I Shouldn't Have Been A Girl - Intro

ALL STORY LIST | PARTS - PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4

I watched as the hills slid past the windows of the bus. For the past two days, I'd been running away from my family, myself, and my life. By now Mom should have discovered I'd cleaned out the family ATM account, and her stash of emergency cash. Not that she didn't have plenty of money left. But she would know I had enough to run far and fast. And away from her.

I smiled grimly. A few days ago, I learned by accident the reason why I was physically so much like a girl, so very different from the other boys at school. I'd started to run away with just the clothes on my back. But Rusty, my only real friend, and sort of girlfriend, convinced me to take a couple of days and prepare. I  glanced at her as she slept in the seat next to me. She wouldn't let me go alone. And the further we traveled, the more I  understood why.

Running away is lonely. I guess she knew. She was living with her third or fourth foster family. She had steadfastly refused to say why she was separated from her parents, but whatever the reason, it was too painful for her to face. Even with me.  I pulled Rusty close to me and snuggled her. Soon I was asleep from the stress, her warmth, and the soothing vibrations of the bus as it traveled through the afternoon sun.

I woke to Rusty gently shaking my shoulder. "Alexi, it's time we  got ready." Awareness came flooding back, and as I held her I  trembled.  "Rusty, I'm scared." She hugged me back.  "We've been through this, Alexi, and it was your only choice,  other than going to the police and winding up in State custody.  I've been there, and it's awful. Besides, we've come too far to  turn back now." She straightened, stretched, and pulled her day-pack from under the seat. "We need to touch up our faces before  we arrive."

We spent the next few minutes removing smeared makeup, changing from raccoons to a pair of fairly plain teenage girls. The bus slowed and pulled off the interstate onto a small rural highway.  As the large bus carefully negotiated the narrow winding road, we watched the old New England farms and houses slowly pass by. It almost seemed as if time here moved more slowly than in the city.  It was a good feeling.  "Rusty, what if my parents manage to find me?

I can't go back,  knowing what they've done"  "They won't find you if you don't want to be found. Especially not here. We left them a trail of red herrings that would make  Sherlock Holmes proud."   She was right. If they were looking at all, they were following a  path towards California. I wondered briefly if they would shed a  tear when the troopers there found a set of torn clothes somewhere in Arizona, with my ID in one of the pockets.

Courtesy of a friend of a friend of Rusty's.  The bus entered a small village, and soon five teenage girls were watching as our baggage was unloaded. Rusty and I were traveling light. Our big expedition packs contained everything we had.  Shortly after the Greyhound pulled away, a dusty old school bus pulled up.

The logo on the side read "Amondson's Christian  Retreat". Rusty had the brilliant idea, at least I hoped it was brilliant, of staying at a religious retreat for young women for a couple of weeks. Her argument was that it was cheap, very safe,  and the absolute last place anyone would think to look for either of us. This retreat featured two-person rooms with their own bathrooms.

A large, smiling older woman climbed out of the bus. "I'm Amanda  Amondson. It looks like everyone made the trip fine, but I need  to make sure." She called out names. The first three were our fellow travelers. "Ruthiana Sylvia Dorhingle". Rusty cringed.  "Please call me Rusty, Ma'am." The other girls giggled. Rusty got her nickname from her voice, which squeaked whenever she tried to speak loudly, and her name. Thus the sound of a rusty door hinge.

The woman nodded. "Alexis Johanna Moore". I meekly raised my hand. "Good, now everyone load your baggage in the bus, as we want to get to the retreat before supper."   Load-up was quick, even though one girl had enough baggage to take up four seats. Soon we were bouncing down a dirt road, and I  was wincing as my breasts bounced in tune with the bus.  "Told you that a bra was a good idea." Rusty was smiling.

She was a full C and wore plain, really supportive cotton bras.   I wound up holding my chest and feeling foolish. I hated bras.  They were just one more reminder of how female my body had become. I loved breasts, on girls. I could not understand why she liked mine on me. I was supposed to be a boy. Looking down at my travel skirt and pink tennis shoes, I started to cry.  "Don't you dare run your makeup?" She hugged me.

I just shook my head and hugged back. Twenty minutes later, and a  lot higher up in the hills, we came into view of the retreat. It looked impressive. A large wood and stone chapel, mostly surrounded by long, narrow buildings resembling bunkhouses. There was smoke coming from the chimney of a large building facing the chapel.  "Leave everything on the bus, and head inside when we stop. You  can put your bags away after dinner." The woman could easily be heard, despite the rattley old bus.

Once inside, we saw at least fifty more girls our age, and several adult women, already seated. And the aroma made my stomach grumble. It had been a long time since our last real meal. We were seated, and out of courtesy and to maintain our image, joined in the blessing of the food. Some really did come from the heart.   "Be thankful for this bounty, for your good health, and for the  friends that are with you today."

Despite all that had been done to me by my parents, I was, I  guess healthy, and I had my best and only friend sitting next to me, holding my hand. We ate silently, enjoying the food, and realizing how tired we really were. I felt old and worn deep inside.  After dinner, we all pitched in to clean up, and Rusty wound up on dishes while I swept and mopped floors. We dragged ourselves out to the bus, collected our packs, and followed instructions on getting settled in. Their recommendation that we go to bed early was unneeded.

Their warning about not having the heat turned on till morning was. We collected all the blankets on one bunk, and after little more than snuggling against each other, we were sound asleep.  The cheerful pounding on our door "Wake up, it's six in the morning!" barely got our attention. We were still two time zones west of here. But we managed to shower, and make it to the main hall in time for a breakfast of pancakes and sausage.

Rusty handed me my pills, and I stiffened.   "Alexi, you know you've got to continue, at least at a reduced  dose, till we figure out if they can change you back."   I nodded and took the hated pills. Mom and Dad had always told me they were special vitamins, to help me grow up healthy. They were special, all right. And I did grow up healthy. If looking like a girl was healthy.  After breakfast clean up, we got a briefing on the rules, and as a group went berry picking.

Burp! I was unaware of how different wild raspberries were from those oversized plastic things that you get in a grocery store. Even if the real ones came with more than the occasional creepy-crawly. By noon we all had full buckets and full stomachs. Rusty and I still managed to eat a hot dog apiece. We spent the afternoon doing crafty stuff, like braiding thongs and beading belts. And paying the price for eating too many raspberries.

After dinner were the evening services, which were not the fire-and-brimstone preaching we expected. There was a lot of love for thy neighbor and forgiveness. I wondered if I would ever forgive my parents.  By the weekend we were too tired and sore to worry about minor things, like being chased by my parents or the police. Rusty was right, we needed the escape from the real world. Saturday morning we were told that the group was to get a special treat.

Sophia Manyfeathers, a noted local Native American artist, would be present most of the day to teach us how to make traditional bark,  grass, and reed baskets. A few girls groaned, but Rusty and I  smiled at each other.

We had tried American Indian basket weaving as a topic for freshman honors history and won the school prize for best original presentation. By late afternoon we were her star pupils,  most of the others having dropped out from frustration and sore fingers. I was startled to see the old woman, Sophia, staring intently at me.

"You are more than you seem, young one." I missed a weave and tried to get behind Rusty, who was carefully watching her. "Do  not be afraid, your secret is safe with me." We looked around; we were the only ones present.  "But how," I asked and she smiled.  "I have been called many things, including a wise woman. You have an aura of fear about you. Few young men choose the path you are  taking, for it is one of great peril and rewards."

"I, I never chose this," I waved at my body, "it was forced on me, and..."

"And yet you carry yourself with dignity. We have many choices in our lives. We may take one of many paths, many times. Thus,  within the weave of the world, we determine our destinies." She held up a small grass basket "This is my pattern. Yours are  different." She looked at our baskets, and her face grew pensive.  "Your lives are interwoven; visualize the patterns of your  baskets together."

We tried. And I saw what she meant. Overlaid, they made a  coherent, flowing pattern. When I overlaid mine and Sophia's,  there was visual turmoil or a cacophony.  She reached in one of her baskets and handed us a card. "If your paths cross this area in the future, and I'm alive to greet you,  I will welcome you to my home. Should your stories be joyful,  they should be woven into a basket for all to marvel."   Another girl came over, and we silently went back to weaving.

I  felt strange, wondering how the old woman could read who I was,  and where I was going. Faith comes in many forms, I guessed. And it must be that those who watch over us do so not to mock, but to marvel.  After dinner, we went back to our room, showered silently, and curled up together to ponder Sophia's words, and our future.

We really attended Sunday services, in body and spirit. Not that we believed as they did, but that we believed in something.  We spent our last week at the retreat pointedly not discussing what we would do next. We played with the other girls, and with  Rusty's help, I slowly and steadily became more feminine in my movements.

That Friday, it was with real tears we parted from the others, and were driven back to the village to catch our "return"  bus. When the shuttle from the retreat departed, we hugged our new-found friends, and carrying our packs, quietly hiked away.

By evening we were exhausted but had found a wooded area that looked like a good place to camp for the night. On our way out of town, we had purchased supplies, so dinner was simple and nutritious. Our small, camouflaged tent blended in well, and we closed up early. The woods were quiet except for an owl and the sounds of the wind. Sleep came easily. We traveled another day in the sun and camped in the rocks along an abandoned powerline trail.

The next morning was gray and cool, and I pulled out my radio to listen for a weather report. It was not encouraging. From the map that Rusty carried, we were on a very long day's journey from the nearest State campground. The weather was supposed to become awful by tomorrow with powerful thunderstorms and high winds expected. Here in the mountains, it would be really nasty, and possibly very dangerous. We ate lightly, and quickly packed our gear and headed north towards the campground. There we could seek shelter in one of the pavilions if things got really bad.  We never made it to the campground.

By early afternoon we were just over halfway to our destination when the skies turned a  dark, greenish-gray. Rusty pulled my radio out of my pack for me,  and I searched for a weather report as we hiked. It was bad.  There was a severe storm warning for our area, beginning in less than half an hour. We quit worrying about reaching the campground and started looking for shelter.

But the road we were following traversed a high ridge, and there was no shelter to be found. The map showed a crossroads about three miles ahead, and it looked like there might be something there. So we hurried.  When the wind started blowing us around, despite our heavy packs,  it looked like we were in for trouble.  Then the rain started. Heavy, cold, wind-blown rain. We pulled out our rain gear and tried to continue.

Then it started to hail. In desperation, we wedged ourselves against an embankment and used our packs as shields. When lightning started to strike nearby, we pulled against each other, awaiting the worst.  Suddenly our packs were yanked off us, and a huge man in a yellow rain jacket shouted at us to follow him. He literally tossed our packs, and then each of us, into the sleeper cab of his truck,  and slammed the door, sealing us in. We felt another door slam,  and the truck jumped and roared as it began accelerating.

Rusty was scared so badly that she was shaking and sobbing. So we held each other as the truck made its way through the storm. The only window in the sleeper was in the door, and we could feel the truck sway as it was battered by the wind.  "Alexi, are we being kidnapped," Her eyes were wide with fright.

"I don't think so. But whoever grabbed us is not stopping. And we  can't get out at this speed."

She nodded.

"So let's relax and dry out. And hope the person is kind and  friendly because we don't have a chance against him."   That made her shiver and grab me. The sleeper was warm and dry,  so we shed our rain gear and huddled together as we prepared to face the unknown. We woke as the truck slowed, and bounced as it turned onto a muddy side road. A mile or so further, it stopped,  and as we tried to open the door, it was pushed shut and we heard a metallic click. A quick check told us we were prisoners. The door was locked from the outside.

We watched in terror out the tiny window as the truck backed its load up to a building, and soon felt the trailer being disconnected. Without comment or explanation, the truck, with us as the remaining cargo, pulled out and headed back to the highway. Many miles later the truck again turned off and headed up and back into the mountains. The road was rough and got worse as we went deeper into the woods. Soon we wound our way down a  side-road, and through what sounded like running water to a  clearing, where the truck stopped, and the engine was turned off.  We heard someone get out, and then there was a metallic sound at the door. When it opened, we were faced by the huge man, and  asked, though it sounded like an order, "Grab your stuff and run  for the cabin door."

It looked more like a log stockade. But we were too scared to argue, so carrying our packs and rain gear, we ran through the rain and onto the covered porch. He followed, and as he opened  the door he hollered, "Nancy, I brought you some company."

We were herded inside. The place was well furnished, but there were no lights on. "Put your stuff over by the window, and make  yourselves comfortable." We moved our packs as he lit a pair of kerosene lamps. "Don't have electricity unless we turn on the generator. Name's Jonathan." He peeled off his rain gear.  We clung to each other. He looked like a small mountain, rough and furry.

Stories of teenage hitchhikers being kidnapped and raped or murdered were flashing through my mind.   "Daddy, why are you scaring our guests?" A soft, quiet girl's voice came from behind us. We spun around and found ourselves facing a young woman, about our age, sitting in a wheelchair.  She stared at us. "Daddy, no, not again." There was fear in her eyes.  "They were caught in the storm, and it has been so long since  you've had anyone your age to"  "Nooo!" She wailed, spun her chair around, and disappeared into another room, crying.  He dashed in after her. "Nancy, please, I'm only trying to help  you."

"Ouch" We heard something hitting the floor. He dashed back out,  followed by a large book. I wanted to laugh, but the look on his face was more sad than hurt.  He sagged into a chair, covered his face, and started to cry.  Rusty and I stared at each other. Nothing was making sense. Why would someone kidnap us so his daughter, if that was what she was, would have someone around? Was she being held prisoner?  And then it came to me. She was a prisoner in her wheelchair.

Just like I was a prisoner in my body. And her father cared so much that he was willing to do anything to help her.

"Rusty, go talk to her. She needs someone right now." "But what about him? Aren't you afraid he'll?"

I shook my head. "No."   Rusty went. I carefully approached the crying man. "You don't  mean to hurt us, do you?"

He looked at me and shook his head. "I saw you two needing help,  and I thought of my daughter, and couldn't leave you to the storm, and I couldn't let you go until I found out if Nancy might be able to have some company her age for a little while, and now she's more unhappy and I'm sorry, and" He put his head back in his hands.  I don't know why, but I climbed on his lap and hugged him. He almost pushed me off, then broke down completely.

He was hugging me to him and bawling on my shoulder when the girl's voice could be heard above his sobs.

"Daddy, please don't cry. I love you."   We both looked across the room. Rusty was pushing the wheelchair-bound young woman over to us. I pried myself away, and Rusty lifted the girl's slight body out of the chair, and onto his lap.  As they held each other, Rusty went and got a blanket and covered her. We watched as they let a lot of pent-up emotions free.

Rusty held me close. "I think you were right. He wouldn't hurt anyone. Except himself."   There was a brilliant flash of light and a tremendous boom, and  Rusty almost jumped out of her clothes. The man, Jonathan, put his daughter back in her wheelchair and covered her with a blanket. Then he went to the door and looked outside, he forced the door back closed against the wind and driving rain.

He faced Rusty and me. "I will take you wherever you want tomorrow. It's not safe to travel in this storm. If it will make  you feel better, I will sleep outside in my truck." He shook his head and held his daughter's hand. "I am sorry for what I have done. Please, don't hold it against me. It's just that Nancy is so alone, and I've tried to be a good father and companion to her since the accident, but it's so hard" He started to cry again.

I pulled Rusty against me. "Please, it's okay. We don't have  anywhere we need to be, and this is a lot better than our little  tent." I paused, and continued in a small voice "But is there a  bathroom I can use?"   They both laughed, and Nancy told me to follow her. She could really move fast in her chair.  Shortly I felt much better and was replaced immediately by  Rusty, who was jumping up and down. When everyone was back in the main room, Nancy asked if we were hungry.

"Don't worry about us, you don't need to"  "I may be crippled, but I'm not helpless." She snapped at me,  then looked frightened.   "I'm sorry, it's just"  "No, don't be sorry. I'm the one who should apologize."   I looked at my body "If anyone should understand that, it should  be me." I slowly sank to the floor, and Rusty came over to hold me. The fears came back, and I started to shake.

Jonathan was watching us quietly, and Nancy wheeled herself over to me. "Hey, I'm not worth crying over."   That made me feel worse. "I mean. You're pretty, and everything  works, and..." I jumped up, pulled away from Rusty, and yanking the door open ran out into the storm.  I didn't want to be pretty, and what I wanted to work no longer worked right. While she had a father who loved her, and except for Rusty, no one cared if she lived or died.

I could hear rushing water. The road headed down into a valley. Maybe, I thought, this was the time to quit hurting. I started running down the muddy road, oblivious to Rusty's screaming for me to stop.  I could see a brown, foaming torrent cutting a path across the road. I picked up speed. No more fighting. I was an abomination that should not be. Something hit me from behind, and I skidded face-down through the goo.

As I tried to spit out mud and leaves,  I was tossed over Jonathan's shoulder and hauled back to the cabin. Instead of taking me inside, he shoved me under the runoff from the roof, and stripped my mud-soaked clothes off, rinsing me as he went. I was cold and my mind was screaming and I wasn't able to stop him from removing my panties.

He froze, and I  figured I was about to die. Instead, he silently finished rinsing me, and tossed me in the door, telling Rusty to keep me there until he was cleaned off.  When I looked up, Rusty was staring at me in shock, and Nancy was staring wide-eyed at my crotch. I collapsed to the floor and was surprised when Nancy rolled over to me and dropped her blanket over my bare body. I was rolled up in the blanket, crying, and being held by Rusty when Jonathan came back in. He said something to Nancy, who whispered something to Rusty.

I watched as they both headed through a doorway.  Jonathan pulled up a chair and looked carefully at me. "You just tried to kill yourself. Why?"  "I'm a freak. My parents did this to me and now I'm not a boy,  and I don't want to be a girl."  He looked at me strangely and called his daughter and Rusty back into the room.

I stared at them and hung my head. "Okay. I'll tell you the whole ugly story. Then you give me a good reason why I shouldn't  kill myself."   Nancy and Rusty looked scared. Nancy's father looked sadly at me and nodded.

"When I was young, Mom and Dad were always having terrible fights, and then one day Dad suddenly stopped fighting and began doing everything she asked. I asked him what had happened, and he said to do as Mom said, and everything would be fine. But he looked awful. Soon Mom had me start taking some pills she said would keep me from growing up like my dad. And she started to correct my behavior whenever I didn't act like what she claimed was proper.

Then she made me quit sports and grow my hair. Dad avoided me, and Mom kept saying he was a wimp and a poor excuse for a man. But she had me doing laundry and dishes and sewing and things I thought were usually done by girls.  "About a year later I started to feel funny, and my nipples started to get tender and grow. So Mom made me wear soft, frilly girls' tank tops under my shirts and sent a letter to the school excusing me from the gym.

When I started to grow breasts, and my bottom and hips got wider, she said I had a hormone problem, and that it would fix itself in a few years. Then she started making me wear girl's shirts and jeans threw away my jockey shorts and bought me panties. All the kids at school made fun of me, but she told me to quit complaining and laughed as she told me to act like a man.

"That was awful because I looked and sounded like a girl and as  I grew bigger on top she made me wear a bra. Then six months ago she started to do things to my face, like plucking my eyebrows and setting my hair, which made me look even more like a girl.  And getting my ears pierced and making me wear earrings. The kids at school all said I was gay. I just wanted to die, but Mom kept saying she would soon make sure everything was fixed so I would not have any more problems.