The following story is fictional, any resemblance to events or persons is unintentional.
© 2001 by Rei McCall, All rights reserved.

 

One Summer in Heaven or Hell                by: Rei McCall

 

PART ONE: WANTON ESTABLISHMENT OF CHARACTER

I sat silently in the back seat of the Saturn my parents had rented, begrudging myself as we drove closer and closer to the exact center of nowhere. I wouldn’t have been half as irritated at that particular moment if it wasn’t completely my fault. I sighed a little to myself as the most brilliant of brilliant ideas (or so it had seemed at the time) replayed itself for me.

It could’ve all been so easy to avoid, too, if I hadn’t hesitated so much and had just swallowed the damn bottle of pills immediately rather than staring at the little handful of white circles thoughtfully. Then I would’ve just slipped off into blackness and out of this insensitive practical joke they tried to tell me was my life. But no, I had to be contemplative and philosophical, and stood there, staring at my mortality when my father came home from work early. I had been growing more depressed and withdrawn over the years, so it didn’t take him more than three seconds to figure out what was going on.

So, there I was, sitting in front of my new shrink. My parents had explained to her what had happened: About how I’ve always been a little sad, and how I’ve gotten so much worse over the past two years, about withdrawing from my family and losing my friends, and finally about coming home to find me trying to kill myself. Now they had left and I was expected to mentally defend myself against a med school graduate. It was more than a little intimidating.

"So, Chris, I take it something’s been bothering you?" She looked at me, sitting across her office in an over-stuffed chair with my legs drawn up under me.

"Yeah… I suppose." Like it took a doctorate to figure that out. I wasn’t even in high school yet and even I could tell I was fucked up!

She nodded a little, as if I’d unveiled some great secret of the cosmos to her. "You realize your parents are very worried about you, don’t you?" She tried her best to catch my gaze as I tried my best to avoid hers.

"I know."

"And would you like to tell me anything? I’m hear to help, and anything you tell me here is confidential. I can’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to, not even your mother and father."

"Not really… it’s nothing." Christ, 14-year-olds shouldn’t even be in therapy. This is where 40-something men go to talk about their sexual fascinations with their own mother, isn’t it?

"I can’t do anything to make things better for you unless you want to talk."

"Is that really a problem?" I grinned a little, then winced. My cheek was still a little sore.

Obviously, she picked up on that. "You have a bruise on your face. Did someone do that to you.?" Obviously, she was really earning that $90 an hour.

I reached up and gently rubbed my bruise, and without thinking, said "Yeah."

"Was it at school? Your parents mentioned that you had some problems with the other students."

"No," my mouth moved before my brain really caught on. "It was my father." Shit! Shouldn’t have said that!

Much to my surprise, she didn’t look shocked in the least. "Your father hit you?" I just stared at the floor, trying to figure out how to keep her from sending me to child services. "Does he do that often?"

"No!" I actually looked at her face for the first time. She looked nice enough… Maybe early forties, with blonde hair that was beginning to lighten, and just a touch of padding over most of her body. She looked like the stereotypical "aunt" that everyone has at some point in time. "I mean, he used to spank me, when I was younger, but he’d never try to hurt me! It’s just…" Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "He just loses it sometimes, when he’s really terrified." A sarcastic grin crept across my face. "I guess coming home from work and seeing your eldest child try to commit suicide tends to scare a guy."

"I can imagine." She scribbled something down on the legal pad in her lap. "So, what happened? Was it a fight?"

"No… he just came home early, and saw me, and saw the pills in my hand, and given how much he and Mom have been worrying about me lately, it didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He got this horrified look on his face, and smacked my hand," I rubbed the bruise on the back of my right hand unconsciously. "The he back-handed me in the face, and I fell down on the kitchen tile. We were both quiet for a few minutes, then he said ‘I’m sorry’ and sat down on the couch and started crying."

She just nodded again, like this was just another retelling of a classic fairy tale or something. It was more than a little annoying.

"So, did he ask you why?" He had, actually, over and over again, as quiet as a whisper as he held his face in his hands. I just nodded; let’s see how she liked it. "And what did you tell him?"

"Nothing… I told him I was upset, and tired." I was, so it certainly wasn’t lying. "Then, when Mom came home, he told her what happened, and they both cried for a while in the living room while I crawled into bed and cried. Then they drug me here to see you." I had gone over this so many times in my head in the past three days that it no longer affected me emotionally… or maybe I was just "blocking".

"And, can I assume from that tone that you didn’t want to come here to see me?"

"Nooooo. I adore paying ungodly sums of money to be interrogated." Sarcasm again. In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, that’s a defense mechanism.

"You shouldn’t feel defensive, I’m not going to judge you." She smiled at me. "Besides, it’s annoying." That caught me a little off guard.

"Sorry."

"It’s alright." She pointed over to the corner closest to my chair, or more accurately, at a pile of plushie animals sitting in the corner. "You know, some of my patients like to hold one of those while they talk; makes it a little easier." My parents would bring me to a child psychologist. She was good, though, I had to admit. All I wanted to do at the moment was cuddle up with Carol, my stuffed raccoon, and cry. I stared at her for a moment, trying to look like I was disinterested.

It didn’t work.

After a few moments, I decided to fuck the posturing and go with comfort. I pulled a stuffed skunk from the bottom of the heap and held it tightly. The poor thing looked like it hadn’t seen any affection in months. Why on earth would anyone ignore a stuffed skunk?

Dr. Leander smiled at me. It wasn’t a gloating grin or anything with an ulterior motive, just a smile. I looked down at the skunk in my arms and smiled.

"So, why do you think your parents would hate you if you told them what’s wrong?" I jerked my head up and stared curiously. I didn’t remember mentioning the reason I hadn’t told my parents what was wrong. She picked up on my expression fairly quickly. "It’s obvious you love your parents very much," she explained. "And that keeping this from them is painful for you. So, if you continue to do it, then you obviously have a good reason. You’re afraid they’ll be disappointed with you or reject you for it."

Damn! She IS good. There was something I feared even more, though. "They’d ignore me," I mumbled.

She just looked at me calmly, until I finally spoke up. "I’m afraid they’d reject me, yeah… But I know what they’d do. They’d ignore it. They don’t trust my judgement on anything remotely important, and they’d think I was confused. They’d ignore it completely until it went away, and if they tried to do that, it would be even worse than…. than…" I had to stop and force myself not to break down. A few tears still managed to roll down my cheek.

"Than keeping it bottled up inside until you do something drastic?" I just nodded and pulled my skunk closer to me. Dr. Leander reached over and handed me a box of tissues. I took one and gently dabbed my eyes. "You’re afraid they’d wouldn’t believe you if you told them what was wrong, or that they’d think you were too young to make any major decisions about your life for yourself?"

I nodded again and blinked back a few tears.

"Chris, I’ve only known you for a little while, but between your school records and the conversation we’ve had thus far, I think you’re an incredibly intelligent young man," I winced a little when she said that, "And I think that you are capable of knowing what’s wrong. I won’t try to second-guess you or tell you you’re wrong, but I would like to get what’s really bothering you out in the air so we can discuss it. Maybe if they hear me agree with you about what’s wrong, they’ll believe you."

I shook my head. "No, my father’s a stubborn old bastard." ‘Old Bastard’ might’ve been a bit harsh… ‘Middle-Aged Bastard’ was more accurate. "He’ll say that you’re just telling me what I want to hear. He gets an idea in his head, and then, as far as he’s convinced, it’s the word of God himself."

"You shouldn’t be so scared. From the conversation they had with me before you came in, I can tell that they really love you and want to help." Her expression changed to one of indescribable emotion. "Chris, you shouldn’t be so worried. Lots of boys start to realize about your age that they might be…."

Oh GOD! She had The Look on her face! The exact same Look my History teach had had when she asked me, and the same Look the Principal had had when she asked me, and the same look Dee had had when she asked me. It was getting so fucking annoying seeing that Look on people’s faces. "I am NOT gay!" I snapped out before she could finish her sentence. "Jesus Christ! Why the hell does everyone automatically assume that just because I don’t like being masculine that I’m queer? I mean, God forbid I should just hate being a guy!"

Crap! We both shut up for a moment, while I debated ramming my head into a wall and Dr. Leander attempted to regain her composure.

She was the first to speak. "Excuse me?"

"Ummm….." No witty sarcasm now. Obviously, it had the good sense to get up and leave, unlike me. I decided it was past-time for me to make an in-depth study of shoelaces, starting with my own.

"I believe you just announced what was troubling you."

"No, nothing’s bothering me." I guess everyone had a right to say stupid things when they’re scared, but even I had to admit that was a pathetic attempt on my part.

"You just said that you hate being a guy. Is that true?"

I sighed. No use in fighting it now. I decided that, as long as the cat was out of the bag, I might as well quit with the fake voice and bear my soul. "Yeah, it is." Ooooo, it felt good to not have to strain my poor, abused vocal cords.

She noticed. I couldn’t help but realize what a keen grasp of the obvious my new therapist had. "I don’t mean to change the subject, but what happened to your voice?"

"This is my voice. It never really dropped, or at least it did, but not as far as my father would’ve liked. He used to yell at me to not whine like a girl and to stop talking like a girl all the time, so I learned how to fake a guy’s voice."

She looked a little stunned. Apparently, we were venturing into territory she’d never been in before. At least I wouldn’t be the only one who felt completely lost anymore.

"Can I assume you like your own voice better?"

I shrugged. "I get beat up and picked on more at school if I use it instead of talking like a boy."

"That’s not what I asked."

"I don’t know… I guess." I pulled my skunk closer and silently praised her for pointing out the animals.

She studied me for a moment before continuing. "It’s a beautiful voice." I blushed at that. "So, you hate being a boy? What exactly do you mean by that?"

I took a deep breath and tried to stop myself from shaking. My original plan was simply ‘deny, deny, deny’, but since that had failed miserably, it was time to tap my contingency plan: The plan I had come up with that could actually result in me being happy and leading a long, fulfilling life. "I hate having a male body," I began. "I don’t know how to explain it, but I’ve never really understood how guys acted or why, but I can relate to girls pretty easily. I’ve never been comfortable as a guy, and for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a girl. I can’t tell you how or why; it’s just something I know. I can feel it."

"Is this why you were always sad, like your parents mentioned?"

I nodded my head before continuing. "And the last two years have been ten times worse. When I was little, I could pretend to be androgynous, and nobody cared, but now there’s a line drawn in the sand and I’m being drug onto the wrong side. I have to second-guess every action I take, or I get called a sissy or faggot, or they beat me up."

"The other students?"

"Yeah. Guys mostly. I’m being forced to do things that just don’t feel right or natural, and God save me if I actually cry in front of them." I paused for a moment to try and collect myself.

"So, what do you plan on doing?"

"I thought that much was obvious," I alluded to my ‘attempt’.

"Let me rephrase that: What would you like to do?"

"There’s nothing I can do. My parents will never accept this. They’ll tell me I’m confused, get me an anti-depressant, and then forget about it."

"Okay, what would you like to do, ideally?" She clasped her hands and placed her chin on them as she leaned forward.

"Ideally? I’d be a girl. I’d go to new school, and start taking hormones, and get surgery, and get on with my fucking life." I stared at her, directly in the eyes.

"Well, what kind of compromise can you imagine between that scenario and the one you’re predicting with your parents?"

"There isn’t one… If they think it’s my idea, then they’re not going to believe …." I acted as if I were suddenly surprised. "…unless… unless they didn’t think it was my idea." I was doing my best to make it sound like this was just now occurring to me. "If a professional told them, though, and it came as a surprise to me, too, they might believe it."

"I think you may have issues regarding your parents’ faith in you."

"I’m serious! I’ve known then for fourteen years. Based on how they’ve reacted to other things that’ve happened in my life, I know how they’d react to something like this."

"If you’re trying to convince me to help deceive your parents…"

"But it’s not a deception. All it would be is presenting the issue to them in a more palatable form, like when you crush up a pill into applesauce for a small child." I managed a desperate half-smile. "It doesn’t even have to be that complex; You could just refer my to get some psych tests done, and then they could see the result themselves. Plus," I piped in before she could stop me, "A few psych tests for this sort of thing would prove it to you I know what I’m talking about."

She was holding her forehead and sighing… like Principal Semmit did every time I walked into her office with a bloody nose. "Chris, I think it would be a little more fitting if we approached your parents honestly about this."

"Why not humor me? I’ll need to take these tests anyway, after all."

"You know, I am a professional at this, so trying to play with my head won’t work."

I shrugged again. "Maybe, but I figured you’d underestimate me based on my age and that would give me an advantage." She sighed a little, like she almost regretted that she was going to have to tell me no. "It’s not anything illegal, or even immoral, you’re just making the situation easier for everyone involved."

Twenty minutes later, I was sitting in her waiting room, trying to suppress my massive, gloating smile over my victory while she talked to my parents. I had to admit, teaching myself to cry on command has never been a useless skill… of course, I actually was fairly upset, so that helped. I wiped the grin off my face as the door to her office opened and my parents walked out.

"It’s just some simple tests. Just go to this address at 11 Saturday and they’ll take care of everything, and I’ll give you all the results next Thursday afternoon when I see you again. Until then, you might want to just relax a little and see if you can get together and do something as a family. I believe what he’s going to need most of all right now is unconditional love and support. Adolescence is a difficult time in a child’s life."

"Thank you, Dr. Leander." My mother took the slip of paper from her, wrote out a check, and then she, my father, and I all headed for the car.

The tests themselves were as horrible and dull as the ones I’d filled out online so many times already, except these took a total of four hours. It had taken two days for my hand to stop cramping afterwards. The worst part of it all was my parents trying to spend ‘quality time’ with me. The family went out for dinner four times in a week, they insisted on having one of them pick me up after school every day, and Sunday we all got to go for a day in the park; Too bad I hated being out in public, or it might’ve been a sweet gesture.

Thursday afternoon was the only thing I’d been waiting for. Once again, my parents made my younger brother stay home while the three of us made the half-hour journey to the best psychologist corporate health insurance would provide. It was by the grace of God that I managed to keep myself from throwing up the entire day.

"Mr. and Mrs. McCreed," Dr. Leander began from behind her desk. "I believe I may know the root of Chris’ problems. I originally became aware of the possibility last week while speaking to him, and Saturday’s tests seem to back up the theory. I believe your child suffers from what is known as ‘Gender Dysphoria’."

There was a moment of stunned silence before my father finally asked "Are you saying my son is gay?"

The ‘THONK’ sound my head made when it slammed on the desk was probably audible from outside the building. My mother just reached over and squeezed my arm, trying to verbally reassure me that I wasn’t gay.

"That’s not quite what I’m saying, sir. In simpler terms, while Chris was born physically male, he has the instincts and emotional makeup of a female. The disjunction between these two factors is what is making him so discontent with himself and why he has so much trouble socializing. He is uncomfortable because he doesn’t know how to act and react like the young male that the world expects him to be."

"What exactly are you trying to say here?" My father looked like he was somewhere beyond incredulous and smack-dab between horrified and enraged.

"Well, Mr. McCreed, this is an issue that is going to take a lot of work to deal with as a family, as well as some major thought and consideration on Chris’ part, but I am putting forth the possibility that HE may be happier as a SHE."

And that’s what led me here… If only I knew where the hell here was. We had gotten off the plane in Harrisburg, so I was pretty sure we were in Pennsylvania still… or possibly New York, but my parents had refused to comment on our destination, just like they’d refused to comment on Dr. Leander’s assessment of my problem.

I sighed a little more. My mother, ever vigilante, turned around at the merest hint of discontent. "Would you like a cookie, honey?" She offered me a Chips Ahoy! from a ziplock baggie.

"No thanks, Mom. I think the plane food killed my appetite." She looked at me as if she were going to break down crying, but finally turned back around. Well, to be truthful, bad food had never really bothered my cast-iron stomach; It was more the inherent fear of what they might be about to do to me.

Well, at least Dr. Leander had managed to convince them that a lot of my depression was caused by my brain not knowing how to handle the testosterone in it, so they had finally consented to putting me on a prescription of Spironolactone to take care of that loose end. Combine that with the estrogen I was providing for myself (who knew you could order birth-control pills online, no questions asked?), and I had been in a fairly chipper mood these past two months (rabid mood swings not withstanding), even if my parents weren’t discussing the issue. At least this was farther than I could’ve gotten if I had come out to them myself.

I’d managed to survive junior high, contrary to what I once thought. Without that damn testosterone, it was a little easier to think and focus, even if it didn’t do a thing about me getting picked on. There was even a slim chance I could change their minds about the whole thing before the school year began and I could actually go to high school like any normal girl… Of course, I couldn’t seem too eager. I’d had to spend two months kicking myself in the shins to keep from pressing the issue too much and making them think that I really wanted to do the whole girl thing, only making occasional "Maybe…" or "I wonder…" comments, which were usually answered with a "I don’t know." Or "Nnnhh."

Finally, I decided to stop over-analyzing everything so much and resign myself to my fate. Wherever we were going, I’d find out sooner or later, and they couldn’t do anything to royally screw me over now. I dug my Discman out of my backpack, popped in my Natalie Imbruglia CD, and drifted off to sleep somewhere between "Big Mistake" and "Wishing I was There".

The car finally lurched to a stop and I heard the engine shut off. From beyond the window, I could hear the sounds of nature, wind rustling through the trees, birds singing, and the miscellaneous chatter of small, fuzzy creatures… all drowned out by the sound of children. I yawned and arched my back, making sure all my internal organs were returned to their original, factory shape and size and finally opened my eyes.

We were parked near a lake, surrounded in every conceivable direction by lush, northeastern forest. It was breathtaking. Then I turned around to see countless rows of wooden buildings, with dozens of other cars parked around us. Migrating slowly across the "settled" land was a small herd of parents and their children… children about my age… guys!

I felt a wave of panic wash over me. I inched closer to the door of the Saturn, the only barrier between myself and a virtual sea of young, irritable-looking men, and squinted at the largest and closest of the wooden buildings, just barely able to make out the letters over the door…

ADMINISTRATION CABIN, CAMP AUGWAI FOR TROUBLED YOUNG MEN

Oh Shit!

 

 

© 2001
The above work is copyrighted material. Anyone wishing to copy, archive, or re-post this story must contact the author for permission.