Something Borrowed, Something Blue             by: Emmie Dee

 

Part 2

GLEBITS

College studies were tough from the beginning, so we didn’t have much time for anything else. To show you the extent of our social life, we spent more hours with Roberta than we did with all our neighbors and other people from school. Vicky would let her off with us on Tuesday and Thursday nights right after supper, so she could work on her GED. Sometimes Roberta would just watch a video, and other times we would play together for an hour or so before she would go to sleep on our couch. Although Roberta had gotten to know me as Mark, she still liked Annie better. (Sometimes, so did Sarah. Sometimes, so did I.) Some nights, just for everybody’s fun, I would put on my Annie stuff before she arrived. Other nights, when I started out as Mark, Sarah and Roberta would play a little game of adding decorations to me little decorations to me, like I was their Christmas tree. "Please, Uncle Mark," she’d say. "Wear your Tigger earrings." We even had a "spin the bottle" game using bottles of nail polish, strange colors picked up from the sale bins at the drugstore. Instead of kissing, when the bottle lid pointed at you, you had to paint one hand or foot that color. (Yes, Sarah’s prosthetic toes were paintable.)

One night, early in the semester, I had asked our neighbors, Elise and Win, over to supper on the following evening. Elise said that they would love to come, but that they had a Glebits meeting that night. "Glebits?" I asked. "Is that some kind of Jewish organization or something?" I had heard of kibbutz, and it sort of sounded alike.

Both the roommates laughed. "No, Glebits is very ecumenical," Elise explained. Since she had some class notes with her at the time, she spelled it out with a pencil as she said it—Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, Transgendered Student Association. "Of course, you two notorious heterosexuals wouldn’t qualify. Actually, it’s a terrific support group and social outlet. And we do have some straight members, who just like our company and want to show us support." We just nodded, and went on to reschedule the supper for the night after. I didn’t have time to make a big supper, but they did enjoy the guacamole, nachos and tacos. The Jewish and Black partners joked that their favorite food, of course, was soul bagels, but that this would do fine. They told us about the Glebits meeting, and some of the issues that this community faced. We were interested and sympathetic, but didn’t feel any strong need to join another group. I didn’t mention Annie to them. Besides, I figured. I liked dressing as Annie, but I wasn’t really transgendered. I mean, I didn’t want to really become a woman full-time, and have the operation. I had started dressing to be there for Sarah when she was sick, now it was just a hobby, something that added some fun to our relationship.

Schoolwork continued to pile up. We were able to handle it and get good grades, but we were experiencing lots of pressure. Fridays were especially hard on Sarah Beth. She had a full load on Friday afternoons, and I only had one class. So I would drop her off, go to my class, go home to study and start supper, and then go pick her up at the end of a two-hour organic chemistry lab. My smart wife could handle the content, but she was physically and emotionally exhausted by the end of the day.

So one day, I decided that a surprise might perk up my tired wife. Instead of fixing supper, I fixed myself up as Annie, to take her out to dinner. It was a warm September afternoon, so after I did my nails (topaz—a gift from my wedding shower), I put on a cheerful yellow and orange sundress from our summer at Hope Haven, added a sweater, and did my makeup. I combed my hair back and covered it with a net and put on the nice wig, the long wavy one in Sarah’s hair color. She was surprised to see me, all right, when I pulled into the handicap parking space at Emmert Hall. Sarah grinned at me as I helped her into our old jeep wagon. I explained to her our dinner plans. We were going to a place that Annie had taken her one evening during the hospital summer, and we hadn’t been there since we returned to town. Now that Sarah was no longer on chemo, the food should taste better than before.

After my explanation, she said, "That sounds wonderful, but I’m really wiped out. I was on my feet way too much today, and I’m not sure that I can stand up another minute. My stump is really aching."

"Would you go in your wheelchair?" I asked. She agreed. So we swung by the quadruplex so I could run in and bring out her chair. Elise and Win were sitting outside, smoking. (Our housing unit didn’t allow smoking indoors, thank heavens.) I could see the intrigued look on their faces as I pulled up. They were on the way to the jeep before I could open the door.

"Well, well, who might this be?" Win asked, a sly grin on her face.

"Hi," I said, my bracelets jangling on my wrist as I waved. "I’m Annie."

"Like hell," Elise said. "You’re Mark. Although I have to admit you’re a pretty good Annie." We gathered near the passenger side of the jeep while Sarah and I explained about my Annie identity.

"Actually, I was wrong when I said how notoriously heterosexual you two were. There may be hope for you yet. And you both should come to Glebits. It meets next week, you know."

"But we are hetero, and I’m not really transgendered—uh, despite all evidence to the contrary," I sheepishly grinned. "This is just sort of like a hobby, it’s not really who I am."

"And I’m really Dr. Laura," Elise said. "Of course, you’re heterosexual, and you can be transgendered without being transsexual. It just means that—well, for you as a guy, that you cross gender lines and live, or at least think, in a female role."

"And you are damn cute, honey," Win said. "If you weren’t taken, I might be interested. Seriously, you should at least try Glebits. There are a few other hetero cross dressers in the group, and you and Carrie should get along famously."

"Carrie?" I asked.

"Carrie was Carl last year—Dr. Carl Ostermeyer. This year she’s living full-time as Carrie, and will probably be having the operation next year. She’s in the psychology department. Really, she has a lot of wisdom about the subject, and she’s a genuinely nice person. She won’t try to convince you to be like her, but she will help you understand yourself a lot better." Elise told me.

"So what do I wear if I go?" I asked.

"Whatever you’re comfortable wearing. I think you look great like you are, but if that makes you self-conscious, come in pants or whatever. But I really think that both of you should come. Those of us who are partnered, whether gay, straight, or bi, can find a lot of help, too."

Sarah smiled at me and said, "Maybe it’d be a good idea, honey." I wasn’t sure what to think, but if Sarah thought it was okay, we would go.

Eventually, we got away from our two neighbors, I brought out Sarah’s wheelchair, and we had one of our rare meals out. It was a fun girls’ night out, even though it blew our eating-out budget. At least the pasta portions were big enough that we could carry home the leftovers for supper the next night—that halved the cost of the meal. As were waiting for the foam boxes and our bill, we noticed some glances from other customers. I whispered to Sarah, "Do you suppose they think we’re like Elise and Win?"

"What?" she grinned. "You don’t look Jewish. Actually, they probably do think that we’re a lesbian couple. It would help if you would stop looking at me like a lovesick puppy dog."

"Sorry, Saraboo, there’s no way I can stop looking at you like that."

I had to admit, the Glebits meeting the next week was interesting. Even though we thought of ourselves as open toward different lifestyles, we were still pretty naïve. I had chickened out and went to the meeting in my Mark clothes, and Win and Elise just introduced us as affirming friends of theirs. The group was a fascinating mixture of ages, races, and combinations of couples and singles trying to become couples. "Can you guess which one is Carrie?" Elise asked me during the social hour.

I looked around. "Hmmm. Is that her over there by the punch?" The woman there in the blue suit was largish, and had somewhat sharp features.

Elise laughed. "No, that’s Professor Constantine. She’s in the woman’s studies department, and definitely a GG." I asked what a GG was. "A genetic girl," she explained. "Born that way. Follow me. You’ll never believe it." I followed her as her motorized chair glided across the meeting room to a woman who didn’t look more than thirty. She wore running shoes, jeans, and an old Yale sweatshirt on a great figure. Dr. Ostermeyer was maybe an inch shorter than me, had a lovely face with only subtle makeup, and frosted hair, short and spiked in front, but hanging down over her collar in back. The hand that she extended in greeting had perfect nails, probably acrylic but not very long, painted with a subtle pink frost. She was very feminine, yet she looked like she wasn’t trying to be feminine. That shattered my preconceptions that a male-to-female transsexual would always wear the most feminine clothing, like my Annie wardrobe from Hope Haven.

"I’m glad to meet you, Mark, and you too, Sarah Beth. You can call me Carrie, if you like. I’ve never been much for formality. Even in the classroom," she added with a smile. We talked a bit about or fields of study, and listened in glee to her gossip about some of our professors. We felt at ease around her because she felt so at ease with herself.

Finally, I said, "Uh, Elise and Win wanted us to meet you because you might have some special understandings for me."

The professor cocked her head a bit. "As a psychologist? Do those girls think you’re maladjusted, or something?"

"No," I laughed. "They caught me dressed up as my alter-ego Annie, and thought we had something in common."

"Ah," she said. "So do you think that cross dressing is a problem, something that needs fixed?"

"No, I don’t think it’s a problem. We both think it’s kind of fun, actually. Annie’s an important part of our lives."

"And we’d both miss her terribly if she ever went away," piped in Sarah.

"So—" the doctor began. "You don’t think it’s a problem, Sarah doesn’t think it’s a problem, and I don’t think it’s a problem. It can cause problems sometimes, but it’s not a problem in the same sense that a neurosis or psychosis is. So you’re a healthy young man—or woman, depending on your mood. So why are you in drab tonight?"

"In drab?"

"Sorry. Slang for wearing those dull guy’s clothes. Maybe I can meet Annie someday."

"You can count on it!" I said. We told him the story of how I became Annie, and he was fascinated.

"So by the end of that summer, neither you nor Sarah wanted to give Annie up. You are so lucky, both of you. When couples can incorporate cross-dressing into their relationship, and it becomes part of the way they express their love, it’s really beautiful. You learn to understand and appreciate one another in very real ways. So many TG or CD men have trouble finding someone who can deal with that part of their nature, and so many marriages have trouble because of it. And I really do want to meet Annie sometime."

About that time the program started, including plans for the Halloween party. "I can call Julie and Karrin to have them send your Little Orphan Annie costume," my wife whispered. Maybe. Then she whispered, "But I’m not shaving my head to be Daddy Warbucks." But we didn’t go to the Halloween party. We were still in shock from what happened the weekend before.

 

THE BATTLE OF REYNOLD’S VALLEY

"Aargh!" I shouted as the wrench slipped off the shower faucet and whipped back, slapping me across my knuckles as I tried to catch it so it wouldn’t crack the tile on the shower floor. It was the perfect end to the day. We had woken up late and then the jeep wouldn’t start, so Sarah was late to her first class. A senile biology professor had muddled up everything I thought I had ever understood about plant taxonomy. A sadistic English professor ridiculed my footnote citation; Sarah and I were both swamped with work; and my chicken casserole, on its third reincarnation, was gummy and disgusting. Now the plumbing was attacking me. Of course the housing maintenance guys should be doing this, but by the time they would have gotten there to fix our shower, we would have needed to clean up for graduation, anyhow. It had been a warm, bright autumn day, but its beauty just mocked my lousy mood.

"Aargh? Playing pirate, are we?" chimed in Sarah. I fussed, pouted, and yelled, and generally felt and acted like a stupid, immature boy trying to be a man. I finally got the shower head off. It was messed up beyond repair, so I drove off to the hardware store to buy a new one, but the store closed just as I drove into the parking lot. It would be sponge baths in the morning.

Sarah winced as I slammed the door. "Honey, "I’m sorry," we both started to say together, and then we both laughed, and then I gulped for air and trembled, trying to keep from crying. "I feel like such a fool," I said. "I want to be there for you and help you, but I’m not much help, am I?" Sarah and I were sitting on the couch, facing one another. My fists were clenched in frustration, and her little hands were over them, rubbing them softly. I winced when she touched a bruise.

"Hey, lover," Sarah replied. "It might have been easier had we just been normal college kids, living in a dorm and dating each other, but I don’t regret for a minute that I married you. There are going to be times when I have tantrums when things don’t go right, too. So if you want to let your little boy come out and cry on mommy’s shoulder, go ahead." And I did.

The next day I had installed the new shower head before supper, while Sarah cooked. "Mark, you don’t have anything planned for next Saturday, do you?" I looked, and our calendar was empty. "Don’t schedule anything, okay?" she asked. "We’ve both been tense and tired, and I want to plan a day of fun."

"Sure, babe. What do you have in mind?" I asked.

"Just trust me," she smiled.

"Oh, yeah," I grinned. "Like you told me to do before my bridal shower."

"Wedding shower—you were still the groom, remember? And the shower was so Annie could have some fun, too. And we all know that she did, right?" I couldn’t disagree. On Thursday, we had some cold rain in the city, and on Friday we could see snow on the peaks. It was clear and pleasant, though, on our campus, and I grilled burgers outdoors on our little hibachi.

After cleaning up from supper, we hit the books. An hour later, I noticed her staring over the top of her biochemistry book. "What?" I asked.

"Mark Andrew Holding Jansen," she said sternly, but with the corners of her mouth upturned. "You have not been taking good care of your nails. They are really scraggly looking."

"Maybe that’s why there are so few lady plumbers," I responded. "Fighting plumbing can mess up a manicure pretty fast."

"Typical sexist remark," she said, putting down her book. "But you do need a manicure. Finish what you’re studying and I’ll be right back." Since she had her leg off for the evening, she crutched her way to the bathroom. As I read, I heard clunks and plinks as she put stuff into her backpack. When she returned, she laid a paper over the drum table and sat across from me. "Now just pretend I’m Joan Kim, okay?" she asked.

"As long as you’re Sarah Beth Holding Jansen when we go to bed, right?" I grinned.

She nodded and said, "And you’re going to be Annie Holding Jansen." I nodded. I extended my hands palms down. She worked on my cuticles with an orange stick, then began clipping and filing. Since most of the ragged portions were near the edges, she was able to round them off. Then, as we discussed the week, she applied three coats of pale blue polish, and a topcoat of clear. "Now put your feet up here," she said. "You’re lucky," Sarah explained. "Most girls have to put cotton wads between their toes to separate them, after years of wearing tight shoes has shoved their toes too close together. Yours are still nice and distinct from one another." My toenails became bright blue, contrasting nicely with the pale shade on my fingers.

When we went to the bedroom, we put on our evening lingerie, and then later helped each other out of it again.

The next morning as I showered, I asked, "Is this to be an Annie day, I presume, O Miss Social Director, or should I get out the polish remover."

"I think it might be more fun for all of us as an Annie day, but if you’re uncomfortable with that, a Mark day would be fine," she replied from the sink.

"Oh, why not?" I said. "Annie it is. But let me warn you. Annie’s no better at fixing pipes than Mark is. By the way. What did you mean by ‘all of us?’"

"You’ll find out. Trust me." Sarah’s little surprises were part of the spice of our relationship, so I decided to do just that. I dropped my towel to slip on my padded undies.

"So what am I wearing? A dress, or what?" I asked.

"Heavens, no. This is Saturday. We’ve been cooped up in class during this beautiful week, and we’re going to be outdoors. So go grubby. I’m pulling jeans on, see? So put on that pair of girl’s jeans we found at the church rummage sale, and you can even wear one of Mark’s flannel shirts—the extra large red plaid one to make room for your breasts, and his hiking boots—that smaller pair, I mean."

"So if I’m dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a flannel shirt, I won’t look much like Annie, will I? Wouldn’t it be just as easy to be Mark?"

"Oh, for heaven’s sakes," she protested. "Be Mark if you want, and quit fussing."

"I’m not fussing, just curious," I meekly said. Sarah rolled the cuffs halfway up my forearm and buttoned them back. After I was shaved, and had my foundation applied, she had me put in little red plastic bow earrings in my bottom holes, plain studs in the next two, and a hoop in the fifth. She parted my hair down the middle and combed it to the sides, pinning it back with barrettes, and tying down a little tuft of hair on each side with a red ribbon. As I daubed on a little lipstick, I smiled at my reflection. Annie could dress in boy’s clothes and still look like Annie. "Okay, babe, I’m ready. What’s next?"

Just then, the doorbell rang. I thought of hiding in the bathroom, and worried that it might be the maintenance guys ready to fix the shower I had already fixed. No, Elise rolled in, followed by Win. Sarah pecked them on their cheeks. "So," Elise called out, "Isn’t Annie ready yet? These girls take so long to get ready, even for a day in the mountains."

"Here I am," I said, stepping into the living room. "Tada!" and I did a twirl.

"I know that you’re uneasy driving as Annie," Sarah explained. "So Elise is going to drive, and we’re going up to Reynold’s Valley, so you can go hiking and wear off some of those frustrations of yours." It sounded good to me. I love the mountains, and I had been cooped up on campus too long. So we climbed into Elise’s van. The lift was helpful for Sarah as well as necessary for Elise, and I watched as Elise pivoted the driver’s chair and slid over onto it. Win helped her move back into driving position, and folded the wheelchair enough so it could slide behind the bench seat. Finally, we took off, and picked up a sack of McSomethings and pop for breakfast at a drive-through window. I rode shotgun with Elise driving, using hand controls. Sarah and Win visited in back, and I learned more about Elise. Elise was from our state, out in the eastern plains, belonging to one of two Jewish families in the town. These two families came over a hundred miles to Coronado City’s synagogue for holidays. In high school, before her accident, Elise had been athletic, and still would occasionally play on a wheelchair basketball team. Elise had done her undergraduate work in Chicago, and had met Win, a local city girl, and they had become lovers and eventually partners. Win, she said, had grown up in a tough housing project, but was smart and ambitious enough to get a college scholarship and now a university fellowship. Win hadn’t been in the mountains much at all, and she was looking nervously out the window as our road made its way up the side of the canyon. I directed Elise to turn on a gravel side road once we got to the top of the canyon. We wound over one ridge and down toward another valley when we passed the entrance sign for Reynold’s Valley.

"Reynold’s Valley was actually a hideout for the Reynold’s gang, a bunch of small-time outlaws back around the turn of the century. They never had as good press agents as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, I guess," I explained. "It has a narrow entrance that can be blocked off easily, so they could loot and plunder and just disappear from possees. It’s a nice little picnic area now, with some primitive camping facilities. Reynold’s Creek is decent for trout fishing. I’m sorry! I’m sounding like a tour director here." I changed my voice to a whinier, nasal tone. "And on our left we have a bunch of trees."

As we pulled into a flat, accessible picnic area by the creek, I noticed a gray Honda, and two familiar people at the picnic table waiting for us—Julie and Karrin, who had driven over the Continental Divide from Westview to come meet us! We had hugs and introductions all around. When Elise was introduced to Julie, she said, "So this is the girl that Annie was impersonating. Yeah, I could see where it would work."

Although it was only about 10:30, we decided to go ahead and eat lunch, so some of us would have time to hike. Munching a bologna and cheese sandwich, I asked Sarah, "This is a neat day—thanks for planning it. But why did you want me to come instead of Mark?"

Her eyes rolled up a little in thought before contacting mine. "Part of it was some stereotypical remarks you’d made. It got me thinking that Annie always filled such a feminine role, that it might be fun for her to dress down and have some outdoor fun. Your nails did need some work, too. But mostly, I thought that as Mark you might feel uncomfortable being the only guy in the group. You’re always a little bit shy around women as Mark, and you relate more comfortably with them as Annie. Was I right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. You always have this way of knowing me better than I know myself. I love it up here, and I love the company."

After eating, Julie and Karrin volunteered to hike the ridge path. It’s not very long, but it’s steep enough that it takes two solid hours. It was a ball, clambering up the rocky trail. From the top you had a better view of the snow-covered mountain peaks. Looking back toward the valley, I couldn’t see our picnic area, but Julie noticed a dust trail indicating another car coming in on the gravel road. We decided to start back.

Coming near the clearing, we noticed that none of our group were sitting out—they were all gathered in Elise’s van. They looked frightened and angry. Elise looked at me, frowning, and pointed. Between the trees, I saw a car parked, an old convertible, top down, with three yahoos inside. I spoke softly to Julie and Karrin. "Why don’t you wait here until I find out what’s going on? I don’t like the looks of this."

"Me neither," Julie whispered. "If I had a six-shooter, I’d hide behind a boulder and cover you, like the Reynolds gang. But we’ll come out when we need to. We can be pretty intimidating when we want to be." Her tall roommate nodded. I picked up a small rock to use as a weapon, tried to think of ways I could use my hiking stick in hand-to-hand combat, and sincerely hoped that this bunch wasn’t armed. As I stepped into the clearing, they got out of their car and walked my way.

"Hey, babe," they called as they approached, vectoring so they would block my path before I reached the camper. I tried to ignore them and started walking faster. The smaller of the three, still a little larger than me, said, "Is this one of the husbands and boyfriends they said were coming back? Maybe we were right. Maybe this is a bunch of lesbos who need to learn what it’s like to be screwed by a man."

"Yeah," said the taller, scrawny one, with tons of pimples and greasy hair. "Tell you what, babe. Come back to the car with us and we’ll have some fun, and we’ll leave the crips there alone." I was terrified, but I couldn’t let them see my fear. Would this have happened if I were dressed as Mark? Maybe they would have ganged up on me anyway, beating me senseless, before having their way with the others.

"No," I said, in as menacing voice as I could muster. "You are not welcome here, and if you did anything to hurt my friends you will pay. Now please leave or you may regret what will happen." I wondered what Julie and Karrin were doing, but I couldn’t break eye contact with the rednecks. They were focusing on me, too, leering, so my two friends must still have been hidden.

"So what can you do, babe? You’re outnumbered three to one."

"You may overpower me, but I guarantee that it won’t be easy, and that I will draw blood in one way or another. It isn’t worth it." I lifted the stick. The rock in my left hand was small enough that I could grip it and my stick together to give me a two-handed grip. I noticed the smaller guy separating from the others and edging off to my left. Probably he was planning to grab me from behind. The other two were slowly approaching. I sidestepped, pivoted sharply, and swung the stick in an upward arc toward the smaller guy. It snagged his shirt sleeve for a split second, but continued up onto his cheek bone. He staggered back, stunned, but I didn’t have time for him. The other two were trying to grab my arms, to make me lose my balance. My right hand still had the rock in it as I powered my fist into the tall one’s jaw. The third creep, who had a shaved head and tattooed arms, reached around my arms from behind. I slammed my foot back into his shins, but his grip still tightened. The tall one, whose jaw I had just smacked, was shaking his head, but coming toward me. I tried to but my head back into the bald guy’s face, but it was only a glancing blow. I had kept my promise, they were all hurting, but now I knew that I would face the beating of my life—if I survived it. And worse, they would be free to do what they wanted to with Sarah, Julie, and our friends.

Suddenly the hand that was gripping my arm from behind let go. I heard a yell, and saw blood out of my peripheral vision. "The bitch cut me!" he yelled, and was hurled off sideways. I was stepping back from the tall one when someone taller—Karrin—came up behind and grabbed his long greasy hair, yanking him backwards. She twisted and flung her hip out, so his momentum carried him flat on his back. In an instant she was on top of him, a large rock in her large hand.

"If you want your nose to remain in front of your face instead of inside it, you will stay very still," she instructed him.

To my side, I saw Julie holding the skinhead’s cut arm behind his back while Win, from the other side, held a knife to his throat. "Hey, Nazi. You can take a girl out of the projects, but you can’t take the projects out of the girl. I’ve cut you once, don’t think for a minute that I won’t finish this little job and enjoy watching you breathe your own blood."

The one I had hit first was starting toward me. "Hold it," I said, "I can take you if you’re feeling suicidal." That was sheer bluff, but the sight of his buddies intimidated him, and he backed off, palms up, toward me.

"Look," he said. "We’re really sorry. You just misunderstood. We didn’t mean any harm."

"Sure," I answered. "And you weren’t expecting a group of girls to clean your clocks, either, were you? Now just back up to that aspen tree there." Elise and Sarah had come out of the van, and Elise carried a long outdoor extension cord in her lap, and a paring knife from the picnic in her hand. I had picked up another larger rock as an additional threat. The two women tied the cord to the tree and started wrapping the short man to it. Julie and Win forced the skinhead over to the same tree, and they kept winding. Then we all went over to Karrin’s captive, weapons in hand, and made him get up and join the others. My heart was pounding. I was becoming aware of some bruises, scratches, and strained muscles, but basically we were all intact.

"Hey," the skinhead shouted, as Sarah tied the loose end of the cord back around the tree. "Are you going to leave us here? I could bleed to death!"

I never saw Sarah grin more evilly. "Do any of you girls have a sewing kit? I’m premed, and I could practice!" The bald guy blanched and almost fainted. We settled for cutting a piece of an expensive polo shirt off the short guy, and Sarah wrapping the wound.

"I’m concerned," my bride said later. "What if they get loose and try to follow us?"

"Maybe we can disable their car," said I. We walked over to their car. I checked the glove box and found a small handgun. I shuddered. If they had brought that with them, how different would things have turned out? I hurled the gun as far as I could, into the shrubbery on the other side of the steep creek bed. It would take them precious time to find it. I released the brake, and we pushed it to the edge of the creek bank. Ignoring their protesting screams, we pushed the car so the front wheels hung uselessly over the edge of the bank—yes, it was a front-wheel drive vehicle. "Want it to go the rest of the way down onto the rocks?" I called. They shook their heads no.

Obviously, we didn’t want to stay in the valley any longer. Although it used to be a favorite place of mine, I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to come back. It seemed dirty, somehow. So us "helpless women" climbed back into our vehicles and drove off, making plans to meet at a truck stop back on the highway.

"You go, girl!" Win shouted, and gave me a high five. "We owe you big time! You fought good!"

"What do you mean?" I asked. "I was trying to hold them back the best I could, but it was getting to the point where they would have overpowered me. It was the rest of you who were the heroes. You saved me from being a martyr."

For a few minutes, we were all hooting and laughing, then I began to shudder violently. Sarah helped me sip some water from a bottle, and Win tossed a blanket around me. "I-I guess my adrenaline is all used up." I stammered. "I don’t know who that was fighting back there, but it wasn’t me. I mean, I’ve been in a few scuffles with school bullies, but nothing where I was having to defend people from getting seriously hurt, or worse. Yeah, I had some martial arts training, but that’s the first time I’ve ever had to use it, when I wasn’t doing it just for the physical discipline. I just don’t understand how we got out of there alive." Tears were running down my cheek.

"Thank God we did," murmured Sarah.

We stopped at the truck stop to call the ranger station and explain what had happened, but didn’t leave our names. We didn’t want the police to take a report from Annie Jensen, and then discover that there was no such person. We were still so shaken, we couldn’t eat supper as we had planned. Julie and Karrin followed us home, to be our first overnight guests in our home. Their nerves were shot, too, and we didn't want them to have to drive over the mountains at night.

We all gathered in our apartment and talked about what had happened. Win asked, "You don’t suppose that was the Reynold gang, do you? Come back to life just to bug us?"

"Nah!"

"Well, I hope we never see them again, whoever they were."

Later that evening, I started shaking uncontrollably, like I was freezing. Then I ran to the bathroom, kneeled beside the stool, and threw up—a lot.

Back during the summer at Hope Haven, I had a lot of dreams in which I was truly Annie—anatomically correct as a girl. After I went back to living as Mark and being Annie only occasionally, I had fewer Annie dreams. Four nights after the attack, I woke up screaming. It was an Annie dream again. This time, the three creeps had caught me alone, torn off my clothes, and were raping me.

That, and other bad dreams, both mine and Sarah’s, led us to talk with both Rev. McGrail and Dr. Ostermeyer. They both concluded that we were having post-traumatic stress syndrome—a mild case, if there is such a thing. They also both encouraged us to go to the police. Again, we didn’t want the world to know that I was Annie, so we declined to do so. That was a decision we would all live to regret.

 

 

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