“I love the way she feels inthe curve of my arm. I loveher unpretentious beauty,her intelligence, her nerve.But could I ever love her?The concept of falling in loveis completely foreign, somethingI can’t bring myself to accept. Her hair pillows my cheek and her hand on my leg is warm. I care about you, Conner, and I hate to see you hurting. I want to respond but can’tfind the pretty words I need.”

“I told her about the man, not my daddy, she said, He was only making you into a real girl. I didn’t understand. But I made myself believe her. I was a real girl now. But what was I before?”

“I need to capture my sprite with trembling hands. Except I could crush her. Wonder how many small things of beauty - flowers, seashells, dragonflies - have met such a demise. Wonder how much fragile love has collapsed beneath the weight of confession.”

“I can see why she feels left behind. Maybe even discarded. Is that why she refuses to accept my love and return it? Afraid that love doesn't last? Doesn't really exist? Afraid if her own father can withdraw his love (or at least the manifestation of his love), that maybe she somehow isn't worthy of the emotion?”

“I felt angry,frustrated.I felt I didn't belong, not in mychurch, not in my home, notin my skin.Amidst the chaos, i feltalone,in need of a friend instead ofa sister, someone detached frommy world.The "woman's role" theorydisgusted me.I would soon be a woman, and Iknew I could never perform asexpected.I was tired of my mom's submissionto her religion, to her husband'ssick quest for an heir,to his abuse.I was sick of my dad, ofreaching forhim as he fell farther awayfrom us and into the arms ofJohnnie WB.”

“Love is like that. I could crush her beneath the weight of confession.”

“I take four or five heavy steps beyond the front door and Mom comes rushing down the hallway. "Shane! What in the hell-" Now she sees me, in all my dignified glory. I tell her I'm fine. Swear I stuck up for my sister, not an alien but an angel. By the time I get to, "I think I might need stitches," Mom is my mommy. She may have forgotten my birthday. But today she remembers me.”