Peter

by Samantha Jay
© February 2002

 

Part 3: Back to Peter.

The doctor came out of the room, leaving the door open, and spoke to us. Oh, I didn’t mention that the doctor was Tracey, the doctor I’d seen.

"A few bruises, but otherwise he seems to be okay," Tracey said.

"Thanks, Trace," I said and left her with John.

"How are you feeling, Peter," I asked.

"A bit better," he said.

"Can we talk about it?" I asked.

"About what?"

"About your dressing."

"You wouldn’t understand," Peter said.

"Oh but I do, you see… Sam is short for Samuel."

"But you’re a girl!" Peter exclaimed.

"No, Peter. I’m a boy; okay I look like a girl. I have breasts, long hair and my fingernails are painted red, but I am a boy. Chris over there is my wife."

Peter’s eyes opened wide. He couldn’t believe I was a male. He looked at my t-shirt and saw the outline of my bra, then at my tight fitting jeans and finally at my high heel shoes. I looked like a woman. I didn’t tell him about the police officer calling me sir; I was still legally a male.

"So, won’t you tell me?" I asked, gently.

"I have, had a twin sister, she died last year. Anyway ever since I can remember we’d been dressing alike. One day she gave me some of her things and we pretended to be sisters. We never told anyone about it, but from that day our relationship changed. It was as if I became her sister. We became closer than ever, we knew what each other was feeling, thinking even," Peter said.

"This went on until she was killed in a road accident, but she didn’t die, she lived on… in me.

"I started dressing more and more, I suppose I was taking more risks, but it felt natural. Then, today, I was discovered and I ran away from home. Mom didn’t want anything to do with me and dad just kept hitting me," Peter broke down and started to cry again.

I remembered my parent’s rejection, the loss of friends and job and I started to cry. Chris became very concerned.

"Sam, you alright?" she asked.

I nodded my head. "Yes, I’m okay, love. It just crept up on me. I’ll be alright in a minute," I answered.

She came over and gave me a kiss on my cheek. "You’re doing fine, my darling. Just fine."

"Peter, do you know who you want to be?" I asked.

He looked at me and thought.

"I’m not sure," he said. "Sometimes I want to be Petra, other times, me."

"Petra?" I asked.

"My sister," Peter said.

"You said that being a girl felt natural, which do you prefer?" I was gently probing.

"As Petra, I think," Peter paused. "Yes, I prefer to be Petra."

There was another knock on the door and I went to see whom it was.

"Social Services are here," John said.

"Thanks, I’ll be right out," I said.

I turned to Peter and said, " Peter, I’ll be a few minutes. Chris will look after you.

I left the room and found John; he was talking to a guy, who I took to be from Social Services.

"Sam, this is Joe. Joe, Sam," I shook hands with Joe as John did the introductions.

"Pleased to meet you, Sam," Joe said. "What have we got?"

"A fourteen-year-old boy who’s threatened to kill himself. It appears that his family have rejected him," I said.

"Why?" Joe asked.

"In simple terms, since the death of his sister he has started to become his sister," I said.

"With psychiatric help, he should be able to get over that," Joe said.

"NO!" I screamed. "It’s not something he has to get over, it’s something that people will have to come to terms with. I agree he needs help, but the right kind of help."

"I don’t think you are qualified enough to be able to say that," Joe said.

John held his hand up to silence me.

"Joe, I think Sam is more than qualified, she is our transgender specialist," John said.

"Thanks, John," I said.

"That may be, but Peter is now under the care of Social Services and it will be up to us to decide what help he needs," Joe remarked.

I had a very bad feeling and I was starting to dislike Joe.

"Where are you going to put him?" I asked.

"Initially, in an orphanage until he can be assessed and then into a foster home."

"Chris and I will look after him," I told Joe.

"I don’t think that will be wise," Joe said.

"Why?" I asked.

"Foster homes are normally run by married couples with stable backgrounds."

"Are you saying that Chris and I haven’t got a stable background and, Joe… we are married," I spat out.

"So Chris is your husband?" Joe asked.

"No, Joe. Chris is my wife. The reason I am the groups transgender specialist is that I’m a transvestite; actually I may even be transgendered myself. There is a difference you know."

"That makes it impossible then," Joe said.

"Just because I am different?"

"No, but you may inadvertently influence Peter."

"You mean I may turn him gay or into a queen, is that what you are getting at?" I was starting to get angry.

"No, that’s not…erm..." Joe was struggling.

"Look, Peter has already had two traumatic events in his short life and you shoving him into an orphanage will probably be the third. I will not stand by and see you ruin his life," I said.

"Peter is now no longer your concern. We will look after him and, if necessary, I will get an order banning you from interfering," Joe said.

"If anything happens to Peter, you’ll have to answer to me, personally. I will make your life hell, and that’s a promise," I said.

"Is that a threat?" Joe asked.

"No, Joe, just a statement of fact. I will not allow you or your department to ruin Peter’s life, it’s too precious." I turned and went back into the room.

"And Joe, that goes double for me," John added.

Back in the room, I started to prepare Peter.

"Peter, I’d like you to go with Joe, he’ll look after you," I said.

My words sounded hollow, even to me and I didn’t believe Joe would look after Peter. I gave Peter a card.

"If you need to talk or help, ring me, anytime," I said and with a heavy heart, led Peter out of the room.

I saw the shock on Joe’s face when he first saw Peter and I felt sick.

"Peter, this is Joe. He has promised me that he will look after you," I said.

As Joe led a sobbing Peter away, I started to cry, so did Chris. I had a bad, bad feeling and there was nothing I could do to protect Peter.

*****

Joe took Peter to a local orphanage where the staff were kind and found him some male clothes. Peter was shown a bed and soon he was fast asleep.

Social Services had a very large caseload and it would be a few days before anyone was assigned to Peter. In the meantime he became more withdrawn and wouldn’t talk to anyone. He couldn’t dress, which made things even worse, and, somehow, some of the other children found out about his dressing.

The staff at the orphanage were kind and did all they could to protect Peter, but they were understaffed and overworked and the taunts Peter had to endure were missed.

Peter’s parents still refused to have anything to do with him and with the constant taunts and bullying, the pressure was building up.

I constantly phoned Social Services for updates and was always fobbed off or left on hold until I cleared down. I had a visit from the Police who told me that Social Services had filed harassment charges against me. I had to back off, unfortunately Peter was just one of the cases I also had to deal with. And yes, I also let Peter down.

After five days, Peter couldn’t stand it anymore. Late one night, he stole a knife and ran away. It was the last time anyone ever saw him alive.

After his body was found, I made good my promise and contacted the press. The resulting publicity would do little to help Peter, but it may help others. There was a public enquiry, which found Social Services wanting and severely criticised their head, who was forced to resign, as was Joe. It wasn’t really their fault, they were overworked, but it was still a fourteen-year-old boy who died. He deserved better, from all of us.

Peter’s parents were also in the spotlight and they moved away and changed their name, I think they became foster parents to problem children, so maybe some good as come out of it.

Myself, well Chris and I also came under close scrutiny and I was laughed at and called a freak, but I am old enough not to let it bother me. And anyway, I had Chris and she had me, but it was a very bad time for me and not only because I had ‘lost’ Peter. I would carry the burden of letting him down forever and I vowed not to let it happen again.

I visit Peter’s grave three times a week and make sure there is always flowers on his grave and that it is kept clean.

I will never forget Peter.

*****

He had to get away, he just couldn’t take anymore. He briefly thought about calling Sam, but he had let him down once and would do so again. No, he would call no one this time.

He got hold of a knife and let himself out of the back door, no one saw him. He knew where to go, a place he could be alone. Where no one would stop him, where he could be with Petra.

Once he arrived at the secluded spot, he looked round to make sure it was deserted. It was time. She could wait no more and he wanted to be with her. His only regret was that he was dressed as Peter and not as Petra.

Sobbing, Peter plunged the knife into his wrist and pulled the blade towards his elbow, he then repeated this action on his other arm. The warm blood gushed out of both wounds. He sank to the ground and rested his back against the wall. He wouldn't make any phone calls this time. This time nobody would stop him. No one cared anyway.

"Petra, I’m coming. This time we will never be parted," he said to the night air.

Suddenly, he was gripped with panic. As his blood pressure dropped, his brain frantically closed down non-essential organs, liver, stomach, kidneys and the like. It also diverted the remaining blood away from the extremities, trying to keep his heart, lungs and brain alive. But the brain was fighting a losing battle.

"Mommy!" he cried.

He died, as he had lived his life since his sister’s death. Alone, frightened and in pain.

Authors Note: This story has not been edited and there are errors and holes throughout, but I did not want the story corrected. It took on a life of it’s own and I didn’t want to change anything. So please forgive me my mistakes, as it’s difficult to type when your eyes are full of tears.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Samantha Jay. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.