CHAPTER THREE

With Christmas less than two weeks away, Mitzi and I agreed that we’d hold off telling mom about my invitation to become a teen girl model until after the glorious holiday. Mom’s union was into a heavy schedule of bargaining with the company to settle a contract that was ending on December 31. With the usual holiday preparations, we felt it better not to burden mom.

I tried mightily to be the dutiful son – at least when mom was around. I had taken to wearing panties under my male clothes on a daily basis, and since Mitzi and I did all of the laundry, it was no problem in keeping my lingerie clean without mom learning the truth. After school and before mom got home, of course, I’d change into one of the two skirts and three blouses I had inherited from those Mitzi was no longer interested in wearing. We were nearly the same size, except Mitzi was a bit huskier than I was.

Melodie and I seemed to grow tighter as friends, as I often stayed at her place to do my homework, until it was time to go home and prepare dinner. Often, since she was home alone (her mom and dad both worked until after five o’clock), she’d find an old dress or skirt and blouse combination that she had long since outgrown. I would change into the dress for the hour or so I was at her house, and we studied like two girls, frequently taking time off to gossip or giggle. Sometimes, we got together at the computer, checking out Facebook or combing the internet for teen girl fashions. Melodie seemed to be as enthusiastic about making me into a pretty girl as I was.

“Theodora, you’d look hot in this dress,” she’d gush upon seeing an outfit that would expose a bit more of skin.

Sometimes I’d agree with her; sometimes I’d argue it was too revealing. “You’re such a prude, Theodora,” she’d scold me.

Often I’d look again at the outfit, realizing she was probably correct: I’d truly be a hot girl. I hated myself for being so vain, but I must have known I was just naturally a lovely teen girl.

*****
One day as I left school, I saw Mitzi and Melodie arguing with each other; they stood in the cold winter afternoon, separated from the throngs of students rushing out of the school. As I approached, they both shut up, but I could hear Mitzi look at Melodie to say: “Don’t you dare hurt him, you hear?”

Mitzi turned to me and spoke, her voice stern and hard, “You’re coming home with me, Theodore.”

She almost yanked my arm out of its joint as she grabbed me and began to drag me down the sidewalk, away from Melodie.

‘You’re spending too much time with that girl,” Mitzi said once we were away from the others.

“We just study for a while and talk,” I protested.

“She’s a bad influence on you.”

“What way?”

“God, can’t you see it? The way she hangs on to you and caresses you. It’s sickening,” she said.

“I like her and she likes me. What’s wrong with that?”

“I tell you what’s wrong with that,” Mitzi said. “Oh, Teddy, I love you and I don’t want to see you hurt, but she’s just using you. She’s such a fat old pig who can’t find a boyfriend and she’d grabbed onto you and you’re to blind to see.”

“She’s not a fat old pig, Mitzi,” I argued.

“But you’ve become so girlish, I can’t even tell you’re a boy anymore. I blame myself for encouraging you.”

It was true. I had heard snickers and a few random comments about my appearance and mannerisms, but so far in the first semester of my high school years, I hadn’t been bullied or teased as I was in middle school. I enjoyed being with Melodie and the other girls; I wanted so badly to share in their activities that I had learned to ignore what others thought about me. I had become aware that I was acting more and more girlish, but I felt good about it. I felt free and happy.

I couldn’t figure out Mitzi’s reasoning. Hadn’t she also encouraged me to dress up like a girl? Didn’t she urge me to model at Suzie’s? If I was becoming more and more girlish, it was due as much to her and Heather as it was to Melodie. Finally, it dawned on me; my sister was jealous of my budding friendship with Melodie.

“Teddy,” my sister continued, “Melodie doesn’t want you as a boyfriend. She wants you as a girlfriend. Has she tried to hug you and kiss you already?”

I only blushed.

“See, she has,” Mitzi said triumphantly. “I bet she called you Theodora, too.”

“I guess. And you also call me Theodora, too. Right?” I replied.

“I hate to talk against a girl I’ve known all my life, but we think she doesn’t like boys. She lez.”

“Lez. Like a lesbian?”

“Yes, honey.”

It was true, she always treated me as a girl, telling me how soft and feminine I was. She enjoyed her caresses and yearned to have her hands on me. She was strong and protective.

For the next several days at school, Melodie didn’t speak to any of us, even me. She was alone most of the time and I felt sorry for her. Her friendship with me had caused her to become estranged from her long-standing girlfriends, Mitzi and Heather. I continued to eat at the lunch table with Mitzi, Heather and their other girlfriends, usually the only boy at the table of giggling and gossiping girls.

Three days later, my sadness had grown intense at seeing Melodie eating alone at a corner table, sharing a table with a few other known loners in the school. She looked unhappy. I sat down next to her. She was my friend and I didn’t care what anyone thought.

“Who asked you to sit here?” Melodie asked, her tone sharp and cold. “I didn’t invite you. Go sit with the other girls.”

“I want to sit with you, Melodie,” I said simply, setting my tray down and sitting on the bench.

“I don’t need you here.”

“OK, but I want to sit here and I’ll sit where I want to sit,” I said, asserting a firm strong voice.

The other kids at the table looked at the both of us, wondering what was going on. I knew several of them as kids who seemed to lack friends and tried to shy away from other kids, often because they had been perceived as being “different.” Nobody said anything, but kept looking down at their food, either eating it or toying with it.

Like the others at the table I pretended to concentrate on eating. I slowly ate my salad, sipped some fruit juice and then consumed a yogurt dessert. In anticipation of my potential modeling, I was making a serious effort to lose some weight, worried that my soft tummy might doom my chances.

“I should start eating that rabbit stuff,” said Albert Leerfeldt, a chuuby kid who was in my Social Studies class. “But you don’t need to lose weight, Teddy.”

I laughed, afraid to tell him why. “Eat what you like, Albert, but you know some of this rabbit stuff can taste pretty good. Try it.”

I felt sorry for Albert. He was a nice enough guy and at times could be kind of funny, especially when he made fun of himself and his stocky figure. I wanted to tell him to stop calling attention to his weight, but I guess it was a way he felt he could deal with his problem. I was pleased when he began asking me about the class session we had earlier in the day and we shared our thoughts on why we felt Mr. Hansing had such weird questions on a recent test.

When I was done eating, I got up, picked up my tray and addressed the entire table, “Thanks for letting me sit here.” I didn’t look at Melodie as I proceeded to deposit the tray onto the conveyor belt that would take it in to be washed.

That night Mitzi and I argued about me eating with Melodie. “Are you choosing that girl over your own sister, Teddy?”

“No, I just felt she needed a friend and you got all your girlfriends.”

“Are you hot for her or something? You don’t want her to get her hooks into you, Teddy. She’s eager for sex. I know her,” Mitzi said.

“I can think for myself, Mitzi, and I like her,” I replied.

“It looked like she wouldn’t talk to you today.”

“She will, Mitzi. She will. Just give it time.”

“I’m worried about you, Teddy. Really, I am.”

“I’ll be careful,” I said, giving Mitzi a sisterly kiss.

*****
That night, I tossed and turned trying to get to sleep.

Was Melodie really a lesbian as my sister suggested? My sister said that Heather told her that Melodie had come on to her, caressing her thigh when they happened sit together in the cafeteria. When we were studying at her house, she always treated me as a girl, didn’t she? It’s like she didn’t even want to think of me as a boy. I enjoyed it, too, and I got concerned as to why I did.

Now Melodie wouldn’t talk to me and I eventually came to the conclusion that perhaps Melodie had taken Mitzi’s warning to heart. Perhaps Melodie was distancing herself from me to protect me, to slow down my tendency to become more girlish. Also, she may have felt guilty over our intense hugging and cuddling. Whatever was causing her to reject my friendship, I was convinced that she was acting in my best interest. Melodie was a true friend, I believed.

The following day, I sat down next to her again; she said nothing, didn’t even acknowledge that I was there. Meanwhile, Albert and I talked about Mr. Hansing and were sometimes joined by Serena, a pimply-faced girl who often sat at this table of loners. I liked talking to her since she was always interesting; she talked about current issues and we agreed lots about the recently completed election. She was one of the few Muslim students at the school, which I guess was probably the reason for her unpopularity.

“We’re American citizens,” Serena said, as Albert and I began discussing the man who had just won the recent Presidential election. I said the President-elect was being racist in his questioning of the loyalty of Muslims in the U. S.

“I don’t think he was saying all Muslims were disloyal,” Albert said, somewhat in defense of that candidate.

“Well, he as much as said so,” interjected Melodie, who had been apparently been listening to our conversation.

Before I realized it, Melodie who had been trying to ignore us (especially me) was deeply engaged in our heated discussion about the election. I was pleased to see that Melodie had opened up, even if it was due to her passionate opposition to the next President.

As the lunch period was drawing to a close, I got up to return my tray and was surprised to see that Melodie had also gotten up and headed with me to the return belt. She continued alongside as we left the cafeteria. Just before we split up before to go to our respective classes, Melodie said, her voice somewhat tentative, “Thanks Teddy for sitting with me. Tell your sister she’s probably correct. Bye, see you tomorrow, OK?”

“OK,” I replied. I doubted that Melodie heard me. She had turned and left for her next class.

That night, Mitzi came into my room just as I was getting into my nightgown. “Don’t you ever wear your Green Bay Packer ‘jamas anymore?” she teased.

She knew full well I had ditched those in favor of dainty, silky nightgowns. I had several of them, including a cute pink baby doll, but I liked the bare-shouldered nightgowns that were held up only by thin straps and were mid-thigh in length.

“You look cute in that gown,” she said.

“Whadda ya’ want? Shouldn’t you knock first?” I said, annoyed by her newly acquired practice of entering my room without knocking.

“Sisters don’t need to hide anything,” she said teasingly.

“Still, you should knock.”

“Don’t get in such a huff, sis, I just wanted to tell you something.”

I continued to brush my hair as she talked.

“Anyway, Melodie texted me that I was right about her,” Mitzi continued. “That maybe she was perhaps spending too much time with you and that was hurting you.”

“What? It wasn’t her doing, Mitzi. I wanted to be with her. I like her.”

“Oh Teddy. Don’t you see? I saw how she was hanging around you all the time. She’s just a lonely fat girl and . . .”

“She’s not fat,” I said angered. “She’s just a big strong girl and I think she’s pretty.”

Mitzi was taken aback by my defense of Melodie. She held up her hand and said, “Whoa there. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s been my girlfriend forever and I love her, but she has trouble getting a boyfriend and she’s now looking for girlfriends. I just know she’s treating you like you’re a cute girl.”

“Well, I’m fourteen and I can think for myself. I don’t need you thinking for me.”

“Oh Theodora, I just don’t want you getting hurt, my darling little sister.”

Mitzi hugged me. She smelled good, having just washed herself and I hugged her back. We had never hugged when I was in my boy mode. Now, it seemed, we were huggy-huggy all the time, just like sisters should be.

The next day, Melodie and I rejoined the other girls at their table in the cafeteria. I was happy to see all us together again. It was great being a girl.

*****
Since dad died five years ago, Christmas was always a difficult time at our house. Until then, it had been a truly joyous event, even with the hustle and bustle of the season. Dad was a long-distance over-the-road trucker who was often gone weeks at a time, but he always managed to be home for the holidays. He spoiled both Mitzi and me rotten, not so much with gifts but rather with his joyful, playful demeanor. He let us get away with almost anything, leaving the disciplining to mom, a situation that sometimes saw them at odds with each other. Yet, mom and dad’s occasional differences in child-rearing never seemed to cause any permanent rift between the two; they were truly in love.

In past years, I had strong suspicions as to what Santa Claus would be leaving under the tree; this year, however, I didn’t have a clue. I had lost my interest in video games and I had long ago given up collecting baseball cards. My interests truly had shifted; I wished for a makeup kit, a hair curler and perhaps a nice nightgown. I obviously kept those wishes to myself, knowing mom would be shocked if she realized what I wanted. I probed Mitzi as to what she thought mom was giving us, but she pleaded ignorance.

I was truly clueless as a padded out of my bedroom on Christmas morning, wiping sleep from my eyes. I had quickly changed out of my lovely nightgown and slipped on sweat pants and an old, ragged sweatshirt with a Green Bay Packers logo. I sat down in front of the tree. It was a real one, though smaller than the ones dad bought each year. Mitzi and I had taken great care in decorating it and I smiled as I turned on the lights.

Hanging in the middle of the tree was a neckless with a silvery St. Christopher’s medal; it was the medal my dad wore when driving. Next to it was a picture of dad standing in front of his shiny Peterbilt tractor, his beguiling smile so reminiscent of the look he bestowed on us every time he returned from his travels. These two items were always hung last upon the tree in the years since dad’s death; mom always joined us as we hung them and we never failed to tear up. I think I sobbed the loudest of all, I sorely missed him, even now five years later.

It was seven in the morning when I sat down, cross-legged before the tree, examining the wrapped gifts. There were several for me, I had noticed: two flat boxes, looking as if they might contain clothes and a couple of shoebox-sized containers that could have held almost anything. I was mulling over what was in the shoeboxes when I spied a tiny box containing a pink bow; that one really mystified me.

I didn’t have long to ponder the mysteries before mom and Mitzi appeared. Mitzi sat down next to me and we jointly began speculating what we’d find when we finally ripped the colored paper off the gifts. We had to wait patiently while mom fixed herself coffee. In the meantime, mom had given both of us a glass of milk and piece of grandma’s strudel that we consumed as we sat before the tree, both nervously awaiting the big moment. We were both teenagers, but we seemed to be acting like five-year-olds. It was fun.

“Mom, hurry up,” Mitzi whined after a while.

“Be patient, kids. You know your mother needs her coffee,” she said.

Mom finally joined us, holding her cup of coffee carefully as she also sat cross-legged. She was amazingly agile for a middle-aged woman, I thought. She had regained her trim figure recently, having joined a gym club where she worked out regularly. After dad died, she had let herself grow fatter and failed to groom herself very well. Her recent interest in her appearance seemed to coincide with the appearance of a new boyfriend on the scene.

As was the custom, we would each open our gifts one at a time, starting with me, since I was the youngest. I picked out one of the shoeboxes, ripping off the white and gold wrapping paper to find, to my astonishment, a pair of girl’s shoes.

I didn’t know what to say; I could hardly wait to put them on. But why these shoes? Why for me?

“Aren’t these meant for Mitzi?” I asked. I was so confused.

“Don’t you like them, dear? We can take them back and get you something else,” mom said, smiling.

I ran my hand over the shoes, held them up in front of my face. “These are for me?” I said still not sure how to react.

“They’re called Mary Janes and they’re for you,” Mitzi said.

“But . . .” I began to protest.

Mom interrupted me. “Theodora. That’s your name, right?”

I was shocked. Mom knew about Theodora, even after Mitzi and I had been so careful to hide my crossdressing. How could she know?

“I’ve been wondering about you for some time now, dear,” mother continued. She moved close to me and began to hug me. I began to cry and sobbed, my tears soaking up the robe she wore. She patted my head.

“How did you know?”

“Well, your grandmother clued me in, and then I began to look a little closer at you, and it became obvious to me that something was going on,” she said.

“Grandma Jean?” I replied, puzzled. Grandma Jean was mom’s mother and I always liked her. She was always interested in what I was doing. Grandma Jean was still a fashionable lady despite being well into her seventies. I liked my other grandparents, too, but after dad’s death, we rarely saw them since they had moved to Arizona.

“Yes, Grandma Jean. After she was here for Thanksgiving she said you had changed a lot since she last saw you in summer. She asked me what happened to my son and that you looked and acted more like a girl than a boy.”

“How could she tell, mom?” Mitzi asked.

“Yeah. Wasn’t I the same Teddy?”

Mom smiled. She hugged me. “No darling, you weren’t,” she explained. “It dawned on me that I saw you every day so that it was hard to see the changes and besides I was so busy due to all the overtime and now the union stuff that I guess I never really looked at you. I’m afraid I was a bad mother, because I just left the two of you on your own, but you are such good kids I just never worried like a mother should.”

“No mom, you’re a good mom, and Teddy and I understood. It’s been so tough on you since dad died,” Mitzi interrupted.

Mom started to tear up, I could see. “You’re the best, you two,” she said her voice now thick as she apparently was fighting back sobs. Soon the three of us were hugging together, all of us near to joining in a crying jag. Before that happened, we all began giggling and soon we had trouble stopping our laughter, breaking apart and trying not to look at each other for fear we’d start to giggle all over again.

“The clincher came, Teddy,” mom said once our giggles had stopped, “when I got a phone call from a place called Suzie’s at the mall, asking for Theodora. I told the woman on the phone she must have had the wrong number, but then she insisted, asking if I was Patricia Rushing, and I said yes. Then she asked if I was the mother of Theodora Rushing and had she (apparently my ‘daughter Theodora’) talked to me about modeling for her.”

“Oh mother, I’m sorry,” I said, horrified that Stephanie had called the house. I wondered how she got our phone number and then I remembered when she had put the dress aside for me, I had given her my name as Theodora Rushing.

“Well, then she said that my ‘daughter’ was particularly pretty and already had the poise that would make for a great model. I hung up after telling her that ‘she’ hadn’t mentioned it before and that I didn’t think I’d approve of such a thing, but that I’d talk to ‘her.’” Mom used a sarcastic tone in words that referred to me as a female. I figured that after she must have called the house before I had called her. Miss Stephanie seemed most determined to have me as a model.

Mitzi picked up the story. “Teddy, then mom grilled me that evening when you were baby-sitting at the McConigals and at first I played dumb, but mom is too smart and so I told her everything. And I said, I thought you made a lovely girl and most importantly that you seemed to love being a girl.”

I didn’t know whether to be mad at Mitzi or not; after all Theodora was supposed to be just the secret of us four girls. Mitzi looked at me and shrugged as if to say that mom had forced the truth out of her.

“Teddy, or shall I say, Theodora?” mom said.

“Teddy’s fine,” I mumbled, though in my heart I thought I should have embraced “Theodora.”

*****
Mom explained that she got the call from Stephanie about a week before Christmas and got to wondering if perhaps her son was one of those strange boys who’d prefer being girls. She and Mitzi began doing some quick research on transgendered girls. Both had even taken time to search out and visit the local LGBT organization where a counselor had discussed the whole process.

“We both came to realize that you, dear Teddy, may be a transgender girl,” mom explained. “I thought back to what Grandma said to be that you had seemed to act more and more like a girl and to even look like a girl. I began to look more closely at my son and came to the conclusion that we had to find out whether you’re transgender or not.”

I continued to hold and look at the Mary Janes, listening to mom while at the same time wondering how the shoes would fit and what other lovely items were in the boxes still be unwrapped.

“Teddy, are you listening to me?”

“Yes, mother,” I said, raising my head to look at her. I was growing dizzy with what was happening.

“Now, dear,” she continued. “You will learn as you open the rest of your gifts that they’re all for a girl, not a boy. It’s important to tell you that we can return all of them in case they don’t fit or if you’re not interested in being a girl and want some boy things. You understand, Teddy?”

“Yes, mother, I do.”

“Another thing, Teddy, I thought seriously about encouraging you in this, but after my consultations with the folks the LGBT center and with psychologist they recommended, I felt that it was best to test how serious you are about this. They suggested we give you plenty of opportunities to live as a girl whenever you can. Again, but only if you want that.”

“And the other gifts are more stuff for a girl?” I probed.

She nodded. I looked at mom and Mitzi, my eyes filling up with tears. I didn’t answer at first, knowing my answer was important. Finally, I said, “I’m sure I’ll want to keep my gifts. I love you so much, and Mitzi, I love being your little sister. I never thought you’d understand mom. You’re the best mother.”

I scrunched over to kiss mom and she gathered me in her arms and we hugged for the longest time. Then I return to Mitzi and did the same. I was so grateful to her for letting me into her circle of girlfriends.

Mom broke up our hugfest and said, “Now, let’s return to opening our gifts, taking turns as we always have done. After all, this is also Mitzi’s Christmas.”

*****
Mitzi and mom thought of every need that a girl could have. My gifts included a selection of panties, bras and camisoles, sandals with short heels, a denim miniskirt, a full flowing print skirt, a pleated plaid skirt, several blouses, two sweaters, nylons and socks. There were the necessary accessories, like a make-up kit specially for teens, a hair brush and hair clips. We all giggled as I opened the other shoebox to find two breast forms, size 32 A.

Mitzi hugged me tightly when she opened up the gifts I had gotten for her, using my baby-sitting money. “Ooooh, I love this,” she cooed when she unwrapped the baby doll dress that I had seen her admire in one of our shopping trips.

“You have such lovely taste, Theodora,” mom said of the sweater and blouse combination I got for her.

I never loved my mother and my sister as much as I did that morning; they had both made me so happy, recognizing that this strange boy in their family may not have been a boy after all.

“I have a surprise for both of you,” I said, after we had finished opening our gifts and had even tried on some of the outfits.

Both looked at me quizzically, and I smiled. “Let me prepare brunch,” I said. “I found a great recipe for a Christmas quiche and I want to fix it for us, just to show you, mom, and Mitzi how much I love being your daughter and sister.”

My quiche was a big hit; Mitzi and mom cleaned up the kitchen afterward after telling me to dress in one of my gift outfits. I gladly accepted the offer and ran off to pick out one of the outfits from under the tree. I chose a plaid, pleated skirt, a white blouse and red vest; the combination of colors made for a truly Christmassy sight.

The doorbell rang, just as I was finishing brushing my hair into a nice bob.

“Can you get that Theodora?” mom yelled from the kitchen.

“Do you think I should? The way I’m dressed?” I asked, worried since few knew of my crossdressing practices.

“I’m sure you look lovely, dear. Just answer the door.”

Reluctantly and with my heart beating rapidly, I walked to the door, trying to think of a lie to tell whoever was at the door as to why a young girl answered. Perhaps I could say I was a friend of Mitzi’s, I thought.

With trepidation, I opened the door. Standing before me in the cold was Grandma Jean. I was surprised since she wasn’t expected to come for Christmas; instead we were planning to drive to her place – about thirty miles away – later in the day.

*****
“I have some special gifts for all of you,” Grandma Jean explained. “And I couldn’t wait to give them to you.”

She announced that it might be good to reverse the family practice to open gifts in an order that started with the youngest – me. She said that in all fairness, the oldest should go first. That made my gift the last to open. In truth, the gifts she brought for both mom and Mitzi were nice, though I didn’t think they were particularly special.

“Now it’s your turn,” my grandma said, a sly smile on her face. She truly was a lovely woman, even with her wrinkly face.

My gift was in a flat box, and I speculated that it must be clothing of some sort. I feared she might have brought me another Green Bay Packer sweatshirt – seemingly Packer stuff had been her favorite through the years, perhaps in the hope that I might eventually become a real boy.

All eyes were on me as I began to untie the pink bow around the box; I always was slow in unwrapping my gifts, worried about ruining the pretty bows and paper that adorned them. Finally, I got the box open and pulled apart the tissue paper. It was the mint-colored dress from Suzie’s Teen Fashions.

“Oh Grandma, how did you know?”

“That’s our secret,” she said, laughing. “Now go try it on.”

Mitzi joined me in my bedroom to help me on with the dress. She fussed with me, even helping me with my makeup and fixing my hair. She then helped me with the Mary Janes.

“There, you’re all fixed, ready to go to the ball,” Mitzi said. “Let’s show you off to mom and grandma, OK?”

Grandma Jean beamed as Mitzi and I walked into the living room.

“Patricia,” she said, addressing mom. “Don’t I have the loveliest of granddaughters?”

“Yes, you do,” mom agreed.

I looked at Mitzi and we hugged, as sisters. I couldn’t be happier; yet, I wondered what would happen next.