”“You can’t imagine ... No, I don’t want to talk about this any longer.”She was quiet a while, gratefully drinking her lemon water. Then she...looked up at me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have nagged you.”“Oh, it wasn’t nagging. I’m just shy about what I imagine sometimes. Don’t you feel that way?”“Yeah, I guess I do.” She laughed. “Some of the things I think ... well, I definitely wouldn’t want them to get out.”“See? It’s just like...” I took a risk, but decided it was okay. “Well, if you weren’t. But she was learning how to keep on going, in the face of quietdisapproval. With a deep sigh, she reflected that this was supposed to bea celebration, not a pity party. But it was hard to feel celebratory whenthe only birthday card that you got was from the son who still felt thatyou'd somehow killed his father when you came out as a transsexual. Therehadn't been any explicitly obscene words in the card, but the venom wasthere for all to see.Marcy finished up the greasy fare, paid her tab and. More

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