Part Three

The first thing K noticed when he woke up was his throat was sore. Then it was his stomach. Then it was the slow realization he wasn't at home. The blinds were closed and the lights dimmed, so K was sure it was night, but wasn't sure which one. He lifted his left hand to rub his eyes and noticed the IV.
"I hope they're giving me the good shit," he thought, paused and then thought, "right, probably not."

He raised up on his elbows to look around. It was a small room, bathroom at the front, a sink beside it a little ways from his bed. Next to the bed was the most uncomfortable recliner he'd ever seen. His mother was in it, asleep. He flopped back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling, tears welling up in his eyes. He thought of the events of today (yesterday?). He looked again at his mother, shifting in the uncomfortable chair.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!"

"How was it supposed to be, honey?" his mother asked. She sat up, folded in the footpad, and went to his bedside.
He didn't realize he had spoken aloud. Wordlessly, he sat up and sort of fell into his mother's arms, holding her tightly. Then the tears came. DJ held him close, stroked his hair and she cried with him.
When the sobs and the tears subsided, DJ, still stroking his beautiful, long brown hair, asked "Why?!" She tried to keep the anguish out of her voice, unsuccessfully, "Why did you do this?"

Part Two

They were her pills. She didn't even miss them. It was that little bit of insomnia when she changed to the swing shift. She couldn't wind down at the end of the day. She used them for a few days, but didn't like the zombie feeling, how hard it was to wake up.
"Why didn't I throw them away? I should have thrown them away? I didn't even notice them missing!" she thought to herself.
There were people all around her, sitting beside her, their arms around her shoulders, sitting in front of her, hands on her knees. They were talking to her. Saying...she didn't know what. Something sympathetic, something reassuring, probably. She wasn't listening, she wasn't there.

It had started as a normal day. K's car didn't wake her up when he left for school, so it was about 10 am when she got up. Once again she wished she knew what was going on in K's head. And again she wished he was five again. Before shit got in his head. He won't even talk to me anymore. I wouldn't understand, he says. I was the one who was pregnant at sixteen! I was the one kicked out of the house!

There was no coffee made and her cigarettes had been pilfered out of her purse (again). She called Bill to see if he wanted to go out for breakfast. She was semi-serious about Bill, and K seemed to like him. Of course, they only seemed to talk about his car - the '69 Camaro she lucked into a couple years ago. I looked like junk to her, but the mechanic (damn cute, by the way), who was selling it for an unpaid bill, said that the engine was still good and would be a good project. And it was Bea's money. How she doted on that boy. That mechanic was Bill, but he was slammed today and couldn't get away. Another reason her shift pissed her off, but it gave her weekends, real weekends.

So she decided just to go and get her cigarettes and coffee at the 7/11 down the street and then veg and catch up on the shows she has K tape for her.

A normal day.

Everybody knew not to call DJ at work. It was impossible to get to her, the message system was dubious, and her supervisor, Richard, was a prick. A college educated prick who wouldn't know how to do her job if his life depended on it, but that didn't stop him from telling her her mistakes. Everybody knew to leave a message on her cell phone.
The cubicles were octagonal, the eighth spot being open. They were arranged in four sets of four, sandwiched by the supervisors and helpers desks in the middle. Her cubby-mates were all older women, and she loved them dearly, but she would have preferred to sit by her best friends - Tasha and Ben. Richard tapped her on the shoulder and pressed the "after call" button on her phone pad, so she wouldn't get any more calls.
"You have an emergency call in operations." He said with a look of concern she'd never seen before.
Operations was the nerve center. They monitored the calls, and the agents, and measured the various statistics sent on up the food chain. A square room, mainframes on two walls , file cabinets on another, and a large window looking out on the call center floor on the last.
"hello?" Her anxiety level was rising.
"Mom? I'm sorry." It was K, his voiced cracked. He was crying.
"What do you mean - sorry?! What's wrong?!" DJ was trying to sound calm, but she felt hysteria creeping in. She pantomimed for a pen and paper to the ops agent.
"I've ruined your life. I'm just a freak, a pervert." He was starting to slur his words.
"You haven't done anything. You are a wonderful person. I love you, K!" In big letters, she writes "call 911" and "My son's killing himself" on the paper. The ops agent jumps to another phone.
"I love you, too, mom."
"Stay with me! Stay with me, honey!" and at the same time:"I need your address!" the agent on the phone with the dispatcher whispers. DJ turns the paper over and writes her address and phone number.
"I'm really tired, mom. I think I'm gonna go to sleep."
"NO! No, honey, you need to stay with me!"The ops agent hangs up and tells DJ they're sending an ambulance.
"'night, mom."
"NO, NO!" DJ screams, but K had already hung up the phone. "I've got to go!" She runs out to her desk to get her purse. Tasha had disconnected while DJ was in Ops, and was waiting for her.
What's going on, D?"
"I've got to GO! K's killing himself!" Why were they standing there? Tasha tells Richard she's going too, and tells D she's driving. DJ was grateful, she was in no state to drive home. Bill was waiting in the driveway. She rushes into his arms.
"What are you doing here?"
"K called me. Said some scary shit, like I'm supposed to take care of you. I knew he'd been moody lately, but Christ Almighty! The ambulance just left."

She calls Bea on the way to the hospital.

to be continued

Part One

All she knew about raising children was from her parents, which was exactly opposite from how she wanted to raise her son. He was a mistake, a plain, D mistake. A mistake, according to her parents, she was going to hell for. A mistake, the guy she thought loved her said was her problem - and dropped her like a rock. A beautiful, blue eyed, dark fuzzy haired, 6 lb 10 oz, perfect mistake. Her mistake. And she was going to love Kelly Jo Wyatt forever.

Her parents had kicked her out, but she was not alone. Her best friend's mother had offered to take her in, but she decided to live with her Aunt Bea. Even though she lived not 10 miles away, she only got to see her on Thanksgiving and Christmas. Oh, the stories she could tell! The places she'd been! The black sheep of the family, how they had tried to show Bea the error of her ways. They didn't even know how she found out about Dot, but there she was, stepping in for Dot and took her back to her house. "Mistakes happen, Dorothy Jane. Like your name."Dot laughed, "Yeah, call me DJ. Please."Bea made DJ stay in school as long as possible, and found a program for pregnant teens. She helped her graduate high school, helped her find a job and daycare. And helped raise her son. Even though all her previous experience was getting the various nieces and nephews hyped on sugar, buying them loud toys and giving them back to the parents.

DJ ended up calling him KJ, after being ribbed about giving him a girl's name. As he grew from baby to toddler, he seemed perfectly normal, but something nagged at DJ. He loved his cars and his action figures, but he also loved Barbies and Cabbage Patch Kids. And he hated having his hair cut. Aunt Bea said there was nothing wrong, he was a normal boy. And she saw nothing wrong in giving him dolls, she wasn't about to give in to stereotypes.

DJ took the day off on K's first day of Kindergarten. He didn't like the clothes she made him wear, so he was kind of scowling in all the morning's pictures. She let him go ahead and ride the bus, it was such and adventure to him. She told him she would meet him when he came home and go for pizza.

Her stomach was doing flip-flops as the bus pulled up. Kids spilled out running everywhere, but she didn't see K. But there was this familar-looking little girl in pig tails and wearing a frilly pink dress and black maryjanes skipping merrily towards her.

"Oh my God! KJ Wyatt, where did you get those clothes?!"
"Traded. She wanted to go out and play, but her mommy said not to get her dress dirty. She said she hates dresses. I said I would take it, and we traded," KJ said, matter-of-factly."Oh, Mommy, look, look! The underwear matches!" he added enthusiastically, raising the dress to show the girls panties he was wearing.

DJ was at a complete loss for words. She wanted the ground to swallow her up. And she was sure she couldn't turn a deeper shade of red. Without saying a word, she picked K up and ran home.

She put him on the couch, and sat on the floor in front of him. She looked him in the eyes. The words came slowly.
"Don't you think I look pretty?" He asked
"You're beautiful, honey, but boys don't wear girls clothes." Please, don't ask why, she added to herself.
"But, why? I like this."
"I don't know why. That's just the way it is."
"Then, did I do something wrong?"

Well, that's the question, now isn't it - she thought to herself. All the options she saw ended up screwing him up. She decided on the path of least resistance, and hoped she was making the right choice.

"Well, K, you'll have to give these clothes back," she said, to immediate pouting, "but we'll go out and buy you some pretty clothes, but they only get worn at home - never at school. The other boys won't understand and will make fun of you."

This made sense to him, and he agreed. DJ just felt like she made a deal with the devil.

And she blamed herself.