In Concert, by Karin Bishop

Part 2

Chapter 4: Getting Serious About It

We mapped out our plan as we walked to Mandy’s house. She had some clothes she could lend me while I tried to get used to things; we figured that with her coaching me after school before her parents got home, I could pick up the basics of being a girl–things like walking, talking, sitting, and so on. I was determined that I’d get good enough that I could stand in front of my mom, as confident as possible under the circumstances, and tell her that I wanted to begin the process of becoming a girl full time. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that my future was to be a feminine one–it had to be–because all my life I’d had these half-formed ideas and vague urges and general dissatisfaction with my lot, and maybe I was grasping at straws, but it seemed that much of my life would improve–or at least make more sense–if I was female.

It wasn’t an escape; it wasn’t a diversion or any kind of excuse for not being male. It was … what was going to be my life. Somehow. I didn’t know how I’d make it happen, but … I had to. It was only now that it was so obvious.

For starters, there was my friendship with Mandy. We’d known each other all our lives, and knew each other better than anyone else, but we also knew that age and society would force us to spend less time with each other as we got older. If I was a girl, then we could explore and share our ‘golden teenage years’. I had no other friends at all–certainly no male friends, and never had. And without Mandy, I had … very little in my world, except for Mom.

Then there was my body. It had been a source of agony to me for years; I was always the littlest and slowest. Guys laughed at the way I walked, the way I ran, and the way I threw balls. I couldn’t help it; the natural way my body wanted to walk or run or throw turned out to look like a girl’s way–all of my life I’d heard, ‘You run like a girl!’ and such. Maybe it was true, and maybe I should embrace it, not hate it.

Another big reason that life would be improved if I were a girl was my home life. Ever since my dad left us, my mom had raised me alone. That meant she always worked two jobs, as a typist and in a stationery store. I’d been getting myself up and ready for school since I was nine, and I missed the closeness I used to have with Mom. The other night Mom had made some sad comment about how I was going to turn into a teenage boy and not want anything to do with ‘his old mom’. I thought that if I was going to turn into a teenage boy it would have started already, but more to the point, if I was a teenage girl, Mom and I could share things and get back together. Sure, I knew that some girls fought with their mothers, but … somehow I knew I wouldn’t be one of those girls.

If I was a girl …

The biggest reason of all was that it felt right. It felt real. I was realistic enough to know that I was basing an awfully big assumption on a couple of hours in girls’ clothes, but I knew. It wasn’t the clothes; it wasn’t the giggling fun with Mandy. Certainly those were part of it, but it was lots of things mixed together. I remembered a boy in sixth grade telling me about how he found out he needed glasses. There was a time when we’d always get picked last for school teams; he was still picked before me because he could run and throw but he couldn’t catch anything, where I couldn’t do anything right.

Then it turned out he needed glasses. He’d been riding along with his mother and she laughed at a sign and was surprised that he wasn’t laughing and then shocked to discover he couldn’t make out the words. She gave him her glasses and he read the sign and laughed. Right away, she got him to an eye doctor and he began wearing glasses and could see the balls to catch them and then was picked for teams much sooner. But he told me that he’d never known; all of his life everything was fine and then that one day he discovered that it was not fine because he couldn’t see for God’s sakes.

All it took was that single moment of seeing. And there was no going back; it would be absurd to dismiss his improved vision as ‘just a one-time thing’. He knew–from that moment he looked through his mother’s glasses–that his life would never be right until he could correct his vision.

In Mandy’s bedroom … it was also like the boy trying his mother’s glasses and suddenly seeing. I suddenly saw the girl in the mirror, and she was me. And my life would never be the same again–more to the point, it would never be right until I was that girl in the mirror, always.

I didn’t think that becoming a girl would be a cure-all; I’d have many of the same problems and some new ones added, but I strongly believed it was the right choice for me. No; it was the only choice–I knew that in my heart. Now, to set things in motion, Mandy and I got down to work.

When we got to her bedroom, she went to her lingerie drawer and pulled some things out, tossing cellophane-wrapped packages on the bed.

“I just got these last week and haven’t even opened them. They’re bra and panty sets, and they’re brand new. That way you can start with your own fresh lingerie.”

“God, thank you, Mandy. Let me know how much I owe you for these.”

“Don’t worry about it. My contribution. If everything goes the way I hope it does, you can buy me some earrings the next time we’re out shopping together.”

The prospect of shopping with Mandy, just being a couple of girls at the mall, thrilled me. I noticed Mandy looking at me critically; for once I couldn’t read her expression.

“Chris ... are you really going to go all the way? I mean, this isn’t a little fling for you, is it? Because I’ve got to know now.”

“Mandy, I’ve never been more serious about anything. Starting here, starting now, I’m taking the road to becoming a girl. Full time. For … for the rest of my life. I want to learn all I can from you, then show my mom, and hopefully get her to agree to let me see doctors and go on hormones and eventually have surgery. The whole thing. This is big-time real for me.”

She seemed to decide something, and then nodded. Then she stunned me by taking her sweater off, revealing a baby blue bra underneath. As long as I’d known her, I’d never seen her underwear, of course; we used to swim together and she wore one piece suits, but that was so long ago it didn’t count. Before I could regroup, she further shocked me by undoing her jeans and stepping out of them, showing the matching panties!

“Geez, Mandy, what are you doing?”

“First lesson: this is what we girls do. We try each other’s clothes; we do each other’s makeup and hair; and we change in front of each other. If you’re going to be a girl, you might as well deal with this right now or it’s going to be too weird. Too many silly trips to the bathroom to hide.”

“I understand all that; you could have prepared me, that’s all. You freaked me out! But ... Mandy, as long as you’re my teacher, can I ask questions? I mean, even if they’re stupid or embarrassing?”

“Sure. Just as long as you’re the one being embarrassed!” she laughed. “But seriously, yeah, ask me anything.”

“Well, it was more like two comments, but I didn’t know if it was right or not. I was going to say you have a nice body, and I love that color on you.”

She chuckled. “I hope the first comment was girl-to-girl, not a guy saying, ‘If I told you that you had a nice body, would you hold it against me’ or some stupid line like that.”

I nodded. “The first thing. The girl-to-girl. At least, I hope so. It’s just funny to think of your body and lingerie under that ...”

“That kind of butch exterior?” Playfully, she struck a pose, arms bent and fists up, he-man style.

I had to chuckle. “Well, yeah; not in a dyke-y way, but just the contrasts.”

She laughed, dropping her arms. “I know I hide my body behind the baggy sweaters and stuff; but the whole dealing-with-guys-staring thing gets to be a hassle sometimes. But thank you. And thanks for the second comment, and I have to point out that no ‘real man’ would say something like that, complimenting the color of my lingerie; I think that proves your mind is more feminine than you think. Or did that come out weird?”

It was my turn to laugh. “No, it was fine; I know what you mean. I certainly hope so.”

She grinned. “Now, you.”

“What?”

“Now you get stripped. Now, now; no objections; I need to study the clay that I am to mold into a graceful sculpture,” she said with an affected accent.

I cracked up and started stripping. “Geez, you sound more like Bela Lugosi than Michelangelo.”

I took off my clothes down to my underwear, which were dark blue briefs. Mandy rolled her eyes.

“You desperately need to get lingerie fashion sense. And it’s time to get some Diet Coke.”

She headed off to the kitchen–still in her undies–and I knew that she meant for me to get out of the boy briefs and into one of the packages she’d tossed on the bed. Even though we’d talked about trying things on, she was easing me into things. I looked them over and found a set in a light lime green, opened the package and quickly stripped off the boy stuff and slid on the green panties. For the first time, I was wearing feminine lingerie that belonged to me and no one else; my body was the first that they’d touched, and that made them special somehow. I loved the way they hugged me as they slid up my legs, and then I was faced with what could laughingly be called my genitalia. I tucked myself back, blessed the undescended testicles again, and pulled the panties up snugly. I was just reaching for the bra, undecided whether to put it on yet, when Mandy returned with two glasses of Diet Coke.

“You picked the green! Those were my favorite; I only got the others because it was a buy-one-get-one-free thing.” She handed me the glass and I sipped. “Now let me look. Better put the glass down.”

I put the glass on a coaster on her vanity and stood with my arms to my sides. I’ve got to hand it to her; there was no playing around in the way she looked me over; she looked like a federal inspector sizing up cold beef.

“Okay, I think this will work best if we talk out loud.”

“As opposed to talking silently?” I asked, innocently.

“Dummy! I mean, we both talk about what we’re thinking about things; like collaborators–in fact, that’s what we are!” she said with excitement. “We’re two artists, you’re a work in progress, and so we need to get our thought processes out in the open! Cool!”

She took a sip of her Diet Coke. “And some of this is going to be embarrassing, but let’s just steamroll right over embarrassment, because we’re best girlfriends, right?” She gave me a direct look.

A tear sprang to my eye, startling me. “You know we are, Mandy.”

“Yes we are, Lauren, and I’ve got to remember to start calling you by your name. Okay. First, some questions. Where is your package?”

I pointed to the opened lingerie package. “I haven’t thrown it away yet–”

She burst out laughing. “Geez, no, that’s not what I meant! I meant ... your penis and testicles. Balls. Whatever you call them.”

I blushed and she called me on it.

“I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you, but I warned you.”

I shook my head. “It’s not that; I mean, yeah, I’m embarrassed, but not for the reason you think. Mandy, my ... testicles have never descended.”

Her eyes widened. “No shit? Never?”

“Never. I’ve been ashamed of that since I was … well, since I learned that guys’ balls were dropping.” I’d heard them talk about it for a couple of years now.

“Well, yeah; from what I’ve heard, I could see that would be rough on a guy, but that also explains a lot, maybe. It’s possible your body is more female than you know. I mean, you have a penis, right?’

“Right.”

“Right. Just checking,” she said with a grin. “But maybe your body is more on the female side of the curve; I don’t know, but a doctor could probably tell. This might be a whole lot easier than we thought. Plus, it explains why you look so much like a girl, anyway. So you tucked your penis back, right?”

I nodded.

“That’s what female impersonators do. I read about it on the internet. But they use a dancer’s belt, real tight, to keep things in. That thing you tried on last time? I picked that up by mistake on a sale. Came in handy, though!” She grinned at that and then got serious again, studying me. “Those panties seem to be holding you in pretty good. Bend over and touch your toes.”

I did it.

“Now squat, putting your knees out to the side.”

“What is this, calisthenics?”

“Just do it. Okay. Now stand up again. Now keep your knees straight and spread your legs as far as you can, like you’re doing splits.”

I did that, and amazed Mandy and myself just how far I could get; my crotch was less than a foot from the floor!

“Geez, Lauren, are you with the New York Ballet? Have you been working on your splits?”

“No, never did one in my life.”

“Well, there’s more proof–it takes guy dancers and gymnasts months of pain to get splits, but most girls can get as close as you did right from the start. I think it’s got to do with the width of the female pelvis, and the fact you can do splits like that shows your body knows it’s more female than you’re aware of. Okay, now stand back up.”

I followed her instructions and she stared between my legs. “Nothing. Amazing. Okay, a really personal question: Are you, um … kind of small?”

I knew what she meant. “Tiny.”

Her face brightened. “Cool! Again, that sort of proves things and makes our way easier.”

She paused and I could tell there was this unresolved matter between us, so I seized the bull by the horns, so to speak.

“Oh hell, Mandy, look.”

I hooked my thumbs in the panties and pulled them down to my thighs and spread my legs slightly. My admittedly tiny penis limply dropped out of its nesting spot. Mandy didn’t stare, exactly, but nodded that she was done studying it and I pulled the panties back up. She looked at me solemnly.

“I can see that you might have a complex about that; if you were 100% male, I mean. I think it’s great that you’re so well adjusted about it. But you might have problems later.”

“What do you mean? I thought things would fit better?”

“Oh, yeah, all that will be great. You could probably wear a bikini bottom right now with no trouble. But you said you wanted to have surgery ...” She left the sentence unfinished. I nodded and she continued. “From what I’ve read about transsexuals and the transgendered–because let’s face it, that’s what we’re dealing with here, right?”

I swallowed; it was harder than I thought to admit to the category but I had to agree with it. “Yes; I guess that’s what I really am.”

Her face softened. “Don’t worry, there are thousands like you. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of–no, that’s probably not right,” she checked herself. “Most of them are probably really male-looking guys who will never pass for women in a million years, even with the best surgeries. But I’ve seen some really convincing lucky ones on the internet, and I know that you’ve got a big head start on all of them. Maybe you won’t be ‘becoming Lauren’; maybe you’ll really be ‘letting Lauren out’.”

That rocked me. To cover, I said, “That sounds fine with me, but what’s the problem you mentioned?”

“Oh, in the stuff I’ve read about surgery, they use the penis to form the vagina. That’s the only problem I can see with you being that size; otherwise it works out great. Well, if there’s a little penis or no penis at all, I guess they can come up with something.”

“I’m just going to focus on the ‘working out great’ part.” I raised an eyebrow. “How come you have all this transgender information at your fingertips?”

“Just interested,” she said as she sipped her drink.

“Mandy! I know your tells,” I teased.

She shrugged. “Well, I kind of …” She rolled her eyes. “Okay. I kind of thought maybe you might be transgendered, you know? And you’re my best friend, right? So I began looking into it and … well, once you get past the porn stuff, it was really fascinating. And I, um, wanted to learn ways to help you, maybe?”

“Aw, that’s so sweet! Thank you!”

“See? ‘Aw, that’s so sweet?’ You just reacted as a girl without thinking. That’s what I mean, that you’re not acting like a girl!”

“I think we already established that.”

She nodded decisively. “Me, too. Okay, to business. Now, put on the bra. It’s a front clasp type; those are easier to deal with. Pull the straps up and pull the cups down.”

She reached over to help me adjust things so the cups were centered over my nipples. She pursed her lips, thinking; then she put her hands on my chest outside the bra and squeezed me from a couple of directions, then nodded and told me to wait. She left and came back a few minutes later with two fleshy blobs.

“My sister was flatter than a pancake until she was seventeen, so she got these. She left them behind when she went to college.”

Mandy’s sister Erica was six years older and had always had breasts, as far as I could remember. I was amused to discover they’d been false most of the time that I’d known her, and that now I’d be benefiting.

Mandy pulled one of the bra cups out and placed the insert carefully, pushing and prodding it a couple of times until she was satisfied, then repeated with the other cup. The inserts were darker than my skin tone; it was weird seeing them protrude from my body. Mandy nodded and told me to walk to the mirror. The first two steps were bizarre.

“Whoa, that feels weird!” I experimented bouncing on my toes a couple of times. My ‘breasts’ had weight and bounce of their own, and it was a feeling that I’d never experienced but it felt really … nice.

Mandy said, “You know, most girls get their boobs so slowly that they don’t notice; I mean, we notice, but it comes on so gradually. You’re just feeling it all at once. Interesting. Wait a minute, don’t walk to the mirror yet; walk down the hall and back, then to the mirror.”

“You’re sure no one’s home?”

“Mom’s not due for another couple of hours, and Dad’s in Pittsburgh until the tenth.”

Mystified, I did as she said, marveling at the new feeling on my chest. I walked to the far end of the hall and walked back, Mandy watching me all the time. As I walked up to the mirror, I was stunned. I’d seen the last few paces I’d taken, and it sort of looked like a runway model! I was just walking … naturally, I guess, but it looked like a girl’s walk. I mean, my wrists were turned out, my hips had that swaying thing going, and I just looked very, very naturally female. Mandy noticed my shock.

“Uh-huh! See? Now will you trust me? I had you walk that distance because you already walk halfway like a girl; add the right weight and tuck yourself and Lauren just comes right out! And that reminds me of Lauren Hutton, because you walked like a model!”

I blushed. “Oh, I did not!” But I knew I had.

“Yes, you did, and you know it, and don’t try to bullshit me.”

Fortunately she was laughing, but she was dead on right about me. I suddenly felt wobbly and went over and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Oh, Mandy, this is too weird. I thought the other time was weird, but this ...”

She sat down next to me. “I know, Lauren. It’s like one of those movies-of-the-week where the amnesiac discovers who she is. You’re discovering Lauren under all that Chris.”

I suddenly teared up and bent over, my elbows on my knees and hands to my eyes. I let go and cried. I bawled. It was crying with shock and amazement and happiness and fear and discovery and all sorts of things rolled together. Mandy got up and grabbed a box of tissues and calmly handed them to me until I was done. She put one arm around me in a gentle hug, and a little dying boy voice inside me said, ‘You’ve got a beautiful girl in her undies on her bed and her parents gone and now’s the time’ and I knew it was a voice of society, not the real me, because I loved Mandy so much as my very best friend but I was discovering I was a girl and not a guy and would never have that kind of boy thought again, no matter what I wore.

Finally I dried up and threw the used tissues in her trash basket.

Mandy stood up. “Now, to business.”

She went to her closet and handed me the sundress I’d tried on before. With the breast inserts and bra it fit beautifully. She pulled on a yellow tank top and some baggy cotton parachute pants. We were kind of working in sync and without words. I sat at her vanity and she stepped behind me.

“I’m going to try some things here; don’t stop me but you can comment.”

She held up a series of different earrings to my ears, trying out gold, silver, colored stones, hoops, dangles, and so on. All the while she told me their names and the pros and cons of each, and talked about pierced ears in general, since we both knew it was only a matter of time before mine were pierced. She also held different necklaces to my neck, and we talked styles. She gave me a thin gold chain necklace with a half a heart dangling from it.

Then Mandy began messing with my hair; she brushed and pulled and twisted and I had a crash course in ponytails, French braids, pigtails–a definite no, we both thought–and even a chignon. I seemed to be the ponytail or French braid type. All the while she’d been heating up her curling iron, and she now started on my hair. I was startled and worried about other people seeing the curls, but she told me to pull it back in a ponytail and put a hat over it when I left and no one would know.

My hair was back and up in a scrunchie, and she’d curled the tendrils on either side of my face; it was a soft, feminine look and very flattering to me. It was getting dark outside so she switched on the vanity lamp and began talking about makeup; giving me a crash course in cosmetics, she talked while we tried different colors of eye shadow before selecting a dusty rose. We talked about mascara and rouge and I applied them with Mandy verbally guiding me; and we discussed lipstick shades. I was just leaning forward applying our choice when I realized–the same instant Mandy realized–two things: the first was that since we’d had to turn on the light, many hours had passed while we were talking about makeup. The second thing was that Mandy’s mother was standing in her doorway, watching.

Chapter 5: Busted

“Mom! You scared the heck out of me!” Mandy said with an obviously forced lightness. “How, um ... how long have you been home?”

“Long enough.”

Her mother’s face was unreadable. Moments ago I’d felt wonderful; comfortable in my newfound girlhood. Suddenly I felt naked, painted, exposed; I didn’t know if her mother recognized me or not or what she’d do if she had. Her mother was leaning against the doorjamb with her arms crossed–not a good sign–and could have been there for seconds or an hour. She had the upper hand and she knew it. She walked to Mandy’s bed and sat down. Mandy tried to continue.

“Um ... long enough for what?”

“Long enough to learn the difference between using a tube and using a lipstick brush. I do have two questions, though: first, I thought we agreed no guests while your father was away.”

“I’m sorry, Mom; we were talking on the way home and one thing led to another.”

“I see. We’ll discuss that later.”

“Yes, Mom, I understand. What was the second question?”

“Why are you putting makeup on Chris? And isn’t that your dress?”

We were busted. Totally. My stomach went cold and I felt clammy all over. My mouth suddenly dried up so I didn’t know if I could speak, but I had to jump in.

“Please, Mrs. Harrison, it’s my fault. I asked Mandy to do this for me. It’s, um, for a thing in class ...”

My voice and excuse petered out, and Mandy tried to salvage things.

“Yeah, it’s an experiment in ... experiencing the other gender. We all drew straws and so Chris has to do this, and I’m helping.”

There was a pause while her Mom digested things. “You were assigned this today, so you got started right away?”

We both thought that’s how we’d get past the ‘getting carried away while no guests allowed’ charge, as well as the dress up charge, so we nodded vigorously.

“Ah, I see,” her mom said. “That makes sense.”

We relaxed. We shouldn’t have.

“Except for just a couple of things. Amanda, when the semester started you told me you didn’t share any classes with Chris. And, I met Lauren last night.”

We were absolutely totally busted. Mandy was stricken; her mouth started to work but I could tell she no idea what to say. I reached up to put a hand on her arm to reassure her. This was my mess, and I’d have to confess, even though I’d rather become invisible and run away.

“Mrs. Harrison, please don’t blame Mandy for anything. I made her do this.”

I proceeded to tell Mandy’s mom the truth about me. Well, maybe I shuffled events around so Mandy was in the clear. I told how all my life I’d wanted to be a girl, and finally broke down and confessed to Mandy yesterday. We’d kept talking as we came home, one thing led to another, and before I knew it I was wearing her clothes and introduced as Lauren. I even told her mom that Lauren was my secret name all these years. I told her briefly about the incident with Steve and how I’d been crying and Mandy had asked me in to comfort me, and we’d sort of picked up where we left off yesterday, with Mandy helping me learn about becoming a girl. I couldn’t think of anything else that explained the situation and had so much of the truth in it, so I asked her forgiveness again, then stopped and waited.

There was a very, very long silence as her mom sat there, looking at us. So much hinged on her next words, but I realized that no matter what she said or did, I was going to follow through on becoming a girl. Finally, her mom spoke, her voice surprisingly calm and somehow warm.

“Thank you for your explanation. I know you’ve always been Amanda’s friend, and I can tell that she’s your friend, too. There may be one or two points missing from your explanation that I need to know.”

“Ma’am?” I asked.

“Does your mother know?”

“No, ma’am. I’m going to tell her as soon as possible, though. That’s what Mandy was helping me prepare for; I wanted to be dressed properly when I told Mom; I thought it’d be easier. And it’s really only been since yesterday, when I confessed to Mandy. But I am telling my mother this weekend.”

The Harrisons had known me nearly all my life, and although we weren’t super close, the mothers still got together every so often, so Mrs. Harrison and I both knew that I’d have to tell my Mom now, because Mrs. Harrison would speak with her.

“Chris ... there’s no easy way to tell your mom what you’re going to tell her, but knowing your mother I suspect it would be better if you weren’t dressed first. Discuss things with her and then show her later; otherwise she’ll think you’ve been doing this behind her back all along.” She gave us a pointed look. “And mothers don’t like things that go on behind our back.”

“Yes, ma’am. I mean, no, ma’am. I ... think.” I was confused. I knew she was right, but I wasn’t sure what I was agreeing to. “Mrs. Harrison, please don’t punish Mandy for any of this.”

“Oh, I think that’s secondary, don’t you?” She looked at her daughter. “Mandy, you weren’t supposed to have anybody over while your father is away. We were going out to dinner tonight. So I’m grounding you for the weekend; you aren’t to go out, is that understood?”

In a small voice Mandy said, “Yes, ma’am.”

I stood up, dreadfully conscious of wearing a dress and clasping my hands in front on me. “I’ll go now, Mrs. Harrison; I’m sorry I caused all the problem.”

“Sit down, please.”

I did so, carefully and demurely, sweeping my dress under me, my knees and ankles together and hands folded in my lap, waiting for the ax to fall again.

“You sat down very nicely ... Lauren. And you don’t have to go; Mandy’s grounded, not you.”

It took a moment for this to sink in. I looked at Mandy and saw the dawning look on her face before she spun to look at her mother.

“Mom ... you’re cool with this?”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m ‘cool’ with it. Yet. I think I need more convincing before I’m cool with it.”

We both looked at her.

“So, convince me. I will admit that you make a very natural, normal-looking girl, Chris. I mean, Lauren. I watched you for quite a bit before I spoke. And I probably shouldn’t say this, but you are quite attractive, too.”

Mandy said with pride, “Attractive? Mom, she’s a babe!”

I blushed and wanted to fall right through the floor. “Mandy, don’t say that ...”

“Why not?” her mother asked with a smile. “I have to admit, I guess you are ‘a babe’. So answer me this; how long have you been Lauren and not Christopher?”

I’d just touched on things when I was giving my excuse for being there; now I gave her a detailed biography, which was still largely embellished because I had to stick to the structure of my excuse to take the heat off Mandy. I took great pains to stress that only yesterday was the first time I’d worn female clothes, although I’d wanted to for years.

As I spoke, the strangest thing happened: I felt more and more that what I was saying was the truth–that my entire life had been in the wrong gender. Mandy left at one point and got refills of Diet Coke and a glass for her mom, and Mrs. Harrison and I discussed my being transgendered. I thanked God that Mandy’s family was pretty modern and hip; her mom knew a great deal more than Mandy did about the subject. Finally we sat there, sipping our drinks. I had crossed my legs at the knees and found that I was playing with one of the tendrils of my hair, twisting it around and around my finger. Mrs. Harrison noted this.

“Okay, thank you for your honesty; I know this has been hard to talk about. I’ve known you all your life, and I must admit that I could see this coming; the only question was when. Since I’ve known Chris all his life, I should say. It will take some time before I can call you Lauren as easily. Like Mandy.”

“Huh?” Mandy said, eloquently.

“You two never asked how I knew it was Chris sitting at the vanity. I certainly wouldn’t have known if I’d passed you on the street, because you look so natural,” she said to me. “But while you were talking about lipstick, Mandy slipped and called you Chris. ‘That plum’s too dark for you, Chris’, you said, honey,” she smiled at her daughter. “But I could see how easy it was to do. Not that Lauren’s a difficult name. In fact, I think it suits you.”

She’d said that last bit to me, but I was already relaxing a little, inside. I had been thinking that maybe the whole thing wasn’t going to work; that I looked like a boy in a dress. If her mom thought I was a girl until Mandy’s slip of the tongue, I was glad she’d made the slip, because things seemed okay with her mom and me.

Mrs. Harrison put down her glass. “It’s getting late, and I think your mother’s due home in a half hour ... Chris.”

Her use of my boy name surprised me, but she explained.

“I think, for various reasons, that I will call you Chris for now, and here’s why: I think you should get changed, wash your face, go home and tell your mother about Lauren. Have her call me afterward. Once she and I have discussed it, and if it’s acceptable to her, I will welcome you in my home as my daughter’s best girlfriend and call you Lauren. If she doesn’t agree with your life choice, that will have to be an end to the matter and you will certainly not be allowed in Amanda’s bedroom. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, subdued at the prospect of telling my mom. Mrs. Harrison’s next comment cheered me, though.

“Chris, I can’t say for sure, but I think you’ll find it won’t be as awful as you imagine. Either way, I wish you the very best of luck.”

She had been more than understanding, and I thanked her for it. She left with our glasses while I quickly changed into my boy clothes and washed off the makeup. Mandy was right about the hair; some vigorous brush strokes and a rubber band in place of the scrunchie and it looked like Chris’s old mop top. I gave Mandy my warmest hug, gathered my things, went downstairs and thanked her mom before I went to talk with my mother.

Chapter 6: Me Telling Mom

Mom was home by the time I got there, and I think she knew something was up because she gave me these searching looks. I finally asked her what the matter was.

“I was going to ask you the same thing, honey. Is there something you want to tell me?”

Had Mandy’s mom called already? I didn’t think she’d do that, but I sort of felt betrayed. Then Mom set my mind at ease.

“Mrs. Tompkins from school called and said you had a run-in with the Falconer boy and his gang. Are you alright?”

I was relieved that I didn’t have to get into the deep things right away. “I’m fine, Mom. Believe it or not, I actually talked them out of hurting me.”

“Good for you, honey! Although it probably wasn’t too hard for you, from what I hear about Steve’s grades. What did you say?”

I thought this might be a way to ease into the topic. “Mom, they called me a faggot and wanted to beat me up.”

Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed. “How dare they! Why, they’re nothing but a bunch of ... a bunch of ... well, I don’t know what, but they’re a bunch of it!”

We laughed, but then I got serious. “Mom, I’m not a faggot, okay?” She nodded. “But you’ve got to admit that it’s obvious why they’d think so. I mean, look at me!”

“What, honey?”

“Mom, I don’t know if you’ve noticed it, but I’m not exactly Fabio here!” I knew she used to joke about the guy, but he did have a macho build.

“Oh, I don’t know, honey; your hair’s getting to be as long as Fabio’s.”

“Mom, quit joking. I’m serious.” I went into the living room; she came in and joined me on the couch. Okay; this was it. “Mom, we’ve got to have a serious talk about me.”

And I did it. I plunged in. I told her that for all of my life, I’d felt like a girl hiding inside this boy’s body, or rather, a half-boy’s body. She said nothing and her face was neutral, but I felt that she wanted me to go on and talk it out. I told her everything but kept to the structure that I’d set when I told Mrs. Harrison; I knew she and Mom would be talking and I wanted to keep Mandy out of blame’s way. And besides, the structure was pretty solid; I mean, maybe it was a sort of lie by not telling how the concert was the original motivation on Mandy’s part, but the truth was that whether Mandy or I was the instigator, I had discovered something vitally important and was now firmly set on the path I knew was right for me.

I got teary in places but didn’t break down and cry; Mom handed me some tissues that I kept in my hand just in case. I told her everything right up to walking in the door and her question about my non-fight with Steve. Then I shut up, and she slowly nodded her head and thought about what I’d said. I knew enough to keep quiet now, and sat there. While I sat, while she thought, I took stock of myself; and it surprised me. I was sitting on the edge of the couch with my knees together, holding the tissues and kneading them a bit; my head was down looking at my hands, and my ponytail fell over one shoulder. My personal analysis of my posture screamed, ‘Look at you–it’s so obvious you’re a girl; look at the way you’re sitting!’ but I had no desire to ‘butch it up’ and sit like a guy. I didn’t feel like a guy, and I knew I’d never feel like a guy again--ever. Finally, Mom spoke. I could tell she was choosing her words carefully.

“This doesn’t come as a complete shock, honey,” she began slowly. “I’m not blind, and I’m not unaware of your unhappiness. I was never sure whether you were unhappy because of your dad, or because I’m never around, working all the time ... but this ...”

Her voice trailed off and my spirits sank at the way she’d said ‘but this’. Then she rallied.

“I am going to take Ingrid Harrison up on her offer, though; we really need to speak. And don’t worry, honey; I’m not ... as against this as you might think.” She must have noted my face. “I think we’ll leave it at that for the moment and wait until I’ve talked with Ingrid and checked a few other things. I’ll heat up dinner for you; it’s gone cold by now. Do you have any homework? Just brush-up? Okay; by the time you finish that it’ll be time for bed. We’ll talk later. And thank you for your honesty; I know that telling me can’t have been easy for you. Just remember one thing–I love you, no matter what, okay?”

I nodded and hugged her and suddenly the tears really burst; thank goodness I had the tissues! She hugged me while I cried and cried and I suddenly remembered how only a few hours ago I’d sat like this with Mandy. Only then I had been better dressed ...

Mom went to the kitchen and powered up the microwave. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face and checked myself out in the mirror; I looked like something the cat dragged in. I sat down at the kitchen table to eat and she squeezed my shoulder as she passed on the way to her bedroom.

She turned to me just before she left the room. “I just realized that I don’t know your new name. I’m assuming you have one.”

I was confused for a split-second, but then I smiled and blushed. “Um, it’s Lauren.”

“Lauren,” she said, her head up, like she was tasting it. “I like that ... it suits you.”

“That’s what Mandy thought. Her mom, too.”

“How did you come to call yourself Lauren, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“No, I don’t mind. I never had a name for myself. It was … too painful to do that.” I’d improvised, but it felt like it would have been the truth, in keeping with my story. “I didn’t name myself, Mandy did. And it was kind of funny, too. Even without talking about it, we both decided that ‘Chrissie’ wasn’t right. Her mom walked in, we freaked, and Mandy said, ‘This is Lauren’ because it was the first name that came to her that wasn’t Chrissie.”

Mom laughed. “Sometimes the sudden way is the best way. Like those tests where your first choice is usually the right choice. Humph,” she paused. “Funny about ‘Chrissie’, though. Why didn’t you like it? Or go back to it once her mom knew you were Chris?”

“It’s just that it’s so close to Chris, and I think I wanted to distance myself from anything that reminded me of being a boy.”

“That makes sense. Yes, I can understand that. It’s funny, though,” she said again. And her smile was funny. “Because you almost were Chrissie.”

“What? You mean if I’d been born a girl, I’d have been Chrissie?”

“Sure. Or some variation of Christina, which was our alternate choice to Christopher. You might have been Chris, that way, too, or Christine, Christy, Tina; some variation.” She smiled. “Or maybe you would have called yourself Chrissie anyway, who knows?”

“That’s weird, Mom; now I feel guilty being Lauren.”

She chuckled. “Don’t be. Your name is precious to you, and although I don’t know the girl-you yet, Lauren truly does seem to fit you better than Chrissie would. And you’re right; it’s too uncomfortably close to Chris. Might complicate things.”

“What things?”

She gave me a Cheshire Cat grin. “Can’t say. Don’t know. Too early yet.”

Like the Cat, she kept the smile as she headed into her bedroom. I heard the start of the conversation with Mandy’s mom, and then it buzzed out when Mom closed her bedroom door and I tucked into dinner, thinking about how things would have been different if I’d been born Christina ...

After cleaning up the dinner plates I worked on my math; unlike most nights I was finished with my homework, washed and under the covers fifteen minutes before bedtime. I tried to read a chapter in my bedside book but my mind wasn’t on it. Mom came in just as I was turning the light out. She sat on my bed and fussed with my covers.

“I just finished talking with Mandy’s mom. Goodness, I hadn’t realized so much time had passed since the last time we spoke! We had a lot to catch up on, besides talking about you. Oh, don’t make a face; we had a good talk about you. And, no, I won’t tell you about it until tomorrow; I’m going on the internet to check up on a few things. I just wanted to thank you again for telling me, and to tell you that we’ll work this out; the important thing is that we work on it together, okay? Now, off to sleep.”

She kissed my forehead, something she hadn’t done for years. After she left, I thought about the day’s events–no wonder I was tired! I drifted off and had a dream unlike any I’d ever had in my life. I was floating, like something in a Chagall painting. I floated over the school, and then floated through the halls, filled with students walking like they were underwater. Nobody said anything, but I wasn’t quite invisible because I got a few smiles and head nods. Next I was floating through the mall and dimly realized that I had some white flapping sheet, like a ghost from A Christmas Carol. I floated through the Food Court and through the leaves of that fake tree in front of the book store. I vaguely realized that certain storefronts had a ‘pull’, an attraction: Wet Seal, Claire’s, and that prom shop I could never remember the name of. Even though it was a dream, part of my mind registered it was an obvious longing to go to the girls’ stores. Longing ... or a view of the future?

Chapter 7: Mom Telling Me

When I awoke there was that momentary uncertainty how much of the preceding day had really happened, and what was a dream. I decided I’d let Mom make the first moves, and I went down to breakfast like normal. Mom was just getting off the phone; she sat down at the kitchen table with a mug of tea while I started to make some toaster waffles. Mom called to me not to make breakfast just yet. Bad enough she’d done the Cheshire Cat thing last night; now she looked like the cat that ate all the cream, so I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and had to ask her.

“Why the funny look?”

“Do I have a funny look?” she asked innocently, and then smiled. “A good news look–at least I hope it’s good news. Do you know what serendipity is?”

“Unexplained coincidences, things turning up at the right moment, that sort of thing?”

“Pretty much. There are some that say it’s just coincidence, and others who think that maybe that’s the way the universe works.” She sipped her tea. “Anyway, that’s for a philosophical discussion some other time. Well, there’s been some serious serendipity while you slept.”

“Good serendipity, I hope?”

“I think all serendipity is good; if it’s bad I think they just call it rotten luck,” she chuckled. “Anyway, after you went to bed, I told you I was going to look up some things on the internet.”

“And did you find what you needed?”

She laughed. “And then some! I searched under ‘transsexuals’ and ‘transgender’ and, my goodness, what a world that opened up! I did a great deal of reading, and then linked to a site for parents of transgendered children and read some more. I got a lot of answers there, believe me, but even more, I got support, because they had a chat room, and I went on and ‘talked’ to other parents of transgendered teens!”

“Mom, I’ve warned you about chat rooms; you could’ve been talking to some ten-year-old geek! And besides,” I said with an embarrassed shrug. “We don’t really know if I’m transgendered, medically.”

Her eyes lit up and she actually raised one finger in the air. “Ah!”

I looked at her. “Ah?”

She waggled the finger. “Ah-ha! Okay, I understand your concern over chat rooms, but believe me, this was not an exciting discussion, except for parents. I talked with several, including one that had a girl that wanted to be a boy. Marge even said, ‘what a shame they can’t just swap bodies!’”

“Who’s Marge?”

“Tim’s mother. Oh, you don’t know them. Live across the country. Tim’s been dressing up since age four or five. She’s eighteen now–oops, I should say ‘he’s eighteen’–and scheduled for surgery in two weeks. Double mastectomy.”

Her face did something and I realized it was a woman dealing with the concept of breast removal.

To take the pressure off her, I asked, “Are they nervous?”

“Excited and relieved, more than anything. The strangest thing I discovered was, well, first of all, most parents knew their children were hurting, and they thought they were gay and weren’t coming to grips with it. So the strange part is that when their child was diagnosed as transgendered they actually felt relief! Not that being gay was bad or anything like that, but because being transgendered explained so much more. And usually they discovered that they weren’t gay; they were heterosexual but in the wrong body. It’s as if ... how did he put it? It’s as if ‘heterosexuality was a psychological and physiological imperative that outweighed the conditions of transgender.’” She seemed pleased that she’d gotten the words right.

“Who were you quoting?”

“The father of Sheila, another boy that wants to live as a girl; the before-and-after names really got confusing at times. Anyway, I’ll be talking with all these parents again, and others I hope, but that’s not the really serendipitous part.”

“As you said, ‘ah’. My day couldn’t start without hearing the word ‘serendipitous’.”

She glared at me. “I hope that was meant in the spirit of play, or I’m quitting right now.”

I laughed. “Mom, Mom, loosen up! I’m grateful that you did all this research for me–”

“And grateful for the serendipity?” She raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Yes, although I haven’t heard anything serendipitous yet.”

“Here it comes, smarty pants. We were all chatting when who popped in? Arthur Gladstone himself!” She slapped the table and sat back, pleased with herself.

I had no idea who Arthur Gladstone was, but I was determined to be cheerful for Mom’s sake. “Cool!”

There was an awkward pause, and then she nailed me. “You don’t know who that is, do you?”

I shook my head. “Not a clue.”

She grinned. “Neither did I, this time yesterday. He’s Doctor Gladstone, and his name kept coming up on the things I was reading. He’s one of the leading specialists on transgendered and transsexual people in the world … hope I’m using the right terms. So here’s the cool part; he joined our discussion and boy, was that right from the horse’s mouth!”

“That’s an interesting image ...”

“Pooh on you. Wait, it keeps getting better. Do you want to guess what city this world-famous specialist lives in? Go ahead, guess.”

“London? New York? Duluth?”

She laughed, happily. “No, honey. He lives right here in town; his practice is right across from the University Hospital.”

“Wow! Small world! No, Mom, I mean it; it just came out snide. Is there any chance ... ah, forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Just forget it; he’d never see me, and even if he did, we couldn’t afford it.”

She looked triumphal. “You know that call I was making when you came down for breakfast?”

My eyes widened. “That was to him? To Gladstone?”

“No, silly, I’ve already talked to him!”

“But it’s too early–”

“Weren’t you listening? I talked with him in the chat room!”

I was let down. “Mom, that couldn’t have been him; do you think a big shot like him would lurk around a chat room?”

She crossed her arms. “Yes, smarty pants. I know I already called you that, but you really are a smarty pants this morning. Yes, it was him, and we talked about you at great length.”

I felt squirmy. “With all those other parents around?”

“No; that’s one way I know it was him. He gave me an IM address and told me to check the U. Hospital if I wanted reassuring. I called them and they confirmed it was really him, so we got busy IM-ing each other. Well, apparently it’s PM-ing now. Anyway … our fingers finally got tired and he was obviously awake so I called him and we talked for another half hour. So there!”

“Way to go, Mom!” I was really proud of her; she’d really taken to technology. And I was humbled that she’d go to such lengths for me when other parents might have told me ‘Get over it!’ and that would have been the end of it.

“The call you heard was me calling your school to tell them that you won’t be in today ... you have a doctor’s appointment–that’s why I didn’t want you to eat breakfast.”

“What doctor–wait; you mean with–”

“Yes! Dr. Gladstone’s going to see you at nine today, so shower and get ready!”

The incredible upshot of it was that Dr. Gladstone was apparently running test programs all the time, and this recent program had led him to meet with parents nationwide through the chat room. Mom was right; it was a huge coincidence that his current program was evaluating transgendered teens, and an even bigger coincidence that he lived in our area. Best of all, since his program was funded through the university, if I was accepted as a research subject, the cost to us would be minimal. From what Mom told him, I fit the profile, so I got an appointment–just like that!

Yay, serendipity!

Getting the appointment was a lot easier than deciding what to wear. Should I look like a boy who wanted to be a girl or a boy trying to hide the fact? Then I realized it was rather meaningless, because I didn’t have anything girlish to wear; I’d given Mandy’s things back to her. Even the new panties that she’d given me were in one of her drawers. For the appointment, I would wear my normal ‘good’ clothes. Thinking about the panties made me think about Mandy and I called her before she left for school. As much as I wanted to, I didn’t tell her anything beyond the words ‘doctor’s appointment’. She said we’d talk later and then I had to wait for Mom. I was getting more excited and more nervous as it got later; when Mom finally said it was time to go I almost told her to cancel, but we went.

End of Part 2