Blue Nails © 2000 by Emmie Dee

This is a sentimental love story about two teenagers whose love grows in an unusual, difficult setting. There is no explicit sex, but cross-dressing is essential to the story line. If that bores or offends you, please look elsewhere. Otherwise, I hope it can bring you both some tears and laughter. Please—no posting elsewhere without permission. Love, Emmie

 

Blue Nails              by: Emmie Dee        © 2000

 

Tuesday, June 17

NOW AND THEN

I just can’t start this story with today. There’s too much background you have to know first.

We were sitting on the big sandstone outcropping at the scenic pullover on the old state road, looking down over the valley. It was a sunny crisp Saturday last October. We just sat and held hands. Then we spoke.

"I will always love you, Sarah Beth Holding."

"I will always love you, Mark Andrew Jansen."

Since then, we have said to that each other just about every day. And we believe it. Hopeless romantics, I know. I didn’t realize, though, what we would have to go through between then and now, and how that love would be tested in some tough ways, ways that would change us forever. There would be lots of laughs, but more tears. Through it all, our love for each other has grown stronger.

As I sat here, trying to think of how to start this journal, I knew it had to start with that October day. Without it, the rest of the story wouldn’t make much sense. I don’t have much to do in the evenings, so I thought it would be a good time to preserve these memories. Maybe someday, if things work out like I hope, our kids will laugh and cry to read them, and it will make them happy to know how much their parents love each other. Maybe if the worst comes about, I’ll find comfort and memory in them in my lonely old age. But the love for one another will still be alive. So here I begin the rest of the story. Now, my long, bright blue, acrylic airbrushed fingernails click on the keys. I reach up with one of those nails to tug some strands of curly blond hair away from my eye, and pat it back into place. My hands still in my hair, I pull out the long ribbon that winds through the curls and lay it on the table for the night. That done, I look down past my Minnie Mouse tee, toward my laptop computer sitting appropriately on my laptop, partially covering my pink shorts. I stretch out my legs and see my darker blue toenails and toe ring. I look over at my love, stretched out in bed, sleeping soundly at 8 PM, exhausted after a long day of therapy and chemo. I smile, just glad to be here.

If someone else ever reads this, it may surprise you to know that I am Mark Jansen. Sarah Holding is the one asleep. Why do I look the way I do? You’ll find out later. I have to go to sleep myself, now.

THEN

Sarah and I have always been friends. We used to live in the same neighborhood and have always gone to the same school. We even go to the same church together. Like Corey and Topanga on Boy Meets World, we’ve just always felt that we were always going to be together. We both just finished our junior year of high school. We’re just ordinary kids, the kind that blend into the crowd at high school. I’m 17 and she’s 16, we’re not officially engaged or anything, but we’ve both assumed for years that down the road, after college probably, we’ll be married, and we will stay married until we die, and we’ll raise lots of cute and funny kids. Funny thing about assumptions, though. Things happen that you never anticipate. Like her getting cancer. Like me being here with her, pretending to the world that I’m her sister.

Her sister, by the way, is Julie Annette Holding. Julie’s 18, and just graduated from high school. ,At 5’9" she is just about my height, and about four inches taller than her younger sister. She’s a jock, or jockette, and was one of our school’s better basketball players and track athletes. To keep herself in shape between sports seasons, she races bicycles. Actually, so do I. We’re on the same racing team, the Ocelots. Lots of people who see us bicycle racing, or at school, think we’re brother and sister.

The area where we practiced and raced our bicycles was near the Holding house, so it was convenient for me to go there after school, and for Julie and me to go biking. My parents both work in an electronics factory here, and don’t get home until nearly 6 each evening. Mr. Holding drives a truck and Mrs. Holding works at the same factory as my folks, but has an earlier shift, so she is home by the time we get home from school. So both sets of parents were happier with Sarah and I being together with people around at her house than alone at my house, even though we’re pretty trustworthy kids, by and large. Anyway, Julie and I always tease each other and give each other a hard time. I kidded both the girls about having a nail fetish. Julie would wear hers short, but always painted, during basketball season, but get long claws put on the rest of the year. Sarah didn’t wear hers long, but they were always nicely groomed, and the two girls were always doing each other’s nails. Julie even works part time as a receptionist in a nail salon. One day last fall, when I arrived at their house, both girls had their nails painted bright blue. I teased them about having circulation problems—perhaps I carried on too much about it, but that was the mood I was in. Later, as was my habit, I fell asleep in their easy chair. I didn’t discover until I got home later that night, after bike racing, supper, and homework, that they had slipped my socks off and painted my toenails blue, then put my socks back on after they had dried! I had thought I felt Sarah massaging my feet while I was dozing, which felt kind of good, and I didn’t think anything about it until that night. My mom doesn’t do her nails, so I had to wait until the next afternoon at the Holding’s house to get at some nail polish remover. Good thing I didn’t have PE that day! Of course, since it got a big rise out of me, they had to do it again. And again. It wouldn’t happen for several weeks, and when I’d just about think they outgrew it, bang. Blue nails. Sometimes toenails, sometimes fingernails. Always blue, no matter what color polish they were wearing. A couple of months ago, I said that I would be glad when that bottle ran empty. Julie gave me an evil grin and said they had already brought a new bottle, just for me. See, doesn’t that prove they have a nail fetish? Of course, I played a few good tricks on Julie, too, but we won’t get into those here. One day, I was dressed in my racing togs and had a bandana on top of my head to cushion my helmet and catch sweat. She had painted my fingernails while I napped, and now she looked me over, up and down, from my shaved biker’s legs to my blue nails to my bandana, and said, "You really ought to let us dress you up as a girl sometime. You could almost pass as one right now." Sarah had the nerve to agree. "You’d be totally cute," she said.

My jaw dropped. "Now listen," I said, "Don’t go there. I’m a guy, and that’s fine with me. I don’t want to end up on the Jerry Springer episode of ‘Guys who get dressed up as girls by their girlfriend’s sisters.’"

"I’d help dress you up, too, if you’d let us. It would be fun." Sarah grinned mischievously. I love the way the freckles on her cheeks seem to move when she smiles. "Since you’re an only child, I guess you never played dress-up as a kid, huh? Seriously, you would look kind of cute. How about Halloween?"

"No, I never dressed as a girl at home, or on Halloween," I replied uncomfortably. I hadn’t even thought about it before, but deep down, the idea kind of intrigued me. I’d never admit it, though. I have sort of an ordinary face, not too soft but not ruggedly masculine, either, so I suppose I would look alright.

"No," Julie said, "I wasn’t asking about your past. I meant, how about we dress you up next Halloween?"

I sort of agreed, "Well, maybe. I’ll think about it." I wanted to get them off this subject. I was blushing.

"We’ll come up with a costume," Julie grinned. "Something that will go with blue nail polish. You’ll be really foxy!" What chance does a guy have, blindsided between two women, one of whom he loves madly? Maybe they’d forget about it. Not likely, though.

NOW AGAIN

So here I am in costume, and it’s months from Halloween. Hope Haven is a residence center for sick kids who get treatment at the children’s hospital in our state, and for their family members. It’s our new home away from home. It’s a cool place in some ways, kind of scary in others. Why am I here? I’m a family member—sort of. I’ll get to that. Right now, I’m tired and want to get into my nightgown. Geesh. I never thought I’d be the type to wear a pink nightie.

Wednesday, June 18

Our fourth evening here, Sara’s second straight day of chemo. Thank heavens that from now on she only has chemotherapy on MWF. No hurling yet, but you can tell it takes about everything out of her. Today, I’m wearing a matching yellow short and top set. But let’s catch up on the past some more. Sarah didn’t even stay up for supper, so I have the whole evening to write. Maybe I can get things caught up to date.

THE BREAK

About two weeks after the girls had offered to give me a Halloween makeover, on a bright spring Day, our world began to fall apart. Sarah and I had biked out to the same overlook where we first said "I will love you forever." Again we sat there, ate a snack and sipped pop, and generally daydreamed and talked and kissed. When it was nearly time to start home, I slid off the rock ledge down onto the parking lot, about an eighteen inch drop. I held my hand out for Sara. She took my hand and jumped down, but as she landed, her right leg collapsed out from under her, and she went down, me hanging on to her, trying to help her keep her balance. I thought I heard a snapping noise. Sara’s face contorted and she shrieked. "Mark! My leg! I think it’s broken, clear up on my thigh." She’d been complaining about pains in her thigh, but the doctor had assumed it was just tight muscles. Now her leg was bent at a weird angle. What could we do? It was ten miles back to town. Fortunately, some tourists from Nebraska pulled in with their minivan. I flagged them down, and they used their cell phone to call the ambulance.

"It’ll be okay, don’t worry, they’ll fix it up," I chattered nervously, holding her hand. Tears ran down her face. She cried, "I never had anything hurt like this." It seemed like hours before the ambulance came. The nice people in the minivan followed, bringing our bikes. As we entered the emergency room, they took her back for x-rays. I told the staff what had happened, and then I called her family. Soon her mom and sister were there with me. Finally Doctor Phillips came out, a worried look on his face. "She has a nasty break of her right femur, not at all consistent with such a short fall. Are you sure nothing else happened?" I insisted that nothing had, other than the bike ride. I told about her earlier complaints of a sore thigh. "We were able to set the bone temporarily so it won’t do any more damage, but there are some things on the x-rays that we don’t like. She really needs to be seen by some pediatric orthopedics specialists at the university hospitals. I’d recommend the helicopter ambulance. There’s too much potential for damage if we try to deal with it here, and I have concerns that something more serious may be involved." Within an hour, my sedated girl friend was flying the ninety miles to our state university city, with her mom and sister with her. I drove the ninety miles in my old jeep.

I finally tracked down her family in the operating waiting room at the children’s hospital next to the big university hospital. None of us could figure out how her leg would break so easily. After what seemed like hours and hours, a doctor came out in scrubs, and she ushered us into a tiny visiting room. "I’m Dr. Wilcox, chief of pediatric orthopedics. Sara’s still on the operating table, but I need to talk with you before we go on. I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but the leg broke because of a large bone tumor. It will be examined more closely in the labs, but I would be surprised if it wasn’t malignant." At that, we all lost it. "Please," she said. "Things aren’t as bad as they might seem. A few years ago, this would have meant an automatic amputation, partly to keep the cancer from spreading, and partly because the bone would be so damaged. So far, we’ve removed the obviously tumorous portion of the bone, and what we can see of the other parts of the tumor. What we propose to do is to replace the infarcted part of the bone with a titanium prosthetic femur, that will go from mid-thigh to her knee. We anticipate that there will be some nerve damage, so the leg will never function quite as well as it used to, but she’s young and strong, and will learn to compensate, if you give her a lot of love and support. Of course, if the tests come back positive for malignancy, she will need chemotherapy to make sure we destroy the cancerous cells." As we asked questions, she tried to be reassuring. Yes, she would walk again, but with some slight difficulty. Yes, chances are great that if it was cancer, it was treatable, and she would likely live a long, productive life. She asked permission to continue with the bone replacement. Her folks signed the paper, and Dr. Wilcox left. We were stunned. We had no idea it was that serious. But at least she wouldn’t lose her leg. As we waited for the completion of the surgery, we talked. I remember saying that no matter what happened, I’d be there for Sara, and for them.

"I know, Mark," Mrs. Holding said. "What you and Sarah have is very special, more than just a boyfriend-girlfriend thing. You’re really a part of our family." Then she cried. They cried. I cried. We hugged a soggy hug. Finally, Dr. Wilcox came out with good news and bad news. The prosthetic bone had been successfully attached to her own, and the tumorous portion was cleaned out. But preliminary tests confirmed that the tumor was cancerous. She introduced Dr. Hawkins, an oncologist, who explained the whole bit about chemotherapy. They would give Sarah a couple of weeks to heal, and then have a six-week treatment regimen. They would do physical therapy at the same time. It would be demanding to do both together, because each one was exhausting, but not to begin the therapy would cause the leg to atrophy. Not to begin chemo could be deadly.

Sarah didn’t really come out of the anesthetic until the next day, and she was still sort of woozy. The doctors discussed the treatments ahead. "Chemo—will I lose my hair?" She asked. Sara’s not considered a real fox by most of my classmates (they have poor vision, I’d guess), but everyone agrees she has great hair—long, curly, thick, the color of ginger snaps.

Dr. Hawkins explained gently that most patients with the treatment they were recommending lost all their hair. Since Sara’s hair was thick, she might retain some. But it would grow back, probably about a month after the treatment stopped. Tears rolled down Sara’s cheeks. Mine too. I clutched her hand. "Hey. It’s okay. Bald and alive is better than the alternative. I’ll still love you, no matter what. You know that. You’ll always be beautiful to me."

I had to drive back the next day, because the end of school was coming up. Julie and her mother stayed on. As a senior, Julie had finished her classes early. It was hard to think about my course work. I’m a good student, and my grades would hold up okay, but that wasn’t important to me right now. Our principal convinced me that Sara’s being sick wouldn’t cause her to flunk out, either. She was excused from finals.

The day finals was to begin, I got a call. Sarah was sick, and had a high fever. I jumped in the jeep and went, leaving mom to call the principal to explain. When I got there, Sarah wasn’t in her room. Neither was Julie or their mom. The nurse looked really concerned, and directed me back to the OR waiting room. Julie and her mom looked like zombies, kind of gray-like and in shock. Julie mumbled. "She’s lost her leg."

"How? What happened? The docs had fixed the bone with the cancer! Please! No jokes! It can’t be!"

Mrs. Holding took my hands and looked straight in my eye, tears streaming down her cheek. "Mark, it wasn’t just the cancer. She wasn’t feeling good yesterday, and we just thought it was flu or something, since she’s so weak. But her fever kept rising. Her leg was really hot. They pumped her full of antibiotics, and kept running tests. It was a severe infection around the bone. Staph, of some sort. They worked all night with it, but this morning they told us they would have to remove her leg or the infection would kill her. Her whole leg was toxic, full of poisons. Not just the new bone."

"Remove? Amputate? Dear God, no. How high up?"

"At first, they thought about half way down her thigh. But it was worse than they thought. They ended up taking the whole bone, clear up to the hip. It would have been better had they just cut it off earlier where the cancer was. At least she would have had something there."

I could hardly conceive what that would be like. "Will she walk again, ever? I mean it doesn’t sound like there’s anything to attach an artificial leg to." How could such a wonderful girl have to spend her whole life in a wheelchair, or on crutches, with just a single leg? Memories of Sarah biking, dancing, running, leaping, filled my mind. Would they only be memories now?

Mrs. Holding said that the doctor had told her that yes, they could give her a prosthetic leg. Even people who have had cancer in their hip, and who have lost their leg, and part of their pelvis and hip have walked later. Of course, it would be more difficult. But she should be able to walk.

She had been taken to the recovery room, and we got to go in and see her for a few minutes, wearing breathing masks. I thought I was going to throw up in it, when I saw how deathly pale she looked, and the way the sheet caved down alongside her left leg, now her lonely leg. I managed to keep my stomach under control. She drifted in and out again, then she looked at me and smiled. "Hi. I’m glad you’re here, Mark."

"Any excuse to get out of finals," I said. "Sara, no matter what happens, you’re not going to get rid of me. I’ll be there with you and for you. No matter what, okay?" She just smiled, and winced, and drifted off.

INTERLUDE

A week later, she came home for three weeks, to rest and get her strength back. Later, they would do the same therapy/chemo combination they had discussed earlier. Only this time, it wouldn’t be to strengthen her damaged leg. It would be preparing for using a whole new leg, made of plastic and metal and who knows what. The rehab people had taught Sarah to use crutches, and she could swing around pretty good when she had the energy. Most of the time, she used the wheelchair. Mr. Holding had built a ramp. I turned down the summer job that I had been offered in the bike shop to spend more time with Sara. Most of the time, she was strong. She’d joke, complain about little things, laugh at awkward moments. Quite a bit of the time she was silent, a bit depressed, and would just sit in the recliner and look off into space. The Holdings told me that the doctors had explained that losing a body part is like losing a friend, and you naturally work through the stages of grief. It’s also a terrible blow to your self-image. So I’d just sit there near her, and touch her hand, and talk when she was ready to.

I was a little concerned that she never wanted to go out in public. She never liked being the center of attention, and the thought of people staring at her bothered her deeply. She didn’t have many friends over, either. Her best friend, Cassie, was totally freaked out by Sara’s illness. The only time she came by the house, she freaked out crying. She would call Sarah on the phone practically every day, and would talk about anything except Sara’s leg and Sara’s cancer. One of Sara’s favorite teachers was good about coming by and visiting, and Sarah got bunches of get well cards. (Funny they don’t make cards that say "Sorry about losing your leg and good luck with the cancer. Too limited a market, I guess.) Sarah promised me that once she got her new leg, she’d get out more. I hoped so.

One day, Julie walked in looking totally depressed. Sarah was in her room sleeping. "What’s wrong," I asked Julie. She said "Nothing."

"Yeah, sure, right. Come on, Julie. What gives?"

"I guess I’m not going to college." Although the Holdings couldn’t afford regular college tuition, she had won an athletic scholarship to a liberal arts college, about thirty miles east of the state university. "My scholarship is a work/study kind of thing. I have to spend the next two months helping the staff run basketball camps for girls. If I don’t go, I don’t get the scholarship." She was talking quietly, so Sarah wouldn’t overhear.

"But I don’t understand. Why can’t you go?" I asked.

"You remember the doctors and social workers and those dudes recommending that Sarah stay in Hope Haven?" That was a place where sick kids could stay with family members while undergoing treatments and therapy. Cheaper than the hospital, and much less institutional. "You can only go there if a family member stays with you. With all the hospital bills and the time they’ve taken off already, mom and dad can’t afford to stay with her full time. There’s nobody else in our family, even from out of town, who can come, either. So it’s up to me. I’ll have to stay with Sara."

"Julie, you can’t just throw away a college education like that. There must be another way to do this. Could I stay? Could I pretend I’m her brother?"

"The social workers have interviewed us and know who is in her family and who isn’t. We toured Hope Haven as a family. You couldn’t pass as mom or dad, by a long shot. I appreciate you offering, though. It’s okay. I can go to nail tech school next fall and work for the Kims." (That was the Korean family who ran the nail shop where Julie works.)

"You have more future than gluing fake nails on ladies," I said. By then Julie’s mom and dad had come into the room. "We have to find another way. And you know I’ll do anything to help."

THE IDEA

I left there so they could have supper. I spent the night laying awake, trying to figure out something. What could I do? I felt so helpless.

The next morning, before I could leave for the Holdings, the phone rang. It was Julie. "I have an idea I want to talk about with you. We need to be alone for me to tell you. Let me pick you up at 9. We’ll go for a drive and have a picnic, so dress grubby, if you aren’t already. I told Sarah that I needed to do some things with you, so she knows you won’t be by until early afternoon. She’s okay with that."

Julie pulled up wearing some old Banana Republic stuff, with pockets all over the place. Her nails were a different color than yesterday, a light orange that went well with the khaki. She had packed a picnic lunch for us, and suggested we go to the Fort. That’s our local nickname for a state park up in the foothills, about 15 miles from town, another favorite bicycling destination, with some steep grades that gave a real workout. We were driving today, though, in Julie’s beat-up Honda. She was quiet and thoughtful as she drove, not like her usual lively self. She glanced over at me and said, "We usually kid each other, but I want to be real straight with you. I don’t think Sarah could have made it this far without you being there for her." Her voice caught. "I really, really admire the way you hang in there with her." Frank admiration—that worried me a bit. "She’s strong, but this is all so terrible. You’re just so good for her, Mark. We were talking about finding another place for her to stay, other than Hope Haven, so I could go on to college. But what scares me about that is that she’s shy enough around strangers that she really needs someone there who knows and loves her. So I insisted that it has to be Hope Haven, even if I have to work a few years and go to college later. That’d be okay." I told her how I’d spent the night trying to think of another way, but nothing realistic had popped up. We were silent again. She smiled, and said, "Mark, one thing I’ve always liked about you is that you are comfortable with who you are. You don’t try to act all macho, and don’t worry too much about what other people think. You and Sarah are both alike in that you’re both strong, but in a real quiet, subtle sort of way." Somehow I could sense that a train was approaching somewhere, even though the tracks were miles away. But she didn’t talk about it much more.

We arrived at the Fort, and went past the ruins to a picnic overlook, with a path leading downward into the valley. We decided to walk the steep path. It was good to be out, to exercise my muscles, and to relax a bit. "Some guys would freak out with the blue nail trick we’ve played on you. It would threaten their masculinity too much. But you’re comfortable in yours. You holler a little, but don’t let it bother you."

"Uh, thanks," I said. "I guess you’re right. It’s not that big a deal." Again, not much was said. We found a bench at a switchback in the trail, one that had a nice view, looking toward our town.

"Actually, Mark," she began. Oh oh. I could hear that train. "I did have an idea of how you could be there for Sarah when she goes for her chemo and rehab, and a way I could go to college. It’s pretty wild, and you have every right to get mad, or to laugh in my face. But please give it a listen, okay?" I nodded. She breathed deeply. You couldn’t pass as dad or mom at Hope House, but you could pass for me."

"I could? Me? You? What are you trying to say?"

"Stand up, Mark." I did. "Look at me. I’m no Baywatch babe. We’re the same height, and almost the same body size. Do you know what people see when they see me? An ordinary looking girl with great muscle tone, with big flashy nails, blond curly hair, with ribbons and stuff. Some of my friends say I overcompensate to look feminine, maybe I do, but I enjoy that part of my life, too. Remember when we were kidding around about dressing you up a couple of months ago? If we did it and did it right, you’d not only look like a girl, you’d look a lot like me. People who know us well could tell the difference, but you wouldn’t be around anybody who knows us well. They’d see the hair, the nails, the muscles, and would recognize you as me."

"That’s crazy. It couldn’t possibly work. They’d figure it out, and we’d all be in trouble, even if I could pass for you, which I don’t think for a moment I could."

"But if you could pass, and it could work, would you do it for Sara, and for me? Wait—don’t answer yes or no now. But would you think about it?"

I paused. "You’re sure this isn’t a put-on. You’re not just setting me up for a laugh. Because if you are, there’ll be a big payback. They might never find your body, for starters." She assured me that she meant it, and I could see it in her eyes. "Okay, I believe you. But who would believe me, even if I could look like you. How could I act like a girl, 24 hours a day, for 6 weeks? I’m not ready for Hollywood or Broadway, or anything."

"You don’t have to act like a girl. You just have to act like me. Like a lot of the girls point out, there’s a difference. I don’t swish or sway, do I?" Julie asked. "I’m a down to earth, direct, jock. And Sarah could give you tips and pointers, too. I know you can sound like me—you’ve mimicked my voice a million times."

She was right. Julie had a low alto voice that wasn’t so much different from my tenor, and I could match the tone dead on. She and her family were native to this area, so she talked more slowly and had a bit more of a drawl than does my family, who transplanted here when I was four. "Yeah," I drawled. "Reckon yore right."

Julie stuck her tongue out, and then went on. "It’s overacting that you’d have to worry about. Just be natural. Nobody’s going to expect you to act like a cheerleader. People keep saying how much alike we are, so you wouldn’t have to act a whole lot different than you act now. Well, maybe you shouldn’t scratch your crotch or make body noises with your hand in your armpit."

"I’ve kind of outgrown that, anyway."

"See, you’re almost there. Race you back up!" She took out.

"Okay! But if I lose, that doesn’t mean I have to do this crazy thing!"

"Deal!"

The uphill run was demanding but good. It allowed my brain to go back into neutral after several minutes of redlining. After we got to the top, we rested, then got out lunch.

Julie began the discussion again. "I think you can do this, Mark, and do it well. I do have to admit that it won’t be easy, that you’ll find out what girls suffer to be beautiful. Nails like this will drive you crazy. You’ll need a perm and bleach job. You’ll need some ear piercings." I looked again at Julie’s hair, nails, and earrings. "We’ll get you there, and see that you have the wardrobe, too. It won’t be easy, but actually, it might be kind of fun. You’d learn life from a different angle, and my hunch is, that as great as you are now, you’d come out better for it."

Chewing on the drumstick, I wondered aloud. "I did say I’d do anything I could to help, and I meant it. I’d even do what you’re saying, I guess, if I thought I could pull it off. But what if this changes the way Sarah sees me? If I do it, I mean. What if she thinks I’m effeminate or something?"

Julie smiled. "Nope, I think she’d love you all the more, if that’s even possible. If a guy were willing to go that far for me, that’s how I’d feel."

"I really don’t know about this. But what about the sex thing? There’s a reason they don’t allow boyfriends and girlfriends to live together at Hope Haven."

"I really think that you love her too much to let it happen. If you two make a commitment, I know I’d trust you. Besides, remember that she’s sick, and the chemo will make her really sick. You’re going to be burning a lot of energy just keeping in your role."

"We can’t do this behind our parents’ support, and I’m still not convinced I can even pass as a girl, let alone get people to think I’m you. But if Sarah goes along with it, if your parents and my parents both agree to it, and you can convince me that I’d pass as a girl, I’ll try. I’ll do that for Sara. And for you, I guess. But you’ll owe me big time. And you’ll have to promise never to tell anybody who doesn’t have to know, because this could kill my reputation. And promise not to give me a hard time about it. And promise not to paint my nails when I’m asleep, either."

She came over and hugged me. "It’ll work, just wait and see. And I promise on all counts, Girl Scout Promise, cross my heart, and all that good stuff. And we’ll be able to do each other’s nails and have fun together with it." One thing reassured me. I doubted that either Sarah or our parents would go along with it.

WELL, I GUESS SO

On the way home, I glanced nervously at Julie and wondered what was ahead for me. When Julie and I entered, Sarah was there, sitting in the easy chair, her crutches beside her. A grin spread under her freckled nose. "Welcome back, stranger," she said, as I leaned down to kiss her.

"Sara," I began. "I don’t know quite how to start telling you this, but your crazy sister had an idea about how I could stay with you when you go back to the children’s hospital next week. She thinks that I can fool people into thinking that I’m her, and that we can be at Hope Haven together. Now I know it’s weird, but maybe we should think about it."

Sarah was laughing hysterically. I hadn’t seen her laugh that hard since she broke her leg. I must have been right. She must be thinking what a sissy I would be. "Please, Sara," I started. "It was her idea. I’m just desperate to find a way that I can be with you, and Julie can go to college."

"And you said yes," she asked. I nodded. "You sweet, wonderful guy. You love me that much!"

Slowly I began to realize something. "You already knew about Julie’s idea, then?"

"No, silly," she said softly. "I knew about my idea. It came out of my warped little brain, not Julie’s. I didn’t want Julie to have to stay with me when she should be at her college job, and I didn’t want to be 90 miles from the man I love for six weeks."

"Your idea? Why didn’t you ask me, then?"

"Because if I asked, and you were uncomfortable with it, you might say yes anyway, and be miserable. I wanted you to have the freedom to say no. And I would have understood." By this time we were all crying and laughing and hugging.

Once again, I was blindsided by two women, one of whom I loved very much. "Wait a minute. If we do this, won’t I need ID? What if a cop pulls me over or something?" I asked. Julie thought a minute. "I know. You can drive my car, and take my driver’s license. I have a photo ID already from the college that I can use there. You can drop me off at the college on the same trip that you take Sarah to Children’s Hospital. I won’t need a car there. It’s a small campus." Was this brilliant improvisation, or part of a well-thought-out plot? I guess it didn’t matter. "Now," Julie said. "You wanted to see if you could pass as a woman, as I recall. That will only take about 15 minutes, and we'll have you back to manhood by the time mom comes home at 3. Now go to the bathroom and strip down to your Superman Underoos, please. Have a seat on the toilet tank." I did so. Sarah pushed herself up from the easy chair and hopped two steps to her wheelchair, moving to the bathroom door to watch the show. "It’s a good thing you shave your legs for bicycle racing," she said. "That would slow up the process." First she pulled out a bottle of makeup. "This is foundation. Your beard is a little dark, so I’d guess you will have to shave twice a day to stay presentable." She began slathering it around my face. "We’ll just daub a little heavy this time. Normally, you will use some moisturizer and skin cleanser before you apply the foundation, but we don’t have the time now. I noticed Sarah roll away out of view. After Julie finished the foundation, she was adding some eyeshadow. "Nice long lashes," she muttered. When she was tracing lipstick on my lips, Sarah came back with a pile in her lap.

"My turn now," Sarah said. "Here’s something for the two of you. It’ll cancel out the blond-brunette thing. It was two scarves. "Just put them over your head like you do bandanas for racing." I put mine over my longish straight brown hair, covering up my short pony tail. Julie covered her curly hair. Then she handed us each a sundress. Mine had a high neck and a low back. Julie just slipped hers on over her Banana Republic gear. "Careful not to rub it against your makeup as it goes on," Sarah advised me. "Now, come out and look in the hallway mirror. I think you two look great." I was speechless. I definitely looked more feminine than did Julie, because of my makeup and the lumpy clothes under her dress. "You are both beautiful," Sarah smiled. In more ways than one. And it only took fifteen minutes. They showed me how to remove the makeup with cold cream, and I dressed back in my grubbies. We even had time to make plans to tell our parents. The girls would ask their parents to have mine come over for coffee the next evening. Strangely enough, I was starting to get intrigued about this.

The next night, the girls took the lead explaining the idea. I was nervous. What would they think? They listened politely. They expressed concerns, just as I had to Julie earlier. Mr. Holding pursed his lips. "It’s kind of a dangerous situation here. I admire your bravery and dedication for even thinking about it, Mark. But I don’t see how I can be a good parent and let two underage teens who are boyfriend and girlfriend stay by themselves. It’s not that I don’t trust you, I trust you more than I would any other teenager. You’re a great kid. But it still scares me." It scared me, too, and I admitted it. But as we discussed the situation, they began to see that we could actually be trusted if we gave our words that there would be no sex. They began to see a way out of their dilemma. I asked my parents what they thought. "Mark," said Dad. "I never thought I would give my blessing to my son being feminized for a day, let alone six weeks, but I can understand why you’re doing it and if you really want to, go ahead."

I asked mom how she felt. "You’re asking me if I will let two girls transform my son into a woman, well, a reasonable facsimile thereof. I’m afraid I can’t give my permission." She paused, then grinned. "Unless I can help, too." Does it seem to you that I allow myself to get blindsided by women a lot?

"OUR NEXT MAKEOVER…"

The decision was made at the end of our second week home. The next day, mom took me out to get my hair bleached. She said that to get my hair bleached and permed the same day might damage it too much. I had never spent much time worrying about damaging my hair before, but I guess it made sense. Lots of guys experiment with bleaching their hair, so it was no biggie. I spent most of the week with Sara, of course, but I also spent some time doing guy things, hanging around with some of my buds. I told the guys that a cousin who worked at the university had invited me to come work there, which would put me closer to Sara. I would be back in early August. I also enjoyed a few days of bicycle training and trial races. Last year, I had gone from category 4 (the lowest after beginners) to cat 3. I had hoped that a full summer and fall of racing would get me near category 2 status, which only a couple of people in our town had achieved. I guess that would be postponed until next summer. I was going to be able to take my bike with me to Hope Haven, though,but I couldn’t be sure if I would have enough time to stay in shape.

Since we were to leave on Sunday, the women who now seemed to be in charge of my life made plans for the end of my boyhood as I then knew it. The nail shop where Julie worked and the beauty shop where a good friend of hers worked would close about 7:30 on Friday evening. I was to come wearing sweats. I was to leave looking like Julie. Then on Saturday, the moms and sisters would pack, and give me girl lessons. My mom would buy me underwear, makeup, and shoes (my feet were a man’s ten, Julie’s a woman’s ten, two sizes smaller, they told me), and Julie would do my packing, dividing her wardrobe between us. That was encouraging—Julie’s nails and hair were much more feminine than the rest of her wardrobe, and wearing her jeans, slacks, and tee shirts shouldn’t be too majorly embarrassing.

So now it was Friday evening. Since Sarah had been a hermit, only leaving the house to go to a weekly blood test and checkup on how her stump was healing, I was a bit surprised that she wanted to go with us. After the last customer left, my mom, Julie, and Sarah paraded into Nail Fancy with me. So there I was, my fingertips soaking in a shallow bowl of some slippery liquid. Joan Kim, Julie’s close friend, was lining up all kinds of things that made me nervous.

"Are you sure this is all necessary?" I asked. "Wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper just to get some press-on nails at the drug store?"

"Wouldn’t it be easier and cheaper to race a Huffy instead of your Diamondback?" Julie asked. "There’s about as much difference. Any woman who remembered me from last month would remember really nice nails, not cheap imitations. Besides, the cheapies fall off all the time. These will last at least a month, and probably the full six weeks. Joannie is giving you these free, by the way. We have kidded around that one way to expand business would be if men started wearing long, painted nails—it would nearly double our customer base. Joan loved the idea, and said that she would like to give a man a full set, that she might do it for free, just for the fun of it. When I told her why you were getting acrylic nails, she was delighted to volunteer."

Joan giggled softly. "This is fun," she said, "And it is a wonderful thing that you’re doing. Maybe you’ll like them and want to keep them." By this time she had rinsed my fingers and was poking around my cuticles. "They are a little broad and flat, but we can make them look nice." We talked as she continued working. Joan doesn’t fit the physical stereotype of oriental women. She is graceful and pretty, but is nearly six feet tall, at least in heels. At the moment, she is six months pregnant.

"So, uh," I began. "Am I your first male customer then?" I asked.

"Let me put it this way. You are the first to get a set of long-lasting nails. I have some gentlemen come in for manicures. Then I get a few guys who want to dress up for a Halloween party, and get glue-ons that come off the next day. That’s the difference. These are not only more lovely, they become a part of you. They will be so bonded to your nail, that you won’t be able to take them off, unless you want to take your nail with it."

I shuddered. "But you’ll be able to help get them off when we’re done, won’t you?" She nodded and smiled, then started roughing up the surface of the nails.. "You will want the same size as Julie’s, I imagine, if you are trying to look like her?" I looked. Julie’s nails never looked longer.

"I guess," I said. "They just look so long to me. How long are they, an inch? Two?"

"They are over an inch and a half when we first put them on, then we trim them down to different lengths. None of yours will be much longer than an inch from base to tip, but you can call it two inches if you like." She started attaching the long, clear pieces of plastic, drastically extending the length of my nails. Later, as she precisely trimmed the nails a bit shorter, she asked what color I wanted. Julie had assured me that she never told Joan about their nail polish pranks.

I smiled. "Something in blue, I think." Although there weren’t nearly as many blues as there were other shades, there were still plenty to choose from. I picked a lighter blue than the girls usually used on me.

As she carefully applied the color in graceful strokes to my left hand, I admired her bright red nails, even longer than mine. I told her that I was amazed at her dexterity with them.

"You will find that it takes some getting used to!" She laid the brush down in a tray in front of me. "Please pick it up—with your right hand, if you will." I tried, but the nails kept getting in the way, and I fumbled it almost out of the tray. "Now instead of trying to pick it up with your nails, or with the tips of your fingers, use the pads just below the tips. Bend the fingers out just a bit, so the nails are more parallel, don’t reach straight in, but at an angle. Good! That’s it. Now you try painting." I held the brush in my hand, at a slightly awkward angle. She held the bottle so I could slide the brush into it. "Good," she smiled. "Start at the base, out toward the tip." To my relief, she finished the job after I got one nail painted. When Joan finished, she airbrushed some delicate patterns on three of the nails. As the nails dried, Joan gave me some instructions on nail care, and a bottle for touch-up. Julie took a picture of them.

Sarah asked, "Could I borrow that polish? I think I’d like the same color as my new big sister on my nails." I smiled and handed her the bottle.

As she painted hers, I looked down at mine. It was hard to believe that those long, delicately painted things extending from my fingertips were now a part of me, and would remain so for the next month and a half. It was kind of fun clicking them on the counter, though. I thanked Joan for her work, but then I got nervous. The streets were busy. Would someone see me and recognize me? I kept my hands balled up and head down as we got into the car and drove to Polly’s Pretty Place, the salon where Julie’s friend Tina Bidesky worked. I was happy to see that it was a straight shot from the parking lot into the front door, where the next part of my makeover awaited.

"Ah, here’s the victim," Tina smiled. She was tall, and had long, wavy, dark hair.

"We left something for you here earlier, Mark. It’s on a hanger behind the rest room door," Julie said. "Since you’re going to end up all the way into your role tonight, we thought you should dress the part, and ditch the sweats. Besides, if you’re going to be twin, we might as well dress like twins." Oh, boy. What was I getting myself into? I peered behind the open door, and saw a blue denim jumper with embroidery trim around the bodice on one hanger, and a simple white blouse behind it. I hadn’t paid much attention before, but Julie was wearing a plain green jumper and a white turtleneck.

"Might as well get used to it, Mark," Julie smiled. "Do you want some help?"

"No, I’ll try to manage," I moaned. "But is this a good time to back out?—just kidding I guess. Anyway, I need to use the bathroom." I closed the door.

When I emerged in my jumper and blouse, I was wrapped in a pink smock and escorted to the hairwashing sink. With my neck bent backwards and me looking up at Tina, she began washing my hair. It felt kind of good. Afterwards, she dried my hair partway and began applying some sort of chemical goop into it. "This will take your hair from being bleached and pretty much colorless to Julie’s shade of blonde." She did some things with foil, so my hair would have some different shades of color to it, and look more natural, like Julie’s true blond. And she worked some kind of lightening agent into my eyebrows. Then came rinsing, a spell under the dryer, and my straight hair now matched the color of Julie’s. Next, I was led to a chair and asked to sit. "Now it’s perm time, Mark. You’re being a good sport about this." She pointed out the tray full of papers and rollers near my right arm. "To get the same curly effect of Julie’s hair, we will use lots of the smallest curlers we have. It will help if as you feel me finish with one of this size roller"—she lifted up a tiny one—"you will hand me first a paper wrapper and then another roller. It’ll be good practice in using those gorgeous new nails." And it was. I dropped a few as we went on, but I slowly began to feel more sure of myself. Mom asked if she could apply a little makeup to my face as Tina rolled my hair. Tina could finish it up later. Tina said "sure," and mom began putting foundation on. Looking at my whiskers bothered her while the rest of me was looking so feminine.

Julie interrupted. "Mark, I promised not to paint your nails when you were asleep. May I go ahead and paint your toenails now?" Well, why not? She held up royal blue nail polish, to contrast with that on my fingers. I felt her slip off my tennis shoes and socks. As I kept handing up rollers and papers, all the women were fussing over me, and chattering about how much fun this was. Well, it was my hair that was being pulled and stretched tight. The smell from the chemicals they daubed on each roller didn’t help my mood much, either. At least Sarah would smile every now and then and give me a thumbs-up sign, and mouth, "I love you." After the longest time, my hair was rolled, the chemicals applied, a plastic cap put on, and again I was under a dryer.

After the buzzer rang, Tina unwrapped my hair, handing me the rollers to put back in the box. There must have been hundreds. Then she picked my hair out and fluffed it up, until I looked like a sunflower or something. A few artful snips from scissors, and soon my hair took on the shape of Julie’s tussle. Then Tina said, "This part will sting a little, Mark. She daubed my earlobes with disinfectant, then one, two, tIhree, in my left earlobe, and one, two in my right, now all filled with small gold studs. It smarted a bit, but not bad. She explained how to keep my ears from getting infected, and said that by Sunday morning I would be able to wear prettier earrings.

The women, under Tina’s guidance, looked carefully at me, then back at Julie. "Eyebrows," someone said. They all nodded. Even with mine lightened in color, they were still pretty bushy and wild. "Don’t worry about this, Mark," Tina said as she picked up an electric clipper and comb. "Men do trim their eyebrows." She buzzed over them, shortening them and making them less unruly. Then she looked back at Julie. "I could wax them a little to shape them nicer, right here on the bottom of the arch and here at the ends," she said, pointing at my brows. They wouldn’t be too thin for a man’s, but still would help him look more like Julie. Is that okay? Mom nodded. I nodded. I thought she meant something like you put in your hair to make it stand up. She applied a few spots, then OW! Off came the wax, and a bunch of eyebrow hair with it. I’m used to pain, because bicycle racers tend to fall off their bikes every now and then and get their legs or arms scraped up pretty badly. This just caught me off guard.

Tina said, "Mark, don’t worry about being too feminized when the six weeks is up. Lots of teen boys aren’t as conservative as you and experiment with their looks. You can come back from your trip with two little hoops in each ear, unless you just want to let the holes grow over. You can keep your hair blond, or we can color it back to dark brown, and your brows, too. Nobody will suspect anything." That was reassuring.

Tina fussed a little with eye shadow and mascara, some highlight on my cheeks, and lipstick, and said, "Tada!" Because of the extra makeup, I not only looked like Julie, I even looked more feminine than she did.

"Welcome to the club, sweetie," Tina smiled. "You look great, if I do say so myself. And I did, if I conveniently put aside the fact that I was a guy.

Julie started snapping pictures of me—she was always a bit of a camera nut.

"Wait a minute—I said. "What are you planning to do with those pictures?"

Julie smiled. "Don’t worry, Mark. You’re saving my life and Sara’s by going through with all this. I promise you that I won’t blackmail you or embarrass you with any pictures I take of you during all this. If I show them to other people, I’ll tell them that they are pictures of me. And someday, you might enjoy seeing them, yourself."

MOTHER AND SON? DAUGHTER?

When we came home, it was after 11. I was glad that we had an enclosed garage and I could slip from there into the kitchen. It was after 11, and I was exhausted, and I definitely didn’t want nosy neighbors to think that Julie was spending the night. Dad was astounded at my appearance, but didn’t say much. He just smiled and shook his head. Mom helped me off with my makeup. She laid out a pink nightgown, panties and bra for me. "You’ll need to wear the bra at nights when you’re at Hope Haven. Otherwise, there might be an emergency, you’d run out into the hallway, and there you’d be." I thought about that as I slipped back out of her sight to change into the panties. Then I asked for help with the bra. She showed me how to hook it and turn it around. It was padded—not very much, but neither was Julie.

"Mom, I appreciate your help, but sometimes I wonder if you’re getting a little too enthusiastic."

"Mark, I love you dearly, and I wouldn’t trade you for any one. But yes, I’m enjoying this, maybe a little more than I should, because I had always wanted for you to have a sister. I think you’re doing a wonderful thing here, and you’ll be a better man for it. I am so proud of you. Besides, we only have tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday together, to get you prepared for what’s going to be a really challenging experience."

I just smiled and kissed her goodnight. This was getting way strange, but it meant I got to be together with Sara. I slept restlessly. Each time I woke, I was aware of the sore earlobes and eyebrows, and nails that tended to catch on things, bending back and pulling on my fingers. And I dreamed. I dreamed that I woke up with large, real breasts, wide hips, and nothing between my legs. When I woke up with a start and covered with sweat, I discovered that what was between my legs was actually quite large. I put my sexy blue fingernails to work to relieve the pressure, with the feeling I may be doing quite a lot of that in the next 6 weeks.

I got dressed in last night’s outfit—the blue jumper and blouse. I almost had to yell for mom to help, trying to get the buttons on the jumper and the blouse fastened with my long nails, but I made it on my own.

It was Saturday morning—only five days ago. Mom and I puttered around, gathering what little I needed for the trip, since Julie was putting together most of my specialized wardrobe. Mom had me practice putting on makeup, time after time, until it got easier, and I looked less scary. "Your eyes are a little smaller than Julie’s, but if you use eye shadow, that will help compensate. And Julie’s eyes are greenish-blue, so I’d use light green tints to bring out what little green you have in yours." Mom told me a bunch of stuff that I had already figured out, like not to ogle when I went into a women’s restroom, to sit down to pee, stuff like that. Then she surprised me a bit. "Mark, you know how Sarah has been discouraged a lot lately?"

"Sure, she has a lot to be discouraged about. But I think she’ll get over it."

Mom looked deeply concerned. "Sara’s taken a huge blow to her body image. It’s hard for her to see herself as attractive. She’s going to be depending on you to be the one to let her know she’s still acceptable. She’ll be very vulnerable, very fragile emotionally. Sometimes she may act grateful, and other times hateful. Do you know how to deal with that?"

"Mom, we’ve talked about the sex thing. I won’t take advantage of her vulnerability. I won’t try to seduce her."

"It’s more than that, Mark. She may try to seduce you, just to prove she can, and feel rejected if she doesn’t. You’ll have to walk a very fine line emotionally, giving her the security that she needs without it going too far." Well, it was something to think about. So I asked what we were doing for lunch. When uncomfortable, change the subject.

She smiled. "You and I and Mrs. Holding are going out for lunch and on a shopping trip!"

Thursday, June 19

Sarah was feeling pretty weak yesterday. So today I dressed up more than she had ever seen me, in a really cool khaki dress. That impressed her. This evening I told her the story of how I came to have it. And since that comes next in the story, I can tell you.

THE SHOPPING TRIP

"A shopping trip? With me like this? I may fool people at the university hospitals and Hope Haven, but I can’t go around Fort Russell where Julie’s friends might see me!"

"Sure you can," she smiled.

"But I thought you were just going to give me girl tips today."

"Learning by doing, honey. Julie is spending some time with Sarah today. If someone thinks you’re Julie, just act like her. And act like Mrs. Holding is your mother. You’re going to be awfully inexperienced in acting like a girl if you don’t start until tomorrow afternoon. Besides, there’s some things I want to buy you, special things. Oh, by the way—" she reached down and pulled up a bulky pair of panties. "This is my little invention for you. They have pads on the sides, held in by velcro patches, to give you hips, so your clothes will fit better. You might go try them on before Vivian Holding gets here." I’m not the only one who changes subjects. I went to the bathroom and changed. It did seem to make even the loose jumper fit a little better.

When Mrs. Holding arrived, mom made sure that I checked my lipstick. Then it was into the car, and to the mall. We had lunch at a gourmet burger place near the mall. I discovered that with my new nails it was easier to pick up burgers than to pick up silverware to eat the slaw, but I slowly got the hand of it. Lunch was fine, and a lot of fun, in spite of my self-consciousness. I knew objectively that nobody would recognize me, but still…. Mom accompanied on my first trip to a woman’s bathroom since I was three, and I must have passed her test. As we sat down in the car, mom explained her agenda. "We have your underwear, as you know. We’ll stop off at the bicycle store and get you a larger helmet, probably in a girl’s style, to fit over your curls better. Then I want to get you a nice outfit or two—a dress, hose, some fashionable shoes."

"Mom, why? Hope Haven is informal, Hospitals aren’t dressy, they’re full of people in white robes and scrubs and gowns with no backs. Jeans, tee shirts, shorts, that sort of thing like Julie’s packing will be fine."

"Several reasons. We and the Holdings are planning to drive up on alternate weekends. We’d like to go to church with you, and hopefully with Sara. We want Sarah to get out a little bit, away from Hope Haven. We may take you to some nice dinners, and we’re going to give you some money so you can do that for Sara, too. We’re not talking evening gowns or formals, honey, just something nice. The other reason is that we want you to know what it’s like. We have to wear outfits like that practically every day to work, you know." She smiled. Fine. More torture.

In the women’s clothing store, mom and Mrs. Holding were having entirely too much fun pulling dresses off racks, holding them up to me, and asking me to try some on.

"Don’t be embarrassed, dear, you’ll seem out of character," mom would whisper.

Mrs. Holding giggled. "No it won’t. Julie gets embarrassed when I take her shopping for good clothes. But don’t you love this navy skirt? And these blouses coordinate so nicely."

I had just come out of the dressing room wearing the navy blue skirt and the white blouse with the navy trim. Unfortunately, I don't suppose my tennis shoes set the outfit off too well. The outfit felt kind of nice, and I have to admit it did look classy in a conservative, professional sort of way. My two "moms" were admiring it and making little comments, nodding their heads. If I had to wear something more formal at all, though, I still thought I should look like an 18-year old teen more than a 30-year old businesswoman. Then I saw Carrie (pronounce it pre-dough, please) Predeaux coming. She's one of the innest of the in, always wearing the coolest clothes and hanging with the coolest people. Also, she knows it. Normally she would look past Julie (or me), and pretend we weren't there unless she wanted something from us. I was desperately hoping that would happen this time, and that hope was all that kept me from dashing back into the dressing room.

It wasn't to be. "Julie," she waved and smiled. "Don't you look nice today? And I don't think I've ever seen you with so much makeup on, even at the honors banquet." Act like Julie would, I thought. Be polite, but do not let her get to you.

"Hi, Carrie. It's so nice to see you. Here let me introduce you to my mother, Mrs. Holding, and to my aunt Fran." They all nodded, smiled, and touched hands. "I know the makeup isn't quite me, but these two ladies treated me to a makeover because I'm leaving for college next week. I have to admit I enjoyed it. It's not usual that a jock like me gets so much pampering. I understand you're going to Stanford, wasn't it?" I knew that Stanford had turned her down and she was going to State.

"Well, it turns out that State has a better program in fashion design," she lied, "so I decided to go there instead. But mom went there, and I'm sure once I get into my mom's sorority, I'll have a great time. It’s the best on campus, you know. You're going to that little college down the road, aren't you, Julie? Did you have to take some remedial courses that you're going this summer?"

"No, I'm going to be an instructor in some of their sports clinics." Time to change the subject. " That's a great dress you have folded over your arm. Did you just buy it?" She smiled and unfolded the khaki dress with teal trim. Classy, understated, and great lines, and it looked comfortable, too. I oohed over it.

"I usually buy at St. Clair's, but sometimes you can find something nice in the department stores, for everyday, comfy wear. It was over in the Misses department, but they may have it in larger sizes," like I was fat or something. I'm sure that Julie's body fat ratio as an athlete was a lot lower than Miss Curvy here, but I just smiled.

"I hope so. It's darling." I was picking up the vocabulary, it seems, and the drawl sounded right, too. Now maybe she'll go away.

"And Mrs. Harding," she said to Julie's mom, my "mom." I was so sorry to hear about your daughter Sally. To think, someone that pleasant and cheerful, and she may never walk again. What a loss. What will happen to her? And I don't suppose that Mark is around anymore. Boys just can't be depended upon." Morbid curiosity at work, and now I was ticked. She had patronized and insulted just about everybody. Mom was about to speak, and I blurted my feelings.

"Callie, let me tell you something about real life and real people. Yes, Sarah Holding, not Sally Harding, lost her leg. Mark—thank you for getting his name right, it's fairly simple so even you can manage it, has been there for her practically every day. But I will promise you something. When you're fussing over a zit or a damaged cuticle in your sorority, she will be walking to class for her senior year at Fort Russell High. Her life isn't over, and I feel more sorry for you than I do for her. She's missing a leg, and our family isn't rich, but she has class that money can't buy, and she'll go farther than a lot of girls like you will in life, because you have a worse handicap—you think a good life is something people will just give you on a silver platter, and so you won't end up earning anything worthwhile." It was fun watching her lips thin out and her eyes bulge. I managed to keep my voice under control, and was glad when she spun around and left. "What a self-absorbed airhead," I muttered.

Would the two moms think I passed the girl test, or should I have ignored the catty stuff and just smiled? Their hugs showed I passed. "This outfit I have on is very nice, moms," I smiled at them and lifted my arm in a modeling pose. "But I noticed that they had a similar skirt in burgundy that will be a little livelier, yet still classy, so let's find that and let me try it on."

"Good idea," said Mrs. H. "And Julie, I'm proud you are our daughter. That young lady may have been a bit of a snob, but she does have good fashion sense. That khaki was great!" Mom nodded and grinned. Mrs. H. turned to mom. "I know that you were planning to buy a dressy outfit for her, Fran, but let me buy the khaki, if they have one that fits, for Julie for next fall, and this Julie can wear it whenever she wants." So that's what we did. Of course, mom picked me out a casual blue floral print skirt and a blouse that went well with it.

Then, of course, came the shoe warehouse, also at the mall, for matching pumps to the burgundy and blue outfits, and some funky leather sandals that would go great with the khaki and just about anything else. Okay, okay, so I was starting to get into it. We'll probably give away the shoes after I'm through with this, but Julie's going to get a great wardrobe. I thought I had enough hose, but mom picked up some more knee highs at the shoe place. Accessories were next. Mrs. Holding had instructed me earlier to watch the ears of teenage girls (not usually the first thing I look to), and notice what they were wearing. I did that, and it was kind of fun picking out several sets of earrings. Some hoops and danglies for the bottom hole, and smaller studs for the others, a couple of chain bracelets, a pinky ring, and some pins for my blouses finished my "new look."

On the way out, we passed a jeans store. I stopped and admired a baby blue pair of cut-off bib overalls, with an embroidered Tigger on the bib. "Look at that," I called. "Doesn’t that look like something Julie would love?"

"Or something you’d love," mom grinned. "It’ll go great with your nails and eyes. Okay, you’re going to save us enough in grocery money over the next six weeks by eating on Hope Haven’s budget, that I think I can afford the bibs. And you said that I was the one who was really getting into this." Okay, maybe we’d both end up on Springer, but we’re enjoying one another.

I trusted the two moms to run into the bike shop to get me a new helmet—too many people there knew Julie and me way, way, too well. Then another car pulled in next to mine, and Tarisa Williams got out, a basketball teammate of Julie’s.

"Julie, hi!" she waved. She asked me how Sarah Beth was doing, but her asking was from genuine concern. Then I could see a puzzled look on her face. "Julie, baby, I’ve looked at your eyes a thousand times, and I could have sworn they were green."

"Contacts. I thought that colored ones would be fun to try, but I’m not too thrilled with them." She told me that she had to run, waved, and went into the store. I was glad this trip was about over—way too much chance of getting caught. When the two moms came out, I wasn't too surprised that the helmet was pink. Except for being form-fitting to different forms, the male and female racing uniforms for the Ocelots were alike (yes, it has a splash of color like ocelot fur and neon bright paw prints running around the logos). So I guess that hot pink on the helmet is subtle by comparison.

Friday, June 20

Sara’s awake this evening! Good sign. She’s sitting, reading some novel, as I begin tonight’s entry. She looks up and smiles, and I’m absorbed by those great green eyes. "You’re great with those little kids, Annie. They all love you."

I smile back. "Thanks. It’s fun." When they saw my Tigger bibs today, they were all over me. So I played dolls and trucks and checkers, and read story after story. "Wasn’t that funny when Marnie said I had the best muscled legs she’d ever seen on a lady?"

Sarah Beth laughed. "And you said that when she got home, if she kept riding her bicycle lots and lots, maybe someday she would too. Those bibs do show your legs off to pretty good advantage. I know Kevin over in PT wanted to say something, but was too embarrassed."

"If I had his legs, I’d be embarrassed too."

"Oh, come on, smarty. Kevin’s legs aren’t that bad. He has to be strong to do the physical therapy stuff he does. He sure wore me out. By the way, Annie, it isn’t just the kids that love you. This kid does, too. None of the heroes in these silly romance novels would dare do what you’re doing for me."

"Ah shucks, ma’am, you make me blush," I said.

So who’s Annie? That takes you back to last Sunday, and our trip to Hope Haven.

ANNIE IS BORN

We had gathered at the Holdings. Mom and dad were there to say goodbye to me. We were taking the Holding’s minivan and Julie’s (temporarily my) beat-up old gray Honda. In the minivan were Mr. Holding, Julie, all Julie’s college stuff, and Sara’s wheelchair. Sara, her mom, Sara’s crutches and our luggage filled the Honda. Sarah was in a funny mood. "I’ll sit in the back seat of the Honda. I don’t take up as much leg room as I used to. Mom, you can sit up front with your older daughter." Today I was comfortable in cutoff jeans and a ¾ arm tee shirt that said "Property of Ft. Russell Central High Lady Rustlers’ Basketball Team" on the front and "Julie Holding" across the back.

As we were loading, Mr. Holding asked, "Julie, do you have everything out here now?"

Julie and I both answered, "Yes, dad."

We got under way. Mrs. Holding looked back at her daughter, and asked "Are you doing okay, sweetie?"

Julie answered, "Considering that I’m going to spend six weeks getting wrung through a physical wringer in the mornings, poisoned in the afternoons, all my hair will probably fall out, and my roommate will be a crazy boy who looks like my sister, not too bad, I guess." Well, she wasn’t in denial, anyway.

Our plans were to stop for lunch at a restaurant at the edge of the city. We would drop Julie off to visit a friend, and then we would go to Hope Haven and unload. When the Holdings left, they would pick up Julie, stay at a motel, and drive her the thirty miles to her college. Her program didn’t start until Thursday, but they had made arrangements for her to arrive early.

After a few miles, Julie spoke up again. "You know how before we left and dad said something to Julie and you both answered? That’s happened a couple of times and it bothers me, for some reason. I know people have to think you’re Julie, but I’m uncomfortable calling you that. You’re not my sister—well, not my sister Julie, anyway. So I’d like to call you something else, just as a nickname. It’ll make things less confusing in my heart."

"I can understand that, honey. It would be less confusing in general," Mrs. H began. "Do you have any ideas? Maybe Mark could become Marcia or something?"

"Marcia, Marcia, Marcia," I whined in my best Jan Brady voice (too much Nick at Night).

"I know!" Sarah said. "For the next six weeks you are not Mark, you are Annie. My sister Annie. It fits you better, somehow. Julie’s name is Julia Annette, so we could explain to people that I like to call you by your middle name. They won’t know it’s your middle name, Andrew, that Annie is short for."

"Okay," I laughed. "I like that. Annie I am. We’ll tell the others when we stop for lunch." After a couple of miles, I asked, "I won’t have to dye these blond curls orange, will I, and wear a little orange dress, and sing ‘Tomorra, Tomorra,’ will I?"

"No, you’re not an orphan Annie. You’re my Annie. You have two families. And I love you, Annie."

We stopped for lunch at a big family-style restaurant that we like. I wasn’t sure how good the food at Hope Haven would be, and I had bad memories of the hospital cafeteria, so I really enjoyed a double country fried steak. If I’m going to live as a girl, I’m really glad I get to be a girl jock, so I can pretty well eat whatever I want. Mr. H and Julie liked Sarah Beth’s idea, so Annie I was from that day on.

UNPACKING

Hope Haven is a big old mansion converted to its present use. We unloaded our stuff, took it up to second floor on an elevator, and went down for an orientation session with Mrs. Berdugo, the administrator. She explained more about the Healing Partners program that worked between the hospital and Hope Haven. A family member, along with the patient, formed a healing team. The family member provided for the patient’s basic needs when the patient couldn’t handle them, with the assistance of 24-hour nursing staff. The healing team went together for treatment, in Sara’s case, physical therapy in the morning and chemo every other afternoon, and other medical tests and procedures, as well. I would be the youngest family member staying at Hope Haven. Most of the others were parents or a few older brothers or sisters or aunts or uncles. So she certainly hoped that I would act maturely and responsibly. I asked why we had a second floor room, given Sara’s condition. What if the electricity went out, or the elevator broke down? Mrs. Berdugo looked down her glasses at me. "Sarah is ambulatory, even though she has only one leg. She is in better shape than the first floor guests. She can make it down the steps on crutches, or she can bump down on her rump. And you, Miss Holding, are to help her." Tough lady, that Mrs. Berdugo. The house itself had two wings, the south one mostly for preteen children, the north one for kids like us. We weren’t isolated, or anything, and we ate meals together in a common dining room. We were also encouraged to help with housekeeping functions.

We met a few of the kids. Billy Yates was a little bald-headed guy who looked about 8 but was actually 13, who was having his fourth bout with cancer. Kelly, a 14-year old girl, was scarred up from burns in a trailer fire, and was recuperating from skin grafts. Nell was in a wheelchair with CP, I think, but had undergone orthopedic surgery and was doing physical therapy. There were other kids that we saw coming and going, but wouldn’t meet until supper.

We went upstairs and unpacked. The room was small, had two single beds, one on either side, 2 dressers, a desk, a close nook, and an attached bathroom. It looked like a college dorm room in an old quaint dorm, except for the pull up bars all over the place, and the low altitude of the desk, toilet, and sink, to make them wheelchair accessible—oh, yeah, the wide doors, too. There was a phone jack, but no phone—the in-room phone cost extra, and the Holdings had told us that it would save them a lot of money if we just used the phone rooms located on all the floors. That meant no internet access for me. No TV either—people can bring their own, but Mrs. Berdugo recommends that they don’t. It was better for building community if we shared the TVs in the two living rooms.

We chose dressers and began to unpack. Remember how I thought that I wouldn’t have much trouble with Julie’s informal wardrobe of mostly jeans, shorts, and tees, pretty much like what I was wearing today? When I had mentioned that at lunch, Julie and Sarah both just smiled. The shorts and tops I pulled from off the top were pastels, pinks, yellows, blues, greens, and lavenders. I found more skirts and sundresses than I thought Julie even owned. And when I got to the other bag, I came to even more delicate blouses and skirts, silky slips and what Sarah told me were camisoles.

"What’s going on? I know Julie doesn’t ever wear anything like this."

"Oh, come on, Annie. They’re beautiful clothes. The ones in that bag are from Joan Kim. She’s so impressed with what you’re doing, she wanted to help out by loaning you some of the clothes that she can’t wear during her pregnancy. Wasn’t that sweet?"

"I guess so, Sara. I don’t know, This is kind of threatening to me. But even these clothes from Julie are more, well, feminine, then I expected. Maybe I could drive over to the discount mall and buy some cheap jeans and tees."

"Annie, you’re a girl, now. Live with it. Look the part. Enjoy it, even."

"I don’t think I can enjoy it. It makes me feel kind of strange. It scares me."

"It scares me to be here, Annie, and to think of all they’re going to do to me. If I can handle that, you can handle this. I’ll be here for you. Would you wear these clothes instead of buying those jeans and tees if I told you this was my idea?"

"Well, yes, I guess so. Was it?"

"Not completely, but sorta. When Julie was packing, she made two piles—stuff she needed for college and stuff she didn’t need quite so badly, that she thought you could wear. I noticed that the pile she was making for herself was the kind of stuff you thought you were getting—her normal day-to-day wardrobe. Your pile wasn’t very big, and it was a bit more feminine. Then I remembered her drawerful of Aunt Clare clothes.Some of the more girlish things she gave you were originally gifts from Aunt Clare, who is very conservative, and thinks girls should be girls. Julie usually wears them only when Aunt Clare is visiting. But I always liked them on Julie, and I think I’ll like them on you. So please? Can Annie have a bit more feminine look than her twin Julie?" Blindsided again. Oh, well. Some of the outfits are pretty nice. And Sarah promised to help me with the laundry. I even promised Sarah that I would try everything on, at least once, even if I didn’t wear it all day, or in front of other people.

That pretty well catches the record up to our arrival here at Hope Haven. Things fell into a pattern fairly quickly. Sunday night for supper, we asked Kelly, the girl with the burns, if we could sit with her. She looked startled but pleased. As she opened up, we got the impression she’d been pretty much of a loner, and other kids were uncomfortable around her. For some reason, we three really clicked, and spent all week being together at meal times and free times. She also received physical therapy on a similar schedule with Sarah Beth, so we’re together over there a lot, too. Kelly didn’t talk much about what happened to her, and we didn’t press. She lived on a ranch over in Franklin County. As she was 19 and had been to Hope Haven for repeated visits, they had waived the requirement of having a family member stay with her.

Sarah had lots of medical tests on Monday, and began her daily PT, designed at this point to build up her strength in her hips and leg. The prosthetics people also made a cast of her stump early in the week, so they could customize a leg that would fit comfortably. It was fun being with Sarah in the PT unit, helping her and encouraging her. It wasn’t as much fun going to chemo with her, and definitely not as much fun for her to receive the shots, pills, and Ivs of stuff designed to kill any remaining cancer cells before it killed her.

So now I’m finishing this long record on Friday night. We’re staying here for most weekends, even though Sara’s treatments are mostly Monday-Friday. We figure the ride back and forth will be too tiring for her as the treatments take their toll. Each weekend, our parents will alternate visits. My mom and dad are coming up tomorrow, and will take us out for lunch. Maybe I’ll see if I can freak dad out by wearing that beautiful red silk blouse and long black silk skirt from Joan. Or that jade green dress. Hmmm.

Saturday June 21 and Sunday June 22

I chickened out on the sexy satin outfit this morning. After all, it was Saturday, and I wanted Saturday clothes. I settled on a pair of cutoffs again, green this time, and a pale yellow knit pullover that felt almost like a tee-shirt. Sarah and I took the elevator down to the laundry room to wash and dry our clothes. A lot of the residents and their family members had left, either for the day or the weekend, so we got some kissing in between folding undies. Sarah complained about the vampires, who kept taking blood for blood tests, and said that she felt about a quart low. We laughed about the antics of the younger kids during the previous week.

Kelly came in, the girl recuperating from burns. She walked slowly and stiffly. She had on sandals, shorts and a sleeveless pullover, so we could see more of the red, scarred areas. Some of them had dressings taped on. I had noticed earlier that her scarred right hand was missing two fingers, but now with her sandals I saw that her foot hadn’t fared any better. I tried not to react, but she must have picked up on a tiny wince. "Sorry," she said. "I know this isn't pretty. But clothes hurt a lot." She started to load the other washer. "Looks like we both got it on the right side, Sara. People keep telling me I should be thankful to be alive, but sometimes it hurts so bad, and people stare at me, and I wonder. But I guess I'm glad. Sometimes I get jealous looking at you. It's obvious you're really close. I had a sister. We argued sometimes, but we still loved each other. She didn't make it through the fire. Neither did my dad. It’s just me and mom now."

"How long ago was the fire, Kelly?" Sarah asked.

"A year ago last December. My dad was ranch hand, and mom’s a cook. Mom was visiting a sick sister one night, and dad fell asleep smoking. He died in the fire, and my sister didn’t survive the burns. They didn’t think I would, either. This is my sixth round of plastic surgery and followup rehab. Keeping the skin and muscles flexible is a bitch, but it's worth it. I'd just curl up in a ball otherwise. Probably one more week for me this time, then home for a few months and then back again." I was amazed that it had been that long. If she had been through six rounds of plastic surgery, what would she have looked like before? Wow. Sara's situation was tough, but Kelly's was worse.

"We'll miss you, when you go, Kelly," I said. "But I'm glad for us that we have these two weeks together."

"Julie, do you feel kind of strange sometimes being the only normal kid here?" she asked suddenly.

"That depends on your definition of normal, I guess. I was with Sarah so much at the hospital, and then at home before we came here, that it doesn't bother me much to be around kids with medical problems. We're a lot alike in some ways. What you see on the outside doesn't have much to do with what's on the inside. A lot of kids—boys and girls—treat me like I'm a little bit of a freak because I'm athletic and plain and all."

Kelly smiled. "Well, I think you're cute, in a funky kind of way. Do you have a boy friend?" she asked.

I was trying to answer according to Julie's frame of reference. "Not right now. I've had a few. I'm going to college next fall, so I guess there's still hope."

Kelly looked at Sara. "You're still kind of shy about people seeing you without your leg, aren't you? I'm sorry if I'm getting too personal. It's still hard for me to be out on the city street and notice people staring at me and asking dumb questions. But I can only be who I am, you know? And how others take me, that's their problem, not mine. Maybe sometime we three can go out together, if that's okay with the two of you, and get some fast food, or loop the mall, or something. Then you'll be out in the crowd, and won't be the center of attention."

I wanted to jump at the chance. One of my big goals was to make Sarah feel more comfortable out in public. But it had to be Sara's decision. "Yeah, I'd like that," she smiled. "And not just because I want you to be the decoy, but because I really like to be with you. What do you say, Annie?

"Sure. Our aunt and uncle are coming over, and should be here about lunchtime. They'll probably want to eat supper with us, and dinner tomorrow. How about a trip to the mall and supper at the fast food court tomorrow evening? Maybe we could even catch a flick."

We talked a bit longer, griping about the food and the grouchy aide. When the laundry was finished, we went up and waited for my folks—woops, our aunt Fran and uncle Carl—to come. It was nearly twelve when they arrived. We all hugged, and they said, "It's so good to see you, Annie." So the Holdings had gotten the message through about my new identity.

Although Hope Haven was okay and I really liked the kids, it was great to get away for a few hours. We had lunch in the car at a drive in, then drove into the mountains. We both did a lot of chattering about the first week. For supper, my folks suggested a fancy Chinese restaurant they had already checked out for accessibility. Sarah agreed—twice in one weekend she would be out in public! Of course, Sarah asked me to wear the nicest silk dress that Joan had sent—long, jade green, shapely, and with a sexy slit. She also made up my "night" face, and helped me put in some long, dangly earrings. Dad's eyes widened when he saw me, but he smiled and said "You're looking beautiful, girls. All three of you." I impressed everybody with my chopstick dexterity—the long nails actually helped keep them balanced. We watched a TV movie in their motel room before they brought us back to Hope Haven.

Sarah begged off from church that morning, so I went with my folks. It was time to premier the burgundy skirt. I felt a little strange to realize how pleased I was with how I looked—not just for being able to pass as Julie, but just with how nice I looked as Annie. After church, we picked up a pizza and took it back to Hope Haven. I changed back to my grubbies for the afternoon. My parents left soon after we killed the pizza. While Sarah napped, I bicycled a few miles on a great bike path the city had built along the river. I wasn't trying for speed, just exercise and relaxation.

Sara, Kelly, and I climbed into the Honda to go to the mall. Although Sarah used the chair, she brought her crutches with her, too, so she could reach the machines at the arcade, and for exercise. She even chose a skirt, rather than less-revealing slacks. Oh, we got the stares, all right. Sometimes we'd stare back. We got a few smiles and friendly waves, too. "Are you feeling comfortable with us, Annie?" Kelly whispered once.

"Having the time of my life," I smiled. Just a week ago I was frightened about going on a shopping trip as a girl. Now I was having a ball. What more could a girl want, except for maybe a new set of earrings and a teal pin-on hair ribbon to go with the khaki dress? And those were mine in short order. Should I be worrying that I was having such a good time?

Monday, June 23

We spent a long morning at rehab today. Last week the prosthetics experts had made a mold of her stump, and today they were working with her to fit a cup that would hold her to and cushion her from her prosthesis. Also last week was lots of exercise, building strength and flexibility in her hip, and general muscle tone. Sarah Beth’s muscle tone had always been good, but had taken a beating with her illness. So it was today that they worked on fitting the cup to her stump. I was interested in the process but couldn’t do much. After lunch came the chemo session. As her partner, I went back with her to the waiting room and then the treatment room. There were other kids with cancer in the waiting room, one or two who were staying at Hope Haven, and the rest who were outpatient or still inpatient. Some still had their hair, some wigs, some bandanas or scarves, some just bald. So far, we were lucky with the chemo side effects. They, along with the PT really tired Sarah Beth, and they had caused some nausea and queasiness, but nothing she couldn’t handle. The queasiness would come and go, but for the most part, she felt decent if rather tired.

It was a great early summer day, temperature in the high 70s, when we left the children’s hospital. I invited her to take a walk with me. I pushed her in her wheelchair down to a park area by the river. I sat on a park bench, and we held hands and talked.

"Mark," she started (no one was within earshot), "Are you sure that you’re okay with this? It was a great weekend, but are you really willing to spend five more weeks as Annie?"

"Absolutely," I said. "It’s not as bad as I thought keeping up the Annie image. I get a little nervous, though, when sometimes I feel like this is normal, that I am Annie. Like last night at the mall. Oh, by the way, I brought you something." I reached into my purse and pulled out a long green ribbon, the shade of her beautiful eyes.

"A ribbon? It’s a beautiful color. But were you forgetting that I may not have anything to wrap it around in a couple of weeks?" I stood up, moved behind her, and tied her long wavy ginger-colored hair back with it, and made a fairly respectable bow. I sat back down.

"No, I’m not forgetting. I think about it every day when I see some of the kids at Hope Haven or the chemo waiting area. I just want you to have it to remind you that after you lose your hair, it will come back, and someday I’ll put the ribbon in your hair again, just like I did now. I will always love you, Sarah Beth Holding."

"And I’ll always love you, Mark, or Annie, or whoever you are."

We sat and watched the shallow river burble over rocks. Then we went back for supper and an evening in the tv room with the other kids.

Tuesday, June 24

Same old same old during the daily routine. Sarah didn’t have chemo, since it’s Tuesday, but she did have lab work done. It was hotter out and Sarah was feeling a little queasy when we left the hospital, so we didn’t go wandering. We sat in the living room at Hope Haven. Billy, whose tee shirt said "The Cancer Kid" since he’s had so much experience with it, challenged me to a few rounds on his Game Boy. He wiped me out after a fairly good struggle, and gave me a compliment: "You’re pretty good at this for a girl."

I didn’t record my Billy story from last week, the day we arrived. Billy introduced himself to us and asked Sarah how she lost her leg. Sarah said, "I’m a cancer victim, too."

Billy just about shouted. "Don’t say victim! You’re not a victim unless you let yourself be. You’re a cancer survivor!" Good point.

Wednesday, June 25

Sara’s been using a walker a lot in rehab, hopping along, and wearing the cup with nothing attached to it. How was chemo? "Nauseous boredom," she said. "Just glad you were there keeping me company, love."

This evening, I touched up my nails, and Sara’s, too. After they dried, I was sorting through one of my clothing doors and found a box that Julie had left me. It had some more costume jewelry and hair pins in it. I’d been using some of the long ribbons with bobbie pins on each end that Julie and I draped through the back of our hair, in and out of the curls, like a garland on a Christmas tree. I thought it was a little juvenile for someone her age, but it was one of her little trademarks. I reached down through and discovered that the bottom of the box was filled with a really long streamer of red and blue ribbons, a good 18 inches long.

"What on earth is this?" I asked Sara.

"Don’t you know? I bet Julie didn’t realize she left that in there. The basketball team wore them when they came out and practiced at the start of every game. School colors, and all that?" Sarah reached over, took them from me and started shaking them like a pom pom.

"Oh, yeah. For awhile they painted their nails alternating red and blue, too. Probably your sister’s idea, her and her nail fetish. But these would be a little silly for me to where around here, wouldn’t they? Even though I said I’d try everything on once?"

Sarah nodded, "You’re probably right." Then she grinned. "Do you know how some of those little kids are really intrigued by your bike racing, and some of the bigger ones, too? Why not, some nice day soon, you give them a little demonstration. We could all gather on the porch, and you could wear your Ocelots uniform, and go around the block a few times at different speeds."

"Sounds good to me."

"And it would look so cute if you clipped these in your hair so they would stream out behind you from under the back of your helmet as you rode by."

Thursday June 26

It was a scorcher today! Sarah suggested I wear a sundress to keep cool, so I did—it went down to just above my knees, had a floral print on a cream background, fairly high bodice to hide my lack of cleavage, but bare shoulders. She found me a bra that didn't have shoulder straps, either. I wore a thin gold chain with a cross on it around my neck, and a bracelet of Julie's with a small basketball charm. My sandals felt good with the heat.

I've been really getting involved in the Physical Therapy unit at the children's hospital. Kevin Lewis, who I lovingly call PT Guy, is about thirty, cute according to Sarah but I bet he'll be bald on top by fifty. He's a combination of the best coaches I've ever had—he works his clients hard, but never puts them down. You can feel his passion for making people's bodies work better. Kevin's in charge of the PT unit here, and teaches it at the university. I help him with Sarah the best I can, and follow up on his instructions to see that she does her "homework" exercises. I also keep volunteering to work with others, doing what he teaches me to do, helping people with work that doesn't need a professional to do it. Today I've been watching Kevin working with Kelly, who is going home tomorrow, as he helps her move and stretch her body as it recuperated from her latest skin grafts. Kevin filled me in on how tendons and muscles had been damaged, too, and what they were doing to help. He showed me some simple movements I could work on with her, and said, "I'm going to go help another client. Just help her do these until she complains a lot, okay?"

The staff is short-handed, and Kevin asked me if I would be an official member of their volunteer staff. It involves some classroom lessons and guided instruction in the unit. Sara's my first concern of course, but it sounded great to me, so I signed on the dotted line.

When we were comparing notes on a patient, I asked him, "I noticed that Sarah is the only one here right now missing a limb. Do you have many people like that?"

"Amputees? Yes, quite a few. I see the people from the prosthetic company who do the fittings and adjustments more than I see some of my own relatives. Cancer cases like Sara's are tragic in a way, because it suddenly shoves a relatively health person into a whole new way of life. Accidents, too. After my first year here, I sold my motorcycle—I saw the aftermath of too many wrecks. I wouldn't be surprised if Sarah will have company after the Fourth of July weekend. That's always good for some major trauma, between cars, boats, and fireworks. What I enjoy, though, is working with the toddlers and young children sometimes, ones who are born without a lower arm or leg, for instance. They learn so quickly. I told Sarah that I fit a lower leg prosthesis on a six year old, and it came with Disney characters all over it. That girl isn't going to hide it, she'll show it off." He showed me a picture of this grinning little character hanging on his office bulletin board. "I told Sarah she could have one like it, if she wanted," He grinned.

We sat a few minutes, drinking cokes. "Julie?" He started. "Or is it okay to call you Annie like Sarah does? Somehow you seem more like an Annie to me."

"Annie's fine! The people at school all call me Julie, but I'm cool with Annie, especially from someone I like."

"I'm impressed with what you've been doing around here—you have a very caring manner, and people feel good about you working with them. A lot of people with athletic backgrounds freeze up in a place like this, but you don't act threatened or repulsed at all. If you haven't made a career choice yet, I hope you'll think about PT work."

Wow. I was impressed that he was impressed. "I'm going to Westland College on an athletic scholarship and work/study program, and I'm planning to major in Phys Ed and minor in sociology, but yes, I'd love to do this kind of work. That'd be great."

He smiled and said, "I'll do whatever I can to help you. I have some pretty good connections, and we can work out summer jobs, internships, scholarship help, so maybe you can do a joint program between Westland and the University."

Later, I was grinning from ear to ear, and told Sarah Beth about the conversation. She nodded. "He's right. You would be good at that. But he thinks you're Julie, or Annie. He doesn't even know Mark. Unless you're planning to stay as Annie for the rest of your life, I don't know how much he can help you."

"No, I don't mind being Annie for six weeks, but I really want Mark back."

"Me too, lover, me too," she smiled. "One of the things that I've always loved about you is that caring, gentle nature that Kevin was talking about. Sometimes as Mark you have to hide that to survive. It's just blossoming through with Annie. So maybe Annie will help Mark become as great a physical therapist as Kevin is."

Sarah had the afternoon off, and she felt tired. She suggested that I go back and help out in the PT unit, since it was too hot to go biking. I changed from the sundress, since it kind of got in my way during the morning session and changed into solid violet shorts with a violet top that had white butterflies outlined on it. (I can hear my grandchildren laughing when they read this.) After lunch and with Sarah napping, I went back over to the unit. Kelly was still over there. Kevin gave me the list of what work she still needed, and sent me back to work with her. "You're good at this, Annie," Kelly said. "You have a gentle touch, but you're not afraid of doing what you need to do."

"Thanks," I replied. "I enjoy working with you. Did I tell you that Kevin has signed me to his volunteer program, and is encouraging me to consider PT as a career?"

She smiled. "Sounds like a winner to me."

"Are you still planning to go home tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yep, the return of the Freak of Franklin County. I'm sorry. I've really been trying to overcome some of the bitterness about the way people look at me and everything. Most of my friends don't want to hang around with me—in public, at least."

"I can imagine. My sister experienced a little of that. We're hoping with time it'll get better." We shifted exercise patterns.

"It'll get better to a point," she grimaced. "But some folks will always be uncomfortable around people who look different or who have disabilities. I didn't want to ask this with Sarah around, but are you really sure about this boy friend?"

"Mark? Sure, I'm sure." I said, maybe a little too fast.

"I'm sorry, but you two say how devoted he is, and Sarah says that she talks with him every day even though he's out of town, but I sort the mail and she never gets any cards or letters from him that I can tell, and I'm right next to the second floor phone booth, and she doesn't hang around it like someone who talks with a friend daily. I just don't want her to crash and burn if he is easing out of the relationship"

I was a little upset. "Well, aren't you little Miss Snoopy?" She looked hurt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound that mean. Mark's okay. Not perfect, but he isn't the type to give up on someone like Sara." I was talking a bit too fast and flustered, so we dropped the conversation. Kelly asked to take a break, and suggested we have a soda on the outdoor patio. We walked out. It was empty.

"Annie, you're right," she admitted. "I am Little Miss Snoopy sometimes where my friends are concerned, and right now I consider you and Sarah among my closest friends, even though we've only known each other two weeks. I drove people off pretty good early after my accident, because I was so angry and bitter. Nobody wanted me, I guessed, so I acted like I didn't need anybody else. So if I seem snoopy, it's because right now I'm caring for somebody again—you two. And don't worry. I'm a snoop, but I'm not a gossip."

"Is this leading somewhere, Kelly? I know that you're not a gossip, that's one of the reasons we enjoy sitting with you at mealtimes. We don't like that either. But what there be to gossip about on Sarah and me?" Hmmm.

"Okay. Please trust me on this. First of all, I know you're not Julie."

My mouth fell open. "What? What do you mean?"

"That phone booth is an old broom closet and it isn't soundproofed. Sometimes I overhear conversations without trying to, especially when I'm entering or leaving my room. One day, Sarah was in there, and she was talking to Julie, calling her that, and calling her Sis, and asking how basketball camps were going at Westland. I know that you can't get into Hope Haven without a family member, and if you were pretending to be Julie, then you weren't another family member."

I admitted she was right, that I was a close friend who didn't want to leave Sarah alone at such a tough time, since her folks couldn't be here for fear of losing their jobs, or her sister for losing her chance at a good education.

"You are a very close friend," she said. "Very close. Now I may be way off base, and you can slug me if you want, or scream at me, or laugh, or walk away angry, but I really do want to know if my suspicion is correct. Again, I won't tell anybody. Promise. Are you Mark?"

I sighed, stunned. I finally nodded. I explained what had happened and why I agreed to spend these weeks with Sara. She smiled when I told about some of the goofy situations we experienced. She seemed to believe it when I told her that we were trying to be true to our commitment not to have sex during this time. Finally I asked how she figured it out.

"Sarah never showed me a picture of Mark, like most girls do their boyfriends. There weren't any pictures of Mark on her dresser in her room. She seemed so comfortable and happy talking about him, but I didn't see any real signs that she and him were communicating. And you two get along way too well for sisters," she smiled. "It would explain why you always wear makeup on your face. I don't see you as being the kind that would be concerned about a complexion problem, like you told me about earlier, especially around Hope Haven, unless that complexion problem was a beard. The final evidence for me was this morning, when you were working with Sarah on some exercises and were real close to her, there seemed to be a bulge in that cute sundress."

I looked bleakly at her. "I trust you that you won't give us away, Kelly. But now I'm terrified. If you figured it out, somebody else might. I'd been feeling so secure in all this, so smug, and now all I can think of is the disaster that would happen if the staff at Hope Haven, or the staff here at the hospital found out. I thought we could carry it off. But if we can't, this is just too critical a time in Sara's life for that to happen. I don't really care what happens to me, but it could devastate the girl I love."

"Hey," she said, patting my hands. "Nice nails, by the way. Did I ever tell you that? But you do such a great job at being Annie, you're so absolutely convincing, that I doubted my doubts about you. If anyone can make this happen, you can. By the way. I know you told me that you had never done this before, but are you having fun as Annie?"

"Yes, I'll have to admit it. I am enjoying it. I never thought I would. I hope that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you, Mark. Just keep on enjoying being Annie, and this will all work out. Trust me."

Snoopy or not, I was going to miss this girl.

Friday, June 27

With the kids gathered on the porch cheering me on like I was in the Tour de France, I rode past Hope Haven three or four times, showing off shamelessly. The last time the street was clear, so I sprinted for speed, back horizontal, and I could feel the long blue and red streamers tugging sharply at my hair, whipping straight back in the windstream. Thunderous applause from the eager troops. I slowed down, cornered up a curb cut to the sidewalk, and did a victory lap, hands clasped above my head.

As I walked the bike back up the ramp leading to the porch, I said, "There’s someone else who deserves more cheers. Sarah Beth Holding took her first steps on a new right leg today." When the new cheering subsided, I continued. "She didn’t do just a step or two, she made it the length of the walking ramp." That was a twenty-foot section of floor with traction strips, enclosed on either side by arm rails. The leg wasn’t cosmetic by a long shot. It looked like something from the interior of an airplane wing merged together with the bottom half of a mannequin. It fit clear around her waist like a second pair of pants. Sarah grumbled about the bulk it would add to her waistline. On the right side of the "garment" there was a stump-size cup extending down to all the mechanical rods and hinges, to a shoe over a plastic foot on the bottom. They helped her into it, and they began to work with her on standing and moving. The knee and ankle would bend, but the way that the unit balanced from her hip would keep it all from collapsing. Since she couldn’t raise the leg much from her short stump, she had to raise her hip, rocking from side to side. It was tremendous exertion, and she was exhausted. But since it was cooler that afternoon, she had asked me to do the bicycle exhibition.

Billy came up to me as I took off the pink helmet. "I love those long ribbons," he teased.

I reached back to unfasten them and grinned evilly. "Would you like to wear them, Billy?"

He backpedaled, holding his hand up, and pointed to his bald head. "Nothing to fasten it to, Julie."

"You’ve never heard of tape?" I chortled and moved toward him. He retreated even more rapidly.

About that time, the cab pulled up to take Kelly to the bus station. Kelly leaned down to hug Sarah and kiss her cheek. "It’s hard to believe we’ve known each other for only two weeks. You and Annie are practically my best friends. Write, okay? Let me know how this all turns out?"

I picked up her bag to carry it to the cab. When we got out of earshot from the others, she said, "Annie, Mark, what you guys are doing is so cool. I’ll pray for the best for both of you."

"And we’ll pray for you, kid," I said. "Some people see the scars, but I see the second most beautiful woman I know." She gasped, grinned, and kissed me on the lips. More thunderous applause from the porch. I blushed. "Did Sarah tell you? We’re not officially engaged or anything, and it probably won’t happen, but we want you in our wedding, okay?"

"Wouldn’t miss it for the world," she grinned. "You’ll make a beautiful bride. But what will Sarah Beth wear?"

Saturday June 28 and Sunday June 29

Saturday morning found Sarah sleeping late, recuperating from the stresses of her vigorous rehab session and her sixth round of chemo. So I dressed in green cut offs, a tee from a Lilith's Fair concert, and my favorite sandals. Sometimes I think the sandals would be the hardest thing to give up when I go back to being Mark. Maybe I'll buy a guy's pair.

Roberta, a tiny seven year old with a serious heart problem, and I played on the floor of the East Lounge, where most of the younger kids hang out, doing dolls and pretend games. She was giggling over all the funny voices I made for the dolls and stuffed beanbag animals spread on the carpet in front of us.

Roberta looked up at me with her big brown eyes. "Your nails are so pretty, Annie. Can I have big nails when I grow up?"

"When you grow up, I imagine you can do lots of things, Roberta." I sincerely hoped that I wasn't lying, that she would grow up.

"Would you paint my fingernails, Annie?"

"Well, I would love to, but I would have to know it's okay with your mommy." Roberta was so tiny that her fingernails were almost microscopic. "Isn't she coming this afternoon?" Her mother worked as a waitress at the pancake house. Roberta nodded. "I will probably be out this afternoon, but if she can leave me a note that it's okay, I can do it right after supper or else tomorrow afternoon. Toenails, too!" Roberta beamed at me and nodded.

I heard the front door open, and then a voice boom out behind me, "That's what I like to see, my oldest daughter acting her age!" It was Mr. Holding. Mrs. H shushed him. I turned and hugged them, and pecked them on their cheeks, greeting them as mom and dad. Then I introduced them to Roberta.

Mrs. H bent down and chatted with the tiny girl, then we excused ourselves and went upstairs. Sarah was awake, but was still in her nightgown. She was delighted to see her parents after two weeks apart, that the stood up, and hopped over to them to hug them. "Mom! Dad! I walked yesterday! I had to hold onto the rails and I rolled back and forth like a drunken sailor, but I walked!"

Mrs. Holding helped Sarah to the bathroom so she could clean up and get dressed. Mr. H told me how things were going on the home front, and how they had missed us both so much they had gotten up at six to come see us. "We've already swung by Westlands College," he said.

I touched my finger to my mouth. "Shhh." I whispered. "Somebody figured out this week that I wasn't Julie. We can trust her, and she's left for home anyway, but we do have to be careful. Where is Julie?"

"We were able to check in early at the motel and left her there. Didn't want too many Julies wandering around here. As soon as those two get together, we'll go pick her up and have lunch together. Since Sarah seems tired, we thought we'd spend the afternoon in the motel room, just visiting. You're welcome to come with us, or you can have some time off."

"A little time off sounds nice, thanks. I haven't had time to do any serious bicycling since we've been here, and I could meet you back here for supper afterwards."

That was a plan. After Sarah came out of the bathroom, I slipped in and changed into the red silk blouse with black trim and the black skirt that had surprised me so when I unpacked it—they had decided on a Vietnamese restaurant.

The real Julie laughed out loud when she saw me at the motel, hugged me, and said, "I knew something that sexy would bring out the girl in you!" She whipped out her camera and took a picture. "Don't worry, Only Joan will know that it's you in the picture, and not me." It was a long, slow lunch, and we enjoyed talking, but I was also glad to get back to Hope Haven and change. I was wearing low heels, but I was glad to kick them off.

I went from silk to Spandex by changing into my Ocelots uniform. I started toward the door, then went back and clipped in the red and blue streamer ribbons. They looked silly, but it was kind of fun having them tug at my hair in the wind, and the kids insisted that I should wear them as part of my bicycling uniform. I dragged the bike outdoors and walked it to the beginning of a long bike trail that followed the river, then crossed it and headed up into the foothills. It was a little warm, so I made sure my water bottle stayed full.

A little later, another rider in racing uniform passed me going the other direction. I sensed him turning around and looking back at me. The uniform was that of Blazing Saddles, a racing team here in the city. Soon, I heard the engaging of bicycle gears behind me and saw him approaching. I waved and smiled. I think I remembered seeing him at a race last Fall. He was bulky for a racer, perhaps the kind of guy who biked to lose weight. A beginner or a category 4, as I recalled. Easy target.

"Name's Eric," he asked '"Wanta race?"

"Name's Annie. How far?"

"There's a burger joint about three miles up into the hills from here, where the path crosses McGifford. We'll stop there and you can buy me a Coke when I win."

"What if I win?"

"Unlikely," he grinned.

"If I win, you can wear these ribbons on the ride back."

His face clouded, then he smiled. "It'll never happen. Someone as pretty as you can't race that fast—and I have a better bike. Okay, it's a deal."

In my best Picard voice, I said, "Warp 7. On my mark. Engage!"

We were off. I was right. He wasn't very fast. Made chauvinist assumptions, too. Julie could have taken him, too. I stayed a couple of yards behind him, listening to him breathe hard. I could hear my ribbons flapping in the breeze, too, along with the clicking of very fast wheels. I paced him as we crossed the bridge and began the slow rise into the hills. I lost a lot of yards on the bridge, because after he exited a family of walkers started on in my direction. I slowed down seriously to get past them safely, then began pumping. Still, I wasn't concerned. I could see him slowing. We were about two miles along the course, when I began an uphill sprint. "Over," I yelled, so he'd know I was passing. As I sailed past, I looked backward, grinned, reached behind my helmet and flapped my ribbons at him. Even then I wasn't going as fast as I could, yet I continued to increase the difference.

I pulled over into the restaurant parking lot and waited. Neither of us smelled too good at that point, but I felt great and he was gasping. "Come on in, You can buy me a coke now. Too pretty, huh?" I asked as I slipped off my helmet. We walked in, keeping the bikes next to a window where we could watch them. The air conditioning felt good.

We ordered soda and fries and I let him catch his breath. "Wow, you're good. Are you a pro?"

"Nah, not nearly. Maybe someday, though. For now, I just hustle sodas and fries from unsuspecting victims" I smiled. He continued with small talk about where he was from and what he was taking at the university. Since I'm inexperienced about such things, I suddenly realized he was hitting on me. He invited me to a supper and a movie.

"Sorry, Kevin. You're sweet, but I'm taken. I enjoyed the race, though." I had almost decided not to make him go through with wearing the ribbons. He asked me where I was staying. I told him that I was staying with someone at Hope Haven.

"Hope Haven! Isn't that full of cripples and sickies? Yuck! How can you stand it?" I just smiled at him, shook my head, reached back, and unclipped the ribbons.

"Please remember that you and I are only one skid on gravel next to a moving car away from being residents there ourselves. Sorry. I was going to let you off the hook with wearing the ribbons back, but that stupid remark made me change my mind, cutie."

It was fun to follow him back, watching Julie's team ribbons fluttering in the wind. I was lucky that his hair was long enough that I could pin them down securely. He kept his head very low, hoping nobody would see him. Of course, I'd encourage him, calling out "Looking good, dollface."

When we got back to the river path, we stopped. He let me unhook the ribbons, and apologized. He asked if we could meet again. "Sorry," I said. "I really am taken. And she's a real fox, too."

The next morning I went to church and Sunday dinner with the Holdings, wearing the great khaki dress that Julie would own next fall. When I told her the story about our encounter with Carrie, Julie said, "No wonder when I was home last weekend Carrie scowled and turned the other way when she saw me. Hey, Annie, you can represent me in cat fights anytime." I also offered to fix her up with Eric the beribboned bike racer, but she declined.

Sarah napped after lunch, and her folks left. I walked downstairs and went to see what little kids might be around. As I went around the corner, the door opened. It was 4 girls from Fort Russell! They had come to see Sara. At least one of them knew that Julie was at basketball camp. So should I greet them and act like I was Julie, just here for the weekend? No, I don’t think so. They knew Julie well enough they would know the difference. I waited around the corner asl they stopped to ask somebody where to find Sara. When they went up the stairs, I slipped out the front door. I spotted their car, so I would be able to tell when they left. I took out walking. Every now and then, I’d go back near Hope Haven, and see that their car was still there. I stopped at a woman’s clothing and accessories shop and browsed. Hmm. That hair band would match my maroon skirt. And there was a little chain with a maroon stone. Nice. I was lucky to have my purse with me, and so I brought them. By the time I got back, the car was gone. Sarah said it was an awkward visit, with all the girls trying not to look at her missing leg. But she enjoyed them being there anyway. She just wished that the girl who had been her best friend would have come, but she still couldn’t deal with Sara’s situation.

That evening, Sarah and I had an appointment to play beauty parlor with a lovely young lady. She had her note from mommy. When I showed her my blue polish and Sara's red, I asked which she wanted. "Both," she grinned. "I want them to look like your bike ribbons." So red blue red blue they were. Roberta also loved it that Sarah and I were wearing identical new earrings that had purchased when we were out with her folks and Julie during the afternoon. Each one had a crossbar from which hung six or eight rows of inch-long strings of miniature beads in bright colors, so they rattled nicely when anyone touched them. And Roberta loved touching them, asking me to pick her up so she could make them rattle. Roberta didn’t have pierced ears, and we were sorry that those didn’t come in clip-ons, she loved them so.

 

Monday, June 30

Sarah spent a little more time walking today, but it makes her really tired. She’s also spending more PT time in the pool, because it builds up strength by offering resistance to her movement, and is low-impact on her remaining knee. I can’t go in the water with her, because I can’t figure out how to wear a bathing suit that wouldn’t give away secrets. Sarah had mentioned that to Mrs. Holding yesterday.

We sat down in the chemo waiting room, and found it nearly full. I was back in my bibs again, this time with a Hundred and One Dalmatians shirt underneath. I don’t know if they were short-staffed in that area, but things were moving slowly. A tall, striking young African-American woman, totally bald and not wearing a head covering, came in, looked around for an empty chair, and sat in the one next to us. We had noticed her a few times before, but had never made contact. As I was trying to read a Star Trek novel, I noticed that she kept glancing over at me.

"Pardon me," she finally asked in a mellow voice, "You look so familiar to me, and I can’t place you." She told us that she Amanda Perkins, and lived in the city there, so was here on an outpatient basis. We introduced ourselves and said we were from Fort Russell.

"Fort Russell? That’s it. Don’t you play on their women’s basketball team?"

It was time to fit into my Julie role. "Yes, that’s right. I just graduated. Didn’t we play against each other? What school did you play for?"

"University High, for three years, but only the first few games this season," she responded. "Then I got hit with a truck called Hodgekin’s Disease. I had the usual round of treatments through the winter, and I was getting better, but not quite better enough, so here I am again. But I remember you from last year. You beat us on your court, and we barely squeaked by on ours. You play guard with real attitude—I was impressed!" I wasn’t sure how much farther I could go with faking it, so I nodded lamely.

Sarah Beth chimed in. "Oh, yes! The University High game. You’d better remember that one, Julie. Central was still ahead with three minutes to go, you fouled out, and they lost in overtime. You were in such a foul mood that I just wanted to lock you in your room for a week."

"Oh, yeah," I grinned ruefully. "I was trying to repress that one. No matter how much they told me it wasn’t my fault, that I didn’t blow the game by fouling out, I wouldn’t believe them. So—it’s nice to meet you off the court, Amanda." We talked. She worked at a craft store part time. Her hopes for a basketball scholarship had been put on hold, at least temporarily. I told her of my plans to go to Westland, and that if she got the Hodgekin’s licked, I’d love to play with her rather than against her.

"I think it was your hair that made me remember you, in addition to your in-your-face playing," she told me. With all those tight curls, it looked like a blond afro. Excuse me, I hope you don’t mind a bald chick commenting on your hair, but is it naturally that curly?"

"No, it’s about as wavy as Sarah Beth’s," I said. "I’ve permed it for years, mostly because it’s easy to take care of for sports."

"I like it," she said. And Sarah Beth, your hair is gorgeous. I love it."

"To tell you the truth, Amanda," I said, "You look pretty great without yours. I admire you being brave enough to go wigless or scarfless. I don’t want to embarrass you, but do you always go like that?" Sarah Beth was looking on with intense interest.

"Not always. I wear a wig to work, and to church on Sundays. My dad’s a preacher here. But in between time, it’s mostly like this. My boy friend loves it, by the way, and says that I should keep it that way after the chemo stops. I tell him he’s crazy."

Sarah Beth cut in. "I’m glad to hear you talk about it. The doctors mention it, but they don’t really know about it from our end. I’m really fearing losing my hair, and I’m glad to see someone else handling it so well. There aren’t any other teen girls at Hope Haven who have lost their hair, so it’s nice to have someone to talk to about it—besides Julie, I mean, and I haven’t talked much with her about it. It’s just not something I’m comfortable with, yet"

We had a really open, helpful talk about Amanda’s experiences. Amanda asked Sarah Beth how she thought her boyfriend might handle it. "Mark and I are really close," Sarah said, glancing at me, "and he isn’t going to get all bent out of shape about it. But he does really love my hair, and I think it will be tough on him, too." I tried not to look smug.

Amanda looked at me. "I think your sister will do just fine," she said. "It’s evident that she has a good support system, and that means a lot. And she’d look good with or without hair. Now I imagine that if it was you who were losing your hair, you’d probably be just like me—wouldn’t look back, and just go for it."

"What makes you say that?" I asked.

"Your basketball attitude shows through. You are your own person, and don’t care that much what other people say about how you look—not that you don’t look nice, I don’t mean that. But you are comfortable with yourself, and look the way you want. You like to look good, but you’re no fashion slave. You don’t mind making statements, those great nails and funky earrings show that, and bald is a statement. Am I right?"

I smiled and had to admit she was. Funny, I remember Julie telling me that I could carry this whole thing off because I was comfortable with myself. I guess that I am. Speaking of the earrings, I told her about little Roberta and her fascination with them, and that we wished we could get some little-girl clip-ons that she might enjoy.

"Maybe I can help you with that. We have some jewelry kits at our craft store. Will you be here Wednesday afternoon?" We nodded. With that, Sara’s name was called and we waved goodbye. I had to remember to tell Julie about this conversation, just in case the two ever crossed paths.

Tuesday, July 1

A tough day. Sarah Beth had been working so hard in PT, that her stump was getting sore. They told her to not use the leg at all for a couple of days. A step backward (figuratively speaking). Yesterday’s chemo affected her more, and the nausea led to vomiting. This was the first time, and probably not the last. I helped clean the gross stuff up and took her clothes and bedding down to the laundry while the aides bathed her. She slept it off the rest of the afternoon, and all night. I could have left for awhile, but she was so miserable and uncomfortable, even in her sleep, that I didn’t have the heart to. About eight PM, she woke up crying, saying that her leg was hurting. She didn’t mean the stump, but her whole right leg. She had very little trouble with phantom pain since shortly after her surgery, but perhaps it had come back since the rest of her was miserable, too, and she didn’t have much resistance. "It’s unfair," she muttered. "How could something that isn’t there hurt so much?" I laid down next to her and cuddled, and we softly cried together. Strange, how for us the "in sickness and in health" is a reality years before we get married.

 

Wednesday, July 2

Sarah is still exhausted, but not quite as rotten feeling. Still no work with her prosthesis, but she had some time in the pool. We did not look forward to chemo today. I had found some plain mint green walking shorts, and a top that looked like rainbow sherbet. Sarah was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, because she was chilling.

Amanda came in. "Hi, kids, Aunt Amanda the craft lady is doing her thing. Here’s a box of all sorts of goodies, so that you can set up a cottage earring making industry." And there was—a boxful of jewelry pieces, earring backs, tools, wire, and beads. There were even pads to cushion Roberta’s ears from the pressure of the clips. "You can be as creative as all get out," Amanda explained. "The costume jewelry pieces are free, and you can give me back to tools when you’re done. I hope you two are crafty!"

I hadn’t done any jewelry making in my previous life, but it did give us something to do that evening. When I needed tweezers, my fingernails proved useful. Other times they got in the way, but I managed. The two pairs we created wouldn’t win any prizes at the craft fair, but with bright dangling little plastic bows, hoops, and beads, Roberta could rattle her head around to her heart’s content.

Sarah was still weak enough that the aides had to help her bathe. After she dressed for bed, she sighed and showed me her hairbrush. Quite a bit of ginger-colored hair was caught in its teeth. It was starting.

 

Thursday, July 3

Roberta giggled violently when we gave her the earrings. "They’re bee-YOOT-iful! I think!" When we promised to make her more, I couldn’t tell if she looked more happy or frightened. She modeled them graciously. Her mom thanked us for our special attention. Roberta was doing a little better, she thought, but they still had to monitor her closely. Last Spring’s surgery helped some, but didn’t solve the problem. Likely, she would be on a heart transplant list in another year or two.

Sara’s stump was a bit better, so they worked on making her leg a better fit. Not much walking, but she was able to wear it part of the time the rest of the day. Some more casualties on the hair front. After I brushed her hair, I tied it back with the green ribbon, and tried to hide how much hair I pulled out of the brush. She has such thick hair, that maybe the chemo wouldn’t take it all.

With Sarah napping, I went to talk with Billy Yates. "It’s getting about that time," he nodded. "Hard to tell how long this will last. Sometimes, with some people, with some medicine, it all comes out at once. With others, it takes several days. With others, it just thins out a lot, and gets kind of wispy looking. But I think it’s time I show you a few things." I followed Bill to a cabinet. "We keep a set of clippers in here. When it gets too thin, it’s easier just to cut the rest off. They usually decide they want it that way, rather than waiting for the inevitable. And in this closet, we keep—tada! Hair! These are wigs that people have donated. A lot of them are cheap and ugly, but since there aren’t that many girls here with cancer right now, Sarah could take her pick. Here’s one I like," he said, pulling out and putting on a big-hair, curly red one. Don’t you think I look like Reba?" he grinned. He modeled a few others, including one he called "Pulp Fiction." He flopped down on the couch wearing the short bob, and said in a sultry voice. "Mom won’t let me smoke. She says it causes cancer." I was laughing hysterically, and so were some of the other kids who had come in for Bill’s show. Billy looked at me. "What was kind of neat the last time I lost my hair was that a friend of mine shaved his off to keep me company. I’m not that uncomfortable being this way, but I thought that was kind of neat."

That evening, Sarah was able to eat a little bit. She told the aides that she thought she felt better, and could probably bathe alone tonight. I sat down to read my Star Trek book. After a long soaking, I heard her call softly, "Annie?" I answered through the door. "I think I need your help." We had agreed to be modest in getting dressed or undressed, just to help keep our hormone situation under control. So I walked into the bathroom and saw her naked, laying in the tub. I couldn’t help but catch my breath. She was beautiful. I told her so.

"My little problem with bilateral symmetry notwithstanding," she chuckled softly. "I’m sorry, Annie, but I need you to help me up. I’m weaker than I thought." I stooped to use a lift method I had learned, where she put her arms around my neck and I stood up. Only this time, she didn’t have any clothes on, and I was only in my underwear and nightgown. Raging hormones! I pressed her close to me, and began kissing passionately. For awhile she kissed back, and then pushed back. I was afraid she might topple backward into the tub, but I helped her regain her balance. Sarah looked frightened. "Please, Mark. Let me sit here on the toilet, and bring me a nightgown." Meekly, I did so. "Mark, you need to be Annie. Please be Annie for me, okay?" she pleaded. "I love you, and I want you just like you want me, but it’s just too risky in a whole lot of ways. I’m frightened to death we’ll be caught and you’ll be thrown out, and I’ll be all alone. I’m frightened for my own feelings. So please, be my Annie now, okay?"

I closed my eyes and silently nodded. I was frightened, too. She was way too vulnerable, and so was I. I had been so close to plunging ahead and making love to her, really, whether she wanted to or not. We cried a lot.

 

Friday, July 4, Saturday, July 5, Sunday, July 6

It’s a holiday. For Sarah and me, that meant chemo in the morning instead of the afternoon, no PT, and a quick check with the docs, who assured us that her last round of tests looked good. If she continued to check out so well, they said, the second round of chemo in late Fall would be much milder, could be given back home, and could be her last. Great news!

Most of the kids, except for the more seriously ill ones, were leaving Hope Haven for the long weekend. We were no exception. Kevin had given me some instructions on ways to help Sarah in her rehab efforts while we were gone. We weren’t going home, though. Our two sets of parents had rented a double cabin in a state park up in the mountains. They had already picked up Julie. Although Sarah had hoped to go home, the long trip seemed strenuous, and we didn’t want to be that far away in case she felt worse. Also, we agreed that too many Julies wandering around Fort Russell might create some suspicion. Before we left Hope Haven, we told the rest of them about the hair loss. Sara’s hair was still as thick as a normal person’s hair, but, frankly, she was shedding a bit more rapidly every time we brushed, and even some times when we didn’t. We stopped at a wig shop that the hospital social worker had recommended, but they said we should come back later, when Sarah had lost more hair, to make sure of a proper fit. We looked at a few styles, and left for the hills. Julie’s next basketball camp didn’t start until Tuesday, so she volunteered to stay over at a motel Sunday night and meet us at the wig shop late Monday morning, after therapy. Then we could have lunch together, Julie could hide away at the motel until after chemo, and I would run her back over to Westlands.

The trip to the mountains was great. I wore Julie’s Banana Republic outfit that she had worn the day she proposed the Idea to me. I wondered if she’d notice. I did. It was cool enough when I got there, that I had to change into jeans, though. Since Sarah could spend time with her parents, my dad and I backpacked into a wilderness camp for Saturday night. It was great stress relief, and probably the only real big "Father-Daughter" event I will ever get to do with him. I was actually wearing some of my guy clothes that my folks had packed. My hairstyle and nails were all that would make others think I was a girl. On the trail, I could start acting like Mark again. That evening, as the freeze-dry supper was cooking, he did ask a bit nervously if I was looking forward to being Mark again. "Sure, dad," I smiled. "Don’ t worry. We’re more than half-way through my short life as Annie, and I’m sure as heck looking forward to being Mark. Actually, I think it’s going to make me a better person having gone through all this. I know it’s just made me love Sarah Beth all the more."

Sarah slept a lot during the weekend at the cabin, but basically enjoyed herself. After the overnight, I noticed that her hair was a lot thinner. I remembered about the clippers that Billy had shown me, and figured that the day was coming soon. At a quiet time together in the mountains, I had told Sarah about my conversation with Billy about the clippers and the wig closet. I didn’t want to push her, but when she was ready, I wanted her to know that I was, too.

Before we left the campground, my two "moms" presented me with a present. It was a single-piece swimsuit, navy blue with white and red trim. It had a ruffled skirt that hid the bottom of the suit from view, and they had sewn some padding inside to help keep me from showing in unseemly places.

"Very clever, ladies," I admitted. "But what about my face? If the makeup washes off, won’t that be a problem?"

"Well, you won’t really be able to swim, face-in-the-water and everything, but you’re there to help with the physical therapy. Just tell them you have sinus problems and can’t get your face wet. When you get back to the room, just hang it over the tub, and the padding will dry okay overnight."

Sunday night, July 6

After planting Julie at the motel, the rest of our families brought us back to Hope Haven in time for a light supper. Sarah Beth had been wearing a large scarf around her head, with a few wistful wisps of hair hanging out here and there. We went upstairs, and Sarah took off her scarf. You could see a lot of her scalp on top, and there were holes in the sides, as well.

"I guess it’s time for the clippers."

"Okay. I’ll go get them."

A few minutes later, I was back with them. Sarah sat down on a wooden chair, and tucked a towel around her shirt. I plugged in the clippers.

"Ready?"

"Yeah. Go for it."

I popped the switch, and slowly started working my way up the sides and back. It was amazing how little resistance there was. Then the few hairs left on top. She finally peeked in the bathroom mirror, and grimaced, then gave a weak smile.

"No offense, Annie, but I don’t think I want you to be my regular hair stylist when this is all over. Actually, I’m glad it was you that did it. And it does look a little better. Sort of. Maybe." She tied the scarf back around her head. "I’m no Amanda," she smiled. "It’ll make trying on wigs tomorrow easier, anyway."

I thought Sarah would want to stay in the room that evening. It surprised me a little when she offered to go downstairs with me. She thought she might catch a little television in the living room. I rolled her to the elevator, and when we got out, Billy and some of the other kids and parents glanced over at us. I still had the clippers in my hand.

"Guess you know what we’ve been doing, huh?" she said, with a little smile.

I was about to put the clippers in the drawer, when suddenly I said, "Wait a minute. I have an idea. Billy, go get a sheet from the linen closet." He did. "Spread it out on the floor, over here by the wall." He did. I plopped a chair down on the sheet, sat down, plugged in the clippers, and said, "We’re going to have a party. I like my sister’s hair style so much that I want mine to look just like hers. I don’t want her to be the only gorgeous bald chick around here."

Sarah squealed "Annie, no!" Her eyes widened.

"I’m the big sister, and I’ll do what I want," I said smugly. "Billy, do you want to start?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess," he grinned. "Are you sure?"

"Go for it." Billy wasn’t going to give me a chance to change my mind. He started right down the middle. My blond curls started falling down in front of my face. I asked Sarah to even it up a little. She moved the clippers around on the crown of my head, leaving the curly sides.

"Now you look like the clown you are, you silly goose," Sarah laughed. "Maybe I should leave you that way." I pleaded for mercy and she finished the job. The sheet was covered with what used to be my hair. The gang laughed and hugged me, but there were no more volunteers for the clippers. Billy suggested that we three baldies model the wigs, and I was surprised when Sarah ripped off her scarf and agreed. This was the craziest moment since we had come to Hope Haven, with all three of us gasping in laughter, and being blondes, brunettes, and redheads. If they say that laughter heals, we could have all gone home that night. After a few minutes of it, though, I could tell that Sarah was exhausted, physically and emotionally. We went upstairs and giggled and cried some more.

After a few minutes, I started kissing the top of her head, and then licking it. "Annie!" she squealed. "Don’t do that. Don’t be like Amanda’s weird boy friend." Then she grinned. "But maybe another time, when there’s no one around." Finally, Sarah fell asleep. I had been in the habit of shaving before bed, just in case I had to go out into a dark hallway, no one would likely notice my whiskers. Tonight I did that, and I just kept going, clearing away the stubble the clippers had left behind all over my head. I wasn’t as shiny bald as Billy or Sara, but it was good enough.

 

Monday, July 7

Back to the routine, except this time for the water therapy, I was able to join Sarah in the pool. Fortunately, the locker room was empty except for Sarah and me when we changed back into our street clothes—for me it was cutoffs and Julie’s girl’s basketball tee. We both wore scarves. Sara’s wearing the leg over the weekend had helped, and she made some progress in walking, both with the rails and with the walker. The man from the prosthetics lab said that she would be ready for her more cosmetically correct leg in another week, that she was doing very well in her rehab.

We left a few minutes early, I pulled Julie’s gray Honda around, and we drove to pick up Julie at the motel. Julie was in a ground floor room, so I was able to roll Sarah in, with little room to spare. Julie looked quizzically at our scarves, and completely dumbfounded when we went Tada! And whipped them off, revealing two bald heads.

"Wait a minute!" she said, after she recovered, looking at me. "After all that money I spent on your perm and dye job and this is how you repay me? You’re supposed to look like me, aren’t you?"

"Not any more. Everybody knows what Annie did by now, and I don’t have to look like what you did the last time they saw you."

"But what if I have to come back here with Sarah for follow-up or something, won’t they be surprised when they see me with a full head of hair?"

"I can take care of that problem," I grinned. "I know how to use the clippers now."

"Not on your life, buster!" Julie shouted, and then laughed. She had caught me by surprise so many times, that it was fun to do the same to her. "Oh, well," she finally said. "I was going to pay for your haircut back at the beauty shop when you get back home, and have them dye it back to your original color. I guess I won’t have to worry about it now." She did make a point to take a few pictures of both of us. I reminded her of her promise—no blackmail or embarrassment later.

We ate lunch at a soup and salad place, then went back to the wig shop. The owner was surprised to see two bald young women there instead of the one she expected. We found a wavy brown wig that somewhat approximated Sara’s hair color, and Julie promised to add some red highlights to make it nearer her true ginger color before we went back to Fort Russell. I encouraged Sarah to try on a few other colors and styles while she was at it. It wasn’t the hysterically funny time that we had had the night before, but it was interesting to see her with a variety of styles and shades. Then Sarah made me try on some, saying that she might not always want to be seen in public with her crazy bald sister. We got another tight curly wig, this one dark brown, more like my natural color. The lady at the wig store gave us lots of instructions on taking care of our new hair—cleaning, styling, etc.—yet another life skill I would probably find little use for in later years.

After lunch, we said goodbye to Julie and I took Sarah to chemo. I walked with Sarah to the sign-in desk. A new clerk was working today. We started to walk away after Sarah signed in. "Pardon me, miss," she called out after me. "Aren’t you going to sign in, too?" Sarah and I had left our wigs back at Hope Haven and just come over wearing scarves. When you go into the chemo area from the waiting room, you’re not supposed to have any head covering on, and it’s easier to stuff a scarf in a pocket than a full head of hair. So I guess it’s no wonder she thought I was a patient, too. As I looked around the room, I was the only person there under 20 who wasn’t a patient, and I did have a bald head under the scarf.

Amanda came in about then, and checked out Sara’s and my new appearance. We took the scarves off, so our heads could glisten together. "How long did it take you to decide to do this, sister?" she asked me.

"Actually, about three seconds. I’m a bit impulsive," I admitted.

Tuesday, July 8

With Kevin’s help, I had been plotting today for over a week. I was up early, bathed, shaved, and in my undies. I slipped on a sundress that Julie’s Aunt Claire had given her, one I’m sure that Julie had never worn. It was lavender with a subtle darker lavender leaf print beneath, and had fringes of lace along the high bodice and low back. I could see my skin through the holes in the lace. Very few teenagers would be caught dead in such a creation, unless they were in a 70s time warp—either 1870s or 1970s. But, they were forecasting a hot day, and I had promised to wear each item in my wardrobe at least once, even those from Aunt Claire. Of course, since this was a university town, I could get aware with wearing just about anything, without a second glance. Dress in place, I did my makeup, put on my brown curly wig, and wove a lavender ribbon through it, and even stuck in a dragonfly clip for good measure.

"Wow, aren’t you a little overdressed for physical therapy today?" Sarah asked me with a sleepy grin, as I stepped back into our living area.

I kissed her on the forehead. "Get up, sleepyhead. And wear something nice. We’re going to play hooky today."

"Hooky? Annie!" she said as she bolted upright. We have PT, remember? I need it. I’m starting to learn to walk again, and I need that work. We can’t just skip all that because you’re in a silly mood." I just smiled. She smiled back. "Silly outfit, too, Annie. Amanda was right. You do dress to please yourself. I was so hoping you’d get some fashion sense. Since I don’t have chemo today, maybe we can take a drive or something after PE. I don’t have to be back for medical tests until 3:30."

She had gotten up, and was hopping toward the bathroom, her right leg still standing in the corner by her bed. "You really are sweet, though," she added.

"Sara, I wasn’t quite right when I said we should play hooky," I admitted.

"No, you were downright balmy." She leaned on a dresser by the bathroom door.

"Actually, we’re not playing hooky, but we are going out. Kevin has a full schedule today and his assistant isn’t coming in, so we agreed that I would work with you on both your walking and your socialization," I admitted. "You need to get away from Hope Haven and the hospital, and learn to get around in public. I know you’re self-conscious and shy, you were even before all this, and that’s okay. But you can’t just hide from everybody. When you’ve been out with our families, you’ve just used the wheelchair. That one night with Kelly was your only other trip out. Besides, it’s a great excuse for us to both relax and have some time together where you can’t smell medicine."

Sara’s leg hadn’t been replaced with the cosmetic one yet, and had this strange bionic mechanical look. After her bath, she was strapping it on. Her wig still sat on the foam wig form. "With this bald head and crazy leg, do you know what I look like?" she asked.

"A beautiful bald woman with a leg that was built in a machine shop?" I asked.

"Like the Borg queen," she said. As you’ve noticed, I’m a dedicated Trekkie, and I had taken her to the Star Trek movies and watched the videos with her a lot. The Borg Collective was a race without individuality, half human and half machine, led by a bald queen who was little more than head, shoulders, and machine.

"So assimilate me. Resistance is futile," I laughed as I kissed her.

She didn’t know whether to wear slacks, where the right leg would bag in too much, or a long dress, where part of the mechanical leg would be visible. She decided on the dress, since I was wearing one, too. When I told her we would spend a lot of time outdoors, I helped her put on a lot of sunscreen. Her treatments made her skin susceptible to burning.

I pulled the Honda out from the parking lot, and after she sat down, I stuffed the back seat and trunk with her wheelchair and walker. We drove to a pancake house and enjoyed breakfast. We drove slowly around the university campus, sightseeing and talking. We pulled into a park, and I wheeled Sarah over to a nice sunny picnic area.

"The sun feels great, doesn’t it?"

"Yeah. You’re right, Annie. It’s good to be outdoors, away from that place." After a few minutes, she asked: "What am I going to do about driving? Will they let me keep my license with just a left leg? It’s funny, I just now thought about that, I’ve been focussing so much on just walking again."

"I’m sure you’ll be able to drive," I said. "I don’t know if the state will require a car with hand controls, or if you can just reverse the positions of the gas and brake pedal. I’m sure Kevin could tell you." I tried to reach over to the gas pedal with my left foot, and it seemed really awkward.

I saw a tear trickle down her cheek. "Mark—you can be Mark now, if you don’t get too fresh, okay? I love you dearly and I know you love me, but I’m not sure that we’re right for each other anymore. Sometimes I wonder why you aren’t embarrassed to be around me all the time, I’m such a mess."

"Believe me, Sara, a boy in a lavender and lace sundress doesn’t embarrass easily. No, you are the only girl I will ever want in my life. Without you, I’d just go off and be a monk somewhere."

"You can’t be a monk. You’re a Presbyterian," she chuckled. "But I’m going to hold you back. You’re athletic. You love your bicycle racing and mountain biking, and things like that. I can’t even go on slow bike rides with you anymore."

"Actually," I said, "I’ve researched that. You’re right, it’ll be slow, but you should be able to ride again. All of your work will be done with your left leg, of course, but according to some Internet sites I’ve seen, one-legged people can ride bikes. Or climb mountains. Or ski. My dad told me of a guy named Terry Fox, who had a leg just like yours, who jogged across Canada just to show the world he could. I don’t expect you to do any of that if you don’t want to. Your sister is enough of a jock for both of you. But you can do just about anything you want, if you set your mind to it. So there, Sarah Beth Holding. I’ll always love you."

Then I got down to PT business. So far, Sarah had only walked on smooth surfaces. I brought her the walker, and we worked together as she slowly made her way across the grass. There were a few near stumbles, but I was pleased with her efforts.

"I still can’t believe how nice it is to be out, and to have my own physical therapist, whom I happen to love, here with me!" she said. "Can we just stay here in the sun all day?"

"We wanted you to be out with people more, but we can at least spend the morning, I guess. We can plan more times away."

Sarah had a sleeveless top on, but wished she had dressed in shorts rather than a skirt. She had me pull out an old blanket from the trunk, so we could lay down in the sun. She made me promise to be Annie, though. There wasn’t much traffic in the park, but she didn’t think that we should do anything more than hold hands.

"I know you planned to eat in a restaurant, but let’s really eat out—pick up some stuff at the grocery store and have a picnic!" she exclaimed near noon. I agreed. So my plans for spending time on the campus and in the funky shopping area next to it were put on hold. We spent the whole morning in the park, except for a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up deli sandwiches, chips, and sodas for our picnic. We worked more on her walking, both on grass, on a wood chip trail, and on sidewalks, so she would have at least as much exercise as she would have in PT.

About 2:00, it was time to go back. She looked at me quizzically. "You haven’t had much sun this summer, have you?"

"No, not nearly as much as usual. Most of my time outdoors has been on my bike, and I’ve worn my uniform. So my face is tan, but not much else."

"That’s not true now," she grinned. Your shoulders, backs, and arms are burned. And with those holes in the lace around your bodice and back, you are going to have the most darling tan lines." She hooted in laughter. I looked down. I stretched out the lace. She was right. A dainty red-on-white lacework pattern spread across my chest and back.

 

(continued in Part 2)

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