TO THE MANNA BORN: THE LIFE OF DONNA Chapter 2

By Christopher Leeson

The next morning, Elisa had to call Langdon down for breakfast three times before he came down, looking sour and wrapped in a terrycloth bathrobe.

After her stepson had eaten all he wanted to, she brought up the subject that had been on her mind since the night before.

"We have to deal with the matter of clothing," Elisa said. "You'll need a wardrobe so you can look normal when you leave the house. We need to go shopping very soon."

Langdon lurched as if slapped. "Shopping?!" he said. "For girl clothes?"

"This afternoon," said Elisa.

"If you don’t like any of these ideas, you can always call the newspaper and tell them the true story.”

“I’d rather be dead than let people know what really happened.”

When Langdon went back upstairs to brood, Elisa dialed the number of the document man. She had thought of a name to give Langdon. There was a branch of her family called Ellis, and Langdon's name suggested the alias of "Donna."

The call to the false documents man went well. Elisa gave him the name of “Donna Ellis” to work with. He followed up by asking a list of prepared questions about what information should appear on the forged papers.

They spoke for less than an hour. By the time they were finished, she was already thinking of her stepchild as Donna Ellis.

#

They drove forty-five minutes to a large discount store on Omaha’s north side. They moved through the aisles with the quiet efficiency of two people who have agreed to get the unpleasant business done as quickly as possible.

Langdon's --Donna's -- selections were made with the grim purposefulness of someone on a supply run: the baggiest cargo pants available, the largest hoodies in the darkest colors, plain tees, loose sneakers. Donna wanted things loose and baggy. Nothing was decorative. The working strategy was to achieve comprehensive invisibility, and the pair pursued it with determination.

Elisa let Donna buy the outerwear she wanted, while she filled her cart with female personal items – including panties, sanitary napkins, and sports bras. When Donna saw what she was expected to wear, her eyes blazed and her teeth were set on edge.

Fortunately, Donna didn't grab the items and throw them away. This forbearance was a small surrender, but it was a necessary one.

At the register, Donna kept her hood up and her eyes on the floor. If the cashier noticed her volcanic expression, she said nothing. With the transaction concluded, the two of them went home.

Back home in her room, Donna submitted to checking out the new wardrobe by the time the sun was down. Her daughter had purchased nothing attractive for herself, but this was no time to give her fashion advice. That would have been like touching a firecracker to a match.

The next day, Elisa called the police to report that her stepson had run away. The masculine voice on the other end sighed heavily, as if teenage flight from the law was too common to get excited about.

#

Days later, the doctor’s sleep-teaching device arrived in the same mail drop that delivered Donna’s false ID documentation. The latter contained a birth certificate for Donna Marie Ellis, a social security card, a birth certificate, and other useful items.

Elisa thought the documents looked authentic and guessed that they might hold up to routine official inspection.

“Hey!” said Donna. “They got my age wrong. It says I’m only eighteen.”

“I asked for that,” said her stepmother. “You look young for a nineteen-year-old, and can easily pass for an eighteen-year-old junior. That way you won’t be bothered with planning for entering the workforce or planning for college. Then, when the counter-spell works on you, you can slip back into your old life next fall, and we’ll make an excuse about where Donna has gone.

“I’ll have to take my junior year over again.”

“Then you should find this year’s studies very easy for you. But your grades were so bad, it might not be a bad idea to take another try at the eleventh grade.”

#

That evening, Donna and Elisa worked together to figure out how the doctor’s sleep-teaching headset worked. Donna took it to bed that night and lay on the bed listening to the recorded voice. On the surface, it extorted her to endlessly reinforce her male identity. Elisa had no doubt that Donna would eagerly listen to the recorded voice night after night.

But underneath the surface voice, in the frequencies where the mind listens, but the ears do not, the recording taught entirely different lessons. It spoke of softness and warmth and the excitement of being admired, of longing eyes that followed a girl across a room, of clothes selected to make the wearer feminine and beautiful. And it also had a good deal about how boys and girls should get along.

These lessons were repeated gently and repeatedly. The would repeatedly reach the core of her being, advancing with the persistence of water finding its way through stones.

Donna, sleeping soundly, did not suspect the true nature of the feminine ideas that the sleep-teaching was insinuating into the core of her spirit.

#

Tuesday morning arrived sharp and chilly. Donna stood before the mirror on the closet door, staring at a girl she still didn’t recognize. Dark jeans hung loosely on her hips. The charcoal hoodie swallowed her shoulders. Her sneakers were plain, forgettable. She yanked her golden hair into an amateurish bun, but curls still escaped and clung to her neck like static. It looked a mess, but she didn’t care.

The face looking back at her was too soft. Too attractive when she didn’t want to look attractive.

She scowled. The face stayed pretty.

Elisa appeared in the doorway, keys in hand, travel mug steaming. “I’ll drive you today. First day only. After that, it’s the bus. I won’t have free time every morning.”

Donna’s stomach twisted. A bus full of staring kids. Perfect.

“Remember your cover. Cousin Donna Ellis from Iowa,” your Mom passed last month. You’re living with me.”

“I’ll keep it short.”

“If they push, say your loss is still raw,” Elisa said. “Head down. Short answers. The quieter you stay, the fewer people will pry.”

The drive was silent. Donna kept her hood up until they reached the parking lot. When she pulled it down, her hair caught the sun like a July 4 sparkler.

“Text if things go sideways,” Elisa said.

Donna stepped out, toting Langdon’s old backpack. Students milled on the lawn. Heads turned. Glances, second looks, murmurs. She hunched and walked fast toward the doors.
Inside, the registrar’s office smelled of burnt coffee and old carpet. At the desk, she gave her assumed name.

“Donna Marie Ellis?” the registrar echoed. “Schedule’s ready. First-period English 11 with Mr. Torres. Room 214.”

Donna mumbled thanks and slipped into the hallway. People still kept noticing her. A boy grinned. Two girls whispered as if they’d spotted a rare animal.

#

In English, she took a seat against the back wall.

The teacher, Mr. Ellis, was consulting a paper. “Ellis, Donna?” he called in her direction.

She raised her hand. “Yes.”

“We’re reading selections from The Great Gatsby. You’ll begin by reading aloud. Someone loan her a book. Page twenty-six.”

A boy passed her the novel. The girl beside her — curly red hair, band T‑shirt — leaned over. “Hey. Where are you from?”

Donna mumbled, “Iowa.”

“Cool. I’m Kaylee. If you ever need catch-up notes…”

“Thanks,” Donna said, looking at the book and trying to find page twenty-six.

Gatsby was a dull book, and the following discussion made the class drag. Torres called on her once, and she gave a short, correct answer. That was the total of her class participation that day.

Between classes, a tall boy slowed to match her pace. “Hey, new girl. Got a name?”

“Donna.”

“Nice. See you around.”

When another boy whistled, it made her cheeks burn. Her inner Langdon wanted to shove him for being annoying. Donna just kept walking.

At lunch, she sat alone, not looking at the curious eyes drifting her way. A senior girl with dark braids and a ponytail approached.

“You’re the new junior from Iowa?”

Donna nodded. Her false identity had spread fast among the female cackle society.

“I’m Esther.” She pointed at a table of girls. “You can sit with us if you want to.”

“I guess I can,” Donna said, forcing a tight smile. She saw Kaylee was part of their group, too. While she ate, she had to answer a few snoopy questions, but mostly they let her chow down in peace.

Gym was last period. Warm‑ups, then dodgeball. Donna moved awkwardly — unused to her weight, her balance — but she still dodged most of the balls. Sweat clung to her shirt and made her shape obvious. She hated it.

In the locker room, girls peeled off their PE clothes. Instead of watching, Donna ducked into a curtained stall to strip and change fast, avoiding looking at her own body. She crammed the musty clothes into the locker, unfazed by the resulting dampness and odor. The shower stalls were small and single. That gave her some privacy, and the water felt good. Someone hummed in the next stall. A girl walked past the gap in Donna’s curtain — towel low on her hips, breasts bare, skin flushed from the heat. She was worth the male gaze, but Donna reacted to the sight of a nude girl as she never had before.

Her thighs pressed together. Her breath caught. Nipples tightened.

Damn!

Her body was reacting wrongly. There must have been a flaw in the way girls’ bods were put together. But at least she couldn’t get a hard-on to add to her embarrassment.

She dressed with shaking hands. The warmth lingered, unwelcome.

Then came a couple more classes. After the final bell, she rode the bus home. Kids glanced her way but didn’t speak. She fast‑walked from the stop.

Elisa’s car was already in the drive. “You’re home early,” she said.

“Took the afternoon off. Wanted to be here for your first day, in case it was a hard one.”

“People stared,” Donna said. “A lot.”

“That’s to be expected. You’re new.” Elisa hesitated. “And… you’re pretty.”

Donna’s jaw tightened. “Don’t remind me how I look!.”

“I’m just telling you what people are seeing.”

Donna went upstairs. Until “lights out,” she avoided the mirror. She put in the earbuds and let the doctor’s recording drone on—broad shoulders, deep voices, the promise of breaking the spell. Boring repetition, but listening would shorten the time she had to spend as a girl; she was willing to listen.

The next day she attended the elective class she had chosen. Automotive maintenance. It sure beat some of the girly alternatives on the curriculum list.

The next couple of days settled into a routine. A chilly walk to the bus stop. Past the alley where old guys hung out, gabbing and smoking during coffee breaks. But they weren’t so elderly that they had given up on stealing glances at teenage girls. She kept her pace brisk so they wouldn’t have the chance to say anything to her.

By Thursday, Kaylee and her friends waved her over to the lunch table. Donna joined them because she had nothing better to do. But she made only a minimal contribution to the pointless chatter.

On Friday, a new girl had arrived at the table. She looked hot and had dark waves spilling over the shoulders of her windbreaker.

“Hi! I’m Glory,” she said directly to Donna. “Just transferred from Cedar Falls.”

“Glory is a funny name,” Donna muttered.

“Not that funny,” the brunette said. “It’s not that far from ‘Gloria.’”

“Anyone who would move into a town like this one has to be crazy,” Donna remarked.

“You don’t sound very upbeat,” Glory responded. “Rough week?”

“Surviving.”

“Say, Donna, I’ve signed up for auto maintenance. The girls say you’re in that class, too. Is it hard?”

“Not if you don’t mind washing your hands a lot. You’ll at least learn some interesting things."
“Say, Donna. I met some fun people already. Do you know Mike Potter?”

“No.”

“He and three other guys have started a band. They invited me to join as a performance artist. Singing, dancing.”

“Are you sure you can trust being with four strange guys?”

Glory smiled. “So far, so good. Doing anything tonight? They’re rehearsing in Mike’s garage. Guitars, drums, bad pizza. Come watch? They mentioned they’d like to add on another girl.”

“Do you like being eye candy?”

“I prefer it to babysitting,” she answered. “Why don’t you come with me to practice tonight? Maybe they’ll invite you in, too.”

Donna hesitated. She didn’t care about music — but a girl who didn’t get huffy if guys just because a guy wanted to check her out might be good-natured. Also, she was the prettiest chick at the table. “Sure. I’m in.”

Glory slid her phone next to Donna’s tray. “Put in your number and address.”

Donna typed it the information.

After Friday night dinner, Donna rode bus connections to Mike’s neighborhood. The garage smelled of motor oil and old carpeting. She could hear the band’s music from the curb — a tight groove, steady kick drum, three guitars weaving together. Donna went to the open doorway and listened.

Glory hurried over with a tambourine. “Donna! You made it.”

Donna stepped inside, nodding at the band guys, then sat on an empty dog carrier near the amps. She watched Glory, though she hadn’t dressed hot for the occasion.

When each tune played, Glory moved with easy rhythm — hips swaying, tambourine jingling. Her singing voice was sweet, confident. The band's playing sharpened to accompany her singing, leaning into the groove. Donna saw that Glory was holding their rapt attention. They probably considered themselves lucky to have her there.

Between sets, Glory laughed at something one guitarist said to her. Jealousy pricked Donna’s chest. But Glory left the guy behind and flipped a peach crate upright next to Donna, using it as a stool. “We don’t do too badly, do we?”

“Listening to it is better than staring at a ceiling,” Donna said. “But you’re the one who had the most talent.”

Glory shrugged, amused. “Lots of people have rhythm if they’d just go with the flow. You dress like a gang girl, Donna, but you’re naturally graceful when you move.”

“I don’t feel graceful.”

“But you are, and even under that stocking cap, you have a cute face. Don’t you ever look in the mirror?”

“I try not to.”

Donna cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Why did you pick Automotive for an elective? You’re too pretty for auto shop.”

“I already know how to be pretty. But I know so little about cars, and my parents gave me a Mazda CX5. I don’t want to be a dummy about it. And I especially don’t want to flunk out of Automotive. You like cars more than any girl I know. Can we study together?”

“It might hurt our friendship.”

“Why?”

“People never seem to warm up to me easily.”

“I don’t believe that! Who told you such a thing?”

“Nobody has to. I can feel it.”

“Maybe it’s because you don’t smile enough. If a person smiles, people will smile back. I think any problem you have we can easily fix!”

Glory nerfed her new friend's shoulder with a fist. “As I mentioned, this band could use more than one dancer. Ever think about dancing?”

“No.”

“You might be good.”

“I said no.”

“I hear you.” Glory grinned. “It’s just that I have a good instinct for people, my my instinct tells me you’re a fun person who hides behind a grumpy face.”

“I know absolutely nothing about stage dancing.”

“Nobody knows anything at first. I learned the little I know from YouTube. I can teach you. We’ll can start by watching dance videos together.”

Donna hesitated. Spending time with Glory was not an unpleasant propostion. “I enjoy watching dance videos,” she reluctantly admitted.

“What’s your favorite type?”

“Showgirls.”

“Wonderful. There's an especially good channel on Youtube. DerBellato!”

A minute later, the band started the second set. Donna watched Glory — really watched her this time. Glory was the girl Langdon would’ve liked to hang with. Donna still liked the girls that Langdon liked. As a boy, girls wouldn’t give Langdon the time of day. But now Glory was practically pleading for the chance to link up with her. Donna didn’t want to be hasty about saying no.

When the guys packed up, Glory walked Donna to the bus stop. “Thanks for coming. I drove. I can take you home.” AT this time of night, the creeps come out on the street.”

“I can’t stand creeps,” Donna said. “That’s why I dress not to draw attention.”

“It’s a shame that you’re forced to do that,” Glory said. “What you need is a total fashion reset.”

“I don’t want to attract guys.”

“Dressing well makes a person feel good. If you ever change your mind, I can polish you until you shine.”

“If I need a polish, I’ll let you know.” But Donna doubted she'd ever take Glory up on her offer.

Glory drove Donna to her home in her Mazda and dropped her off at the curb in front of the house. She walked to the door with a faint warmth in her chest. Donna didn’t call this unusual feeling happiness. She distrusted happiness. Whenever Langdon thought he was happy, something would crash through the wall to make him miserable again. But right now she felt warm inside.

She stepped inside the house, still feeling upbeat.

Then she passed the hallway mirror.

A girl in a hoodie looked back — cheeks flushed, eyes bright, mouth looking softer for no good reason.

The warmth suddenly snapped into dread.

She had been warned against feeling happy, and this was too close to being a bona fide happy moment!

She tore her gaze away and bolted upstairs. Snapping on the light, she went to the shoebox where she stored her earbuds.

She hurriedly chucked off her street clothes and slipped into her oversized T-shirt and light jogging pants she used for PJs. Under the coverlet, she snapped on the disc player, and the doctor’s voice filled her head — “broad shoulders, deep voices.” It repeatedly promised to break the spell. She let the professional pep‑talk wash over her until sleep took her.
Throughout the long night, the sleep‑teacher played on, filling her mind with those attitudes and outlooks it wanted to make part of her inner being. It automatically reset and replayed each time it finished the ending track.

TO BE CONTINUE IN CHAPTER 3