Alright... the idea behind this is thinking back on how things have happened in my life badly. This is, on a basic level, I guess, my fantasy of how things could have gone. This was the first such scene in my life that occurred to me to write about. There may be more, but I don't know. This was difficult for me to write. Only about 1000 words, with the intro and title.
We sat at opposite ends of the couch, almost mirroring each other's position, half-facing. I kept opening my mouth to talk, and she sat patiently, with an expression on her face that was a bit curious and a bit bemused. I mean, it's not often a twelve-year old invokes the family rules of Serious Discussion.
Uncle Ben told me that the tradition went all the way back to the mid-1700s, when one of our ancestors first was accepted into a tribe of the Principal People -- uh, that's Cherokee Native American, to most folks. That ancestor was a boy about my age, that eventually made his town friends with the nearby village. He also eventually married one of the girls from that tribe. When he realized that none of the People really took anything he had to say as more than just unimportant jabber, rather than getting angry like most young fellas would've back then, he told his wife and both their families that he was making a set of rules for Serious Discussion.
In case you're curious, there's only five rules. Anyone in the family can call for a Serious Discussion. No one is allowed to laugh at anyone else. No one else is allowed to talk until the person that called it is done. No one is allowed to get angry at anyone else. Anyone can ask any questions they want, as long as they save 'em until the end and the one calling it is done.
Well, I had come home late, and Mom was annoyed. So annoyed she hadn't noticed that I was wearing different pants than when I'd gone to school. Before she could say more than, "You're late, young man!" I had held up my hand and calmly said, "I'm calling for a Serious Discussion. You and me only, one-on-one, with an option to others into the topic later. I want a private one on one with a few more folks, too." Don't ask me where I found the courage to do it. But Mom's angry look just... went away. She got the grandparents out of the house and over to another relative's house, Dad (well, my stepfather... but he was Dad to me) was bowling that night, my younger siblings were over at an aunt's house from tonight until Sunday after church. Then me and Mom went into the living room to the couch.
We sat at opposite ends of the couch, almost mirroring each other's position, half-facing. I kept opening my mouth to talk, and she sat patiently, with an expression on her face that was a bit curious and a bit bemused. She reached out and gently took my hand, and nodded encouragement at me. I took a deep breath, and opened my mouth.
Then I shut it again, and looked sheepish for a second. I cleared my throat and said, "Mom... I've really got no idea how to tell you this, but I gotta try." She nodded at me and squeezed my hand, then released it, settling back to listen.
I thought a moment, then went on, "Remember a few months ago, when I was upset that I couldn't go with Aunty and Kasey bra shopping, and you explained to me that it was something only girls should worry about?"
She nodded.
"Well... then I, uh," I stammered. This was so hard. I felt... dirty, and wrong. "I, um, I think I must be a girl, then."
Her eyes bulged and she opened her mouth, but I raised my hand up all calm again and said, "No one else is allowed to talk until the person that called it is done." She frowned and sat back.
I took a deep breath and went on, "Well, my chest has been all sensitive and sore and... I just... augh... I've never really been... whew. This is hard to get out. Mom, I'm sort of not only not your son but I've never really been a boy in the way I think and act and everyone else notices and now there are things that are weird and so I think I may be a girl in more than just the way I think and I really don't know what to do and say and I'm..." I paused and looked over at her, and saw the expression I'd figured I'd see, which was all kinds of confused... so I went on.
"I think I must be a girl and my breasts are developing, Mom."
I stopped and waited for her to answer, now.
"But," she said, looking totally confused, "I know what you look like, I changed your diapers..."
"We learned about something called, 'intersex,' in school -- it means you're between being a boy or a girl."
"I don't know about this," she said, "this isn't a prank is it? I mean, really? You're talking about being a 'morphodite' right? That's really rare."
"Actually... about one out of every fifty-nine people are intersex in some way -- some are hermaphroditic, like you said -- and that's a lot of people. Most that are don't realize it though. Only about one in ten thousand that are ever realize it in their lifetime. So, only about one out of five hundred ninety thousand know that they are, so people think it's a lot more rare than it is."
I waited a moment so that I could see if she understood what I was saying. Numbers and my mom weren't really on speaking terms.
"Mom..." I said, and my voice quavered. Dangit, I'd hoped I'd make it through this, "I'm so scared."
She took me in her long arms in a hug while I lost the fight with my tearducts.
"Shh. Shh-shh-shh," she said softly as she held me and let my sobs melt into her shoulder, "It doesn't matter. We'll figure out what to do."
So, it looks like there'll be more of these. I don't think any of them will be easy for me to write, but I'm finding them oddly... cathartic. Cleansing, even. Another fantasy of how things could have gone. If I write more, they won't be in chronological order.
I was exhausted. And sore. And soooo thirsty.
I brushed the hair out of my face, sweaty mess. I pulled it behind my head and used the pillow under me to hold it there.
"Hello?" came a voice from the door.
I looked up and saw a nurse smiling at me.
"Er, hi... um, I don't think I know you," I said as politely as I could. Polite is hard when your brain is foggy.
"You wouldn't remember me," she said with a slight giggle. Yeah, giggle, not chuckle... I liked her already, "I didn't arrive until you were already in labor and cussing at the doctors."
"Ah," I grinned, "sorry about that..."
They had been totally wrong. The doctors. I wasn't able to carry to term, so they were right about that, but twins were rarely full-term, anyway, right?
"Not a problem. Edeyn, was it?" she inquired, "I'm here because two little girls new to the place as of an hour ago or so would like to know if they'll be dining with their mother?"
"Oh!" I said, the exultation flowing through me and throwing me wide awake now, "I'd like that very much! I, um, I'd like to breast feed... if it's possible. The meds I'm on won't hurt them, will they?"
"We kind of suspected that your situation would make you lean to wanting to breast feed," she admitted with a smile, "No, we already checked all your medications and there should be no problems. I'll go and get them, they're kinda hungry."
And with that, she left. I was a mommy. The thrill and terror of that filled me at once. Granted, I was gonna be in the hospital for a couple weeks more, but...
The friendly nurse returned with a double bassinet. She helped me settle my daughters(!) in each arm, and showed me how to let them attach. She advised me to only try to feed one at a time, and switch off next time with the second one going first.
I held my babies. I began to feed for the first time. I think I felt truly alive for the first time...
Third one of these. I'm definitely enjoying writing them, as it's always better to think of pleasant things. A fantasy of what might have been if events had allowed, this one set between the first two installments. Another dedication in this one, too, maybe I should go back and dedicate the first one to my mother...
"Ungh!" I complained, hanging on to the bed as my best friend pulled the laces even tighter.
"Hush, you," she scolded -- and I could hear her grin. "You knew I'd have no sympathy for you as your Maid of Honour, and you knew I'd pull you in tight!"
I giggled as much as I could, and let my mind wander back over the preparations for the park Handfasting. I would be entering from the North, and Lisa from the South, meeting in the middle as we would be throughout the rest of our lives. Our gowns were made identical except for length and color -- I'm taller, and hers was Royal Blue with White trim while mine was Forest Green with Canary Yellow trim. Juliette sleeves, lace-up bodices, soft leather dyed-to-match flat-heeled ankle boots for both of us. It was the wedding I'd dreamed about.
My mischievious Maid of Honour was trying lifting the dress up to go over my head and avoiding messing up my hair and makeup. The flowers she'd woven into my hair I had no doubt were done like Lisa's as well.
We hurried now, and I hugged her again as she ran out to take her place near the friend conducting the ceremony and my soon-to-be wife's Maid of Honour who was out there waiting for us. They had made sure that I... and I guess Lisa, too... didn't have anything to freak out over. I stepped out of the changing tent, and smiled up into Uncle Ben's beaming face as he stuck out his arm to walk me up the aisle and give me away.
A day I'd been waiting for and looking forward to for over a year, now. Heck, if I let myself admit it, ever since the day that first message arrived for me online. It was finally here, and as the musicians began to play the song written for our wedding, I paused where I was supposed to and saw my beautiful soon-to-be wife standing in my mirrored spot across the clearing, smiling at me brightly as she clung to her father's arm, dapper Dutchman in his suit. She looked even nearer to happy tears than I was.
I'd be lying if I said I remembered every detail, as I was too caught up in staring into her eyes and she into mine. But I do remember the wrapping of the silk ribbon around our clasped hands, binding us before everyone there as we both knew we had been since we met years ago.
"You are now handfasted, partners and wives, in all that you may do from this day forth," she intoned.
Grinning as broadly as anyone else there, she finished, "You may each kiss your bride."
Neither of us waited until she finished the sentence.
Another fantasy, and it looks like dedications are gonna be the norm for these. I think these pieces are helping me, but writing them is really painful. I sat sobbing for a good two hours halfway through this one, and if you want to see the real story of what happened, it's in my blog on here. I'm not going to link to it, it's easy enough to find.
"Edeyn!" called Michael, "Hey, I, uh, I need some cash, if you've got it."
I groaned, but it was just for his benefit. Inwardly, I was giggling at the sheepish grin on his face.
"What for this time, little bother?" I asked, grinning.
"Well, you know that girl you and Amy introduced me to a few nights ago? She, um, I want, er... we wanna go to the movies," he answered, ignoring the 'bother' comment completely. Smart kid. He knew better than to contradict me when he wanted something.
"I thought you were going out to chinese with me tonight?" I asked him. He'd been here nearly a whole week and was only gonna be here a few more days.
"Oh!" he said as he thumped his head with the heel of his palm, "Fat Cracker forgot again. Um, I wanna, but, this girl is dang cute, sis..."
"I will never understand why you not only allow, but encourage your so-called friends to call you that! Well, do you think she'd like to come to chinese with us? I mean, Mom can't meet her from 400 miles away, so I'm your de facto guardian, boyo, and I should meet any girl you wanna date."
"That's a great idea! I'll go call her!"
He moseyed off outside to make the call. Cell reception in this apartment was crap. Yes, he moseys. I don't think I've ever seen the kid hurry. He worked hard to make other folks think that because he was big and moved slow, he was dumb, too. He said it made them underestimate him. He was right, but I still shook my head and giggled. He was visiting for his holiday break from school, just like I promised him he could when he was hurt back in September. Hey, what sixteen year old wouldn't want to spend two weeks being introduced to girls in an actual city by his big sister (who happened to be an intersex transsexual lesbian) when the alternative was a week at grandpa Stumpy's house being fed turnip greens and whatever-the-hell-it-was stew?
He came back inside (moseying), and smiled, "Yeah, she likes chinese, too, so she's in. We just gotta pick her up on the way. I told her around six, alright?"
"That sounds fine, little bother," I said, grinning at him again.
"Hey, promise me you won't call me that in front of her, okay?" he asked, suddenly serious.
I looked up at him, as he was taller than me now, and replied, "Only if you promise not to call yourself 'Fat Cracker' around her -- and no Randy Quaid Cousin Eddie impressions!"
He laughed out loud. Ever since the steel plate was put in his head, he made fun of it good-naturedly, by doing impressions from the National Lampoon's 'Vacation' series of movies.
"Laugh it up, chucklehead, but you need to go shower and get ready if we're leaving in time to pick her up by six. Scoot!"
I would very much like to think I would find a point in which I had no more of these fantasies "in me" as it were. Unfortunately, I don't think that time will come anytime soon, so I'll continue to contribute these almost memories as necessary.
"Hey!"
"Unnnnng," I groaned.
"Hey!"
"Lemme 'lone!" I grumped. What was she so darned cheerful about?
[THWACK!] "Lissen, you dummy! It's Christmas morning, let's go!"
Suddenly I was alert. I sat up and rubbed sand out of my sleepy eyes and grinned at my cousin. We quickly and quietly brushed our teeth and made our way to the kitchen.
It was a magical morning, Christmas morning 1983. The adults were all snoring -- and how... I sometimes wondered how they managed to sleep. Kasey climbed on the counters to get the stuff all ready while I lit the fires. The fireplace in the living room and the stove for cooking. The two of us made the most quiet breakfast in history. Flapjacks from scratch (with chocolate chips!), with homemade maple syrup, sausage gravy, drop biscuits, fried eggs, bacon, grits, hash browns, and grill toast from the fresh bread we made last night. I was setting the plates and food on the table on while Kasey was squeezing the orange juice.
We washed our hands and grinned at each other and marched right past the bright tree with the meager few gifts and went to wake up the grownups.
Grampa was the first one up, like usual, and he laughed with his big old laugh he always did. Grandmother sat and just smiled quietly while Mommy actually got to sit with us all for a good breakfast while my baby sister was all full of didn't fuss. It was like she remembered Christmas morning, too.
I was content with what little things we got for the holiday, I mean, we were way more poor than any other family in the small town, but it didn't matter. I think the book that I got was my favorite thing that year, it was almost the same as brand new.
When we had eaten, and the presents were put away, Grampa pulled even more magic out of the air. Just like always. He somehow made the television work perfectly, with no fuzziness at all, and we all sat and watched It's A Wonderful Life for the first time that year. We bundled up and went out to build a snowman together and we giggled as Grampa helped us, and eventually had a snowball fight with him.
We won, but I think he let us win.
After eating at lunchtime, we were tired, and Kasey and I curled up together on Grampa's lap and started to nod off.
"Don't worry," he told us, "don't worry at all. I'll be here when you both wake up. Go ahead and sleep."
So we did. We settled in and let ourselves nod off and cuddled into his arms.
And now... well, go look at my blog. The one titled, 'Fred,' that is.
"Augh. I totally just spent two hours working on the problems on the wrong page! Not fair! Dangit!"
A light baritone chuckle drifted out of the kitchen to me sitting at the table in the dining room that November morning in 1991.
"Retrain of the Jet-Eye. How d'ya wantcher eggs?"
I opened my mouth to grouse at him, but he was right. I needed to just let it go and do the RIGHT assignment. I laughed.
"Over medium. You makin' bacon?"
"What's an egg without pork, girl?"
Okay, so my Uncle Fred and I tended toward the junk food that wasn't so much sweet as savory. But we both enjoyed the heck out of it. We ate healthy, most of the time. But comfort food is a necessity at times.
Y'see, we were commiserating, along with my dad. There hadn't been snow. There was supposed to be snow. But there hadn't been snow. We were supposed to get enough snow that I could make enough for those new boots I wanted (functional, comfortable, and winter-worthy, but really kyoot with enough heel to be unmistakably feminine), and he could make enough to get a new double-deck VCR so he could copy movies... Dad just wanted enough to take Mom out for dinner at The Rib. Hm? Oh, yeah, snow meant drives and walks to be shoveled at a good price.
"Make it tender but not crisp and nasty like Mom likes it."
"You've always had better taste than my sister, kid."
A noise of protest directed at both of us came from the woman on the couch with her nose in Julie Kenner's new superhero-romance weird mix novel.
I shut the book and stepped around the corner into the kitchen to watch the master at work. I think he loved to be in the kitchen almost as much as I did. Lightly whistling through his teeth as he grinned at his creations -- barely audible, but I knew what to listen for.
"So, since the storm missed us completely --"
Furrows pushed his brows down toward his nose.
"-- got any other ideas?"
He flipped the bacon and slipped a couple slices of wheat bread into the toaster as he resumed whistling, though with a look on his face that showed he was... plotting.
I waited patiently, knowing there was gonna be something, and besides... it smelled so good in here...
The toast popped up and he expertly plopped them on a plate and covered them in tender and lean bacon, an over-medium egg and a slice of cheese each before the plate somehow levitated to my hands.
"Well, the way I see it, in an Indian Summer, there's leaves to be gotten rid of... we just got to get our hands on some rakes, maybe borry a leaf-blower, and we're in business anyway."
I murmured my approval for both the open-faced sandwiches and his idea around my mouthful of the first bite.
"Hrglk. Mmrrfxqin. Sxjjkrntl thwbbplpl mnghdmpqvu."
"Oh, yeah, she does have one. I bet she'd rent it to us by the day instead of the job, too. Make us more cash."
I grinned happily at him and demolished my dinner in short order. Yep. Tomorrow this Indian Summer was gonna make me the richest girl in town.
As usual, death around me gets me to thinking about how things Coulda Been... so, I've got two more for you all to look at now. You probably were expecting one, but I found myself with two in me. Sorry about that. Up side is that these two aren't as anchored in real-world kernels as the others. More like things that Coulda eventually happened and just never did. Well, here's one not-so-raw, first...
"Yeah. That un. Looks good. Let's go."
"Daaad! You didn't even LOOK at me! You're supposed to help me pick a dress for the Induction, not just stare at your tennis shoes, y'know."
"Sorry. It really does look larruppin' good. Cain't picture one a'lookin' better on yuh. Don't even care what th' cost, 'cause it's durn-near perfect."
I scowled at him. My stepfather was more of a Dad to me than my biological father ever could or would be, but he was still so... augh. He was such an old-fashioned fart sometimes. It was Spring 1993, and I was about to be inducted into the National Honor Society.
"Dad. Stop. Look at me."
I waited for him to actually look up with his sheepish smirk and take a sip from his coffee cup, then I did a slow 360 ° turn so he could see the cut across my back -- or lack thereof -- and wasn't really surprised when I finished and he was staring at his shoes again when I got turned all the way around.
"You. Are. ImPOSSible!"
He grinned at me again.
"Well, it's jus' this place is so dang... girly. T'aint right for a man t'be in here t'all, let 'lone jus' sippin' coffee and watchin' like that. Seems indecent."
"You're my dad. Everyone in here knows that. You don't have to worry about whether they think you're a pervert. I don't want to settle for 'durn-near' perfect, I want the PERFECT dress for this Induction. You said you wanted to see what you were paying for before you paid for it, so the only solution is for you to help me pick out the right gown. Right?"
"Yeah. Ah know. Makes sense. Still don' feel right, though."
"Just... forget I'm your daughter for awhile and tell me what looks best!"
He looked confused for a moment, but the twinkle in his eyes told me it was a put on.
"But ah thought you didn' WANT me t'fergit that yer a daughter?"
"I see why Mom says you're the most frustrating man in the world. You love torturing us, don't you?"
He giggled (yes, giggled... he was a giggle and not a chuckle person) and took another sip from his ever-present coffee mug.
"You..."
Realization dawned. D'oh-eth.
"You're doing this on PURPOSE!"
"Wonert when yewd figger t'out. Hmph. Ain't you s'posed t'be th' smart'un? Figgered if I'm payin' I'll get muh money worth outta makin' smoke come outta yourn ears."
"Dad! You...!"
He laughed, and in spite of myself, I laughed along with him.
"Just you wait, old man..."
"What, you gonna make me lissin to yer weirdo music on the way home? Yewd do that innyways."
I arched an eyebrow at him.
"You do realize... this was only the first dress. There are HUNDREDS of dresses in awesome colors and styles in my size in this shop alone, let alone the other three shops in the mall."
The color drained from his face as I threw back my head and cackled (much to the consternation of the salesladies and the other women in the shop).