“You’ll need to teach me some of those dance steps,” I told him. The slow dance music had started again, and Owen and I danced again for a time,...but it was getting late, we were tired, and tomorrow was Sunday. We would be expected to be in church in the morning.“We need to go home. We’re both worn out, and we have church tomorrow” I told Margie when I located her relaxing with her Husband, Celeste, and Frank.“Certainly dear, it’s been a long day for all of us,” she agreed before turning to the. And,every day that I came home crying, and hating the kids at school andhating myself for being the little sissy faggot I felt I was, Mommywould be there to welcome me back into her safe, comforting embrace. Iwas convinced that ninth grade would only be worse, because the way Iwas going to dress would make a loud and definitive statement. Therewould be no doubt in anyone's minds regarding who and what I was. Therewould be no more hiding; not even a hint of anonymity.On that first day I was. More

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