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Belle (Part 1) _______________ A young man is only playing a part in the school play. But it has drastic consequences when real life events spiral out of control. _______________ It was the final semester of my senior year in high school. I was in the school drama club, as I had been since I was goaded into joining by a girlfriend during my sophomore year. I found that drama club turned out to be a comfortable fit in my life, unlike the girlfriend that got me into it in the first place. I stuck with the drama club, but not the girlfriend. Funny how life works out. Anyway, we were wrapping up the season with a production of "Beauty and the Beast". We were a small drama troupe, and as such we had to be flexible in rolls, many times we played multiple fill in parts during a given production. My best friend Andrew was playing the Beast roll, and the roll of Belle was being played by a girl named Gina whom I was very fond of. I felt both of them were very talented and well deserved the roles. I had only a small role in the production, so in my spare time I found myself helping Gina with her lines. She had a lot of lines to remember, and was a bit overwhelmed. I liked her a lot, so didn't mind helping her out. Everything was coming along nicely, and come opening night we felt everything was perfect. We were ready to 'wow the crowd' as the drama instructor liked to say. You know how they say, "break a leg" in the theatre business as a good luck omen? Well it doesn't always work out that way. During our last rehearsal before opening night, Gina did just that. She tripped on a stage light and fell into the first row seating area. She fractured her fibula and sprained her ankle. It was the night before opening, and we were suddenly without a lead actress. I am sure at this point, you have already figured out what happened next. With only a day to go, we did not have time to get another girl who knew the lines and could fill the role. Because I had helped Gina with her lines, I knew them hands down. When the drama instructor told me I would have to play the part, I balked at the idea. I told him it was a girl's role. He told me that I was the only one who could do it on such short notice. He then had to play on my vanity. He told me that the best actors out there could be convincing in whatever role was presented to them; for example - Dustin Hoffman playing in "Tootsie". Then he asked me how good of an actor was I? After three years in the drama club, I felt I had learned a lot, so presented with this challenge, I had little option. I told him that I would accept the challenge and make him and the troupe proud. That brought a round of applause from the rest of the cast; the show was back on. The next afternoon I arrived at the theatre early. I was told that I had to look good for the part, and that if I looked like a drag queen nobody would take the play seriously. All the girls in the cast helped me get prepared. I had enough hair that I did not need a wig, and after a couple of hours of styling and curling I had an acceptable head of hair that looked quite feminine. The rest of my body would be hidden underneath clothes so the only thing that they really had to work on next was my face. Lipstick, liner, foundation, and miscellaneous other powders and pigments helped make me look quite presentable. After about three hours in the chair, they finally turned me towards the mirror and I was quite impressed. Maybe not the prettiest looking girl in the school, but my face definitely passed as a girl. Since I had such a thin frame, they only had to make minor alterations in the costumes in order for me to fit into them. That is, except for in the bust area. Gina was a 'B' cup, and obviously I had none at all. But with a little bit of tucking, and a lot of padding, we finally worked out an acceptable appearance. Standing in front of a full length mirror, I said to myself, "If I don't screw up the lines, I might just be able to pull this off." That evening was our first performance, and obviously we were all on pins and needles. We were all thinking the same thing. I had practiced the lines with Gina, but had never practiced them on stage. How would I do? Also would the crowd see me as Belle? Or just a joke? When it was finally time, the curtain came up; I stepped out onto the stage, and... Well, to be honest, I had never tried to be a girl before, so some of the mannerisms (how they walk, gestures, and even how they talk) were strangely foreign to me. During the intervals where I was off stage, the girls would give me a brief run down on what I had done in the previous scene that was somewhat un-girly, and how I could do better. It was the ultimate crash course. By the end of the show, my lines and my cues had been spot on. But did I give a convincing performance. Personally, I felt I hadn't made any huge glaring errors, and my fellow cast members agreed. Overall, we all felt it had been a very good performance. But of course, it did not matter what I thought, or even what my cast members thought. What mattered was what the audience thought. When the curtain came down, we got our first indication; the audience gave us a rousing standing ovation. And the next day there was a review in the town paper. It was an absolutely glowing review with phrases such as "courageous acting", and "performing outside of their comfort zone". We were a hit. Did I enjoy playing a girl part? Yes, actually I did. But only because it posed a challenge I had never faced before. I had no desire to stay in dresses when I walked off the stage. When I walked out the theatre doors, I was just another guy, and was happy in my real-life role. The play ran three weeks, and we did three plays a week. For those of you that are a bit weak in math, that is a total of 9 showings. Every showing we packed the house and I am certain I saw several faces show up to multiple showings. Despite stumbling right out of the gate, this production proved to be the hit that everyone in the cast had hoped it would be. For the entire time I had been with the drama club, we always had a community appreciation event after the last showing. I know it may sound corny, but as a way of saying thank you, after the final showing of any production, we would always invite the community to join us at the local Chuck-E-Cheese's for a thank you party where the cast members would also show up in full costume. It had actually become a local tradition, and there was usually a fairly big turnout. So as the curtain came down on the final showing I did not head off to the dressing room as I had 8 times before. I actually had the girls do a little touch-up work on my make-up and hair, and then grabbed my stuff and started to head out to my car when I realized that my outfit did not have any pockets. Where would I put my wallet, cell phone, and keys? Thinking quick on her feet, Ashley (one of the stage hands) dumped her small hand bag on the counter and gave it to me telling me I could use it for the evening. She was wearing jeans and could actually use her pockets; I couldn't. I thanked her and headed out to my car and to one final encore performance at Chuck-E-Cheese's to wrap up not only this production, but my high school acting career. The restaurant was only a couple miles away on the far side of town, so it would be a short trip. Regardless, my car was running a bit on the low side, so I pulled in to the local 7-11 to top it off. I swiped my dad's debit card, placed the nozzle into the gas tank, and locked the handle into place. I then headed in to the 7-11 to get a Gatorade. The theatre lights tend to dehydrate a person, and Chuck-E-Cheese's wasn't well known for their drink selection, so I figured I would grab a Gatorade to replace some much needed fluids and electrolytes before a long evening. As I entered the 7-11 I waved to the clerk, an old man everyone called 'Ole Hickory' and his dog Maggie. His real name oddly enough was Andrew Jackson, so for obvious reasons everyone just called him 'Ole Hickory'. We had met many times before, and I always considered him a friend. I was still dressed up as Belle, so I am not totally sure he recognized me, but he still waved back at me as I headed back to the rear corner of the store where the Gatorade cooler was. I knew I didn't want the fruit punch Gatorade because if I spilled it on this dress it would cause a terrible and embarrassing stain. So my decision was quickly limited to either the lemon-lime or orange flavored drinks. As I was mulling over my decision, I heard a loud noise and turned around with a start to see what it was. Three men in black hoodies barged in to the store. This in and of itself would normally cause great concern, but I then noticed that at least one of the three had a gun! Reaching into the handbag that had been loaned to me, I grabbed my cell phone and immediately dialed 9-1-1. Just then I heard, "Well lookie what we have here, and one of the brutes came around the corner heading for me. I immediately dropped my phone back into my bag and started to run, but found I had nowhere to go. He had me cornered and grabbed me harshly, dragging me back to the front of the store. I saw two of the men holding a gun at Mr. Jackson and forcing him to clean out the cash drawer. The third of the bandits was the largest of the three, and was the one that had a firm grip on my arm. He ripped my handbag from me and tossed it on the counter. Apparently seeing that his cohorts had things well under control, he started to drag me into the back room, telling his friends that "This won't take long". This man was twice my size and was easily overpowering me. I started to say something in protest, but a gloved hand stopped me by grabbing my entire face and shoving me towards the back wall where I hit with a great thud, and was momentarily dazed. Grabbing a roll of duct-tape from the store room shelf, he quickly tore off a piece and covered my mouth. Still dazed, he then spun me around and in a swift motion had my hands bound behind me. I was totally helpless. He then threw me to the floor. "Well, little lady, are you ready to go for a little ride?" Terrified, I shook my head violently from left to right. "Aw, too bad" He said with a smirkish grin. He grinned ear to ear, and I could see that his two front teeth were in fact silver. I only say this because the grin itself was an evil grin, but the silver teeth reminded me of 'Jaws' from the James Bond movies where he could bite through anything. This had the effect of utterly terrifying me. He grabbed my skirt and lifted it up above my waist and an instant later was ripping off my underwear. I am sure he was surprised by what he saw. Where he expected to see a girl's genetalia that he was surely intending to rape, he instead found himself staring at 100% male equipment. But he didn't miss a lick and saying to nobody in particular, "Well look at what we got here..." Then, looking straight at me with sheer hate in his eyes he said, "Where I come from, we know what to do with freaks like you!" Reaching behind his back he pulled out a very large and nasty looking Bowie knife... All of a sudden I heard what had to be gunshots. Without thinking of my own predicament I started to sit up and turn my head in the direction of the noise, concerned for Mr. Jackson. I then heard my aggressor state, "get back down bitch!" and as I turned my head back towards him I only saw a fist the size of Manhattan coming straight at my face. I had no time to react. His fist impacted my face like a wrecking ball throwing my head back until it contacted the immovable object that was the concrete floor. The double-whammy was more than my head could withstand and so my world went black. What happened next is going to be really hard to explain. Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon? My parents took me there when I was ten. I found myself leaning against a small fence gazing off into the grand abyss. I found it crazy that such a simple fence was expected to protect me from falling over. Well, it was kind of like that, but then again, nothing like that at all. I found myself on a ledge, as near as I can explain it. I was gazing off into a great expanse, bright and beautiful. Something inside told me that if I just let myself go, I could spread my hypothetical wings and become part of this wondrous new existence. I leaned forward, I was ready to fly. And then something stopped me. Like that little fence at the Grand Canyon, I was being prevented from proceeding further. I wanted to, and it felt right, but it remained beyond my reach. Before me was such immense greatness, and I could only watch in futility as it stretched farther and farther from my reach. I had never felt such sadness in all my life. Beep... Beep... Beepbeep... Beep... Beep... Beepbeep... I felt somebody's hand. That is the first thing I remember; somebody was holding my hand. Slowly I started to feel sensations - sounds, smells, bright lights. Even though my eyes were closed, I sensed bright lights all around me. It felt peaceful and serene. I squeezed the hand that was holding my hand and it was like the world exploded. I heard a woman screaming; I instantly recognized the voice to be that of my mother. In no time at all there was a hurried frenzy of action coming from all directions. Serenity shattered. It took me several moments to open my eyes; the lights were just way too bright. As my eyes were working on adjusting to the surrounding light level, the rest of my senses were becoming more acutely aware of their surroundings as well. I was in a bed and there were several people in the general vicinity. I could hear them talking; they were talking about me, and they were talking to me. The first voice I recognized was that of my mother. I was aware enough at that point as well to assume that she was the one holding my hand. As I started to work my eyes open, I had to squint, but could see several people in white coats and various smocks. I heard somebody say to me, "Here, this might help". And a hand was placed at my forehead to shield my eyes. It did help, and I could in fact see a bit better. I could see I was in a hospital room. The only person I recognized was my mother, the rest were apparently doctors, nurses, aides and the like. I started to try to speak, but my mouth was just way too dry. A doctor noticed that I was having trouble speaking, and offered me some ice chips, which helped immensely. I don't remember who exactly spoke first, but again I think it was my mother. I was asked how I felt. I answered by saying that other than being a little sore and numb, I felt pretty okay. That brought a sigh of relief from the room. Next, I was being asked what I remembered. I actually had to think for a moment on that one. It was as if somebody was asking me what I had for dinner a week ago Saturday. I searched the recesses of my mind to find a memory, but it was proving difficult. As I was trying to pull my memories back together I noticed other people were starting to show up. And then I saw Gina. The fact that she was walking into the room on two perfectly good legs seemed odd to me for only a moment, and then it hit me. She was supposed to be on crutches She broke her leg really bad only a few weeks ago I had to replace her... In a play As a girl... Chuck-E-Cheese 7-11 Gatorade Gunshots!!! And suddenly it was as if a balloon popped inside my head and released a ton of memories that were being held back. I remembered, I remembered everything. The first question out of my mouth was, "How was Mr. Jackson?" I was told he had been in a bad way for a while, but he did recover. My head was still in a bit of a fog, but that last part of 'for a while' did not escape me. For all I knew, I only had a mild concussion from being knocked silly, and everything had happened a day or two ago. I posed that as a question to the doctor, and the whole room went quiet. The doctor then sat next to me and in a very compassionate voice told me that I had been in a coma for about 4 months. I told the doctor that I did not understand how I could end up in a coma from a simple bump on the noggin. He said "first off it was more than a simple bump on the noggin, but one heck of a concussion: couple that with extreme blood loss, and your brain just shut off." "Blood loss? What blood loss?" I could see the doctor look over to my mother as if he was asking her permission. She only closed her eyes and nodded in apparent approval. The doctor then waved his hand to clear the room, and within a few moments, everyone else had gone. It was now just the doctor, my mom, and me. "I don't know how to put this gently, so I will just be direct" the doctor said. "After you were rendered unconscious, your attacker took out his anger and frustration on you by... Well, to put it bluntly, he amputated your penis and testicles..." I'm sure the doctor saw the shock on my face, so he stopped for a moment to allow me to digest this information. My left arm was connected to monitors and I.V.'s and I couldn't really move it, so releasing my mother's grip on my right hand I reached down to my groin and found that there was indeed less there than had been before... much less. After a few moments, and once the doctor saw that I understood and confirmed what he was saying, he continued. "A penis has several blood vessels going to it, so to be amputated outside of a medical facility usually results in a large loss of blood, and is quite often fatal. Quite frankly, you are lucky to be alive." Seething anger... I do not know what the 5 steps of acceptance are, or even if there are 5, but I do know at this point I was feeling anger and hatred. Some piece of crap excuse of a human being had done this to me and I was suddenly feeling a level of hate never before experienced in my life. I wanted to find this lousy excuse of a human being and return the favor - in spades. I am sure the doctor saw on my face what was going through my mind. He waited a few moments to allow me to compose myself. I have always considered myself a pretty level headed person, and dealt with things logically. So, after a few moments I was able to put my anger on a back burner. I was not angry at the doctor, he did what was necessary to save my life, and I was appreciative. I was still angry; I just needed to control it for the time being. Hopefully, the time would come to properly vent that anger. But for now... I would have to hold it in check. Regaining my composure, I asked the doctor if it was possible to reattach the penis. I saw the knife that was wielded against me; it had a sharp blade and likely would have been a clean cut. He said that while it is true that it had been a precise cut with a very sharp blade, he wouldn't go so far as to categorize it as a 'clean' cut. He also said that they could not reattach my penis for the simple reason that they never found my penis. "So the sick bastard kept it as a souvenir or something?" I said; my anger trying to work its way back to the front burner again. The doctor said that was possible, but that they felt there was a simpler explanation. The store owner had a dog with him that night... The doctor saw by the expression on my face that I fully understood why they never found my missing body part, and felt it unnecessary to go on. "There's more..." the doctor said. "There's more?" I thought to myself? How can there be 'more'? Seems like things are pretty F'ed up already, and now they are about to tell me they have more bad news? I seriously doubted they could tell me something that made things worse than they already were... I was wrong. "Chris," the doctor started. "In most cases like yours, patients can still lead relatively normal lives. With the administration of male hormones, a body can continue to grow and develop as any other male, but in your case there has been a development." I did not like the sound of this. "We surmise your attacker used a knife that was far from sterile, and that an infection was likely introduced at that time. Because of the massive blood loss, your body was in an extremely weakened state, and became very susceptible to infection. Needless to say, on top of the blood loss and coma, you got sick, very very sick. Before we actually got that infection under control, your temperature sat at over 107 degrees for four solid days." I just stared at the doctor. I did not know where this was going just yet, but it had a very ominous sound to it. He continued... "The body is just not designed to run at temperatures as high as you had. In many cases, it can cause unexpected changes to a body's physiology, or worse yet, cause brain or other organ damage." Okay, now I definitely did not like the sound of this. "In your case, we did not find any detectible organ damage, and the fact that you are lucid and talking right now is a good indication that there was minimal to no brain damage as well. But we did notice one thing abnormal. Your immune system has become extremely heightened. Either from fighting the infection, or because of it; we just do not know." For a moment I felt relieved. "That doesn't sound too bad" I responded. "If I understand what you are saying, it is just harder for me to become sick." "Yes, actually, closer to impossible." the doctor said. "But in your case, this is a good and bad thing. Your immune system attacks foreign substances with ravenous ferocity, which should prevent you from getting sick, and if and when you ever do get sick, you should recover from it much faster than others." "So where's the bad?" I asked. "When your attacker cut off... um, did what he did, your body no longer was able to produce testosterone. In any other case, we just administer synthetic hormones, and your body continues on, none the wiser. And in your case, that is exactly what we did. When you were finally healthy enough, we began administering synthetic male hormones. And this is where the problem lies. Your immune system apparently saw the hormones as a foreign substance and attacked them before they could have any appreciable effect on your body." I sat there in stunned silence. I just did not know what to say or how to respond. Luckily the doctor continued. "So, here's the long and the short of it, so to speak. Legally, and physiologically you are still a male. But you can no longer produce testosterone naturally, and your immune system will not allow it to be administered artificially. Unless we can find a way to reverse that, then not only will your body cease to develop any primary or secondary male characteristics, but certain traits such as muscle mass will begin to decline as well. How much, we just do not know." An artificial penis could be grafted from skin tissue taken from other parts of my body, but it would never be a truly functional penis. I was told I wouldn't be able to get erections with it nor use it to go to the bathroom and that it would be purely cosmetic. He then said that unless it was absolutely necessary for my peace of mind, he advised against it. It would be a painful process and in the end accomplished nothing productive beyond looks. "But I will still be a guy, right?" I asked. "Well, that's a grey area. Your body may not be producing testosterone any more, but every body produces a certain amount of estrogen, both males and females; how much will determine the effects on your body. You may only see a light lessening of male traits, and you may see more pronounced female traits, such as softening skin or even breasts." "BREASTS!" "It is possible, however unlikely. Your body only produces a small amount of estrogen, so if you do at all, they shouldn't be very pronounced. All in all, I would suggest that you plan on leaving the hospital here in a few days, and pick up your life where you left off. Whatever happens will happen, and we will deal with things as necessary if and when they actually show up." "For now though, I'm going to leave you alone if that's okay. You and your family talk this all over and figure out what you want to do. Medically, I will do all I can to support you." And with that, he patted my shoulder, and headed out of the room. My parents and I had a lot to discuss, but finding the time to sit down and talk about it coolly and rationally just wasn't going to happen. Not for a while at least. Over the next few days, things happened that did not really allow me any real time to myself. First off, people started visiting me; people I knew, people I didn't know, friends, family, police, and the biggest surprise of all - news crews. Everyone was calling me a hero and wanted to congratulate me, thank me, or just say that they were glad that I had survived such a horrific ordeal. And from them, I also started to learn the full story of what had transpired. Everyone seemed to have a different perspective of what happened. My parents were proud of me of course, my friends saw me as Bruce Willis type; taking out the bad guys bare handed. But it was my talk with the police that really filled in the missing pieces. The key to it all was my cell phone. When I dropped the phone into my handbag, it was still on. When they placed my bag on the counter, the 9- 1-1 operator was able to hear and record the entire conversation between the assailants and the clerk. They were able to determine rather quickly that this robbery was taking place at the 7-11 at the end of town and dispatched cars immediately. The gunshots I had heard were in fact before the police arrived. They were an exchange between the clerk and the robbers. 'Ole Hickory' had a pistol under the counter and had shot one of the bandits. They returned fire rendering him unconscious, but fled not long after. I told the police that I saw at least one face, and that I would be willing to testify in court. (Actually, I wanted to deal with the bastards personally, but that is not what I told the police.) I was told it was unnecessary. They had taken my handbag as part of their loot, and the authorities used my cell phone's GPS to track them down. When they found them, there were only two left. The shot from the clerk hit a bandit in the liver and he eventually bled to death. When the police surrounded their house they fought back with gunfire. After a brief exchange, the remaining bandits were also killed. Part of me was relieved that they got what they deserved, but another part of me felt that they hadn't suffered enough, and that it was unfortunate that I wasn't the one who got to kill them. I was still angry - angry as hell; and I no longer had an outlet for the anger. The police officer then reiterated the fact that I was a hero. I had saved two lives that night, mine and the clerk. Because of my call, the police and ambulance were able to respond quickly enough to keep me from bleeding to death. Quick medical attention also saved the life of the store clerk. But more than that, these thieves were linked to several robberies statewide where a handful of people had been injured and two others had actually been killed. My actions got these guys off the streets and potentially saved more lives; because had they not been caught, they likely would have continued robbing stores and hurting people. This went on for the remainder of my stay in the hospital; friends, family, well-wishers, police and the press. The doctors were impressed how quickly I recovered after regaining consciousness. They were also concerned about the traumatic repercussions of a young man losing his penis. I had several conflicting thoughts and emotions going through my head that I had to come to terms with. In the end, and with maybe just a little help from the hospital counselor, I was able to start to come to grips with my situation. What was done was done, and it would be best to move forward as best as possible. One thought kept going through my mind. This bastard had disfigured me physically, I would be damned if I would allow his actions to screw with me emotionally as well. My counselor told me that was a very healthy outlook. It may take a long time to actually get over the trauma, but this was definitely a step in the right direction. After another two weeks in the hospital I was told I would finally be allowed to leave. I thought it would be nice to be home, but as we walked into the front door we could hear our phone was ringing. My dad just turned to my mom and me and said "get back into the car". Once he was back in the car himself he turned to us and said "we don't need this right now, we need a bit of privacy to get our lives put back in order." And with that he pulled out of the driveway, and pointed the car to parts unknown. As we rounded the corner and turned onto Main Street we passed a yellow Ford Pinto. Okay, so it's an older car, but not unheard of, so in most instances would go unnoticed like every other car on the street. But as we passed this particular car, something caught the midday sun just right and caused a glare that made me turn my head. Consciously this was only mildly irritating, and felt it was of no concern. But in the back of my head, I was getting a very uncomfortable feeling. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something told me to remember this car... ... To be continued ...