I just finished The People of Sparks by Jeanne DuPrau (copyright, 2004). Even though the book is written for 5th to 7th grades (10-13 year-olds), I find the sequel to City of Ember has and endless theme that everyone should heed, and really applies to the LGBT community.

OK, now, let’s not get excited here. It was a short kiss, a brief kiss, a perfunctory kiss, if you will.

- Katie MacAlister, The Corset Diaries

“You’re not a woman. You have a penis.”

Ouch. That hurt. It felt so deep, I felt I couldn’t forgive the person who said it at the time. It was as if she denied everything I had opened up to her—that my feelings were completely invalidated. I found my way back to the closet at the back of the bathroom behind the master bedroom, sank to my knees and cried.

As I sat there on my knees, crying, and then lying down, I realized that it was the key to my behavior for many years—why I sought sex in whatever form to try to become a man, why it never worked, why I always felt incomplete. I don’t remember how I got the message, but I seem to recollect always encountering a version of it somehow. Was I told that, overheard it, or observed it? And by who and how? I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll ever know. But that doesn’t matter. It’s the lie that I felt was wrong finally exposed for what it was. When I finally crawled back into bed, I thanked her for telling me, because it turned out to be the key to the castle.

A woman posted a nasty reply to an article about someone coming out about their femininity, in which she claimed it takes more than just thoughts to be a woman. I agree, and that’s what makes the self-denial so tempting. I am sure that if she woke up tomorrow and realized that her life as a woman was only a fading dream, she would adjust fine to life as a man since she was born that way. I have tried to be a man, as have others similar to me, and realized finally, that contrary to appearances, it is something I can never fully be. You see, it takes more than a penis to be a man.

I had a strange dream the other night, and it was the most graphic I have had in a while. In it, I was female in all but one aspect physically, but I still known as male, not being out yet. I was working as a rookie undercover police officer, and I was in a couple of very graphic sexual positions with the criminal. The scene was disturbingly graphic in its nature. The image of “him” still in my mind. Several dreams later, when I awoke, I couldn’t help noticing the two places my hands had strayed—one upper and one lower. No wonder I had such a graphic dream. But still…

I’m on call, so I didn’t get out yesterday. I replaced the dining room chandelier. My wife is retiling the bathtub. I need to call around and find a place that does both laser hair removal and electrolysis that will take payments. I am getting really bad every time I see that we spend the cost of at least one treatment on home repairs. My emotions cry out that I’ll never get rid of the beard.

Hugs and God Bless,

- Sophie Jean

If you’re going to use an honorific, please get it right. There’s a reason I asked for my prescription by last name at CVS. If that wasn’t enough, the clerk could have at least taken a clue from my makeup, hair, red kerchief, purse, or soft voice. She didn’t. When I asked for a prescription for my fairly uncommon last name, she asked, “Robert?” When I softly said yes, she said, “That’ll be 11.99, Sir.” Now, I’m not going to humiliate myself by demanding in public that she call me, Ma’am, so I just slowly lifted my head from signing for the prescription with my eyebrow raised, as in, You’ve got to be joking. When someone’s dressed very femininely, even if they hand you a credit card with a male name, the absolute wrong  thing to call them is, “Sir.” If you don’t want to say, “Ma’am” then don’t say anything. When I told Lizzie about the experience at Blue Mesa later, she took one look at me and said very emphatically, “You’re kidding…You’re not a Sir.”

Now that that’s out of my system, Happy Lao New Year! I’ve got a T-Shirt to prove it! Saturday afternoon and evening, we hung around the Buddhist Temple, met people my wife hasn’t seen in decades, got some Thai donuts, checked out the booth sales, and watched part of the dance routines. I dropped them off in the morning for the parade, and headed back home so that I wouldn’t get stuck at the temple and unable to get away to go home and change for the cast party in Fort Worth. When I got home, I had an hour before I had to get dressed, so I scrubbed a spot on the garage floor in front of the standalone freezer, where we accidentally left some meat to thaw, and mowed the front yard. It started to rain, so I spent the remaining quarter hour on laundry. When came back to pick them up at 6:30 PM, my wife was no longer feeling good about me.

By the time I was all cleaned up and made up, I realized that the hour I had allocated was too much, so I headed out to the restaurant where we were to meet. Even though I had a little difficulty finding Blue Mesa, I parked with about 45 minutes to spare. In the center of the parking lot, I noted the Barnes and Noble behind me, Victoria’s Secret to my left and Blue Mesa directly in front. So, to fight temptation, I hit Barnes and Noble first. I didn’t see any tempting reads in the bargain section, and had to hunt all over the store for the computer books. Unfortunately, the Java section covered about a quarter of one shelf, and no architect certification books. So browsing the books, I made my way out the store. My experience was rather mixed, but not so bad. A gentleman held the door for me on the way in, and I noticed another gentleman following me from aisle to aisle. I felt a smile start to quirk up, as I recalled my own days of admiration, and I was loving being the object of admiration/fascination. I did think it a bit rude when a lady walking in glanced to her other side as I walked by.

With 30 minutes to spare, I decided to give in to the Victoria’s Secret impulse. I only saw a couple of simple style’s on the wall. I glanced at the drawer labels, knowing they wouldn’t have my size. The sales rep asked if she could help me find anything and I said I didn’t think they had my size. She took me at my word when I gave her my self measurement. She suggested that I browse the wall for their newer models and that I could look online for my size because they didn’t carry all sizes. I left the store with 15 minutes still to burn.

So I went into the lingerie store next door. The clerk at Soma gave me a startled look when I walked in and I though for a minute I was going to be asked to leave. But she asked me what I was looking for, I told her I was interested in a push-up bra, but was afraid that I was too little. She asked my cup size, and then went to the back. A younger woman came out, as she explained my situation, and asked if I had ever been measured. When I told her I did myself, she said that system was not accurate. I got measured! She took me to a dressing room, and where I thought I was a 42A, she said I was actually a 40 between A-and-B. I had hope for a store bought bra at last. After the reps consulted, the decided to try me on a number of 38 and 40 B’s. She finally brought me one that was ideal. Supported me where I needed it, and the little bit of extra room let me breathe. Of course, because it’s the add-a-size, I could never wear it to work. But because it had the deep band, I tore the UPC tag off the bra and exchanged it for the pink day-bra I was wearing when I walked into the store. It was cheaper than the nice fitting camisole I tried on because it was half-off for 19.99. While I was in the dressing room, I thought I heard a customer mention my company name, and then I heard her mention the town the office is in. Talk about a close call. I had no clue who that was, but she was gone by the time I checked out. It was now 10 minutes after the meeting time for the cast party, so I tucked my old bra into the bag and took it with me to Blue Mesa.

It was so wonderful seeing the group again. I sat across from Courtney and between Lizzie and Amy. We drank margarita’s and we chatted up a storm. I was the only one in a dress, but I was fine with that (until it got stuck to my derriere trying to stand up. I think practically everyone came by. I finally got a program from the performance and a V-Day T-shirt. When Beth got there, she complimented me on my performance and I complimented her directing. I told her I would like to do more. I was told that I can definitely do the monologues again next year, but to call her, and she’d think of some things I could do, even maybe do something around me. Would people quit making me blush? Anyhow, I’m excited, and I’ll be emailing her at my first opportunity.

Hugs and God Bless,

Sophie Jean

The javelins’ heads were attached to the shafts with weak glue or brittle pins.

- Ben Ohlander, “Vkandis’ Own,” published in Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

I woke up today refreshed in spirit, ready to face the work day despite the rather strange weekend. Somehow, I felt engaged, can I say happy?

All of this in spite of the fact that I came out to my sister-in-law right after a funeral! What was I thinking? My wife had tried to warn me, and when I told her I wasn’t serious enough. Meanwhile, she started freaking out, asking what was going to happen to the kids. My wife let me have it. I deserved anything that she told me. We agreed that we would ease her feelings by me calling her, and while not lying, pretend I was just joking around. So after church on Sunday (and that in itself made me feel so much better—I missed it so), I called her on my cell phone, and told her I couldn’t believe she fell for it. I explained that I have a softer side, I her sister, my wife, sometimes jokes that I’m gay. I told her I was a little out of it after a couple of funerals that day, and that she shouldn’t worry about us getting divorced anytime soon. She said that she “understood” and that she felt better that I told her. She asked about the children, and I told her that they are the most important thing to me and I’ve put my stake in the mud and will not leave them. She asked if we were still coming to spend the night for Lao New Year like we always do, and I said, “Yes, we are.” She has another romance to lend me to read. Before she hung up, she said, “Don’t worry. It comes and goes.” I don’t think she bought the “really, I’m not ’Trans’” implication.

I had group meeting on Friday, and Cathy is still trying to give me praise for my part in TVM. I just had to put my head on the desk. Between her saying what a great job I did, and Gary at work praising my “150 IQ” as he likes to put it,  I’m going to die from over-praise embarrassment. But when we had to share something we learned at group, and I said I surprised myself when I wrote a 2,000 word chapter in a single sitting, Rachel spoke up saying that she has cherished everything that I have posted to Tri Ess and she’s been wanting to tell me I should write a book, filling in the gaps. *gosh* I could only very meekly tell her thank you.

At church, everyone gave me wonderful hugs, and asked if I had been sick. One of the ladies was telling me of a couple of transsexuals that she had met. She saw the wedding ring on my finger and asked how my wife was taking it. I told her that there’s only so far that she can go. She said she understood it could be very hard. And of course, T.J. told me after church that if no one else missed me, he did.

Somehow, I think I may have found a balance I can live with for now. Now the question is, which events of the weekend do I need to repeat?

Hugs and God Bless,

- Sophie

In early 1986, I was 20, still out of a job, and living with my fiancée. I had no idea how I was going to be able to afford to return to college, and I felt crummy for setting myself up to immediately be an unemployed husband. I had to do something.

- Sophie Jean Hawes, from the unpublished manuscript Freeing Hummingbirds: How I Learned to Embrace Myself

19,000 words done on my manuscript with the completion of “Marked.” I’m not sure there’s going to be anyone left who would care to purchase it after all the copies I have sent out. I’m hopeful as their feedback is all positive, but the reality is that I still don’t know how I’m going to get the manuscript published.

I had to come in to work a little late. My general physician wanted me to come in for a blood pressure evaluation, apparently triggered when I had the pharmacy call the doctor for a refill on my blood pressure medicine. When I got there, not only was my blood pressure taken by both the nurse and the doctor, he showed that he cares more about my reactions to my hormone regimen than my ob/gyn. Of course he asked whether I had my iron levels measured again or felt any of the side effects of elevated iron levels and ordered a blood sample to check the levels, but he also asked how I was handling so many medications and if my HRT prescription had changed yet. He used his stethoscope to listen to my blood vessels, requiring me to lift my shirt and bra. Then he had me lay back and release the fastenings on my jeans so he could feel around my kidneys. I really hadn’t expected anything beyond the blood pressure check, and yet my prescribing Ob/Gyn just asks how things are going and writes a new prescription. I feel lucky to have a physician that cares about my transition.

I didn’t feel so lucky when I was informed that my new insurance said that I was a “pre-existing condition.” Our company switched insurance companies at the start of the year, and somehow the insurance company wasn’t provided with a certificate of creditable coverage for me.

Work proceeds on the repairs to our siding. Turns out when we fixed the siding last year, it was done with a heavy paper product. This year, we fixed the chimney siding with the concrete variant. We purchased a new garage door as well, and my wife’s friends are going to install in addition to all the other work they have done for us.

My daughter is excited about a nature science camp that the whole fifth grade is attending next week. They will spend two days and nights learning about the science of nature, from dirt to trees to astronomy. because of the repairs on Sunday, we had to postpone my full female day until this coming Sunday. Mom called and wanted to talk after church somewhere near her house, but I have to make that part of next Sunday as well. I also had to postpone my gender counseling until May 9th. But I think I'm doing okay. I'm getting better. So I'll just attend group on Friday instead.


Besides starting a new book, Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar edited by Mercedes Lackey, that’s about all I can think of now.


The new law entitling Afghan men to sex every 4 days with their wives whether they consent or not really disturbs me, as I see the news of young women taking to the streets to demand their humanity amid jeering. What's this world coming to? Besides hunting down Osama bin Laden, it seems to me that the U.S. troops' mission should be changed to establish and defend humanitarian shelters within the borders of Afghanistan. But that's just one girl's opinion.


Don't forget: the National Day of Silence is coming up and in progress a little early in some places. There are many brave people choosing to stand strong in silence, but the effectiveness of the movement is creating resistence in those who are afraid of the imagined "Gay Agenda." According to the site (http://dayofsilence .org), "The National Day of Silence brings attention to anti-LGBT name-calling, bullying and harassment in sc"hools. Each year the event has grown, now with hundreds of thousands of students coming together to encourage schools and classmates to address the problem of anti-LGBT behavior."

There are many resources out there, but Googling for Day of Silence on news.google. com will provide you a host of articles, both for and against.

Articles for the movement include:
- temple-news.com
- justout.com
- indianastatesman.com

Some places are observing the event today:
- Central Michigan Univeristy
- Walla Walla

And a sample of the resistance:
- opposingviews.com
- thedickinsonpress.com
- queerty.com

I think we must each ask ourselves, will we and how will we observe the silence?
 

Hugs and God Bless,

- Sophie

No, I’m not sleek. I’m ordinary—sort of like a generic brand of human being. I don’t naturally stand out like some women I know. Although my mother would disagree. She tells me I have “good bones” like one of those characters in her classic myths and that all her friends think I’m beautiful. But I certainly don’t feel that way, especially when I walk into a room. Frank used to call it the “wow” factor, something that makes people notice you. Maybe it’s my hair. I wear it pulled back in a long ponytail with Peter Pan bangs in the front. I don’t know, I’ve always done it that way. Frank liked it that way, too.

Jennifer Kaufman and Karen Mack, A Version of the Truth

Yep, I’ve started another novel by an author I had never heard of. That’s what happens when I let myself browse the book aisles at Walmart. It sounds promising. I bought it for the Kurt Vonnegut quote on the opening page to Part One: “You are what you pretend to be.”

The suspension on my Toyota became drastically worse while I was on call, so I lost my car and 1600 dollars for the weekend while it was being repaired. Mom called on Sunday to apologize for not making it to my performance or getting a-hold of my sister. When I picked up the phone, she said, “Hi, Sophie.” To be honest, it took me by surprise to be addressed by her that way, but I love it. I explained that she was not the only person that couldn’t make it.

The pusher hose on the pool cleaner sprang a leak—tally another 25 dollars to replace when it gets in, and one of our garage doors popped both rivets securing the frame to which the garage door opener was attached. I deeply felt the impact on the virtual budget for my facial hair removal, and I started to hit the garage door on Friday with a medium pound as a result. Our relationship didn’t take my pounding so well. Since then, we have had more discussions about proceeding with a peaceful divorce. When I was reordering my prometrium, I noticed a warning that the side effects include irritability and anxiety. Hmmmm…. If I had known that, I could have been better prepared to tell the drug-induced emotions from the rest.

I have so missed the church folks. It’s not the freedom to wear the clothes; it’s the freedom to publicly interact as female that makes me feel so alive. That’s what I crave. I keep asking myself how I could have missed this for so many years. I have always felt close to gender neutral, but always felt anxiety when considering what it would be like to actually be on the other side of the line. I can be on either side, as long as I’m near the center, but the side with the flowers makes me feel more alive.

My wife detected my pining when I told her, and started asking, “What’s his name?” It has been a month since I was able to get to church, and now I have been asked not to make the extra drive for a couple of months until we can afford a new car. The trade-off? I can start my laser or electrolysis or whatever at the same time as we get the car, financing it if we have to. I will go back to church on my full female day, which we decided will be this Sunday. Pining is probably for Allen, a little. I haven’t seen him since the Monologues, and things are settling for me. But each time he does something so sweet or just be there for me, my emotional fondness returns stronger. I didn’t mention the experience to her, but I told my wife the truth that It doesn’t matter. I am in a committed relationship.

My oldest daughter had two performances with her school last week. On was the district choir festival, and the other was “Spring Fling,” a district dance festival put on by the school physical education departments. I was so glad to be there for her.

Next up on my calendar, I have a meeting with my counselor, and a cast get together in Fort Worth. I am looking forward to both events, where I am free to be female.

Hugs and God Bless,

- Sophie Jean

Isobel came to him then, slipping into the warmth of Anselmo’s welcoming embrace, the touch she had missed so since taking her position as Matilda’s nurse.

- Kathleen McGowan, The Book of Love

Well, not much exciting this week since I’m on call since Friday. I hung around the house, got the pool filters cleaned, and did the first mowing of Spring. My wife went to my sister-in-law’s house to help prepare a room for my mother-in-law. She’s getting really weak now, and about half the time her blood pressure is so high she can’t get out of bed. Other days she’s fine. She has to wear some kind of device that calls a nurse when it gets bad. My wife’s sister has been going by their sister’s house to watch her and feed her during the day, but the sister at the house at which she’s staying hasn’t been helping that much. So the change in location, except the cold water wasn’t working and the electricity was out on one side of the room, not to mention the peeling paint and wallpaper. We had the electrician/plumber husband of a friend fix those for her. He also found the latest problem with our pool: a 15 dollar capacitor in the control panel.

I took the kids to the library on Saturday. M got a huge stack of easy readers. She says she’s doing it so she can learn a lot. A got 3 manga books and two books of over 500 pages each. I was drawn to a curious title myself: The Book of Love by Kathleen McGowan. I was disappointed to find out it was a sequel, and the opening chapters look like they are a spoiler for the end of the first book. But the writhing is pretty good. I am over a hundred pages into the story. It’s about finding the Gospel as written by Jesus, husband of Mary Magdalene.

When I read the bible, I could see the love between the two, especially since she was one of two women to do his burial. She obviously felt as if she were his widow, as did His mother. Formally married, who’s to tell. You would think it would be a significant event, especially given Mary M’s background—significant to leave a written record.

Well, this story presupposes that a written record was kept by the Cathar people of France, but that the Holy Inquisition’s sole purpose was to destroy that record. Anyway, as the main character is a prophetess for Jesus, it makes good reading.

What they do come close to understanding is the concept of the labyrinth. The labyrinth, fashioned after the legendary labyrinth of Crete, takes a path of 11 concentric turns its center, where one is supposed to feel connection with God, and then 11 turns taking you out. I believe that this is actually a symbolic monument of the spiritual journey we all need to take, like the awakening that I went through. The connection with God is at the center, our center. Like peeling an onion, we circle ourselves, getting closer, understanding ourselves better, to peel away that layer. We traverse the path getting deeper and deeper into ourselves. And it is there, when we finally understand who we are that we connect. The love, the embrace is waiting for us at our very centers. Having been filled up with the love, it propels us outward with better understanding to once again circle ourselves, accepting who we are and where we must go, and ready to love those around us unconditionally.

I got bored this weekend and Googled “The Beat the Girl…” I went through all the videos on Youtube, but I couldn’t find anything that would have helped in my performance, except for natural gestures that I had already used. I give our director credit. The piece looks hard to make work, as evidenced by the various styles that were used. By using two actresses in a panel format, and cleaning up the text a bit, I think the whole thing came off more natural. I can’t wait to see the video copy, thought I hesitate because the camera hates me.

I also found “Sophie’s Prayer” this weekend. I had downloaded it with other poems to my old laptop. I will clean that up a bit and use it as a poetic close to the manuscript. The first, obvious line that needs to change is the first line of the poem. I think it need to change from, “Father in Heaven” to “Dear Mother/Father/Great Divine Being in Heaven.” Oh well, I might as well as give a taste, even though it’s a spoiler.

Hugs and God Bless,

- Sophie Jean

Sophie's Prayer

(First Written Aug 1 2007, 11:39 AM, Modified March 30, 2009, 12:31 PM)

Dear Mother/Father/Great Divine Being in Heaven,
I pray for acceptance, forgiveness and patience.
Acceptance of your plan for me to transition.
Acceptance of however far that must be.
Forgiveness to accept the hidden part,
Forgiveness for perverting myself.
Forgiveness for doubting in you,
Forgiveness for hiding.
Patience to learn before acting,
Patience to strengthen others,
Patience to build my resolve.

I prayed for you to take away my perversion,
You showed me my inner heart.
I prayed for your will,
And you showed me a goal.

The "Big T" I felt
Was your answer.
And I prayed for you to take this cup from me.
But silence was your response.
I knew in my heart you meant transition,
But I don't know to where.
"Patience," you gently say.

I prayed about my wife.
"What about her?" I ask.
"I am preparing her" is heard.

Forgive me Lord for assuming
That I knew anything
When you made me this way.
Put the spirit of a girl
In the body of a man.

And like Job before me,
Who am I to fathom
The Divine will of the Great Architect.

So I make my prayer again
As I've done so in the past.
I pray Teach me, Use me.
Let me humbly obey
In whatever small part
You would have me to play.

And Teach me to love and care.
Watch out for my family.
May others learn to see
The great things they can be.

I had a great time doing the monologues on Saturday! Did I get stage fright? You bet! And I also got dressing room fright, too. But, to hear the audiences reactions, to look in their faces, and listen to their laughter at the appropriate places, and the cheering at the close of our set was absolutely worth it. The camaraderie in the dressing room and backstage was wonderful. To be greeted by people I knew in the lobby, event organizers and others with congratulations for a job well done...well,  that just warmed my heart. And to top it off, I got ma'amed at the drive through the next day(well, almost) when I was just being normal with the kids in the car. Needless to say, I’m still in the afterglow.

I was so excited Saturday morning. It was like a work day, but I was going in my costume. We had to be at the stage door at Casa Manana by 8:30 AM for the technical rehearsal. I got a good shave, my beard cover, two layers of foundation, eye shadow and eyeliner on the upper lid in place before I noticed it was 7:45 and time to go. We didn’t have to worry about our hair and makeup for the tech rehearsal, but I wanted to see how far I could go. Besides, I really needed to get that beard cover and foundation in place before we left. What was important was that we show up in our costumes, ready to do a run through at 8:45 AM. I had on a new purple rayon blouse, with a draped v-neck and elbow-length sleeves which displayed my minimal curves to good effect in the mirror. The costume theme was Everyday a Woman, so I also had on my black slacks and bone-colored Siamanto shoes. I brought my new black Eva-Beaded flip flops, hoping they would be quieter than the clacking heel. The heel clicks tend to reverberate backstage, and that’s where we had to get miked up, and find our entrance points at stage left and stage right. It turned out the sucking noise of the flip flops was worse than the heels I had, so I opted out of the flip flops. I discovered I could move quietly, but very very slowly by rolling from the heel, which had a very thin rubber sole, to the toe when I walked.

The director showed us to the dressing rooms. We had two chorus rooms, which each fit twenty women. I was carrying a bag of props for her and followed her in. I then returned to the dressing room scene partner, Jo,  had gone into, barely able to find an available seat. I put my things on the counter, noticing the makeup mirror. I couldn’t wait to use it. After a very short while our director, Beth Bontley, called everyone to the auditorium, where we were invited to get comfortable with the stage. Casa Manana used to be a theater in the round, with its geodesic dome stretching overhead. Today, it is a semicircle stage, jutting out into the audience, with a classic rectangular stage behind. I walked my entrance and exit, pausing at the front of the stage to mentally rehearse my lines and physically the gestures. I said to myself, I can do this.

Once we had all taken seats in the auditorium, the girl who sat next to me asked if I identified with the lines. My monologue was “They Beat the Girl Out of the Boy…Or So They Tried.” I answer, “Most definitely. “

“So you went to boot camp?” she asked.

“United States Naval Reserve. I got sick in boot camp with pneumonia for two weeks.” My voice was refusing to go into my highest register. It seemed I was stuck at the next range down, more like a second alto. “By the time I was done with boot camp and training school, because I was sick, I was officially a veteran, and entitled to veteran’s benefits. I went on active duty three and a half years later.”

“Do you have kids?”

“I have two. One’s 11 and the other 5.” She’s probably looking at me trying to figure how I could have squeezed out children and still have such slim hips and small bosom.

“So you and your partner had them?” she tested.

“Yes.”

Beth called for everyone’s attention at that point. She called up volunteers to use the props so she could adjust the layout. Once that was done, it was time to practice C**T. We are all onstage for that performance, and I got blocked to a specific location. I was sick the day she first blocked it out, so I was standing in the wrong place like a sore thumb. We practiced the monologue a few times, and then moved on to curtain call. We had to do it over and over until the 42 of us women presenting executed it smoothly. Someone suggested that we use the “Stop the Violence” hand gesture, because the proceeds of the performances of the V-Monologues are targeted toward programs that end violence against women. Several people thought was a good idea, so we added it in.

At this point, we began a speed through, with cue-to-cues so we could get the lighting, sound and blocking working. I watched the first piece then headed back to the dressing room, where I brushed out my hair, did my eyelashes, blush and lipstick in the mirror, and realized my lipstick was on too thick. However, I didn’t feel I had time to fix it. Usually, I just cover the center half-inch of the upper and lower lips with the base color, and spread it to the remaining surface with strawberry tart lip gloss. Why I covered the whole surface this time is beyond me.

When it got close to my monologue, I went backstage, slipping my shoes off to move quickly and quietly, where I had a belt and microphone attached. The girl doing the mike warning me she was going to get a little comfortable with me as she ran the wire up my back and to the blousing on the lapel of my shirt. Every scene was having to be rushed through, and the blocking gone over several times. When we got to our scene, it went so fast, the only words I got to say was the last line, “They were that terrified…” Then we were off, I was unmiked and told to keep the belt. Jo and I had slipped back to the dressing room, when we were called back, so we came back running. The actresses after us had missed their entrance cue, so we had to exit again. From there, the rehearsal proceeded all the way to the end. She then dismissed us to the dressing rooms, where all around me women were stripping unabashedly to their underwear to change into casual clothes for after rehearsal. I didn’t bring any change, as I intended to head straight home in what I was wearing. I focused my eyes on my hair and makeup, thinking, What the heck am I doing here? Just the thought of undressing with these women of al shapes and sizes to see my preteen size chest, and imagining hoping that the lump wouldn’t show in my panties was frightening. I had never been in a women’s dressing room or locker room like this before. The anxiety was beginning to creep through, until I finally found the courage to gently get my purse and whatnot and head to the green room, where the director told us how great we were, what to focus on that evening, and to practice energy management. We all parted, many of intending to get a nap before the night’s performance.

When I got home, I changed into my other purple blouse and jeans. I worked around the house for a bit, having found out that my wife was at the auto dealer with the kids having the brakes fixed. After a bit I was sleepy enough that I wound up taking a 2 hour nap. I had about an hour left, so I returned to the sink where I shaved with the skin cleanser, reapplied the beard cover and foundation, touched up my eye makeup, noticing the 30 strokes of mascara on each eyelash was solid as a rock still. I noticed I was out of time again, and I felt like wearing my round black Spring hat. I had no clue it was the first day of Spring. I grabbed a plum for dinner to help wet my vocal cords. By the time I got to the theater, it felt like it was another day. This time I proceeded to change in the dressing room when I got there, even though a couple of actresses had walked in while I was changing. It felt like it was another day. Jo was already there when I arrived, so when I finished adjusting my makeup, doing my lipstick the right way this time (I went through about three shades until I found the one I though was good enough), I went to the green room to wait. One of the girls had bought chocolates and was offered mint-chocolate and raspberry chocolates in the shape of little footballs out of a heart-shaped box. I listened to talk of pregnancy and how it affect your reactions, and then Jo entered. We rehearsed our lines about 3 times, until our director came in.

She brought a skein of rainbow-colored yarn to represent that we had built something out of diversity together. We all stood around in as best a circle as we could manage, while she cut the yarn in segments for everyone. I wrapped mine twice around my right wrist and tied in the form of a friendship bracelet, or as my daughter calls it, a BFF (Best Friends Forever) bracelet. From there we went back to our dressing room, and awaited top of the show. We got to listen to the whole performance, as the microphones were piped to the dressing room and the green room. Backstage we chatted, while we listened, marking how close we were to our individual parts. Jo told me about her workplace transition, and how to do it right. A bottle of wine was broken open, and a bit later those of us in the dressing room were sharing whiskey. About that time, one of the girls brought Joe back. He had nose rings and lip rings and it was hard for me to look him in the face. He hugged a couple girls and glanced my way. When he was offered some of the whiskey, he boorishly tilted back the bottle and drank the remaining half without coming up for air. “I was thirsty,” he said. I thought he was rude and disrespectful. But that’s just me. I realized this could quite possibly be the “Joe” that had directed the monologues at Texas Wesleyan University a couple years ago. After a bit he was taken on his tour again, probably to the other dressing room. I decided I would blush with the war stripes, as I had learned long ago watching my mother. I took the reddest lipstick I could find and drew a diagonal across each cheek from the direction of the ear to the direction of the lip. I blended it in with the foundation, and put just a drop of foundation on the pad. I recovered the area by the nose on each sides, to make the blush seem to be deeper, but more natural.

When my turn came to get miked up for the actual performance, I started feeling the anxiety take over. I tried breathing and centering exercises, and they slowed the anxiety down, but I felt my leg start to tremble under my black slacks. And I knew I must have been going pale under the makeup, but I knew this feeling from before. I hadn’t had it in a long time and I couldn’t recall exactly when I felt it, but it was known. I waited what seemed like forever behind the curtain, waiting for my cue to enter on the stage right ramp. But the magic line was said, and Jo and I proceeded together to the front of the stage where it juts out into the audience. My voice gurgled at the beginning of the word, “I” when I said “I ached to belong,” and I noticed I could see my lines on my card, even though I had brought my glasses in my left hand just in case. But that was the last time I had to look at the card. As I went through the lines I had rehearsed over and over, I looked pointedly at the faces of the audience, staring in rapt attention. I was speaking slowly and deliberately emphasizing the correct words, and just as Beth had promised, a chuckle floated over the audience when I said, “For trying to fly in church like Sister Birtrell.” My leg was still threatening to give way as I proceeded to the voice part where I thought I had butchered the Jewish accent line until I heard laughter immediately swell out.The next line got them rolling, when with a lilt I told them, “A southern accent is really excellent,” following with the aftershock created by “Howdy, Y’all” I proceeded though the monologue until I retold Calpernia Addam’s story. When I finished, not a pin drop could be heard. They were that silent. After a couple of moments, Jo and I gave each other the planned hug, to which I heard the applause and someone screaming, “Whooo!”

It felt good. Incredibly good. We made it through the rest of the performance. The audience getting whipped up again and again. When we finished the last curtain call, we waited for the audience to exit, and then returned to the stage for a group photo. There must have been six to eight photographers out there taking the snapshots.

After the photo shoot, I took a moment to recollect myself, and then proceeded to the lobby, looking for familiar faces. They found me. I was greeted warmly by friends from all the organizations that have been welcoming to me. People from my support group, Tri-Ess, and the Unitarian Church told me how courageous I was. When I felt that I had met everyone who was looking for me, including, believe it or not, Lori, who was on the steering committee for the group and promised we would get to see the video (“I begged to her that the camera hates me.” She said it didn’t matter), I started to leave until I noticed that the last of the raffle was drawing near, and a formal presentation of thanks from the cast to the steering committee was about to be made. We had signed prints of the Best Friends sigil while backstage. I stopped to watch, noticing as luck would have it, I was standing next to Joe, who was elevated on a chair or table to view the event. He held out his hand, asking “I’m Joe. And you are…?”

“Sophie,” I replied, as I noticed the warmth of his hand and arm.

“I like that you did the transgender thing.”

“Well, they’re women, too,” I replied and turned to watch the rest of the drawing, very intent on the presentation moment.

Finally, it was over, I bid farewell again, and headed back to the dressing room, where I changed alone into my jeans and purple top. It was too dark outside to where my sun hat, and I arrived back home about midnight, having tried to acquire a late meal at Wendy’s only to be told they were closed.

Would I do this again? Borrowing words from Alaska Governor Sarah Palin, “You betcha!” I can’t wait until next year.

Hugs and God Bless,

- Sophie Jean