Searching
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

It barely rang twice. She was waiting for his call. He was always happy to hear her voice, whatever the circumstances. She asked: “Honey where are you?”

“I’m still in the Quarter,” he said. “I haven’t found him yet, but I have some news. It’s been very … unsettling.”

“Oh,” she said. She sounded very worried, so he felt that he needed to reassure her.

“I have no reason to believe that he is not safe,” he said. It is just that I have learned … I have learned that our son … our son is gay.”

He chose the word carefully given where he was sitting.

“I don’t care about that,” she said. “Just do what you need to do and find him. Talk to him.”

“You didn’t suspect it, did you?” The apparent disregard she had for this crushing news disarmed him a little.

“No,” she said after a pause. “I never would have thought it of Philip. But I really don’t care. But it might explain why he ran away. I just want you to find him and tell him that we love him no matter what.”

They did. He knew that now. They did. No matter what.

“I’m getting closer, Honey,” he said. “I am with someone at the moment, so I will call you back the same time tomorrow. Okay?”

“I love you, Honey,” she said, “Please come home soon,” she added, just before he hung up.

“Thank you for the use of your phone,” he said.

“Sweetie, it is my pleasure,” said Dorian. “I know this is hard for you. It was hard for me when I had to tell my Dad. He went through the same thing you are going through now. I can see it. All the dreams he had for his son suddenly gone. I know the pain, Bob.”

“At least you confronted your father,” Bob said.

“It was easier with him. I think that he knew before I said anything. It was confirmation rather than a surprise. From what you tell me, with Philip it would have been much more difficult. Apparently too difficult for a confrontation.”

“I just never would have known,” Bob said, falling back in the wonderfully comfortable chair in Dorian’s living room. “He was a natural sportsman you know. Quarterback, tennis champ, and he could beat me at golf. All-American in waiting.” Bob stared at the ceiling wistfully. As Dorian had just said: ‘All dreams suddenly gone’.

“The most important thing that you need to remember, is that it is not a choice,” Dorian said. “There was nothing he could do, and there was nothing you could do. You can’t change nature. The can’t wash the stripes off a zebra. We are what we are.”

Bob looked around to remind himself where he was. Sitting in the very tidy apartment of an overtly gay man is the seedy area of the city. Totally out of place. This is where his long search had brought him. Four years after his son Philip had disappeared.

“I am going to get you something stronger,” said Dorian. He rose and as he passed Bob, he put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Bob recoiled slightly.

“The second most important thing for you to know, Bob, is that gay men are not attracted to straight men. We can be friends. Just friends.” Bob looked up. Yes, here was a friend.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I appreciate everything that you have done to help me.”

“Well, you’re going to appreciate the single malt scotch I am going to pour you, even more.”

Bob smiled as he accepted the glass, and felt the liquor in his throat.

“So, you are telling me that you have no idea where he is?” said Bob.

“Well, that’s what I said,” said Dorian. “But I can see that you care for your son deeply. I wish that I could do more. So, here is my dilemma. Your son clearly does not want to see you. Or he does not want to see you disappointed in him. It means the same thing. If I was able to get a message to him asking him whether he would see you, I am worried that he will say no. I don’t want that to happen to you. So, I am … conflicted.”

“If you do know where he is, you can tell me. I don’t need to tell anybody that it came from you.”

“I don’t know the address,” said Dorian. “But maybe I could find out. Let’s drink a little more scotch together, so I can wrestle with my conscience a bit more.”

“It really is good whisky,” said Bob. They chinked glasses. There was over half a bottle to be drunk that evening. Bob would replace it. Perhaps two bottles for this good man.

***

The morning air was crisp. He had to keep the car engine running to prevent the windows from fogging.

The house was not at all what was expected. It was not like the apartment block where Dorian lived. This was decidedly upmarket. In fact, it appeared that it might be a single home, which would make it much better than upmarket.

He straightened as he saw the door open. It was not Philip. Probably his “boyfriend”. The word made him shudder.

He could see that the man was tall. Much taller than Philip. With an athletic build and gait. A good-looking man. Older than Philip by a few years he guessed. And very smart. He was wearing a suit – an expensive one it appeared. He crossed the road in front of him and walked right past.

Now was the time. If Philip was living here, he might be alone.

He turned off the engine and stepped out. He needed to stretch his legs as he had been sitting there for almost an hour. He crossed the street and climbed the steps to the door. Bob observed that the door was original and beautifully maintained. This house was money.

He knocked on the door.

To his surprise the door was opened by a small child, maybe 7 or 8 years old. She looked was dressed for school, her hair braided in a complex style.

“Hello”, said Bob. “I was looking for Philip.”

“I don’t know Philip,” she said, looking at him suspiciously. “But you can ask Mommy.” She turned and called out: “Mommy, there’s a man at the door.”

At the end of the hall a woman appeared. The light was behind her so Bob could not see her face, but she was wearing a smart dress that hugged her curvy figure, and shiny black heels. Her shoulder length blonde hair had soft curls in it.

“I am sorry, I seem to be at the wrong house,” said Bob. This was a family home. Another child appeared from behind her and took her mother’s hand.

“No,” came the gentle reply. “You’re not at the wrong house … Dad.”

Bob struggled to make out the face with the light behind her, but the voice was familiar, and yet not quite his. If this was his son, he was in drag. She walked towards Bob, into the light.

Bob could see that they were his son’s eyes looking at him, now just beginning to become wet with tears. But it was not his son’s face. It might have been, once. The nose and chin were his. But this was a truly beautiful young woman. Her face was made up but not in a garish way – just the hint of eyeliner and mascara, and pink lipstick. Her hair was full and silky, and parted on one side with the other side pushed behind her ear.

Bob struggled to say anything. But she was the first to speak: “Dad, we need to talk, but I have to get the kids to kindergarten. Will you ride with us?”

“Sure,” he muttered. Bob was trying to stop himself from collapsing. His mind seemed numb.”

A late model BMW responded to her key fob, and the two children, the older girl and a young boy, jumped inside the back with enthusiasm. Expensive looking child seats were in place. Bob stepped into the passenger seat and she went round to the driver’s side. She got in bottom first and swung her legs around. She wore no pantyhose and her legs were shapely, tanned and smooth of any trace of hair. She was wearing office attire, but the front of her jacket was buttoned over a fairly low cut blouse revealing two shapely breasts.

“Seat belts everybody,” she said. All three responded to the command, in Bob’s case still in confusion.

“Who is this man, Mommy,” the girl behind asked.

“Now don’t ask rudely,” she said firmly. “You could ask him. But, I am pleased to tell you, that this is my father. So that makes him your other grandpa.”

Still Bob could not speak. Even when the child looked him in the face and asked him: “What should I call you? Grandpa is Daddy’s father. Maybe we should call you Mompa?”

“That would be fine Honey, if my daddy is happy to be called that?” She was glancing over at Bob while trying to keep her eyes on the road. Her smile seemed forced. For the children’s benefit rather than his.

“I am still trying to come to grips with you calling me ‘my daddy’,” Bob said to the driver.

“Here we are,” she said. “Say goodbye to Mompa. Maybe you will see him later.”

She pulled over. She got out of the car and made sure the kids had their lunches and raincoats. They both waved at Bob and he automatically waved back. She took them through the gate and Bob saw her kiss each of them before she came back to the car. She slid back into her seat. Bob noticed for the first time that she was wearing a floral scent – very feminine.

She started the car, and immediately used the handsfree telephone as she pulled out of the park.

“Good morning, Bonaire Realty.”

“Hi Janis, me here.”

“Hi Pip,” came the cheerful reply.

“A family thing has come up,” she said. “I will be in late, today. I will call back soon to give you my ETA.”

When she heard the click, she turned to Bob and said: “Would you like to stop near here for coffee, or come back to my place?”

“Who are you?” Bob said, although he knew the answer.

“Phillipa now, although people call me Pippi or Pip, I was your son. I hope I am now your daughter.” She was pulling the car over. “I am going to stop here. There is a great coffee shop on the corner. We need to look one another in the eye. I owe you that.”

“I think that you owe me something,” said Bob.

There was a park right outside. She gathered together her purse and keys. She had manicured hands with almond shaped nails painted salmon pink. Her gestures were dainty a feminine. He followed her into the coffee bar, now observing her shapely bottom and long legs in black pantyhose. She wore heels which set off the business-like look perfectly.

The woman behind the counter waved at her. Bob noted that clearly, she was known here. He did not know her.

“What will you have Dad?”

“Just plain coffee,” he said. “Black, hot and plenty of it.”

“And I’ll have my usual triple latte with almond milk.” They found a table with two chairs in the busy establishment. It was not a suitable place for an emotional scene, but that suited them both.

“I can accept that you are gay, but this?” It was Bob’s first statement. Already he thought himself, that it was unkind. Some nicer words should have been said. But he could not change it now.

“I am not gay, Dad,” she whispered. “I have never been gay. I am a woman. I just had to make the changes to live as one.”

“Changes?”

“I am a transwoman, Dad. Do you know what that is? A post-operative transwoman.”

“So’ you’ve had an operation? You have had your privates amputated?”

She looked at him with disdain for the use of those words. She said: “I have had my gender surgically confirmed. And that involves … something of that sort.”

“Is that the way your boyfriend likes you?”

“He’s my husband, Dad. We are married. I am legally a woman. He is a man. We have two children. You could be a grandfather if you want to be. You could be Mompa, and Mom could be … Mom-ma.”

“That is the reason I have been looking for you,” said Bob. “If I am angry with you, that is the reason why I’m angry. You just disappeared. You just left. What effect do you think that has had on your mother?”

He was almost hissing, but he had to collect himself as the waitress placed coffee in front of them.

“Thanks Jen,” said Pip. She took a sachet of coffee and tore it open with her polished nail. She elegantly stirred her cup. She collected herself.

“I sneaked away, I admit it,” she said. You might think it a coward’s way, but I don’t think so. I did it because I care about you. I didn’t want you to suffer.”

“What are you talking about?” Bob said.

“You are a man’s man, Dad. I was the son of a man’s man. You wanted me to be more of a man than you. You wanted me to be the quarterback and the first pitcher that you never got to be. You wanted me to play pro-tennis or pro-golf. You said I could have done it. Maybe I could have, but I could never be the man you wanted me to be, because I could never be a man. You don’t have to understand it. I am not sure that I do myself. You just have to accept it, just as I know it.”

“You should have told us,” muttered Bob.

“Told you what? That I preferred dresses and pigtails? That I wanted to get ‘my privates amputated’? Yes, I could have told you and I could have done it there and then. You would have been ashamed, Dad. I know you. You have been unable to live it down. With everything you said about me. Come on. The all-American boy become a pretend girl. It would have killed you Dad. It would have killed me to watch it kill you.”

Bob could see that there were tears welling up in her big blue eyes, circled in long painted lashes.

Pip could see him looking at the tears.

“It’s what girls do, Dad. It’s what we do when we get upset.”

What was he to do? He had no idea. He was a man. Emotion was not his thing, unless it was anger. He was good at that. Anger is what men do when they get upset. Now was not the time.

“Phillip,” He said. “Phillip-a,” he spat out the last syllable. It was hard. “Pip.” It seemed better. Somehow appropriate. I would like to think that you have me wrong.”

“I would like to think that too, Dad, but I don’t. I wasn’t going to take the risk.”

“But the effect on your mother. You should have told her.”

Pip bit her full painted lip. She was uncertain whether she should say anything in response to that. But I would only take one more mention of her mother.

“For the last four years she has been in a state.”

“She knows, Dad.” There. It was said. Pip did not want to say it, but it was said.

“She knows what?”

“She knows about me. She knows about the kids. We are facebook friends. She send messages to the kids. Christmas greetings. Birthdays. She is part of our life. I want you to be too. Nobody back home needs to know. Philip cannot be found, because that is true. He is gone. He is not coming back. Now there’s me. I still love you. You should know that. I think you can be a chauvinist bigot at times, but I do love you.”

The tears were flowing freely now. Her tears were. Bob was not one to cry, but it seemed to him that the habit of lifetime might end right there.

He told himself that he felt betrayed. His wife had been lying to him. He could get angry. That’s what he did. Pip was right. He was a man and that’s what men do.

What could he say?

“I guess my search is over,” he said. I went looking for a son and I found a daughter.”

He smile was the bright orb of the sun emerging after a downpour.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2019