Night Before Returning

I wrote this yesterday.

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I’m scared.  There- I said it.   

I have many emotions returning to Penn State to study for my PhD.  I graduated from PSU U-Park in 1989: a lifetime ago.  So much has changed in my life since then.  Time and Pain will do that to a person.   

Then there was Transition.

The University changed as well.  The Penn State I knew exists only in the memories of those of us who were there.  Now, children of my classmates have already come and graduated, and their youngest children are now here.  Penn State tends to be a family tradition. 

Not so for my daughter.  She is only eleven and made her first visit to PSU (that she remembers-she was here as a toddler) when she helped me move up to State College on Sunday.   

My daughter is one of my Fears.  I usually saw her once a week.  Now I might see her once or twice a month (her mother and I lived apart).  I’ve already missed her childhood.  What else will I miss?  

Will I make her proud of me? 

Will anyone even care? 

Monday, August 26, 2019.  An hour early for my first class

All my life, people told me that I’m smart.  I’ve relied on my brain to keep me alive despite it wanting to kill me.  Now, for the next five years, I will be testing whether I’m as smart as so many people thought I was.  It’s not a given that I will succeed- I've failed at so much in my life.  I define myself not by what I know, but by what I do not.   

Tomorrow is the first day of classes.  First step.  I know I have a support network, but in the end, it’s up to me to do this thing.  

I’m so scared. 

Men of the Skull Chapter 55: Busy Week

Sorry it's been a while.  I've moved back to PSU to start my PhD.

back then, what happened that night didn't bother me.  It was a typical social.  With hindsight (and age) I see how many horrible things were happening here.  The social was meant to get the Little Sisters drunk and "in the mood."  It was rape waiting to happen.

And not only didn't I care, I thought it was a great idea.  What does that say about the person I was in 1987?  I'm ashamed of myself.

I'd like to say fraternities have outgrown this, but a look at the headlines during the school year shows me otherwise.

I remember thinking back then that if I had a daughter, I'd NEVER want her to attend PU because I saw what the guys were like. Now all these years later, I have a daughter.  I fear for her.


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Chapter 55: Busy Week

Wednesday, March 25, 1987 A holy war erupts among television’s evangelists

            Pimps and ‘Hos.  That was the theme for that night’s Crow social for Brothers and Lil Sisters only: no dates.  The brothers of Alpha Chi Rho were looking to get laid that night.  See the idea was that if the girls dress sluttier, they’ll behave sluttier.  Get it?

            Virginia wore her black tube top and blue spandex leggings with borrowed six inch heels and heavy make up.  I found out later that Judy wore a white pant suit with a tight cleavage revealing top.

            Me?  I did homework and ordered pizza from Pizza Pi with Mark.  What I didn’t know was that it was the beginning of a very busy weekend.

From the Collegian, March 25, 1987

          

            About 3 AM the fucking phone rang.

            “Who the hell is that?”  Mark grumbled.  I stumbled into the kitchen to answer it.

            “CannIcom-comover?”  Virginia slurred.

            “Where are you?” I asked.

            “At ththth-house.”

            “Want me to come get you?”

            A pause.

            “N-no.  Can mmake it.”

            Fifteen minutes later, I met her at the back door of the apartment building (it was normally a five minute walk.)  She could barely stand, even though she lost the shoes somewhere, and she looked disheveled but still incredibly slutty, but with one difference.  She had her belligerent look on her face.  I expected to hear all about the night, but no- she collapsed into my arms.  I helped her upstairs and into my bed where she immediately passed out, smelling of smoke, beer and whatever, with her clothes still on.

Thursday, March 26, 1987 Men Held in Torture Killings

            Another really fucking early morning found me headed back out to Kishacoquillas High School with four classmates.  Virginia was still out like a light.  I thought about that for a second.  My girlfriend just spent the night in my bed and no one said anything against it.  I watched her chest rise and fall as she slept.  That thought kept me going through the day.

           

            The trip home was nice.  Spring finally reached the mountains a bit.  My one classmate, Sandi was wearing a tight, blue low cut dress for the day.  Appropriate?  Who cares!

            We were all hungry, so the guy driving pulled into the Burger King on University Drive. 

            “Didn’t you used to work here, Lance?”  Sandi said as we all piled out of the car.

            “Last fall.  Seems like so long ago,” I said.

            The four of them stepped over to the registers.  I had no money, so no food.

            Then, Judy, dressed in her tight BK uniform rushed out from the door to the back.  I must be dreaming!  She quit last fall around when I did!

            “Lance, I’m so glad I was able to speak to you first!”  Judy said. 

            I shook off the surprise and tried not to stare at her breasts.  “When did you start back here?”  I said.

            “Today is my first day back, but that’s not important.  I need for you to listen to me.  I need to explain something to you!”

            “Oh.  Ok.  What?”

            “Nothing happened, despite what Virginia thinks.  Really- nothing happened.”

            “What are you talking about?”  I said.

            “One of our pledges” she said, looking down at the floor, “spent the night in my room last night.  But nothing happened,” She said, looking back up at me.

            So why am I feeling that too familiar stab of pain in my gut- that rotted hollow feeling?  I shouldn’t.  I have Virginia now.

            “Ok.  Nothing happened.  Why do you care what I think?”  I said.

            She glared at me for a second.  “Because we’re still friends aren’t we?”

            “Yes,” I said.  “And I want you to be happy.”

            “Thank you.  Remember: nothing happened.”

            She ran back through the crew door.  Maybe a minute later, she brought me a chicken sandwich.  So when the others finished through the line, I already had food.  I just smiled at their questions.

            Nothing happened.

            An hour later, I arrived back at the apartment.  The sheets of my bed were clean and my bed was made.  Good!  I was really tired.  I collapsed onto the bed as twilight collapsed into night.

           

From the Collegian, March 25, 1987.  Yes, they got the year wrong

            “Wake up!  Wake up you lazy bastard!”  Virginia was shaking me by the shoulders.  How long was I asleep?  Only forty five minutes?  What the fuck!

            “Ok.  I’m awake.  What’s up?”  I said.  I wasn’t too fucking happy.

            “Judy cheated on Rich!”

            No shit.  I knew that last October.

            “So what?”

            “Miss Goody Two Shoes whore cheated on her boyfriend!” she said.

            “Wow!  How do you really feel?”

            She hit me in the arm really hard.

            “OW!  What the fuck!”  I said.  “Virginia, why is what she does any of your business?”

            “You don’t have to live with her fucking superior attitude!”

            “Aren’t you overreacting?”

            WHACK!  In the arm again.

            “Stop hitting me!”  I shouted.

            “You’re not listening!” she shouted.

            “Ok.  Tell me what happened.”

            “I got back to the room and there were clothes all over the living room- Judy’s and Buck’s.”

            “Who?”

            “He’s a pledge who has a crush on her.  All the brothers were pressuring her to hook up with him.”

            “So you’re saying she did,” I said.

            “There were clothes all over the living room floor and on the couch and the bedroom door was locked!  I took a shower and when I came out all the clothes were gone.  What else could they have been doing?  Virginia said.

            “Maybe he was wearing your clothes?”

            She hit me again.  Same spot.

            “OW!  Stop that!”

            “He’s taller than you!”

            “OK.  So maybe she slept with him.  So what?”  I said.

            “She cheated on Rich!”

            “The brothers don’t seem to care!  They encouraged it!”

            “She’s always been Miss Uppity!  Now she can’t do that anymore!” she said.

            “Why not?  Besides, I never thought of her as uppity.”

            “That’s because you’re a guy she likes.” 

            She does?

            “She always plays little Miss Innocent around you,” Virginia said.

            Not really.  I thought of Judy’s naked breasts.

            “Something tells me I don’t want to get in the middle of this,” I said.

            “Why don’t you care about the things that are important to me?”  Virginia said, almost shouting.

            I reached up and pulled her down on top of me.

            “I care, but Judy is also my friend.  And no matter what happens, someone I care about will get hurt, and I don’t wanna be a part of that.  Does that make sense?”  I said.

            “No.”

            “Then just kiss me,” I said.

            And she did.

           

Next Chapter

Last Chapter

First Chapter

Two Pillows

I've mentioned many times on social media that I often cry myself to sleep.  That's true- I'd say 90% of the time.  (The other 10% is when I drink myself to sleep, or when I'm so tired I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow.)

When people ask me about it, I usually just say "I cry about all I lost," which is true, if vague.

Last night (Weds, Aug 7) I was very tired, so I retired relatively early.  Yeah, I'm old.  I read until the melatonin started kicking in, closed the book, and turned out the light.  Without thinking, I rolled over onto my side, and pulled a pillow to me.

My Bed, today.  See Mum, I make it sometimes!

You see, since I was in junior high, I've used two pillows.  I remember thinking that TWO pillows- that was the pinnacle of luxury.  My room was on the third floor of the house, where there was no heat in winter (the house was heated by a wood burning stove downstairs, so the first floor was toasty; the second floor was slightly chilly; and the third floor was freezing) and the only cooling in the summer was a small fan and windows.  It was what it was- I was just glad to have my own room. And... I had two pillows, so I was great!

After dating a year, and being engaged a year, I married Wife in 1993.  Every couple who sleeps in the same bed, they choose sides.  She slept to my left, with my right side facing off the bed.  Wife also had two pillows (and she was very possessive of them, so almost nightly I'd steal them.) I would wrap my arms around her, spooning, and we'd both quickly fall asleep.  I would drift off to the sound of her breathing.  J'entend ton coeur.

The end of this month marks six years since I was thrown out of MIL's house.  I remember that day like it just happened.  I remember my daughter's tears.  I remember holding Wife as she cried with me in the driveway before I left with the last load.  (Most of everything went into storage.).

August 2019

I had dinner with the people who helped me move.  Then, I went back to my new home, where I lived at the charity of a dear friend.  I brought my pillows with me.  I collapsed into bed, and cried for years.

The loneliness.  The rejection.  The unfamiliar smell of an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room.  My Wife and daughter were miles away.  I found out later that Wife had daughter sleep in our bed that night, as she didn't want to sleep alone.

You see, like me, she had problems falling asleep alone.  Whenever I was traveling for my job with Games Workshop, both of us had major insomnia.  I remember many nights while in the U.K. That I couldn't sleep a wink.  One week, I didn't sleep more than an hour total.  

Codependent?  I guess.

So last night, I pulled my pillow to me and started crying.  Why?  Same as always.

After nearly six years, I still miss being curled up next to Wife.  The smell of her hair.  Softness of her skin.

Yes, I miss my daughter, whose childhood I've missed.  I miss my dearest friend, Lisa.  But when I climb into bed, instead of my bride of 26 years...

...All I have is a pillow.

Superman

I've written before about how I grew up reading comic books (I rarely read them now as I can't afford  them, and other reasons.). Yes, I was and am still a geek.

Seems like everyone has a favorite superhero.  These days it seems that most people are Batman or Spider-Man fans.  I love those characters too, but the one I identified with the most growing up was Superman.

Art: John Byrne

Some say Superman is boring or corny, or that he's too powerful.  I never saw the character that way. I had a few reasons for this.

First is really the basis of the character.  I remember they talked about it in an issue of World's Finest 292.

Superman as the Example- the beacon of Hope and Good.  Living as an example for people to follow, even without powers.

Kingdom Come #4, Mark Waid- writer, Alex Ross- artist

But there is something else- Superman is "the last son of Krypton."  Supposedly.  I mean, not counting Supergirl.  Or Superwoman.  Or New Krypton.  Are they still in continuity?  Oh whatever.  For this discussion, he's the only one.


Superman, for all his amazing powers, was alone.  Yes, he has adopted parents, friends, and a harem of women with the initials "LL," but could any of them crush coal into a diamond or fly?  (Ok, there were some cheesy 50s stories, but work with me.)

He was different, and he KNEW it.  He couldn't tell anyone about this difference.  Neither could I.

Remember, I grew up before the internet.  All I knew was my dying small town, and I KNEW how they would react if I announced my Truth.  If I even could announce it- all I knew is that I was different, that I was really a girl, and I thought I was the only one in the world like me.

Of course, I didn't want to BE Superman.  I mean, MAN.  No thank you.

I wanted to be Supergirl... or Superwoman.  I wanted to pull open my shirt and see the "S" on my breasts.

Being one of kind, even (especially?) with that kind power, is a special kind of lonely.  I couldn't talk to ANYONE about it.  In fact, I had to hide it, and do my best to deny any much desired femininity.  Remember, the 70s and 80s were the time of the "macho" hero.  Burt Reynolds, Lee Majors, Sylvester Stallone, Chuck Norris...  I could go on all day.  Almost every guy admired them and their ability to kick ass.  Not me.  I admired someone whose strength was that while he COULD kick ass- he could destroy the world- his strength was in NOT doing so.

Back then, that was considered "sissy girl" thinking.  Oh wait- even now that's considered "sissy girl" thinking.  Power is to be used- Might makes Right.  Ends justify the means.

Sorry, I don't subscribe to that way of thinking.

Superman changed a lot over his (currently) eighty years.  The eighties saw a shift in perspective- Clark was the person, and Superman the identity, not vice versa (and he was a yuppie, but we won't discuss that.)  In the 90s, he revealed his identity to Lois Lane, and they married.  (How in the world would they have sex?  Surprisingly, that topic's been approached!)

In several stories, he's been changed to a woman, including a genderswapped timeline.  Oh to have magic in our world.  Here I am Mr. Mxyzptlk!  Change away!

Eventually, every secret comes out.  Well, the ones not taken to the grave, anyway.  Lois discovered Clark's identity.  Pete Ross knew it for years.  keeping my secret was no longer an option, so I transitioned.

Eventually, I bought a Supergirl costume- a version more like her original.  And, finally, I looked down and saw the "S" on my breasts.  ("My breasts."  I still can't believe it even after over six years on HRT.)

Sept. 16, 2018

I'd waited a life time.  I may not have the power to destroy the planet, or to fly, or being impervious to physical harm... but I'm a Woman.  A mortal woman- with all the frailties and problems that entails (does Supergirl get 2/3 the credit Superman does for saving the world?)  I also have the issues that come with being a "non-passing" transgender woman in 45's America.  

Speaking of mortal women- Supergirl isn't my first Superhero costume.  That was Captain "Mary" Marvel, the World's Mightiest Mortal.  This was the first costume made for me by the incredible Lorraine Anderson.  These days, Captain Marvel is better known as Shazam (and Mary is "Lady Shazam").  She appealed to me because the idea of a single word changing me from a lame skinny boy into a Powerful Woman in an instant.  Oh how I wished!

Makeup by Amanda Richards

But I digress.  Even though Captain Marvel (1940) was clearly inspired by Superman (1938), and Supergirl (1959) (or, to nitpick, Superwoman in 1943) was inspired by Mary Marvel (1942).

Would I want all those powers, and the responsibility that come with them? (Astro City did a wonderful issue about these pressures in their first issue.)   Absolutely.  If I had to settle for one power though, it would be flight.  I'd love to soar to the clouds with the wind in my ears.  

Above the powers and all, I understood the above mentioned loneliness, and the desire to just Be who I needed to be.  I knew Superman understood that loneliness as well, if in a different way.  Neither of us could do anything about it.  Yes, I transitioned, but I missed on being a young woman, a college age woman... everything until I was 47.  I spent all that time yearning.  In many ways I still do.  I am incomplete in so many ways.  

But at least now, I can wear the "S" and Dream.

No wig- just me.

another announcement

I am going to keep going with this, despite lack of readership.

I received some very nice notes, and I appreciate them.

The Darkness is always with me.  Someday it will take me.  But not today.  Or tomorrow.  I have a PhD to earn.

Huggses