Games without Frontiers (Revised Edition)
Author’s note: contains references to sexual abuse. Please take care reading this. And a big thank you to Alan for the beta read and suggestions
In a small house in the southeast corner of Calgary, Alberta . . .
“Thank you for seeing us home, officer Martin.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Bellion. With the trial now over, we shouldn’t need you or your family again.”
“Yes, I’m really glad it’s over.”
“That part is over, Mrs. Bellion. Helping your child heal has hardly begun.”
“Poor Todd. What can we do?”
“There is a place, called Be Brave Ranch, they’ve had a lot of success helping kids who have gone through what he’s gone through.”
“Yes, but what about . . . the other problem?”
“I checked, and they said they can help there too.”
*****
I looked at my still empty suitcase, knowing I was only delaying the inevitable.
In an hour, I was expected to leave home and go to a camp, a camp that supposedly was going to help me deal with having spent the last two and a half years being raped by a doctor.
Going to be with a bunch of strangers was bad enough, but I also had my gender issues, which had been used against me by the doctor.
My mother assured me the camp would not judge me for my desires, and since everything had come out during the trial, I had to admit it was unlikely I could hide things now.
I just hoped she was right, but to be safe, I was wearing boy clothes for the trip to the camp.
My mom took me to the spot where the camp bus would pick me up, we unloaded my suitcase out of our car, and we waited.
Just before my anxiety could get so bad I would have fainted, the bus arrived.
Unlike most camps, the bus did not advertise where it was going. In fact if we hadn’t been looking for it, we could have missed it entirely.
A woman got off the bus, and asked my mom if I was the one they had expected.
My identity confirmed, the woman put my luggage into a storage space under the seats, and I gave my mom the biggest hug I could while she whispered "you're going to be okay."
Finally, I let go, and the woman who had put my luggage in offered me her hand to help me board the bus. I accepted her help, more for the emotional support than the physical support, and then went onboard.
The trip was uneventful, and soon we were approaching the gate of the ranch.
To my eyes “Ranch” didn’t seem to cover what I saw.
The complex was HUGE.
A councilor whose Name was Fred gave us the tour, and right away I saw in his kind eyes a sense of safety I desperately needed.
I had expected us to have to share cabins, as was the case in the other camps I had gone to, but they had individual cabins, which I guess made sense when dealing with a bunch of kids who had survived sexual abuse. The cabins were cozy, but small, and the councilors said that was to discourage us from hiding inside.
Besides the cabins, the place had a large barn with horses and other animals, an actual indoor pool, and a large building with a cafeteria, a games area (used mostly on rainy days), a first aid room, and offices for the staff. We were told that meals happened at set times, in a buffet style, but in between there were machines with snacks, drinks, and even sandwiches for those who need to eat at odd times.
Finally, the tour ended, and we were seated in the cafeteria, and an older woman came in and stood in front of us.
“My Name is Andrea. I’m the head counselor here. You may have noticed during your tour that no one gave you a schedule. That’s because outside of meal times there really isn’t one. And I’m going to explain why. We want you to help make the schedule. We want you to feel a part of the decision making process. It's a vital component of our work here. That is because all of you have been referred to at some point as a ‘victim’. The thing about being a victim is a lack of power. Here, we want you to take back your power, to move beyond being a victim. To transition first to being a ‘survivor’ and finally to being a ‘warrior’.”
She spoke with certainty and passion, and she made me feel like it was really possible.
I could become a Warrior.
After a light lunch, the kids got to decide what they wanted to do first. The three girls all wanted to go to the barn and spend time with the horses, while the four boys wanted to play in the large sports field behind the main building.
Which left me alone in the cafeteria.
Andrea sat down beside me, and said, “I heard you gave yourself a new name when you spoke at the trail of your abuser.”
I nodded.
“Would you like us to call you by that name? It's all up to you.”
I thought about it for a while, and said, “If it’s okay, I’d like to go by the name I chose, I want to be called Dorothy.”
“As you wish. Dorothy. And would you like to wear some girl clothes while you’re here.”
I asked, “What about the other kids?”
“I believe they will understand. We will help them with that, if we need to.”
I remembered being brave on the stand, and I wanted to be that brave again. I smiled for the first time in years, and said, “Yes, I would like to wear girl clothes.”
And even though I didn’t realize it yet, I’d taken the first step toward healing.
Andrea took me to my cabin, and I picked out my first Dorothy outfit. It was a pink a-line skirt, a white top with a pink heart on it, ankle socks, and runners with pink stripes on the sides.
Once I was properly dressed, Andrea asked me what I wanted to do, and I said I would join the girls at the barn, and meet the horses.
“The ‘other’ girls, am I right?” Andrea asked.
“Am I a girl?” I asked.
“Only you know at this point.” She replied.
“I am struggling with that. That doctor . . . “
“Was a rapist, and a psychopath. Don’t base your choices on him” Andrea said.
I took a deep breath, and said, “Okay, then I’m one of the girls”
“Sounds good,” Andrea said, “Let's go see the horses.”
All the horses were amazing, but the one I was drawn to the most was a Shetland Pony named Talia.
I learned that Talia had a soft spot for popcorn, so when I gave her a little she decided I was her best friend, and let me ride her.
Riding a horse, even a smaller one like Talia, was an amazing experience. I didn’t feel like it was a master-servant or even an owner-pet type of relationship, but a true partnership with full trust on both sides.
During my abuse I had pulled away from the outside world as much as possible, becoming mostly numb, and even during the trial I had difficulty connecting to what was happening, but that first ride on Talia, I felt truly alive for the first time in years.
But there was a moment after we all had rides that was just as good. None of the other girls had so much as blinked at my name and clothing change, and once we were headed back to the main building they made it clear they saw me as just another girl.
I was alive, I was free, and I was accepted as Dorothy.
Anything seemed possible.
Once we were tired of the horses, the girls wanted to cool off in the ranch’s pool. We were joined by a group of dogs who had trained in being therapy animals, and a goofy mixed breed one called “Rocky” took to me immediately. He was over 100 pounds, but seemed convinced he could be a lap dog if he tried hard enough.
At first, I was reluctant to join them, but Andrea said my mother had prepared for this possibility, and had packed me a girl’s swimsuit that had been modified for my special circumstances.
Once I tried it on, I had the confidence to join the girls in the pool, a confidence I managed to retain even when the boys joined us.
I just kept swimming, as the cartoon says.
The pool itself was warmed from a nearby hot spring, making it feel like being in the world’s largest bath.
Eventually, we were tired, and all of us decided to go to the cafeteria and have supper together. Everything looked and tasted so yummy I found myself trying things I had never considered before, including a burger made out of plants that tasted wonderful. I giggled to one of the girls saying my mother would have to unspoil me when I went home.
Once supper was over, Andrea offered to set up a campfire outside, where we could relax and roast marshmallows.
We all thought that was a good idea, and we sat around the fire, roasting marshmallows until the sun went down.
Finally, we started to go to our separate cabins, but a couple of the girls asked if they could sleep together in the main building, since they both struggled with nightmares.
Knowing my own tendency to have nightmares of my own, I asked to join them, and so Andrea helped us turn an area into a large communal bed, with sheets, pillows, and best of all, a stuffed animal for each of us.
Mine was a bear, dressed in pink armor, with a shield and a sword.
I decided to name her Pali - short for Paladin. The other girls and I watched a movie called The Princess Diaries, and then we decided to experiment on each other with different bits of makeup. Having never been brave enough to try makeup before, it was an eye opening experience for me, especially when I saw myself in a mirror, and realized I didn’t look like a clown or even a boy in makeup. I was Pretty.
With my new friend in my arms, and the other girls laying next to me on either side, I managed to sleep without any bad dreams.
In the morning, I discovered that somehow Rocky had joined me and Pali, and settled into a position to protect us both should we need it. I gave him lots of pets to say thank you and then quickly got dressed and helped the other girls clean up our improvised “blanket fort” before everyone else came into the main building for breakfast.
Once breakfast was over, I decided to go to the library, and work on some stories I had started at home.
I was soon joined by one of the boys, whose name was Peter.
He grabbed a bunch of art supplies and began drawing.
After a while, he paused, and asked me what I was writing.
I said, “Well, have you heard of Shazam?”
“Sure.” He replied.
“Well, what if, when Billy Batson said his magic word, he became Mary Marvel instead?”
“He’d freak out. I know I would.” Peter said.
“I think so too.” I told him.
“So what happens next?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m kind of stuck.”
“You’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks. What are you working on?”
“Have you ever seen a flip book?”
“Sure. Can I see?”
He passed over the pages, and I saw that the first image was of a small boy being attacked by a giant tentacle monster. I went through the images, and the last one was of the boy, covered in sucker marks, crying.
“Whoa,” I said, “I think I can guess what this story represents.”
“Yeah, all us campers have that in common.” He replied, “But like you, I’m stuck on what happens next.”
“Well, like you just told me, you’ll figure it out.” I said.
He gave me a half-smile, and we went back to work.
Eventually, it was time for lunch, and Peter helped me put away my stuff and walked with me back to the cafeteria.
I smiled as we walked, and thought to myself that if we were warriors in training, I had found a comrade in arms.
And better yet, a friend.
After lunch, the other girls surprised me with a new name tag, replacing the one with my boy name on it. It said “Dorothy”, and was written in glitter and on pink paper. They had also each made me an article of clothing and had donated some underwear, so I could wear something different each day.
What else could I do but give each of them a hug?
To make the day even more special, the librarian had taken Peter’s flip book and made slides out of it. He talked me into helping him provide the voices for the images, and the other campers gave him some ideas on where he could take the story next.
That night, after Andrea had gotten the fire pit going, she pointed to a pile of sticks beside it, and said, “these you can call talking sticks. Basically, if anybody has anything they want to share, they can take one of these sticks, stand beside me, and tell their story. Once they are done, they can put the stick into the fire. I must remind you to respect each other, and what people say here should remain private unless the person wants it to be made public.”
I got up to speak, and thanked all the kids for accepting my transition, giving me hope for a future where I was a healed woman.
After a few of the others spoke, Peter got up, and talked about the frustrations of being a boy who had been abused. He said he had been envious of us girls for our being able to comfort each other, while boys like him were expected to just man up.
He paused, and then added he was also jealous of girls getting the choice to wear jeans or skirts as they wish, but if a boy like him wanted to wear a skirt, people would freak out.
I asked him, “Do you want to be a girl, like me?”
He shook his head, and said, “No, I just want to be able to be . . . delicate, sometimes. Maybe even pretty sometimes.”
Andrea went over and put her arm around Peter, and said, “I can promise you nobody will freak out at you. You’re safe here, to be whatever you want to be.”
All of us other kids got up, and we all agreed that we would keep Peter safe, no matter what he chose to wear.
I had never been so proud to be part of a group before.
The next day turned out to be a challenging one.
I’d been in counselling since charges were filed against my abuser, but as much as I wanted to pretend it was all behind me, I still had a ways to go, as I discovered when I talked with one of the therapists at the ranch.
He helped me realise I had always been a girl, that my abuser had merely took advantage of that.
I won't say it was fun, but I did feel better after the session.
I also now understood my healing was going to be a journey, and I would need to be patient with myself about my progress.
The next day, my mother was due to come and check on me. I was rather nervous about her seeing me not only being a girl, but being comfortable presenting as one.
“You look beautiful!” she said.
I blushed.
“Does dressing like this mean you’re ready to come home?” she asked.
“Well, I would like to come home, if you’re okay with me like this.”
“Of course, sweetie. Boy or girl, you will always be my child”
“You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that,” I said.
“So can I assume you want to use the name you mentioned at the trial? Go by Dorothy?” my mother asked.
I gathered my courage, and replied, “Yes, mom.”
“Well, then, Dorothy,” My mom said, “Are you ready to come home?”
“Yes, Mom, but first let me hug the other campers.”
So after hugs, tears, and contact information were shared, I got into my mother’s car, and began the drive home.
I had come to the camp a broken boy, a victim of abuse with a girl inside me I didn’t know how to cope with.
And now, I was leaving the camp a survivor, a warrior, and living as the girl I now realize was who I was always supposed to be.
And I can’t wait to see what’s next . . .
End.