They had brought me back into the conference room for another session with Dr. Hawthorne and Mike, but what I hadn’t anticipated was seeing Hillary again. However, it soon became apparent to me that she was the real reason I was there; hell, she was the reason we were all there as she continued arguing with Dr. Hawthorne about his job. Threats filled the room, clearly as out of control as I was, when suddenly I screamed at her,
“Why are we here!?”

A wall of silence fell across the room, everyone staring at Hillary, her blank eyes filling with tears.

“Because you need to know the truth.” She rebuked her face numb with pain.

“All right. I’m waiting.” I said, pausing. Waiting, waiting, waiting--- until…

“Your grandmother took care of you--- after your mother died.” Mumbled Hillary.

“NO SHIT! You didn’t even know who I was!” I said. “I had to tell you I was your son!”

“And yet…” said Hillary, “You remember when Marcus died? When your ‘father’ came to you?”

I remained quiet as the juxtaposition of images filled my brain--- telling Hillary two summers ago, when she was a he, that I was her son. He was surprised--- no, shocked to learn he had a son.

My confusion became audible, “But…you were the one that told me about Marcus and the playground.”

Hillary was quiet. “Yes, your ‘father’ was there--- the father that your grandmother arranged for--- but…that wasn’t me.”

“I don’t understand.”

Hillary became more emotional. “He made me promise I wouldn’t tell you, but…I’m sorry, I’m so terribly sorry.” Hillary began to cry. Dr. Hawthorne looked at her, obviously concerned for my safety.

“Who made you promise?” I demanded.

“He contacted me last year when you began to get into trouble--- after I knew about you. At first I thought he was crazy, but he knew so much about our past. Your grandmother…was an evil woman.”

“WHO IS HE!?”

“I can’t tell you that. Not yet. But he’s…a wonderful man.”

My mind raced, feeling the rage inside my body--- wanting to strike back at a world that had abused me--- that had used me--- that had taken away so many people in my life. People were pretending to be what they weren’t, like gay people, living in a lie, living in a closet--- hiding--- pretending, all in the name of status quo.

Sometimes I know who I am: Steve. And sometimes I’m Marcus--- who is a part of me but a person, a man, I don’t know. Schizophrenic? Could I be? Like realizing you’re gay or bi-sexual, perhaps I am capable of just being more than what I think I am.