I don't have much to talk about the school life before I got into the 9th grade. Until then I just moved from one grade to another. I had few friends (if one can call people who say hi and bye when running into you and occasionally sit with you for lunch). Reason for that isolation was my personality.

I could not easily share feelings or talk about things that most girls at that age love to do. Some did try and after few attempts got frustrated and left me alone. I had no desire to make friends, and despite teachers making efforts to get me involved, I remained in my exclusive domain happily. I am a reader, and it was in the 9th grade, my English Teacher, Ms. Marsha Burns recognized my talent as I began replying to her questions about the British Writers of 18th and 19th Centuries. My reading those novels started when I went to live with my grandpa and my mother went to cohabit with a truck mechanics living in another town near Ohio border on Interstate 65.

After arriving, I spent most of days, and also many times, nights, with my Pappy, as I called him. He owned and lived in his old Mobile Home on the Taylor Mountain Road. He was a veteran of the last World War and flew bombers from the British Airbases. During that deployment he read many British Classics, and after my arrival in his life, began reading stories to me. I inherited my love for books from him, I guess. That love for reading resulted in higher level of reading and writing skills than the most students in the English literature class. My proficiency built a close relationship between Ms. Burns and me. Besides that, I think there were some similarities we shared. We both have above average intelligence, and we both are least attractive women from the sex appeal sense. Ms. Burns in her late thirties, was of an average height. With black hair tied in a bun, and a thin body mass and skin stretched over her long face, her visage made an unforgettable impression of a learned professor. I wonder if there is a scholarly face that also was a desirable one. She remained like the Bronte Sisters; highly admired, but alone.

By the time that school year ended, I received plenty of encouraging grades and advice from her. My writing skills evolved under her tutoring, and you know how praises give boost to the self-esteem.

I loved the outdoors and did not miss any opportunity to get out. Grand pappy took me to Summersville and many other lakes in the state. We camped and just two of us enjoyed the Mother Nature. That is the only love I experienced in my entire life and never missed it. Those femininity developing ambiance which the French intellectual Simon de Beauvoir identified in 1949, I never existed and sexual emotions did not arise. I developed unusual attitude of a young man, rather than that of a girl stepping into the womanhood; here I am talking about my psyche, and not the body. Those physical changes were developing normally, but I was subconsciously not aware of them. I wasn't a Tom Boy personality but also had no interest in boys.

In the rear of the school building, there was a large Elm tree with an umbrella like canopy. I used to sit under it and read my novels. Little away from the Elm and facing the building few picnic tables and benches were kept for the students and girls and boys in groups. Mostly the girls used them to get away from the crowd to exchange food and gossip. Boys rarely came there; they hung out around cars in the parking area.

I involuntarily used to hear the conversations. At times, I thought those stories of their lives were deliberately aired despite my presence. Perhaps they wanted me to get interested in their juicy love affairs and open up to them with my personal life outside the school, like how I was managing my sexuality, and the partner preferences; I was an enigma to them. They kept a distance and interacted with me on a need basis and that didn't have any effect on my life. I did not have that socializing needs which I was told, comes naturally. By that rule, I am a loner and always have been one. Then in my teen years, maybe, I created a mystery around me. Both male and females of that time, were sexually active at that age, and I stood out as an odd ball; a Virgin, among the Greek and Roman goddesses of my high school hanging around me for curiosity about my secrete love life.

Then the juiciest gossips and rumors were not related to the normal and routine affairs between young folks; they were about those unfortunate ones, who could not, or would not, let go of their virginity. Boys had their own sets of venues. They were interested in who slept with who etcetera, etcetera. The common subjects favorite to both sexes were the establishment of gender identities, and sexual orientations. In my case, they tried various tricks to entice me into sharing things that I mentioned before. In the beginning, I got a divine name,- 'Virgin- the Holy Mother of God,' and each time I passed the women group, they mocked me with "V" sign made with their two fingers, and giggled. The boys had found another way; they would simply do the crossing of heart symbolism of the Catholic prayer routine.

The common features among girl groups were: White young women, middle class living, and attractive persona, with high popularity. In addition, most were members of the Cheer- leading team or active in the Drama and Music clubs. The colored students, mostly immigrants and Blacks, were two groups, separated from everyone else and mainly they remained within their racial and cultural ethos.

Among both white groups, there were many discussions; all about me and my gender. One thing I extracted from the subtle inquiring talks between them and I, was that they were not sure about one specific item, and wanted to get in my panties to discover, if I was not a female and are masquerading as one. The other not so hot topic as the former was: If I was a 'Hermaphrodite' (as individuals with a Penis in the vagina, then were labeled). This too I learned by listening to their deliberately loud voiced conversations about the subject just to see my reactions. I couldn't imagine what culpable reaction they were expecting. I just ignored them and went about being normal me.

Later when I gave attention to that 'discovery of my sexuality' expedition undertaken by so many folks, I realized that the causes of that intense curiosity about me were rooted in the way my body is built. I am a tall woman with 5' 11'' frame, and have rather strong and manly bone structure. I never was an overweight or with a baby-fat face person. My body is muscular and I have a rough and tough appearance of a sailor. To add to this, I displayed dexterity of a baseball player when I went to tryouts for the girl's baseball team. Here is the account of that morning at the school's playground:

I grew up practicing ball game with my grand pa and played with the kids in the Trailer park. I had a strong hand and would send a ball over the fence easily. That morning I sent into the stand four out of six deliveries from the team's favorite pitcher. Watching that performance, the coach was thrilled, but the parents of the pitcher watching the selection business, were not. They began the questioning campaign about my gender and I should be allowed to participate in the girl's sport. As a result, I was asked to undergo a special medical fitness checkup. At that point, my grand Pappy, refused to sign the consent form and that ended my sport career, and with that refusal, the search for my gender business began in earnest by those two sets of students.

When all attempts failed, the gang's curiosity finally cross the line. Since my childhood, Pappy and I used to fish in the back waters of Kanawha river near the Electric Plant, close to the Taylor Mountain where we lived. Later, when Pappy became weak and bit senile, we stopped fishing. However, I used to go there and sit on the bank and read. I used my bicycle most of the time. One day my hide out was discovered by one of the boys by name, Walter Gaviano. He was behind me and I had not noticed him. Apparently, he saw me turning in to a dirt road that was formed by the traffic of fishing folks a long time ago and was in disuse. Walter followed me out of curiosity of what I was up to.

Summer days get humid in that part of the Appalachia, and on that day when I reached my fishing spot, I was full of sweat. Accustom to the isolation I enjoyed for many years, I took my top off and rest of the cloths and got in the water. I was submerged in the dark gray river water by the time he showed up. I was hidden from his view by the shrubbery bushes and before he advances to my fishing spot, I swam away from him. There is a strong current in that segment of the river because of Elk river coming in and joining the Kanawha to flow towards Ohio river waters. I knew the river currents well because of my fishing activities and watching the line floating away with the currents. I got out of the water several yard away from my cloths and books. From behind the bushes, I watched him. Not locating me in the water, Walter turned towards the pile of clothing and picked up my pantie and bra. Now you know, that for a girl of fourteen, my waist and top were larger than the other girls of same age group. He appeared to be baffled by the size and held my panty up against the sky for a moment and then, quickly, he stuffed it in his pocket and took off.

Next day, he became a hero, and my pantie became his trophy and rumor mill went in the full-steam mode. I did not expect that anyone would be proudly displaying my underwear on the rear-view mirror of a car. The sign of 'V' that I mentioned before, vanished and was replaced with the symbolic, "penetrated vagina" gesture. Walter became the Prince valiant; the Dragon-Slayer of the high school. Then he made a foolish mistake of believing in that concocted myth and began humiliating me with crude remarks about the circumference of my breast and the dimensions of my vagina. What really hurt me was one statement he made, suggesting that he could arrange for me a 'N' on his team, with one-foot dick to get me started.

I wasn't offended by mentioning a Black man; I did not believe in the racial superiority of any race, but what pissed me of was his alluding to their belief that I had a monstrously wide and deep vagina and mountain size breast. That did it, and one week after that incidence, knowing my routine of visiting the river, Walter followed me to my location.

I became aware of his presence, when he jumped on the bicycle, and as soon as he came around the turn on the road on bicycle, I grabbed the handle and jerked it hard. He lost balance and fell on his side. He got up and was livid. Second mistake he made was he came swinging at my face. He was a football player-a fullback. His fist caught me on my chest. I staggered backwards against the mud-wall and then when he came towards me to hit me, at that moment, I slugged him on his face with full force; he took it on the nose and went backward, and stepping forward, I kicked him in his groin and Walter went down in agony.

The years of tolerating humiliations and disgusting verbal attacks had turned me into a human volcano with the plasma of hate and without my Pappy calming me down, that afternoon the lava of extreme vengeance and the bottled-up anger rose to its peak. I beat him mercilessly, until he became unconscious. I left him there and went home.

Well, that night I got handcuffed and landed in the county jail for the aggravated assault and Walter in the hospital with serious injuries. Two lives changed that day. Walter suffered PTSD, and became unsuitable for the football and later dropped out of school when the cruel world of teenage high school students, injured his self-esteem with the barbs and pins alluding to his beating by a woman. It mortified him forever; a return of what, he had dished out to me.