I let out a sigh, letting my head thunk gently against the bus window. My long brown hair falls over my face, forcing me to tuck it carefully behind my ear. Nervously I find myself fiddling with one of the pockets on my messenger bag. I would feel a little guilty getting the window dirty with my greasy hair, but it wasn't exactly the cleanest before I leaned on it anyways.

Speaking of my greasy hair, it's about time I clean it again. The idea of stopping at a grocery store or somewhere else is both an appealing and sickening thought at this point. As nice as putting off arriving where I'm headed sounds I know that if I dally too long I might lose my nerve. I'll need all the nerve I can get if I'm going to be meeting my mother for the first time in years.

I raise a hand, running it through the ends of my hair gently. My hair really isn't that greasy yet anyways. I should save the toiletries I have, just in case. There's no guarantee that she'll even listen to me after all.

I turn my phone's volume up, the punk rock jams drowning out the last of the ambient bus chatter that surrounds me. I adjust my bra strap slightly, ignoring how uncomfortably sweaty it feels under both my tee shirt and hoodie. I wonder idly if she'll let me wash my one other change of clothing before turning me away. Maybe she'll let me wash the one I'm wearing too… if I'm lucky.

I hold in a bitter chuckle at the sad thought. I should really just steal another set of clothes. Plucking at one of the nearby shadows idly, I know that my powers will make it a mostly trivial heist. The funds from my last haul are already running low, so I'll have to make another move soon regardless.

Thoughts for another time, though. I should focus on worrying about the meeting ahead of me. Questions such as `what is she like?` pop into my mind and linger unanswered. My memories of her are hazy at best and I know better now than to believe any of the things my father has said about her over the years. If she's as `Vile` as he’s called me then maybe she's pretty cool actually.

Reaching into my bag I pull out a photograph. It’s a photo of my family, but a version of my family from many years ago. From back before mom left. I look at her on the right hand side of the photo, staring at her shorter hair. I reach up and play with the ends of my own hair, comparing the color. I’ve compared myself to this picture too many times and I find myself wishing my figure was half as nice as hers. Estrogen can do a lot, but it will never make my shoulders less broad.

I continue to conjure different `mothers` in my head as the bus drives onwards, imagining the various ways that she might react upon seeing me. I gently tug at the nearby shadows nervously, not fully turning my power on and mostly just feeling their presence around me. I don’t want to cause a scene after all. I try to refocus my attention on the scenery outside the bus. The streets are unfamiliar and the houses around are nicer than I’m used to. Whatever happened after their separation, my estranged mother has done pretty well for herself all things considered. Even our house wasn’t as nice as the ones around here.

My phone gives me a notification and I glance at it anxiously, clenching my fist nervously while feeling out the edges of my power. I sit up, adjusting the strap on my bag. Taking in a deep breath, I hold it in for a few moments before letting it out slowly. As the bus pulls to a stop I gather my wits along with my belongings and push myself up to leave the bus.

It would be so easy to just stay on this bus. To let it drive me blissfully past where I know she lives. Unfortunately, that would just put me right back where I started. Homeless and alone. And, well… there’s no guarantee I won’t still be there, but I have to try.

I’m buffeted by a wave of heat after stepping off the bus. I pull at the neck of my hoodie uncomfortably, tempted to take it off entirely. I feel like I’d be shedding a layer of protection that I’ll need for the upcoming meeting, so I keep it on.

Looking at my phone, I follow the map towards my final destination. Looking at the houses around me I take note of the various decorations. Finally, I find the house I’m looking for. Glancing between it and the map, I make sure that I have the right house. It looks… normal. Unfortunately, it looks so normal that it doesn’t give me any clue about what I might be walking into.

My steps slow to a crawl as I swallow my fear and make my way towards the building. I shuffle across the walkway leading towards the front door slowly, trying to run what I'm going to say through my head over and over again. With all of these nerves I know it's not going to come out how I want it to.

Raising a shaky hand towards the door slowly, I bite the inside of my cheek and rap on it gently.

For several eternities afterwards it's deathly quiet. I clench my fists, feeling the shadows of the porch around me. I don’t reach for them, not wanting to be caught. I don't know how long it takes me to knock again, but there's a small part of me that wonders if she's even home at this time. After the second knock, the door opens. I take a step back in surprise, I hadn't even heard her approaching the door.

A woman with long brunette hair pokes her head out to look me over dismissively. After a couple seconds her eyes flick up to meet mine impassively. My breath catches in my throat as she stares me dead on. “Let me guess… Girl scouts? You're a little late sadly, I already bought some cookies. Sorry.” She starts to pull the door closed before I can speak and I feel my anxiety pick up.

“Um, actually—” the door closes before I can correct her. I let out a sigh, collecting myself and knocking again.

The door opens back up and the woman looks slightly more annoyed with me when she pokes her head out this time. “What?” Her tone is terse.

“Are you… Laverne Webb?” I ask tentatively. Her stare becomes intense as she ever so slightly opens the door a little more. A cool gust of air conditioned air brushes past her and over me as it disperses into the hot desert air around me.

Looking at me properly now, she nods slowly. “You have my name.” Her eyes flick towards my bag, causing me to clutch it just a bit tighter. “What are you, a missionary? Evangelical of some kind or something? Don't exactly look the part. Door to door saleswoman? I didn't think people did that anymore.”

I shake my head slowly. “Uh, no, none of those… I…” I gulp gently before continuing, “I'm your… child?”

Her voice is deathly quiet as she stares icily at me, taking me apart methodically as I stand there. “I don't have any children,” she states evenly.

I cringe at the statement, my expression dropping slightly. “Um, my name is Violet Hale. My dad is Gene? I'm pretty sure it's supposed to be you… you look a little different from your photo, but—”

She cuts me off, still glaring at me. “Even if I had a daughter at one point, she was blonde.”

Looking uncomfortable, I drop my eyes to my feet. Shuffling slightly I fiddle with my bag strap. “I wasn’t your daughter at the time… I'm transgender, so… surprise, I guess.” I don't look up immediately, but when I do glance up she's glaring a little less.

“I see,” she says simply.

I gulp slightly, a small spark of hope awakening inside me. “So… you believe me?”

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Look, congratulations on finding yourself or whatever. Real proud of you and all that jazz.” I can't help but feel a little hopeful at hearing that, but I can sense the `but` coming. “But not proud as a parent, as a stranger. Because I don't have any kids.” I wince, but at least she seems accepting about the trans thing. Funny how this went better than the last time I came out, even if it is still a rejection.

“But… you are my mom?” Still shuffling my feet I can't help but look her over. Ever since I found that photo of her, I’ve looked it over often. As I grew my hair out and started taking hormones, I found that I started to look more and more like her. Part of the reason it got so hard to stay closeted was that I wasn’t the only one who noticed how much like her I look, even despite our more stark differences.

“Kid, what did I just say?” She opens the door a little more, leaning against the doorframe and folding her arms. Her glare is back to being icy and she stares me down. “Maybe at one point something like that was true, but I don't know you. It's been ten years without so much as a single phone call and you show up on my doorstep to… what? Reconnect?” She scoffs bitterly.

“...Twelve years, I think.” I add pathetically. She's right, this was a terrible plan.

“What-the-fuck-ever. Too long is what it is. I paid the fucking child support. I made peace with what that asshole did ages ago and now I'm living my life. Go live yours and leave me the fuck out of it.” With every curse I can see her getting visibly more angry.

I pause at that, shuffling back a few steps and glancing away nervously. I should probably just do what she says, but one of the things she says sticks out to me. “He always said you weren't paying child support.”

Her eyes narrow viciously, her fists clenching. She stands up straight, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Out. Go home. I don't care what that asshole says anymore, I don't need him in my life.” She turns, not looking at me anymore and holding the edge of the door. “You should get on the next bus. You'll have to walk if you miss it, the buses stop running around this time.”

I sigh, turning away. “Oh. Thanks.” Turning back before she closes the door I speak up one last time. “Um… I don't suppose you know if there's a park nearby here?” It feels like the nearby shadows are reaching out to me with my power, but I don’t reach for them. Not yet. Once I’m gone I can hide, but not yet.

The question throws her off enough that she actually turns back to look at me. “Didn't you hear what I just said? You can't get home if you miss that bus.”

I choke down the lump in my throat as I push away the tears that surface at the thought. “Uh, yeah. I don't really… have one to go to anymore.” I kick at the concrete idly. “I know it doesn't make it better. It probably makes it worse that I only came now, but… that's why I'm here. I figured I didn't have anything to lose.” I turn back away, feeling the tears start to flow. I reach up with my sleeve to wipe my tears away. “Sorry, I'll go. Sorry. Sorry to bother you.”

I feel an arm on my shoulder and I flinch away. I keep my palms open while remaining perfectly still. Don’t reach for them. Keep cool. Don’t react. Don’t react don’t react don’t react. The hand quickly retracts and I try to look back at her, still wiping tears from my eyes. “Wait, wait, wait, what do you mean by that? Can’t you go back to Gene’s place?” she asks questioningly.

I shake my head feebly. “He, uh, kicked me out when I came out. I just haven’t had a chance to find somewhere else yet.”

Glancing up at her nervously, her face is unreadable. “He kicked you out? God, what a piece of shit. What about your sister? She’s around your age. Doesn’t she have a place?”

“She blocked my number, so… I don’t think I’m welcome there regardless.”

She stares at me hard for a few moments before chuckling bitterly. “Only a matter of time before he gets sick of her too, I guess.” She folds her arms, tapping her feet and frowning. “Just another woman in your family getting pushed around and forced out. Fucking typical. You don’t have any friends you can stay with?”

“Only ones that live in school dorms… and I don’t have the money to do that.” Biting back another sob, I fold my arms in front of myself. “I’m not sure I’ll even be able to continue going to the classes I’m going to…” After a few seconds standing there I’m struck by how much the pose I’m holding looks like the one she’s doing. She seems to notice it at the same time I do because we both drop our arms at the same time.

She blinks once at the action before turning around. My eyes start to tear up again, but it’s the response I expected. Adjusting my bag, I turn to leave. “Where do you think you’re going?” she asks.

Turning to look at her, I shrug. “Uh, I dunno, I figure I’ll find somewhere with some cover to spend the night. Maybe near a McDonalds or something and see if I can catch up on some of the coursework I’ve missed…”

“Yeah, no. Fuck that. Get in here.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it. I’m sorry for coming.”

“Look, you’re an adult and you can do what you want, but quit trying to appease me. I’m not doing this because of a guilty conscience or anything like that. Hell, I’m not even doing this for you, I’m doing it for me. I’m doing this because it’s the kindness I wanted when that asshole did the same thing to me all those years ago. I’m not your mother and you’re not my daughter. We’ve both been spurned by the same man and I feel bad for you.” Despite how nice she’s being, her stare is intense. “Capisce?”

I nod slowly, wiping my eyes from the tears that are threatening to break through. “Y-yes ma’am.”

She sighs, opening the door wider and ushering me inside. I hurry in, feeling the cool air conditioned air enveloping me fully. It’s a big contrast to the air outside, much nicer and much more bearable. It reminds me of how it feels to use my power, cool and comforting. “We're not coworkers, just call me Laverne.”

Nodding more vigorously, I pull my bag closer. “Thank you… Laverne.”

“Mmmm,” she intones neutrally, shutting the door behind me. “And what do I call you?”

“Oh, right. Violet. My name is Violet.”

“Alright then, Violet.” I try to suppress the joy that I feel at hearing her say my name, not wanting to seem too excited. “Well, Violet, you look like shit. Come on, you can borrow one of my spare nightgowns after you take a shower. I'll start cooking some spaghetti.”

I smile, following behind her. I don't say anything about the choice in food, but I find myself wondering whether she knows and remembers that I like spaghetti or if it's just a coincidence. It's probably just the latter, but it's a nice thought regardless.

Wistful-Shiver

This is another story I've been tapping away at. It's heavier than my usual fare, but it was an idea I couldn't stop thinking about. Let me know what you think about it.