 
LOVE RUNS THRU IT

by Winona Wendy Joy
Published on Smashwords by

Western Grebe Publishing

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Copyright 2015 Winona Wendy Joy

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for buying this ebook. It is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you want to share this book, please purchase another copy to share. If you're reading this book and didn't buy it, please buy a copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

About the Author

Chapter One

It wasn't long that I waited. I knew he would be back as soon as she left the house. It felt like my heart was coming out of my chest. My heart was beating so loudly I thought he would be able to hear it. I felt insanely scared, actually petrified. I couldn't move. I was like a small deer in the headlights of a car, watching the lights get bigger and bigger until the car would smash into the deer, which was me.

Why oh why? Why did I have to grow boobs, I'm only eleven, and lots of girls my age are still flat. He never looked at me with that look until this year. The first time it happened, it put pure terror in my heart. I just knew it wasn't going to be good, whatever he was thinking, and whatever he might do.

He was a Deacon of our church. My mom, thought he was so religious and nice, she had no idea; so she left me with him. Not too often, but often enough, whenever she couldn't get anybody else to sit with me. She called him, "Brother Abel." He was no brother, not even brotherly, no more than the man in the moon. She trusted him perfectly. I wished I could tell her about him, but he told me all the terrible things he would do to both of us, my mom and me, if I ever told anybody. I couldn't let mama get hurt. She was already hurt enough. First, by my real dad, then by her boyfriends, while I was growing up. Then she joined her church, the church of her dreams, where everyone loved everyone else, took care of others, even babysat for free. She was really "hoodwinked," I think that's what they call it. I call it being dumb, plain ol' dumb.

The first time I went to that church, I was only a little kid, but I knew to be afraid of the church people, and especially the preacher. He yelled at us from the pulpit, yelling that we ought to be saved or we would go to hell. I prayed to God to save me from him, and from all the people like him.

Now, that I'm eleven and "filling out nicely", as Brother Abel puts it, I have to pray to God to really save me. In a way, I'd rather go to hell. Maybe the devil could be talked into keeping his hands off me. Unlike the deacon of the church.

So, the front door just closed, and now I know mom's gone. I hear padding down the hall, my bedroom door creaks open, my eyes are just little slits, and I see a slash of light coming from the doorway. He comes over to my bed, looks down, and stands there for a long, long time, just staring down at me.

I know I'm going to be sick and die, and I wish I'd hurry up, so I wouldn't have to be here when "it" happens. Not really knowing exactly what "it" is going to be.

All Abel ever has done to me so far, is to grab me in the basement of the church. I was in a Sunday school room, getting song books, when he came in, cornered me, and said how pretty I was becoming.

Telling me then, "You're filling out very nicely," and made me want to puke.

I was shocked to death nearly, when he came close, grabbed me by the head, sticking his tongue into my mouth and pulled up my sweater, feeling my small breasts under my beginner's bra, just about making me faint with surprise, and giving me the creeps...big time. I tried to push his big body away as I heard him threatening to kill my mom if I ever told anyone what he was doing. I was shaking for hours afterwards, and Mama wanted to know what was wrong with me when she saw me after that happened.

I just told her, "I have a headache. I'll go up to my room and lay down a while, I don't feel well."

That being the understatement of the century, I didn't know it then, but I'd never feel really well again, not in this lifetime.

~~~***~~~

Hearing the TV being turned on, I finally drifted off to sleep. I was thinking I would be safe for one more night. This gave me a false sense of safety, because nothing did happen that night, not really.

The next morning Mama told me that she got back early, so I figured Abel knew she wouldn't be gone very long and that he probably didn't feel safe enough to molest me.

I went to school like all the other little girls my age, for the next year. Abel did molest me two more times that year. It was always when he had me completely alone, so I became increasingly sensitive to times when I would be alone at the church, at his house, or at my house. I became a frightened listener; anxiety and fear ruled my life.

During the school year, I had a counselor that asked me if anything was bothering me at school or at home. I so wanted to tell her the truth about brother Abel, but I already heard she would have to report it to the authorities, and maybe they would take me away from my mother, because the authorities might think she wasn't keeping me safe. After all, my mom didn't even know about what brother Abel was doing, so how could she keep me safe?

Then I told the counselor, "I'm fine. Everything's fine." Smiling, I left her office.

Pretending I was just like everyone else was such a daily challenge. Sometimes a minute by minute challenge. There was this monster on my mind always... just lurking there. In fact, even when a nice man was near me, I was nervous. Knowing I couldn't really tell a nice man from a monster man made me more anxious and afraid. I never trusted anyone. Not even my own mom, not enough to believe she could keep me safe. Safe from monsters, and safe from the Child Welfare Department.

At my middle school I was chosen to be a cheerleader. That was the one thing most girls wanted to be. I didn't really care, but I had to act like I cared, so it would look like I fit in, and so people would think I was normal, at least on the outside. Our cheerleader coach assigned lots of cheers to us that were active, exhausting, and even tedious to work out. We wore skimpy little outfits in our school colors. At the very first practice period, I saw Abel in the stands, watching. Then I saw some men teachers huddled together at the other end of the bleachers, just watching too. It truly gave me the creeps. When I went home after practice, I told my mom I wanted to stop being a cheerleader. She just about cried over me telling her that, so I said I'd keep on doing it for another couple of months.

It was real hard for me physically, and so I begged my mom by telling her that I wasn't strong enough to keep up all the exertion expected of us to do so many strenuous cheers. Any old excuse might help to get me off the cheerleading team, I hoped.

So the next Saturday mom enrolled me in a weight lifting, and self defense class at the local YWCA. This would be way better than cheerleading. Even though I had to keep being a cheerleader for the rest of the school year, I had to re-promise mom. Maybe I could get really strong and be able to protect myself. I would go to the Y as often as possible. I'd work out, run aerobics, take a yoga class, lift weights; and, then maybe I would turn into a girl that wasn't afraid, because I would be able to have the strength needed to defend myself, from evil men...I hoped.

~~~***~~~

Now, I'm thirteen and I have a whole year of self defense and all the other body work out stuff, I'm finally feeling okay in my skin. Not so jumpy, fearful, and anxious.

"My name is Joanna and I'm thirteen." I'm rehearsing what I will say when I go to try to get this babysitting job that I hope to be hired for. It pays well, and we need the money for my school clothes. The job is all day while the baby's parents are away from home, working.

The lady is really nice, Adrian. The baby's name is Alex, he's only one year old.

He can walk and he can say; "da da". That's what he calls his dad.

The first two days were great. I didn't meet the dad yet, but I didn't have to wait long. On the third night, he came home instead of Alex's mom Adrian. Alex's dad, James, was the first one home. We sat around talking and drinking tea, until I told him that I had to get home before dark.

He said, "If you will wait till Adrian comes, I will drive you."

I agreed to it, so I wouldn't have to take two buses and walk in the dark about a half mile to our apartment. I should'a took the bus.

Soon, Adrian came home, apologizing for being late, and then James and I left. Everything was alright for just a minute or two.

In the car, only two blocks from their home, James put his hand on my leg. I didn't know what to do or what to say. I did pull away and stare out of the car window. It was already after eight P.M. and getting really dark. James pulled up to an empty park, it was empty because at this time of the year, it was too dark for kids to be playing outside at the park. He unhooked my seat belt and his seatbelt too, all just about at the same time, so fast. This alarmed me to the point of the beginning of an anxiety attack, it felt like asthma. I instantly couldn't breath properly.

I said, "Listen, I have to get home right now. What do you think you're doing?"

"I know you want me," came right out of James' mouth. By now I knew all about what he was thinking and talking about. Well, I thought I knew. I really only knew a tiny part of it. Brother Abel had shown me, that tiny part of sex... by attacking me.

James said, "I saw you giving me the eye back there when we were talking, drinking tea, and waiting for Adrian. Come over here and I'll make you happy."

Loudly, I yelled: "No, take me home now!"

I was trying to get out the door, which was locked, so of course, I couldn't budge it. James pulled me to him, crushing me with his big arms. He slobbered all over my face and neck. I could feel his hard-on through his pants. I could hardly breath by now. He was pulling me to him.

I started crying and I yelled, "I'm a virgin, and I'll tell the police if you touch me."

He just smiled, and laughed, saying, "Oh, I don't think so, Abel told me all about you. We work together, and we share some good lunch hours, talking about you. Abel even told me you have a single mom that we will both hurt really bad if you tell anyone anything about any of this."

With that bit of news, he pressed a button or lever, and my seat went back and down into almost a flat position. Shoving me off of him, and then laying me down on the lowered seat, he was now on top of me. I really couldn't breath right at all. He was pulling my under pants off. I have no idea how he managed it, but he got his pants off real fast, and plunged inside me, tearing me up. I was being murdered from the inside, out.

I fainted with the enormous pain and fear. When I became conscious, he was sitting up, getting off me, probably done. I could feel goo or something between my legs, but my pants were now on. I was just sitting, staring out the car window, crying, and moaning. I didn't say anything. I was so angry I could have killed him. I wished I could murder him from the inside outward.

We drove up to my apartment building. I got out slamming the door without a word, running up the walkway to the door. I glanced back, and he was just watching me. Hurrying inside, I thought, Oh, damn, mom is home.

She came to the front hallway and said, "Hi, honey. My God, what has happened to you?"

I couldn't even look at her, especially not into her eyes. I muttered, "Nothings happened, why?"

She said, "Your face looks swollen. Please tell me if anything happened."

I was a quick thinker, so I just told her I had eaten strawberries, knowing that strawberries might swell up my face and give me hives, like they did one time when I was a baby. I made like the whisker burns were hives. I must have had whisker burns all over my face from the maniac's slobbering. James probably calls it kissing. He's wrong. Ewweeee. He made me sick.

I got away from my mom by running into the bathroom upstairs. I jerked my pants off and saw lots of blood. No wonder the pain was so bad. I'm still bleeding. Blood was still gushing from the wounds that were made by a huge grown up man, who heaped himself in and on the body of me, a small barely teenage girl, weighing in at a whopping ninety pounds. How could anyone be so cruel? I really did feel murdered.

Mom came to the door and said, "Let me in Jo, honey, I want to see you and talk to you, please."

"No, I don't want you in here, I want to be alone. Go away. Mom, please!"

She came in anyway, exclaiming, "Wow, your period has started. Yay! Let's celebrate! Now, you're a woman. Stay here, and I'll go get some pads for you to use."

The words hardly computed in my brain. I didn't even comprehend what she was talking about until she came back with the Kotex pads. Then I knew her mistaken idea of what she was seeing.

"Mom, leave me alone, I want to take a bath, and just to be left alone, please."

I begged again. I felt so dirty, knowing I'd never wash the dirt off that James had done to my mind and body, not ever.

"Ok, baby, I know how you feel. I'll leave you be. You just relax; and if you want to talk, we'll talk later, just any time, whenever you're ready."

~~~***~~~

After that I begin to get real depressed. I didn't care anymore about hardly anything.

The more I didn't care, the more bad stuff happened to me. I got bad grades, I stopped going to the gym and I got out of cheerleading. Not even my mom could make me prance around half dressed in a skimpy little skirt in front of people and men, cheering at games.

Abel attacked me as often as he could, telling me, "James and I talk about you every day, and he told me how you gave it up to him in the car, so now what have you got to lose?"

Grabbing me as often as he could, molesting me in all the ways he could think of, and finally literally raping me, he put hell in my life full circle, or so I thought. Making sure of always threatening my mom's safety and well being. Going so far as to actually whispering that he would kill her if I told anybody.

Wow, if the people at my mom's church could see brother Abel on top of me, they would surely kick him out of church. Talk about a sinner, was all I thought.

My mom was still a member of the church; but after I begged off going with her every Sunday morning for six Sunday's in a row, she stopped asking me. Besides I told her that I should get to make up my own mind about church and that I didn't care for her church at all. What a relief it was to not have to attend that hell hole even once a week; more times than not, we had gone two or three times a week ever since I had been a little kid. I had enough.

~~~***~~~

I begin to wish I was born a boy. Boys are stronger, and they can fight off attacks better. Besides, boys are the ones with the penises, but why do they have to be so abusive. They should just wait till a girl wanted them, too. That's the kind of boy I'd be if I had been born a boy.

Since I had to be a girl, I wished I was born plain. Maybe then men wouldn't notice me. Some guys said I was so sexy and pretty that they couldn't resist. Trying to blame me that all the bad stuff they did was my fault, just for looking the way I looked. What a way to pass the buck and not take any responsibility for their own guilt. I'm not saying I'm gorgeous. I just wish men would just STOP. Just leave me alone!

Whenever walking down any old street, guys looked, whistled, and yelled at me. It's always so embarrassing. I'm sick of feeling like my value is what men could and would do to me, if only they got a chance. Maybe, it all would of been different if I would'a had a dad and not just a mom. I'd be safer. My dad would'a looked out for me, taken care of me; and he would have beaten men off me. I would have only went outside with him, never alone. Alone was not safe at all. Neither was it any too safe with just my mom.

When I'm with my mom, it sometimes still happens that guys look at us both. One guy even yelled and wolf whistled at my mom! I was so shocked, and another one called us sisters. That made mama kinda smile, but she never looked towards him. She told me to never, ever give any man eye contact, that it is too dangerous. I'm finding out that even without looking into their eyes, it is still dangerous.

~~~***~~~

"Joanna, Joanna, get up Joanna. I need your help, hurry up come help me."

It wasn't like mama to need my help, at least so early in the morning.

I edged my way to the side of the bed, then sat up, yelling to the next room, "Mom, what is it? Is anything wrong? You must be getting late for work. Okay, I'm coming."

She was still in bed, and her face was really white. Like sheet white. My heart was beating extra fast. I was scared.

She said, "Joanna, honey, I need you to call 911 for me, my chest hurts so bad, and I can't catch my breath. I need an ambulance to the hospital, hurry up now, Sweetheart."

Mama's speech, hardly coherent. She was breathless, and her face scrunched up in pain, hardly getting that long sentence out.

"Okay, mama, just wait, I'm doin' it right now. Oh, mom, please, please don't worry, you'll be okay."

The 911 Operator told me, "Stay on the phone, the EMT's will be there as soon as possible."

I told my mother what she said, and then I waited for help to come. ~~~***~~~

Later at the hospital, I was sitting by Mama's bed, when the doctor came in. Soundlessly, she summoned me to go out into the hallway with her. She made the shushing sign with one finger over her lips, for us to be quiet.

Dr. Wendy Whitaker was her name. It was the sewing of her name on her scrubs that told me. She was young.

She came close and said, "I'm so sorry Joanna, your mother had a massive heart attack, and we tried to fix it, but she might not make it through the night. Is there anyone we can call to be here with your mother and you?"

"My mom's sister is on her way to be here with us both. I know this is a county hospital, but just so you know, her sister, my auntie, will sign for Mom's bill, for it to get paid." I lied.

I'm lying, but I'm afraid if I say I'm alone, they won't help Mama.

The doctor got a look of relief on her face with a little smile too.

She said, "Spend your mom's last hours by her side, Joanna. She can hear you, so be sure to talk to her and say all the things you have been wanting to say to her, but were afraid to say, thinking you both had lots of time left to say it, you don't, most likely. That is my only suggestion. I'll be back to see you both within an hour or two. Oh, and yes, I can send the hospital chaplain in to be with you until your auntie comes. He will pray with you, if you'd like that, what do you say?"

"Oh, no thank you, I already called the minister of my mom's church. He will be here in a little bit." I lied again.

There is no way I want to spend any time with a church guy, especially when mom is so sick. I know church guys are real bad.

I went back into her room, and sat on the edge of her bed. Mom's eyes fluttered open, I heard her say, "Jo, my love, I love you so much. Just know that, and don't be afraid. My love will be with you always."

"Mama, I love you too, more than anything. Mama, please don't go. I need you. I'll be so afraid without you, I love you, I love you Mama, just stay here with me, if you can. If you can't, don't worry, I'll be all right."

I lied for the third time in less than three hours, when I said I'd be all right. I was so scared, but I wasn't going to say anything about that. Mom needed me to be strong now.

I would never tell her, like the doctor said, all the things I was wanting to say to her, the things I've always been scared to tell her. Now, I would never ever tell her, and no one else either, that her best man friend molested me when I was a little girl, then later, raping me over and over. I would never tell her about the baby-sitting job's dad James, either. The reason I never told her was so she wouldn't get hurt by those guys, as they promised me so many times. So now, I'd never, ever, tell her anything again. Only that I love her. That is all she needs to hear. She is right, our love will not die, and our love won't be lost. We'll always have that at least.

~~~***~~~

Then I felt like I was walking through paper mache'. Wet cement describes it even better. I must be really depressed I reasoned.

Mama did die. I was fourteen, and I didn't know what would happen to me. I was at home, just sitting on the couch one morning watching TV, when I heard the doorbell ring. I opened the door. There were two ladies standing there. They told me they were from the Child Welfare Department of the State of Oregon.

I let them in. They wanted to know who were our relatives. I told them, "No one."

I thought of lying about having an Aunt again, but they'd find out soon enough and I might as well get this over with. Whatever was going to happen to me...over with.

One of the ladies seemed nice and explained that they would do a search for any relatives for me to live with. That I could maybe not know if I had some relatives. Could be I'd never met them yet, and that for now, I had to go to a foster home.

Objecting, I said, "I can just live here. I will go to school and be fine. I want to live here. I can get a job and pay the bills too."

The mean one told me, "That's not realistic, Joanna."

The nice one looked sad and said, "Sorry, Honey, but you have to come with us."

They waited till I gathered up some clothes and a few of my things.

I asked them, "What will happen to all my mom's stuff? I want to Keep some of it, you know."

"You can be sure we'll give you the keepsakes and pictures. We'll pack them up for you. All the rest will be given to one of the state homes, like the furniture and household items. But if there's anything of value, we will give it to you, or sell it and put the money into your savings account, after we have asked you what you want done with any valuable items. All of it will be itemized, so you will know the outcome of your mother's belongings. You will have your own case worker and attorney to look out for your interests until you are eighteen years old, or until you are out of college if you decide to go to college. The State of Oregon will pay for your education, your upkeep, and housing, so don't worry about that."

~~~***~~~

The first foster home was good, but I could only stay there two months until they found a permanent placement for me.

The permanent home was in another town, which I was glad of, because now I didn't have to see Abel or James. It was way far away from my old town on a farm, sorta. They had five other foster kids and two of their own. All of us were teenagers.

The reason I say it was sorta a farm, is because they didn't actually farm, but there were three horses, lots of woods, dogs, and cats. There was a huge red barn, just like in magazine pictures, a creek, and three swings in three big Oak trees. I liked the looks of it and the kids were all girls, they weren't bad either.

The school was far away and we had to take the bus early in the morning to get to school by 8:30.

At first, I liked it, but I cried every night after everyone was asleep. I didn't want anyone to hear me. I missed my mom so much, I didn't know if I could live without her. We were close in a lot of ways until I kept the sex stuff secret from her. After that, she couldn't figure out what was wrong with me. I wish I would have told her, but she might have died sooner. I felt really sad most of the time.

~~~***~~~

At the farm, there were no boys, which made me very happy. Although, there was Mr. Avery, Mrs. Avery's husband. They were the foster parents.

Mrs. Avery yelled a lot, but she was trying to keep the place clean, teach us to clean, too. She had to cook, and she had to take all the foster girls to their sports, counseling, and other appointments, and she had to go to court for all of our court dates. The dad didn't do anything.

It went along fine for just about a whole year, then right before I was 16 I got a job at a kinda nice restaurant in town. I thought, "Good, now I can earn some money, so when I get out on my own, I'll have money to start out with." I knew everything cost a lot.

Mr. Avery had to drive me back and forth to my job. He got fresh with me one night, and I told him, I'd tell if he didn't leave me alone.

He just ignored what I said, by telling me, "Who would ever believe you? You're just a kid compared to me, I'm an assistant minister at my church, and a good upstanding citizen running my own business."

I asked, "What business do you run?"

"Oh, an internet business, none that you need to know about."

"How suspicious is that?" I wondered what it was. But I guess he did do something at least. Good, now I knew Mrs. Avery didn't have to do everything.

I also thought, "Oh, no, not another church guy. They're the most dangerous."

~~~***~~~

In the barn, when I was brushing one of the horses on a gray, rainy day, here came Mr. Avery. He started by trying to take the brush away from me, until I threw it at him, and then I turned to run. He grabbed me and slung me down to the ground so fast that I didn't expect it. Then he got on top of me right by the horse. I think the horse wanted to save me, because the horse stepped on Mr. Avery's arm just a little. He screamed real loud, getting up fast; then I saw his arm with blood streaming out. I got up too, and ran into the woods. Later, I quietly snuck into the house, then to my room. No one saw me, except one of the girls, and I knew she would be quiet about seeing me.

I heard a commotion in the kitchen, and I felt scared that something was going to happen, bad. When I opened the door a crack, I heard Mr. Avery telling his wife all about how the horse had stepped on him when he was trying to pick up the brush off the cement floor. He didn't say a word about him trying to attack me. Of course.

She coo'd over him, getting the first aid kit, and then doctoring his injury, saying she didn't want him to get an infection.

I went out of my room, and Mr. Avery gave me a dirty look that said, "You just wait."

If Mr. Avery didn't drive me to work, I couldn't work, because there was no bus service way out there in the sticks. I was earning good tips and I needed money saved for when I turned eighteen, so I could start all over somewhere else...alone.

On that very night when Mr. Avery took me to work, he molested me by shoving his hand between my legs.

He yelled, telling me, "If you want a taxi back and forth to work every night, you'd just better be quiet about it."

When he picked me up to go back home, he raped me. I couldn't believe a foster dad would do that, and I just about gave up on life right there and then.

I found I could survive till he was done by thinking and looking at something else. Like the illuminated clock in the car, or a far away lighted window, through the woods, just anything. If I could focus on other stuff, not on what was happening to me, then it didn't seem so real. This was how I got back and forth to work that last year when I lived on that farm way out in the sticks.

~~~***~~~

Turning 16 helped because Oregon State paid for my driver's ed, and I got my driver's license. Then I graduated high school early. I went to my lawyer and case worker in Portland, and I asked if I could please, please go out on my own. We talked a lot about college and working. I never ever mentioned Mr. Avery. I learned a long time ago that I had to live in the same world with monsters.

Finally, it was decided that living with the Avery's was too far for me to commute back and forth, so I got to move into the city all by myself. The Department of Human Services helped me get housing. They also helped me enroll at the local community college, but I still had to work at a regular job. It would be the same as in high school, only now it was college, but the working after school was the same. I would be compensated a little more from the state; but mostly, I had to prove myself and be self supporting as much as possible. I did and I was.

Now, that I was living in the city, it was way worse with men. I must have attracted them some way that I didn't know how to stop. If I could help it, I never gave them eye contact, remembering that Mama had warned me about it. At the restaurant, at my job, if a man was ordering food, I looked at his silverware, water glass or at his menu, never ever into his eyes. It never worked though, just about every day, something bad happened. Guys were always trying to do something sexual. Usually it was only verbal, but didn't men know that was sexual abuse too?

~~~***~~~

By the time my 18th birthday came around, I was so ready to change my life completely. I had an Associate's degree, and didn't see any reason to go any farther with my education. There was nothing I really wanted to pursue in the way of work or a career.

I had managed to save way over ten thousand dollars a year. All that time, for two and a half years, I needed very little money for myself to live on, getting all my meals at the restaurant where I worked, and living in a section eight studio apartment, which was subsidized by Oregon State. I got Social Security money, because my mom had passed away when I was under age. I wouldn't get the money until I left college or graduated, though. By then, it would be a goodly amount. I knew all this would make for a good start.

I went to the library to check out on a computer where I should go and what I should do with my life. I had over thirty-five thousand dollars in my savings, which helped me feel kinda secure. I had saved every cent I could, denying myself any extras. I even cut my own hair. My job at the restaurant supplied work uniforms, so I- only needed a tiny amount of money for clothes. My wardrobe consisted of a few skirts, jeans, blouses and a couple pairs of shoes. I never ate any place besides at work which made for a zero food bill. I put just about all my working wages into my savings too.

Looking into many countries of the world, the Orient called to me more than any other place. Everything that was to come in the next few months, just happened. I didn't plan anything, because I had no plan. I did feel like whatever I was supposed to do would open up to my mind when it was ready for me to do it, or when I was ready for it...whatever that might be. You could call it just going on faith. I don't know what else to call it.

~~~***~~~

I looked up on Wikipedia about a lot of the religions of the world to see if I could understand why church men had molested and raped me more than any other type of men. Learning about the religions made me think the people who believed in certain types of religions could and would believe anything, because most of the dogma was so far fetched. At least, that's what I thought.

One thing about one of the sins, or should I say one of the "thou shalt nots", is that sex is bad outside of certain strict rules. So I think these men felt deprived or left out, so they took advantage of someone like me that was smaller, weaker, and younger than themselves; but most of all they probably did it because they thought they would never get caught. The rapists were right, they never did get caught. Destroying lives as they went along, they took what they wanted, or what they thought was owed to them. People always say: "It's the children who suffer." In my case, and all the other foster sisters' cases, this was so true.

Most of the rules or commandments sure didn't make much sense either. I read a lot of the church books, trying to use my own sense; and I learned most American regular religions were just plain silly.

On the other hand, I read and re-read about Zen, Buddhism, and some other ancient belief systems, which did at least make sense. They weren't silly at all. I began to study into the Buddhist beliefs, and I got an idea as I was reading about a place in Tibet where the Buddhist Monks lived in harmony with themselves and nature.

~~~***~~~

It took me a long time to decide that I'd go to Tibet. To a monastery in the high Himalayan Mountains where hundreds of monks lived. I wanted to be one of those monks. I think that is where I belonged, one among many, blending into the community of monks tucked away back up in the Himalayans. Sounded safe.

The main reason for my yearning to become a monk was that I would be acting as a male and not a female anymore. There were no women in this particular sect. I'd be safe, because no one would guess the truth, I thought.

The reason for deciding to go to an all male monastery, and not a female-based nunnery was that I already knew there would be less inquisitiveness among the male monks, due to the fact this particular monastery where I would apply for entry, was a silent order, unlike the nunnery.

This was what I had always wanted, to feel safe in my own body, to not be bothered by the opposite sex. I banked on the idea that they wouldn't find me among the throng of themselves.

Since the monks were clothed in a dark colored costume consisting of a long habit, a cape and a hooded cap, I knew I could feel safe dressed like that. I would shave my head and bind my breasts. I still hadn't figured out what to do about my period, but I knew I would figure it out because I wanted this more than anything I had ever wanted before. I finally had the answer to what to do with my life. All I had to do was to go forward with the plan.

If I could be devout, learn to meditate, and do whatever monks do, then I could even transcend some of what this world had offered me. So far it was just pain and more pain. The thought of a new life, sex free. It made me happy.

~~~***~~~

Chapter Two

I was stumped as to what to do about my period, my voice, and my looks until I looked up transgender and transsexual. I learned all about how to make myself feel more comfortable, safe, and accepted as a man in the man's world of monks.

My first step was to call a psychologist from the long list in this specialty of the Psychological Association. One big hurdle would be to convince her or him I was a transgender person who needed to be more male than female, so I read quite a few books written by women who already had sex reassignment surgery. Their feelings, their depressions, and thoughts would be easy for me to pretend that those same feelings were mine too. I already had a lot of those very same depressive thoughts, anyway. Probably from my past experiences.

It took two different appointments to find the right psychologist for me. I needed it to be a man, so he couldn't see through me, as easily as a woman could...I reasoned. The sessions are really expensive, so I was glad when after only three months, my shrink wrote a referral for me to see a board certified sex change specialist. I think the okay was so fast because I assured the psychologist I didn't want any surgery. I only wanted the drugs to stop my period, change my skin, hair, voice, and fat distribution; so I'd look masculine. No cutting. No changing my actual body parts. I just wanted to fool the world. So much easier to undo is what my counselor shared. Two of his patients had already changed their minds back again.

I figured I could handle being a girl at heart as long as men kept their unwanted hands off me. With the drugs I would be taking, it would only be a few months for real noticeable changes to take place. The Sex change doctor prescribed six months worth of prescription drugs, and told me to come back when I ran out of the drugs.

The pills gave me quick energy, just about immediately. No other changes happened for quite a while. Besides much more energy, my muscle definition begin to be very noticeable. Being stronger gave me a lot more confidence too.

Looking in the mirror, getting ready for work one morning, I saw a light fuzz growing around my mouth. Great! Just like a guy's beard!

~~~***~~~

I knew it wouldn't be long until my new life in Tibet became a reality. I was losing my curves, gaining more hard muscle, and my voice was becoming deeper, too.

The people at work started noticing the changes in me, and I wanted to quit work before too many questions needed to be answered. As it was, I already had to make sure I tweezed, waxed or shaved my beard and eyebrows. I started to wear falsies inside my bra's as my chest had flattened so much that too could be noticed.

At my next appointment with the sex reassignment specialist for the pills, I shared with the doctor that I would need a large amount of the drugs, because I was moving out of the country. I felt so relieved when he wrote me a prescription for thirty-six months supply at that very appointment. When the time came that I would run out, I hoped I'd know how to handle that too. I'd be safe as a monk, and after I got into the order, I would take one pill every other day, instead of every day as prescribed. At least, that was my plan. That way the pills would last much longer than prescribed.

Going to a travel agency was a red letter day to get my schedule to travel and the flight tickets. I bought a one way ticket to Tibet. Never really planning to come back.

I had more than enough money to pay for all my medical expenses, the traveling, and to take money with me. Really not wanting to take much extra money with me, I left what was still in my bank, after asking the account clerk what would happen if there would be no activity in the account. As long as my statements could be sent to an internet email address, there was no problem. No activity in the account was okay for a ten year period. After that time, any money would be reported to a government office. It's job would be to try to find the person in question. If the account holder, me, was not found, then the money would revert to the State of Oregon. I was assured the state would do everything possible to locate the account holder though.

I did know a little of the information regarding the monastery, because I had begun writing the administration office, asking for an application to apply and for an agenda of what to expect. On the form, I had to lie, stating I had been a Buddhist for many more years than I really had been. I was afraid they wouldn't accept me, if I told them I'd just started learning about their religion recently. This caused me to jump in whole heartedly studying Buddhism and meditating. I even attended a Buddhist temple close to my college. There they had hours-long meditation sessions. I learned to sit yoga style for at least two hours at a sitting, without moving a muscle. I learned all the beliefs of the religion until I felt ready to fake it.

After receiving a letter of acceptance, I was ready to go. The letter told me that the fall season was the only time of the year new novices would be accepted into the order. I was asked to meet on September first, 1976, in the town of Bhaktaper with the other new Buddhist novices and then wait for the guide. We would all be taken to the monastery together by a seasoned monk. It would take three days walking to reach our destination from the point of Bhaktaper.

Going through customs was quite scary, because I knew, if I was detained for any reason, there would be no one at Bhaktapur waiting for me. Besides, I didn't speak any of the many native languages. My bag might have been suspect when X-rayed because of the money and pills. Sweating, I was asked to show a written prescription script when the bottles of pills were spotted in the false bottom of my suitcase. I showed the paper to a stern looking officer, he called the doctor who had prescribed them for me and that was that. Then I was asked about the money in the false bottom of the suitcase that was along with the pills. I was able to produce my bank statement proving the money belonged to me. They let me get on the plane. I carried on my medium sized suitcase as carry on luggage. My only luggage in fact. With the pills and money safely still in it. The pills were valuable to me and the key to my new life. I breathed a sigh of relief and then slept peacefully during most of the so very lengthy but long awaited flight to my new life.

I now would be known as "Joe" for my first name. I had to have it, because most of my life people close to me, my mom, called me Jo, short for Joanne. I knew if anyone called me Joe, I'd turn around automatically and wouldn't have to learn a new name all together, or be repeatedly called, with me forgetting whatever new name I had given myself. Since it was still essentially my old nick name.

I used the same Identification and birth certificate. If ever questioned, I'd use the excuse that my mother named me a girl's name, but called me "Joe". Her name, I would say, was Joanna and I would be her only child, so she named me after herself, kinda to carry on her own legacy because she would never really have a chance to have a daughter.

Since my very early teen years, I had become very comfortable with lies. My lies were simple, and I could always remember what was real and what was a lie.

~~~***~~~

Finally, after all the traveling, I arrived at the monastery. From when I left my home in Portland Oregon to my arrival inside the monastery took an entire week.

At the massive front doors, that seemed to open automatically, we saw a young boy just standing there. Without saying a word, he carried my suitcase and took me alone through long, dimly lit hallways. The other novices went all together with another young boy in the opposite direction. I reasoned I must have been treated differently because I was from America. I really don't know the real answer. Walking down the long passages, I occasionally saw fat, little candles that were sitting on small tables, throwing out a weak light. This seemed other worldly. Soon we arrived at another massive door, this time only a single door, not like the twin ones at the entry.

The boy knocked quietly, and we heard a deep voice say, "Enter."

The youth stood aside, motioning me to enter, and I did. The heavy door closed silently behind me. There sitting behind a huge desk was a tiny man, robed in massive orange robes. He gave me a small quick smile, motioning for me to sit down.

At this moment it occurred to me to be thankful for all the money I had spent to become masculine. I could now face this monk and feel at ease with this face to face inteview and pass over the final hurdle for starting my monastic life.

The little guy stood up, turned around, and took a huge book from a shelf directly behind him. Sitting back down, and taking a rather odd looking pen in one hand, he opened the book with the other hand and begin to write my name in the book.

He asked me, "Joe, do you have any questions of me?"

Answering, I said, "Yes, I have many questions, I don't know where to begin. I guess the only way to get my answers is to start my new life here."

Again smiling slightly, he agreed with me, shaking his head, yes. Then he went to the door and summoned back the youth who was away from the door and down the hall a little way. The tiny man nodded to him an unspoken message for him to take me to my hermit's cell.

After more long, dark hallways, the youth opened a door, inviting me inside.

I asked, "How will I know where to go, like to prayer sessions or other group gatherings? I'm afraid I'll get lost just getting back to this room. Do you have any directions that you could give me?"

He motioned that he did not understand nor speak English. Or maybe it was for me to just be quiet, since we were not supposed to speak. This is a silent retreat, after all.

Wow, my first day, and I would be lost. I smiled, put my hands together as in prayer, did a little thank you with a dip of my knees. Saying out loud: "Namaste'."

I received a brilliant smile from him, and he repeated the universal salutation back to me, "Namaste'." as plain as day.

So glad I learned long ago that this word meant: "I behold the Christ, Spirit, Higher Power or God in you."

I closed the door, looked around the small room, now knowing why it was called a cell. It seemed to be about a nine foot by six foot space with a cot, a little table with a drawer in the front, and a hand made rug by the side of the bed. Hanging on four large hooks that were in the wall, there hung my new clothes. All were black in color, and all would cover me up from head to toe. I thought that would be fine, since it was freezing in there with no clue of any heat source, anywhere, yet. On the cot was a heavy rug-like blanket. Everything looked like it was hand made of wool. Taking the items off the hooks, I discovered a set of lighter weight, outer garments besides the heavy wool ones, so I had two sets of clothes. I guessed for winter and summer seasons. Underneath, hanging on smaller hooks were underclothes of dyed blue, homespun cotton, under shirts and shorts, four sets of each. Beneath the hanging clothes were a pair of rope sandals. They looked hand made. I had worn some high laced, leather boots, two sizes larger than my feet, thinking my feet did not look manly enough. I would keep them on as much as possible, fearing the sandals might fall off. The sandals looked even larger than my boots.

There was another little archway to what looked like a tiny room. I called it the closet. Shelves were up and down both sides of the walls and a chair sat shoved to the very back against the back wall. I folded all the underwear in neat stacks leaving them in the closet on a shelf. I left the extra set of outerwear hanging on the hooks. I found five pairs of hand knitted stockings stacked nicely on a shelf too. On the shelves opposite the clothes were quite a few books lined up neatly. The books must have been left by prior monks.

When I packed to come to the monastery, I didn't know what to bring; so I traveled lightly. Just one change of men's clothes in the medium sized suitcase, besides what I was wearing, the rest of my money, and all my large supply of pills. No one asked me a word about money, so I didn't say anything about it either. I wondered where to hide the money. I argued with myself, that this was a religious order, and honesty had to be really high up on the list of do's and don'ts. At least I hoped it was, and I left the money where it already was, in the bottom of my suitcase, in the false bottom along with all my pills. Leaving the suitcase wide open on the chair in the tiny closet, I thought it didn't look suspicious at all. I placed a tiny thread on the edge of the suitcase in an out of the way place, so I could check if anyone ever moved or messed with it.

I heard a loud bell or a gong. It must be dinner time, I assumed. Now in my new, long dark clothing, I opened the door to the hall, and there was the young kid. He ran over to me, directing me to go with him. Boy, was I ever glad to see him, I would have been lost for sure in all these dark, long hallways. I had no idea in which direction I should have headed so gratitude prevailed.

This monastery being a silent order, I couldn't have asked for directions. This made me decide to keep my eyes open for any landmarks, so to speak, going to where ever we were going. I didn't want to get lost, after this time.

We came to a large room, with long lines of monks waiting to be served in front of a heavy wooden table. We entered, and went to the end of the line, no one spoke. It seemed eerily quiet, since the room held about two hundred men.

Soon, the orange robed Abbot came in, the head of the entire monastery, I guessed. He was the little man who had written my name in the big book. In another language or dialect he said a prayer as we all bowed our heads, afterward the line moved forward and we were served. It looked like tonight's menu was soup and thick deep dark hunks of bread.

There were no tables, nor chairs. We all sat around on the floor in yoga style, slurping our soup and eating our bread as best we could.

Some men went back to the server, holding their bowl out for seconds. I was still hungry but dared not do anything about it until I at least knew the rules.

After each monk washed his own bowl and oversized soup spoon over to the side of the room where a number of sinks stood, we again were seated. Bowls and the spoon disappeared beneath each monk's habit. A slim gong was tapped over and over until complete silence reigned. I could see they were all starting to meditate, and so did I. We sat like that for the next two hours. I was so thankful that I had put in all the hours of practice sitting-meditating in the states. I would never have been able to sit that long without months of experience working through pain, stretching, then stretching a little more each day until I was finally able to sit in the full Lotus position for over two hours without pain and or discomfort.

I was beginning to think this was too high a price to pay for my safety; but in a way, I liked it a lot, reasoning I was still new here, so not to judge too soon. I had no one to answer to, no one to be afraid of, and no one speaking to me. I especially liked the silence. The world had been way too noisy a place. People usually babbled on and on without saying a word that meant anything. If words were ever spoken that did mean something, most people didn't hear them anyway, for the din was that noisy.

The young monk led me back to my room; I was going to say Namaste' to him again until I remembered the silence rule. I just thanked him by again putting my hands together as in prayer, adding a little bow, a dip of my knees, and a bend at my waist. He gave me a tiny smile, turned and left.

~~~***~~~

In my room, I checked everything, and all was as I had left it. What an odd place. Actually a new world. No longer being afraid of men, theft, loud noises, going to work, crowds, on and on, I finally felt safe, at least for today, my first day. What a new sensation for me. I knew it would take quite a while to actually get used to this calmer feeling. Anxiety had ruled my world, for just about all the prior days of my life.

Every day for thirty days, the young monk was outside my door, waiting in the hallway to direct where ever we had to go. Morning, noon, and night, after all this time, I learned the heartbeat of the monastery, what time everything happened, and when to do what. There were no clocks or watches; we were just in a silent rhythm, seemingly stress free, but governed by gongs, bells, and a kind of longish horn instrument.

On the thirty first day, I made it alone to all the prayers, meals, and meditation times. No other monk noticed me, no one spoke, and hardly any eye contact was made. We only made eye contact mostly so we wouldn't bump into one another.

One time, I did bump into someone, and automatically said, "Excuse me" out loud. There was some intake of breaths and an odd look or two is all.

I thought to myself, "I bet they know who is new when stuff like that happens."

Seemed like the "no speaking" rule was the most important one. I was never given any instruction, except what I had received by mail before I arrived, and that was very sparse. The seasons did change everything, though.

I arrived in the fall so we stayed inside most of the time. Spring and summer would bring outside gardening and preparations for winter. Winters were so long, feeling like perpetual twilight most of the time. I stood gazing outside through long slits of openings like windows. Not really windows, because there was no glass covering them. I loved to go out onto the covered walkway that ran all around the monastery. Even when snowing, what a treat. All around were high mountain peaks with sparse forests down below, and in the valley some villages and one larger town farther away. I sat out in my long hooded, wool cape, cozy and warm. Meditating with such a view in sight was incomparable to anything I had ever experienced before. Thinking few people on earth were ever given this wonderful privilege. I loved my new life.

Settling into a sort of boredom was even a nice feeling. I was no longer jumpy, nervous, and afraid.

One winter afternoon, I was directed to go with the young youthful monk. He took me to the Abbot's quarters. The Abbot, the highest attainment in our order's hierarchy of monks, waved for me to sit in a chair. It was the first chair I had sat in since the last time I was in his room, about a year prior. Furniture was sparse throughout the entire place. There were a few chairs and one stool in the kitchen though, beside a long work table. That was the only furniture I saw besides my bed, chair, and bedside small table in my cell. I chose to just sit on my cot and to leave the chair in the closet holding the always open suit case.

~~~***~~~

The Abbot, Brother Suman Barkus, asked, "Are you well, Joe? How are you doing, and do you have any questions, yet?"

"I am well and I'm doing fine, thank you. I still have some questions, but I'll wait for your instruction "

His thin lips turned up at the corners. I smiled, feeling quite taken back as to what I was doing here in his office again after living a full year in the monastery.

"We like to give each new monk one year to acclimate himself to our order, then in the second year, you are given a job. Each new year, you will be given a new job by rotation of season, in reaction to what is needed and what is happening in our population. Joe, this year you will be given a job in the kitchen. All the tasks have been listed, and each day, you will be given instruction by Brother Michael. He's in charge of our kitchen. We get most of our produce from our gardens, which only grow in the short summer season, so we either can our vegetables or store them in the root cellar where they will keep all winter. And we get some food from village donations. Likewise, any other items, food or otherwise, we obtain from donations. Our food is very simple as you might have noticed. Bread creation takes an artistic ability, and it may take you some time to master this art. You will be expected to do so. Bread Baker is your new task. Your hours of work are posted by Brother Michael. He is the only person allowed to speak in the kitchen, and you will notice he does very little of it. Most of us love the silence. Do you understand all this?"

"I do. I will do my best, and I love the silence, too. Thank you, Abbot, Suman."

Seeing a dismissal wave of his hand and another of his tight little smiles, I backed out of the room.

~~~***~~~

Now, I had some new experiences to assimilate. I had been there an entire year, and I guessed the honeymoon period was over. Starting now, I had to earn my keep. I 'd been wondering when this would start. This whole year, I was able to take long walks in the miles of forest all around the ancient monastery. I'd been given ample time to read the books in my room, and any others I wanted to read in the massive library that had books from ceiling to floor all around the enormous room that could hold three hundred men. This room was our combination dining room and meeting room for meditating, chanting, and prayers, especially in the winter months. At one end of the room was a gaping fireplace. One of the few in the place. The only other warm place that I knew of was the kitchen with the huge ovens and fires for cooking. The warmth made me glad that I would be working there all winter.

~~~***~~~

The first day in the kitchen, Brother Michael looked us all over and told us to say our names out loud, so he would know everyone's name. For the first time, I deliberately looked at the men's faces. We went around the circle of about twenty men, each announcing who we were. It looked like Brother Michael was writing our names in a ledger as we went around. He spoke the native language; but when he came to me, he asked, "Name?" in perfect English.

He probably knows I'm from America, I thought as I answered, "Joe."

There was one particular monk I saw for the very first time that day, and he made me catch my breath when he spoke his name, "Charlie."

I had never, ever had anything like that happen to me before in my entire life. As soon as I noticed him, my heart beat faster; and when he said "Charlie" and I heard his voice, it got worse. My breathing turned jagged, and my heart started pumping like mad. I didn't know what was wrong with me. I had to look down and stop looking at him to get myself back to normal, somewhat.

My job that first day was to tend the fires. It was warm in the large room, and I just about fainted due to the heat and due to being near Charlie for the first time. All I could think of was maybe this was what's meant by the old saying: "Love at first sight."

~~~***~~~

Back in my room that evening, I flopped on my cot, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what this feeling was all about. What had happened to me, my body and my mind, when that one particular monk spoke up? I had never even noticed him before, but then again, we weren't allowed to speak, visit, look, and not even smile at one another All these were unspoken rules. I guess they thought it could lead to what they don't want to happen at all in a monastery: Sex or love, and especially no touching of any kind.

We did have this one class that I thought was odd from the very first. Now, I knew why it was a mandatory class for every monk to attend. It had to do with alleviating the sex drive.

When we exercised, the exercises were called rites, not exercises. There were six rites. We practiced them every day. The rites were established to increase energy in what is called the seven vortexes. Some ancient religions call these vortexes: "Chakras."

I must say they were working very well, because I noticed Abbot Suman was so robust and healthy looking, even though I heard some one whisper that he was over one hundred years of age. Our Abbot looked to be in his fifties. He was agile, energetic, and youthful in spite of being small of stature.

~~~***~~~

Given an old, handmade and hand printed manuscript to study the rites, I read: "It is necessary to become celibate to channel the reproductive energy upward. In the West some religions have tried this and have failed. They are trying to master this sexual energy by suppressing it. The only way to master the powerful urge, is to not suppress it, but to transmute it, and lift it upward. Instructing us to practice this rite especially when we were feeling an excess of sexual energy. The rite is so easy and simple we could do it anywhere and anytime, practically.

Standing upright, let all the air out of the lungs slowly. While exhaling, bend over and put hands on knees. Force the last bit of air out, then the lungs should be empty, return to standing position. With hands placed on hips, press down on them, pushing shoulders up, pulling in the abdomen, and raise the chest.

When forced to finally breath, let the air flow in through the nose. After the lungs are full, exhale out of the mouth. Then, relax arms, hanging them down at the sides. Take several deep breaths by mouth or nose, and let out slowly. This is one complete performance of rite number six.

Three of these repetitions are all that is needed to redirect sexual energy by turning the powerful sexual force upward.

This ritual helps the monks grow younger and younger each day, moment by moment. The sexual energy is the vital force that creates balance and harmony through all seven vortexes."

~~~***~~~

After feeling overwhelmingly sexually attracted to Charlie, I decided to do this rite, and it worked! I got off my cot, stood and performed it. By the time I'd done three rounds, I was calmed down, my heart rate back to normal, and I stopped thinking of sex and of Charlie.

These good feelings I had, saddened me immensely, because of all the times men had taken their sexual urges out on me, I never understood what drove them, until this day. I never knew it was a real testosterone drive. I just thought these men were out to hurt me. To get me, if you know what I mean. The whole sexual issue made me sad and angry prior to this day. Me, finally learning something about it had given me a little empathy toward the male population. I had no idea our sex drive is as basic as hunger, air, and shelter.

No school class ever offered me information on sex or the sex drive, and neither did my mother. I had no father or brothers in our home, so the male persons were a complete mystery to me. I really didn't think men were capable of gentleness, of being nice, or refined. Just brutes. Sexual brutes. This had been my only experience with men for my entire life before going to Tibet.

Then meeting Charlie put a different aspect on the entire subject for me. To have hot feelings for another human being mystified me, but it helped me see the importance of doing rite number six.

~~~***~~~

I was grateful to have my scheduled work time in the kitchen during the morning, first thing, real early. Brother Michael usually seemed half asleep before his many cups of strong black tea kicked in to awaken him. This caused me the needed, unsupervised freedom to look at Charlie and to even whisper small, short greetings to him once in awhile. Thank God or should I say, thank Buddha. Whatever deity allowed such frivolity, I was grateful towards It.

Charlie didn't act appalled when I spoke the first time, and I got to glimpse a great smile from him. I asked him how long he had been living there. He answered in a low voice.

"For three years. And you?"

"Starting my second year now," I said.

We only spoke in passing or going outside, or downstairs to fetch things, or in the root cellar, but never so anyone else could witness us talking. I wondered how any friends at all were made in a place like this. I realized it would probably take me the rest of my life to actually acquire a friend in a silent monastery.

~~~***~~~

Chapter Three

The first winter working in the kitchen turned out to be my happiest time at the monastery, mostly because of Charlie. I certainly loved him, even against my will, it seemed. We just clicked. He never said so, but I could see in his eyes that he loved me back. I never, ever dreamed that I'd like a man, let alone love one, not in this lifetime, because of what men had forced on me in the past.

What I loved best was for us to go sit side by side outside on the outer covered walkway that ran all the way around the main building. Sitting on the cold bricks, huddled up in our wool robes, hoods, and capes. Anyone passing by could not really identify us, we were so wrapped up against the cold. We would talk if no one was around, but we seldom had to. Neither one of us wanted to break any of the ancient rules. We maintained silence most of the time, just being content to sit together. All of our love affair took place in our minds. That's where most love affairs take place, anyway, I thought. There could be no love anywhere if not in the mind first.

Only one time, Charlie reached out and touched my hand to comfort me when I had been burned by a wild, wet log that had been thrown on the fire in the kitchen fireplace. The log seemed to explode back into the room before I had safely replaced the heavy mesh screening. I was just about crying from the pain when he hurried over to me, taking my hand in sympathy.

Before anyone else noticed, he dropped my hand; but quietly whispered, "So sorry for you, Joe."

It nearly took the pain away. I vowed to remember that touch for the rest of my life.

~~~***~~~

The great thing about sitting on the walkway in the winter, alone or with Charlie, was the view. Forests of fir trees, then low hills, and the majestic mountains of the Himalayas, rose to the heights of the heavens in the far distance, miles and miles of open space. All covered with snow. If the sunshine peeked through, the entire scene would take on an otherworldly feeling. If snow started coming down, it was an all together different scene, as was each season of the year. In one afternoon we could sit and look out as if we were viewing a moving picture show with the clouds changing everything, the same with the light and the weather. Rain was another whole different feeling, giving us a misty water color picture.

No wonder monks settled within the realms of all this beauty; it was as close to heaven as you could get and still be on earth.

Such calmness came over the two of us. I felt more calm and happy than ever in my entire life. I wondered about Charlie. I wondered about Charlie all the time, to be really honest.

Maybe the calmness was what meditation was all about. Probably we were both really meditating when sitting out there, viewing all the beauty. Being filled with all that love and happiness really was beyond anything I'd ever hoped for.

When in the huge, group meditations, I never felt like I felt when sitting outside with Charlie, or even sitting alone out there among all that majestic beauty. Snuggled in the comfort of the wool and all my wraps, I was perfectly warm enough. If not, I'd just breath into the top of my collar and my warm breath would heat up my little clothing tent. My entire face was wrapped in a scarf except for my eyes. At those times I was a world unto myself.

When I meditated with the group inside, a cough, a harrumph, or the slightest movement of another monk brought me back to the room and out of my sweet, meditative state. The room full of men meditating with me was never as wonderful as when I sat outside viewing the weather, never failing to amaze my innermost Self.

~~~***~~~

I mastered the art of bread making. The recipe and directions for creating it were as old as the monastery itself. I was told the art went all the way back to the fifteenth century. The way the bread starter was guarded and babied, I thought it was that old too, and some of it probably was just as ancient. The starter was always kept for the next batches. For ages. Just a little of the dough carried over from the previous batch, with a little liquid added to keep it alive, was used as the yeast in the new bread. My first loaves had to be thrown into the forest for wild animals to devour. They weren't as particular as us monks. I soon got the hang of it and was praised by Brother Michael a number of times during my bread making months.

I still had to keep up the fires for the ovens and the stoves. I didn't mind, I got to stay warm. The monks who peeled, sliced, and cut had the cold, hard jobs, in my opinion. Some of the other jobs were hard too, including scrubbing, cleaning, and washing pans, mixing bowls and mixing spoons. Each monk washed his own bowl and his own spoon after eating in the big room where we all took our meals together. Therefore, the kitchen staff didn't have to actually wash mountains of dishes, only the containers and utensils in which the food was prepared.

Breakfast always included some type of grain, usually brown rice or an oat gruel. A true treat was when berries could be included. The berry season was so short lived that we only had berries about four times during the entire year.

Lunch was a dish of turnips or carrots or whatever other vegetable was available from the storage cellar for that time of the year. Some brown robust bread I had baked was always included, and always savored.

Dinner, a hearty soup of vegetables and vegetable broth. And bread again. All the monks, for spiritual reasons, were vegetarians. I thought I needed meat, but I guess not. I didn't want to get any slimmer than I already was. As long as I ended up strong and healthy, it really didn't matter if I were large or small under the heavy garb. At dinner we were also allowed a sort of clarified butter made from goat's milk. We spread it on our dark, hearty bread made from a variety of flours, usually not wheat though. Spelt, quinoa, teff, rye and rice flours were used in place of the white refined wheat flour I was used to eating in America. I never saw any white bread in Tibet, at all. I reasoned the people being so healthy had a lot to do with no available, refined foods. And also very little meat, milk and sugar products. Always a plus to a healthy population. The Tibetans had superb stamina too.

None of the monks ever looked at me in any odd way or studied my face or body. We had plenty of odd looking characters of many different nationalities. I thought I really was the oddest one, because of my skin being so light, and me, being from America. This was the only reason anyone might stare at me, I thought. We were encouraged to never give eye contact, so I felt pretty safe from being discovered that I was actually a female.

Charlie was light skinned also, but not as light as me. To me, he was a beautiful man, slightly built with very light brown hair. I glimpsed a curl coming out his hood a few times, but only when his hair got a little too long. We were given a small pair of scissors to sew or mend our clothes and to cut our hair. Some of the monks were clean shaven, and some even shaved their heads. I thought that would be too cold though, so I didn't do it. Not shaving appealed to me, because I always had a five o clock shadow if not a real beard. This made me look more masculine, too.

Back to Charlie's looks, I once caught him deeply looking at me in a way no one else could or would notice. His eyes were a greenish gray. Such outstanding pools of color I had never seen before. He had a beautiful face, but in view of the fact that I loved him did cloud the issue. Now that I think back, his only unbalanced feature was that his nose was a little large. He had a great mouth with perfect lips. I knew a generous mouth meant a generous person, and I focused on that feature whenever I could look at him.

I used to just wish to talk to him, to find out all about him, what he liked, where he hailed from, who his family was, and if he ever thought of leaving the monastery. So many questions and only silence, except for our eyes. Eyes can speak reams of words, no wonder we were instructed to refrain from eye contact. I wanted to write him a note, but I would just wait to see if he thought to write me first; and if he did, then I'd answer.

~~~***~~~

In my third year, I was able to go into the near villages and also to the towns, where I got to see the people who were donating to the monastery.

One merchant gave us a hundred yards of blue dyed cotton. I was told the seamsters at the monastery would make our underwear from the donation. We had two very old mules to haul such large loads, and we usually brought a wagon to town with at least one of the mules pulling the wagon for the heavy donations.

Townspeople knew that they mostly supported us by whatever they shared with us. Their belief was that we uplifted the entire area, ethically speaking, if only just because the monastery was in the vicinity of their towns. All our prayers and chanting "Om" probably did affect the area. I believed their own benevolent thoughts helped us in turn. Together, the people of the land and we monks created harmonious vibrations.

We did not speak to any people of the town or village. We did have one spokesperson and that was an aged monk who had lived at the monastery a very, very long time. When a young teenager he entered as a novice, staying all of his life at the monastery. He was proficient in many of the mountain dialects.

I noticed my heart rate would speed up if I saw a man when I was out of the monastery, traveling. Any man. I was still afraid. Cursed fear, would I never get over it? Even though intellectually I believed no one knew I was a girl, I knew. I had an innate fear of being discovered, maybe even at a cellular level. I still had fear of being attacked and raped, or so it seemed. It was a fear I could not help but feel. It just came over me whenever we saw a regular man who was not a monk. If he happened to glance at me my fear increased along with my trouble breathing and my anxiety.

This made me wonder about Charlie and why I wasn't afraid to be near him. I always thought I would get over the petrified feelings of a male figure being near me after I had come to live at the monastery, but it wasn't happening any too fast, not when I went about in the towns.

In one village, I happened to glance at a young girl, she was about ten years old. I knew immediately by the look in her eyes that someone was abusing her. I hated thinking this way and feeling this way. The girl looked beaten too. There were visible bruises on her arms and legs. I told myself to do prayers for her when I had my next prayer hours. Even though I didn't really believe most of the religious stuff, I felt it didn't hurt to try. It might even help.

~~~***~~~

I was nearly out of the hormone pills and was worried about how to get more pills. It hadn't worked out for me to take one every other day, on a regular basis. When I did that, I'd get worried about growing feminine and then I'd take a pill just about every day. Wondering if I would be able to go back to the United States to my doctor had me mystified as to what I should do. I decided to wait as long as possible before I made any rash decisions.

My plans were being made for me. Early one morning, when I went to the kitchen, I didn't see Charlie. This went on for about a week, and Charlie never showed up. I begin to worry, asking Brother Michael if I could speak to him privately.

He took me into this little nook that was his only private space. "His office," he called it. In there he had a cluttered, slanted desk and a high stool.

Sliding his big bulk onto the stool he asked, "What is it?"

I quietly spoke, "I see Charlie hasn't been here for some time. Do you know if he's sick?"

"No, he isn't sick, don't worry. If you need to know anything else, you must make an appointment to speak to Abbot Suman. We don't discuss anything of that nature between monks. You're dismissed, now hurry back to work."

I quickly did just that. Then when my shift in the kitchen was ended, I decided to go see Abbot Suman, if possible. Walking through the dark eerie candle lit corridors, I found his heavy door and tapped on it. No answer. I waited, then tapped again. Having no idea what I was to find out, I felt my heart beating madly. This was the first time I had ever went to our so-called Guru for anything, and I was afraid.

Finally, the door opened, and the Abbot peeked out, saying, "Yes, how can I help you?"

"I just want to see you for a few minutes, may I?"

"No, not now, I'm busy with another novice. Please come back in two days time at this same hour. I'll see you then."

"Ok, thank you Abbot Suman, I will."

It was so hard to wait those two days. I imagined all kinds of scenarios that could have happened to Charlie. Why hadn't he talked to me about whatever happened with him, or what was going to happen? I was worried sick and could hardly wait to find out.

Finally, making the long trek again through the dark hallways to the heavy door, I was scared a second time but knew I had to ask the Abbot what had happened to Charlie. I missed Charlie so much, and life at the monastery started to feel empty for me.

Face to face with Abbot Suman, I finally asked; but he couldn't tell me much, because of the privacy that is expected between all monks and their Abbot. He did tell me that Charlie had left a letter with him to give to me in the event that I ever exited the monastery, but the Abbot couldn't give me the letter until the day I departed, if ever I did leave.

Now, I was more mystified than ever. What was this all about? I knew I had to find out, and I was just about out of my pills. Panic started to consume me as to what I should do.

~~~***~~~

Not wanting Abbot Suman, Brother Michael, or any other monks thinking I left the monastery to find Charlie, I waited until the last possible moment.

My femininity was quickly returning. I had not taken a pill for way over two months. I didn't know what to expect from day to day. Worried that my period would start, I knew I had to leave soon.

I went to see Abbot Suman, about three months after Charlie's disappearance, to arrange my leaving. Our Abbot was just as kind and congenial as ever, not pressing me for any reason as to my leaving. Acceptance seemed his main attribute. I wished to be like him some day in the amount of acceptance he displayed.

No problem occurred about my request to leave. It was understood that I could come back anytime I wanted to come back. I was offered the customary Namaste' departure, and I was off.

Money would be no problem. I took all I possessed with me, tucked inside a tight harness that I had sat up nights, sewing, from one of my shirts. It was sorta like a bra, only pockets were on the inside to keep the money safely hidden. I even made little flaps that could be folded over so the money wouldn't fall out if I had to run or hurry, or something.

I only wore a monk's garb, because it was way warmer than my western clothing, and I could drape it over my back, in another pack, when wearing it would be too hot. Of course, I would wear the heavy leather, water proof boots I had worn into the monastery. I knew I would be walking through much mountain terrain. The boots were still just like new, because in the beginning I had put on the rope sandals, so I could look like all the other monks. I had worn the sandals every day from the second day, because they couldn't be seen beneath the layers of my robes; and with the heavy hand knitted socks on, they fit perfectly. For hiking, my feet needed to be warm and safe from the elements in the perfect, high-top, leather boots made for mountaineering.

All the time I lived at the monastery, no one entered my cell. Not one thing was ever touched. At first, when I arrived, I did not trust anyone, and I had lain that short, black, unnoticeable thread over the edge of my suitcase to check if my belongings were ever disturbed. Years later, when I left, the thread was still exactly where I had placed it.

The very last day I worked in the kitchen, I clandestinely took a long, slim, sharp knife. I felt bad about stealing, but I might need something for protection out in the wilds. I hoped not, though.

~~~***~~~

My plans were to take what they call a spiritual trek. There are many such spiritual walks world wide, such as the Camino de Santiago in Spain. That being the most popular with American Christians and other spiritual seekers. Just walk and walk, thinking, meditating, and yes, even praying.

I headed towards Himachal Pradesh. I would be walking along the mountains towards Spiti to Ladakh. This trek follows ancient trade routes. Unlike popular spiritual treks in India and other well known trails, this one was remote to say the least. The bleak walk with its high altitude desert terrain would take me about a month, I figured. Again I noticed the vast, open sky, changing constantly, like a great motion picture. Studying the landscape, gave me more peace than I had ever known. By the time I would reach Ladakha, my mind should be clear enough to know what I should do and where I should go.

Most of my decision would be based on the letter that Charlie had written me. I'd waited so long to read it, while it had lain in Abbot Suman's desk drawer, that I wanted to have just the right setting to do so. In my mind the letter would be a special treat.

Before I set out on my trek to the remote areas, I stopped in our closest town to purchase food stuffs and light camping gear to survive the weather and harsh conditions. The first thing I bought was a small box of large garbage bags, the heaviest ply made. I could use them for many things, especially to cover anything I didn't want to get wet, such as myself. I also purchased a very small one burner camp stove and three bottles of fluid for it, matches, tea, and food. Just before leaving the store, I noticed a medium sized flashlight. I went back, bought it and batteries, too. Most of the food was dehydrated or powdered for lightweight traveling. Jerky seemed the best protein replacement.

Abbot Suman had given me a small, one-man tent, in it's own little front pack. Also a well made sturdy back pack. Some long ago monk had left them with him to pass on to a monk in need of them, who was leaving the monastery. Thankfully, I took both, knowing there would be none similar available in the town. I could tell they were both very well constructed. The labels both said: "Made in Denmark.

Finally, after leaving the village, and the farthest hut, I decided to read the letter from Charlie in the evening when I would stop for the night. I could then savor it quietly and in leisure. I had already waited so long, wondering, that I just about didn't want to know the contents. That's how high my anticipation and sense of hopefulness felt. I was very excited to read it, yet calmly biding my time.

As I walked along in the pristine silence, I noticed my system had become used to the rhythm of the monastery. What I missed the most were the sounds of monastery living, which focused on bells, gongs, and the high tones of singing bowls. The bowls made a crystal like sound with a high frequency that was supposed to affect brainwaves binaurally during meditation. I even missed the bamboo flute with it's sweet, soothing notes, played by an aged, holy monk. A Drang-srong; is what he was called; a respected elder Buddhist.

~~~***~~~

Dusk was coming on fast. I found a good place to bed down for the night under an ancient, giant fir, one of the very few trees on the bleak landscape. Reaching out to light small twigs, sticks, and fir needles that I'd gathered from under the tree and nearby brush for a fire, I noticed my arm. The emblem shaped scar was on the inside of my forearm. After being a novice, and just before becoming a fully ordained monk, the last step had been the mark.

The mark was created by burning with incense as a sign that I was ordained. I would keep it all my lifetime. It was being branded, a spiritual branding. The iron emblem tool was laid along side many chunks of incense for hours until it became red hot. Then Abbot Suman would take our hand in his, pull up our sleeve, and adhere the hot iron to our arm. If the novice monk were to yell out in pain, then it would not be a true ordination. This solemn ceremony was witnessed by us all, many times. The newly ordained monk would never yell out. That being the tradition, then neither would I.

I used to hurt myself on purpose to enhance my pain toleration level without uttering a sound. It became easier and easier. At my ceremony I was ready to go through the flesh burning in silence, and I did.

~~~***~~~

I heated snow in my metal cup over my little fire, stirred tea leaves into it, and then sat down to read Charlie's letter.

Dear Joe,

I am sorry I didn't say good bye and Namaste' to you before I left.

My Grandfather, who I left behind in Holland years ago, passed over to the other side, leaving me our family's farm. The place has been in our family for centuries.

I'm an only child, so there is no one else to run the place. My father died when I was young, and now there's only my grandmother and myself left. I must go back and try to carry on the tradition. This letter is to give you directions, in case you ever feel you want to come.

I think you understand.

Namaste'

Charlie

~~~***~~~

Then at the bottom of the letter was his name and also his last name, town name, road name and short directions to the farm, outside the town.

I was so glad to have read the letter while on my long meditative journey, and not before. Now, finally, I would have time to think. I didn't know what to do yet. Maybe I'd even pray about my confusion. It couldn't hurt, since I myself didn't know what to do, but, like the monks believed, I also believed there to be a Higher Power that knew better than my ego self. I would ask and see what would come to my mind.

First, placing a large plastic garbage bag on the ground, I made my bed on it. Staying in the robes, which were all the clothes I had, except for underwear, I was warm by covering myself with another plastic bag. My pack was my pillow, after taking all the hard stuff out of it. I had a little tablet, pencil, and a prayer book to entertain myself each night until it became too dark to see.

Most days were spent just walking, as in the walking meditation. I enjoyed it so much. Surmising the entire walk would take me a little over thirty days of peace and quiet, if all went well. My first destination was quite a large populated area that had a small airport. From that airport, I would fly to a larger airport and then, continue on to an international airport where I would fly to anywhere that I decided to go. By the time I reached the first destination, I hoped to have made up my mind as to what I should do and where I should go.

~~~***~~~

Because the villages had no lodges or hotels, I stayed at huts and homes sometimes. The villagers welcomed visitors, for exchange or money. Until I came to one of these, I knew I would have to try keeping clean, sane, and fed, along the way. Back at the monastery, the monks had invented a kind of dry bath, made from something like shreds of yellow, vegetable fiber. It reminded me of some part of corn. They assured me that it was not. The dry, powdery, so called soap absorbed odors and dirt alike. We even "washed" clothes with it when there was no warm water to use. After rubbing this dry wash "soap" on the clothes and then shaking off the powder, the dirt, odor, and stains would fall away. Then they had to be vigorously shaken in the wind. It only took a tiny bit of the powder to do a big cleaning job.

About every other night I would strip and "bathe" standing behind some far off bushes or shrubs, way away from the trail. At these times I would be amazed at how feminine I was fast becoming. My breast were soft, medium-large, and my hand made money belt, bra, halter, had to have more material added to it to stretch around my larger chest. In spite of this lesson in hormones, it was quite alarming to observe, even though, I was relieved. Hardly having sufficient food with me, I was amazed how body fat could develop. Knowing, since I had stopped the testosterone pills, this would happen, it was still an interesting and shocking experience.

Not only was my body becoming a woman again, so was my mind. When I had been in the monastery with Charlie, I had often wondered what he would think when he found out who I really was. Meeting someone who's living a lie could be an unforgiving shock, no matter how he felt about me at the monastery. I prayed he'd forgive me.

Under my robes, I still felt pretty safe. I met so few other travelers on the trail, that by the time they could have caught up with me, I would go off the path to hide behind the cover of bushes. If I couldn't hide, I decided to just look down and pull my hood over most of my face. Because of the harsh winds and inclement weather, usually with hoarfrost, most people went about doing the very same anyway. Another good omen was that the majority were Buddhist, and I had faith they wouldn't molest me. They would be thinking I was a monk. The monk's garb protected me, because of their benevolent beliefs. Buddhism's not a violent religion, it is calming, loving and it considers anyone, strangers included, as part of the whole. In other words, part of themselves.

Whenever I came to a village, it always consisted of just a few huts, and maybe a little eating place that also sold a few food stuffs and dry goods. All along the way, I was able to purchase nuts, tea, a kind of goat or yak jerky, and maybe a loaf of dark, country bread. One time, I even got to buy a bit of yak ghee, the clarified butter made by Tibetans. Spread on a robust hunk of dark bread, it was better, to me, than the fanciest meal.

By the tenth day of my trek, I had decided to go find Charlie. I couldn't deny my feelings for him, and didn't want to either. Day in and day out, I turned my life over to the Higher Power, which lots of the world called, "God". I started thinking more abstractly, because of living as a monk, learning the chants, and believing we were one Mind. The ideal we were all connected taught non-judgment. We all lived and breathed in unison, it did feel like we were one. I knew we were all way more than these puny bodies of bone, skin, and hair. Spiritually, we could become all powerful when we became aware of our oneness and our connectedness. Spiritually of course.

After I grew used to thinking this way, it seemed that right things began to happen to me. Fear lifted from me, and it felt like I had the right to anything anybody else had rights for. Like I was part of the big picture, instead of feeling so insignificant, not worth much, and not like used junk. It was exhilarating. Finally, I felt freedom for the first time in my life and I felt that anything was possible. I even started singing songs, real songs, not just chanting, "Ohm".

~~~***~~~

At one village, an elderly lady waved me over to her doorway. She asked me something in her mountain dialect, I answered that I didn't understand, shaking my head back and forth. She motioned for me to wait there, and hurriedly went back into her humble home. Returning right away with a cup of hot tea. She offered the cup to me, and I took it. On the road, tea, or anything hot was so hard to come by.

First, I had to find snow, usually not too far up the mountain side, so that was easy, but then finding twigs for a little fire, and getting it to stay lit, waiting for the water to boil, and finally waiting for the tea to steep, all took a toll on my patience. I still had some oil, so if I was really impatient, I could use my tiny, one burner stove; even though I had already experienced how hot my little stove could get. I could regulate the heat, but one time I burned a metal cup clear through, because I had fallen asleep.

I took the tea, thankfully. After a sip, I smiled at the woman. She looked elderly. She motioned me into her house, a really small hut of two rooms. Overhead, rafters were hung with drying vines, spices, twigs and leaves. A fireplace warmed the place, from the back of the big room, with her bed directly beside it. A long bench stretched alongside a wooden table in the center of the room, there was only one chair shoved up under the table. Some cupboards made from old fashioned wooden fruit boxes were nailed to the wall for food and dishes. On a bigger wood box, about waist level, sat a large pitcher of water and a bucket full of water, beside which sat her drinking cup. Her home was neat and tidy.

My tea was gone, and I started for the door, but looking at her made me sad, because she started to cry. She started to pull on my robes, kinda asking me to stay.

She pulled me to the back of the big room to another little doorway. I looked in, and there was a small cot in a tiny bedroom. She took my pack from the bench in the kitchen area, and placed it on the cot, motioning for me to sit down. Finally, I decided to stay and see what she wanted.

It was obvious by the next day that she was very ill, and that she had spent her energy on trying to get me inside to stay with her. She was bedridden the next day. I couldn't leave her then.

I managed to find food to make a broth for her. She stayed in bed all day, and I hand fed her the broth. I started to feel trapped, but then, I remembered I had just gotten a new wave of faith and felt I wouldn't be led into anything hurtful, especially if I did service with a loving heart. When I was giving and not expecting anything in return, that part felt wonderful.

It turned out I spent three weeks with the older woman. We never communicated with many words. We did talk with feelings, eyes, and hand motions. Most of the time she remained in bed. I was able to offer my monk's type of soap to "dry-wash" her body. I had to show her how to do it; and afterward, she smiled, feeling more energy. I even cleaned her bed covers and the clothes she was wearing with the monk's soap, it only took a pinch for each item. After going outside with all the garments and bedding, roughly shaking them in the wind, they looked and smelled fresh.

Then we both sat at the table for dinner. I baked bread and made a stew. Earlier that day at the small village store, I was able to get some goat meat for a stew. It made her feel better than I had yet to see her. The food most likely.

Besides building fires in the large fireplace, I went to purchase food daily, making plain meals that I had become accustomed to as a monk. I fetched the water and wondered who had been carrying water for her before I had come upon the scene. She would always thank me by saying something that I knew must have been, "Thank you."

In those weeks, she did say, "Namaste'" a few times with a little smile. I beheld the Light in her also, it was easy to do.

It was too bad, but she didn't have the strength to get out of bed, except that one time, and after that, only to go to the bathroom. After a little while it was not even possible for her to get up for that predominant need. I would take her a shallow pan to use, then go some distance into the woods to bury our waste. Luckily, I found a makeshift shovel beside the front door.

I kept the place warm, lighting the fire every morning, a daily ritual. Embers for cooking made cooking very easy compared to being out on the trail.

The woman became weak. I knew she was going to die and that she had invited me in so she would not be faced with doing this great thing alone. I sat beside her bed, with the chair pulled up beside it, night after night, expecting to hear her last breath.

Wondering about her and her life, I thought she must be very old. I wondered if she had ever been married, if she had any children, and if she had always lived here. Why didn't anyone else from the village look in on her while I was there?

Late one night, she motioned for me, pointing at the fireplace. Squatting down, I looked where she pointed; there was nothing. Turning back toward the bed, I saw that her face had a grim determined look; and she kept saying the same sentence over and over again. Trying again, I looked where she pointed, but all I could see were bricks. That fireplace was as old as the very hills surrounding the village. I began grabbing at bricks to see if any were loose. I found one that was loose, then another one next to it. Altogether, there were four loose bricks. I pulled them towards me. They fell to the floor. From the opening, I retrieved a very ornate, antique, wooden box. It had a place for a padlock on the front of it, but it wasn't locked. Feeling it wasn't my place to open it, I put it on the bed beside her.

She struggled to sit up a little, leaning on some makeshift pillows that I had put behind her back. Opening the lid, she showed me some official looking papers. One by one. I wished I knew what they were about, I couldn't read the printing. Maybe one was her deed to this house, I thought. Then she lifted out of the box, the most magnificent ruby ring I had ever seen. No jeweler's ad in any magazine could have touched the beauty of it. The ruby looked to be about four carrots in size. She held it up to the firelight.

I voiced, "ooooh, ahhhh," smiling and appreciating such an amazing precious article. She reached over, took my hand, and placed the ring on one of my fingers. I shook my head, no, no, no. She shook her head, yes, yes, and yes again. She patted my hand and said something that must have been: "Pretty".

None of my questions were answered, because she passed over to the other side quietly during the middle of the night when I wasn't even watching her. I had fallen asleep; and when I awoke, there was no breathing sound. Both she and I had been expecting this transition for her Spirit. Even though I hadn't been awake, I was glad she went peacefully and quietly. It seemed gentle.

I went to the only store in town. Trying to tell someone she had passed. The clerk finally followed me back to the woman's home and saw that she had died. He, in turn, went to get two other people, they all bowed deeply to me, and I heard the worldwide greeting again, of Namaste'. I'm sure they were thanking me for staying with her.

I kept the wonderful ring, but not on my finger. I didn't want strangers to see a poor monk with it. I could be attacked because of it. I sewed it snuggly to the inside of my heavy wool tunic.

I figured she had no one to leave the ring to, and she probably thought that since I was a monk, I would donate the ring, or money from it, to my monastery.

~~~***~~~

Chapter Four

Walking away from that experience, I felt light, almost weightless. I felt compelled and drawn to find Charlie even more than ever. At last, my mind was truly made up.

Each step of the way, brought me closer to seeing him again, finally face to face.

Thinking, with not a little fear, that my being a woman might shock him. I thought he wouldn't really be angry with me for too long, because as monks; we learned how to deal with anger and resentment. We managed to overcome it, by learning, then knowing, that we are all truly connected. We know that all humans make mistakes. Then we can use the mistakes to grow toward a higher goal. Mistakes are valuable lessons. A way to forgive and to eventually feel connected to one another.

I was only a week away from my goal of reaching the last village where I would fly away to Charlie, and on the way my new ideas of forgiveness would be tested drastically.

~~~***~~~

Back on the trek, towards evening, and weary from excitement, I was looking around for a place to sleep, and at the same time, looking for sticks to use as firewood. I soon knew it would be too dark before I could build a fire, so I gave up on the idea, resigning to use the little camp stove instead, to make something hot to drink. The nightly tea ritual was always something to look forward to all day while walking along. The time right before bedding down for the night was the time to sit back, relax and enjoy my hot cup of tea.

I set my sight on a clump of bushes pretty far away from the path, where no one would spot me. Settling down with tea, a mouthful of jerky, and a hunk of dark bread, I felt rewarded for walking all day while enjoying the quiet beauty of the mountain terrain.

As usual twilight came on so suddenly, it was surprising. I realized that in just minutes the bleak sun would go behind the high mountain peaks, then the night would be completely dark. So, in a hurry, I sat on my outdoor bed while I finished eating.

I had not seen anyone for the last few days. On the entire trek, I had only seen a handful of people, except for those who lived in the small villages that were so sparsely settled along the way. The villages were all few and far between each one

I thought I heard a noise near the edge of the forest, like the sound of brush rustling in the breeze, but it couldn't have been someone passing, since there wasn't anyone living along here; and besides, I hadn't caught sight of anyone in ever so long. If it were a wild animal, I would just have to yield to fate. I wasn't fearful of wild animals, just men.

Usually, whenever I crawled into my plastic bag covered bed, I would fall asleep immediately. Walking all day and thinking ahead had a way of using energy that needed to be replenished with sleep at sundown, every night. For some reason though, I felt uneasy, not knowing why. I lay there awake for a long, long while, then, finally, I began to feel drowsy, and nodded off.

Suddenly, I awoke completely and immediately. Upon hearing the sound of heavy boots running toward me, my heart beat wildly. Before I knew what was happening a strong arm was around my neck, forcing me back down to a laying position. As fast and hard as I could, I bunched my legs up to my belly, and shoved with all my might. It was a man all right, a very large and strong one. He lost his balance and fell backwards away from me.

At this point I remembered the knife I had stolen from the monastery kitchen. I knew it was under my head, but still in my pack. I had been using it to cut all sorts of things. Mostly twigs, jerky, and cheese. I never really thought to have it handy in case of attack, not out here in this unpopulated area.

He came back at me in a split second, I had not injured him enough to keep him away for any amount of time, and certainly not long enough to get the knife. He then got on top of me, pinning me down to stop any further ambush by my legs and feet. I could tell he was winded. He was gasping, trying to take deep breaths. I must have kicked him in the stomach, instead of the groin where I was aiming. In pitch darkness, neither of us could see the other.

If he had seen me walking along, he would have known I was a monk, I thought. What kind of a guy would attack a monk unless it was just to steal whatever was possible to steal.

It didn't even occur to me that this might be a sexual attack, the worst kind of attack in the world, except for the ultimate end of some attacks: Death. Rape superseded death in some instances though.

Not thinking it was a sexual attack helped me to actually think what to do next, but for now I lay motionless, not able to do anything with such a heavy weight on me. It made me feel so helpless, because in fact, I was helpless. After about five whole minutes of him trying to breath right, the guy moved to the side of me, holding me down with one heavy arm, then he tried lifting up my robes with his other hand. He was trying to get to skin.

Now, I was truly afraid. The many terrifying times I had been raped all came back to me, instantly. Thinking again that feeling helpless is a terrible thing, but actually being helpless is another thing all together.

While he was messing with my robes, I struggled to get the knife out of my pack. The pack was now next to my head, I knew he couldn't see me. Then, I felt inside the pack, I couldn't feel the knife, but I did feel the flashlight. Grabbing it tightly, I got it out and pointed it where I thought his face should be. Snapping the light on surprised the guy so much, he jumped up and then backed stumbling away from me. He ran, fell, and tripped while moving backwards, trying to run, all the while watching the light. The light was shining on his surprised face. He disappeared into the blackness of the night.

Afterwards, I couldn't go back to sleep until just about daylight. My irregular heart beat took at least an hour to calm down. There was no way I could have relaxed enough to actually lay down and sleep. I wanted to be awake just in case he came back again. If he came back I truly didn't want to be sleeping.

Along about noontime, I finally went on my way again. I was leery of any movement, and even the wind rustling through trees and bushes caused me to be nervous and jumpy. I had lost my serenity.

My feelings towards the man had changed when I saw his face in the sudden light of my flashlight. I could see that he was mentally ill. I just wished he would find a place where he couldn't hurt anyone, and where he might get help for his troubled mind.

This caused me to think that all the men who had molested, raped, and abused me were probably mentally ill too. It kinda made me feel better towards them, for some reason. It was better for me to think they were insane, than to think of them as outright monsters, which I had done my whole life.

~~~***~~~

The next night, I was walking along near dusk, feeling a little apprehensive, but now the knife and flashlight were both handy. They were not buried in my pack, they were easier to reach. I felt somewhat better remembering that some people in this world didn't have the ability to act humanely until they learned to do so, or if they couldn't learn, then they were lessons for all the rest of us. We could overcome our fear of them, forgive them, or distance ourselves from them. Thinking thus helped me to start the forgiving process.

Right then I heard a far distant scream. Running towards the direction from where I thought the screamer could be. All was quiet. I waited to see if I could hear anything more, then I would know which direction to run toward. Again, I heard sounds, this time some muffled whimpering, I ran towards a group of bushes among a few large trees and underbrush, to where I heard the sounds.

Confronted by a terrible sight, at first I was paralyzed with fear. Then the adrenaline set in and I grabbed the knife out of the front of my robe where I had loosely tethered it to the halter that I had sewn.

About five hundred feet ahead, a man was attacking a woman, it looked like. They saw me running towards them. The man, a big man, had paused a few seconds, and by the time I got there he had thrown her on the ground, had torn most of her clothes off, and was raping her mightily.

Looking back, it seemed like a natural instinct, when I plunged the knife deep into his side. He grunted in pain, as we threw him off with a huge heave, aside near her.

His penis was still standing straight up, it made me sick to look at it, covered with her blood. Then I picked up a dirty coat from the ground, and threw it over his nakedness.

I turned to her, "he won't hurt you now."

For a long time the girl didn't speak; she only cried, heart breaking sobbing. I knew just how she felt. I was glad she was able to sob and not hold her pain inward as much as I had to do for my whole life.

She was in shock, and so it was with me. I had done great harm to another human being, making me sad, mad, fearful, and feeling empty. Who was I to take a life? I felt guilty, even though I knew he had taken her life away as she had always known her life. She would never be the same innocent little girl again, obviously having been a virgin until this moment of terror.

Much time passed with me just sitting there, waiting for the shock and pain of the rape and murder to pass just a little.

Finally, I ran over to a big tree to gather wood underneath it, for a fire. She must be kept warm, due to shock.

Coming back with the twigs and dry debris, starting them on fire, I asked, "Who is he, do you know?"

Slowly gulping in big breaths of air between long moments of crying hysterically, she finally ended up whimpering to herself for the longest time, sounding as if she could never stop, until she stuttered out one sentence, saying, "I never saw him in my life."

I was surprised, hearing her speak in plain perfect English, with a little odd accent I thought I recognized.

"Well, I have," I said to her when I came near enough to hold out my hand to her. "He tried to rape me last night, and I scared him off. But I don't know who he is. I think he's demented though. I saw his eyes when he attacked me, and he was definitely out of his mind."

She tried to cover herself up, but her coat, torn to shreds, as was her other garb. I took off one of my robes and offered it to her.

She gladly took it, and then she said, "I thought you were a monk, now I see you're a woman."

"Women can be monks," is all I responded. As she lay there crying, I went over by the large tree again to get more wood for the fire. Coming back, building it up, then getting water from a nearby spring, I heated a metal cup to give her some hot tea.

"Namaste'," was her thanks.

"Namaste'," I answered.

She sat quietly drinking tea, holding the hot cup using some cloth of her torn clothing as a hot pad to hold the metal handle of the cup. Even drinking the hot tea, she was still quietly crying brokenheartedly.

When she had finished her tea, I made myself a cup, and was drinking it, when I heard her ask, "What should we do with him? I'm pretty sure he's dead."

By now her composure was just beginning to come around a tiny bit.

"I'm not sure. I don't know," I responded.

Then after a long time, when she had finally stopped crying just about all together, I heard her say, "The town isn't far, and I live just beyond it; so when I get home, I'll tell my uncle about him, and my uncle will come and deal with him. You need to come home with me to help me tell them what happened. Don't worry if someone in town does know him. They'll already know of his tendencies, and they won't be surprised he's dead, because of those tendencies. People like him are called, "gMod-sbyin, or harm givers."

"I'm Joanne, what's your name?" I asked.

She answered in her best voice yet, "Choden."

~~~***~~~

On the way to Choden's uncle's place, I asked what she was doing way out there in the wilderness all by herself.

She answered, "I often ride quite far out, I love the mountain views and wild areas. Today my horse was spooked by something, she threw me and ran off. She probably will go home by herself. I'm glad I landed in a low, thick bush. It was like brush, but not stickery. I'm all right from being thrown though."

Then I asked her how she learned English. She responded that she was sent to college in America. Hearing the slight accent, I asked where she had lived in America. She had gone to school in Boston was her reply. I thought I heard a New England accent.

Choden seemed very sweet, though older than she looked at first. Her wise eyes gave her away when she finally stopped crying and I could actually see them. She said that she lived with her aunt and uncle, because her parents were dead. I responded that mine were too. We seemed to bond right then. She didn't know we had way more in common than dead parents.

Someday, I might tell her about me being raped as a child and a young adult, and that was the reason I joined a monastery. I might not tell her it was a "men's only" monastery though. She would think I was not only unsafe there, but crazy too.

At her uncle's home, we were made comfortable, given baths, and clean clothes. It felt wonderful, the first tub bath I had been able to take in years. And in hot water. What a heavenly feeling!

Wearing different clothes felt weird to me at first. A dark blue, long skirt of at least two yards of material and a sort of blouse to go with it of a light blue color. Getting out of the black colored monk's garb was a real shock to my system. I had to keep looking down at myself to comprehend that I was really a girl and not a monk.

We both came down the stairs at about the same time to tell the Aunt and Uncle about Choden's experience. Of course, she had told them initially, but not in detail, saying she only wanted a bath first. After being seated in a nice, large room, like a sitting room, she just said a man had attacked her and that I came running and killed him off of her. I thought that was an odd choice of words, but it was exactly what had happened.

The uncle directed his next question to me, asking, "Where?"

Before leaving the area where the attack had happened I made a rock stack beside the road. This was done in many Indian and Tibetan areas. I tethered prayer flags tightly to the pile of rocks, so they would fly in the wind and easily identify the spot for Choden's uncle to get off the trail. We told him the correct direction to walk from the piled up rock, and that the dead man was under the first bunch of bushes, and under his coat.

Her uncle took two of his men with him and was gone for two days.

When they returned, her uncle said that no one in town was missing the rapist and that he had gone to the constable's home to make a report. The constable took our names, and said he would go to the spot of the attack to make sure the yaksha man was buried properly, and then he would come talk to us girls. Choden's family used the word, "Yakshas" as a name for the mentally ill.

~~~***~~~

Choden and I had a wonderful time together, in spite of her suffering. And my suffering. Yes, I suffered with terrible guilt, wondering if the murder was really justified. My mind would think it was, then my mind would wish there had been another way. Since there was no one else out there to help beat the demented man off of Choden, I did what I must have thought I had to do to save her life. We talked at great length about the awful incident. She, her family, and finally myself all came to the conclusion it was all I could do, and they were ever so grateful for what I had done for their beloved Choden.

Besides her aunt, I was the first woman Choden had seen in a very long time, except in town, which was a rare visit. She confided how grateful she was for my company, especially at a time like this.

Actually, she was the first woman I had seen too, in a very very long time. Except the native women in the towns. At least she was the first one I got to speak English with. She would be ever so amazed if she knew I was a monk in a monastery of nothing but men. I felt so drawn to Choden, wondering what all these feelings were about. Even when I was near Choden, I kept finding myself thinking of Charlie. He would be the one for me. I was sure of it. I didn't want to scramble up my thinking any more than it already was scrambled, not with the mixed feelings of love I was experiencing for Choden.

~~~***~~~

We rode horses together each day, talked for hours, and slept in the same room at night, sharing many private thoughts by candle light. After being with Choden and her family for only a week, I began to have feelings for Choden that shocked me to the very quick of my soul. First Charlie, now this. I knew it wasn't just friendship feelings either. I was so afraid of the quick heat in the pit of my stomach when she came near. If she did touch me, I had to move away fast, because I felt I wanted to ravish her. I was sick in my heart about those feelings, knowing what she had just lived through. Maybe ravish wasn't the right word, but I was so drawn to kiss her that it scared me. I wondered if messing with my hormones had anything to do with my swinging unbalanced libido. First feminine, then masculine, and now back to feminine. I wished the constable from the town would hurry and come talk with us. I could then get on my way to finding Charlie and hopefully a new life for Charlie and me.

Choden showed no reciprocal feeling for me. She was friendly, sweet, pretty, and in love with her fiancé-to-be. In America we would call her fiancé-to-be a "boyfriend". In Tibet there is no concept of boyfriend because once you go out with a man, it is a given that you will become married to him.

Me; being with hundreds of men in the monastery for so long, I think I had just been craving feminine company and ideas. All my life, I had never had a girlfriend, and for that matter, I had never had a boyfriend either. I felt I was too damaged to have either one, and too afraid. My main feeling about myself was shame and fear. I had to keep my past secrets to myself, which kind of crippled my emotions and ability to relate to all others. Choden seemed different though. I shared a lot of what had happened to me in my past life, with her. Probably a big part of it was the way she and I had met.

After sharing some of my experiences with her early one night, she came over to my bed, in the middle of the same night, and hugged me. Neither one of us had been able to sleep yet. The talking had been too emotionally charged to sleep.

I wasn't able to breath right because of the hug, and I developed a coughing fit. Choden had to run and get me a glass of water to help me get my breath. I never did say one word to her about how I felt. Either I was too embarrassed or too afraid.

Choden told me of the man she wanted to marry, and that she loved him very much. Her customs dictated that to be a wife, she must be a virgin. She remained highly upset about this part of the rape. How it probably would affect her life forever. Afraid of what her fiance'-to-be, would say and do now that she was no longer a virgin. Then, her uncle went to visit the fiance'-to-be, to talk with him about the whole situation. He must have been an okay person, because his response was that he didn't care, as long as he was still allowed to marry Choden. He also stated he was just so very thankful that she was not murdered.

I was very relieved that I hadn't acted on any of my schoolgirl-type feelings that I thought I felt for her. I then thought only of Charlie, questioning myself why I had been drawn to Choden in the first place. It didn't make much sense, probably just because somebody being nice to me felt like love. Before the monastery and after mama died, no one hardly ever acted nice toward me. It was a feeling I must have mixed up with love.

~~~***~~~

After another week, the constable came, and took our statements. He told me I could leave the area now. As far as he, and the law were concerned, the death was justifiable manslaughter, and I was absolved of any crime. I still felt terrible, but the upside was that Choden wasn't dead. As she had said over and over, she could've been the dead one and not the yak-shas man. Trying to help me feel better Choden's uncle even told me that most likely I had saved other girls in the future from rape and maniacal attack, by killing the yak-shas, the gMod-sbyin harm giver.

My mind, at that time, was overcome with my belief in Karma. Karmically, during a past life someone must have killed me. I now needed to know the sorrow of me taking another's life...perhaps.

It really bothered me, no matter how much I thought about it, that the man might've killed Choden. Did my killing him justify the fact that he might've killed her, or even both of us? I would never know. Usually there are no answers to unanswerable questions. We just have to live with the outcome of our actions.

Buddhist believe in Mantras, which is our ritual chants, that have a healing influence on the mind when a person is suffering from worry, mental strain, and the like. It sure did work for me after leaving Choden and her family. I begin to lighten up from the guilt of killing the gMod-sbyin, or harm giver. But Choden's family's word for the demented was, yak-shas. Spitting the word out with a loud emphasis on the two syllables, in angry tones, sounded appropriate to them.

Mantras have helped heal my mind of many terrible events. I knew if I kept at it, this one would become less painful to my mind. We believe this world is an illusion we are experiencing just for us to learning that All is still ONE entity. All is One, is the Buddhists' point of view. That this world is truly an illusion, and we need to learn that we are all connected, then we will cease being reincarnated.

With nothing to look at but beauty, nothing to do except walk, meditate, and chant, I felt I was being healed as much as possible from the guilt of killing another human being.

The day I left Choden, her family, and their fine, large and beautiful estate, saddened us all. She promised to write me if I would just send her my address when I got settled. I told her I had no idea where I'd end up. That I might even go back to the monastery and the rules there stated no one could visit or write to me. Which was a lie, I had to tell the lie to be protected from anyone finding out my true identity just in case I had to live at the monastery again. I might still have to go back there if Charlie didn't want anything to do with me. I didn't really even let Choden know the actual location or name of the monastery. In the end I'd just be a memory to her. No reason to keep in touch, I reasoned.

Dressed again in my monks robes and hood, I felt comfortable enough to go on with my plans. Knowing raping monsters could be round about, even in this wondrously beautiful part of the world. The monk's black garb set me aside as a holy person. Most of the population adored and even loved the spiritual element of temples, monasteries, and monks in their country. I again thought of how we were revered as good omens if sighted. Coming upon a monk caused the majority of people to give us a little bow of respect and an utterance of Namaste' at the very least. I would always mirror that.

Again I thought I didn't want Choden to find out that I had been posing as a man, and I didn't want the Abbot or any of the men at the monastery to find out I was really a woman. I was positive that I wouldn't ever see Choden again, so certainly I couldn't write to her.

Wishing her a happy marriage and life, I hugged her good by, and waved to the entire family as I headed towards the wilderness area again. The wilderness could be seen from their house's high balconies on the second and third floors. Such a beautiful view.

Most of the monks were so far advanced spiritually that no matter what anyone does or says, they forgive any infraction immediately. Buddhist forgive because they know the human isn't what's real, that the sin or infraction is not real either, it's all just an illusion. The spirit is all that is truly real, and spirit is perfect always. Our planet, earth is all about learning this one thing well. I started the last leg of my journey walking away from Choden and her family, thinking this valuable thought.

~~~***~~~

Again, on the trail, walking through wispy air, trying to sort out in my mind my newly found sexual feelings for; now, two humans, Charley and Choden. I was shocked that I could think and feel this way about a woman, as shocked as I was to feel the feelings I had at the monastery for Charlie. I must say, I was drawn to Charlie instantly; day after day for so long that when he didn't show up in the kitchen, I felt deep grief, actually a deep pain, as if I'd been stabbed in the heart. Which taught me some of the many dimensions of human feelings and emotions.

Then after re-reading his letter and knowing Charlie wanted me to visit him in Holland, I felt really elated, happy, and joyous. My mission now was to find him and discover what feelings he might have for me, if any. All I could do was hope and move forward one day at a time. If anything I had learned patience, the art of waiting.

Every step I took, I felt closer and closer to Charlie, and closer to my Higher Power, too. I was glad to continue trekking over the low mountain ridges, mile after mile. The hiking gave me more time to clarify my poor thinking, to clear my troubled mind.

By the time I reached Ladakh, with the small air strip on the outskirts of the town, I was finally ready for humanity or so I hoped.

Booking a room at the Ladakh hotel in my monk's robes really confused the desk clerk, since he was the same person to check me out when I left. The look on his face when I checked out, the next day sure gave me a big inward smile.

The first thing I did was to take a long and luxurious hot bath. I hadn't noticed how much I missed such things until I got to Choden's home. After that I looked forward to the next bath with an expectation that most would not understand.

After the bath, I donned Choden's clothing she generously gave me. Looking like a woman again, but not knowing how I really felt about my looks, gave me not a little fear.

After returning from a clothes shopping spree and a good dinner of slightly western style food, I felt better than I had felt in a very long time. I like to think it was the food and maybe freedom to do anything that I wanted.

I purchased western clothing. One slim dark blue skirt, one nice pair of black slacks, and three blouses to go on top, the blouses were all different colors. Also a jacket, low heeled heels, stockings and a week's worth of underwear. All the clothes were made of material that traveled well. Rolled up, they fit nicely in the new combination back-pack suitcase.

Then I took the ruby ring out of my monk's garment, and sewed it into the waist band of the pants that I'd be wearing on the planes. I could easily feel it there at all times, and since it was on the inside of the pants, it didn't show in any way. I had taken out a tiny part of the waist band, sewn the ring inside the waist band, then stitched it back up. Looking seamless.

Finally I was on my way to Holland. Not wanting to be bogged down with a real suitcase, and foreseeing more walking ahead, it would be so much easier to wear a back pack instead of carrying only a suit case. I left the double bottom suit case that I had taken to the monastery years ago in that hotel room in Ladakh. Minus my money, that is. It had been a home to my pills and savings for such a long time. I went to an international bank exchange to get the equivalent of traveler's checks instead of American dollars. Just in case.

I tried on all the clothes in my hotel room, feeling so strange in what seemed like foreign clothes. "Odd," I thought, "I feel strange in clothes that I have worn all my life in America, girl's clothes."

I missed the monk's garb. It had made me feel safe, and protected. In women's clothes again, I felt vulnerable, thinking in my innermost mind that I might get attacked at any moment. I thought this is a terrible way to live, I wanted to overcome this fear of vulnerability if it was the last thing I'd do.

As I boarded the small plane for the flight to another airport, a nostalgic sadness fell over my mind along with the feeling that I would never be back here again in this beautiful, mountainous country, nor would I ever again see the monastery that had been my home for the last few years.

I knew that this would be the last time I'd get to view the gigantic, majestic mountain peaks as I flew over them, and I was trying to put the past years and recent past happenings into perspective. It wasn't easy because the monastery life, the elder lady with the ruby ring, and Choden, were all bitter sweet memories.

"Most all experiences are like that once they are past," I mused.

~~~***~~~

Traveling to Holland was uneventful, except for my apprehension in regard to meeting Charlie. Afraid of what he would think of me now. Wondering if he would even recognize me. Would he welcome me at all?

At one hotel in a large city between plane connections, I found myself gazing in the mirror attached to the dressing table. How did I look? Was I the same, at all? Would Charlie even still like me, let alone love me and marry me? That, of course, was what I wanted in the end, for us to be together always.

I had no one. Charlie had his grandmother and the family farm. He might want me, and all I could go on was the word, "might".

Still looking in the mirror, appraising my face, my body, my hair and the turn of my breasts, I thought a lot of men would like me, as in the past; but I didn't want any other man, just Charlie.

Somehow, I knew him to be the kindest and most gentle man alive and that was all I really wanted. A nice man. Me to be loved for me.

Thinking thus, I knew that it didn't really matter how my body looked, it wasn't me anyway. Not the Real me. So, down deep that was my bottom line, we would just love one another. Love being the only thing that ever lasted here on earth.

~~~***~~~

Getting off the last airplane, riding the last bus after arriving in Holland, then finding out there was no transportation to the vicinity of Charlie's property, I knew I had to walk. First I would stay all night in the town at a little lodge, have a nice dinner, then breakfast, then take off the next morning. I wanted a bath anyway.

I did all those things, taking my time, luxuriously. Finally, about an hour after lunch on the ninth day of April in 1980, I was on my way, after a lifetime journey, to my true love.

I hoped I wasn't being too dramatic, maybe he would only want to visit with me. I really had no real idea why he would invite me. No words of love were ever spoken between the two of us, not even very many words at all, period. Some knowing looks and glances is all I had to go on. I really did put my heart on my sleeve, or however that old saying goes.

The walk from the town was pleasant, with lovely scenery, and it wasn't too far compared to what I was used to walking, only about three miles. The weather; beautiful, and I had met not one person along the way. In the fields, I did see a lot of livestock, very idyllic. Spring wildflowers grew abundantly along the sides of the well rutted road. Wild tulips abounded just like the Holland I'd expected.

Directions to Charlie's place were easy enough. I soon walked up to a large, old, well-kept house with newly painted white shingles with a light blue trim painted all around the windows, shutters and flower boxes. The path looked just swept and had a nicely trimmed hedge of laurel growing along each side of it. About an acre from the house, there stood a small orchard of fruit trees with everything just picture perfect in a way.

At the front door, with my breath held in and heart beating wildly, I knocked. Soon footsteps, then the opening of the door, I saw a nice looking lady about grandmotherly age, look questionably at me with a little, friendly smile.

"Is Charlie here?" I asked

"No, over there," she said, waving her hand at a field some distance away. I saw a figure that I knew must be Charlie. He was bent over tending to planting, or so I thought.

"Oh, thank you, I'll just go over," I answered, thinking, of course that she must be his grandmother.

Walking in the field between myself and Charlie, I was truly holding my breath now. I could see him bending down and moving along with his back to me. He was pulling a box of seedlings behind him, digging with a hand trowel, and planting the seedlings.

~~~***~~~

Chapter Five

Charlie, short for Charlene all her life, went on digging in the row where she was planting seedlings. At the end of the last row, she had straightened up to stretch her back muscles and take a few deep breaths before starting the next row. She had turned slightly and glanced back at the house and noticed someone calling on Grandma, probably someone wanting to buy a dozen eggs or a pint of goat's milk.

As Charlie got back to planting again, she smiled to herself, thinking that Grandma could run the farm just as well as any man.

"You're a good, strong girl, Charlie," she had said when Charlie returned home from the monastery. "You're a natural born farm girl, and I'll help you. You won't need a man telling you how to run the farm. If you get a man to help you, you'll just be doing two jobs instead of one." She shut her bad eye, stared at Charlie with her good eye, and then poured the coffee.

Charlie did grow strong, working with the discipline she learned at the monastery. She felt blessed and safe in her own home; but often, in the warm darkness at the edge of sleep, she would remember the one she longed for.

"Joe, oh, Joe, what a long time I've waited for you. You've taught me what love is, and I'll wait forever."

~~~***~~~

Charlie hardly paused in her planting, but her mind came alive. In a minute of split seconds, so many things crowded into her thoughts all the way back to being raised here on the farm by her father, grandfather, and grandmother. She knew her father was disappointed that she hadn't been born a boy. He told her over and over again, "We need someone to keep the farm going. If something were to happened to me, who would do it? Who would take care of the old people?"

Charlie's father's negative thoughts had messed her up so much that, after his terrible accident and death, she just wanted to escape, to anywhere. But this was home, and there was nowhere to go, not really. The farm was just bearable until Grandpapa started in on her to marry. Then, he actually picked out the exact fellow she would marry. Trying to wear her down to do it, he threatened her, "If you don't marry Hans, I'm going to send you to a Nunnery. Then, you won't marry anybody, and we'll be done with ya!"

This upset her so much that, after she came of age, she spent a whole year trying to think of a plan of escape.

Finally, Charlene hit on the idea of going to a monastery where she could hide from men, among men, like one can hide what is in plain sight very well if one can blend in, and blending in is what she actually accomplished. Not knowing anything about modern medicine or drugs, Charlene went to the monastery as herself, just stating that her name was "Charlie". She bound her breasts and took very special care to make sure her period never alerted anyone to her femininity. All those years, she felt safe among monks, until she laid eyes upon Joe. Joe was different. Joe and she fell in love instantly.

She didn't know Joe was actually a woman until working with her for a few months. Joe was graceful and caring, unlike any man Charlie had ever seen. They never had a chance to talk, but did manage a whisper or two of greeting when possible. On those occasions, Charlie could see the love, kindness, and concern in Joe's eyes, and there was something else in Joe's eyes that drew her in and made her heart throb. Charlie knew Joe was the one for her. Little wonder she had never hit it off with men. She had always been drawn to women much more than to any man.

Charlie remembered, when she was just a toddler, she got spanked for acting romantic and trying to kiss her one-year-older girl cousin. That was just one of the times that taught her to be careful and to keep such feelings hidden.

~~~***~~~

I stopped about a dozen feet behind Charlie. He had been making too much noise with the planting to hear my approach. I knew he had to be Charlie, because he was wearing a monk's robe with the hood pulled up over his head. I wanted to get his attention; but I could hardly stand the suspense, not knowing how my voice would sound.

I called out to him, "Charlie, is that you?"

"Hey!" Charlie gave a sharp cry as he turned, rising like a gigantic bird. His hood seemed to blossom upward. His arms lifted out to the sides as the robe's loose sleeves spread like wings. I thought he had taken flight.

I gasped, my eyes blinked, and Charlie was back on the ground. He was standing as still as stone, with his arms folded in against his body, and his robe hanging like it was sopping wet. His hood slid slowly off his head, revealing masses of golden blond hair, a rounded forehead, and the same beautiful lips I remembered.

When his blue eyes landed on my face, I saw a surprised knowing look.

"Joe, oh, Joe, I've waited so long for you," he sobbed, brushing tears off his cheeks, and shaking his head to keep his locks off his face.

I was suddenly very confused, realizing that Charlie didn't seem surprised that I was dressed in women's clothes and using makeup. His sudden display of emotion also confused me.

"My name's not Joe, Charlie, I'm Joanne," I said. "I'm a woman, not a man. Can you still love me?"

"I always loved you, Joe, and I knew you were a woman almost from the beginning. My name's Charlene, and I thought you must've known I was a woman. I couldn't come right out and tell you."

"You're a great actor, Charlie," I said. "You're strong and you sure can put on a front, but I saw through that. I fell in love with your softness, your caring, and kindness. I knew you were safe."

"We both became monks to get away from men," Charlie laughed. "We had to fall in love."

"I love you dearly," I said, and started for her. She took a few steps, and I rushed into her arms.

Charlie grabbed me up and swung me around, laughing and crying at the same time. She put me down gently, and we kissed long and lovingly while I ran my fingers through her golden locks.

"Wait," I said, pulling back just enough to talk. "What about your grandmother. What will she think?"

"Don't worry," Charlie smiled. "She'll love you as much as I do if you help out in the kitchen."

We both laughed.

We were both home now.

###

 About the Author

Winona was raised in Portland, Oregon, lived in many other states. She lives near Tillamook Bay with boyfriend David Seed. Winona is a founding member of the Tillamook Writers' Group.

Other Smashwords Novels by Winona Wendy Joy

They Just Should'a Killed Us

Marnie
