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I sigh and look in the mirror. I don’t see anything I like…
I am wearing my nicest dress—well, my ONLY dress, actually. Momma bought it for me last week and I love it. I really do! It brings out the blue in my eyes.
I look at my eyes in the well-lit mirror of the vanity. They are nicely made up—not overly done, but enough to make them ‘pop’. Tasteful eyeshadow in three shades—well-blended. Light eyeliner—just enough for definition. Semi-heavy mascara to bring out the length of my lashes that are curled with Momma’s lash curler.
That leads me to scrutinize the rest of my makeup. It is also tastefully done. Light foundation and blush. A little powder to set it. Pale pink lipstick and a couple of coats of lip gloss.
Unfortunately, I am going to have to redo it. Well, most of it, anyway. Long black streaks trail all the way down my cheeks—the tears still flowing freely.
I sigh and sit down at Mom’s vanity and start over after scrubbing my face with a makeup remover towelette and then washing with soap and water at her sink.
Momma comes in and gives me a hug from behind. The red in her eyes is as bad as mine. I can tell she is barely holding back tears of her own.
She silently picks up a different tube of mascara and hands it to me. I look at it; it is waterproof. I blush and she gives me a wan smile. She says, “I don’t recommend using it very often—it is really hard to clean off. But there are times when it is warranted.”
I numbly nod and start redoing my makeup. As I do so, I intensely look at myself in the mirror again. I still feel like I LOOK like a boy in a dress. I know I am not—there is no doubt in my mind that I am a girl. There never has been; not as far back as I can remember.
I think back to that most wonderful of days two weeks ago. The memories flood back like it was just this morning. I had finally gotten up the courage to tell Mom and Dad; I am fourteen and I was pretty sure I had just started puberty, so I knew I had to tell them or face the consequences.
I had spent the last years sneaking around after school while alone in the house. I would dress in Mom’s clothes and practicing with her makeup. I didn’t think she ever suspected anything… I would watch YouTube videos of how to do my makeup and practice and practice. Of course, I had no makeup of my own, but I was really carefully with hers.
Her shoes are a little big for me, but I would practice walking in her heels—hours on end. I watched hours of YouTube videos on just how to walk—the best ways to practice.
I would do my homework and let myself be the girl I am. Then, when it was getting close to time for one of them to come home, I would quickly clean up and put everything meticulously back the way I found it.
I would then sit in my room and read one of my carefully hidden teen-girl magazines and dream of coming out until Mom called me for supper. Dad, being a police officer was not always home for supper, so we would more often than not eat alone.
Thinking back, I don’t really know what I was afraid of. My parents never gave me ANY indication that they were homophobic—quite the contrary, really. But Dad was always so proud of his son…and so was Mom. I guess I was always just afraid of somehow disappointing them.
But, then one day, I just KNEW. I don’t know what made me think it. Maybe a forgotten dream from the night before? I just don’t know. Anyway, I felt in the deepest recesses of my soul that I was turning into the one thing that I couldn’t stand of thinking about becoming—a boy. No, a MAN…
I could FEEL the testosterone coursing through my veins. I could FEEL my feet getting freakishly huge—my hands growing large and my fingers thick. I could FEEL my face taking on distorted dimensions—my nose getting big and bulbous; my jaw jutting out and squaring off. I could FEEL the beard hairs starting to grow. I could FEEL my voice deepening.
I panicked! I had to DO something!
As luck would have it, it was an evening that Dad was going to be home for supper. I waited until we were done with the main meal and Mom brought out dessert. It was warm apple pie with lots of cinnamon and vanilla ice cream—my Dad’s favorite. Mom had finished a glass of wine and Dad had had a beer.
I waited until Dad had the first big bite. He had a dreamy look on his face. It was then or never…
In a weak voice, I started to say…it. My voice failed. I cleared my throat and said, “I…I…I…need to tell you both something…”
Mom gave Dad a funny look.
Dad looked at me and asked, “Did something happen in school, Son? Are you in trouble?”
I shook my head and blushed…
I took a shaky breath and said, “No, Dad. I am not in trouble—at least not in school.”
Mom, looking concerned, asked, “Your friends then? Is someone bullying you?”
I shook my head again and said, “NO… No… It’s not that… I…I…I…” I felt the tears start to stream down my cheeks.
Mom came over and gave me a hug She stroked my hair and said, “Shh…shh…shhhhh… What is it, Love? It can’t be THAT bad, can it? You know we both love you.”
I bit my lip and said, “I just don’t want to disappoint you!”
Dad asked, “Are you doing drugs? Did you hit a girl? Did you cheat on a test? Those are about the only things that I can think of that will disappoint me, Son.”
I closed and my eyes and just let it out, “That is the problem, Dad. I…I…I’m not your SON… I…I…I’m your…daughter…” The ‘daughter’ came out in barely a whisper.
Mom was still hugging me. She hugged me tighter and kissed my forehead. She simply said, “We know, Love.”
My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe! What did she just say?
I finally caught my breath and asked, “Wh…wha…what did you just say?”
Mom said, “We know, Love. We’ve known for quite some time. Thank you for being so respectful of my clothes. You’ve taken very good care of them when dressing in them. But did you not think I would notice the small things being moved around in my closet—or that my makeup was disappearing at an alarming rate?”
She smiled at me—letting me know she was not mad at me.
Dad smiled at me, too. He said, “Sport—you know I’m a cop. I check your room…it’s a parent’s prerogative; no, their duty to make sure you are not doing things you can’t have an understanding of the consequences about. We love you and care! I can’t let you have drugs around…”
I think he actually blushes a bit as he continues, “So, ummm…I found your stash of magazines… I admit I was surprised. At your age, I hid my stash of Playboys in exactly the same place I found your…teen girl mags… I guess I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t tell us—I mean until now…”
My eyes burned as the tears flow freely. I can barely breathe! I don’t care that they searched my room… They are OK with it… With…ME!
They remained quiet. Mom just rubbed my back. They waited…
Finally, I said, “I told you. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Dad, I know how much you want a son… Mom…” My voice gave away again.
Mom just sat there and hugged me.
Dad said, “Hon, we want you to be happy—that is all we have ever wanted. It doesn’t matter to me—or your mother—whether you are our son or our daughter. You are our CHILD either way.”
I sat there—totally stunned. They didn’t care. I had wasted so much time—worrying for nothing.
I finally asked, “If you knew, why didn’t you say anything?”
Mom smiled sadly and said, “It was yours to tell us, Hon. We knew you would when you were ready. But, tell me—why now?”
I shook my head and said, “I think I am starting puberty…”
Mom looked at Dad. He just said, “I understand, Hon. We’ll see about a doctor—first thing in the morning. I have already been looking into it and think I know of a good place…”
If I was shocked before—I was rocked to the soul at that…
I said, “You mean it? Really? You mean…”
Mom said, “Love, we adore you. Your happiness and wellbeing is all that we care about. We’re just so glad you finally trusted us enough to tell us—so we can help.”
True to their word, Dad set up an appointment at a clinic that specializes in transgendered patients. As luck would have it, there was a cancelation that day and I got right in. Looking back now, I have to wonder about that coincidence. Was it divine intervention of some sort?
By the end of a very long day, in three different Doctor’s offices and a huge battery of tests, I was put on a testosterone blocker! I was still a long way from the female hormones I craved, but at least I was safe from the ravaging effects of the male poison my body was capable of producing. I would never have achieved that goal if it had not been for the loving support of both of my parents.
My eyes focus back on the mirror as I come out of my reverie. I reapply the mascara to my lashes—this time with the waterproof kind. I fight back more tears as the rest of the memories flood into my numbed and grief-wracked brain.
After school the next day, Mom had taken me to the mall. I got my ears pierced and we bought my first girl’s outfit—girly jeans and the cutest top. I also got panties, bras(!), and girl’s socks—and…shoes. My very own heels! Needless to say, I was in seventh heaven.
Then I saw it… The perfect dress! It was blue…like a dark shimmering jewel. I fell in love with it immediately. It showed on my face and Momma saw it. She smiled and gave me hug as we went out to the car.
A week later, Momma brought it home. She gave it to me just as her phone rang. I hugged her—elated—as she answered. I felt her go limp as she broke free of my hug and ran to the TV with a sob. She turned it on to the news that was on every channel…
Some coward was sniping on police down-town. There were reports that five had already been shot and the shooting was continuing.
We sat there watching in horror, clasping onto one another… Not knowing if Daddy was OK, or not.
Momma had just moaned when the doorbell rang three hours later. She let out a mournful gasp when she saw the uniformed officers through the window at the door. I numbly opened the door as she slumped to the floor in agony.
The officers helped her and me to the couch and told us that Daddy had died heroically saving a rookie police officer—a woman. He had jumped on top of her as the armor-piercing bullet ripped through his vest. It went straight through him and into the rookie. His body had slowed the bullet enough to not be lethal to the woman—although, he had died instantly.
Momma and I just sat there. Neither of us could believe it. The police officers escorted us to the hospital where there was a support center set up…
My eyes once again focus on the well-lit mirror and I finish my makeup. I fight back the tears—with a little more success this time. The killer still hasn’t been caught. I carefully dry my eyes and nose and Momma comes in. She smiles at me and says, “You look beautiful, Love. Your Daddy would be proud.”
I fall into her arms and we both cry—neither of care about our makeup. Daddy, like everyone in the department was all about caring. He had no ill-will for anyone—he was fair. He welcomed ME with the same open arms as anyone on his beat. It was SO unfair that some cowardly idiot decided that it was OK to target police out of some radical belief that it somehow was justified in the name of who knows what misguided mantra.
We fix each other’s makeup and I straighten out my dress. My ‘perfect’ dress feels anything but perfect, right now. We solemnly make the short drive and go into the main hall of the funeral home, tensely holding trembling hands, where the wake is happening…
An day later, we are at the grave site. It is a full police-honor funeral—with a 21-gun salute. The rookie policewoman, Grace, is there in a wheelchair. She had been released long enough to attend the funeral. She has a haunted look in her eye as she looks at us. She is only a few years older than me…having gone to the police academy straight out of high school.
The police honor-guard folds the flag draped over Daddy’s coffin and the leader hands it to Momma, who is stoically putting on a brave face.
We go to the event afterwards that the unit puts on. After an hour, my Daddy’s partner, Joe, drives us home.
It never felt so empty…
Mom hugs me and says, “I’m so sorry, Love. Your Daddy made sure we would be comfortable with the life insurance he left behind for us and the pension we will get. And even though the doctors have all agreed that you are indeed a perfect candidate for female hormones, we just can’t afford them. Not now, anyway. I have to find a job…then…maybe… I will make sure that you can stay on the blockers, though. I promise!”
It is the day after the funeral and we are going through more paperwork and things—trying to figure out our next steps.
I hug her back tightly and say bravely, with much more bravado than I feel, “It’s OK, Momma. We will make it, somehow. I mean…as long as you’re still OK with me…being me…”
She takes in a big breath. She gives me a stern look and says, “Don’t you EVER think that I’m not OK with you, Melissa. Of course I am. As a matter of fact, this just came in the mail…” She fights back a choked sob and says, “It’s the last present your Daddy can give you…”
She hands me an envelope addressed to Ms. Melissa Saunders. I open it with a shaky hand and carefully read what it says… It outlines that one Master Gregory Victor Saunders’ name has been legally changed to Ms. Melissa Victoria Saunders.
I gasp and can’t hold back the tears.
Momma says, “He filed this the day after you told us… He was so proud of you, Love. As am I.”
She looks at me and asks, “YOU’re sure this is what you want, right? To start back to school after break as ‘Melissa’?”
I nod and bite my lip. I say, “More than anything, Momma. The only thing I want more is for Daddy to come through that door…”
Momma says, “Well, we’re going to have to get you an appropriate wardrobe… We can’t go overboard with our current budget. We will have to check out the second hand stores to get you started, but you can find some really good things there.”
I say, “That’s fine, Momma. Don’t worry—I’m sure we’ll figure it out…”
We are both surprised when the doorbell rings. I give Momma a questioning look and she shrugs. I get up and go open the door.
I am surprised to see an officer at the door—a female. She smiles at me and says, “You must be Melissa. I am SO sorry for your—our—loss, Hon. I am Jenny Graves—do you mind if I come in and talk to you and your mother?”
I hold the door open wide and let her in. She follows me into the kitchen where Momma is curiously waiting. I say, “Momma, this is Officer Graves. She wants to talk to us…?”
Momma waves her in and says with a wan smile, “Hi, Jenny. It’s been too long. How are you holding up?”
Jenny fights back tears and waves at her eyes. She says, “Gracey is holding up. She is here because of Rob. There are no words…”
They both fall into each other’s arms. I finally remember where I have seen her—she was pushing the girl that Daddy saved in her wheelchair at the funeral.
Momma looks at me and says, “Melissa, Love, this is Jenny—she is Grace’s Momma.” She takes a deep breath and asks, “How is she doing?”
Jenny says, “The bullet grazed her spine. She will walk again, but only after intense physical therapy. She won’t be a cop out on the streets again. But she will live to do a desk job—or whatever else she chooses…”
She lets out a sob and says, “I’m SO sorry, Gwen! I wish it had been ME—Rob didn’t deserve this!”
Momma gasps and says, “NONSENSE! Jenny Graves, you listen to me! If it had been you, then Gracey, Emma, and Johnny would be without a Momma. Jeff would be without a wife. Five good people died because of a COWARD. NONE OF THEM DESERVED THIS! But, Rob wouldn’t have traded what he did for anything. He died saving Gracey. The doctors assure me that he felt no pain—but, I know that he died in peace knowing that he did what he could.”
We all sob in a group hug.
Jenny nods and says, “I…know. Rob was like that. There was never a more decent person.”
She sighs and takes a deep breath. She looks at me and asks, “Melissa, can I ask a favor of you? It is…extremely unfair… I know it is, but Gracey feels so guilty… I can only hope that you harbor no ill-will towards her…”
I gasp in shock and almost scream, “Of course not!”
Jenny looks relieved. She asks, “Could you…come home with me and talk to her…? She is withdrawing from me and the world… She graduated early from high school and whizzed through the academy. She is actually only about five years older than you… She just needs someone to connect to… I am afraid to lose her to depression. I know you have your own demons to fight right now…”
I sit there, stunned. What can *I* do?
Momma looks at me and just silently nods at my unasked question.
I look back at Jenny and say, “I can try… Sure.”
I follow Jenny to her door. My steps get slower as we approach it—I am suddenly so self-conscious.
Jenny turns and gives me an encouraging smile. She says, “Hon, I want you to know how much I appreciate you doing this.”
I choke back a sob and say, “I…I…I don’t know if I can!”
Her face falls for the briefest of moments. Then she comes over and hugs me and says, “I can’t blame you if you blame her…”
I push back and say forcefully, “No! It’s not that. Not at all… I…I…I…don’t know how to relate to…other girls… I don’t know what to say…how to act… I don’t know HOW to HELP her…!”
Jenny pulls me back into a fierce hug and says, “Just be yourself, Hon—just be yourself…”
I wipe away my tears and bite my lip. I nod—still very unsure of myself…and follow her in.
I see Grace sitting by the kitchen table in her wheelchair. She has that same haunted look on her face. It is replaced with one of shock when she sees me come in behind her mother. Her face pales and turns into a mask of shame. She turns the wheelchair around so that she is facing away from us and I see her back shaking with her sobs.
I look at Jenny and she just frowns.
I sigh and go over to the miserable girl. I sit down in the chair next to her and put my hand on her shoulder. I just sit there quietly and wait.
It takes nearly twenty minutes, then she finally turns her head. I have never seen a more miserable face. I swivel her chair to face me.
I take her hands in mine—they are ice cold. I steel my resolve and say, “Grace. I’m glad you’re alive. You are a memorial to my Daddy—he didn’t die in vain. Don’t you DARE dishonor him by pitying yourself!”
She gets a REALLY shocked look on her face. She wasn’t expecting that. She sobs and shrieks, “You think that’s what I’m doing? PITYING myself? REALLY?”
I shrug and ask, “If not that, then…what?”
She says in a near whisper, “He shouldn’t have… I don’t deserve to live over him…”
I squeeze her hand and say, “No, you don’t… NEITHER of you deserved to die. But, he chose to protect you. He was successful. It sucks that he died.” I take a shaky breath and can’t stop the tears. I say in a trembling voice, “It sucks SO much! But, you lived. You may not be able to get out there anymore on the streets as a cop—but don’t make his sacrifice meaningless! Do SOMETHING with your second chance! Do SOMETHING other than sit here and sulk! I don’t intend to let this go… I don’t know WHAT I can do, yet…but, *I* won’t let my Daddy’s death be without a cause!”
She looks like I slapped her. Then she gets a strange look in her eyes. She motions me to lean over and she hugs me. We cry together for quite some time.
She sniffles as she breaks the hug and says, “Girl, you’ve got balls!”
I pale as she says that and ask, “What? That was uncalled for!”
She gives me a blank look and says, “I only meant you have spunk. What? Why…?”
I could tell she didn’t mean it the way I took it, at all… I say, “I guess your Mom didn’t tell you…sorry. I am still very much on edge about it… I never know how I come across… I…” I let the sentence drop…
Jenny comes in at that moment and says, “It’s alright, Melissa. No, Gracey didn’t know…and that was high praise coming from a woman cop to another woman.”
I nod and wipe a tear away. I look at Gracey and say, “I am transgendered. I just came out to…to…to…” My voice breaks…and I can’t go on.
Jenny looks at Gracey and finishes for me, “She just came out to her parents about two weeks ago…”
Gracey pales and says, “Oh, Melissa. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean it! I never would have guessed. Honestly! Like Mumma said, it was a complement!”
I smile through my tears and nod. We all hug and Jenny gets up to get us some lemonade. We sit and talk for a bit. Gracey starts opening up more and more as we talk. I find out that she has to wear a brace for several weeks before she can even attempt physical therapy and walking again. The bullet came very close to permanently paralyzing her.
I also find out that Jenny, while a full-fledged policewoman, is currently a dispatcher for the precinct. She chose to come off of the streets when Jenny was born—and continues to do so until Johnny, the youngest, is out of school. She will reevaluate at that time; although, she may have to do more ‘active’ police work until the dead officers have been replaced and the wounded are back in place.
Jenny is about to take me back home when the door opens and Emma comes in. She gives me a strange look and I blush. Finally, she recognizes me and she asks, “Greg Saunders? Is that really you?”
I nod and say, “Well, yes, but not really. I’m officially Melissa, now.” Emma is one grade ahead of me—Johnny is one behind me.
Emma shakes her head and says, “I almost didn’t recognize you. When did you decide to join the better half of society? You look good, girl! I am SO sorry about your Daddy…”
I bite my lip to stop the tears from coming again and say, “Umm…thank you. It’s hard on ALL of us. I…have been Melissa for as long as I can remember, really—I just didn’t admit it to anyone. I came ou…ou…out…”
I break down and cry again. Emma comes over and gives me a hug. Gracey says, “She came out to her parents two weeks ago… They both fully supported it.”
Emma carefully pushes me back but holds on with both arms and says, “Well, Hon, you look awesome!”
I can’t help but smile through the tears and say, “Thank heavens for waterproof mascara, right?” I shake my head and say, “I was just getting my feet on the ground when all of this happened. Momma had made an appointment to get my hair fixed, but we couldn’t make it…I don’t even know where to begin with it… I don’t really know HOW to be a girl—other than what I have learned on YouTube.”
I had always pushed what I thought was the limit of keeping my hair on the longish side. Little had I known at the time that I could have pushed much more… As it is, though, it is long enough for a short girl’s style, but still cut in a boyish one.
Emma plays with it and says, “It wouldn’t take much to make is SO cute—but, it does need a trim to make it work.”
Jenny looks at Emma and asks, “Do you think there is an opening at Francesca’s tomorrow? I’ll pay for it.”
Emma says, “It won’t take but a minute to find out.”
I give Jenny a questioning look as Emma pulls out her phone and dials a number. Jenny says, “Emm has a summer job at Francesca’s. It’s a high-end salon and spa here in town.”
Emma looks up and says, “They have a full-package opening at ten?”
Jenny nods and Emma turns back to her phone.
I look between the two of them, not understanding. Emma hangs up and says, “I don’t go to work tomorrow until 9:30. If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes before your appointment, I can pick you up at your house at nine?”
I nod. Then I ask, “Appointment? Pick me up for what exactly?”
Emma says, “Don’t worry, Lissa—you’re going to LOVE it!”
Jenny says, “I better get you home, Hon. I promised your Momma that I would have you back by five.”
I nod, still confused, and say, “Yeah, I promised to help her study for the last final she has tomorrow. She only has this semester and one more left, then hopefully she can pass the bar. It’s really too bad that she has to try and find a job now, too. I am going to try and find something for the summer, as well. I haven’t told her yet, though.”
I hug Gracey and Emma and follow Jenny out to her car, still not sure what this appointment is all about.
It is a short ride home. On the way, I ask, “Jenny, I appreciate the offer of the spa visit. But I can’t let you pay for me…”
She says, “Nonsense, Hon! You did wonderful with Gracey—I can’t pay you enough. Trust me! Don’t worry about the cost. It’s not as much as you think—I get Emm’s discount. You WILL love it—I can promise you that, girl!”
She stops in front of the house and I say, “Yes, Ma’am. OK…I’ll talk to Momma. If she is OK with it…”
Jenny reaches over and gives me a hug. She says, “You tell her to call me if she doesn’t. As far as I’m concerned, you’re family now—that’s what family does; we look out for one another!”
I walk up the sidewalk and wave to Jenny as she drives off. I enter through the front door and go to the kitchen where Momma is fixing supper.
She looks at me and asks, “Hi, Love. How did it go? How is Gracey?”
I sigh and say, “I think she is better. We talked a lot… She still has to wear her brace for several weeks before she can start therapy to walk again. She was really feeling guilty about Daddy. I told her that he would not want that. After a while, I think she understood that WE don’t hold HER responsible for what happened. I think I got her fired up to play whatever part she can in bringing that bastard to justice that DID, though.”
I blush and say, “Sorry, Momma—I shouldn’t have cussed.”
She comes over and hugs me. She looks at me seriously and says, “No, young lady—you shouldn’t have. That doesn’t mean that the word you used is wrong, however. He or she IS a bastard! Unfortunately, still a free one…”
She sighs and asks, “Do you want to help get supper ready then quiz me for my final while it cooks?”
I nod and start making the salad. I say, “Momma, Jenny got Emma to set up an appointment for me at Francesca’s tomorrow morning. I guess that is some spa here in town. Emma works there and Jenny said she is going to pay for it…some ‘full package’, whatever that is. I told her I would have to ask you. I don’t feel right with her paying, but she said she gets Emma’s discount. She said you could call her if you have a problem with it.”
Momma looks at me and smiles. She says, “You look so girly already that I forget that you’ve not had the benefits of BEING a girl for very long. Yes, Francesca’s is a spa—a very high-end one. There are usually long waiting lists to get in. You’re right, though, Jenny shouldn’t be paying for you to go. I’m sure it’s not cheap even with Emma’s discount. Let me call her right now.”
She wipes her hands on a cloth and gets her phone out of her purse. I absentmindedly think that I need to get a purse, too…
Momma places the call and is talking to Jenny after just a few rings. The conversation doesn’t last long and Momma ends it with, “Well, if you’re sure, Jenny… OK… I will make sure she is ready at nine. My final is at eleven, then I have a couple of job interviews. I won’t be home until late evening, at best. No…you don’t… OK, OK, already! You’re a true friend, Jenny! Bye—I’ll see you tomorrow evening, then!”
She hangs up and says, “Well, not only are you going to the appointment in the morning, we’re BOTH having dinner with the Grave’s tomorrow evening.” She giggles and says, “I really told HER, didn’t I?”
I giggle with her and say, “Yeah! You sure did!”
We finish putting supper on and I spend an hour quizzing Momma on her notes for her final in the morning. I have little idea what I am quizzing her on starting out, but by the time we are done, she has explained it all to me and I have a basic grasp of the case law she is studying. Having to explain it to me helps her learn. I have been doing this for quite some time with her and have actually learned a lot—she thinks I could even find a job later as a paralegal when I’m older with what I am learning.
We eat our supper after that and clean up. When we are done, she says, “Love, why don’t you wash up and get into your pajamas? We can watch a girly movie and relax with a bowl of popcorn. What do you think?”
I giggle and say, “You’re on! Just don’t burn the popcorn, this time!”
She play-swats at me and says, “GO! Wash up, you little brat!”
I clean all of the makeup off of my face and put on the nightgown that Momma gave me the night that I came out. It will always be my favorite one. I go back down and she is turning on Netflix—the popcorn is already popped and waiting. She is in her PJs and has a glass of wine. I go to the kitchen and grab a glass of grape juice.
We go through and find a romantic comedy that I haven’t seen and I curl up next to her on the couch. By the time the movie is over, we are both crying and laughing at the same time.
After we carry the dishes into the kitchen and out them into the dishwasher, Momma wishes me a good night and says, “You won’t need a lot of makeup in the morning, Love. You will just have to wash it off at the spa, anyway. Also, just wear something comfortable. I know you don’t have a lot, yet, anyway. I hope we can go this weekend and find you some treasures.”
She seems sad, again, that she can’t afford to buy me a whole brand-new wardrobe.
I smile and hug her as I say, “That sounds perfect, Momma! I look forward to going out shopping with you. You ARE my best friend, you know!”
She smiles and gives me another sad look. I don’t know why, but my attempt to cheer her up only seemed to make her even sadder.
The doorbell rings and I hurry to answer it. I smooth down the short sundress that I had borrowed from Momma. I also borrowed the leggings that I have on under it. The ballet flats are mine—one of the pairs that Momma had bought me before…
Emma smiles at me and gives me a big hug. She asks, “Are you ready, Lissa?”
I blush. I’m not used to being called Melissa, yet—let alone any shortened ‘pet’ version of it. I kind of like it, though.
I nod and say, “I think so. Do I look OK? I don’t have a lot of options, yet. I have to mainly borrow things from my Momma…”
Emma smiles and says, “You look fine, girl. You’re not going to be wearing clothes most of the morning anyway…just a robe.”
I stop in my tracks and say, “I…I…I…can’t do that, Emma… I mean…”
Emma looks at me, confused. Then she shakes her head and says, “Don’t worry, Hon. They don’t care about those kinds of things… You’re a client.”
I shake my head and say, “But…”
Emma grabs both of my hands and pulls me towards her car. She is walking backwards and looking me in the eye. She says, “Lissa! It will be fine! Trust me!”
She lets go of one hand and opens the passenger door. She pushes me in and closes the door. She hurries to the driver’s side, gets in, and takes off quickly. Honestly, she scares me a bit the way she pulls out onto the main road without really looking.
I look at her and ask, “So…how long have you had your driver’s license?”
She giggles and says, “Three weeks. Why?” She giggles some more and asks, “Do you have a problem with my driving?”
I sigh and try to get my heart to slow down. I say, “Ummm…just get me there in one piece, so I can die of embarrassment once I get there.”
She laughs and concentrates on what she is doing until we get there.
The spa is on the other side of town and is a huge, ultra-modern structure outside the town’s largest mall. I hesitantly follow Emma in and she signs me in at the receptionist’s desk.
She says, “Gina, this is Lissa—she’s got the 10:00 slot with Becks… Lissa, this is Gina—our bestest receptionist.”
Gina giggles and says, “Our ONLY receptionist! I sure wish they would hurry up and find someone to help out… Anyway… It’s nice to meet you, Lissa!”
I smile—her bubbly nature is contagious and I feel myself calming down and becoming more at ease.
Emma says, “I have to go clock in. Gina here will keep you company until it’s time for Becks to come get you.”
And she hurries off down a hall.
Gina looks at me and asks, “Do you drink coffee? Would you like some?”
I shake my head and say, “I don’t… I mean I’ve never tried it…”
Gina says, “No? What’s WRONG with you, girl? Let me fix you right up! One virgin’s coffee coming right up!”
I do a double-take and she giggles. She busies herself at the Keurig machine and soon hands me a cup with some white frothy-foamy stuff on top.
I sniff at it and she giggles again.
She says, “Go on! Try it! It won’t bite you!”
I take a careful sip and expect something bitter—instead, it is almost sickly sweet. After a couple of sips, though, I have to say, “Huh! This is actually not half bad—although, I’m not used to anything THIS sweet.”
Gina giggles and says, “That’s how we get virgins to drink it! Coffee-virgins that is!”
I roll my eyes and blow on the hot liquid and take another sip. I could get used to it…
By the time I am done with the ‘coffee’, another girl, probably in her early twenties, and absolutely gorgeous, comes out.
Gina smiles and says, “Hi, Becks! This is Lissa, your ten o’clock. Lissa, meet Becky. She will be your spa and salon guide for today. Enjoy it, Hon. Becks, this is Lissa’s first spa experience.”
Becky comes over and gives me a girly hug and says, “Welcome to Francesca’s, Lissa. Come on back and let’s get you started.”
I follow her, once again with trepidation, down the hallway that Emma had disappeared down half an hour ago. She takes me to a private dressing room and uses a key card to open the door. She hands me a fluffy, really soft pink robe and says, “OK, Lissa. Just get undressed down to your lingerie and put on this robe. Then come through that door…,” she points to a door on the opposite wall from where we entered, “…I’ll be waiting on the other side. Don’t worry about your things in here; they’re perfectly safe.”
I nervously say, “Becky… Umm…did Emma tell you about me…”
Becky looks at me and says, “She just said that you have had a very bad time… I’m so sorry about your Daddy… She said that you really deserve to be pampered… Why?”
I shake my head and say, “I…I…I’m not really a girl…”
She doesn’t skip a beat and says, “Well, you could have fooled me! Why are dressed like one, then?”
I stutter, “Well, I mean I AM a girl…but…I was born in a boy’s body…”
She smiles and says, “OK…it’s a good thing you’re doing something about it, then! What’s the problem?”
I shake my head and say, “I…I…I still have…” I point to my crotch.
She giggles and says, “OH! Don’t worry, Sweetie. We won’t be working down there…and even if we were…it wouldn’t bother me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another girl like the rest of us. OK?” She gives me a serious look, then a wink.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding in one big whoosh. I nod and smile at her. I just say, “Thanks, Becks… Is it OK if I call you that?”
She giggles and says, “Only my girlfriends call me that, so, of COURSE it’s OK!” She disappears through the door to wait on me and closes it behind her.
I strip down to my panties and training bra. Of course, there is no need for a bra at this point, but Momma had insisted that I start wearing one when I started wearing panties. I put my dress on a hanger and hang it on the hook in the small closet. I neatly put the leggings and shoes in the closet, as well—then I put on the soft robe. It feels like heaven—and smells like it, too. It gives off a soft floral scent.
I step into the slippers that are waiting for me and reach out for the doorknob to let me into the inner sanctum of the spa—and hesitate. I step back and sit down on the padded chair. I breath in and out—ever so slowly—to calm my nerves. I tell myself it will be alright—that THIS is what girls LIVE for!
I close my eyes, take one more deep breath, and hurry to the door and open it before I can change my mind again.
Becks is standing right there waiting for me with a bright smile on her face. She takes my hand and asks, “Are you ready, Lissa?”
I give her a nervous nod and bite my lip.
She says, “OK, we’re going to start out with a facial and mani-pedi. If you need any waxing done, we will do that after that. Then, we’ll get your hair trimmed up and styled. Finally, a full makeover. How does that sound?”
It sounded like heaven to me—but a very scary heaven. I say, “It sounds really wonderful, Becks. But this is ALL so new to me.”
She smiles and says, “Don’t you worry one little hair on your pretty head, Lissa. You’re going to LOVE this. Has anyone told you that?”
I sputter out a laugh and nod. Finally, I say, “Only EVERYONE I have talked to about this!”
Becks giggles and says, “OK, then! Let’s get going, so you can see we aren’t all lying to you.”
She leads me to a small room that has a big chair in it; it looks kind of like a luxury recliner with weird extensions on it. She takes me to a sink and has me remove my makeup and wash my face. Then, she has me sit down in the chair and it starts to recline. It is really soft and comfortable as I sink down into it.
She looks at me and asks, “Do you have any particular look in mind, or do you trust me?”
I shrug and say, “I have no idea what to tell you to do, so, I will trust your judgement, Becks. I mean, I don’t want slutty, or anything… Just a cool, teenage look?”
Becks nods solemnly and says, “Cool, teenager look it is! Now just close your eyes and relax…”
I close my eyes, as instructed, and soothing music starts playing as this floral scent permeates the air. I feel her start spreading some sort of…goop on my face. I force myself to relax…
Soon, I am almost in a trance as the stuff on my faces starts to dry and pull on it. In the meantime, I feel her start working on my hands. She rubs them and then starts messing with the nails… I almost fall asleep; it feels so nice to have her calmly doing whatever it is she is doing.
Soon enough, she starts working on my feet—in a similar way she did my hands. Rubbing them with lotion and smoothing them down with what feels like a gritty substance, then more lotion. Then starts working on the nails.
Before I know it, she is peeling the stuff off of my face and gently washing it with a warm, scented washcloth. I feel her gently rub in some lotion and then gently pat my eyes.
I feel like I am floating on a cloud when she quietly says, “OK, Lissa. You can open your eyes, Hon. It’s time to go take care of your hair…”
I open my eyes and blink. I am not sure if I fell asleep, or not—I don’t think I did… I look at the clock and can’t believe over an hour has passed by. I feel the chair’s back start to rise and look at my hands.
I gush, “Oh, my! What a pretty pink!” My fingernails are much longer than they were before and a deep, glossy pink.
Becks smiles and asks, “You like it? I gave you quarter-inch extensions and the color is a very tough and chip-proof gel polish.”
I nod vigorously and look down at my toes. They match perfectly.
I sit up and ask, “Is it OK to put my feet into the slippers?”
Becks giggles and says, “Of course. The gel is set with an ultraviolet light. The slippers won’t mess them up, at all.”
I nod and wiggle them to enjoy how the overhead light plays on the ultra-smooth surfaces of the pretty pink nails. I slip into the shoes and follow behind Becks as she leads to me to another room.
On the way, she says, “You won’t need any waxing at the moment…your legs and underarms are still perfectly smooth. Once you enter puberty, that will change, though. I assume you’re on hormones?”
I shake my head and say, “Not yet… I am on a blocker, though, to prevent any male developments.” I don’t mention that I have NO idea when I might actually ever get onto the female ones.
She says, “Good girl! Well, once you start hormones, even female ones, you will have body hair growth that you will need to take care of. It will be finer than what you would have with those nasty male hormones, but you still don’t want to be a hairy woman, right?”
I shake my head and say, “No! Not at all! Ewwww! Gross!!!”
She giggles and takes me up to another gorgeous woman—it seems that everyone that works here is absolutely stunning. She says, “Lissa, meet Paula. Paula, meet Lissa. She has opted to let us be her guide to a ‘cool teenager’… She is all yours for the next one to two hours, depending?”
Paula says, “Hi, Lissa. It is really nice to meet you! So, you’re still OK with me picking the style?”
I nod and say, “Hi, Paula. Yes, please…”
She takes a sort of critical look as she circles around me and then looks back at Becks. She says, “Give us at least an hour and a half—likely, two…”
Becks nods and says, “Have fun, Lissa. Paula is our best stylist. I know you will look awesome when she’s done!”
I smile and Paula leads me to a sink and has me sit down in the chair in front of it. She tilts it back and places my neck in the depression in the front. She washes and rinses my hair, twice, then wraps a towel around it like a turban. She leads me to an adjustable chair—like any other I have ever seen in salons—to begin cutting it. I notice right away that there is no mirror, though—it is covered up. I can’t see what she is doing.
After she raises the chair to the proper height, she starts combing out my wet hair. She combs it this way and that. Every so often, she makes a small snip. This goes on for about half an hour. There is not much hair hitting the floor, but, somehow, I get the feeling that my look is changing drastically.
Once she seems satisfied, she starts putting little pieces of aluminum foil in my hair. She then mixes up some goop that smells really bad—like ammonia, or something. She surprises me when she starts spreading the stuff in my hair—it feels gross and smells worse!
She puts me under a hair dryer, turns it on, and sets a timer. She hands me a teenage, girly magazine and says loudly that she will be back in twenty minutes.
I nod and am soon engrossed in an article on skin care. I jump in surprise when the timer dings.
Paula comes back over and I hand her the magazine. She removes the hairdryer and takes out the aluminum foil. She starts combing and snipping again. After a few minutes, she takes me back over to the sink and washes my hair again. This time, she applies stay-in conditioner before taking me back over to the chair.
She puts some sort of product into my hair and gets out a blow dryer. She teases my hair with her fingers as she dries it. Finally, she turns off the blow dryer and steps back. She makes a couple more small snips and seems pleased.
She reaches up and takes the velour cover off of the mirror allowing me my first look at her work. I look in the mirror and gasp—in a GOOD way!
My hair, usually sort of a dull dark blonde, now has dramatic light blond highlights. It is cut in an asymmetrical, spikey pixie cut (or so she tells me as I admire it). I am completely blown away.
She asks, “So, Lissa, do you like it?”
I am nearly bouncing in excitement as I say, “Paula, I LOVE it! Thank you, so much!”
She smiles and says, “You’re very welcome, Dear! I wish it could make up for what you have gone through these past weeks…but, I want you to know that I want you in here once a month, so that we can make sure that we keep it in shape—do you think that you want to grow it out?”
I nod my head and say, “Yes, I do want to grow it out—but, I’m afraid that I can’t afford to come in every month…”
Paula says, “Now, don’t you worry about that! I said you come in, OK? I already have you on my books. If you don’t come in, I’ll sick Emm on you!”
I giggle and say in an unsure voice, “OK, Paula, if you say so…”
Paula hugs me and Becks comes in. She gives a little scream and says, “Lissa! You GO, girl! That look is AWESOME on you! Didn’t I tell you that she works wonders?”
I nod my head, once again a little overwhelmed. I thank Paula again and follow Becks to yet another room. This one is full of well-lit mirrors with a chair in the middle of them. There are all kinds of cosmetics in pull-out trays…
Wide-eyed, I sit down in the chair and Becks starts to grab a bunch of little bottles. She is gibbering away about what she is preparing to do…what cosmetics she is going to use and why. Before she starts, she plucks my eyebrows and shapes them into wonderfully tapered, high arches. She then glues individual, semi-permanent eyelash extensions onto my upper and lower lashes.
After that, she walks me through step-by-step how she does my makeover. Thanks to my hours on end of YouTube videos, I can follow along, but she can actually tailor the cosmetics to my specific facial features. When she is done, I feel like a pixie-fairy princess with my hairstyle and light, flirty cosmetic-enhanced look.
I look at my high, pink cheeks and deeply glossed, frosted pink lips. She has expertly put dramatic eyeshadow on my lids—dramatic, but still not glaringly in your face. With the thick eyeliner and mascara, my eyes really pop out of my face and draw everyone’s attention straight to them, then straight down to my lips.
Becks says, “This isn’t a school look, by any means… But, it is certainly appropriate for an evening out—even for a near fifteen-year-old. What do you think?”
I gush, “OMG, Becks! I LOVE it…the whole package! You were so right, I certainly did LOVE this! It was a such special treat—I just still don’t feel right with Jenny paying for it…”
Becks gives me a funny look and asks, “What? They didn’t tell you, yet? No, I guess not… When Frankie found out that you were here, she immediately made it clear that you will have a full session a month until you graduate from college, Hon. She was devastated at what happened… Your Momma will receive the same…in the future, if you want, you can even do mother-daughter sessions.”
I feel dizzy and sit down, stunned, on a nearby bench. I wave air at my face to not cry…I don’t want to mess up my beautiful makeup. I’m not sure if it’s waterproof.
Finally, I ask, “Is she here? I have to thank her!”
Becks nods and says, “Why don’t you get dressed and I will take you to see her.”
She takes me back to my little dressing room and I quickly get back into Momma’s dress and leggings. I step into my shoes and grab the little purse that I had also borrowed from Momma—not that there is much in it.
I open the door to the outside hall and Becks is there waiting, once again full of smiles.
She says, “That dress is really cute on you, Lissa.” She motions for me to follow her and she keeps talking as we follow the hallway deeper into the building. We finally emerge on the other side in an atrium. There are offices all around and she takes to me the door that is obviously the one leading to the main office.
She knocks lightly and there is a near-immediate, “Come in!”
She opens the door and ushers me forward. I see, what else, but the most stunning woman of them all.
She smiles and says, “Hi Becks, who are you bringing me here?”
Somehow, I know that she knows…
Becks says, “Frankie, this is Lissa… Lissa, this is Francesca, the owner and my boss.”
Francesca gets up and grabs both of my hands and pulls me into a fierce hug. She takes a deep breath and pushes me lightly back. She says, “I am so sorry for your loss, Lissa. There is no way that this community can repay its debt to you and your Momma, but I am going to do what little I can…”
I shake my head and say, “Thank you so much for today, Miss Francesca. But, that is way too much—what Becks was telling me.”
She emphatically shakes her head and says, “Nonsense, Hon! And call me Frankie—that’s what all of my friends call me. I assume that you had fun today?”
I lower my head and bite my lip. Then I look up through my new long bangs and nod. I say, “I did, but it seems…somehow…wrong, so soon…”
Frankie pulls me into another deep hug and says into my hair, “No, Love… I don’t think your Daddy would want you to quit living. Isn’t that what you just told Gracey, yesterday? Emm told me all about what you did for her…”
I fight back tears and just nod into her comforting bosom. She lightly strokes my hair and pushes back. She says, “OK, then—we don’t want to mess up Beck’s lovely work before your Momma gets to see it, do we?”
Becks tsks and comes over. She hands me a plastic bag and says, “This is the makeup I used on you today—it should get you through the month. You know how to use it. If you have any questions, Emm can certainly help—she is really good. Or, I am happy to help any time.”
I say, “Thank you, so much, Frankie and Becks. You are really too kind to me… I have been wanting my own makeup forever—using Momma’s is a little limiting.” I blush and continue, “I just can’t afford it—and neither can Momma, right now… What with everything going on…and needing a whole new wardrobe and everything. I really need to find a job…”
Frankie looks at Becks and gets a huge smile on her face. She asks, “You’re looking for a job?”
I nod and say, “I haven’t told Momma, yet, but I really want to help out over the summer—and as much as I can during school.”
Frankie motions for me to sit down and says, “Would you be interested in a job helping out at reception and maybe sweeping the floors or running supplies? It’s not a lucrative job and you’re barely old enough to qualify, but I think we could work something out—maybe on the same schedule as Emm so you can ride in with her. In addition to your pay, you would also qualify for the employee discount on products.”
My eyes light up at the thought. I nod my head and say, “I would love being able to work here. I could learn so much…if I could maybe watch some, too?”
Frankie nods and says, “Yes, we can let you shadow the girls some, as well.” She hands me some forms and continues, “Take these with you and talk it over with your Momma. If she’s onboard, fill them out and come back in on Monday with Emm… I will pay you ten dollars an hour and you get a 70% discount on products and services. I also have agreements with some of the clothing stores in the mall—you would get anywhere from a 25% to 40% discount, depending, at those that participate.”
I am fairly quivering with excitement as I go back out front to wait for Emma to finish up her day, which should be in a little less than half an hour. Of course, Gina talks me into another ‘coffee’.
When Emma finally comes out, she gives out a scream and Gina jumps. She says, “Lissa! Look at you!”
Gina giggles and says, “Emm! You need to stop that! I almost peed in my pants!”
Emma giggles and looks at me. She asks, “You ready to go? I promised Mumma that we would help with supper… Sorry, you get to help cook your own meal—that goes along with being ‘adopted’ into the family!” She giggles some more and I follow her out.
On the way to her house, I tell Emma about the job offer. She lets out a whoop and nearly runs off the road. She collects herself and says, “Lissa, that would be SO awesome—and of course you can ride with me. You may even make me a better driver…I tend to pay more attention when you’re in the car with me!”
I mumble low enough that she can’t hear, “OMG! She’s worse when I’m NOT in the car?!!” I say louder, “I only hope that I can talk Momma into it—I’m not sure how she’ll feel about it. She’s funny about me wanting a job…”
Emma says, “Well, if you’re going to work at Frankie’s, you’ll have to start calling me ‘Emm’—everyone else does.”
I sigh and say, “OK, Emm…but I don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch!”
Momma arrives right at seven. I hug her and she nearly cries when she sees me. She says, “Love, you look wonderful! I so wish your Daddy could see you now…”
Jenny ushers us all to the table and when we’re all settled, she says grace. Before we start, she says, “Just so you know, Gwen, Lissa helped.”
Momma raises an eyebrow and asks, “Lissa?”
Emm giggles and says, “I guess I started that…sorry…”
Momma smiles and says, “As long as ‘Lissa’ is OK with, I certainly am—it’s cute. And, yes, Jenny, Lissa’s been learning a lot in the kitchen the last few weeks—I hope she was good help?”
Jenny smiles and says, “The perfect little helper. Please! Dig in. I’m sorry Jeff couldn’t be here…you know how it is… I swear being a firefighter is worse than being a cop when it comes to schedules…”
Momma looks at Gracey and asks, “And how are you doing tonight, Gracey?”
She smiles—brightly, even—and says, “I’m doing great, Mrs. Saunders. Lissa really helped set me straight last night.”
Momma smiles back and says, “Gracey, you’re plenty old enough to call me Jenny. I’m glad that Lissa could help. And I agree with her one hundred percent! Are we clear on that?”
She nods and says, “Yes, Ma’am… I mean, yes, Jenny…” She blushes.
Momma then looks at Johnny and asks, “And how about you, Johnny? Are you having a good summer?”
He says, “Yes, Ma’am! Any day out of school is a good day!”
We all laugh and start eating. The conversation sort of breaks out into various streams of girl talk. I feel sorry for Johnny, but am so thrilled to be included in the girly conversation that I keep getting pulled into it. He doesn’t really seem to mind much, though. He races through his meal and asks to be excused—it seems he is spending the night at a friend’s house and playing the newest video game.
Soon after that, Momma and I leave ourselves. After thanking Jenny and saying goodbye to the girls, we start to walk to the door. Emm rushes over and whispers in my ear—wanting to know if I am going to ask Momma about the job. I nod and whisper back that I will when we get home. She squeezes me in a hug and whispers back, “Good luck!”
Momma smiles when we get into the car and says, “You seem to be getting along with Emma, really well.”
I nod and say, “Yes, I never really knew her that well until today. She’s fun!”
Momma starts the car and smoothly takes off—nothing hair-raising like with Emm…
After we get going, I ask, “So, how did the job interviews go?”
Momma sighs and says, “Well, I got one offer, but it was such a low-ball offer that I can’t really afford to take it. I have a couple more tomorrow that seem promising. That’s one thing you will have to get used to as a woman, Love—we don’t get paid very well.”
I nod and ask, “Even so, Momma, can I please get a summer job? I know how you feel about it…but, I really want to help…”
She shakes her head and says, “First, if I DID let you get one, the money would be YOURS to spend on what you like—not to ‘help out’. Second, with the time I’m having, what makes you think you would have any better luck?” She looks over and winks and smiles at me to let me know that she’s teasing.
I clear my throat and say, “I…ummm…may sort of already have an offer…”
Momma looks at me again and sternly says, “I already told you that you’re not going to work at McDonald’s…”
I shake my head and say, “It’s not that, Momma. It’s at Francesca’s…”
She gives me a double-take and asks, “Really? What? How…?”
I tell her about our monthly gift…and about the offer…
Momma pulls into the garage and quietly turns off the car, deep in thought. She just sits there, sort of stunned, I think. Finally, she opens the car door and goes inside without saying anything. I follow her in, worried, and close the outside garage door as I go through the door. I inadvertently tap my long fingernails on the button and smile… It is a feeling I am going to LOVE getting used to.
She motions me to sit on the couch and she sits next to me. She gives me a stern look and says, “Melissa! Sit up straight in that dress and cross your legs—even if you DO have leggings on!”
She sighs and asks, “You really want to do this?”
I quietly nod and bite my lip.
She asks, “And Emma will take you—when I can’t? I’m still a little worried about the fact that she JUST got her license…”
I nod and keep very quiet about Emm’s driving.
She says, “The pay IS awfully good for an almost fifteen-year-old—and the perks are near irresistible… And it would allow you to get some nicer things… OK, let me see the contract…”
I hold my breath and hand her the papers. I barely breathe as she reads through them. Finally, she nods and says, “I can’t think of any really GOOD reason to stop you—other than I hate to see you grow up so quickly, Love. You should spend time catching up with being a girl—you’ve missed out on so much!”
I say, “But, Momma—this WILL let me catch up on so many things! I’ll get to shadow the girls and learn all about makeup and hair. Emm’s already said that we can hang at the mall and she’ll introduce me to her friends. This is my best chance to get to BE a girl for the summer!”
Momma comes over and gives me a tight hug and says, “I know, Love… I know. I swear you will make a better lawyer than me some day—if you choose that route!”
She quickly helps me fill out the forms and I hurry to my room to text Emm. I am excited about TWO things, at the moment… One, I can have the job; and, two, I am texting an actual friend—not just Momma!
I can almost hear Emm’s scream from several blocks away. She calls me straight away and we talk for half an hour before I know it.
Momma comes in and breaks in on the conversation. She says, “Lissa, you need to wash and moisturize your face, Love. You can talk more tomorrow. My first interview isn’t until in the afternoon and we need to celebrate. I just got the grade on my last final for this semester. Thanks to you, I aced it!”
I whoop and apologize to a complaining Emm…something about breaking her eardrum. I tell her goodnight and hurriedly wash and moisturize my face with my new products—my OWN products.
I put on my nightgown and go back down to the kitchen. Momma is pouring me a cup of herbal tea—she swears it makes me sleep better (and it may—I can’t really say it doesn’t). I sit down and she says, “We need to get up early—we need to get you some clothes if you’re going to work. They will have to be nice ones if you’re working at Francesca’s.”
My face falls—I hadn’t considered that aspect. I sigh and say, “But, we can’t afford that, Momma!”
She smiles and pats my hand. She says, “Don’t fret yet, little one. Leave it to me—we will get enough to get you started and then go from there, OK? Now, drink up and let’s go to bed.”
I say, “I do have one confession, Momma…”
She looks at me and asks, “OH? And what might THAT be? You kissed a boy?”
I giggle and say, “NO, MOMMA! I…ummm…I drank coffee, today…”
Momma’s eyebrows shoot up. She asks, “Is that right? And what did you think?”
I shrug and say, “Gina…the receptionist at Frankie’s…she talked me into it. It was all really sweet—too sweet… Other than that, I guess it was OK…”
Momma gives me a funny look and asks, “Frankie’s?”
I say, “That’s what the girls that work there—and her friends—call her.”
Momma nods thoughtfully and then says, “It’s great that she already considers you a friend, Love. Don’t take that for granted. As for the coffee—I guess you’re a working girl now, right? That certainly makes you old enough to drink coffee. But, if you’re going to—you need to drink it right. GOOD coffee doesn’t deserve to be defiled with cream or sugar!”
I giggle and kiss her on the cheek. I yawn and say, “Goodnight, Momma!”
She hugs me and kisses me on the forehead. She says, “Goodnight, Love. Sweet dreams!”
My alarm goes off at seven and I hurry into the shower. I scrub myself clean and pat myself dry. I towel my hair dry and put product in it, like Paula showed me. I blow it dry and pull on it with my fingers. When I am done, it looks almost as good as when Paula had done it.
I sit at my vanity in my panties and bra and put on my makeup. I use the same basic techniques, but lighten it up like Becks had told me to do for a normal ‘day’ look. When I am done, I am actually pretty proud of myself.
I go to my closet and take out one of my three pairs of girl’s jeans and pull them on. I pull a pink t-shirt on that says, “Girls Rule!” and giggle. I take out the sandals that Momma had insisted I get. I had resisted at the time, but am really glad that she had persevered. I strap them on and wiggle my pink toes—they look really cute peeking out the open toes.
I go downstairs and smell the coffee brewing. Momma is in the kitchen already dressed and heating up some oatmeal. She looks at me and says, “Good morning, Love. You look very pretty!”
I blush and say, “Thanks, Momma. After the pampering yesterday, it was pretty easy to get ready.”
She smiles and pours two cups of coffee. She hands one to me and says, “Here, working girl. Like I said, if you’re going to drink it, you’re going to learn to love it the right way.”
I take a suspicious sniff and blow on it. I carefully slurp in a sip and grimace at the bitterness. I say, “Momma! That’s AWEFUL!”
She giggles and says, “Just keep drinking; after the third or fourth cup, it gets better!”
I sigh and take a big bite of oatmeal to mask the taste. By the time I am done eating—and on my second cup—it really isn’t SO bad… I still wouldn’t order it voluntarily, though!
As we are putting the dishes in the dishwasher, I look at Momma and ask, “Momma… What Frankie did for me—is doing for us… Isn’t that charity? I don’t want charity…”
Momma pulls me into a hug and is quiet for a minute. I feel a tear drip on my head and hear her sniffle a minute. Finally, she says into my hair, “No, Love. I don’t think it’s charity—I mean that’s not her intent. Sure, she knows that we can’t afford monthly pamperings—but she is doing it out of a deep-seated respect for what your Daddy did. It’s a gift, Love—a gift of love, straight from the heart.”
I nod into her chest and sigh. I say, “Thanks, Momma. I just don’t want people doing things because they feel sorry for us… Daddy wouldn’t want that.”
She pushes me back and looks in my eyes. She says, “No, Love, he wouldn’t. But we also won’t disrespect his legacy if someone wants to honor him. Agreed?”
I nod and we get our purses to go.
I am fairly quiet as we ride in the car. I can’t stop thinking that I miss Daddy. I fight back tears and am really glad when Momma pulls into a parking space at the first thrift store. I look up at Momma before we get out and see that she is misty-eyed, too.
We give each other a spontaneous hug and quickly get out. We go into the store and Momma shows me how to search the racks for good finds. She pulls out some really cute stuff, but sticks to things with little-to-no wear. Some of them even still have the tags on them. Some have small stains, or seams that have come undone.
Momma says, “These are easy fixes, Love—don’t worry.”
Overall, we spend less than a hundred dollars—less than the original price on the tag still on one of the dresses. We go to three more stores like this and land several more armfuls of clothes and several good pairs of shoes.
I can’t believe how fast the morning goes by. Momma takes me to our favorite restaurant for lunch and then we go home. She helps me unload the things from the trunk onto my bed and says “I have to run, Love. I’ll be back in a few hours. Go through these and check the labels. I’m pretty sure I didn’t miss anything that requires dry cleaning. You know how to separate them out for laundry. Wash anything that doesn’t have a stain or tear, OK?”
I nod and give her a hug. She hurries off and I attack the large pile of clothes on my bed. I can’t believe they are all mine. New, there would be well over a thousand dollars of clothes. We had paid less than three hundred.
I separate the ones with small stains or tears—there aren’t that many. The rest, I separate out into piles according to temperature or colors. I start the wash and empty my closet of all remnants of Greg. I put my old boy’s clothes, neatly folded, into garbage bags to take to one of the thrift stores we had just come from.
I switch the clean clothes into the dryer and start another load in the washer. In the meantime, I get out the ironing board and the iron. Daddy had taught me to iron when I was ten. He had always pressed his own uniforms—he was proud of them and made sure that they were perfect. He also didn’t want to burden Momma with that chore—although, she would have been proud to do it for him.
By the time the first load is dry and I switch everything over again, the iron is hot and I start ironing things and putting them away in the closet. By the time Momma gets home, I am putting the last skirt into the closet.
She comes over and hugs me. She looks in my closet and says, “I’m impressed, Love. Your Daddy taught you well. He always could iron better than me!” She sniffles and says, “Oh…I got the job!”
I shriek and jump and down hugging her. Then I stop and ask, “Wait! Is it one you wanted?”
She giggles and says, “Gee, thanks for asking! Yes, it’s not my DREAM job, but it’s a good clerkship with a respected Lawfirm here in town. It pays, OK; but it will give me some good experience and exposure. Best of all, the office is by the mall, across from Francesca’s, so I’ll be able to take you to work most of the time.”
We go down and start fixing supper. While it’s cooking, Momma shows me how to get the stains out of the rest of the clothes. She also shows me how to sew up the ripped seams on the sewing machine. I put the clothes in the washing machine while we eat. I set up the ironing board behind the couch and iron them after supper while we watch a romantic movie on NetFlix.
I’m running around like a chicken with its head cut off. I’m in my panties and (useless) training bra. My hair and makeup are done…and look decent, I guess. I was too nervous to get it great. I am trying to pick out something to wear.
Finally, I take out a denim skirt with frilly lace on it, a white, lacy blouse, and pink, three-inch, open-toed, stiletto pumps. Emm had come over on Saturday and I had played mannequin for a dress-up show with my new clothes that had lasted hours. This was one of my favorite ensembles.
I twist and turn in the mirror and decide I will have to do. I hurry down the stairs and force down some oatmeal and a cup of coffee. I don’t even notice the bitterness anymore—I actually am starting to like it, much to Momma’s somewhat conflicted joy.
Momma comes down, in her own frenzy. She looks great! She pauses and looks at me. We both say at the same time, “You look awesome!”
We giggle together and give each other a hug.
Momma asks me for the hundredth time, “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”
I say, “Yes, Momma, I’m sure! You have enough to do to get there on time. Emm is already on her way. We’re going to the mall after work…I’ll text you. OK?”
She sighs and smiles at me. She says, “OK, Love! Have a great first day!”
I hug her and say, “Same to you, Momma! Emm’s here—I have to run!” I hurry out before we both start crying…
I jump into Emm’s car and she shrieks. I don’t even jump—I’m getting used to it. She says, “You look AWESOME, girl! I just knew you were going to wear that.”
We make it to work and I don’t THINK I turn prematurely grey from the ride… I am assigned to Gina for the day to learn how to do reception—although, I do get to shadow Paula for a couple of hours to start learning about hair. She even lets me wash a client’s hair. I also sweep up when she is done.
When we’re done for the day, Emm drives us over to the mall to meet up with her friends. We were going to over the weekend, but some of her friends were out of town. I’m nervous again… I know that I don’t know anything about being a girl; not really. I don’t want to make a fool of myself…and I don’t know how well they will accept, well, a girl like me.
When we get there, Emm just says, “Relax, girl. They’re all cool. And, yes, they know— and they don’t care, OK? Just chill!”
She was right, as usual. They all welcome me with open arms, literally, as Emm introduces me to the six girls. We spend the next three hours combing through dress shops, shoe shops, jewelry stores, and boutiques. I am totally surprised that the girls think my clothes are perfect—and they are blown away when I tell where I got them.
By the time it is seven, I can’t believe the afternoon is gone. I have NEVER had so much fun in my entire life. Emm and I are on the way back to her car when I get a text from Momma. She just got off work and is getting ready to leave.
I text her back that we are on our way to the car. She suggests that we meet at TGI Friday’s here at the mall—Emm included. I agree and Emm and I reverse course to the restaurant.
Momma meets us in front of the restaurant and we are quickly seated. She and I both can’t stop gushing about our days and Emm just giggles at the two of us going on.
When it is time to split up and go home, Emm hugs us both and says, “I love you guys! I’m glad Mumma decided to adopt you!” She giggles and waves bye with a twinkle in her eye as she leaves us.
Momma and I drive home; it is just a tad before nine. We get home and Momma turns on the nine o’clock news.
A chill runs down both of our spines.
The reporter says, “The sniper was targeting the fifth precinct building. One officer is dead. Several shots have penetrated the building and clipped a dispatcher. She is in critical condition. The sniper was killed by a SWAT sniper shooting back from the building. The latest information is that the alleged perpetrator was an ISIS radicalized ‘black lives matter’ extremist. It seems this may be the worst case mixture of home-grown and international terrorism… A terrorist that neither truly represented the blacks or the Muslims—just, well a terrorist that wanted to kill as many police officers as he could. Jenna Jameson reporting live…”
Momma and I are both deathly pale. I grab my phone and text Emm, “Is your Mumma OK?”
It doesn’t take but a few seconds and the text comes back, “Thank God, yes. It wasn’t her. Uncle Jake is dead. Aunt Deirdre is in surgery—they don’t think she will make it. We’re at Memorial, now.”
I show the texts to Momma and she gasps. She says, “Come on, Love. We have a vigil to attend!”
I nod and we hurry to Momma’s car. Twenty minutes later, we are at the hospital and I am hugging Jenny and Emm. Momma is hugging half the force—the other half that is left is out on the streets, making sure there were not two or more shooters…
The surgeon comes out two hours later. Deirdre didn’t make it. Her injuries were too severe. There was a collective moan and wail of officers.
I experience the deep-seated brotherhood and sisterhood of the officers truly first hand for the first time. I finally understand what Momma has been trying to tell me—TRULY understand when she tells me it’s not charity—it’s duty-bound honor.
I cry with everyone in the waiting room. The bastard killed six officers and one dispatcher—all in the name of terrorism. Seven GOOD people died because of this bastard. My Daddy was one of them.
I hug Momma and ask, “Is it OK that I’m GLAD he’s dead? Is it OK, that I really HATE this guy?” I break down in hysterics. I just repeat over and over again, barely able to breathe, “I HATE THIS BASTARD!”
Momma just holds me and rocks me until I finally cry myself out and we go home at two a.m. Frankie had already told both Emm and me not to come in the next day.
The rest of the week is a blur. After sleeping late the morning after the second shooting, Emm comes over and picks me up. Momma still goes to work. Emm takes me over to her house and she, Gracey, and I just hang out.
After we fix some lunch and sit down to eat, Gracey asks, “Lissa, I don’t mean to pry, but you ARE on hormone treatment, right?”
I intentionally take a small bite of my sandwich—not one the size that I would have used to take. I chew it slowly and wash it down with some water. I shake my head and say, “No, not really. I came out to my parents just about two weeks prior to…the incident. Daddy somehow got me into a clinic the very next day—it was almost a miracle; someone had cancelled an appointment ten minutes before he called…”
I take another small bite of my sandwich and chew it slowly while Emm and Gracey patiently await me to continue. I carefully dab my mouth, so that I don’t smear my lipstick (I learned THAT lesson pretty quickly) and go on, “Long story short, I went in that day and was put through a battery of tests, both physical and psychological. They were satisfied enough that they put me on a hormone blocker to prevent me from going into male puberty—thankfully, I hadn’t really started yet. They said I was really close, though.”
I take a sip of water and continue, “I went back a couple more times over that week and they finally approved me to go on female hormones the day before…the incident. Daddy had started picking up some overtime shifts to pay…”
Suddenly, it hits me… I sit there in complete shock. I feel the world spinning and going black.
Emm rushes over to me and near shouts, “Lissa, are you OK? What’s WRONG?”
She starts shaking me and I just whisper, barely audible, “It’s my fault… It’s all my fault… If I hadn’t come out, Daddy wouldn’t have been on that shift… He would still be alive… I killed him…”
Gracey rolls over to me and says in a stern, but very concerned voice, “Melissa Saunders! You STOP that this INSTANT! Your Daddy is NOT dead because of YOU! He is dead because of an IDIOT that just wanted to kill people in the false name of something! He was on that shift because he LOVED you! He…he…was on that shift…and…saved…my…life…”
She breaks down and starts crying, herself. Emm just looks back and forth between the two of us—not knowing what to do. Finally, she pulls all together into a group hug, which is not easy with Gracey in a wheelchair and her brace.
Gracey whispers to me, “I’m so sorry, Lissa…I’m so sorry!”
After several minutes, I am cried out—once again. I feel completely drained, I have cried so much over the past days. I squeeze first Emm, then Gracey and break the hug. I take a deep breath and say in a low, but strong voice, “You’re right, Gracey. It’s not my fault that he’s dead—any more than it’s yours. That doesn’t make it fair…”
I take a sip of water and sit there in thought. Finally, I say into the vocal void, “Anyway, the hormones and associated monitoring is really expensive and there is no way that we can afford that, right now. I’m not sure when I’ll actually get to start them, to be honest—it’s all we can do to afford the blockers, but Momma has promised me that she will make sure I can stay on them. That’s the main reason she’s gone back to work… I feel terrible that she did—just for me. She insisted, though… Maybe it’s not worth it… Being a boy isn’t that terrible, right? I mean…half the population is one. I guess I could continue on pretending to be one…”
Gracey gasps and says, “No, Lissa! That’s not an option and you know it! Besides, I don’t think your Momma would allow it now that the cat’s out of the bag. You’re stuck being one of us—where you belong! If you don’t mind my asking, who’s your doctor?”
I look up at her and say, “Dr. Simpson is my main doctor for the overall transition. Dr. Greene is my endocrinologist. Dr. Boone is my psychiatrist. Why?”
Gracey asks, “All of those doctors are in the East MediPlex, right? Dr. Simpson is my doctor, too. Isn’t that weird, since he’s a neurologist—but isn’t he dreamy?”
I nod and say, “Yes, that’s the building… But Dr. Simpson is a woman—Angela Simpson…”
Gracey says, “Oh…right… She’s Victor Simpson’s wife—I heard she worked there, too… I forgot about her. When’s your next appointment with Dr. Simpson?”
I shake my head and say, “In a couple of weeks. I have to go in once a month—for now. If I don’t go on hormones soon, that frequency will decrease once they know the blockers are working…”
Gracey nods her head and sits there looking pensive.
Emm speaks up at that moment and says, “Well, we all look a fright after our cry-fest! I think we need to do some emergency makeovers!”
Gracey’s eyes light up and she giggles, “Oooo, yeah! I haven’t had one of those all week!”
I laugh and say, “OK, I’ll clean up the dishes while you get things ready, Emm.”
We spend the next hour redoing each other’s faces. Emm and Gracey give me additional ideas on a lighter, daytime look. After we get done with that, Emm and I do Gracey’s nails. Emm shows me some tricks on how to shape the nails correctly and how to get nice even coats of polish on them, since we are using ‘normal’ nail polish and not the gel kind…
When I get the final coat of clear on her toes, Gracey says, “Thank you, both. I just wish I could actually SEE my toes!” She giggles and says, “But, Dr. Simpson says I should be able to start PT in three or four weeks. I certainly am looking forward to the prospects of getting out of this chair—even though, I know it will hurt.”
Emm and I give her a hug and Emm asks, “So, Lissa, should we go hang at the mall for a bit? Gracey, do you mind?”
Gracey makes shooing motions and says, “Go! Have fun! I have a good book with some really steamy scenes that’s calling my name!”
The first two weeks of my job fly by. I learn so much in those two weeks by just watching alone that I wouldn’t even care about getting paid—well, almost. We’ve been going to the mall a lot and there are some definite purchases that I want to make. The girls—yes, I’m really ‘one of the girls’, now!—have also talked me into getting my ears pierced again and Momma has agreed to let me. So, I do need the money…
I can’t say how much it means to me that I have been accepted by this group of girls. Hanging out at the mall is something that Greg would never have done—simply because he didn’t have the friends OR the confidence to do anything like that. Of course, hanging out at the mall as Lissa is completely different than it would have been for Greg, anyway.
While I can’t say that I have any particular interest in boys (or girls for that matter), I am certainly inundated with the discussion when I am with the group. I am fast learning the talk—even if my hormones aren’t quite where they need to be for me to have the associated emotions. When the talk is around clothes and makeup, now that is a different story…
I am fast learning, though, that orange is not just ‘orange’, there are at least a hundred different shades of ‘orange’—each with its own name. I am also quickly picking up on the different names for clothing styles and the fabrics they are made of—as well as the different types of collars and sleeves. I am in love with my new life, but always with an undercurrent of sadness. I miss Daddy.
So when Frankie hands me my first check for $586.46 (after all deductions), I am elated! I give her a huge hug and text Momma that Emm and I are going to the mall. She reminds me that I promised to put a third of the money in the bank—the rest I am free to spend.
Emm and I quickly go to the mall and I go into the local branch of bank. I cash the check and deposit one third into my savings account and the rest into my checking account, so that I can use my debit card. I also get a form to sign up for direct deposit for the future.
Then, Emm and I meet up with the girls in the mall proper. The first stop is for me to get my ears pierced the second time. I hand the girl the permission slip, signed by Momma, and pick out the earrings I want—faux pearls—to go behind my large cubic zirconia studs. The girl makes short work of the procedure and I grin as I look at my newly adorned ears. The girls all ‘ooo’ and ‘ahh’ and giggle as they hug me, en masse.
After that, we hit the clothing stores. Let me tell you, three hundred and eighty-six dollars don’t go as far in REAL stores as in second-hand ones. But the discounts Emm and I get do make a huge difference. By the end of the spree, I have three huge bags of trendy clothes, a new purse, and a new pair of five-inch stilettos to match it. I also only have fifty dollars left as spending money for the next two weeks (groan!).
Emm takes me home—and I don’t even get scared, once. Either I am getting used to her driving—or she is actually getting better. Maybe a bit of both—hopefully, more the latter. She drops me off and I quickly carry my stash into the house. Momma is already home, so I do a fashion show for her and we cut out the tags as I try things on and she approves.
As I hang the last skirt in my closet, she says, “You did really great, Love! To get all of that—and your ears pierced—for just over three hundred dollars is savvy shopping. Your friends are a good influence on you, I think.”
I blush as I think about some of the things that they wanted me to get at Victoria’s Secret, but KEEP that a secret as I say, “Thanks, Momma! Too bad it will be two more weeks until I get paid again. I think after a few more shopping sprees like this, I should have a nice basic wardrobe. I just wish shoes weren’t so expensive! I saw at least ten pairs I wanted!”
Momma giggles and says, “Well, maybe I was a bit hasty with the good influence comment!” She winks to let me know she is kidding and we go down to make supper. As we are fixing it, she says, “You remember that your doctor’s appointment is tomorrow at ten, right? Did you clear it with Frankie?”
I nod and say, “Yes, she’s going to let me make up the hour at the end of the day. Were you able to get off to go with me?”
Momma finishes peeling the last potato and says, “Yes. The same applies for me. I’ll be working a little later. I can pick you up when I’m done and we can go out to eat. How does that sound?”
I grin and say, “It sounds great to me! Can we go to Mario’s? I am really craving Italian…”
Momma laughs and says, “Mario’s it is! Now, help finish up this potato salad…”
We quickly finish up with supper and clean the kitchen and I go to bed early after cleaning my newly pierced ears and washing up.
The next morning, I get up as soon as the alarm goes off (at five a.m.) and take my normal morning shower. I pat myself dry and put on my panties and bra, then do my makeup and hair. Finally, I go to my closet and have a hard time deciding what to wear. I have TOO many choices, now—especially since both Momma, when we had gone to the thrift stores, and the girls, yesterday, had steered me towards buying things that can be mixed and matched in near infinite combinations.
I get downstairs a full twenty minutes later than normal. I am in a cute pink denim skirt and white button-up top combo. I have my new five-inch heels on and my matching purse loaded and ready.
Momma smiles at me and says, “Your feet are going to be killing you by the end of the day, Love. At least take a pair of comfortable shoes to switch out into.”
I say, “But, Momma!” I blush and continue, “OK… I know you’re right—but I do SO love these. I’ll take a pair of ballet flats in my purse, but I don’t plan on needing them!”
Momma giggles and says, “We’ll see…”
I eat my oatmeal and get outside just as Emm pulls up. She wolf-whistles when she sees my outfit and I blush. She laughs as she takes off…and another day to look forward to begins.
At nine forty-five, Momma picks me up to take me on the short ride to the doctor. After a short wait, we are ushered right in by a pretty nurse—I really like her hair; and her makeup is well-done. It’s funny how I notice such things, now.
Dr. Simpson comes in after the nurse pulls some blood and she sits down to talk to me and Momma. She smiles and asks, “So, Melissa. How are you feeling? Any ill effects from the blockers?”
I shake my head and say, “No, Ma’am. And no ill effects from what they are blocking, either!” I giggle.
She smiles and says, “I’m so glad to hear you being upbeat, Melissa. I was afraid that I was going to find a depressed little girl, this morning.” She puts a hand on both Momma’s and my knee and says, “I am SO sorry for your loss. How are YOU holding up, Gwen?”
Momma says, “I am doing OK, all things considered. Lissa and her friends are a breath of fresh air—and my summer job, between semesters, is keeping me well-occupied. Just one more semester…and hopefully the bar to go!”
Dr. Simpson nods and smiles as she looks at me. She asks, “Lissa? You prefer that?”
I nod and say, “It sort of has just evolved to that… I’m fine with it.”
The nurse knocks on the door and peeks in. She says, “The results are in the electronic file, Doctor.”
Dr. Simpson thanks her and looks at the computer. She says, “Well, I have good news…and better news.” She turns and looks at both us. She says, “Your blood values are perfect, so it seems that we have found the appropriate dosage for the blocker. I have no doubt that you would be producing a raging inferno of testosterone without them by now.”
I smile brightly.
She pauses and then says, “Lissa, I have to say you have impressed me. Not only that, you have impressed a LOT of people—and you have some very good friends. According to my husband, you prevented Gracey Graves from going into a deep depression and you challenged her to make something of the second chance your father gave her. Well, she has taken you up on that challenge—and for her first effort, she chose to campaign on your behalf.”
I gasp and give her a blank look. I look at Momma and it is clear that she has no more of an idea of what this is about than I do.
Dr. Simpson continues, “She got me, well this whole clinic, to agree to match any funds in services that she could raise for your transition. She lobbied the police department and a variety of local businesses, including, I believe, your present employer for funds. The short of it is that, together, the funds she raised and our matching services are more than sufficient to get you completely through transition, including gender correcting surgery when you’re old enough, if you so choose. There is also enough money to cover your HRT for life.”
I feel faint. I am having a hard time comprehending all of this. I ask, stunned, “I’m going to get hormones?”
Momma hugs me and Dr. Simpson simply says, “That and so much more. From what I can see, no one deserves this gift of pure love more than you, young lady. You’re as much an inspiration as your father, from what I can tell by talking to the large number of people you have touched and their willingness to pay you back. Frankie Malone simply gushes about how sweet you are…”
I swallow, “I…I…I don’t know what to say… How do I thank them? I mean, thank YOU!” I can’t stop the tears.
She says, “I’m sure you’ll find a way—if nothing more than continuing to be you. Now, about those hormones. If you’re OK with it, I would like to start you on them today…”
I let out a little scream of joy and blush.
She continues, “I’ll that as a yes…”
I vigorously nod my head.
She says, “OK. Well, there are several options. I know no one likes shots, but, for now, I think that is the best approach—weekly shots until we get you regulated and then we can look at more long-term options.”
Momma looks at me. It is clear that I am excited about the prospect of hormones—but not about the prospect of shots. She asks, “What are the other options, Doctor?”
She smiles and says, “Well, there are transdermal patches or pills. Later, we can discuss an implant. The shots really will help get the dosage right without as much trial and error—this will allow me to start out with a higher dosage…”
I don’t even let her finish—I want the most I can get as soon as possible. I have a lot of ground to make up. I say, “The shots are fine, Dr. Simpson!”
She smiles and says, “I don’t want to mislead you, Lissa. They won’t make you develop any quicker—they’re just safer.”
I sigh and nod.
She looks at Momma and asks, “Are you OK with this, Gwen?”
Momma looks at me and smiles, “Yes—I can’t say that I’m ready for a full-fledged hormonal teenage daughter, but I’m certainly ready to find out!” She giggles and winks at the Doctor.
Dr. Simpson smiles and says, “OK, Lissa. Please bend over the table there and lift your skirt.”
I do as she says. I feel her pull my panties down a bit and swab the skin with an alcohol swab—it’s really cold. She says, “OK, this will pinch a bit. It may also burn…” As she says it, I already feel the jab and her pushing the long-awaited elixir of womanhood into my bum. It does burn and I feel tears come to my eyes—but I don’t cry. I hold my head high—this is for DADDY; for what he did for me—for all of those people that made this possible because of what he did.
At that thought, I almost DO cry.
Dr. Simpson pulls out the needle and swabs over it again with alcohol. She puts a small bandage over the injection site and rubs it. She pulls up my panties and says, “There! All done! I’ll see you in a week, OK? Let me know if you have ANY trouble at all—ANYTHING that doesn’t seem ordinary. Reactions are extremely rare, but you never know for sure until it’s sometimes too late.”
Momma says, “We’ll keep you posted, Angi. Thank you again, so much, for everything!”
The two women hug and then Dr. Simpson hugs me and says, “You will now experience the ‘joys’ of hormones—you WILL become emotional… Just remember that and breathe when you feel like you’ve lost control. Once you get adjusted to them it will get better. Oh, you also need to make an appointment with Dr. Boone, now that you’re on the juice. She’ll likely want to see you at least monthly—maybe more to begin with.”
Momma nods and we go out to the receptionist’s desk where Momma sets up an appointment for me next week with Dr. Boone.
Then we go out to the car and I hug her and jump up and down. I ask, “Can you believe it, Momma? I’m on hormones!” I stop after a second and ask, “You DO think this is one of those gifts you were talking about, though, right, Momma? Not charity…?”
Momma hugs me tightly and says, “Not charity, no—not at all. Didn’t you hear Dr. Simpson? She said it herself: It’s a ‘gift of pure love’.” She stops a moment and wipes her eyes. She whispers, “I so wish your Daddy could see the young lady you’re becoming—such a lovely daughter, in all regards.”
Momma drops me off at Francesca’s and hurries back to work, herself. We are right on time. As soon as I enter the spa, I walk back to Frankie’s office. I smile as I hear my heels click on the marble floor in the hallway. That sound means even MORE to me, now that I know that I have the correct hormones in me—already starting some invisible change that means those heels BELONG on me forever.
I knock and enter after her signature, “Come in!”
She looks up and has a cat-ate-the-canary-grin on her face. I just rush over to her and hug her as tightly as I have ever hugged anyone and whisper, “Thank you! Thank you, so MUCH!”
She pushes me back and looks me in the eye. She smiles and says, “I don’t know of anyone that deserves it more, Sweetie. But, your friend Gracey did all the work. She deserves all the credit. She was one ferocious little badger-wolverine cross. She wouldn’t take no for an answer until she had enough—not that I think she got many noes to begin with.”
I nod and say, “Don’t worry. She will get more than a thank you from me—I don’t know what yet… I better get back to work—I…just had to thank you, though.”
She giggles and asks, “So, I assume that you’re OFFICIALLY one of us now…hormones and all?”
I simply nod and bite my lip as I blush a little.
She kisses me on the cheek and says, “Welcome to the better sex, Love!” She winks and I do a double-take, wondering if she really meant that the way it could be taken…
Of course, I thank Gina, Emm, Becks, Paula, and all of the other girls equally sincerely. They are all giddy that I am finally going to properly ‘develop’. Gina insists that we celebrate with a cup of coffee—I take mine, as always now, black with no sugar and grin at Gina’s face as I enjoy it.
After work, Frankie decides I don’t need to make up the hour—she calls it ‘paid sick leave’—Emm takes me by her house. We go in and I go straight to Gracey and wrap her in a fierce hug. She gives me a surprised look—she had no idea that I was going to the doctor today. I kneel down in front of her chair and take her hands in mine. I say, “Gracey, I don’t know how I can EVER thank you for what you’ve done for me—or how I can repay you.”
It finally dawns on her what I am talking about and she grins. She asks, “You’re on hormones?”
I swivel, raise my skirt, and show her the bandage as I giggle profusely.
She squeezes my hands and says, “Sweetie, you don’t owe ME anything. I was simply repaying YOU. I will also continue to pay what your Daddy did for me forward. I start PT tomorrow and hope to be able to do even more when I am finally back out of this chair. I am ahead of schedule and determined to maintain that.”
I scream and ask, “You start PT tomorrow? Emm! Why didn’t you tell me?”
She shakes her head, as clueless as I am, and says, “I didn’t know. When did you find out?”
Gracey says, “Dr. Simpson—MY Dr. Simpson—called about an hour ago and said all the tests, including my last MRI, came back good. It will be a long-haul, though… Several weeks of torture.”
I squeeze her hands and say, “I know you’ll do fine, Gracey! What can I do to help?”
Gracey shakes her head and says, “I have no idea… I don’t really know what’s coming, yet. Other than I start out with the brace on for a couple of weeks—mostly strength training, then the hard part starts when the brace comes off…”
I say, “I’ve been meaning to start using that gym membership that Daddy got me a long time ago—it’s a lifetime membership. Maybe we can train together when you find out if it’s OK?”
Gracey smiles and says, “Sure, Lissa, I would like that!”
I hug her again and Emm takes me home. We get there just as Momma pulls into the drive. I wave to Emm as she turns around to go home and I get into Momma’s car to go to Mario’s.
I sigh and take my shoes off and wiggle my toes. Momma giggles and says, “Told ya so!”
I give her a raspberry and say, “But, I made it all day without switching them out! My calves and toes are KILLING me, but it is such sweet pain—kind of like my butt.” I giggle as I rub it and Momma laughs.
Supper that night is divine—Momma even lets me have a sip of her wine. I am SO not THAT grown up, though. It tastes TERRIBLE!
I actually start going to the gym after work that next day. Momma had warned me that my body would do different things with food once I started ‘developing’ and I need to watch myself, or the family curse of ‘chunkiness’ will visit.
Luckily, one of the gym locations we are a member of (there are three in town) is near the mall and I can walk from the spa. I have a letter and other documentation that supports my ‘female’ gender, but I choose to change at the spa before going to avoid any mishaps in the locker room. I put on some stretchy leggings (and make sure no bulges show in the wrong spot) and a fitted t-shirt, along with short socks and my good exercise shoes.
It is a quick walk over and it is not the first time that I have been, but I have never gone a lot—or alone. When I did, it was always with Daddy…and it feels really strange to be here without him—doubly so, since now I am here as a girl (Momma had called and made sure that my name and gender was changed on my membership record).
I go in and they take a new picture of me and make me a new ID—they would have done that anyway, since it has been over a year since I have been. I am surprised, but no one makes any mention of the change in my identity—but, then again, I can’t say that it is even evident in the computer.
I look around, more than a little lost. The things I had done here before were with Daddy—as a boy. Those don’t seem appropriate, now. A trainer, a young guy, comes up and asks, “Hi, I’m Ian. Can I help you?”
I say, “Well, I’m trying to decide what to do… I’m sort of new here…”
He flashes a toothy smile and asks, “What are you wanting to do? Strength? Endurance?”
I sigh and say, “Mostly just get toned and flexible—and not gain inappropriate weight.”
He nods and says, “I would suggest some of the classes then to get you started. Brenda! Got a sec?” A cute girl comes over and Ian continues, “Brenda, this is…?”
I say, “Melissa—everyone just calls me Lissa, though.”
He smiles and says, “Lissa. She wants to tone and flex—and get and stay in general shape. I think starting out with classes…”
Brenda smiles and says, “Hi, Lissa. Yes, I think Ian’s right. Let me show you the class schedules. Is this the best time you can come?”
I nod and she shows me the classes she suggests: Yoga, strength/endurance training (SET), aerobics, and kickboxing. She says, “Yoga is about to start. What you have on will work, although, you’ll likely want to get better yoga clothes for the future. Also, loose-fitting clothes for kickboxing. What you have on is perfect for SET and aerobics. Come on, I’ll get you to yoga…”
I follow her to a large-windowed room at the side of the workout floor—one of many such rooms. There are a lot of people, mostly women, warming up on mats. Nobody has shoes or socks on. I have never done yoga, so this should be interesting.
Brenda shows me where the mats are and makes me pick a spot up front, close to the instructor. She introduces me to Glenda (the instructor), who promises to look out for me. They both tell me to take my shoes off and to stretch a little before we get started.
The next hour and half is then near lethal. I didn’t know the human body could contort in such ways. I also start sweating almost immediately. I am embarrassed that I could sweat by doing such little apparent work—until I see that everyone is. I later learn that the temperature in the room is also turned up—even though, a lot IS because of the workout itself. Glenda is also always right there to ‘encourage’ me to work through things—or to stretch ‘just a little more’…
When class is over, I feel like I have been run through an old-fashioned wringer. I text Momma and she comes by in about ten minutes to get me. She had just gotten off work. She smiles as I basically fall into the seat.
As soon as I get home, I take a shower and put on my pajamas, then hurry down to help fix supper and tell Momma all about the workout.
After supper, I check in with Gracey to see how PT went. As predicted, she says, “It hurt like HELL! Sorry, I shouldn’t talk like that… Anyway, they said I could start working out in the gym on top of PT next week, if you’re still interested in being my workout partner.”
I say, “Of course! I started today with some classes—well, yoga today…”
Gracey says, “Yeah…they’ve already threatened me with that for in a couple of weeks, too…”
I giggle and say good night. I hang up and Momma and I talk for a bit before we go to bed. I haven’t slept so good in a long time—although, I seem to remember some…dream…about Ian. I don’t remember everything, but I think it was a GOOD dream…
Two weeks later, on Saturday, Momma and I go to Francesca’s for our first Mother-Daughter spa session. We undress and get in our robes together in one of the family dressing rooms. It doesn’t even occur to me that a few weeks ago, it would have been really strange for me to undress in front of Momma—but even more so for her to undress in front of me.
We go out the back door and Becks meets me, while Ginger meets Momma. The process is the same as before except there is a lot more girly ‘chatter’. I feel warmly welcomed into the inner sanctum of womanhood at that moment—it is slightly different than with the girls at the mall, or even with the girls here when I am at work. I feel…well, like an adult—a woman.
When Becks starts working on my toes, she lets out a little giggle. She feels my legs, then lifts my arms. Of course, I can’t see what she is doing, because my eyes are covered while my mask sets. She finally says, “Well, girl, you’re not getting out of a waxing this time. You have official FUZZ! It’s not much, yet, just a light peach-fuzz, but certainly enough to get rid of!”
Momma giggles and says, “Oh! You’ll LOVE that! Not!”
They all giggle and I shrug—I don’t get what’s so funny. Of course, when Becks pulls the first strip off of my leg, I DO understand—and scream. The hair may only be fuzz and barely there, but it must have DEEP roots! When she is done with my legs, arms, and underarms, she massages in a soothing lotion and I really love the, once again, smooth feel of my skin.
She does my nails in a bright bubble-gum pink, this time, while Momma’s are a deep red. Paula, again, leaves every bit of length she can on my hair. This time it is a layered and feathered cut that now reaches my shoulders. I adore it. Gretta colors Momma’s hair a light blonde and adds dramatic dark strands. She also has a layered cut, but it is slightly shorter than mine and makes her look hot!
When Becks and Ginger are done with our makeup, we look like we could go to the Oscars! We both have a dramatic smoky-eyed look. I have plum lips that go with my nails, while Momma’s are a deep red that matches hers.
I didn’t know it, but Momma had put really nice clothes in the car and Gina had put them in our dressing room. It seems she had conspired with Frankie without me knowing. Surprised, I put on my best dress and my favorite five-inch heels. I change out my front holes to large hoop earrings (they just recently have healed enough to change them out—the back ones aren’t ready yet).
Momma puts on her favorite dress and (measly) three-and-a-half-inch heels.
We both look stunning. We also look more like sisters than a mother-daughter pair.
Momma smiles and says, “OK, Love. Your Momma is going to show you she still knows how to dance!”
She takes us to an under-21 club and we have a really fun time for several hours. I can’t tell you how many times I am asked to dance by guys. I am really self-conscious the first couple of times. Momma sort of pushes me out there… By the third dance, I am just having fun. By the fifth, I am having a really good time. By the tenth, I don’t have any problem going out on the dance floor with a guy—especially if he is cute.
At eight-thirty, Momma says it is time to go and get something to eat. She takes us to a fancy French restaurant and I think the waiter, who is probably still in his teens—and seriously cute, is hitting on me the whole meal. Momma seems to think it is funny, if her teasing smirk is any indication.
When we finally get home at about eleven and are getting undressed, she comes in my room and asks, “Did you have fun, Love?”
I gush, “Yes, Momma! So much!”
She gives me an evil grin and asks, “Even with the boys?”
I blush a dark crimson. I say, “They didn’t bother me…”
Momma giggles and says, “Good night, Love.” She continues in an ‘evil’ voice, “Sweet dreams!”
Several days later, I am at the gym with Gracey. We started workout sessions three days ago. She is still in her brace, but able to get out of her chair and onto equipment to strengthen her legs, like stationary bikes and leg press machines. It still hurts her, but she is making a lot of progress and should be walking again with crutches in a few weeks.
I slam the medicine ball against the wall with savage force. I go get it and do it again.
Gracey is on the bike next to where I am working out. She says, “Look, if you don’t want to be here, I understand.”
I almost drop the heavy ball on my foot and l give her a sour, but surprised look. I ask, “Whatever are you talking about?”
She says, “You’ve been in a foul mood ever since we got here. I can only assume you don’t want to be here.”
I snap back, “Of course I do—I wouldn’t be otherwise!”
Gracey asks, “Then what’s your problem?”
I say, “I don’t have…” Then I sigh and say, “Ever since Momma took me dancing, I’ve been dreaming…of boys…”
Gracey grins and asks, “And that’s a problem?”
I actually laugh and say, “No, I guess not. It just reminds me of Daddy—how Momma loved him so much… And well, that wall makes a good terrorist to beat to a pulp with a medicine ball!”
Gracey laughs and says, “Well, the fact that you’re dreaming THOSE dreams and your foul mood tells me your hormones are working in full force.”
I look at her for several seconds and say, “I guess I HAVE been a bitch, huh?”
Gracey laughs and asks, “You think?”
I laugh back and say, “Well, I guess I can now add hormonal bitch to my resume. Do me a favor and don’t let me get away with it, OK? Call me on it. I promise not to bite your head off too hard. I don’t WANT to be a bitch…”
Gracey turns up the resistance on the bike a number and grimaces. She says, “You got it. I think you need to whip the terrorists with that jump rope, though. Get with it, girl…at least three hundred jumps—you’ve got three minutes!”
I groan and rue the day that I promised to work out with the most driven police academy graduate in four decades.
I give her a dark look and say, “OK, NOW I don’t want to be here!”
The next day, I am in Dr. Boone’s office for my monthly session. She hands me my usual cup of coffee and she pours her usual hot tea.
She asks me, “So, Lissa. How have things been the last month? You’re certainly LOOKING good. Have you been working out?”
I take a sip of coffee and sigh. I nod and say, “Yes, I’ve been working out with Gracey. I started when she started PT—and now we’re workout partners. Even in her condition, she is whipping my bum, though.” I giggle.
She takes a sip of tea and waits for me to continue.
I say, “Things are going fine, I guess. The best thing is being on hormones. The worst is being on hormones without my Daddy around.”
She takes another sip and raises an eyebrow. She stays silent.
I look at her and say, “I miss him—so, sue me!”
She raises both eyebrows.
I say, “Well, I may be just a wee bit irritable lately… It all started when Momma took me dancing…”
I tell her the story. She actually giggles and asks, “And DID you dream sweet?”
I blush and bite my lip. I nod shyly.
She smiles and asks, “And…? How does that make you feel, Sweetie?”
I sigh and say, “Confused. I mean, I’m a girl—there’s no doubt. But, I was raised as a boy…it still seems…weird… I…I…I’m dreaming about them…and it makes me feel all funny inside.”
To her credit, she remains serious. She says, “Well, Sweetie. Teenage years and puberty are the definition of confusing. Do you see yourself maybe dating a boy sometime?”
I blush and say, “Uh…maybe…?”
She smiles and says, “OK. I will see you in a month. You have my number if the hormones—or anything else gets to be too much. Call! OK?”
I nod.
Three weeks later, I am walking around the indoor walking track at the gym—Gracey is on crutches beside me. Three rounds is a mile. We make it two full rounds. We only stop because she gets a cramp in her hand.
I do my regular workout while she rides the bike, then Emm picks us up and we go to TCBY for some frozen yogurt—after we get a salad at the salad bar next door. Momma has to work late tonight.
I am home in my pajamas when she finally gets home. I am watching a romantic movie on TV—and find myself fully identifying with the girl, who is totally in love with the CUTE guy.
She sits down and watches the last thirty minutes of the movie with me. I turn off the TV and look at Momma, I say, “Momma… When did you first start liking boys?”
She looks at me and says, “Hold that thought.” She gets a bottle of wine and pours a glass. She says, “What makes you ask that?”
I say, “I…I’m thinking about them more and more…in a…romantic way… And…I dream about them. Ummm…ever since we went dancing.”
Momma laughs and says, “Love—dancing didn’t start that. Although, it may have loosened you up—which was my intent. Although, you could have danced with girls, too—I wouldn’t have cared.”
She takes a sip of red wine and hands me the glass. I give her a look and she shrugs. I take a sip and grimace.
She giggles and takes the glass back. She says, “I started liking boys about your age. I had a serious boyfriend in highschool. I met your Daddy in my freshman year in college. He had just graduated from the police academy…”
She takes a large sip of wine. She smiles bitterly and then sweetly as her eyes get lost in thoughts of Daddy. She hands me the glass and I take another sip. It still tastes gross.
I finally ask her, “Momma—aren’t I too young for wine? I don’t get why you are letting me try it so much.”
She focuses back on me and smiles. She says, “Love, you know your grandparents were from Germany—your Daddy’s parents. I wish you could’ve known them. Anyway, your Daddy was raised in the European ways. It’s completely legal to drink beer and wine there at sixteen—earlier if the parents agree. I wasn’t raised that way—it seems a little weird to me. But I know your Daddy was looking forward to a nice glass of wine with his daughter…”
I nod and bite my lip. I take the glass and have another sip—and shudder.
Momma says, “We’ll drink to your Daddy on your fifteenth birthday, Love. Don’t think I am going to let you drink anytime you want—or all you want, though. Only on special occasions. It’s bad enough you’re drinking coffee!” She giggles and we go to bed.
The next couple of weeks go by quickly. Gracey gets stronger and stronger on her feet. One day, she insists that I just hold her up as we walk a round—no crutches. Then she makes it halfway around completely by herself. By the time I get my eighth hormone shot, she is starting to run around the track—dragging me with her.
All of the working out has definitely helped me get in shape—I am actually starting to develop some curves. No, I am not growing boobs yet, but I am getting really toned—my legs are looking killer and my tummy is nice and flat. I have shifted my wardrobe purchases to better display my legs—and I can’t stop buying shoes that make my calves look really good…
I feel more than just ‘good’ about helping Gracey get back on her feet—literally and figuratively. So color me WAY surprised when Momma and I get the invitation to the Governor’s annual honors ceremony that is being held here in town—it will be held fourteen weeks to the day after Daddy’s death. That is in three weeks—a week before school starts back and the day before my fifteenth birthday.
Two weeks before the ceremony, Momma and I actually go dress shopping together for this one—in real stores. I find this beautiful sapphire-blue formal (just above) knee-length gown that almost matches my eyes perfectly. The way it is cut, it shows more skin in the back than in the front—so not having a lot of (well, any) cleavage is not a big deal. Momma finds a beautiful red dress that make good use of the cleavage that she DOES have. Of course, we get coordinating shoes—mine five-inch and Momma even gets four-inch ones this time. Matching purses and other accessories follow. Thank goodness for my discounts!
When we get home, I take my dress and things to my room and carefully put them away. I look at myself in the mirror and actually like what I see—I am getting there more and more. It is funny what a difference a few short weeks can make. At the funeral, I felt all self-conscious—now, I feel a lot more self-assured. I am still really sad at the price so many people paid, not to GET me here, but that certainly paved the way forward to helping me become the person I am at this very moment.
I sigh and go down to help Momma with supper, which is now following the new diet plan we started several weeks ago. Momma and I are both really watching what we eat and are eating a lot healthier—it is really showing on her, too.
The next day at work, I start discussing the hairstyle I want for the ceremony with Paula and my makeup with Becks. I show them both pictures of my dress and they fall in love with it immediately. They both say they have some ideas and to trust them. I also show pictures of Momma’s dress to Ginger and Gretta so they can be thinking, as well.
Emm and Gina fawn over the pictures of my gown as we have a cup of coffee on break. I sit and reflect again on the fortune, both good and bad, of the price Daddy paid to get me here. I certainly would have MET Emm in school, but it is doubtful we would ever have bonded in this fashion. I would likely not have started working out, since I would never have had to be a workout partner for Gracey. I would likely not have experienced *A* spa day, let alone one a month with Momma. And…I certainly wouldn’t have the summer experience of working here—let alone the associated discounts and my current wardrobe.
I close my eyes and quietly thank Daddy for all of this—but, I would gladly give it all up just to experience one more hug from him.
Momma and I are both being pampered to the max—the ceremony is hours away and I’m not sure that we will be ready at this pace. Becks keeps telling me to just relax. She sighs and says, “Relax, girl! Or I am going to have to add a massage onto the list of things for today.”
Momma grabs my hand and squeezes it. She says, “Becky is right, Love. You need to settle down.”
I take a deep breath and nod. I use my Ujjayi breathing, a nifty trick learned in all those hours of Yoga, to calm myself down. Becks says, “Much better!”
Paula does wonders with my hair. She trims very little and it is now fully down to my shoulders—not just where it barely touches, but spills over them onto my back a little. She puts it in a fancy up-do and adds some sapphire-bejeweled hairpins to match my dress. Becks does my makeup and it is all about jewel tones that both complement and expertly contrast with the sapphire blue theme of my overall outfit. My nails are, of course, sapphire blue and longer than I have ever had them.
Momma looks stunning when Gretta and Ginger are done with her. Her makeup is done to compliment the ‘Lady in Red’ theme she has going on. Her hair is in an asymmetric up-do that is absolutely beautiful.
By the time we are both dressed, we look absolutely gorgeous. I feel like a prom queen.
We get to the ceremony with minutes to spare and are escorted to our seats in the front row. The Governor is introduced and he says a few words in an opening speech and the awards part begins.
First, there are several State employees that are recognized for various things they have done for the State. After about an hour, our Police Chief gets up on stage with the Governor and he calls all of the survivors of the shooting to the stage. They are all awarded with the States second-highest medal of honor, the Bronze Star.
We all stand and clap for them. I am SO proud to see Gracey up there with the small group—I could barely hold back the tears when she walked up to on onto the stage under her own power and on her own feet.
That group then shifts to the back of the stage and stands at full attention as the Governor calls the families of the deceased officers to the stage. Momma takes my hand and we shakily stand up and walk up with the other families that have become like our own through our grief and counseling.
The spouses or significant others all accept post-humous Bronze Stars on behalf of their missing loved ones. There is thunderous applause and a standing ovation as the last one is awarded to Momma.
Then, you could hear a pin drop—and my heart, as well, I think, when the Police Chief says, “We also are here to award Robert Saunders, post-humously with the Star for extra-ordinary bravery in the service of duty and for giving his life to save another. This comes with a promotion to the rank of Lieutenant that is retroactive to five years prior to the date of his death and with all rights and privileges afforded that rank. I would like to present this honor to his daughter, Ms. Melissa Saunders, on his behalf.”
I feel like I am going to faint as the Governor himself places the medal around my neck and shakes my hand. The audience and everyone on the stage goes wild with applause.
I am almost zombie-like at the reception that follows. I have a glass of sparkling cider (non-alcoholic, of course) and am giving and receiving so many hugs that I don’t know which way to turn next. The medal, small as it is, feels like it weighs a ton around my neck—like I am carrying the weight of Daddy with me. It is both a warming feeling and a very saddening one; truly a bittersweet one.
I wake up the next morning and realize two things—I don’t have to go to work today. My summer job at Francesca’s is over. I will still be able to work part time after school starts and I know my schedule, but until then, I am a free woman. The second thing is that it is my birthday—I turn fifteen today!
I quickly shower and get dressed, after putting on my makeup, and go downstairs—expecting to be alone in the house. I am totally surprised to find Momma in the kitchen; she is just getting off of the phone. I give her a questioning look.
She gives me a huge hug, smiles, and says, “Good morning, Love—and happy fifteenth birthday!”
When she squeezes me in the hug, I wince a little. I don’t think she notices.
She says, “I took the day off—actually, the firm is letting me stop working today, since I only had three days left anyway; they don’t really need me at the moment. I can use the time to get ready for classes next week—and, today, of course, we celebrate your birthday!”
I give her a funny look and ask, “Aren’t you going to be working there some during the semester?”
She smiles and says, “No. I discussed it with them and they agree that my time is better served focusing on passing the bar. With that promotion your Daddy got last night, our monthly check will increase quite a bit—plus, we will get five years of back pay. It is really all quite…miraculous. I can afford to not have to work and can focus on graduating and passing the bar.”
She pours me a cup of coffee and surprises me with, “Now, do you want to tell me why you winced when I hugged you?”
I blush and say, “I didn’t think you had noticed. My…ummm…my boobies are kind of sore…”
She lets out a girly shriek and says, “Love! That’s awesome! Did it just start today?”
I nod and say, “It’s the first I’ve noticed it—I was while I was in the shower… It’s not really bad—just sort of itchy and sore if you press. I am noticing, like…some tingling every now and then, too.”
Momma nods and says, “It will likely get worse, but is a great sign that you’re developing ‘up there’. Happy Birthday, Love! But don’t expect them to grow overnight, OK?”
I giggle and blush. I bite my lip and nod.
We finish breakfast and Momma takes me to the mall where she buys me new lingerie in celebration of my age and the new developments. She gets me AA-cup bras, which are still more cup than I need, since there is still NOTHING there, but they are padded and make it look more like I DO have something. Plus, they help keep my shirt from rubbing on my nipples that are getting to be quite sore.
We browse the mall for several hours without buying really much—a few pairs of earrings, and, of course, a pair of shoes. It sucks no longer having my discount, though.
Then we have a really nice lunch at Mario’s, go to see the latest romantic comedy at the movies, and go back home.
I scream and nearly faint when we walk in and Emm and the girls jump out and yell, “SURPRISE!” I give Momma a sour, ‘I WILL get you for this’ look. She giggles and I am pulled into the room full of teenage estrogen. It is pure heaven.
Of course, I get lots of presents—actually, a lot of lingerie; but not the kind that I can wear on a ‘normal’ day. Momma giggles good-naturedly as I blush when I open the packages. It seems there had been a coordinated ‘theme’ for the presents among the girls. It becomes even more embarrassing when they discover that my breasts are sore!
As the afternoon wears on into evening, more friends show up. All the girls from Francesca’s, including Frankie herself. All of the Graves stop by, too—other than Emm, of course, who is already here. I give Gracey a HUGE hug when she comes in. Of course, I wince and she has to know why. The grin on her face is definitely worth the brief pain.
I go to get the newest arrivals some punch and notice Momma pull Gracey aside. They seem to get into a pretty serious whispering match—then they give each other a huge hug. I take a glass of punch over and ask, “So…what was that all about?”
Gracey blushes and Momma whispers, “I found out that it’s all Gracey’s doing that your Daddy got that promotion. It seems she is a fierce lobbyist!”
She groans and says, “It didn’t take much, really—just a nudge to put the idea into people’s heads. It took on a life of its own from there.”
I give her another hug and whisper in her ear, “Thank you SO much! It means a lot that Momma doesn’t have to try and work while in school!”
Gracey squeezes my hand and says, “So…I have a present for you. Time to open it!” She winks and somehow I know it is another ‘theme’ gift. I blush and go to the table to open it…
At five, Emm and the girls steal me to take me out to supper and we go to the local teen favorite hangout and get burgers. They drop me back off at the house at eight after we swing by the mall for a movie.
Momma gives me a big hug once we are alone and pulls out a bottle of red wine. She says, “I promised you that we would drink to your Daddy. You only get a small glass, but this is in his honor. He had been looking forward to a beer with you when you turned fifteen—and were still Greg. Then, he reevaluated that when you revealed that you are Lissa—and he looked forward to a glass of wine. Don’t ask me why he changed the beverage of choice with your gender…maybe it was his way of changing it all in his head…”
She pulls the cork and sets the bottle out to breathe while she gets the glasses. After a bit, she pours two glasses—I am glad that I only get a SMALL glass. Based on what I have seen in restaurants, Momma’s ‘small’ glass equates to a ‘normal’ glass in most circles. She pours herself a ‘normal’ glass (by her standards) and we sit on the couch.
She smiles and her eyes glisten as she clinks her glass on mine and says, “Cheers! To your Daddy and your birthday!”
I say hesitantly, “Cheers… I wish he could be here…” I take a sip and Momma asks me about the movie. I tell her about it and sip more on the wine. I feel myself flush after a bit and a warm feeling overcomes me.
I know it is just the wine, but it is like Daddy IS here hugging me. I tell Momma that and she hugs me and asks, “How do you know he isn’t?”
The next Monday, Momma and I are at the school. The dreaded day is almost here—I will be a sophomore in high school. I will also be attending as a girl for the first time. We are in the front office making sure that all my paperwork is in order. Dr. Simpson and Dr. Boone have already supplied the school with the medical documentation. Momma has also given them the paperwork showing my legal name change.
Momma then pulls out a document that surprises me. I didn’t know she had it—in our State, it is possible to get your birth certificate changed with the proper support. Mine now reflects my new name AND that I am a FEMALE!
After everything is settled, I get my class schedule and I follow Momma out. I ask, “Momma! When did you get my birth certificate changed?”
She giggles and says, “It just came in yesterday… I still can’t believe you start on a Wednesday… What sense does that make? Anyway, you still have two days to relax… MY classes start tomorrow…” She flips her hair and puts her hand on her forehead in a faux-dramatic fashion and says, “Oh! The unfairness of it all!”
I giggle and we get in the car. I am completely taken by surprise when we don’t go straight home, though. She stops at the County Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) and ushers me inside. At first, I have no idea what is going on—until she takes a clipboard with a bunch of forms and has me fill them out… I am totally shocked, but half an hour later, we depart the DMV with my brand new learner’s permit (in my REAL name and GENDER!!!!) and a really thick book to study for the written exam.
I hug Momma and say, “Oh! Thank you, Momma! I had no idea!”
She smiles and says, “Oh…don’t thank me, yet…” I give her a curious look, but she just gives me an evil smile. Twenty minutes later, we are at a practice driving range and she gets out. She says, “Leave your heels ON—you’re so in love with them. Let’s see how you DRIVE in them…”
Actually, I don’t do TOO bad, I guess. At least I don’t damage the car any—and I just flatten ten or fifteen cones…
Momma smiles as she drives us home and says, “Well…not TOO bad. I think this is probably one of those things it’s best your Daddy DID miss. I’m not sure he would have condoned the heels. Even if he had—you would still be there. He wouldn’t have let you leave until you had it perfect…”
I vow then and there to become the best driver I can…and I think I know who I can ask to help… I smile sweetly at Momma and say, “Well, I’ll just have to do him proud then, won’t I?”
That’s how I start taking lessons from Gracey the next day while Momma is in class—I figure she is ‘cop-trained’ and certified and who could be better? Momma doesn’t know…at least not yet… I do think I give Gracey a few premature grey hairs, but I also know that I make a lot of progress even on that first day.
I want to throw up when my alarm goes off and I realize it is Wednesday morning and I am going to school as Lissa. I get up, shower, and put on some light makeup. I dress in a girly, but not overly-so, way (tight jeans and cute top; three-inch heels; matching purse; I also grab a light sweater, since the mornings are already getting cool…).
I kiss Momma on the cheek when I come down for breakfast and she hugs me. She asks, “Nervous?”
I give her a ‘really?’ look and nod. I pour some coffee and she says, “You’ll do fine, Love. Going in with Emm and her friends will help—even if they’re a grade above you. Go easy on the coffee, though—going to the girl’s bathroom at school is different than you’re used to…”
I nod—but don’t really know what she means. I don’t ask. I look out the window and see Emm pull up. I kiss Momma goodbye and hurry out—I don’t eat anything; I don’t think I could hold anything down, anyway.
Emm already has two of the other girls in the car. I jump in the back and we all give each other girly-hugs.
Emm and the girls lock arms with me and we walk into the school in lock-step—our heels (yes, we all are wearing them) are clicking loudly in unison on the worn marble floors. I guess there is no hiding myself—it is go in with your head held high and damn the consequences! Emm is just like her older sister in that regard.
We turn a lot of heads—especially boys. I never really realized that Emm and her posse were considered ‘popular’. As Greg, I was always a loner and never cared much about the social circles and hierarchies at school. Now, I find myself adopted into the popular circle (but, NOT the mean-girl one) and that already gives me a leg-up on settling in as Lissa.
Overall, the day goes…WONDERFULLY. Sure, there are some jerks that think that I am ‘weird’ (or they use worse names), but I don’t let them bother me. By being in Emm’s crowd, I am, by default, ‘eligible’ to be in the sophomore elite. Emm had already coached me on which ‘elite’ crowd to mingle with (again, NOT mean-girl) and I find myself readily accepted into the sophomore royalty; lock, stock, and barrel.
I am actually on cloud nine when I get home. I even have an invitation to try out for the cheer squad, which, given my working out over the summer, shouldn’t be out of the question of making, if I choose to try out. I just need someone to coach me on routines…I am becoming a pretty good dancer.
Momma hugs me and gives me an ‘I told you so’ smirk. I help put supper together, do my homework, and help her get ready for her first quiz of the semester. We go to bed early—it has been an exciting, but tiring day. Plus, there are already plans to go to the mall to hang out after school tomorrow—oh, the burden of being in the ‘in’ crowd!
As I get ready the next morning, my breasts and nipples are REALLY tender. I groan and go downstairs for breakfast.
Momma gives me a curious look and I shrug. I get my coffee and tell her about my breasts. She says, “Well, the caffeine doesn’t help, but this is just part of becoming a woman. At least, you won’t have to worry about periods; although, I know that isn’t necessarily a comfort to you—since that means you won’t be able to have babies.”
I bite my lip and nod. I say, “No, I would love that curse… Although, I’m sure I’d hate it if I did have it. How long do I have to deal with…THIS?” I gesture towards my breasts.
Momma giggles and shrugs. She says, “Oh, not more than a few months, probably. They’ll eventually settle down and just grow… I’ll pick you up some cream today that should help…”
And, so life settles in… I still can’t believe that I am just dealing with typical teenage girl issues and it is becoming so NORMAL!
The first several weeks of school fly by fairly quickly. I decide to skip cheer try-outs. I want to keep working out at the gym and also work part-time at Frankie’s. The gym has even offered to let me teach a couple of classes a week (paid), if I want—I am seriously considering it.
So, it kind of sneaks up on me, that Halloween is coming up. Emm asks me, “So…what are you going to be for the big party at Vicky’s? You have to go, you know—it would be a slight to the popular crowd, if you don’t.”
I sigh and say, “You know I’m not into big parties, Emm!”
She shrugs and says, “Doesn’t matter. I saw a really cool Wonder Woman costume at Halloween City that would look HOT on you. I think you should do that. Want me to reserve it for you?”
I sigh again; I know there is no winning the argument. I say, resigned, “Sure. I guess it’s as good as any bad costume.”
Emm giggles and says, “Well, you could always do a lame vampiress, or a zombie…”
I shrug and say, “Whatever… Do I have to stay long?”
Emm cheerily nods, refusing to rise to my bait, “Just until at least midnight. And before you try anything, I already got your Momma’s permission.” She gives me a smug look.
I give her a groan.
And…the fateful night arrives all too soon. Of course, Emm did reserve the Wonder Woman costume for me—it is very form-fitting and very revealing. It is a very good replica of the version of the costume worn by Gal Gadot in the Batman versus Superman movie. Thankfully, it is also designed so that actual cleavage is optional.
I get ready and Emm makes sure my makeup is authentic. Momma whistles when she sees me and says, “Love, you look wonderful. Now, have fun! You need to learn to relax a little more in social settings. This will be good for you.”
She looks at Emm and says, “Have her home by one—and NO drinking, understood? If you DO—CALL ME to pick you up. Don’t kill my daughter being stupid—I won’t judge drinking; I will haunt your ghost if you all wind up dead because of it.”
Emm nods and sincerely says, “Yes, Ma’am. I promise, Aunt Gwen!”
So, an hour later, we are at the party. There IS a lot of drinking going on. Emm and I don’t—I know I have nothing to prove. In theory, I can drink with my Momma’s concurrence; at least on special occasions. Emm is being good—the designated driver.
I am standing in a corner, wondering why I am here, when Jake Simmons comes over. Now, Jake is known as a ‘hottie’ in school. He is in Emm’s class—and many a girl’s dream. He is also not known to be a player—really hard to get. He looks at me and asks, “Hi, Lissa. Not having fun?”
I sigh and say, “Parties aren’t really my thing—especially when there is a lot of drinking. Twice not my thing…”
He gives me an appreciative look and says, “Noted. It’s not really my thing either. It’s not that I have anything against alcohol—I just don’t have to get plastered to prove that I can have a good time…”
I nod and say, “Exactly!”
He motions towards the dance floor and asks, “Dance?”
I blush and say, “Well, I DO like to dance, but…”
He gives me a questioning look and asks, “But…? I’m not good enough for you?”
I giggle and blush PROFUSELY. I say, “Well, since I’ve never danced with you, I couldn’t say… It’s more…I’m not used to guys asking…at least not guys that KNOW me…”
I see a look of comprehension dawn on his face. He smiles and says, “Well, get used to me asking—IF you can actually dance.”
Now, what Jake doesn’t know is that Momma has made it her mission to teach me to dance—it is something that she LOVES to do; and something that she LOVED doing with Daddy. I am pretty good at it—I guess I get it from her…
He takes my hand and we go out on the dance floor and start gyrating to the music set on a random ‘party mode’. We dance and talk and dance some more…and it is twelve-thirty before I know it…
Emm comes up to the two of us, dancing VERY closely to one another in a slow dance. She clears her throat and says, “Earth to Lissa! We need to be on our way—I promised to have you home at one.”
Jake looks at me—straight in my eyes and says, “I had fun…would you like to go out this weekend?”
Emm gasps and I blush. I say, “I would love that, Jake. But…why me?”
He doesn’t say anything—he just kisses me. THEN he says, “Lissa, I think you’re special. I don’t care about anything else. I just don’t care.”
I melt in his arms and he kisses me again.
“EARTH TO LISSA—HOUSTON HAS A PROBLEM,” Emm says, laughing. She continues, “If I didn’t have to get you home, I would say you two need to get a room. Jake, you’re a doll! You’ve got it right that she’s special, BUT, we’re BOTH especially dead if I don’t get her home on time!”
He smiles and jokes, “Emm? What are YOU doing here? This is a PRIVATE party!” He winks and looks back at me and says, “Friday night at six…dinner and a movie? I’m paying.”
I bite my lip and blush as I nod. He kisses me again and I think I will melt into the floor as I turn all gooey inside—AGAIN.
Emm pulls me to the car. She pulls down the visor and the light comes on in the mirror on the backside. She says, “Fix your lipstick before we get home if you don’t want a million questions from your Momma.”
I look at my lips in the mirror and blush when I see the smeared lipstick. I fix it and say, “Thanks! You’re a lifesaver!” I giggle and say, “But you better take your own advice!”
I watch as she pulls down her own visor and blushes as she looks at herself. Her own lipstick is a mess. She says, “Ummm…I may have kissed Miranda Jones a little…”
I nearly choke and ask, “THE Miranda Jones? The head cheerleader?”
Emm bites her lip and blushes. She says, “I…think we hooked up tonight…kind of like you with Jake. I never told you—I’m bi. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”
I laugh and say, “Not if it doesn’t bother you that I am trans…”
She gives me a funny look and bursts out laughing. She says, “I guess I should have known… Anyway, maybe we can do a double date soon. But, not if I don’t get you home—you will be grounded and I will never get to take you to a party ever again!”
She gets me home at 12:59 (and I think 59 seconds). Momma just looks up from her wine as I come in and gets a KNOWING look on her face.
She pours me a ‘small’ glass of wine and sits me on the couch. She waits until I take a sip and gushes out, “SO…SPILL… Who is he—or is it a she? Was the kiss good? Are you going out again? By the way, THIS qualifies as a special occasion—my daughter’s first real kiss!”
I am confused—and elated. I still feel like I am on Cloud Nine. I look at her and simply ask, “How did you know?”
She giggles and says, “Love, it is written all over your face. I know that look, trust me. Plus…there is really only ONE reason that you would be so careful to repair your makeup before coming home… I suppose Emm told you to, so that I wouldn’t ask any questions about your smeared lipstick? Honey—BEEN THERE, DONE THAT! Now SPILL!”
When I FINALLY get to bed at three, it is with Momma’s excited blessing for me to go on the date on Friday…
I come downstairs, dressed to the nines—similarly to how I was dressed for the honor’s ceremony, just not QUITE as formal… It is just dinner and a movie, after all. But, I certainly gave it more than just a little effort.
Momma sees me and giggles. She says, “You look lovely, Love. Now, what are going to do if he shows up in jeans and t-shirt?”
I giggle and blush. I say, “Well, make him feel underdressed, I guess.”
When he comes to the door, he is not dressed in jeans—he is not in a tux, by any means, but he is nicely dressed.
He takes me Mario’s. As it turns out, it is his favorite restaurant and he knows the owners and he introduces me as I gush about how much I LOVE the place. We get special treatment and a special dessert! As we are eating it, I look at him and say, “Jake, you know there are things that I can’t give in a relationship—at least, not yet.”
He takes a bite of the special tiramisu and nods, totally serious. He says, “Look, Lissa. I know what I’m getting myself into—at least in those regards. Let’s just see where this takes us, OK? I’m not in ANY relationship simply for sex; like with alcohol—I can wait. I’m in no hurry.”
I sigh in relief and take a bite. I nod and blush—suddenly, I WANT to be able to do what I can’t with him…
The movie is so-so. That is actually a good thing, since I don’t really see much of it…
He gets me home by eleven, as promised—with the promise of another date next weekend. I still fix my lipstick before I go in…
The next weeks until Thanksgiving are wonderful, to be honest. I spend a lot of time with Jake on the weekends—twice on double-dates with Emm and Miranda. A couple of times there is even a larger crowd.
Thankfully, my breasts do settle down and get less painful, but not less sensitive. I even get to the point where I let Jake play with my nipples through my shirt (I MAY have accidentally taken my bra off to let him…). It drives me crazy inside when he does.
So, when Thanksgiving does arrive, it is a huge blow—to both Momma and me. It is our first ‘family’ holiday without Daddy. Momma and I sit almost morosely at the table; we had worked all morning and fixed the works. It looks wonderful and it smells better. I am sure it actually tastes delicious, too—neither of us actually tastes anything. We just go through the motions of eating.
I take a sip of the ‘medium’ glass of wine Momma had poured for me. I feel myself flush and get warm—but I feel cold inside. I can’t help myself; I sob. Of course, that gets Momma going and we sit there, hugging—and just crying.
After half an hour, we are cried out. We put away the food; it is mostly untouched. Then we go to the living room and cuddle on the couch to watch a movie together. We put on a comedy—but still can’t laugh. It is the first time that I drink two glasses of wine; well a ‘medium’ one and a ‘tiny’ one…
By the time the movie is over, we are starving—we fix turkey sandwiches and actually eat this time. It is still without gusto, but we get them down. It is just not really Thanksgiving without Daddy. Yes, we have a lot to be thankful for—and we are. We both hold onto the sweet memories of Daddy’s love as we try and ignore the bitter taste of the actions of one demented monster that took him from us.
Even Jake stopping by for a bit can’t pull me out of my depressed mood on this normally special day. He completely understands and is totally sweet about it. He kisses me as he leaves and whispers in my ear, “It will be better tomorrow, Sweetheart. You’ll see. His love fills this house—anyone can feel that!”
Momma and I go to bed early. I sleep decently—I think that is only a byproduct of the wine, though.
Things do look a little better the next day and look a little better than that every day afterwards. I work as much as I can at Francesca’s—Christmas is really close and I want to get a few special presents.
So, the week before Christmas, I finally have enough saved up to get a special necklace I found for Momma. I get a nice watch for Jake. I find a beautiful bracelet for Emm. I have a special picture framed that was taken of me and Gracey one day after working out in those early days before she could walk again—a true random snapshot taken by a mutual gym friend. I pick up a few more small gifts for other friends and spend the afternoon three days before Christmas wrapping them all while Momma is out.
Christmas Eve feels a little like Thanksgiving. It has always been the family tradition to open presents on Christmas Eve—and, once again, it doesn’t feel right without Daddy here. Sure, I distinctly remember a couple of Christmas Eves that he had to work—such is the work of a public servant. But we always knew he would be in the next day.
We have never been a family that would be considered extremely religious by most. Given Daddy’s schedules, we didn’t ever really go to church much. Sure, Momma and I could have gone, but we always worshipped God in our own special way. I think that is helping us through this, now—knowing how to lean on one another.
Tonight is not as bad as Thanksgiving—it is not QUITE as raw. It still hurts, but Momma and I give each other our presents and hug each other in true love and in appreciation of the heartfelt gifts. Momma loves her necklace and I love my FIVE pairs of five-inch heels—that is 25-inches of heels!
Jake had wanted to stop by, but I asked him not to—to please wait until Christmas day. Christmas Eve has always been about close family—and as much as I am falling in love with Jake, he is not family (yet). So, we are both surprised when the doorbell rings.
I shrug and go to answer the door. I was expecting it to be a contrite, but defiant Jake. I was not expecting Gracey. I smile and quickly ask her in—it is REALLY cold out.
Momma offers her a glass of wine and she accepts. She sits down with us and I hand her the gift I had gotten her. I say, “I was going to bring it by tomorrow. I have one for Emm, too. I got one for Johnny, too—I hope he likes it.”
Gracey opens the present and gets tears in her eyes as she hugs me. She says, “Lissa—you couldn’t have gotten me ANYTHING better. I just came by to say I will be leaving town in a few days. Tomorrow is going to be crazy and I wanted to tell you in a calmer environment. I know this is prime family time for you—but I am moving away.”
Momma and I gasp and I ask, “What? Where?”
She shakes her head and says, “I’ll tell you in a minute. First, I would like to give you your gift. It’s actually for both of you, but, well…”
She hands me an envelope. It is very fancy one—with the presidential seal on it. It has Momma’s and my names written in calligraphy on it. I look at Momma and she just nods for me to open it. For some reason, I am shaking as I slit it open.
I pull out a fancy card, again with the presidential seal on it and a handwritten note. The writing is very neat—and very feminine. I read out loud, in a very shaky voice, “I request the presence of Ms. Gwyneth Saunders and Miss Melissa Saunders at the Whitehouse on the 3rd of January to accept the Presidential Medal of Freedom, awarded post-humously to Lieutenant Robert Saunders for extra-ordinary bravery and voluntarily giving his life in the line of duty to save the life of a fellow officer. It would be my honor to present this medal to his daughter, a special person in her own right, on behalf of Lieutenant Saunders.”
I swallow and say through the tears, “It’s signed by the President.”
I hand the card to Momma, still shaking, and look at Gracey. I ask, “How? What…?”
Gracey smiles and comes over to hold my hands. She says, “I have been lobbying for this for months. When it finally got to the President, she immediately authorized the medal. She called me up—let me tell you, THAT was a surprise—and offered me a job on her personal staff. She said anyone with the perseverance and lobbying power that I showed had to be working FOR her—she was afraid what would happen if I ever worked AGAINST her.”
She giggles and continues, “I’m going to DC to work for the President!”
Momma and I gasp at the same time, then I shriek and give her the biggest hug. I say, “I am SO going to miss you. And…this…,” I point to the invitation, “is amazing! I still don’t believe you did it—I mean the State’s Silver Star was a surprise, but this…” I hug her again, very tightly.
Momma comes over and takes us into a group hug. She says, “Gracey, I don’t think you know how special you are. I certainly am glad that you are still here with us.” She wipes tears from her eyes.
Gracey starts crying, which in turn gets me going. Gracey sighs and waves at her eyes. She says, “Well, the way I see it, if it weren’t for Rob, I wouldn’t be here—he gave me my life. His blood mingles with mine, so that makes us blood-kin.” She looks straight at me and continues, “In a way, he gave us both life—so, that makes us legitimate sisters, right?”
I look at her stunned. I had never thought of it that way. Momma is nodding and smiling through her tears. I nod and squeeze her in another hug. I simply say, “Merry Christmas, Sis!”
She squeezes me back and says, “I have to go—there are many things I have to still do to get ready. If I don’t see you tomorrow, I will see you in DC on the 3rd. As the President’s personal assistant, I will be everywhere she is—I don’t even KNOW how they got me the proper clearances so fast… I did make working for her conditional on one thing, though.”
Momma and I both look at her like she is crazy. I say, “You made conditions to the PRESIDENT?”
Momma giggles and says, “Well, we know she IS a shrewd negotiator!”
Gracey blushes and giggles. She says, “Well, I told her that I would be her assistant, if *I* could have an assistant over the summers. She shrugged and said she didn’t see why not. Then she got a knowing look on her face and asked if I had anyone special in mind. I told her yes and she was thrilled at my choice.”
She pulls a larger envelope out of her bag and hands it to me. She says, “Bring these to the house with you filled out tomorrow; at least that way, YOUR clearances won’t have to be so rushed.”
I look at her, more than stunned. I whisper in awe, “I…I…I’m going to work for the President?”
Momma smiles brightly as Gracey nods, “Yes, every summer and any other longer breaks you want to. I have to get an apartment and you can stay with me. With everything you have learned working on getting your Momma ready for those legal exams, I sure will be able to use you! You WILL need to expand your wardrobe a bit—I think it will be better if you just leave some things at my place, so you won’t have to pack as much…”
I feel faint, but I certainly feel SO loved by BOTH of these women in the room, right now. I nod and Gracey quietly hugs us both and takes leave with a solemn “Merry Christmas!”
Momma and I sit down on the couch—we are both a little speechless. After a bit, Momma gets up and pours us both more wine. I can’t say that I have come to LIKE the taste of the wine, but, if there ever was a special occasion, this is one of the top ones.
We clink each other’s glass with a “Cheers!” and both take a sip. I swirl the viscous red liquid around in the glass and watch the ‘legs’ appear and run down the sides of the glass.
I set the glass down and give Momma another hug. I finally say, “Momma, I miss Daddy SO much. It doesn’t really seem like Christmas without him, but it still seems like he is giving us presents. I mean, I know that Gracey did everything to make this newest gift happen, and it is SO bittersweet. Without what happened to Daddy, it wouldn’t have ever happened… Gracey would still be a cop out there—an AWESOME cop, for sure. But she wouldn’t be going to DC OR working for the President—and neither would I. Is it selfish to…like what has happened—I mean since…?”
Momma hugs me and says in loving but VERY serious tone, “Of course not, Love! Don’t you DARE think that way! Your Daddy loved you with all of his heart—and as you know, he had a VERY big heart! Yes, Gracey is doing special things—especially for you. And for good reason—that’s GRACEY’S very big heart in action. Your Daddy knew what he was doing, Love—don’t EVER question that!”
I smile wanly through my tears and Momma picks up her glass and says very sincerely, “To your Daddy! Merry Christmas, Love!”
I take a sip of wine and feel the warmth—if I let my imagination go just a little. I can feel him hugging me and a slight stroke of his hand on my cheek.
Momma looks at me and says, “By the way, I think your Daddy MUST be looking after you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed those breasts, young lady. We need to get you measured before we go to DC; I think you must be getting close to an A-cup. That is an amazing amount of growth for the time you have been on hormones, so SOMETHING or SOMEONE is nurturing them!”
She winks at me and we cuddle on couch and listen to Christmas music until it is time to go to bed.
My life goes on like for most teenagers, but, well, not really—I DO have some very special people looking after me; including the President after our meeting. She is certainly a very special lady and the ceremony for Daddy at the Whitehouse was spectacular! I did go to DC the following summer and every chance I got after that. I am in the process now, of moving to DC, in with Gracey, to go to American University to go into international pre-law and public policy.
Gracey still does an awesome job for the President, who is certainly going to be re-elected for a second term. There is talk that she may be nominated to be put into a Cabinet-level position; I am certain she would be confirmed. She Is not sure she really wants that, though. Sure, it is more pay—but she loves working in the President’s true inner circle.
Emm is doing great, as well. She and Melinda are actually still together and planning a wedding. Of course, I will be coming home for that, since I am one of the bridesmaids.
Jake and I broke up soon after graduation. We had an amazing relationship, but with me going to DC and him going to Colorado for college, we both know it won’t work long-term. We are still best friends, though.
Momma is thriving. She passed the bar and is working her way up to senior partner in the most elite law firm in the State, which just happens to be in our home town. She also met a guy… I like him and I approve whole-heartedly. She should not spend her time alone. He will never truly replace Daddy, but he can still be a welcome addition to our family—there is plenty of love to go around and none of us are afraid to share it.
Daddy taught us that lesson—it was his most enduring gift.
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
This is the original story that I started for the Christmas Contest. I went with the other story first because I didn’t think I could get this one finished. I am still not sure it is really finished (is ANY story ever?), but, I think that messing with it more will not really add to the substance.
I did really love writing this story and hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I had penning it.
May the love of Christmas bring you truly amazing gifts, this season—regardless of your own spiritual beliefs!
HUGS,
Shauna
Comments
a truly beautiful gift
the story, I mean.
What happens to Lissa was pretty awesome too, though.
Aww... Thanks, Dot!
I appreciate it--this one truly wouldn't let me keep it in. It just had to come out!
HUGS!
There are sometimes
When there are no words to say, say what you really wish you could say. I know police are not flavor of the year, but the vast majority are good men and women. I have no authority to speak for any others, but I can speak up in honor of the men and women that make up the thin blue line.
Thank you
"Life is not measured by the breaths you take, but by the moments that take your breath away.”
George Carlin
Thank you, Karen...
I agree. There are good people and there are bad people in any group you choose to look at. As you say, I can't actually speak for the police, but, like with firefighters, EMTs, or other first responders that put themselves on the line for us each and every day, I certainly don't want to be without them. It is easy to criticize someone until you have walked a mile in their shoes.
Thank you for speaking up!
HUGS!
Great story!
This story is amazing. There were a couple times I had to stop reading because I could not see through the tears. Very emotion provoking.
And I agree with the "is any story ever really finished remark" from my own dabbling with writing.
Honestly, I shed a few tears writing it...
Thanks for commenting!
HUGS!
Words alone...
...can not express the range of emotions that one goes through with the loss of a loved one. This story touches the reader at every level and makes one want to hug the families involved and to try and help them each step of the way in their journey! KUDOS!
Thank you, so much!
I appreciate the Kudos! Thanks so much for commenting!
HUGS!
Just One More Day.....
Lyrics waffled through my mind as I read this lovely story!
Making lemonade from a sour as lemon's senseless incident, is another! Unfortunately in today's society, (with the advent of instant social media) incidents like this are all to common. We can only hope that support for victims, and families will be equally as common. Nicely done Shauna! Loving Hugs Talia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2UWx-shGM0g
Beautiful Video!
Thanks, Talia. I appreciate the Kudos!
HUGS!
Shauna
This was beautiful, Shauna.
This was beautiful, Shauna.
I know long stories don't do well here but this was simply beautiful. Such love and affection among people who need one another, friends who were there all along but needed someone to bring them together, and acceptance of someone who needed people around her at her most vulnerable time. What more could you ask for in a story?
I'm told STFU more times in a day than most people get told in a lifetime
Thank you so much!
I really appreciate the feedback. It was a lot of fun to write, so I am glad it was also fun to read!
Hugs!
Wonderful story
What a wonderful story, though sad that a life was lost. But had the life not have been given, future situations would have been different.
Others have feelings too.
Thank You!
I appreciate the kudos and the feedback!
HUGS!
I am truely sorry i missed this story the first tune around
But catching up later makes it even better. It was publish right after my stroke, I am very glad that I finally read it.