A Proper Young Lady Read Free

makeup’s gonna convince her?”
    “The psychologists in Virginia analyze every last detail. You can get away with being a slob and a tomboy. I can’t.”
    “Slob?” Melanie punches my shoulder with her middle knuckle. Hard.
    “Hey! That hurts.”
    “Then don’t call me names.”
    “Ow. Okay.” I rub at my arm. No doubt it will bruise. I check my face one last time, grab my purse, and head outside.
    For several blocks our path leads us beneath flowering trees and sunny skies. We cross San Amaro Drive and stroll across campus. After we turn on Granada Boulevard, Melanie stops in front of a pale yellow house. “I think this is where she lives. Mom used to bring my sister here for the meetings, and I tagged along sometimes.”
    Old memories take on a more familiar shape. Melanie’s sister has a condition similar to my own—a more complete form of androgen insensitivity that doesn’t require surgery. 
    We walk up the drive and ring the bell.
    Nothing. Twice. No answer.
    “She’s not home.” I tug on Melanie’s sleeve, but she folds stubborn arms across her chest and plants herself on a bench next to the door. “We can afford a couple more minutes.”
    An hour later, a car pulls into the driveway. I fidget while the doctor parks her old Toyota and walks up the brick path toward us. “Why, Danièle! You look fabulous. And Melanie. How are you both?” She opens the front door and waves us inside. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
    After she brings us sodas and shortbread cookies, Dr. Pierson sits in a high-back chair across from me. “Last I heard, your family moved north. To Virginia. Am I right?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Oh, don’t ma’am me. You’re all grown up now. What brings my favorite patient back here anyway?”
    “I’m getting married.”
    “Well, congratulations! I don’t suppose you dropped by just to tell me that, though.”
    “I was hoping you’d supervise my surgery.”
    “Would you prefer to discuss this in private?”
    I shoot a glance at Melanie. “She’s my support group now.”
    “Very well. What exactly were you planning to have done?”
    “I want to be normal between my legs.”
    Melanie makes a soft snorting noise. The doctor closes her eyes a moment and breathes out a muffled sigh. “I never suspected you of being unhappy with your body.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Then why cut up healthy tissue?”
    “Most guys want to have intercourse.”
    “Granted. You may be able to do that without vaginal surgery, though. Why the rest?”
    Because I’m a coward. Half woman and half little boy. Pseudo-hermaphrodite—like I’m not even real. “I don’t want my husband reminded of what I am every time he sees me naked.” 
    “You realize surgery may damage your ability to enjoy sex?”
    But everyone else will be happy. “I thought the procedures had improved.” 
    “They have. But the surgeon will cut off most of your clitoris. Do you think the remainder will be as sensitive as what’s there now?”
    “No.” But the world requires it of me to be considered normal.  
    Beyond the picture window lies blue sky and bright sunshine. Across the street, two children frolic under a sprinkler while a young woman watches. Is a family of my own too much to ask?  
    A deep groan works its way up out of my soul. If I don’t have surgery, Ethan might not marry me. My parents would try to hide their feelings, but they’d be heartbroken. My psychologists all but said that a real woman gets married and raises a family. Our culture provides no place for hermaphrodites—other than as medical oddities or circus freaks. 
    Dr. Pierson takes a long sip from her glass before continuing. “Have you and your boyfriend tried to have sexual relations?”
    “I’m not—” Am I so afraid of Ethan seeing my body the way it is? “No. We haven’t.” 
    “Have you experimented with anyone else?”
    The blood drains from my face. What might my parents have told her?
    Dr. Pierson gets up and