Breakfast
"Mommy, if you don't let me get gender reassignment surgery I'm going to kill myself."
"Tina. Brendon, please call me Tina. Not mommy," his mother corrected, not even bothering to look up from the breakfast frying pan.
"Brenda," Brendon said, seating himself in the breakfast nook. "Mommy, please call me Brenda."
"How would you like your eggs?"
"Eggs! How do you expect me to ever get into a size five eating eggs!"
"Only joking. Here's your fruit salad."
"Thanks, Mommy," he smiled, wishing he could eat whatever he wanted.
Tina played with her breakfast while her son dainty nibbled at his.
She was tired of it all. But she still loved him. After all he was her only child. No father figure, they all told her. That's why.
So her bum of a husband ditched them both. Lots of immature men did that.
But how many of their sons grow up playing with Barbies and dreaming of Kens?
Maybe if she hadn't caved in. But he'd always been such a sweet kid.
All the others in his class were busy growing into young men and women, learning about and yearning for sex.
It had to happen to her little Brendon someday.
Now all the little scamp could think about was the Junior Prom. Most of all he worried that no boy would ask him.
Not that Tina ever had that problem herself. She'd been captain of the cheerleader squad.
"What's your hurry?" Tina asked her son.
"Look here," the teen said, pointing at his upper lip. Perched there upon was the cutest little peach fuzz of a mustache.
"Want me to put some cream on that and call the cat over?"
"Very funny. But I'm afraid it's just the tip of the iceberg. You're little boy is becoming a he-man. A big giant ugly lummox—all sinewy and hairy and smelly and not very pretty at all."
"I thought you liked men."
"So do you. But that doesn't mean you want to be one."
"Touché," Tina agreed. That was another problem. Her kid was way too smart.
"Look Mommy, it's easy," Brendon started calmly enough. "I've been lucky. I'm a late bloomer. I'm just starting puberty in earnest. My body's changing even as we speak. Pretty soon my shoulders will be getting broader and my voice deeper. I'll get an Adams Apple. Coarse thick hair will sprout up everywhere—my face, my arms, my chest and even my ears and toes. I'll get unsightly muscles!" he finished all in a tizzy.
"Sounds normal to me."
"Normal. Normal? Normal! I Hate Normal. I DO NOT WANT NORMAL!"
"What do you want?"
"I want to be pretty," Brendon said, ticking off his wants one to a finger. "I want to be strong and nurturing and selfless and generous and loving. I want to be like you, Mommy."
After that they were both kind of misty eyed.
"Come here you big lug and give your Mommy a big hug."
She cradled her son in her arms just as she had since she'd first been introduced to him in the hospital or when he was sick or hurt or scared or just needed cuddling. It always seemed to help. Sometimes it was all that was needed. Only this time she knew it wasn't enough. God, how I love him. God, how I want him to be happy.
"I'll think about it...Brenda."
"Thanks, Tina. "
"Mommy," she corrected with a smile.
"Thanks, Mommy. But you can't take too long. Times running out here."
"I love you," Tina whispered, kissing him on his smooth cheek.
"I love you right back," he smiled. Then he scooped up his backpack and raced to the door. "Later."
"Later."
School
Once he was clear of the house Brendon slacked his pace quite a bit. He hated high school with a passion. He didn't fit in anywhere.
The straight guys couldn't stand him because they thought he was gay. The gays ridiculed him because he swore he was straight–just in the wrong body. All the teachers hated him because–well–just because.
There was one oasis in Brendon's endless desert of narrow-mindedness. It was Laura. She'd been his best friend since kindergarten. Whenever he was with her he felt like just one of the girls. They shared everything and could talk about anything. She was his lifeline to the female planet.
What he didn't know was that Laura loved him just as he was—a boy that is. And she was sure that if she loved him long enough and hard enough he'd quit his nonsense and marry her and they'd have lots of beautiful babies. That's what she thought. Only she never let on.
Home Room
"Brendon," Mr. Wilson his homeroom teacher a-hemmed. "I do believe we've spoken before about your manner of dress." The man had a way of dragging out the last syllable of words that annoyed everyone.
The class tittered, hearing Brendon and the word dress together.
"Yes, Mr. Wilson."
"Stand up lad so everyone can get a good look see at you."
Brendon stood, trying to be brave. Think Sarah Connor in Terminator, he kept repeating to himself.
"Are those boy's jeans?"
"Jean is jeans, sir. I believe there is no issue with girls wearing boy's jeans."
"Answer the question."
"Yes, sir. These are girl's jeans, alrighty. You can tell because the zipper is in the back." He turned his derriere to face the teacher. "Also they're tapered, accenting the sweep from well-turned ankle to lush thigh, sir."
"That's enough, young man."
"You'll also note that I've coordinated them with an attractive blouse. What gives that away Mr. Wilson is the buttons. They're on the correct side."
"Sit down."
Brendon sat down, wishing he were dead.
"I'll forgive you on one account."
"Sir?"
"Bellbottoms. You know I wore bell bottoms when I was a young rebel."
"Revolutionary or Civil War, sir?"
"Don't push it."
"Sorry," Brendon smiled, crossing his legs. "Really."
First Period
"Fem," Axle spat, slamming Brendon into the row of hall lockers.
"I–" Brendon stuttered, surrounded by gargantuan boneheads.
"Guys, look. Brenda's getting a hard-on."
"Go ahead. Beat me to a pulp."
What Brendon really wished was that they'd just kill him outright and get it over with. That way they would spend the rest their natural lives in prison being sodomized by bullies even bigger and more brain dead than they were.
"You love it." Axle actually spat on him. A slob of spittle stained his snowy blouse.
Axle grabbed Brendon by the nap of his hair and hauled him up on tiptoes.
"Listen, bitch. After school we'll get you. We're going to gang-bang you till you bleed. So make sure you got your prettiest panties on."
Thank God for the departmental nature of high school. The bell rang signaling the start of class. They all beat it to first period.
"Good morning," Ms. Smith smiled. The woman was fading fast and still a virgin, which is always a bad sign but most especially in an English Literature Major. There was something about romantic poetry–Byron, Blake and Rossetti that pickled their gray matter.
Never fail, they always got the hots for art-fags. They just misread Brendon is all.
Ms. Smith had a thing for Brendon. Whenever she espied him she'd dwell on the fact that in Shakespeare's day all the great women's parts–Ophelia, Jessica and Portia–were all performed by young boys.
She had the hots for Brendon big time–girl-on-girl wise that is–with her on top.
Needless to say Brendon was assured an "A". But at what cost?
Lunch
As the teenagers filed passed the lunch ladies they each received their dally dollops of Chipped Beef on Toast. Except of course Brendon.
"Morning, Aretha."
"My Brenda, you sure look pretty today."
It'd had been three years and Brendon still wasn't sure whether the black woman was pulling his leg or not. He'd decided early on that it didn't matter. It was like his Russian Ballet Mistress had told him, if someone gives you a compliment–take it. It they beat you with a stick–run away.
"Thank you, Aretha."
"You lost too much weight though. You sure you're not turning anorexic or something?"
"Do you really think so? I want so much to fit into a size five by the prom."
"Girlfriend, you don't need any size five. Me? I'm queen-sized and I get all the attention I need. Thank you very much."
"I think you're so beautiful." And he did. She didn't take abuse from anyone–man, woman or whatever.
"You just have to see with your heart and not always your eyes, Honey."
"I understand," Brendon said, not really understanding at all.
"Excuse me," a rotund girl behind Brendon squealed. "Some of us are starving."
Brendon and Aretha just rolled their eyes.
Now lunchtime as everyone knows since the time of Adam is the cruelest time of day in school–high school, middle school even grammar school.
Who you sit with determines your destiny. Will you be happy? Will you be rich? Will you die alone and penniless and one hundred pounds overweight? All this can be divined by who you sit with.
Brendon dined alone. That is until Laura arose killing the envious moon.
Laura
"Oh-My-God," Laura gasped, sitting down with her plate overflowing with stuff. "What happened to your blouse?"
Brendon trembled at last able to feel.
"Axel."
"That bastard," Laura swore, like if he were there she'd crush him–that's what she'd do.
"It's okay." But it wasn't. It wasn't okay at all. For the hundredth and tenth time that morning Brendon wished he were dead more than anything else.
"Grrrr," Laura growled, grinding her hamburger between her molars like it was the bullies. "How was the rest of your day?"
"Rotten. T-minus 90 days and still no hope of anyone asking me to the Junior Prom."
"I know exactly how you feel."
Neither of them had a clue. Brendon's dreamboat was lusting for some babe in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. While Laura's Knight in Shining Armor slumped in front of her shoveling around his chipped beef.
"Brendon?"
"What?"
"Never mind," Laura said, hardening her heart.
"Laura?"
"Yeah."
"If it wasn't for you–for your friendship–I think I would have killed myself in sixth grade."
Laura's heart melted, like Frosty's in the March sunshine.
"Thanks."
"Gotta go."
"Later."
Gym
There is something ineluctable in the march of evolution. Entire species–the trilobites, the dinosaurs and the dodo bird were all crushed in the stampede of the better. Except for one lone atavite–one antiquarian–whom the envenomed years cannot rend.
The gym teacher.
Mr. Drewoski was about as athletic as a mud fence.
"Men," he said, striding before the en massed ranks of pubescent lads pointedly ignoring Brendon.
"Today is the most important day in your worthless lives. Pivotal. Today we test our metal in the fire of competition. Today we measure our prowess. The very essence of what makes us better than the earth beneath our feet."
Oh the shame of it, Brendon lamented. The shuttlecock, the push-up and the pull-up–the bastion of the upper body strength gifted. Oh, the ignominy.
Surprise Quiz
In sixth period Mr. Riley mumbled to his desk blotter, "Today's surprise quiz is a psychological battery that will gauge your mental profile. This is done purely with the intent of determining how best social services can best serve you."
Mr. Riley made a wry face, upset by the best-serving-best-serve part.
All Axel heard was surprise quiz.
After everyone had left Axel said to the shiny crown of his mentor's baldhead, "Beat it."
"Right."
Axel went through the stack of computer readable tests on the teacher's desk drawing out two of them.
He took the first page of each and exchanged them.
"I don't get it?" Axel's drinking buddy who was watching the door shrugged.
"Listen," Axel said. "If it's a test then I want Brendon's grade not mine."
Axel smirked replacing both tests in the stack.
"Let's rock," he grinned.
Results
"Mrs. Rod, this is Mr. Wilson from the school."
"Who'd Axel brutalized now?"
"I believe we've finally unearthed what your son's inner conflicts are."
"You mean you can shackle the monster?"
"Indeed."
"No shit."
Mr. Wilson nodded into the telephone. "With the proper medication and therapy it's treatable."
"Is he a psychopath?"
"Just the opposite. It's always the tough ones, you know. Overcompensation."
"Hot damn."
"If you'd care to come into school we can discuss it–"
"No need," Axel's mother said, bored with the whole parenting thing already. "You have my permission to do anything you like."
"Anything?"
"Anything."
"Mrs. Rod, you are a tribute to your sex and motherhood."
"I try."
"Are you thirsty, Axel?" Mr. Wilson asked, pushing a milky glass of water at the young Tool-of-Satan.
"Thanks." The sedative worked quickly. It made it that much easier for what followed.
"Axel?"
"Yes," he slurred.
"Please take a seat," Mrs. Daisy the Home Economics teacher smiled.
Ask
Three months later and there was good new and there was bad news.
First the good news. Thanks to the wonders of modern psychoanalysis and medicine Axel was far more interested in hemlines and hosiery than murder and mayhem. And piled on that was the fact that with Axel out of the picture the inches just melted off Brendon.
The bad news was T-minus two weeks till the prom and still no gentleman caller.
"Brenda?" Laura asked at lunch already looking like the answer was already no.
"What?" Brendon took a dainty slurp through his straw. Laura knew she had Brendon's undying friendship for this alone–without her he'd have no one to eat lunch with. And anyone with someone is more than a no one.
"Will you be my date for the Junior Prom?"
"That's so sweet. But–"
"I've already rented my Tuxedo."
"Tux?" A little light went on in Brendon's eyes. "Then what am I supposed to wear?"
"Why, whatever you like."
"Mmm" Brendon mumbled, munching on a crusty corner of his cucumber sandwich. "It's so crazy–it just might work."
Prom Night
""Wow!" Brendan said, as he stepped into the living room. "Laura, you look great."
Laura did look great. What she looked like was a pretty high school girl in a rented tuxedo and cummerbund.
"How do I look?" Brendon asked timidly, turning round in slow motion.
Laura looked from her date to his mom. Brendon's mom looked from her son to his date. They both knew they were both in big trouble.
"Nice," Brendon's mom said.
"Real nice," Laura added.
Brendon looked beyond nice–real nice didn't even come close. What he looked was radiant. His up-do, makeup, gown-shoes-handbag perfectly proportioned and understated, not in the least detracting from his perfect size five self.
His only questionable embellishment was a faux diamond tiara. On anyone less youthful–beautiful–innocent it would have been overmuch.
On him it merely crowned a feminine ideal that was outside of time and deathless.
"Here," Laura said, breaking the spell. "It's a–"
"Nosegay, I know," Brendon finished. He pinned the beauty to his breast the only sure sign of true and boundless love.
"Thanks, mom," Brendon glowed and kissed his mother on the cheek. "Don't wait up."
After Prom
The prom was beyond perfect. In the parking lot after Laura, ever the gentleman opened the passenger door for her Brendon. Brendon in turn, the absolute lady scooted over and unlocked the driver's door for her.
"I don't want to go home," Brendon said, leaning against Laura.
"Good." She put the key in the ignition, the engine burst into life and the wheels squealed as they pulled away.
Both were silent as they drove out beyond town down to the river. They parked in a quiet place the lights of ships slipping by heading to and from who knows where. Brendon nestled his tousled head in nest of Laura's shoulder.
"Thank you," he finally said.
"For what?"
"For being there."
"Ah, shucks." Laura kissed him as much to shut him up before she started blubbering as to drink in the sweetness of him.
"Mmm," one of them murmured though neither one was sure who it was and neither really cared. Things pretty much gathered momentum after that like a teenage avalanche.
"I'm sorry," Brendon apologized, pulling his lips away from Laura stiff nipple.
"Shut up." She yanked him back into her again.
"God, you're so beautiful."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"I can't believe we're making love in my dad's car. I mean, Dad and I went to Disney World in this car."
Brendon shut her up with a hot kiss, forcing his tongue into her mouth. She didn't seem to mind though.
"What the hell," Brendon smiled.
What can we say? It took time to get down to the buff but they did it.
"Shhhh," Brendon said, hard enough to pierce steel.
"I'm a–"
"I know," he said, showing more care and knowledge than any brain surgeon.
It still hurt Laura though. But she wanted that. She'd always wanted him to be the one. The one to take her from girl to woman.
He was wonderful–patient and considerate.
After Laura cried a little but mostly she was happy. Happy that she'd given it to someone who knew her–someone who cared–someone who was nice.
In the afterglow she lay cradled in Brendon's arms adrift in a sea of taffeta and satin.
"I..." Brendon stammered.
"Me too," Laura finished.
Learning
Laura walked Brendon up to his front stoop and together they sat on the top step. From there they could see the mountains over the river, edged in gold with the tender promise of June's sunrise.
"And what have you learned, Dorothy?" Laura teased.
"Well," Brendon mulled. "I most definitely like girls–one very much in particular. And I definitely like being the right guy for the right girl..."
"And?"
"I guess, I won't be getting that sex change anytime soon."
"That's my boy." Laura smiled and they kissed.
"But," Brendon said when they broke apart. "I still want boobs."
"We'll see," Laura grinned.