From Lydia's Story...

Cal turned around and found Lydia smiling at him.

"Good night, Dad."

Deep Creek, Chesapeake, Virginia...the Scialpi home, Christmas morning...

“I’m sorry, but it’s the way it is,” Amelia Schiavelli sat at the kitchen table sipping cold coffee. It was a very cold evening as well, and it wasn’t going to get any warmer, given what she had just told her niece.

“It’s not fair, Melie…” the girl looked out the front window of the living room before walking into the kitchen; her expression was one of utter defeat, which was so unusual for her. She had built her recent life, however, on disappointments and sad changes following the sudden death of her father.

“I know, but I just don’t know what to do,” the “older” woman replied. By older, she was about as close in age as anyone can be with an Aunt. Amelia was the youngest child…stepchild, actually, of Lydia’s grandfather, who had re-married a nice woman from Bayonne whom he had met on a cruise. Amelia was eighteen, which made her only a few weeks older than Lydia.

“I don’t know why they’re so…this is so wrong.” Lydia shook her head. Bad enough that she had to move to Chesapeake. Sure, her friends were still in state, but too many miles away. And the school district was quite adamant about their sports teams even if they said they were transgender friendly.

“You could try to petition the league, but…”

“Yeah, no can do. I already asked about that. They feel I have an unfair advantage.” She looked down at herself. Early intervention had been a boon to her continued journey….that road to herself, as an author/blogger had put it about her own transition. But while early intervention might translate well into fanciful stories about modeling and television stardom, girls like her were just that; girls.

She actually was at a disadvantage even within her own school, and the girls on the track team probably had at least as much speed as her and maybe even more stamina. No edge ever came of her origin, and she would hardly have been a ‘boy’ on a girl’s team, no matter how she began her life.

“So what do you intend to do?” Amelia reached over and touched the girl’s hand.

“I don’t know, but I sure as hell am not going to sit around and be sorry for myself.” She paused at the thought of regret and disappointment, since that was what she had been doing which was completely understandable; no need for anyone to forgive her for that, either. Amelia saw the look and spoke.

“You have every right to feel ‘sorry,’ Lyd….it’s not like they’re telling you to change your shoes or hang back. And that doesn’t even take your Dad into account.” The sage advice of being an ‘aunt’ came to a grinding halt as she realized she had gone too far. Perhaps not far enough, but for the moment it was too much for the girl to take and she burst into tears.

“Shit….we just got started!” Lydia sobbed. After a very stressful and confusing few years, Lydia finally felt like she was accepted. But her boyfriend threw her over for another girl; that he didn’t care about her gender issues made no difference to her, since being stabbed in the heart hurts nearly as much from a spear as from a serrated knife. And being that her best friend took the boy’s side (her brother) in the breakup; she felt she had no one to turn to except her Dad.

She sobbed at the thought of losing him so quickly and without any warning. His well-meaning but bad investments and poor choices left her with no real inheritance other than a small sum from his insurance. And the memories were all so vague and disjointed and forgettable until he finally acknowledged her. So she was stuck moving in with her Aunt and her step-grandmother clear across the Commonwealth.

“I’m so sorry. He was a nice guy.” Cal was a very nice guy who tried hard to live his life and do the right thing. If had left his daughter with anything, it was a tenacity that would serve her throughout life. Amelia stood up and walked over to the girl and leaned close, hugging her from behind. Lydia felt uncomfortable enough to try to pull away, but she had very little strength to resist and just rested in Amelia’s arms.

“I’d like to say it’ll be alright, but fuck, what do I know?” The girl kissed the top of Lydia’s head; almost like a scene in a movie except with no soundtrack and no happy ending….yet.

“I…I swear to God I’m going to ….” Lydia’s voice trailed off in defeat. She had the will and she had the determination, but she had no direction, and she felt almost abandoned even in the arms of a relative, so to speak. Funny thing about vows. You never know where they’ll lead you, bring you back from, or transform you into. Lydia rested in Amelia’s arms; strong and welcoming arms that felt almost as protective as her father’s.

“I know, kid!” Amelia smiled down at her ‘niece.’

“I…I’m serious. I’m so tired of all this. If I get the chance, I’m going to be exactly who I want to be…me!” She folded her arms over Amelia’s and pulled her close like a blanket. It was a very awkward moment for both of them and Amelia pulled away suddenly, which did very little to help Lydia’s self esteem and even less for Amelia’s need to feel helpful and loving.

“I don’t bite, damn it!” Lydia turned and faced her ‘elder’ relative and saw that Amelia was frowning.

“I can’t help if I…” She looked back at Lydia and the girl took her expression to mean something entirely different than what it represented.

“Fine…I’ll be in my room if you need me, Aunt Amelia!” She had vowed that she’d never cry again…ever being an infinite if unknowable time-frame. She broke her vow as she pushed her door closed a bit harder than she had hoped and threw herself onto the bed, weeping angry tears....

“It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.” She murmured into her pillow as she continued to cry. A soft knock came at the door.

“Little one? Is it safe to come in?” Lydia lifted her head from the bed to see her grandmother…step-grandmother, actually, at the door. She nodded and the woman entered. Stella was a very attractive woman in a handsome sort of way; she looked much younger than her sixty years, and certainly more like an older sister to her daughter Amelia.

“I hate myself.”

“Nonsenso! You don’t hate yourself. You hate how things are, right?” Lydia wanted so badly to disagree, but she had very little strength left.

“Your Papa is gone and you’re sad and I think maybe you believe it’s your fault, eh?” She walked over and sat on the bed.

“But Nana…you don’t understand.” The girl shook her head, almost proving by her gesture that Stella was indeed right in her assessment. The older woman just smiled for a moment.

“Maybe, bambina. But maybe ….just maybe you wonder if what you did made your Papa die.” It would almost have seemed like an accusation but for the half-smile and her tears.

“Your Papa loved you, Lydia. He loved Louie, but he learned that love doesn’t make conditions. He learned to love this part of you, right?” She tilted her head and smiled; producing a softness in the girl’s protective façade.

“And maybe if your Papa loved you….doesn’t it say that God will love you even more? And what God would punish love like that?”

“Why did he have to die, Nana. I don’t have anyone.” Stella just smiled; the girl knew that she had Stella and Amelia, and she knew what Lydia meant.

“I know….your Mama died and your Papa died and you feel all alone. Nobody you know but us, and that’s so hard.” The woman leaned closer and brushed away the girl’s tears with her hand. The gesture did very little in the way of practicality, but the emotion and the concern behind the gesture helped the girl let her defenses down completely as she curled up in Stella’s lap and sobbed.

“I know, Baby….I know.” A word that she needed to hear; that part of her that never felt warm and cherished and alive even if her Dad tried very hard before the end. Louie got all the praise while Lydia lived in the shadows. And Cal tried and did love his child when he realized he had a daughter instead of a son. And the communication was tentative and awkward if still heartfelt, but the name Lydia never quite rolled off her father’s tongue. It was such a preciously painful moment since the word was soothing but bitterly sweet.

“I know if he could tell you right now, he’d say he was proud of Lydia and that he loves her very much, right?” Stella felt no need for a response; she just rocked the girl in her arms for a while until she fell asleep like the baby she was inside.

A while later in the kitchen once again...

“Mom….I hate myself!” Amelia said.

“Now where have I heard that?” Stella muttered to herself and laughed.

“Okay…what’s the matter, baby?”

“I should just tell her. What’s the worst that could happen?” Amelia shook her head and sat down; her watch band rattling against the porcelain of the antique table.

“Well, she could leave.” Stella tried not to laugh but started to giggle; the kind of silly giggle you rarely hear from someone over the age of fifteen. Amelia glared at her.

“I’m serious, Mom. Do you think? Oh, damn!” She sighed and looked away.

“No, honey. She’s family if nothing else, but I know it’s a bit more than that, isn’t it?” Stella already knew the answer. She would never be so much matriarchal as the other older women in the family, but she was just as wise. Amelia could never get as serious as she insisted unless she was at least as honest to herself.

“But…”

“You remember what Pastor Christine said the other day? ‘Sheep bleat but goats ‘but,’ right?”

“She’s not…she doesn’t. She….”

“Well, after all that she's been through, I’m sure that she'd be glad that you used the right pronoun, O light of my life. What makes you think she won’t say yes? Have you a crystal ball that tells you how she feels? Some diary that she wrote that says no, Amelia, I do NOT like girls? Some big pronouncement on that FACEBOOK you gush so much about?”

“I don’t know.” Amelia felt so ashamed; she was doubtful of her own self. She was fearful of rejection. She felt guilty that she didn’t trust someone she at least had grown to love, even if from afar. She had followed her niece’s athletic success, and she had been proud that the girl had been her own person. And it indeed was unfair that Lydia would likely never compete in high school again, much less any hope of college.

But mostly she was angry because things should never be pushed into a corner; they should never be forced to travel down roads not of their own choosing. And there was that pesky should-have-gotten-over-it-by-now girl crush. The one thing she felt she had going for her was that even if people might find it disturbing that she was a lesbian who was in love with a transsexual; at least the girl wasn’t a blood relative; an all too important condition.

And besides, anyone who minded? What was it that great Aunt Rosanna would say? “Che cosa imbecile?” Oh….Che cosa fottutamente imbecile.” Even recalling the words made Amelia blush.

“I’ve got something I need to tell you. I don’t think it can wait.” Amelia said from the bedroom doorway.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk!” Lydia said, turning her head toward the window.

“Oh damn it, it’s not that I didn’t want to talk…I just didn’t know how to say what I wanted to say.”

“I feel so much better!” Lydia was still reeling from a year of huge hurts and disappointment, so we can forgive the sarcasm even if Amelia didn’t.

“Look. I’m trying as hard as I can, but you can make things difficult, you know? I just want to …damn…” She got into her scared cycle and Lydia was already upset.

“I vowed a long time ago that no one was going to push me into anything any longer. I don’t even care about the running so much as the reason why. A bunch of stupid idiots. I’m sick of being told what I can and can’t do. What my life is or isn’t. What I can or can’t be.” At the mention of the word ‘be,’ she began to punch the pillow on her lap while crying. She leaned against the headboard and began to sob. A moment later she felt the soft touch of Amelia’s lips on her neck; very unfamiliar and not at all the kiss between an aunt and her niece.

“I’m so sorry. I think maybe I should never tell you anything ever again.” Lydia tensed up and her shoulders arched ever so slightly as she tried to pull away from Amelia.

“From now on….all questions.” She laughed softly and the movement of her lips tickled Lydia’s neck; sending a very odd and uncomfortably comfortable feeling down her back.

“May I say that I’ve loved you from the first day we met?” No answer but a gasp instead escaped Lydia’s lips.

“I’m sorry. I lied. I ‘ve loved you from the first time my mother told me we weren’t actually blood-relatives.” She sighed and the heat of her breath sent a chill up the girl’s neck where it ended quite nicely indeed at the cartilage behind her right ear. She shuddered.

“But….”

“I’m sorry. May I ask you not to interrupt while I tell you how much I care for you?” Amelia remained politely playful as she whispered in Lydia’s left ear.

The girl shuddered again and began to cry. It was as if the torrent only hours before in her grandmother’s arms was the prelude to a flood. She turned and fell into a tentative embrace; actually pulling back with her hands up in appeasement before accepting a hug.

“May I tell you that I am so in awe of your courage and that you make me more than proud. I almost feel like I’ve been yours all along and just kind of figured it out only recently.”

“You’re mine?” Lydia gasped, her hand placed carefully over her mouth as her nostrils flared and her eyes widened in shock and surrender. She had been pushed and pulled and folded and mutilated, as they used to describe misdirected mail packages. Too many ideas from everyone else; not only of who she should be, but even with whom she should be.

“If you’ll have me….I’m not going to insist on anything. Too many times too many people have told you too much! I’ll listen and be happy for the moment, okay?” Lydia nodded absentmindedly before turning to Amelia; her eyes were filled with fewer but happier if confused tears.

“No more vows for you. No more promises. No more expectations if I can manage it. But for sure, no more demands and certainly no more saying or doing anything you don’t want to,” It was as romantic as it was going to get. Which was very romantic.

The quite nicely reverend Christine Allucio smiled at Amelia and spoke; her gaze shifted to Lydia.

“And you?” A soft inferred request; no demand at all. Lydia smiled at Christine and turned to Amelia before speaking the last vow that she would make.

“I, Lydia, take you, Amelia….”

Next: Jeanette's Wonder

Somewhere in My Memory
from the movie
Home Alone
Words by Leslie Bricusse
Music by John Williams
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJlA0b96LpI