Realistic or Modern Family Portrait (Chai)

[PunkPrince]

...I wonder so often why you never write to me. I imagine you have lots of friends to spend time with. That's good. I didn't have many good friends at your age, so I like to think that perhaps you've made out better than I did in that department. I think of you often. I wonder what you're doing. What your interests are. How much you might be like me. What you look like now. I haven't seen you since your mother took you home from the hospital. I've written you a letter once a week since then. Your mother promised me she would read them to you until you could do so on your own.

But, all that aside, not much is new with either Tammie or myself. She's been writing more. Her stories are wonderful. I'd love to send you one. I'll have her photocopy the notebook pages for you the next time she heads past the library, and I'll mail it with my next letter if I have it by then.

I dyed my hair again on Tuesday, but the roots have already started coming in dark. I've debated dying it all back to brown, but I've been blonde for so long now that my natural color feels strange. Got some new lipstick too. It's a different shade of red from my usual.

Your Uncle Devin took Tammie and I to lunch last weekend. He was insistent that we also take Marbles, which was fine until he peeped out of your uncle's bag and the waiter mistook the ferret for a rat. Don't ask me how. I wish you could meet him. You'd like him. Your uncle, I mean, though I'm sure you'd like the ferret too. He asks about you. I don't have much to report back to him.

I send you positivity every night. I suppose praying is the closest word for it, though I've never been religious. I hope you pass any big tests that might be coming up. I hope you wake up feeling wonderful. I hope you never hurt a day in your life–but I suppose this is wishful thinking at best, so along with that I hope that any hurt may pass you quickly. Most of all, with all those things and more, I hope you know that you are loved by both Tammie and myself, even though you might never know us fully.

I'll write to you again next week. I'm supposed to go out tomorrow morning, so I'll drop this in the mailbox on the way.

Love always,
Marilyn

Marilyn paused as she penned the final lines of her letter. The whole thing in it's entirety was two pages front and back. For someone with little changing news to report, she could still write quite a bit. The woman bit the cap of her pen and gazed at her closing. She never knew how to sign these. In a biological sense, she was the girl's father, but any variant of "dad" was absolutely out of the question. But she already had a mom. So Marilyn, although reluctantly, simply signed her name and pressed her lips to the paper, leaving a kiss in the shade of whatever her current lipstick was beside it.

The woman pushed the chair back from the tiny table off to the side of the motel room and stood up, glancing toward the door. Tammie had left at the same time as Marilyn and still had yet to return, while Marilyn had come back and changed out of her corset and leather shorts nearly an hour ago. The pair of them always made a deal to be home before four in the morning at the latest. She looked toward the clock.

3:46 A.M.

Marilyn let out a concerned sigh and stumbled over to the dresser, rummaging through it for a pair of pants and an old t-shirt. Prior to this she had only been wearing a pair underwear–the ones she often slept in–without a shirt–exposing her still flat chest. She hardly ever wound up putting clothes on after she managed to wriggle free from her work outfit. The corset pinched her skin and sometimes made it hard for her to breathe. The leather shorts often became sticky with sweat and clung to her thighs in itchy, uncomfortable ways. The fishnet tights would fold awkwardly under her shorts, and the high heels caused her feet to ache. Once she got all of it off she always felt as though she could go her entire life without ever wearing clothes again.

The permanently unlocked door opened before she could properly dress herself. She hastily pulled on her clothes as Tammie stumbled in, a trash bag slung over her shoulder. Marilyn ran over and threw her arms around her.

"You're late!" she cried, pressing relieved kisses to the other woman's cheeks. "Where have you been? I was about to go looking for you!"

"Sorry," Tammie said, undoing the front of her black corset and kicking off her knee high boots. Her own chest was fuller–a B cup– and her hips she developing soft curves, a result of her hormone use. "I had a client who kept me long." She paused. "He gave me a fifty. We might manage some groceries this week after all!"

She bent down to rummage through her trash bag. "And look what else! I snagged these from behind Speedway on the walk back. It's a bunch of sandwiches they tossed. They're a few hours past their prime, but they're still warm and still wrapped."

She pulled one out and passed it to Marilyn. "It's chicken."
"Yeah, fake chicken," Marilyn said, tearing the paper down and wolfing down the sandwich before reaching for another.
"Either way," Tammie said through a mouthful of cheeseburger, giving her hair a toss. "When was the last time either one of us had meat, fake or not?"

Marilyn mumbled her agreement through a mouthful of food. She swallowed and tossed the crumpled wrapper toward the trash, which bounced off the can and rolled across the room.

"When did you get back?" Tammie asked.
"About an hour ago. I...I was writing to Lily again." Her face reddened underneath her smudged makeup. Part of her always felt silly doing it. She didn't even know if the girl ever even read her letters, or was even getting them to begin with. "I just...I miss her. I know there's no reason for her to start writing me back now, but..."

Tammie nuzzled Marilyn's neck affectionately. "She's young. She might be caught up in her own life. And even so, keep writing your letters. She'll know you're here if she needs you, when she does decide she's ready."

"Mm," Marilyn said, glancing up as the wind pushed the door open. She sighed and shoved it shut, though she knew it was no use. The lock had been broken since she had moved in, and all that remained to even attempt to keep the thing closed was the chain latch inside the door. She clipped the latch shut and shivered as the cold breeze hit her. She leaned against the wall and her gaze drifted to the ceiling.

Lily. The last Marilyn had seen her had been the day she had left the hospital with her mother. Marilyn had loved that kid, but knew she couldn't care for her. It wasn't like they'd been some picture perfect nuclear family. Marilyn had come out as transgender to her parents, they'd kicked her out. Having no money and no job, she'd been forced into prostitution to keep herself live. Her pansexuality had meant she was open to basically anyone. Women were rare, but she did see them on occasion. An hour of nervous fumbling with a woman she had hardly known for ten dollars and a loaf of bread had brought the girl into existence.

Marilyn would have taken her. She'd known better. The girl deserved to be raised by somebody stable and well equipped to do so, not a transgender prostitute stuck in a motel room who was constantly having her life threatened by people who were not so open to the way that she was. So she'd let the child go, letters her only form of (unanswered) correspondence.

She slipped past Tammie and into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind her, she heard a soft tapping at the door to the motel room. She stiffened. It was too early. She stuck her head out the bathroom door. Tammie was slowly pulling on a pair of shorts and an old t-shirt.

"Check the peephole before you open it," Marilyn instructed her. Tammie shrank away from the door and eyed it suspiciously. She knew as well as Marilyn that nothing good came for them in the dead of night.

The smaller woman crept toward the doorway and peeked out through the peephole. She was surprised to see the form of a child standing there, looking rather battered.

"Well?" Marilyn asked. "What is it, Mouse?"
"It's some kid," Tammie whispered back. "She looks hurt."

Marilyn hesitated. Of course, the maternal side of her undeniably wanted to pull the girl in and help her. But then there was the jaded part of her. The part of her that was used to being trapped and hurt. She sighed. "I...open the door, Mouse. Let her in. But keep your guard up." She retreated back into the bathroom, though she left the door cracked.

Tammie slowly unlatched the door and pulled it open. "Hello there," she said softly, looking curiously at the child. "Are you all right?"

 

[Chai Tea]

Lily was never great in gym class; sometimes she wanted to fake an illness to go sit in the nurse office. She had heard of other kids in her class getting out of tests and even detention by asking to go see the nurse. Apparently none of the teachers were allowed to stop them from visiting the nurse multiple times, but Lily did often run out of her bathroom privileges during gym. However, her mother made her promise to never go to the school nurse; even if someone carried her, she was supposed to run out. So, while in her head the girl imagined herself sitting with the kind nurse and perhaps eating a candy for being good, she was forced to quietly stand on a line until she was picked last for kickball or basketball or whatever game the coach informed the class they were going to play that afternoon. It was embarrassing and pointless to the girl; she hated to run, but now, suddenly. her short legs wouldn't stop moving.

By focusing on getting to her destination, the female didn't have to think about leaving the house she grew up in or the feeling of her shoe rubbing a blister into her left foot or her mother or her father. No, she certainly did not want to think about her father, or rather, the impostor her mother let her believe was her father for twelve years. Why does she have to have a second father, too? The dads in books are always funny and playful; they teach their children about tools and sports, and they only punish them by having an open conversation and maybe limiting the time the kid gets to watch television. However, Lily has only seen one or two fathers like that in real life, and she has a feeling they were not as happy and forgiving at home as they were public. At least her father knew her and let her live in his house and eat the food he paid for...What has this other one ever done? Why didn't they ever come visit her or maybe take her out to ice cream or at least call her on her birthday.

Suddenly, the motel her mother explained to her is in view, and Lily stops to unfold the paper she had been squeezing in her fist. She was so worried about losing it that her knuckles linger a white hue for a few moments, as she reads the sloppy words written down.

Marilyn, room 14.

Reading the name aloud, the female remembers the other major detail her mother had forced into her consciousness. Her new father was something called transgendered, so she wasn't actual a man to begin with. Lily frowns, growing confused. She had read about gay people in a library book, so she searches her brain, trying to recall "transgender" ever being in her vocabulary. Lily decides it must be a gay man who dresses up like a woman so much that they forget they are a man, but that does not really sound right either. Why would she forget she is a man when she is a father? Does she even know Lily exists?

The girl decides to play along with whatever the lady...or man?... thinks she came here for. At least she's trying to do what her mother told her, but she really doubts this person is going to care enough to let them stay.

Lily walk cautiously toward the building and stops at the correct door. She tries to brush her hair with her fingers, but it just makes a large tangle, instead. The rain stopped pretty early into her journey, but now her pajamas and backpack are still a bit wet. She has noticeable bruises on her neck, and, remembering them, the girl pulls her hair so that it lays on her chests and blocks the most of it. Some one shouts from a nearby room, and it scares the girl into suddenly knocking on the door before her. She hears voices, and then the door opens.

A woman stares down at her and immediately asks her a question.

"Are you alright?"

Lily did not know what she expected, but she was not ready to start a conversation. She quietly hands the lady her crumbled paper.

"I'm looking for Marilyn..."

Her eyes are wide, but she does not know where else she would go if she left now. Maybe she could find a bus station, and try to get to the beach? Lily takes a small step back, but she doesn't leave, yet.

 

[PunkPrince]

Tammie narrowed her eyes slightly and scanned the dark horizon as the child asked for Marilyn and pressed the paper into her hands. A trick. It had to be. What other reason would this girl have to know the name of anyone who lived there? Some sicko was using their kid to lure Marilyn outside and do something to her.

So, Tammie straightened slightly and gazed down at the child again, a single, soft spoken word escaping from her lips.

"Why?"

"You aren't the least bit imposing, Mouse." Marilyn strode confidently out of the bathroom, though her eyes still held a hint of distrustful fear. She gently pushed Tammie aside and glanced at the child. "Let her in. She's wet. Probably cold." Her tone dissipated when she spoke again. "You can come in," she said gently. She stepped aside to let the girl in, immediately pressing herself to the wall in an attempt to shield herself from any hidden dangers.

Tammie peeked out the doorway again, eyes round and frightened. "I don't see anything, Kitten," she whispered. "I don't think anyone followed me home, after all. But she knows your name. How?"

Marilyn shrugged, flopping back on the one of the two beds nearest to her. "Who knows?" She sat up and rubbed her temples, groaning as the pair of arguing voices from next door became louder. It no longer scared her. It was an annoyance now, more than anything else. She picked up one of Tammie's knee high boots and lobbed it at the wall. It hit with a thump, and the voices stopped.

"Thank god," she muttered, looking back toward the door. Tammie was still peering nervously out the peephole. Marilyn turned her attention to the child.

"Now then," she said. "You asked for me, little pipsqueak?" She used the word affectionately. "What do you need?"

 

[Chai Tea]

As the first woman's voice grows suspicious and accusatory toward her, Lily is grateful for the second voice's owner to reveal herself. The other woman is even taller than the first, but somehow she looks just as fearful as the girl. Both of them were acting so strange. Do they never get house guests?

Lily's face blushes a little as the first woman, being refereed to as Mouse, keeps speaking about her like she is a criminal of some sort, but she still walks inside. Suddenly, words flow into her ear and girl freezes again.

"But she knows your name. How?"

If Mouse was saying this then that must been this Kitten person was Marilyn. Lily had found her father, and they did not even recognize her. She should have brought an umbrella; maybe if she wasn't so wet and dirty, this woman would realize who she was; that way she wouldn't have to keep talking to them. It was strange having so much attention; it made Lily uncomfortable.

Suddenly, Marilyn picks up a shoe and chunks it a wall, and the sound makes Lily jump. She decides she better start answering their questions fast. No matter how kind her voice sounds, she could get angry any moment, and Lily does not want to be the next thing that is hit with that boot.

"I don't mean to bother you, ma'am. It's just...m-my mother told me to come here. She said to find you because..."

Lily stares at the woman before her, not knowing exactly how to phrase the next part.

"Well, ma'am... she said you were my father."

With the words out, the female feels relieved, but she has no idea what they will do with her now. Surely, they would call her crazy and send her back outside, but Lily just hopes they were let her leave in peace.

 

[PunkPrince]

The girl shrank away as Marilyn threw the boot. Marilyn sighed. "I'm sorry, honey," she apologized. And then mostly to herself, she added, "I'm so tired."

"She said you were my father."

Marilyn froze. She looked back to Tammie, who offered nothing helpful, only stared back at her, blinking her round eyes in surprise. Marilyn slowly turned back to the child, examining her features for a moment. She could note a few similarities between the pair of them. The same nose, shape of face, the same lips, but if this girl truly was her Lily, she seemed to take more after her mother. "I...Lily?"

Marilyn got up and took a few steps toward the girl. She crouched, now eye to eye with the child before her. She stared at the girl for a few moments longer and then said, "I...I haven't seen you in years. I sent you letters..." She trailed off. What she really wanted to do was throw her arms around her daughter and burst into tears. She restrained herself. "I've missed you so much."

Marilyn was silent for a moment and then noticed a dark spot poking out from beneath the girl's hair. She reached out and gently moved Lily's hair aside, quickly pulling her hand back when she saw the severity of the bruises.

"Lily..." she said softly. "What happened to you?"