Thursday, December 24, 1987
Christmas Eve
7:13 PM
Manhattan, New York City
So much had changed since Thanksgiving Day, less than a month earlier. Now I understood what they meant about life moving faster up north, because mine had become a whirlwind of activity. I was working in Manhattan with Shayne. She owned a day spa and was employing me under the table since I was underage and nowhere near my legal guardian. She had come by the week after that violent after-dinner event and I had come clean with her. Hannah was out boosting at the time, but something about Shayne made me feel comfortable enough to sing like a canary. I even told her about what happened after homecoming. She broke down in tears and admitted that she had been molested by her older male cousin from age five to thirteen, when her family moved away to another state. She said that a lot of her family members believed that was what made her want to trans from William to Shayne. She disagreed and said the same that thing that Hannah always said: she had always known that she was a woman born into a man’s body.
Shayne dated other women, while Hannah dated men. It was kind of confusing to me at times, but I was clear about one thing: they were entitled to live their lives in any way that made them happy about living at all. They were doing better than me because I couldn’t stand the thought of being touched by a man or a woman. I was also clear on that. Maybe one day that would change, but I somehow doubted it. I found guys attractive but didn’t believe that any would find me attractive and, even on the off chance that one did, sex to me was associated with violence.
I was Shayne’s shampoo girl at her spa and loved it. A few women had been insensitive enough to ask about my scar, but I wouldn’t discuss it. Some found it rude and refused to tip me, but most actually felt sorry for me and gave me bigger tips than normal.
Hannah had agreed to my deal about contacting her mother and my grandmother. We both decided upon letters without a return address on the envelopes. That way we could say what needed to be said and did not have to be stressed out over their responses. It was more like: “Hello, I’m alive, love you, don’t worry, and good-bye.” There were some fluff words in between, but that was the gist of both three-page letters mailed a week before Christmas inside sentimental holiday cards. Hannah’s had a Hanukkah theme on the front and I found one with a black angel decoration.
I felt good about letting Grandma know that I was still breathing. After truly considering it, I found it immature to let her worry. She was not in the best of health and not knowing my fate was probably weighing heavily on her. Hopefully, she would understand why I had to leave. I did not tell her about being raped. That would have been inconsiderate, not to mention pointless. She couldn’t have done anything to prevent it from happening any more than I could have. Nor could she do anything to make things right anymore than I could.
I still wasn’t feeling Sebastian, and Nigel had cut off his friendship with Hannah over the “incident.” I felt bad about that, but Hannah was cool with it. Her exact words: “I’m not about that druggie life anyway. And I damn sure don’t want you around it.”
I wanted to point out that as soon as we walked out our front door, we were surrounded by drugs, but I got what she was saying about it being in our home. I was just appreciative of the fact that Hannah had even brought me back with her—she could’ve left me right in that hospital room to fend for myself, or even in the bus station. She had not said a word about Shawn, so I figured that she was truly done with him. I wasn’t quite sure who she was dating but I knew she was dating men exclusively. She would skim over discussing this guy or that guy but did not bring them around me. She had stayed out overnight four or five times since my arrival, cautioning me not to open the door or go outside late at night by myself. She was very protective of me and I could tell she had a sisterly or motherly kind of affection for me; two things I had never had, since I was an only child and my mother, along with being insane, hated the fact that I was ever born.
Hannah was the only reason that I stopped plotting to step off a train track and stopped waiting for someone to attack me and slit my throat in an alley. It was obvious that she would be hurt by that, and I didn’t want to hurt her. I had grown to love her as, well, like the mother I had never had. We were two people with similar yet different traits that we allowed to hinder us, and that was what made our bond so strong.
My love and appreciation for Hannah is what landed me out in Times Square on Christmas Eve, doing something I never thought I would do in this life. I was walking to the train from the spa, upset that in spite of working my ass off, Shayne could only afford to pay me minimum wage. Back in 1987, the minimum wage in New York was $3.35. So even working under the table, for forty hours a week, I was barely making $135 each payday. My tips added in another $50 or so a week. I would give Hannah most of my money to go toward bills, or purchase groceries for us to share when I could. I had only been working a few weeks, so I had only about twenty dollars saved up. I wanted to purchase Hannah a nice gift, even though she stole most of what she desired. I wanted something to come from me.