Kim EM's Expo Summer

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This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between this story and any actual person, living or dead, is coincidental. If you’re reading this and you disagree, maybe you have a guilty conscience about what happened thirty-four years ago.
The story may contain adult situations and/or language. If you’re not old enough to legally read this (and you know who you are), then get out of here before it’s too late. You’ve been warned.
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I’d love to hear from any readers with comments. Email me at : Kim@kimem.net
Other stories are available at http://www.kimem.net
I'm not sure that what follows will be easy to read. God knows, it was hard to write.

This part of the story is dedicated to John McBride, Tim O'Donnell, and Jim Pendergast, without whom this would not have been necessary. Oh, yes, please sue me. Please.

Prologue: THE BELLS OF NOTRE DAME

When did it start?  You might say in 1954, when I was conceived, or
1955, when I was born.  In the years following, as I developed, so did
my understanding that there was a problem, but it really wasn't until I
was eleven, in 1967, that all hell broke loose.

It was early June, the day after I was finally out of school.  Sixth
grade was over.  Finally.  I was home, recovering from my send-off the
day before.

I lived in a small town in northern Indiana, right on Lake Michigan,
about 60 miles from Chicago.  My parent's house was only four blocks
from the lake, which was kind of neat.  The school I went to, a Catholic
school that will remain nameless, was four blocks away in the other
direction.  In between was a pretty-much deserted area where a developer
was draining a swamp to build a new subdivision.  That's a no-no today,
but back then it was pretty much standard.

On the last day of school, when the final bell rang and the teacher
dismissed the class, most of the boys took off like rockets, happy to be
free for the summer.  I didn't really want to head out with them, so I
took my time gathering up my stuff. 

I started for home, taking my time so there wouldn't be any chance of my
catching up to them... even the girls from the class were out in front.
When I passed through the construction site I suddenly felt my books
pulled from my arm by someone who had come up from behind.  It was Tom
McAddams, my biggest tormentor.  We'd briefly been friends back in third
grade, when he'd joined the school, but he rapidly distanced himself
once he learned how the other kids treated me.

When I felt the books leave my arm, I spun around, only to find myself
suddenly on the ground, flat on my back. "Look at the little sissy now!"
exalted Tom.   

I started to sit up, only to have him leap at me, pushing me back to the
ground, and punching me hard in the gut, hard enough to leave me without
any air.  Laughter came from all around.  I was surrounded... Tom's
buddies, the kids who my parents thought were my friends, were all
around me, laughing their heads off.  Tom kept hitting me, over and
over, calling me names all the while.  I tried to push him off, but I
couldn't budge him.

As he climbed off me, I lay there bleeding, curled into a ball, bawling
my eyes out.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter One:  THE TRUTH? YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH.

I knew what was wrong.  The other kids in school could see it.  My
parents, blessedly, were clueless.  I had no idea what to do.  I had no
idea that anything could be done.  

I sat there, on the back porch, thinking about it.  What could I do?
This couldn't go on.  My life was already hell, and it promised to only
get worse.  I couldn't run away.  I was smart enough to realize that I
had no place to go, and no way to support myself even if I did think of
a place.  There were some fleeting thoughts of ending the pain by
killing myself, but I was raised Catholic and, well, let's just say that
wasn't an option.

My mom came out to the porch and saw me hunched over, lost in thought.
She sat next to me and took me into her arms, and I melted into her,
tears starting again at the thought that I was trapped in the wrong
life, and there was nothing I could do about it.

She held me in a fierce hug and told me "Shhh.  It's all right.  Your
dad and I won't let them hurt you again." 

I clutched her, sobbing.  "I can't go back there.  They'll do it again
and again."  Panic rose in my voice. "It won't stop until they kill me!"

Mom took me by the chin and turned my face up.  She looked me in the
eyes and said firmly, "That's not going to happen.  You have to trust
us.  We're not going to let them hurt you ever again."

"How?  What can you do about it?"

"Your father is down at the police station now, meeting with their
parents. Everything will be okay."

I sniffed a few times and pulled away a few inches.  "Mom, it will never
be okay.  Even if they never touch me again, do you think anyone in
school will ever have anything to do with me again?"

She sighed, looking out into the yard.  "The truth?  I don't know.  All
I can tell you is that you're our only son and your dad and I are going
to protect you."

*Only son.  Great.*

I slumped back down in the chair, trying to work up the nerve to start
what I thought would be my last conversation of this life.  Mom sat
there, watching me, seeing that I was still upset.  "Mom, I... can
you... I'm sorry, can I have a few minutes to think about some things?"

Mom slowly rose to her feet, looking worried.  "Are you going to be all
right?"

I laughed, what must have been a bitter-sounding bark.  "I'll be okay.
I just need to think things over."

She turned and went into the house, leaving me to sit there and brood.
I knew that it was the time to tell her the truth, but I had no idea
where to begin.  The truth would kill both my parents.  I was their only
son... rather, their only child.  They had been married since 1940, but
had been unable to have children.  After years of trying they finally
gave up, and they adopted me as an infant in 1955.  I knew I was lucky
in being theirs, and I hoped they felt the same way about me, but I knew
that once I told them my secret they would be ready to send me away.

How could I do this to them?  I had to do something, though.  The day
before, when I'd dragged myself home, I told them what had happened, but
when they asked why I'd been beaten, I lied and told them I didn't know
why.  Even when they pressed me, and later, when asked at the emergency
room, I kept saying that I had no idea, that there had been no reason.

That might not hold up, though.  The other kids had figured out that
there was something different about me, and someone might have figured
it all out.  They'd figured out enough to treat me like an outcast, enough
to make them want to beat me up when they thought they could get away with
it.  From what Tom had screamed while beating me, he might know.  And he
might have told his parents, and they might be telling my dad right now.  

I didn't know how, but I was going to have to tell my mom.  I didn't
know if either one of us was going to be able to handle it, but I didn't
see any choice.  

I go up slowly, painfully, and went into the house.  Mom was sitting in
the living room, a book face-down on her lap as she stared out the
window.  I could tell she had been crying, her eyes red and a crumpled
hankie in her hand.

I sat facing her, and quietly asked "Mom?  Are you okay?"

She pulled her attention back into the room, and smiled wistfully at the
book in her lap.  It was an old, battered copy of Dr. Spock's book on
baby and child care.  "I've used this book since we got you, but it
doesn't seem to have much useful to say about this."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause so much trouble"

Mom got a fierce look, one that I'd never seen before.  "None of this is
your fault.  They are picking on you.  You can't be blamed for what they
do."

I sighed.  "I hope not."

Silence, as we looked at each other.  

"Mom, I had a question.  I know this sounds kind of dumb, but what's the
difference between boys and girls?"

Mom kept looking at me as I stared at my lap.  I think the question
caught her completely off guard.

"That's, well, I'm not sure you're old enough for that yet."

"Mom!  I'm not talking about their bodies.  I've been to the library
often enough.  I know what people's bodies look like."

Mom squared off her shoulders a bit.  "I really don't think you're old
enough for the other part... and when you are, I think you should talk
with your father."

This was going to be harder than I thought.  I don't think mom had any
idea what I was getting at.  "No, Mom.  I'm not talking about sex."

"Then what?"

"When a baby is born, who decides whether the baby is a boy or girl?"

I could tell that mom was really puzzled now.  She didn't know where
this was leading.  I wasn't in much better shape.  She tried, though;
I'll give her that much credit.  "God does, Honey.  Before the baby is
born, He decides whether it will be a boy or girl."

"Does He ever make mistakes?"

"Is this something they told you about in school?"

I returned to staring at my lap. It was getting close to the moment of
truth, and I didn't know if I could do it.  I had to tell her but I
couldn't.  The silence grew.  Mom threw me a questioning look.  "Honey?"

I drew in a big breath.  "I was... I was supposed to be a girl." 

No screams.  No sobbing.  No sound of a body hitting the floor.  I
raised my head to look at Mom.  She just sat there, mouth open, staring.

"Mom?"

No reaction.

"Mom?  Are you okay?"

"I... I don't think I heard you right.  It sounded like you said that
you were supposed to be a girl."

*I don't believe this. I finally get it out, and she's trying to give me
a way to back out!*  "I did.  Mom, I'm really sorry, but I have to tell
you the truth.  I know my body's a boy's, but I'm really a girl."

I did it.  I finally worked up the nerve to tell Mom the truth.  I could
hardly believe it.  I was shaking and scared, but I'd told her.  I just
hoped I could handle the consequences.  But nothing happened then.  Mom
just sat there, silently, looking at me.  What she was going through, I
knew she had to be hurting and angry.  The explosion was coming, I knew
that.  It was just a question of when it would come, and what kind of
fallout there would be.

It never came.

Very quietly, very gently she asked me "How long have you felt like
this?"

"I think I always have.  When I was little I didn't really know the
difference, but as I got older, I knew I wasn't a boy. I just couldn't
tell you and Dad.  I didn't want you to hate me."

Mom lunged at me, and I flinched away, but she scooped me into her arms
and held on tight.  "Oh Honey, Honey, we could never hate you.  We love
you and you'll always be ours."

I held her at least as tightly as she held me, and we both started
crying.  After a while the tears ended, and we just held each other. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter Two:   TRUE CONFESSIONS     

After a while we split, and went silently to different areas.  Mom went
down to the rec room, I suppose to sit and think.  I went upstairs to my
bedroom, to lay down and think.  I don't think I got much thinking done,
though.  The next I knew the shadows were long and Mom was sitting on
the bed, looking sadly down at me.

"Mom?  Are you mad at me?"

She reached down and gently stroked my forehead.  "No, Honey, I'm not
mad.  I can't pretend I understand this, but I'm not mad at you."

"What about Dad?", I quivered.

"I don't think your father will be angry.  It's going to take a bit for
him to accept, but I'm sure he will once he understands."

"Are you disappointed in me?  I don't want you to be sorry that you got
me.  I love you and I... I..."  I couldn't go on, and curled up into my
pillow, sobbing.

Mom sat there, leaning down and trying her best to comfort me.  From
downstairs, I could dimly hear the back door slide open, then closed,
and I knew the hardest part was upon me.  Dad jauntily called out, "I
know you're here somewhere, your car is in the driveway."

Mom got up and went to the bedroom door.  "We're up here."

Dad's voice took on a worried note.  "Is everything okay?  Do you want
me to stay down here for a while?"

"No, I think you should come up.  We all need to talk."

I could hear him hustle up the steps.  When he came into the room he
took one look at me and moved right to the bed and sat down, leaned
over, and took my crying form in his arms.  "Don't worry, it's over.  I
had a long talk with their parents.  It's not going to happen again."

Dad seemed a bit surprised when I didn't react to this news.   He turned
me in his arms so I was facing him, and as I looked into his concerned
face, I burst into a new round of tears.  He looked up at Mom.  "Am I
missing something?"

She nodded silently.  He looked back to me, reached out and gently took
me by the chin.  "What's wrong?  It can't be all that bad."  He looked
back at Mom.  "Can it?  He wasn't crying this badly when he came home
last night."

"He's frightened.  He had something to say today that scared him a lot."

"What?  Is he in some other kind of trouble?"

"It's.. He's.. I think he needs to tell you himself."

They both turned back to me.  I stared helplessly up at Dad, then at
Mom.  "I can't.  It's... ".  I burst into tears again.  Sobbing, I tried
to continue.  "I'm sorry.  I'm bad... a bad person.  I'm a..." and
that's as far as I got before I completely dissolved into hysterical
tears.

Mom took a seat by my side, opposite Dad.  Soothingly she leaned over
me, once again stroking my forehead.  "It's okay.  You just rest for a
bit, and then we can talk."  While I tried to calm down, Mom looked up
at Dad.  "He's been just this side of hysterical all afternoon.  There's
been a... problem, and the attack brought it out in the open."

"He's not sick, is he?  Do we need to call the doctor?"

Mom smiled sadly.  "Um... well, yes.  But it's not an emergency.  And
I'm not sure it's anything Doctor Harding is qualified to handle."

"Then what...?"

"Dad," I managed to croak out, "It's not like that...  I'm really
sorry.  I wanted you to be proud of me...."  My throat caught up again,
and I fell silent.  Dad was looking more and more puzzled, and starting
to get a bit peeved.

Mom reached out and took Dad's hand.  "It's okay.  He'll tell you as
soon as he's able."

I started laughing painfully.  "He'll...  He's..."

Dad was really starting to look baffled.

Mom tried to help out.  "I told you, he's on the edge of being
hysterical."

"But you know what the problem is?"

"Yes.  I got him to tell me this afternoon."

"SOMEONE needs to tell me what's going on!"  Dad was starting to look a
bit hysterical himself.

"I'm... Oh, hell."

"Billy!"

"Couldn't I just go on hiding it from you?" I sniffled as I tried to
make a joke.  Okay, it was feeble, but I think I was starting to get
cried out.

Mom tried to help again.  "He's afraid that we won't love him any more."

"It can't be _that_ bad.  Billy, It doesn't matter what it is, your
mother and I love you.  We've told you how much we wanted a child, and
how much it meant to us to get you.  We couldn't love you any more than
we do if... well, we couldn't."

"Dad, did you just want a boy, or did it matter to you if you got a boy
or a girl?"

"We would have been happy with either, but we were delighted to get
you."

*Sigh*  "Dad, you don't have any brothers, and I don't, and you've told
me a lot of times that you're counting on me to carry on the family
name."

I think a light must have come on at that point, even if the wrong one,
because his eyes widened just a bit.  "Billy, are you... do you like
other boys?"

I sniffed a bit, but kept myself from crying. "It would be easier if I
did."

"Then _what_?"

"Dad, I don't know a good way to tell you...  I'm sorry... but... I'm a
girl."  I hung my head and stared at the bedsheets.

Dad looked blankly at Mom.  "Do you have any idea what he's talking
about?"

I started crying silently.  Mom nodded at Dad, and said "Let's go
downstairs and talk.  I think Billy needs some rest."  She helped me
back to a comfortable position and told me "Now you go to sleep and
everything will look better in the morning."

She and Dad quietly went out into the hall and turned out the light.  I
know I was supposed to sleep, but I just lay there staring at the
ceiling, listening to the murmur of voices from downstairs. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter Three:  ONE FLEW EAST...     

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next I remember I
was stretching in the sunlight, thinking that I wasn't as sore from the
beating.  The beating.  *Shit.*  I told them both my secret.  Now my
life was over.

I lay there for a while, and finally decided it was time to face the
music.  I padded down the hall to the bathroom and took care of what I
had to.  Coming out of the bathroom, I peeked into Mom and Dad's room,
and they were still in bed.  Dad sleepily rolled over and looked at me,
and then asked, "Do you want to climb in with us?"

I rolled right over Dad into the pocket in the middle, where I'd get
cuddled from both sides.

Mom was still waking up, so I faced Dad and quaveringly asked, "You
don't hate me?"

Dad looked at me, and gave me a bearhug, a tear running down his cheek.
"I'll never hate you.  You're our child.  Son.  Daughter.  Whatever.
You're our only child."  I was in shock.  Never, I mean _never_ had I
seen Dad cry.

"Dad, what do I do now?  My body is a boy's, and I'll grow up into a
man.  I can't.  I just can't."

Mom's voice came from behind me.  "Monday I'm taking you to see Doctor
Harding.  I'm sure he will be running some tests.  We have to find out
what's right for you."

"What's right?"

"Maybe you need to become a girl.  But maybe you're just confused about
what you should be.  The doctor will know how to tell."

***

The rest of the weekend was a bit strained.

*** 

This was not going well.  The first thing Monday morning, Mom had called
and managed to get an emergency appointment with the doctor.  I suppose
she used the beating as a pretext.  Once we were in to see the doctor,
and Mom had started to explain, he could barely contain his laughter.
"He thinks he's WHAT?" 

At that point, Mom turned and asked me to go out to the waiting room.  I
went.

I could see it already.  The doctor didn't know about these things,
didn't want to, and would tell my parents to ignore it.  I waited, and
waited.  Fifteen minutes, half an hour, forty-five minutes.  I just sat
there, getting more and more wound up, staring at the clock and waiting.

Finally Mom came out, tight-lipped, and collected me in the waiting
room.  She silently escorted me to the car, and we headed for home.  I
tried a few times what the doctor had said, but she remained silent and
stone-faced.  It only took about fifteen minutes to get home, but they
were fifteen of the longest minutes of my short life.

Once home, I headed up to my room and buried my head in the pillow.  I
could hear Mom downstairs, talking angrily on the phone.  The call ended
abruptly, and then there was silence.

I lay there, thinking.  I didn't know for sure what the doctor has said,
but I had a pretty good idea.  And Mom had come out of there as angry as
I'd ever seen her.  What I couldn't tell is whether she was mad at me or
the doctor.

If he's messed things up, convinced her that it was nothing, I didn't
know what to do.  I wasn't going to grow up to be a man, I knew that for
sure.  If it came to that, I'd rather die first.  But I couldn't kill
myself.  I'd grown up in a Catholic household, gone all my life to a
Catholic school, and firmly believed that people who killed themselves
were headed straight to hell.  So that was out.  But what other choices
did I have?  

To stay, made to act the role of man for the rest of my life, I couldn't
face that.  I could run away, but there was no place I could go.  And
even if I did run away, that wouldn't stop me from growing up into a
life I detested.

What _could_ I do?  There were no options left to me.  I couldn't let
nature take it's course, and there was nothing I could do to change it.
As I lay there I grew angrier and angrier at fate for putting me in this
position.  Could I convince my parents to forget about the doctor and
let me become a girl?  And if I could do that, how could I prevent my
growing up from changing me?

*Damn.  Damn.  Damn.  Damn.  Damn.*

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could hear Dad downstairs.  He must
have set a new speed record coming from his office.  He and Mom were
talking, and the talk was getting louder.  

***

"He's a small-town doctor and doesn't have any experience with this!"

"Doctor Harding has been our doctor since we married.  He's the one that
was able to pull strings to let us get Billy.  Now you want to ignore
him?  He knows a damned sight more about this than either of us do."
Dad was certainly sounding worked up.

"You didn't hear him _laugh_ at Billy.  He wasn't acting like a doctor.
He was acting like an as.. jerk!  I don't know whether Billy is right
about being a girl, but _NO_ doctor is going to laugh at him when we go
looking for help!"

*Way to go, Mom*

"He's our doctor and the least we owe him is to try his advice.  If that
doesn't work, then next year we can look at doing something else."

*Uh Oh.*  I had the feeling I'd better get involved before it was too
late.  I started down the stairs at double-time.

Mom didn't like this any more than I did.  "Next year?"

"Could someone explain to _me_ what the doctor said?"  I stood in the
doorway, tense with anger.

Dad stepped right in.  "You're only eleven years old, and I don't think
you'd understand."

"Try me.  You know I'm ahead of where I should be in school, and I
practically live at the library.  I think I'll understand a lot more
than you think."

Mom looked at me for a long moment and then turned back to Dad.  "He
might be right.  You remember those tests that the school asked
permission to run last fall?  Did you ever look at the results?"

Dad looked blank for a moment.  "Um.. I remember signing the permission,
but I didn't know we got any results."

Mom sighed.  "We did.  I got a full copy of the report from the sister."
She turned to me.  "Honey, why don't you sit down.  You can hear this,
but I don't want you to get any wrong ideas."

"Who, me?  Wrong ideas?"  *This should be interesting*

"The school said the tests were for a college student to get some
practice in test administration.  It was actually a means for the school
to try and get some idea why Billy wasn't fitting in with the other
students.  What it showed... well, he gets top grades in subjects that
interest him, and barely passes the rest.  It's not a problem with
intelligence.  According to the results, his IQ is 141, which is
borderline genius.  At least, it's a lot higher than either of us."  Mom
laughed ruefully.  "He scored at the top of the charts in the verbal
scores, but only marginally above average in the math scores.  In the
personality scores, he ranked low in aggression and competition, and
high in problem-solving."

"What does that all mean, Mom?"

"It means that I think you'll be able to understand what the doctor had
to say, and what it means."

Dad grumbled, "I don't think this is a good idea."

Mom sat facing me, and gently started.  "The doctor doesn't think you
have a problem.  He says it's just a phase, probably brought on by
something you saw on television.  He wants us to have you join the Boy
Scouts, and to enroll you in sports...."

I was on my feet in a flash.  "I am _not_ going to be a _BOY_ scout, and
there's no way in hell I'm going to get into any sports.  That's just a
quick way to get me killed!"

Dad was on me instantly.  "Billy!  I don't want to hear language like
that from you."

I smiled tightly at him.  "I'm sorry, my language was unladylike."
*Let's see how you like _that_.*  "I know what I look like, but that's
wrong.  I. Am. Not. A. Boy.  Trying to make me into one is just going to
get me hurt.  Why do you think I got beat up last week?  Because the
boys in class needed the exercise?  _Hell_ no!  They may not know what's
wrong, but they can tell that I'm different.  That makes me a target."

This time Dad didn't bother to complain.  He was too busy thinking about
what I'd just said.  

"Dad, I know I'm only eleven.  You and Mom have to make all the
decisions.  But I'm not a little kid any more.  I don't have any
friends.  The closest I have in school is people who tolerate me.  I've
had to grow up fast, maybe too fast.  And I know I'm not the same person
on the inside as I am on the outside.  I'm a freak.  I know that, but I
have to be what I am."  I was starting to run out of steam.  "Please
don't force me to be someone else."

I sank back onto the sofa, as limp as a wet dishrag, starting to sniffle
as the impact of what I'd just said hit me.

Dad and Mom sat there, looking silently at each other as they thought.
Dad finally looked back at me and said, "I'm not going to force you into
anything.  But I can't forget what the doctor had to say.  We're not
going to do anything to feed your idea about being a girl until I'm
convinced that it's the right thing to do."

*Crap.  My life was over*

"But..."

"No buts.  I feel like I'm making a mistake in not making you join the
scouts... but I'll respect your fears.  And I want you to think hard
about what you want, and where you think you should be."  I knew that
tone of finality.

"Yes, Dad."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter Four:  ...ONE FLEW WEST...     

Things went on for a while, tense but fairly stable for about two weeks.
Then one day Mom took me to the new mall with her.  While she went off
shopping, I was given some money and set loose in the Hall of Cards and
Books.  That was definitely my favorite store in the mall.

I was in hog heaven until I felt a hand at the back of my neck.  I tried
to turn, and when I saw who was there,  I knew that this time I was
really in trouble.  Holding me was Tom McAddams, and behind him were his
buddies Chris Libby, and John Truman.  They swiftly surrounded me and
pulled me out of the store.  As I was half-dragged through the mall,
there were a few glimpses of curiosity from the shoppers, but nobody
thought enough of it to get involved.  

I had a major lump in my throat, and though I tried to cry out, no sound
emerged.  They took me down a side passage and through some gray steel
doors to the back area where the dumpsters sat.  

Chris and John each took hold of an arm, while Tom stood in front of me,
hands on hips, looking smug.  "You little homo, do you know how much
trouble you got us into?  You should know by now that you can't get away
with that.  We're going to teach you a lesson, and this time you're not
going to tell _anyone_ what happened!"

Tom took a backswing, and sank his fist deep into my gut.  

***

I'm not going to recount the second beating.  It was painful to live
through, and I'd prefer to not dwell on it.

***

I woke up, on the asphalt between two dumpsters, and I knew right away
that I had to get out of there.  Not just away from the mall, but away
from the town.  I knew I was hurt bad, and if my parents saw me, they 
would know right away who had done it.  If I went to the hospital, there
was no way I could hide it from my parents.  And then the trio would
kill me for real.  

I had to leave town.  Now.  With only the money in my pocket and the
clothes on my back.  

First, I found a water faucet near the dumpsters, and cleaned up the
blood and dirt as best I could.  Then I started the long and painful
walk to the train station.  I had ten dollars in my pocket, the money
I'd been given to buy books.  It would be enough for me to catch a train
to Chicago, and once there, I would...  um... 

I had no idea.  

I wasn't going to be able to grow up as a woman, and without that I had
nothing to live for.  But there was no way I was going to give the trio
the satisfaction of killing me.  I wasn't going to be able to kill
myself, but, well, Chicago had some dangerous places.  Maybe somebody
would save me the trouble, and then it wouldn't mess up my chances for
Heaven.

Okay, it's dumb.  I was only eleven years old at the time, and as smart
as I like to think I was, I really hadn't thought that through.

During the sixty-mile trip to Chicago, I stared out the window, and knew
I was seeing the dunes for the last time.  One way or another, within
the next day I'd be dead.

***

Too soon, the train got to Chicago.  The South Shore station was right
on the lakefront, right downtown.  I left the station, and headed into
the loop.  I had no idea where I was going, but it didn't really matter
to me.  A few blocks in, I came to the "L".  

For those who don't know Chicago, the downtown "L" structure is in the
shape of a huge rectangle, and marks the boundaries of the loop.  Oh,
and it's "L".  The "el" is in New York.  Chicagoans need something to be
fussy about.

I saw the structure, and had the bright idea to take the CTA out of the
loop, and maybe find some outlying area where I could find a mugger or
something.  Well, so it wasn't much of a plan.

Instead of the loop, though, I went down into the subway.  Somehow it
seemed darker, more dangerous.  I hopped onto the next train heading
out.  It turned out to be heading north.  I rode, and rode, and finally
it emerged from the subway onto an elevated structure.  After a few more
miles, I realized that this was not working out.  I got out at the next
station.  I looked west, and there was a big brick structure.  Wrigley
Field.  I could hear the roar of the baseball fans, and turned the other
way.  I liked watching baseball, my only sports interest, but just then 
I wasn't in any mood to deal with people.

I walked a few blocks east, and then took a bigger street south, walking
slowly, head down, while I cursed the unfairness of the world.  Other
kids didn't have problems like this.  Boys were boys and girls were
girls.  They didn't have to be half and half... where nobody would
believe that it was real and nobody could help me.  

Why did I have to be the one born a freak, the only person like this?  I
kept walking and thinking, but it was becoming more difficult.  I'd been
pretty badly beaten earlier in the day, and I was really starting to
stiffen up.  I looked around, and didn't see any good place to stop.  On
a lamppost at a nearby corner, I saw a small red sign that said
"Emergency", with an arrow pointing down the side street.   

I knew I needed help, I'd been going too long since the beating.  Maybe
if I went here, I could get patched up without having to let them know
who I was.  I turned down the side street, walked about a half block,
and came to the emergency entrance of a large hospital.

I wondered if I should go in.  They might be able to fix the bruises and
clean up the blood, but they couldn't help with my real problem.  I sat
on the curb near the door while I thought.  Maybe I should just leave,
and find that bad neighborhood.  Or... I wasn't a good swimmer.  I was
only a few blocks from the lakefront, and I could go for a swim, a bit
farther out than I had the strength to return from.  

I just wanted the pain to stop, both outside and inside.  The pain
inside was the worst.  I could live with the cuts and bruises.  The
other... no.  No, I couldn't.  I struggled to rise, determined to go to
the lake, but my left knee gave out and I fell heavily to the pavement.    

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter Five:  ...ONE FLEW OVER THE COOKOO'S NEST     

From behind me I could hear a shout, "Kid, are you all right?"  A man
ran up to me and knelt at my side.  "No, you're not.  God."

I looked painfully up at him and sniffled "I'm.. it hurts."

He helped me to my feet, and supporting my arm, he said "Let me help
you.  My name is Wayne, John Wayne."

Even in my pain, I gave him a quick look at that.  "Um..."

"No relation.  My parents had a strange sense of humor."  We neared the
doors.  "I'm lucky they didn't name me Bruce."

As we entered, a nurse bustled up to us.  "Doctor Wayne... What
happened?"

"I don't know yet, I found him outside.  What's open?"

She led the way to a curtained alcove.  "Right here."

The nurse started peeling off my shirt while the doctor began looking at
a cut on my forehead.  He took some gauze and gently started cleaning
it, then did a double-take as he saw the partly healed cuts beneath.
"What the h...  who did this to you?" he demanded.

It didn't take him long to work the story of the beatings out of me.  We
talked as he patched me up.  I wasn't exactly happy, but he seemed like
he cared.  I managed not to cry, until he asked the question I was
dreading.  Why had they beaten me up?  That set me off, clutching him
and bawling into his shirt.

I told him everything.  My being a girl, and how nobody would do
anything to help me.  My plan to swim out into the lake and end the
pain.

"I.. we might be able to help you, but we'll need to get your parents to
agree to treatment for you.  Can we find a safe place for you while I
talk to your parents and arrange things?"

Sniffling, I nodded.  God, if he could only find a way to make things
better.  Please, God.  Please.

***

I didn't know that 'find a safe place' was a medical code phrase.

The nurse and an orderly escorted me through a maze of passageways and
up an elevator to sterile-looking hallway.  At a locked set of doors,
they were buzzed in, and they escorted me through, down another short
hallway, into a small, plain room.  The nurse gave me a hospital gown,
and waited while I put it on and took off my own clothes.  "Don't
worry", she said, "I'm sure your parents will bring you come clothing
that's in better shape."

I looked around at the room.  The bed had a bare mattress with no
bedding, and the room contained nothing else.  "Where am I?  What is all
this?"

The nurse looked a bit embarrassed.  "This is a special room to make
sure that you don't hurt yourself until you've had a chance to think
things over. "

"What?  Where am I?"

"This is the Mental Health Unit.  You'll be staying here until the
doctor has had a chance to talk with your parents and can make sure that
you'll be safe."

She and the orderly backed out of the room as the door closed with a
firm click.  

Things had gone from bad to worse.  

***

There was nothing to do.  I lay there, staring at the ceiling.  

What could I do?  Nothing.  Nothing would make me physically a girl.
They weren't going to let me end the pain the other way.  I was stuck.
Maybe I was already dead, had died before, and this was hell.  There was
no way out.  No way out...  the words rang and repeated in my mind.
Stuck in a life I hated, stuck, stuck. 

I had an idea.  I could pretend to cooperate, play along, and make them
think I wasn't serious about hurting myself.  They couldn't keep me
there forever.  And when they let me out, there would be plenty of
chances to end things.

I wasn't going to live a life without hope.

And that's the last thing I remember before morning.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter Six:  BRINGING OUT THE DEAD
     
When I woke, Doctor Wayne was sitting on the bed, peering down at me,
frowning.  

I looked up at him, trying to figure out the look.

"Good morning, Billy." he finally said.

"Please.. can you call me Bill?"

"Sorry."  He looked a bit embarrassed.  "I've spoken with your parents.
They were frantic until they heard from me.  They had the police out
looking for you."

I looked down at the floor.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't know what to do... I
didn't want to hurt them, but..."  I couldn't go on.

"I know.  Your parents have given their permission for you to stay here
for a bit, while we start treating you."

"Here?"  Acid dripped from my voice as I looked around the barren room.

He surveyed the room as if he's never seen it before.  "Oh, here in the
hospital, not in this room.  This was just to make sure you didn't do
something foolish last night.  I'll be having you moved to a regular
room later this morning."

"A regular room... in the mental health unit?"

"Well, yes.  Aside from a cracked rib, a twisted knee, and some cuts and
bruises, there's nothing physically wrong with you."

I had to laugh at that.  "Nothing physically wrong!  Hah!  Everything is
physically wrong."

The doctor had a wry smile.  "I see your point."

"Are you going to laugh at me too?  That's what the doctor in Michigan
City did.  He said it was a phase and that my parents should make me do
more 'guy stuff'."

His face darkened just a little bit.  "No, I'm not going to laugh at
you.  I don't know yet whether you are really a girl inside or not, but
I know that it's real to you, and that's the important thing."

"If you find out that I really am, then what?"

"We'll decide that when the time comes, but despite what the moron...
what the doctor in your home town said, there are things we can do to
make someone's body feminine.  But, well, let's not talk about that
until we determine whether it's an option."

Things were starting to look brighter.  "You can do that?"  I sighed in
relief.  Maybe I wouldn't need to do something evil to end the pain
after all.  Maybe.  "Why... why are you the doctor who's seeing me?
Don't you work in the emergency room?"

"No", he laughed. "I was just coming in to work when I saw you.  I'm a
psychiatrist, and this is my unit.  That's why I sent you up here last
night."

***

We talked for quite a while, the doctor gently probing into the story of
my childhood, and how it had all gone horribly wrong.  Finally he stood
up and told me, "I have to go."  He saw the frightened look in my eyes
and added, "No, don't worry.  I have to make my rounds and talk with
some other people.  I'll see you again this evening."

As he neared the door, he turned back to me.  "By the way, I never did
ask.  If... no, _when_ you are accepted as a girl, what name did you
have in mind for yourself?"

That didn't require any thought at all.  "Kimberly.  I'm Kimberly." 

He came back, took my hand, and said "Kimberly, I'm glad to meet you."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
To Be Continued....
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Author's Note: 

It should be pretty obvious that there is a lot of autobiographical
material buried in this story.  The beating really happened, many of the
thoughts of the narrator correspond to mine at the time.   This is
fiction, though, and, as dark as the story is so far, it is at it's root
a wish-fulfillment fantasy.  How so?  In the real word, I never worked
up the courage to tell my parents about my gender issues.  I was too
afraid of their reactions, that I would hurt them.  Now, my Dad has been
dead for over 20 years, and Mom for more than 10.  I'm truly ashamed
that I wasn't able to be honest with them, because I think that after a
period of shock, they would have come to accept me for who I am.

I spent too much of my life being afraid of people's opinions of me, and
as a result, wasted decades pretending to be who I wasn't.  I bitterly
regret the wasted time, and this story is, in part, my fantasy of what
might have happened if I'd been honest about myself the first time the
issues came to a head.

And don't worry, the story will get more cheerful.  Life is a journey,
and as a wise person once said, there are many risings and advancings of
the spirit.

- Kim