ransvestia

I stopped in my tracks, nervously turned around, and with great urgency in my voice, asked:

"Mother... please can I change first?"

"Change to what ...?" she asked, acting surprised. "What for ...? Mrs. Weingarten is a good friend. It's allright that she sees how nice you look now. Go and heat the water dear."

As I left the room, I heard Lena Weingarten ask mother: "Why's he in dresses... he looks real cute this way... is he a girl now?

"It's because of school." Mother started her long explanation. Why in heaven's name did everyone accept it as completely logical? Was it?

In the kitchen, I could hear them talk animatedly, sometimes laugh- ing, but most of the time sounding like it was the most logical thing in the world to have a fifteen-and-a-half-year-old boy dress like a teenage chick, with pigtails yet - not mentioning the obvious bosom.

During the ten minutes it took to boil the water, I sort of regained my composure. Just a little bit anyway. I just had to accept the fact that now another neighbor knew me as a girl. And thought nothing of it. Were they crazy... or was I soft in the head?

I guess it was partly me anyway. I should have realized that this was bound to happen sooner or later. Lena Weingarten came regular- ly, at least once a week or so. I just had never seen her on a Saturday. When the tea was ready, I hesitated for a moment. Then I called mother.

"Mom, the tea is ready."

"Good, dear," she replied, "bring it in and pour it nicely, like I taught you."

Resentment welled up in me. And I hated the way she pronounced pour like "power." But I knew protesting would be no use. So blushing deeply I took off my apron and carefully carried the tray with pot and cups, sugar and a tray with cookies into the livingroom. With my hands full I could not even attempt to hide any of my appear-

52