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Bobbi's Story 6 One, Two, Three, Kick!
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
The lights came on, and a loud bell jarred us all out of our fit-
ful sleep. "Six o'clock, ladies!," shouted a voice on the public ad-
dress system. "Rise and shine! Breakfast starts in thirty minutes!" I
stretched under the cover of a single, rough, woolen blanket. It took
me a minute to remember where I was. I looked around to see the
others dragging themselves out of the bunks.
I slid my legs over the edge of the bunk, and sat there for a
minute to adjust my bra. For obvious reasons, I had not taken it off
last night, and it had twisted to let my falsies show a bit. Luckily
the others could not see it under my full slip. While I was doing it,
I felt dainty fingers run their nails gently up the back of the calf of
my right leg. I looked down, and saw Helen getting out of the bunk
below.
"Good morning," she said in a pleasant, but somewhat sleepy
voice. She stood up, and stretched. She wore only a pair of white
lace panties. Her body was smooth and tight with just enough of the
hint of an allover tan to make her look healthy. The best part of her
for me, however, was her bust. Helen's breasts were not huge, but
they were big, round, and full. They were the sort of breasts that
you see on the girls in a "Playboy" centerfold. They were the sort of
breasts that most men go wild over. They were the sort of breasts
that I wanted to be able to wear proudly on my own chest. I could
not help but stare at them.
Helen cocked her head to one side, and said, "Well, I like when
people look at my body, and appreciate it. I can see that you like
what you are looking at." I blushed, and said, "I like to show off my
body too, but for the reason that you found out about last night, I
don't think I want to do it here." We giggled like schoolgirls at that.
"But that gives me a problem," I said. "I have to pee!"
There was a toilet in the cell, but it just sat out in the open
against the wall by the sink. There was no privacy at all. "Well,"
said Helen, "if I stand at the sink to wash while you go, that should
help a little." We tried it, and I managed to get my panties down
under my slip, and sit down before anyone noticed my little penis. As
the pressure in my bladder was relieved, I lost the morning hardon
that I had. I would be so glad when the doctor removed that useless
lump of flesh for good, and I would never have that annoyance again.
I reached back between my legs to wipe away the last few drops
with some paper, and secretly return my little penis to its tuck. "We
all seen cunts like your's before!," said a big black girl who stood
naked in front of me as I finished pulling up my panties. "You don't
gott'a hide it in here. Now get outt'a my way. I gott'a take a wicked
piss!" She sat down, farted loudly, and relieved herself as I washed
my hands, and returned to the bunks with Helen.
I lifted the hem of my slip to put on my garter-belt, and sat on a
bunk to pull on my stockings. Helen was doing the same. "You have
great legs," she said. "Thank you," I replied. "I'm a dancer, or at
least trying to be. It's a lot of work, but it keeps me in shape." Helen
stood to put on her bra taking those wonderful breasts from my view.
"I really would like to have you working with me and my other girls,"
132____Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________
she said. "I know quite a few men who would like to have you in
bed. Would you like to be a call-girl?" Without hesitation, I said
that I would. "Good," Helen answered. "Wait for me after court,
and I'll give you my card. Since this is your first offence, they'll let
you go with just a fine, and a lecture from the judge. I have some
things to do today, but call me between six and eight tonight, and
we'll set something up where we can talk. Help me zip my dress, and
we'll have some breakfast. Here comes the matron." We adjusted
each other's dresses and hair, and then filed out of the cell with the
others to go to the mess hall.
I really did not feel like eating. The little wave of elation that
I had started to feel from talking with Helen was soon lost in a sea
of depression as the depersonalization of the mess line drove a new
realization of where I was back into my mind. I was in jail like our
society felt any common street whore should be. The dregs of the
vast flesh and slime pits of New York City surrounded me. Helen
stood behind me in line hovering protectively, but nothing she could
do would remove the depression I felt now. I just knew I had lost
Peter, some of mt friends, and most of my self-respect. I just knew
that I would be better off dead.
All I took was a cup of bad coffee, and the least burnt piece of
toast I could find. Helen ushered me to one of the long tables, and
shoved the way for us to sit at the end of one of the benches with
a few sharp words and an elbow to a very butch woman who was
apparently about to be arraigned for shooting a liquor store clerk
in an armed robbery. She let me sit on the end of the bench where
the others could not bother me physically. "The food's lousy in The
Tombs," she said. "Rikers Island has a better mess hall, but you
wouldn't want to go there for the cuisine." I smiled at her little joke,
but it did not cheer me up.
We ate mostly in silence. I was just feeling too low to talk. Then
we were all marched back to the cell to await the opening of court at
ten o'clock. We spent that time in some idle chatter, but nothing of
any consequence happened. All I could think of was court, and how
I could face Peter there. He had said that he would be there with
an attorney. How could I possibly face the man I loved this way? I
cried a lot on the inside while I waited. At least we did not have to
wait long.
"Okay, girls," said a very tall and mannish appearing police-
woman, "its time to get ready for the judge!" She opened the cell
door, and we all filed out to join her and another female corrections
officer. They took us back to the driveway where we had come in the
night before, and loaded us into another truck for the short trip over
to the criminal courts building. "Don't worry about your purse,"
said Helen reassuringly. "It'll be at the property office at the court-
house when they release you. I don't know what order they'll call
us, but if you're before me, wait for me on the front steps, so I can
give you my card. If I get called first, I'll wait for you there."
It only took a few minutes to get to the courthouse, and soon
we were in an elevator on our way up. We went down a couple of
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________133___
back corridors, and were let into a long, narrow room with two rows
of seats along its length. It was really a small room, or cell since
two walls were all bars, inside of the courtroom to the right of the
judge's bench as you faced it. The door we had come through led
only to the corridor, and the back wall of the cell was just part of the
courtroom wall. The front and other end of the cell were made of
bars with plexiglass on the outside, and a wooden panel fence along
the bottom. It looked like a jury box that had been enclosed with
bars. There was also a bared ceiling. The plexiglass was to keep our
noise out of the courtroom.
Our little group had increased in number, so there were ten or
twelve of us who sat in the box including two men. It turned out
that we were all prostitution cases as part of some sort of special
crackdown that The City was having. I guess Mayor Lindsey was
making some political points. Prostitutes are always easy targets for
that. They do not fight back against the police the way a mugger or
armed felon might, so the arrest rate goes up with less hassle. It looks
good from a political standpoint, but does little to cure the social
problems that are the cause of prostitution in the first place. Fixing
that might cost money, and that would not be good politically.
We settled into our seats, and nervously, my eyes scanned the
courtroom searching for a familiar face. I saw none, and now was
as much scared that Peter would not show up, and I would have to
face the judge alone, as I was that he would show up, and I would
have to face him in my shame. I was about to give up looking when
the courtroom door opened, and I saw his boyishly handsome face
appear. He held the door for a minute, and a middle-aged, balding
man followed him in. Peter was talking to him, so I assumed this
was the lawyer he had promised to bring along. The real shock of
that day, however, was the person with the lawyer. It was Edith!
How and why had they brought her?
The lawyer took Edith to a seat near the front while Peter went to
the Bailiff's desk. I could see him say a few words to the Bailiff, take
some papers from him, and return to where Edith and the lawyer
sat. The two men immediately engaged in some conversation over
the papers, but I saw Edith scanning our cell quite obviously looking
for me. I was in the front row, so I leaned forward, and ventured
a small wave. An angry look from one of the policemen in the cell
to watch us intimidated me back into the seat, but a return wave
from Edith told me that she had seen me. She tapped Peter on the
shoulder, and pointed in my direction. He glanced up for a second,
and then went back to talking with the lawyer.
It was strange, but I felt a little calmer now. I had been scared,
but just knowing they were all here with me made me feel better.
I was even glad that Edith was there. She really was like having a
mother. Her wave had born nothing but a genuine caring. There
was no criticism in it. She smiled warmly at me. Even if I had lost
Peter, I could console myself in the knowledge that someone cared.
It was not the same sort of caring as I had hoped for with Peter, but
it was something.
134____Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________
"All rise!," came the call of the Bailiff as a door swung open,
and the Judge entered the courtroom. "Hear ye! Hear ye! Municipal
Court in the city of New York is now in session! The honorable Judge
Walter Kincaid presiding!" The Judge mounted his bench, shu- ed
a few papers, and told the Bailiff to call the first case. I just sat,
and watched as the first two prostitutes had their time before the
Judge. Both were represented by the Public Defender, given a one-
hundred dollar fine, and released. Helen smiled knowingly at me,
and whispered, "See? I told you it wouldn't be too bad."
Helen was next to be called, and she walked out of the cell in
a very regal manner. A quite distinguished looking man came out
of the visitor's gallery, and identified himself as her attorney. He
immediately asked to approach the bench with the Prosecutor, and
handed the Judge some papers. The Judge looked over the papers,
exchanged a few words with the attorney and Prosecutor, and rang
down his gavel announcing another one-hundred dollar fine. Helen
smiled back at me as she left the Court with her lawyer. She had it
all together.
Then I heard my name being called, and I went out into the
courtroom. The man who had been with Peter came forward, and
identified himself as my lawyer, adding, "We wish to enter a plea of
guilty noting that this is the Defendant's first offence of any sort,
and knowing that the Court will take this into consideration. The
Defendant's mother is here, and will take matters in charge after the
Court has passed sentence." The Prosecutor indicated that he had
nothing to add, and the Judge seemed to snicker that my mother
would take charge of things.
"Young woman," said the Judge, "this is not a matter that should
be taken lightly, but I am inclined to be lenient this morning. Pros-
titution is not something that one does for a simple thrill. It is a
crime, and should be treated as such. The law prescribes a one-
hundred dollar fine, and so shall be your sentence, but I will suspend
sentence to release you into the custody of your mother who I am
sure will impose a tougher penalty on you than I ever could. I don't
want to see you in here again!" He then rang down his gavel, and
called for the next case. I was free!
My lawyer and I joined the others, and we left the courtroom.
Outside in the hall, Peter said, "Thanks, Uncle Lenny," then turned
to me, and added, "Bobbi, allow me to introduce my uncle who is
a partner in the law firm I work for. I thanked "Uncle Lenny" too,
and then Peter said he wanted a private word with me.
Stepping aside from the others, he said, "If you needed something,
even money, you should have asked me! I care very much about you,
and I thought we might even work something out, but now I just
don't know. I have to think about things. I may call you, but I have
some thinking to do first. I didn't want it to be this way, and I still
don't. I just don't know what to think now. Maybe I'm crazy, but I
thought you were different from the rest. I will call you, but I need
time to think. My uncle and I have another appointment now. Don't
worry about his fee. It's on the house this time. Here's your release
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________135___
papers and property receipt. Take them to the property office on the
third floor, and they'll give you your things. I'll call you in a week or
so." Then he kissed me quickly on the cheek, and left with his uncle.
I had a tear in my eye as he walked away.
"He'll be back," said Edith touching me gently on the arm. "I
don't know, mom," I said almost without realizing I had called her
that. "I think it's over for good, and it really never got started."
Edith gave me a motherly smile, and said, "Mothers have ways of
knowing about such things. Look, I don't know why you did what
you did, but I'm still with you. Right now, let's get out of here.
We'll talk over lunch and some tea. My treat. Okay?"
I agreed easily. There was nothing else I wanted to do just then
but get out of the courthouse. We went to the Property Office on the
third floor, and I retrieved my purse. Then there was a quick, but
vitally important, stop in the Ladies Room to fix my hair, refresh
my make-up, and adjust things so I was pretty enough to face the
street again. "I sure could use a shower before we have lunch," I told
Edith. "Maybe we could stop by my place on the way?" "I guess we
could," Edith said. "I took the whole day off, and I've never seen
your apartment. A mother should see how her daughter lives."
It was a little chilly and overcast as we stepped out into the
outside world. A lone figure waited for me on the courthouse steps.
"I'll just be a minute, mom," I said to Edith as I walked over to
Helen who was leaning against a handrail and smoking a cigarette.
She had that look of lust in her eye again as she watched me
approach. "I told you it wouldn't be bad," she said. "He gave you
the standard fine, right?" "Yes," I said, "but suspended for first
offence." Helen looked a bit surprised. "That's even better," she
said. "Now let's get you into a better line of work. Here's my card.
Call me tonight, and we'll set up a time to talk more about this. It's
time you made some real money!" Then she departed.
"Who was that?," Edith asked when I got back to her. "Oh,"
I replied, "just a friend I met last night. I might see her later this
week for lunch." Edith looked at me with a mother's worry on her
face. "You just be careful now," she said. "I will, mom," I answered.
We hailed a cab, and headed uptown to my apartment.
Margo was still asleep when we got there, as usual. I ushered
Edith into the living room, and went to make us some coffee. While
the coffee was perking, I gave Edith the obligatory tour of the apart-
ment, and she made all of the obligatory comments and compliments
about it. "How much of this is actually your's, and not Margo's?,"
Edith asked as we sat down to coffee in the living room after the
tour. "Not much," I replied. "Just my clothes, my bed, the dresser,
and the nightstand, lamp, and clock radio in the bedroom. Margo
owns, rents, borrows, or steals the rest." Edith giggled, and whis-
pered, "Good. I was sure you had better taste than this!" I was glad
that she had whispered it, for when I looked up, Margo was standing
in the doorway.
"Having company early today, aren't we?," she said in a tone that
136____Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________
was more gracious than I might have expected from her this soon
after get- ting up. "You must be Edith," she continued. "Bobbi has
told me just so much about you. It's a pleasure to meet you at last."
Something was up. The only people Margo was this nice to were
tricks with a taste for booze, and hundred dollar bills bulging their
pockets. Edith greeted Margo pleasantly, and then Margo said, "I'd
really love some coffee. Bobbi, if you'll join me in the kitchen, we
can get more for everyone." It was obvious that she wanted to talk
privately, so I followed her into the kitchen.
"Where were you all night?," Margo asked as soon as we were
inside. "In The Tombs," I said. "I got arrested for prostitution."
Margo looked a little surprised, and said, "Oh. Are you all right?"
She genuinely was concerned about me. "Yes," I said. "I'm a little
shaky, and I need a shower, but I'm all right. What's up? You want
to talk, right?"
Margo poured some coffee, and lit a cigarette. "Carol and I had
a long talk last night," she began. "Just let me say this all the way
through before you say anything, Okay? It's not going to be easy to
say, or for you to understand. I know you don't like Carol anyway.
Will you just listen?" I said I would. I knew, however, that it would
not be good if Carol was involved.
Margo took a deep drag on her cigarette, and said, "You know
full well that Carol and I are lovers. You also know that Carol is
into bondage as a drag Dominatrix. Well, last night I consented to
be her permanent slave. She has to move from where she is living,
so she is going to live here. She ordered me to tell you to move out."
Margo was not having an easy time in saying this, and had to light
another cigarette to keep going. "I didn't want to," she continued,
"but she whipped me until I agreed. I have to do what my Mistress
orders me to do. She wants to use your room for a torture chamber.
She wanted to give you two weeks to find another place, but I talked
her into thirty days. This isn't an easy thing for me to do, but I have
to. Please try to understand."
I was shocked, and Margo was actually crying. I had never seen
her cry before. I tried to comfort her with a hug, and said with tears
in my own eyes too, "That's all right. I do understand. We had some
good times, and I hope we'll still be friends. I'll be all right." Inside,
I was angry and frustrated! Being arrested, and loosing Peter was
bad enough. Now what would I do?
We had just gotten back to the living room when the doorbell
rang. It was a messenger with a telegram for me. I opened it, and
got another shock. It was from the department store terminating my
employment! Somehow they had found out that I had been arrested,
and said that the store's image would be damaged if they continued
to employ me. "How did they know?!," I exclaimed. I knew that the
store was not overly pleased with having me working there since I
had started dressing for work in an effeminate manner. I guess that
they were ready to use any pretext at all to get rid of me. The only
thing that had kept me there was Paul, and he did not work there
anymore.
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________137___
"I'm afraid," Margo said through her tears, "that it might have
been me. They called while I was asleep, and I said you had probably
been busted. It was a joke, but they probably took it seriously, and
checked your social security number on your wrap sheet with the
cops. They do that sometimes."
I felt like my life was over. I had just lost Peter, my apartment,
my job, my good name, and most of my self-respect all in the last
twenty-four hours. If I were ever to consider suicide, it was then,
and the thought seriously ran through my mind. I just sat on the
sofa, and cried. Edith and Margo tried to console me, but there was
nothing left to do but cry. I really wished I was dead!
"I think you should have that shower now," Edith said after many
emotional minutes. "Then we'll have lunch, and try to sort things
out. I told you that I was with you all the way, and I'm here for you
now. Mother will do what she can." That calmed me down a little
bit, but not very much. I went to my bedroom, stripped to the skin,
and went to the shower. I eyed the medicine cabinet, and thought
about just how many pills I could get down to solve all my problems,
but that was not the way. Maybe Edith could help. I decided to at
least hear what she had to say. I could always kill myself later.
I dressed in a rather plain blue dress, and rejoined them in the
living room. Edith and Margo were talking quietly, but stopped
when I entered. "Ready?," asked Edith. "Ready," I replied, and we
left for lunch. I was in a daze. I did not know what I would do.
The Times Square area is known for big theaters and restaurants
with lots of flash and noise, and some of the more interesting night
spots in The City. Those were hardly the sort of place that I needed
to be in now. There are also a great number of bars catering to
almost every taste, pleasure, and perversion known to humankind.
As much as I would have liked to have just retreated into an alcoholic
haze like Margo did, that was not the way either. There are, however,
nestled in the side streets, a very few small cafes where you can get
tea served in a real ceramic teapot, and listen to at least a recording
of a string quartet in the background. It was at a booth in one of
these that I soon found myself.
Edith ordered a pot of tea for us, and watched me as I tried to
drain off enough emotion to allow me to speak without starting to cry
again. After a few minutes, she took a sip of tea, and asked, "What
actually happened last evening? Your Peter called me last night at
home. I think Margo gave him my number from your address book.
All he said was that you had been arrested, and would probably
need someone to be with this morning when you were released. I
didn't know the charge until I got to the courthouse." I pulled myself
together, and said, "It was just supposed to be a joke, mom. I just
wanted to see what the guy would do. I didn't know..."
"Wait a minute, Bobbi," Edith interrupted me with a look of both
hurt and anger crossing her face, "that story might have worked on
the Judge, but I think I am entitled to a little better than that!" I
was surprised. Edith had never gotten angry with me before, but
here she was in a rage. I did not know what to say, but she certainly
138____Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________
did.
"I told you I was going to treat you as my daughter," Edith
continued, "and that is just what I am going to do! You call me
'mom' now, but you still see fit to lie to me like any stranger on the
street. Maybe I don't have any right to talk to you like this, but
maybe your calling me 'mom' gives me that right. If you don't like
what I have to say, you can walk out of here, and I'll just wish you
luck with the rest of your life, but you're going to listen to what I
have to say right now first! My taking off work, and coming to the
courthouse for you earned me at least that much even if this 'mom'
stuff is just another game to you! I'm tired of playing games. I've
lived enough of life to know where the games end and reality begins,
and it's time you learned about that too!"
I did not dare to even breathe. I was fixed in my seat by her
words like a small child being chastised by her parent. I had only
seen one side of Edith up to that day. It had been fun to have a
"mother" as a special friend to shop and have lunch with, but I was
learning that there were two sides to mothering. If I wanted to enjoy
having one, I also had to grant her the right to the other. All I could
do was listen.
"Do you want to know what reality is?," Edith asked. "Reality
isn't what your next party dress will look like, or if you're going to
be able to afford dance class anymore. Reality is the cold in your
bones, and the hunger in your belly. Reality is doing things that
you loathe just to stay alive! Reality is giving up some of your soul
to keep your body going!! You think that prostitution is a game?
Prostitution is a way to survive when you are new in a country, and
nobody will give you a real job so you can eat! Don't ever think that
I don't know what prostitution is. It was a way for me to survive
until..."
Edith's voice trailed off, lost in the emotion. There was even a
tear in her eye. She took a drink of tea, and said, "I told you that
I wanted to help. Even if you don't take the 'mom' part seriously,
I take the 'daughter' part very seriously! I know that you aren't
making much money at the store. I also know that the things you're
doing, and the things that you want to do, cost more than you prob-
ably have now. I can't pay for them, but I am willing to help in any
way I can. All you had to do was ask me. That's what having a
'mother' is about, or had you forgotten that?"
I felt just like her child. I wanted to crawl under the table, and
whimper. I had never before felt this kind of emotion from anyone.
I had not gotten it from my natural parents. They were always too
wrapped up in other things to care this way. I waited to see what
was next.
"Are you supporting yourself as a prostitute?," Edith asked
straight out. "Don't give me any song and dance. I've seen how
you live now, and some of the company you keep. I also had a long
talk with Margo while you were changing. She's not good for you
to be living with. You say that you want to be a real woman. Do
you think that you're going to make it around all those parodies of
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________139___
women that you hang out with? If you really want to do any of the
things that you say you do, I'll help. Just don't patronize me with
any cheap lies. What kind of life do you lead? I want the truth for
a change!"
I gave her the truth; all of the truth! It just poured out of me. I
could not stop it. I told Edith about my childhood, how I had first
dressed in my mother's clothes, about Kenny the high school jock,
how I had met Margo, about the first time in drag in public, how I
had sold my "virginity" as a drag queen to Frank, about Tina, Toni,
Carol, Uncle Charlie, Patty, Wendy, Tom, Dr. Benjamin, about every
part of my life I could think of, and still it kept coming!
I told her how I had figured that turning five tricks a week would
give me enough extra income to pay my doctor and dance class bills.
I told her about the pornographic pictures that I had posed for.
Every detail of my life came spilling out. I had lost so much that
day that I could not stand losing Edith too. I could have just walked
out as she suggested, but all I would have done was step in front of
a subway train. If this was what it took to save the last good thing
in my life, then I had to do it!
I do not know how long I sat there just flushing my soul to Edith.
It was long enough for her to order another pot of tea and two club
sandwiches for us. When I finished talking, I was too drained emo-
tionally to even cry anymore. I just sat back in silence, and waited
for Edith to make the next move. I did not feel much like eating.
"I guess you're not walking out on me then?," asked Edith taking
a bite of her sandwich. Something snapped inside me then, and I said,
"No... mom!," and collapsed on the table, sobbing quietly. Edith put
her hand on my shoulder, and asked, "Now are you going to listen
to your mother, and let her help?" "Yes, mom," I said through my
tears. "Good," Edith said. "Now sit up, dry your eyes, blow your
nose, and do as I say." I did as I was told. There was no question of
my acceptance of Edith as my mother any longer. The last knot in
that emotional bond had been tied.
"Eat your sandwich," Edith said. "I don't want a malnourished
daughter on my hands." I took a bite, and listened. "We'll take one
thing at a time," she began. "You need a place to live, and I've got
a spare room. You're coming home with me today. I won't have
any daughter of mine living in that apartment another night. When
we're done here, we are going back there to pack your clothes. You
can sleep on my couch until I get a mover to get your bed and dresser
later in the week. I won't take any argument on this. I already told
Margo, so you don't have a choice. Mother knows best this time. All
right?" All I could do was say, "Yes, mom," and eat my sandwich.
"Take the rest of this week off, and stay at home," Edith con-
tinued. "Then you can look for a new job next week. Wear a dress
when you do. If you really want to be a woman, then act like one!
Women don't work as Gay stockboys! Just remember that this week
off is my little gift to you. You are going to find a job next week, or
I'll find one for you. Is that clear?" "Yes, mom," I answered.
140____Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________
"I'll tell you one thing, though," Edith said in a low voice, and
leaning toward me, "if you want to be a common street whore, then
don't come home. As low as I might have gotten, I never did that.
There are better ways of doing it, but don't even consider them either
until the gnawing in your gut from hunger gets so hard you can't
stand it! That trap is all too easy to fall into. It might seem pretty
on the outside, but it just drags you down. Do you understand?"
"Yes, mom," I said.
"The last thing is about my mother," Edith said softly. "Her
name is Sarah, and she lives with me too. She is very old now, and
doesn't always see or remember things clearly. If you just call her
'grandmother', she won't know the difference. I've told her a little
about you already, and she has asked when she is going to see her
granddaughter again. I don't think she remembers what happened.
Reality seems to have become less important for her than it once
was. Treat her well! She is very precious to me. Can you do that?"
"Yes, mom. I can," I said.
I had stopped crying by now, and was sitting up in my chair
with a little pout on my face. At first I had been terrified of Edith's
chastising of me this way, that soon turned to hurt, but suddenly I
was getting some very good feelings from it. My life had needed a
push, and all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours gave
me all that was needed.
I had not lost everything. The only things I had lost were things
that I had to get rid of to go on. Edith's lecture had made me realize
that. I would live with her for a while. I still had a lot to learn from
my mother, and I was eager for her to teach me. I would work as
hard as I could to win Peter back. He had said that he would call, so
I might still have a chance. I had come another step along the way
to my goal.
"Sit up straight, and don't slouch!," Edith snapped at me. I
jumped to attention in my seat, and she giggled. "I always wanted
to tell that to someone," she said. "Mothers are supposed to do that,
you know." I looked at her with a pained expression on my face, and
then I started to giggle too. She was just what I needed then. I had
started to settle into that complacent existence that is the undoing
of many, and not just drag queens and transexuals.
It is easy to dream. Then we begin to see just how difficult the
attainment of any dream in reality is, and the achievement of a little
of the dream becomes enough to satisfy us. We tell ourselves all sorts
of stories, and find all sorts of reasons why we should stop somewhere
short of what should have been our real goal. We never get to fulfill
our dreams. Then we wonder why we feel so miserable and frustrated
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