Noise; lots of it. I’m cold: I must have shivered as someone wrapped a warm blanket around me. Drift away again…

Noise again, light… My mother’s voice:

“I think he’s coming around.”

“Let’s have a look.”

Male, foreign, heavily accented.

“Ah; you back to us, yes?”

“Grunt”

“Whatyouname?”

“Huh?”

“He’s asking you for your name.”

Mother’s voice again.

“Name… Aisling…”

“It’s his stage name…”

Opening eyes, lights on ceiling, a man standing over me, white coat, stethoscope.

He waits a few minutes. Holds up his hand, fingers spread

“How many finger?”

“Four.”

“Four; you sure?”

“And a thumb.”

A big grin.

“I think you back for sure; you mother here.”

He pulled back and my mother’s face appeared, drawn. She smiled.

“Where am I?”

“Hospital, A&E.”

“What happened?”

“Someone hit you.”

“I’m all sore!”

“I know; I’ll see if they can give you something more to help.”

She returned with a nurse and the Doctor. They spoke for a few minutes then the nurse fiddled with the drip hanging over my bed.

“We’ve upped the dose; let’s see how he gets on.”

I must have slept again, probably not for long. My mother was still there when I woke again. I tried to move; there was a stabbing pain in my side and it felt like the football team was practicing on my head. She motioned me to stay still.

“Your ribs are broken, four of them. And you were concussed. Something hit your head.”

“Where? When?”

“Ballyhowan Hall; do you remember going to the carpark?”

“Not yet.”

“Were you at school today?”

“Off early, hair, talons, make up.”

She smiled, looking relieved.

“Hurts to think, later?”

“OK, you rest.”

I drifted off again…

“…they’re going to move him to ICU. This place is too full … they want to monitor him for 24 hours after being kicked in the head.”

My mother’s voice. I opened my eyes; she was talking to my father. I smiled. Talkative as ever, he just rubbed my hand…

Soon the bed starts moving. I’m just looking up, ceiling lights and doorways pass by. We come to a quiet space. My father is with me; my mother has gone away for a while. Different doctors and nurses come by to check me; mostly I sleep…

“… displaced rib fracture in two ribs…will need surgery to stabilise these. The other ribs will heal normally in time.”

A doctor was talking to my father beside my bed.

“So, when can you do this surgery?”

“Actually, we can’t do it here. He’ll be going to Galway later today; surgery probably tomorrow, it’s up to them. Someone can ride in the ambulance with him.”

It was the worst trip of my life. Ambulances are not very comfortable and, strangely, no place to be if you’re not feeling well. Moving without visual reference is the easiest way I know to get car-sick so I arrived in Galway with a sore head, sore ribs, and nauseated. My mother and a paramedic were in the back with me, but there was little conversation; I noticed that at one stage she had fallen asleep. She must have been exhausted.

It turned out that I was now known in Galway. Word of the assault had reached the media and photographs of Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh taken during our concerts had been circulated, and correlated with the advertising pictures in the store. The local press in both counties had run with the story as a case of transphobia, which it was, except that I wasn’t officially trans., I was just doing an act. This added to the trauma for my parents, caused confusion in the school, gained kudos for the Department store for their “progressive and inclusive approach to advertising” despite their not being aware of my official, if not true, gender, and got me into a private room as the hospital authorities decided to play it safe and not assign me to either sex.

It didn’t speed up treatment: I was injured late on 16th March; the following day was a Public Holiday; a lot of staff had created an extra-long weekend by taking leave on 18th March the day I arrived in the hospital. I was finally operated on on 21st March. I suppose, this being the vernal equinox, the celestial alignment was at least favourable. Actually, that year the vernal equinox was scheduled for the previous day, but that being Sunday, the equinox had to be postponed until the hospital consultants, senior doctors, were ready.

Surgery was followed by a few hours in ICU, then back to my private ward. My mother and sister alternated staying locally in a B&B; my father visited each time he switched them over. Niamh and the rest of Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh came on the 4th day. They felt sorry for me, a few tears and sniffles; I felt sorry for them as they had pulled out of the performance and missed their chance to shine. We all felt that this was the end of an era; it was unlikely that Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh, at least in its original lineup, would ever perform again.

The following day the “Skip” visited me accompanied by a Garda (police constable) from Ballyhowan. My mother was expecting him; I don’t think he could talk to me without her present. He was only there himself as the Ballyhowan Gardai (police, plural) thought that his presence would make it easier for me to talk to them. I couldn’t remember much, but thought that I had recognised the lad who cut off my retreat as having been with the group whose teacher had complained about the transvestite at the semi-finals. Pressed gently by the Ballyhowan Garda, I had to tell her that I couldn’t be sure. Other than that, I’d really seen nothing.

Discharged after a week, I insisted on returning to school when it reopened for the last term on April 4th. My parents weren’t happy as I wasn’t really recovered, but, with our singing group likely ended, I was determined to finish the year and not have to repeat and be separated from my friends. There was some surprise when I extracted myself slowly from the front of the Volvo outside the school. Saoirse and Aoife were carrying my schoolbag between them, as well as their own, when Footballer Gerry, last term’s bully, relieved them of it and accompanied me to class, deposited it beside my desk, nodded acknowledgement to my thanks, and headed off to his own classroom without saying a word.

That term was hard. As well as being sore, I found that at first I couldn’t concentrate for more than about half-a-class so I was not really keeping up with the curriculum. Study was also difficult and I would work for a while, them put down my head on the desk and snooze. I was given plenty of leeway by everyone and at least got all the notes. I planned to make up for any deficit over the summer. On the social side, everybody tiptoed around me. Half the school believed that I was trans, as reported in the papers, the other half weren’t sure. I was hanging out with the girls, not just Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh, but the rest of the girls as well, more than ever: Many of the lads were afraid to be seen to be too friendly with me in case they were deemed trans also, or possibly they believed that they might be infected with the trans virus. The main exceptions to this were the footballers and handballers; they probably felt immune from both the virus and the suspicion of their fellow students.

We had eight weeks before the exams and I continued to improve. The exams took one week and I felt that I had achieved the minimum standard necessary to stay in the Honours Class.

School ended on 4th June; I had been dreading Summer. The Twins and Niamh were going to the States for a long holiday and I would miss them. My sister would be home which was a bonus, and Ciara would be around, but even though I had grown up in her company, it just wasn’t the same without our relatively new friends. I also had more surgery to face, to remove the plates which had aligned my ribs whilst they healed. One thing for sure; I wasn’t going near the hay. Where possible we saved hay for the cows as silage is neither pleasant smelling nor environmentally friendly but it wasn’t always easy to save hay if the weather didn’t cooperate.

I settled down to a routine as best I could. As we would be taking care of Niamh’s house while she was away, I would continue to study each morning in her Barn. Ciara, on hearing this, decided that, whenever not otherwise engaged, she would join me. Walking there and back was good exercise and I would extend my walking each afternoon to try and recover my fitness. First surgery: I was being admitted to hospital in Galway on 14th June for what should be a relatively short stay. It suited me to get it out of the way early so that I would have the rest of the summer to recover. As Niamh & the Twins would be gone when I left, I said “goodbye” the day before. Saoirse walked me to the end of her drive and gave me a kiss on the forehead as I left; it seemed very sweet.

Surgery over, back to routine. Study, exercise, and cooking as between milking and hay, the farm was very busy in high summer which meant that my mother and sister were mostly working outside. My sister had also acquired a boyfriend who kept her occupied in the evenings, somewhat to my parents’ concern. Our remote location was no deterrent as, although just going into Leaving Certificate year, he had “wheels”, an old diesel Peugeot 205XRAD acquired from his father, owner of the filling station and attached small garage in Ballymore. Apparently they had met when she collected the keys of the town hall there back in December.

I found that keeping busy was best, otherwise there would have been too much time to think. I knew that things would start to happen soon, if they hadn’t started already, like fuzz growing on my face, getting taller, getting spots, becoming a male teenager. It couldn’t be helped, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. Even if Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh reformed, I wouldn’t be able to pass visually as a girl, and my voice would soon be too deep. And being a part of Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh had made me happy; happier than I’d ever been before; I was sad it was all over. This sadness permeated my whole existence: I felt that I was closing in on myself, or more that life was closing in on me.

So, as soon as I felt that I could manage it, I took the boat out for a gentle trip around the lake. It was my preferred method of relaxation and my mother was happy; it would help build up my strength if I got back to rowing.

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

The boat floated gently across the lake; it was hard to tell if the wind was increasing or decreasing... slap, slop, glop, slap…. The water lapped gently against the sides, mesmerizing, calming. The lake always had this effect on me; it suspended reality for a while. I imagined myself floating in an ether, three dimensional, there was no depth perception looking directly up to the blue of the sky. Maybe I can stay here forever?

The boat rocked, suddenly, dramatically. What the f***? There’s nothing out here to hit. I jerked upright, hit my head on the bottom of the seat and fell back again. Up again, carefully this time. The boat has developed a significant list to the right, starboard. Instinctively I counterbalance, leaning to port and scanned the starboard gunwale. There’s a hand, then a face, grinning from ear to ear.

“Saoirse, You’re not allowed to drown me, I think it’s illegal!”

“Sea monster or Mermaid?”

“Mermaid, definitely, but can you move to the stern?”

Blank look…

“The back, back there!”

Face and hand disappear, then two hands reappear at the stern, then the face again.

“Missed you!”

And I had.

“Me too! Can I climb in?”

“Hold on.”

I climbed towards the bow to counterbalance the weight on the stern.

“OK, now’s good.”

She heaved herself out of the water, leaned her waist over the stern, and toppled forward into the boat. I watched mesmerised. She was topless, wearing only her knickers. She looked at me and smiled.

“They don’t bite, promise!”

I collected myself and tried to look at her face.

“I thought you would all be sleeping?”

“Slept on the ‘plane. Anyway, it’s a shame to waste a good day now that we’re back here. How’ve you been?”

“OK; you?”

“OK; you’ve been sunbathing?”

“Kinda; just lying in the boat; thinking, drifting, you know?”

“Can I join you?”

“Need to ask?”

That grin again. She stretches out along the floorboards, and beckons me to lie alongside. Trying not to step on her, I manage without overturning the boat.

“Where’s Aoife?”

“Ciara’s.”

“Ah! Boyfriend?”

“Yep; trying to rekindle old flames.”

“Not so old, surely?”

“Not sure; lots happen in summer.”

I suspected she was talking about Aoife’s holidays; Aoife liked having boys around.

“And did you get a boyfriend over there?”

“Me? No…”

It sounded unfinished; I waited. We drifted for a while; I could tell that she wanted to talk: I waited.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean something important, just for you?”

I thought it must be serious.

“Saoirse, promise. Nothing to no one”.

Plain, if ungrammatical and logically incorrect.

“I don’t think I’m interested in boys.”

“OK.”

“No, I don’t think you get me; I don’t… like… boys”

Ooops, where does that leave me?

“Are you telling me that you’re a …”

I was afraid to say the word in case I upset her.

“Lesbian? I think so, I don’t know yet. Niamh says I’m very young to know for sure.”

“You told Niamh?”

“Of course I did; she’s my mother!”

“Sorry, I just wish I could talk to someone like that”.

Slap, slurp, glop, glop.

The boat floated on; we drifted on, side by side, I had to ask…

“Saoirse?”

“Yes?”

“You know the way you said you don’t like boys?”

“Yes; and it doesn’t apply to you, if that’s what you’re going to ask!”

My question answered, we drifted on. She found my hand and squeezed it.

“It was what you were going to ask? You DO know you didn’t need to?”

“I think I knew… but it’s all new to me… and I didn’t want to presume after what you’d said…”

“You’re different… I don’t see you as…”

She stopped, uncertain…

“A boy? Is that what you were going to say?”

“Yes; touché.”

We drifted some more…

“Saoirse; can I tell you something?”

“Yes, but I think I know”.

“That I don’t think I’m a boy either?”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“To me, yes. Maybe the rest of the girls as well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you noticed how we talk? We say “girls” when we’re talking about us as a group.”

“I thought you were just doing that because I was playing a girl’s role?”

“Even in school, as a group we’re called the Glandoo Girls by the others. And there was all that stuff in the paper about you being trans.”

“So they wouldn’t be surprised…”

Saoirse finished my sentence.

“… if you turned up as a girl? I don’t think so.”

“Have you noticed something about this conversation?”

“Quite a few things, but I think you mean that we kinda know what the other is going to say?”

“There we go again! We’re not even brother and sister, much less twins!”

“I’m glad you’re not my brother.”

“I’m glad you’re not my sister!”

We drifted on some more, just lying together. The situation was complicated enough for older kids, even adults.

“Saoirse, Aoife’s your twin, and she likes boys?”

“We wondered about that too, Niamh and me. Apparently being Twins doesn’t mean that we’ll both be the same… that way.”

We were now half twisted towards each other; the bottom of an 18 Foot boat is narrow, even for two kids. And a bit hard after a while. I was glad that I’d worn swim shorts under my own shorts; it concealed my appreciation.

I stuck my head up to see where the boat was now. We had drifted into shallow water close to where a pier jutted out to collect the water supply for Ballymore. Gravity brought it to a filter station and reservoir about two miles away and then on to Ballymore. I extricated myself from under the seats and got the oars to pull us back out into the middle of the lake. Saoirse got up, much more elegantly, sat on the thwart beside me, and took one.

“Not afraid you’ll be seen?”

“Only our house overlooks the lake.”

“Does that mean that Niamh …”

“… thinks you’re a girl as well? I guess so; we never talked about it.”

We were finishing each other’s sentences again. Niamh might be less perturbed at seeing her daughter topless in the company of someone she thought of as a girl. But given that she liked girls, and I was still anatomically a boy… too complicated… just forget about it!

We brought the boat into the middle of the lake and slid back under the seats again.

“You know it can’t work for me?”

Some silence.

“Go on.”

“Well, whatever I think that I want to be, I’m male. And soon I’ll be big, spotty and hairy like the third-years.”

Everything is relative of course; the third-years were certainly bigger, definitely more spotty as puberty hit, and many sporting fuzzy chins until they learned to use a razor.

Saoirse didn’t answer directly.

“You haven’t told your mother?”

“God! No! She’d go through the roof, and if she didn’t my father would! They’re not like Niamh.”

“Would you have told me…

“… if you hadn’t told me?”

We were finishing each other’s sentences again.

“I’m not sure. It might have come up if we tried to restart Cailíní Canadh Ghleann Dhubh. I won’t be able to play the role soon, even if it’s not really a role.”

We lapsed into silence again, enjoying the stillness, punctuated only by the irregular slap, slop, glug, of wavelets hitting the boat.

“You know, you don’t have to end up going all male and hairy?”

“Huh?”

“Have you ever heard of puberty blockers?”

“No, never.”

“Apparently they can slow down puberty, so you wouldn’t get big and hairy.”

“How did you hear about them?”

“When we started to research being… you know, lesbian… we came across other stuff as well. I just know they exist, not much more. I think you have to go to a shrink and a doctor to get them.”

“A shrink? Am I classed as being a bit mad?”

“No, it’s just they need to sign off that you’re really wanting to be a girl, permanent like. At least in the States; don’t know about here.”

The thought was nice; something to stop me growing up as a male; reality intrudes.

“Doesn’t matter anyway; I wouldn’t be let take them.”

“How’d you know?”

“Even if I did tell them, they wouldn’t want me going to a shrink or taking puberty stoppers.”

“Blockers! If you don’t tell them, you definitely won’t get to do any of this: And you’ll never know for sure: And you can’t wait too long.”

“I’m just afraid of what they’ll think about me after, and then I’d be in an even worse place.”

More drifting…

“You know I envy you, a lot?”

Saoirse didn’t answer, just snuggled into me a bit more.

“I mean, whatever you decide to do, to be, you have the body you want to have. I don’t; I wish I had a body like yours.”

She put an arm around me and hugged me. I was old enough to appreciate being hugged by a beautiful topless girl.

“I know; so do I.”

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

It was starting to get late; still warm, but the sun was losing its power. We headed back to where Saoirse had left her clothes and grounded the boat at the bow so that she could get ashore dry. She had to climb past me to get from the stern to the bow and I couldn’t resist putting an arm around her hips and giving her a kiss on the belly. She kissed my head and hopped over the bow. I watched as she got dressed and moved to the stern to raise the bow as she pushed the boat off.

“See you tomorrow?”

That grin again.

“Yes; we’ve to plan for next year.”

We didn’t really have to plan anything; it was just a good excuse to call over and spend some time. I got dressed and rowed slowly around the headland and back to our mooring. I sat on the gunwale and slopped some water into the boat with the bucket. The planks would need it if tomorrow was as warm. As I dropped the oars back into the machinery shed I could hear the milking going on in the adjacent milking parlour; it must be near finished by now. I would soon have to pitch in to help with that, it wasn’t heavy work and I was now almost fully recovered. In the meantime, I headed into the house. Someone had blind baked a quiche base so I busied myself softening some onions, adding garlic, red and green peppers, then preparing the egg mixture and waiting for the milking to be finished. The quiche would be ready by the time everybody’d washed up and changed.

I was trying to decide; who do I tell first, how do I tell them, what will they think of me, will I be stopped studying with the girls, will they tell me that I’m too young to know? But I was coming to a decision: The sooner I told them, the sooner life would restart.

Speaking of restarts, I got up early next morning dressed in my work clothes and headed out to the milking parlour. In high summer, we started around 7am, aiming to be finished by 9am. I was the first out, so I opened the gate and the cows filed in obediently. They tend to be very co-operative about this and are not slow in reminding us if, for some reason, we’re late starting! My father arrived next, then my mother and my sister, last out, went back to sort the house and get breakfast. I think she would have preferred milking! It was good to be back at work on the farm again, even though I had only a few weeks left before I returned to school. By then the rhythm of the farm would start to slow, the milking would gradually reduce to once a day before the cows were finally dried off for winter. But that was in the future. Today, milking finished, we headed into the house to shower and have breakfast. After breakfast I helped for a while as my father started the servicing of the hay-making machinery which would not be used again until next summer. Most of the machines got a power wash before being left out in the sun to dry off. The weather was still settled, warm, hazy and not much in the way of wind. We would take them in before milking started that evening when they would be thoroughly dry and ready to be greased, oiled and sharpened as required.

In the meantime, I was free for a few hours so I took the oars again, this time taking a towel, and rowed around to where I’d dropped Saoirse off the day before. Grounding the boat, I brought the painter ashore and tied it around a rock. With no tides on a lake and little wind, the grounded boat wasn’t going anywhere. I climbed the hill through the field leading towards Niamh’s house; all the windows were open to take advantage of whatever wind there was. I was waved in by Niamh who saw me approaching and spent a few minutes in polite conversation about their holiday and my recovery before I asked if anyone would like to go with me to a shallow bathing spot across the lake. Aoife declined, but Saoirse headed off to get her swimsuit and returned in a sundress carrying a bag out of which peeked some bikini strings and a towel.

We rowed together across the lake, silently at first, before I mentioned the elephant, not in the room of course, but sitting at the transom.

“I’m going to tell them; I just need to decide how…”

There was no need to elaborate on who or what I was talking about.

“Together?”

“No, probably my mother first. If she goes ballistic, I’ll know not to push it any further.”

“What about your sister?”

“I thought about that; not fair on her.”

“I suppose not.”

Row a bit more…

“How did you tell Niamh?”

“Just told her that I didn’t like boys.”

“Did you tell Aoife first?”

“Kinda. She wanted us to pick up two lads she fancied in a mall… just for a coke or whatever… I said no. She told me that she didn’t think I liked boys… so I told her.”

We grounded the boat at a small beach of rough sand. There were some shrub trees close by so I tied the painter to one of these: They also kept the place somewhat secluded. I slipped off my shorts and t-shirt; I already had my swimming trunks on. Saoirse likewise had her bikini bottoms on under her sundress, and didn’t bother with the top. We slid into the water together; even now, at high summer, it was cold. We swam around a bit, me parallel to the shore, Saoirse unconcernedly heading well out; she was a much stronger swimmer than I was. Eventually we hauled ourselves out and shared my towel as we lay in the sun to dry off.

“I’ll tell her in the car… that way she won’t be able to strangle me right away!”

“No! But if she pulls up suddenly you’d better be ready to run!”

Gallows humour helps.

“Seriously though, it’s easier to talk to her in the car. We don’t have to look at each other that way.”

“You’re really planning on doing this soon?”

“She’s going to Ballyhowan tomorrow to lodge a milk check with the bank. I need some school shirts so I’ll ask to go along.”

“Hmmm, don’t buy too many.”

“Huh?”

“You might need blouses!”

“Stop that you!”

A few minutes play-wrestling established that she was still stronger than me as she pinned me to the ground, slid on top of me, and kissed me.

We lay together on the towel some more.

“I’ve got to go back; I’ve to help my father bring in some machines.”

“Can I help?”

“Yeah, come on. You’ll have to change.”

“Two minutes.”

Saoirse got up, dusted herself down with her own towel and slipped on her sundress before slipping off her bikini bottoms and drying her tail under her dress.

“Don’t want to get my dress wet.”

She wrapped the bottoms in the towel, threw it into the bag and climbed into the boat while I stood in the water holding the gunwale to steady it. We rowed across the lake again and beached the boat. I was going to wait with it.

“No, come on up with me.”

I pulled my shorts on over my swimming trunks, put on my t-shirt, and we climbed the hill to Niamh’s house.

“We’re going to put some machinery away”, she announced as we arrived in the kitchen.

“OK; try not to get too dirty!”

Niamh, as always, appeared to be totally unconcerned. Her now 14-year-old city-bred daughter was heading off to work with farm machinery with a 13-year-old.

“Oh, that bikini top dried reeaaal quick.”

Aoife had just fished Saoirse’s top out of her beach bag.

I turned a darker shade of purple, Niamh snorted as she tried to supress a laugh, Saoirse stuck out her tongue at Aoife and headed off to change. She was back, in the promised two minutes, in denim shorts and a t-shirt. We looked like a matching pair. We quickly pulled the boat back to its normal mooring and carried an oar each to the machinery shed.

There was no sign of my father so I started up the smaller of our two tractors, an ancient Massey Ferguson good for tight spaces and soft ground, but not up to the work now required of the much bigger Ford. Picking up machinery with a tractor is a bit of an art which I hadn’t much mastered so I had Saoirse stand well to the side to tell me when the machinery lug was correctly aligned with the aperture on the tractor lifting arm. Once one was aligned, handbrake on, engine off, into gear, connect. The rest was easy after that as the other side could be aligned by moving the tractor backwards or forwards by the smallest amounts. I lifted the first machine, a rotary mower and dropped it into the machinery shed in its normal spot. Again, handbrake on, engine off, into gear, disconnect. When I was finished I noticed that my father was watching.

“You two OK to finish this?”

We both nodded.

“When you’re finished, take the tractor into the bottom field and let Saoirse have a go.”

“OK.”

We did the same with the hay turner and the third machine, a “square” baler, was a towed machine which I had to reverse into the shed. It took a few attempts, but we eventually got it in place and disconnected. That done, Saoirse climbed into the cab beside me and we headed for the designated field. The cab was tight with the door closed, but we didn’t mind! Old tractors are very easy to drive, just don’t expect power steering. It took only a few minutes to change places, explain the few controls, and Saoirse was driving around the field, with me in the cab beside her. We didn’t spend long, just enough for her to get a sense of the machine, then we changed back again and put the tractor back in the shed. I was going to change for milking, she was going back home, she gave me a quick kiss before heading off.

My sister and mother were smiling mysteriously when I came into the kitchen.

I did the milking that night and the following morning. Then, as we were finishing breakfast, I threw in the ball to start the big game.

“You’re still going to Ballyhowan today?”

“Yes; wanna come? I thought you might be busy.”

My sister gave a little snigger. Whatever did my mother mean?

“Yeah, I need some school shirts. Just two.”

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