Mark accepts an outlandish idea, and is transformed

Chapter 2

Interlude

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE IDEA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I’ve kind of outgrown that, anyway."

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

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

"Deal!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WELL, I GUESS SO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"OUR NEXT MAKEOVER…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

MOTHER AND SON? DAUGHTER?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, June 19

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

THE SHOPPING TRIP

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

"Sure you can," she smiled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fastforward--Friday, June 20

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

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

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

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

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

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

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