“Hurry up, I’m ready to go.”

Why did I need to pee again? After all, I had nothing to be nervous about; I was just going to divulge a secret to my mother that could mean the end of all the things that I most enjoyed about last year: Cheerleading practice, Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh, dressing, being one of the girls. What could possibly go wrong?

The Volvo pulled out of the driveway; I waited until we were well on our way so my mother wouldn’t be tempted to turn back. Past Ballymore, now on the Ballyhowan Road.

“Mom, I have something to tell you.”

“If it’s about you and Saoirse, I’d have to be blind not to notice!”

“No Mon, it’s not about Saoirse.”

“Good: I’m telling you that girl is far too advanced for you.”

“Mom, it’s not about Saoirse. Anyway, we’re just good friends.”

“OK, so all girls kiss you on the lips when you’re saying goodbye?”

“Please, it’s not about Saoirse; it’s about me.”

“OKkkkkkkk; you’d better tell me so.”

“Promise you won’t be mad?”

“Now what have you done?”

“I’ve done nothing…. It’s who I am…”

“Siiiiighhhhh …. Would I be able to guess?”

“Maybe… it was in the papers…”

“You’d better say it so… just so we’re sure we’re talking about the same thing…”

“I think I’m a girl… I know I’m a girl… I just want to become one…”

Long silence… followed by an even longer one…

“So, when did you decide this?”

“I didn’t decide; I just came to know.”

“OK, when did you come to “know” this?”

“Over the last year… and before that…”

“So, it was all this dressing up with the girls. Your father was right.”

Ouch! That hurt.

“No, but it helped me make up my mind… to know what was wrong…”

“What do you mean, “what was wrong”?"

“I never wanted to grow up to become a boy, I didn’t know what I wanted: Now I’ve found out”.

“But you always have been a boy, it’s not like you’re suddenly becoming one!”

“Yes, but you know everything changes over the next few years. We did all that in school. I don’t want to grow like that… I don’t want to be like that!”

“But that’s how all boys grow up; it’s not something to be afraid of.”

“I know it’s how boys grow up; I’m just not a boy. I know it!”

“But you are a boy; there’s nothing you can do about that!”

“Well… there is… I could start taking puberty stoppers… I mean blockers… then I wouldn’t have to grow up like that.”

“Hmmm, and where did you hear about those?”

Time to lie a little; if I tell the truth then Saoirse gets put in the frame as the instigator.

“I looked it up on the school computer; there was all this talk when I was attacked, and I wanted to see what it was all about.”

“And they’ll let you look at that kind of thing at school!?”

Part exclamation; part question.

“Well, after what happened, they weren’t going to stop me.”

I was now skating on thin ice; if my mother complained to the school, could they check back to see what I’d accessed? Fortunately, she moved on.

“And you nearly got yourself killed that time in Ballyhowan. Do you know how lucky you were? Do you know how upset we all were? And now you’re talking about going back doing the same thing again! How long will it be until something else happens?”

“I know all that. I’m sorry; do you think that I’d be talking about this if it wasn’t important? It’s not just something that I want to do; it’s who I am.”

We drove along in silence for a while, getting into the traffic and the town.

“I’ll drop you outside the shop; we’ll meet in Carmel’s Cakes at 11:30.”

“OK.”

She pulled up on a double yellow line and I got out quickly before a Garda appeared or the cars behind started to honk their horns. She pulled off and I went into the shop. I got a shop assistant to measure my neck and arms to get the right size shirt; I was conscious that I had already started to grow taller, catching up with the Twins soon I guessed. Shirts bought, I gazed longingly at the short blue tartan-pattern kilt-skirts that our girls wore, sometimes very short. I would have loved to have been trying one of them on, going to school in one… ah well; will probably never happen.

I had plenty of time, so I strolled out into the streets to make my way to Carmel’s Cakes, intending to amble along and take in the buzz of the high street. I had only gone a few yards when I realised that the last time that I’d been alone in this town I ended up in A&E. A combination of panic and paranoia crept in and I felt that everybody would recognise me from the pictures of Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh that had been published after the attack. I scanned the street ahead of me looking for groups of lads that might pose a threat. I stopped frequently to look in shop windows, in reality to check that nobody was creeping up behind me. I got to the coffee shop ten minutes early and slipped into a seat at a vacant table, telling the waitress that I was waiting for my mother to come before ordering. She left to deal with more immediate prospects; had she recognised me? Would she be telling people who I was? I resisted the temptation to wait outside; there were more dangers out there.

By the time my mother arrived I was thoroughly uncomfortable and I suspect a bit white-faced as she looked at me and asked if I was OK. I nodded and muttered something about it being a stressful day; she probably assumed this to be on account of the earlier conversation. She sat down at the table and looked at the menu.

“The usual?”

I nodded. I always had lemon cheesecake, fresh cream and a cappuccino; a creature of habit. She always had an americano and lemon drizzle cake. She ordered from the waitress who smiled and displayed no indications of malevolent intent. Maybe she was a good actress?

“So, what’ll we do now?”

“Tell Dad, and I’ll need to go to a doctor.”

“Don’t tell him for a day or two. I need to think about how best to do that… And what’s this about a doctor?”

“Well, if I’m to start on the (whispered) puberty stoppers, I need a doctor to sign off.”

“Don’t start getting ahead of yourself; your father and I haven’t even discussed this yet.”

I was happy to let it sit there as I had succeeded in getting my agenda on the table. The waitress arrived back with our coffee and cakes and we took time out of discussing my future to enjoy the immediate treat.

“Have you told Saoirse about all this?”

Again, I couldn’t admit that I’d told her before my parents!

“Not yet, but I will soon.”

“And what do you think she’ll say?”

“She probably won’t be surprised. I think most of the girls in the class would guess, even if they don’t know what to call me.”

I had deliberately opened this out from Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh to take the heat off my three immediate friends.

Most of the journey home was in silence, not a sulky silence, just thoughtful. I was keenly aware that I’d given my mother a real headache and that she’d probably elect to tell my father herself. I got dropped off at the laneway leading to Niamh’s house: I wanted to tell Saoirse that I would be busy that afternoon but free the next day if she wanted to have a boat trip or swim. I arrived at their house as they were finishing lunch and declined the offer of a coffee on the basis that I’d just had one in Ballyhowan.

“So what are you doing this afternoon?”

Niamh was always curious to know what was happening on the farms. As a non-farmer, she probably felt that she should learn something about her neighbours’ work.

“I need to grease and oil the hay machinery so that it doesn’t seize up over the winter.”

“And you know how to do all that?”

“Kinda; I’ll use the manuals to make sure I don’t miss anything.”

Niamh looked impressed.

“Can I come with you?”

I’d been hoping that Saoirse might ask that.

“It’s very messy work; you’d ruin your clothes and hair.”

“I could read the manual for you.”

Niamh and Aoife were smiling; reluctance feigned, time to accept the offer.

“OK, that’d be good.”

Saoirse disappeared and came back in jeans with two scarves. She folded one diagonally. Then added a second fold along the diagonal and wrapped it around her head and covered all her hair. She handed me the other.

“Here; your hair is almost as long as mine”.

“You can put it on me before we start.”

She guessed that I didn’t want to arrive at the house in the scarf following the morning discussion, so she held on to it. Niamh was going painting and Aoife was to start practicing on a second hand guitar that the Twins had bought to see if they had an aptitude for playing. They had some starter DVDs which they intended to use before thinking about lessons; I’d have done it the other way around. We headed off.

“How’d it go?”

“I’m still alive; could have gone better, or worse.”

I recounted the conversation with my mother.

“And by the way, I’ve only told you just now.”

“OK, but why?”

“’Cause I don’t want them to think that you were part of my decision; it would be an easy out for them to say that this was all your doing and that I should stay away from you.”

“Oh!... thanks, I wouldn’t want that. Was I part of your decision?”.

I reached out and caught her hand.

“Nor me; I wouldn’t want that either. And yes, I don’t think I’d have been able to make the decision without you.”

We arrived at our house to find my mother, father and sister having a cup of tea at the kitchen table.

“Saoirse is going to help me with the hay machines.”

“Not in that top she’s not. Get her one of your old shirts.”

My mother had visions of Saoirse ruining her nice blouse playing around with grease guns. I didn’t bother to explain that she would just be reading the manuals. We went to my room and got her an old shirt. She changed beside me as I also got into working jeans and shirt and we arrived back in the kitchen together to raised eyebrows from my mother and sister. They hadn’t expected us to change together. My father appeared oblivious to the point. I got the manuals from the farm office, which was really an annex to the kitchen and mainly my mother’s domain, and we headed for the machinery shed. Saoirse took the second scarf from her jeans pocket and tied it around my hair. We resembled mildly observant religious women from any one of a number of faiths.

First thing first; light gloves to keep the grease and oil off our hands but still enable sufficient dexterity to work.

Next, spray WD40 onto the nuts which held the cutting disks onto the rotary mower. These disks would be brought back to the dealer to be sharpened each year and the nuts tended to be hard to loosen. My father said many a “prayer” each year when at this job, and doubtless would do the same this year. The WD40 would help.

Then we started to work our way through the manuals. Saoirse’s job was to make sure I didn’t miss any of the greasing nipples.

“Nipples? Is that what they’re really called?”

It only dawned on me then…

“Yes… are you being funny?”

“No… just didn’t know that you’re an expert on nipples.”

I waved the grease gun at her.

“Stop that you… or I might end up greasing …”

Of course I didn’t dare. Despite our growing intimacy, I tended to let her do the “driving”.

We worked away for almost two hours and got through the job in good order. Moving parts that didn’t have a greasing point were given a brushing with oil to prevent rust; each machine tended to have a different manufacturer specification for grease, so we had a separate grease gun for each machine which had to be refilled once used. I was a mess; there wasn’t a bit of grease on Saoirse!

We were finishing up.

“What’s the problem with the nuts you sprayed at the start?”

“They tend to jam up solid and are very hard to get loose: That’s the socket wrench my father uses there. It’s one of those jobs that just has to be done.”

I was pointing at a wrench on the wall. My father was meticulous about his tools; a place for everything, and everything in its place!

“Handle’s too short”.

“Huh?”

“Physics class, lever and all that?”

“Yes, but he has to be in very close to hold the socket on the nut. Even if the handle was long, he couldn’t use the length. Anyway, they don’t come with long handles.”

“Hmmm, there’s a long handle.”

Saoirse was eying up a large nailbar, about a metre in length, hanging in its place on the wall.

We used three hose clips, evenly spaced on the wrench handle, to attach the wrench to the nailbar. I removed the split pin that acted as a safety clip for the nut and inserted an oversized screwdriver, again kept on the wall with the wrench especially for this job, into the hole designed to stop the disk spinning, held the socket on the nut and Saoirse pushed the end of the nailbar with her hands. Not a budge.

“Try the rubber mallet, not too hard.”

Some gentle taps and the nut moved. We only needed about a quarter turn to ensure it was free. If we loosened it too much the cutting disk would fall on the ground either taking my arm with it or, even worse, getting blunted on the concrete floor. I replaced the split pin and we spent a half an hour loosening all the other nuts. Job finished, time for milking soon and Saoirse had to go home. We left the nailbar and the wrench coupled together beside the machine so that I could help my father when he was ready to remove the cutting disks fully. I was too dirty to give her a hug, so she kissed me and headed off. She forgot that she was wearing my shirt.

I had to get washed before milking; grease and oil would ruin the milk and the milking machinery, to say nothing about possibly upsetting the dignity of the cows by appearing in their presence looking like a grease monkey. I did leave the scarf on my head; I thought it looked well and would keep my hair clean at the milking. My parents had already started when I joined them in the milking parlour. My father hadn’t expected to see me.

“You finished the machines already?”

“Yeah, got the nuts loosened on the mower as well.”

“You what?”

“It’s OK, just loosened. Split pins are back in until you’re ready to take the disks off.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah; Saoirse put a lever on the wrench.”

He went next door to the machinery shed to see for himself. He came back in, shaking his head.

“That girl will make a great farmer’s wife some day!”

My mother slightly, almost imperceptibly, rolled her eyes.

After milking and breakfast the next morning, my father and I had the disks off in about an hour, packed carefully in the small trailer, separated by lengths of 4x2 timbers to stop them getting damaged by hitting off each other, and he was ready to be on his way to the dealer’s. I declined his offer to go along on the basis that I was going out on the lake for a row around and a swim. My mother called him back:
“Can you wait for about ten minutes; I’ll go along with you”.

It was very unlike her to just go along for the ride.

**************************************************

I pulled the boat up on what I was now starting to call Saoirse’s beach and tied the painter to its usual rock. I had intended to wait there for her, but Aoife appeared at the gable of her house and waved me to come up. Niamh was in the studio and Saoirse was committing crimes against melody with the guitar; I couldn’t figure how Niamh was able to work. I watched for a while as the Twins tried to figure out the essence of guitars and declined their offer to contribute to the cacophony; they were going to have to get lessons!

Eventually they called a halt and Saoirse and I headed off. The day was warm but humid; half the sky was obscured by cumulus clouds and a shower was likely but not inevitable. We both had light waterproofs and the boat had a cover which we could pull back from the bow to shelter almost half its length if required.

“I think she’s going to tell him today; they both headed off in the car together.”

There was no need to explain the context!

“That’s sooner than you’d expected?”

“Yeah, she’s probably taking advantage of him being in a particularly good mood. He was real impressed with you; said you’d make a great farmer’s wife some day!”

We got into the boat, Saoirse at the stern to lift the bow, and I punted off.

“Did he really say that?”

She was pensive; maybe I shouldn’t have said it?

“Sorry… he meant it to be positive… very positive.”

We shared a thwart and rowed away slowly.

“I know he did; it’s just that people have an expectation of what we’ll be… what we’ll become. Back in the States I’d be expected to be a cheerleader and humping some footballer. Here I’ll be a great farmer’s wife.”

We normally didn’t use this kind of language between us; it made me a bit uncomfortable.

“You know that it’s only a figure of speech here? It’s not meant literally. We speak the same language, kinda, but use it differently.”

She stopped rowing and put an arm around me. I had to stop too or we’d just go in a circle.

“I know that. I’m not giving out to you, but it’s going to be a hard year for both of us. You more than me, I know, but people will turn on me as well. Especially the lads: First they’ll say I’m no fun; then I’m a frigid bitch; then they’ll figure it out and I’ll be the Black Valley Dyke. Not to my face of course, or to yours, but behind my back when they realise that they won’t be getting a leg over.”

In one way my mother was right; she was much more advanced than me. I hadn’t gotten around to her level of understanding of what we both were facing yet and her frank language was difficult for me to easily absorb. She leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Sorry; there’s me nattering on, it’s a much bigger day for you. If your mother is telling your father, this afternoon is going to be interesting!”.

We rowed away again, together. Eventually I broke the silence.

“If he reacts bad, there could be trouble.”

“You know you won’t be on your own?”

“Huh?”

“If it really gets bad, come over to us.”

“Thanks, but that puts you all in the frame.”

“Maybe; nothing we can’t manage. Should I tell Niamh?”

“She doesn’t know already?”

“I haven’t spoken to her, if that’s what you mean. Doesn’t mean she doesn’t know, or at least suspect.”

“Don’t tell her yet, officially like. It’s better to keep it quiet until I see how things go at home.”

“OK”.

We were arriving at “our” beach. Knowing the drill, Saoirse moved to the stern and I grounded the bow. I had no sooner moved a ballast sandbag to the bow when large drops of rain started to splatter around, and on, us. I grabbed the canopy at the bow and pulled it back amidships. Saoirse grabbed her bag and hopped forward. By the time I’d secured the canopy, she had spread a yoga mat on the floorboards and was lying back in a parody of a model’s pose, one leg straight, one knee raised, chest pushed forward, and a come-and-get-me look on her face. I slid in beside her; she immediately rolled on top of me and started a deep, long kiss. She pulled back, took off her top and bra, and leaned forward again, holding my arms by the wrists above my head, and draping her boobs over my face.

“Now, let’s see what you’ve learned about nipples!”

I think I passed the exam…

**************************************************

All too soon, it was time to go. With my parents away, and my sister gone off with her XRAD-driving boyfriend, I’d need to start the milking. It was hard to move from a place of the most perfect peace and contentment to the real world where I I feared that I might end up being shredded in a few hours’ time. We slipped into the lake for a swim and to wash each other off; I’d have to wear long sleeves for a while until the marks on my wrists, where she’d tied them with the painter, disappeared. We walked ashore, dried each other off and got dressed. We rowed back to Saoirse’s beach.

“Does it change your mind, about wanting to be a girl?”

“No, I still want to be a girl. But I don’t think I want to be with boys, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Maybe we’re both lesbians!”

I had to laugh at her comment. I was a frustrated lesbian in a male body; let’s not make it simple!

“And you; do you still think that you don’t like boys?”

She thought for a minute…

“No, I mean yes, I don’t like boys. I wouldn’t have done that with anyone else… like I said before… to me you’re a girl…”

“Just with an unusual configuration…”

“We’ll work around that when we need to… ”

I wasn’t quite sure what she meant, but I was sure that she’d show me.

**************************************************

I had the cows in and had just started to wash the first batch of udders with warm water when I heard the crunching of tyres on the gravel as the Volvo arrived back. After a while my father arrived out, changed for milking. He glanced around, nodded, looked at the machine and waited. Milking in our configuration was a batch business; once the cows are hooked up, it was a matter of waiting until the job is done, then start on the next batch.

“You haven’t worn your scarf; I thought you were keeping that hair clean?”

I recognise this as a way of introducing the Elephant.

“Saoirse only gave me one and I’ve washed it. The cap will have to do.”

“Your mother told me…. “

“I thought so when you both headed off. I would have, maybe should have, done it myself.”

“Probably better she did… “

“Probably… sorry…it’s how I am… I know I’m causing a lot of trouble for both of you… “

“A lot more for yourself, you know that?”

“Yeah; not like I didn’t get a preview.”

“It’s the hardest part for your mother and me; you know that don’t you?”

“I know that… sorry…”

“Don’t keep saying sorry; we need to move on now…”

“Move on?”

“We called by the Doctor, it’s why we’re so late. You will need to see a Clinical Psychologist in Galway. Before you do that, say nothing to no one! You might change your mind.”

Batch 1 was finished. Unclip the machines from the udders, second batch in, warm water wash, clip up, start all over again.

I wasn’t going to either correct his double negative or assert that my mind was made up. The door was open; don’t push too hard.

“OK, I’ll say nothing. But I’ve told Saoirse… “

“And she’s OK with this?”

“She’s not surprised; probably no one will be in school.”

“Will she keep it quite?”

“Of course; she’s my friend!”

“Friend? OK. Look, nothing will happen before school starts so you’re going back like last year. If you want to do that girl group stuff again, that’s OK, but say nothing until we know where this is going, OK?”

“Promise Dad, nothing!”

**************************************************

Star Anise, our history teacher, had spent the last class talking about the Celtic Fringe, not a hair style, rather how the Celtic peoples, now the Irish, Welsh, Scots, Bretons and probably Galatians had been pushed to the fringes of Europe first by Romans and subsequently by Germanic tribes such as the Angles, Saxons, Jutes and Franks. It was his misfortune that he’d developed the habit of announcing the start of his class with the Irish words for History Now, that is Stair Anois, hence his nickname. Now, in classic teaching style, he was rehearsing his previous class through a Q&A session.

“OK, so what can someone tell me about Offa’s Dyke?”

“Sir!”

One of our class funny lads had his hand up.

“Right Frank, you tell us.”

“Well Sir, Offa was a Saxon Chief, and Offa’s Dyke was his Lesbian daughter”

There was some laughing amongst his cohort. Saoirse was in the seat ahead of me; I saw her back stiffen. So did the girls on either side of her, as did Aoife, who was sitting in the same row beside me.

“Frank, sometimes they’re laughing at you, not with you. You don’t have to play the class clown to amuse them.”

Star Anise went to move on.

“Sir!”

Saoirse was on her feet. So this was it; she had told the other three Ghleann Dhubh girls how she would use a suitable opportunity to out herself, rather than let people figure it out for themselves.

“Saoirse?”

“Sir, Frank’s comment was in contravention of the school policy on diversity and inclusion. Personally I find it particularly offensive and think he should apologize for it.”

Star Anise understood immediately that this was a form of announcement.

“Thanks for bringing this to my attention Saoirse; you’re right. Frank, stand up and apologize to the class.”

Frank stood up and apologised to the class. Only the very slow would not realise that Saoirse had just outed herself. Frank came over immediately after class and apologised personally to her. Most of the class tried to act cool as if the revelation was nothing remarkable. Saoirse and I walked around the school yard, arm in arm, at lunchtime. The class, and school, regarded us as an item; hard to know what they’d make of us now. Aoife and Ciara diplomatically stayed a bit behind us.

“Best to come out that way; at least I don’t have to pretend anymore.”

“I wonder what they’ll say when I come out.”

“They’ll know why we’re still together, and they’ll rename our girl group.”

We were performing again at the Christmas show and in the County Schools Musical Competition.

“Go on Saoirse, what’ll they call us?”

“Cailíní Ait Ghleann Dhubh”.

We both broke out in peals of laughter in the middle of the school yard. Ciara and Aoife, discreetly shadowing us, thought it now safe to join. They didn’t fully get my situation, but a lesbian and an apparent boy pretending to be a girl fitted the new Irish name and they joined in the hilarity. OK, it didn’t mean exactly the “Queer Girls Of Glendoo” but Ait was the word we tended to use for “Gay”. (It actually means strange.)

**************************************************

The Madra (Dog) O’Dwyer, the School Headmaster, issued the following announcement by email just before we were scheduled to return to school after the Christmas break.

Dear Parents and Students,

I wish to announce that the student that you have heretofore known as Vernon O’Dell will be attending school in the coming term as Ms Aisling O’Dell.

On behalf of the Board of Management and the Staff I would like to formally welcome Aisling to our school. We have all previously become acquainted with her as a member Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh.

We know that you all will also welcome Aisling and do your utmost to ensure she feels at home.

Your attention is drawn to the School Policy on Diversity and Inclusion.

Any queries relating to this announcement should be addressed directly to me.

**************************************************