Aunt Joan slowly moved my hand away from my face with one hand andlifted my chin with the other. Her eyes sparkled in the morning sunlightcoming throu...h the bedroom window. The sadness in her smile almost mademe forget the pain and confusion I was feeling. "I realize this is hard,Bobby. If you don't want to say anything, it's okay. If there ISanything you want to say, and I mean anything, I promise it'll be allright to tell me."I tried to swallow my nervousness, but my throat was too dry. "When. The picture placed on an easel was that of a middle-aged man, in a conservative suit. The service was for one Leonard Andrew Samuel. It was a sad irony that it was not who they buried.To me, she was Laura. I met her sixteen months ago, over the internet. We frequented the same chat rooms, both standing on the threshold of gender transition. After a few months of correspondence, we met for lunch. It's funny how well you can get to know someone through her written word. By the time I met her. More

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