They Think I am a Woman! - Intro

ALL STORY LIST | PARTS - PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9 | PART 10 | PART 11 | PART 12 | PART 13 | PART 14 | PART 15 | PART 16 | FINAL PART

Susan B, want to share this wonderful story with us. The story is about Toni Summers, a young man grappling with loss, loneliness, and poverty, pouring his thoughts into a private journal. Just when things seem hopeless, a letter arrives—addressed to Ms. Toni Summers. A simple mistake in identity sets off a chain of events that will change his life forever.

This is a personal journal for my eyes only. God knows what I would feel if this got out into the open for anyone to read! The only reason why I'm doing this is because my therapist said it would help with some 'issues' that I have. In my opinion, it won't do any good, but here goes.

'But Mr. Davis, I will get you the rent money by next week, I promise.'

The creep looked at me with an expression that indicated that he had heard that one before, and if pigs had wings, they would be called pigeons.

'Look, Tony, this is the third time in 4 months that you have been late with the rent. I'm a nice guy, but not that nice.

He sighed, his bad breath nearly knocking me out. A gross lump of a man with sweaty armpits and an odor to match; his mother probably loved him, but no one else would. Had he never heard of personal hygiene?

OK, you have until Wednesday to pay off all you owe, or you're out.'

I shut the door and breathed a sigh of relief.

I made myself a coffee with slightly shaking hands and sat down in the deck chair that served as my best chair.

I looked around the apartment as I sipped the hot drink and noticed that the damp patch on the wall now looked like the shape of Africa. It was growing; it used to be Japan no doubt it would soon take over the whole wall. What a dump.

I suppose, as this is a sort of journal, I ought to mention how I came to be in this flea-infested hellhole of an apartment. You never know; my great-grandchildren may want to know about me someday.

I was born 18 years and 6 months ago. (The six months are important; you will see why in a minute.).

I had a happy childhood living with my mom and dad in Kent (England).

My dad was a computer software designer, and my mom was the secretary to the managing director of a large company that made ball bearings and stuff like that.

We lived in a large detached house in the commuter belt, about 30 minutes from the center of London.

I was an only child, and I suppose a bit spoiled. I had a big garden to play in and doting parents who liked to be generous with birthday and Christmas presents.

I went to a local private school. It was OK, but being a bit shy and small for my age, I didn't make many friends. Luckily, there was no bullying at the school, so I wasn't too badly off.

Life was quite good for me until I was 16, when disaster struck. My dad died in a plane crash. I won't tell you how much grief that caused my mom and me. It was a period that I try to forget about, even now.

Dad was well insured, so there were no financial worries. About a year later, Mum married her boss.

It was mutual hatred at first sight. David Roberts was a man who liked to bully people. What Mum saw in him, I will never know. They say that love is blind, so that must have been it. I think that he was a bit of a control freak. He was always bossing me about, you know what I mean?

'Don't do this, Tony. Don't do that, Tony. Don't stay out after dark, blah, blah, blah.'

Mum and David were married about a year, and I was three days short of my 18th birthday when the next terrible day happened.

I came home from the cinema to find a police car and an ambulance just leaving my house.

I ran in but was stopped by a policewoman.

'Who are you?

'Tony Summers, I live here. What's going on?

Are you Mrs. Roberts's son?

'Yes.'

'Come and sit over here. I need to talk to you.'

Mum was dead. She had been washing her hair and used a hair dryer with wet hands. The dryer was faulty, and she had an electric shock.

I was numb. The ambulance had taken my mom away, and I had lost the only two people in the world that loved me.

The next week went by in a sort of haze. I saw little of my stepfather. He appeared to be upset about my mom, but not unduly. A control freak to the last, even when his wife had died in such tragic circumstances.

My birthday passed without any ceremony. The funeral came and went. I was still in shock, and I had not cried, God knows why; I had good reason to.

A couple of days after my mum's funeral, David called me into his study.

'Sit down, Tony. We need to talk.'

I sat down and waited for David to speak. I somehow knew that I was not going to like what he was going to say.

'We've never really gotten on, have we?'

'No, I suppose not.'

'I am sorry about that, but it can't be helped. I am selling this place and moving abroad. I think it's best, now that you are 18, for you to try to stand on your own two feet and make something of yourself. You are not intelligent enough to go to university, so you must get a job and perhaps an apartment somewhere. Here is a check for £2000, which should help you with the apartment deposit and other expenses.'

He handed me the check. I looked at it without fully understanding what was going on here.

I cleared my throat and said, 'But Mums will; she left me something in that, didn't she?'

'No, when we were married, the will was changed.'

'Who gets my dad's money?'

'It wasn't your dad's money; it was your mum's and she decided when we married that I should be the main beneficiary.'

I should have said something. I should have shouted at him, punched him, done something, but I didn't.

I got up and walked out. Out of the house, my home since I was born, and out of David Roberts' life.

So that is how I came to live in this desirable residence. I had no money, no job, and probably no roof over my head soon.

I had tried loads of agencies for jobs, but I had no qualifications. I just did not do well at school. I was always bored. My teachers all said that I was intelligent and should do well, but when it came to exams, I just did very, very badly.

I had written to lots of different companies for a variety of jobs. The problem was, I needed a reasonable amount of money to come in to pay for my apartment, and that meant ruling out the McDonald's-type jobs. They just didn't pay enough.

I searched the papers every day and spent a small fortune writing letters.

I was either too old 18!, too young, had no experience, or had no qualifications to get the jobs I applied for. I tried shops, banks, the police force, and lots of different jobs too varied to mention. All I got from the ones that bothered to answer were rejections.

I heard a knock on the door.

With dread, I cracked the door open, thinking it was the odious Davis trying to pester me again. Luckily, it was Sheila, my only friend in the building.

I opened the door wider as she breezed in.

'Hi Tony, how's tricks?'

Sheila was about 28, a lovely redhead, and had a body that men drooled over. She was still in her nurses' uniform and looked as sexy as any of those pics in those magazines that I have to go on tiptoe to reach in the newsagents.

She plonked herself down on my shaky bed and crossed her shapely legs.

I dragged my eyes away and said, 'Davis was after me for money again.'

'That turd should be put away somewhere. How long have you got?

'Until Friday.'

'I'll lend you some money, but I can't afford all of it.'

'Thanks, Sheila, but I won't take your money; you can barely afford living here as it is.'

'We'll talk about it later. Oh, here's your mail. I picked it up as I came i'n.

She gave me three letters.

'Thanks.'

I took them and opened the first one. It said that I am guaranteed to win pots of money as long as I ring a premium rate phone number.

The second one was a regret letter.

Sorry, Your application has not been successful this time, but we will keep you in our database and contact you as soon as etc……

I sighed and opened the last one.

Dear Ms. Summers,

After viewing your application, we would like to see you as soon as possible.

Please, can you come for an interview on Monday, the 5th of June, at 10.00am?

We attach details regarding our location.

When you arrive at reception, please ask for Mr. Roberts.

If you are unable to keep the above appointment, please let us know.

Yours sincerely,

James Johnson

Director.

I was stunned; at last, I had managed to get an interview!

'Well.' Said Sheila impatiently, 'Why do you have that goofy expression on your face?' Come into some money or something?'

I was speechless; I just passed the letter over.

'Wow, great news, Tony, well done.'

She stopped suddenly and looked at the letter again, and then grabbed the envelope.

'Erm, Tony, have you seen who the letter is addressed to?'

I came out of my dream state and looked at Sheila as if she had gone crazy.

'It's to me, of course,' I said as I grabbed the envelope and looked at the name. 'It says to Ms,'

My jaw dropped as I read,

Ms. Toni Summers, I picked up the letter and saw that it started with Ms. Summers.

'Oh God, Sheila, they think I am a woman.'