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First and Ten; Part 6 Webster defines paranoia as an irrational distrust of others. Since the events of the past few weeks had provided me with more than my fair share of well grounded reasons to be distrustful of others, I could claim with a high degree of confidence that I wasn't paranoid. Still, that didn't keep me from acting like someone who was. Even Emma wasn't free of suspicion as she behaved the following day as if there were nothing more exciting going on in my life than mid term exams and an occasion visit to her place. When I pointed this out to her, her response confirmed my suppositions that Aaron had talked to Conner who had, in turn, talks to M about what had happened the previous night. And while I am sure the two men didn't share any of the details with my sister, I had no doubt they'd told her more than enough. Eventually, when I'd had enough of Emma's pussy footing around, I informed her that she either stop the little kabuki dance she was engaged in or I'd go into her bedroom and mess up her dresser drawers. While chuckling over the humorous manner with which I opened the discussion, warning me in no uncertain terms that I'd pay a terrible price if she found one item of her clothing disturbed, Emma quickly expressed her concern over my ability to deal with everything that was going on in my life. "It's more than the nature of the people you're dealing with and what Conner's boss has you doing for him," she explained. "Please don't take offense, Jordan, but you've gone from being the personification of a hermit crab to becoming something of the star of your own little psycho- drama, and I don't mean that in a good way." With a shrug, I agreed. "I know what you mean. I can remember how Mom would often say that she didn't know whether she was coming or going. Now," I snickered mirthlessly, "I actually understand what she meant. If it was just the informer thing, it'd be no problem." The look Emma gave me caused me to quickly backtrack. "Okay, it would be a problem, but a manageable one. The same is true with the gender issues I've suddenly found myself having to deal with. While the whole male- female thing is confusing as hell and changing gears hasn't been the easiest thing I've ever done, I'm confident I could have dealt with it a whole lot better if that had been the only thing on my plate. Even together, working with the FBI and sorting out my life would be doable. Difficult mind you, but definitely more manageable than the chaos I'm dealing with at the moment. I guess it's the sudden appearance of two people in my life that I find myself attracted to in ways I'd never experienced before that's really messing me up." Taken aback by my last statement, my sister straightened up and stared at me with furrowed brow. "Two? Who's this other person?" It was only then that it dawned upon me that Emma didn't know about Megan. Or, was it Aaron she didn't know about. "M," I started tentatively, "who were you thinking about?" "Aaron, of course. Who's this other person you're involved with?" Seeing no other choice but to come clean, I told her all about Megan, to include the part I was sure Aaron and Conner probably didn't want me to share with anyone else but them. When I was finished I made her promise that she wouldn't mention what I'd told her to Conner. "They're already uncomfortable with the fact that you know so much about what it is I'm doing for God, Country and the FBI. I think the two of them would completely flip out if they knew I was sharing everything with you." Taking my hands in hers, Emma pulled me toward her. "Jordan, you know you can trust me." Once more I couldn't help but respond with a rather cynical snicker. "At this moment, you're the only person I can trust." Then, seeing an opportunity to lighten the mood, I winked. "I've got little choice but to trust you. After all, you know all my dirty little secrets, the ones what would really prove embarrassing if you ever decided to share them with someone else." Scrunching up her eyes, Emma pointed her index finger at my nose. "That's right. And don't you forget it. Now," she added as she turned to other, more immediate concerns, "pancakes or waffles?" "I think I've had my fill of waffling for awhile. Pancakes will be fine, provided you serve them with real sausage and not those puny, reduced fat turkey things you're so find of. I'm in the mood to be bad, really, really bad." Emma may have been warned by the boys that I'd had had a rough Saturday night, psychologically and emotionally, but she knew in the way that only a sibling can know that I needed some serious normal time. That my female attire was now viewed by both of us as being so normal that it no longer caused her to comment on what I was wearing spoke legions as to just how far and how fast I'd traveled down that path. I guess in light of everything else that I was dealing with in my life, what I was had on was, in the scheme of the universe, quite trivial. The struggle between my personal self image and what I saw in the mirror was over. I liked what I saw there. Now all I needed to do was figure out what I liked in other people. To be more specific, having redefined my gender, I needed to address my sexuality, a task that would make everything I'd done up to that point seem like mere child's play. Chapter Twenty One When it came to delving into my issues regarding sexuality I was not on my own. While Native Americans relied upon a vision quests and spirit guides to help sort themselves out, modern Americans turned to psychologist and psychiatrists. In helping me navigate my through the uncharted waters which I was venturing further out into, I was blessed to have Dr. Janice Hunt. Dr. Hunt, or Janice as she preferred to be called, was patient and intuitive, yet determined and uncompromising. The manner in which she approached the of issues I needed to work through was not at all what I had been expecting. Rather than tacking them head on, she was content to ever so gently strip away the many facades that that I'd erected over the years to conceal my true nature as if she were a chef peeling the delicate layers of an onion. In doing so, she never offered an opinions of her own or passed judgment on anything I said. Instead, she prodded and probed my psyche with questions that were calculated to make me to think, I mean really think about how I viewed myself, the people in my life and the world around me. The only problem I had in this approach was that I could not be completely honest with her. While I knew there was such a things as patient - doctor privilege, discussing the strange cloak and dagger world that had precipitated my unexpected foray into Genderland would have been unwise. It would also have been one too many sacks in the old cart. The confusion I was experiencing when it came to my feelings regarding Megan and Aaron had nothing to do with my dealings with Dr. Khalje and the FBI. While it was true that my involvement with them had been the reason I was now living my life as a female, they and their reason for being in my life was not what I needed Dr Hunt for. It was the confusion I suddenly found myself having when it came to dealing with the opposite sex that I really needed her to help with. In my case, first and foremost was what, exactly, was the opposite sex, a question that was becoming more difficult answer with each passing day. I had my second appointment with Janice on the Monday after my first foray into Khalje's lair. All things being considered, I was in a good mood. I'd spent Sunday with my sister, watching the Giants beat the snot out of San Fran, chatting with her about this and that over home cooked spaghetti smothered in meat sauce as well as letting her give me some tips on makeup. In all fairness to M, it didn't take much effort on her part to get me to do the latter. The truth be known, I needed the help. That evening, back at my place, I threw myself head long into my studies, doing my best to play catch up with all the reading and work I'd been putting off. While so many of my fellow Americans were bored to tears by history, I found the subject to be fascinating. For me, there was nothing more exciting or engrossing than well written history. The greeting I received on Monday morning when I returned to class helped as well, for it turned out to be far less contentious and nerve wracking than the previous week. Just as I'd hope, my pole vault across the gender line was no longer topic number one among my classmates. Even Eric seemed to warming up to me, though I suspect his motives had more to do with a desire to borrow my notes than acceptance of the new me. Not even the prospect of running into Megan later in the morning bothered me. That was until I actually saw her. In the twinkling of an eye, the entire mixed bags of feelings and emotions that had rocked me when I'd run into her at Khalje's on Saturday night reemerged. Unsure of what I would do or say to her, I went out of my way to avoid her. I guess Megan suspected as much, for she kept her distance as well. Thus, by the time I met with Janice later that afternoon, I was ready to bare my heart and soul to my spirit guide. > "Would a relationship between you and this man you're seeing really be such a bad thing?" My reflexive response to Dr. Hunt's question spared me from having to say a thing. Suppressing a smirk, she continued. "It's obvious that you are interested in him." "Yes, I am," I snapped almost too quickly. "But as a friend." "Oh?" There was no mistaking Dr. Hunt's meaning. It wasn't so much the word itself. It was the tone she used. It reminded me so much of the way Emma responded when she didn't believe me. Of course, even I found my explanation to be rather lame. Bringing my hands up to my face, I gently rubbed my eyes with the tips of my fingers before resting my chin in my cupped hands as I stared vacantly down at the floor. "I don't know what to think any more," I confessed. "Then why bother?" Confused, I dropped my hands as I looked up at Dr. Hunt. "Excuse me?" "Why bother thinking? Why don't you just go with what you feel?" "I can't do that!" "Why, Jordan? Because he's a man?" "Yes. He's a man and I'm . . ." When she realized that I wasn't going to finish my sentence after waiting several seconds, Dr. Hunt continued. "Changing your way of thinking about others and the world around you is not as easy as changing your attire. You've spent twenty-six years living as a male. In order to survive in that role, to be accepted by your peers and family, and function effectively within our society you've had to adopt the attitudes and habits a normal, healthy male is expected you to adhere to. Am I right?" Looking away, I found myself recalling many of the dumb things I'd done over the years for no other reason than to be accepted as one of the guys, particularly while I was in the Army. Even now, some of the things I'd said for no other reason than to keep the other guys in my unit from thinking I wasn't like them caused me to shiver. "This isn't going to be easy for you, Jordan," Dr. Hunt stated after giving me ample opportunity to mull things over for myself. Hesitantly, I looked back over at her. "What is it I should do?" Dr. Hunt eased back in her chair. "You know very well that I can't really answer that for you. I can tell you that denying how you feel about another person wouldn't get you anywhere. Just like your gender issues, pretending that they don't exist doesn't make them go away." I knew what she was saying. Knowing what to do about it was an entirely different matter, one that I'd eventually have to ferret out for myself. > I hadn't even reached the street corner after leaving Dr. Hunt's office when my cell phone began to chime. My suspicions as to who was calling me were confirmed when I saw the number displayed on the caller ID. I'd been expecting a call from Aaron. Having gone easy on my Saturday night and staying away all day Sunday, I knew it was only a matter of time before he'd want to sit down and go over in detail everything that had gone on at Khalje's. Clearing my throat, I took a moment to find something resembling a rather bland, business like voice, adding a real Bronx like twang for effect. "New York City Morgue. How may I direct your call?" There was a moment's hesitation on the phone as Aaron, no doubt, checked the number he'd called. "Ha, ha. Very funny Jordan." "I had you going there, didn't I?" "Well, one never knows." "Aaron, please tell me you don't have the city morgue on speed dial." "Of course I do. After all, many of my dealings are grave in nature." Unable to help myself, I stopped in my tracks and groaned out loud. "Oh that's bad, that's really bad." "Yes it was. Did you dig it?" "All right, enough," I pleaded. "I'm dying to hear why you called." When he answered, he did so in a manner that told me that the fun part of our chat was over. "We need to talk." "When and where?" "Someplace quite and, if possible, private," he replied without missing a beat. "How about my place? Say sixish?" "Fine by me. Should I stop off somewhere and pick up some takeout?" I was about to say yes, then a thought occurred to me. "Don't bother. I'll fix dinner. Just bring some wine." "Red or white?" "Red, definitely." "Great! There's a bottle of Boons Farm Strawberry Hill in my fridge I've been saving for a special occasion. I'll bring it along" "You do that mister, and you'll be wearing it." "You know Jordan, for a college student, you're mighty picky." "For someone who owns a Beemer, you've got mighty poor taste. Now say goodbye, Aaron." "Okay, goodbye Aaron." Clicking off my cell phone, I stood there with a smile on my face but for a moment before it slowly morphed itself into a frown. In addition to organizing dinner, I needed to get myself ready. I'd already decided that if I was going to do this, I was going to do it right. With that in mind, I took off at a brisk New York trot. > I was both pleased and annoyed when Aaron arrived promptly at six. Pleased, in that he was right on time, a quality in a person I liked. Annoyed, in that I'd taken way too much time getting myself ready, which meant that I was running behind in the kitchen. To top it off, just as I was about to open the door, the buzzer on the oven went off. Throwing the door open, the best I could manage was a quick, "Hi! Come in," before pivoting about on my heels and scurrying back into the kitchen. Once there, I grabbed the oven mitts, bent over and yanked open the oven door in order to retrieve the lasagna I'd been baking. That's how Aaron found me. "Nice boots, Jordan." With my head all but stuck in the oven, hands wrapped around a casserole dish filled with bubbling hot lasagna and my butt stuck up in the air, there wasn't much I could do but cry out in protest. "Aaron, behave." By the time I'd managed to extract my dish, my face was beat red, as much from embarrassment as from the oven's heat. Carefully turning about, I found myself face to face with a very amused man. Casting a downward glance, he studied the lasagna before looking up at me. "Looks good." "I hope it tastes good as well. It's my first crack at making this." Aaron winked. "I wasn't talking about the lasagna." Now totally flustered, I turned toward the counter in order to set the hot casserole dish down. "How 'bout you make yourself useful and open the wine or something," I muttered in an effort to rid myself of Aaron for a moment so that I could collect myself. "You know," Aaron called out from the small dinning area, "you didn't have to go through all this trouble." Emerging from the kitchenette with the lasagna, I gave him a quizzical look. "I don't understand. I told you I'd take care of dinner." With a sweep of a hand in which he held a wine glass, he motioned toward the table. "I mean this. Table cloth with matching cloth napkins, place mats, wine glasses and silverware all set out nice and proper. The only thing missing are the candles." "What did you expect? Paper plates, plastic ware and pillows tossed about on the floor around the coffee table?" "Well, it's just that I didn't expect this from . . ." Suddenly aware that he was straying precariously close to committing a major tactical error, Aaron stopped mid-sentence and looked over at me. The panicked expression on his face confirmed my suspicions as to what he was about to say. Though I was smarting from his almost slight, I set managed to keep him from seeing just how much it hurt me that he was still viewing me as something other than what I was trying so hard to be. Instead, I waved over at his place. "Well, ah, please do take a seat and help yourself." Taking his seat, Aaron fussed about, spreading his napkin in his lap in silence before digging into his salad while I served up a healthy serving of lasagna onto our dinner plates. 'Settle down, girl,' I found myself thinking as I took my seat and helped myself to a long, slow sip of wine. 'It's still early in the game.' > Our small talk during dinner started out strained, but thanks to good wine and ample helpings of food, we both managed to set aside the earlier uneasiness and enjoy ourselves. By the time we finished with desert, slices of strawberry cheesecake I'd picked up on my way home served with coffee, Aaron found it quite difficult to change the subject and get down to the reason he had wanted to see me that night. With coffee in hand, we moved into the little living room where I settled onto the settee and Aaron settled in a matching chair. "We know who was there on Saturday," he began, "but not what happened inside. The FBI's efforts to bug Khalje's place have been frustrated by some very sophisticated countermeasures, the sort that give some of our people down in Langley nightmares." "Are they anywhere near as good as the one's you guys have sprinkled about in this apartment?" I asked in an effort to ascertain just how much the two agencies involved in this venture had invested on me. The guilty look on Aaron's face and his hesitancy provided me with the answer I was looking for. Making a show of looking about the room as if searching for something, I smiled. "That was just a joke boys. Sorry." Clearing his throat, Aaron shot me a dirty look before continuing. "Anyway, what I need you to do is to go over everything that happened there. Every detail, from who said what to what you saw. Please, leave nothing out." Setting aside my cup, I folded my arms and began to recite, from beginning to end, what I'd seen, heard and done on Saturday night. The only thing I left out was the personal interplay between Megan and I. Though I suspected that Aaron knew I was doing so, he had the good sense to say nothing. When we were finished, he peppered me with several questions, chief among them was the book Dr. Khalje had given me. Having set it aside on Saturday without having bothered to look through it, I went over the shelf where I'd placed it and handed it to Aaron. "Dr. Khalje suggested that I read several of the passages he'd marked by dog earring the pages, starting with the one with the marker." Taking the book in hand, Aaron studied it carefully before opening it. "This is an original, you know," he stated as he read the introduction. "Richard Francis Burton's unabridged ten volume set of the Arabian Nights is probably one of the best English translations of those famous tales." Looking up at me, he smiled. "You know, Burton wasn't very different than you." An arched eyebrow on my part caused Aaron to correct himself. "What I mean is, he went undercover, disguised himself in order to travel to Mecca in 1853 as part of the Hajj, a feat that would have cost him his life if he'd been discovered." "Gee, Aaron, thanks for sharing that last little tidbit with me." "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to, I mean . . ." "I know what you meant." Doing his best to keep me from seeing the red dots blossoming on his cheeks, Aaron buried his head in the book, flipping to the page where the marker was. As he was reading it, I couldn't help but notice his eyes darting up from the page every so often and over to where I was sitting. When he finished, he blinked before once more looking over at me. "Well?" I asked in an effort to ascertain what, exactly he was being so cagey about. When he didn't answer, I stood up, walked over to where he was seated and settled down on the arm of his chair so that I could read the page over his shoulder. After I'd finished, I wished I hadn't. The first story Dr. Khalje had wanted me to read was entitled the 'Tale of the Youth and the Tutor.' It told of a youth, the brother of a vizier who, according to the tale, was so beautiful that both men and women admired the young boy. Not wishing to send the youth to a school where he could not be closely watched, the vizier entrusted the youth to the care of a "venerable and pious old man, who?was known for his chaste ways," or so the story claimed and the vizier thought. Well, the long and the short of it was that the pious old man seduced the vizier's pretty little brother. By the time I was finished reading it, my cheeks were aflame. Unable to look Aaron in the eye, I returned to my seat, head bowed and arms tightly crossed against my chest. After waiting several minutes for me to say or do something, Aaron finally broke the silence. "Well," he whispered. "Now we know." "Yippee! Score one for the home team," I muttered cynically. What Aaron did next was both expected and quite telling. Standing up, he came over to where I was sitting, took a seat on the settee next to me and wrapped an arm about my shoulder. Without thinking, I buried my head in his shoulder, doing my best to hold back the tears. "I don't know if I can do this," I whimpered. Pulling me in closer to him, Aaron did his best to comfort me. "Shss. I'm here for you, Jordan." As comforting as his presence was to me, and as much as I wanted to stay there, safely tucked in his arms, eventually I began to sense that things were on the verge of becoming awkward. Pulling away, I sat up and looked away, wiping my eyes as I took a deep breath. "Well," I stated crisply once I'd managed to catch myself on, "I think we've pretty much covered everything we need to, don't you?" Equally anxious to move on, Aaron nodded. "Ah, yeah. I think we're done." Springing to my feet, I glanced over at the clock. "Great! Just in time for the game. My second most popular Manning brother is playing Jacksonville tonight. Up to watching the game with me?" Aaron wavered but for a moment before looking up at me sporting a big grin. "Sure, why not, though I don't think it's going to be much of a game." "Who cares?" I shouted over my shoulder as I carried our empty coffee cups to the kitchen. "One of the Manning boys is playing. That's good enough for me." I'm sure Aaron was doing his best to come up with something that was both witty and appropriate to say. That he didn't do so was a testament to the new found caution that he found necessary to exercise when in my presence. Chapter Twenty Two It was Wednesday before Megan found the courage to speak to me, and then it was only to deliver a message from Dr. Khalje. "He would like to see you this Friday," she muttered with downcast eyes. As much as I wanted to reach out and take her by the arm, to ask her so many things, the prospect of having to face Khalje once more, knowing full well what he had in mind for me, proved to be too much to handle. Dumbfounded, I stood there in the middle of the corridor for a moment trying to collect myself. "Get a grip," I muttered. "Get - a - grip!" Not knowing what to make of my reaction to her simple message, it was Megan who reached out and took me by the arm. "Are you alright?" Giving my head a good shake, I stared into her eyes, her big, brown eyes. "Ah, no. I mean yes. Sorry." Despite my less then convincing response, Megan let go. "Here," she stated regarding me warily as she held out a small brown paper package. "I was told to give this to you for Friday night." Looking down at the package she was holding, I asked the obvious. "What is it?" "It's a hijab." "A what?" "A headscarf." Unable to help myself, I made a face before looking up at Megan without making any effort to take the package from her. "It's a pretty one. I picked it out myself," she added as she extended her hand holding it. "It's a simple square hijab you can wear in the Turkish style, like I do." Ever so slowly, it dawned upon me that the package contained more than an article of clothing the good Doctor wanted me to wear. It was as much a gift, a peace offering that Megan hoped would patch over the rift that had opened up between us. I saw that in her eyes and could tell by her expectant expression that it was important that I accept it from her. Managing to whip up something of a smile, I reached out and took the package. "Thanks." Relieved and pleased, Megan found herself unable to hold back. "If you want, I can show you how to wear it." "Sure," I agreed with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. "When would you like to get together?" Megan asked in a manner that came across as far more enthusiastic than the occasion called for. As a great believer in the old motto, burnt once, twice shy, I demurred. "I'm not sure, Megan. I've got a lot going on at the moment." Now there's a real BFO, or brilliant flash of the obvious, I told myself. "I'll call you, okay?" My response wasn't what she'd been hoping for. With bowed head, a practice that was probably second nature to her, she muttered a sorrowful goodbye before turning away. For the briefest of moments, I felt bad, really bad for rebuffing her in the way I had. I wanted to chase after her, to take her in my arms and tell her what I really felt. And I would have had I not found it necessary to take the package she'd handed me and stuff it into the backpack I had slung over my shoulder. In doing so, I found myself staring at the innocuous, plain paper package she'd given me. It contained nothing more than a piece of material, an item of clothing that was, in theory, no different than the top I was wearing. But it wasn't, I reminded myself. It was a symbol, a device that announced to all who saw it that I'd given myself over to a set of beliefs and practices, that I was willing to follow the dictates of a culture and religion that were at odds with everything that I believed in. It was an act of submission that I dare not take lightly, for I knew not where it would lead to. With that thought in mind, I turned my back on Megan and slowly made my way to my next class. > The sound of the door to Emma's apartment opening followed by her calling out shook me from the dark pace my mind had wandered off into. "Jordan? Is that you?" "Well, if it's not, you're in a heap load of trouble, Sis." Making her way to the kitchen where I was, my sister stopped in the doorway. "You're cooking?" "I'm not cooking, silly. Dinner's cooking. I'm just watching it cook." "Jordan, don't be such a twit," she replied as she made her way over to the stove where I was checking on a pot of fettuccini I'd just put on. "Why so surprised, M?" "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you've never taken an interest in such things before." "Don't you think it's about time I brushed up on my culinary skills?" "What culinary skills?" "Ha, ha. Very funny. Why don't you make yourself useful and set the table." Over a dinner of bake pork chops with garden stuffing served up with buttered fettuccini and a simple dinner salad, Emma took the opportunity to inform me that she and Conner were headed up to the Catskills for the weekend. "We'll be staying at a place outside New Paltz called Mohonk Mountain House. I looked it up on line. It's an old style Victorian style resort that's simply out of this world." There was no mistaking the excitement in my sister's voice as she spoke. "Sounds like you and Conner are starting to become quite an item." Suddenly becoming a wee bit self conscious, M couldn't hold back a shy little smile that lit up her face as she averted her eyes, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear absent mindedly as she did so. "I hope so. I mean, I think I like him, Jordan, I mean really like him," she added with greater emphasis as she looked up at me through her lashes. "Has he used the 'L' word yet?" Looking down at the table before her, she gingerly toyed with her knife and fork with the tips of her fingers as she spoke. "Nooo, not yet, but," she suddenly added as she looked up at me wearing a self satisfied smile, "I think he's going to, this weekend. In fact, I'm sure of it." As excited as I was for my sister, I could not help but reflect upon what a total disaster my love life had become. I found myself wondering if I'd ever be able to emerge from the strange netherworld I currently found myself occupying, one that was betwixt and between what I used to be and what I was becoming. If and when I did, would I find the sort of happiness that Emma was able to enjoy? Was there someone who could set aside what was and accept me for me? Such gloomy thoughts, I told myself, are out of place here. This is no time to trot on down into the Valley of Tears. With a shake of my head, I raised my wine glass. "Here's to a wonderful and most enjoyable weekend," I announced with more enthusiasm than I felt. Wearing a Cheshire grin, she brought her glass up to mine, clanked them together and took a sip. "Now, since I'm going to be otherwise occupied, how's my little sister going to keep herself entertained this weekend in the big city?" Having no desire to spoil her current mood or burdening her with my problems, I set aside the purpose of my visit that evening and instead, fobbed her off with my standard response. "Nothing exciting, really. The usual, I guess. You know, reading, writing, football and junk food." If she suspected anything, Emma didn't let on. Instead, she all but jumped to her feet. "Come on," she called out excitedly as she snatched up her glass of wine and headed over to her desktop computer. "I've got to show you what this place looks is like. It's incredible." Swept along by her enthusiasm, I set aside any thought of asking her to help me learn how to wear a headscarf and, instead, joined her as she pulled up the website for the resort she'd be at while I was willingly venturing, once more, into uncharted waters. > It really should not have come as a surprise that Dr. Khalje himself greeted me at the door on Friday night, but it did. It was a most unwelcomed and ominous surprise. Unlike my previous visit, when his attire was far more formal, tonight he was wearing slacks, a white shirt opened at the collar and a dark blue blazer. For my part I'd stayed with what I had worn the previous week. Unoriginal and maybe a wee bit tacky, I know, but safe. Besides, I wasn't there to make a fashion statement. I had no need to fake the nervousness I felt as Dr. Khalje stood across from me in the small foyer of his townhouse, staring at me as I slipped off my jacket. "Did Ghada not give you my gift?" he asked making no effort to mask his ire. With so many other things racing through my mind, all of which were becoming progressively grimmer, it took me a moment to realize that he was talking about Megan. Hauling my wayward brain back to the here and now, I blinked twice as I looked up at Dr. Khalje. "Oh, you mean Megan." My antics seemed to amuse the good doctor, for his demeanor changed. He even allowed himself to chuckle as he spoke. "Yes, your friend. I like to give the students in our little circle here names that are appropriate to their personalities," he explained as he took my jacket. "Oh, I see. What does Megan's name mean?" "In Arabic, graceful girl," Khalje replied. Nodding, I found myself recalling the night I'd spent with her. I could not help but vividly recall the manner in which Megan had taken me in hand and how I'd responded to her gentle ways. "Does that trouble you?" Khalje asked, catapulting me once more from my own wandering thoughts and back to the present. 'Focus,' I all but muttered to myself as I shook my head in a desperate effort to banish the image of Megan next to me with our arms and legs intertwined. "Well," Khalje asked before I'd had an opportunity to fully regain my mental balance. "Did she do as I instructed?" Totally flustered by the memories that were so out of place here, I bowed my head, more in an effort to keep the good doctor from seeing the crimson hue of my cheeks than out of respect for his traditions. "Yes," I finally muttered, reaching into my shoulder bag and pulling out the neatly folded hijab. "Then why are you not wearing it?" I peeked up at Khalje. Do I tell him the truth? Do I tell him that I was embarrassed to be seen in public wearing a headscarf? That, of course, would have been a real howler for some people I knew, considering that I now had no qualms when it came to parading all over town in a skirt and wearing makeup. Once more, something resembling a smile tugged at his lips. "It is difficult, I know," he stated as he took the hijab from my hand and unfolded it. "When I first came to this country, I found it hard to try new things, adopting customs that were foreign to me. It was not easy to assume a role that I was not at all comfortable with," he confessed as he folded the square piece of cloth in half, forming a triangle. "In time, however," he continued as he took the ends of the triangle and brought the hijab around me and over my head, "I came to accept my purpose in life." Slowly, and with more grace than I would have given him credit for, he draped the hijab about me, pulling the two ends taunt in front with one hand while slowly sliding his other hand up along the edges of the silken fabric, bringing them together till they were joined under my chin. Then, ever so gently, he lifted my chin until I was looking up into his eyes. "To submit, to accept the truth about ourselves, about what we are and our true purpose in life," he whispered as he used the index finger of the hand under my chin to gently stoke my cheek, "is the greatest struggle we will ever engage in." I stood mesmerized before Dr. Khalje, trembling as I stared into his eyes. It was a terrifying moment for me, one unlike anything I'd ever experienced. If I had chosen to do so, I could have pulled away, pivoted about on my heels and fled out the door. Khalje couldn't have stopped me. And I doubt if Aaron, Conner or anyone else would have blamed me if I'd done so. But I didn't. > I held my arms tightly wrapped across my chest as if I were trying to keep myself from crumbling into tiny pieces right there on the street. I saw no one or heard nothing. Not even the muttered cruses and explicit threats from people I bumped into were enough to shake me from the awful darkness I'd descended into during the first of what promised to be many private lessons with Dr. Khalje. There was no mistaking his intent or purpose. He'd more than made clear exactly what my role would be in his little universe. And while he went out of his way to extol all the benefits, all the wondrous opportunities I would be afforded if I agreed to become one of his chosen, he also took his time carefully explaining, in terrible detail, what he would be expected of me. When I bounced off a fellow pedestrian that was standing in my path, I stepped back without bothering to look up or apologize. As I was about to go around the human impediment before me, two hands reached out took me by the shoulders. "Jordan! Did you hear me?" Looking up into Aaron's face, I could tell by his expression that he was worried. "Are you all right, Jordan?" Was I all right? What a joke, I found myself thinking. Unfortunately, it wasn't the kind of joke that brought a smile to my face. It was the curl, cynical sort that only engendered despair and sorrow. Unable to answer him, I simply stood there, still holding onto myself as I gazed up at a man who'd been so instrumental in turning my life into a living nightmare. Without another word and an urgency that bordered on panic, Aaron threw his arm about me and guided me over to the open door of a waiting cab. Once inside, I scrambled over to the far side, as far away from Aaron as I could get. Curling up on the seat into a tight little ball, I began to cry. Pathetic? Very. But at that moment, I really didn't give a damn. I was coming apart and my tears were but the prelude. > Not a word was spoken during the cab ride or in the elevator of my building. Even when Aaron opened the door to my apartment using a key he had on his key ring, I said nothing. Once inside I made a beeline for the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and locking it. I took a moment to catch my breath before turning to face the mirror. When I did, I was startled by my own reflection. As appalling as my raccoon eyes were, caused by tears and runny mascara, the image of me standing in my own bathroom wearing a hijab was too much. Frantically, I clawed at it, pulling it off my head and throwing it down onto the floor. "Damn you! Damn you all!" I screamed as I stared down at the silken heap of cloth. I wasn't sure, exactly, who I was damning. My anger, my rage, was as uncontrollable as my life had become. Yes, I'd played the part of a pawn before. My sister had always been a master when it came to manipulating me. Even now, as adults, she still had the ability to talk me into doing just about anything. In the Army I'd been little more than a minor clog in a mighty machine that was capable of grinding up its own just as efficiently as it did the enemy. Yet, as bad as things ever got, I always knew there were people who would be there with me and for me, people who would rally around me whenever I needed them. My sister was incapable of consciously doing anything that would place my well being or happiness in jeopardy. And I never had any doubt that my mates in the Army would have laid down their own lives in a heartbeat for me, just as I'd done for them on more occasions than I cared to recall. This was different, I told myself as I turned to scrub the smeared makeup off my face. I was very much on my own. There was no one I could trust, no one who was involved in this weird little drama that had my best interest in mind. No, I corrected myself. That wasn't true. I still had Emma. I'd always have her. And yet I didn't. Not because she wouldn't go out of her way to do whatever it was I asked or needed. Rather, it was a conscious decision on my part to keep her out of this. She was standing on the brink of success, success in her chosen career and her personal life. At that every minute she was, in all likelihood, in the loving embrace of a man she saw as the personification of some of her most cherished hopes and dreams. As much as I would have loved to run to her with my problems, to throw myself into her comforting embrace, I found myself unable to. The abyss into which I'd tossed myself into was one of my own making. It didn't involve her and, if I could help it, never would. She was, after all, the one true thing in my life that I could depend upon, the sole glimmer of light in an otherwise bleak future. No, I told myself as I continued wiping away the stains of the evening. I would need to sort this out on my own, one way or the other. > I was a bit taken aback when I emerged from the bathroom, attired in a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie, to find Aaron still there. Other than a quick, sideways glance I ignored him as I made my way into the kitchen where I retrieved a diet Coke from the fridge. Maintaining my silence, I headed back into the living room where I threw myself onto the settee where I once more curled up into a tight little ball before opening my can of soda and taking a sip. After watching me for several minutes, Aaron came to his feet and headed off to the bathroom. By the time he'd returned, some of the bitterness I felt for him and anyone connected with the Khalje affair had evaporated. Some, but not all. After watching him take his seat out of the corner of my eye, I turned way, taking another sip. "I'm in no mood to be interrogated tonight," I muttered without bothering to look over at him. Rather than pursue that subject, Aaron hesitated before speaking. "Jordan, do you want me to call your sister, ask her to come back?" "No!" I snapped as I glared at him. "I don't think you should be alone tonight." "I'm fine," I hiss. Unfazed by my behavior, Aaron shrugged before looking about the room. "Well, if you wont let me call your sister, you leave me no choice but to camp out here on your floor tonight." Setting aside my soda, I came to my feet. "Fine!" I spat while glaring down at Aaron. "Do whatever you damned well want. You and all your little friends are going to do so anyway." Without waiting for a response, I stormed off toward my bedroom, stopping off at the bathroom along the way. Once more the events of the evening and the prospect of what was to come bubbled up within me, evoking a fresh wave of tears. With shaking hands, I opened the medicine cabinet, grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills and all but ripped the top off. Desperate for escape, I up ended the bottle, pouring its full content into the open palm of a trembling hand. To my shock and horror, one lone pill came tumbling out. One wouldn't be enough. I knew that. But it was all I had. Ever so slowly, I came to realize that there would be no quiet resolution to all my nightmares tonight. Another day would follow this one. A new dawn would greet my old problems, problems I didn't have the courage to face. I would have to face them, though. My desire to relegate them, as well as myself, to the past would not be possible. Not tonight. If for no other reason than Emma, I had to find a way go forward, to see this thing through. It was a pitifully slim rational for doing so, I found myself thinking. Still, lacking any other, it would do. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hi, Once more I'd like to thanks those of you who took the time to comment on the trials and tribulations of Jordan Wallace and crew. In addition to helping me sort out some of the real howlers I occasionally leave behind, I enjoy the speculation some of you engage in as Jordan blunders her way along the Brown Brick road she's following. They're as entertaining to me as I hope my story is to you. Enjoy!