The Last Perfect Day

 Chapter 1
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The leather couch crunched as Brady sat.  A tall man in a white coat looked up from his desk on the other side of the room.

“How are you feeling today?”

Brady shook his head.  He felt the same as he had last week and the week before that.  The truth was he’d felt the same for a long while.

Dr. Ponder’s lips curled into a smile.  “I thought we’d gotten past the ‘not talking to me stage’.”

Brady shrugged, “Not much to say.”  He slumped into the seat.  The doctor would never understand.  No one could understand.  It all sounded crazy.

“I thought we made progress last week.”

Brady said, “I guess.”

Dr. Ponder looked at his notes.  “You spoke about your childhood friends.  You spoke a lot about one boy in particular.”

“Yeah.”  Brady smiled despite himself.  “Stan the Man.”

“Who’s that?”

“I haven’t thought about him in years.”  Brady snuck a look at the doctor in hopes the man wasn’t a mind reader.  When he didn’t say anything, Brady continued, “He was my best friend back then.”

“That’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”

Doctor Ponder stopped writing.  “You’ve mentioned at our other sessions that you have trouble creating close friendships.  That doesn’t appear to have been a problem when you were a child.”

Brady shook his head.  “Yeah.  I had lots of friends as a kid.  There was Stan and Petey and Jordy.  Stuart, Dominic, Skip, and Marcus too.  We all lived in the same neighborhood, we rode the same school bus, and we spent most of our summers on the baseball diamond.”

“You played baseball?  Don’t most kids spent their summers playing video games?”

“Not in my hometown.”

Doctor Ponder nodded as he made some notes. “In our last session you mentioned a girl.”

Brady took a deep breath.  He knew this was coming and the thought set his heart racing.  It all sounded crazy.  “It’s a long story doc.”

Doctor Ponder’s smile grew bigger.  “Listening to stories is what I do.  Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?  I’ll come over there so we can talk.  Do you want something to drink?”

Brady shook his head as he leaned back a pillow and looked at the ceiling.  “It was the last perfect day.”  He’d obsessed about the events for many years.  Even moreso now.

Dr. Ponder asked, “What do you mean by that?”

Brady lay down and propped his feet up on the couch like he’d seen people do with psychiatrists on TV.  “You know… it was one of those days you only get to have as a kid.  You don’t have any responsibilities, so you spend the day doing anything you want.  The weather is perfect.  You get up after a hard night’s sleep completely refreshed.  You wake at sunrise and go to bed exhausted as the sun sets.”

Doctor Ponder nodded, “Why was this one so memorable?”

“The day changed my life.  Everything turned to shit afterwards.”

“Oh?”

Brady asked, “Do you want me to tell you about it?”

Doctor Ponder held up his pad of paper, “What do you think?”

Brady smiled,  “Where do you want me to start?”

“The beginning would be good.”

Brady started to speak but with the first word he felt the beginning of a panic attack.  “I … uhh …”

“Lay back.  Take a deep breath.  Count down from ten.”

Brady nodded, “10 … 9 … 8 … 7 … 6 … 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …”  With each number he could feel his eyes growing heavier until the darkness closed around him.
    ​
Chapter 2
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“Wake up you pansy.”

Brady looked up from the covers to see his best friend’s head staring at him through his open bedroom window.

“Screw you Stan.”

“Hurry up and get dressed.  Everyone is already waiting at the stop sign.”

Brady hopped from the bed and picked up the closest clothes he found on the floor.  He didn’t have time for a shower but a baseball cap worked just as well as a comb.  He saw everyone waiting at the corner as he ran out the front door.

Stan met him at the mailbox.  “Parents fighting again last night?”

Brady looked at his friend, not wanting to explain.

“Petey heard them yelling.”

Brady nodded.  The whole neighborhood probably heard them yelling.

“No one is going to say anything.”

Brady looked to the corner and saw the others doing their best not to look in his direction.

“Thanks.”

Stan held out a baseball bat.  “I brought your favorite.”

Brady put his mitt over the handle then hung the bat over his shoulder.  Most every kid in the neighborhood carried their own bat and glove with them this time of year.  It was baseball season.

A call cried out from the corner.  Of course it was Petey.  “Are you two girls going to talk all morning?”

Stan began walking.  “We’re coming.”

*****

The morning air was cool but not so cool you could call it cold.  Dew still lay on the grass as the group made their way up the street.

This was a trek they never would have attempted when they’d first met.  JFK Park was a little over a mile from the stop sign, at least that’s what Stuart’s Dad claimed.  Everyone in the group split into groups of two as they made their way up the sidewalk.  Brady walked beside Stan.

“Did you watch the game last night?”

“Nah.”  Brady didn’t bother to add any details and Stan didn’t bother to ask for any.

Stan said, “It was amazing.  The Cardinals won 5-4.  Isringhausen got the win.”

Brady said, “They’ve been struggling this month.  Lots of injuries.”

“The Cards will win it all this year.  You’ll see.”

Stan gave a confident smile.  His friend had a natural charisma that made him a natural fit with the cool kids at school.  Brady always envied that.

A voice called from the front of the pack.  “Do you think those eighth grade jerks will be there today?”  Everyone stopped to look at Stan.

Stan called out.  “I hope so.  We owe them one.”

He got a few hearty laughs as the procession restarted their journey.  Petey said, “Yeah.  Fuck those guys.”  

Not everyone was convinced.  Neither Stan nor Brady spoke a word as they listened to the concerned mutterings about what might happen if the eighth graders did show up.

*****

John F Kennedy Park had seen better days but its not like they cared.  A backstop, four bases, and a pitcher’s mound is all you needed.  JFK Park even had a fence for home runs and bleachers for fans.  

Brady had first met Stan in this park three years earlier.  Brady had just moved to town and tried out for the local Little League team.  No one expected much from the new kid.  He’d proved them all wrong.

Parts of the group broke into a sprint as they got close to the field.  

Jordy said, “I call second base.”

Petey said, “No way.  I’m better at second base.”

The fact there wasn’t anyone else at the baseball diamond but wasn’t surprising.  It wasn’t even 9 AM yet.

Stan ended the discussion before it went further.  He always set the agenda.  “We’ll do some batting practice.  You guys know your positions.  I pitch.  Stuart on first.  Petey at second.  Skip at short.  Jordy at third.  Marcus in center, Brady in left, and Dom in right.”

Jordy asked, “Who’s going to bat?”

“Oh yeah.”  Stan smiled as he gripped one of the three baseball he had in his glove.  “You bat first Jordy.  Skip will cover shortstop and third base.  Everyone gets ten pitches and we’ll rotate after that.”

Jordy dug looked confident as into the batter’s box.  He gave Stan his most menacing stare.  Stan stared back and put the first pitch in the dirt about 3 inches from Jordy’s left ankle which made him jump.  

“You did that on purpose.”

Stan smiled.  “The ball slipped.”

The next pitch was a floater straight down the middle.  Brady heard the plink of the metal bat which sent him running as soon as he heard it.  Tracking the ball wasn’t hard.  It was an easy pop fly to shallow left.  He made the easy toss back to the mound as Jordy dug in at the plate for another try.

*****

Stuart’s voice was louder than everyone else, “How can you possibly like the prequels better than the original trilogy?  No one likes the prequels.”

“I like the prequels.”

Stan winked at Brady as Stuart and Dominic’s voices continued to rise.  They argued about something silly every afternoon.  It wouldn’t be long until the others joined in.

Stan asked, “Want a sandwich?”

Brady shook his head.  “I’m good.”

“Are you sure?  My Mom made two.”

“Well … if you’re not going to eat it.”

Brady felt a familiar funny feeling raise in his stomach but shoved it away as he took a bite of the sandwich.  Stan’s Mom made the best lunches.  Ham and cheese with a little bit of mustard.  Good as always.

The whole group had spread out on the bleachers spreading food from sack lunches for the others to see.  The bartering began almost immediately.

“I’ll give you my apple for that candy bar.”
“Only if you give me your can of soda.”
“No way.  Give me half of your sour patch.”
“Deal.”

Brady ate quietly as he watched the others continue their discussions.  Like Stan had promised, no one had said a word about his parent’s fight.  It had started at the dinner table.  Dad complaining about the food.  Mom complaining about money.  Things escalated from there.

“I can’t wait for the Fourth of July parade.”
“Are you marching with your team?”
“No way … the fire trucks toss out candy.  I’m following them the whole way.”
“I have to march with the Boy Scouts.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah  but my Dad likes it.”

No one noticed the approaching girls.

Their high-pitched voice took them all by surprise.  “What-cha doing boys?”

The whole group turned at once to look at the small group of girls standing behind the bleachers.  All conversation stopped.

Stan said, “Heya Jessica.”

Jessica Sudsfield.  She’d been the Queen Bee on the playground for as long as Brady remembered.  The recent changes to her body only increased that power.  Of course, Stan didn’t seem awed.

“Heya Stan.”

The smile on the girl’s face told volumes causing Brady a sudden annoyance though he noted Stan’s focus had returned to his lunch.

It didn’t seem possible it had only been a month since they got out of 7th grade.  It didn’t seem possible that a girl like Jessica could have changed even more in a month but her revealing outfit didn’t lie.  

A year earlier if a girl had worn something like Jessica wore today, she would have gotten teased unmercifully.  None of the boys laughed now.  Brady found all he could do was to stare in silence at a sight that both confused and thrilled him.  Words alone could not suffice.

Stan took a few bites more bites of his sandwich before asking, “Who’s your friend?”

Brady stared at the girl behind the others.   Everyone in school knew Jessica and behind her stood Kayla Abrams and Erin Taylor.  They’d been a part of Jessica’s pack long before he’d arrived in town.  Behind them stood a girl who looked like she was doing her best to hide.

“That’s Brandi.  She just moved here.”

Stan shouted.  “Nice to meet you Brandi.”

Brandi waved back, though the wave looked awkward.

Jessica said, “We’re going over to the woods if you want to join us Stan.”

Stan shook his head.  “Nah.  We’re hoping to get a game going.”

Jessica looked in a small mirror as she applied another layer of gloss to her lips.  “Maybe we’ll stop back later to watch you play.”

Stan gave a half a laugh and stopped himself, speaking with a flustered grin, “Sure.  That’d be great.”

No one spoke as they watched the girls walk off in the direction of the woods.  Brady stared too.

It was Petey who broke the silence.  “Stan and Jessica sitting in a tree … K-I-S-S-I-N-G… First comes love…”

“Don’t be a jerk Petey.”

Brady looked around his group of friends, all of whose eyes were still staring at the girls.  He looked again, his eyes drifting towards the mysterious new girl who looked back for the briefest of seconds and if he didn’t know better, he might have thought she was looking at him.

*****

It didn’t take long for the 8th graders to show up.  The pitcher proposed the game’s rules.

“We play six innings.  Jason will play catcher and call the balls and strikes.  No stealing bases.  No more than a two-step lead on base.”

Stan looked at Brady.  “What do you think?”

“Sounds fair.”  Jason played catcher for the middle school team and was the only one who’d brought any catcher’s gear.

Stan insisted. “We were here first, so we’re the home team.”

The bigger kid said, “That’s fine.  I want to bat first anyway.”

Brady took his spot in left field watching the line of eighth graders who lined the fence behind the backstop.  A glance at his friend and then to the 8th graders showed a surprising difference in size.  Most of the kids on the other team looked like grown-ups compared to his friends.  The last time they’d played the score ended up 12-2.

It didn’t seem possible they were only a year older.  Brady looked to his friends.  It didn’t seem possible his friends might look like that in a year.

Stan had thrown quite a few warm-up pitches though he didn’t need them.  “Let’s get this started.”  The leader of the 8th graders strode to the plate with an impatient look on his face.  The catcher fired the ball back to Stan and stared down from pitcher’s mound.  “Fine by me.”

He took a deep breath, reared back, and started with a fastball, high and tight.  “Strike one.”

The leader of the eighth graded turned to face the catcher.  “Really Jason?”

Jason shrugged at his friend.  “You said we’d be fair. I call them like I see them.”

Stan smiled at Brady as his friend returned to the mound.  They might have a chance.

*****

It gets boring standing in the outfield.  You can go multiple innings without a ball hit in your direction so most of the time the biggest challenge is to keep your focus on every pitch.  The 8th graders were only winning 5-3.

Brady let his concentration fail for only the briefest of moments.  He was watching a pair of bumblebees circling a dandelion in front of him which made him the last to notice the 8th graders all standing up on their bench.

One of the pleaded, “Come sit with us!”

It was the shout that got Brady’s attention.  The girls had returned, obviously enjoying the attention.

A second later the crack of the bat broke Brady out of his malaise.  He got a great jump on the line drive headed for the gap.  He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, watching as the ball started to dip, then dove at the last possible second and caught the ball in the webbing of his glove.  

Brady stood expecting a round of congratulations, but his teammates had already started sprinted towards the bench where the girls held court.  The older boys didn’t seem in any hurry either to take the field for the bottom of the 4th inning.

Jessica and her followers had chosen to sit on the bleachers on the home field side though he wondered if it was dumb luck rather than a decided choice.  Brady got his answer a second later.

“Heya Stanley.”

Everyone heard the purr in Jessica’s voice.  It put all the boys into a sort of trance as if she were a mermaid had calling sailors to the shore.  A few of the guys chuckled.  Everyone knew Stan hated to be called by his given name but Stan didn’t complain.

It annoyed Brady more than he knew how to explain.  Only Stan’s Mom dared to ever call him Stanley.  His Dad had named him after Stan ‘the Man’ Musial, the greatest Cardinal player of all-time.  Everyone who was friends with Stan knew that.

Brady was the last to return to the bench.  He was also the last to understand why his friends had grown so quiet.  While in the woods, the girls had painted their faces with different shades of colors, marking their eyelids to make them look much older.

Brady felt the rise of a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he stared.

An 8th graded called out.  “You gals should come sit on the winner’s side.”

Jessica smiled at Stan, “What do you think Stan?  Do you want us to sit with you?”

She didn’t know that Stan’s love of baseball was too strong for the call of four nymphs. “You can sit where ever you want to sit Jessica.”

Jessica clearly didn’t appreciate that answer.  She stood without saying a word, motioning with a hand the others should follow.  She’d only made it halfway before noticing not everyone had obeyed.

Jessica looked pissed, “Brandi?”

The new girl still sat on the home team’s bench, a slight grin on her face.  “I’m good here.”  

Jessica clearly didn’t like that and turned on her heels to join the older boys.  The younger boys meanwhile were all angling to talk to their one fan but Brady saw she was staring at him.  

“That was a nice catch.”

“Thanks.”  Brady beamed as he saw the jealous looks from the other boys on the team.  He felt himself drawn to this girl, her eyes calling to him in a way he couldn’t understand.

A voice pulled him from the stupor.  “Brady?”

Brady turned to see Stan standing in the on-deck circle.  “It’s your turn to bat.”

“Oh yeah.  I forgot.”

The other boys started to laugh as Brady’s face grew pink.  

He dug into the batter’s box as the other team’s leader took to the mound while giving Brady a fierce look.  The older boy wound up and threw his first pitch faster than any he’d attempted so far that day, it was wild and out of control forcing Brady to dive to the dirt to avoid being hit.

“What was that for?”

The older boy’s gaze looked to the girls sitting near the visitor’s bench.  “We’re going to crush you stupid kids.”

Brady stepped out of the batter’s box to dust himself off and looked towards the bench to see the girl giving an encouraging smile.  Her blonde hair.  Her cute lips.  The way she’d done her makeup.  It was as if she’d hit him with a beam of energy, gaving Brady a new focus, and steeling his nerves for another go.

*****

Of course a cute smile isn’t the same as a hit.  The 7th graders didn’t score in either of the next two innings but Stan’s pitching kept them in the game.  They were down 6-3 going into the bottom of the 6th inning and the pitcher on the other team wanted to be sure they knew it.

“Last chance, you losers.”

Dominic shouted back, “Shut up.”

“Gonna make me you faggot?”

Brady heard a soft voice calling from behind, “You guys have this.  Their pitcher is tiring.”

Petey turned around, his eyes fiery with anger, “What does a girl know about baseball?”

Brady held his breath upon hearing his friend’s rude comment.  There was no need to offend their only fan but if Brandi was offended, she didn’t sound like it.

“Their pitcher only has two pitches, a fastball and a slider and his slider is starting to hang.”

Stan gave Brandi a look of surprise then slowly looked away.  He shouted to the plate.  “Wait for the right pitch Dom.”

But Dom struck out.  Then Skip got a single.  Marcus got another single.  Petey hit a grounder to short that scored a run, barely legging out a double play that would have ended the game.  Jordy walked, putting runners on first and second base.

Brady felt queasy as he grabbed his bat.  Stan patted his shoulder as he passed.  “He is tired.  Wait for your pitch.”

Another voice shouted from the bleachers.  “You’ve got this.”

The second voice was softer and her eyes kinder.  Brady locked eyes with Brandi as he took a few extra practice swings.  She looked different than the shy girl he’d seen earlier that morning.  All the girls did.  Her hair.  Her makeup.  Her everything.  It called to him.

“Are you two going to stand there gawking at each other all day?”

Brady shook his head.  Time to concentrate.  The score was 6-4.  They were down by two runs.  They had runners of first and second.  Two outs.  The bottom of the 6th inning.

Every kid grew up dreaming of situations like this but somehow all Brady could do was look around the field and think about how quickly everything was changing.  Girls.  Boys.  School.  It was so confusing.

The first pitch was a fastball, low and outside.

“Strike one!”

Brady looked back at the catcher who spit on the ground.  They both knew the pitch was out of the strike zone – ‘I call them as I see them was over’.  He’d need to swing at anything close.

Brady looked at the pitcher who scowled in an attempt to scare him but they both knew he was tired.  If a coach were around, they definitely would have pulled him but today was about pride and showing off for the girls.  The pitcher toed the rubber and threw the ball as hard as he could.  

This one was high and tight.

“Ball one.”

Brady looked up at the sky.  White puffy clouds filled the sky but the sun had begun to peek through.  The start of summer had officially begun a few days earlier, but most people didn’t know what that meant.  Every day the rest of the year would be a little shorter.  It wouldn’t be long until fall arrived, bringing all the changes of a new school year.

Brady wasn’t focused as the next pitch was thrown.  Luckily it was in the dirt.

“Ball two.”

Brady looked at the bench.  Stan gave him a nod as he took a practice swing.  The other guys were cheering him on but Brady couldn’t hear it.  His eyes drifted to the girl on the bleachers and then back to the pitcher as the next pitch came right down the middle.

“Strike two.”

Brady cursed at himself.  He wasn’t ready but no seemed to care.  

He bore down in the batter’s box for the next pitch but Brady saw from the moment it left the pitcher’s hand this one was a chaser.  He’d learned through thousands of at-bats never to fall for that kind of pitch.

“Ball three.”

The pitcher smiled and Brady dug in.  Full count.  The next pitch would surely be down the middle.  There was no way this pitcher wanted to face Stan with the bases loaded.  Brady looked to the bleachers and to the girl who gave him a nod.  Their minds connected.  The next pitch would definitely be a slider.

The ball left the pitcher’s hand in slow motion.  A hanging slider headed right into his wheelhouse.

*** Clink ***

The sound of the metal bat sent the ball screaming towards the gap between the left and centerfielder but Brady didn’t stop to watch.  He flew around the bases, sliding into second well before the ball arrived with both runners scored.

Shouts erupted all along the home side’s bench.  “Way to go Brady!”

The score was now 6-6 and Stan had stepped into the batter’s box.

Brady saw that Stan hadn’t cheered.  His face had the look of concentration of a person who wouldn’t be happy until the game was over.  He’d been like that ever since the first day they’d met.  Stan had been Brady’s best friend since the day they’d met though those feelings had gotten confusing lately.

Brady took a two-step lead.  The pitcher took a deep breath then went into his wind-up.  It was another handing slider.  Brady was running before Stan swung the bat.

*** Clink ***

The whole team was cheering as Brady rounded third.  The ball bounded towards the catcher just as he he started to slide.  Brady did a hook slide in hopes avoiding the tag.  There was no avoiding the collision.

Brady woke to the sound of screaming.

It took a couple of seconds before he realized the screams were coming from him.  Stan had a hand on one shoulder.  The strange girl held the other.  He couldn’t see anyone else.

Stan’s face looked ashen, “Petey went to get the ambulance.”

Brady couldn’t stop the tears that were streaming down his face.  When he tried to move, he passed out from the pain.  The strange girl lay on top of him when he woke.  She placed a gentle tobacco scented kiss on his forehead before she spoke,

“Don’t move Brady.  You’ve got to trust me.  Everything is going to be okay.”

Chapter 3
=========
Brady screamed again when he woke the second time.  On instinct, he grabbed for his injured leg but found it didn’t hurt.

A soothing voice called out.  “Everything is ok.  You’re in my office.”

Brady looked around to find himself laying on Dr. Ponder’s couch.  “What happened?”

“I put you into deep hypnosis.  I brought you out when you started screaming.”

Brady looked at his hand as it trembled.  “It felt so real.”

The doctor nodded his concern, but his face looked impassive, “Why the obsession about this day?”

“I would think that’s obvious.”  Brady shrugged.  “I broke my leg in three places and spent the rest of the summer in a full cast.  My life went to shit after that.”

Dr. Ponder’s face broke into a slight smile. “Did you win the game?”

“Really Doc?”  Brady shook his head.  He really needed a cigarette.  “Yeah.  I beat the tag.”

“So the day wasn’t all bad.”

Brady shrugged.  “It didn’t help my parent’s marriage.  The medical bills led to more fights.  They decided to get a divorce at the end of the summer and I got sent back to child protective services.  Only now I was three years older and no one wants to adopt a teenager, I ended up in a different town and lost all of my friends.”

“It sounds like you had some really did have some bad breaks.”  The doctor paused.  “Get it?  Breaks?”  He started to laugh.

Brady pulled himself up from the couch to look at the doctor.  “Really?  That was a really bad joke, even for you.”

“Sorry.  I was trying to get a reaction.”

Brady pursed his lips.  The doctor had used a broad array of bad jokes in previous meetings to get Brady to open up.  He wasn’t going to fall for it this time.

Dr. Ponder said, “I like your outfit.  It suits you.”

Brady straighten his posture but didn’t bother a reply.  His outfit would have looked ridiculous on a thirty-two-year-old woman.  It looked down right silly on a man of the same age.  His red pleated skirt was better suited to a teenage girl especially when combined with his white blouse dotted with little pink bows.  The long hair and an overabundance of makeup didn’t help.

The doctor’s eyes rose, “How long have you been crossdressing?”

Brady shrugged.

Dr. Ponder nodded as he made a note.  “Did the crossdressing start before or after the incident?”

Brady shook his head.  “I don’t know.  She’s been hiding in the back of my mind for as long as I can remember.”

“She?  As in a different person inside of you?”

Brady looked at the floor.  “Yeah.  She.”

“I notice you’ve been using the name Brandi ever since the incident.”

“Brady.  Brandi.  The names are close.  It made sense.”

The doctor nodded, “I understand.”

Dr. Ponder held out his hand and in it Brady saw the golden object.  “Take it.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a good luck charm.  I want you to have it.”

Brady stared at the object a long while before taking it.  It felt lighter in his hands than he expected which meant it wasn’t real gold but it did feel solid.

Brady asked, “What do you want me to do with this?”

“It’s a prayer stone.  You put it in the palm of your hand, then clasp the other hand on top.  You put your hands together and press them to your breast and bow your head, then say a little prayer.”

“I’m not a believer doc.”

“This isn’t about belief.  It’s about clearing your mind so you can find balance.  It’s your only path forward.”

The stone felt warm when Brady cupped his hands.  His body had transferred some heat into the stone and now it seemed the stone was transferring some of its heat to his other hand.

“Like this?”

The doctor nodded.  “Lay back in on the couch press your hands to your breast.”

Brady took a deep breath.  His court ordered sessions with Doctor Ponder had been much different than he’d expected.  He’d figured he’d receive lectures and condemnation but found the man kind and a little bit weird.

Brady lay back and pressed his clasped hands to his chest.  “Is this right?”

Doctor Ponder said, “Bow your head and clear your mind.  The stone will do the rest.”

It seemed silly but Brady felt tired.  He bowed his head and listened to the sounds of his body until the only thing he heard was the beating of his heart.  

‘Ka-thunk.  Ka-thunk.  Ka-thunk.’

It seemed to slow as he held his hands there, and then he heard nothing.  No sounds.  No thoughts.  The stress of his life floated off him until only one thing remained.

He could see Brandi.

Chapter 4
=========
“You awake?”

Brady jumped from his seat, shouting a high-pitched scream.

He heard a laugh, “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.”  The woman in the driver’s seat pointed.  “We’re almost there.”

Brady recognized the highway sign as the car pulled into the right-hand lane.  He recognized each street as they made their way into down.  He knew every turn.  His confusion only started when the car pulled up an unfamiliar street and stopped at an unfamiliar house.

“We’re here.”

The woman got out of the car then turned around when she realized Brady wasn’t following.

“Don’t forget your suitcase.”

Brady looked down to find the golden stone still clasped between both hands only now instead of a skimpy red skirt, he wore a pair of jeans rolled up around the ankles.

His body felt all out of sorts as he put the stone in the purse hanging from his shoulder.  Nothing felt familiar as he opened the car door and tried to stand.  He made it out on a second try, finally standing on unsteady legs.

It was only when he saw the pink suitcase in the back seat and leaned to grab it that he noticed his long blonde hair.  He took a step back from the car and that’s when he saw the faint reflection of a girl holding a purse and a suitcase on the morning glass of the car’s window.

That’s when Brady started to cry.

“Don’t do that.”  Brady felt an arm around his shoulder.  “This is a nice family.  I’ve checked them out myself.”

Brady wasn’t sure what to say.  He’d been through more foster homes than he cared to remember.  Every time he’d been hopeful this family would be different.

“They’re looking forward to meeting you.  It would be rude to make them wait.”

Brady nodded his head as he felt himself being dragged up the sidewalk.  The man at the door towered over him as they entered.  A woman with two other girls stood as if ready for military inspection in the living room.

“Welcome.  Welcome.”

The woman from the car held out her hand.  “My name is Myra Williams.  We’ve spoken on the phone.”

The man nodded.  “Of course.  I met with your boss.  How long is this going to take?”

Myra said, “I just need to do a quick inspection and you’ll need to sign a few papers.”

The woman turned to the taller of the two girls.  “Why don’t you show Brandi to her room.”

The girl gave a slight nod of her head.  “Yes, ma’am.”  Brady didn’t understand the words until he felt the tug on his arm.  “Your room is this way Brandi.”

The girl didn’t look very old.  She spoke in a quiet voice as they exited down the hall, “You get the smallest room but me and Chrissy were here first.”

Brady allowed himself to speak.  “What’s your name?”

“I’m Deidre.”

Brady held out his hand, “It’s nice to meet you Deidre.”

The room was small but it was cleaner than most and had the smell of fresh paint on the walls.  There weren’t any posters but the bed was made and had a pink comforter on top.

“I picked out the bedspread.  I hope you like it.”

Brady nodded.  “I love it.”

“Mom and Dad just bought the bedside table and the dresser.”

“That was nice of them.”

“The dresser is empty.  We would have gotten you clothes but we didn’t know your sizes.  Mom said we get to go clothes shopping this weekend.”

Brady barely listened as Deidre spouted out more details.  It was too much information.  Too fast.

Deidre must have noticed as her rapid-fire voice quieted down, “Maybe … I should … give you some time … to uhh … change or something.”

Brady nodded as he sat on the bed.  It was soft but not broken down.  Across the room above the dresser was a mirror and in the mirror he saw a girl.  It was a image he knew too well.

“Hey Deidre.”

She’d disappeared down the hall but her head popped back in a flash.  “Yeah?”

“What’s today’s date?”

Deidre shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Brady decided on another tack, now quite sure he was right.  “Are you going to the parade next week?”

“I’m marching with the other Junior Girls Scouts.  Are you in the scouts too?”

Brady shook his head on instinct.  “No.”  At least he didn’t think so.

Deidre said, “That’s too bad.  Me and Chrissy are both in the scouts.  It’s lots of fun.  I bet Mom could get you in if you wanted and…”

Brady didn’t say a word until Deidre got the hint.

Deidre said, “I should go.”

Brady smiled.  “Thanks sis.”

His foster sisters had always liked it when he called them sis.

*****

It didn’t seem possible.  

Brady emptied the contents of the purse on the bed but nothing looked familiar.  There was a bottle of moisturizer, three pens, headphones, a hairbrush, a couple tubes of lip gloss, one tube of mascara, a compact, some candy, a pack of chewing gum, earrings, perfume, and a pair of sunglasses.

Two other items caught his attention.

The first was long and thin and enclosed in a plastic applicator.  Brady picked it up and stared at the tampon for a long while before quickly putting it back in the purse.

The second was the golden egg, a physical reminder he was living in a dream.

But this dream felt so real.

It had been a long time since he’d remembered his dreams and the ones he did remember woke him in a cold sweat.  If Doctor Ponder were here he’d say dreams are a manifestation of your subconscious mind and a peek into your psyche but this felt different.

He remembered Dr. Ponder and Stan and the accident.  He remembered Brandi.  He remembered sitting on Dr. Ponder’s couch.  He remembered the last vivid hypnosis.

“You ok in there?”  Myra’s voice echoed through the wall.

Brady answered, “Yeah.”

“I need to leave soon.”

“OK.  I’m almost done.”  His voice sounded weird and familiar at the same time.

Brady stood and walked to the dresser.  It seemed odd to wear a girl’s face but Brady saw her smile grow as she got closer and closer.  Without a thought, he pulled a tube of lip gloss from the purse and applied a good slathering on his lips.

He reached with a hand to confirm the added flesh on his chest.  He’d hardly noticed them though they were a fraction of the DDs she’d eventually wear.  The bra enveloped them, certainly more comfortable than the skimpy things they’d both later wear on the streets.

Brady began to brush his hair.  He brushed and brushed until everything felt perfect.

*****

The man said, “Vicki and I thought we might need to send out a search party.”

“Stop it Bob.  She was just prettying herself up.  Isn’t that right Brandi?”

So that was their names.  Vicki and Bob.  Brady smiled and nodded.  “Yes, ma’am.”  It was better to be over-the-top when addressing new parents.

Myra smiled too.  “I’m all finished with what I needed to do.  You ok Brandi?”

Brady nodded.

Myra said, “I’ll stop back next week and see how things are going.  You have my phone number.”

Everyone nodded and within a minute, Myra was gone.  The woman most likely had two more appointments to get to that day.

Bob headed for the front door as soon as Myra’s car disappeared around the corner.  He kissed his wife on the way out.  “I’m going to need to work late so don’t save supper.”  He took a quick look at Brady, once up and once down.  “You and I will talk this weekend.”

Brady looked at the other two girls, neither of who looked him in the face.

Vicki was the only one who still seemed excited.  “How’d you like your new room?”

Brady said, “It’s really nice.  Thank you ma’am.”

His mother smiled, “The girls and I thought you might like it.”

The tire squeal from Bob’s car told he had left.

“Have you had breakfast?”

Brady thought for a second and realized he didn’t know.  “I’m not hungry.”

Deidre and Chrissy both shouted.  “I’m hungry.”

Vicki nodded, “I’m making plenty if you change your mind.”

Brady said, “I was thinking of going out for a walk.”

“I can go with you.  I wouldn’t want you to get lost on your first day in town.”

“I’ll be fine.”  Brady said, “It’s the best way to learn the neighborhood.  Maybe I can meet a few people my own age.”

Vicki nodded, “Oh.  I thought maybe…”  She paused and made a decision.  “No it’s fine.  Just don’t wander off too far.”

“I won’t.”  Brady nodded though he knew his words were a lie.


Chapter 5
=========
It took Brady a couple of blocks to get his bearings.  At one time in his life, he knew every street in his hometown but that was a long time ago.  As luck would have it, the park wasn’t far.  He found Kayla under a tree near the swing sets.

“Heya.”

Kayla didn’t bother looking up.  She wore a plaid mini-skirt blouse combo with a pair of impractical boots.  At the moment, Kayla’s entire concentration focused on applying a final coat of black nail polish.  She didn’t speak until the job was complete.  

“Do I know you?”

Brady shook his head.  “I just moved here.  My name is … Brandi.”  He didn’t know why he hesitated.  That had been his street name for a long time.

“Hi Brandi.  I’m waiting for some friends, but you can sit with me if you want.”

“Thanks.”  Brady sat on the ground cross-legged, recently an impossible feat.

“Do you want me to do your nails?”

Brady looked at his nails which looked to be in bad shape.  It seemed Brandi, like him, had a bad habit of biting her nails.

“Sure.”

“Is black okay?”

Brady shrugged.  “It’s okay.”

Kayla got right to work and her face took on a curious intensity.  She was nicer than Brady remembered, but the truth was he’d had never been this close.  Kayla was a member of the Bees and someone in that group would never stoop low enough to talk to someone like him.  Just talking to her seemed like a dream.

Kayla smiled as she finished his right hand.

“Do you like?”

Brady said, “Oh yes.”

“My sister runs a beauty shop.  She said I might be able to help out there next summer if I practice.”

“That sounds fun.”

“It is fun.”  Kayla’s face regained its concentration as she started working on the other hand.  All it took for Brady’s stubby nails was a dab and a slight brush on top of each one.  The process took less than two minutes to finish.

“Hold your hands up like this and blow on them.  Like this…”

Kayla blew along the tips of Brady’s fingers, an act he knew most of the boys in school would have lined up around the block to receive.

Brady had blown on his fingertips for less than a minute when the other girls arrived.

“Who’s the new bitch?”

Brady didn’t need to turn to know then name for the voice.  Everyone knew the Queen Bee.

“This is Brandi.”  Kayla pointed with one of her perfectly manicured nails.  “Brandi, that’s Jessica.”

Brady waved, “Heya Jessica.”

“Hmmm…”  Jessica inspected Brady with the practiced intensity of a drill sergeant.

Kayla said, “The girl standing next to Jessica is Erin.”

Brady waved, “Heya Erin.”

Erin waved back but she didn’t speak.

Kayla said, “I saw some boys over at the baseball field.”

Jessica nodded, “That could be fun.  We should check that out.”

Brady stood up.

Jessica said, “What are you doing?”

Kayla said, “Don’t be like that Jessica.  Brandi’s nice.”

Jessica shook her head.  “Whatever.  She’s your problem Kayla.”

*****

Jessica’s high-pitched voice caught the boys off guard.  “What-cha doing boys?”

The whole group turned at once to stare, most of their mouths standing agape.

Stan said, “Heya Jessica.”

“Heya Stan.”

The smile on Jessica’s face told volumes causing Brady a sudden annoyance.  He smiled when Stan’s focus returned to his lunch.

All the boys looked different than he remembered.  The panic he’d felt when he looked at them back in the day seemed silly now.  It took years to understand most kids fear their sexuality at this age.  His friends, like many boys, put up barriers rife with homophobic slurs hoping to avoid that fate.

Brady had hid that part of himself from his friends back then but had no such problem at the moment.  It wouldn’t be a stretch to say some of his old friends were quite cute.

As always, Stan stood out above the rest.  Brady found all he could do was to stare in silence at a sight that both confused and thrilled him.  Words alone could not suffice.

Stan took a few bites of his sandwich before he asked, “Who’s your friend?”

Brady wanted to hide.  Everyone in school knew Kayla Abrams and Erin Taylor.  They’d been a part of Jessica’s pack long before he’d arrived in town.  He was no one.

Kayla said, “That’s Brandi.  She just moved here.”

Stan shouted.  “Nice to meet you Brandi.”

Brady waved back, though the hand movement felt quite awkward.

Jessica said, “We’re going over to the woods if you want to join us Stan.”

Stan shook his head.  “Nah.  We’re hoping some others stop by so we can get a game going.”

Jessica spoke while applying another layer of gloss to her lips.  “Maybe we can stop back later to watch you play.”

Stan gave a half a laugh and stopped himself, speaking with a flustered grin, “Sure.  That’d be great.”

Jessica strode off without a word, confident the others would follow in her wake.  All the boys stared as they went.  Brady knew it even included Stan though he didn’t dare look back.

A single voice broke the silence.  “Stan and Jessica sitting in a tree … K-I-S-S-I-N-G… First comes love…”

Brady heard Stan’s voice.  “Don’t be a jerk Petey.”

Brady smiled as he turned around, his eyes drifting towards the quiet boy headed out to left field who he saw was staring back.

*****

Everyone knew about the woods by JFK Park.  Most of the area was a flood zone which made it impractical for housing.  With few other options, the city decided to pave a few paths in different directions and along the stream then called it a park.  It didn’t take long for a thick woods to grow up in the middle of town.  It also didn’t take long for the woods to become a favorite meeting place for stoners after school and for late-night lovers looking for an evening trist.

Jessica spoke loud, talking to no one in particular.  “She can’t come with us looking like that.”

Kayla said, “Looking like what?”

“She looks like a little girl in those jeans and t-shirt.  We Bees have a reputation to think about.”

Kayla said, “Don’t be like that Jessica.  She let me do her nails.  Show her Brandi.”

Brady raised his hands to show up his stubby nails, each of them now painted black.  He noticed the other girls also had their nails painted black.  He vaguely remembered it being a Bees thing.

Erin said, “We could do her makeup.  Brandi’s got amazing bone structure.”

Jessica turned to Erin, “Did I ask for your opinion?”

Erin shrugged, “I’m just saying.  There’s only three Bee’s here today.”

Jessica seemed upset.  “Whatever.”

Kayla clapped.  “There’s a bench just up here.  We’ll fix your face there.”

Brady stifled a laugh.  ‘Fix my face?’  He’d been doing his own makeup longer than these girls had been alive but it was better to fit in.

“Sit there.  That spot has good sunlight.”

Brady nodded.  “OK.”  He waited as the other three girls caked makeup on their own faces.  It wasn’t something you’d ever see out of a salon but the effect did make them all look older.

Erin and Kayla smiled.  “Now it’s your turn.”

Kayla and Erin worked on Brady’s face as he watched Jessica walk to the river’s edge and light a cigarette.  She clearly hadn’t been smoking very long, each tiny inhale making her look a little more sick.

Jessica said, “Don’t tell me.  The little girl doesn’t smoke either.”

Brady shrugged, “I’ve smoked before.  In fact, I’ve smoked a lot.”  Doctor Ponder had been working to get him to quit.

Jessica said, “Then why are you staring at me?”

Brady said, “You look a little green.”

Kayla started to laugh but caught herself.  Erin wasn’t as lucky.

“Screw all of you.”  Jessica took another quick drag then blew it out fast while making a weird face.  “Are you two almost done?”

“Almost.”  Erin used her finger to spread out some of the eyeshadow.  “Now I’m done.”

Kayla said, “Me too.”  She held up a mirror.

Brady found it hard to speak.  The face.  The eyes.  He’d seen them before.  This makeup made Brandi look older, much older.  A bouncer wouldn’t bat an eye to pass this girl into a bar.  Brady remembered something darker.  A pair of vacant eyes.

Kayla looked concerned.  “Are you ok?”

Jessica said, “I told you she’s a baby.  She’s not cut out for the Bees.”

Erin had just opened her own pack of cigarettes.  

Brady said, “Give me one.”

Kayla said, “Really?  You don’t have to.  Jessica likes to haze new girls.”

Brady said, “Just give me one.  And your lighter too.”

Erin handed Brady a cigarette and her lighter.  They both felt natural in his hand and yet somehow different.  She smoked thin-100s which someone had once told Brady were better for you but later learned it was all bullshit.  None of it was safe or good but by that time he’d been hooked.

The cigarette felt natural between his lips and the lighter did its thing.  He felt a slight burning sensation and the sudden feeling he might throw up.  An eruption of smoke burst from his mouth as soon as it entered.

“Khoff khak khak!”

“Ha … ha … ha … ha …” Brady saw Jessica was laughing so hard it looked like she might fall over.

Kayla looked concerned.

Erin smiled, “Don’t inhale so much next time.”

Brady tossed the burning cigarette on the ground.

Erin shouted, “Don’t do that.  That’s how forest fires start.”  She picked up the discarded cigarette and took a quick puff.

Jessica said, “See Brandi.  That’s how you do it.”

Erin held it out, “Want it back?”

Brady shook his head. Just looking at it made him want to barf.

Jessica said, “I told you she’s a baby.”  She took a tiny inhale and blew it out.  

Kayla said, “We should get going.  I bet the high-school boys are already there.”

*****

They followed the path for a quarter mile before turning onto an unmarked forest path.  The path weaved through the forest’s various low spots, winding every direction before coming to a small clearing with a fallen log in the middle.  A couple of kids were sitting on the log with others standing around the edge of the clearing.  No one seemed interested with their arrival.

Jessica was not one to take a hint.  She ran-walked through the muck of the clearing to a spot where a group of older boys stood.  

“Hey Billy.”

Billy had scruffy hair and the beginnings of what could generously be called a mustache on his upper lip.  In his right hand he held a smoldering item that clearly wasn’t a cigarette.  When he saw Jessica, he was clearly surprised, then turned and smiled when he saw the other ‘Bees’.

Erin whispered in Brady’s ear.  “Billy is my brother.  Jessica has had a thing for him since we were in 3rd grade.”

Brady watched the lanky boy make his way across the clearing.  “Hey sis.”  then he pointed at her cigarette.  “What’s up with that?”

Erin smiled and pointed at his joint.  “What’s up with that?  I won’t tell Mom if you don’t.”

Billy frowned, the red color in both eyes a tell they’d been here for a while.

Jessica stood beside them, her cigarette held in a way starlets did in old movies.  “What-cha guys doing today?”

Billy said, “We’re about to head out.  I got the munchies something awful and a buddy of mine has a cupboard full of snacks and FIFA on the Xbox.”

Jessica asked, “That sounds like fun.”

“Sorry gals.  Not enough room.”  Billy turned but stopped as he stared Brady up and down.  “Who’s your new friend?”

“This is Brandi.  She just moved here.”

Billy held out his hand.  “Nice to meet you Brandi.”

Brady took Billy’s hand and shook it.  “Nice to meet you Billy.”

Billy stared at Brady’s body one more time before starting to laugh.  “At least one of you girls has enough sense to wear jeans and tennis shoes before walking into a swamp.”

Brady looked towards Jessica but hide a smile when he saw her face.  A guy with a low voice called for ‘Billy’ from the other side of the clearing.

Billy started walking backwards.  “I gotta go.”  He looked at his sister who was still holding a cigarette.  “Make sure you wipe that black shit off your face before you get home or Mom will kill you.  And stop smoking.  I’m serious.”

Erin just smiled.

Billy shook his head and looked like he was about to say something before the voice called him again and he turned to run towards his friends.


Chapter 6
=========
Jessica had run ahead of the group and Kayla had run to join her.  

Brady asked, “Is Jessica mad at me?”

“She’s mad at everyone right now.  Her Dad got a new job and this one doesn’t pay as much.  It’s a big adjustment.  She told me they might have to move out of their fancy house.”

“Oh.”  Brady waited a second.  “Is that something you should have told me?”

Erin laughed, “Probably not.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks.”

“Her tantrums has pissed off most of the other Bees.  That’s why most of them stopped hanging out.”

“That sucks.”

“It was time anyway.”  Erin said, “Do you want to know how the Bees got their name?”

Brady shook his head.  Lots of guys had wondered but it was an exclusive girl’s club.

“Boobies … boo … bees.”

Brady laughed.  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m totally serious.  You know how all the guys started teasing you when yours first started to grow?”

Brady said, “I uhhh…”

Erin said, “Let me guess … you were one of those lucky late bloomers?”

Brady smiled, “You could say that.”

Erin used both hands to prop herself up.  “That wasn’t me.  I was the first girl in the school to get mine.  They were almost this size in fifth grade.”

“Wow.”

Erin said, “The boys were terrible to me.  It was Jessica’s idea to form a group of developed girls into the Bees.  Of course, they had to pass Jessica’s standards of style and looks.  The funny part is she was flat as a pancake until six months ago.  But now you see she’s almost as big as me and it’s changed her.  She wouldn’t have thrown herself at my brother like that a year ago.”

Brady nodded.  “A lot has happened in the past year.”

Erin said, “Sometimes I think Jessica is only friends with me because of my brother.”

Brady said, “I’m sure that’s not true.  You’ve been friends for a long time.  She formed the Bees because of you.”

Erin smiled.  “Yeah.  Jessica has a good heart thought it’s hard to find sometimes.  I think she’s worried she’s about to be like the rest of us poor folks so she’s been clinging on to the Bees like they’re a job.  I keep telling her they won’t work in junior high school.  The Bees were a kiddie thing.  It’s best to let them die.”

Brady said, “Most days I still feel like a kid.”  The words felt truer to him now even if it made no sense.

Erin shook her head.  “See that’s the thing.  You don’t look like a kid.  Most girls in our class can pass for a grown-up with the right kind of makeup.  None of the boys are laughing now.  Not even at the flat ones like you.”

Brady said, “Hey!”

Erin smiled as she took a slight drag on her cigarette then coughed as she blew out the smoke.  

Brady nodded.  “How long have you two been smoking?”

“About two weeks.”

Brady laughed.  “Let me guess.  It was Jessica’s idea as a way to impress your brother.”

Erin said, “Yeah, but I’ve thought about it for a long time.”

“Really?  Why?”

Erin held it out.  “My Mom smokes.  My Dad smokes.  My Brother and sister both smoke.  I figure it’s inevitable.”

“Nothing is inevitable.”  Brady said the words but wasn’t sure if he believed them.

Erin took another slight drag followed by another cough, “If you say so.”

*****

They could see the eighth graders shouting as they stood on the bench.  “Come sit with us!”

The other girls didn’t notice the sound of the bat hitting ball.  Brady watched it arch towards the gap, the left fielder getting a good jump to make a diving catch in the webbing of his glove.  

Jessica asked the group, “Where does Stanley sit?”

Brady said, “The bench beside third base.”

Jessica turned.  “Which one is that?”

Kayla said, “He sits on the bench where the eighth graders aren’t sitting.”

Jessica called out, “Heya Stanley.”  She way she said the words made her intentions clear.  Brady could see Petey fighting his every impulse but managed to keep his mouth shut.  The boys didn’t bothering hiding their stares, the intensity of some of their looks made Brady feel more than a little concerned.

The pitcher for the 8th graders made no secret of what he wanted.  “You gals should come sit on the winner’s side.”

Jessica seemed to loved this and she smiled at Stan, “What do you think Stan?  Do you want us to sit with you?”

Stan clearly wasn’t in the mood for games.  “You can sit where ever you want to sit Jessica.”

Jessica didn’t appreciate the answer.  She stood without saying a word, motioning to the others to follow.  She’d only made it halfway before noticing.

“Brandi?”

Brady knew Jessica expected him to follow.  He looked at Erin and then to Kayla, a slight grin appearing on his face.  “I’m good here.”  

Jessica turned on slightly muddy block heels to join the older boys.  Brady felt the eyes of all his friends turning towards him but he only had eyes for one person.

“That was a nice catch.”

The left fielder seemed to melt under from the jealous looks of the other boys.  “Thanks.”

Stan called from the on-deck circle.  “Brady?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s your turn to bat.”

“Oh.  I forgot.”

The other boys began to laugh as Brady’s face grew pink.  

*****

It’s weird to watch yourself from outside your body.   Most times it happens when he see a person in a room with multiple mirrors and it takes a couple of seconds to realize the person’s reflection is actually you.  In that time, you see yourself the way the rest of the worlds does.  You get an unvarnished view and sometimes that view isn’t flattering.

That wasn’t true today.

As Brady watched himself dig into the batter’s box he felt a sense of joy.  He’d always considered himself small and weak.  From an early age, he’d worried about gaining the title of sissy, a name he’d eventually wear anyway.  Looking from his perch on the bleachers Brady had a good view of all his childhood friends.  It wouldn’t be a stretch to place himself in the top half in size and looks.

A couple of the boys stole looks from time to time which made Brady’s smile grow even bigger.  He had a secret he wished he could share with them, but he knew if he did, it would surely spoil the magic.  That being impossible, Brady sat back and enjoyed the view which included an occasional stare from his friends.

Stan was an amazing pitcher.  Everyone else played great too.  Petey made a nice force out at second.  Skip caught a liner at short.  Dominic made a diving catch in the outfield that saved at least one run.

The opposing pitcher mocked Petey as he walked up to the batter’s box in the bottom of the 6th.  

“6-3.  Last chance losers.”

Dominic shouted back, “Shut up.”

The older boy shouted back.  “Gonna make me faggot?”

Brady smiled at the 8th graders outburst.  He’d been called that name many times in his life.  It no longer held any power.

Brady spoke in a quiet voice, “You guys have this.  Their pitcher is tiring.”

Petey turned around, his eyes fiery with anger, “What does a girl know about baseball?”

Brady held his breath at hearing his friend’s rude comment but that didn’t stop him from responding. “Their pitcher only has two pitches, a fastball and a slider and his slider is starting to hang.”

Brady saw Stan give him a look and then slowly look away.

Stan shouted towards the plate.  “Wait for the right pitch Dom.”

Everything played out exactly as he remembered.  It seemed so weird to be so close to yourself and yet so far.  Brady watched the other Brady grab his bat and Stan pat his shoulder.

Stan shouted to the batter’s box.  “Wait for your pitch.”

Brady spoke without thinking, shouting the words at himself, “You’ve got this.”

Their eyes caught and a sort of energy passed between them.  Brady called out his past self, partly hoping to warn him and partly knowing he needed courage.  The years ahead wouldn’t be kind.

Thoughts mixed in Brady’s heads.  Thoughts of today.  Thoughts of past.  Thoughts of the future.  Where did one person begin and the other end.  Brady felt the pull as his thoughts fought for control.  He bowed his head and slowed his breathing.  He felt his heart rate slow until it registered barely above a whisper.

Brandi understood the truth now.  The mantra between them wasn’t complex but it didn’t need to be.  

‘You are Brady ;  I am Brandi’
‘You are Brady ;  I am Brandi’
‘You are Brady ;  I am Brandi’
‘You are Brady ;  I am Brandi’

The words felt like they’d repeated them a million times or perhaps it was only once.  Time stood still when the words came to an end.

The pitcher called out.  “Are you two going to stand gawk at each other all day?”

Brady shook his head.  The first pitch was a fastball, low and outside.  “Strike one.”

Bad call.  

The second pitch to Brady was high and tight.  “Ball one.”

The 8th graders out in the field didn’t look much different from the 7th graders to Brandi’s wizened eyes.  It seemed odd to think of the fear he held onto because of kids like these.  She’d held on to secrets for years until nothing could hold them anymore.

The next pitch was in the dirt.  “Ball two.”

Brandi looked at the other bench.  Jessica was talking to Erin.  None of the other girls were paying attention to the game.  At that moment, Brandi saw Brady stare drifting towards him and then back to the pitcher.   Brady barely got set as the pitch came right down the middle.

“Strike two.”

Brandi cursed herself for getting distracted.  It wouldn’t happen again.  Brady needed her help.  The next pitch was outside.

“Ball three.”

The count was full.  Three balls and two strikes.  The next pitch would definitely be a strike.

Brandi gave him a nod.  She knew the next pitch.  She’d replayed it in her mind and smiled when Brady nodded back.  She was not afraid.

*** Clink ***

She stood on the bench and shouted a cheer. “Way to go Brady!”  She was still cheering as when Stan stepped into the batter’s box.

Brady on 2nd base.  Stan the Man at the plate.  She’d dreamed of this moment for most of her life.

She wasn’t sure when her feelings for Stan grew to be more than those of simple friend.  It surely happened long before today.   Of course Brady didn’t know this.  He wouldn’t realize it for a long time.

Stan looked all business as he dug in at the plate.  He’d been like that ever since the first day they’d met.  You could always count on Stan.  Brandi watched Brady take a two-step lead.  Part of her wanted to warn him but the die was cast.  The pitcher took a deep breath then went into his wind up.  He threw another slider and Stan hit it to right field.

Brandi found herself running at the sound of the bat.  She got to the dugout fence at the same time Brady reached home.  The screams tore at her soul.

Brandi ran to Brady’s prone body and held him tight.

Stan’s face looked ashen as he spoke, “Petey’s going to get an ambulance.”

Brandi couldn’t stop the tears that were streaming down her face.  She saw when Brady tried to move, he passed out from the pain.  When he woke, Brandi placed a gentle tobacco scented kiss on his forehead,

“Don’t move Brady.  You’ve got to trust me.  Everything is going to be okay.”


Chapter 7
=========
The city’s only firehouse wasn’t far.  They built it just up the street which is how Petey was able to run there to get a faster response.  They carted Brady away in under five minutes.  Once he was gone, the crowd of onlookers dissipated faster than Brandi imagined.  

“You look like shit.  And what was that silly little girl act and all that crying?”

Brandi turned, “I really don’t give a fuck what you think Jessica.”

Jessica’s face turning red but she didn’t respond.  Instead, she turned a dirty heel towards a nearby 8th grader.  The other two girls smiled.

Brandi asked, “Do you think she hates me?”

Erin asked, “Do you care?”

Brandi shook her head.  “Not at the moment.”

Kayla said, “Don’t worry about Jessica.  She’ll get over it.  She’s just going through a rough patch.”

Brandi nodded, “Yeah.  Me too.”

Erin said, “She is right about one thing.  You do look like shit.”

“Fuck you too Erin.”

Erin raised her hands in mock surrender.  “Just trying to help out a fellow Bee.”

Brandi laughed, “Ha!  I thought the Bees were disbanding.”

“We are still accepting applications.”

Brandi said, “Sorry but I don’t think I’d pass the entrance exam.”

Erin stared at Brandi’s chest.  “I give it until the end of the summer.  I’ve got a talent for spotting future Bees.”

The ache in her chest told it was only a matter of time now.  “You’re both nuts.  Jessica hates me.”  Brandi looked at her watch.  It was almost 4PM.  Vicki was sure to be worried.  “I need to get going.”

Kayla said, “We’ll work on Jessica for you.  You’ll be an honorary Bee in no time.”

Brandi smiled, “I’d like that Kayla.”

Erin asked, “Going home?”  Erin’s smile told she knew the truth.

Brandi smiled back and shrugged.

Kayla said, “We won’t tell Jessica.  She’s already a lot right now.”  

Erin asked, “Are you going to be here tomorrow?”

Brandi said, “I think so.  I’m mean maybe.  I might be grounded.  It’s a long story.”

Kayla smiled.  “I’ve been there but I’m sure you’ll find us eventually.  There’s not that many places you can go in this town.”  Kayla held out her arms.  “Either way, it was nice to meet you.”  

The two met in a hug.  “You too Kayla.”

“What about me?”  Erin barged her way into the circle and the three joined in a group hug.  Brandi noticed a couple of nearby 8th graders shaking their heads at the silly group of girls, but she didn’t care.

*****

Brandi walked down the street., remembering the area as well as one could after a twenty-year absence.  No one knew her here.  She doubted her new parents could pick her out of a lineup.

None of it seemed real.  It couldn’t be.  She remembered laying down on Doctor Ponder’s couch and then waking up.  In all likelihood she was still laying there, stuck in the middle of the man’s vivid dreaming sessions but that didn’t explain why she hadn’t woken up.  All of this felt too real.

She didn’t like to think about the other Brandi.  It wasn’t something she liked to remember, but the memories were always right under the surface.

It didn’t seem possible to suddenly run into one another after twenty years.  It seemed even more unlikely to find her working the same streets.  Those odds were one in a million-million.  Brandi was the same girl anymore.  She looked haggard and used up.  Both of them wore women’s clothes when they went out that night.  Both of them consumed plenty of drugs to forget.

Only one of them woke up.  It didn’t seem possible to find and lose a friend on the same day.  Doctor Ponder called to set up an appointment the very next day.  Brandi didn’t like to think what might have happened if he hadn’t.

It got harder and harder to think every day.

“Can I help you?”

The woman behind the counter gave a curious stare but didn’t seem overly concerned with Brandi’s appearance.  She’d seen worse.  “I’m here to see Brady Calders.”  Somehow she’d made it to the hospital’s lobby.

The woman checked a screen.  “I’m sorry he’s allowed visitors right now.  Are you family?”

Brandi paused a moment then shook her head.  It would be too hard to explain.

A voice called from behind.  “She’s a friend.”

Brandi knew the voice before she turned.  “Heya Stan.”

“You’re Brandi, right?  I remember you from the game.”

Brandi nodded.  She could see her other friends snickering in the lobby.

“It was nice of you to come.  The doctor says Brady’s doing great.”

Brandi tried his best to look hopeful but she knew the truth.  There’d be one surgery tonight and another next week.  

“Do you want to sit with us?”

“Uhhh…”

Stan grinned, “My friends aren’t so bad.  You might even be able to get Petey to take back his comment about girls and baseball.”

Brandi felt a sudden shame when she saw the dark stains on her t-shirt.  Jessica was right.  “I need to clean up.”

Stan shrugged, “Well … we’ll be over there if you change your mind.”

*****

“Yikes.”

It was worse than Brandi imagined.  She looked a mess.

A few parts of her face still retained the heavy makeup Erin and Kayla had plastered on her face that afternoon.  Some had smeared onto her cheeks.  The rest ended up staining her shirt.

Hot water from the plus soap from the dispenser removed most of the mess though mascara still dotted her eyes.  Brandi checked to see if the stalls were empty before removing her shirt then dabbed at the mess with soap and cold water.

After a thorough scrubbing Brandi stood alone in the bathroom to let the shirt soak.  A girl stared back in the mirror.  A girl who’d haunted Brady most of his life.  A person who’d shared her dreams and nightmares.  It felt so real …

The bathroom door opened before Brandi could react.

“I’m so sorry.  I didn’t expect…”

Brandi barely recognized the woman’s face.  The lady was a lot younger than she remembered.  “It’s ok.”

“How are you doing?”

Brandi grabbed her purse from the sink in a vain attempt to cover herself.  “I got something on my shirt.  I was trying to clean it.”

“I see…”  The woman shook her head.  “My son has a bad habit of getting grass stains on his pants.”  Stan’s Mom pulled the white shirt from the basin and held it up in the air.  The black stains were mostly gone.  “You can’t wear this.”  

“I can’t?”

“I mean, it’s possible to save.”  The lady wrung out the t-shirt and set it on the counter to dry.  “But it’s not a good idea for a young woman to parade around a lobby in a wet tee shirt.  Especially a white t-shirt.”

“Oh.  I hadn’t thought about that.”

Mrs. Miller appeared to be thinking. “I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Brandi nodded and watched Mrs. Miller walk out the door.  It had been decades since they’d last met.  The last time they met was at Brady’s going away party.

She couldn’t help but look in the mirror.  The girl she saw looked a lot younger without makeup.  More innocent.  It was her.  A sudden sickness caused Brandi to run to a bathroom stall.

The pressure had been there for most of the day.  She’d ignored it of course.  Complaining to the other girls would be silly.  They wouldn’t understand the problem.  After all, they’d done it their whole life.  To a kid’s mind, there was only one difference between boys and a girls.  Girls sit to pee.  Boys pee standing up.

Now she had to sit.

Brandi had spent most of her life dreaming of being in a girl’s body and so far found the experience to be much the same.  It wasn’t so different being living inside a girl’s body, it just felt right.  I was who she was.  As the final thought passed through her head, a flash began to radiate from her purse.

Brandi opened it to find Doctor Ponder’s prayer stone.  The light wasn’t so bright Brandi couldn’t stare at it nor was it so warm that she couldn’t hold it.  She held the stone in both hands like Doctor Ponder had instructed and drew it unto herself, its warmth both pushing and pulling at her insides.  This continued until a loud crack sounded causing the exterior of the egg to disappear in a flash of smoke, replaced by a small folded note written in a steady hand.

*****

“Brandi.

I am not a therapist.  I would try to explain but my words would only confuse you, and to be honest, it matters little.  I do hope you are not upset that I withheld information in our sessions.  In my experience situations like yours are better solved with a gentle touch.

In our first session you said – ‘I’ve always felt different from other people’.  I knew this to be true long before we ever met.

I must first admit the universe is not perfect.  The easiest way to explain your situation is there are times when two children are born into different bodies but share the same soul.  These situations are exceedingly rare, but when it happens, it is my job to return harmony to the universe, and in that role I am asked to make many uneasy decisions.

I have worked on your case for far longer than your mind could comprehend.  It has been in process for far longer than one life as this was always meant to happen, and I was always meant to fix it.  That said, it is impossible for me to know how to proceed until I’ve viewed how a lifetime of decisions play out.  Your situation is the most fierce of the paradoxes, and so the best course is to watch and to wait.

Your memories, your dreams – they are all yours.  The same is true of Brandi.  She is your soul twin, but each of you had different mothers and fathers.  Your bond draws you to each other like a magnet and yet, as you saw today, if you get too close the universe intervenes to drive you apart.  In your heart, I am sure you know this to be true as it was Brandi’s final tragedy that brought you to my door.  I’m sure you’ve felt the closeness to her and because of it, you’ve both experienced more difficulties than either of you ever realized.

This has caused you great suffering and while I wish this were not necessary.  I do promise that your torment is almost at an end.  The circle has closed and with it, the universe can now repair itself.

Rest assured, your soul is whole now, or you wouldn’t be reading this note.  Tomorrow, you will wake in Brandi’s body with no memory of the Brady’s past.  Brandi, on the other hand, will awake with a group of new friends and an extensive knowledge of baseball history.  Your future has been unchained.  The path before you is now yours alone to dictate.

If I have done my job correctly, I hope you don’t find this information to be a sad revelation.  Instead, I do hope you find to be a joyous occasion.  I have delayed the spell’s invocation so it will cast at midnight.  The universe owes you that much.

Be well,
Doctor Ponder

*****

Brandi tried to reread the words but the parchment began to disintegrate as she finished reading the final sentence.  It formed a pile of ash that lay in her hands for a long time until they too disappeared.

It was the pounding on the door that got his attention.  “Are you ok in there?”

Brandi wiped her eyes with a tissue.  “Not really.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

Brandi blew her nose, “I’m ok.”  She tried to laugh, but no sound came out. “I’ve had a really weird day.”

“Stanley said you just moved here.  That’s got to be tough.”

“Yeah.”  Brandi pulled on her bra straps.  “Did you find a shirt?”

A second later a pink shirt draped over the edge of the bathroom stall door.  “The gift shop didn’t have a lot of choices.”

Brandi pulled the shirt from the wall.  It didn’t look like t-shirts she’d worn in the past.  This one had a v-neck and tapered in on each side.  Across the front said the words ‘I ♥ St. Louis Baseball’.

“How does it fit?”

Brandi pulled it over her shoulders and down to her waist before opening the door.  The shirt showed the tiniest bit of midriff and pressed down on her boobs but the material stretched a little to accommodate.

Mrs. Miller didn’t seem happy.  “I wish they had some mediums left.  They only had smalls and 2X-large and I don’t think you wanted a dress.”

Brandi said, “It’s fine.”

“No.  That’s way too small.”

“It’s not.”  Brandi looked in the mirror, turning one way and then the other before smiling.  She’d worn tighter outfits than this in the past and she really loved this t-shirt.  “This is perfect.”

Mrs. Miller grinned.  “That was fast.  Already find a boy you like?”

Brandi felt her face flush.  His next words were barely audible.  “No.”

“A couple of my son’s friends are going to be trouble in the coming years.”

“Petey?”

Mrs. Miller laughed.  “Yeah.  Stay away from that one.”

Brandi nodded her head.  Everything had changed.  Everything would continue to change.

Mrs. Miller offered, “If it helps, I think my son likes you.  He’s the one who asked me to see if you were ok.”

Brandi blushed, “He did?” Her words came out a little more excited than she’d hoped.

Mrs. Miller smiled and she took a pack of tissues out of her purse then dabbed it with water.  “Don’t be embarrassed about crying in the bathroom.  Sometimes every girl needs a good cry.  The best part of doing it in a bathroom is there’s a sink and a mirror to fix yourself afterward.  Do you want me to show you some makeup tricks I used back when I was your age?”

Brandi nodded, now feeling a little better.  “I’d like that.”

Chapter 8
=========
Brandi stuck her head of of the bathroom and looked around but no one noticed.  She heard their voices long before she saw her friends’ faces.  All of them grew silent as she passed through the room..

She found words difficult in front of such an attentive audience.  “How’s he … uhh … doing?”

Dominic asked, “Brady?”

Petey said, “Of course Brady you dunce.”

Stan said, “Last we heard, he’s still in surgery.”

Mrs. Miller said, “He’ll be fine boys.  I’m sure the doctors are taking good care of him.  How many of you have called your parents?”

No one raised their hand.

Mrs. Miller asked, “Don’t you think we need to do that?”

Everyone nodded their heads.

“You can take turns using my phone.  Let me know if you need me to talk to them.”

The boys had taken over half the hospital’s lobby.  Bats and gloves and balls were piled high on several seats.  The TV was tuned to the Major League Baseball channel.

As the others argued over who’d get to use the phone first, Mrs. Miller handed her son a stack of twenty dollar bills.

Mrs. Miller said, “We need to get this group fed.  I think I saw a Firehouse BBQ just up the street.  Can you go pick up a dozen Cowboy Burgers and a couple bags full of fries while I manage these guys?”

“Uhhh … Sure Mom.”  Stan pocketed the money and started towards the door.

When he’d gotten about halfway, Mrs. Miller whispered to Brandi in a low voice.  “This would be a good chance to talk to Stan.  He needs a friend right now.  I think Brady’s injury has him shook up more than he’s letting on.”

Brady said, “Yeah.  I guess so … I mean … Are you sure I’m the best person?”

Mrs. Miller’s eyes sparkled as she spoke.  “I’ve got a good feeling about you Brandi.”

Brandi didn’t stop to think.  She stood running across the room through the hordes of his other friends.  She caught up to him at the door.

“Stan?”

Stan turned.  “Yeah?”

Every word caught in Brandi’s throat as she tried to speak. “Your Mom … well … she thought … you might … need some help.”

“Sure.”

Brandi turned and smiled at Mrs. Miller.  Mrs. Miller waved and smiled back.

The two exited the building just as the summer day was turning into summer night.

Stan asked, “Did you call your parents?”

Brandi shook her head.  

“Are you going to get in trouble?”

Brandi said, “Probably.”

Stan said, “Shouldn’t you go home?”

Brandi said, “I want to stay here.”  She looked up at the room where Brady was staying.  Doctor Ponder didn’t explain what would happen to him at midnight.  No doubt it would include a bunch of words that didn’t make any sense.

Stan said, “I appreciate that you’re staying.  Brady’s my best friend in the whole world.”

Brandi nodded.  Brady would visit him every day for the first few weeks but those visits would lessen as the summer progressed.  By this time next year, they’d be trading the occasional email.  In a few years, Brady would stop responding altogether.

Brandi said, “Ask me anything about baseball and I bet I can answer it.”

Stan smiled, “Who was the shortstop on the 1982 Cardinals?”

Brandi scoffed, “Really?”

Stan smirked, “Do you know who it was?”

“Only the best shortstop of all time.  Ozzie Smith - The Wizard of Oz.   Give me a hard one next time.”

Stan laughed, “You sound like Brady.”

Brandi felt herself blushing, “Yeah?”

Stan nodded.

Brandi said, “He’s going to be ok.”
Stan said, “Yeah.  I know.  He’s tougher than most people think.”

Brandi smiled.  “Who was the ace on the 1934 Cardinals?”

Stan said, “Come on.  Everyone knows that’s Dizzy Dean.  You gotta do better than that.”

Stan pretended to give Brandi a playful tap on the shoulder.  Brandi took the opportunity to grab Stan’s hand, intertwining their fingers and giving her friend’s hand a playful squeeze.  She’d dreamed of doing this for a very long time.

The longtime friends stood speechless as Brandi watched Stan’s face grow red.  It was nice to see Stan the Man off his game.

Brandi decided to push her luck, “Ready to go Stanley?”

He both looked towards the hospital.  A couple of the guys were staring at them from the exit giving the others a play by play description.  “Uhhh… yeah.”

It took five minutes to get to Firehouse BBQ.  It felt like a lifetime as they walked hand in hand.

They both knew the guys would soon be teasing them unmercifully when they returned with the food and Brandi knew she’d be in big trouble when she returned to her new home.  The thing is you only get a few perfect days in a lifetime.  There were a few hours left in this one and Brandi wasn’t about to let it end.

A waiter called out, “Order #32.”

Brandi called back.  “That’s us.”  She started to pull away but stopped when she realized Stan hadn’t loosened his grip.  

“Stan?”

She turned to see Stan staring at her with stars in his eyes.  Brandi gave him a shy smile in return.  Tonight had all the makings of a first perfect night.

Starting tomorrow and every day after would be hers alone to dictate.

A new story

I am constantly starting new stories.  I rarely finish them.  I enjoy the process of creation but not the process of completion.  I'm sure that is true of most people that write.  Starting a story is fun.  Finishing a story is hard work.  Finishing a story while making sure it is something worthy of another person's time is very hard work.

My current story is almost over 100,000 words now.  I'm not sure who would bother to read that many words from me and yet I think it is a good story.  

And I think it sucks. 

I find myself having moments of inspiration where I sling together dozens of sentences with lots and lots of descriptors only to find them too wordy on a reread.  I force myself through a section I'm not enjoying only to find later they read too dry.

I've always been my own worst critic but I've put a lot of time into this one.  It might even be good.  I just need to keep plugging.  And rewriting.

The thing that haunts me about writing is when you finish, it's finished.  The story is no longer alive.  Later you'll see problems and you wish you could go back to fix them all but it's not good to live in the past.  It's better to think of a story as dead the moment you hit publish.

I'm sure that's part of the reason I don't publish.  The other part is pure cowardice of the reaction when I hit publish.  If you press publish and no one notices, did you really do anything?  Worse is publishing and getting a negative reaction.  

I know the latter is unlikely to happen.  That's because the people at the site where I publish are very generous with their praise.  Not because the stories are good.  It's because their isn't many people publishing in the genre and so they don't want to discourage anymore.  Mediocrity is the norm.

I know these thoughts may sound arrogant to some but you have to be arrogant to write.  You have to think ... I have a story inside me so important that other people need to hear it.  So hopefully my new story will soon be finished and become another log on the pyre.  I do hope it's good.  That's assuming I finish at all.

As I look back over the previous paragraphs I expect the few that actually read this might think me an insecure loon.  The truth is it is more likely a plea for attention on a night where I am procrastinating.  

I wish I didn't feel this way but I expect it's not uncommon for most writers.  I've gotta keep plugging and get this done.

Second person

An artist named Miss Mako made independent movies in the horror/scifi genre whose subjects usually dealt with some form of transgenderism.  About two years ago, Miss Mako announced to the world he needed to take some time off because in reality, he had come to the conclusion that he was a she.  I've seen this over and over in the TG fiction world and I think it's because many trangender artists use writing, art, and movies to help them better understand themselves.  It is always a slow process that usually ends up in the same place.

Miss Mako has reappeared slowly and recently asked an interesting question.

"Are you struggling with Gender Dysphoria? Do you have a Fetish? Or is it something else that draws you here? My story above is just ONE. I know everyone has their own story and reasons. And it doesn't mean at all that my story is universally shared nor does it means what was right for me - will be right for others."

It's easy to feel Miss Mako's happiness in her words and her question felt like a plea that others follow her lead.  Most who answered saw their consumption of TG media as a fetish.  They called it a sort of game that isn't to be taken too seriously.  Miss Mako didn't judge anyone that replied.  She gave a cursory thank you.

Since her transition five years ago, she has slowly disappeared from the community.  In her words, "since I started my transition it has shifted my desire to do TF TG material has declined since I now just live life and I've never been happier".

Is she overcompensating to the only group she knows will understand her?  Is she lying to the group in an attempt to convince herself she's happy?

I hope not.

Stories like hers always make me a little melancholy.  I know most of the people who responded to her are kidding themselves.  All of them are transgender though perhaps not transsexual.  I'm surely in the former and I know a part of me wishes I were in the later.  Combine that with my bad habit of obsessing about the past and one question keeps nagging me:

'How do you answer a challenge like that?'

It's not like anyone really knows the truth about themselves.  There are no absolutes in life.  The truth is all of us have the characteristics of both female and male no matter what our genetics say.  An extra dollop of testosterone at the right time can make someone with XX chromosomes appear to be a boy just like an XY with estrogen will seem to outsiders like any other girl.

Genetics alone don't tell the tale.  Neither do hormones.  Does the way a child is raised have an impact?  I'm sure it does but can't be the whole cause.  There are many scientific studies that have shown this.

Recently I've been obsessed reading about how hormones affect the adolescent body.  Boys and girls look different in elementary school but if you grew a boy's hair long and put him in a dress few would notice.  Kids have a sameness that only changes in puberty.  That isn't to say there aren't differences - there are obvious differences in genitalia.  This happens because boys get a large dose of testosterone in the womb at about six weeks that initiates a physical change.  Boys get a second dose right after birth but it quickly fades and then get nothing for the next 10+ years of their life.  Girls develop in a default state in a world without testosterone.

Only around age ten do things start to change.  Girls start first, the change occurring due to production of estrogen in their ovaries.  It starts for boys about two years later with the production of testosterone in their testes (which would have become ovaries without the surge of testosterone in the womb).

Because of this, it makes sense that the earliest time for a child to transition is ten years of age.  That's when many young girls start down the path to a future body shape that will drive boys crazy.  The problem is few ten year olds really knows their mind.  The reality is few people twice that age truly understand themself.  Ten year olds have the added disadvantage of living in a world where blind acceptance of their parent's word is the norm.  Their brains haven't developed enough to allow the self sufficiency for a decision of that magnitude.  By the time many are mentally ready to decide, nature has made permanent changes which cannot be undone.

I wonder about the people who answered Mako's question.  They are all much older than the ten year olds I described above.  Are they truly describing their deepest feelings?  What are they thinking in the dark of night?  What would their decision be if given a choice in the womb?  What would their choice be if given the option at age ten?  Twenty?  Do they know even now?  Will they feel the same in five years?  At a minimum I bet many of them will always feel a desperation they hide from most people in their lives.

I've heard it once said that if your mind gets to the point where you question if you are transgender then the probability is good that you are transgender.  The subject is taboo and not one that's easy to broach, even to yourself.  Many people lie to themselves for years which is why there's so many intermediary steps.

Unfortunately by the time people understand themselves, they also know there isn't a cure that can give them what they really want.  Their memories of life as a boy will always be lurking in the shadows but the memories will fade in time.  The real issue is deeper.  They want nothing more than to be a real female and they know it is impossible.  At best you will be a facsimile, a close approximation.

The introduction of testosterone in the womb killed the opportunity to be a mother for MTF transexuals.  The additional testosterone at puberty changes the appearance and forever brands them with masculine qualities.  FTM have it easier in this regard because women, unlike men, are judged by their appearance but both types of transexuals have the burden of a chemically altered appearance that only the luckiest can overcome.  This leaves an underlying fear that will forever color the lives of 'the afflicted'.

"Can I pass?"

Gender is a spectrum but the world groups its members into two groups.  This means at some point every transgender person comes to a fork in the road and they must choose which path to take.  It's a difficult question and almost impossible for an adult let alone a child.  The answer is hard but the question is simple.  Here's a simple equation that I think encapsulates the decision completely:

Regret of Change < > Regret of Not Changing

There will be regrets either way.  This was determined in the womb.  There are only two paths.  One path will undoubtedly circle back on itself.  The other will lead to a different type of regret and a pile of bills.  All a person can do is decide then live life forward as best they can.

Most of my stories feel like an explosion of words with little point or meaning once I'm done.  I always start with a hope of explaining the longing a little better.  Every time I hope that perhaps this story can give me peace.  It is my attempt to lengthen the time before I circle back to the same road's fork.

I'm here one more time.  For most of my life I wasn't aware of the issue yet it's obvious in hindsight.  How do you know what is best?  When is the time to take action?  How can you know?

This time I have given myself a challenge.  Write a story in second person to describe someone living a lie.  I honestly believe most of the people answering Mako have a similar story.  It is not just a fetish.  Here is my attempt:

Ten.

How could you ever possibly think of becoming a girl?  You've grown up in a binary world.  You are a smart yet shy pre-teen boy struggling to understand your place.  The concept would never occur to you yet you're already aware of the differences.  The other kids let you know.  Is it because you're smart?  Your Mom reassures you through the worst of it.  Every kid has times of difficulty.  Deep down you know she doesn't really understand but you appreciate the sentiment.  You slowly learn to adjust.  Don't think.  Don't act.  Let others take the lead if things seem headed down a path where the teasing might start.  You learns to mimic the other boys.  You learn never to trust your instincts because your inner self is always wrong.  Your self-confidence takes a blow and will never really recover.

Eleven....
Twelve...

Testosterone is starting to flow but hasn't made its presence known quite yet.  The girls around you have been developing for a couple of years and the boys laugh at the unfortunate early bloomers.  You are intrigued at the changes going on in lives of your childhood friends though you don't understand why.  Your Mom moves the family to a new school.  It's an opportunity to start over but you have a hard time finding friends.  You feel lost at the bigger school.  Your voice is so high pitched that the choir director sits with the girls.  The boys laugh.  You withdraw even further.

As the oldest son of a single Mom you claim responsibility as the man of the house but feel different deep down.  Afraid.  Alone.  Unequal.  You can't tell anyone about your fears.  Mom says everyone thinks they're different as a teenager.  You find refuge in conformity.

You make a friend.  Teresa sits next to you in choir.  She doesn't appear to notice your oddness like the boys in gym class.  She gives you an odd sense of peace that allows you to be yourself for sixty minutes every school day.  You both find yourselves in the midst of uncontrolled laughing fits which causes the director to yell.  You are careful never to allow it to go far enough to merit a detention.  Your inner cloak of invisibility has gotten too adept to allow that to happen.

Thirteen...

Acne.  A first sign of the changes inside and you have it bad.  You grow five inches in a couple of months allowing you to briefly tower over many of your classmates, including most of the girls.  You're 5'7", almost as tall as you'll ever grow but weigh half as much.  You're easily under a hundred pounds, lanky and lithe, giving the appearance of much longer arms and legs than reality due to the lack of muscle.

You'd pass easily if you had long hair and a pair of boobs.  With five years of estrogen no boy would ever be able to know the truth if not for that remnant between your legs.  You're blissfully unaware that you're about to pass your first point of no return.

You wave to your friend Teresa on the first day of school but everything feels different.  She seems to not notice you as she walks past.  Teresa masked her eyes with a layer of makeup and you notice her chest had bulged a couple of inches since you parted ways for summer break.  Her jeans are replaced by a short purple skirt and you can't get her image out of your mind the rest of the day.  Didn't she see you?  Why did you have a funny feeling in the pit of your stomach as you watched her disappear down the hall?

You know your friendship is over when you see the cheerleading outfit a few days later.  Teresa is sitting with the popular kids.  You watch from afar during lunch as the older boys circle her like packs of hyenas.  Your Mom tells you there will be other girls.  Why can't Mom understand?

A tier system separates everyone in school.  Cliques form.  Simple hierarchies emerge with popular kids on the top of a triangle, with the smart kids on one side and the rebels on the third.  Of course that's a gross oversimplification.  Every group has its leaders but you've never been comfortable in the spotlight.  You find comfort in the lower strata allowing but even then a couple of friendships develop.

You were the best athlete at your old school and did ok for a while but the growth spurt made you clumsy.  You had always done well in school but your mind is struggling to find focus.  It builds and build until it feels you might break.

You convince Mom to let you stay home from school about once a month.  You aren't sick but she rarely says no.  You felt a sense of relief as you watch the schoolbus pass from an upstairs window.  It doesn't take long for that feeling to disappear, replaced by a nagging sense of guilt.  The inner voice calls.  You ignore it the first couple of times you skip school but eventually work up the courage.  You crack the door to your Mom's room.  She'd kill you if she knew your mind.

The high heels hurt your feet so you try the long wig.  Easy on.  Easy off.  You don't dare try on any clothes but the makeup table calls to you.  You feel the sense of peace as you glide the various wands across your face.  You like purple the best but the end result looks nothing like Teresa.  You wonder what she might say if she saw you now.

Fourteen...

Things start to change.  You've grown bigger but nothing compared to how you'll look in ten years.  Testosterone has started its work on your bone structure but you ignore the change.  Bones on girls like your friend Teresa have already stopped growing allowing them to start maturing into their final form.  For boys it's a slow, gradual process that continues for another six or seven years.    At this age, many boys still look like a overgrown children and you are no different.  Your shoulders broaden at bit, your brow gets more a little defined, and your hips begin to lock into place.  The changes are barely noticable.  Later you will have countless sleepless nights wishing you could go back to this time.  Once the tyranny of bone structure is created it is impossible to go back.  For the future you, it's a dead giveaway on sight.

Your Mom says you are just going through a 'phase' but your future self knows better.  Your school picture that year was easily your worst.  The acne is so bad the gallons of Clearsil you use has no chance to work.  Your face takes on the puffy look of a steroid user on a heavy cycle.  Your braces are the finishing touch on a boy no girl would date.  Your slender frame still weighs less than 120 pounds and isn't much help against the bigger boys on the football field.

Your Mom takes you to her dressing table, hoping to show you how to use her concealer to hide the worst of your acne.  You push down the fears Mom has found out.  You listen intently and you notice the surprise in her face when you ask if you can watch her get ready the next morning.  You don't care.  You're an apt pupil, asking lots of questions that might be dangerous but you need to know.  For a week afterward you use the concealer until one of your buddies asks about powdery crap on your face.  You tell him its a new type of acne medicine.  You feel yourself blush as the other boys laugh.

You never use it again except on your 'days off'.  Your skills improve, the concealer hiding the worst blemishes and your new learned skill blending together mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow into a believable trifecta.  You find it hard to look in the mirror.  The combination of wig and makeup almost makes you look normal but you laugh anyway.  Your future self would pay any price to sit in that room.

A couple of your friends go to school dances but they aren't for you.  You don't have any girl friends and only someone with pity in their heart would consider going with you.  You know deep down there's more to it.  A couple of your guy friends ask if you are gay.

You've never considered this possibility until they mentioned it.  You don't attend a church but know very well that gay people went to hell.  You aren't gay.  You can't be gay.  You didn't know anyone else at school who was gay and besides, you spent most of your lunch time watching girls like Teresa.  You liked girls.  It was just a phase.

You have your first thought of suicide.  After getting straight A's for most of your life, your course average dropped in intermediate school and then even further in high school.  For the first time in your life, you aren't on the honor roll.  That seems minor in hindsight but the combination of awkward looks, dropping grades, and lack of success in sports put you into a funk that lasted most of the year.

Only the vacation days seemed to help. You ignore any other reasons for the pain.  You wouldn't understand even if someone told you the truth.  Your mind is closed.

You soothe your conscious with the knowledge you never seriously considered your thoughts about death.  You know the people that commit suicide are damned to hell.  You don't understand that you'd broken a seal.  Once you've given thought to suicide, it is easy to find the darkness again and every visit gets easier.  The thoughts become an ever present albatross even when things look better.

Fifteen...

You will never forget the night you watched the cabaret show on TV with a buddy.  The show featured rows of naked dancing ladies and the rhythmic bouncing of their breasts caused repeated involuntary reaction between your legs.  You can't take your eyes off the screen.  You stay up all night talking to your friend and both lose any pretense of embarrassment.  Words can't describe your intense feelings of lust.  You'd both seen naked pictures before.  Why did these women seem different?  Or were you different?

Mom starts complaining about the number of times you take a shower.  You put together your first list of girls you like best in school even if your terminal shyness means you don't even speak to half of them.  Teresa goes on top even though you haven't spoken in two years.  She knew your mind best.

You try not to stare but the girls are constant distraction.  They look nothing like the full grown women on TV yet you find them just as stimulating.  Most of them wear a lot more makeup than you've found is necessary but it does make them look older if not sluttier.  School days become a delightful sort of torture.  Tight jeans hurt like hell but no boy dares wear loose clothing for fear putting the loss of control on display.  Prayers are said during class hoping for an end of excitement before the school bell calls for the next class.

Girls notice they can get attention if they show off their curves.  Not even the teachers are immune to their charms.  Tight dresses become the norm for those that can pull it off.  Schoolwork is far down the list of priorities for most.

You learned through the summer rumor mill that Teresa quit the cheerleading squad but nothing prepared you for the sight during the first week of school.  You don't recognize her at first, standing at the edge of school property with a couple of boys from the rebel clique.  Her outfit had morphed from the pretty dresses she usually wore into skin tight leather that left little to the imagination.  The low cut top showed obvious pride in her mammary development and you find it impossible to fault her for the impressive display.  Dark lines of liner encase both eyes.  A cigarette smolders in her right hand as the older boys circled for attention.

You find an ideal spot to watch from a distance.  It's doesn't feel like stalking.  You both are at the same spot every lunch.  It doesn't seem possible this was your friend from a few years past.  She looks so different.  You start stealing a couple of your mom's cigarette's for your own 'days off''.  You attempt your own hand at darker shades.  The lipstick stained butts lining the ashtray gave a thrill beyond words.  You try on your first bra and cover it with a nightgown.

The person staring back in the mirror doesn't look as ridiculous as you expect.  You feel a growing comfort before angst forces you to look away.  The slow transition to manhood had begun to take its toll.  Your friends would tease you unmercifully if they ever saw this 'girl' staring back in the mirror.  The few stray hairs on your lip warn of the coming peril but there was no need for a razor.

The year passed in a haze.  Testosterone, tobacco, and tits.  Oh my!

Sixteen...

The clouds start to lift.  Your shoulders broaden a little more.  Your body fills out to a more respectable 140 pounds.  The acne disappears completely and you notice girls beginning to look in your direction.  You start shaving once a week even though it isn't necessary.  Your grades improve, you make the honor roll again.  You find yourself starting on a couple of sports teams earning you a letterman's jacket.  You stop smoking.  People at the school learn your name.  You find yourself surrounded by friends pulled from every clique.

The 'vacation days' continue.

Social opportunities expand but you don't want to date.  Girls try to fix you up with their friends but you turn them down.  You know something isn't quite right.  The thought of going steady put you into a cold sweat.

You lie to yourself that you are holding out for Teresa even if she's running with another crowd.  When the time is right, you'll be the nerdy/popular boy that professes his love for the girl from the other side of the tracks.  It will be like Romeo and Juliet.  She has to remember the fun you used to have when you were younger.  You wait for her to break up with her loser boyfriend.  You refuse to believe the whispers going around school until you see the little bump on her belly.  Gone were the tight dresses and heavy makeup.  Gone was the boyfriend.  They were replaced by looser clothing and tear stained cheeks.  You give thought of approaching your old friend but instead fall prey to pride and the judgment of others.

Has it all been a lie?  Your obsession with Teresa disappears and you find yourself unable to chase anyone else.  Why don't you want to date? You know you've grown to like the new found respect.  You've emerged from a hellish two years and never wanted to go back to the darkness.  You don't realize the darkness comes from within.  You decide to throw yourself into short term goals, forsaking all distractions, including girls, until it was conquered.  That will bring happiness.  Your grades improve to straight A's. 

The distractions partially soothe the nagging feeling you can not explain.  Your secret vice of crossdressing falls away only when you get to college and probably because you don't have access to Mom's closet.  You douse your pain in alcohol and the beds of nameless girls.  A couple of girl friends comment on your refusal to commit but you say it's not a big deal.  You are having fun.  You have plans.

And since...

You often think of your 13 year old self.  You wish you could talk to him.  You find yourself looking at a picture of yourself from that year.  You're playing summer baseball, struggling to adjust to your new found height, a skinny arm winding up to throw a runner out at first base.  Would that boy ever believe the things his older self has done?  Could he be convinced to take a different path?  A path that might lead to a happier future?

Of course that boy would never agree.  You were the man of the house after all.  You had good grades.  You were going to be the first in the family to graduate from college.  You'd get a good job and then.... well... you really hadn't thought much past that part.

That doesn't stop your future self from dreaming.  Somehow you'd get the money and somehow you'd convince Mom it was ok.  Somehow the trauma of the change wouldn't affect you.  Somehow your friends would accept you with no rebuke.  Somehow you could convince doctors to do things that even now doctors refuse to perform on a thirteen year old.  Maybe there's a wizard out there that could succeed where science would fail.

You wake up in a different world.  The missing appendage doesn't bother you.  You've never had much use for it though you do find it a bit annoying to sit to pee for a couple of days.  Other changes move at a snail's pace but you don't mind.  You're a thirteen year old girl.  You're happy and aren't aware of the albatross that's been lifted from your shoulders.

You have a slight case of acne but it goes away after a couple of months.  You get braces to straighten your teeth like many girls your age.  You're chest starts to hurt and you watch as the two slight lumps result in an embarrassing trip with Mom to find a training bra.  Your Mom teaches you to use makeup and you try to hide your embarrassment as all your male friends start acting weird.  You cry when you have your first period.  You know it's impossible but it's your dream.  Your hair is cut short at first but it grows long, past your ears and then to your shoulders.  You're all smiles during your first visit to a stylist though you make the lady promise to never cut off any length until its halfway down your back.

Your natural athleticism allows you to make the cheerleading team with your best friend Teresa.  The sport is much harder than you expect but the camaraderie with the other girls fills your heart.  The painted smile expected from all girls in that sport is real.  You bathe in the joy from feminine bonds that you've craved for so long.

That's not the only yearning you notice.  A boy asks you to a dance, an old friend from a former life.  You're both older know and date for most of the next year, taking things slow as your body becomes less recognizable.  Your Mom replaces the training bra a couple of times until you stop at a healthy C cup.  You'd forget about them most times if not for the constant stares.  Few conversations are ever had with a boy without at least one look.

You understand the desire better than most girls yet they give you no thrill.  They get in the way more often than you expect and bras become an encumbrance soon after the initial thrill is gone.  They're just a part of you and that thought makes you smile.

You and Teresa spend countless hours staring into mirrors.  Panties.  Skirts and dresses.  High heels.  Purses.  Makeup.  Lots and lots of makeup.  Hundreds of choices all interacting to create potentially millions of looks.  Your stylist convinces you to try life as a blonde like all the other cheerleaders but that phase only lasts six months. 

You know your boyfriend is obsessed and you do your best to hide the fact the feeling is mutual.  You also know its mostly chemical.  The internal craving isn't all that different for girls and every date you feel yourself slipping a little further.  It's only a matter of time before your willpower gives in completely.  You asks Teresa to join you on a visit to the clinic.  You are both put on 'The Pill'.

Junior prom is unforgettable.  You and Teresa spend most of the morning at the salon before going home to put on your dresses.  Yours is made of silk, long and red with two tiny straps are the only thing keeping your breasts from falling out.  Your Mom helps with the makeup and you notice her tears as she finishes.

"You're gorgeous."

Your date arrives a couple minutes early and you make him wait just to show who's in control.  His tux looks fantastic as he walks to the door.  Mom keeps him busy while you complete your look.  A look at your full length mirror shows dress's material hugging your hips then flaring out slightly to give a surprising amount of movement.  It barely interferes your walk as you make your way into the living room.  The look on your boyfriend's face makes it worth every penny you spent of your savings.

You leave to meet with Teresa to find her date running late.  She's never had much luck finding a good guy.  You give a practiced smile to your boyfriend to hide your nerves as he takes your hand.  You pretend not to notice the slight layer sweat on his hand.  Neither of you dares to say a word later at dinner about your after prom hotel reservations.



Your smile shines bright as they take the pictures as you enter.  The proof is apparent to all that look at the nearby screen.  The child is gone, neither boy nor girl.  You're all woman now and that is who you have always been.

Alas...

It's just a dream.

You might have made the change at twenty when you finally had the first inklings of the truth.  So much in your life felt off kilter back then.  You lived in a male dorm, the contrast between the way you thought and the other guys was obvious to anyone that looked.  Effeminate was the kindest word they used.  You never say it out loud but deep down you know you see the world through a woman's eyes but a man's body.  The lack of privacy makes crossdressing impossible - imagine what the guys would say if they knew about that?  You soothe your feelings by a return to smoking.  You do it in private and buy the slender brand marketed to women.  It helps ease a little of the pain.  The rest you drown in a mix of alcohol and the beds of other girls.

You might have tried it at twenty five.  Your career was just starting to gel but decided against it as the changes testosterone had made to your body were complete. That doesn't stop you from entering a store to buy your first makeup kit which eventually leads to your very first bra, panties, and eventually, a dress.   You're good looking and a women are attracted to you, with a set of broad shoulders and masculine jawline could never be mistaken for a girl.  You date but always break up with in a couple months.  The closet always calls and your smoking has gotten worse.  You're up to 5-6 every night.  You only feel like yourself when you're alone until you meet 'the one'.  The first girl that interests you since Teresa.  You can't get her out of your head but you decide to wait.  You become best friends.  You throw yourself into work hoping advancement could quiet the voice in your mind.

You wanted to try at thirty but a series of promotions and the weight of responsibility made it impossible.  Your best friend invites you to dinner and tells you her boyfriend has asked her to marry him.  She then tells you she visited a gypsy to ask for advice.  The gypsy responds, 'That man should not be your husband.  There is another.'  You know there is no gypsy.  It's her way of asking a question as you both have struggled to talk about your feelings for one another.  You know you are in love with her but can't find the words.  How do you tell someone the truth when you've hid so much for so long?  Is it fair to stand in the way of someone's potential happiness for your own selfish desire?  She marries him six months later.  You say you'll stay in touch but that only lasts a year.  You close yourself off from the world, afraid no one could understand.  You'd certainly lose your job if your boss found out.  Despite it all, the regret of change are still greater than the regret of not changing.  You need to focus on the goal.  Work is the savior.

The testosterone in the blood of all men lessens as they get older and you are no different.  This allows your mind to clear and by age thirty-five the truth is certain.  You can no longer run from the facts.  You aren't just a cross dresser.  You always were transgender.  But you aren't just transgender.  You want to be transexual.  What once had been unthinkable now seems desirable.  Thoughts born from desperation invade your dreams.  A lifetime of repression overwhelms you.  You'd wasted so much time.  People say it's not too late but they didn't see your reflection in the mirror.  A half lifetime of testosterone had ravaged your body.

How could you ever tell your family.  They don't have a clue.  You'd been careful to close yourself off since leaving home.  They'd never hid their disdain of people like you.  Why do they take such offense?  Didn't they know the pain their comments caused?  Would they still make them if they knew your truth?

"God doesn't make people gay."

Their comments made it clear they'd never cared to learn the difference between any of the letters LGBT.  Would they take the time if someone they knew personally were a member of that group?  Then again, perhaps they were right.  You knew people in that group had fought a long time for acceptance but some people would never understand.  You knew and you couldn't explain it.  Deep down, you knew you only really understood because you'd lived it.  If nothing had happened to you, you'd be one of the first to judge just like you judged Teresa back in the day.

Perhaps reading about it would suffice.  Did you really need to transition?  Of course you knew only full transition could bring happiness but that was only if you could pass.  Passing was impossible.  No one would ever see you as truly female.  Besides, you didn't have enough money to do more than hormones and electrolysis.  It would kill your career.  Why would you want to start all over in a gender that has always struggled for equality.  Was it smart to give that up?

Maybe you could write a few stories.  Maybe that would help fill the hole in your soul.  Why does everything feel so dark sometimes?  The old albatross beckons.  Pills might do it.  A gun.  No!  Write.  Read.  Dress.  Forget.....

You can make this work.