Undeclared

My mother gathered her purse as she moved toward the door.

"Sweetie, I'm not kicking you out. I'm giving you a nudge - some motivation."

"You can't keeping hiding from the world."

Her ultimatum was clear.

If I declared a major and enrolled full-time by my nineteenth birthday, I could stay in her house while I earn a degree. Otherwise, she would rent it out and I would have to find my own place.

"Make sure to keep up with your housework. Vic and I will come down for your birthday," she said. "Oh, and Victoria hired a new landscaping company to take care of the lawn. Make sure they edge and trim the bushes tomorrow morning when they are here," she added.

I didn't understand why I was expected to make such an important life decision. Making decisions was not one of my strengths. Everything in my life had been decided by my mother and my sister up to this point.

She kissed me on the forehead as she left. I could feel her disappointment.

Failure to Launch Syndrome is what she called it. But, giving it a name didn't solve my problem. I was frozen by the weight of the decision.

I came into the world, an unplanned baby boy, nearly six years after my sister, Victoria. I never knew my father. Mother didn't speak of him often, or fondly.

Even after Victoria moved out, she remained the biggest influence in my life. Helping to raise me, she assumed a role somewhere between parent and sibling.

Making decisions and taking charge came natural for her. She possessed incredible confidence and a strong will. I learned early on not to second guess her.

I watched from the window as my mother followed the moving van down the street. She was moving up-state to be closer to Victoria and her family.

For the first time in my life, I was alone and free to choose for myself. I didn't have to do their laundry. I didn't have to make their dinner.

Yet, the thought did not comfort me.

It had not been an hour when Victoria called.

"Mom said she's on her way. How are you?

"I'm okay.." I sighed.

Hey, don't worry too much. You have five weeks - everything will be fine. We'll figure it out," she reassured before I could even answer her question.

"Thank you, Vic," I said feebly.

I had trouble falling asleep that night. I thought a soothing bath would help, but the anxiety won. I watched television well past midnight and the next morning I awoke late.

It was mid-day before I realized that the landscapers did not come as scheduled. I peeked out the front window and the grass remained overgrown.

I called my mother to confirm that they were scheduled for today and that she hadn't misspoke. Victoria answered her phone instead.

"Mom just went for a walk. Everything okay?" she said

"The landscapers never showed up. Mom said they were supposed to come this morning," I answered.

"Did she leave you a number to call? If not, I probably have it somewhere here," Vic asked.

I recalled that my mother had left a list of numbers to call in the event there were problems. I checked it and found a number labelled "Lawn".

"I think she did. I'll give them a call," I said.

However, the number rang to a recorded message. It appeared, the number was no longer in service.

I called Victoria back, "There was no answer. The number's no longer active."

"I just scheduled them last week," she said, frustrated. "I'll call around on Monday and see if I can find another service. In the meantime, see if Coach D will let you borrow his mower," she suggested.

The idea sounded preposterous. I had never used a lawnmower and she knew that. Cooking, cleaning, and laundry had always been my responsibilities. Besides, she knew I was afraid to talk to Coach D. To me, the neighbor was a giant and he had an intimidating... no, a frightening presence.

I remember the day I first saw Coach D. A moving van had pulled up outside to the only other house in the cul-de-sac. He arrived behind it in his pickup truck. When he climbed out, the truck appeared to bounce up.

He looked like a giant compared to the movers. His size alone was intimidating. But, then I heard his booming voice echo across the circle. Over the years that followed, I had made deliberate attempts to avoid contact with him.

She sensed my apprehension, "I'll call him and ask if you can borrow his mower. You'll just have to go get it." That didn't make me feel much better. I did not have the nerve to approach his house, much less speak to him. I fidgeted nervously following the conversation hoping that she would not be able to reach him by phone.

Then, a few moments later, the doorbell rang. I prayed it would be the landscapers, but I knew it was the neighbor before I even looked. I dreaded answering the door.

He towered over me from the front porch. More than a foot taller than me, I was looking straight out at his chest when the door opened. He was as wide as the door in which I stood, whereas I could pass myself in the same door. Heavily muscled, his arms were bigger than my thighs and his thighs were bigger than my waist. I guessed he was in his early thirties.

His hair was closely shaved on top and faded on the sides and back. His flawless skin was a warm, dark almond tone. A neatly trimmed beard framed his powerful jaw. He clearly took pride in his hygiene and appearance.

I recalled overhearing that he played football or baseball for some big university. After that he was hired on as a strength coach at the local college.

I couldn't avoid contact now and I had nowhere to scurry. He stood before me looking down on me.

"Hello, Coach D," I squeaked nervously.

"Your sister called. She said you need to borrow my mower. Do you know how to use a lawnmower?" he asked.

I sensed judgement in the question, but I was used to it.

I was always very small for my age and I stopped growing altogether at five feet and two inches. In fact, I was shorter than both my mother and my sister. They liked to take note of that fact on a regular occasion, especially when they wore heels.

Through grade school, other boys in my class developed broad shoulders and muscles. Their voices cracked and then deepened. Their jaws became more prominent and most began to grow facial hair.

Those changes never came for me. My voice remained treble. My jaw was round and I kept the soft facial features and smooth skin of my youth. I never accumulated muscle mass and I never sprouted.

My mother reassured me year after year that I would be a late bloomer. But, I never bloomed.

"No, not really, I've never used a lawnmower" I confessed.

"Come outside. I'll show you," he replied.

I was still wearing my teal, cotton pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt I was holding a basket of folded linens that I had washed that morning.

Awkwardly I responded, "I'll get dressed real quick. Would you like to come in and wait?"

It was a terribly hot day and I thought it would be rude to have him wait outside.

"I'll use your restroom while you change," he stated.

"Sure, the guest bathroom is just past the kitchen, down the hall, first door on your left," I said.

I let him in and closed the door behind him. I proceeded to my bedroom to change as he went to find the guest bathroom.

As I was changing, I heard the toilet flush in the hall bathroom outside my bedroom door.

I tossed on a t-shirt, pulled up my jogging shorts, and turned around. He was standing just outside my bedroom door. My body involuntarily jerked and I let out a short scream.

His eyes raised to meet mine as he said, "I found this bathroom instead. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sorry. You startled me," I said as I composed myself.

We continued out to the front lawn. He demonstrated how to hold the bar against the handle and pull the cord. As he did, the lawnmower engine roared. Then, he released the bar and the engine stopped.

"Now, you try," he instructed.

However, when I pulled the cord, nothing happened. The cord stopped short.

"You have pull hard and fast," he said.

I tried again, but nothing happened. I pulled as hard as I could, but I either lacked the strength or my arms weren't long enough to pull the cord as far as needed to start the engine.

I was embarrassed by my failure. Even worse, I sensed he was amused.

He thought for a moment and then offered, "Here's what we'll do. I'm about as bad at laundry as you are at yardwork. I'll mow your lawn each week and you'll do my laundry."

"Okay," I said quickly.

I was relieved. I knew immediately that I was in way over my head with the lawnmower. Also, it was a scorching summer day and my fair skin would crisp in the early afternoon sun.

"The code to my garage is 02559. You can come over tomorrow while I'm at work," he said. "Make yourself at home. Detergent's in the overhead cabinet inside the laundry room."

I nodded in agreement and replied, "Yes, sir. Thank you, Coach."

With a quick motion he started the lawnmower. I watched for a moment as he went to work. I began to feel awkward standing around helpless, so I went inside to finish my laundry.

Only once I was inside did the anxiety from the encounter rise to the surface. I began to fidget nervously. I shook my hands to release the tension and then went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

That was the most I had interacted with our neighbor in the six years since he moved in.

About twenty minutes later, I could hear the lawnmower engine behind the house. I went to the window to check on his progress.

He had removed his t-shirt and tucked it into his waistband. Hidden behind his shirt were more muscles than I knew existed. The sun shined off beads of sweat rolling down his torso. His dark almond skin obscured black tattoos across his back, chest, arms, and abdomen.

I watched as he made another circuit around the lawn. Heat waves were rising from the mower.

I poured a glass of ice water and stepped out onto the patio. As he came back around, I waved him down and held up the glass.

The beaming sunlight and heat rising from concrete patio made it hard to keep my eyes open. Before I knew it, he was standing in front of me blocking out the rays. As my eyes adjusted, I found myself staring right at his muscular, bare chest.

I quickly looked up and offered him the glass.

"Thought you might be thirsty," I said nervously.

He took the glass from my outstretched hand and began to gulp it down. As I stood in his shadow, I became uncomfortably conscious of the stark contrast between us. My fingers began to fidget nervously again.

When he was finished drinking, he handed me the glass. I turned and rushed back into the house. I didn't give pause to the emotion, I simply tried to escape from it.

Inside, I continued with my own laundry as he finished in the backyard. After a while, I realized I could no longer hear the engine of the lawnmower. I checked the back yard and then the front yard. There was no sign of Coach D or his mower. I stepped out onto the front porch. I could see into his open garage. The lawnmower was parked hear the wall opposite his truck. He had finished the job and returned home.

I was heading back inside when, before I reached the door, I received a text:

(Unknown) "Hey, Jaime. It's Dameon. Got your number from your sister. Laundry will be in the laundry room. I leave around 8. Stop by whenever."

I replied, "Okay, thank you. I'll be there in the morning." I added him to my contacts as "Coach D".

With the linens folded and my work done for the day, I noticed for the first time how empty and quiet the house was.

I was alone with my thoughts.

At the front of those thoughts was my mother's ultimatum and the decision I had to make. My chest began to tighten and my hands began to perspire. I could feel the panic setting in. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

I wished I could be more like my older sister. She always had a plan and always knew how to execute it. Competitive and successful in everything she did, she was a natural leader.

A text notification interrupted me and I snapped back to the present. I was relieved to be freed from my own thoughts.

(Victoria) "Did you borrow Coach's mower?"

(Me) "No, he came over and mowed it. I couldn't get it started."

(Victoria) "That was so sweet of him! I worried you wouldn't be able to push it."

I knew she was right, but that didn't make the comment sting less.

(Me) "We made a deal. He's going to mow and I'll do his laundry each week."

(Victoria) "Oh, that's perfect!" (Victoria) "I told you everything would be fine. You have trust there's a plan." (Victoria) "Btw, I left you a present in my room. Enjoy your alone time, Princess."

Princess. She had not called me that in over a year.

She ended her text with a winking emoji which was entirely unnecessary.

I don't recall exactly how old I was when my sister caught me wearing her panties, but I could still remember her reaction. It was an autumn Saturday and I believed her and my mother were going to be gone shopping until late afternoon.

I had been alone in the house for about an hour after they left. I don't remember what sparked my curiosity but I do remember the excitement I felt when I slid my legs into the soft satin.

That moment was also my sexual awakening. As I walked around her room, I felt a warmth and stiffness between my legs. I looked down at my growing excitement and noticed I was poking into the fabric. I watched myself in her mirror and pondered this new feeling.

I was feeling myself through the soft, floral fabric when I saw her appear in the mirror behind me. The blood drained from my face. I spun around and faced her.

"I'm sorry! I just... Please don't tell!" I pleaded.

She moved into the room and cut me off from any possible retreat. My pants laid on the floor behind her. I grabbed her pillow from the bed to cover myself as if she might forget what she had witnessed.

Her expression was not an angry one. She was amused.

I was so engrossed with myself, I had no idea how long she had been watching me.

"Well, hello little girl," she said playfully. "Have you seen my baby brother, by any chance?"

"I'm sorry, please, don't...", I started.

"Shhh, those panties are way too big for you. Those are big girl panties. You need something... smaller. Something, hmmm, for a little girl," she said as she pulled the front elastic waistband from my hips. "I think I still have something little that will fit you...", she said as she pulled open her dresser drawer.

"Please, I'll wash them and put them...", I begged.

"Here. Put these on," Victoria demanded.

I didn't understand what was happening. I was trembling. I wanted to grab my pants and run.

I was pleading, "Vic, no. I just wanted to see what they felt like." "I'm not a girl," I said with a trembling voice.

"Sweetie, it's not the panties that make you a girl. Be quick. Mom is waiting in the car, but she might start to wonder what's taking me so long," she said softly.

"Vic, please, I'm sorry. I won't.." I pleaded desperately.

"Hurry up, little girl. Unless you want mom to come see you like this," she interrupted.

I stared at my feet as I conceded to her game. I would follow along if it meant that my mother didn't find out. I slipped the panties I was wearing down my thighs and they dropped to the floor.

"Oh wow," she laughed. "You may need something, um, even smaller."

Trembling uncontrollably, I took the little pink panties from her and stepped into them. She examined me as I pulled them up. They fit snug on my hips and wedged between my cheeks.

"Those will do nicely. Now repeat after me, 'I'm a pretty, little girl.'" she demanded.

"What? Vic, no," I whispered.

She stared at me with her arms folded, waiting.

I looked at the floor and mumbled, "I'm a pretty little girl."

"Yes, you are. Now, go put your pants on," she instructed as she let me pass.

"Mom and I are going costume shopping. We came back to see what you wanted to be this year. But, I think I have some ideas now. If you keep those on until we get back, Mom won't find out about my new little sister," she warned as she walked out of the room.

As they drove away, I ran to my room and began to sob into my pillow. I was still shaking. Once my nerves had calmed, I got up and began to frantically clean the house. I vacuumed Victoria's room and I did all of her chores. I rinsed, dried, and put away the dishes. I folded the laundry and hung her clothes. I was offering a penance in the hopes she would forget what she saw.

A few hours later, I heard the front door open and then close. I started to panic again.

"Where's my little sister?" she called out. Her voice echoed through the house. My heart raced, as I shuffled out to meet her.

I stared at the floor in front of me, "Please, Vic. Don't.."

She interrupted before I finished my sentence, "I got you the perfect costume. I had to convince Mom, but she gave in." "She dropped me off before going grocery shopping. Come on. Let's see how it fits!"

She grabbed my arm and pulled me into her bedroom.

From the bag, she pulled out a pink princess costume and a glittery tiara.

"You're going to be my pretty little princess this year," she said excitedly.

I fought back tears.

From that day forward, when we had the house to ourselves, she would find me and announce that it was "panty-time". She would dress me up like a doll. When we had time, she would even paint my nails and put make-up on me.

Princess.

The word echoed in my head as I read it on my phone. It was a word that seemed to trigger a trance-like state. I knew what waited for me in her room. I went straight to her dresser drawer.

Inside, there was a handwritten note atop a stack of folded panties.

It read, "Enjoy your alone time, Princess."

I had raided her dresser for the last time shortly after she moved out but, to my dismay, it was empty. She must have left these the last time she visited. I hadn't thought to look in her drawers again.

The sound of Coach's truck backing down his driveway woke me the next morning. I had stayed up late enjoying Victoria's gifts and I slept later than I intended.

The sound of his truck engine fading into the distance was a relief. I didn't have the courage to face him again today. When he was near, my nervousness was obvious. I felt like a mouse in the presence of a lion. He must have sensed it too.

I quickly got dressed and grabbed some fabric softener and laundry detergent before heading to his house. I didn't know what he would have at his house, so I thought it would be best to bring my own.

Ours were the only two houses at the end of a cul-de-sac. Our houses were angled toward each other at the top of the circle. Behind our houses was a large wooded area. It was quiet and secluded back there. There was never foot or vehicle traffic except our own.

I crossed the circle and entered the code he gave me into the keypad by his garage door. The door motor hummed as the garage lifted.

I wondered what it would be like inside the giant man's house.

He seemed a very private man. He could be seen coming and going on the weekday and working around his yard on the weekends I saw my mother speak to him occasionally, and Victoria even more so. They didn't seem intimidated by him. Until yesterday, I don't think I had ever heard his voice after the day he moved in. It was deep and powerful. I could almost feel the bass of his words vibrate in my chest.

His laundry was right where he said it would be: stuffed into a drawstring bag sitting in the entrance to his laundry room. I dumped its contents out onto the counter and began to sort by color and fabric. Most of the laundry was athletic wear in the collegiate colors, purple and black. I realized, this was going to be easier than I thought. Most of his clothes could be washed in one load.