High School Sweetheart Part 1 Of 4 free porn video

Highschool Sweetheart Chapter 1 By Lauren Bliss I remember it like it was yesterday; my father and I, riding down New York State Route 141, somewhere around Westchester County. He was a delivery man for a small furniture business run out of our hometown, Brooklyn, NY. That morning, his boss, Mr Albertson, had come by very early to dump a last minute job on him. My father, still drunk from the night before, tried to put him off, but the old, wry-faced codger made it very clear that it wasn't a request. "Marvin's got a baseball game today." my father explained. "He could really make it in the big leagues one day, Mr Alberson. I can't ask him to drop everything, last minute. How am I supposed to get this thing through someone's front door by myself?" Marvin was my older brother. He dropped out of high school when he was fifteen and started working with our father to help keep food on the table. He was nineteen at that point. He'd usually spend his weekends playing baseball down at the park in the neighborhood league. One day, not a week prior, he was approached by a minor league recruiter. My father was over the moon. If he performed well in his game that day, it could be the start of an actual career as a ball player. "You're going to deliver this china cabinet today, Micky, or you'll be looking for work somewhere else. It's as simple as that." It was no secret that my father was a drinker, and a gambler. It would have been a hard secret to keep anyway, since he always smelled of whiskey. He ran with a rough crowd, rarely ever coming home before I was in bed for the night. Mr Albertson knew all this, and probably felt justified giving my dad a hard time because of it, but the man was a pompous blowhard. I'm sure he felt powerful having the fundamental necessities another man needed in the palm of his hand, able to threaten their withdrawal on a whim. When I was little, I remember there being a clear cut line between the good guys and bad guys, but the older I got, the more apparent it was that that line was drawn on a beach during a hurricane. Good guys, and bad guys were for comic books. Real people were usually a little bit of both. "Marion!" Dad shouted over his shoulder . I was sitting quietly on the sofa, reading Ray Bradburry. You see, my father had rigid ideas about what a man was supposed to be, and I wasn't quite up to snuff. He and my brother were both about five foot eleven. They both had large feet, and large hands. They had chest hair, they drank dark liquor, they cussed, and they spit. I had often wondered if I was the milk man's kid, since I was no taller than my mother, at five foot four inches. I shared her small frame, her wide hips, and her soft freckled complexion. Strangely, unlike anyone else in my household, I was graced with wavey auburn locks. Everyone else in my family had the darkest hair on the block, black as the night. When we went anywhere together, I stuck out like a sore thumb. When pressed about it, my mother would go on about her great grandfather's bright orange curls, but I wasn't sure I believed her. I don't think my father did, either. "Put that book down, and get your ass over here! It's time for you to step up!" I remember, this one time, when I was a small child, he took me outside to play catch with him and my brother. Now, don't get me wrong, I love the game. It's America's pastime after all. Like everyone else in my neighborhood, if the Dodgers were playing, I was right there beside the radio. However, that love didn't translate to skill. He tossed the ball across the sidewalk to my brother, who turned to face me, eagerly awaiting his throw. He tossed it underhand, the ball arching across the sky. I threw up my glove, but as the ball got closer, I winced, and closed my eyes, turning my head away. Ironically, my instinctual attempt at protecting myself left my face wide open, and my right eye was much less effective at catching a baseball than the glove would have been. Tears flowed down my cheeks, when my brother led me inside, apologizing for something that wasn't really his fault. My mother grabbed some peas from the ice box, for the swelling, but I had that shiner for two weeks after that. My father stayed on the porch for the rest of the day, bottle in hand. Mom sent me out to get him for dinner, but he never set eyes on me. He just said, "I should never have let her give you that sissy name." I don't think he ever looked at me the same again. The day we made that delivery was the first time he'd ever conscripted me to do any kind of work. I was actually kind of excited. It felt like an opportunity to prove myself to him. Usually I was relegated to helping my mom with dinner, while he and Marvin chopped wood for the furnace. Most of my chores and responsibilities were indoors. I didn't mind the actual work, but I hated the derision I saw in his eyes when I set the table. Now, I was sitting shotgun, wearing the shiny new work boots I'd never had an occasion to wear before, and we were making the journey upstate. We arrived at a nice house, with the biggest yard I'd ever seen. The driveway had two entrances that looped around. Once he parked, he hopped out with his clipboard, and rang the doorbell, while I waited by the tailgate of his truck. The lady of the house signed some papers, and we started unloading the furniture. He sent me up on the truck bed, and had me untie the rope. I eagerly complied, hoping to appear as an experienced laborer to the woman. Those hopes were dashed when it came time to move the piece. I pushed the cabinet to the end of the tailgate where my father was waiting, ready to lift the end. I jumped down to the ground, and started to lift my half off, but I had a hard time getting a good grip, and the edges dug painfully into the palms of my hands. When I raised it up, I could barely hang on to it. Try as I might, the pain was unbearable, and without having ever made a decision to do so, I released the walnut titan, and it fell straight to the ground. The glass doors, the mirror in the back, and the built in lighting fixture all shattered, spraying glass in every direction. A small shard cut the woman's ankle, leaving her bleeding in her driveway, and her furniture destroyed. To say she was furious, would be an understatement. She screamed, "I don't know what kind of incompetent operation you're running here, but you can be sure Mr Albertson will be hearing about this! Get out now!" Through tears, I pleaded, "Ma'am, just let me clean this mess up first." but to no avail. She just said, "Get. Out." and pointed to the road, teeming with rage. My father didn't say a word. He just removed his keys from his pocket, and got in the truck. I jumped in the passenger seat, and started begging his forgiveness, swearing to do better next time. Still, not one word was uttered. We pulled into a liquor store, where he got out, walked in, walked back out, and started driving, brown bag in hand. He opened the bottle, and drank the entire thing before we were a mile down the road. I fixed my gaze to his face, looking for any sign of what was to come. His expression remained unchanged, all the way to the two lane highway.. A few miles down the road, there were woods on both sides of the road, not much else around. He put his foot all the way on the gas, and my father's mouth moved suddenly, but no sound came out. Then, I saw a single tear flow down his cheek. He quietly said the words, "Fuck it all." and the last thing I remember after that was his eyes closing, and the truck flipping over. I woke up in the hospital two weeks later. The first thing I noticed was that I was covered in bandages from head to toe, and couldn't move anything besides my eyes. I looked to the left, and saw my mother asleep in the chair beside me. I couldn't see anything else but barren hospital walls. A doctor came in, and held a small flashlight to my eyes, flipping it on and off. He seemed pleased with whatever he saw, and asked me, "Do you know where you are? Blink twice for yes." I tried to say, "No," but the sound was muffled, and I felt a pain in my jaw. He noticed the discomfort in my eyes, and said, "Sorry about that. I'm sure that didn't feel great. You were in a very bad car accident. You're in a hospital in Pleasantville." Just then, probably because of the noise, my mother roused from her slumber. "Oh my god, baby, I thought I lost you," she cried, kissing me on the head over and over again. She tried to give me a hug, but my cries of pain and the doctor dissuaded her. "That's enough Mrs Ryan. I know you're happy your son is alive, but he's in a lot of pain right now. You can hug him all you want when we get him good and healthy again." She sat back down, and listened while the doctor continued explaining to me exactly what was going on. "You've sustained quite a few injuries, but the prognosis is good. With enough time, and patience on your part you should be able to make a full recovery. I have to warn you though; you've sustained several injuries. You have a fractured femur, a fractured growth plate in your wrist, you've got a few broken fingers on both hands, some hairline fractures in several places on both arms, and the biggest issue is going to be the three separate fractures in your pelvis. That's going to take quite a bit of physical therapy. We've also got you in a neck stabilizer, but that's precautionary. We need to make sure there's nothing wrong with your spine first, since you can't move now. If everything looks good after some test tomorrow, we'll take that off, and you'll probably be able to sleep better. Aside from that, you've got a broken jaw, nose, and orbital socket. We had to put in some hardware to allow everything to heal, so your jaw will be wired shut for a couple of months, and we put a couple of plates in your cheeks since your face was basically caving in on itself. We've got the best plastic surgeons in the country coming in for a consultation, and when they're finished, no one will be able to tell anything was ever wrong in the first place. There may be some discoloration where they have to do skin grafts, but we won't know until we get there. This would be extremely hard for anyone, but you're going to have to stay strong until we get to the end. You can have a normal life again, but it's going to be a long journey. I'll give you the room, so you and your mother can talk. We'll go over the treatment plan more in detail tomorrow. Get some rest tonight, doctor's orders." He had said that my mom and I could talk, but really I'd just be listening. Even if I could have talked, I wouldn't have known what to say. I was confused and terrified. The events leading up to the crash were fuzzy, but over time they would come back to me. At that moment though, all I could remember was my father's tears. My mother picked up my hand and put it in hers. I could see my green eyes peeping through the bandages reflected in her glasses. She was trying her best not to cry, but it was obviously a struggle for her. She said, "Honey, I'm sorry, but your father didn't make it. He was already dead when the ambulance got there. The police found an empty bottle near the crash site, but they couldn't prove it was his, so the life insurance claim will be paid. You don't need to worry about our finances, okay? You don't need to worry about anything at all except getting better. We're going to get you healthy. I'm sure your father was drunk. He should have never been driving with you like that. He knew better...God, I love you so much. I just need you to know it was not your fault." She kissed me on the forehead again, and held my hand for the next three hours, while I drifted in and out of consciousness. It was easy for her to say it wasn't my fault, but from what I could remember, I felt like it was. I wanted to break down, but the pain wouldn't allow it. The next day, the doctor returned, with a physical therapist. For a few hours, they performed several tests. They stroked my skin in different places to see if I experienced any sensation. They moved my limbs around to test my range of motion. They had me attempt to wiggle my digits to test my ability to control my body. When all was said, and done, they didn't replace the neck stabilizer, and I was incredibly grateful. Some physical therapists came back everyday from then on, and the routine repeated, becoming more difficult each time. A week later, I saw the plastic surgeon for the first time. He didn't offer much of an explanation of the procedures he'd be performing. I can only assume that was for my benefit. I've done a small amount of research since then, and I'd assume most people don't want to think about another person removing their face, before they go to work on their skull with a drill. When the operation was completed he was pleased with the results, but we'd have to wait a few months before the bandages were removed. The laundry list of procedures, and therapies I endured were physically taxing, and at times, extremely painful, though in a way, they were preferable to the eternal boredom that was the rest of my existence. Marvin visited me every few days for the first few months. He was jovial every time, but I could see the stress in his expression. My father was gone, and the weight of supporting our family now fell onto him. He came in one day with amazing news. He had received an offer from a minor league team down in North Carolina. He finally had an opportunity for an actual career in baseball. On top of that, he'd be able to send mom some help every month. The minors weren't going to make him rich, but it was a necessary stepping stone to achieving his dream. He left the week before they unwired my jaw. I didn't get to tell him that I was happy for him, and proud to call him my brother, but I think he knew. When the wiring did come off, the first thing I did was tell my mom just how much I loved her. The second thing I did was ask for a nice big cheeseburger. After the first bite, I was nearly full. A few minutes later, I was nauseous. Apparently, that was a common occurrence for people who hadn't had solid food in a while. It would be another month before I'd eat anything close to a full meal. Two months passed, and it was time to remove the bandages from my face. The anticipation was palpable as the doctor unwound the smelly wrappings. I stared into the mirror, imagining spending the rest of my life as the elephant man, and everything that would entail. Seeing my face for the first time, my mother dropped to her knees then and there, and thanked God for the blessing. In the mirror, I could see that I still kind of looked like me, but things were a little different. My jawline seemed rounder, my cheeks seemed to have a plump quality that they didn't have before, and my nose was much smaller. The skin grafts seemed to have taken well, and were only really noticeable if you knew what you were looking for. All in all, it was the best result we could have hoped for. I still looked like I'd gotten into a fight with a mac truck and lost, but time would heal these wounds. I just needed a little more patience. A few days later, the doctor paid me another visit, bearing good news. "Mr Ryan, it looks like it's time for us to let you go home. We've done everything we can here, and you're healing up very well. We're going to remove most of your stabilizers, but we will have to keep the pelvic cast on for a few more months. We're transferring your care down to Brooklyn, where you'll have to keep up with physical therapy for a while, but I'm confident that this time next year, you'll be running laps around the neighborhood again." Mom was the happiest I'd seen her in months. She said, "Marion was never really the kind of boy to run laps around anything. He's my little professor. It'll be nice to see him outside of visiting hours, though." The doctor pushed his glasses up, and said, "Well, whatever the case, we'll have him discharged tomorrow. Do you have transportation worked out?" "Yes, my friend, Magda, will be picking us up, and we'll make the trip back down, tomorrow. We're fortunate enough to be staying with someone who owns a car in the city." With my brother gone, and me in the hospital, my mother had decided it was time to scale down. The insurance payout was substantial, but so were my hospital bills. She was extremely frugal dealing with my father's funeral. He didn't have many friends, so a large service wasn't necessary. I didn't attend, but was later told that he was buried in what basically amounted to a pine box. When I later visited his grave, there was a modest headstone, with his name, his date of birth, and his date of passing. I'm surprised at how long it took me to realize there was no room for anyone else to be buried beside him. Even with the economical funeral service, the well was running dry, so my mom sold a lot of our things, and moved into a three bedroom apartment in Williamsburg, with the Kowalskis. Magda Kowalski, her husband, and her two year old daughter, emigrated a few months before the Nazis invaded Poland. They moved into our neighborhood, Bushwick, where Magda, and my mother became fast friends. They two couldn't seem to get enough of each other, always finding excuses to get together during the day while our fathers were at work. I vaguely remember the first time I played with Ela, their daughter. The kind of faint memory that you have of childhood, that's nothing but a few faint details. She didn't speak any English, not that it mattered too much at that age, but we were inseparable from then on. Sometimes, she can be very annoying, and absurdly pushy, but she was my best friend; the kind you can't replace. Mr Kowalski had been long gone for a few years before the accident. It was a tale as old as time. Dad ran out of cigarettes, so he left for the bodega, and just never came back. I never heard Magda speak of him again. Ela told me however, that she thought he probably left with another woman. Whatever the case, he was gone, and life went on without him. When we arrived at the new apartment, the first issue we ran into was the stairs. Ela, being her usual exuberant self, knocked on every door in the building until she was able to find two strong men willing to carry me, and my wheelchair to the walkup. Magda thanked them with baked goods. Inside, my mother had set up my bed in the living room. She thought getting up and down the narrow hallways would be too much of a challenge for me. I didn't mind. The television was there with me after all. Mom, and Magda said they'd be sharing a bedroom, so Ela and I could have our own. My empty room was in the back of the apartment, waiting for me to heal. Over the next several days, a new routine was established. Mom would wake up early, and help me deal with my morning toilet. After I gave myself a sponge bath, I'd change into a fresh nightshirt, and we'd go back to the living room. Ela would get up, and take over the bathroom, while Mom cooked breakfast for us. I would take my meal where I lay, obviously, on a bed tray, and Ela would join me with a TV tray while we watched the morning news together. When we finished, Ela would clean the kitchen while Mom got herself ready, and then she'd be out the door to school. Mom, without fail, would kiss me on the forehead, and make her way to work. Before she married my father, she was a seamstress. She actually met my father while working backstage at a Broadway theater when he was making a delivery one day. Now, she was back at it, having acquired a position with the new production of Peter Pan. After they left, I'd normally be on my own for a few hours until Magda arrived. Magda worked as an emergency room nurse, and was usually out of the door long before the rest of us awoke. She'd get home shortly after noon, and prepare lunch for the two of us while we chatted. Then she'd watch her stories. At the time, I feigned disinterest, but secretly, I found the plots compelling, and only turned my eyes from the screen and back to my books just before the commercials. Not too long after that, Ela would return, carrying a backpack filled with her homework, and whatever she brought me to read from the library. After my mom came home, we'd all eat dinner together. I'm glad they invented the T.V. tray, because at that point, I'd take all the human contact I could get. Some people might think the worst part about recovering from serious injury is the pain. Others might think it's the hours of exhausting physical therapy. Don't get me wrong. It's extremely hard learning to perform the most basic of functions all over again, only with a body significantly less cooperative than it was the first time around. In fact, all of it was hard, but worst of all, dealing with that much boredom was nearly impossible. I must have read every book I owned three times. I read every book Ela brought me from the library. I read all of the magazines Ela left around. I finished two dozen jigsaw puzzles. I wrote my brother a letter every week. I read the entire newspaper every day. I did the exercises just as my physical therapist instructed. I watch a lot of television. I caught every baseball game. I even listened to Ela drone on about whatever was happening with her and her friends at school that day. Even with all those activities, I still spent so much more time, staring at the wall, and dreaming of the day I could negotiate the stairs by myself, just to go out for a walk. The weekly PT visits were hard, and took a lot out of me, but it was a blessing to see anything besides the same four walls, day in and day out. This routing went on for months, with little variance. One afternoon, Ela, having just returned from school, was sitting beside my bed, as she usually did. That day however, she'd chipped a nail, so while we conversed, she filed away the damage, and repainted her nails. "What do you think?" she asked cheerfully. She fanned out her hand, and showed off her fingertips, glistening with smooth, clear polish. I said, "They look great, especially compared to mine." I held out my hand for comparison, laughing over the difference. It's hard to find a reason to keep up with grooming rituals when you're not really going anywhere, and no one is coming to see you. My nails had grown quite long, especially for a boy, though they were far from the neatly manicured talons of Ela. They were uneven, and rough, regularly snagging on my bed sheets. She responded, "That won't do," and proceeded to file away at my digits, not thinking to ask for permission. I didn't say anything. I just watched her expertly shape them into something neat and presentable. I did protest when she applied a coat of clear polish but she assured me, "No one is going to see you anyway, and it will help keep your cuticles from fraying. Be quiet, and let me have my fun." From then on, nail care became a regular part of our weekly ritual. When the accident occurred, I was already a month overdue for a haircut. Times were tight then, so we tended to push those kinds of things off for as long as possible. Since I usually wore my hair in a longer greaser style, by then my bangs were hanging down to my nose. Seven months later, they were down to my chin, the rest not far behind. I was "blessed" with a double crown, so my hair grew forward, and was constantly in my face. It was a Saturday afternoon when I finally experienced some relief. I'd spent the morning swatting away at it, like a mule swatting away the flies with its tail. Magda had had enough, and in a huff, went to her and my mother's bedroom, and returned with a handful of bobby pins. When she'd finished with me, my hair was parted on the side, and pulled back behind my ears. I feared I looked a fool, but after she brought me a mirror, nothing looked that strange. It was the best band-aid solution anyone could come up with until I could get to a barber. After that, Ela would help me pin my hair up every morning before she left. Summer was a welcome change, since Ela was home everyday with me. Slowly, but inevitably, time marched on, and I began to show progress. It started by being able to stand on my own two legs again, without the assistance of anyone or anything. Small steps followed, and from there bigger and bigger steps. Not too much later, I was making my way around the apartment on my own. The adults were insistent that I not try to help with the dishes, or anything, but being able to go to the bathroom by myself, or fix myself a glass of water was a big help to not only me, but everyone else as well. Not too long after that, I was as mobile, and pain free as I ever was. The only impediment left was that god-awful cast. The day the doctor told me I'd be getting the pelvic cast off, I nearly cried. It had been so long since I wore trousers, I'd nearly forgotten what they felt like. An appointment was set for Saturday morning at the hospital. They had some kind of vibrating saw that would cut through the paster, but not the skin. Needless to say, I was ecstatic. When we got home, I spent a lot of time in the bathroom mirror, thinking about everything that had led me to this point. I was so happy about removing the cast, that for the first time since, I'd forgotten the tragedy that caused it in the first place. In the mirror, I barely recognized myself. It was still me, but my features were much softer. The swelling had passed, and the bruising with it, but my cheeks remained swollen, as did my upper lip. Before I had a pretty pronounced pout, but now top and bottom seemed to match perfectly. The angles of my jaw were much softer, and the little dip in the tip of my nose was long gone, not to mention just how much smaller said nose seemed to be. It truly wasn't that different, but the large slope that plagued my mom's family was long gone. Ela said my new nose was cute, but that wasn't as reassuring as she'd hoped. The Friday before my big day, I was awake before Mom, and Ela. I tried to get a jump on things when I heard Mom rusting, so I started my morning routine. I assumed she'd bring me a new nightshirt any minute, but for the first time since returning to New York City, it didn't happen. Even more surprising was hearing her shout, "Shit!" from across the house. Nancy Ryan was not the type to swear, so whatever had her upset must have been pretty bad. She came down the hallway, and knocked on the bathroom door when I was brushing my teeth. Through the door she shouted, "Honey, I've made a terrible mistake, and I'm very sorry." "What's wrong Mom?" I asked, assuming she'd burned breakfast or something. She replied, "I forgot to add your laundry to the bin, so when Magda went to the laundromat yesterday, none of your things were washed." I was confused. "What does that mean for me then?" "Well, you don't have any clean nightshirts to wear. I've been trying to find an adequate substitute, but really there's just one thing I can find that will work." She cracked the bathroom door, and offered a bundle of cloth. I held it under the light and realized it was a soft nylon material in a shade of mint green. I held it up, and let the ends fall to the floor, realizing then why Mom was being so apologetic. It was one of Ela's nightgowns. I dropped it on the floor like it was made of fire ants, and shouted, "You can't seriously expect me to wear this!" "I don't care for your tone, Marion," she said, chastising me, before continuing, "It's just for today. Tomorrow, we'll cover you with a blanket, when we go to the hospital, and you can change into pants before we leave. It'll be fine. I'm running late for work already, so I just need you to swallow your pride for one day. Could you please do that for me?" Her words seemed like a question, but her tone made it clear that it was a command, and I knew better than to argue. I didn't say a word. I just put the flimsy garment on, and stepped out of the bathroom, my face as crimson as wine. "That wasn't so bad," she said, but I was inclined to disagree. I moped back to the bed, and crawled under the covers. Not long after that, Mom ran out, half dressed, still carrying her gloves and hat. The slamming door must have roused Ela, who came through the living room while heading to the kitchen for her morning coffee. She yawned "Good morning." and continued with her routine. Once I heard the percolator going, she poked her head back around the doorway with the biggest grin I'd seen her with since I'd moved in. "Is that mine?" she asked, already knowing the answer. I hung my head in embarrassment, and muttered, "Mom forgot my laundry so she made me wear this instead." "Well I must say, you look great! Wait here, just one second!" She hurried to her bedroom, and came back holding something behind her back. "Close your eyes for me." I obliged, and felt her pulling my hair back as she normally did. When I opened them again, she was holding a mirror to my face, and I could see instead of bobby pins, she'd used a large, white alice band to pull back my locks. My hair fell down to the back of my neck at this point, so the accessory didn't look out of place. If anything I was kind of pretty. I started to reach for the offending fabric band, but Ela grabbed my hands, and looked at me pleadingly. She pouted, "Don't take it down yet, please. Let me have this for a little bit. You're just so pretty. I won't tell anyone, I swear." She offered her pinky, and after a moment of hesitation, I raised mine, and as we had a thousand times before, we locked them, and kissed the knuckles of our thumbs. This was a sacred unbreakable bond to us, so I felt somewhat reassured. "Good! I'm going to get dressed, and run down to the bodega. Do you want anything?" I shook my head no, and in a flash, she was dressed and gone. I was by myself for around thirty minutes, while awaiting her return. I tried to pick up a book and start reading several times, but over and over, I was drawn back to the mirror. I examined my reflection from every angle. My new face suited the get up, that was for sure. It was kind of amusing. I found myself playfully flirting with my reflection, batting my eyelashes suggestively, and blowing myself kisses. When I heard the deadbolt turn, I couldn't drop the mirror fast enough though. Ela had returned, and she was carrying a few shopping bags, and two bottles of pop. She handed me one of them, and retrieved a bottle opener from the kitchen. After she opened our drinks, she said, "I've got a surprise for you. I went a little further down the road to the Connolly's butcher shop. So, they live upstairs. Their daughter, Eileen, was home, and we had a chat. You know, she's got that same celtic mane as you. Anyway, I borrowed something." Ela opened her purse, and pulled out a long, thick strand of red hair. "You told me you wouldn't tell anybody!" I said, getting upset. "I didn't, I didn't!" she replied gleefully, holding the hairpiece up to my own strands, and comparing the color. "I just told her I needed it since a friend was thinking of trying a new style. It's just about perfect, I'd say. Now, sit still while I have my way with you." I playfully swatted at her, but in the end, she'd brushed my hair back, and tied it high on my head, pinning the fly aways down. She added the hairpiece over the top of the little pulled back nub, and when all was said and done, I had a flirty ponytail, not dissimilar to those worn by many other teenage girls at the time. She tied off the top with a big white ribbon, and I quickly returned to the mirror to examine the results. The color really wasn't that different at all. I hardly looked like myself at this point, and not an ounce of maleness was detectable in my reflection. Ela didn't even bother to ask before starting our nail routine. This time, she just filed down the rough spots, but left them close to the same length. She reached for the shopping bag, and came back with a brand new bottle of bright red nail polish, saying, "I've been saving my allowance for a while, so I thought it was time to treat myself." Instinctively, I pulled my hand away, but her puppy dog eyes quelled the fight before it even started this time, andwhen she was finished, I was sitting with my fingers splayed, each sporting a bright red nail, manicured to perfection. When they dried, Ela begged me to do hers for her. It occurred to me that she'd spent the last year neglecting most of her female friendships to help take care of me, so I relented. Her nails obviously weren't as neat or as smooth as mine, but I did a reasonable job, and I think she was happy just to share the ritual with another person. We were so engrossed that neither of us noticed the apartment door that Ela, in her mischievous excitement had mistakenly left cracked open. We didn't hear footsteps coming up the stairs either. We did, however, hear the knocking that inadvertently swung the door open wide. The boy standing there with his arm raised, looked as terrified as we did. In retrospect, it was pretty funny, but at the time, I wanted the earth to open up and swallow the apartment building whole. Instinctively, he held his hand over his eyes, saying, "Ladies, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize the door was open. My mom is always telling me to pay more attention to what I'm doing. God, I'm so stupid." He started swatting himself on the head, admonishing himself, when Ela got up from the bed and walked over to him. "Archie Connolly, you're not stupid," she said, gently taking his hand, preventing him from striking himself again. "It was an honest mistake. If anything, it's all my fault for not closing the door all the way. What are you doing here?" The red haired boy removed his hand from his eyes, but he still blushed like he'd stumbled into the girls' locker room at school. "I got home a little bit after you left, I guess, and you left your coin purse, so my mom sent me after you to bring it. I almost ran straight to your old place too, but fortunately my mom caught me before I took off. Your mom's got a credit account with us, so we had your new address on file." "I don't know how new it is," Ela said, batting her eyelashes at the sheepish boy. "We've been here for about a year now. Where have you been?" God, she was such a flirt. He didn't stand a chance. "I...uhh...yeah, I guess I haven't seen you since we...uhh...we moved...I guess." He was struggling to find the words, but his expression said everything. Archie was smitten. "You must have started school here right after I graduated. You're sixteen now, right?" "Uh Huh, going on seventeen. Marion here, just turned seventeen a couple of weeks ago." she said, pointing her thumb back at me without turning her head. Meanwhile, I was torn between the desire to rip her head off, and die right then and there from shame. "Oh right, hi...uhh...Marion..." Archie said, with a clumsy wave, finally acknowledging my existence. "I don't remember you from school. Are you sisters? Wait...no...of course not. Cousins?" Of course he didn't remember me from school. We'd never said a word to each other. He lettered in football, and I hid in the library during lunch period. Why would we? Still, he wasn't one of the guys who tortured me. To me, he was more like God's greatest taunt, demonstrating what I was supposed to be, but would never actually become. Ela must have been so distracted by the hunky boy that she forgot what I was wearing, because her expression showed genuine surprise when she turned back to face me. The muscular hunk she was drooling over must have short-circuited her brain or something. She fumbled to find an answer to his question, "Marion is, uhh...well... she's a family friend. Her and her mother have been living here for a while. She was in a really bad accident, so she's been stuck in bed for a while now. It's an exciting time, actually. Tomorrow, she's got one more doctor's appointment and she's finally free of that stupid bed. We'll probably have to tie her up just to get her back home tomorrow night." I couldn't believe it. She just went with the truth. The only thing she changed was my pronouns. "Congratulations, Marion," Archie said, smiling politely, before immediately returning all of his attention to Ela. "Can I call you, sometime?" "Yeah, let me find a pen, and paper," she replied eagerly, while looking around the room. He just politely waved, and said, "No need. We've got it on your card at the shop. I'll ring this evening." "Just don't call during dinner. Mother won't let us answer the phone then." she hurried to say, before he closed the door snugly behind him. "I can't believe you!" I shrieked as soon as the door latched. "Why didn't you just say I was a visiting cousin or something?" She waved her hand dismissively, saying, "Don't worry about it, Marion. We'll just tell him it was a prank later. He'll probably get a kick out of it. It's not like he's a giant asshole or anything. He's always been very sweet to me." "To you, sure!" I said, waving my arms around her like I was losing my mind. "You're a pretty girl. I went to school with him for two years and he never even took the time to learn my name!" "To be fair, you never spoke to him either. You don't know how he would have treated you if you'd given him the chance. It'll be fine, I promise. Just calm down, okay." Ela took a seat on the bed again, and gave me those same pleading eyes that always got her what she wanted. This time wasn't any different. "Okay fine," I said, taking a deep quivering breath. "I need to get out of this stuff now though." I held up the mirror, and started to reach for the ponytail, but Ela grabbed me by the wrist, and pinned me down onto the bed. She straddled my torso, and pinned my arms down with her knees. We were about the same size, but I'd spent the last year stuck in bed, so obviously she was in much better shape, and had no qualms using that fact to her advantage. "You have to wait for Mother and Nancy to see you." I wanted to be mad, but it was hard when she was being so silly about it. "Seriously, I'll never stop tickling you if you mess up my hard work." I said, "You wouldn't," and made the meanest face I could. Instead of being menacing, she found it extremely funny. She used one hand to hold my wrist together, and the other to start playfully poking at my ribs. "No, stop!" I squealed, thrashing away beneath her weight to no avail. It only took thirty seconds, and I was begging for mercy. "Okay, okay, you win, you win," I sputtered. I was nearly out of breath when she finally relented. "Promise you'll keep it all on till our moms get home," she commanded. She was brandishing her claws like the torture devices they were, so I felt inclined to agree. "Fine, I promise. I'll wait till they get back. Just don't tickle me anymore, please," I said, with tears of laughter streaming down my cheeks. "Okay, I won't." She got off of me, and turned like she was going to walk away, but in a flash turned back around, and tackled me to the bed again saying, "After this one last time that is." Needless to say, she had to repair my hair after she'd had her fun with me. Her mom got home first, and gushed over my appearance. Magda was so ecstatic, she kept going on in polish, cupping my cheeks in her hand, and kissing me on the forehead. Ela told me later she was saying something about how I looked so much like her little sister. When Magda finally calmed down, she cooked us both lunch. She was usually pretty affectionate with me, but it seemed like she was especially touchy feely with me that day. Any excuse to kiss my head, or trap me in a squeezing embrace was taken. Six in the evening came and passed, and my mom was still nowhere to be found. She was usually home by then, but we'd finished eating dinner, and we were halfway through the evening news before we heard the familiar click of her heels coming up the stairs. "You would not believe the day I've had." she said, after opening the door. Facing away from us, she dropped her keys in the hutch by the door, and removed her gloves one finger at a time, while continuing, "I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?" Instead of an answer, all she heard was the snickering of Magda, and Ela, sitting on the sofa beside me. Mom turned to see what all the commotion was about, and that's when she noticed for the first time, that her baby boy she left in a nightgown that morning, was looking much more like her baby girl now. "Well, what do we have here?" she asked, smirking. I could tell she was trying to keep a straight face, but was clearly thoroughly amused. "Ela decided to have some fun with me, today," I said, blushing as red as my mother's lipstick. "I can see that," she replied, scrutinizing my appearance, with a fascinated expression. "Should I be budgeting for a prom dress at the end of the school year?" "Absolutely not!" I nearly shouted. "I know, baby, I was just picking on you." She patted me on the cheek, and kissed me on the forehead in a way only a mom can do. "Seriously though, you look wonderful. It's a hoot." I remember the overwhelming confusion I was experiencing well. The effusive praise of my family was in direct opposition to the voice of my father playing on repeat in my mind, calling me a sissy as he always did, with such venom in his voice. My heart was torn between pride, and shame, and it was one of the most uncomfortable experiences I'd ever dealt with in my short seventeen years. I quickly changed the subject, asking, "You said you had good news, and bad news. What's the good news?" Mom took a deep breath in preparation, and gleefully spouted, "The four of us are to take a nice vacation for Christmas to sunny California, instead of being stuck here, in this cold, wet popsicle. We're going to the newly opened Disneyland!" "That's amazing!" Ela nearly screamed, jumping up and down with glee. "Everyone's going to be so jealous!" Everyone had seen the park on the news. It looked like a dream to visit. "That's wonderful news," Magda said, smiling pleasantly, but ever the pragmatist. she added, "We're going to have to go shopping before then. I'm going to need several new outfits before then. I better start saving now." "What's the bad news?" I asked, snapping everyone from their reverie. My mom took a seat next to me in bed, and placing her hand on my knee, said, "I have a friend who's been working for the park since before they opened. I received a telegram from her this morning at work, and they're having some kind of costuming emergency." "A costuming emergency?" I said, incredulously. "I didn't know such a thing could even exist." "Oh yes," Mom replied, stroking my hair, and running her fingers down the ponytail. "I mean, emergency is a subjective term, but Mr Disney seems to think so. He's not satisfied with some of the costumes a lot of the cast members wear. He wants new costumes made, precisely to his specifications, before next week. I've been invited to come assist. I'll be fairly compensated, and our entire family will get to go to their holiday event, all expenses paid. I checked with my stage manager, and he gave me the week off. Even if we didn't take the vacation, it would still be worth the effort. The checks from your brother have been extremely helpful, but I'd like to give him the ability to spend his own money on himself for once." I took a moment to process all the information, and then asked, "So, when do you have to leave?" "That's the bad news. If I accept the job, I have to leave tonight. The flight leaves at eleven." "So, you won't be there tomorrow when I get the cast off?" "I won't, Baby, but Magda and Ela will, and I'll be there in spirit. We'll go out and do something special when I get back. Besides, you won't want me cramping your style anyway. You'll hardly be here, I'm sure. Monday, you'll have to get registered for school on your own too, but you're nearly an adult. I trust you can manage. I promise, I'll call and let you know when I get there safely. With this job, we can afford the long distance." I was disappointed, but I knew my mother worked hard to support me, and I didn't want to make her feel bad. I slapped on the happiest face I could, and said, "Okay, Mom, I understand. Go to California, and I'll see you when you get back." She hugged me tightly, and said, "Thank you for being so understanding, Marion. Mothers dream of a child as wonderful as you, but I'm blessed to not have to." She kissed me on the cheek, and locked eyes with me. I asked, "You don't think it's queer for me to be sitting here, wearing this outfit." "It's certainly not what I expected to come home to, but I think you're being a good sport about it." I believed her. In retrospect, I probably could have come home dressed like a chicken, and she would have still loved me more than anything. "Besides, Mary Martin is playing Peter Pan in our show, and she's in line to win a Tony for it this year. Clothes don't make you who you are, and they certainly don't stifle exceptionalism. You're quite exceptional, my little dove." Just then, the phone rang, and Ela answered it. "Kowalski-Ryan residence...Oh hi!... Yes...Okay...We'd love to...Okay...See you then...Bye bye." When she hung up, her smile was saccharine. "Who was that?" her mom asked. "Just a friend, mother," Ela answered, knowing what her mom was actually asking. "There's a group going dancing tomorrow night, and it was just an invite." "Okay, fine, but you better be home by eleven," Magda warned, then added, "You should take Marion with you too. It'll be his first night out in a long time. Don't abandon him, Ela." "I wouldn't dream of it," she said, wearing a cheshire grin, and then patted me on the shoulder as she walked to her room. I couldn't shake an ominous feeling the rest of the night.