Tell Me More!

“Hey Peter, isn’t that your little brother?” As I opened my locker, I heard a familiar voice behind me. Turning, I saw Jim, Peter’s current best friend, leaning nonchalantly against the adjacent locker, a smirk playing on his lips.

Quickly grabbing my script and music, I shut my locker, only to find Peter towering in front of me. Looking up, I couldn’t help but wonder at our stark differences.

“What’s this? ‘Grease’? You’re trying out for the school play?” Peter snatched the papers from my hands.

“I’m... actually in it,” I managed to say.

Peter’s skeptical glance was interrupted by Jim’s snide remark, “Singing and dancing. Gay kids love that crap.”

“Shut up!” Peter snapped back, visibly irritated.

Jim merely smirked, “I’m just sayin’,” pushing Peter further.

Peter’s frustration bubbled over as he tossed my script and music sheets across the hallway. “Why don’t you do something normal? Play tennis, do cross-country. Hang out with some regular guys. Jesus, Terry, do you ever look at yourself?”

His shove against the locker was more startling than painful. Once they left, I hurriedly gathered my things and made my way to the auditorium, Peter’s words echoing in my mind.

Reflecting on Peter's words as I caught my reflection in the glass of an exit door, I paused. My sky-blue fleece pullover, softer and nicer than any of Peter’s hand-me-downs, caught my eye. Do I ever look at myself? Emily’s observation, seeing a girl where I saw a boy, flashed through my mind. I turned my head slightly, the realization dawning—Yes, that could be a girl. The pullover, a simple thrift store find, seemed to blur the lines between boy and girl in my reflection; the top’s pastel color and soft fabric would suit a girl at least as well as a boy. Did I pick out a girl’s top without thinking?

~

Tell Me More!

The T-Birds' robust chorus echoed through the rehearsal space, "Tell me more, tell me more, did you get very far?" Our six voices filled the room with a commanding presence, overshadowing the tentative reply of the four Pink Ladies, "Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car?"

Mrs. Wiseman, our director, halted the performance of Summer Nights again with a firm "Cut!" Her eyes scanned the ensemble, landing with a mix of concern and determination on the Pink Ladies. "Girls, I need a lot more from you. You’re getting completely overpowered by the boys. I’m hearing the sopranos, but the altos aren’t coming through at all."

Jenny and Liz, tasked with the alto lines, shared an anxious glance. During the next attempt, the imbalance persisted; the T-Birds dominated, while the Pink Ladies sounded more or less like Kristine and Emily singing the soprano part in unison.

“Do you want for us to bring it down a notch, Mrs. Wiseman?” Tony (playing Kenickie), offered.

“Absolutely not. I want that intensity from the T-birds.” Mrs. Wiseman answered emphatically.

“Mrs. Wiseman, may I talk to you for a second?” Kristine asked.

Kristine pulled Mrs. Wiseman aside for a hushed conversation. The rest of us waited, a blend of anticipation and worry in the air. This was our first day of singing as a company and it wasn’t going well – not at all.

"Would you mind coming here, Terry?" Mrs. Wiseman's call caught me off guard as she explained Kristine’s suggestion.

“You want me to sing alto?” I asked, surprised.

“Kristine here says that you have an impressive range. Are you willing to try?” Mrs. Wiseman asked.

Kristine nodded and smiled encouraging me to try. After a brief demonstration in which I sang along as Mrs. Wiseman played the part on the piano, it was clear – I could sing the part. "Let's try it again with Terry singing with Jenny and Liz." Mrs. Wiseman directed.

Returning to my spot, I felt the hopeful gazes of Jenny and Liz. This time, as we launched into the Pink Ladies' reply, I led the trio of altos, bolstering the altos' volume to match the T-Birds' vigor. Jenny and Liz found their voices, strength building with each line.

"It’s not perfect, but that was much better! I think with a little more work, we can get there," Mrs. Wiseman exclaimed, her earlier frustration replaced by a genuine smile. "Terry, you'll be with the altos for this number."

“I’m so glad you’ll be singing with us!” Jenny said, her smile beaming.

Kristine, Liz, and Emily gathered around, adding their encouragement. “That made such a difference when you joined, Terry!” Kristine noted, with everyone nodding in agreement.

“Thanks, it was fun,” I managed to say, feeling a surge of happiness. The appreciation from the girls, coupled with the knowledge that I had made a difference, filled me with joy. For a moment, I felt like I belonged, which was one of the best feelings I'd ever experienced. Yet, I couldn't help but worry: would this expose me to ridicule or bullying?

Mrs. Wiseman then announced a special guest coming to help us. “Some of you might remember Donald Carter, a graduate who's now studying choreography at Seattle Pacific College. He's offered to assist us occasionally. Please show him the same respect you show me.”

“Yes, ma'am,” we responded in unison.

“Do you know Donald Carter, Kristine?” I asked, curious.

“A bit. He was a senior when I was a freshman. He played The Beast in 'Beauty and the Beast' and was amazing. It’s really cool he’s coming to help,” she replied, her excitement clear.

The blend of anticipation for Donald’s guidance and the day’s achievements left me feeling hopeful about what lay ahead for our choir.

After practice was over, I put my music and script in my bag and scanned the room for Emily. Spotting her, I walked over to where she was chatting with Tyler.

As I approached, Tyler stood with both hands on the back of a chair, allowing him to bend down. Even so, Emily and I both looked up at the lanky boy.

“Hey Terry!” Tyler said, “Wow! You can sing really high, Dude.”

I shrugged, “I guess so, yeah.”

Emily spoke up, “Terry’s being modest, she– I mean he’s always been a good singer.”

Tyler clearly caught Emily’s slip. He gave Emily a questioning look and then his look paused on me for a moment.

After a few awkward moments of nobody speaking, Tyler said, “Well, I think you’re a cool person, Terry.” He said nervously. “I mean, for being willing to switch singing parts and just everything.” Tyler spoke quickly, tripping over his words, but the fact that he was trying to say something nice was what counted.

“Thanks, Tyler. I appreciate you saying that.” I said and forced myself to smile in spite of my own self-consciousness.

“Anyways…. That was super-fun today. I’ll see you both at lunch tomorrow!” He gave us a thumbs up and wandered away.

Emily turned to me saying quietly, “I’m sorry Terry, it just slipped out.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I had mixed feelings about Emily’s slip. On one hand, it seemed like she was beginning to think of me as a girl subconsciously. That acceptance was something I wanted. On the other hand, I was not ready to be outed at school now or maybe ever!

I pondered Tyler’s words “I think you’re a cool person,” - Tyler could have said ‘dude’ or ‘guy’ instead of ‘person’, wouldn’t either of those have been a more normal thing to say to another guy? Obviously, Tyler couldn’t know what my situation was, and I wondered what he saw when he looked at me like that? Whatever it was, it felt like he was trying to communicate openness and acceptance, wasn’t he? It gave me a lot to think about as Emily and I walked down the hill toward our neighborhood.

We walked slowly down the long cement stairway that descended into our neighborhood; the limited light made moving any faster dangerous. I nearly ran into Emily when she stopped and pointed at the view to the south. Lake Union, stretched out before us. To the right, the Space Needle stood seemingly as tall as the crowded skyline that rose across the lake straight ahead. We stopped and took in the view for a few moments then continued. At the bottom of the stairs we encountered the maze of parked cars and carefully moved through them in the darkness.

With the days getting shorter I was especially glad that Emily and I were walking together – that I didn’t have to walk this route alone.

Mrs. Eason’s car was parked in their driveway indicating that she was home. As I was taking off my jacket, I heard Emily exclaim, “Terry, your package is here!”

The bright pink box with gold embossed lettering boasted of real human hair inside. The box promised luxury and femininity. Just as I had hoped! Within the box were seven pieces of varying length and instructions on how to put them in. I carried the box like the precious treasure it was up to Emily’s room.

Despite our enthusiasm, aligning the pieces proved more frustrating than we anticipated, each attempt leaving the arrangement either slipping or skewing. After starting over and failing for the third time, we heard Emily’s mom walking by in the hall. We exchanged a look as we shared the same idea.

.

.

Mrs. Eason, coming in to help at Emily’s request, suppressed a brief chuckle before saying. “The color is almost a perfect match.”

Then, with a brush and a handful of duck-bill clips, Mrs. Eason transformed the daunting task into an effortless process. As she sectioned and secured each piece, she explained it so that we could do it next time.

The transformation was nothing short of magical. As Mrs. Eason worked, my reflection gradually revealed a girl with beautifully flowing brown hair, extending just beyond my shoulders. The decision to opt for a more natural length paid off, leaving me giddy with joy.

“Well, what do you think?” Mrs. Eason asked.

“I love it! Thank you so much, Mrs. Eason!” Looking in the mirror, I could see both Emily and her mom standing behind me smiling and sharing in my joy.

“It’s so pretty!” Emily commented.

I ran my hand through the long locks, loving the look and feel of it.

“You look very pretty, Terry.” Mrs. Eason added.

I turned around in the chair and looked at them both smiling. The mix of joy and gratitude I felt was more than I knew how to convey. “Thank you so much. This means so much to me.”