A Love of Books

My world came crashing down on the Friday evening I showed my parents the real me. They had called me Benjamin, but I thought of myself as Bonita. It had started innocently enough. I was sitting on the sofa, watching TV, when Dad remarked that the girl in the show looked like a tramp.

“Dad, that’s the look they all have these days. It’s called clubwear.”

“What on earth do you know about girls’ clothing, Ben?”

“Actually, Dad, quite a bit.”

Mum stopped her knitting and laughed.

“Stop winding your father up, Ben. I’m sure that you already know how to undo a girls’ bra at your age, but there’s a lot more to it than that.”

Dad snorted.

“I doubt that the wimp knows even that, dear. A strong wind would see him in the next county. I’ll be glad when he finishes school, and then he’ll be out getting a job, to help out with the expenses, or he’ll just be out.”

“I’m doing well, Dad. I may even go on to get enough qualifications to go to university.”

“Over my dead body, lad. I’m not paying out my hard-earned money to send you to some arty-farty school.”

With that ringing in my ears, I went up to my room. I rang my best friend, Anne.

“Annie, I’ve decided to show them my true colours.”

“About time, Bonnie. What happened?”

“I got told, in no uncertain terms, that they won’t fund university, and I’m expected to get a job to pay my way after the term ends. I can’t hold it in any longer.”

“You know that you can stay with me and my mother if you have to. She’s seen you often enough in a dress. It’s only a month to the end of the last term. We’ll sort something out by then.”

“Thanks, Annie. I’ll pack my bag in case and get dressed in the things I’ve hidden away here. If there’s a knock on your door later on, it will be me.”

“If they’re OK with it, give me a call to stand down.”

I had a large rucksack that had been used for camping trips, and I packed it with enough of my Ben things to see school out, if needed. I stripped off and took a lot of care in making sure I was almost hairless, and then got dressed in the underwear, with fillers in the bra, and a blouse and skirt that were wrinkle-proof, seeing that they spent a lot of their time rolled up in my wardrobe.

I brushed my longish hair into a girl shape, put the slingbacks on my feet and used a small mirror to do a reasonable job with my make-up. I had a handbag, which had all of my paperwork, bank card, phone, money and all the make-up I owned. I looked around my room. There wasn’t a computer, as it was ‘too expensive’, and I had use of the ones at school. I wasn’t unhappy about anything I was leaving behind, if that was the way things panned out.

I went back downstairs and put my rucksack outside, behind a bush, as quietly as I could, along with my handbag. Then, I took a deep breath and went inside, walking into the lounge.

“You said that I wouldn’t know about girls’ clothes, Dad. What about this.”

I woke up, on the front path, with another kind of ringing in my ears. At least I had been given a definite answer. I could hear Mum crying and Dad raving about sissy faggots as I picked up my bag and rucksack and walked to Annes’ house, wondering why things looked odd.

I knocked on her door and her mother opened it, took one look at me and pulled me inside. There, I was sat on a kitchen chair while she and Anne cleaned the blood off the side of my head, and I was given a couple of pain killers with a glass of water.

“What did he hit you with, Bonnie?”

“I think it may have been the beer bottle he was drinking from. I’ve never seen him move so fast before. If he moved like that during the day, he could be able to hold a job down. It was a good job that I’d put my bags outside before I showed them my real self.”

“Did you pack enough to be Ben at school?”

“Yes. What I’m wearing is everything I could hide; all the other things are here.”

I slept on their sofa that night, aided by the pills. I had changed into the ‘Hello Kitty’ nightwear that had been here for some time in the future when I would be allowed to come for a sleepover. Well, that time had arrived, but not in the nice way I had wished.

On Saturday, Anne and her mother went shopping while I slept. By the afternoon, there was a blow-up mattress in the box room, along with a free-standing rack for my clothes. Being near summer, I was good with just their spare doona over me at night.

By Monday morning, I had spent a wonderful two days as Bonita, but needed to return to be Ben for school. Anne and I walked there, as we usually did, and there were several questions from teachers about the bruise on the side of my head, around the covering that had been put over the cut.

I was called into the office and asked how I got the wound. I wouldn’t say but was told to tell my father that if I got any more, they would send the Social Services around to talk to him. I just said that I’d tell him that, the next time I saw him.

Mum was waiting outside the school on the Thursday, one arm in a sling. She wanted me to come home. I told her that I wouldn’t place a foot inside if he was there. She just nodded.

“You’ve helped me make my mind up, love. I’ll be moving out as well. He’s been brutal since he saw you, blames me for everything. I’ve been moving my things to my sisters’ house, a bit at a time. You know my number. If there’s anything you need, just call.”

“I will, Mum. Just make sure that you look out for yourself. I’ll get in touch when I know what I’m doing. I’ll be here until I get through the exams, and then I’ll give them a new address to send the results to. From what the Head said, I’m sure that they won’t be surprised.”

We had a hug. She saw Annie waiting for me and nodded before she walked away. Anne and I walked to her house, where I told her mother that my family was splitting. She asked me if there was anything I wanted to pick up, if we could get a time when my father was out, but I assured her that I now had everything I needed.

I saw out the school term, luckily getting a clear head back before the final exams. The bruise faded enough so I wasn’t being looked at any longer. I went to the admin and gave them Annes’ address to send my results to.

When the holidays started, my hair had grown out enough for Anne to work it into a nice shape, and I had been wearing dresses and skirts every weekend. The week before school finished, we had gone around the shops to see if we could find work for the summer. She had scored a job with a dress shop in the High Street, and I had one, a few doors away, in a book shop.

Mine suited me, as I was an avid reader. The lady that I was helping sometimes looked at me in a strange way, but I didn’t give her any reason to question my girliness. After a few weeks, she asked me if there was any reason that I hadn’t had my ears pierced.

“Just never got around to it, Marge. My folks weren’t keen for me to get them done; in case I was tempted to get other piercings.”

“Do you want others, Bonnie?”

“No. Just earrings will suit me. Now that you’ve mentioned it, I might get them done this week.”

The next week, I had studs in my ears and was happy every time I brushed my hair. I knew that the state of affairs couldn’t last. Anne would be going back to school for her higher studies, but I wasn’t able to, even though my results were good enough. One day, Marge and I were having a cup of tea, in a quiet time, when she asked me about my plans.

“At the moment, Marge, I haven’t got any. I’ll need to get a proper job when the summer is over. I’m not going back to school, because there’s no way I’ll be able to go on to university.”

“Is it that your parents’ don’t want you to?”

“The truth is, Marge, that my father threw me out of the house, a month before end of term. Since then, my mother has moved out as well. I’ve been living in the box room of my friends’ home since then.”

“Was that when you got the scar on your head that I can see, whenever you push your hair behind your ears?”

I nodded and looked at my feet.

“What did he hit you with, dear?”

“Beer bottle, Marge. The school was going to send the Social around when they saw me. I had a huge bruise for a few weeks. He put Mums’ arm in a sling during that week.”

“A knock like that should have knocked you out?”

“It did, I woke up on the front path. Luckily, I had already put my bags out under a bush, so I just walked, well, staggered away to Annes’ house.”

“And you still went to school to do your exams after that. Most would have got on a bus to somewhere else.”

“Not my style, Marge. If I’d done that, we wouldn’t be sitting here having this talk.”

“We wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t have had someone so good in the shop. I’m going to make you an offer, young Bonita. I have family in New Zealand, and I want to visit them. I have the flat over the shop, and it has a spare room, with a bed, wardrobe and dresser. Would you like to come and live here, learning how to do the ordering, banking, and running the shop. It would allow me to have a long holiday, knowing that everything is in safe hands. I will tell you that I do have a safeguard, as my accountant monitors the banking and pays the bills. We have years of records that will show up any serious anomaly in the takings, not that I expect there to be any.”

“Thank you for that, Marge. I won’t let you down.”

“I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d thought that, Bonita.”

Before the holidays ended, I’d moved out of Annes’ home and into the spare room over the shop. I knew that it was better for everyone. I had been paying her mother enough to cover my expenses, and had helped with the cooking and cleaning, but we all knew that it was time to move on. Before Marge flew away, I had been given instruction about running the shop on my own, had met the various publishers reps that she dealt with, as well as having a long talk with the accountant.

For me, it was a winning situation. I had something to do, could read anything that caught my eye, lived rent-free, and only needed to spend on food. There was a supermarket across the road, so, all I needed to do was to put a ‘back in twenty minutes’ sign when I locked up to do my shopping. I banked the cash, sent the accountant the printouts of the electronic sales, he paid the bills and paid me a weekly wage that was a lot more than I’d been getting as a junior. I did the selling, I did the ordering, getting a few, newer, ranges that would sell well to young girls. That got me a visit from the accountant before Christmas, asking what I was doing to actually lift the sales.

In the post, one day, there was a Christmas card from Marge, with a picture of sheep in the sunshine. She had written a message, telling me that she was happy with what her accountant had reported, and told me that she was staying on through their summer, and likely to be back at Easter.

Anne would often drop in, and she asked me if I could get one of the new books that her favourite author was publishing. I asked her what her mother liked to read, and, when the two books came in, I bought them at discount and wrapped them in Christmas paper to give them. We had gone out, a few times, with her friends from school, who didn’t recognise me and just accepted me as another girl. I stayed off the alcohol and made sure that I got home at a reasonable hour, having the shop to open. I may have got a reputation as a bit of a fuddy-duddy, but I didn’t care about that.

The accountant told me to close on Christmas Eve, as late as I could, to get any last-minute sales, and to stay shut until the first Monday in January, and to expect some returns. A week would give people time to read the book and bring it back. I was to make sure that they would be resaleable before handing over any money.

I went around to see Anne and her mother on Christmas morning and gave them the books. Anne had bought me a pair of hoops for my ears. We had Christmas lunch and they had to go to see a relative in the afternoon. With time on my hands, I took a chance and walked past my old home, surprised to see a little girls’ bike in the front garden and a little face looking at me from the lounge window. I smiled and waved, and she grinned and waved back. The garden was neat, so I guessed that my father was now somewhere else. I knew that in the six months since that fateful evening, I was now somewhere else. A place I had often dreamed about.

Marge came home after Easter, and we settled into a system. She considered me to be the manager of the shop, and I considered her to be a good friend. I made an appointment with my old GP and got a referral to start gender reassignment. It took over another year and I was started on hormones first. It was my GP who told me what had happened to my father. It was after I had told him who I really was, and he had seen my scar. I told him how I got it.

It appears that my coming out had triggered a rage in him. Not only did he hate ‘sissy faggots’ but had developed a hatred for all women, leading to an altercation in his favourite pub. My GP was the one on police call-out that night and had to go to the station to check over the fighters. My father had come out of it reasonably well, having only lost an eye from being glassed in the face. The other guy had died, so my father ended up in prison.

With all that was going on in my life, I decided to ring my mother. The call was answered by a man. When I asked for her, he told me to wait, and I heard him call her. A couple of minutes passed until she spoke, announcing herself with another surname.

“Mum, it’s Ben, now Bonita. I’m just calling to let you know that I’m going all the way to become the girl I always wanted to be.”

“That’s lovely, dear. Are you still local?”

“I am. It sounds as if you remarried.”

“It happened after I divorced your father, after he was sent to prison. The house was sold, and it was in joint names, so I ended up with half and his half ended up with his lawyer. How are you getting on?”

“I landed on my feet, Mum. I’m running Marges’ book shop, in the High Street. It’s where I went to work in the summer I was tossed out.”

“Just a moment, dear.”

I heard some murmuring and then she came back.

“Ted gets books there. He says that the girl is very helpful. I may pop in, tomorrow, when we’re at the shops, to say hello.”

“I’d like that, Mum. I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed talking to you, my daughter.”

They came into the shop the next morning. One of my regulars was now my stepfather! Who would have thought it. When Marge found out that it was my mother, she told me to go off and have a coffee and cake with them. We compared notes as Ted listened. I showed her the scar on my head, and she showed me the scar on her arm. It was all new to him, as Mum had stayed quiet about why she had divorced.

It turned out that Ted was a para-legal with Social Services but, as neither of us had made any complaints, we had never reached their files. With the new knowledge, and the physical proof we both had, he used the fact that my father had been convicted of manslaughter to prove that we had been subject to his domestic violence, getting both of us some compensation.

I was more than compensated by having my mother back in my life, as well as a stepfather that I had known as a customer and had got on well with. With new confidence, I continued working with Marge, and transitioned a year later.

I was a bridesmaid at Annes’ wedding and spent much of the reception dancing with one of the groomsmen. I say, ‘one of’, as the groom was from a well-to-do family with a circle of well-off friends. Annie had done very well for herself. My dance partner, Dave, became a regular customer at the shop in the week after the wedding, mainly browsing. One day Marge told him off.

“Young man, I love to see people in the shop, but all you do is ogle Bonita on the sly! Be a man and ask her out, for goodness sake, then make room for someone who actually reads books.”

We did go out on a date, and we did kiss and cuddle. I told him that I couldn’t have children but that didn’t stop him wanting to be with me.

We married, and we made Marge an offer for the shop that she was happy to take, as the family in New Zealand wanted her to go and live with them. We did up the upstairs flat with a make-over to a modern apartment. He learned about the book trade, and I learned a lot more about being a woman, his woman.

There was one book that we stocked, called ‘The Book of Laughter and Forgetting’. After all the things that I had gone through, I reckon that it would be an apt title for my own life story.

Marianne Gregory © 2026