Memories Revisited Closing Up Shop
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Memories Revisited: Fixing God's Mistake free porn video
Memories Revisited: Fixing God's Mistake
By Heather St. Claire
Diane McMasters poured another cup of coffee for herself and her husband
David. The morning sun was streaming into their kitchen and glistened
from the stainless steel appliances. The kitchen was big, modern and
filled with light?every woman's dream. Diane had particular appreciation
for it because David had built it with his own hands. His success as a
building contractor had made it possible for their family to enjoy a
comfortable life.
"So how's the little hobby going?" David said as he took a sip of coffee.
That grated on Diane. She had been running the scrapbooking store
Memories Revisited for several months, and was actually generating a good
income from it. But David persisted in referring to the store as her
"little hobby."
"We had our best week yet," she said, hiding her annoyance. Then,
shifting the subject: "I bet it's nice that you're so busy again."
"I'll say," David said with a nod. "Haven't had four houses going at once
in more than three years."
They talked for a few more minutes before heading out, David to check on
his job sites, Diane to make her regular stop at a nearby cemetery before
heading to the Twin Pines Mall where her shop was located.
She approached the grave of her brother with a deep sense of sadness. One
year ago this week, her brother Daniel Llewellyn took a long bubble bath,
shaved his body hair, put on his best wig, carefully applied his makeup,
slipped into his favorite baby doll nightgown, swallowed a bottle of
barbiturates, and climbed into bed to die. It was his 45th birthday.
He left behind a note addressed to Diane, saying that the shame and the
pain had finally gotten to be too much for him. His body had been
discovered by his landlord, who contacted the police, who contacted
Diane.
Danny had been her only sibling and the news of his suicide hit her like
a body blow. She read his suicide note with anger, frustration and
bewilderment. Apparently he had always believed he had been a woman
trapped in a man's body, but felt powerless to do anything to correct the
situation. "Why Danny, why?" she wailed. "We talked about everything! Why
couldn't you talk to me about this?"
Their parents were both alive, in their eighties, battling the ravages of
dementia and living in a nursing home. Diane had shielded them from the
news of their son's death. She had handled all the funeral arrangements,
including Danny's request that he be buried wearing women's clothing and
that the name 'Danielle' be engraved on his grave's headstone. ("If I
can't be who I was meant to be in life, at least I can in death," he
wrote.)
Now, each day, before arriving at the mall, she placed a rose at
Danielle's grave. She offered prayers for his soul; and she prayed that
she would somehow be able to help anyone she ever encountered in a
similar situation.
Little did she know those prayers would be answered in an amazing and
unexpected way.
It wasn't long after Diane had purchased the shop. She was working after
closing to rearrange the stock room when she noticed a panel behind one
of the shelving units. Curious, she slid the panel open to reveal a large
stock of papers, embellishments and binders. She assumed that it had been
left behind by the store's former owner until she read the note she found
in the compartment. She unfolded the paper and was shocked to see her
brother's handwriting:
"Dear Diane, I am sooo very glad you want to help others facing what I
couldn't deal with. Put these special materials to use in making a book
about someone and you will be able to make their fondest wish come true.
I am so sorry for the pain I caused you. Believe me, if there had been
another way, I would have taken it. Love always, Danielle."
At first, she thought it had to be some kind of elaborate, cruel joke.
But she decided to try it out when a woman named Sheila Stone appeared in
the shop one day, saying she wanted a book put together to cheer up her
son Jessie, who always wished he had been born a girl.
Much to Diane's astonishment, the magic had worked, and shy, lonely
Jessie became a beautiful, vivacious girl named Jessica. Diane had hired
Jessica to work in the shop, in part because she wanted to see if there
was any lingering evidence of the change (so far, she had detected none;
it seemed as if Jessie had never existed), and in part because the
business was steadily growing. She needed the help.
Diane was glad to have been able to have potentially kept Jessie from her
beloved brother's fate, but she was still wary. She had been raised a
Lutheran; she believed in God and in the divinity of Jesus Christ, and
she believed that the Christ and his followers had worked miracles,
healing the sick and raising the dead. But magic? How did this fit into
her belief system?
Yet she was forced to believe in it. The proof was standing behind her
cash register in the form of Jessica Stone, as well as in the person of
her friend Gwen Moore, the owner of the clothing shop for plus size women
in the mall. Gwen had been born a male, but had been transformed into a
BBW by the Spells R'Us Wizard.
"It's not like your friend the wizard, who probably decided what color
fingernail polish you'd be wearing," said Diane. "This is all new to me.
I don't know exactly how it's going to turn out. It's a little scary."
"I'm sure it is," said Gwen. "But look at how wonderfully Jessica's
turned out. Look at how happy Erica (her last transformee) is."
"I suppose so....but part of me is still asking if it's really right to
be playing God with people's lives like this."
Gwen reached for her friend's hand and held it tightly. "You aren't
hurting them. You're helping them. Don't you wish someone like you would
have been there for Danielle?"
Diane, too choked up to speak, just nodded.
The very next day, an average-looking young mother came into the shop
with her daughter in tow. After introducing herself to Diane, she asked:
"Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"
She looked at the girl, whose sweet face was framed by soft blonde curls.
The girl wore a red velvet dress with a white lace collar, white tights,
and black patent leather Mary Janes. "What's your name?" Diane asked.
"Laura," the girl replied.
"That's a pretty name," Diane said. "Can you stay out here and color
while your mommy and I talk?" She offered the girl a princess coloring
book and crayons, which she happily accepted.
Back in the store's break room, Diane said, "She's a sweetheart. How old
is she?"
"He," Debra Waters responded, "is seven."
"He?"
"Yes, he. All appearances to the contrary, that's a little boy sitting
out there. A very sick little boy, by the way. That's the reason I'm
here."
And the story poured out of Debra: of a little boy named Loren who seemed
to always be drawn to girl's things, who begged to dress as a girl every
Halloween, who in fact assured everyone he had the chance to speak to
that he was in fact a girl.
"We thought this was a challenge," his mother said, "until he was
diagnosed with leukemia. That kind of put things in perspective."
Diane clasped her hand to her mouth. "Oh, no," she said softly.
The whole sad story unfolded for Diane: the pain, weakness and repeated
bouts of illness that led to the diagnosis a little over a year earlier;
the radiation and chemotherapy; the remission; the relapse; the strain on
her marriage that had led her husband to move out four months ago.
"It was about that time, when Gary left, that I got tired of people
asking what was wrong with him every time I look him out in public. Those
awful dark circles under his eyes. I decided to apply some concealer,
which covered the dark circles, but he still looked so pale. So I put a
little blush on him. His lips were discolored, so I put on some clear lip
gloss. He was so happy to be wearing makeup.....he asked me if he could
go out dressed as a girl. I told him of course. I even moved him to
another school for second grade, where they agreed to enroll him as a
girl. On the days he's strong enough to go to school, he's treated like
any other girl. It makes him?her?so happy."
Diane rushed to embrace Debra. She held her for a long time. Finally, she
asked gently, "So what can I do for you, honey?" But she knew what the
request would be.
"Can you make a book of pictures of her as Laura? She would love that."
"Of course. But there's something more you should know." She laid out the
entire story of her magical scrapbooking supplies. "I can make him a real
girl, if that's what you want, and what she really wants."
Somehow Debra knew the amazing thing Diane had told her was true?she
really did have the power to transform her son into a daughter. "I don't
think anything else?other than a cure?could make her happier."
Little Laura was brought to the back of the store. Diane spoke to her
gently: "So everybody says you're a boy, but you're really a girl."
"Uh-huh," she said. It was clear she was shy around strangers.
"So why do you think that is, honey?"
She appeared to think for a long time. "I guess," she finally said, "I
guess God made a mistake."
Diane had to struggle mightily to hold back the tears at that moment.
She had worked alone on her previous books, but she wanted mother and
daughter-to-be to watch this one take shape. Debra had assembled a large
pile of photos of Laura over the past several months. Most of them had
been taken at home, showing her dressing up with mom, playing with the
beloved dolls she had been given, reading (she loved to read, especially
the OZ books, and strongly identified with Princess Ozma, who had once
been a boy named Tip). But there were also pictures at school and of her
recent birthday party. Sadly, there weren't any pictures of her having
fun outdoors, because she was simply too weak most of the time.
Laura and Debra both played an active role in selected the pages and
embellishments and gave Diane plenty of (maybe too much) advice on photo
placement.
Soon the book was finished, and Diane waited for the magic to happen.
Laura knew it instantaneously. She leapt to her feat and happily cried,
"No more boy parts!" and pulled down her tights to slow her mother and
Diane the evidence.
"No, no, dear!" her mother exclaimed as she hugged her daughter closely
and pulled up her tights.
Diane and Debra held each other for a long time before Debra headed home.
"I don't know how I can ever thank you. No matter how long....she has
left, I know....she'll be happy."
"That's what matters," Diane said. "That's what matters."
At the McMasters home that night, Diane asked her husband how his day had
been. He fumed about a delay in getting a city inspector to one of the
job sites, the failure of one of his subcontractors to show up, and a
shoddy kitchen tile job by one of his employees. "Just the usual," he
said. "How about your day."
"Oh, just the usual," she said. "When do you want dinner?"
Gert
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