjkrntl thwbbplpl mnghdmpqvu."
"Oh, yeah, she does have one. I bet she'd rent it to us by the day instead of the job, too. Make us more cash."
I grinned happily at him and demolished my dinner in short order. Yep. Tomorrow this Indian Summer was gonna make me the richest girl in town.
As usual, death around me gets me to thinking about how things Coulda Been... so, I've got two more for you all to look at now. You probably were expecting one, but I found myself with two in me. Sorry about that. Up side is that these two aren't as anchored in real-world kernels as the others. More like things that Coulda eventually happened and just never did. Well, here's one not-so-raw, first...
"Yeah. That un. Looks good. Let's go."
"Daaad! You didn't even LOOK at me! You're supposed to help me pick a dress for the Induction, not just stare at your tennis shoes, y'know."
"Sorry. It really does look larruppin' good. Cain't picture one a'lookin' better on yuh. Don't even care what th' cost, 'cause it's durn-near perfect."
I scowled at him. My stepfather was more of a Dad to me than my biological father ever could or would be, but he was still so... augh. He was such an old-fashioned fart sometimes. It was Spring 1993, and I was about to be inducted into the National Honor Society.
"Dad. Stop. Look at me."
I waited for him to actually look up with his sheepish smirk and take a sip from his coffee cup, then I did a slow 360 ° turn so he could see the cut across my back -- or lack thereof -- and wasn't really surprised when I finished and he was staring at his shoes again when I got turned all the way around.
"You. Are. ImPOSSible!"
He grinned at me again.
"Well, it's jus' this place is so dang... girly. T'aint right for a man t'be in here t'all, let 'lone jus' sippin' coffee and watchin' like that. Seems indecent."
"You're my dad. Everyone in here knows that. You don't have to worry about whether they think you're a pervert. I don't want to settle for 'durn-near' perfect, I want the PERFECT dress for this Induction. You said you wanted to see what you were paying for before you paid for it, so the only solution is for you to help me pick out the right gown. Right?"
"Yeah. Ah know. Makes sense. Still don' feel right, though."
"Just... forget I'm your daughter for awhile and tell me what looks best!"
He looked confused for a moment, but the twinkle in his eyes told me it was a put on.
"But ah thought you didn' WANT me t'fergit that yer a daughter?"
"I see why Mom says you're the most frustrating man in the world. You love torturing us, don't you?"
He giggled (yes, giggled... he was a giggle and not a chuckle person) and took another sip from his ever-present coffee mug.
"You..."
Realization dawned. D'oh-eth.
"You're doing this on PURPOSE!"
"Wonert when yewd figger t'out. Hmph. Ain't you s'posed t'be th' smart'un? Figgered if I'm payin' I'll get muh money worth outta makin' smoke come outta yourn ears."
"Dad! You...!"
He laughed, and in spite of myself, I laughed along with him.
"Just you wait, old man..."
"What, you gonna make me lissin to yer weirdo music on the way home? Yewd do that innyways."
I arched an eyebrow at him.
"You do realize... this was only the first dress. There are HUNDREDS of dresses in awesome colors and styles in my size in this shop alone, let alone the other three shops in the mall."
The color drained from his face as I threw back my head and cackled (much to the consternation of the salesladies and the other women in the shop).
Okay, I have this fanfic mostly written, and will be attempting to put one new bit out every week. This fanfiction is set in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time world setting. The setting and any characters that are not original characters are fully the property of Robert Jordan, his widow (Harriet Rigby), his estate, his posthumous co-author/successor (Brandon Sanderson), and his publishers. At the end of each chapter I will post a guide as to how to pronounce terms and names appearing throughout, along with brief definitions. At the end of the story will be an appendix compiling all of these together.
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose across the waters of the River Erinin, speeding across Tar Valon and toward the home of the Aes Sedai, the White Tower rising from the center of the city. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time.
But it was -a-beginning...
The Violet Ajah
by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney
Teaser
Sylantia Naltorr sat in the chair and wished for a book to read as the wind fluttered the rainbow striped hem of her white dress. She watched the gate as diligently as a Novice, but as an Accepted her mind tended to wander toward the pursuits she wanted to follow if (when!) she were raised to the shawl. It was no secret that she favored the Brown Ajah, and she didn't mind that nearly everyone in the Tower knew it. So she was finding ways to make the task interesting by making a game of counting the stones in the wall by the gate, when the boy limped through it. He fixed his eyes on her, as a thirsty man in the desert would fix his eyes on an oasis, and steadfastly walked toward her.
Out of respect for his struggle, she stood but remained by her chair. When he got to her, he lifted a stone cylinder.
"Message. Moiraine Sedai," he said, as though that was everything that needed said.
And really... it was. Sylantia nodded to him and gently guided the weary boy to her chair. He shuddered as he sat.
"I will take the message to Moiraine Sedai, you sit and rest," she gently told him.
His reaction was not quite what she expected.
He threw back his head and laughed, then snorted at her and held the stone cylinder out to her. She reached out to take it and had to turn away and be violently ill.
Spitting out the foul remains of what had once been lunch, she looked askance at him.
He shrugged, and said, "You can't take it, I can't let it go."
She frowned but had an idea. She trotted over to where she could see the Warders-in-training practicing. Then she saw Moiraine Sedai's Lan there instructing them, so instead of asking one of the men to watch the gate while she fetched Moiraine Sedai, she cast a quick glance at the -- now sleeping -- boy and jogged over to the edge of the training circle, waiting to get his attention.
After a few moments, he caught her "subtle" tries to get his attention and stepped over toward her.
"Yes?"
The girl swallowed hard. She would never get used to this gruff man. "A... a message,"she began, "for Moiraine Sedai."
"I shall take it to her," replied Lan Mandragoran. However, the meek girl's response startled him -- though you'd never have known that from looking at him.
"No."
He turned to look at her now.
"It... it must be given directly to Moiraine Sedai. I already tried to take it to deliver and regretted it," she explained with a grimace of distaste.
Lan nodded. If it were to be given to Moiraine, it would be given to Moiraine. Why was this girl telling him?
"I cannot leave the gate unattended, and I thought..." she said, refusing to let herself stare at the ground while talking to the man.
Ah.
"I will inform Moiraine, Accepted Sylantia," he responded and turned back to the training.
It was her turn to be startled. He knew her name? But she was just another Accepted! Unless... unless the stories of how protective he was were true. Stories of how he not only knew everyone in Tar Valon on sight, but knew their history and how likely they were to try to harm Moiraine Sedai so he could stop any such thing from happening. She felt sick again, and it had nothing to do with touching the tube. She went back and rather than make the poor boy get back up, she stood behind her chair and continued her vigil.
Moiraine had given the exhausted messenger boy a silver and sent him off to an inn to rest, but she would be summoning him back that evening to find out if he knew more about the situation. Which, of course, depended on the message she had yet to read. It turns out that the cylinder was a message tube -- and a ter'angreal -- of that she was certain. It even made Lan ill when he touched it, and the boy couldn't let it go until Moiraine herself touched it. She hadn't as yet given much thought to the message that must lie inside, as she had been trying to study the tube. She picked up the tube once again and turned it over in her hands. Surely she needn't break it open to get the message out? As soon as the thought occurred to her, the tube seemed to slide apart, one end out of the other smoothly. A light blue scrap of parchment wafted to the floor as she looked on startled, holding the two pieces of the message ter'angreal. She set the halves into a hidden niche below her bed, and retrieved the message.
Moiraine,
as you've no doubt realized by now, I've finally used my marker. There is a situation here that I cannot describe as anything but dire, and it needs to be kept more secret than anything any Aes Sedai has ever held in a darkened corner of her soul. I would not call you to me with such a favor if there were any other choice, but I am convinced that only you, and Siuan perhaps, will know who can handle this situation carefully enough to avoid exposing a secret that could destroy the White Tower. My guess is that you will know as soon as you arrive and are appraised of the situation who to call upon. Yes, even with this ter'angreal guarding my message, I dare not reveal it unless absolutely certain that no possibility of this information being allowed into the wrong ears exists.Please come as soon as possible... If this works out the way I envision, you could have some new Novices to take back to the Tower with you.
Aranessa
She folded the message neatly and slid it under her bodice next to her hip. She ran through the centering exercises that had become habit since her long ago days as a Tower Novice, then forced herself to walk sedately to the window and sit instead of simply dashing over and curling up as she wanted to do. She stared out the window of her room and thought about the contents of the message. Thought hard.
At the Sailor's Rest, purported by the innkeeper to have the softest beds in Tar Valon, Saren politely refused a meal and collapsed into one of those beds. Truthfully, though, he wouldn't have been able to tell you how soft they were. From the moment he came in contact with the down-stuffed mattress he slept a dreamless sleep. When he awoke, he felt better than he had since Lady Aranessa had given him the tube...
"Please, Saren," she had said, "forgive me. This will be a hardship on you, but it must be done this way. Take that tube to Tar Valon. Release it only into the hands of Moiraine Sedai, as it contains a confidential message."
"Don't worry, 'Nessa," he had answered so cheerfully, "I'm strong enough to make it all the way to Tar Valon, don't grief yourself on my account."
She smiled wanly and kissed him on the top of his head before sending him on his way with another murmured apology. It wasn't until hours later when he had wearily stopped to rest that he discovered that to let go of the odd cylinder was to have the world spin around him and shift back and forth under him as though on the deck of a ship on rough seas. He had to keep a firm grip on it at all times to avoid the feeling. So for the entire long journey from Cairhein to Tar Valon, he had avoided inns and houses, anywhere that anyone might see the tube and try to take it from him. He hadn't slept until he was so exhausted he had no choice for the entire trip. The first he had slept was under an overhanging rock three days after he had left Cairhein in the distance. He had collapsed and the sharp rocks digging mercilessly into his legs and back hadn't mattered as he had drifted into sleep.
He hadn't any idea when he woke of the amount of time he had slept in his own pool of vomit and bile, but it was not a pleasant way to come awake. after shaking off as much of the ichor as possible, he noticed that the shadows hadn't really lengthened all that much, but he moved onward anyway. He didn't even want to think about the encounter near the Dragonmount. And then he was there. He vaguely remembered the girl in the white dress giving him a chair, and then the lady in blue was there, and said she was Moiraine Sedai. It must have been true, because she was able to take the tube -- which she called a ter'angreal. She had seemed happy about the blighted thing, well, as happy as any Aes Sedai ever does, anyway.
She had handed him a silver and told him where to go, and to not leave Tar Valon until she had been able to "interview" him. If the Aes Sedai wanted to pay for him to recover in a fancy inn instead of a root cellar at the local stables, he wasn't going to complain. When he woke up, he stretched, then winced at the pain in his weary-sore muscles. He dressed and then slowly went down the hall, down the stairs, and into the common room to see if there were still anything to fill his belly. The Innkeeper's wife gave him a bowl of quite tasty stew -- better than anything Lerie could make, anywhat. He was scraping the bottom of his second bowl when a large man in a cloak you couldn't quite look at walked into the common room. Saren had a tickle in the back of his memory of this man being there when he gave the tube to Moiraine Sedai.
The large man looked right at him, as though he had known where in the room that Saren would be sitting and merely nodded. Saren somehow knew that this meant that the Aes Sedai, Moiraine Sedai, was summoning him for his "interview" now. He drained the last of the water from the mug sitting next to his now-empty bowl, nodded to the Innkeeper's wife and slid off his stool and went to join Lan.
"Aranessa?" asked Siuan, "After all these years? This is important, then."
Moiraine watched while her old friend stood and began to pace sedately back and forth, thinking of the implications this brought. She paused and smiled slightly, paced back and forth a few more times, and then stopped as she began to form a weave that was both recognizeable and strange to Moiraine. Once finished, five small threads broke off and flew for an arm's length before vanishing. Siuan Sanche looked up to the face of her bemused old friend.
"We thought a lot of those short-message weaves we learned as Novices would be useless once we were raised, remember? Hah. I use them more as Amyrlin Seat than both of us combined ever used them as Novice and Accepted together!"
With a chuckle, Moiraine simply waited. It wasn't but a moment more when Leane Sharif gracefully entered the chamber. Her blue stole marked her as Keeper of the Chronicles raised from the Blue Ajah, but her smile at seeing the two within marked her as being their friend.
"We are waiting on four others. They will go with you, Moiraine. They have earned my full trust, and three of them will be accompanying you. Since the message mentions Novices, I've also summoned Sheriam."
The other two nodded and Leane situated herself standing behind Siuan's chair, as the Amyrlin re-seated herself. It was only a short time before the other four women arrived one after the other, with Sheriam being the last in the Chamber.
Moiraine surveyed the three that would be traveling with her. She subtly measured herself against them, and knew they would be deferring to her. With that, she smiled warmly at all of them and nodded each time Siuan looked to her to verify the story about the message as she knew.
When the meeting was done, there were three in the Tower that knew where the other four were going when they left the next morning. Siuan Sanche, the Amyrlin Seat; Leane Sharif, the Keeper of Chronicles, and Sheriam Bayanar, the Mistress of Novices. Traveling to Cairhein would be Moiraine Damodred of the Blue Ajah and her Warder Lan, Ramene Embrall of the Gray Ajah and her Warder Yorn, Adeleas Namelle of the Brown Ajah, and Vandene Namelle of the Green Ajah and her Warder Jaem. Of interest to note were that Adeleas Sedai and Vandene Sedai were twin sisters.
Saren felt much better with food in his belly and having slept some. The large man had to be a Warder, likely Moiraine Sedai's. He never had understood what a Warder really did, though.
"Are you Moiraine Sedai's Warder?"
"Yes."
"Are you Moiraine Sedai's husband?"
"No."
"My name is Saren, what's yours?"
"Lan."
"Are you Moiraine Sedai's servant?"
"No."
"Is it true a Warder will die for the Aes Sedai he protects?"
"Yes."
"You're taking me to her now, right?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever had to --"
"Enough. You will hold your tongue until you are asked questions."
He hadn't said it gruff, or even loud. He had, in fact, answered the questions in an even tone that seemed neither interested nor bored. But there was something about how Lan said that last, despite lack of anything Saren could identify, that made him certain that the best course was to follow that... well, order.
The boy hadn't really known anything about the situtation that prompted the message from Aranessa, but had insight into the ter'angreal that had been used as a message tube. Not a pleasant device, but effective to guarantee that a messenger would fight not to be compromised. Moiraine decided as she dismissed the boy that she would have to get Aranessa to show her how to use the ter'angreal. She spent the remainder of the evening packing appropriately for a trip to Cairhein, and included the ter'angreal in her chest.
The next morning, the four Aes Sedai and the three Warders set out for Cairhein on horseback. Moiraine had given Saren enough silver to stay in Tar Valon for another three days, and have enough left to hire passage back to Cairhein. He would be leaving for Cairhein about the time they arrived there. She was puzzled about what was going on, but knew better than to attempt to discern before finding out facts.
Most angreal and sa'angreal are constructed with a buffer to protect the user from drawing too much of the Power. Angreal are rare; sa'angreal are extremely rare.
Adeleas Namelle
ahd-eh-LAY-uhs nah-MEHL
Aes Sedai of the Brown Ajah, twin sister of Vandene. She has no Warder.
Aes Sedai
EYE seh-DYE
The female users of the One Power, who tap into the feminine half Saidar to "weave" magic into spells.
Aiel
aye-EEL
Desert dwelling people considered by most to be savages.
Ajah
ah-ZHAH
The different schools of thought of application of use of the One Power by the Aes Sedai are grouped into Ajahs, who identify themselves by a color, and are represented among other Aes Sedai by wearing a shawl of the color of the Ajah to which one belongs.
Alric
AHL-rihk
The Warder of Siuan Sanche.
Amyrlin (Seat)
AHM-ehr-lihn
The leader of the Aes Sedai, ostensibly the most powerful, either in use of the One Power, or politically.
Angreal
AHN-gree-ahl
Objects which allow those who can channel to draw more of the One Power than they normally could without harming themselves. While all angreal offer this benefit, they do vary considerably in strength (the amount of additional Power that they provide access to).
Aranessa
ahr-ah-NESS-uh
An old friend of Moiraine Damodred and Siuan Sanche from Cairhein.
Cairhein
kye-REE-ihn
A country and with a capitol city of the same name in the northeast, bordering on the Aiel Wastes.
(River) Erinin
AIR-ee-nin
The river that runs north to south between Cairhein and the Black Hills, which widens at one point and has the island city of Tar Valon situated within it, with the river continuing on either side (east and west) of the island.
Jaem
JAYM
The Warder of Vandene Namelle.
Lan Mandragoran
LAN man-drah-gor-ANN
The Warder of Moiraine Damodred.
Leane Sharif
lee-ANN shuh-REEF
Keeper of the Chronicles under Siuan Sanche as Amyrlin Seat. She has no Warder.
Moiraine Damodred
mwah-RAIN dah-MOH-drehd
An Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, and one of the major characters of both the series and this story. She has one Warder, Lan Mandragoran.
Ramene Embrall
rah-MEE-neh im-BRAHL
Aes Sedai of the Gray Ajah. She has one Warder, Yorn Harika.
Sa'angreal
sah-AHN-gree-ahl
Like angreal, but much more powerful. All known angreal and sa'angreal are aligned for use by either a man or a woman, never both.
Saidar
sye-DAHR
The feminine half of the One Power.
Saidin
sye-DIHN
The masculine half of the One Power.
Saren
SAIR-ihn
The boy that travelled from Cairhein to Tar Valon with the Message ter'angreal for Moiraine from Aranessa.
Sedai
seh-DYE
Term of respect appended to the name of an Aes Sedai.
Sheriam Bayanar
shuh-RYE-uhm BYE-uh-nahr
Mistress of Novices under Siuan Sanche as Amyrlin Seat. She has no Warder.
Siuan Sanche
suh-WAHN SAN-chay
The Amyrlin Seat of the Aes Sedai. She has one Warder, Alric.
Sylantia Naltorr
sye-LAN-tee-ah NAHL-tor
An Accepted at the White Tower.
Tar Valon
TAR vah-LON
Island city that has within its borders, the White Tower which is the home to the Aes Sedai.
Ter'angreal
tuhr-AHN-gree-ahl
Objects that use the One Power to perform specific functions. Some ter'angreal do not require the One Power to be used for their activation. While not as rare as angreal or sa'angreal, the method of making them was believed to be lost for thousands of years, until recently.
Vandene Namelle
van-DEEN nah-MEHL
Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, twin sister of Adeleas. She has one Warder, Jaem.
Yorn Harika
YORN haw-REE-kah
The Warder of Ramene Embrall.
This is a novel-length fanfiction set in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time setting. The setting and any characters that are not original characters are fully the property of Robert Jordan, his widow (Harriet Rigby), his estate, his posthumous co-author/successor (Brandon Sanderson), and his publishers.
At the end of each chapter will be posted a guide to how to pronounce terms and names, and again at the end of the work as a whole there will be a guide compiling all the smaller ones.
I originally planned on release and posting of one piece per week, on Fridays, and gave a table with a schedule... I offer now instead, a checklist, so you can tell at a glance which pieces of the thing are done:
Violet Ajah Release Checklist! | |||||||||||
Teaser | |||||||||||
Author's Foreword | - - - | Chapter 11 | - - - | Chapter 23 | - - - | Chapter 35 | - - - | Chapter 47 | - - - | Chapter 59 | |
Prologue | - - - | Chapter 12 | - - - | Chapter 24 | - - - | Chapter 36 | - - - | Chapter 48 | - - - | Chapter 60 | |
Chapter 1 | - - - | Chapter 13 | - - - | Chapter 25 | - - - | Chapter 37 | - - - | Chapter 49 | - - - | Chapter 61 | |
- - - | Chapter 2 | - - - | Chapter 14 | - - - | Chapter 26 | - - - | Chapter 38 | - - - | Chapter 50 | - - - | Chapter 62 |
- - - | Chapter 3 | - - - | Chapter 15 | - - - | Chapter 27 | - - - | Chapter 39 | - - - | Chapter 51 | - - - | Chapter 63 |
- - - | Chapter 4 | - - - | Chapter 16 | - - - | Chapter 28 | - - - | Chapter 40 | - - - | Chapter 52 | - - - | Chapter 64 |
- - - | Chapter 5 | - - - | Chapter 17 | - - - | Chapter 29 | - - - | Chapter 41 | - - - | Chapter 53 | - - - | Epilogue |
- - - | Chapter 6 | - - - | Chapter 18 | - - - | Chapter 30 | - - - | Chapter 42 | - - - | Chapter 54 | - - - | Glossary of Terms |
- - - | Chapter 7 | - - - | Chapter 19 | - - - | Chapter 31 | - - - | Chapter 43 | - - - | Chapter 55 | - - - | Author's Afterword |
- - - | Chapter 8 | - - - | Chapter 20 | - - - | Chapter 32 | - - - | Chapter 44 | - - - | Chapter 56 | - - - | Q & A |
- - - | Chapter 9 | - - - | Chapter 21 | - - - | Chapter 33 | - - - | Chapter 45 | - - - | Chapter 57 | - - - | Saidar & Saidin |
- - - | Chapter 10 | - - - | Chapter 22 | - - - | Chapter 34 | - - - | Chapter 46 | - - - | Chapter 58 | - - - | The White Tower |
The release did not happen due to various and sundry issues and problems I have had along the way. However, as of now, I plan to continue releases throughout 2011. Keep an eye on my blog and back at this page for updates!
The Q & A mentioned will be held at various times throughout, and will be cleaned up and posted at the given date. This post is also to give folks somewhere to ask questions so that I don't tread the same water twice! Use the comments on this particular post to ask any questions about the story!
Enjoy!
Edeyn Hannah Blackeney
This is a fanfic set in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time setting. The setting and any characters that are not original characters are fully the property of Robert Jordan, his widow (Harriet Rigby), his estate, his posthumous co-author/successor (Brandon Sanderson), and his publishers. At the end of each chapter will be posted a guide to how to pronounce terms and names.
by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney
Prologue
The Prince was not truly bothered by the weight upon him, it simply was not all that difficult for him to handle. No, anyone that saw him could tell he enjoyed the comparative life of leisure he led. After all, he spent more than half of his time in the stables, and while they were not the grand stables that were at the palace in the city center there were many of the beggars of Cairhien that would have gladly lifted each mouthful of food to his lips for him just for the chance to stand in those stables for a short while. He walked along the familiar road, this time taking along with him the Lady of the House. She seemed to enjoy the unaccustomed outing, as well.
His head held high and drawing each breath of crisp morning air easily into his powerful lungs and her relaxed manner as they moved along the road, would cause any observers to assume these two together every such morning. Not true, however, as he had made the monthly trip both directions on the road at least 100 times since she last accompanied him.
There was no talking, the two traveled in as near silence as possible. Footfalls accompanied by the morning sounds of insects, birds, and small animals in the grasslands around them. She smiled to herself, even allowing herself to close her eyes along the straight portions of the road. She decided that she simply MUST get out more often in the future, whether this trip turned out to be successful or not. She wondered not for the first time -- or even just the hundredth time during the trip -- why she did not travel more often.
The city was looming before them after an uneventfully beautiful, nearly serene, trip and their pace slightly quickened as the guard waved at the pair in greeting. He looked as though he wanted to doff his cap, but realized he was wearing a helmet just in time to avoid the faux pas. Instead, an affable grin split his features as he held his hand up to stop them and do his duty to check all those entering Aringill through the North Gate.
"Ho there, Aes Sedai, what brings you to honor Aringill with a visit?" he began the semi-formal, semi-familiar formula.
She arched an eyebrow at the man, and while her face betrayed her distaste as much as it betrayed her years -- which is to say, not at all -- he realized that her gaze was never going to be friendly.
The Prince stood silently.
After a moment more, the Aes Sedai stepped to the ground and quietly murmured to the guard, "Find me a guide, a woman, and return quickly. I care not for status, only for gender."
The startled man found himself attempting a ridiculous synthesis of both saluting and bowing at the same time. Her frown deepened into a scowl as she watched the man fumble further and begin to apologize.
The Prince stood passively.
"Idiot," she interrupted him, "go now. Find my guide."
As he turned and fled, nearly breaking into a run, she threw a sneer at the young man's back.
"That is why I don't travel more. I recall now."
She turned as she reached in a pocket hidden in the folds of her deep red traveling dress, withdrawing a small bag. A moment to slip the knotwork loose, and it opened into a flat cloth, carrying thumb-sized bits of carrot. The Prince nickered and she fed him one, smiling tenderly.
***If only human men were as obedient and silent as The Prince,*** she thought wistfully.
She continued to treat her loyal steed until the guard returned, breathless, with a girl of about eleven years following behind him.
Immediately the girl lowered herself into a curtsy, "I have been informed that you are in need of a guide, milady Aes Sedai. I would ask that honour be mine."
***That is what a greeting should be like,*** she responded within her own mind.
She replied with a gracious smile, and aloud she said, "Of course, dear, you will do nicely. We will discuss payment when we have been settled into our inn."
"Now, girl, I shall be in Aringill for perhaps a week, maybe more if warranted. I am willing to pay you a silver mark per day to serve as my guide during my stay. Is that satisfactory?"
"Oh, yes, milady! That would be quite generous. Where shall I take you first?"
"Please, my name is Aranessa. As I am an Aes Sedai, you may call me Aranessa Sedai," she told the girl quite warmly, and with a smile. So polite, this child!
"Yes, Aranessa Sedai. Where shall I take you first?"
"There must be somewhere in this city that has healers, whether they be real or charlatans. Take me there after I have changed from my traveling clothes."
"Yes, Aranessa Sedai. I shall await you in the common room," was the immediate reply as the girl spun on her heel to depart.
"A moment. What is your name, child? I can hardly go about calling you 'girl' the entire week, now can I?"
"Oh, pardon my rudeness, Aranessa Sedai. My name is E'nalla Harthik, daughter of the Seamstress Ciir."
***Oh, this child knows her way around information,*** thought Aranessa, ***she knew to only give the maternal lineage. I do hope she develops the ability to Channel. She would be an asset to the Red Ajah.***
She changed out of her traveling cloak and dress, into a slightly lighter dress coupled with a gauzy wrap she had received from a Domani trader. The heat of the Summer was upon the land, after all. She made her way down the hall, and descended to ground level, where she found E'nalla waiting attentively by the fireplace. The girl stood and walked across to hold the door for Aranessa so that the Aes Sedai need not even pause to continue out to the street.
Without a word, only a glance to assure herself that her employer was watching and would follow, E'nalla turned and headed through the streets of Aringill.
There were turns and twists and to Aranessa, it seemed a fine-looking city.
Eventually, the girl stopped at a door, but hesitated before opening it. She turned and walked the few steps back to the Aes Sedai to speak.
"Aranessa Sedai. Perhaps it would be better if I were to see how many are inside, first? I would not wish you to have to chance becoming ill due to such exposure."
***How sweet of her to worry for me,*** thought Aranessa.
Aloud, she said, "That is unnecessary. I am not royalty, after all, and I must see the women of this town with the potential to become Aes Sedai."
"Oh! You wish to...? I apologize. I did not realize you were on a recruiting visit. Let me get the door for you."
The girl positively scurried over to hold open the door, and with a smile and a flourish almost worthy of a gleeman, gestured Aranessa inside.
"Yes, Aranessa Sedai. I shall return tomorrow, then."
She waited for the girl to go, and then began a weave around herself that would essentially make her invisible. Not really, but very difficult to look directly at. It was similar to the weave on the cloth of Warders cloaks, actually.
She slipped out the door and down the stairs quickly enough to follow E'nalla out onto the street only steps behind. She had begun to suspect that her guide was hiding something from her. It was natural, but a bit upsetting, in such a promising young girl. She followed her to an area of the city they had yet to visit. Not proof, as it could still be on the agenda, but not absolution by any means, either.
This was a very... unkempt... area, actually. She followed as E'nalla slipped down an alleyway and into one of the empty areas in the middle of the organized streetfront blocks. It was a perfect 'clubhouse' for young children. She stood to the side in the shadows and listened.
"á†lina? Are you here?" asked E'nalla.
"No," came a voice from behind the crates that had been painstakingly stacked in a corner of the hidden area, "I'm in Caemlyn. Of course I'm here. What'd you find out?"
"She is really a nice woman, á†lina, you should go with her to the White Tower. I promise you, she wouldn't hurt you."
A scoff from the crates.
Aranessa allowed herself a smile of triumph. A new Novice for the Tower. Perhaps even young enough not to have too much of a resistance to removing her block. This is good news.
"Really, á†lina, I mean it. Aranessa Sedai has been nothing but nice to me, and you'd have a home... a real home for the first time since your mother tossed you out."
"Don't remind me. Adults are selfish and not trustworthy. I'm fine without any stinking White Tower. And you promised not to tell her."
***So, she's not deceiving me just to be deceiving me. She's made a promise. Can't fault the child for that.***
"I haven't! But really, I think you can trust her. She's given me enough already that mama wouldn't have to work for a month."
"But what about the others? The boys depend on me to make sure that nothing happens. I like being the one people look up to! Well. You know what I mean."
E'nalla stifled a giggle. "Look up to. Right."
"Hey, no teasing!" said á†lina, stepping from behind the crates to face E'nalla. The other girl was perhaps ten -- maybe eleven -- years old.
Before Aranessa could help herself, she gasped in shock.
***The youngest Novice I have even heard about was fifteen years! This girl hasn't even started her menses yet!***
E'nalla looked right at her, but didn't see her, due to her weave-cloak.
"What?" asked á†lina, before craning around the bigger girl to see what she was looking at.
"Too late!" she shouted the next instant, her eyes fixed on Aranessa.
Letting the weave unravel, Aranessa cursed internally at herself. The child saw her weave, and knew she was there.
"Come, á†lina, I will not allow anyone to hurt you. Life at the Tower is wond--"
á†lina quickly pulled a weave from Fire and Spirit that Aranessa had never seen and suddenly there was a bright flash. Both E'nalla and the Aes Sedai shrieked in pain even as the running feet of á†lina could be heard sprinting down one of the alleyways.
"I'm sorry, Aranessa Sedai, but she made me promise! I didn't mean to --"
"It's alright, E'nalla, but you have to help me find her! A girl that young that can Channel can become one of the greatest --"
"We won't find her."
That brought Aranessa up short.
"What?"
"We won't find her, Aranessa Sedai."
"Well, you can't be sure of that, we have to look all over, her boltholes, the places that she --"
"You don't understand. By now, she's out of the city."
"What? How do you know?"
"The direction she ran, there is a hole in the City Wall. She's by now already out in the woods."
"But this is bordering right on the Haddon Mirk. The girl would be insane to --"
"Insane or desperate. The others she looks after mean everything to her. She's younger than them all, but they do look up to her."
"Well, show me where they are. Surely she'll come back to them..."
E'nalla was already shaking her head.
"They will not come together even for me without á†lina giving the say so."
Frustrated, Aranessa scowled and stormed back up the alleyway she had come by.
"Well, come on then, we're going into the Mirk!"
á†lina | el-EEN-ah | A very young girl that can Channel and use the One Power. | |||
Aes Sedai | EYE seh-DYE | The female users of the One Power, who tap into the feminine half, Saidar, to "weave" magic into spells. | |||
Aiel (Wastes) | EEL | The vast desert to the east of Cairhien. | |||
Ajah | ah-ZHAH | The different schools of thought of application of use of the One Power by the Aes Sedai are grouped into Ajahs, who identify themselves by a color, and are represented among other Aes Sedai by wearing a shawl of the color of the Ajah to which one belongs. | |||
Andor | ANN-dor | Country south and west of Cairhien. | |||
Aranessa Fovall | ahr-ah-NESS-uh FOH-vawl | Featured Aes Sedai of the Prologue, Red Ajah member. | |||
Aringill | AIR-in-gihl | A city in neither country of Cairhien nor Andor on the road between the cities of Caemlyn and Cairhien. | |||
Caemlyn | KAYM-lihn | Capitol City of Andor. | |||
Cairhein | kye-REE-ihn | A country and with a capitol city of the same name in the northeast, bordering on the Aiel Wastes. | |||
Ciir Harthik | kih-EER HAW-tihk | Seamstress in Aringill, E'nalla's mother. | |||
E'nalla Harthik | ee-NAHL-ah HAW-tihk | Aranessa's guide in Aringill. | |||
gleeman | GLEE-man | The Wheel of Time equivalent to a Bard or minstrel. | |||
Saidar | sye-DAHR | The feminine half of the One Power. | |||
Saidin | sye-DIHN | The masculine half of the One Power. | |||
Sedai | seh-DYE | Term of respect appended to the name of an Aes Sedai. |
This is a fanfic (short for fanfiction) set in Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time setting. The setting and any characters that are not original characters are fully the property of Robert Jordan, his widow (Harriet Rigby), his estate, his posthumous co-author/successor (Brandon Sanderson), and his publishers. At the end of each chapter will be posted a guide to how to pronounce terms and names -- be sure to leave a comment asking to add any term or name that was missed or that you need clarification.
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose across the waters of the River Erinin. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time.
But it was -a- beginning...
by Edeyn Hannah Blackeney
Chapter 1
The dampness it bore was a cooling influence, and all who felt it would sigh a bit and smile before going back to whatever business each happened to be engaged in at the moment. Sylantia Naltorr sat in the chair and wished for a book to read as the wind fluttered the rainbow striped hem of her white dress. She watched the gate as diligently as a Novice, but as an Accepted her mind tended to wander toward the pursuits she wanted to follow if (when!) she were raised to the shawl. It was no secret that she favored the Brown Ajah, and she didn't mind that nearly everyone in the Tower knew it. So she was finding ways to make the task interesting by making a game of counting the stones in the wall by the gate, when the boy limped through it. He fixed his eyes on her, as a thirsty man in the desert would fix his eyes on an oasis, and steadfastly walked toward her.
Out of respect for his struggle, she stood but remained by her chair. When he got to her, he lifted a stone cylinder.
"Message. Moiraine Sedai," he said, as though that was everything that needed said.
And really... it was. Sylantia nodded to him and gently guided the weary boy to her chair. He shuddered as he sat.
"I will take the message to Moiraine Sedai, you sit and rest," she gently told him.
His reaction was not quite what she expected.
He threw back his head and laughed, then snorted at her and held the stone cylinder out to her. She reached out to take it and had to turn away and be violently ill.
Spitting out the foul remains of what had once been lunch, she looked askance at him.
He shrugged, and said, "You can't take it, I can't let it go."
She frowned but had an idea. She trotted over to where she could see the Warders-in-training practicing. Then she saw Moiraine Sedai's Lan there instructing them, so instead of asking one of the men to watch the gate while she fetched Moiraine Sedai, she cast a quick glance at the -- now sleeping -- boy and jogged over to the edge of the training circle, waiting to get his attention.
After a few moments, he caught her "subtle" tries to get his attention and stepped over toward her.
"Yes?"
The girl swallowed hard. She would never get used to this gruff man. "A... a message,"she began, "for Moiraine Sedai."
"I shall take it to her," replied Lan Mandragoran. However, the meek girl's response startled him -- though you'd never have known that from looking at him.
"No."
He turned to look at her now.
"It... it must be given directly to Moiraine Sedai. I already tried to take it to deliver and regretted it," she explained with a grimace of distaste.
Lan nodded. If it were to be given to Moiraine, it would be given to Moiraine. Why was this girl telling him?
"I cannot leave the gate unattended, and I thought..." she said, refusing to let herself stare at the ground while talking to the man.
Ah.
"I will inform Moiraine, Accepted Sylantia," he responded and turned back to the training.
It was her turn to be startled. He knew her name? But she was just another Accepted! Unless... unless the stories of how protective he was were true. Stories of how he not only knew everyone in Tar Valon on sight, but knew their history and how likely they were to try to harm Moiraine Sedai so he could stop any such thing from happening. She felt sick again, and it had nothing to do with touching the tube. She went back and rather than make the poor boy get back up, she stood behind her chair and continued her vigil.
Moiraine, as you've no doubt realized by now, I've finally used my marker. There is a situation here that I cannot describe as anything but dire, and it needs to be kept more secret than anything any Aes Sedai has ever held in a darkened corner of her soul. I would not call you to me with such a favor if there were any other choice, but I am convinced that only you, and Siuan perhaps, will know who can handle this situation carefully enough to avoid exposing a secret that could destroy the White Tower. My guess is that you will know as soon as you arrive and are appraised of the situation who to call upon. Yes, even with this ter'angreal guarding my message, I dare not reveal it unless absolutely certain that no possibility of this information being allowed into the wrong ears exists.
Please come as soon as possible... If this works out the way I envision, you could have some new Novices to take back to the Tower with you.
Aranessa
She folded the message neatly and slid it under her bodice next to her hip. She ran through the centering exercises that had become habit since her long ago days as a Tower Novice, then forced herself to walk sedately to the window and sit instead of simply dashing over and curling up as she wanted to do. She stared out the window of her room and thought about the contents of the message. Thought hard.
"Please, Saren," she had said, "forgive me. This will be a hardship on you, but it must be done this way. Take that tube to Tar Valon. Release it only into the hands of Moiraine Sedai, as it contains a confidential message."
"Don't worry, 'Nessa," he had answered so cheerfully, "I'm strong enough to make it all the way to Tar Valon, don't grief yourself on my account."
She smiled wanly and kissed him on the top of his head before sending him on his way with another murmured apology. It wasn't until hours later when he had wearily stopped to rest that he discovered that to let go of the odd cylinder was to have the world spin around him and shift back and forth under him as though on the deck of a ship on rough seas. He had to keep a firm grip on it at all times to avoid the feeling. So for the entire long journey from Cairhein to Tar Valon, he had avoided inns and houses, anywhere that anyone might see the tube and try to take it from him. He hadn't slept until he was so exhausted he had no choice for the entire trip. The first he had slept was under an overhanging rock three days after he had left Cairhein in the distance. He had collapsed and the sharp rocks digging mercilessly into his legs and back hadn't mattered as he had drifted into sleep.
He hadn't any idea, when he woke, of the amount of time he had slept in his own pool of vomit and bile, but it was not a pleasant way to come awake. After shaking off as much of the ichor as possible, he noticed that the shadows hadn't really lengthened all that much, but he moved onward anyway. The stolen boat he used to cross the Erinin, the trip north to Darein and into Tar Valon. He didn't even want to think about the encounter near the Dragonmount.
Of course, as soon as that occurred to him, his mind inexorably replayed the scene.
He had stayed off the road for a few hours, so he hadn't seen anyone. He was so tired, he wanted a quiet place to rest and maybe curl up around the tube so he couldn't drop it. Heading toward a small copse of trees, his weariness caused him to not be as alert as he really should have been.
That's when they circled him.
"Wh-what do you w-want?" his fear made his stutter return.
"What do you have there, son?" asked the one with the beard.
"It's a message for an Aes Sedai, you'd better let me go! If they find out you stopped a message, you'll have to deal with them!" he had cried out.
"I think," said the small one, "that you're right."
The last of the three looked at the small one like he had gone insane, his mouth dropping open in shock.
The bearded one paused in his advance, too.
"That is," smirked the small one, "that if they find out there'll be a price we have to pay. So, boys, we'd better make sure that they Aes Sedai never find out!"
The three came at him, then, and he'd been too frightened to hear what they were saying then. He clutched the tube tightly to his chest and tried to run away, but they easily blocked his way.
"Give us the tube, boy," said the bearded one.
"I-I can't!"
That's when the small one had reached in to grab the tube, and had Saren not had such a grasp on it, would have deftly plucked it from his fingers. The sudden explosive retching from both Saren and their man at the same time had made the other two step back.
"You okay, Mel--"
"Vraauugh! No names you, Vraauugh! Idiot!" was the reply, followed by enough vomiting that he let go of the tube. Saren's nausea and dry heaving stopped immediately and he again turned to run away, only to be grabbed this time by the bearded one.
"What did you do to him, boy?"
"N-N-Nothing! It w-was the m-m-m-message! It m-made m-me sick, too, w-when he tou-touched it! Let m-me go, p-p-please!"
The man squinted at Saren as he thought and then very deliberately reached a hand slowly toward the tube. Of course Saren tried to keep it away from the man's touch.
"N-No!"
With a snarl, the bearded man dropped Saren, and grabbed one end of the tube at the same time. Again, the twin gouts of regurgitation exploded. The first man was still retching, though it wasn't the message tube making him, now.
The bearded man turned his head to coat poor Saren, as he still struggled with the tube, finally giving up when his grip slipped due to the slimy mess.
Saren, again freed from the necessity to attempt to empty his stomach ran again. This time, however, the three men let him go. When he saw how close he was to Tar Valon, by the sight of the White Tower rising in the distance, he kept running. Vowing not to stop until he was there. Of course, he didn't realize the distance and ended up slowing to a plod along the road he now found himself on. The stink of the bandits' induced nausea kept any other travellers on the road away from his immediate proximity. In fact, they were giving him a wide berth. The guard at the bridge across the Erinin into the city wouldn't even let him cross until he rinsed himself in the waters.
And then he was there. He vaguely remembered the girl in the white dress giving him a chair, and then the lady in blue was there, and said she was Moiraine Sedai. It must have been true, because she was able to take the tube -- which she called a ter'angreal. She had seemed happy about the blighted thing, well, as happy as any Aes Sedai ever does, anyway.
She had handed him a silver and told him where to go, and to not leave Tar Valon until she had been able to "interview" him. If the Aes Sedai wanted to pay for him to recover in a fancy inn instead of a root cellar at the local stables, he wasn't going to complain. When he woke up, he stretched, then winced at the pain in his weary-sore muscles. He dressed and then slowly went down the hall, down the stairs, and into the common room to see if there were still anything to fill his belly. The Innkeeper's wife gave him a bowl of quite tasty stew -- better than anything Lerie could make, anywhat. He was scraping the bottom of his second bowl when a large man in a cloak you couldn't quite look at walked into the common room. Saren had a tickle in the back of his memory of this man being there when he gave the tube to Moiraine Sedai.
The large man looked right at him, as though he had known where in the room that Saren would be sitting and merely nodded. Saren somehow knew that this meant that the Aes Sedai, Moiraine Sedai, was summoning him for his "interview" now. He drained the last of the water from the mug sitting next to his now-empty bowl, nodded to the Innkeeper's wife and slid off his stool and went to join Lan.
Moiraine watched while her old friend stood and began to pace sedately back and forth, thinking of the implications this message brought with it. She paused and smiled slightly, paced back and forth a few more times, and then stopped as she began to form a weave that was both recognizeable and strange to Moiraine. Once finished, five small threads broke off and flew for an arm's length before vanishing. Siuan Sanche looked up to the face of her bemused old friend.
"We thought a lot of those short-message weaves we learned as Novices would be useless once we were raised, remember? Hah. I use them more as Amyrlin Seat than both of us combined ever used them as Novice and Accepted together!"
With a chuckle, Moiraine simply waited. It wasn't but a moment more when Leane Sharif gracefully entered the chamber. Her blue stole marked her as Keeper of the Chronicles raised from the Blue Ajah, but her smile at seeing the two within marked her as being their friend.
"We are waiting on four others. They will go with you, Moiraine. They have earned my full trust, and three of them will be accompanying you. Since the message mentions Novices, I've also summoned Sheriam."
The other two nodded and Leane situated herself standing behind Siuan's chair, as the Amyrlin re-seated herself. It was only a short time before the other four women arrived one after the other, with Sheriam being the last in the Chamber.
Moiraine surveyed the three that would be travelling with her. She subtlely measured herself against them, and knew they would be deferring to her. With that, she smiled warmly at all of them and nodded each time Siuan looked to her to verify as the Amyrlin was relating the story about the message as she knew it.
When the meeting was done, there were three in the Tower that knew where the other four were going when they left the next morning. Siuan Sanche, the Amyrlin Seat; Leane Sharif, the Keeper of Chronicles, and Sheriam Bayanar, the Mistress of Novices. Travelling to Cairhein would be Moiraine Damodred of the Blue Ajah and her Warder Lan Mandragoran, Ramene Embrall of the Gray Ajah and her Warder Yorn Harika, Adeleas Namelle of the Brown Ajah, and Vandene Namelle of the Green Ajah and her Warder Jaem. Of interest to note were that Adeleas Sedai and Vandene Sedai were twin sisters.
"Are you Moiraine Sedai's Warder?"
"Yes."
"Are you Moiraine Sedai's husband?"
"No."
"My name is Saren, what's yours?"
"Lan."
"Are you Moiraine Sedai's servant?"
"No."
"Is it true a Warder will die for the Aes Sedai he protects?"
"Yes."
"You're taking me to her now, right?"
"Yes."
"Have you ever had to --"
"Enough. You will hold your tongue until you are asked questions."
He hadn't said it gruff, or even loud. He had, in fact, answered the questions in an even tone that seemed neither interested nor bored. But there was something about how Lan said that last, despite lack of anything Saren could identify, that made him certain that the best course was to follow that... well, order.
The other three women going along had less idea of what they were supposed to pack.
This was the first trip outside the Tower that Adeleas had made since being raised to the shawl. Not that she was new to being a full Aes Sedai, she simply found more interest in studying that which was already here. However, there was plenty outside the Tower to learn, and she was not going to be resentful of an opportunity to travel abroad. Besides, it was fun to tease Vandene, even now that they were "grown ups" and Aes Sedai at that! Travel clothes, a book, and a notebook and an inkpot, maybe? She chewed on the end of her honey-colored braid, in the same habit she had been trying to break since she and Vandene were children in Maradon. Making a noise of frustration, she dropped the braid and looked in her mirror. She was perhaps a trifle heavier than her sister now, but by no means any less attractive. They both had the nose that turned up slightly at the tip, right above a well-formed and full mouth. Their eyes were the same blue crystal color, and they were of a height. The only over difference to someone who didn't know them would be her sister's new habit of working her hair with the dyes she makes from plants, so that her hair was no longer the honey color they had shared their whole lives, but a deep red so dark it seemed to be between black and purple in the right light. And Vandene made certain she stood in the right light. As often as possible.
Ramene's lean form was just packing her basics, unlike some of the others in the Gray Ajah, she saw no need to take gaudy jewels to fascinate those she was to be negotiating with for anything. They seemed to respond better to her when it was simply straightforward. Of course, if she were larger in the bust and not quite so... lanky... and maybe even had the talent with hair that some of the others seemed to have, perhaps it would be a valid tactic at the table. No idea how long they would be gone, no idea if they would remain in Cairhien or be moving on elsewhere. She wasn't the best known of the Gray in the Tower, but she was known to be competent. And since she was known to have talked Wilders into coming to the Tower without a struggle, she figured the remark about a new group of novices being a possibility seemed to be why she was asked along. Someone to negotiate with a group of Wilders. Of course, she would never say so aloud, but she privately didn't see what the problem with alternate ways to do things was. Just because it's not the standard way that Aes Sedai are taught to do something doesn't automatically make it inferior. At least, not in her opinion. Wondering what the vast majority of the others in the Tower would think if they knew she had been a Wilder, she closed her pack with a firm pull on the cinching buckle and left it on her bed as she went to find Yorn.
Watching Jaem carefully pack away everything the two of them would need in the field, Vandene let her mind wander back to the days right after she had bound him as her Warder. He had been reluctant at first, as he had been in love with Adeleas, but eventually he professed his loyalty to Vandene outweighed the misplaced fondness he had for her sister when they had all been young. She sighed a happy sigh and stood. She brushed some imagined lint off of her skirt before walking over to him and lightly caressing his face. He didn't pause in his chore, simply smiled as he continued.
The next morning, the four Aes Sedai and the three Warders set out for Cairhein on horseback, trailing a mule with a few supplies, and two mules that had bags and carry-rigs, but nothing on them. Moiraine had given Saren enough silver to stay in Tar Valon for another three days, and have enough left to hire passage back to Cairhein. He would be leaving for Cairhein about the time they arrived there. She was puzzled about what was going on, but knew better than to attempt to discern before finding out facts.
It was a chilly morning, but the group headed southeast from the Tower itself, and used the bridge into Osenrein to cross the Osendrelle Erinin. Of the villages surrounding Tar Valon, Osenrein likely saw the most traffic out of sheer convenience. It was in the direction of Cairhien from Tar Valon, so it was just the easiest.
The group was mostly silent, but now and then one would lean to speak to another and point. Most of the merchants would then make a gift to the Aes Sedai in question the item of her fancy.
"Aren't they foolish?" Adeleas remarked in an aside where the other three women could all hear her, but not the merchant who was falling over himself to hand to Yorn the entire smoked leg of lamb that Ramene had remarked would be perfect foundation of their meals between Tar Valon and Cairhien.
"Not so much," was Ramene's reply as she nudged her horse forward to thank the merchant.
"What does that mean?" asked the Brown.
"It means he's going to make a mound of coin when word gets around that an Aes Sedai specifically requested HIS smoked lamb, Adi," replied Vandene.
"Oh, I guess that makes sense," was Adeleas' thoughtful response.
"That's why the man didn't require us to pay," remarked Moiraine in an undertone.
"Sir!"
All seven turned to the insistent voice.
"Sir!" this time, the little man with the red shoes was obviously speaking to Jaem.
"Yes?" came the voice from the smaller man, that always managed to sound as though Jaem was fighting to keep from laughing.
"I notice, sir, that you carry a quarterstaff."
"That's a keen eye you got there. Not many can identify a stick with such determination."
The man ignored the obvious sarcasm, and replied, "You are part of the reason this town exists, sir, as without you and your Mistress--"
Vandene stifled a giggle.
"-- we all, here in Osenrein, would have been overrun during the Trolloc War."
"This a history lesson? Because really, I just am not that old."
"Oh, of course you aren't, sir! How droll! No, I meant that I would like to offer you a finely crafted sword from my shop as a mark of gratitude that men such as yourself still serve in such a capacity!" he positively beamed at Jaem.
Another outfitter wanted to give Lan armor, and a third wanted to outfit the Aes Sedai themselves. They did take up the merchants and hawkers on their offers when they offered something worthwhile, though. There was even an inn that offered to give them free accomodation so that they would be rested for their journey.
This behavior continued all the way through the town. This was the reason for the two mules that weren't carrying anything. By the time they reached the far side of the little town, one was burdened fully with supplies for camping out between cities and the other carried enough food to qualify as a larder. They headed out of the small town and the road ahead opened up before them, the four women carrying on a slow conversation speculating on what they would find in Cairhein, the three men silently gesturing now and then as they kept watch for any threat. It was a mostly pleasant journey, free of any complications.
At least, until they made camp for the first night.
Adeleas Namelle | ahd-eh-LAY-uhs nah-MEHL | Aes Sedai of the Brown Ajah, twin sister of Vandene. She has no Warder. | |||
Aes Sedai | EYE seh-DYE | The female users of the One Power, who tap into Saidar to "weave" magic into spells. | |||
Aiel | aye-EEL | Desert dwelling people considered by most to be savages. | |||
Ajah | ah-ZHAH | The different schools of thought of application of use of the One Power by the Aes Sedai are grouped into Ajahs, who identify themselves by a color, and are represented among other Aes Sedai by wearing a shawl of the color of the Ajah to which one belongs. | |||
Alric | AHL-rihk | The Warder of Siuan Sanche. | |||
Amyrlin (Seat) | AHM-ehr-lihn | The leader of the Aes Sedai, ostensibly the most powerful, either in use of the One Power, or politically (or both). | |||
Angreal | AHN-gree-ahl | Objects which allow those who can channel to draw more of the One Power than they normally could without harming themselves. While all angreal offer this benefit, they do vary considerably in strength (the amount of additional access to the One Power that they provide). All known angreal are aligned for use by either a channeller of Saidar or Saidin, never both. | |||
Aranessa Fovall | ahr-ah-NESS-uh FOH-vawl | An Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah, and apparently an old friend of Moiraine Damodred and Siuan Sanche from Cairhein. | |||
Blue Ajah | BLOO ah-ZHAH | The Blue Ajah pursues causes and justice. They are the second smallest Ajah but have great influence, due to their involvement in world events as well as the large number of Amyrlins raised from the Blue. The Blue Ajah has a long friendship with the Green Ajah, and, though they disagree on certain points, have a decent relationship with the Brown. Also despite its size, the Blue Ajah has the largest eyes-and-ears network of all Ajahs. It is headed by a woman called the First Selector.
All Ajahs have certain traditions, and a number of the Blue’s have been established. These traditions include: never wearing red inside the Tower and wearing all blue on the first of each month. It is assumed that each Ajah has weaves known only to its members, two such weaves of the Blue Ajah’s are: a weave that causes insects to gather and bite as one, and one to cause fear in the viewer. |
|||
Brown Ajah | BROWN ah-ZHAH | The Brown Ajah is devoted to the study and collection of knowledge. Brown sisters can often be found in the Great Library of the White Tower, which they administer, searching for new knowledge and subjects to study. While abroad, Browns frequently carry note and sketchbooks in which they document nearly everything they come across. They often lose touch with the rest of the world, leading most to believe that Browns are somewhat distant and naíve.
Unlike the other Ajahs, the Brown is headed not by a single woman but by a ruling council. The head of this council is known as the Head Librarian. They are also the most knowledgeable Ajah when it comes to the Tower and lore of the One Power, although they are also generally knowledgeable in many subjects. For the past few centuries the Brown Ajah have had some disagreements with the Blue, though they still share a positive working relationship. |
|||
Cairhein | kye-REE-ihn | A country and with a capitol city of the same name in the northeast, bordering on the Aiel Wastes. | |||
(River) Erinin | AIR-ee-nin | The river that runs north to south between Cairhein and the Black Hills, which widens at one point and has the island city of Tar Valon situated within it, with the river continuing on either side (east and west) of the island. | |||
Gray Ajah | GRAY ah-ZHAH | Little is known about the Gray Ajah. They are mediators and ambassadors, and commonly dispense justice through the law. The Gray Ajah has on a great number of occasions stopped wars and other conflicts through their skill in crafting agreements and drafting treaties.
The only other important fact that is truly known about the Gray Ajah is that they are headed by a woman known as the Head Clerk. The Gray Ajah also attempted to hold together the coalition of nations that fought against the Aiel in the Aiel War, but failed. It can be assumed that the Gray Ajah is quite skilled at political maneuvering. |
|||
Green Ajah | GREEN ah-ZHAH | While all Aes Sedai make it their business to combat the Shadow, the Green Ajah specializes in this kind of military and combat activity. In the Trolloc Wars, they were often called the Battle Ajah, as they participated in almost every battle. They are headed by a woman known as the Captain-General.
Greens are rarely without Warders, who provide an obvious benefit to any channeler in a battle zone, but even more than that members of the Green Ajah are well-known for their love of men, making them ideologically opposite to the Reds. The Green is the only Ajah to permit the bonding of more than one Warder, and there is apparently no limit to the number of bonded, though seven is the highest number shown so far. Also, Greens are generally the only Aes Sedai to marry their Warders, and those who do are usually among the few of their Ajah to have only one Warder. They have had a long-standing friendship with the Blues, and generally oppose the Reds. |
|||
Jaem | JAYM | The Warder of Vandene Namelle, if any knows his surname, they aren't mentioning it. Known to favor the quarterstaff as a weapon. | |||
Lan Mandragoran | LAN man-drah-gor-ANN | The Warder of Moiraine Damodred. | |||
Leane Sharif | lee-ANN shuh-REEF | Keeper of the Chronicles under Siuan Sanche as Amyrlin Seat. She has no Warder. | |||
Maradon | muh-RAD-uhn | Capitol of the country of Saldea. | |||
Moiraine Damodred | mwah-RAIN dah-MOH-drehd | An Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah, and one of the major characters of both the series and this story. She has one Warder, Lan Mandragoran. | |||
Ramene Embrall | rah-MEE-neh im-BRAHL | Aes Sedai of the Gray Ajah. She has one Warder, Yorn Harika. | |||
Red Ajah | REHD ah-ZHAH | The Red Ajah is strongly dedicated to preventing another Breaking of the World. This Ajah seeks out and gentles men who can channel Saidin, generally by sensing the residue left by weavings of Saidin. Its leader is known as the Highest.
Reds are rarely raised to the Amyrlin Seat; there have only been two throughout recorded history. The two Reds that became Amyrlin were both deposed, and the only two Amyrlins to have been deposed. Reds have had a long-standing feud with the Blue Ajah. This feud began when Bonwhin (BAWN-win), the last Red to have been made Amyrlin, tried to control Artur Hawkwing (AR-tur HAWK-weeng), leading to an attempted invasion of Tar Valon and a breaking within the Tower itself. Bonwhin was replaced by a Blue sister, Deane Aryman (DEE-ann AH-ree-man), and the two Ajahs have been at odds ever since. |
|||
Sa'angreal | sah-AHN-gree-ahl | Like angreal, but much more powerful. As with angreal, all sa'angreal offer this benefit, but vary considerably in strength (the amount of additional access to the One Power that they provide) and are aligned for use by either a channeller of Saidar or Saidin, never both.
Most angreal and sa'angreal are constructed with a buffer to protect the user from drawing too much of the Power. Angreal are rare; sa'angreal are extremely rare. |
|||
Saidar | sye-DAHR | The feminine half of the One Power. | |||
Saidin | sye-DIHN | The masculine half of the One Power. | |||
Saldea | sahl-DAY-uh | Largest of the northern countries that border the Blight. | |||
Saren | SAIR-ihn | The boy that travelled from Cairhein to Tar Valon with the Message ter'angreal for Moiraine from Aranessa. | |||
Sedai | seh-DYE | Term of respect appended to the name of an Aes Sedai. | |||
Sheriam Bayanar | shuh-RYE-uhm BYE-uh-nahr | Mistress of Novices under Siuan Sanche as Amyrlin Seat. She has no Warder. | |||
Siuan Sanche | suh-WAHN SAN-chay | The Amyrlin Seat of the Aes Sedai. She has one Warder, Alric. | |||
Sylantia Naltorr | sye-LAN-tee-ah NAHL-tor | An Accepted at the White Tower. | |||
Tar Valon | TAR vah-LON | Island city that has within its borders, the White Tower which is the home to the Aes Sedai. There are six bridges which cross the two splits of the River Erinin (Alindrelle (ay-lihn-DRELL) Erinin to the west and Osendrelle(oh-sihn-DRELL) Erinin to the east of the island), three on each side of the island, with the harbors to the north and south ends of the island. Each of these six bridges end in a village that attaches itself to Tar Valon. On the West, from north to south is Manadon (muh-NAD-uhn), Darein (dah-REE-ihn), and Alindaer (ay-lihn-DAYR). On the East, from north to south is Lugagde (LOO-gay-dee), Daghain (dah-GAYN), and Osenrein (oh-sihn-REE-ihn). | |||
Ter'angreal | tuhr-AHN-gree-ahl | Objects that use the One Power to perform specific functions. Some ter'angreal do not require the One Power to be used for their activation. While not as rare as angreal or sa'angreal, the method of making them was believed to be lost for thousands of years, until recently. | |||
Vandene Namelle | van-DEEN nah-MEHL | Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah, twin sister of Adeleas. She has one Warder, Jaem. | |||
White Ajah | WYYT ah-ZHAH | The smallest of the Ajahs, the White Ajah concerns itself with questions of philosophy, truth and logic. Whites consider themselves beyond the social causes that drive most of the other Ajahs and believe that they have no place for the material knowledge that the Browns, and, to a lesser extent, Yellows seek. Whites are often describes as showing incredibly little emotion (coincidentally, and somewhat ironically, white is the colour of mourning in the Wheel of Time).
The White Ajah was the first Ajah to make the connection between the gentling crusade of the Reds and the dwindling numbers of channelers, and suggested that gentled men should breed with Aes Sedai in the hope of producing more channelers. However, one sister suggested that, since the Whites had advocated the idea, they should therefore be the ones to bear these children. The Whites declined. In the past Whites have been friendly with Blues. In general, they opposed Reds, they are headed by a woman known as the First Reasoner. |
|||
Yellow Ajah | YEHL-oh ah-ZHAH | The Yellow Ajah is the only Ajah that is completely dedicated to one of the Talents, namely Healing, which not all sisters are adept with but which is considered a requirement for entering the Yellow Ajah.
The Yellow Ajah has traditionally used a method of healing that utilises only Water, Air, and Spirit. This method draws on strength from the person being healed, which results in the person becoming weak and ravenous, despite being physically healthy. This method of healing also causes a kind of shock; this shock can kill the grievously injured, small children and animals before the Healing has a chance to take effect. The Yellow Ajah is headed by a woman known as the First Weaver. This Ajah also has a relatively small network of Eyes and Ears. The Yellow Ajah uses a bouquet of yellow flowers strung upside down with a yellow ribbon as an emergency signal. A Yellow identifies herself to an agent of the eyes and ears network by saying something containing the words yellow and heal. |
|||
Yorn Harika | YORN haw-REE-kah | The Warder of Ramene Embrall. |
The idea behind these were that they would be pieces of my life. Slightly fictionalized. Some written in first person, some written in third person. Then I ran into a problem... how can I make a Title Page to gather them into a loosely-related collection, when I can only assign one rating? Some are very much adult-only. Some are quite good for stories to share with transkids -- or even kids in general. This was a problem. Then I noticed something else.
Warning to all who peek at this page:
Titles with more than one word, are not General Audiences due to content or emotionally
-- a title that DOES have only one word, is safe for everyone to read.
Grandma was a bigot. She hated me.
So.
Much.
I knew I was a girl from being little. The first time I was caught in a dress, I was staying over at my cousin's house because we were best friends as well as cousins. She knew I was a girl. We were both tomboys, but when we were in her room on nights I was over there, we'd play dress-up. I was in her "best" (read: frilly, lacy, uber-femme) dress with bows in my hair and wearing her mary janes... and her brother (he's the one from the How To End A Nightmare story) walked in. We didn't think anything was wrong and couldn't figure out why he was so quick to say he wouldn't tell -- but I'd owe him. I was 4. When I was 8 was the next time I was caught being me, and after Mom yelled at me for being "sick" for 10 minutes, she just went for a walk. Grandma beat the crap out of me after Mom was out of the house and sent me to bed. That was when I realized I needed to hide who I was, but I wasn't very good at it and even resented it. A year or so later is when the events of { Treehouse } occurred.
My relatives were always on my case about, "Reading too much," and, "Spending all that time writing in a notebook," as if it were a despicable and horrible thing that I liked to read and write. Another oft-repeated one was that I needed to, "Go outside and do something that's actually fun for a change," and they'd take whatever I was reading or writing away from me (sitting quietly in the corner and not being disruptive) and make me go outside... where cousins and neighborhood kids would at the very least make fun of me and usually ended up with me being, "clumsy," again.
Did I mention that my mother's side of the family is huge? This was not the type of family where you rarely see people outside of parents and siblings. Let's see... My grandmother's generation (granduncles and grandaunts) plus their children (my mother's cousins), and the children of them (my 3rd cousins), plus my mother's siblings and their children (my aunts, uncles, cousins), plus the NEXT generation spawned (my 2nd and even more 3rd cousins)... and we were all within a circle about 150 miles in radius. So the big Thanksgiving get together at times could have hundreds of people there. Every family in the Ozarks is big, it seems. An only child is an anomaly.
Things got worse as I got older, I remember being caught wearing one of the bras that my cousin had given me when I was 11 by my Aunt's second husband (who, by the way, was 3 months older than her eldest child -- yes, these are the people who point fingers at me and say that I'm the deviant), who immediately told my mother. Why was he peeking in the bathroom at me when he thought I was trying to bathe, anyway? My mother forcefully ripped it off of me, threw me out the front door into the snow and screamed at the top of her lungs that she wasn't going to raise, "... a fucking faggot!"
It hurts to be rejected by your own mother, and especially for reasons that don't fit. I was no longer allowed to lock the bathroom door when I was using it, not even if I was just using the toilet.
I was never caught again.
Grandma made me bind my breasts when they started to develop. I wasn't allowed to even contemplate that I was a girl. I had a few friends that knew and helped me be me from time to time. Eventually there was a group of about 7 of us, and they would sneak me to the Mall (an hour away) so I could be me. I'd be dressed like any of the other girls and they decided that my name was Hannah. No one thought it would be a good idea to tell any parents that Hannah was anything different than the others.
My mother remarried when I was 14, and that man is my Dad. It was during their Newlywed year that { Football } happened. He and she were both alcoholics but quit cold turkey when Mom got pregnant with my brother. He calmed her down. He didn't like that I was a bit of a sissy either, but dealt with it and made her realize she needed to be more okay with who I am... and though he didn't understand my being a reader and writer, he knew I was smarter than anyone he'd ever met and respected that. He had issues with me, but was more of a Dad to me than my actual father ever was.
After the incident from { How To End A Nightmare } I tried to come out to Mom and Dad. They ... were okay... but just denied it. Nevermind I had breasts and hips, and was always thought of as a girl by most people. And I still wasn't allowed to be me. They made me get a buzz haircut. Still had to bind my (then B-Cup) breasts for school even though Grandma no longer lived with us.
My few friends that were, "In the know," consistently made offers of letting me move in with them, their parents wouldn't mind, and such... but I couldn't do that. I had (have?) a zero self-image. I wasn't worth helping. I was alternately the favourite target of everyone in school (I was even bullied by kids younger than me), and asked (forced) to help with schoolwork. I made my friends promise to not acknowledge me at school, to treat me the same as everyone else so that they wouldn't be dragged down by association. None of them liked it and all refused to do it at first, but they complied when they realized that even smiling at me or saying something nice to me at school brought shunning and retribution from the populace. Have I mentioned this was the very deep rural Ozarks of Southwest Missouri? An aunt had some accidental puppies -- half Chow, half White German Shepherd. I begged Dad and got to have the runt (the one she couldn't sell). I named him { Random } -- I miss him still.
My senior year, they pulled off getting me away from town and letting me be me for Spring Break. Mom and Dad agreed to let me go with my friends and I met them at the school. Of course they weren't to know that it was all really girls... I didn't LIE to them... nicknames can be misleading. We were away to a cabin at Lake of the Ozarks -- 5 hours away -- owned by the parents of one of the girls and I was allowed to be me, Hannah, the whole week. Friday night I changed in the van while they kept lookout, through stopping an hour outside of our hometown for me to switch back on Sunday night 9 days later. We went to the outlet mall, tried on formal dresses for Prom (our Prom was late in the year), and were pretty much... girly girls for the week. I found out later, they all did it for me. None of them had been denied any of these things growing up, but knew I had been and that it was important to me to be allowed to be me. I found out later that the entire group had canceled plans arranged by one set of parents who had offered to let the seven of them use a beachhouse in Florida for the week. They gave that up because of what they wanted for me, "... every girl deserves to have at least one happy memory of high school other than being the smartest kid in the class."
It was an amazing week. I felt accepted. I felt loved. I found out that I was a size 6 but with a corset could squeeze into a size 4. It took them hours to convince me I wouldn't wake up in the shed back home and it wasn't all a dream. We got home Sunday night, and my mother marched me out to the backyard after I got home. She wanted to know where I was, REALLY. She'd looked through my yearbook and realized what had happened due to who signed it and the nicknames attached... and why was I gone with seven GIRLS for a week? I wasn't a gigolo, was I? None of them were pregnant, were they? Then she noticed that my fingernails had bits of polish on them (I didn't do a good enough job removing it). So I again told her my truth and she was actually... kind of accepting. She made the assumption that I was "just" a crossdresser like she'd recently seen on Oprah.
I went in and went to bed.
I woke up at 4am, and made my way to the creek with my trusty straight razor that I used for cutting. I meant to do more than just cutting that night. One of my friends was sitting on the huge old tree we all used. It stuck out from the bank at a right angle and hung over the creek, so was a nice sort of bench where our feet dangled about 8 feet above the water. She had been crying about issues at her home, and I talked to her and comforted her. I didn't realize I hadn't done anything with the straight razor until I got home and in bed. I count that as my second attempt at suicide. A few months later, in July, news came that Grandma was on her deathbed in Oklahoma. She had moved there (only about 150 miles away) when she moved out from with us, so she could have her nieces and nephews there take care of her. The first part of that night... I wrote about in { Memory Excerpts - Diary Incognita, Existing Vilified And Loathed } and I have yet to write about the second part... hopefully, I'll do that soon.
There is much more to my story, but this is all I have for now... after all, this was about me growing up, and I've come to the point in the story where I am nineteen and about to leave home in a couple of months.
The first of (hopefully) many. This will be infrequently updated -- randomly, even. There will not be numbered parts as I don't intend to go in any sort of order. So, when there are enough to add to a "Book Outline" I'll put them in there in vaguely an order that makes sense to me and explain it then.
There was a blog on TopShelf today that pointed at a heartfelt article/eulogy. It made me think again of something that is often at least on the periphery of my mind.
My grandmother's last words to me.
I actually think about this a lot more often than I let on to family, friends, roommates -- even casual acquaintances.
It's not for the reasons you may think, either. Well, let's just get this out in the open, then...
July, 1994
My grandmother was not a well woman. She was 69 years of age. She suffered from a multitude of chronic conditions, including [but not limited to:] Diabetes, Heart Disease, Presenile Dementia, Arthritis, ... Various and Sundry OTHER "old person" disabilities. She grew up in the Dustbowl. Rural Oklahoma of the Roaring Twenties and the Great Depression in the United States in the 1930s. This is part of what shaped her mind and attitudes. When she married a young and handsome Navy Ensign in the late 1930s (at age 15), Reform was coming. Why, simply everyone knew she was going to do well. They quickly began to build their family. He was badly wounded in the Pacific Theater of World War II, leading to complications that ultimately led to his death in the early 1950s. She had one child by another man in that time. My mother in 1953. So, out of 18 children upon his death, 17 were his in every way -- but my mother didn't find out until reading my grandmother's diary after her death in 1994 that her "stepfather" was really her father, instead of just her youngest two siblings' father. My favorite uncle was born only two years after my mother, a year after my grandmother remarried. My favorite aunt, however, was born late in my grandmother's childbearing years after a long hiatus, in 1966 -- a mere 9 years before my entry into the family. Some said it was a miracle a woman in her 40s could even have a child in that day and age.
The scene I am about to lay out for you needs this information to be accurate. She had been under the influence of all of these for the majority of my life to that point. Certainly all the amount of my life I remembered to that point. She did NOT like my natural father (in retrospect, I really can't blame her), but not because she saw him for the ass that he was. No... she didn't like him due to his ethnicity. Grandpa Eugene's wound in WWII had developed in her a surprisingly nasty bigotry toward anyone Asian in descent -- especially the Japanese.
I am a quarter Japanese.
Back to the present. Well. The present of the story. July, 1994.
She had been going, "downhill fast," according to the doctors. There weren't a WHOLE lot of us there late that night. Most of her visitors having gone home once visiting hours had ended. There were about 10 or so of her children, including my mother, and various spouses, a few nieces and nephews, great nieces and great nephews and grandchildren (including me -- the one everyone knew was the grandchild she despised most, and NOT including my younger sister, her obvious FAVORITE grandchild). I was eighteen years old, less than a month from nineteen. I'd say there were maybe 25 people in that waiting room, and all of them were there for my grandmother. Some were crying. Most just looked tired.
Now, mind you, my mother didn't know about most of the bad stuff that happened to me throughout my childhood due to me not telling and all the relatives in the know covering for my grandmother (among others).
It was about an hour after visiting hours were over when the nurse started us going in to talk with her one to one for, "one last time," each.
I wasn't first. I actually didn't expect to be asked for at all, truthfully.
My mother was the last of her children to go in to see her. When the nurse called for me, I was genuinely surprised. I can't say that I was going all tear-y at the prospect of her death, but neither was I hoping for her death. I mean, she was my grandmother.
I stood and dusted myself off from the floor (there weren't enough chairs and everyone in the family had become so accustomed to my role as THE second-class citizen, that I just accepted that I was the one on the floor).
I nodded to the nurse and pointed at the restroom, and she nodded in return.
I went into the Men's Room (ugh), and checked my binding -- no need to antagonize her, this may be my only chance to see her again...
I made sure my chest was flat and then went and peed in a stall. I washed my hands and dried them. I turned and looked in the mirror.
Yep. I wasn't looking too good myself. We'd been at the hospital for about 30 hours at that point and I think I had maybe one meal in that time. And that was McDonald's.
I nodded to the haggard girl in the mirror that was trying so hard to live up to her family's expectations that she be a man and "do right" by the family. So much that she was even majoring in a subject in college that was disinteresting because they all expected it. She was the first on either side of the family to go to college, but her father's side hadn't mattered for nearly a decade, due to her father. She shook her head. Don't think about that now. The woman in the other room was the Matriarch of the family on this side of the Pond. She deserves at least the respect of that, right? If the family wants me to be an Engineer, that is what I'll be. I'm doing horrible enough things by becoming a woman instead of the man they want me to be.
I pushed away from the mirror and stared for a moment more into the mirror.
A soft knock came on the door and I stepped toward it, opened it and out into the hall. With another nod to the nurse, I followed her back into the Intensive Care room that housed the shuddering bulk of my maternal grandmother.
She stopped awkwardly at the door and gestured me to enter. I murmured a thank you of some kind and then pushed through the swinging door.
She lay there calm and peaceful, the lines of her face drawn smooth from lying on her back except the ones etched across her brow from the obvious pain. The smell was that mixture of sweat, old person, medicine and sterility of which hospitals always reek. The fluorescent bulbs in the fixture overhead flickering briefly and the hissing and gentle knocking of the machines that were connected to the most frightening person in my life mingled with the soft and rasping breaths she was taking. Punctuated by the quiet beeping that always sounds way louder than it actually is.
I stood there a moment, then circled around and sat in the chair by the bed and took her hand.
I had sat like that for maybe five minutes when she regained consciousness.
"Hrrmm?"
"It's okay, Grandma, I'm here. Do you need a drink?"
"Urrmt."
I lifted the small cup of iced water with a bendy-straw to her lips and she sucked maybe three drops from it. The effort very nearly made her lose consciousness again. I sat the drink back on the table-on-wheels that every hospital room has handy.
I reached around her gingerly and lay my head against her chest.
"Y'know, Grandma, despite being afraid of you all this time, I'm more afraid FOR you now."
There was no answer, save her labored breathing.
"I, uh, I know you've always been kind of hard on me, but I always figured it was because you wanted me to get out and succeed."
Her eyes were focused and sharp, she was perfectly in her right mind as she listened to my unrehearsed soliloquy.
A few errant tears squeezed from my eyes as I breathed deeply and steeled myself to continue.
"I know, Grandma."
Her face didn't change, but I could tell there was a question there now.
"I know you loved me, just like you loved any of your grandchildren."
There was an urgency on her face as she feebly gestured me close.
I leaned in, but she gestured again, and I leaned a bit further, not wanting to crush her.
She mustered her strength and reached up to grasp my shoulder and pull me right down to her. My ear to her mouth.
Then... she spoke.
I will never, as long as I live forget not only those last few words she directed solely at me, but the impact they have had on me every moment of every day since then.
What she said rocked me in my socks.
Struck me to the very core of my being.
Believe it or not, for the first time in my life, I found myself speechless.
I don't think they were her very last words, as I think there were still a couple of people to go in and speak with her that night before the ominous early-morning announcement by the doctor in the waiting room to the assembled crowd that she was gone.
Of course, that part of the story is for another time.
This is about those eight words that were meant totally and completely just for me.
Amazing how much eight little words changed my outlook so entirely.
Well, one of the words was a contraction... should that be counted as one and a half?
Another was slang, so maybe only half a word in its own right, so the total still falls to eight.
Some of the greatest things in history have been said in very few words.
But these words, well, I don't think they would qualify as among the greatest in history...
"You'll never be my grandchild, you filthy Jap."
Without fail, as long as the weather held out, the boys would go out to the field and play flag football for P.E. I, of course, had to go with them despite my internal protests. Oh, I did well enough and if my team won, I'd whoop and holler like the rest as we went back inside to grab our books and head home. If my team lost, I'd grumble and shuffle back to the lockers to grab books and head home.
I never showered there. I couldn't bear it. That's why I took P.E. seventh period.
I realized early on that I had no clue what was going on. What was a 'down' and why did I want one first? I would run back and forth up and down the field, sort of blending into the tromping group of 20 to 30 boys. There were far too many to have organized teams and the coach was always the quarterback. Why is it called that anyway? I learned the first day not to call him the 'thrower' and to try to remember that.
Then one day it happened. Despite my attempts at becoming invisible, the ball was coming straight for me and I knew that I had to catch it. I mean, I could have 'fumbled' (see? I learned that one!) the ball, but that just went against my grain. I am a juggler... I do not let flying objects hit the ground.
So, it hit me in the chest as my arms tightened around it.
"Run!" shouted my teammates.
"Run!" shouted the coach.
"Run!" shouted my own voice in my head.
"Run!" shouted everyone.
And I stood there.
I panicked.
My shame was now known, or so I thought.
Oh no! They'll know I'm a girl now! They'll... They'll... wait... why is that bad?
So one of the other team ripped the flags from my hips.
"Why didn't you run?" he asked.
"Why didn't you run?" asked my teammates.
"Why didn't you run?" asked the coach.
"Why didn't you run?" asked everyone.
I took a breath and admitted... "I... I didn't know which way to go..."
That's when the taunting started.
Oh, yeah... this is why that's bad.
They didn't know I was a girl at all.
No, in fact, they thought of me as less than a girl... I was a boy that didn't know how to play football.
When I made it back to the locker room, my books were in the shower, and it was running.
I sighed and fished them out. I could dry them at home.
I grabbed my bag and headed toward home.
The three I normally walked home with had a girl scout meeting -- where I wasn't allowed to go -- so I was walking home by myself that day.
I think I was about two blocks from school when the first rock hit me.
I didn't cry.
I wouldn't let them have the satisfaction.
Fists. Shoes. Knees. Elbows. Bookbags, backpacks, duffels, even a brick.
When they got bored, I lie there aching, bleeding... just... sorting my thoughts.
I stood up and dusted myself off and stumbled the block more to the library. I went in the back door and straight to the bathroom so the librarians wouldn't ask what happened. I think it took over half an hour to clean up the blood and dirt. I rearranged my ripped clothes and even ripped them a bit more in strategic places so that my excuse would work.
I exited the bathroom and as I walked past the desk, one of the ladies called out and said I had a book in that I'd requested. I stopped and while I was signing my name, she took in my appearance.
"What happened to you?"
"Fell down the hill behind the bleachers."
"Again? You are the clumsiest boy in town... you should be more careful! Look where you're going."
"I know," I mumbled, and putting my book in my nearly ruined backpack, I tossed a, "thanks," at her and was out the front door with the little shop-bell ringing on my way.
I was almost home when I heard the talking.
"Here he comes. Pansy little shit doesn't know what football is, my brother says."
"Let's show him what it is, eh guys?"
"I dunno, he's just a middle schooler..."
"What's he gonna do, tattle on us? C'mon, it's his word against three of us. Dogpile!"
I heard the snap of my frames and just went numb. I lay there until they all got up and were tired of jeering at me, and wandered off. Then I just waited more.
I picked up the two halves of my glasses, and pocketed the earpiece that had snapped off.
By the time I made it home, my friends had long since gotten home from Girl Scouts and I saw a note that one had called when I sat at the table to do my homework, and could see my younger sister in the living room watching TV.
As soon as I came in the back door, she knew. She knew as soon as she saw me, everything that had happened. I held a finger to my lips to shush her, but then SHE came in.
"About time! You know your mother doesn't buy food and cook it just to throw out when you're not here for dinner."
"Yes, Grandma."
"And you broke your glasses again! Do you think this family is made of money?"
"No, Grandma."
My sister was diligently paying attention only to the television. I dropped my bag next to her and the still soggy books tumbled out through the ripped side of the backpack.
"You just can't take care of anything, can you, moron?"
"No, Grandma."
"Don't you sass me, you little... what did you do to your clothes? Your books, your clothes, your backpack, and the wasted food! Grab 'em!"
"But Grandma..."
"No backtalk!"
I grimaced and bent over and grabbed my ankles. Three swats for the books. Three swats for the clothes. Three swats for dinner. Three swats for the backpack. Three swats for backtalk. Three swats for sass. Three swats for being late and making her worry. SIX swats for the glasses.
I stood up. She glared at me as I looked back just as numbly as the rest of my life had become.
"Why can't you be more like your sister?"
I don't know. Oh, I wanted to, so much!
The floodgates burst. Slowly at first, just a trickle of tears.
"Oh, GAWD! I didn't mean it literally you sissy! Get out of my face!"
With a kick, she sent me into the living room, where my younger sister was smirking at me. Tears flowing freely now, I looked back into the living room at the relief it wasn't her on my sister's face. I sniffled and sobbed and wandered into the room I shared with my sister, at least until she wanted to change.
Her bed was on one side of the room and the pallet of blankets that served as my bed was on the floor on the other side.
I lay down and screamed into my pillow as I let it all out, finally, and slept until I had to leave the room so my sister could play her radio. I went to shower then, and after, I went outside and fell asleep against my favorite tree. I fetched up inside sometime around midnight.
Seriously, folks. Pay fucking attention to the warning tags. This is not a happy shiny story. This is the shit that really happened that led to me having something bottled up inside that I had to write... the stuff that almost drove away Sk8r Grrls fans when I wrote something similar -- a bit of what happened to me -- for Annie in Episode 15. If you just clicked here thinking it couldn't possibly be that bad, here's some disappointing news. It fucking IS that bad. If you ignored the warnings because you didn't see them, this is your warning. If you want to read on, it's at your own damn risk. Complaints about how bad this is will result in my being very... not happy... with you. Last chance to go the fuck away and read something else.
I have always given the benefit of the doubt to my family, family friends, even neighbors and more recently, classmates, roommates, and folks I work with.
"Well," I says to myself, "they just don't know any better. They were raised that way, it's not their fault. They don't mean to be hurtful. It's not like they're trying to attack me or anything."
Bullshit. What the fuck have I been thinking?
My entire life has been a series of my putting up with them, making excuses as to why I 'deserve' to be reviled and hated by people I love. When I was 10 years old -- IN FOURTH GRADE! -- I was molested the first time by a cousin years older than me. That's right, a grown man came to me and told me to be still. I tried to tell him to stop, to make him go away. He told me that grandma told him that I needed to be punished and sissy boys were punished by showing them what it was like to be a girl.
That was believable. Yes, grandma was that evil. But... I found out years later that this was not so. Well, I figured it out before I found out for certain. Joseph did this, raising him to using grandma's evil by proxy. He was an evil unto himself.
For two years, a little less than monthly that worked. When I had a more important secret to keep, I finally realized that whether grandma told him to or not, it was wrong. I tried to put a stop to it. What secret? That's for me to know. I couldn't let him know. I couldn't let anyone know. Anyway. He came to me, again. Like he had so many times before. I told him that it was wrong, and I wasn't going to let him do it anymore.
"Oh, okay. No more visits like this. I promise."
"That's it? Really? All I had to do is tell you to stop?"
"Yes, really. No more. I'll go and have these visits with [sister's name] instead. You don't have to worry anymo --"
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"No, you will NOT touch my sister."
"How do you propose to stop me, girly boy?"
"I know what you're doing."
"Is it working?"
And it continued that way, with the threat of his changing targets to my little sister that kept me under his sway. Three more years. I was scared to DEATH of going away for the summer to a camp that I had worked hard and earned my way into. Only the top academic students in the state got to go. The top 330 kids currently between 10th and 11th grades in the whole state of Missouri. But how could I go and leave her to that monster?
I knew by then I was nothing more than his private whore. I have no illusions about what I was. I gave him sex, even if I didn't willingly participate, and even if I really just lie there and gave him a warm body to use in his way. I fulfilled his sexual appetite, and in return he paid me with leaving my sister alone. With peace of mind that she wouldn't be touched.
Then he went away, in March, two days before the deadline for accepting the camp invite. He wouldn't be back until late September. I accepted the camp invite and finally told my mother and stepfather about the opportunity and that I was going. I told my sister. I told my few friends. I told my teachers. They were all ecstatic, with the exception of my sister. She never really liked me.
The camp would have been wonderful and life-altering, even without the added benefit of avoiding Joseph.
Ah, but homecoming.
Someone I trusted had decided to tell "the family" about my "perverted proclivities" in my absence. While I had been at Missouri Scholars' Academy, she had informed my entire extended family that I was a filthy pervert, "... that likes to dress up in women's clothes." I had now been abandoned to the hell that was family life. I had protected my sister from Joseph, and put up with the abuses that she had visited on me for her entire life... and she had went one step further joining in with the berating and ... just... Mom was trying to pretend that it didn't exist. I think that's when I began to truly hate my sister. I avoided her until I was out of high school and out off to college. Didn't really speak to her again until I was nearly twenty-six, when I finally had to come home for my mother's sake. She came to retrieve me from another state, as I didn't drive at the time... all seemed well, and I had hoped that she had grown up. There's a lot more story there, but that's for another time.
Anyway, when I got home from MSA and was confronted with the fact that my entire extended family thought I was not only a pervert, but one that was going to HAY-ELL! -- I slipped into another depression, but almost no one noticed. I was always "moody" as far as anyone was concerned, and they wanted nothing to do with me. My few friends... I tried to commit suicide in earnest for the first time in late August that year, just before school started, and was 'rescued' by a girlfriend who knew about me and didn't care, and in fact considered me one of her best friends. She would cry about it when I asked about it. I don't remember it. I haven't heard from her in over a decade. Life went on, such as it was, for the Autumn and Winter.
In the Spring, Joseph came back. He came to me one night in early April.
"Go away."
"We've had this discussion."
"Beat it, bright boy."
"Ooh, such spirit."
"Just go away, asshole."
"Maybe I should visit your sister, little man."
"If you so much as looked cross-eyed at [little sister's name], Grandma would kill you where you stood, and we both know it. As much as she hates me, she loves that little brat."
"This changes nothing, and you need to understand that I'm still in charge."
Something in me changed. I snapped.
I spun around and saw him for the first time. He already had his pants off, fer crying out loud! It just made me angrier.
"You want me, Joe?"
"Sh. Not so loud, you'll wake someone."
"I thought they didn't care, big boy?"
I advanced on him, and he took a step back. I reached out and grabbed him by his testicles. I let all of my adrenaline-fueled strength go into the squeeze I began then. He whimpered, and bit his tongue.
"What's the matter, loverboy? Don't like it when the tables are turned?"
I twisted savagely. He bit back a yelp.
"Stop. Please stop, you're hurting me."
I laughed. I would swear it wasn't me. It was like I had become someone else, someone fueled by the need to hurt this sexual predator in the way that he had hurt me so many times before. This would be the fifty-second time.
"That sounds vaguely familiar to something I said to you a long time ago, doesn't it?"
"For God's sake, stop it!"
I cackled. He was actually trying to invoke his deity's name. What a sanctimonious...
He was trying to pry my fingers off of himself by now, and trickles of blood were squeezing through my clenched fingers.
"What's the matter, don't like it rough anymore?"
I pulled viciously and dug my fingernails (what little there was of them) into him. Then I pushed. I had him like puppet strings.
"I'll bet you didn't expect me to actually fight back, did you?"
*whimper*
"Did you?"
*whimper*
"Answer me, dammit!"
"No. No, I didn't. Let me go!"
I reached with my other hand and threw his pants out the window. And I released him. He turned to leave.
"Freeze, fuckhead."
He froze.
"Sit your ass on the bed. You came here for some relief and a show. You're going to get it. You so much as move an ass cheek, and I scream 'Rape!' as loud as I can and we see what [stepfather's name] does to you. Clear?"
*whimper*
"I said... CLEAR?"
He nodded.
"Answer me, you fucking rapist."
"Clear."
I still have no idea what was fueling me. Why I was doing this. I opened the closet, I pulled out a dress -- one of my secret dresses from the back of the closet that my few friends that knew about me had helped me get. It was my dress, but no one in the house had known that, thinking that one of my friends wanted it left there as an emergency change of clothes (what can I say, people will accept really lame excuses to avoid facing the truth, sometimes). I pulled on the clothes I never had the courage to wear except on Hallowe'en. Even if I'd been a 'normal' girl, I wouldn't have had the guts. Fishnet stockings, high-heeled boots. I even put on makeup while he sat there whimpering and whining about his crushed nutsac. I took my time. I was gonna show him the real me. The me that he had never touched, never had his way with. I did my hair, my nails... I even had on the 'corset' that my friends had bought me for my 14th birthday (it was a waist nipper that you could buy in Wal*Mart). I made sure that Hannah was there in the mirror, and you could see the hurt and anger in her eyes that had built up over years and over the past months since returning home from MSA especially. Then I turned back to him.
"This is what you wanted, right?"
"No..."
"Don't fucking LIE to me you --"
"Okay. Yes. You were always a gay little pansy! You were always so girly and you had a hot ass, and you begged to be fucked. I figured it wouldn't make me gay if I used you like you were a bitch."
He realized what he just said and I turned red. All over. Not from shame... the angriest I had ever been at that time. I stepped over to him again, and he turned white. Apparently, I was scary. I silently bemoaned the fact that I didn't have something truly nasty to forcefeed to him. I loomed over him. He forgot to protect his 'assets' though.
I grabbed him again, and a sharp cry escaped from him. I slapped him, hard, with my free hand. I squeezed and twisted until he was prying at my fingers and blubbering like a baby.
"Am I woman enough for you yet?"
"Uhh... it hurts..."
"I could give two shits. Answer the fucking question, cocksucker."
"You... you look good. Pretty. What the hell do you want me to say, you gay little homo?!"
I twisted as hard as I could and his eyes rolled up in his head. I would almost swear I heard a tearing sound. He squeaked.
"Tell me the goddamn truth."
"Okay!"
I eased up a bit.
"You look like a real girl, except the dick between your-- AUUUGHHHH! Sorry! Sorry! With a skirt on, no one would know. Do you really want to be a girl?"
"I am a girl you fuckwit."
"Okay. You're a girl. Like that tennis player. Whatever. I don't care. I'll leave you alone. Honest. Just... let... go!"
"Get out."
"What?"
"You. Out. Now. You're going to get the fuck out of this house. You're never coming back. You're walking out the damn door as soon as I let you go and you're walking away. And you're never touching anyone again. Girl, boy, woman... man. You're living as a celibate hermit or so help me, I'm coming after your sorry ass."
He stared at me.
"Got me?"
That startled him out of his stare. He nodded. I squeezed.
"Augh! Okay! Gotcha!"
I pulled, lifted him to his feet. Well, I wasn't actually lifting him, he stood to follow the part of himself I held. I backed him across the room, out the door, across the living room, and out the front door. I shut and locked it, then went back to the bedroom and reached out the window. I grabbed him by the hair of the head as he was squatting down to pick up his pants.
"I mean it, assmaster. You touch ANYONE... and I'll know."
"Got it."
"Now. GO THE FUCK AWAY!"
He's great at playing frisbee,
He's wonderful at tag.
He loves just being cuddly,
And quiet's not his bag.
He's always game for hide and seek,
Or romping, splashing in the creek.
Spending hours ev'ry day,
To laugh and play and romp.
Always getting her own way,
And greets him wih a 'Glomp!'
The thing at which he is the best,
Is keeping secrets never guessed.
Tells him of her wanted dress,
But he won't tell a one.
All her hopes to him confess,
He listens 'til she's done.
She dreams of how it would be cool,
To wear a skirt -- not pants -- to school.
This is the story of a little girl. She knew she was a girl, but no one seemed to believe her. Well. Her best friend believed her...
Being a girl didn't mean you had to be interested in tea parties and dollies and makeup and dresses. Being a girl was just... being a girl. The best part about being a girl? NOT being a boy. Of course.
So she didn't insist that she was a girl to her family, because they all insisted that she was a boy. She would just smile and nod and go on about her business, ignoring their lack of ability to perceive reality. What can you do but humour those that are unable to think? Poor dears.
When she was only 6 years old, she and her best friend told one of her cousins, just over 2 years older than her. The cousin was able to see the little girl, because she was intelligent and wise and nice enough to listen. So then there were three of them that knew, and they would sometimes play the girly games, even though all three were actually kind of tomboyish.
One night, when all three were sleeping over at the cousin's house, they all played dress-up in the party dresses and church going frocks that the cousin had in the back of her closet and tried not to think about most of the time. The little girl was given a lacy, white dress with a pretty blue sash and matching hair ribbons. It was the most feminine of the dresses, but she happily tried it on anyway. Then, thinking about how silly her family was in their thinking of her she exclaimed, "Look! It has a blue sash! Blue is for boys!"
All three of the girls burst into fits of giggles.
They enjoyed times like this now and then, but the three of them were close friends and swore never to abandon each other. A couple of years later, the cousin and her family had to move away, but they knew she wouldn't be gone forever... so the little girl and her best friend played as before, just with one fewer.
One day, one of the little boys in the neighbourhood talked his granddad into building him the most wonderful of treehouses. It was in 4 different trees, and they were connected by slat and rope bridges. It had gables and paneling and it even had a railing and a porch! It was the greatest treehouse anyone had ever seen! Even the county newspaper showed up to take pictures and sing praises of the wonderfulness of the treehouse.
The little boy and his best friends proudly climbed up the rope ladder and pulled it up after them. Then they stood on the porch and looked at all the children in the neighbourhood, as a king and his advisers surveying the peasants of the land.
They held a long roll of white cotton between them and with a SNAP! they unfurled the banner they had painstakingly drawn the night before.
As it fell open to reveal the cryptic message, the king affixed the little girl (that everyone still insisted was a boy) with a haughty glare and pointed directly at her.
"And this goes for YOU, too!" he proclaimed, as the words became clear, only slightly marred by the rolling:
Every eye in the courtyard was upon her as she failed to react the way they all felt she should. After all, no boy would take such an insult lightly!
She doubled over with laughter.
She laughed so hard her best friend had to pound her on the back until she could breathe again.
The two walked off arm in arm with several of the other girls in the kingdom -- for this neighborhood had truly become such -- and went to see a man about some lumber. The little girl's Gran'fa was a twinkle-eyed Irishman, and he owned the local lumbermill. With but a single pout and a bit of explanation -- including admitting to Gran'fa that she was, indeed, a girl -- they were gifted with all the top quality lumber they wanted, he also gifted his granddaughter all the assistance of all the workers of the mill.
That afternoon, the little girl and her best friend revisited the castle with the flying buttresses and the bridges and the gables... with a tape measure. They were able to get what they came for before the king and his men even understood they were being raided, and then the girls were away. Spirited by their own swift feet and gales of laughter.
By sunset the next day, the castle of the king was overshadowed -- nay... downright put to SHAME -- by the castle of the Two Queens.
The little girl and her best friend unveiled a fortress to end all fortresses, built mostly by the hands of the laborers that toiled in the mill for the little girl's Gran'fa. It stood proudly amongst the leaves, almost organic in the way it twisted about, a spiraling staircase around the trunk of the main tree in such a way that it did the tree no harm.
The Castle of the Two Queens stands today, still... a quarter century later, a full eight inches higher than the King's Castle (which also still stands). It winds about eleven trees and has escape poles, safety chutes, and is all but impenetrable. It has been many colors over the years as it has passed through hands to new Queens, but the one feature that has never changed -- though it has been meticulously replaced with exact copies -- is the flag flying above the main tree, proudly stating:
Monday, 3 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I'm so excited about tomorrow! I get to be me -- the real me, Courtney -- instead of the me that everyone has always seen... Ethan.
Mom and Daddy are still scared, but they're trying not to let me know they are. Doctor Gwen told them that it was time for them to let me to do it. They keep telling me that if I change my mind -- shyeah, right! -- that Daddy'll be there immediately to get me.
What do you think? I mean, you're not the OLD Diary, so don't have all that depressing poetry or anything, but... you know me now, too. Do you think I could ever be happy as Ethan?
On top of all the excitement of being the real me, I'm a FRESHMAN, too!
I set out my uniform already, and Mom showed me how to tie the scarf. Daddy tried to be all goofy and show me, but he just is so NOT good at being a girl.
Well, Daddy's making Special Daddy Waffles in the morning, so I'd better shower and get to bed so I can get up and not miss out!
Courtney
Tuesday, 4 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Today went... well. Nobody recognized me as Ethan, which was good, but I didn't realize how much people avoid talking to the new kid until today. Well, the Principal and Counselor recognized me, but they met me as Ethan and as me last month.
Not a lot of homework, but I'm still just so excited. Things went so. So. NORMAL! I had to stop myself from talking to people as if I already knew them. I swear, if I never have to say, "Hi, I'm Courtney, pleased to meet you!" again, it'll still be too soon!
So, let's see... I have a great schedule, lemme see if I can remember it all for you...
First hour, I'm in Mixed Choir -- I'm an alto, did you know that? -- with Schumway. She's got a goofy grin and likes to laugh, and she made a lot of the girls mad when she moved them around to get a better sound from the whole. Totally didn't even seem to notice their fits. It was great when Lenora Yost sang off-key on purpose. "Miss Yost, private tutoring is available from Madeline Williams, the retired choir mistress, for those that have trouble with the basics. I can send your mother a brochure with the prices if you'd like." Laugh. Out. Loud. Seriously, we were working hard not to giggle at her the rest of class.
Second hour is French with Herman, and it was so confusing, but neat. She refused to speak English, and we had to try to figure out what she meant by gestures and the funny faces she made. I'm supposed to memorize the French Alphabet and how to say each letter tonight.
Third hour is Algebra I with Stoneriver. She's scary, but I think she's just no-nonsense. It's not like Algebra is hard, anyway. She kinda glared at me when I walked up to her desk, until she realized I was turning in the assignment and not coming up to ask a question.
Fourth hour is Drama with Ward, and I'm apprently REALLY lucky to be allowed in. First "Frosh" allowed to take the class in over a decade. She's also one of the two teachers that know my secret, but I'm seriously thinking she would be my favorite, anyway! She's what Daddy would call a "spitfire" type of lady.
Then is lunch period, and I was so lonely! No one sat with me, no one talked to me... but no one picked on me or anything, either!
Fifth hour is Geography & History -- which will be Civics & Debate second semester -- with Wenchley. He's funny. I think I may really enjoy History for once. I mean, I usually hate it, but we went in and he had the blackboard FILLED with all these rebel quotes. A lot of people in history that we're supposed to look up to were rebels, did you know that?
Sixth hour is "Language Arts" -- which is just a silly name for an English class. I mean why can't they just call it English like they did in Middle School? Oh, I have Worthing for that one, and she's the other teacher that knows my secret. I'm not sure if she's... okay... about it or not. She kept looking at me funny all period.
Seventh (and last) hour is my science course. D'oh. Biology I. Which implies I'll have to take Biology II at some point. Bleech. The teacher is a big burly dude that's probably some coach or other named Towers. He was wheezing all through class, like, I thought he was gonna keel over and we'd have to grab one of the cell phones he'd confiscated at the beginning of class and call 9-1-1! But he just carried on, and actually gave us NOTES. On the first day of class!
I mean, I could sign up for Zero Hour if I want, and I could have some before school stuff and after school stuff... but for now I have a good feeling about this year! Whoa. I wrote a LOT today, my page is almost full. Your page. What-EVER.
Okay, Mom is calling me for dinner, and I'm gonna have to tell THEM how today went! Not that I mind! See you tomorrow night!
Courtney
Wednesday, 5 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Sorry I was so late getting to you, tonight. I had a lot to think about after today. For one thing, high school is harder, I actually have to pay attention in class. Hee!
But for another, I think I made a friend today... but I'm not certain. Now, Jennifer Higgleston walked up and sat with me at lunch today. I looked up at her and she just smiled. She held out her hand and said, "Hi! Everyone needs a friend, and new kids have never bitten in the past... I'm Jennifer." Then she grinned at me. Doesn't sound so bad, right? I mean, she's not one of the "Popular" crowd, but she is one of the more popular freshman girls. We talked through lunch and then as I started walking home, she called out to me and waved.
Doesn't sound like a bad thing at all. I know. But(!)
I'm afraid. I mean, what if I'm like her project, and she's getting kudos from the popular kids for "taking pity" on the new girl? Paranoid, right? I mean, it's only the second day, I should make other friends, right? Well, if I'm wrong about her, I'll have thrown away a friend -- which I know from being on the receiving end that it SUCKS. If I'm right... well, it means everyone else will realize it before me and I'll be the laughingstock poor li'l girl that everyone pities. AUGH!
And... there's the fact that I feel a little weird being friendly to one of the girls that were part of the whole GoalPost Incident last year. Yeah, she was only the lookout for her older sister and she was the one complaining about doing it because it wasn't right, but it was her. We've been in the same class-level since Kindergarten, and she didn't even know my name last Spring. I was just another boy that her psycho sister (may she rot in juvie) picked to be a target. Now... can I be the girl who is her friend?
I mean, she's being sweet and I think it's genuine. She did tell the cops it was her sister and her sister's friends. I just don't know. She's pretty, smart, athletic... I wanna be all of that, too, and the best way to get my foot in the door is to have a friend who's already invited, right? But would that be me just using her?
Eep. Less time tonight, dinner's already ready.
Courtney
Thursday, 6 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I think Jennifer is for real. I mean, we talked all during lunch today and she told me that her sister's friends had spread some rumors about her and that they weren't true. She was telling me so that I wouldn't believe them, because I'm new and all... She wouldn't tell me why they did it though.
I know why, but I couldn't let on, now could I?
She just kept saying, "I helped my sister and her friends do something bad to someone that didn't deserve it, and when I told, they decided to make sure I didn't have any friends."
I told her that I'd be her friend, that rumors ruined me in school before. Well. It was true.
She wanted me to come over and see her Dad's horses after school, but I told her I couldn't that I had to do some extra credit in Drama since they let me in there as a Freshman. Okay, so that wasn't EXACTLY true... Mizz Ward wants me in her class every Thursday after school for "deportment" training. She wants to help me make sure I don't move like a boy. She's strict, but nifty. I did my homework while I was there, too, so I didn't have a lot of stuff to bring home.
I asked her why she was helping me so much, and she just said it wasn't important. All mysterious-like. I get the feeling that being a Drama teacher she's gonna be next to impossible to read.
She told me that all the girls in her classes were expected to at least try out for parts in all the plays... and Saturday is the first tryout. She gave me a script with a part highlighted and I think I'm gonna see if Mom and Daddy minds if Jennifer comes over to help me practice tomorrow after school.
Hmm? Oh! It's for the role of "Zaneeta" for The Music Man -- I don't expect to get the part, but I'm gonna give it my best try!
Gotta go, Daddy's taking me and Mom out to Ruby Tuesday's for salad bar!
Courtney
Friday, 7 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I waited until Jennifer went home after dinner before writing this tonight. It was fun, I mean, I only had a small scene to memorize, because it's for the audition. We just sat and talked about what we want from the future, stuff. She's so smart. She's already thinking about which college she wants to go to! I feel like I haven't planned anything! Hee!
She liked my room, especially my posters. She said it was a relief that I'm not totally one of the frills and lace and pink girly-girls. She went nuts over my Mercedes Lackey collection, especially when she noticed that a dozen or so are signed... We talked about the kids at school and she thanked me for not believing rumors and actually talking to her. I thanked her for talking to 'the new kid' in return.
Mom brought us up some Milk & Cookies and Jennifer thought that was so cool, but I know Mom was just checking up on us. Daddy's giving her a ride home and then we're gonna pick out a movie to watch together, just the three of us. Mom and me are already leaning toward the same one, so I'm pretty sure we'll get our way. Okay, so it sounds totally girly, but it's not -- The Princess Bride is one of the most niftiest adventure comedy romance drama fantasy ... it has everything!
I almost told Jennifer my secret. I thought about it though, and told her I had to take a bathroom break, then went and talked to Mom. She said she's glad I have a new friend, but not to be free with my secret. Make certain I can trust her first. I told her I understood and then snaked a couple of Cokes from the fridge and went back upstairs.
Oh! Daddy's home. I'll write tomorrow after the auditions!
Courtney
Saturday, 8 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Bleah! I was horrible! Well. Maybe not horrible, really... but compared to the other girls trying out for anything, I was way outclassed! There was a senior girl there with the most amazing voice, I'm pretty sure she's gonna get to be Ado Annie.
Anyway, just trying out was fun! Mom took me to the audition and afterwards she took me to see Doc Gwen for my appointment. Then... it was only NOON! Wow. So busy and so much stuff done so early on a Saturday.
Doc Gwen was full of questions about my first week of school as me, and told me that even though the school has so many students -- there's around 7500 kids in all four grades -- that I may be recognized as Ethan at some point. Kinda gave me a weird, hurt, feeling to have her refer to me even sideways as Ethan. I told her that. She smiled and patted my hand and told me that she'd have trouble seeing me as anything but a girl and that she just had to bring it up so that I wouldn't be blindsided. She was right, but wow. That just was so weird. I mean, she's called me Courtney since my very first appointment with her! And that was over three whole years ago!
She also asked me if I'd tried to talk to 'Nessa and Hayleigh. I told her no, because I hadn't seen them. She warned me to avoid them for awhile. I mean I never told them my name or anything, but they knew I wanted to be a girl. I guess because they never saw me or anything, Doc Gwen is scared of how they'll react.
Well, Mom and me are going to go and grab take out from the sushi place (I love chopsticks!) and surprise Daddy over at the hobby shop where he's supposed to be doing the "miniature war games" with his friends. I don't know why he's so insistent that it's "miniature war games" and can't just call it what it is. Toy trucks, army men, and toy tanks. Sometimes, they have robots big enough to stomp on the tanks, too.
Ooh, I hope we get extra wasabi, they never give us enough. I like making people's eyes bug out when they see me eating it, and I'm sure the adults at the hobby shop will freak!
I'll see ya tomorrow!
Courtney
Sunday, 9 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I'm exhausted! I didn't really do that much, other than talk, and who'd've thought that would wear you out so much? Grandma and Grandpa Thatcher came by today and things went every which way while Mom and Daddy tried to explain why they have a granddaughter now instead of a dumb ole boy.
I don't think Grandma will come around, and she'll likely be very mean and nasty to me. But Grandpa... I think he'll be fine. Mom was talking about embarrassing parents, but I was really proud of both of them. They stood up for me without yelling and made me really know they loved me.
After they were all calmed down, they wanted my story from me, and I told it. And I told it. And I told it. And I told it. And... I told it.
Eventually, Grandma and Grandpa were getting ready to leave. Grandpa gave me a hug and kissed me on top of the head, like he does the other granddaughters. Grandma... didn't touch me at all.
She shrugged into her coat and squatted down and whispered to me, "Remember, Sport, that your mom is my little girl and that all parents have to make rough decisions for their children, which can sometimes embarrass them."
Then they left.
Embarrass. Parents. Oh! I get it now!
Courtney
Monday, 10 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I hate her!
I hate hate hate hate hate her!
How could she do that? I mean, she's my Grandma!
Okay. I'll calm down. I just -- I can't believe she'd do that! Calling in CPS on her own daughter? I mean, I think the only person more angry right now than me is Mom! Alright. Start at the beginning. I can do that.
Grandma Thatcher called CPS -- that's Child Protective Services -- and told them that Mom and Daddy were FORCING their SON to live as a girl! They showed up at the school to take me away! Principal Soames put a stop to it, and called in Miss Wiggums -- the Counselor lady -- and once the lady from CPS saw the paperwork from Doc Gwen (and Doc Marty, too, he was a nice guy) that explained it all, she apologized to me. That's when Grandma blew her stack. Miss Wiggums went NUTSO! It was awesome, and scary at the same time. I'm just glad she was on my side. By the time it was all over, the police were there and Doc Gwen was there... and now, Grandma Thatcher isn't allowed, "Within 500 yards of the minor, her grandchild known as Courtney Audrey Tackinnison formerly known as Ethan David Ian Tackinnison, until such time as the parents of said minor lift this Restraining Order." There was also something about making life and transition harder for me being part of the restrainment thingy. Oh, and then Doc Gwen was angry, too, and saying something about, "mental anguish," and stuff.
Mom could chew nails. Not the finger kind. The kind you bash through wood with a hammer.
Grandpa was threatening to have her committed when he picked her up from the school. She was threatening to tell the newspaper so that the "decent" people in town would make me be Ethan again.
Just... just... just...
How could she?
Courtney
Tuesday, 11 September, 2007
Dear Diary
We got a new kid today! This means I'm not the new kid anymore!
He's weird.
I mean, weirder than most. I first saw him in my French class. He's not weird-looking or anything, he's just... freaky. Augh. He stares. But not normal kind of staring. Like he's looking through you. Or like he can't see your clothes, just your underwear and finds it... interesting.
Anyway.
Today is also apparently "Patriot Day" and we learned about why in History 5th period. The new freaky-weird kid was there. I think his name is Matthew. He actually knew a lot about it, and it seems to me, it's like Memorial Day, but just for people who died on a certain day because they were in the World Trade Towers or on the planes that hit them, or the plane that hit the Pentagon, or the plane that "fought back" and crashed in Pennsylvania. We did a whole "moment of silence" thing at the start of every period today.
So at lunch Jennifer asked me what the deal with yesterday was. I told her I couldn't talk about it because it was family stuff. She looked like she wanted to ask more, but then nodded and ate her cupcake. I know I didn't, but it felt like lying to her and she's really my only friend right now and it totally didn't feel good at all! I did give a couple of notes to Principal Soames to give to 'Nessa and Hayleigh. Hopefully their moms will bring them over Saturday afternoon for movies and talking. They know what's going on with me, and their moms know but not their dads or anyone else having to do anything with them.
I'm, like, on pins and needles about the whole thing with Grandma Thatcher. She was yelling about talking to the School Board and the newspapers. When I think about it too hard, I get all queasy and have to lie down.
Courtney
Wednesday, 12 September, 2007
Dear Diary
So, Grandma Thatcher's in jail. Grandpa says he's not bailing her out. Oh, and I got a new hairstyle.
Lots happened today, but when I think about it, it wasn't a lot of hard to describe stuff, just... a lot of stuff.
At lunch, some of the Seniors were hassling Matthew (yes, I was right about his name). They were trying to get him over by the courtyard so they could push him down the stairs (there's only 2, but the courtyard is dropped below the outside window of the cafeteria) and make him spill his tray. He just had this weird little smile and didn't really react to them. It was making them so angry. When they did get him over to the stairs, he did this little spin and duck thing and the three bigger boys were all in a heap on the ground at the bottom of the stairs. He didn't even stop to make fun of them or anything, just stared off into space again and walked past them. I told the boys to leave him alone or I'd tell Principal Soames, and they were embarrassed anyway, so they went away. I grabbed Jennifer and we went to sit with Matthew.
He thanked me (even though I really didn't do anything) and introduced himself to us. We talked and he's a nice guy. Funny too. And I think I made a new friend. A weird and freaky friend. But a friend.
He's just so... freaky!
After school, Jennifer invited me over for a sleepover this weekend, and I was totally talking to her and telling her I'd have to ask my 'rents and getting kind of excited that I have a real best friend for the first time, like, ever and didn't notice Grandma coming up to me.
She grabbed me by the arm, and took me to her car and buckled me in. I tried to get out before she got around the car, but she told me to stop and stay still or she'd march me back over to my "little friend" and tell her all about my "perversions" -- which I figured out meant that she'd tell Jennifer that I was really a boy (I'm NOT! I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not!). She took me to a motel and I was actually scared. Of my own GRANDMA! She cut my hair. I'd spent almost 2 years growing it that long, and she cut it! She did it all raggedy, too. She made me take off my skirt and blouse, and when she saw I was wearing a bra (like a 14-year old girl wouldn't be?!?) she started screaming at me. I guess that's how the police found us, was her screaming. The nice detective lady made the boy cops leave while I put my skirt and blouse back on. Then she said she was taking me home but we had to make a stop first. I didn't have a problem with that and she took me to a really nice (and expensive-looking) salon and told one of the ladies there (her name was Kenzy) that I had a "hair emergency" and had her cut it really like awesomely cute. Then Kenzy asked what my school colors were, then put the red and purple streaks in my hair! Detective Martinelli took me home, then. Mom and Daddy were all hugs and kisses, and Mom loved my hair (almost as much as I do!) but Daddy... not so much.
Grandpa Thatcher is taking us to Red Lobster for dinner now, so I gotta find a nice skirt and blouse!
Courtney
Thursday, 13 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Wow. Mizz Ward is confusing. I don't know whether I should be angry at her, thankful to her, or just indifferent. I think I'll go with happy-that-she's-on-my-side, and lump the rest.
Okay. Today was my second "Deportment" day with Mizz Ward. She started off by telling me how disappointed she was in my audition on Saturday. Ugh. I mean, she knew that I hadn't read the entire play! How could she know that?
Then she had me do the walking in 3-inch heels with a book on my head thing for, like, half an hour. If I dropped the book, she'd cluck her tongue and look so disappointed. She kept saying, "Posture, dear, is a sign of feminine grace." My feet still hurt. I mean, 3 inches is a significant portion of the length of my teensy feet.
After that, she gave me a script for the next auditions, during Thanksgiving weekend. It's a musical, but I've never heard of it. It's called, "Into the Woods," and she wants me to audition for the part of Red Riding Hood. I looked through it already, and... I really like it. It's confusing, but funny and sad and adventurous -- like the Princess Bride it has everything!
We apparently do a musical every season, and that's in addition to the Showcases with all the other Drama and Theatre stuff. She gave me a list of what we're going to be doing in drama for the rest of the year and all next year:
-- and she wants me to try out for a part in all of 'em!
The last thing she did, though, today was extra cool. For an adult. She handed me a schedule and told me to give it to Mom. I looked at it and she had enrolled me in ballet and gymnastics, both! I thought it was cool, but Mom and Daddy had to talk about it. They were a little angry that Mizz Ward paid for the classes for me, but thought it was a good idea. They called her just before Mom started cooking dinner to try to make her let them pay her back. From what I picked up, she wouldn't let 'em.
Oop. There's Mom, hollering that dinner's ready, gotta go!
Oh, yeah... Mom and Daddy said no go on the sleepover this weekend. *sigh*
Courtney
Friday, 14 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Okay. I have a nemesis.
I guess that means I fit in just fine, now. Her name is Lisa and she started a food fight today at lunch. I hid under my table with Jennifer and Matthew. When they caught her, she told the teacher that broke it up that her name was Courtney Tackinnison! So, seventh period they announced the detentions for the day and my name was on the list. I tried to tell Mister Towers that it wasn't me, but he didn't want to hear it. So I reported for Detention. I was going to explain to the monitor, but she just shushed me and told me, "No talking in Detention."
Luckily, Miss Wiggums came to check why my name was on the detention list. It took about a half-hour, but they figured out that I hadn't been the food-fighter when they called the teacher that gave the Detention and she came to the room.
Grr.
Rrr.
Rrr.
Anyway. Gotta go play some video games with Daddy, helps me to calm down if I whip his buttocks at Tekken Tag.
Courtney
Saturday, 15 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I had my first ballet class AND my first gymnastics class today.
I.
Am.
So.
Freaking.
Sore.
Seriously. It hurts to write. It hurts to walk. It hurts to lie down. It hurts to breathe. You'd think a mother would be worried if her daughter was dying. Not mine. Nope. She just laughed and said that I'd get used to it! I have a sadist for a mother!
Daddy at least had the decency to pretend to be sorry I was sore. He almost hid his smirk. And I almost didn't hear him giggle when I left the room.
Who needs parents, anyway?
Courtney
Sunday, 16 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Woke up early today, when there was a knocking on my window.
I looked outside and didn't see anyone, so went back to bed. A few minutes later, there was a knocking again. I jumped out of bed and ran over to the window. Nothing. Again.
Okay, I was starting to get freaked out. I laid back down and stared at the window. After a bit, there was a knocking again, and I saw something hit the window. When I looked again, I saw three acorns in the planter-box under my window. I looked up in the tree and there were some little critters pulling acorns off the trees. Squirrels. I had been scared out of my wits by squirrels. I laughed and went to take my shower.
I made breakfast for Mom and Daddy, and was gonna serve them breakfast in bed just because, but they came into the kitchen before the coffee was ready and just as the toast popped up. They appreciated it anyway, and dug in while I ran out and got the Sunday paper... for Daddy. Yeah. For Daddy. My wanting the comics without having to wait until he was done with the whole thing had nothing to do with it. At all. Nope. Hee!
We finished breakfast, rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher, and then Daddy announced we were going to spend the day at the campgrounds. He said it was too beautiful a day to waste watching TV, and the campgrounds at the State Park would be closing in a week or so.
It was all-around a relaxing day with nothing big really happening. For a change. Thank goodness.
Oh... I'm still sore.
Courtney
Monday, 17 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Jennifer has a cast!
A bright Orange cast on her left arm. She let me sign it.
Her brother was being stupid and accidentally smacked her with one of those aluminum baseball bats. Lots of trouble. He got his car keys taken away for two weeks except for to and from work... they're making him ride the bus to school, and their mom picks him up after school -- in front of the elementary school!
She says it doesn't really hurt unless she tries to move it inside the cast, though.
Lisa came over to our table at lunch and told me I should have just taken the Detention, because now she has to destroy me.
Destroy me? What kind of threat is THAT supposed to be? I think she's been watching way too many James Bond movies without realizing that the villains always LOST.
So, I have Gymnastics on Monday, Wednesday, Friday evenings and Saturday afternoon. Ballet on Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday evenings. And Mom thinks I should "get involved" with stuff at school, too.
What is she thinking?
Courtney
Tuesday, 18 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Today was a day I've kinda been waiting for and dreading at the same time. While I was waiting on Mom to pick me up to go to Ballet, 'Nessa walked up and sat down next to me. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't.
She asked me what she was supposed to call me now. Yep. She knew it was me. We talked until Mom got there, and she kinda figured out what was going on so offered 'Nessa a ride home and we talked until we dropped her off. She's supposed to call me this weekend.
Guess what else I learned today?
It's something that anyone can learn, given enough time and a sadistic enough ballet instructor.
It doesn't matter if you know what muscle you're stretching out, because they'll all hurt afterward. Lots.
Okay, so tell me again how ritualized sharing of pain while wearing leotards and leg warmers equals grace and beauty of movement?
Augh!
Courtney
Wednesday, 19 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Okay. They were right. Alright? I admitted it, now. I'm not nearly as sore and it actually kind of felt good to work out at Gymnastics today.
The lady in charge (she doesn't wanna be called Miss Thompson, and I just can't call an adult, 'Callie,' so she's the lady in charge) has me working with other kids in tumbling. She says I'm making fast progress, but I just feel like I'm falling down a lot of the time. She says that next week, we'll move on to something to alternate lessons with.
Nothing overly exciting at school today. Just some dirty looks from Lisa, and Matthew stood on his chair in the lunchroom and recited Hamlet's soliloquy. Just, stopped mid-sentence, stood up and spouted, then sat down and resumed eating like nothing happened. Yeah, he's my friend now... but he's still weird. Mrs. Worthing has decided that we're to do a reading of the Canterbury Tales as a class at the Fall Showcase in November. That's about it.
The excitement was on the way home from Gymnastics. Daddy picked me up and we went for ice cream at A&W... the cream soda float is soooo awesome!
We ordered and were sitting there happily slurping and chatting, and this fat guy walked up and punched Daddy! Rather than explode (like -I- would have!), Daddy just wiped the blood off the corner of his mouth and looked at the guy, and said, "I think you have the wrong man, sir."
The guy laughed and cocked back his fist to punch Daddy again, and... and...
I didn't even see Daddy MOVE.
He had the guy in a headlock. The police arrived soon after and Daddy talked to them, they had me describe what happened, and then they talked to Daddy and the guy each privately. Then we came home, like nothing happened.
Parents can be way more entertaining when they're all mysterious.
Courtney
Thursday, 20 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I went to talk to Miss Wiggums instead of first period today.
I was scared. I opened my locker and there was a box with a red bow on it. Not so scary-sounding, right? How'd it get in my locker? Scarier? Okay, then.
When I opened it, it had a picture of me sitting at lunch with Jennifer and Matthew, and then a picture of Ethan cut out of the yearbook from my old Middle School (or Junior High, some call it).
So. Someone knows. And it's someone that can get into my locker.
I tried to go to class, but it felt like everyone was staring at me. I went into the girls' room and caught my breath... then I went to go find Miss Wiggums. I spent all of first period there.
She called Principal Soames and had my locker looked at and stuff. I felt a lot better and didn't think I was going to have a panic attack, so I went ahead to second period after that.
At lunch, I went and found 'Nessa, and she assured me that not only didn't she do it, but she hadn't told anyone, either.
I mean... 'Nessa was one of my only two friends when I was Ethan. I want to believe her.
I calmed down a lot when nothing else happened during the day. Well. Sortof.
When I got to ballet class tonight, the older student that was teaching us "newbies" was Simone. Yeah. The girl that used to babysit me up until this past summer. And I think she recognized me, but she just cocked her head at me and smiled, and went on with the lesson. She introduced herself to me as if we'd never met, afterwards, but there was a note from her in my bag in the lockers.
It basically was just telling me that she thought I was cute as a girl and she'd be over to see me and my parents tomorrow night.
As the great green one would say...
"Sheesh."
Courtney
Friday, 21 September, 2007
Dear Diary
There was another note in my locker this morning. I stressed over it, but nothing happened. It was in the same handwriting and just said, "Have a great weekend... Courtney."
I mean, that's creepy, right?
I think it's creepy.
But, I went to Gymnastics and I didn't fall down as much and I'm starting to enjoy the tumbling. The lady in charge says she wants to start me on the vault tomorrow. I can't wait! Some of those girls jump so HIGH!
So, Simone was sitting in her car when we pulled up, and Mom waved to her and told her to come inside, and asked if she'd had dinner.
She ate with us and she was really nice. She said she always thought there was something 'special' about Ethan, and now she knew it was because 'he' was lucky enough to be a girl! Mom and me laughed at that... Daddy pretended to be offended. All in all, it was a good night. She told me not to make plans for Sunday, because she has a surprise for me!
Should I be worried?
Courtney
Saturday, 22 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I want to die.
No, seriously.
This much pain is inhumane to expect me to live through.
I thought I was USED to the classes now... I mean, I was fine after Gymnastics, and during Ballet I thought I could fly I was so limber and loosened up!
Alright, I learned the basics of the Vault -- there's a lot more to it than just bouncing on the thing and jumping up over the other thing -- and did some more tumbling. There was a girl there from some farm that's homeschooled who came in to practice on the uneven bars... just... whoa. She was awesome.
Since Ballet and Gymnastics are in the same building, and Ballet is right after 'Nastics, I just trotted up the stairs and into the studio and stretched and limbered with the other early arrivals, and went into the stuff we were being taught by Simone. She's good at translating what Miss Gundarsdottir wants us to do to where we newbies understand. It was a lot of fun and we're all really getting to trust each other more and more.
So, I shower and change back into street clothes. I go downstairs and out to wait in front of the building for Mom. It was like, five minutes tops that I sat there doing nothing.
Mom pulled up and waved.
I stood up, waved, and screamed.
It hurts WORSE than last week! How is that even possible?!?
I dropped my bag and sat back down and it hurt so much!
So I'm being sore and Mom is laughing at me again, and when we get home Daddy hugs me (ow!) and tells me that I'll be okay and that stretching would help -- and it would be a help if I stretched after my classes like I do before.
Now they tell me.
Daddy rubbed my back.
And my legs.
And my arms.
And my shoulders.
And my neck.
I have a kickin' Daddy. He said he'd figure out something semi-athletic to do with me on Sundays so that I don't "unlimber" (izzat even a word?) over the one day I don't have classes.
Okay. In the floor in the splits and bending over toward my left foot when the phone rings. Daddy answers it and brings it over to me, and well... 'Nessa and her mom were calling to see if they could come by to talk. I talked a minute or three and then handed the phone off to Mom and about 20 minutes later, I was entertaining my first guest while 'Nessa's mom and Mom and Daddy were talking in the living room. Later, they called me in there with 'Nessa so that I could answer some questions for her mom and help them both understand.
I think it went well, 'Nessa gave me a hug before she left and whispered to me that I was more fun as Courtney than as Ethan. Yay! She gave me her phone number and asked if she could sit with me and my friends at lunch at school. I told her well, Duh, the silly girl. She's ONE of my friends, so of course she could! Her mom grinned at us and then told me she thought it was strange that she didn't realize I was a girl before. Oh, she's a therapy-doctor... so I guess she figured that she should've been able to catch on?
So, like, keeping track of things puts me at twice as many friends less than two weeks as Courtney than I had my whole life as Ethan.
Whoa, another full-pager tonight!
Courtney
Monday, 24 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Ugh. Mondays are hard enough to endure without it being immediately after a day spent being sick.
I woke up yesterday and had to run to the bathroom to puke. Just. Gross. I heaved until I couldn't and by then, I was crying and Mom was there holding my hair back and telling me it would be okay, just to go back to bed.
I rinsed my mouth out and stumbled back to bed, still crying.
I guess I fell asleep again, but when I woke up, it was just in time for Daddy to bring me a bowl of Mom's homemade chicken soup.
I hate being sick. The soup is great, but being sick is just horrible. So, I tried to read some manga that I hadn't gotten around to, but just couldn't seem to enjoy it, and fell back asleep.
The next time I woke up, it was dark outside already and Mom was just coming into my room to check on me. She sat on the side of the bed and said I was her, "poor little girl," and kissed my forehead to check and see if I still had a fever.
I did.
I didn't want to be alone and so asked her to sit with me for a bit, until I fell asleep again and she brushed my hair off of my face. She just held my hand and whispered the lullaby she used to sing to me when I was tiny.
When I woke up again, I was all sweaty, but felt better. I went and got some clean sheets, and a clean nightgown, then took a shower and went back to bed (after I changed it).
So I went to school -- why is it I never get sick on school days?!?
And then Gymnastics, which wasn't so bad but I was still a bit sore and got Daddy to rub my legs and shoulders again for me.
I guess I missed whatever Simone's surprise was.
Courtney
Tuesday, 25 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Matthew's a goober. He's funny, and nice, but he's a goober!
Okay. So. Lunchtime. In high school. This means that the entire peer group is "conveniently" gathered in one place.
Groan.
So, 10 minutes into lunch, when you can GUARANTEE that everyone is there, he stands up.
He steps around the table to me.
He puts out his hand and obviously wants me to take his hand.
I was wondering what he was doing, so I did.
Big.
Mistake.
He pulled me to my feet, and then puts his hands at my waist and hoists me up onto the table!
Then he turns to look at EVERYONE because this had garnered no small amount of attention.
Then he says, "Ladies and gentlemen, young masters and misses, a re-enactment of the balcony scene from the Bard's Romeo & Juliet presented by the only member of the local Shakespearean club and his lovely volunteer."
Then the goober knelt down and did just that.
I have never been so embarassed in my life!
To make it worse, when he finished, the entire cafeteria -- even the teachers applauded!
Then he just lifts me down and goes back to eating his spaghetti-o's and ignoring everyone else. Like nothing happened.
He's such a GOOBER!!!
Courtney
Wednesday, 26 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Okay, in case I didn't make it clear yesterday...
Matthew Podnick is a GOOBER!
Okay, so he's nice, and sweet, and my friend... and... well, okay, fine, he's kinda cute.
He's still a goober.
Everyone at Gymnastics was talking about my "performance" yesterday, just like Ballet last night. Even Simone was smirking at me last night!
Well, in other news...
My locker-scary person is still leaving notes... and... things.
Today there was a vase with a rose in it and a card that said, "You make a lovely Juliet, Courtney."
I took it and the rose (and the vase) to the Principal's office and told Principal Soames.
It's making me flippin' paranoid!
I mean, really!
I'm a girl that was born a boy and I'm okay with that, because I get to be me, but... this "Locker Stalker" business has me a nervous wreck! I can't even talk to my friends about it. Hayleigh has started joining us for lunch, but she and 'Nessa I never really see before or after school. We all need to get together on a weekend or something. Except Matthew.
Okay, maybe Matthew, too.
Um.
He does have a cute grin.
What am I saying!?!?
He's a GOOBER! Goobergoobergoober!
Courtney
Thursday, 27 September, 2007
Dear Diary
Ack. Simone told Mom about the lunchroom balcony! Mom was picking me up and Simone waved at her, so naturally, Mom went to go say, "Hullo," or something.
I just talked with some of the other new girls, and then Mom and me headed home.
In the car, she asked me who Matthew was! I got real quiet, so she knew there was something and then I couldn't make something up, she'd know.
So, I told her about his first day there and that I had decided to be friends with the new kid that was so weird because it was the right thing to do. Then she asked me if he was cute.
It was a trap!
I totally answered without thinking.
Then I realized what I'd said and looked over at her and she had this, "AHA!" look on her face. I have never been so embarassed in my life. Um. Since Tuesday, anyway.
Then to make it worse, Mom told DADDY that I had a boyfriend! He's so not my boyfriend! Well, he's a boy, and he's my friend but he's not my BOYFRIEND for the love of Pete! Daddy got all frowny and started grillng me about Matthew. Did he come from a good family. Is he a gentleman. Who are his parents. Does he have any siblings. I mean, how am I supposed to know all that stuff? I halfway expected him to ask me what the average air speed velocity of an unladen swallow was! He kept questioning me until I figured out why.
He believed that Matthew was my boyfriend. I know I must have glowed in the dark, I was blushing so much, but I just went upstairs to do my homework. Which is still sitting on my bed. I'll do it after dinner.
Ooop. Speaking of which, Mom's calling me down to eat.
Courtney
Friday, 28 September, 2007
Dear Diary
The Locker Stalker left a note. A scary note.
It basically said that he -- or she, I guess -- was watching me. There was flowery wording and stuff to try to make it sound like the intentions were good, like, "... admiring you from afar," and stuff. But it's scary. I took the note to the office and talked a bit with Principal Soames.
They're gonna put a hidden camera in the hall over the weekend to try to catch the Locker Stalker.
I don't really know what else to write about today, other than that in Gymnastics I was told that I could start to learn the uneven bars tomorrow.
The whole Locker Stalker thing kinda overshadowed whatever else happened.
Yeah, drawing a blank.
I'll write more tomorrow, hopefully. I think I'm gonna go downstairs and watch TV until Daddy gets home and Mom has dinner ready.
Courtney
Saturday, 29 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I don't think I've ever had the breath knocked out of me before, let alone lots of times in one day.
I skipped out on Ballet tonight because Gymnastics this afternoon totally wasted me.
So I was told that I could start learning what I needed to do for uneven bars. Ugh. The other girls that already do it make it look so effortless.
I need to seriously work on my grips and arm strength.
I called 'Nessa after we got home and she said that she had a cunning plan. Like that Blackadder show that Daddy watches. Her dad must be a fan, too. Or her mom. Or something.
Anyway, I'm all achy, but in a good way. I'm gonna go take a bubble bath and then take a nap until dinnertime. Mom said she'd try to talk Daddy into taking us out to a movie after dinner tonight.
Yay!
Like he's gonna say no. He never tells Mom no on anything, and they both know it.
Courtney
Sunday, 30 September, 2007
Dear Diary
I know it sounds corny, but...
I get to have my first-ever slumber party next weekend! Mom said I could invite two of the girls over -- out of 'Nessa, Hayleigh, and Jennifer. 'Nessa and Hayleigh and their parents already know my secret so that's not a big deal, but Jenn doesn't, so she's gonna be the one left out, even though she's my best friend.
Do I just not mention the party in front of her and hope she doesn't find out? Or do I make something up? Or just tell her that it's Mom's fault because she already knows 'Nessa and Hayleigh's parents?
This is not a good feeling.
I mean, I wanted to be happy and stuff, but it's not fair to Jenn.
In other news, Auntie Rhoda is on her way here. She'll get here right before dinner and we'll all go out to someplace. I'm really nervous. She's my favorite Aunt, but she's never met me as Courtney yet.
I mean, I wish I had a magic wand or something that would make me have always been Courtney. Then I wouldn't be nervous about Auntie Rhoda and I wouldn't be upset about Jenn because I'd be able to invite her over.
Why's things gotta be so complicated? That old Canadian chick... well, not OLD old, but she's gotta be like 26 or 27... that sings that song called Complicated has it right.
Why is it such a big deal to everyone else what's under my skirt? Or shorts. Or jeans. Or whatever.
I mean, I'm a girl, I know I've always been a girl, my parents are helping me see the right doctors so I can be the girl I'm supposed to be, why does everyone else think that not only is it their business, but that they have the right to be offended at me over it and hate me for being who I am?
I just heard a car door... Oh! Auntie Rhoda's here! I'll write again tomorrow!
Courtney
Monday, 1 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Today was a day just jam-packed with surprises.
Argh!
Okay. First off, Auntie Rhoda seems to think that because I'm a girl now, I'm suddenly 6 years old again and the girliest girly girl in existence. She brought me a Betsy Wetsy and Barbie Hair Fashion head.
Seriously.
I didn't wanna seem ungrateful, but sometime around bedtime, I just couldn't take the baby-talk anymore and snapped at her. I was sorry, like, immediately... and I ended up taking her and dragging her out to the back porch for a talk. I think everything's okay now, though. She showed up after school to take me to Gymnastics. She was clapping and laughing and having fun as I practiced.
Okay, nothing new from the Locker Stalker today, but at lunch... well, I brought up the subject of the slumber party. That was rough. After all was said and done, I used the my-parents-know-their-parents dodge.
Then Jennifer asked me if this was because of my secret.
I tried to pretend I didn't know what she was talking about and she whispered it in my ear. "I know you used to be Ethan."
If she hadn't smiled at me so understanding and held my hand after she told me I would have panicked. I still started to.
I asked Matthew, 'Nessa, and Hayleigh to excuse us and dragged her out to one of the tables where no one was nearby and asked her to explain.
She said she'd figured it out the second day we'd had lunch together when I kept asking questions about her sister. She hadn't called me on it because obviously I wanted to be who I really am now, and besides... friends don't tell each others' secrets even if they're not supposed to know them. She said she hadn't totally felt like it was confirmed until 'Nessa and Hayleigh -- Ethan's only two friends -- started eating lunch with us and they totally acted like they'd known me forever.
D'oh. So, I talked to Mom after Gymnastics and told her what had happened.
All three of them get to come over for the slumber party!
I'm glad Jennifer knew, really... I felt horrible that I couldn't invite her along.
I called her after dinner and before homework and told her the good news... and then we just talked for awhile.
Mom had a great idea, and I passed it along to Jennifer, she's gonna tell me tomorrow if her parents went for it. She's gonna come over on Friday and sleep over and stay for the slumber party on Saturday night. I told her we could all talk -- me and my parents and her -- and we'd answer all the questions she wanted on Friday night.
Now, I'm all kinds of excited about this weekend!
Oh, and Matthew is a Goober.
Courtney
Tuesday, 2 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Miss Wiggums called me out of 7th period today, and when I got to her office, Principal Soames was there, too.
I didn't know what was wrong, so I was just quiet until they told me. Principal Soames held out a box to me and gestured that I should open it. I did and it was a box of caramels covered in chocolate.
Apparently, it was the latest 'gift' from the Locker Stalker along with a note that professed never to tell my secret, and that I would be the object of admiration only, in no danger.
Say it with me...
Creepy.
So I asked if the camera caught anyone. The adults nodded and then Miss Wiggums asked me if I wanted them to just stop the Locker Stalker, or if I wanted the person responsible to get in trouble.
I said I didn't know.
They said they would let me see the video first, and then I could have all day to decide and tell them tomorrow.
That sounded fair to me, so I agreed.
The video was focused right on my locker. You could see it so well, you could read the number on it. There was me, getting out my depleted-uranium-heavy Biology book. A few moments later, the culprit walked up to my locker, looked both ways, opened it and put in the candy and the note. Then she closed the door and walked away.
It was Lisa.
So, to say I was shocked would be understating things. This was the girl that promised, "to destroy," me! If she had intell on me like this, why didn't she use it?
I told the adult-types I had to think about it and went back to class. Ballet class was ballet-ful, and dinner was dinner-ful. Now, my homework's done and the choco-mels are on the corner of my desk, making me all full of questions.
Ugh.
I think I'm going to bed early.
Courtney
Wednesday, 3 October, 2007
Dear Diary
I don't get it.
I mean, Lisa hates me.
She swears to destroy me.
Then she finds out the biggest secret I have in the world that would pretty much guarantee my getting the popsicle sticks kicked out of me on a daily basis if anyone ever found out.
And she doesn't use that info against me.
In fact... wait... she was sending me...
Was she sending me LOVE LETTERS?!?
I kinda stumbled through classes this morning.
At lunch, I have no idea what alien took over my body (probably one of the grays), but I just walked away from the table and went up to Lisa when I saw her. My friends were following and I could hear them whispering about a fight. I told Lisa we needed a private chat and I think she knew I had figured out it was her with my locker because she just shut up and followed me. When we were reasonably secluded, I asked her why.
She said that once she found out about me, she couldn't bring herself to do anything bad to me because I was brave.
Me.
I laughed and told her I was the girl who would scream if shown a PICTURE of a snake. She looked around all furtive (good word, that one) and said she meant the whole courage to be Courtney and not Ethan thing. She said she looked up all kinds of stuff about gender dysphoria on the internet and decided I was nifty and worth the whole admiration thing and I was smart and pretty and athletic and graceful and what exactly were we fighting about in the first place, anyway?
Then I asked her about the love letters.
She laughed and blushed, and said that now I knew her secret... she was a lesbian.
She wanted to know if I was, too, maybe... and I told her I didn't know, then went back to lunch after telling her I'd think about it and let her know when I figured it out.
I'd really like to write about how Gymnastics class went tonight, but I really don't know. I was there, I came home and ate dinner. I couldn't tell you what happened in class or what we even HAD for dinner.
Courtney
Thursday, 4 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Ah, Thursday.
Y'know... I don't think Mizz Ward is gonna ease up on these deportment classes at all.
All year.
She's awesome and all, but she's hard on me!
So, today at lunch... the entire student body heard Lisa's threat of destroying me when she made it. So when she tentatively pulled up a chair and a tray and joined us today (after I had informed the other 4 that she was gonna) I swear you coulda heard a gnat fart.
We all agreed (before she got there) that she deserved a chance to make up for the way she'd acted. Matthew was confused as to how she'd earned the chance, but was satisfied (for now) with the whole, "It's a girl thing," explanation.
Oh, and while I'm talking about him... he's a goober.
Simone embarrassed me at Ballet tonight. She made the announcement that I was the only novice ready for Toe Shoes already, totally pointing me out as the chick to hate.
Mom told her about my slumber party on Saturday, and she asked me if after my friends went home on Sunday if I wanted to give another try to her surprise. I told her that depended on the surprise, but Mom overrode me. She told Simone I'd be, "ecstatic," to do so.
Well. I just hope it's a good surprise.
Courtney
Friday, 5 October, 2007
Dear Diary
So. Everything is going happy and shiny and yay, right?
Shyeah. Right.
And Kermit never had a single problem running the Muppet Theatre.
Some GOOBER (I'll kill him) nominated me for the Freshman representative and candidate for Homecoming Queen. Nominees were announced after lunch and when sixth period came around, Mrs. Worthing sent the class to the library for an extra study period except for me. No, I couldn't go and enjoy the accoutrements of the library. I got an hour long lecture on how "risky" it would be for me, and that I would be depriving a "real" girl of the opportunity and how she expected me to decline the nomination Monday morning.
I mean, I don't really want it, but that old bat just told me to my face that I wasn't a girl! Why is it she gets to know about me, again?
She just kept on and on and on and on... I couldn't help it, I was crying by the end of the hour. When the bell rang I just scooped up my stuff and went on to Biology and ignored all of Mr. Towers' attempts to find out what was wrong with me. There was Gymnastics after school and dinner after that, but since the talk with Mrs. Worthing, I just feel... empty inside.
More tomorrow, someone's knocking on my door and I think it's Mom.
Courtney
Saturday, 6 October, 2007
Dear Diary
I talked to Mom about it and we're gonna talk more about the Homecoming thing tomorrow.
Today, I'm not gonna let things spoil my mood.
Jennifer and 'Nessa are downstairs deciding what kind of juice we're gonna want for our late-night snacks tonight. Hayleigh will be here in a bit.
So, we've got a pile of DVDs of pretty much any kind you can imagine, a stack of old board games, a stack of normal board games, enough snacks to satisfy the appetites of eleven hot dog eating champions, CDs and parents willing to let us stay up as late as we want to stay up.
I'd say that was a successfully planned event, wouldn't you?
So, I figure...
There'll be at least a bit when the three of them will question me.
About Ethan.
I mean, I don't mind answering questions, but I don't want them to think of me as Ethan-disguised-as-Courtney, or even Courtney-who-used-to-be-Ethan. And I'm not sure if my explanations will help that.
But Jennifer is my best friend. And 'Nessa and Hayleigh are my oldest friends -- since they were my only friends from... before.
I guess I shouldn't be stressing so much about talking with them.
Daddy's gonna take Mom out to dinner and leave us to our subs (there's an awesome deli across town that makes party subs!). Though he did say something about being surprised that none of the four of us were vegetarians yet.
Yet?
Hrm.
I'll have to ask the others about that when I go back downstairs.
Anyway, I just ran up to put an entry in before things get hoppin'!
Courtney
Sunday, 7 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Friday night...
I didn't really talk much about things on Friday, but I was kinda upset.
Jennifer and me and Mom and Daddy all had a long talk.
Mom and Daddy mostly wanted to make sure she understood how big of a secret it was to not tell about me.
Sheesh.
I mean, she's kept the secret so far, did they think she'd just go blabbing about it now?
So, yesterday, I had three "cheerleaders" at Ballet and Gymnastics... and we grabbed Tinchley's on the way home. Lots of fun last night, but today...
Today, there was the three of them, me, Mom, and Simone came over.
We talked about the Homecoming thing. I didn't wanna mention it to Mom at first, because I was just going to do what Mrs. Worthing (old bat) said to do and turn it down.
Jennifer started going off about how unfair it was.
Mom and Simone came in right then and we had what Simone calle a, "Grrl Power Pow Wow," all morning and through lunchtime.
Mom was way angry.
They're all sitting across the room from me and it's creepy to be making this entry in the living room instead of my bedroom, but they're all waiting for me to finish and then Simone has a surprise for me -- not the same surprise as she had originally planned, but this is something that we can all six do, apparently.
So, I'm ending it here before I start hearing the Twilight Zone music as they stare at me.
Courtney
Monday, 8 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Oooh, okay. Simone's surprise is for next weekend but she told us about it yesterday. She arranged for me and Mom to get to be part of the "trial run" of the new spa opening in Sheffield's Crossing! A free mini-vacation in a totally girls-only world? Daddy just grimaced at us and went to make coffee.
But today. Today was... just...
I told Mom that the whole thing with Mrs. Worthing made me angry, but I didn't really care about the Homecoming thing. She asked me if that meant that I didn't want to do it, or if I would like doing it but didn't care if I didn't get to, or if I was saying I didn't care because I really wanted to do it, or... Mom can come up with a lot of really close scenarios.
I told her that it did sound like fun, but it didn't bother me to not do it and let someone else have it so that Mrs. Worthing wouldn't get her nose bent out of shape.
Mom got this weird look in her eyes and then we were at school. She normally just drops me off, but she got out of the car and went inside with me. She took me to the office and asked to see the Principal, then told me to go find my friends, but to leave Mrs. Worthing to her.
Mom can be pretty scary. Not in the same way that Daddy is scary (with the mad fightin' skillz), but... I think worse.
So I found Jennifer and Matthew waiting under the tree out front like always, and we talked a bit, then we found 'Nessa and Hayleigh. Of course, the topic of choice was the sleepover.
I thought Matthew would be totally disinterested but he wasn't really bothered by us.
So, we all made our way to our first period classes, and the morning bulletin started. They named the candidates for Homecoming and my name was in there! My class applauded and I know I was blushing, but it was a good blushing, y'know?
Mrs. Worthing gave me these disapproving glares all period when I was in her class. It wasn't really comfortable.
After Gymnastics, I asked Mom about Mrs. Worthing and mentioned the glaring and she said she just thought it was an opportunity that I shouldn't miss out on, and that not every girl got to participate, so turning it down seemed like a shame and she had talked to Principal Soames about it and there wasn't a problem.
I'm a freshman, so it's not like I have a chance to win, anyway, but I'll get to be Court Royalty and be one of the Apple Fair Princesses no matter what!
Mom was talking about getting me a dress that needs hoops and standouts and a petticoat.
Ugh.
I'd die if I had to wear one of those in public!
Courtney
Tuesday, 9 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Today, tryouts for the Academic Decathalon started.
I don't know if I'll make it, but I'm gonna certainly try!
Matthew went and Goobered on us again. Another lunchroom speech. Only this time...
He did Malcolm X's famous speech. The 'Plymouth Rock' thing.
There aren't even any black kids in the county let alone in the school... I think he's lucky there aren't! A pasty white kid with a penchant for staring into space reciting one of the most famous speeches in U.S. Black History... he'd've gotten pounded through the pavement!
Goober.
Anyway, Ballet tonight... as soon as class started, Simone took me across town to get fitted for toe shoes. They feel totally weird to wear!
I thanked her and she laughed, and told me to thank her on Saturday, if I still wanted to.
I have no idea what she's going on about most of the time.
There was some excitement on the way home, though... we had to wait while the police and fire department and ambulances cleared out a big car accident. Like NINE cars piled up and trashed.
Scary.
That's about all for today... Oh!
Mrs. Worthing held me after class sixth period to tell me that she didn't agree with my being part of the Homecoming Royalty, but she would, "bow to the wishes of your mother."
My mom RAWKS!
Courtney
Wednesday, 10 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Oh, GAWD it hurts!
Mom told me to come upstairs and rest, and I did. Then I had to go throw up from the pain, and then I started writing here. Mom just stuck her head in and told me that if I don't think I can make it to the appointment in the morning, we can go to the ER tonight.
Just a sec.
Okay. She's getting ready to go, so this's gotta be short.
Today, nothing matters except the end of Gymnastics. I'm working on Uneven Bars with some of the other girls and it's a blast and I FINALLY get up in an upside-down split over the top one, and slipped.
Do I just tumble painfully to the mat and get laughed at? Nooooo...
That just wouldn't be cosmically HILARIOUS enough for Murphy. No. I fall down onto the low bar and catch it in the crotch.
The crotch that still has boyparts tucked away all hidden like.
The boyparts that NOBODY in Gymnastics knows about.
The boyparts that felt like they exploded.
I wanted to scream, but then, while it would hurt anyone, it wouldn't hurt a girl quite as much as my scream would have let them know. They'd've wanted to examine me...
I just bit it back, and kind of collapsed off the side onto the mat.
Mom came over and got me and saw the look in my eyes, I think. She told them that I had had enough for tonight anyway and we left. She grabbed my gym bag and nearly dragged me out of there by the hand. We got to the car and she pushed me in the backseat and closed the door.
I screamed.
And cried.
And then she got in the back and undid my leotard and pulled down my tights. She did something but I was out of it and whimpering and then she said I was swollen and brought me home.
Oh, there she is.
Courtney
Thursday, 11 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Ugh... Jennifer is supposed to bring me my homework after school. Yes, I'm making this entry MUCH earlier than normal.
I am not to go to school or Gymnastics or Ballet until Monday. I'm to stay in bed and rest as much as possible last night and today and tomorrow until time to go back to the doctor.
Daddy was wincing and holding... himself... as Mom told him what happened and what the doctor said yesterday.
Apparently, if I hadn't been 'tucked' it would have been lots worse. The whole buffering of being tucked up inside me kept it from rupturing... gawd. That sounds awful. I mean, it hurt, but I think hearing about it was actually worse.
The doctor gave Mom a prescription for pain pills and she brings 'em to me every now and then. She's been in here with me constantly. It's kinda nice and she even was just sitting with me like when I got sick.
She called the Ballet place and the Gymnastics place and told 'em I wouldn't be in due to an accident. She had to explain a bit more to the Gymnastics place that my fall on the uneven bars had hurt me, but she wasn't going to sue them or anything, I was just going to be out of commission for a few days. She's pretty awesome at the doubletalk thing, because she pretty much flat out told them that I'd nearly ruptured myself, but said it in such a way that there's no way they'd think that I was a boy.
I love my mother.
She's gonna come and watch a movie with me in a bit, I mean, she told me she didn't want me watching, "... that daytime soap crap..." and ranted a bit about people whose names I don't know. I was kinda lost, actually, but I wouldn't tell HER that!
Maybe I'll write more later, but I doubt it.
Courtney
Friday, 12 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Well, went to the doctor again.
The swelling is gone, but it's still sore.
The doctor explained that the reason she didn't want me to go to school or my after school activities is that she didn't want me to risk tucking myself up for a few days.
She told me I should wear skirts, like I did yesterday and today, until Monday. I should be fine by tomorrow evening, but careful anyway.
She checked me for hernias which was just... so... embarrassing. I absolutely hate being reminded that I'm not like other girls.
Daddy and I spent a lot of last night playing Tekken Tag. I still think he's letting me win.
Jennifer is coming over again tonight with my homework, but she said she had to go home first.
Oh, yesterday she said that the others were all asking about me... and apparently Lisa has apologized to them for being so, well, mean, in the past.
What am I going to do about that?
I mean, I don't know if I even like guys or girls yet, but... I think I'm okay being her friend as long as she doesn't push anything, y'know?
Daddy's bringing home dinner from fast food somewhere, and I think I heard his car, so g'bye until tomorrow!
Courtney
Saturday, 13 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Feels weird to just sit around all day on a Saturday.
I still hurt a little, but it's so much better. Which is good because the pain pills the doctor had Mom get are gone. Yep, I gotta just deal with twinges and hurts for now.
Jennifer called last night and said she'd being my homework over today, because she didn't have an easy way to get over here last night. So, yeah, she'll be over here anytime, I guess. Wow. Life on the mend is boring.
MORE
Oh, that wasn't good at all. Isn't good. What-ever! Jennifer's ride over was her sister. Yes, THAT sister. Caroline. The one I thought was still in juvie. Argh.
She recognized the house and walked to the door with Jennifer. I was sitting on the couch and Mom got up to answer the door. She said hello to Jennifer, who then came in and walked over to me, and then Caroline asked, "So, is Ethan home?"
Uht oh.
She looked past Mom and saw me and started laughing at me, and calling me a sissy boy. I curled up in a ball on the couch, while Jennifer was yelling at Caroline and Caroline was yelling about me being a boy in a skirt.
Mom and Daddy are talking with Caroline in the den, and Jennifer is sitting at my desk looking all worried at me while I write this -- oh, and I'm sitting/lounging on my bed.
I don't know what's going to happen, but I heard Daddy saying something about Probation and reporting Caroline's behavior before Jennifer dragged me upstairs.
Courtney
Sunday, 14 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Wow.
Yeah, Daddy's scary.
Mom told me what happened before me and Jennifer ran downstairs: Caroline thought she could be high-handed with us, because she knew my secret. She was sassing Mom and Daddy sat there just kind of smiling. They wouldn't tell us exactly what was said, but apparently Caroline made threats about if Mom and Daddy didn't help her "get around" her probation officer, that she'd make sure everyone knew about me. I'm pretty sure she said something rude, because Mom looked so ANGRY when talking about it. Mom said that Daddy sat there still smiling until Caroline went too far. She asked him what was so funny, and Mom giggled... and Caroline slapped Mom and called her an old cow.
What Jennifer and I heard from my room was Daddy yelling, "You will NOT touch any member of this family again, in any way!" and a... well, roar. When we scrambled down the stairs and through the living room into the den, Caroline was on the couch, wide-eyed and Mom was sitting on her. Yeah. Sitting on her. Caroline's eyes were fixed on Daddy, and he was on the phone talking to his friend Mr. Abner. I don't know Mr. Abner's last name or I'd call him by it... he thinks it's funny when I call him, "Mr. Abner," though.
Mr. Abner showed up a bit later with a police officer and they took Caroline away, who was just kind of crying to herself. Turns out Mr. Abner is Caroline's Probation Officer and she was threatening to tell people about me because she assumed that we were just being sneaky and didn't have any kind of approval about things. Daddy didn't touch Caroline, but Mom said later he, "put the fear of God into her."
We sat there kind of in shock in the den. Me and Jennifer on either side of Mom, while Daddy arranged for a tow truck to take Caroline's car to the impound yard. Turns out even setting foot on our property violated her Probation because I was her, "victim," during the GoalPost Incident.
So Caroline has to serve the rest of her time until she's eighteen in juvie -- sorry, Juvenile Detention. So, no worrying about her for awhile. Me and Daddy took Jennifer home and then he explained to her parents that Caroline had threatened me and slapped Mom. They didn't seem surprised... more just resolved. Her dad wandered back toward the back of their house mumbling about having warned her not to screw up. Mrs. Higgleston asked Daddy if we would mind Jennifer staying over at our house for a couple nights and going to school with me in the morning, because they needed to go talk to Caroline and make sure the lawyer knew and would be busy with, "sorting out crap," all weekend.
So, Jennifer grabbed some clothes and her books and we came back here. Not much else happened yesterday, but today, Mom took me and Jennifer out to shop for a formal for me for the Homecoming festivities! I tried on soooo many awesome dresses.
Really, other than Caroline, the weekend was kinda boring, since I didn't have my Ballet or Gymnastics. Well, until we went dress shopping. I ended up with a wonderful dress, with matching shoes and a bag. It's a weird fabric that looks blue, bluey-green, purple, or red depending on the way the light is hitting it from where you stand. It's spaghetti-strap and covers enough of my chest that I don't have to worry about anyone seeing my forms, but leaves my shoulders and chest pretty bare. It has a bit of boning hidden in it to pull my waist in a bit, and then has this nifty flaring skirt that's mid-thigh in front and just below my knees in the back. Mom would only let me get two-inch heels, but that's really okay, that way I don't have to join the, "barefoot brigade," at the dance. I think Jennifer and Mom thought I was a life-sized Barbie doll, though... between the two of them, I think I tried on over 50 dresses!
Courtney
Monday, 15 October, 2007
Dear Diary
First day of Spirit Week
Today was Sleepy Day. So, most of the kids (and even some of the teachers) at school came in pajamas and nightgowns. I wore some flannel pajama bottoms and an Eeyore oversized tee, with fluffy slippers. I was gonna loan something to Jennifer, but she had remembered her flannel nightgown that covered everything from her neck to her ankles -- like an old-lady nightie. It was fun.
Comfy, too.
We had breakfast for lunch -- sausage, biscuits, gravy, scrambled eggs, and toast. A couple of the lady teachers had night-masks on. Principal Soames went door-to-door to all the classrooms asking the teachers if they had any creamer for her coffee.
Matthew topped everyone, though. He came in bed.
Yeah, bed.
He rigged it so he could walk and sit in class, but he could make it fold out and look like he was in his bed sleeping!
He definitely got the top prize today.
But he's still a Goober.
Courtney
Tuesday, 16 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Second day of Spirit Week
Today was Famous Athlete Day. I decided to sneak in something spiffy that meant a lot to me, and was also a sport I liked. I've been planning this for a couple of weeks and when I got home last night, the stuff I needed had arrived with yesterday's mail, just in time!
Okay, I still love cycling, even though I'm really not great at it, but I ordered a copy of Michelle Dumaresq's riding gear. She's a woman who is like me, and still competes as a woman for Canada in World Mountain Bike riding. There's lots of controversy about her being able to ride with the women. Seems to me, that it's mostly folks who don't matter who're yelling about it. Last year, when she won a race by one second, the second place girl's boyfriend jumped up and put a tee-shirt on his girlfriend that read, "100% Pure Woman Champ," and got his girlfriend suspended from racing for it. Why do folks care if the girls in the race don't? Why should anyone EVEN the girls in the race care? They're saying that Ms. Dumaresq has an advantage having been born male. Psh. After about a decade on HRT, her muscle mass isn't any more masculine than any other girl rider out there!
Grr.
Anyway, I ordered a copy of her gear ( looks like ]this[ ) to wear to school for today.
There was only a few people who knew who Michelle Dumaresq even was, and they were teachers. Mizz Ward 'got it' almost immediately and said my choice of costume was, "Delightfully impish," today.
But, as good as my costume was... Matthew upstaged everyone today... again.
He came wearing an amalgam of football, baseball, soccer, hockey, basketball, volleyball, track & field, cycling, and golf equipment -- topped off by a pair of masking taped hornrim glasses and a pocket protector. He was the "hometown hero" and when folks were confused about the glasses and protector, he said that was to represent the academic all-stars.
He's creative... but still a Goober.
Oh. Yeah. Lisa knew who I was supposed to be immediately without having to ask. She said it was a smart choice and if people knew, it'd make 'em think.
Courtney
Wednesday, 17 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Third day of Spirit Week
Today was Movie Character Day. Me, 'Nessa, Jennifer, Lisa, and Hayleigh all came as Disney animated characters. I was Alice from Alice in Wonderland, 'Nessa was Jasmine, Jennifer was Belle, Lisa was Yzma, and Hayleigh came as Snow White. No one else put a lot of effort into costumes, except... that's right. Matthew won AGAIN!
He talked some upper classmen into joining in, promising them they'd win the group prize.
He came as The Dread Pirate Roberts, black clothes, mask, all the great quotes and able to pull off the look.
Then he went and topped it.
He staged scenes from The Princess Bride all through lunch!
First, he had the swordfight with Carlos Vega as Inigo Montoya, using the tables as terrain and executing the lines and choreography perfectly, using the wooden training swords from the Fencing Club.
Next, he had the wrestling match with "Tiny" Simms as Fezzik the Giant. Tiny is a senior, and actually over seven feet tall. Big guy. They bounced off of the pillars and Tiny ended up sprawled on the ground and snoring (I think he was faking, but I'm not sure).
And then he sat down and had the battle of wits with Fred Meijer as Vizzini the Sicilian while they actually ate their lunch! Fred's bald-cap wasn't all that convincing, but as a whole they were awesome.
Yes, they won the group prize... and Matthew won the single prize.
Again.
Goober.
Courtney
Thursday, 18 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Fourth day of Spirit Week
Today was Novel Day. Which means you have to come as either a character from a novel or an author. If you go with character, you'll be asked in homeroom to talk about the story the character comes from and her or his role in it. If you go with author, it has to be a "recognizable" author that folks will know by sight.
I was totally lost, and Mom suggested I wear the Alice costume again. Lame. Inspiration hit me as I was waking up, though. I ended up going as Dorothy Gale from The Wizard of Oz.
I have to admit, I was curious what Matthew was going to do today. He didn't disappoint. He came to school as Sherlock Holmes. He didn't win today, some girl in the Senior class won, and I never even heard what her costume was.
Pretty boring today, actually. Not much going on that shouldn't. Not that I mind. I'd rather things be nice and boring from now on.
The only halfway exciting thing that happened today was when Lisa tripped and went sprawling at lunchtime. In a skirt. Yeah, the guys were hooting and hollering, but they shut up when she stood up and calmly brushed herself off... and then glared around the room.
Courtney
Friday, 19 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Fifth day of Spirit Week
Today was, of course, Spirit Day. It always is. That is, the fifth day of Spirit Week is always Spirit Day. This is the night of the Homecoming game and dance, and they'll be announcing who the Homecoming Queen and King are at lunch today!
No Gymnastics tonight, because I had to get home and get into my gown, and then be back in time for the Halftime Presentation of the Homecoming Royalty. Shayna Baruth won Queen, she's a senior. But I get to be one of the Apple Fair Princesses in a few weeks! There's all kinds of nifty things I get to do because I'm part of this, so I'm gonna have fun!
I pulled a fast one on everyone else, though. I went to school today in what looked like the school uniform, but reversed colors! Yellow (Gold) skirt instead of Purple. Green blouse and socks instead of Yellow. Purple scarf, hat, and blazer instead of Green. The trim (of everything) and lettering (on the pocket of the blazer) was still gray, but dark gray instead of light gray. It took me and Mom hours to make exactly the same stuff in the different colors.
Why? Because it's Spirit Day! Instead of just wearing the school colors, or not participating and just wearing my uniform, I did BOTH. I won! I won a day! And the best day, in my opinion! Go Wolves!
Matthew wore his uniform, but his face was painted. Three vertical stripes, Purple on his right side, Yellow in the center, Green on his left side, with light gray outlining his mouth and eyes. He admitted defeat gracefully at lunch (before they announced the winner) because even he knew that I had him beat.
Oh, and apparently, everyone has taken to calling him, "Goober," "Goob," or, "The Goober," because of me. But he says he doesn't mind, that there are worse nicknames.
Ha!
Courtney
Saturday, 20 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Urgh. Tired. Slept all day.
Last night was great! The game, the dance, the crowing of the Queen and Court. It was so much fun!
More tomorrow, though. Yes, I'm really stopping here. I'm way too tired.
Courtney
Sunday, 21 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Okay, I know I said I'd write more about Friday night's dance and stuff today, but I think you'll have to settle for just more.
I mean, stuff is, um, happening. That's what a diary is for, right?
I went for a loosening up run this morning, because I felt kinda like I needed it after Gymnastics and Ballet yesterday. I jogged down to the park.
I stopped where I always do when I stop to rest.
Lisa was there, waiting for me.
To tell ya the truth, this kinda freaked me out a bit.
I turned around pretty much as soon as I saw her and she stopped me. Not in a mean way or holding me there or anything, but called my name and said, "Please, stop."
She wanted to talk about stuff.
She wanted to talk about why she hated me so much at the beginning of school.
She wanted to talk about why she got over it.
She wanted to talk to me about maybe being friends instead of just a truce.
I wanted to get out of there.
But I stayed and listened. I told her she had five minutes to make her case.
She made good use of those five minutes.
Turns out, she hated me so much because she had a huge crush on me (remember, she's a lesbian) and assumed I was, "... just another straight girl." Then, when she found out about me (which she still won't tell me how she found out!), she said it stood to reason that since I was really a boy (grr!) that I would like girls. And since I wanted to be a girl, then that made her no longer the only lesbian in school. And then she realized that she hated me because of the crush. So she started leaving the notes and stuff in my locker.
I waited for her to run down (I did tell her she had a whole five minutes), then I told her to leave me alone. She wanted to know why. So...
I told her about how hard it is to be the new girl, especially when you're covering up a secret -- she knew how to hide her secret because she knew everyone in town. Yes, so did I, sorta, but they do NOT act the same to me as they did to... him. I told her about being picked on by one of the popular girls so early in the semester not really being a good thing for reputations, despite the "cool" factor of being the one to stand up to the class bitch. Then I told her about the panic and the scary of the Locker Stalker. How I was pretty much freaking out every day.
She waited for me to run down, then apologized. Like, it sounded way formal and totally like she meant it, all unrehearsed and stuff.
We talked then, pretty much about general stuff, for about an hour, and then she walked back to my house. She had a sit-down with my parents and me, and we laid out the rules for not telling about me. Then we shook on it.
I dunno. I mean, part of me is screaming that I'm being more of Goober than Matthew for trusting her, but some other part of me thinks she's on the level, and yet another part of me just... really wants friends and for people to like me.
I'll, uh, try to organize my thoughtishness about Friday for tomorrow. Or later this week. Or something. Augh. I'm a teenager with a very busy life, you're my diary, I tell you what's what, not the other way around! You're not supposed to make me feel guilty for not writing here!
Hmph.
Courtney
Monday, 22 October, 2007
Dear Diary
School today was, just, weird. I'm suddenly just everybody's most bestest friend! They all love me! I want to vomit.
Why are people so shallow? I mean, I had upperclassmen offering to fetch me juice at lunch today!
Because of I'm one of the Homecoming / Apple Fair Princesses?
It was seriously starting to get to me.
After school, though, as we're all making our way towards our lockers, announcing the Academic Decathletes!
I made it! I'm one of the two Freshmen! I pretty much ran home to tell my parents.
Yeah, the whole being a girl thing -- winning move. I'm not a disgustingly depressed, socially outcast, forgettable nobody anymore... I'm happy, I'm part of the Homecoming Royalty, and I'm learning to actually show people what I can do!
See, THIS is what High School is supposed to be like!
So, 10 questions in 10 categories. I can so do this. I wasn't paying attention to the rest of the roster, so I'll have to get the list tomorrow.
I feel all accomplished and stuff!
Okay, okay... news about Homecoming night tomorrow. For sure. Maybe.
Courtney
Tuesday, 23 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Hrm.
Well, first off, today was confusing for me... Yes, more than before.
Shut up.
Anyway, school itself was pretty much more of the same as yesterday. I had to tell a bunch of upperclassmen that I'm not allowed to date yet. Don't look at me like that. Mom and Daddy may not have said I can't date, but I can say I'm not allowed if I won't allow it, right?
I waited around after school for the ten categories for the Academic Decathalon, and was talking with Jennifer. I told her about Lisa. I mean, she's my best friend, of course I told her, right? But... she thinks Matthew has a crush on me, too. Augh. I totally don't need one of those drama-filled triangles, let alone one with both a boy and a girl!
So. Ten categories. Geometry, Classic Literature, American History, Earth Science, Physics, Grammar, World History, Anatomy & Physiology, Pop Culture, and Trigonometry.
Wow.
I've got until just before Christmas break to prepare with the rest of the team.
So, the game on Friday night we won (obviously) and then at halftime, we had the presentation of the Homecoming Queen and the Royalty, and after the game... was the dance! Each of the court had to dance with their partner and then the dance itself was a lot of fun. There was a live DJ and a couple of planned skits by some of the upperclassmen. As usual, the spotlight was stolen by Matthew when he paid the DJ to play a string of old stuff and did his own rendition of Judson Laipply's The Evolution of Dance.
Goober.
Okay. Fine. I'll admit it... it was pretty awesome.
But he's still a Goober.
Courtney
Wednesday, 24 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Hee!
So, today, classes were as boring as ever, the kiss ups were doing their best to 'get in good' with me and the other Apple Fair Princesses, and I was referred to as a 'popular chick' for the first time. And yet, this is not what has me in such a good mood.
I am, in fact, in an excellent mood. You want to know why?
I'll tell you, why (whether you want to know or not, smarty-paper).
So, I'm in the library fourth period, because Drama is a study period for a few weeks unless you're part of the cast that actually has lines. I was munching on my apple, because I brought my lunch today. I decided that I'd spend straight through the end of lunch studying for the Aca-Deca, and would nibble on my lunch throughout. At lunchtime, Jennifer, 'Nessa, Hayleigh, and Lisa found me and distracted me -- I kinda needed to pack up anyway. And then when fifth period started, the intercom crackled to life.
"Attention students," it said, "... would Goober Podnick please report to the Gymnasium at once?"
Matthew looked startled for a moment, then he gives me this like, EVIL glare -- I mean, we're talking totally the stink-eye!
I couldn't help it. I giggled and slapped my hands over my mouth.
Then... then the best part happened.
"Stop dallying and get to the gym, Goober," says Mister Wenchley, "and I really would have appreciated being informed that you preferred a nickname. I'm sorry I've not been calling you Goober all year so far."
Then he totally grinned at Matthew! He knew what was going on, but now Matthew had to just accept that 'Goober' is gonna stick to him. I mean, he'd stood up and gathered his stuff when they called him by it! If he, like, so obviously knew it was him the office was talking about, it had to be a nickname, right? Oh, the dirty look he gave me on his way out!
Just... HA!
Courtney
Thursday, 25 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Oh, FIE! Cru-el world, why dost thou taunt me so?!
Okay, that's enough of that. What? I'm a teenager, I'm supposed to be a drama llama, right?
Llama. Heh.
Reminds me of a funny joke...
Anyway. Seriously. Why can't I just kinda slink through this year without becoming the center of attention every stinkin' day? It's weird. No one ever even SAW me as... him... but it's like I have not just an audience, but a fan club ever flippin' move I make!
It's like the forces of coincidence are conspiring against me -- both positive and negative.
Everywhere I go, it seems like there's nearly a spotlight on me. So this morning before classes started, I told Jennifer and Matthew that I think I might try to find out if I like girls by going out once with Lisa. Jennifer was all "Yeah, right," and Matthew was just... quiet. Later, talking with Jennifer, she says that Matthew likes me -- again.
I told her there was no way, and then the bell rang and we were still arguing about it on the way to lunch.
Grr. I couldn't make her understand! I said, "No, he doesn't. No way, he's just a friend!"
And she just rolls her eyes at me and then says, "Open your eyes! You like him, too!"
The girl was a dime short of a bus pass, and I answered, "I do not! Well. Yes, I do, but as a friend, not as a --"
And that's when the weird for the day happened. Matthew stepped from around the corner in front of me wearing a TUXEDO, and takes my hand. He spins me back into him and then bends me over backwards and kisses me! I was vaguely aware of something flickering, and he steps back and bows from the waist, before going into one of his GOOBER-Y speeches:
"Fetching Damsel, please, do this wretched servant of yours the honor of attending the cinema and allowing him to provide the means for a repast worthy of your wonderous beauty on the eve of the morrow, at the beginning of the end of this sevenday?"
I think I did a wonderful job of not falling over, as my mouth dropped open.
I looked around and everyone had stopped and was watching. The students, the hall monitor, even some teachers and faculty.
That flickering I noticed? The school paper's feature reporter and the photographer were standing there grinning. His camera was around his neck.
I did the only sensible thing I could.
I pulled my hand out of his and walked past him into the cafeteria to get my lunch.
The rest of the day wasn't any better, and he was asking me again between every period. The school paper was there again after school when I told him (now back in his normal clothes -- where the heck did he get a tux, anyway?) he would have to ask my parents.
Why me?
Courtney
Friday, 26 October, 2007
Dear Diary
I want to die.
No, seriously.
I got to school today and there were stares. There were whispers. I thought maybe they had all found out about me somehow. I was really starting to get scared and on the verge of panic.
Then... I heard it.
The first time I heard it that morning I thought it couldn't be what I'd heard, that I'd been mistaken. Then less than a full minute later I heard it again, and this time it was unmistakable.
Y'know, maybe I don't want to die. I just want to be the one that chokes the life from that... that... GOOBER!
There were giggles and winks and it was just so obnoxious!
If this sticks with me, I'm going to... I dunno. I'm not good at the whole coming up with revenge thing, but he'll regret it, that's for sure!
I mean, who wants to be known as, "Goober's Girl," for the love of Pete?
Courtney
Saturday, 27 October, 2007
Dear Diary
So...
My mom is a traitor.
I got home from school yesterday, and told her what happened the past couple of days and she said it sounded romantic.
AUGH! Can you believe that? Romantic! And then to make it worse, when Matthew called to ask my parents about the date, she said it was fine as long as I was home by eleven! She totally just didn't get that I didn't want to go! Then she said I, "should have just turned the poor boy down instead of stringing him along," when I told her after she hung up!
Are all parents this dense, or is it just my mom?
I didn't want to go... but I have to admit I had a good time. Matthew's older sister was the one driving us (she's a senior) to dinner and the movie -- she sat at a different table at the restaurant and saw a different movie.
He is funny -- I mean, he's my friend, and I remember that first day when he was just so weird. He still is weird and freaky, but now he's my friend, too... but he's such a goober!
I had fun and really without knowing what I was doing or why, when we got back to my house, I kissed him on the cheek before I went inside. I'm totally going to pay for that. I just know it.
So, this morning and afternoon went as expected. Slouchy and lazy, then ballet and gymnastics. Some of the other girls wanted to know about my date, but I just kinda ignored 'em for now.
Mom is making dinner now and I've finished my weekend homework, I think I'm gonna go play Tekken Tag and work off some stress!
Courtney
Sunday, 28 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Mom and dad invited Matthew and his family for dinner!
I wanted to crawl under the table and die. They don't know anything about how embarrassing they are. Like it totally just skips over their heads.
I think Matthew was almost as mortified as I was when Daddy did his disappearing fork trick. What, are we 7 years old or something? Seriously! I have to call Jennifer tonight and tell her what's been going on.
Matthew and his sister, Cassandra, went with me to play Tekken Tag in my room (where I totally ruled, thank you very much!) while the 'rents did the "get to know you" thing in the living room.
I thought the worst was over.
I thought the entire night could turn out okay, after all.
Ah, but the world has a way of laughing in my face!
We were playing, and Cassandra was making fun of Matthew because he was horrible compared to both of us, and there was a knock at the door.
It opened.
Mom stood there grinning like... I dunno, do yetis grin?
Then she says, "Courtney, you know better than to close this door with a boy in here -- no hanky panky!"
I wanted to melt into the rug.
I think I tried.
Cassandra giggled so hard she snorted.
I glared at her.
I looked over at Matthew...
and the GOOBER was grinning from ear to ear at me! AUGH! Boys SUCK!
Courtney
Monday, 29 October, 2007
Dear Diary
School. Same old stuff.
Except for the rumor mill.
Omigawd.
So, I'm walking down the hall toward my 3rd period class, and I overhear a conversation.
One guy saying to another, "That kid, Goober, I think. You think he pulled off the date with that hot frosh chick? Borrowing the tux from the drama department was smooth. I gotta remember that."
And then the response... made my stomach sink through the floor: "Dude, I heard she fell all over him and nearly begged him to take her in the theater. It's true. My buddy works as an usher there. Any chick that good looking is gonna either be easy, frigid, or lesbo -- and dang near the whole school has seen 'em kissing, so the second and third're out. I bet her panties were left alone at home on Friday, if you know what I mean. Heh heh heh."
So, I've been on a total of one whole date and I'm already 'easy' as far as the boys in school are concerned. I wanted to scream and I wanted to pound those guys for saying such things!
What the heck? This is the most sexist crap ever! I mean, look, they're admiring Matthew, and I'm a slut?!? We didn't even do anything! I'm sorry I ever went on that date! I'm sorry I ever thought anything good about young mister Podnick! I was working myself into a pretty strong mad-on and realized I still needed to get to class.
I turned around and went the other way. This is all that... that... that... that Goober's fault! If I see him in the next few minutes, he's getting a swift kick to the crotch!
I seethed almost to the point of blind rage.
I don't remember anything that I was supposed to learn.
When I got to lunch, and Matthew was sitting at MY table, I dumped my tray over his head and went to get another. He had the audacity to follow me and ask me what he did wrong!
Why do boys have to be such... boys?!?
The rest of the day wasn't any better. Instead of people figuring out that my 'tantrum' at lunch meant that Matthew was spreading LIES about me... him... us (Ew! That makes it sound like we're a couple!) -- me and him(!), everyone is assuming I wanted more! Like I'm some kind of wanton sex maniac or something! It's not just the boys, it's the girls, too!
I ended up running out of 6th period when Ms. Worthing smirked at me, like she knew I would be that kind of girl! I spent most of the period and most of 7th period crying out in the courtyard under the hedge. Mr. Towers came out and sat down next to me and talked. He really listened. I guess he's not just a big dumb jock, after all. He said he'd stop anyone in his classes or on the field from spreading the rumors. He asked me straight out if they were true. When I started screaming at him, he stopped me and said he didn't think they were, and that he'd let me sit out there the rest of class if I wanted, but I needed to come in and get my assignments after the last bell and the buses had left. Now I feel bad for what I thought about him before. I ended up going back in around 5 minutes before the period was over and just slinking to my desk and staring out the window.
Maybe I will be a lesbian. Boys are too much trouble.
And Matthew Podnick is a Goober!!!
Courtney
Tuesday, 30 October, 2007
Dear Diary
The Goober was waiting at the front doors into the school, so when I saw him from a block away, I went to the door on the side by the middle schoolers. I didn't want to deal with him.
Y'know, the worst part is I think Jennifer was right. I was (augh!) starting to LIKE-like Matthew. Not anymore, though. His reputation around the school involving me pretty much means that I never want to talk to him again.
No, not even as a friend.
Hm. So, Lisa, maybe? Well, I took a step that direction. I told her today that I'd meet her at the library, and we could go down to the old pharmacy downtown and get ice-cream sodas. It's a ... sort of ... date.
I'm all kinds of nervous and stuff, but is it nervous-good or nervous-bad?
Ah well, I dunno.
Mom asked me about Matthew when I got home, and I just kinda glared at her. Maybe she'll get the hint that he's persona non grata now.
Anyway, not much else to report today, just waiting for Daddy to take me to the library.
On the bright side, the upperclassmen aren't being all creepifying and too nice to me anymore. They're ignoring me the way they ought, now.
Courtney
Wednesday, 31 October, 2007
Dear Diary
Happy Hallowe'en!
Okay, so, maybe I was too harsh on Matthew. Fine. Yes, I was way too harsh and quick to judge.
He has sacrificed himself on the altar of dignity. I got a copy of the office audio tape so I could get this all right.
So, yeah. He came to school today in a Victorian-era ballgown. Yeah. A dress. A big dress. A very big dress.
He had cleavage.
So, halfway through homeroom, the intercoms come on:
Miss Vidlak
Young lady! Er. Young man! You can't --
Teenage Boy
Let the dude speak, ma'am. This is a matter of the heart.
Miss Vidlak
He can't just --
Teenage Girl
Ma'am, I think if you just let him, you'll understand. This isn't a Hallowe'en prank, I swear on my 4.0 GPA.[[incoherent mumbling and whispering]]
GOOBER
Ladies and gentlemen of the faculty and staff, honored guests, students of every shape and size... and jocks. My name is Matthew Podnick. Some -- maybe most of you -- know me better as, ah... Goober.
Thing is, the young lady that tagged me with that moniker is the girl I have fallen in love with. She's the girl I won the right to date by virtue of sheer-determination.
However, that one and only date has been stained.
The pure white carpet of the perfect date has been stained with the grape juice of lies and rumors.
You jerks.
I mean, I'm weird. I've always been weird, even before I came to this school -- heck I'm wearing a dress right now! Not just any dress, but one that even girls have a hard time moving around in, let alone a boy like me staging an attempt at apology that may not even work in it. I am just about the strangest kid any of you are likely to ever meet.
She talked to me.
She was the one that made friends with me.
And she was the one that I -- well, hey, if people can be sappy on other holidays, why not this one, right? -- she was the one that I fell in love with.
I found a way to present my desire to date her.
It worked... it actually was goofy enough to make her feel special without making her feel weirded out.
Her parents said it was okay.
We went out, we had fun... I enjoyed just basking in her aura.
And when my mother drove us back to her house, she kissed me -- er, the girl, not my mom. And it was just a kiss on the cheek, but it was more than I had hoped.
I got to school the next Monday -- that was two days ago, for those of you following along without a program -- and there were all these whispered rumors.
At lunch, I saw her, and got her lunch over my head for my trouble.
That's when I figured out that I needed to know what was going on.
What can I say, subtle was never my strong suit.
When I figured it out, I was appalled. This is a nice, smart, beautiful girl... why does there have to be this kind of rumor mill?
Let me make this perfectly clear:
She gave me a kiss on the cheek. The cheek on my face. That's it. We did not, under any definition, make out or bluntly... have sex.
I couldn't have had sex. I'm still a virgin. I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be if we had.
The jerks who made up the rumors about her -- and me, incidentally -- I know who you are. I am clever. You won't know what or where or when.
So let me break this down for you, my audience: The rumors are false, I'm wearing a dress, and I will continue to wear my sister's clothes until the girl of which I speak at least talks to me. I'm sorry. I apologize. I am your humble servant, milady. Er. Maidservant, I guess, if you want. Y'know, if you're into that kind of thing.
What? Oh. Yah. The dress I'm currently wearing is NOT my sister's clothes, she wouldn't be caught doing homework in a dress like this, but Cory Jaques would.
[[thumping sound]]
Ow. Okay, Cory wouldn't either. Thank you all for your time.
So... yeah. The sort-of date with Lisa is tomorrow. I'm so freaking confused now...
Courtney
Thursday, 1 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Wow. So much has happened the last week, it's like it was 135 days instead of just 7...
Anyway. I still didn't talk to Matthew yet. If he wants to punish himself, I'll let him for a few days. He wore a skirt and sweater set today. He's not trying to look like a girl, just wearing them like nothing was wrong.
He's such a goober.
Well, I met Lisa at the library after school, and we went to the Pharmacy on the square. Mr. Warren was behind the soda counter, and we pulled up a couple of stools. Lisa and I talked, about school, about being friends, about Matthew... she said she understands if I like boys, but she had hoped. I think she may end up being a really good friend in the long run.
We paid and walked to my house and just before we got there, she stopped and asked me if she could think of today as a date, just the once.
Y'know... I really don't see what harm it could do, as long as she knows I'm not really, well, into her. So I thought for a minute, then I gave her a kiss on the cheek, like I did Matthew.
We hugged, and she went on back toward school, and I went the last hundred yards or so to my house.
That was... not as bad as I thought it would be.
I think I need to call Matthew... he's such a goober!
Courtney
Friday, 2 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Part of me wishes I'd put off the call to Matthew until today -- or even just waited until school started today. His sister had planned for him to wear her Prom gown from last year today. Hee!
Ah well. He doesn't have the legs for it, anyway. So we... talked.
... and talked...
... and talked some more.
He really is a great guy. Even if he is a goober! So, apparently, it was just a guy thing -- and boys try to make it seem like we're the gossip-y ones -- and he has found out where the rumors started. He wouldn't tell me, but I think I won't have to worry anymore.
The downside is that whole... "Goober's Girl" thing. But... I can live with it. He pointed out that it's better than him being known as something else (Courtney's C...). Which would imply exactly what we didn't WANT to imply!
So, at lunch today, it was the normal group of us again. Matthew reached over and held my hand, and Jennifer just game me this smug look. Oooh. If she weren't my best friend, I'd smack her! Yes, yes, she was right. Shut up, you're just a book -- you'll burn if I want you to.
Tonight after school was the first practice for the Aca-Deca, and whoever does best on the practice test we took on each grade level will be the "starter" for the Quiz Bowl rounds (where you buzz in and answer the questions asked), and the other will be the alternate. The best score overall gets to be Captain for both the Quiz Bowl and the test rounds!
Gotta go, Mom's calling me for dinner.
Courtney
Saturday, 3 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Ballet and Gymnastics again today, but...
It doesn't seem to be as hard anymore. Hrm.
Well, anyway... this afternoon was the tryouts for Into the Woods and I think I did okay. Like I was totally convinced I was horrible for the tryouts for The Music Man, I think I did really well for this.
There was a creepy guy watching me sitting outside when I was waiting for Daddy to pick me up from ballet, but I went inside and waited until I saw Daddy. When I came back out the widgy dude was gone.
I told him, and he went inside to talk to the adult folks.
He was very... scary... again.
He and Mom are right now discussing how much I'm allowed to see Matthew outside of school.
Augh.
Parents are freaks, sometimes.
Courtney
Sunday, 4 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Weird. Okay, it's not even 8am yet.
Hayleigh and 'Nessa showed up at our door with their moms at like 5:30. In the morning. They came in to talk to me and wake me up and stuff, while their moms went to talk to Mom and Daddy in the kitchen.
They know what's going on, but won't tell me anything about it, so I'm writing in my Diary. Neener to them!
Yeah, it's immature, but c'mon. I'm a teenager. Deal with it.
We're gonna go and complain about being starved and cruel and unusual punishment and then when Mom shoves food at us, we're gonna fire up Tekken Tag and play.
I wish they'd tell me what was going on.
Courtney
Monday, 5 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Got to school today.
Got out of the car.
Saw the crowd.
Went to go see what was going on.
Looked up.
Gawked.
Wow.
Um... wow.
I've heard of running underwear up the flagpole before... but don't they usually take the guy wearing it out of it, first?
Tommy Bunnaraker is naked except for his boxers and a WHOLE lotta duct tape holding him at the top of the flagpole, with big letters on his (shaven?) chest in what looks like black marker that says, "I spread rumors."
The principal came out a few minutes later and ran us all inside.
Well, all of us except Tommy.
Apparently, the official report that Tommy gave was that brownies did it to him. Not the little girls that are too young to be full Girl Scouts, but the elf-fairy things that are supposed to be in Ireland. And that's the story he stuck to.
Hunh.
Boys are strange.
Courtney
So here it is in its unaltered glory.
Tuesday, 6 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Oh, good. I did have this in my backpack. It's so boring here. On TV, police stations are all kinds of drama or funny or exciting. In real life, though, they're just... boring.
And I have to keep my mind off of this disaster
Now that I have something to do, I'll be fine though.
Oh, yeah, so it's like nearly 7 o'clock and we've not had dinner, so Mom'll likely talk dad into dinner out when we leave, but still...
There's just too much that's happened. Mom thinks I may be in shock over things, so we're likely gonna go by the hospital and I'll be poked at for awhile.
It's just not fair. I was just getting used to it.
Okay, here's what happened:
After school yesterday, it was announced that I was the Freshman starter for the Aca-Deca! Okay, so practice every day after school.
Well... that seems to have been too widely known a fact.
Remember the widgy dude outside of ballet on Saturday? Well... I didn't see him.
Yeah.
He was waiting around the corner for me and before I could even take a breath to scream or whatever he'd slapped tape over my mouth, wrapped more around my hands and feet, and put me in a van. I was so scared. I was struggling, trying to get loose, and then I heard a voice I knew.
Like this is going to help me at all.
Grandma Thatcher.
Yeah.
So, apparently when she got out of jail, Grandpa filed for divorce. After like, nearly 35 years married!
Guess who she blames?
Oh, not ME... nope. She blames her grandson Ethan.
And now everyone will know.
You see, she's convinced that Ethan is a pervert and that he has corrupted his grandfather.
Yeah.
So, by making me "see the truth" that I'm really Ethan, she hoped she could save her marriage.
That was when the guy got in the driver's seat and started the van.
I was more scared now than when I thought it was just some random guy, especially when she told him, "Meet my grandson, Ethan." The guy started laughing and talking about how he "got it" now and that she was trying to cure her grandson.
That's when something landed on the roof.
I'd be fine with that nickname now, I think.
And then things really got hectic.
An airhorn started going off about every few seconds.
I didn't know what was going on, but I was suddenly hopeful, because I could hear police sirens. The guy sped up and it rolled me around in the back, but he was cussing under his breath. Grandma Thatcher was screaming at him and I was suddenly... calm.
Anyway, things got confusing as I was just trying to keep from burying my face in the floor. That's not all that easy with your arms and legs all tied up.
And then there was cops and they were carting away Grandma and the widgy dude and one cop was talking to Matthew... sternly.
Yeah.
He was waiting for me, and saw the whole thing, and called the cops. He climbed a tree and jumped on top of the van. He was the thump on the roof.
And...
Well...
I guess it was kind of inevitable...
I haven't gotten to talk to him...
But from what I heard the cops talking about...
And the way he looked at me...
I'm pretty sure...
He heard everything.
Courtney
They say that when the people we care about turn their backs on us, it can trigger "an episode" that can lead to such an attempt.
Matthew wouldn't speak to me today. Every time he saw me he turned around and went the other direction.
I looked for him after Aca-Deca practice to see if we could talk. He wasn't there. Mom was. I've been in my room since we got home.
I guess this is the part where I say, "Goodbye, cruel world!" or some such, huh? It's not fair. I didn't ask to be born like this. It's not as if anyone would choose to be a freak, to be someone that can never fall in love and be loved in return. I just want... I want a chance to talk to my BOYFRIEND -- there, see? I have a boyfriend. I want to be his girlfriend. I want...
I wish that I was Goober's Girl, just one last time...
Ugh.
I don't know what to do. I mean, I know Mom has that bottle of pills under her stockings in her underwear drawer. I just want to make it stop hurting. Why can't I just be me? Why does my own Grandma hate me so much?
I'm going to call Jennifer.
She thinks I'm being stupid. Great. So now I don't have a boyfriend, and my best friend thinks I'm stupid, and my Grandma hates me, and ...
I just keep thinking about that movie line...
It's not fair!
I don't want to hurt anymore.
Something's going on downstairs...
Courtney
Thursday, 8 November, 2007
Dear Diary
So Jennifer, my so-called best friend, called the cops on me.
She told them to come and stop me from killing myself.
Which I hadn't tried.
Okay, so I was thinking about it some, but I wouldn't actually... would I?
Mom and Daddy are all freaking out now.
The lady cop from when Grandma Thatcher took me to the hotel room is my "minder" now, I think. Detective Martinelli. She's nice enough, but she shouldn't have to walk me to and from school.
So embarrassing.
I tried to talk to Matthew today.
No luck.
All the girls in school are talking about how "special" it "was" between us, and that it's a pity it didn't last.
I just want him to TALK to me!
Is that so much to ask?
I think I'm gonna talk to Mom.
Let's just hope she remembers to be a girl and not an old lady.
Courtney
Friday, 9 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Alright. That didn't go so well.
Mom dropped me off at Matthew's house and I knocked on the door.
And knocked again.
And listened to them say stuff I couldn't make out.
And stood on the porch.
And it started to rain.
And knocked again.
And then Mom showed up and picked me up, sopping wet.
I watched the curtains jerk as we drove off, like someone was watching me.
What am I gonna do?
Courtney
Saturday, 10 November, 2007
Dear Diary
I'm not going out today.
I'm skipping ballet and gymnastics.
I don't care. I'm going to play Tekken Tag with Daddy all day and pig out on Doritos and Pepsi Max.
I'm a teenager, I'm allowed a day of angst now and then.
Courtney
Sunday, 11 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Talked to Mom and Daddy today about things. They think I should keep trying to talk to Matthew, but... I'm just grateful he hasn't told anyone.
I feel so guilty.
I mean, I know it's not really any of his business...
... and I didn't really lie to him...
But it just hurts, y'know? I mean, I finally admit to myself that I like the guy and that I wanna be his girlfriend... and he totally just walks away.
I thought he was better than that.
Turns out, he's just like everyone else.
Why would I want that?
Anyway, I'm just gonna netsurf for awhile, I think.
Oh, and Daddy beat me in every single game of Tekken Tag yesterday. I was totally not on my game.
*sigh*
Courtney
Monday, 12 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Joy.
Rapture.
Boys suck.
Courtney
Tuesday, 13 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Okay. So. Jennifer, Lisa, 'Nessa, and Hayleigh wouldn't let him avoid me today. They ganged up on him and cornered him in the courtyard.
They started yelling at him and he was confused as to why, and when they figured out that he didn't know what they were talking about, they clammed up and dragged him over to me.
Turns out... he didn't hear anything.
He's been avoiding me because his mom and dad told him he had to.
The whole jumping on top of the van thing got him in some serious trouble at home. And they were afraid for me, too. They told him it was better to have a 'clean break' and just avoid me.
We talked. He didn't want to avoid me, and he and his parents like my family, but they said he had to stop talking to me even. They're the ones that told him to turn around and go the other way if he saw me in the hall.
So, after school, after Aca-Deca practice, I found out that the four girls had kept him waiting for me.
They stood just out of earshot on the school front lawn to make sure we talked.
From his point of view, that day, he saw the weirdness happening and climbed a tree and called 9-1-1. He jumped onto the van and it took off. He tried to let go, but his backpack was caught on the vent/window thing on top. So he slipped off and... well, he didn't hear anything that I was worried about him hearing.
About that time, Mom pulled up.
I looked at her.
She nodded, and then turned off the car and pulled out a book.
I looked back at the boy sitting in front of me... the one that I had finally admitted that I was falling for...
I told Matthew that I had to tell him something important.
Courtney
Wednesday, 14 November, 2007
Dear Diary
That went better than expected.
But he thinks we need to talk to his parents. Mom and Daddy have invited them over for dinner again tonight. Maybe we'll get everything straightened out and out in the open and... and...
Omigawd.
I have a boyfriend.
Courtney
Thursday, 15 November, 2007
Dear Diary
I'm really not sure how to take that.
I mean, school today was weird... everyone was kinda doing the stare thing when Matthew and I were holding hands openly... but that's kinda to be expected. Jennifer, Lisa, 'Nessa and Hayleigh teased us at every opportunity. But I don't care.
I have a Matthew. Hee!
First Aca-Deca meet is Friday (tomorrow!), and I'm all nervous.
Anyway.
So we get picked up by his parents and they take us over to my house.
Mom was totally Donna-Reeded (even if that's not a word/phrase, you're my diary, and can't complain. You know, lacking that whole sentience and verbal skills thing) and was wearing -- I swear -- a black dress with pink microdots, pink HIGH HEELS (I didn't even know she OWNED any heels anymore, since she threw most of 'em away after that whole dress code thing last year...), and had the perfect makeup, hair, nails, thing going on. And ... she was wearing an honest-to-Obama string of PEARLS.
Whoa.
Daddy was even more corny and hokey.
He had a pipe.
He doesn't smoke.
I thought it was just prop to chew on.
It was a stinking bubble pipe.
My parents are weird.
Okay, so we sit down and we have the talk with Matthew's parents.
And we talk.
And we explain.
And they react...
Oddly.
I think I was the most normal person in the dang house.
And I mean really... I'm ME.
So that's saying a lot.
And at the end of the evening, when they're getting ready to leave, his parents go and get all embarrassing.
His mom says, "Well, I guess this answers the question about whether they've had sex or not..."
And while the two of us are standing there trying to out redden each other, it gets worse!
His dad says, "Hey yeah! We don't have to worry about pregnancy."
It may not have been so embarrassing, but MY parents were laughing along with them.
I came upstairs and started writing this.
I'd like someone to repair my parents humor-kabobble dohickey.
Please?
Courtney
Friday, 16 November, 2007
Dear Diary
That was so much fun!
Academic Decathalon is great!
Okay, so we didn't win every event, but we did well enough to get second place over all as a team, and there were 11 schools there. I got first place Frosh, and in the Quiz Bowl section we got second place.
Matthew was up to his normal stuff today at lunch. Halfway through lunch, he stands up and announces, "In view of the recent developments in the rumor mill, I shall make it easier for you all. Yes. Courtney and I are what you may call an 'item' now. That means nothing more or less than exactly what it is, and is what our parents and grandparents would have called, 'Going steady,' in their days."
Then he sat down and continued to eat while I tried to melt into a puddle in my chair to get away from the whispers and stares.
He's such a goober... but he's MY goober!
Courtney
Saturday, 17 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Saturdays are for sleeeeeeeeepy.
Mom and me both agree there. Daddy was up and gone to play golf or polo or tiddlywinks or whatever at some stupidly early time and sometime around 10 this morning is when we got up.
We sat at the table and blinked at each other.
She pushed a cup of hot cocoa over to me and poured her morning cup of Nastyâ„¢ (some folks call it "coffee") and then we sat there and silently drank it.
We made it to my classes in time, but Mom had sunglasses to hide the bloodshot eyes and just sat there grinning at me while I had to be all perky.
She's a sadist.
Courtney
Sunday, 18 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Projectile vomiting is not a pleasant thing to witness. I spent a lot of today trying to nurse Mom while Daddy did the cooking of the chicken soup and the running out for soda crackers and vanilla ice cream for her.
Courtney
Monday, 19 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Matthew and I have a cunning plan!
We're going to try to get his parents and my parents to agree to have Thanksgiving together. We've discovered that neither of us are going anywhere, so if our families work together, it'll be double the fun and half the work for everyone.
Trouble is... I think both moms have already bought a turkey.
Daddy's home, I'll go ask 'em about it now!
Courtney
Tuesday, 20 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Okay, so we're on for Thanksgiving, and Matthew's family will be here at like 7am on Thursday. Ugh. Have I mentioned I like to sleep in?
Our moms will be doing the cooking thing, while our dads will be doing the watch sports thing... and Matthew and I will be helping our moms as much as we have to, and watching TV with our dads as much as we can get away with.
This year it's at our house, and I guess the expectation is that we do it at their house next year.
School today was kind of... blah.
I think even the teachers were ready for today to be over, because we had "study time" in most classes today. Tomorrow, we're only here until lunchtime, and then we're out until Monday.
The girls all wanna do the whole Mall trip thing tomorrow, and Jennifer's mom has offered to drive us all, I'm supposed to ask if I can go.
Oh.
I'd better go do that!
Courtney
Wednesday, 21 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Okay.
Shopping is fun -- it's one of my favorite pasttimes.
But shopping with four other girls, all of us with our own ideas of a schedule, our own agendas as to which sales to hit...
It's still fun, and a blast... but exhausting!
Like, every single store seemed to know 'Nessa and Hayleigh, and most knew Lisa and Jennifer... and I was so totally tired of being introduced to clerks and 'sales associates' by the end of the evening I wanted to scream.
"So who's your new friend, girls?"
Every.
Stinking.
Store.
The first couple startled us, because we weren't thinking of me as a 'new' addition. Hayleigh even said later that it was weird thinking of me as the 'new' girl because I was the reason we all hung out together.
That made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
So, anyway, we figured out after like, 20 minutes, that we all had Goth Topic on our 'must visit' lists, so we all just swarmed it. The dude in there was way put out because we're TEENYBOPPERS. Shyah. Right. As if. The chick in there, though... she didn't see teenyboppers. She saw dollar signs and knew to treat those dollar signs courteously. I got some purple and black stripey socks that come all the way up to the tops of my thighs, and a purple plaid skirt that 'Nessa said was indecently short, but Jennifer thinks I should wear it to school on Monday. I got a thing that looks like a corset when it's all done up and buckled (yeah, buckles on a corset is so nifty!), but really slips over my head and blouse. It matches the skirt and socks, and I got some Scá¼nci that match, too (y'know, I really don't know how to pronounce that, but I've always said it like "scrunchy" and no one's corrected me). With the boots I got to go with it all over at Faerie Feets, that was like half of my shopping funds. Oh! Lisa got this AMAZING green and brown outfit at Earthen Princess (lame name, but they have such awesome clothes) -- green and brown may sound boring, but it's abso-fricking-lutely the most gorgeous anything any of us came away with. It suits her, too. Green and brown and earth tone stuff just makes me look like I've been making mud pies.
At one point, I could SWEAR that I saw my Goober following us. But if he was, he and the OTHER goobers he was with (yeah, I know I saw at least a couple) were good at hiding once we spotted 'em.
Good day.
Great day.
Holy crap I spent a lot of money!
Being a girl is so expensive!
Courtney
Thursday, 22 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Mom liked all the stuff I got, I liked all the stuff I got... but today is Thanksgiving.
It's about the turkey.
Oh.
And about being thankful.
I'm thankful that I'm finally allowed to be who I'm supposed to be, more than anything.
And right now, it's 5 o'clock in the evening... and I'm thankful that I have a big fluffy bed in which to lapse into a tryptophan coma.
In language that geeks everywhere can understand:
Courtney
Friday, 23 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Okay. So a real date.
Well, sort of.
His mom is driving us because we're still, y'know, fourteen.
But we're going to see a movie with that old guy from Rain Man and that girl who was Queen Amidala in Star Wars.
It looks nifty, but best I can tell it's about a magical toy shop, like old style toy shop you see in those old movies where there's high ceilings and kids with their noses up against the glass. The old dude is pretty kooky in most things, so he should be good in this.
And then we're going for food, but he won't tell me where... I guess he thinks I like surprises. Hmph. Silly Goober.
Courtney
Saturday, 24 November, 2007
Dear Diary
No, he didn't kiss me last night, but c'mon... his mom was right there.
Today, all the girls are over here with moms and we showed off the stuff we got on Wednesday before making Daddy and the other dad go get stuff for a cookout while we called the other three dads and siblings.
We're playing with the PS2, and 'Nessa mentioned that her family just got one of those motion sensor game machines. It's called, "The Nintendo We," and I keep wondering if it's gonna be like the Royal We or something in history books of the future. Will people in the future have any clue what gaming is all about?
So, yeah, nice and lazy Saturday with an impromptu fashion show and cookout. Only thing we need is a beach to make it perfect! Hee!
Courtney
Sunday, 25 November, 2007
Dear Diary
I spent most of today trying to keep from crying.
I woke up to a brick being thrown through my window.
Mom and Dad were in there before my feet hit the floor. There was some weird guy yelling about how the Devil never rests on the Sabbath, and so he wouldn't either. Yelling all kinds of crazy things.
Then I realized he was yelling about me.
Because I'm "an abomination" or something.
So... God doesn't love me? I thought God loved everyone?
I was freaking out and then a car pulled up and Simone jumps out and TACKLES the guy, and he fights her off and runs away just as the cops get there -- Dad had called them, but I hadn't heard.
Simone knew the guy and the cops went to get him and he wasn't where he should've been. She knew he was going to do something like this and tried to stop him.
I have no idea what's going on.
But I don't think I wanna go to church anytime soon, if God hates me like that guy was saying.
Courtney
Monday, 26 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Argh.
Turns out, the crazy preacher guy was the pastor Grandma Thatcher requested from prison. That's how he knew about me.
I shoulda known.
God is love. He can't hate anyone -- it's the one thing that God can't do.
School was another day at school. I'm beginning to feel almost normal again.
Of course... word is definitely around that I'm "Goober's Girl" -- I dunno. It's not such a bad title to have. Hee!
Matthew Podnick is a Goober!
...
... but he's MY Goober.
Courtney
Tuesday, 27 November, 2007
Dear Diary
So, the crazy preacher guy was talked to by Grandma Thatcher. Her visitor privileges have been suspended, and if we don't find a way to convince him that he's wrong, I'm pretty much outed.
This is so totally not fair.
Hayleigh thinks I should meet the guy and ask him why my grandma would lie to him, and get all dewy-eyed. It might work. It also might cause him to dive over the table and throttle me along with letting him know what I look like.
Jennifer thinks I should out myself first, so that he (and Grandma Thatcher) neither one have anything left to hurt me with -- the problem there is that means that I've hurt myself.
Simone thinks she has a plan, but won't tell me. She talked to the cops about it, though.
Matthew just hugged me tight when he found out. He also said something about vectors and the Oort cloud and Geoffrey Chaucer being deified, but I've learned to just let him ramble when he says things like that. It may be relevant, but no one will understand until after the fact and after much research into what he's rambling about.
Heh.
Courtney
Wednesday, 28 November, 2007
Dear Diary
Wow. Okay, so. Just wow.
Um, the editor of the newspaper just made life easier for me, and doesn't even know me. Grandma Thatcher's lawyer tried to out me by going to the newspaper, and thought there'd be nothing to stop it. He was arrested for something or other, I don't know the actual charges, but the editor that he gave the info to was the one that called the police..
So, yeah.
Oh, and in other news... Matthew's parents have decided that we're to go to their house for Christmas dinner, like they came over here for Thanksgiving.
His mom said she's gonna make roast duck.
Is it okay to eat ducks?
I mean... is that like eating horse or dog or cat or something?
Which animals are okay to eat?
Courtney
Sticks & Stones
May break my bones
But words will ne-ver
HURT ME!
I stared down from the little stone bridge into the calm water of the pond below me, reflections sharp in the lamplight of the park. With a sigh, I ran my hand back through my hair, then pulled the toothpick out of my mouth and flicked it toward my own distorted image.
"Hey! Chau! C'mon, man, we're gonna be late!"
I continued to stare into the rings making their way out across the water. Amazing, isn't it, the way just a single small thing renders the whole unintelligible?
"Chau! No foolin' man, this gig is paying and we NEED this, buddy! The depressed Indy kid act is for the customers -- now let's GO!"
I tugged on the open front of my long wool trench coat and bent to pick up my case. With a final glance at the pond, I tromped across the footbridge and toward Pete -- sorry... still getting used to it -- toward Pike and the brightly lit glass convention house a bit beyond him.
Trumpet. Soulful and Jazzy. Like a Japanese Louis Armstrong -- or even Dizzy Gillespie, but without the bent horn and puffy cheeks. I lose myself in the music every time, just paying enough attention to Pike, Ramona, Beth, and Roger to get the changeovers.
I needed it that night. I hoped they realize it. Gawd. I don't think I'd ever needed it like that. I hoped they pick up on that. After the day I had had, I needed that more than anything. Pike nodded to Ramona, who tapped the other two on the shoulders and they stepped back, Roger putting down his sticks. I glanced over and Ramona nodded to me.
I tore loose. Ohhh yeah. Better than any drug I've ever heard tell of. I ran the gamut. From standard basic jazz riffs to some of the most bluesy horn you'll hear outside of the French Quarter. Song, after song, after song, after... song. Eventually, some of the partygoers noticed that there was only one playing and I ignored them. My eyes closed, lost in the music. They stopped to listen, but I didn't care. They could've started booing me right then, and I'd've gone on.
Finally spent, I opened my eyes and looked up as I played one last long, bent and bluesy note, echoing away in the silent glass house. Everyone standing and staring at me.
I played it cool. I nodded and stepped back as the other four picked up on another standard. I flopped into my chair on the little stage and pulled out my cloth. I started rubbing down the horn as my bandmates picked up where I left off. There was a murmur and a smattering of applause as I stopped, but they just kind of melted back into their dancing.
After a bit, I stood back up and I played along with the band. I felt a bit better, but still not great. Music soothes the soul... it can't mend it.
We finished and I packed up my trumpet, and Pike gave me my cut... but I noticed him slip a five from each of the other piles and add it to mine.
"C'mon, Pete, uh, Pike, we all need the money. I appreciate the gesture, but..."
"Chau. Buddy. Dude. Um, -ette. Well, someday you'll be an -ette... Buddy. You did a twenty-five minute solo. Don't look at me that way, you DID. You totally deserve an extra Jackson, and well, it's only costing each of us a five. Take it with the good grace you're supposed to have on this whole journey to becoming a woman."
I looked over at the others and they were smiling, Beth giving me a thumbs up. I nodded... hell, I know I blushed.
"The solo was as much for me as for them..."
Ramona cleared her throat.
"And, my dear sister-in-waiting, there's nothing wrong with a gal enjoying what she does for a living. Look, when I marry your retard-o brother, you really will be my little sister, anatomy notwithstanding, so you HAVE to listen to me. So there."
I grinned and pulled in the petite blonde (though, her current purple and blue and green and white would never give that away) for a hug, and smiled shyly at the others.
"You know, hon," put in the perky little redhead, "Someday soon, you need to show us the real you."
Pike and Ramona murmured assent, but...
"Count me out on that, man."
Roger took another drag of his 'clove' and flicked it toward the pond. It didn't make it, but sat there on the bank in the dark and smouldered.
"Look. I don't care, really, I mean, you say you're a chick... fine... your business, and I can see where you'll be a total fox once you get, well, girlified. But I know you as a guy. My brain can't handle it. I mean, you're the hottest horn in town, and I'm happy to get to play with you... but I don't need to see your 'true self' to get along, y'know?"
I nodded, and opened my mouth to tell him it was okay.
"No, Chau. It's not okay, and don't say it is. I know it's a horrible thing to say to you, but I can't help it. I mean, I've known you only for less than a year, and you trusted me along with these three to tell me your big secret. You put yourself out there and I smack you in the face and tell you to put it away. If I'd known you as a chick, and you'd told me you used to be a dude... I wouldn't want to see any pictures of you before, get it? I support your right to be who you are, and I understand that society sucks ass for not allowing it. But I'm a product of that environment, yo?"
Roger dropped the clove that none of us remembered him lighting onto the sidewalk and ground it out, then swung open the squeaky door of the red '89 Ford pickup with his drum kit in the back, started it and drove away.
"Well," said Pike, "That was..."
"What it was, was rude, Petey," said Beth.
"It's Pike, dammit," mumbled the scruffy faceman and then nodded to each of us and headed back through the park with his guitar strapped to his back.
The three of us walked over to the footbridge (the two with portable instruments carrying them along), leaning over the rail in silence for awhile.
"He's right, you know."
"He's a shit, right Beth?"
"Doesn't make him any less right."
"Chau, listen to Ramona. Look. You're all stressed out. Don't let him bother you. Sticks & Stones would survive fine without him."
"You're a lousy liar, Beth."
"I'm also a lesbian and in love with you, you twit."
"What?"
She laughed. A sound with a music of its own I could get lost in.
"Um, you didn't just say,"
"Oh, yes she did, chica."
I snapped my head around to look at Ramona.
"Chee, Chau... she's been droppin' hints the size of all Baltimore at you for months."
Beth was nodding and looking pouty behind Ramona.
"But I'm --"
Beth interrupted me.
"Yes, I know... mere details -- ones that will change, at that. I'd be okay with you as you are and as you become who you're supposed to be, but I understand that you gotta do this your way. Just know... you ain't gotta do it alone, petit."
I laughed at the double... no... triple reference. She's from 'Nawlins' and Cajun to the core. I'm originally from Georgia and have a slight... very slight... accent. Some of the kids at school call me 'Belle' to try and rag on me. See, one of the things Beth and I have in common is the X-Men... totally into the Gambit/Rogue romance plot.
"You tryin' t' tell me somethin' Cajun?" I asked, laying on the accent thick and putting my fists on my hips while I grinned at her.
Ramona rolled her eyes and pushed off the wall of the bridge.
"I gotta jet, girls. Play nice."
She picked her bass up and gave a sort of two-fingered salute and left us alone.
"You really meant...?"
She nodded and grinned.
"But I'm..."
She laughed again, sending chills up my spine, and pushed me back against the little wall.
"So... how long've..."
She just shook her head and grinned and shut me up with a kiss.
Sticks & Stones
May break my bones
But words will ne-ver
HURT ME!
I lifted my head and looked across into the mirror running along behind the bartender. With a sigh, I lifted my glass and drained the last of the cranberry juice from the glass, then slid it back away from me as I slipped off of the stool and tugged on the open front of my long wool trench coat. I fingered the meticulously pulled curl that was framing the right side of my face and sucked in air quietly through my teeth as I picked up my case and headed for the door.
"Have a good night, Chau..." came her voice as she polished the countertop that didn't need it.
I nodded as I pushed open the heavy oak slab.
I stopped, just outside in the just-beginning mists of rain, and looked up at the night sky. I shuffled down the three blocks to the town square where the gazebo was, aware the entire time that Beth and Ramona would lecture me on posture and pride and confidence and... and lots of things that I do wrong. What was the point?
I stopped in the gazebo, and just sat and rested for a moment. The rain -- or threat of rain, even -- would keep a lot of the locals from being out, but the tourists wouldn't be bothered.
After a moment or three, I pulled my trumpet out and started. Softly at first for a few songs, and then losing myself like I always did, just letting my soul pour out through the three valves. I paused and opened my eyes. There was a crowd, and I looked down. The trumpet case had a respectable amount of cash in it.
I smiled kind of weakly at my "patrons" and slipped back into the music. I forgot about the crowd. Forgot about the past year. Forgot about everything... except the music. I don't know how long I played, but I felt a bit better. They say that music soothes the soul, well... I don't know about all that, but it certainly makes me forget about how things are for a while.
As the world came back to me, and I saw all the umbrellas and heard the murmurs of appreciation. I nodded into the crowd and froze. While they slipped away into the darkness, going about whatever tourist errands they had interrupted to listen to my soul spill out, I just stared until they were all mostly gone. Then, when we were alone, I spoke.
"Um. Hi, Ramona. What, ah, what brings you to --"
"Just shut up, Chau."
"Yes ma'am. Shutting up, ma'am."
She made an annoyed noise in her throat. The crowd was mostly gone, so she helped me gather up the bills and change that had accumulated both in and near-ish the case, and then stow my horn inside.
We were silent.
After we finished, we walked together under the still sprinkling sky that hid the moon, sort of agreeing to go the same direction without saying anything.
"You know she's been drunk off her ass since you skipped."
"Geez, 'Mona..."
"No, Chau, you left without a single damn word. I could have told her where you'd be. I could have sent --"
"Leave my brother out of this."
"Right. You know if you ask me, I'll leave you here to your... whatever the hell you're doing... and go back, never mentioning I even saw you. But I wanna know. Why?"
"You know why, 'Mona."
I paused to kick a rock out across the glistening-wet faux-cobblestones of the street. Dammit. I don't want to cry.
She reached over and lifted my chin.
"Don't duck your head, little sister."
A sob and a chuckle fought free at the same moment, and the ridiculousness of that set me off.
We sat down right there and she hugged me through my soaked wool coat as I cried into her shoulder. I was afraid my sobs would knock her over, but she just stroked my head and made, "Shh-shh-shh-shh-shh," noises quietly as she rocked me softly. For some reason, it worked.
After a bit we stood up and started walking again. The rain had stopped, and everything had a sheen of glisten about it. Everything had a smell of spring rain, even here in the middle of the city.
We paused and I glanced in the window of an all-night coffeehouse. My hair was a wet and dripping mess. Any pale excuse for makeup I'd had on was long washed from my face by tears and rain. I glanced at her and jerked my thumb toward the place.
She nodded, and we made our way inside to a table. I stared out the window while she went up to order. I shucked out of my coat, letting it drip dry over the back of my chair.
She set a latte or a cappuccino or whatever it was in front of me. I grunted a thanks of some kind and took a sip. It was bitter, almost tasteless, and kind of nasty consistency. It was also hot. I took another sip.
"Okay. Now. Why?"
I sighed.
"You know, 'Mona, I left so I wouldn't have to answer shit like that."
"Too bad I found you then. Spill."
With a sigh, I ran my hand back through my hair, a habit from another lifetime. It made her smile.
"Why should you care?"
"Talk."
Another sigh. Another run through my drenched hair.
"Well... you remember that night at the glass house? The night I jumped into the solo piece last year?"
She frowned a moment while she searched her memory, then smiled.
"The night Beth told you she loved you."
"The night one of my best friends told me that he'd never accept me."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Oh. Well, I didn't feel quite... right... around Roger after that, 'Mona. I mean, he didn't act any different, and he was even all respectful. Hell, at one point he even made one of those comments that guys always make about lesbian fantasies when Beth kissed me at a gig."
She reached across the little table and took my hand, giving it a little squeeze.
"I... love... Beth. I really do. I ache for her constantly. But I can't be with her. It hurts more to be there with her and know that she's compromising herself, her beliefs... to be good to me."
"Oh, sweetie --"
"No, 'Mona. Just no. You have my brother. You know what love is. Pete has Ginny. Even Roger found someone. Beth... Beth has a promise of an imitation someday in the future that's undefined. I can't stand that. I can't hurt her anymore."
"Don't you see you're hurting her by running out like this? She's been blind stinking drunk for the past three months, Chau."
I tried not to show what I was feeling, but this woman has been able to read me like a book since we met.
"See, girl, I know you care. Look. It's not that undefined. At least, not if you come back. The band is long gone, so you really never have to associate with Roger again if you don't want. You have a therapist and you've been on the whole hormone thing for nearly a year. You've been living as a woman... the real you for 7 months. Why throw all that away?"
I started again with the body-wracking sobs. I kept the noise down, but some of the others in the coffeehouse looked over at us all curious-like.
"Don't you think that's hard for me? I love Beth. I need to be able to be myself, to be the woman I am. I need my friends, too, though. Roger won't even meet my eyes, 'Mona. Not even if we meet randomly at a gas station. He... when I went up to talk to him in the club that last night... 'Mona, ignoring me is one thing, I can handle that. But what he said..."
She lifted my face again and used her thumb to remove some clinging bit of outside from under my left eye.
"We all love you, Chau. Beth needs you, like you need her. To hell with Roger and people like him."
I lay my head down on the table and closed my eyes. I let my mind wander for a moment.
"I don't even know who I am, anymore, 'Mona."
I lie there a moment more. An eon more. Then I opened my eyes.
A tiny face was staring concerned into mine. Brows furrowed in pain as she felt it with me.
"I know who you are. You're the girl that's always playing the sad horn music in the park. Why are you so sad?"
"She's sad because her friend said something that was very mean to her."
"Oh."
"Elizabeth Ann! You leave those ladies alone. I'm sorry girls..." rambled the little empath's mother as she took her by the hand and led her away.
Elizabeth Ann turned and pulled her hand away and ran back to me, throwing her arms around me in the small-person version of a crushing bear hug. Her mother was horrified, but... it... helped.
"Thank you, Elizabeth Ann," I directed at the sweet little face.
"No problem, lady. Hugs make even the worstest hurts inside your heart feel better for awhile. And I bet the mean friend was a boy. Boys are gross. Just remember what my gran'pa says that words can't hurt you."
Her mother pulled her away, then... and paid their bill, all the while giving my new favorite child a lecture on the dangers of speaking to strangers. I looked over at Ramona.
"Wise words from the wisest of sources."
I smiled, and looked out the window to where Elizabeth Ann was still being scolded as she was strapped into a carseat.
Then I whispered, "Thank you, Elizabeth Ann."
I stood, hefted my case, and waited for Ramona to take me home to my girlfriend.
Um. Hullo. I really don't have much of an idea what to do here, but Mrs. Willhuite said I was supposed to be the "Director" of our group. I don't know what that means other than to make certain the group is here. I guess just a quick intro is kind of in order.
My name is Melisande Agatha Decker-Williston, but I'd prefer it if you would call me (and refer to me) as Stormy. I'm 23 years old, I will be a teacher this fall, at the local high school (yes, I'm way nervous about it), and am working on my Masters in Library Science. I am currently living back in my hometown of Sheffield's Crossing, Connecticut.
I'm taking INF 169 as part of the graduate-level "base skills" necessary for my degree.
This is only my third online class ever, so please, if I'm making errors in, "Netiquette," let me know -- but be gentle.
I live with my younger sisters (twins) who will be seniors in high school this fall.
My only other "tenants" are a ferret named Wonder Weasel and a pair of bearded dragons named Bud Abbott and Lou Costello (Lou is the funny one).
I guess my standard schedule this summer will be mostly dedicated to going to my class and preparing to TEACH this fall.
Er... I guess as a Standard Disclaimer, I'll just say: Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate.
Stormy
Hello, all. My name is Lindsay Nieves, but please call me Snowy.
I'm almost 17 years old, and I'm taking this course because my school counselor recommended it "for various reasons." One is to help me get into college, although at this point I doubt that I'm going. The other is to have contact with people in other parts of the world, and *that* is something I do look forward to.
I live with my family. I have an older brother, Rolly, who is 19, and my little sister Bibi, who is ten.
Our home is in Timbuctoo, California, in the old gold-rush country. In the 1850s it was a booming place and had its own Wells Fargo office. Now we don't even have our own post office, so you can imagine how lively things are.
You can still see the Wells Fargo building, which is quite historical, even if it is just a roof resting on the ground. There's a fence around it, so no one can go in and mess it with it. Or climb inside and steal something. (Just joking, of course!)
By the way, I wrote that stuff about Wells Fargo because my mother recommended that I try to describe the "bucolic delights" of this outback each time I write.
"Bucolic delights" is my mother's phrase. Part of the reason she thinks this is such a wonderful place to live is that she travels a lot for her job. She sells medical equipment, which you would think is a dead-end job. I mean, after all the hospitals and clinics buy their equipment, the market is gone, right?
Apparently not, because somehow she goes on selling.
My father is an engineer. He works at Beale Air Force base, which is close by. He always says, "I'm a civilian, and I'm civil, but I'm not a civil engineer."
My main project this summer is to find a job other than babysitting. There are some problems with that: there aren't many jobs other than babysitting, and I have to take care of Bibi most nights. Even though I don't get paid for *that*, I can take her with me if I babysit someone else.
There's actually a ton of money in babysitting, but it's a job that seriously impacts one's social life.
And way out here in the sticks, there is not much social life to be had.
Hmm... what else to say?
I'm related in some way to Tito Nieves, the salsa singer who sang on "I Like It Like That" -- so when you hear that song, think of me. I know I do.
Hey, Stormy, what will you teach in high school? You didn't say. We don't have any library-related classes at my school.
Laters,
Snowy
Um, Hi, I’m Ginanna Sachs and I just turned twenty-two. My family name is German, I think, or French, it all depends on where the border was at the time great-great grandpa Sachs emigrated. My name is a combination of Mom’s favorite great aunts, Gina and Anna, both immigrants from Italy, Sicily to be exact.
I’m taking INF169 to complete my non-degree electives requirement for graduation. If my oral defense of my thesis goes well I expect to receive my doctorate in organic chemistry this December. That right, I said doctorate. Ms. Willhuite said to describe ourselves to each other so here goes. I mean I simply HAVE to tell somebody only keep it to yourself, GOT IT?
Sorry I *shouted* net-etiquette wise but I am so mad I had to take this on-line course, no offence meant to you, Ms Willhuite, or the institution, instead of at my university. It makes me so angry... just today I was walking across campus minding my own business when this guy come up from behind and pinches my butt. Then he tries to feel me up WHILE his girlfriend eggs him on. And don’t say, ‘Well, you must have tried to steal her boyfriend, slut!’ I swear, I didn’t even know the couple! Plus I am not that kind of a girl.
I’d best explain. I... I was a *late* developer. I was sixteen and in my senior year of high school when I first menstruated; I’d skipped a couple grades early in school. I was four-foot-nine, eight-five pounds and built like a stick. And yes, I was and I still am a science geek, more properly a geekette I suppose. Want to make something of it? I never had a date in school, except for this one prank someone tried to pull for prom but … that’s another story.
By the time I entered college at eighteen, I took a year off to *find* myself, I had filled out... a lot. I was five-foot eight, one-hundred and twenty-five pounds and built like a brick sh... I got offers to model. Ads I did for a local department store chain helped pay for most of my college, that and my scholarships. I stopped growing, for the most part, at twenty. I am now a five-foot eleven, one-hundred and thirty pound babe. Think of Sophia Loren at that age but better, honest! People keep asking me if I’m a Playboy model, that’s how good looking I am. I’ll send a photo someday if you like. I finally got asked out on dates, lots of them, by attractive men and a few even more attractive women and I loved it.
'So why is Ms Brunette-bombshell so bitter?' you’re asking yourselves, or is that self? Because it all went to hell a year ago, thank god few ever bother me in the research labs. What is it with people that they think an attractive young woman with long legs and large breasts is a slut? I can’t help it if I inherited my Italian ancestors lush frames and my great aunt Agatha’s statuesque height. Agatha is another pet peeve of mine. It’s my middle name; Stormy, you have my condolences. Once the kids in grade school learned my initials were G A S you can imagine what life was like for Ms Stinky, Smelly Sack, Gina McGassy … You get the picture. And all because my great aunt was loaded and my parents figured if they named me for her she’d... I HATE MY F***ING PARENTS!
Getting back to why I HATE my name. When I got to college, no one knew me. I dropped the middle initial and went by Gina or Ginanna mostly. I preferred Ginanna as it sounded sexy, almost exotic. I got dates, was admired, even envied and it was heaven, not that I rubbed it in of course. Then a year ago I started getting strange looks from other students. Some would be talking and stop suddenly when I passed, and start up right after. I had insults muttered at me and disgusting notes left where I would find them describing in lured details what the pervert wanted to do with me.
Sorry to vent like this but, I have issues.
Ginanna Agatha Sachs
P.S. Did you know there are at least two current, popular porn actresses who go by the name Ginanna and I look like one of them, even down to my hair color, except I’m taller. And she does EVERYTHING for the camera.
P.P.S. Did I tell you I hate my G. d. parents?
* * * *
No Italians or Sicilians were hurt in the making of this story though many small furry animals...
Ignore that last bit, okay?
Hello, Stormy and everyone else in this class with me.
My name is Esther Polk, but everyone calls me Star. Esther was my Great grandma’s name and my mom thought I should be the lucky one to carry on a family name. And NO I am not into synchronized swimming, nor do I have a swimsuit company.
Hmmm. Let’s see. What else can I really tell you? You know, I really hate these introductory bios. I don’t lead that interesting of a life. Really
I’m 17 years old and a junior in high school, well I would be, but I’m in what is known as 'Running Start'. A program for high school students to go to college in place of high school, there by getting our Associates degree at the same time we are getting our H.S. diploma.
I grew up in the Pacific North West, but two months ago, My parents, in their infinite wisdom decided to ruin my life by uprooting everything I have ever known and moved us to this desert no-man’s hole in the ground. :( I haven’t seen a rain drop the whole time I’ve been here. Daddy is a Radiology Tech and my mother is a hairstylist. They could get a job anywhere, and I still don’t know why they picked this spot in South West Utah. Of all the hot places to go, why couldn’t they pick somewhere like Phoenix, or San Diego, or even Las Vegas? No. They had to pick this tiny town.
Poor Puke is dying from the heat here. :( Oh, I should probably tell you. Puke is my Westie. Her real name is Lacey, but she has some kind of genetic eating disorder that caused her to throw up all over the place until we figured out that she needed a special diet. My brothers thought Puke was a better name for her and it unfortunately stuck. Anyway, with all of this heat, I had to take her down to the groomers and get the poor thing shaved. She is adorable, but looks so funny with out all of her fur. :)
Lets see... Oh yeah, you wanted to know our likes and dislikes. I like ice cream, especially chocolate, but I can’t indulge too often or else it will go to my hips. :(
I think I like lightening storms. We had one here last week, and man was it cool. We didn’t get lightening storms in Washington, just rain. but to see the lightening dancing around the sky was really cool.
Oh who can forget shopping. I LOVE to shop. The mall here is okay, not like back home, but there are a few interesting stores. I found the cutest outfit the other day. It was a pink cami with cute detailing on it, and I paired it up with a flowing white summer skirt. It goes great with my flip-flops, or I can dress it up with my healed sandals.
I like watching hockey. My older brother Leo plays hockey and it is really fun going to the games. Some of those players are so hot. They’re tough and cute. My mother says I really shouldn’t date anyone on my brothers team cuz it could cause problems, specially if I were to date someone on his line, which really sucks, because there is this one player, Mike who plays left wing, who is so gorgeous.
Dislikes. Well, I don’t like dishonesty. People who lie just plain suck. I don’t like one hundred degree weather which I’m finding out we get a lot here. :( Oh, and I don’t like old men who always seem to be checking me out or something. It is like totally gross. :(
So like I said, I don’t really have anything interesting to talk about.
See you all around.
<3 <3 <3 *Star* <3 <3 <3
Okay, introductions first I guess. My name is Kendall Green,
I'm 25 and I live in Hallandale, Florida, about fifteen miles north of Miami. I don't have a cute nickname I'm afraid; just Kendall. I'm a single mom, I've lived here about six years now, and my son Taylor and I share a small house with my friend Sharon and her daughter Cami.
Let's see, what else can I tell you about me? I love to cook and I'm good at it. I'm also a fair hand behind a bar. Sharon runs her own catering business, and I help her out sometimes tending bar. I love all kinds of music and I'd have to say that dancing is a passion of mine. Of course the biggest love of my life is Taylor>; I'll do anything for my baby. I'm a bit of an exercise freak … okay maybe more than a bit. I jog, bike, weight-train; Bowflex really should send me a Christmas card every year.
I have to admit I feel a bit intimidated. So far we've got one person working on a master's degree, another working on a doctorate, and two 17 year olds in this course! What's next, a Nobel Prize winner looking to pick up another degree for kicks?
Then we have me; I got pregnant my junior year in high school. Taylor was born that June, and I went to work instead of back to school. While my former classmates were going to prom and graduating, I was working as a waitress at a truck stop out by the interstate. I finally got my GED two years ago, and now I'm working online towards a degree in business administration. It's slow going, but my work schedule makes taking classes in person pretty much impossible.
Despite the intimidation factor, I'm looking forward to this whole thing. I'm a very outgoing person and I love meeting new people. I can't wait to get to know everyone here; I've never been outside Florida, and the chance to communicate with people from all over is really exciting … even if I do feel like Pinky in a group full of Brains.
Kendall
My name is Danny Grant. I'm 26 years old and I live in Worthing, West Sussex, on the south-east coast of England.
Really, it's not the south east coast, but that's just me being pedantic. For those of you who are not aware, it's referred to as God's waiting room because of all the old-people's homes there are. One person even suggested it's a cemetery with lights on.
Anywho, it's about 56 miles from London as the crow flies.
Why do they say that? Have you even seen a crow fly? It's all over the place…
Yeah, right…
So anyway, that's where I live.
I have a small flat there. They call it a studio flat, which just means that if you sit on the bed, except for the shower/toilet, you can practically reach everything in the who flat - handy in some cases, not in others.
There's a wicked view of the sea from the window, which is why I put up with it being a bit on the small side. I'm right opposite the beach, so it's pretty cool.
I'm doing this course because it means I can work from home.
I do most things from home, I like it that way.
Mum reckons I'm like that girl on that film — The Net, only I'm not a girl. She says I should get out more, but I say stick with what you're comfortable with.
Anyway, I do go out, I'm just not in the pub every night like she and all her piss-head friends are, but you didn't want to know that did you? You want to know stuff like whether I have a cat named Fluffy or my favourite colour is purple or something.
Sorry to disappoint.
Danny
Hiya,
My name is Paige Turner, I’m 19 and live in Cardiff, the capital of Wales. I doubt you ‘mericans have ever heard of it, although at one time most of the coal used in the world was exported through it.
I’m a student doing my first year pre-clinical studies, which means in about a million years, I could be a doctor, medical one in case you didn’t get that. It’s hard work and I don’t have a lot of time for much else–I’m not the cleverest in my year, so I take longer to do most things.
Why am I doing this course? I think because I could do it at my own pace and because it’s very different from the biochem and physics they are trying to force into my crowded little brain at my formal university.
Not much else to say at the moment, I live at home, which means I get to eat regularly and my mother does most of my laundry–I’m an only child, so I suppose I get spoilt, just a little. My dad is a physiotherapist, so I suspect, I’m getting his medical degree by proxy–he always wanted to be a doctor. My mother is a social worker–you know, takes children off harmless parents and puts them in care for their own good. You know the difference between a rottweiler and a social worker? The rottweiler eventually gives the baby back–yeah, okay it isn’t that funny, but then like most girls, I can’t tell jokes.
I really am going now, I have an assignment to complete, it’s only a week late.
Bye,
Paige 8)
For those of you that are wondering just what is going on with this series, this is a short post to give you the basics.
The idea for this series is to have a bunch of independent authors building off of each other. We came up with a framework, the online Communications course, that would allow these characters to interact. If you've read the first eight chapters, you've been introduced to the eight principle characters: Stormy, Snowy, Ginanna, Star, Kendall, Danny, George, and Paige. The correspondence between these folks is to accomplish one part of their INF 169 class, and they'll be sharing information about themselves through email as the story builds. This is the post to ask your questions, and if I'm allowed to answer them without giving away anything, I'll do so throughout! If you want to ask questions about the separate characters, ask them here and I or the others -- whoever is responsible for that character -- will attempt to answer it if it's not "secret" about the character.
As you read through each chapter, there will be comments by the other participating authors with "ICR" followed by their character's name... this is an In Character Response by that character to the currently posting character. Think of it like a thread on a forum or email list.
Edeyn
Well. That went pretty good. Sort of. We have a really, ah, random mix of folks here. It's nice to meet you all and I hope we can get along -- who knows, we may end up being friends for decades because of this assignment.
Do you all think it's possible to be good friends with someone you only know on the internet? I think the jury is still out. I've never experienced it myself, but I have friends who swear that some of their best friends are strangers.
That's just a bit creepy, for my tastes.
Names seemed to be a running theme for the first intros... so let me ask the lot of you: Do you think my name (the actual one, Melisande Agatha Decker-Williston, not my nickname) is too pretentious-sounding? I don't think it is, but it kind of makes folks seem to think that I'm... standoffish. Melisande was my mother's favorite aunt's name, and Agatha was my father's grandmother's name. Decker is my mother's maiden name, and Williston is my father's name. The hyphenation wasn't my idea, by the way. My mother is totally one of those "society" ladies. Always going on about how wonderful her debut was and how great it was to be a debutante. Fat cow.
So, what kind of things do we really want to discuss here, folks?
We really have a sanctioned email list with no restrictions, other than that we all participate. No filters, no censors, we get to say what we really think of things to people we're really never going to get to meet. Or have to meet, depending on your point of view.
Well, for now... I'll just talk about what comes to mind. How about how I came to be called Stormy? You might think it was some kind of commentary on my teenage years or something, and while I was certainly more unpredictable than my contemporaries, the name came to be in much more... embarrassing a manner.
I decided one day when I was 16 that I didn't NEED any help to handle the school's sailboat by myself, despite the weather report warning of "rough" before the day was through. I was never really in any danger because it wasn't a GALE or anything, and my father had a chase-craft following me without me knowing in case something went wrong (which it did). But there wasn't a soul in the girls' dorm that wasn't calling me Stormy by lights out that night and in the entire Academy by the next night. So, while it was earned in embarrassment, it could have been much worse, and I adopted the name as sort of a badge that I'd accomplished my teenage idiocy and could put it behind me.
Today's Standard Disclaimer: Don't make me angry... you wouldn't LIKE me when I'm angry...
Stormy
Well! I feel a lot better now that everyone's introduced themselves. Like I said, my school counselor thought I could "benefit" from contact with people from outside this area, and I think I will. Maybe not the benefit that *she* thought, but I'm sure I'll benefit.
What I'm saying is that I was a bit nervous about writing. I assumed that I'd be the youngest one here, but I also assumed I was the only one who wasn't completely happy with their situation in life.
I sure didn't expect to not be the only one living in the middle of a very hot nowhere. We've been topping 100 degrees lately.
For you UK-sians, we've been going well over 38 degrees every day. Usually this time of year there are no clouds at all, but because of the wildfires it's quite hazy. The air quality is bad, and even though it doesn't bother me, my parents won't let me ride my bike. One of my parents' friends (one of the few I like) has to stay in ONE room in her house, hunkered down with her air purifier. She even has breathing problems on good days.
Luckily, all the fires are far away from us, so we're not worried about getting burned out. And no jackasses started any fires on the Fourth, so we're good.
So...
I was also interested to see that I'm not the only one who isn't 100% comfortable with their name. Stormy, I think your name is fine. It is a mouthful, but it's not bad. I mean, if you called yourself Lady Melisande Agatha Decker-Williston (of the Sheffield's Crossing Decker-Willistons), I don't think anyone would think twice about it.
Which, now that I say it... well, no, it doesn't sound pretentious. It's just long by American standards.
My own name, in the Spanish style (and this will show you why I don't like MY name) is:
Lindsay Felisa Maria Solidad Nieves Lindsay
Because your last two names are your father's last name and your mother's last name. My mother — knowing full well the wrong and the damage she was doing — gave me Lindsay as my first name EVEN THOUGH it was already there in my last name.
We've fought about this many times... Oh, man! And I didn't want to get into this, but what the hell...
I'm Puertorican, and proud of the fact, but unfortunately, I look just like my mother, with pale skin and blond hair, so everyone thinks I'm white.
I'm not.
And my mother has ALWAYS assumed that I want to live in the Anglo world, as if my Boriken (Puertorican) heritage didn't matter.
And so, you know — well, maybe you won't know, so I'll tell you — but just reading about the rest of you so far gives me hope that I can get away from all this: this hot little town, my stupid name, and some parts of my family.
But, sorry! Don't mean to complain. Now that I've whined so much, I have to find something nice to end with.
Okay: here are a few things.
For the Fourth of July, the winds blew all the haze away, so we had nice, clean air for the holiday weekend. My friend Lewis got one firework: one HUGE thing like a rocket, and he lit it off from my backyard.
It took off into the air, at least twice as high as any of the houses around, and we got SO SCARED that it was going to come down and set something on fire. It didn't seem like a stupid idea until it was hanging up there in the air. Because, you know, all the plants and houses and everything on the ground is as dry as old matchboxes.
Obviously, we weren't supposed to do it.
It exploded with a tremendous BAM!, and this big bright fountain of blue, red, and white, opened up like a flower.
At first we were astonished and happy (and tremendously relieved that we hadn't started a wildfire). Then we heard neighbors yelling, so my friends and I all ran into my house and hid for half an hour with the lights off, laughing our heads off.
My mean neighbor, Mr. Curry, asked me if I knew anything about it the next day, and I feigned innocence, so he was disgusted and walked off, which added some quality to the event.
Another nice thing: on Saturday, I was walking with my friend by the river, and we saw a family of deer. They were only maybe ten yards away, but they were upwind of us, so we stood still and they couldn't see us. We watched them for a while but then Denise had to cough, which scared them off.
One last thing, also very nature-y: Last week, a cow and a sheep turned up in my neighbor's front yard. This is VERY unusual, since the ranches are not that close to us. Anyway, there was a group of animals being taken somewhere (who cares where) and these two got away. My neighbor, again, Mr. Curry (who is not a nice man), had just put in sod in his front yard, and the two animals walked all over it, leaving these deep, deep hoof-prints. They ripped huge pieces of sod out of place, and took big bites out of it.
And even better: they didn't mess with anyone else's yard but his.
Oh, my God, it was so funny! I don't know if you've ever seen someone try to shoo a cow away, but it's a riot. He's there, waving his arms, going "Shoo! Shoo, Bossy! Shoo, shoo!" and of course the cow just chews away, staring at him like he's an idiot.
It was only after he ran in the house to call animal control that the two animals left, and no one knew where they'd gone. I guess they're on the lam. (ha ha)
Plus, in the sod, there were these teeny tiny frogs, less than an inch long, and now they are everywhere. Super cute. My little sister Bibi loves them.
Oh, dear God, what am I telling you!?
Yes, people! Things can get so desperately boring that you laugh at cows.
Laters,
Snowy
Hi, Ginanna again.
I got off subject there on my into and missed a few things you probably want to know about me.
I live in the Village of Shenicqua, Wisconsin. That is spelled s h e n I c q u a. If you leave it completely out you get The Village and that’s a fictional town in The Prisoner, though sometimes I think I understand his pain. It used to be and still is a very exclusive outer suburb of Milwaukee. The area was first settled by wheat farmers and later dairy farmers after it was logged off. Because of all the lakes, a gift of the last ice-age, it eventually became a popular home-away-from-home for the beer barons, packing house millionaires and rich industrialists of Chicago and Milwaukee. If you know the history of Lake Geneva in Walworth County, the deep lake where Wrigley of chewing-gum fame had ocean going yachts shipped in by rail, you have a feel for the place. Shenicqua was even more exclusive but almost as easily reached by rail. The rich came here whenever Lake Geneva got too crowded with the proletariat, I.E. the average blue-collar folks.
In more recent decades many of the wealthy have moved to the west and south along with all those Federal tax dollars they siphon off of us here, that’s another story. Some of the rich kept their mini-baronial estates. Some converted them into fancy country clubs with luxury hotels, golf courses and Arabian horses to amuse the wealthy. A few donated their ill-gotten gains to charity and that’s why I’m here, there are several private prep schools and colleges in the area along with a campus of the University of Wisconsin system. All were former estates. I do my research here except for occasional trips to Mad City, our state capitol, and the BIG UW campus. All the schools are either in the village or within a twenty minute commute by car.
The community is currently a mix of the remaining rich and those who long for the old days, an almost bohemian artist community, lots of students, academics and that ilk AKA people like me, and just enough working class stiffs to *man the engine room*, so to speak. Hey, somebody has to staff the hardware store, be plumbers, fix cars, flip burgers and the like. I‘ve waitressed and I have nothing but respect for those poor souls. My tush still clenches involuntarily when I think of how many times it got pinched or slapped by rude diners. To be honest I liked the job and I would still be doing it if not for this confusion with the porn actresses … Aaaaaaah! God I hate it!
Sorry, where was I?
Oh, my dear great Aunt Agatha, remember she was okay, it’s what my parents did that I object to, the bastards. In any case Agatha left me a bequest in her will. I paid off my student loans and bought a neat house, a cozy Cape Cod. I rent out rooms to students in need, this nice couple Tammy and her life-mate Kymberley are my current tenants. For practical reasons and because I liked it, I bought a used Mazda Miyata convertible, powder-blue and cute as a bug! I needed a car to get to Madison, AKA Mad City as the bus connection was awkward at best and for a sports car it’s good on gas so I don’t feel too guilty. Locally I bicycle to get around or walk. It’s great little community though it is getting overgrown with artists of late. I mean, how many potteries and coffeehouses with poetry nights do we need? I’m exaggerating here but we are a very artsy-fartsy community.
I study, teach classes and blow things up, a joke among us organic chemist types. I also tutor students. That last item I’ve almost given up except when asked to by professors I trust. I had a bad experience with a student some while after the rumors started spreading that I was one of those porn actresses. This male student said he needed help with … I met him at his fraternity and … HOW could I make such a STUPID mistake? I’m supposed to be this near genius and I walk right into an attempted rape willingly. Thank god for taking a woman’s self-defense class, a female professor recommended one to me when she noticed I was working late hours in the lab and library.
I got out of there missing a few items of clothing but not anything else, and ran straight to the authorities, good move on my part, right? Wrong! The campus keystone cops said they’d investigate but nothing much happened. When I complained about a lack of progress some weeks later, I noticed a magazine of one of those *actresses* on the cover lying on top a desk. They’d failed to cover it up in time. I so wanted to tell those rednecks off but I’m not stupid enough to argue with the police so I used other means. No, I did not blow anyone up or poison them, tempting as it was. I simply hacked their university provided computer space and spilled the beans on the frat boys to the internet, every lurid detail. They’d been stupid enough to brag about their near rape, illustrated with digital pictures of my struggling self, no less, and stored them on a *secure* computer. What bone-heads! I blogged them back to the stone-age. NEVER piss off a geek.
Oh I like all sorts of music, bicycling, nature walks, snuggling with someone I love and, my guilty secret, I LOVE Cheetos, the fried kind. Give me a large bag and I’ll do ANYTHING!
Ginanna Agatha Sachs
Hello again from St. George, the hottest place on Earth.
I am like a fish totally out of water here. Most people in this sand trap don’t know ANYTHING about hockey. Apparently the only sports that go on around here is baseball and golf.
Apparently there are something like 23 golf courses here and who knows how many baseball fields. It seems like you can’t drive more than a block or two without seeing either a golf course or a baseball field. Don’t get me wrong, I like baseball, but not to the degree that these people do. Back in Seattle we’d go to our share of Mariner games or even Aquasox games (Aquasox are one of the Mariner farm teams).
My brother Jack told me once that golf was a walk through the park spoiled by a little white ball. Around here, you can’t even walk through them unless you have a little white ball which is too bad, since the golf courses are like green oasis in this orange sand and rock quarry. One of the neighbor girls down the street came by and asked if I wanted to play a round with her. Her name is Mary. Fortunately I already had plans. I told her that I would like to some other time though. I just moved here, I don’t want to be a snob or anything. Now I just need to figure out how to hit the ball with out making a total fool of myself. The only good thing was that IF I were to golf, I’d have to buy a new wardrobe, and Mary was wearing a cute outfit. Another plus about golf is that I wouldn’t need to wear a helmet or worry about team showers or anything.
I’m really finding out how different this place is. In Seattle, Everyone lived indoors. On sunny days EVERYONE was outside, gardening, soaking in the sun or just hanging out. Here, everyone goes outside in the evening after it starts to cool off. People almost live on their back patios in the evening. I can see why, it is pleasant at dusk, feeling some residual heat radiating from the patio and seeing the starts starting to pop out at night.
I’m glad you all seemed to have a good Forth. Daddy packed us all up and drove us to Vegas. It didn’t get us out of the heat, but they have nice pools and it was fun watching the eye-candy. I just wish I was old enough to drink, and or gamble. Mom and Daddy, did order me a drink every once in a while, but mostly if we’re already in our hotel room or somewhere else private.
Well, I guess I’ve bored you enough for now.
Can’t wait to read everyone else’s blogs
<3 <3 <3 *Star* <3 <3 <3
by Breanna Ramsey
of the Pen Pal Continuum
It seems to me several of our little group have some issues with their parents and I have to say it kind of upsets me. I don't know what the problems are … well except for Ginanna's dislike of her name … so I can't say the feelings aren't justified, but I thought maybe I could provide a little perspective based on my own life.
I never met my parents; I was left at the emergency room entrance of a hospital when I was just a day or two old. I was named by a nurse at the hospital, at least that's what I was told, but I have no idea why she named me Kendall.
Really I was lucky; at least I wasn't left in a trash can or something. Florida didn't have a 'Safe Haven' law back then, so dropping me at a hospital was just as illegal as leaving me anywhere else. I was placed in a temporary foster home a few days later and that's where I got my last name.
I don't really remember the Greens, at least not from that time. I have met with them since to thank them for taking me in and caring for me during the first two years of my life. They're very sweet, but they were already well into their fifties when I came into their lives, and they just weren't able to raise me; as it was the two years I was with them went way beyond what was originally planned.
See, it's usually very easy to find a couple to adopt an infant; the statistics are something like 96% are adopted within a few months. Somehow I fell into that 4% that just don't make it. The couple I was placed with after the Greens planned to adopt me, but then the wife got very sick and so I ended up in my third foster home when I was almost four.
I had four more foster families over the next fourteen years. The last was the longest at four years and by far the worst. They weren't abusive or anything even remotely like that, just very strict. I'll admit that the problems were all pretty much my fault because by the time I came to live with them I had a huge attitude problem -- it sort of comes naturally when you realize no one wants you.
For a long time I really, really hated my birth mother. I couldn't understand how she could have abandoned me like that. Then I found out I was pregnant at sixteen and suddenly it was all so clear. Even though I have no real idea what her situation was, it's easy for me to imagine her like I was; scared to death at the thought of becoming a mother. I seriously considered giving Taylor up for adoption, and there were a lot of people; my high school counselor and my foster parents among them, who encouraged me to do just that. I couldn't do it though, especially not after I held him for the first time. I couldn't take the chance that he'd end up like me, lost in the system and bounced from one home to another.
So I let go of the anger and the hate, and I forgave the mother I never knew. I honestly hope she's happy and has a wonderful family of her own.
Anyway, like I said I just wanted to offer some perspective. Parents are people, and people aren't perfect. It's just when I hear someone complain about their parents it pains me, because I can't help but think how lucky they are. I would give almost anything to be able to introduce Taylor to his grandparents.
Kendall
I’ve already said that my mum spends too much of her time in the pub and I’m going to leave it at that.
I don’t dislike her, but I have had a hard time living up to her friend’s expectations.
It’s her friends that seem to drive her, but it’s not often that she and they are not around each other.
I think that’s why I took this course. I thought that being on-line with others who were all taking the same course in communication might help me to better express myself rather than always being on the defensive — which I am told is what I normally am.
It’s nice to see that there are others here that also have ISSUES shall we say, with their respective families and I really hope that together we can help each other.
Thank you for listening.
Danny
I have been so busy with coursework and a new boyfriend, I almost forgot this stuff. Dave, my friend, is on the rugby team of the medical school and can get tickets for some of the Wales’ games. That will get my father’s approval immediately, and hey, I might even get to see an international rugby match for real–all that beef running about, hmm! I might just have to think more about anatomy than I have recently.
The course is tough, we have to remember so much, I almost asked if I could have a silicon chip implanted to help me. According to Dave, who’s in the second year of his clinical, it gets harder every year. Oh poo! Then I see some of the other girls who have made it, and think it can’t be that hard or they’d never have made it.
I don’t consider I have any more issues with my ‘rents than anyone else of my age. I believe they care about me, and I don’t have any probs with my name, even if some of you lot do. When I’m a qualified doctor, saving lives an’ things, the last thing I’m going to worry about is that some bimbo in the States thought I had a funny name.
I have to go, Dave is coming around and he’s borrowed his dad’s beamer and we're going off around Cardiff Bay, to the Millennium Centre, where Duffy is doing a gig. Dave's got tickets.
As we say around here, 'Nos Da.'
Paige.
One-one one-two one-three one-four one-five...
One-one one-two one-three one-four one-five...
Counting her steps to clear her mind, she ran. If you asked her how long she had been running, she wouldn't be able to tell you. She began counting again at one-twenty. If you asked her how many times she'd made twenty, she wouldn't be able to tell you that, either.
What she could tell you, is that she wanted to run until the physical pain made the emotional pain go away. She could tell you that it hurt just to be herself. That it hurt to sit there and quietly smile while swallowing the screams she wanted to turn on the ones commenting. She could tell you exactly how many nights she cried herself to sleep.
She couldn't tell you how far she had run, but he could. He sat in the old abandoned Commentators' Box, and watched her. Counting her trips around the quarter-mile track as her nearly 6-foot frame loped over and over in a seemingly unending beat.
Eventually, she ran until she staggered, and slowed to a jog and then a walk, with her hands interlaced above her head, chest heaving with the effort of a cool down. He scrambled down out of the Box and grabbed a lukewarm water bottle for her.
"Rob," he called out, jogging across the field on the inside of the track, "Rob! Hey, you need some water. Hydrate." He made to toss the bottle to his slowly walking friend, then realized she was 'zoned' and got close enough to speak more quietly. "Robyn."
"Huh?" came the confused reply, the unfocusing eyes trying to make sense of the shape approaching across the field, calling her by her secret name. "Oh, thanks, Fischer."
He handed the bottle over and the pace slowed even further as the plastic binding that 'sealed in freshness' presented its feeble challenge. A pause while a very parched throat was wet, and then the two walked together for a time.
After awhile, the two were sitting on the benches of the bleachers, her moaning with relief as the shoulder rub being administered by Fischer was loosening muscles that wanted to tighten after the long run.
Rob(yn) breathed deeply and then asked the seemingly innocent and simple question, "Why?"
"Because, you've been my best friend since we were like... two. You say you're a chick, you're a chick."
"You know I've never -- a little lower on the left, there -- I've never even worn anything remotely feminine, let alone female, all you have to go on is my confession that I feel -- ohhhh, yeah, right there -- feel like I should be a girl, despite the fact that I'm a lanky and an embarrassingly-horrible-at-basketball tall track runner, and yet you don't have a problem with me?"
"You saying I should have, chica? I mean, I could stop with the shoulder rub and --"
"Nooo, pleeeaaase don't do thaaat," she whined as he chuckled, never even pausing in his task.
"Yeah. It was just SO hard to believe."
She reached back and swatted ineffectively at him as they both laughed. "Sarcastic jerk. Just keep rubbing. I'll be okay in a few minutes."
He laughed again as he pushed his thumbs together between his best friend's shoulderblades.
"What?"
"You."
"What about me?"
"You're just -- you're such a girl sometimes!"
She answered with another moan.
There was the music, there was her feet, there was nothing else...
There was the music, there was her feet, there was nothing else...
Focusing her attention to keep from getting dizzy, she danced. If you asked her why she danced, she couldn't explain it -- she just did it. Moving with the music, an instinct almost as primal as laughter. She smoothly transitioned from one song to the next, one style to the next, without a definite idea of where exactly the seam between the two were. If you asked her what dancing meant to her, she wouldn't be able to tell you that, either... it simply filled her with motion, like a light that shined on the inside.
What she could tell you, is that when she danced the world went away, that running was a type of dance, and that she could lose herself in the floor, the music, the sound gently buffeting against her skin as sweat lightly beaded her face, her arms, her chest, her back. She could tell you that she only truly felt alive and free when carried away by her rhythmic motions. That joy in the feeling flooded her so completely that it caused an ecstasy bordering on pain, her emotions draining into movement, expressive and obscure at the same time. She could tell you exactly what to do with your suggestion that she stop, or even, "take a break."
She couldn't tell you why, or what it meant in terms that you could understand it fully, but he would tell you to shut the hell up and just watch her. He sat behind a card table watching the tracks on the digital mixer jump around randomly and her still never missing a step, or faltering where it would seem as these musics didn't belong together, and watched her. He absorbed the grace with which she floated before him upon the worn-smooth boards of the hardwood floor. He admired the lines of each turn and pause as her nearly 6-foot frame traveled through the tenuous territory of tonality so seamlessly she satisfied a hunger for the eyes.
The end came with a finality that was almost painful for both of the two in the room, she so absorbed in feeling it, and he in the grace of it. She paused, her chest heaving with the effort below the light tank top she wore, but the grin staking claim to her face made it quite clear that had she the energy, she would have continued indefinitely. She raised her hands above her head and interlaced them, as she did with running, and began to pace in a small circle to allow her body time to come to a resting spot. He startled and lifted the softest and fuzziest towel from the table for her.
"Robyn," was all he said before she glanced up at him, her lashes parting the curtain of her damp unruly haystack of hair. He smiled in return and tossed the towel to her, which she deftly snagged from the air and wiped across her face with a moan at how soaked with perspiration she was. From beneath the towel came a muffled, "fmhrannx."
He laughed lightly as he replied to the blissful companion, "You're quite welcome. Thanks for the show." He was rewarded by a laugh from her as she repeated clearly (and clear of the towel this time), "Thanks, Fischer."
"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome already," was his almost embarrassed reply as he now tried to find something to do with his now-empty hands.
They walked over to the bench at the sidelines next to the card table in silence. Comfortable with each other to the point that there weren't any 'uncomfortable silences' like with most people, so used to each other that they could very nearly carry on conversations without doing more than being in vaguely the same room as each other. They sat for moments that seemed like hours, and he tapped her on the shoulders so that he could rub the forming tension out before it could settle.
With a happy little sigh, Rob(yn) let him rub her shoulders before carrying on with the conversation they started before the music began.
"There. That's what I do when I come here. I dance. I float. I fly. I lose myself in my passion."
"It was -- wow, you're tightening up -- it was amazing, beautiful, downright graceful -- can you lean back a bit? -- and frankly... *mumble mumble mumble* anyway."
She leaned forward away from his hands. "What was that?"
He sighed and even blushed a bit before answering.
"I said, anyone who could see you move like that and still think you should be a guy needed a CAT Scan, anyway."
She giggled.
"Aww, offering to subject people to random costly medical procedures for my well-being. I don't know what to say... I'm touched. It's just such a warm gesture --"
"Oh, stop it, chica... no need to tease me. Sarcastic wench! I should just let you deal with your own shoulder rub... "
"Nooo, pleeeaaase... I'll be good," she half-moaned and half-whined as he swallowed his chuckle, never even pausing in his task.
She was very nearly purring as he went about his kneading.
"So, have you told them yet?" he asked.
She tensed up again sightly and then sighed heavily.
"I tried, but it just never seemed... right... to tell them, y'know?"
"No, actually," came his reply, "I wouldn't have any idea of how to approach that."
She let another weary laugh come out and then swatted him on the arm.
"I'll tell them tonight. I promise. Hmph. With best friends like you..."
He laughed.
"NNNNNNO!"
"Don't you talk to your mother that way, young lady!"
"I is being doing what is bestest, and you is being a dummyhead!"
"Okay, don't talk to ME that way, either."
"Hmph!"
When she was 3, her parents said she was 'precocious' as she read through the books in the family library. When she was 7, her older sister said she was 'unacceptable' as she scared away date after date. When she was 11, her therapist said she was 'traumatized' by the death of her father and mother in the car accident. When she was 15, her teachers said she was 'unsettling' from the way she stared and never said a word in class.
Now, she's 19, and she's aware of all of these things. And she is the ultimate problem solver.
"H'lo?"
"Carter!"
"Hey, Kat, just cleaning up here, I'm not going to be late tonight!"
"No, but I am. Look, I'll be there shortly, but there's an accident on the highway, and..."
"Say no more, just know that the Chee-tos and Mountain Dew are on you. I'll get her, you go grocery instead. See you in about, what, an hour?"
"Call it ninety minutes, and apologize to her for me."
She hung up and grinned.
Emily covered her mouth with her hand.
"You sure you think you're gay, Jeff? I mean, aren't gay boys supposed to have some rudimentary sense of style?"
"Augh! Nevermind. I dunno, who knows, I may end up being straight, but if you're the kind of girl I have to pick from, Sis, I think being gay is safer. C'mon, we gotta go, or we'll be late. Grab the bag, I'll go get our bikes."
Too nice to sit here.
He opened the car door, stepped out, and reached into the back seat to retrieve the folder, pencilcase and purple cloth bag with the gold lettering and pull string. It clacked comfortingly as he shook it with a grin.
He started up the sidewalk and saw a pair of bicycles swoop around the corner.
"Jeff! Emily!" he called out in greeting to the kids.
"Hey, Randolph," said Jeff as he came to a stop and just dropped the bike over on its side.
Emily sighed, parked hers properly with the kickstand between the garage and house, and did the same with his.
"Any idea when the others will get here, kids?"
They shook their heads no and the three of them sat to chat while they waited.
So she was much faster than the ninety minutes she had feared -- and in fact only half of the hour Carter had suggested had passed when Kat rolled up the driveway and into the garage, waving at the three on the porch.
She kicked off her heels just inside the house and walked to the front door to unlock it while pulling out her earrings.
"C'mon in, folks, I'm gonna run back and change, Carter will be here with her in just a bit."
"Okay," grumped Jeff, "I can see that it's supposed to be an act, and that it's okay for guys to take the part of girls and vice-versa, but considering what I went through in the Summer, I don't think it would be very much FUN. And this is supposed to be FUN."
"Right," came Carter's voice from the kitchen, "fun first. Who has my character sheet?"
They greeted him with a chorus of welcomes, and in response to Kat's wordless question he just jerked his head toward the kitchen, where the noice of a bag of Chee-tos being ripped open could be heard.
"Addict!" Kat shouted in the general direction of the kitchen.
Devin walked around the corner into the living room with one eyebrow quirked up.
"Be careful what insults you throw at your Dungeon Master -- yes, Master, not Mistress, because Dungeon Mistress sounds way too adult toy store -- dear sister of mine... or is that brother, tonight?"
Jeff opened his mouth to complain again, and Emily put her hand over it. So he licked her hand.
"Ew! Augh! You..." she was at a loss for something disgusting enough, then it hit her, "you, boy!"
He laughed.
"Not tonight, Emily!" grinned Devin. "Tonight's game marks the start of the Gender Reverse Avatar Chronicles, you and Kat get to be the boys, and Jeff, Randolph, and Carter get to be the gals," she smirked at Jeff, "Deal with it or forfeit the adventure you want to run next Spring."
He grumbled, but settled down into acquiescence.
"Guys name their characters weird things, right?" asked Emily, "I'll call my Barbarian, Thews."
Kat snorted.
"I'm playing a Wizard, and if that's the logic... I'll name my guy Golstaff and always enter the door from the north. Can I have a Cantrip that makes me immune to the pungent stench of mildew emanating from the wet dungeon walls?"
"And you're certain it was him?"
"Yes, ma'am. There's no doubt left to be had with all the evidence."
"Yes, ma'am. There's no doubt left to be had with all the evidence."
"Thank you, Agent Carmody. Any advice for a woman in my position?"
"Afraid not. I don't have any men in my life. My dad died when I was 4, no brothers, no male cousins, went to a private girls' school, and I've been out as a lesbian since 8th grade. I have less clue about the male psyche than your average 4th grader. Is cooties still as big a threat these days?"
I smiled at her... Pity I'm not into chicks, she's what Z would call 'plasmoid' -- hotter than hot. But now what? Why would Z do something like this -- my own son? There is NOTHING that I can think of that would cause him to do... even the thought made my stomach turn.
"Ma'am?" asked Agent Carmody quietly, "We should probably get you in protective custody. A lot of times, family members think that the accused would hesitate, wouldn't do the same to them --"
"Yes. Whatever you need, Agent," I interrupted her. I didn't want to hear how horrible my son was. The evidence spoke volumes. Z, how could you?
She nodded and took me to a big SUV. I don't really remember anything until I was talking to the Marshal at the FBI building later that day. While he was telling me what to expect -- sort of a blend of what you see on TV and the real world, actually -- Agent Carmody knocked softly on the door.
I looked up at the knock, but it was Marshal McCormac that answered, "Is there something wrong?"
She paused a moment, like she was trying to phrase herself correctly.
"Ma'am --"
"I don't think I can take much more of 'Ma'am' from you people. My name is Rebecca."
She smiled in almost a flicker, then started again, "Rebecca, then, I'm sorry to say that we didn't catch up with him. It looks like he's left town, but he's smart enough he could have left us a false trail. We don't want you going back home quite yet, but we can probably drop the guard detail down to just a pair each of Agents from us, and the Marshals."
"That's good news. I was wondering how I'd keep my officers happy with double shifts. One pair I can spare easily. You want live-ins?"
"Not necessary, Marshal," she answered him, "We'll supply the live-ins, you supply the surveilling pair."
They talked some more, and then took me to what they called a safe house. After an evening of pizza and watching something on television that I wouldn't remember 5 minutes after seeing, I went to bed.
"Mom."
The voice in the darkness at once filled me with joy and terror.
"Mom."
He wasn't whispering, so something had happened.
"Mom."
"I'm awake, Z. What have you done, now?"
"Mom, I didn't do this that they're accusing me of. I know all of their evidence says I did, but you've got to believe me, I'm your son."
"Didn't you once tell me that familial bonds are not a logical basis for an argument to springboard from?"
"I... believe I did. Um, please believe me?"
"They say that the evidence is incontrovertible. So, what do you have to... controvert it?"
"Past behaviour. Ask them to have their psych docs examine everything I've done in the past, and if it fits anything I would -- or could -- possibly have done."
"Why aren't you more scared they'll walk in here?"
"Remember the blowgun Uncle Mickey taught me to use when I was eleven?"
"You drugged them?"
"Well, the guys out in the car down the street. The two in the house were just dumb enough to drink the scotch."
That explained some things. After Z and his best friends had gotten into my liquor cabinet several years ago, I kept the openly available scotch laced with enough valium to knock a body out after one glass. Apparently, he had known that.
"Z... just give yourself up, if you didn't do it, they'll clear you --"
"Mom, stop. You said yourself they have 'incontrovertible' evidence. Once cops are convinced that they have the right person, they stop looking for new suspects and focus on gathering more evidence against --"
A car door outside, followed by footsteps pounding up the sidewalk.
"Gotta go. I guess the good guys were supposed to check in."
"Z! Please, turn yourself in!"
He was gone.
I was sitting on the bed crying when Agent Carmody burst in, gun drawn.
She took one glance at me and barked back out toward the front room, "He was here, can't have gotten far, call in a canvassing crew!"
"He says the evidence is wrong."
She looked at me, with a mixture of pity and condescension.
"No, it's not. He beat that girl so badly it killed her. Her mother said she had complained about him in the past. There's a history."
"Look, he's my only child. Have your psych docs look at it again, make sure that the mother isn't lying... something. He could have killed those Marshals instead of just knocking them out. That should tell you --"
"What it tells me, Rebecca, is that he's too smart to add another murder charge to his list."
"Please. Call it appeasing a parent."
She sighed.
"Okay. Fine. I'll have the local forensic psychologist have a look at his profile on Monday."
She left then, and I spent the rest of the weekend pretty much crying. Come Monday morning, I was introduced to Doctor Cuvy ZpTenj, the forensic psychologist for all of Polk County.
"My name is difficult for most English-speakers to wrap their tongues around, feel free to call me Cuvy, or if you're feeling precocious, Doc, or Doc Cuvy, or whatever makes you comfortable."
She had an easy manner about her that made her instantly likeable.
"I need to ask you some things about your son, so I can build a profile and see that the FBI is doing their job correctly. Is that okay?"
I nodded.
"First off, he's listed in most cases -- and when I've seen him in the papers -- as just, 'Z' for a first name, not with a period for an initial, and yet, none of his names start with that letter. Can you tell me the story there?"
I smiled slightly. His name. That's what drove him to do this horrible... no.
"Ukriel Vanessaphra Winifred Xiomatesqa Yabbigajl. My husband gave him the most, ah, original, names he could find. Winifred may not be unheard of, but for a boy? Anyway, Z was the only letter of the alphabet not used, so I started calling him my Z within hours of his being born."
"Speaking of unpronounceable names..." she muttered, "Did he ever evince any dissatisfaction with his name?"
"Well, yeah, but what kid doesn't? By the time he was in 5th grade he was having fun with it, signing his name in a Z-pattern. Like this --"
I grabbed a pencil and post it off the end table and showed her:
U | Vanessaphra | |||||
W | ||||||
in | ||||||
if | ||||||
r | ||||||
ed | ||||||
Xiomatesqa | Y |
"I see. To your knowledge, has your son ever been violent or destructive?"
"No more so than any other child. He's always been a caring and loving boy."
"So, in your opinion, finding out that the girl he was dating was born a boy wouldn't have set him off?"
"No! I don't really think it would. Lacey was a wonderful -- and beautiful girl, and she was definitely a girl despite what her birth plumbing was. He was planning on proposing to her after graduation. Even finding out a secret like that wouldn't have put him off. But your Agents are so certain --"
"Not my Agents, Ma'am. I work for the county, not the feds."
"The government's Agents, then, are so certain that the evidence is absolute."
"Too much reliance on DNA and not enough on police work, if you ask me. Where are the Mulder and Scully people anymore? Anyway. I have prepared a quick question sheet, if you could fill this out for me, I can see what I think. I'm also talking to Lacey's parents, a few known associates -- sorry -- friends of your son's, and going to do the same workup on the witness and the victim."
"Thank you, Doc."
"Don't mention it. Just be sure to remind me not to take that left turn at Albuh-koy-kee."
I filled out the one sheet of paper and gave it to her, along with a list of Z's friends that I knew about, and an estimate of how long he'd known each of them. Jordan Pierce, Quinn Bixton, and Xavii Davis were his three closest friends -- the four of them talked about being the high-point Scrabble Tiles: JQXZ. Jordan and Xavii had been a part of his life since they were all in pre-school and bored together. Geek solidarity, Yo? Quinn had joined the trio to make it a quartet about halfway through fourth grade when her parents moved into the area, and they'd been inseparable since. No, there wasn't any romantic ties between any of the four, as far as I knew. All four of the kids were straight, but Z just didn't think of those three as part of his dating pool -- they were closer than just friends, more like sisters to him. If anyone is a good start to find out more about him, those three are. They know things about my son that I'm sure I don't WANT to know.
"I'm certain it wasn't a hate crime, Doc, last Hallowe'en, Z and Lacey, along with the three friends I mentioned, went as the Spice Girls, and the girls all four took it as a project to make Z as girly as possible. He took it in stride, and is very secure in who he was."
She nodded at me but didn't write anything down.
Aren't these Psychosis types supposed to at least doodle?
I handed her the paper and stood.
"I'm going to get a cup of hot tea, would you like one?" I offered her, but she just stared at the paper and halfway motioned a negative at me.
I shrugged and headed to the kitchen. I was just dropping the bag into the cup and pouring on the water when my cell phone rang and the entire population of the house sprang into action. Microphones, listening devices, and probably a spy gadget or three were turned on and I was motioned that it was okay to answer.
"Missus Becca Lady? Is something wrong with Z? I haven't seen him since Friday, and Lacey's not at school, either."
"Oh, Quinn. I was going to call you and the other Scrabblers, anyway. Can you meet up with me after school is out? Z is in some big trouble, but I need you to keep it just to the three of you," I looked at the note scribbled by an Agent (or a Marshal, damned if I know) on a small white-board and added, "I'll be at the Starbucks on Gordon Street at 3:30. Thanks for caring enough to call, sweetie. Bye."
I hung up and looked over at Agent Carmody. She frowned, then shrugged, then nodded at me and turned back to whatever she was doing before.
I went back in the kitchen to finish making my cup of tea.
Around 2:45, we arrived at the Starbucks as planned, and they set themselves up all under-cover-ish like you see on television, so they could listen in to what was going on. Just before 3:30, the girls all got there together.
"Hey, Missus Becca Lady, there was an announcement last period that there was going to be a memorial service and a wake for Lacey this week -- what happened?"
"Sit down, girls."
They all sat and motioned to the barista for their 'regular' orders. I didn't know how to proceed, so I just let all of the litter out of the satchel.
"Lacey was beaten to death on Friday night, and they think Z is the one that did it."
"No way!"
"Never!"
"He loves her!"
I held up my hand and they instantly silenced.
"The FBI and U.S. Marshals are both working on what happened, since Z has gone missing. They are convinced he did it, but they want the three of you to talk to their psychologist -- sorry -- the county psychologist, to build a profile and see if she thinks he could be capable of it. We all know he couldn't have, but they're convinced and refuse to look at other people because their 'evidence' is apparently without a doubt."
All three were doing their version of a fish impression.
"I need you to each call your parents and have them all come to my house this evening, so that permissions and legal things can be worked out, okay?"
Still with the fish.
"Look, girls, this can help him. If we don't get this moving, they'll catch him and not look for the real killer. Okay?"
Just keep swimming...
I smacked my hands on the tabletop, and they all startled and then nodded. They looked frightened.
"Okay. Finish your coffees and I'll see you later tonight."
I went up to the counter and paid for my coffee and the three of theirs, before heading out the door. I was quickly followed by the Agents and Marshals, and a quick conversation with them convinced them that going back to my own home was the best course. Agent Carmody would be bringing my things over from the safe house shortly. I just wanted to calm down.
At around 6pm, all the girls and their parents arrived. They were briefed by the Marshals on what had happened, and the girls were given permission to talk to Doc, the correct papers signed. One by one they went into my guest room to talk to her, and one by one they came out with tears in their eyes. The A&M stayed in my kitchen, out of the way, mostly, but the group of parents and I waited in the den, the television on but none of us paying it any mind. We were all very familiar, as our children had been friends for so long.
After all the discussions with Doc, she said she'd have her opinions by morning, and was it alright to use my guest room so she wouldn't have to go home and then come back tomorrow? I nodded approval, and one of the troops raided my linen closet for the bed in there. The girls and their families took their leave, though, and I promised to keep them all informed.
This was a nightmare situation, and I needed a hot shower -- no... a long, hot soak in a bath. I don't take baths to get clean -- rather counterproductive. Baths were for stress relief, so I didn't use the deep garden-style tub often. That's why I let Z have the master bedroom with the private bath, because I didn't need it. I ran the water as hot as I could stand it, and let the water begin to fill. I checked on my guest, and Doc assured me she was fine with the pizza the A&M troops had already sent for, and then went to settle into my bath.
I could feel the stress and the emotional walls dissolving as I sank into the water and gently played with the sudsy bubbles, and allowed my eyes to close. Tears began to leak quietly and without sobs as my mind played over the possibility that the worst could be true. Could I be that wrong about my son?
The water had begun to cool comfortably, and the smell of pizza slipped under the door, making me think about getting out of the tub when the sounds of gunshots began to fill the night.
Prudence stared at me in wonder.
"Judy," her lips finally formed an eternity and a moment later, "what the hell are you talking about?"
Profile
Fordist, Aisling
Miss Fordist seems, until one realizes her point of view, highly misandristic to a high degree. When circumstances are discovered, there has not been one male agent that could stomach being around her, realizing what they would be putting her through. Every female agent tends toward wondering why she is not more misandristic. The only successful agents to date have been possessed of intersex conditions of their own.
*** The remainder of this report is classified Ultraviolet Clearance ***
Dammit.
Why the hell can't I find out anything about this chick? Well, I dunno if I count as, "possessed of intersex condition," or not, but... what the hell?
"Prudence!"
Of course there's no answer... which I discover when I stand up and peek over the cubicle wall is because she's not there. Is the world out to frustrate me today?
I put aside the thoughts -- and the folder -- and continue my work for about two hours before I hear my own name hissed in a pseudo-whisper.
"Judy!"
For just a moment, I consider ignoring her, as she did me earlier.
Yes, I know she wasn't there. Never let reality interfere with a good grudge. Shut up.
"What?"
I hear the creaking of her chair as she leans back and pushes it backward to roll along the carpeted office floor as she maneuvers to peek around the wall separating us.
"I think I did it today... 2:11.8 on Barlow!"
I giggled and answered, "Nope. Has to be below two-ten flat. And... I got a new file today. Says agents have to be intersex. Would you count me among intersexed women, or just intersexed individuals, were you to count me or to be counting intersexed women or intersexed individuals in the first place if such an occasion were to arise that you were in need of counting such things as intersexed women or intersexed individuals in the first place -- which is not to imply that there is anything odd or normal either one about the business, pasttime, or even whim that would find one in such a position as mentioned, that being the counting of intersexed women or intersexed individuals which may or may not include myself as such a candidate agent to be listed amongst such a hypothetically necessary or unnecessary list?"
Prudence stared at me in wonder.
"Judy," her lips finally formed an eternity and a moment later, "what the hell are you talking about?"
I think I fried her brain. Hey, if the stereotype is that Chinese restauranteurs serve, 'Fly Lice,' instead of, 'Fry Rice,' -- would fried brain come out as, 'flied blain,' y'think? Why am I having so many anti-PC thoughts today?
Oh. She's waiting for an answer.
"Er... I was handed a new casefile from the high muck-de-mucks today. Take a look," I handed her the file, "so would I count as one of those?"
She scanned the short file and then looked at me, somewhere between amused and annoyed.
"Close enough for government work -- which this is."
Trust Prudence to make the really obvious pun. Well. Or me.
"Is that okay? I mean. Um. Is it a bad thing to be ... that?" I put the question out there like it had a communicable disease.
"What? Why would it be a bad thing?"
"So is that a, 'No,' then?"
"Um. Yes."
"Yes it's a bad thing?"
"No! Yes it's a, 'No,' to your question asking if it's a bad thing."
"Oh! So is it a good thing?"
"It's a thing. It's not really good or bad, just like being able to understand what you're talking about isn't technically good or bad."
"Thanks! Hey... wait..."
She waved me off and got back to work, so I did the same... I guess I'm going to meet with Miss Aisling Fordist. Aisling...
That's Irish, or Welsh... or Scottish or something... right?
"Oh. Um, out of your league, hermano, for so many reasons..."
"Out of my league or not, she's... beautiful."
"Yes, she is. Don't even think it, though. Her girlfriend is third year at college."
"Ohhh... lesbian, huh? Well, let's shift gears into open-minded-friend mode. I just wanna meet her."
"Augh. You are NOT even listening. Look, take it from me... my older sister is one of her best friends... you just need to forget it."
"Just..."
"Alright. Don't say this chica didn't try to warn you. I'll tell you about her."
"That's all I'm asking!"
"You are totally hopeless. Alright. She's a Senior, and you a lowly Frosh."
"If her girlfriend is a third year college girl, same age difference."
"She's pretty much far and away the only choice for valedictorian this year."
"Well, I'm not a complete imbecile. I'm smart."
"Not just smart, Ese. That... what you see in her grades? That is just plain dedication. For an entire YEAR after the attack on her sister, she did nothing. With anyone. Except hit the books. Her girlfriend and her family ... and probably a good therapist... are the only reasons she finally came out of her shell again, and it took them more than a year to do it."
"Her sister died? Oh, shit."
"Not just sister. Twin. Wombmates. Not dead. Comatose. She goes and spends her Sundays at the hospital, reading to her sister. Like, nine in the morning until visiting hours end at eight at night."
"That poor girl..."
"Well, since she's been back in the swing of things so to speak, she's also Student Council President, Senior Class President, Cheer Captain again, she founded the Equality Alliance, and she's the reason that the hospital fundraisers go so well around here. Since she got her license, it's a means for her to go farther and knock on more doors."
"So, she's driven. You realize, everything you're saying just makes me want to meet her even more, right?"
"Alright, Ese. Last -- and most compelling -- reason to steer clear of her and anyone she cares about... your last name is Wexler."
There are times when the human experience is a cold, dark thing. Those are the times when all of the warmth and happiness that one knows to be possible, just doesn't seem to matter nearly as much anymore. For at least awhile. It is also during these times that one reflects back upon similar times, some not quite as cold or dark, and some even more so. The edges of vision fade to darkness as a body loses interest in even perceiving anything beyond what is the focus in front of the eyes. Then it narrows even further. Sort of a tunnel vision formed by sheer apathy.
The temperature of the room or day or night... doesn't matter, either. Things just ... well, are. These are the times that people who actually care begin to worry or even try to intervene. At least for awhile. If there are too many times in which one enters the cold and dark places, even those that are dearest and hold that precious life dear themselves... simply... cannot take much more and the caring starts to erode.
Why is it that those times in which the darkness and cold choose to enter and invade seem to always be when we are warm and bright? Is it so that the different is stark and it is recognized? A survival mechanism of sorts? Is it so that there is warmth and light to absorb part of the descent? Or is it just... because that's the only time you notice the cold and the dark? Are they really always with us? Just kind of hiding until you can notice them?
I don't know. For awhile, at least. I was beginning to be happy. I was allowing myself to believe that things would work out, that I have (had?) a chance at a life worth waiting for fruition.
It's still there, just out of reach. But, I'm not nearly as dark and cold as I've ever been. I have at least a beacon in my darkness, a candle-flicker of warmth in the cold. I have someone I know cares more deeply and more profoundly than is able to be expressed in all the human languages there ever have been, are, or will be simply because it can never be as ... well, as I've just said, it defies description.
So there is no need to worry, and I will return to the warmth and light, but... it's painful. I sit and choke on my own tears. Awhile... at least for...