Pinki Ne Pahli Bar Maje Liye
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Pink Pajamas
Katie Leone
Published by Katie Leone at Amazon
Copyright 2014 Katie Leone
Kindle edition
-1-
Francine was tired of being depressed and down in the dumps and was
looking for anything to feel productive once again. The year had been a
hard one, she was consistently at odds with her fifteen year old son, but
he decided to leave her, and she didn't know when they would see each
other again.
She looked up the stairs, hoping that by raising her chin she could also
raise her spirits. Francine had the urge to call out her son's name one
last time out of habit.
"John," she called, knowing that there would be no response. But
somewhere within her, she hoped to hear him answer. Perhaps not the
recent version of him, but that little boy she once knew that was so kind
and sweet and minded his manners.
Francine could almost imagine that soft melodic voice calling back. "Yes
mommy," he would have said when he was four or five and was eager to
please.
There wasn't any sound coming from behind the door, not even the short,
rough "What?" that she had grown accustomed to hearing as of late.
"It didn't have to end this way," Francine thought as she ascended the
carpeted stairs. "We could have sat down and worked it out. You didn't
have to leave."
Francine stood at the door. A yellow piece of paper with the words "Keep
out!" written in bold Sharpie marker greeted her. She reached up as if to
remove it, but then thought better of it. What if he returned? What if he
showed up out of the blue and saw that she had removed his note? He
wouldn't be happy about it. There was no need to start a fight, even if
the note he left behind said he would never return.
"I hope you find happiness with your father," Francine said as she looked
down at the doorknob and felt her heart sink. First her husband had left
her, now her son. She had nothing left but an orange tabby cat to keep
her company, and Mr. Whiskers was too busy enjoying a sunny spot on a
window sill to pay her no mind.
"Maybe it's me," Francine thought. "Maybe I drive men away."
She drove that thought out of her mind as quickly it entered. She vowed
to herself that this morning was going to be productive and not as
depressing as the last. She would have promised herself happiness and
laughter, but she didn't think she could deliver and she had been let
down too much as of late.
Francine put her hand on the doorknob and paused. The doorknob wasn't
particularly cold, but she was reminded of the frigidness of the
relationship between her and her son. When John wasn't at home, the door
was usually locked anyway, and she half expected to have her progress
impeded even though her son's note said he was gone for good.
The doorknob turned easily; the lock wasn't engaged, and the door slowly
creaked open. Francine looked at the hinge. How many times had she told
that boy to oil it and get rid of that racket? It was as if John
purposefully avoided doing the simple chore because he knew the sound
annoyed his mother so much. Of course, whenever Francine would bring it
up he would simply state "I forgot." Whenever she pressed him to do it
right then and there, he would give a "in a second" that lasted an
eternity.
This was the day that this chore could finally be taken care of, Francine
thought. She felt a little pep in her step. She went down to the hall
closet, grabbed the small can of oil and made it back in less than two
shakes of a lamb's tail. Such an odd saying, Francine mused as she
applied the oil to the hinge, holding an old rag underneath to catch any
oil that escape. Just how long does it take a lamb to shake its tail
anyway? Do lambs even shake their tails?
The hinge was oiled and Francine worked the door back and forth. Silence,
blessed silence. She wouldn't have to hear the door creak any longer.
There were a lot of things she wouldn't be hearing, but she didn't know
if she was pleased about it or not. She wouldn't have to hear attitude,
she wouldn't hear someone talking to her as if she didn't have a clue,
and she wouldn't have to hear the anger that had become prevalent in
John's voice.
No, no, she would not go there; she would not be brought down yet again.
There had been too much of that lately. She was a woman on a mission. She
would be productive and feel good about herself yet again. She would
finally take care of the mess that was her son's room, even though she
had asked him a million times to pick up after himself.
Francine took the fateful step and completely entered her son's room. To
her, his room was off limits, and she tried her best to abide by his
wishes. Though she paid the mortgage and the electricity and the cable,
Francine knew that a kid had a need to feel ownership of something and if
that was his little 10x10 room, then so be it.
The room wasn't all that messy, but it certainly wasn't clean to her
standards. If anything could describe the room it would be tidy. It
looked like a room where the occupant tried to make it look clean in the
brief moment when someone knocked on the door and they opened it. The bed
wasn't made properly, the garbage can in the corner was overflowing, and
there was a good layer of dust on most of the surfaces that weren't used.
"Might as well get this clean," Francine said as she put down her bucket
of cleaning supplies. Even though her son left to be with his father,
Francine set in her heart that she wouldn't touch his room; she would
leave it just like it was as a token that John was always welcome. The
only thing she would do was make sure it was clean and try to keep things
as organized as she could.
Taking a survey of the room, Francine decided that dusting was a top
priority. She grabbed a washcloth and some pledge and made her way over
to the shelves on the far side of the room.
A row of tennis trophies that John won in middle school had a good layer
of dust on them and Francine started cleaning them.
"You were so good at the sport," Francine said as she pulled the tallest
one from the shelf. It was an MVP trophy for the last year he played.
Francine tried to smile but couldn't quite pull it off as she thought of
her son on the tennis courts in his bright white shorts and matching top.
"It was such a shame that you chose to give it up."
Francine knew why her son gave up Tennis. The joy for the sport was
snatched away from him. He had gotten into the sport because his friend
Crystal next door also played and the two of them were inseparable.
"What a travesty," Francine said as she started cleaning off a trophy for
a doubles tournament the two kids had won. "So young to have such
horrible things happen to her."
Francine frowned and let out a sigh. Towards the end of middle school,
her son learned that Crystal was being molested by her father. It almost
destroyed him because he found out by pure accident and not because
Crystal trusted him with such knowledge.
John had made his way over to the neighbor's house one day to see if
Crystal wanted to hang out with him. As a joke to scare his friend, he
climbed up the tree outside her bedroom window and was just about to tap
on it to startle her when he saw what her father was doing and the tears
that were streaming down her face. He knew it was wrong and first told
his mom what he had seen, then the school principal and finally the
police.
"No good deed goes unpunished," Francine said angrily as she fervently
polished the rest of the trophies.
Crystal's father got arrested and sent to jail, but Crystal's mother
shipped her off to live with relatives in Kansas. That was the last John
heard from her. He never received a phone call or a letter or anything
saying that she was alright. He lost his best friend, and life never was
the same again. He was the hero, and life rewarded him by taking away the
one thing he valued the most.
"That was the beginning of the end," Francine thought as she pulled the
last trophy off of the shelf. "That was when our relationship began to
sour."
Her son gave up Tennis soon after, and that was a shame because not only
did he love the sport, but he was good at it. Tennis and John was the
perfect marriage; John wasn't big and tough like the other boys, and
sports like Football and basketball would have eaten him whole. He wasn't
all that tall and was quite slender, but on the tennis court he was king
and Crystal was queen.
At first, Francine gave her son a wide berth in which to mourn and stew;
perhaps that wasn't the best course of action in hindsight. She was at a
loss of what to do, and was doing the best she could. He didn't want to
engage any longer, and she felt no reason to press him. Maybe she should
have tried to get through those walls before they had a chance to go up.
"Too late to do anything about it now," Francine said as she dusted the
shelf and started putting the trophies back into place. She was
particularly careful to replace each trophy exactly where she took it
from. She didn't know whether her son had a particular order or would
even notice, but she hoped that if he did see that she was mindful of his
things that it would show him that she really did care.
Francine turned to take stock of what else she needed to take care of.
There was a bedspread over the mattress, but the bed was far from made.
"I must have shown that boy a million times how to do this right," she
said as she removed the bedspread and placed it on the chair in the
corner. The fitted sheet was still in place, but the top sheet was in a
shambles.
Francine shook her head. What kid likes to make a bed anyway? He was gone
now; there was no use in arguing. She would simply do it right, and it
would be ready for him if he ever chose to return. She pulled the top
sheet off the bed and noticed that there was a gap between the mattress
and the bed.
"Might as well see where he hides all his garbage," Francine said,
assuming that potato chip bags and snack cake wrappers would occupy the
space between the bed and the wall.
It took a lot to shock Francine, but at least it was a pleasant surprise.
Instead of finding used banana peels and apple cores, she found a white
diary and a pen.
"I remember this," Francine said as she held the diary and sat down on
the bed.
The diary was a gift John received from Crystal during their last
Christmas together. It was such an odd gift for a boy to get and Francine
made the comment that at least he would have a place to store his doodles
and jot down little jokes and tennis match results. The comment wasn't
meant in a harsh way. John was an avid doodler. He loved drawing hearts
and flowers and butterflies.
Holding the diary was quite a moral dilemma for Francine. "What to do?"
she asked as she looked at the white covered diary that was still in
pretty good shape for being a few years old. Her first inclination was to
put it back where she found it and honor her son's privacy, but she
didn't find herself moving in that direction.
"Maybe I'll find some answers to where I went wrong and why our
relationship soured to the point of no return," Francine said, her hand
poised to open the diary.
Francine's hand hovered in place. She could open the diary and get some
answers, but perhaps they weren't answers she was ready to see.
"It's probably nothing more than doodles and sketches," Francine said as
she opened up the cover.
A picture of a big daisy drawn in pencil was on the front page with the
words "John and Crystal, BFFs 4evr" written in large friendly pink
letters.
Francine let out a sigh of relief. Her son's privacy was still protected.
She turned the page and read:
"It's a new year and my best friend Crystal got me this awesome new
diary. I promised her that I would write in it as much as I could but I
don't want to use up all the pages talking about boring stuff like school
and what my mom made for dinner unless it's her lasagna because it's my
favorite."
Francine smiled. It had been quite some time since she made her lasagna
and perhaps if she prepared it more often her son wouldn't have gone
away. But she had to earn a living and that meant less time at home and
in the kitchen.
"Crystal thinks I should tell my mom about Amanda, but I don't know if
I'm ready yet. Maybe one day I will, but I don't want my mom getting all
freaked out or anything."
Francine had no idea who Amanda was, probably her son's first crush. Back
then, John was so na?ve that the height of intimacy was handholding, so
she wasn't worried that he had done something unforgivable. It was sad
that even back then her son felt like he couldn't share his little
secrets with her."
Perhaps if she got curious she could find where her son put his middle
school yearbook and look up who this Amanda was. He wasn't known for
having a lot of friends outside of the tennis teams, and there was no
Amanda there. It didn't matter; that was a long time ago, a lifetime
even.
Francine skimmed through a few more pages, but there really wasn't
anything of interest to her. There were a few stories of funny things
that happened at school and a lot more about Amanda hanging out at
Crystal's house. There was a lengthy entry on the day John discovered
Crystal being molested, but Francine couldn't bring herself to read the
gory details.
Such a heavy load for someone so young, Francine mused. She noticed that
the entries grew further apart after Crystal moved away, and there were
no more entries about this mystery girl, Amanda. Perhaps she was
Crystal's cousin or something, so not only did John lose one friend, but
two.
"Odd," Francine thought. "It's strange that I never met this Amanda when
she spent so much time next door. It's not like Crystal wasn't always
over here, so I'm surprised I didn't meet her little cousin."
Francine flipped through the diary, trying to find some clue where she
completely lost her son, but nothing caught her interest until she came
across an entry from only a few weeks prior. In big letters in the top
margin were the words "Pink Pajamas."
"OMG!" Francine read the letters of the acronym out loud instead of
saying what the acronym stood for. "I can't believe that after two years
they still fit and they still feel as good as they did the day Crystal
gave them to me. I have a pair of pink pajamas. No, that's not right.
Amanda has a pair of pink pajamas that Crystal gave her the same
Christmas she gave me this diary. They are the only thing I have that
make me feel like who I really am. I don't wear them a lot because I'm
afraid my mom will catch me and then it would be World War 3."
Francine frowned as her mind tried to comprehend what she was reading.
She was trying to put all the pieces together, but found it hard to
believe that her son felt like a girl. He was such a boy. He liked doing
boy things. He never once said anything to the contrary. Or did he? It
hurt Francine that her only son didn't think she would be understanding
and try to help. She was never dismissive of John's problems before and
would have given him a sympathetic ear.
"The pajamas are totally awesome," Francine picked up where she left off.
"They are pink, of course, because what other color would a girl want to
wear. They aren't the kind made for little kids with the feet still on
them, though that would be cool, but they aren't the sexy kind that
adults wear either. They are nice and big and comfy. In the summer they
stay cool, and in the winter, they warm you right up. It's like they're
magic. I wish they really were magic. I wish that when I put them on that
it would make my body be the right one.
"The pants part of the pajamas are all pink. My mom would call it Pepto
Bismol pink, because the color is so sweet it would make you sick. I
still find the joke funny, and I never say anything to my mom but that
color pink is my favorite color. Whenever she asks my favorite color I
always say blue, but it is really Pepto Bismol pink. The top of the
pajamas are white on the chest with a lot of little pink bears in
ballerina outfits and the arms are the same pink as the pants. They look
like a baseball uniform almost, but for the coolest baseball team in the
world.
"I tried to talk to mom about Amanda, but I don't think she would be too
happy to know that her son is really a girl. Every time I bring up how I
don't make it as a boy, she always tells me I'm doing great and that I'm
the best boy she has ever known. I want to tell her, but she'll only wind
up hating me more. Just like Crystal hates me for getting her dad
arrested and making her move away."
Francine had read enough and wished she had followed her gut instinct and
not even open the diary in the first place. She didn't know why her son
felt that she hated him, but she needed to make sure he knew that he was
wrong. She loved him, and if he felt that he was a girl, she would be
supportive.
"The room can wait," Francine said as she stood up from the bed. There
was still time to do something meaningful in her son's life before it was
too late.
She ran to the closet and rifled through the clothes. She found suits and
jackets and dress shirts all haphazardly hung, but she didn't see a hint
of anything pink. She leapt to the dresser and started tearing through
the drawers throwing pants and t-shirts and underwear to the ground. Her
search came up empty.
Francine looked around the room and wondered where John could have hidden
his treasure. Outside of the diary, there was nothing between the bed and
the wall. A quick peek under the bed showed only a family of dust bunnies
and little else.
"Where did you put them?" Francine said frantically.
She scrunched up her face and thought real hard. In a moment of
inspiration, Francine lifted the mattress from the box spring and dumped
it to the floor.
There they were, folded neatly in the middle of the bed. A pair of pink
girls' pajamas that looked practically new.
"Aha!" Francine said as she snatched the pajamas from the bed and brought
them to her face. She inhaled deeply and could smell her son along with
some sickly sweet perfume. She started to cry as she buried her face into
the cartoon ballerina bears.
"Maybe it's not too late. I can bring this to him; I can show that I
care."
Francine tucked the pajamas under her arms and grabbed the diary. John
might be upset that she had the diary, but he would want to keep the
diary with him.
Francine marched out of the room like a soldier entering the heat of
battle. She was scared, she was nervous, but she would meet fate head on
and damn the consequences. She would make it out to her car and reach her
son while there was still time.
-2-
Francine parked in front of the red brick building and made her way to
the side entrance. She knew her son would be there and hoped no one would
stand in her way. She hit the buzzer on the door and patiently waited.
A tall somber man in a black suit opened the door. "Mrs. Jeffries, we
weren't expecting you."
"I know. I just had to see him, just had to talk to him one more time
alone."
The man looked down, seemingly searching for the answers. "I don't know
if he would want you to see him this way."
"Please," Francine said simply as she pleaded with her eyes.
The man let out a long slow breath. "Give me a moment, let me make sure
he is decent and then I'll let you down to see him."
"Thank you."
Francine was grateful for a moment to gather her thoughts and figure out
what it was she wanted to say exactly. She watched as the man descended
down a flight of stairs and patiently waited against the wood paneled
wall. The place was so quiet that it was almost nerve racking, but at
least her attention wouldn't be diverted. She would tell her son that she
discovered his secret, that she knew about Amanda, and let events unfold
from there.
The man returned and found Francine staring at a picture of a row boat
being tossed in a storm. "We can give you ten minutes, but really no more
than that."
Francine nodded. "I understand."
"Right this way," the man opened his arm to the stairs that led to the
lower level.
Francine watched her step as she made her way down. She took each step
individually, making sure she didn't slip or fall. She clutched the
pajamas and the diary in one hand, and held onto the railing with the
other.
It was painstakingly slow, but she made it to the bottom landing. She
took a few tentative steps to her right, went through a door, and then
came to a sudden stop.
John was lying on a metal table; a sheet covered most of his body except
for his face. He was paler than she remembered him being a day before. It
took Francine a moment to compose herself, but she was able to keep her
wits about her.
She could hear her shoes strike the tile floor as she made her way to her
son. The sound bounced off the wall, making an echo. It was almost as if
another person was walking a half beat behind her. Francine reached her
son and combed her fingers through his thick brown hair that she insisted
be kept only so long.
"Hello John," Francine's voice cracked. "Or should I say Amber."
Francine paused, waiting for some kind of response that she knew wasn't
coming. A tear fell from her face and landed on the metal table her son
was on. "I never knew. I never understood what you were trying to tell
me. All those times you mentioned how you weren't like the other boys, I
thought you wanted reassurance that you were just as much of a man as
they were. Those times you asked me if I would have enjoyed having a
daughter, I thought was your way of saying you felt you didn't meet up
with my expectations. I would have been happy to get to know Amanda. I
would have been supportive. You didn't have to leave me so soon; we could
have found a way."
Francine straightened up and ran her hand over her face to wipe away the
tears. She took a deep breath. Her son spent a lifetime thinking that she
didn't approve of him, and she wasn't going to add to the tally by
harping over something that couldn't be undone.
"Anyway," Francine said as the words came to her. "I brought you your
diary. A girl should always have that with her. I'm sorry that I read an
entry or two. I didn't mean to invade your privacy, but I'm glad I did or
I would have never gotten to know about Amanda. I think I would have
liked her."
Francine put the diary on the metal table, besides her son's head.
"I'll make sure you're comfortable from here on out." Francine said as
she leaned forward and kissed her son's forehead.
Francine slowly backed away and made her way to the door. "I'll always
love you Amanda," she said as the tears freely flowed. She could bear to
look at her child no longer. "Say hello to your dad for me in heaven. I'm
sure you'll be as much of a surprise to him as you were to me. He'll get
a real kick getting to know you, I only wish I had the opportunity. I'm
sorry for not understanding sooner. I'm sorry for speaking and cutting
you off when I should have been listening. I'm sorry I dismissed the
things that you were trying to say to me as jokes and minimalizing the
things that you were trying to tell me. I've only known about you for a
little while, and I will miss you. Even though it took me a little while
to catch on, I want you to know that I love you and I hope you can find
the peace that you were looking for. "
Francine turned and found her way up the stairs. She was getting to know
the layout of the building too well for her liking but made her way to
the mortician's office.
"Mrs. Jeffries," the man said as he looked up from his mahogany death.
"I wanted to thank you for letting me see him," Francine said as she
inched her way closer.
"We understand that it is a trying time for a parent to lose a child to
such tragic circumstances."
Francine nodded. "I was wondering if you could do something for me."
"We try to do all that we can."
Francine put the pair of pink pajamas on the desk. "Can you make sure my
son is wearing these under his suit? They were her favorites."
The mortician looked up and nodded knowingly. "But of course."
Francine turned away and walked out of the office without saying a word.
There really wasn't anything else she could say. Her only hope was that
by this one gesture of acceptance, she could make up for a lifetime of
denying her son who he truly was; who she truly was."
The End
Join Katie Leone online:
Home Page: www.Katie-Leone.com
Facebook Fan Page: www.facebook.com/KTLBooks
Twitter: @KtLeone
Books by Katie Leone
God Bless the Child Series:
God Bless the Child
Growing Up Jenny
Finding Jenny
Phenom
Fiction:
A Different Kind of Life
But I'm Not a Boy
Just Friends
OEM
Summertime Pinks
The Cure
The Dress Punishment
The Long Ride Home
The Stranger at the Table
The Test Taker
The Wishing Blanket
Unreachable
Wrestling Against Myself
Christmas Stories
A Christmas Reprieve
A Fluffy Pink Christmas
A Patch of Ice Christmas
Reaching Home
Non Fiction
The Transsexual and the Cross: Disproving the myth that transsexuality is
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