Sunny: The Hippie Chick

By Dawn Natelle

Reviewed and Edited by Eric

Sunny 4 – We Are Family

Sunny finally put down her guitar and thanked her small audience, who responded by dropping coins and ones into her guitar case. I had just finished the Examiner and handed it back to Mario, who would be able to tear off the front-page date to get reimbursed from the newspaper. Sunny came over to hug me, and get her change converted into bills by the Bank of Mario.

“I have a surprise for you,” I told her.

“Goodie. What?”

“We have an appointment tomorrow with my Pharma prof. He wants to do some tests and maybe in time write you a ‘script for hormones.” Sunny stopped in her tracks, a wide smile breaking over her face. She dropped the guitar and leapt onto me, kissing me deeply.

“Hormones? I’m getting hormones,” she cried out.

“Whoa, not so fast. This is only the first appointment. They will take your blood and do some tests. They might have to do the same again later. If all goes well, he could give you a prescription later.”

“I don’t care. Even if it is just the first step of many, I know it means I will get prescriptions eventually. I’m going to have to save my money.”

“Well, the good news there is that legal prescriptions are way cheaper than what you would pay for black-market drugs. And if we can arrange to buy them through the Medical Center, they may even be cheaper.”

Sunny didn’t walk home, she glided. Dancing around, spinning and causing her long blonde hair to form an umbrella around her head. I wound up carrying her instrument case. She insisted in stopping at the little market near the apartment, and I worried that she would shout out to everyone that she was going on hormones, but she contained herself and just bought five pounds of flour and two pounds of sugar.

When she finished dancing up the stairs in that cute way she had, she burst into the apartment singing a song she seemed to make up on the spot called I’m So Happy. She danced into the kitchen and took down her batch of starter, putting the flour and the sugar on the counter and scooping out half of the starter into a big bowl. She put some flour and a bit of sugar into the remaining starter, kneading it gently to feed the new ingredients in.

The rest of the starter was dropped into a huge bowl she had bought at the swap meet, and then she added other ingredients: sugar, flour, water and salt, and started mixing it all together with her hands. Soon it was a smooth doughy mass and the gunk that had been on her hands at first had been incorporated into a smooth ball of dough. Then, she put a clean dish towel over the bowl and set the dough into a corner. Finally, she went and washed her hands again.

“Tonight we will have real bread to celebrate,” she said. “This will be the first batch from this starter. It looked ready. The second batch will be better, and the third batch will be perfect. I just have to let it have the first rise. I should have finished my show sooner. It will take an hour and a half to rise the first time, then I knead it, and put in in the pans for another 90 minutes. But we will have hot bread before bed.”

The next morning Sunny was up early, and made Ben a breakfast of bacon and eggs, along with the rest of that wonderful bread. We had eaten nearly all of the first loaf at night, slathered in jam or peanut butter, and finished it for breakfast. I got the end crust slice, which was only fair because Ben had gotten the other end the night before. He teased me, saying that he would fight me for it, which was laughable. Ben was four inches taller and 80 pounds heavier than me, and it was all muscle. If we actually fought, he would cream me.

Sunny made peace, announcing that he could have the first crust on the second loaf. Tonight. She said her starter would not be ready for another batch for two more days, so we had to make that loaf last, or switch to Wonder bread, which made me shudder.

Ben had to go to school. I’m not sure if it was a late exam or something else. It was raining which normally bummed Sunny out. But today it meant that she wouldn’t have to give up a day at the newsstand to make up for her appointment with the professor.

It took two buses to get to his office, so we left in good time. Sunny now had rain gear from the thrift shop: a pink raincoat and the cutest little yellow boots, and a floppy yellow rainhat. It kept her mostly dry waiting for the bus, and then running to the professor’s clinic.

Inside we came across another receptionist from hell. We were 15 minutes early and she handed Sunny some papers to fill out. Five minutes later Sunny handed them back in. The woman studied them like she was marking an exam.

“Sunshine Aquarius? What kind of name is that?”

“It is my name,” Sunny replied.

“What about a middle name?”

“Don’t have one.”

“And you left the employer section empty,” the woman said.

“Don’t have one of those either,” Sunny said. The woman’s dour attitude was not bringing her down at all. “I’m self-employed.”

“Doing what? How can we be sure you will pay your account if you have no health plan?”

“No health plan either. And Mitch said the professor said this was free.”

“Mitch did, did he? The doctor,” she emphasized the title as though calling him a professor was some kind of slur, “wants you to get some bloodwork done. Go into room 8 and a nurse will be right with you. Hopefully you can be ready on time for the doctor.”

Sunny looked nervously at me as she stood, clearly not happy at us being separated. The woman frowned, and Sunny slipped away through the doors.

She came back at 2:00 sharp, giving me a big Sunny smile when she saw me.

The woman killed that by announcing that the doctor was ready for her, in room 5. She immediately frowned and turned around to go back into the clinic alone.

I spent the next 15 minutes nervously waiting. Sunny later told me that all that time was taken by her explaining her history to the doctor, who had immediately become her friend when he said: “Please sit down, miss.”

The dour receptionist then called me and sent me back to room 5. The professor had asked Sunny to disrobe and put on a paper gown and mentioned that he would call in a nurse for propriety’s sake. Sunny had asked if I could come in instead, and he agreed. The fact I was a pre-med student of his probably made the decision easier for him.

I helped Sunny out of her tie-dyed sundress and into the scanty paper robe with the doctor out of the office. While we were waiting for him to return, she explained what had happened and said: “I really like him. For an old guy his isn’t square at all. He treats me like a lady.”

The doctor came back in and examined Sunny in depth, spending a long time looking at her little penis, and also her breasts. She had worn her bra and the towels to the clinic but had to take them off with her dress.

“You know that if we do go to hormones, they might not result in much breast growth. Possibly an A or B cup. What size was your birth mother?”

“She was small. Probably a B,” Sunny guessed.

“Well, the fact that you have had no male puberty might help. But you certainly won’t get to a D or DD cup, whichever your bra is. But there are ways that small women can get a boost, as you seem to have discovered with your towels. We might be able to get some padding that is more appropriate. Enough to get you to a C cup at the least.”

“I don’t care,” Sunny said. “I like having big boobs, but if it means having my own natural breasts, I’ll live with that.”

“I’ve never treated a transsexual patient before,” the professor said. “But I did quite a bit of reading last night and this morning. If we go the hormone route, then it will take about a half year to see significant signs of change. As well as breasts you can expect to see the rest of your body change. Your waist is very slender already, but your hips will widen, giving you a shapelier form. Do you shave now?”

“No sir. Not even my pits. Never had to.”

“And I noticed that your groin is hairless as well. This might change a bit if you take hormones. Your beard will not develop, but you might grow hair in the areas a girl does at puberty. Your voice didn’t change with puberty and fits into a female range right now.”

“That’s twice you’ve said ‘if’ in reference to hormones. Does that mean you might not prescribe them?” Sunny said with definite fear in her voice.

“Well, it all depends on your blood results,” he said. “But I would say that if you come back in on Friday, I am 90% sure we will be able to do something. It is just a matter of what dosages will be appropriate. Ask Phyllis for an appointment on Friday. Is morning or afternoon best for you.”

Sunny looked at me. “Morning would be best. Then if the news is good, we can get prescriptions filled right away,” I suggested.

“Yes, very good. And I recommend you use the pharmacy in this building so the drugs will be issued at no cost. We have always carried Premarin, but I had to order the Progesterone in. I’m told it will be here on Thursday. I’m treating this as an experimental study. We might have to end the free drugs in a few years, but not until after we are well under way and I am ready to write a paper on the experiment.”

Phyllis was less than pleased to find out that the treatment was pro bono. She made a notation on the papers Sunny had filled in, and then gave us an appointment slip for Friday.

Sunny ran at me once we were free of the clinic. I had learned to step a bit aside and spin her about when she did this. She only weighs 96 pounds but hitting me head on even that small weight could still knock me back a step or two.

“I’m so happy,” she crowed as we walked in the rain to the bus stop. “Getting hormones is the first step to me becoming the real me.”

“You are already the real you to me,” I said. “But I am so glad that you are fulfilling your dream and doing it in a safe way.” We rode back to the apartment, with Sunny floating along six inches off the pavement the whole way. I realized I was going to have to work to keep her grounded until Friday. Luckily it was dry but overcast on Wednesday and Thursday, so she was able to go to the news stand to play, making over $25 dollars each day. She said that many of her regulars had complained that she wasn’t there on Tuesday. She warned them that she would be away on Friday as well, for a doctor’s appointment.

On Friday we broke into the second batch of Sunny’s sourdough bread and, as promised, it was better than the first batch. It made for a tasty breakfast before we headed off to the doctor’s. Ben headed off to his supermarket. He had gotten full time hours until almost Christmas, while keeping his Sunday hours at the Wharf.

Phyllis was her usual cheerful self when we got to the clinic just a few minutes before 10. “Miss Aquarius,” she sneered, recognizing Sunny. “The doctor just buzzed and said you are to head right in. Both of you. To room 5 again.”

Sunny was dancing about like a little girl who urgently needed to go to the bathroom. When the doctor saw her, he immediately detected her excitement and wanted to put her at ease.

“Calm down Sunny,” he said. “You will be leaving here today with a prescription.”

She let out a squeal of delight and jumped up and darted over to hug the older man, gushing her thanks. It took a few seconds for the professor to recompose himself. “Your blood work came through with no anomalies. There is almost no trace of testosterone in your system, and a small amount of estrogen. We did a genetic test, and found that you have XY-chromosomes, normal for a male. There is a new XXY-chromosome, but our test did not find that.”

“Will the hormones change me to an XX?” Sunny asked excitedly.

“No, unfortunately it doesn’t work that way. You will be XY for all of your life. But the hormones will fool the body into thinking you are XX, and you will develop in that way.” “Almost as good,” Sunny said.

“Now, if they’re no other questions, take these prescriptions down to the pharmacy downstairs. Both drugs are pills taken orally each day. You can take one immediately, but after this you should chose a consistent time of day to take them, either early morning or before bed. I want to warn you about taking more than the recommended dosage. It will not speed things up, the extra medicine will just be expelled in your urine. And I will not write another script, so you will wind up having no pills for a time, which will slow down your development. Understood?”

“Yes sir. I will be a good girl and only take them as ordered. And Mitch here will keep me to that, won’t you.”

I shook my head yes, and with that he gave Sunny the two prescriptions. We were out of the room, and the office immediately, and headed down to the pharmacy after getting an appointment set up in two weeks for the doctor to check that all was going well.

In the pharmacy there was a bit of a delay as the clerk was unable to find the progesterone drugs. I mentioned that Dr. McBrien had ordered them in and they were supposed to come in on the Thursday shipment. That clued him in to looking in some unopened boxes, finding the drugs there.

We immediately headed to a nearby café, where Sunny ordered a soda and took the first two pills. I also ordered us sandwiches to make an early lunch.

“I don’t feel any different,” she said with a frown, even though the medicine had barely had a chance to reach her stomach.”

“You won’t,” I pointed out. “And not tomorrow, or next week. Next month you might be able to detect some early changes, but the doctor said it will be six months before the effects are evident.”

Sunny looked at the pill bottles. “There are 90 pills in each. That is three months. If I had bought street drugs, this would have cost $50 for just a month. And they were free.”

We arrived home at 1 p.m. and Sunny headed off to the newsstand. I started into my Anatomy and Physiology textbook, a huge five-pound bear of a book that I hoped to read before classes in that subject started in January.

At about 4 I went down to get my Examiner and found Sunny was willing to go until 6 to make up for missing the morning. We weren’t planning to go to a concert tonight, so it made sense. Mario was a bit pale looking as I chatted with him, then I headed back to the apartment to read the paper before going back to my textbook.

Because Sunny was late, I ordered Chinese food for delivery at 6:30. She arrived just before that, with Ben soon behind. I paid for the Chinese meal, and we all sat around the table to eat.

“I’m worried about Mario,” Sunny said. “He didn’t look good when he closed up at 6. He could barely get his awnings down to close the kiosk.”

“I noticed he was looking pale when I bought the Examiner,” I agreed.

“Oh, he was a lot worse by close,” she said. “He couldn’t even work the padlock. I had to lock it for him. Then he staggered away without even getting the key from me. Did you know that he has worked at that stand for 22 years, from six a.m. to six p.m. without missing a single day?”

“If you have his key, how is he going to open tomorrow, assuming he does? He looked to me like he needed a sick day.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that,” Sunny said. “I guess I’ll have to go out before 6 and give him the key. At least I will find out if there are any people wanting a tune at that time of the morning.”

Sunny was not alone in the early dawn light the next morning. I accompanied my girlfriend as we walked towards the newsstand. I planned on getting my morning Chronicle and heading back, but as we got near the stand, we didn’t find Mario, as we expected. There were five bundles of newspapers leaning against the kiosk but no sign of the little Italian.

“Should we open up?” Sunny suggested, getting the key out.

“Well, at the least we can move these bundles inside,” I said as she popped the padlock. I carted the bundles in, and while I was moving the last a man approached: “Chronicle please.” He held out a dime. Sunny had already untied the twine on one bundle, planning to get me my paper, so she held a paper out and took the money.

Sunny sold 10 more papers as I struggled to lift the awnings of the kiosk, which formed the walls of the stand when it was closed. When everything was open, I unbundled the other papers and set them out. There was a steady stream of customers that just kept building. I don’t know how Mario handled it himself; both Sunny and I were kept hopping for several hours. It was nine before it slowed down enough for Sunny to set out her guitar case and start singing.

People tended to get off one of the buses and head straight over for their papers, so I started watching the arriving buses to guess how many customers I would get. Soon I quickly noticed Mario getting off a bus. He looked terrible, carrying a little tin box. “Mr. Sunny,” he said in his accented English, calling me the name he had apparently given me. “You opened my stand?”

“Yes Mario,” I assured him, helping him to the chair at the back of the kiosk that I hadn’t had a chance to sit on yet. I handed him the small pile of dimes that I had gathered. He opened his little box and put the change into it. It was his cash float. I wished I had that earlier, as I had scrambled to find nickels for change for those who only had a quarter.

Sunny finished her song and hurried over. “Mario, you are sick. What are you doing here?”

“I have to be here,” he moaned. “If no Mario, then newspaper will send someone else and Mario has no job.”

“Wrong,” she said. “Mitch will look after the stand today. And tomorrow too, since you don’t look like you will be well then either. Look, there is a bus a couple blocks away. I think it transfers to North Beach. Is that where you live?”

“Si. Ma mere and the bambinos,” he said, breaking into Italian with his fever.

“I’m taking him home,” Sunny said, getting three quarters from her guitar case for bus fares. “Look after my guitar. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

I put the guitar in the case and brought it into the kiosk as soon as the rush from that bus ended. Then it was several hours that flew by as I kept busy handling the traffic in the stand. Just after lunch a truck dropped by and tossed out three more bundles of newspapers: The Examiner. I untied them and put them out.

The afternoon was slower than the morning. Then I had barely a chance to read the Chronicle front page during lulls, but I got more spare time to work through the Examiner. It was four o’clock when Sunny finally popped off the bus.

“I was starting to worry about you,” I told her as she came back to the kiosk.

“Oh, when we got there, I helped Maria, Mario’s wife, put him to bed. Then I found out that she had expected Mario to bring groceries home to feed the kids. I loaned Maria $20 and she went out for a bit to get food while I looked after her kids. There are five of them, from age six to a newborn. One was in school. Mitch, I got to change the baby’s diaper! Twice,” she was super Sunny excited. “The baby was so cute. I mean all of them were. I want kids so much.”

“Well, I don’t think your hormones will help with that,” I suggested, expecting that to damper her glee. It didn’t.

“The other kids were cute too,” she gushed. “When the baby was asleep … I fed her a bottle … the other little ones gathered around me and I told them stories. Fairy tales and Mother Goose stuff. It was like being a mother to them. When I finally had to leave the three of them actually cried to see me go. I told Maria I would come and visit to give her another chance to go shopping. I want to go back right now.”

“And leave poor Mitch alone?”

“No. I’m going over and sing you some songs. We have to keep the stand open until 6 p.m. Mario said a man from the newspaper drives by every few days to check he is open.”

“Any chance of getting a sandwich from the Deli for a starving newspaper seller? I haven’t eaten since our breakfast. When was that? A month ago?”

Five minutes later Sunny returned with a sandwich for me. Apparently, she was hungry as well and had almost finished hers by the time she got to the kiosk. She had two sodas as well and they went down well. I had not brought my canteen, and vowed that I would on Sunday, since Sunny had promised Mario that I would work the stand then.

Sunny sang and I sold newspapers at an increasingly slow rate as the afternoon passed. Finally, just before 6 I started shutting the kiosk up, lowering the awnings and moving the small stack of Examiners inside for Mario to deal with when he was back. There were no Chronicles left, other than one that I had started the crossword on.

Sunny also packed up, and brought the padlock out of her guitar case, key still in it. Once I had locked up, I tried to hand her the key, but she shook her head.

“No, you keep it. You will need to open tomorrow.” I just groaned. It was not hard work.

Ben would laugh at me being tired the way he works lugging fish crates on Sundays.

But 12 hours is a long shift even while sitting a lot and I was almost crawling back to the apartment.

Sunny still seemed perky so she made a nice pasta dinner while I collapsed on the sofa-bed. We ate, and then I went to bed at 8, and slept through till 5:30 when the alarm told me I had to do it all again.

Sunday I was at the kiosk before 6, although without Sunny. I told her to come by later.

No sense both of us being exhausted. Sunday had less traffic, but the Sunday paper (only the Chronicle had one) cost 25 cents instead of a dime, so sales were about the same as Saturday’s.

Monday I was getting into the routine. The one thing that this did for me was to convince me how important my education was. This working for a living thing was annoying. It was rainy, which cut sales more than a little, but it also meant that Sunny could go to Little Italy and visit Mario. When she returned just before 6 she reported that the patient was feeling better, and insisted on coming to work on Tuesday. She told him he was to come in at 10, not six, and he could relieve me. I looked forward to it. She also reported that she had been able to look after Mario’s little family while Marie went shopping again. This time she had cash from Mario, who also repaid the loan from the last trip.

On Tuesday Mario arrived at 9, not 10, looking much better, although still a bit pale. I didn’t argue about getting off early and went home and slept for four hours. At 4 I returned, and Sunny sent Mario home early. He took the key with him so he could open at 6 on Wednesday. I just had to snap the padlock closed when I packed up at the end of the day.