RANSVESTIA

referring to him as Al, my brother. I realize you all knew him as Alison, but I knew him most of his life as my brother. Albie when he was a little boy, and Al as he grew up. His spelling of Alison, with the one "I" was deliberate. Our youngest sister has a daughter with that name, and it fit- ted in with Als identity.

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I am six years older than Al was, and so remember him from the day he was born. As you know, he suffered physical afflictions all his life; a malformation of the spine, with many complications. He spent much of his life in and out of hospitals, with so many operations, the family has lost count Every day, was full of pain for him, but we never heard him complain. There were four other children. Al was the middle one and the rest of us were blessed with good health. Our parents were, and still are. simple, honest, hard working people, whose only concern was to raise their family, provide for our basic needs. . they are not highly educated folks; just good people. So, when Al's need for expression took the path it did, beginning at the age of five, they did not realize he needed help and understanding. There were little incidents, that were simply passed disappearances of items of his sisters' clothing. stockings found under his bed. . things I'm sure you are all acquainted with. Somehow, even in my young mind, I linked the incidents with him, but didn't probe, and assumed they were because of his physical suffering. How stupid of me! The years went on; we all grew up; we all, except Al, mar- ried and left the family home. The others lived near enough to visit often; my own husband, my four children and I lived in the midwest, and for the past ten years, overseas, in various countries. But still, I came home every two months or so, and my close relationship with Al contin- ued. I guess he and I were the closest two in the family. We had a great deal in common, and liked to talk, shared books and music, talked about the childrens' futures, enjoyed good food. It was the closness of good friends, rather than brother and sister. He would call me long dis- tance sometimes, just to talk. There were times, over those vears, that I felt we were just skimming the surface; that he wanted to tell me some- things and I waited, not wanting to pry.

Two years ago, when we buried our youngest sister's husband, Al, realizing that he, or any of us, could be taken also, told me his story. There has never really been privacy in our parents' home, and we talked in his car, just prior to my leaving, to return to Saudi Arabia. I wanted to say with him. He was so anguished. But our parents would have ques-

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