John's Living Nightmare free porn video

John's Living Nightmare By Daphne Xu Copyright 1999 It was time to head off to school -- School, where everyone bugged him and picked on him. Reluctantly, John finished his last bowl of cereal and took his dishes to the sink. He scraped them before putting them in the dishwasher, as Dad always told him to. He stepped into his boots, put on his coat and gloves, slipped his knapsack over his shoulders, and said goodbye to his mother as he stepped out the door. "Have a wonderful day, John," replied Mom, busily typing away at her computer in the living room. John sighed. A wonderful day? At school? School never made for a wonderful day. He slowly trudged the half-mile walk to school. The walk to school was along a trail leading across an undeveloped weedy field that separated the neighborhood he lived in from the town proper. To the right as he walked to school was his neighborhood and the street that connected it to town. To the left, the field extended out into the prairie, all the way to the dark hills visible about ten miles away. Everything was covered with half a foot of dazzling snow. The sun was bright in the clear-blue sky, and John had to squint to avoid blinding himself. He stomped through the thick snow, following a trail of footprints, and not really caring if he stuck to the path. He reached the bridge that crossed a large creek. Beyond that, just across the street and a block down to the left, was the school building. He arrived with ten minutes to spare before the bell rang. He was nine years old and in fourth grade. He walked around the playground, which had been shoveled off to expose the asphalt surface. One section was painted with bases for kickball or softball. Another section had a few basketball nets. A slide was nearby, with a set of monkey bars to the right. He felt bored. Perhaps someone would start up a brief game of kickball before the bell rang, but he feared that instead... "Hey, there's Alice!" called a voice behind him. It was Bruce, the leader of a bunch of fifth-graders who had been picking on him all year. "Hey, Alice!" John tried to ignore him. "Hey, you deaf or something, Alice? I'm talking to you!" John felt so frustrated, so angry, so irritated, that he finally burst out, "My name isn't Alice! I'm John!" Why couldn't Bruce just accept that and stop tormenting him like that? His name most certainly was NOT Alice! Everyone laughed. "Oooooo," said one of Bruce's friends. "That girl's feisty, isn't she. Come-on, be nice. Talk to us, Alice." "I'm not Alice! I'm not a girl!" John screamed. "You look like a girl. Doesn't she?" asked Bruce of his friends. "Oh, how did you like Wonderland? Wasn't it cute? Cute just like a cute girl like you?" He sang in a sneering, mocking tone, "Alice in Wonderland. How do you get to Wonderland?" His friends took up the song, the title song from the Disney cartoon. "I tell you, I'm not Alice, I'm John!" John burst into tears and ran off. He muttered to himself, why couldn't he simply ignore the big kids? Why couldn't he come back with, "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me," as Grandpa told him? They were just doing it to bug him he knew, but it tormented him terribly that anyone might think he was a girl. How long had it been going on? When did it start? John couldn't tell. The "Alice in Wonderland" business had only started just after they showed the Disney cartoon Alice in Wonderland at school. Two months ago, perhaps. They only started calling him Alice after that film, but they'd teased him about being a girl earlier on. When school started, perhaps? John was in fourth grade. This hadn't occurred last year. His hair was bright yellow, almost exactly like the girl's hair in Alice in Wonderland. It was shorter, though; only about eight inches long. Off and on in the past, John had tried again and again to explain, calmly and clearly, that he was not a girl, and his name was not Alice; he was a boy, and his name was John. But Bruce always continued to pick on him and call him Alice. All his friends did too, and eventually all the older kids did -- no matter how hard he complained. The bell rang shortly, to John's relief. John dashed around the corner of the school with the other students in his class to the classroom door. Their teacher, Mrs. Prune, opened the door and they filed in quietly and sat down at their desks. After lunch, a bunch of boys got together to play touch football. Football was fun; John loved to play football, so he went up to join them. Unfortunately, Bruce was there. "Hey, Alice, you can't play. Girls can't play football." "I'm not a girl!" A friend of Bruce's continued, "Go away, Alice," and the others boys joined in: "You can't play." "You are a girl." "No girls allowed." "We don't want girls here." "Girls can't play right." "Girls can't throw footballs." "Girls can't catch." "Girls are sissy." "Go away, sissy!" Even some boys whom John thought were friends joined in, to John's dismay. He turned away in humiliation, with tears in his eyes. As he walked away, a girl ran up to him. "Hey, come play with us." It was Joyce, a girl in his class and, although he was slightly embarrassed to admit it, one of his friends. He usually didn't like playing with girls -- at least not publicly -- but he followed her to the monkey bars, where she was playing with several other girls. They were playing tag on the monkey bars. As soon as John touched the metal bar to climb, a girl tapped him on the head. "You're it!" she giggled and climbed away. John clambered up as fast as he could after the girl, but was too slow. However, another girl appeared just below him and he tapped her. He jumped up to the next-higher bar, escaping the girl but bumping his head against another girl. He stopped and caught his breath. The bars were cold, and John was glad he'd worn his gloves to school today. He watched the girl chase another girl round and round the monkey bars -- they were going too fast, and the girl chasing was too close for the girl being chased to grab a bar and climb up. The other girl was caught right underneath John, and she clambered up to chase him. Within moments, he was having such fun that he forgot that he was the only boy playing with a bunch of girls. A couple times, he noticed that he could look up the dresses of the girls, but they were all wearing tights, so he couldn't see much. They didn't seem to notice it or to mind it, so he stopped thinking about it. Before he knew it, the bell was ringing for class to start up again. The school let out at three o'clock. Fortunately, Bruce and his friends were nowhere to be seen, as John left the school building and headed home. As he walked along the sidewalk toward the crosswalk leading across the street to the creek and the bridge, he passed a younger boy, a third-grader, heading in the same general direction. He said, "Hi," as he passed the boy. "Hi, Alice," the boy returned the greeting. John started in surprise. He froze, resisting the urge to strangle the boy. "My name's not Alice," he told the boy, trying his best to remain calm and patient. "My name is John." The little boy looked puzzled. "But Bruce told me that you're Alice." After a short pause the boy continued, "And John's a boy's name." "I AM A BOY..." John spoke in a loud whisper, trying to avoid shouting out in anger. "But Bruce said--" "Bruce is a liar. Bruce is a meanie. You should never listen to anything Bruce says." Seeing how confused the boy looked, John tried to explain clearly. "I'm John. My name is John. My mom and dad have always called me John. They named me John. Bruce is just a liar." John kept trying to explain, but the boy looked simply more and more confused. Exasperated, John finally gave up and continued home. Joyce, riding by him on her bicycle, called out, "Have a nice day!" She was on her way to ballet lessons, he knew. Her mother and his were friends, and her mother often proudly mentioned Joyce's involvement in ballet. Typical girlish stuff, fine for a girl like Joyce, thought John. He'd seen pictures of ballerinas, and had occasionally seen Joyce dressed up for ballet. It was almost indecent. He would never dare show himself in public like that; he would just as soon wear a dress. No, John would never do ballet. He hated sissy things like ballet. He liked games like football and kickball -- games that real boys played. Ah, yes. Football. Now there was a true man's game. He was going to grow up and play football all his life. He would never do anything else. Any real boy would want that. And he was a real boy; no question about that, despite what Bruce and his gang might say. Bruce was a meanie. But how could Bruce make everyone else bug him as well? What kind of wicked warlock was Bruce, anyway? What kind of magic spell did Bruce cast over all the other kids, that they would also pick on John? John just couldn't understand it. John so desperately wanted to play football; why didn't they let him play? Then he remembered how he'd played with the girls. He flushed at the memory. How could he have done that? And how could he have enjoyed it so much?!? Now everyone was going to call him a sissy, a girl! John got home and set his graded schoolwork on the table. His parents always insisted that they see his schoolwork after getting it back graded, so he always left it on the table for them. He took his schoolbooks up to his room, went back downstairs to get a glass of milk and some Oreo cookies, and went outside to play. The next day after lunch, John got off the bus returning to school. Everyone had to line up in two lines, boys and girls. As usual, John got in the boy's line. "Hey, Alice," came a voice all too familiar, behind him. "This is the boy's line! You belong in the girl's line over there." It was Bruce, again. John gritted his teeth and tried to ignore him. Bruce called out to the teacher monitoring them. "Mr. Biggs, Alice here is in the wrong line." Bruce gesture toward John. Mr. Biggs turned to John. "Young lady, get in the girl's line!" he bellowed. "But--" started John. "Now!" John jumped and dashed over to the girl's line. "That's better," approved Mr. Biggs. The girl's line went in first. John barely held back the tears as he walked in with the girls. The line headed straight for the girl's restroom. John balked at entering the girl's bathroom, even though he had to go pretty badly. Instead, he waited outside with a couple other girls, and watched as the boy's line went in and went to the boy's bathroom across the hall. He spent the lunch recess and the afternoon class squirming until restroom call just before afternoon recess. When Mrs. Prune, the teacher, called his row of desks, he walked quickly but steadily to the boy's room. Inside, a boy turned to him abruptly. "Alice, you're in the wrong bathroom. The girl's room is across the hall there." John brushed by him and entered one of the stalls, latching the door. He had no time for this nonsense. Ahhhhhh, he sighed as he relieved himself. At recess, Joyce and her friends asked him to play again. He wanted to, but he didn't want to. He wanted to have fun with the boys, not with the girls. It embarrassed him how he'd enjoyed it yesterday. Yet he'd enjoyed it so much that he really did want to do it again. He felt confused. One of the girls said, "Oh, come on, Alice. Play with us." John froze in dismay, then shouted, "Don't call me Alice! My name's John! Why is everyone calling me Alice?!?" He ran off to a corner of the playground and spent the rest of the recess sulking. A couple people tried to get him to play; but as they called him Alice, he just grunted and sulked further. Except one time, when he burst out, "My name isn't Alice! I'm John!" Back in class after recess, Mrs. Prune had the students read a paragraph or so out loud from the Reader. Everyone else was supposed to follow along. John was daydreaming, and only vaguely noticed when Mrs. Prune thanked the boy in front of him and called out, "Alice." "Alice!" repeated Mrs. Prune, sternly. John raised his head up to see Mrs. Prune standing directly over him. John shrank back, intimidated. "If you would be so kind as to pay attention, we would like you to read for us, Alice." Even Mrs. Prune was doing it now! John didn't dare talk back -- no, no, not with Mrs. Prune. He sat up abruptly and began reading out loud. Mrs. Prune kept him reading for three paragraphs. "Very good, Alice," commended Mrs. Prune. "Larry?" John lay his head down on the desk as the rest of the class finished up the story. He quietly cried, feeling hopelessly lost and confused. It took forever, but that last hour of school finally let out. John sighed with relief -- it was Friday! No more school until Monday! As he waited to cross at the crosswalk, Joyce rode past him on her bicycle. "Hey, Alice. I'll seeya Monday!" "No!!" he shouted, but too late for her to hear; she was away on her bike by then, leaving John behind both outraged and puzzled. Joyce was a nice girl, even though she was a girl. She never teased him or picked on him. Sometimes they played at each other's house. What was going on here? Even she was calling him Alice now! He walked on home, mumbling furiously to himself, occasionally yelling out at nobody in particular. The next morning, John got up early to watch the Saturday morning cartoons on television. After breakfast, Mom and Dad insisted on taking him shopping. At the shopping center, as John was walking with Mom and Dad down the hall, a younger boy came up and greeted him. "Hi Alice." Oh, the mortification. He simply couldn't bear to have someone call him Alice in front of Mom and Dad. The last thing he wanted was for his parents to know how everyone called him Alice and thought he was a girl. Anything but that! The younger boy asked Mom, "Her name is Alice, isn't it?" "Yes, she is indeed Alice," answered Mom. WHAT?!? John started in surprise. It was the ultimate betrayal. He turned away, just barely holding the tears back; the only thing worse would be for him to cry in front of everyone. After the boy left, Mom scolded John, telling him how rude it was not to greet the boy. "You were very impolite. He was being nice to you, and you embarrassed him." John was tongue-tied. What about people embarrassing ME? he wondered. He sniffed a couple times, and a couple tears dripped down from his eyes; other than that he managed to avoid crying. He wanted to ask why everyone was calling him Alice, why even his own parents were joining in picking on him. What was going on? But he was frozen. Mom was still talking to him about rudeness and politeness, when she suddenly turned and hugged him. "I'm so sorry, dear. We didn't mean to make you cry." John hated being hugged -- in public, especially -- and being called dear. Mom had never done that to him before, at least not for a long time. He tried to pull away. They walked down the mall. After making a left turn and a couple of right turns, Mom stopped at a dancewear store. John wondered what was going on. They'd never stopped at a place like this before. He had walked by it often before, and it always embarrassed him when he was with his parents, because of all the pictures of girls dressed indecently and strangely on the windows. The girls all wore variations on the same type of garment. The garments fit snuggly on the girls, outlining every feature. In one picture, the girl wore a pink garment, the top of which had short sleeves, and looked like a tee-shirt. But at the bottom, it was shaped like a pair of underpants. Her legs stuck out of a pair of holes, and were completely bare; not even a hint of pants covered her legs. She was squatting low, her legs spread apart exposing her crotch covered by a strip of cloth running between her legs, knees pointed outward but her heels together. She was wearing some kind of pink ballet shoes. Another girl wearing a similar black garment with long sleeves, and additionally wearing white tights, stood next to a bar about as high as her shoulders. She stood up straight, and her left foot was hooked over the bar. Her left leg was as straight as could be. In yet another picture, a girl was bent so far back that her head peered between her ankles, which she held tightly with her hands. How could those girls bear to expose themselves like that, and let themselves be photographed like that? It was shameful! He'd seen Joyce dressed like that once or twice, when he was over at her house. John felt antsy looking at those pictures with his parents alongside, and wanted to move on. But to his surprise, Mom insisted on going inside. Dad said he'd wait outside, and John said that he'd wait too, but Mom said, "No, dear, you have to come in with me. We need to get you some new equipment." What would he ever need from this place? John wondered, as he followed Mom into the store. There were more posters of girls inside. The girls were in various poses, all wearing the same kind of garment. A few girls wore tights, while others' legs were bare. One picture showed a girl sitting down with her legs spread so wide that they pointed straight out to the sides in opposite directions. John waited nervously while Mom talked with the salesman. He blushed and turned his eyes away when he saw a little girl walking out of the store with her mother, dressed just like the girls in the pictures, her legs completely bare. The salesman presented him a pair of shoes for him to try on. They were strange shoes, made of some kind of soft green material. Except for the soles and toes, they were almost like slippers. The toes were tough and hard. The soles consisted of two separate pieces, one for the ball of the foot, one for the heel. They didn't have shoelaces; instead, there were straps which he had to wrap and tie tightly around his ankle, to keep the shoe on. It took a couple minutes, with the salesman's help to get the shoes on finally. The shoes were quite tight, and they felt strange to walk in. "They're for ballet and dancing. They have to be tight." "Dancing? Ballet?" John felt queasy. "Yes, dear," answered his mother as John took off the shoes. "And now we'd like you to go to the dressing room and try this on. We think it's your size." Mom handed him a bright green garment just like the ones the girls wore in the pictures, with short sleeves, holes for his legs, and a narrow strip going between his legs. The garment was made of soft stretchy material, and looked much too small for him. "Then come out, and we'll see how it looks on you." "WHAT?!? I can't wear that!" John looked in desperation at the girls on the posters. "What's going on?" "Don't you remember, Alice? You're starting ballet next month. You're going to be in Joyce's class; won't you like that?" It was just too much. John threw the green leotard down to the floor. "Everyone picking on me!" He kicked the shoes away. "I can't do ballet; I'm a boy!" "Now, Alice --" started Mom, as she grabbed John's shoulders. "Don't call me Alice!" John furiously twisted out of Mom's hands and pushed her away hard, almost causing her to fall down. "Why is everyone calling me Alice?" Spotting a shelf of various types and colors of dance shoes to his left, he jumped up and kicked it -- ow, his foot twisted! The pain only infuriated him all the more, and he pushed harder, knocking the shelf over, spilling the shoes and everything on the shelf. "I'm not Alice; I'm John!" He kicked another shelf over on the right and spilled dozens of packages of leotards. Then he picked himself up and ran screaming toward the exit. He only vaguely noticed others stopping and watching him, and only vaguely heard Mom call out, "Alice, stop that this instant!" He nearly collided with a girl and her mother coming in the doorway, but he ran around them as the mother shouted, "Hey, watch where you're going!" He ran out of the store and dashed down the hall, dodging people who scrambled to get out of his way and cursed him out. He was grabbed and picked up from behind. It was his father. He struggled in vain, kicking out at nothing and screaming. His father carried him tight under his arm out to the car. He barely heard and saw Mom catching up with them and walking beside them out to the car. Dad sat down in the front passenger seat of the car, and turned John over onto his lap, face down and rear end up. Dad yanked John's jeans and underpants down to his knees, grabbed a hairbrush, and slammed his rear end with the bristle side. John screamed in pain, and Dad slammed him again, and again a third time. Through it all, John continued screaming and yelling, "Stop it!!" Dad told John to pull up his pants, get in the back seat, and remain silent. "If I hear a peep out of you, you're going to get more of the same when we get home." John slid his pants up as quickly as possible and crawled between the backs of the front seats into the back seat. His rear end still stung from the hairbrushing. He buried his face in the seat cushion and quietly cried. Everything was so unfair, why were they all doing this to him? What was going on? John didn't notice that they'd arrived home until Dad opened the back door of the car. "Get out, Alice. Get inside and go straight to your room." Mom was already up at the front door, unlocking it. "But Dad--" John started, wanting to tell Dad what had happened. "One!" barked Dad. John screamed and ran up to the front door as Dad barked, "Two!" nearly tripping over a dirty, hard pile of snow. He quickly opened the door and dashed around Mom up to his room. John knew from past experience that if Dad got to three, he would get another hard spanking with the hairbrush. He jumped onto the bed and bounced up and down angrily a couple times before flopping down face- down. He had no idea how much time passed, when Mom entered the room. John couldn't bear to face Mom, and pressed his face down in the pillow. "Dear..." John pressed his face down further, so that he could barely breath, and pressed the pillow up against his ears. "Alice..." John suddenly jumped up and shouted, "What's going on? Why are you calling me Alice?" "Alice, are you feeling okay?" "No! I'm feeling just awful! Everyone's like Bruce, picking on me, calling me names, calling me a girl, calling me Alice! I can't stand it any more! Why is everyone doing this to me?" Mom looked perturbed and distressed -- as though she were about to cry. John momentarily felt sorry for her, and embarrassed at all the trouble he was causing. Mom continued, "You really are disturbed." Mom felt him on his forehead. "There's no sign of a fever or anything." "I'm not sick! I just hate everyone picking on me!" "Now, calm down. Calm down, Alice." "I'm telling you, my name's not Alice!" "Now Alice, you're getting hysterical. You must calm down, so that you can think clearly. Just hold tight; I'll be back in a minute." Mom went out, and returned shortly with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. She gave him one pill and the water, saying, "You must sleep. You'll feel better later on." John wondered if he really was going crazy. Reluctantly, he put the pill in his mouth and chased it down with the glass of water. His mother quickly bent down and kissed him on the cheek, before leaving as John cringed in embarrassment and disgust. Kissing, yuck! he thought. Why did Mom do that? John lay there for awhile, fuming over everything, but slowly strange feelings began to creep over him. He began to feel sleepy, but it was not mere drowsiness. He felt like something was buzzing through him, making him itch to move about yet making him sleepy at the same time. Eventually, he fell asleep. He woke up that night. He had no idea what time it was, but it was pitch-dark outside the window. He tossed and turned in bed, unable to get back to sleep no matter how hard he tried. After awhile he got up, turned on the lights, and got out a book to read. A few hours later, the sky began getting light outside. John went downstairs to watch television. His parents came downstairs while he was in the middle of Davy and Goliath. "Alice," exclaimed Mom. "We didn't say you could come out of your room. Go back upstairs to your room. We'll call you down when breakfast is ready." "But, Mom!" started John, realizing how hungry he was, having missed supper last night. "Go to your room. Now!" barked Dad. "One..." John screamed and immediately ran up to his room, slamming the door. "Alice, don't slam the door!" called Mom from downstairs. John jumped on the bed a couple times, but he eventually quieted down and lay in bed. Mom called him down to breakfast about half an hour later. He ate in silence and humility, and Mom and Dad didn't say anything about his behavior. He thought about bringing up the subject and asking why they were calling him Alice now, but he was too scared to bring it up. So, after breakfast, he went back up to his room. He spent the rest of the day in his room. Mom let him out only for lunch and dinner. He spent part of the time reading, and the rest of it grumbling and griping to himself about how unfair they were treating him. He wasn't Alice, dammit, he kept telling himself. He was John! The day last forever, but it finally ended. Mom made John swallow another sleeping pill that night. Monday morning, as John got up and got dressed, Mom came up and told him that he wouldn't be going to school today. "Alice, your Dad and I have talked this over, and we've agreed that we have to take you to a doctor this morning. Something really appears to be the matter with you, and you seem awfully disturbed." "Mom, please!" begged John, near tears again. A doctor? Was something really wrong with him? What could it be? John was quite scared. "Why is everyone calling me Alice?" "Yes, you really are confused and disturbed," said Mom. "Come along, let's go." John just didn't know what else to say, so he followed Mom out of the room. "Did Mom tell you?" asked Dad in the hall, at the top of the stairs. John nodded. "You do realize, don't you, the trouble you're causing? Because of this, I have to miss half a day of work." John said nothing, and followed his parents out to the car. John didn't know where they drove, except that they were somewhere in the city, downtown perhaps. They stopped and got out at an imposing building. John looked the building up and down, before following Mom and Dad into the building. They rode up an elevator, and then walked down the halls, turning left, then right, then right, then left again. They stopped at a door. Dad knocked, before opening the door, and they entered some kind of receptionist's office. Mom told him to sit down, while they settled things. John got a magazine from the table and looked through it. The pictures, mainly of adult women in makeup and jewelry and all sorts of clothes, all looked weird to John -- was everyone going to make him dress like that as an adult? The articles that he tried to read were incomprehensible. Mom and Dad sat down next to him, and got magazines of their own to read. About half an hour later, a woman called out their last name. Dad said, "Well, that's us now. This had better be good." They followed the woman down a short hall, and into an office. A white- haired, kindly-looking old man stood up and came out from behind his desk. "Thank-you so much for seeing us today, on such short notice," breathed Mom. "We're so worried; this was so sudden and unexpected." "That's quite all right, Ma'am. Please come on in, both of you." The man smiled down at John, as he added, "I hope you won't mind waiting outside just a few minutes. I have to talk to your parents, first." "Okay," answered John. Even though the man seemed rather nice, John still felt scared of talking to him. Mom and Dad went in with the old man, and John sat down on the floor outside the door. He could vaguely hear them talking inside; he even picked up a word or two. He thought he made out the word Alice a few times, but he wasn't sure. He fumed, just thinking about it. After a few minutes, Mom and Dad came out, with the doctor appearing behind them. Mom told John to go into the room with the doctor. "This is a very nice man, Alice. You can trust him and tell him anything." John resisted the temptation to reply, and instead just went into the room with the doctor. The office had a desk at one side, a couple chairs in front of the desk, and shelves of books covering the other three walls. "Have a seat." The doctor took a clipboard with a notepad, and wrote. "My name is Terrance Jones. Do you know what I am, what kind of work I do?" "You're a doctor," answered John. "That's almost correct. I'm actually a psychiatrist," answered Mr. Jones. "Do you know what a psychiatrist does?" John wasn't sure; he'd only seen one on the TV show "I Dream of Jeannie." John answered, "I don't know. You're like Dr. Bellows?" "Ah, you've watched `Jeannie.'" The Doctor wrote something on his notepad. "That was a funny television show. However, its portrayal of the psychiatrist is quite inaccurate. We aren't so... well, how to put it? Confused, bumbling,..." "Stupid?" asked John. "Well, I wouldn't put it that way. Anyway, I am a doctor of sorts. I'm a doctor of the mind. Sometimes, someone's mind gets sick. You understand?" "Well, sort of." John didn't really understand; he was a little confused, afraid that his mind might be sick. "And when their mind is sick, we help make them well again. But enough about me. Tell me about yourself, Alice." "First, my name isn't Alice! Why is everyone calling me Alice? My name is John. I'm a boy, not a girl!" "Oh, I see. We have a major problem here." Dr. Jones wrote something on his notepad. "Tell me about it." "Well..." struggled John. He couldn't think of what to say for a moment. Then, "It's Bruce. He and his buddies, they always picked on me. They've been calling me Alice -- `Alice in Wonderland,' they always said." "`Alice in Wonderland'? That's very interesting." "Yes. You know, the movie. They showed that Disney movie at school. Bruce and his gang started calling me `Alice in Wonderland' after we saw it." "After you saw Alice in Wonderland?" "Yes." "Kids can be very mean like that," explained the Doctor. "After seeing a movie like Alice in Wonderland, they will tease a girl named Alice about it. They do that all the time, and you can't really stop it. It's best not to be bothered by it too much -- if you can help it, that is." "You don't understand! My name isn't Alice. Bruce and his friends called me Alice ever since that movie! Now, everyone's calling me Alice. The teachers... and now Mom and Dad!" "So tell me about this Bruce," suggested the Doctor. "Well," John didn't know what to say. He could barely think of anything. "He's in fifth grade, in Mrs. Hayley's class. "He, uh, his hair is short. Very short, like a crewcut. It's black, and it stands straight up. He's a bully." "A bully?" "Yes, a bully. He always picks on me." "Do you think that Bruce might have a crush on you?" "A crush? What is a crush?" John didn't know what crush meant, but he had the nervous feeling that he didn't want to find out. "Well, Alice ---" "Don't call me Alice!" "Calm down, now. You mustn't get hysterical. Now --" The Doctor hesitated. "What did you say your name was?" "John." "Okay John," he smiled. "You wanted to know what a crush was? Well, sometimes a boy is attracted to a girl." John heart sank. This was very embarrassing, to have an adult talk to him about such girlish things. "The boy will sublimate his feelings, perhaps due to peer pressure and the instinctive feeling that everyone will call him a sissy. He instead acts out his feelings through certain behaviorally unapproved acts like pulling the girl's hair, stealing her cap, or calling her names." Most of that went completely over his head, although he understood some of it such as "call him a sissy" and the last part of pulling hair, stealing cap, and calling names. He thought a moment. A boy who likes a girl would call her names? And pull her hair? He couldn't understand that. "But what does that have to do with me?" asked John, puzzled. "Well, as I was saying, John, he might have a crush on you." "But you said he would have a crush on a *girl*. I'm a boy!" "Ah, yes. I think you said that before. That is indeed a difficulty." The Doctor paused a moment, and then changed the subject. "Your mother told me that you had some kind of breakdown Saturday morning. Is that true?" John blushed at the memory. Why did Mom tell the Doctor about that? John had made a real spectacle of himself, he recalled. "Mom and Dad were mean!" he declared. "Tell me about it," suggested the Doctor. He tried to explain, stammering horribly. "Well, to start out, they made me go with them to the mall, that morning. And then, we were at the mall, and someone from school called me Alice." "Bruce?" "No-no, not Bruce. Not one of his gang, either. A third-grader, I think. I didn't know him much. Anyway, he called me Alice. Mom and Dad were right there, even! And then, he asked Mom if my name was Alice, and Mom said that it was!" John shivered at the memory of the betrayal. "I understand. Please go on." "Mom got mad at me, because I wasn't nice to the boy after he called me Alice." He said that last bit quickly, stammering a little. "Oh? What did you do?" "I didn't do anything?" John said quickly, thinking that the Doctor thought he'd done something bad. "Then why was your mother mad at you?" "I think it was because I didn't say hi back to him after he called me Alice. And then, we stopped at a --" John hesitated, embarrassed to say it, "-- dance store, and we went in." "A dance store? Interesting." "They sold, you know," John hesitated. "The kind of clothes girls wear for ballet. Mom made me try on ballet shoes, and then she wanted me to try on one of those ballet things!" "And that's when you lost it?" John was too embarrassed to reply. Your mother told me that you started kicking things, and then ran out of the store. Is that right?" "Mom was going to make me get ballet clothes and make me do ballet!" John complained. "I can't do a girlish thing like ballet!" He immediately blushed at saying girlish to an adult. It was such a girlish thing to say. "I'm a boy! Boy's don't do ballet! I like football and kickball!" Dr. Jones nodded sympathetically. Encouraged, John continued to tell his story. He wondered whether he should tell about the hairbrushing. But it embarrassed him too much, that he just couldn't bear to mention it. He left it out. After some time, the Doctor asked, "Well, Al--- I mean John, you are certain that you are a boy?" "Yes, I'm a boy! I'm not a girl! I've never been a girl! I always use the boy's room at school. I've always been a boy." "Are you sure your name is John?" "Yes! I've always been called John!" "Are you sure? You're absolutely certain that your parents haven't always called you Alice?" "Yes! I remember!" John struggled mentally. He suddenly couldn't remember. "Do you actually remember a time when your mother or your father actually called you John? A single time?" John struggled in panic and confusion. He tried to think back to the many times he talked with his parents, but he just couldn't for the life of him recall the details of any one specific time; it was all just a blur of random memories that he could not seize upon. "Just one time?" pressed Dr. Jones. John had to admit. "No, I can't remember any. I just can't remember." Dr. Jones said, "Well, I think that this has been enough for now. Go out, and call both of your parents in for me, if you will." John left and called Mom and Dad. After the door closed behind Mom and Dad, he stood in front of the door, and put his ear next to the door. He listened as well as he could. He only heard mostly isolated words and phrases: "Paranoid ... she actually thinks ... John ... paranoia ... sanitarium ... medication ... Alice ... schizophrenia." He backed away in fear, thinking to himself. He's crazy! He's a nut! They're going to put him away! Put in him in a mental hospital, an insane asylum! He returned to the waiting from and sat down on one of the seats, feeling sick with terror. After an eternity passed, his parents came out with the Doctor. Mom and Dad both had a nervous expression on their faces. The Doctor shook John's hand, and said, "It was good talking with you. I hope to see you again in a few days." On the way home, John remained silent in the back seat. He wondered what was going to happen, but was too scared to ask. Mom and Dad were also silent. When they got home, John was about to go to his room, but Mom told him stay in the living room. "We're going to have to have a Family Council now," she said soberly. They'd never had a "Family Council" before; John didn't know what one was, but it sounded serious. In the living room, Dad sat on the rocking chair, Mom on one end of the couch, and John on the other end of the couch. They waited in silence a moment. Then Mom spoke, "We have a serious problem here. Dr. Jones suggests that medication may be necessary, or even hospitalization." "No," Dad replied. "That will not be necessary, I'm sure. As I told the Doctor, we can handle our own problems on our own. Alice is not crazy, none of us are. All she needs is a little proper discipline." "But Dr. Jones says that Alice actually believes that she is a boy named John. She actually believes it. If she is truly so, uh -- I think that the Doctor used the word delusional -- then, perhaps she needs some help." John broke in, "But I am John. You've always called me John, Mom. Always!" He tried to keep from whining. His mother answered, "We've never called you John, Alice. You've always been Alice. Seriously, what is happening to you?" "But..." John was near tears. "Until Saturday, you called me John. Don't you remember? Dad?" he pled in desperation, struggling to remember. He remembered when the Doctor challenged him to remember a particular time they'd called him John, he couldn't. He still couldn't even now. Was it possible that...? "Young lady, as your mother said, you've always been Alice. Your mother has never been wrong, and it's wrong to challenge your mother. Now, we realize that you've been having some problems. The Doctor said that you were confused and suffering from delusions and paranoia and skits--, uh, skits--" "Schizophrenia," completed Mom. "We don't use such fancy words. They don't mean anything anyway," continued Dad. "We'll show the Doctor that you are perfectly fine, and don't need to take drugs, don't need to go to an insane asylum. You're not insane, Alice." Dad reached over and ruffled John's hair. "We will keep you out of school this week, as the Dr. Jones suggests," continued Mom. "We have another appointment with him Thursday afternoon. Basically, you need to rest and relax." That, at least, sounded nice to John. He didn't like school. "But you have to show us and the Doctor that you are indeed properly sane," added Dad. "That means none of this `John' business. We don't want to hear any more complaints or crying, you understand?" John look back and forth at Dad and Mom. They both had earnest, serious expressions on their faces. "Now, Alice, I think you should go upstairs, get in bed, and rest," said Mom. "You may read in bed, if you want." John quietly went to his room and got in bed. He fell asleep before he knew it. He woke up late in the evening. He lay in bed, feeling awfully bored, and eventually started tossing and turning. He couldn't get back to sleep. He thought about the events of the day and the weekend, and got angrier and angrier. That spanking in the car on Saturday had hurt badly! His mind replayed it over and over again. It was so unfair! Why were they doing that to him? Hitting someone to hurt him is wrong. It's bad! His name was John, not Alice. He was a boy, not a girl! He tossed and turned and flopped up and down in fury. He was going crazy. That was it, he realized. Everyone was driving him crazy! They were out to destroy him, and they weren't going to stop until he was completely, totally destroyed. He decided right then and there, he wasn't going to cooperate any further; he wasn't going to let them do that to him. He wasn't going to let them destroy him. He slipped out of bed, and opened his door a crack. Mom and Dad were still up -- Dad was watching television downstairs, and Mom was typing away at her computer -- so he quietly closed the door and got back in bed. He lay there quietly fuming, and then again started twisting and turning, and then bouncing around on his bed. He was mad. Dad opened the door, and stuck his head in. "Alice, behave yourself." John immediately froze. Dad closed the door again, and he lay still for some time, and listened while Mom and Dad retired to bed. No, he thought to himself again. Tomorrow morning, he would put a stop to it. He would get an explanation about this, or know the reason why. With that, he turned over and fell asleep. He got up early the next morning, and went downstairs to watch television. He was watching "Tennessee Tuxedo," a cartoon about a walrus and a penguin, when Mom and Dad came downstairs. "Alice!" Mom exclaimed. "You're supposed to stay in your room and stay in bed." "Dad and Mom," John tried to articulate, clearly and calmly, his words. "Mom. Why are you doing to me?" He tried to eliminate the whine from his voice. "Why are you picking on me? Why are you trying to drive me crazy; why do you want to destroy me. Please stop it." "Alice!" Mom exclaimed in apparent surprise. "What is this all about? You promised that you would be good, and show that you aren't insane and deluded. You don't want to be sent to the mental hospital, do you?" "But, Mom!" John wailed. He didn't know what to say. "Now Alice," continued Mom. "The Doctor may be right after all. You seem to be thinking strange things. You may be paranoid. Now, if you want to prove that you are healthy and sane, then you must be good. Now go to your room, and we'll call you down later for breakfast." "But, Dad..." "Go to your room. Now!" barked Dad. He held up his hand to count with his fingers. "One... Two..." Screaming, John turned and ran upstairs to his room. He slammed the door, and dived on his bed crying. About half an hour later, Mom opened the door and came in. "Alice," she said. John buried his head in his pillow. "I'm saddened that you could even think we are trying to destroy you," she continued in a sad tone. "We love you. We would never do anything to harm you." Even with his head buried in his pillow, he could still hear his mother clearly. As she continued talking, John began to feel guilty at causing all this trouble. He had disappointed his mother. He'd caused lots of trouble by his behavior, he realized. He vowed to himself that he would be good, and not be bad any more. His mother talked for another fifteen minutes. John didn't react to her words, but he listened to them. Finally Mom told John that he could come down for breakfast when he wanted, and left the room, closing the door after herself. John stayed in bed all day, only coming down for meals. He didn't go to school Wednesday either. John didn't mind not going to school, although he felt like he was doing something wrong. But Mom made him remain in bed. He cringed to himself whenever Mom called him Alice, but he managed to be good and not react. Around three Wednesday afternoon, Mom told him to get up, take a bath, and get dressed. "We are going shopping this afternoon." John was surprised at that. Why would they go shopping if he was sick? Mom continued, "We have to get you some new clothes and other things." John wondered what was going on. How could he go out shopping if he was too sick to go to school? He didn't ask, though. They went to the same mall that they'd gone to on Saturday. "You will be good this time?" asked Mom pointedly. "You won't make a ruckus the way you did Saturday morning?" "No, Mom." answered John. He wished he could put the memory of last Saturday out of his mind. They went by a small store dedicated to makeup, and a little later on by the jewelry store. "We won't get you any makeup or earrings, Alice," commented Mom. "I won't allow you to wear makeup or earrings until you're thirteen years old." Thank-you, Mom, for small favors, thought John. Mom first took John to a shoe store. They had him try on all sorts of strange shoes. He was surprised at the variety of girls shoes there were. John complained that they were all tight on his toes, but Mom said that's the way they are. Ultimately, Mom got him a pair of clear pink "fisherman sandals" and a pair of hard black dress shoes. The shoes didn't have shoelaces; instead, you had to slip your foot in then tie a strap around your ankle. They were awkward to walk in too. Then they went to a large department store, and went to the girl's clothing section. Mom led John to a shelf carrying girl's panties. "We've got to get you some new panties. Let's see now, you want medium girls. These look lovely -- yellow and blue pastels with pink flowers and pink hearts." John almost screamed, but caught himself just in time. "No..." he said in a stretched high-pitched tone. "I, uh, don't think they're quite... right," he stammered. "Oh, I'm sure they'll do wonderfully." Mom put them in the shopping cart, and picked out several other sets. "And how about these bright- colored panties? And these white Winnie the Pooh panties, and Mickey Mouse and Minnie Mouse, and -- oh, this is so cute." John's heart sank. "Barney! We'll get them all." "Moooooooooom, not Barney. Please! I'm not a baby." "Now, Alice. You promised you'd be good. We're here not only to get you new clothes, but for your health as well. Dr. Jones says that you need to learn to become as a little girl." She tossed the panties into the cart. They went into another isle, where Mom got John a few blouses -- white, pink, and light blue. They also got a dozen pairs of tights. Through it all, John remained silent and grudgingly followed Mom around. Then Mom said, "Oh, there's Mrs. Kirshner and Joyce, over among the dresses and skirts. Let's join them. We have to get you some new dresses anyway." Mom and Mrs. Kirshner embraced in greeting, then Mrs. Kirshner looked down at John. "My my, Alice, it seems like you've grown enormously every time I see you. You should come over more often." It was true, John thought. He hadn't been over at Joyce's house for quite some time. Darned if he'd ever go over again, he thought angrily. Joyce said to John, "Hi! You weren't in school. We thought you were sick. I'm glad you're okay!" She smiled. "Alice had a rather severe nervous breakdown Saturday morning," answered Mom. "It happened here at the mall. Monday morning, we took her to the psychiatrist. Somehow or other, she thinks she's a boy named John. Isn't that bizarre?" John looked angrily up at Mom. Why was she telling everyone about him now? And he WAS a boy named John, dammit! But he said nothing. "Well, you never can tell with the paranoid and the maniac. They'll imagine the darnedest things." Mrs. Kirshner sighed. "How strange life is these days. Things were so much simpler when we were growing up. Then, boys were boys, girls were girls, and everyone knew the difference. Not like today, when girls try to do all sorts of boy things." "Alice is recovering rather well now, I think. We hope to show the psychiatrist that she doesn't need to be committed to a mental institution." "Oh my! I should hope not." "This shopping trip is actually part of her therapy, the educational process to remind her that she really is a girl. Also, I thought that she should get some nice new clothes. You know," she lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "We have been quite lackidasical about the kinds of clothes she wore. I think that was part of the problem; she dressed too much like a boy." She turned to the dresses, and picked out a few. "These should look lovely on you," she told John. "Here, go to a dressing room over there and try them on. If you'd like, Joyce could go and help you with them." John grit his teeth. Change clothes with a girl in the room? No way! "No thanks. I think I can do it myself." He took the dresses and blouses and made his way to the dressing rooms, which were a considerable distance away, between the boy's and girl's clothing sections. He started into the boy's entrance, when he heard Mom's voice projecting loud throughout the store. "No, dear. That's the boy's rooms. You want the girl's dressing rooms." Sighing, he went into the girl's fitting rooms. Why did Mom have to let all the world know about his problems? He entered one of the rooms, and pulled the curtain closed. Alone at last, he sat down and mumbled to himself. Why, why, why? What was going on? Was he really a girl after all? Was he mistaken all this time? But they'd always called him John -- had they really? He recalled how he couldn't remember in the psychiatrist's office. Of course, they had always called him John! What was going on? Had something happened to his mind? There was a long mirror on one wall in the room. He stood up and looked himself up and down. Was that a girl in the mirror? His hair was bright yellow, not too long, perhaps about eight inches at the longest point. It was somewhat ruffled at having been outside in the cold weather. He wore faded jeans and a multicolored green corduroy long-sleeved shirt. On his feet he wore white athletic socks and white sneakers, both turning gray from use and exposure. John tried to pretend that the person in the mirror was not he, but some random kid he might meet on the street. He studied and pondered that person. That person in the mirror could very well be a girl. If he'd met the person on the street, he just might think him or her a girl. He shook his head. The hair of the person in the mirror flew up and about briefly, before settling down again. Could it actually be true? Was he actually a girl? He took off his shoes and undressed down to his underpants and socks. He looked at the dresses hanging on the hook, and picked out the dress that looked like the easiest to put on. It was a plain, bright red dress, with short fluffy sleeves and a loose strap encircling the waist. The dress had a collar, and a slit went down the front partway to the waist. A couple laces, at the collar and halfway down, would close the slit up when the dress was worn. He wondered, should he step into the dress or pull it over his head? He pulled it over his head, slid his arms through the short sleeves, and let the dress flop down. He tied the strap around his waist tight in a bow knot, and tied the laces as well. He looked at himself in the mirror. It didn't look right at all. He never recalled seeing a girl wearing a dress with a slit down the front. The dress felt awfully weird too, and tight about his shoulders. Then he realized: he had it on backwards. So he untied the strap and the laces, pulled the dress up over his head, and pulled his arms out of the short sleeves. turned it about, and pulled it over himself again. He was slipping his arms through the short sleeves, when a voice from outside called in, startling him. "What's taking you so long, Alice? Do you need help?" The curtain moved aside suddenly, and Joyce entered the room. John bent over in surprise, covering his underpants with the front of his dress. Relieved that he hadn't taken his underpants off, he quickly slipped his arms through the sleeves, and flopped his dress down. "No-no, I'm okay," he answered breathlessly as he tried to tie the strap about his waist behind him. His hands all of a sudden became totally clumsy, and he couldn't do anything. "Here, let me help you with that," offered Joyce. She stepped behind John and tied the waist strap of his dress quickly into a bow knot. Then she tied the collar lace and the middle lace. "There," finished Joyce. "Thanks," answered John, still flushed from having been seen partially undressed by Joyce. He turned and looked into the mirror at himself. The dress skirt spun about him as he turned, before settling down. He studied himself in the mirror carefully. He asked himself again, was that a girl in the mirror? His dress, when relaxed, reached about halfway down to his knees. When he moved, even slightly, the dress rose up slightly. He just didn't know. He pondered his bright yellow hair, and briefly shook his head. His hair flew up before settling down again. Perhaps that was a girl, reflecting back at him.. Maybe he was a girl after all. It did have a certain similarity to the girls he knew and played with at school. He looked at Joyce's reflection, behind and to the left of him. She wore a sky-blue dress, that otherwise looked remarkably like his. Her pigtailed hair was a dull yellow, rather than his bright yellow, and much longer than his. She was a girl, wasn't she? He looked as much the girl as she did. "You look wonderful, Alice. Here, let's show Mom and your mother." Joyce took his hand and pulled him out of the fitting room. He stopped as they emerged to the store, realizing that everyone would see him wearing a dress. "Come on, your mom wants to look at you!" Joyce tugged at him, and he reluctantly followed her out. John kept brushing nervously at his dress, trying to keep it as low as possible. He felt uncomfortably exposed as Mrs. Kershner looked him up and down. "That looks wonderful on you. Why, you could almost be a twin of Joyce even! Almost. Is that right?" She asked Mom. Mom said, "Yes, that will do perfectly fine." Mom and Mrs. Kershner talked some more about Joyce and him, and John just stood and listened. Then Mom sent him back to try on the other dresses. Joyce went along to help him. John didn't want anyone to see him change clothes, but he didn't say anything. And it turned out that John did need Joyce's help. Some of those clothes would have been darn near impossible to get on otherwise. They got John several dresses, and some skirts and rompers as well. Mom insisted that John wear one of the dresses the rest of the day at the mall. It was a dark-blue long-sleeved dress suit, with a light- blue blouse. Mom also told John to take off his sneakers and his white socks, and put on one of the pairs of shoes that they'd bought today. She said they looked better on him. Joyce said she wanted to see the swimwear. Mrs. Kirshner said, "It's not that time of year, dear. It's winter; we don't swim during the winter. It's snowy outside now." "I know, Mom. But they'll be cheap this time of year." Joyce smiled winningly at her mother. Mom said, "Alice needs some new swimwear as well. We might as well get it now." "Very well then," answered Mrs. Kershner. They started toward the swimwear, and Mom and John followed. Joyce was looking at the bikinis. "There really isn't much of a selection here. This looks nice, though. And this one here." She held it up to John. "It would suit you well, Alice," she giggled. Mom said, "I don't really approve of girls wearing bikinis that young." "She'll be ten by summer. That's old enough, isn't it?" asked Joyce. "Well, maybe," hesitated Mom. "I can't wear a bikini," exclaimed John. "I -- uh, I've never worn a bikini before." "It'll look so cute on you," declared Joyce enthusiastically. "No!" John started, then paused, remembering. He didn't want to be sent to a mental hospital; he'd better not say anything. "All, right. We can get it," said Mom. There was still one other thing to get. They went to the dancewear store, the store where John had gone crazy last Saturday. Joyce and her mother went with them. He flamed anew at the memory of how he'd gone berserk. As they entered, the storekeeper demanded assurance that this time, he would behave. He had caused some damage the last time he was there. Mom gave him assurances that he would be have. "She simply had a nervous breakdown. We took her to the psychiatrist, and he said she'll be okay." The salesman got out a packet containing a garment. "Here, this should be about your size. Go try it on if you want." John looked at Mom, and she nodded yes. John sighed, and entered the fitting room. Joyce followed to help him, because Mom thought he might not know how to put on a leotard. There was only one fitting room in this store, because the store was so much smaller. Also, John thought with a grumble, boys didn't do such girlish things as dancing and ballet. In the fitting room, Joyce helped John remove his dress and the dress shoes. John was by now used to Joyce seeing him in his underpants, but when Joyce said, "You should take off your panties, Alice," he answered, "No, no, no, no!" Enough! He wasn't going to let Joyce or anyone see him bare naked. He opened the package, and pulled out a green leotard. It looked like a girl's bathing suit, except that it had short sleeves. The leotard had no legs whatsoever; just holes for the legs to pass through, and it looked much too small for John. He said as much to Joyce, who replied, "These bodysuits are very stretchy. They're supposed to fit tight to your skin." John was skeptical, but he had to try it on, he felt. Better than being sent to a mental hospital. He looked the garment over. There was no zipper or buttons anywhere to be seen. The hole for the neck looked awfully big; maybe he was supposed to go in that way. He put one leg into the leotard, and tried to get his foot through the proper leg hole. Joyce helped unhook the garment from his toes and heel, and he pulled it partway up his leg. This felt weird on John; the elastic was tight around his leg. Then he stuck his other leg into the leotard and pulled the leotard up. The leotard hooked for a moment over his knees, but he quickly got it free. When it was almost up to his crotch, Joyce told him to stick his arms through the short sleeves. He did so, and the leotard automatically pulled itself up tight over John's crotch and shoulders. The leotard felt weird on John; he'd never felt anything of the sort before. It felt snug all over his skin, but not too tight. He could still move around without restriction. His legs were completely bare, and the elastic band about the very top of his legs pulled his underpants up and caused them to lump up slightly on his legs. That did not feel very comfortable. He put his shoes back on, and walked out with Joyce to show Mom and Mrs. Kershner. He never felt so exposed in his life; not even wearing a boy's swimming suit at the pool. He kept pulling at the sides of his leg holes, trying to keep them from riding too high. He felt even sillier than before, when wearing the dress. His dress shoes didn't help, either. For some reason, they just didn't feel right with his leotard. He showed himself to Mom, Mrs. Kershner, and the salesman. Mrs. Kershner said, "Aww, it's so cute. You'll look so pretty in ballet, Alice dear." John winced at that, and pulled at his leg on the leotard. The salesman smiled down at him. "It looks pretty on you. It's just your size." They got him three girl's leotards and matching tights. One of the leotards had a tiny transparent skirt attached, about three or four inches long, around the waist or hips just above the tops of the leg holes. They also got him the ballet shoes that he'd tried on last Saturday morning. As they separated at the parking lot of the mall, Joyce asked if John would be back at school tomorrow. Mom answered, "Not this week. She has to see the psychiatrist again tomorrow afternoon. Probably next Monday, if the psychiatrist approves." "Oh well, seeya Alice. Hope you get better." Joyce and her mother went off. John and his mother went home. Mom let him play quietly inside the house until supper. She didn't let him go outside or invite friends in. That night, as he lay in bed unable to sleep, the thought of what was happening to him and how he was being treated flooded over him again. It was so unfair, what they were doing to him. Why couldn't they simply accept that his name was John, and that he was a boy? He thought back to the hairbrushing with a renewed burst of anger. Dad wouldn't treat a girl like that, would he? And the way Dad yelled at him, and counted, "One! Two!" with the implicit threat that if he reached "Three!" there'd be a hard hairbrushing. He thought back toward that noon-time instructor, Mr. Biggs. That man never barked at the girls, only at the boys. But he'd barked at him! An idea occurred to him. Mom and Dad had his graded work assignments. Whenever the teacher returned the graded schoolwork, he always took it home and left it on the table for his parents. That way, his parents could monitor how he was doing and make sure he kept up and did all his work. He always put his name on his homework. He could have Mom and Dad get out his old homework, and show that his name was always John. Nobody had complained about his name on his homework assignments before, so that would prove that his name was really John. With that happy thought, John turned over and fell asleep. The next morning, John woke up full of optimism about his latest plan, to have Mom look at his old homework. That would prove once and for all that he was John, not Alice. When he was ready to get dressed, he discovered that his dressers and closets didn't have any of his regular clothes. They only had the new clothes that they'd bought yesterday. So he stayed in his pajamas. Sometime after Dad went off to work, John approached Mom. He was excited, yet scared. Finally, he thought, he would settle the matter once and for all. "Mom?" he started nervously. "Yes, dear?" "I want to see," he hesitated. "You know, you have my old homework. Could I see that?" "Sure, but what's the problem? You're doing fine with your schoolwork." "Yes but, well, they have my name on them. They will show my name is John." "Now, Alice," exclaimed Mom. "You promised you were going to be good. Don't you want to be healthy? You don't want the Doctor to think that you are sick, do you?" John didn't reply, and Mom continued, "You might even be put into a mental institution. You don't want that." John looked down at the floor in embarrassment. He couldn't say anything. Mom hugged him. "I know you want to be good, Alice. You are good most of the time. We just have a little problem that we have to work out, and everything will be back to normal. Now run along and play. I have to get back to work." Mom sat back down at her computer, and resumed typing. Humiliated at his failure, John walked off and went downstairs into the playroom. He'd expected and hoped so much that it would work. He spent the rest of the morning sitting down in the playroom, trembling in fear as the visit to the Doctor got ever closer and closer. Inevitably, the time arrived. Mom called to him to take a bath and get dressed. "Mom, I can't find my pants. Do I have to wear a d