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Date: Wed, 09 Jan 2002 20:44:15 -0800
From: Joan Banks <joanbank@netscape.net>
Subject: TG Story: Just a Boy
Just a boy...
By Joan Banks
Some of the names in this story have been changed...because you already
know the ending.
"Please God, make me a girl." Jon prayed every night as far back as he
could remember. It was always after his parents had tucked him into
bed and quiet enough so they couldn't overhear. Every morning the six
year old would wake up unchanged, just a normal boy.
Jon was a good boy. Every morning he would get up and work on his
parent's farm. Kansas was a hard land, but it always paid back hard
work in dividends. Dutifully, Jon would do all of his assigned chores.
Although he knew he was adopted at an early age, Jon never felt as if
he weren't their natural child.
Jon was a good son.
Each night he would make the same prayer.
"Please God, make me a girl."
With no result.
"You can't play with us." The girl sneered, "You're a BOY."
When the temperature outside became too cold for recess, the students
stayed inside. First graders wouldn't be able to handle such drastic
weather. Playtime had a tendency to divide the classroom - the boys
drifted towards one side and the girls went to the other. Jon kept
trying to break that rule and change sides but the rules of his world
conspired against him.
Disheartened, Jon went back to the boy's side of the room.
"The sissy wants to play with the GIRLS." The boys taunted him
relentlessly. Since he was not welcome in either place, Jon went to a
neutral spot in the center of the room.
Women and girls fascinated Jon; with all his being he wanted to be one
of them. In his sadness at being rejected, he focused inward. He
became more reflective, deeper. His insightfulness added one more
brick to the wall he was building between him and his contemporaries.
Day after day, Jon went to his rejected spot in the middle of the room.
Over time his rejection became a function of tradition - of habit.
When the weather grew warm enough to allow outside recess again, Jon
saw that he was not welcome to play with anyone. Out of routine more
than anything else, he was outcast.
"Your teacher called today, Jon." Jon's mother said. She was a little
older than other mothers of children his age. Jon's adoption came late
in their life. When it had happened it was a surprise, like a gift
from heaven. She worried about her son; he was never like other
children.
"Yes'm?" Jon said. He knew it wouldn't be good news. It was never
good news.
"She told me that you don't play with the other children."
"Is that true?" Jon's father asked. The disappointment in his eyes was
apparent to Jon. He didn't see the worry.
"I want to!" Jon said hopefully. His father simply stared.
"They won't play with me."
"Did you do anything, Jon?" His mother asked. "Anything...different?"
His mothers question shot through him like an arrow. She knew. He
said nothing. Maybe she didn't tell Dad.
His parents shared a knowing look. Jon's father slammed his fork to
the table and stepped away, his back to them.
"I think you should go up to your room, Jon." His mother said gently.
"Right now."
Silently and worried, Jon went upstairs to his room. He spread out on
his bed and listened. His parents didn't know that he could hear them,
but he always could.
It wasn't a good house for secrets.
"If they find out, we'll lose him." His father said. "He'll be an
outcast. A freak."
"I know dear. We'll just have to talk to him. He's a smart boy, he'll
understand."
"There's no reason for it." His father slammed a fist against a wall.
"No reason at all."
When he heard his mother walking up the stairs, Jon rushed over to his
desk and opened his textbook. His mother knocked on the door and
turned the knob.
"Can I come in?" she asked. Jon nodded. His mother sat on the foot of
his bed and folded her hands in her lap. Jon turned his chair and
faced her, silently.
For a moment she appraised the boy. He was a handsome child, strong,
smart as a whip but still with the frail look that all seven year olds
had. What could be wrong with him?
"We're worried Jon." She started, "We're worried about how you're doing
in school-"
"But I'm getting all A's!" he protested. Jon knew it wasn't about
grades.
"-About how you are getting on with the other kids." She said calmly.
"It seems to us that you've stopped trying to fit in."
"They don't like me, Ma." Jon said. His lip quivered a bit. She saw
the inevitable and drew him into a hug. When the torrent of tears
started, there was no stopping them. She let them run their course.
"Jon. Look at me Jon." She said finally, "All we want you to do is
try. Make one friend. Play ball with the other boys. Can you do that
for us? For me?"
The child sniffed and nodded.
"I'll try." He said. His mother stood and appraised him proudly.
"I know you will, honey. And son?"
"Yes, Ma?"
"Next time read your text book right side up."
He shouldn't have done it. He knew that. But in many ways it made him
feel closer to his mother. It felt closer to being like her. Under
his school clothes he wore borrowed a pair of his mothers' underwear -
bright red panties that were much too large for him. On some level, it
would help him to follow his mother's wishes. On a deeper level, it
just felt right.
Jon approached recess that day as he would have approached a battle.
He had his goals. His mother had told him to start small. If he could
make one friend or play one game, then everything would be all right.
His parents would be happy.
He walked to the basketball court where a bunch of the older kids were
trying to get the ball into an impossibly high net. Not one of them
had the strength to get the ball high enough, but that didn't stop them
from trying.
The first graders were always trying to play but the best they could
ever hope for was to be a ball chaser. When the third graders missed
the hoop, like they always did, a first grader would run and get the
ball. Hopefully, the first grader would stop the ball before it went
down the hill towards the school building. If he missed then the whole
group would have to wait until the little kid climbed all the way back
up with the ball.
The first graders lined up next to the basket, ready to run after the
ball. Jon simply got into line. Stan Johnson stood in front of him in
line and sneered when Jon got in behind him.
"What're you doing here, sissy? The girls are down the hill jumping
rope."
Jon ignored him, but Stan had started the taunts so the rest of the
boys were obligated to continue them. Jon wanted to lash out at them,
to attack. But Jon's father had taught him not to fight unless
absolutely necessary. In general, Jon didn't want to fight; he wanted
to be down there playing with the girls. But that was the way to
further exclusion and pain. The line moved forward.
One after another, the first graders sprinted after the ball. Suddenly
it was Stan's turn. When the ball missed and started rolling towards
the hill, Stan took a step back and stood slightly behind Jon. He
watched the ball roll towards the hill. Jon looked at Stan.
"Come on, Jon. It's your turn, you little sissy!" Stan took a step
back and stood beside Jon.
"No it's not!" Jon said. The other boys joined in and made fun of him
for missing his turn. The ball was still rolling towards the hill.
Burning with frustration, Jon raced to catch it.
Jon was five feet away from the ball when it rolled over the lip of the
hill. There was a feigned cry of disappointment and laughter from the
boys that went silent as Jon jumped at full speed down the hill.
Jon did not tumble painfully down the hill as the boys expected. He
caught up with the ball when it was nearly at the bottom. Proudly
holding it in his arms he started to climb back up to the court.
"Stop!" A girl screamed. Lori, a pretty red-haired girl in his class
was pulling at her school bag with all of her might, and losing. Her
red hair had made her an object of teasing too, but nowhere near the
level of Jon. A third grade boy was dragging her by the bag towards
some unknown destination. Occasionally he would flick her painfully on
the head and order her to let go.
"It's mine!" she yelled through her tears. Stubbornly, she refused to
give in.
Jon stood for a moment and watched. What could he do against a third
grader? When the older boy slapped the girl he decided he didn't care.
With all his might, he lobbed the ball back up the hill and ran towards
the struggling girl.
"Leave her alone!" Jon said, his hands clenched into fists. Laughing,
the third grader turned to him.
"Or what?" the older boy asked. He was holding Lori with one hand and
his other hand in a fist.
"Just let her go." Jon said. He tried to sound forceful. The third
grader kept laughing.
"Okay, Jon." He said, "But now you gotta fight me." The bully released
Lori and she fell to the ground.
"If I have to." Jon said.
"This ought to be good." The bully sneered. "I'll even give you the
first hit." He held his arms wide to let the younger boy take a shot.
Jon decided on a bold approach, and ignored the older boy. He walked
around him and helped Lori to her feet. No kid would ever hit another
with his back turned, he thought.
He thought wrong.
Jon felt a weak punch on his jacket. He ignored it - it didn't hurt.
A few moments later, Lori screamed in pain as the bully jerked her back
by her long red hair. Jon turned and punched the older boy in the side
with all of his might. The boy dropped his grip on Lori. Jon grabbed
her by the hand and ran. When they were near enough to the classroom
to be protected by adults, they stopped.
Jon looked at the tired, beat up girl beside him. She looked up at him
and smiled.
It wasn't such a bad day after all. He had made a friend.
In the basketball court, the boys wondered how the ball had made it all
the way up the hill.
"Um...come in." Jon's mother said. A woman stood at the door holding a
pie.
"We just wanted to thank your son for saving our little girl." The
woman said. Lori walked in quietly behind her mother.
Jon's mother took the pie gratefully and set it on the table.
"I hate to be rude but...for what?"
"Can I talk to Jon?" Lori asked. Jon's mother smiled.
"He's upstairs, second door on the right dear." A little confused,
Jon's mother invited Lori's into the kitchen.
Tentatively, Lori knocked on the door.
"Just a minute!" came the rushed voice. Lori heard the rustling of
papers and the sound of a closet closing. "Uh, come in."
"Jon?" she poked her head into the room. The right side of her face
had several small, dark bruises.
"Lori?" Jon walked over from the closet to the door and opened it all
the way. She smiled and gave him a shy kiss on the cheek.
"If you tell anyone I did that..." she threatened.
"No, no. I won't tell."
Lori looked around the room. It was remarkably clean for a boy's room.
Everything seemed to be residing in a proper place.
"Wanna play?" Jon asked eagerly. She nodded.
Downstairs the women sipped at coffee at the kitchen table.
"That boy has been hurting my little girl for months." Lori's mother
said. "But I only heard about it today."
"That's terrible."
"Well, if your son hadn't stepped in today....well...I shudder when I
think about it."
"My son?" Jon's mother was truly surprised. Jon was supposed to make
friends, not fight.
"Your wonderful son. Lori is quite taken with him now. He saved her
from a boy that was TWO YEARS OLDER."
"I don't condone violence."
"Neither do I. But sometimes there isn't an alternative. I hear they
aren't letting that boy back into school right away even after his ribs
and knuckles heal."
The women continued to talk while the two kids played happily upstairs.
As time went on, Jon grew up (as children often do). Each month he
would grow more muscular and each night he would still make the same
prayer.
"Please God, make me a girl." He watched his body grow more and more
manly every day.
He hated it.
When the boys at school realized that the little sissy might be good at
sports, they invited him to play. But whenever he took the time to
play, he lost time with Lori, his friend. Lori was completely
accepting of him, she didn't care if he did act a little prissy. They
were just friends.
To avoid recruitment into the games, Jon developed a persona. He would
slick back his hair and wear clothes that made him look smaller.
Occasionally he would wear eyeglasses that he bought at the drugstore.
The heavy magnification made his eyes appear large and comical but they
helped him with his goal.
When he put it all together he exemplified the picture of a wimpy geek.
Jon took to wandering quite a bit. For a weekend here and a week
there, he would disappear. His parents were not concerned about his
safety as much; Jon could take care of himself. They were more worried
about knowing where he was.
Despite the sporadic disappearances, Jon did well in school. He always
showed up for a test, and even wrote for the school paper quite a bit.
Jon found that his travels gave him a better perspective on things.
Still, he dreamed of becoming a woman like his mother, or Lori. He
longed to be rid of the bulky muscles of his body to have the smoother
shape of a woman.
On one trip to Kansas City, he found a shady doctor that would
prescribe female hormones without a blood test. He took the pills
religiously and they seemed to have no effect. The doctor told him to
have patience.
In the cities of Kansas he bought women's clothing, but everything he
bought looked awkward on his manly frame. Most of the time he threw it
away before coming home.
A year later Jon sat in the doctors' office. He was larger and more
muscular than ever. Jon's legs itched. His first attempts at shaving
his legs only succeeded in really messing up the razor. When he
finally came up with a technique that worked, he found it more
cumbersome and more trouble than it was worth.
"Your body is resistant." The Doctor told him, "We'll just double the
dosage."
The family occasionally watched the news together. One evening a story
came on; Jon's uncle was in trouble. Right then and there, the family
decided that Jon would go and help. Jon's mother laid out his clothes
she had made for his special occasions. He changed into them and they
sent him on his way.
He came home when he could but his uncle needed a lot of help.
Wherever he was, each night he would still pray.
"Please God, make me a girl."
With no results.
One day, he was running an errand for his uncle when he received a
cryptic message from his parents.
"Lori in trouble. Come right away." Was all the message said.
Taking any time at all was too long to get home. Still, remarkably
soon after the message, he walked in the front door of their house.
"Where is she?" Jon asked his parents.
"We don't know." His father said. "The person who told us said she'd
be at Moss Creek."
Not bothering with a car, Jon ran to Moss Creek as fast as he could.
A pretty blonde girl sat in the high limb of a tree. She looked to be
about his age (seventeen) and she wore a short blue dress. The dress
looked familiar. In many ways it was like his special occasion outfit.
"Hi Jon." She said. She pushed herself off the limb and drifted slowly
to the ground.
"Where is she?" He demanded.
"Lori? You have plenty of time for that. We need to talk." She
walked up to him and put an arm over his shoulder. She led him to a
large rock and had him sit down. Jon was anxious to find out about
Lori but he could see that this girl wasn't going to give information
easily.
"Sit. Relax. Good." She paced in front of him, trying to formulate
what she wanted to say.
"Life is pretty confusing, isn't it?" She asked. "Of course it is.
Duh." She slapped the side of her head.
"What I am saying is that life is pretty confusing for you, right?"
Jon's eyes narrowed.
"Okay, you're gonna make me say it. Fine." She stopped in front of
him and put her hands on his wide shoulders. "You want to be a girl."
"What?" He stood and shrugged her off. "Who sent you?"
"You wouldn't believe me." She giggled and tried to maintain a straight
face. "Now, you have always prayed `Please God, make me a girl.' Every
night. Am I right?"
"How did....no, no of course not."
"Relax Cuz. I'm not telling anyone your little secret." She made a
zipping motion across her lips and tapped a forefinger on his mouth.
"I'm here to help."
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Okay, I'm your cousin. I wasn't supposed to tell you but there, I
did." She reached behind her back and produced a small metal box. She
handed it to Jon. He noticed that there was no lid, no latch, and
basically no way to get it open.
"That is your key to womanhood." She said. She took a step back away
from it. "Inside that box is a way for you to get over
your....resistance...to change. Hormones will have an effect, surgery
will work, it'll even help you shave your legs!"
Jon looked at the box and started to grip it as if to tear it open.
"BUT!!!" The girl stopped him while taking another step back, "But if
you do." She said more quietly, "There will be disaster upon disaster.
People will suffer and people will die. The box will disappear in
fifteen minutes, Lori will suffocate in twenty. The decision is yours
and yours alone."
Jon stared at the innocuous looking cube. So much terror in such a
small package.
"You have a job to do, Jon. If you follow your dream, you won't be
able to do it."
He looked up at her. Why was she doing this?
"Lori?"
"It has to be you, Jon. If you open the box, you won't be able to help
her. But it's more than just her. It's everything. The world needs
you, Jon." She turned and started to slowly rise away, flying under
her own power.
"Wait, where is she?" He asked, still holding the box in his hand.
"The bank vault. She's trapped in the vault." The girl said. The girl
was fifty feet in the air now.
He stared at the box and at the flying girl. His dreams were in the
box, the key to them at least. Jon felt the frustration build in him.
The world was on his shoulders, was it? He didn't care about the
world. He only cared about his friend.
Damn it! He thought. He took the box in a fist and threw it as far
away as he could. And that was pretty far.
"Who sent you?" He asked before she left his vision. He could see her
turn and smile.
"You did." She laughed. "Oh yeah, take these, you would have needed
them either way." She tossed a small bundle of red fabric down to him.
"Wear them to remember your sacrifice."
He unfurled the small bundle. It was a pair of red panties, just like
the ones he had borrowed from his mother all those years ago. He
slipped them on over his clothes.
"One more thing, Clark (the time for protecting names is over). You
just made a decision that a world will celebrate. A decision that was
made as an adult. You need to change something."
"What?"
"You aren't Superboy anymore. Now you are Super-MAN." She smiled a
beautiful smile and flew straight up. The sonic boom of her departure
echoed for a long time.
Wiping a tear from his cheek, he took a deep breath.
"Please God...." His prayer was left in the wake of his mission. Wisps
of vapor streamed from his eyes as his tears evaporated. The time for
wishes was over, now there was responsibility.
Miles above, Kara (aka Supergirl) intercepted the small box that her
cousin had thrown, the Gold Kryptonite that would rob him of his
powers. She sent the dangerous container on a course for the Sun and
watched it vaporize.
Waiting for a moment before attempting the trajectory that enabled her
to transverse time, she considered her mission.
A true friend will grant wishes; she thought. But who is it that has
to steal a dream?
The characters of this story and their correct names belong to DC
comics. I claim no right to them. This story is an interpretation of
fictional events and involve a different slant on the official version.