Elan Owen


Part 15

Let the Little Girl Dance


Sometimes, you just have to dance.

By Jesse Rabbit

Edited by Erin Halfelven for posting on BigCloset and Sapphire's Place

Here it is, part 15. Not as long as I was planning on, but I decided to leave it where I did cause the last bit is a little too heavy to go right back to the usual humor. For those who didn't notice, I've posted another piece of fiction here ( bigcloset ), called Dreamdance, and I thought a little shameless plugging might be good. But, without more ado, I give you, Let the Little Girl Dance.

Part 15 - Let the Little Girl Dance

Why is it that whenever girls faint there always seems to be a strong handsome type just waiting to catch them when they fall, but when boys do it the only thing which is there to catch them is the ground? Not that I speak from experience of course, I've only fainted twice in my life, both as a girl, and - as you might guess - Tyrone caught very nicely this time, just as he had at the mall. Or at least I assume he did, 'cause when I came to he was holding me close, probably 'cause there were no benches or anything besides the floor for him to lay me out on. Before he could ask if I was okay I managed to squeak out, "Public?" and I do mean squeak, as my voice is now the highest range of soprano and I think I almost went ultrasonic at that point.

Ty laughed and nodded solemnly, "Public, kiddo. Where did you think we competed? In small dark rooms with no-one watching?" he gave me a hug and I hit him on the shoulder.

"Hey! Don't make fun of me!"

He grinned and kissed my forehead, "Never, my sweet. Now I have to run and so do you, class calls. So do you think you can stand on your own?"

I nodded and he set me on my feet.

As it turns out, I was almost 15 minutes late to class. Which was study hall so no big deal, as Mister Allison, who's graphic design class I had taken in 7th grade, barely ever looked up from his comic books to check if we were doing anything as long as we weren't too loud. I was late because it took me that long to figure out how to get my feet to work again, get the blush to subside, and get over being called "My sweet!" That rattled me so much that I completely forgot about having to do anything in front of twenty thousand people all the way through Study Hall.

My next class was Choir and Miss Roston has a very strict policy. "No thinking, just singing", the diminutive teacher has insisted time and again. Even if I were inclined to do any thinking or worrying that day, it wouldn't have been about being called "My Sweet" or about having to be a cheerleader in front of bob knows how many people. I had bigger things to worry about as it turns out.

Miss Roston decided, in light of the fact that two weeks from that coming Friday we had our Thanksgiving Recital, it was time to pick leads for solos. Now if you don't know what a solo is, that’s where one person emerges from the body of the choir and stands, all alone in the center of the stage, with everyone staring at them, and sings. Sometimes the rest of the Choir backs them up, sometimes not, but the important thing is that it's just you and the audience, so all your mistakes are like a billion times more obvious. I relaxed because Mezzo-Sopranos like me don't get solos and then it hit me, I was now a Supra-Soprano. I then relaxed again, 'cause Kristin Duncan, who is class president and really cool, is Lead Soprano, and she sings way better than me, so I didn't have to worry, right? Wrong as it turns out. Kristin opted for one of the duets and was "nice" enough to leave the Soprano solo open.

So I got tagged to do the solo, whimper. But at least it wasn't cheerleading and at least it wasn't going to be in front of tens of thousands of people, right? I of course had forgotten that the Thanksgiving Recital wasn't held in the school auditorium, which seats seven hundred, but at the old Aqua Vista Civic Center, whose main auditorium seats almost six thousand on its main floor and two balconies. And that the local educational access channel isn't the one who carries the footage; our local PBS station does it. But that’s for later.

After being told to meet with my voice coach to select a song, I realized I had a slight quandary.  As I'd never had a solo before, I'd barely met Mister Howard, the boy's voice coach, and certainly never had a face to face with him, just some lectures on voice care and such. So did I go see Mister Howard, who I barely knew and would have pieces better suited to altos and tenors or did I go see Miss Pertry, who would be thrilled to see me and have lots of pieces for sopranos. Mister Howard was the boy's coach, Miss Pertry was the girl's coach. Then I thought of a loophole and went to talk to Miss Roston about it.

"Miss Roston?"

She looked up from her stack of libretos, "Umm yes, Miss Owen?"

I refrained from correcting her as I was the only boy in the soprano section who wasn't a fifth or sixth grader, and it would have been counter-productive to say the least, and said "Do boys have to meet with Mister Howard and girls with Miss Pertry, or is that just, like, a suggestion?"

She blinked owlishly at me, and sighed, "Miss Owen, don't be foolish, and do stop wasting my time. Boys are required to meet with the boy's voice coach, girls with the girl's voice coach. It's very simple."

With a grin on my face I said, "So I should meet with…"

Shaking her head and sighing, she slipped her thumb and forefinger under her ugly glasses and rubbed her eyes, "Miss Owen, you are to meet with Miss Pertry to select a song for the Recital. Is that understood or do I need to write you a note so you can remember?"

I just grinned and said that would be fine. As I rejoined my section so we could go over the material that we all would be singing, Kristin tapped me on the shoulder and beckoned me aside.

When we were far enough away from the group of eleven other sopranos, Kristin smiled at me and said, "Congratulations."

I blinked, "Huh?"

"On the solo."

I scuffed the ground sheepishly, "Oh, yeah. Thanks."

"Look, don't be nervous. Solos are great. Did you know that I always thought you were a boy?"

I blanched, and opened my mouth to say something, although I have no idea what that might have been.

She smiled, "I'm not saying that’s a bad thing. I had a tomboy phase, too."

I smiled weakly and said, "Oh?"

She nodded, "Yeah, but then I discovered boys." She giggled. "Is that what happened to you?"

I shook my head, and thinking quickly, said, "Naw, it's just that I just turned eleven and something changed."

She nodded, "That’s right, you and your friend Karen van Lister, right? You're both eleven."

I nodded; faintly surprised to learn that Kristin Duncan knew who my friends were.

Giggling, she said, "Don't look so surprised, I sit next to Karen in Geometry. She's very smart, and hard to miss with that electric blue hair."

I nodded, "That she is."

"Any idea what you are going to sing?"

I shook my head, "I'm going to ask Miss Pertry if she has any idea. But I bet Jason van Born will sing, "This is My Country" again like he has at every recital since sixth grade." We both laughed at that. Jason van Born was a very gifted tenor, and his mother was head of the school board, so even though he wasn't lead tenor, he always got to sing a solo, and always sang the same thing, much to the dismay of Miss Roston and Mister Howard, who had pleaded with him to select something, anything, else to sing.

The bell rang at that point and I packed up my bag and headed for Lit class. Halfway through, I suddenly remembered that instead of worrying about publicly humiliating myself two weeks hence, I had to worry about publicly humiliating myself two days hence. But by that time, most of the panic had faded into a kind of hazy dread, which I managed to banish by telling myself that I wasn't going to be the one competing. All I would have to do is clap and look cheerful while giving the boys drinks and towels and stuff like that. And it wasn't like anyone would be paying attention to me, right? Of course not.

That settled in my mind, I turned back to classwork, although I did have a little trouble keeping my mind from straying to Kristin Duncan's laughing eyes.

***

I was in Poly-Civ, my last class of the day, bored as usual, when my watch beeped inside my head and when I looked at it I saw that I had been Plinked (you know, Instant Messengered) which we're not supposed to do in class, but we do anyway. The message turned out to be from Davis and addressed to Tyrone, Lu Wong, Jim, Karen, and Me. It said, "HW 8OUT W3 M33T @ C7U8 V1K1NG @ 1900 & DANC3." Which I deciphered from the old net language, 733T (Leet, as in Elite), to mean, "How about we meet at Club Viking at 7 p.m. and dance." Karen and I had been to Club Viking twice, both times on kid's night cause you had to be eleven or older any other night to get in and if you've been paying attention you'd know that I only qualified this week. Club Viking was our local teen (11-16) dance club, and Thursday was Retro Night I discovered by checking their net node. I'd discovered that if I networked my watch to my manual I got a much bigger screen and could see the net sites, albeit in 2-D instead of 3-D, instead of having to use their audio function.

Hastily - before Miss Greystoke, my Poly-Civ teacher could notice that I was fooling around with something other than her boring-ass, state mandated, inundation of pointless factoids about dead people like Bill Clinton and Andrew Johnson (I mean, who cares about an affair of state, really, President Ciccone has slept with like a billion people.) - I sent back, "I'm in, and 733T is dead, Davis."

Karen sent out, "Ewwww Geek-Speak! I'm game, what do we wear?" See how obsessed with clothes she is? Ty sent out, "CU@7", Jim sent "K", and Lu Wong sent back a graphic of someone dancing and a smiley face, which I assumed was an okay. The depressing part was that as thrilled as I was to be going, I'd be in class for the next twenty-five minutes, and they were bound to be even more boring, now that I had dancing to look forward to that night. Sigh, it's a shame grampa's watch can't speed up time. Now that would be a cool watch.

The one good thing, I would be able to do something as a boy other than sleep, having only canceled out the hours school lasted. I'd pretty much resigned myself to being stuck in a female body at school for the next year, but I still felt more like me as a boy. I missed my old center of gravity, if you can imagine that. I even missed the uncomfortable tightness of my underwear when it bunched up and squashed those parts that are not supposed to be squashed. I mean, I'd had to deal with those sensations for most of my life. You get used to things, and I kinda missed it. So tonight, I was going dancing as a boy and that was final. It’s a shame I was arguing with myself, cause when you argue with yourself you always win and you always lose.

***

Almost as soon as school ended and I had transformed back into a boy, feeling free at last in more ways than one, Karen started in, bugging me about what I was going to wear, how I was going to do my hair, was I going to wear make-up or do my nails, should we arrive just a little late, should we take a taxi or get dropped off, and so on, and so on, and so on. Finally, I had to club her with a pillow to get her to pay attention to our homework 'cause if it wasn't done then no way were we going at all. In the end I just let her decide what I was going to wear because it was easier than arguing the point and I really had no idea anyway.

Thus it was that we arrived at Club Viking - with a parentally mandated curfew of 11 p.m. at the very latest - in a taxi, exactly six minutes late, as, for reasons which totally escape me, Karen had had the driver take the long way round. Karen was wearing what she called casual slut, which consisted of a silver form-fitting jumpsuit which left nothing at all to the imagination (not that there was much to imagine), a totally superfluous three-inch-wide, hip-hugging white belt, and tall, black suede boots. Her hair was back in its blue pixie style, as were her nails and eye lids.

I was wearing grey jeans which barely covered my ass and a robin's egg blue shirt with a high neckline which totally failed to cover my belly or back, although it did have side panels with clips an the bottom to attach them to my jeans. Karen had insisted I keep my stomach bare cause it would draw attention. When I asked why, she told me that anything that draws attention to your breasts is a good thing, but since I barely have any to speak of, then I would have to settle for my stomach.

I pointed out that I was going as a boy, feeling that it was best if I appeared at dinner looking as boyish as possible, seeing as how Sam had figured it out already.  That had turned out to be a wise decision as my mother had apparently grown tired of my dressing like a girl at dinner, or at least of Pig complaining about it. I know this 'cause Mom complemented me on my choice of clothes in that tone which so clearly says, "If you were dressed any other way you would be so very, very grounded." I also pointed out that I wanted to go as a boy 'cause I was more comfortable as one and hadn't really had a chance to be one since Monday morning.

The totality of Karen's response had been to shrug and hand me the clothes while giving me a look that clearly said I was the mental one. I had argued for, and won, for a wonder, the right to wear boxers rather than panties. Karen had looked smug and tried handing me a pair with pink and yellow roses all over it, but I put them back and went with a pair with the Death Star and the Forest Moon of Endor on the butt and the rebel fleet on the front.

Anyway, when we arrived, Ty and Davis were outside, waiting for us. Ty's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I stepped out of the taxi. He clearly didn't notice any boyish features. I had to restrain the impulse to jump back in, hand the cabby my credit card, saying, "Let's get the hell out of here, pronto." As it was, I just blushed and hid behind Karen, who was posing like a glamour-puss while Davis ogled her. He was practically drooling, which I guess was the point of the outfit Karen was wearing. Ty was wearing blue jeans and a grey-checked, button-down, very casual but nice. Davis was wearing one of those not for running, just for dancing, black tracksuits which looked as if glow worms were mating on it, ewww.

Ty came over and wrapped his arm round my shoulders, chuckling softly. "You look very nice tonight, Layne. Jim and Lu are inside, holding us a table. Let's get our dance on."

"Our dance on?" I giggled. "It's our Groove on, sportsboy."

Trying to look contrite, and failing miserably, Ty laughed and said, "Forgive me, Chica. My store of Retro Lingo isn't so good. Feel free to chastise me again. Spank me if you will, punish me for my churlish naughtiness." He smirked and I bopped him lightly on the head.

Ty and Davis already had had their hands stamped so they guided us through the line and inside to where Lu and Jim were sitting at a booth that faced the dance floor, a sonic dampener pulsing blue in the middle of the table. From the flushed look on Lu's face, I was guessing they had been making out, and pretty heavily at that, while they'd been waiting for us to arrive. We ordered some drinks from a nice waiter whose name was Andre, and Jim gave us the sitrep. We'd do a little dancing, two couples at a time. Every three songs one couple - Jim and Lu (who I found out preferred to be called Lulu), Davis and Karen, or Ty and I (I wasn't consulted FYI) - would come back to the table and the couple who had been holding the fort would get to dance for six songs. This gave, in theory, ample time to "get one's groove on" while giving the couples ample time to… let's say talk.

Ty and I took the second table-watching slot, relieving Lulu and Jim. We settled into the soft cushions of the booth, the music at a nice ambient level thanks to the sound dampeners. And we did talk. I told Ty about my family, about how my older sister called flirting with boys "Fishing" and how she had a "Catch and Release Policy". I told him about my parents and my mad grandfather, although not the part about the old nutter being alive, of course. I told him that NoCal Governor Richard Harkens, Jr. was my uncle, and his daughter, Senator Regina Harkens, was thus my cousin. Then Karen and Davis came back and we got up and danced.

We danced to a hip-hop number called Gettin' Jiggy With It which I'm pretty sure is by Will Smith before he became governor of Florida, a disco number called Be My Lover which I'm sure is by Le Bouche, a funk number called Slam Dunk Da Funk which Karen says is by 5ive, something I think was grunge about a Heart-shaped Box, and then there was Arms Wide Open by Creed, a slow number. Ty held me close and we swayed to the music, but I kept feeling like everyone was staring at me so I was kinda relieved when the next number was Tubthumping by Chumbawumba, good old-fashioned rock and roll. I know that sounds terrible, but I was.

Then we went and relieved Jim and Lulu again, who were both looking rather disheveled and more than a little out of breath. Ty punched Jim in the shoulder, although not that hard, and said something, but because we were outside the sound dampener's field, I had to rely on my ability to read lips in order to have any idea what he was saying. I should point out that I have no ability at all to read lips, so Ty could have been telling Jim to get a hotel room; he also could have been giving him advice on how to get Lulu's bra off, or even telling him to invest in Orange Juice. Jim grinned at Ty and then guided Lulu onto the dance floor where they quickly disappeared into the maelstrom of bodies.

This time Ty did the talking while I sipped my coke. He told me about his mother, who was a civil engineer and was in charge of the construction of the new Civic Center and who had actually designed the Seagate Tunnel which ran from L.A. out to the floating Seagate City. He told me about his brothers, Maurice the eldest who was a sergeant in the Spaceguard, Timothy the next eldest who played wide receiver for the University of Michigan Wolverines and who had, Tyrone claimed, a good shot at the Heisman Trophy this season, whatever that was, and Max, the youngest, who had just started first grade that year and was very good at watching trivision and playing with their cat who was also named Max. When I asked why, he said that Max, the brother, had felt that the cat should be named Max 'cause Max was a good name, and had insisted so loudly and so long that the rest of the family had finally caved. We had a good laugh at that but then TY went kinda quiet.

He told me how his little sister and his father had died in a fire a few months before his brother Max was born, and how he missed them. He kinda went silent after that, and I gave him a hug and told him that I'd almost lost my older brother and I'd just lost my grandfather. Well, I had. I didn't tell him that a few weeks later I'd discovered that all the tears and bummed feelings were for nothing 'cause the old loon was still alive 'cause that really wouldn't have helped.

Ty nodded and smiled, "It's okay, it happened when I was seven, so I've had six years to get over it. I just miss them sometimes is all." We sat there in silence for a while, leaning against each other. Then, slowly, gently, Tyrone took my face in his hands and turned me to face him. He was just about to kiss me but as his face moved closer to mine, something was different. I didn't freeze up like I've always done in the past when his face approached mine. I squeaked and pushed him back… well actually I squeaked and used his chest to push me back. It was surprisingly easy.

He looked nonplused, "What's wrong?" he asked, his feelings obviously hurt; especially after the feelings we'd just shared, and I felt my heart go out to him. I soul-searched quickly--why wouldn't I let him kiss me, I'd let it happen so many times when I was a girl--then suddenly I realized what it was. When I was a girl, I was a girl. But now I was a guy and I didn't want him to kiss me when I was a guy. Did that mean I wanted him to kiss me at all? I needed time to think.

"I need to go to the bathroom." I said and bolted, not looking back so I wouldn't have to deal with that hurt look on Tyrone's face. I rushed across the dance floor, brushing past Karen as I went, through the door, which was miraculously line-free and locked myself in a stall. To this day, I'm not sure which bathroom I ran into. I sat there, going over it all in my mind.

I definitely didn't want to be kissed by a boy when I was a boy, right? But did I want to be kissed by a boy when I was a girl? I didn't know. Did I like being kissed by Tyrone? Yes, I had to admit, I did. I liked the way it felt, the way he held me close, the strength of his arms, the pressure of his lips, the faint cherry taste from his lip balm. So why wouldn't I let him kiss me? Just 'cause I was a boy? I thought about that for a while, giving Karen the "I'm thinking" sign when she poked her head over the stall door, but I couldn't get it to make sense.

Karen, obviously sensing something, pulled herself over the stall wall and dropped down next to me. "Hi!" she said, in her perkiest voice, "Something bothering you, Layne?"

I sighed and told her, "I don't want Tyrone to kiss me right now, but I don't know why. I like it when I'm a girl… Maybe the watch changes my… whatcha call it… you know, which you like, boys or girls or something."

Karen laughed and sat on my lap. "Layne, baby. It's called orientation. And I doubt the watch has anything to do with it. I think it's more to do with Tyrone."

Ever notice that no matter how smart you are people still say things that go right over your head? I said, "Huh?"

With a laugh, Karen tickled me a little, "Tyrone thinks he's kissing a girl, and you don't want to lie to him."

I blinked, "But am I gay then?"

Karen bopped me.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For being stupid."

"Huh? How was I…."

"You're a girl half the time, and you only want to be kissed by a boy when you are a girl. I'm not sure someone in your position could be called gay, straight, or lesbian, anyway. And even if you could, what does it matter? But I do know that you like Ty."

Blinking and tilting my head to look up at her I said, "Urm?"

She laughed, "I bet you are almost as strong as he is 'cause of the watch. But you never try to move away. In fact you snuggle against him, you really do."

"I… but… I…"

Giggling, Karen tickled me some more to shut me up. "It's okay Layne. You're allowed to like him. You're allowed to like kissing him."

I spluttered, "I've never kissed him! He always kisses me!"

Karen pretended to look shocked, but she's not very convincing, "You've never kissed your boyfriend?"

I gaped at her, "He's not… We're not… but… oh, I give up."

Karen hopped off my lap and cheered, "I win!" She unlocked the stall and bounced out, cackling "I win! I Win, I WIN!" I shut the door, locked it, and sat there for another twenty seconds before activating the girl-time transformation 'til midnight. I straightened myself up, unlocked the stall and left the bathroom. Tyrone looked up from where he was sitting next to Davis as I walked back to our table, opened his mouth to say something, but never got the chance 'cause I hopped into his lap and kissed him. I kissed him very soundly on the mouth and then sat back, my arms wrapped around his neck, looking up into his dark eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something, so I kissed him again before he could and this time he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me back. After that we sat and talked or danced until it was time to go, but right outside the club Ty held me back just long enough to hug me close to him and kiss me on the forehead. "See you tomorrow, Chica?" I nodded. "Remember, in case I forget to tell you tomorrow, on Saturday you need to be at the school no later than 8 a.m. or you'll miss the bus to the meet." I nodded again, then hopped up, wrapped my arms round his neck, and kissed him on the nose, cause I couldn't reach his forehead. Then I let go and ran off to catch up with Karen, giggling like mad the whole time.

***

Falling back into my bed, I sighed and thumped my pillow with the back of my head a few times. I sighed again and then, knowing there was no way I was going to be able to sleep unless I resolved a few things, I raised the watch so I could look at it. Its face was silver in the moonlight. I opened it and in a small voice that I barely recognized as my own said, "Grandpa?"

There was no reply.

"Grandpa?" I called in a slightly louder voice.

There was no reply.

Knowing my room was soundproofed, I screamed as loud as I could, "GRANDPA!"

This time the watch went, "Wuzzat? What's wrong? There's no need to yell, boy."

"That’s just it… I'm not a boy."

Grandpa's face looked confused, "My readouts say ye'are. Danged blasted things must be on the fritz again."

I shook my head, "No, Grandpa, I am a boy right now, at least my body is. But I'm not a boy anymore, or a girl at all. I'm confused." Grandpa looked as if he were going to say something but I cut him off, "No, just listen. Look, tonight I kissed a boy, a boy I think I like, but I couldn't bring myself to kiss him when I was a boy 'cause it felt wrong, but when I turned myself into a girl it was okay. And there's this girl at school who I think is really great. Why? Why did you do this to me? Isn't growing up hard enough as it is? Why do I need to decide whether to be a boy or a girl now? What's the point?"

When I finished speaking I looked at the small blue see-through head of my grandfather and waited, slightly flushed from my tirade. I waited for him to say something, anything to justify his actions, but he remained silent. Minutes went by until I finally just exploded at him, "Don't you have anything to say?"

He looked up at me with a serene expression on his face and gave me a sad little smile, "I was waiting for you to finish. Are you finished?"

I nodded, giving him a cross glower.

"Then I'll answer you're last question first. There is no point."

I blinked and then started shouting, "What? What do mean…" I was cut off by a short, mildly painful zap from the watch.

Grandpa's calm demeanor did not waiver, "I let you finish, please return the courtesy. As I was saying, there is no point. Distinctions between the sexes, so called gender-roles, have become meaningless, especially in most western countries, especially in the US. In primitive times, there was a sound reason for them and that’s how they developed. Man was the Hunter, the Protector, and the Father. Woman was the Homekeeper, the Caretaker, and the Mother. But as civilization grew and the population expanded, those roles became traditions more than necessity.

"Finally, first in the American Civil War, so many men were drained from the workforce that women had to take over those jobs, then again in World War Part I and again, even more so in World War Part II. Coupled with a rise in women's rights and a growing feminist movement the traditional gender-roles began to erode, faster and faster as the years passed. Companies and the economy started to adjust to a larger worker base. When Feminism had played out its role by the end of the nineteen eighties, women were liberated, free to do anything their hearts desired, if not completely equal with men. More and more strong female leaders in industry began to emerge and by the turn of the millennium, most children could no longer define the difference between mommy and daddy anymore.

"It's been almost thirty years since then, men and women work together in almost every field and industry, while the leaders of each field and industry are close to parity. There is no longer a difference in pay rates between the sexes, aside from some sports figures. Madonna is POTUS for Pete's sake, and she wasn't even the first female president. In short, society has gained equality and parity, but it has lost something--a sense of the meaning of pride in one's gender. Men who were proud to be men are a thing of the past; most are like me, old, relics of a by-gone era. Women who are proud to be women are fading in numbers, too. The only thing that separates the sexes now is gender and biology. Women still give birth to most of the babies. But there are differences, small ones, tiny ones. Women care more about some things while men care more about others, although I'm speaking in generalities. So, that’s what I mean when I say there is no point. Do you understand me so far?"

I nodded, slightly shaken by the onslaught.

Favoring me with a half smile, Grandpa continued, "As for the difficulty, no, I cannot say as I think growing up is particularly difficult at all. It happens naturally and doesn't stop for anyone or anything besides death. Growing up right, now that’s the tricky part. See growing up right is difficult. It has to be. The difficulties are what make you grow up right. The trick is giving enough hardship that a kid becomes a strong, righteous, and true individual without heaping so much on them that they break or become deranged. Your parents are doing a bang-up job for the most part, but I felt something was lacking, so I gave you something to build character, something to make you think about what kind of person you are, and more important, what kind of person you want to be.

"See the real shit of it is this, I've discovered how to make humans almost immortal, but the kicker is, they don't deserve it. Nowhere near in fact. So, I've got to find a way to make a better human. It may sound cruel, but it's true. Imagine a world full of immortal children, all squabbling over the toys. It would be chaos and society would fall apart. Not to mention that there just isn't enough power in the world to operate 8 billion watches. Understand me?"

Again I nodded, feeling drained and slightly sick to my stomach. There were just so many things I hadn't considered but that Grandpa clearly had.

"Look, don't worry about the big stuff, you're too young and there's lots of time for you to grow up left. Just you concentrate on being the best you that you can be. Grow up right. Decide for yourself which you want to be, a boy, a girl, gay, straight, a father, a mother, a protector or a caretaker. And realize that almost all of that is meaningless, outdated, social hooha. Just become what you want to be, but first experience all the options. Discover for yourself what it means to be a man or a woman, and then keep that ideal precious. Make there be a point to having two sexes besides species diversity, okay kiddo? Can you do that? Experience, learn, grow, and when you are ready, then you can choose."

"Yessir," I said with a nod.

"Good, then get some sleep, it's late there."

"Okay, Grandpa-nutjob. I'm still going to get you for this."

"And my little dog Toto, too?"

"What?"

"Never mind, it was before your time. Sleep tight."

"G'night"

 

To be continued in part 16 - Ready or Not…

 

Bonus Section:

Elan's Family
Elan Collin Owen (a.k.a. Elayne Colleen Grace), male (female), born November 1st, 2018. Son of Ethan Owen and Grace Winter. 8th grader at Cascade Middle School, Aqua Vista North California.
Ethan James Owen, male, born January 18th, 1978. Father of Lawrence David, Samantha Morgan, Elan Collin, and Michelle Ophelia. Married to Grace Winter.
Grace Olivia Winter, female, born January 16th, 1981. Mother of Lawrence David, Samantha Morgan, Elan Collin, and Michelle Ophelia. Married to Ethan Owen.
Lawrence David Owen, male, born April 29th, 2007. Brother of Elan Owen. Georgetown Law Student.
Samantha Morgan Owen, female, born December 13th, 2013. Sister of Elan Owen. 11th grader at Claremont High School, Aqua Vista North California.
Michelle Ophelia Owen, female, born October 5th, 2021. Sister of Elan Owen. 6th grader at Cascade Middle School, Aqua Vista North California.
Karen Elizabeta  Hildegard van Lister, female, born August 24th, 2018. Best friend and sworn sister of Elan Owen. Daughter of Sanna and Linda van Lister. 8th grader at Cascade Middle School, Aqua Vista North California.

Dance List
Rock & Roll: Tumbthumping - Chumbawamba (1997)
Grunge: Heart-Shaped Box - Nirvana (1994)
Disco: Le Bouche - Be My Lover (1996)
Hip-Hop: Will Smith - Gettin' Jiggy With It (1998)
Slow: Creed - Arms Wide Open (2000)
Funk:  5ive - Slam Dunk (Da Funk) (1997)

Elan, his family, friends, and Story are copyright 2002 Jesse Rabbit, who may be reached at Terabiel@hotmail.com. Feel free to distribute as long as you do it for free. Anyone who wants to adapt this into any other medium (Like a movie, hint hint) should leave me a comment with an email  addy. :P Thanks and enjoy.

 

since 12/10/03