Woman In The Mirror: Chapter 7Woman In The Mirror
 
Chapter 7: Two Endings And One Beginning
 
Those first few weeks after these events Andrea and I avoided each other as much 
as possible. Each of us lived only for ourselves. Each did what we had to do. 
Each cooked our own meals, washed our own clothes, and lived our own lives. We 
only spoke to each other when absolutely needed. 
 
Weekdays Andrea continued on as she had, coming home no earlier than eleven 
o’clock at night. Fridays, she would pack a bag and leave until late Sunday 
afternoon. 
 
Thus, did her weeks go until three or four weeks later. On a Saturday evening, 
she returned unexpectedly at nine o’clock. She seemed rattled, as if something 
had happened and shook her up. She went into her room and stayed there almost 
all through Sunday. Sunday, I could hear her making and getting numerous calls 
on her cellphone. 
 
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, she was at home when I came home. She cooked 
dinner for the both of us. Monday, and Tuesday, she tried to make conversation 
with me, as we ate. On Wednesday, I took my plate to my room, eating at the desk 
in there. 
 
Thursday, she did not get home until 3am, but on Friday, she had cooked dinner 
again. Instead of risking conversation, I again left for my room. 
 
That night, when I was watching television, she came in, and sat down next to 
me. Saturday, I went out and bought a small TV for my room. 
 
Saturday, evening she went out but had returned by eleven. 
 
Another two or three weeks went by much the same. Andrea was home and cooking 
dinner when I got home. Only on Thursdays, did she not come home until early in 
the mornings, or not at all. 
 
It had been almost eight weeks since I found out about Andrea’s infidelity, when 
one night I woke up because I could not move. I awoke finding Andrea’s arms and 
legs wrapped around me. My stomach retched and I jumped out of bed waking Andrea 
in the process. I didn’t have to be sick but I was shaking and in a sweat. 
 
Without saying a word, Andrea returned to her own bed but I could not bring 
myself to go back to my bed, knowing that Andrea had been there. The next day, I 
changed the sheets on the bed. 
 
Three days later, I awoke again in the middle of the night to find Andrea 
spooned next to me. This time I slipped quietly out of the bed and slept on the 
couch. 
 
The next three nights were the same and I stopped changing the linen every time. 
 
 
The next night, when waking again to find Andrea in bed with me, I started to 
get up but Andrea grabbed my arm. “Please stay,” she begged. I lay stiffly back 
down, and with time fell back to sleep, until… I woke with a start having dreamt 
about jumping from the bridge again. 
 
The next week continued on much the same. Each night, I would go to bed alone 
only to find Andrea having slipped in at some time during the night. I gave up 
trying to leave and sleep on the couch. 
 
That week, Andrea began to make an even greater effort to come into closer 
contact with me. She even went so far as to call me at work telling me she was 
going shopping and wanting to know if I wanted anything or wanted her to cook 
anything special for dinner. That call was the first time Andrea had called me 
at work in over six months. With all that she was doing, it was obvious that 
Andrea was making a serious attempt at making amends. 
 
Yet, Thursday, she stilled went out and did not come home until some time 
Friday.   
 
The next week, she was still as attentive as possible. 
 
Tuesday and Wednesday, a few minutes after I went to bed she climbed into bed 
with me. She said she needed some cuddling. 
 
On Thursday, she didn’t go out and it was cuddling again at bedtime. 
 
Friday evening, while I was lying on my bed watching TV, she came in, lay next 
to me, and watched. 
 
Saturday, she left during the morning to do shopping and again in the afternoon 
to show someone a house. She was back though within about an hour.
 
Saturday evening, she wanted us to go out for dinner. I declined and told her 
that if she wanted to go out she could go out by herself. She stayed home and 
showed no anger or disappointment over what I had said. 
 
That night and every night the next week, she either came to my bed a few 
minutes after me or was in bed when I came to bed. There were no sexual 
overtures made, she only cuddled. I always stayed as inoffensive but passive as 
I could. 
 
That Thursday, she did not go out again.   
 
Friday, when we went to bed she started to do more then just cuddle. She started 
to kiss me on the neck, then on the cheek, then on the lips. I stayed passive, 
not saying a word or doing anything. With one hand she caressed my chest and 
stomach before slipping under the top of my t-shirt to continue caressing me.
 
As she continued to give me small kisses and nibbles on my neck, her hand slid 
down into the front of my pajama bottoms. “I want to do this, please,” she 
whispered as I attempted to rise. 
 
I lay back then passively letting her for the moment. Wary of where she wanted 
this to go. I didn’t want this but I wasn’t going to stop her. I wasn’t going to 
help her or enjoy it either. I decide to just lie there and do nothing. 
 
I didn’t know I had it in me anymore. I hadn’t felt any sexual desire since that 
night of seeing her with her playmates. 
 
After stroking me for a longer time, she slipped the covers down, my pajama 
bottoms down. Sitting on my legs, she lowered her head towards my now hard 
penis. Just before she took me in her mouth, she looked up at me, “This is just 
for you.”   
 
Even though she gave her best, it took her a long time. When I finally did come, 
I came but was crying. I had felt passion, but I had also felt pain in my heart 
and sorrow. I had not enjoyed it. I felt as if I had again been used. 
 
She crawled back up to lay next to me, pulling the covers over us. She turned 
and snuggled herself into me, whispering, “I love you. I’ve always loved you, 
and I always will love you.” 
 
That night, I had the most vivid of dreams about jumping off of the bridge into 
an oncoming truck, that I had ever had. This time I had not awakened just before 
the semi hit. I awoke feeling the truck smashing into my body, tearing me into 
pieces. I awoke screaming out my pain. 
 
Shaking and crying, I couldn’t coherently explain to Andrea my nightmare. Andrea 
then held me, “Shhh, it was only a bad dream. I’m here now. I’ll always be here 
for you. It’s over now. It’s all over. We’ll get back together. I know it hurts 
still but it’s over now. I know it will take time but I’m back to stay.” She 
stayed holding me tightly, crooning soft comforting words, until I slept a 
fitful sleep. 
 
The next day Saturday, I was up early and went hiking in the woods. I had to 
think and think alone, where no one or nothing would bother me. Did she really 
mean what she had said last night? Was she serious? What did I feel? Could I 
forgive her? What would our marriage be like, with all those memories haunting 
us? I didn’t know, I seriously didn’t know. 
 
Even after my legs were weary, I had come to no better conclusion than just to 
wait and see how things worked out. So, I returned home, to find Andrea humming 
a tune, the apartment spotlessly clean, and dinner cooking on the stove. 
 
The weeks went by, and even though I remained skeptical, we were making slow 
progress. 
 
One night, after Andrea had stroked me hard, she got on top of me, and she made 
love to a still passive me. 
 
It didn’t stay that way. She slowly wore me down to the point of finally 
returning her kisses and caresses. Our lovemaking was then, lying side-by-side, 
facing each other, and at all times gentle and tender. We didn’t have sex any 
more; we made slow gentle love, which sometimes took hours. 
 
I was slowly beginning to come out of my shell, when Andrea asked me one Friday, 
if we couldn’t go out to eat. I gave in. 
 
The dinner was nice but I did feel uncomfortable when people would greet Andrea. 
Even though all were couples, and some of them older couples, I kept wondering 
if she had had sex with them too. I couldn’t keep those questions out of my 
mind. The image of Andrea on the bed with those others had not been directly in 
my thoughts for a while but now it was again. The people were all friendly 
towards me and not overtly friendly towards Andrea, so I decided that it was 
just my over jealous mind, playing tricks on me. 
 
I was cautious over the outcome of the evening but Andrea was in good spirits as 
we drove home. 
 
Saturday, Andrea again begged that we go out to dinner, “Please, it’s my treat 
tonight. Didn’t you enjoy it last night? Oh come on, you need to get out more.” 
So we went.   
 
This dinner club had a bar with a room for dancing next to the dining area. 
After we had eaten, Andrea dragged me into that room and we sat at the bar, 
because all the tables were full. 
 
After we had our drinks, we danced some. This was a dance place for dances like 
fox trot, samba, tango or slow fox. For the next hour, we danced some then 
rested and had a drink then danced some more. 
 
At one time, Andrea went off to the ladies room. After about 20 minutes, she 
wasn’t back so I began to wonder and worry. I got up and started to go in the 
direction of the restrooms. 
 
Before I got there, I saw her off in a dark corner talking to a man. He was a 
tall, well-built, dark haired man… just Andrea’s type. Andrea was leaning 
against the wall and he was directly in front of her with his hands on her hips, 
their crotches pressed together. His face was only inches away from her. Her 
hands were both on his shoulders and she was smiling up at him. It was obvious 
that they had been lovers… and most likely still were. 
 
 From the attention she was giving him, I would have had to walk directly up to 
her before she would even notice me. So that’s what I did. I walked up to them 
and asked Andrea if she would introduce us. 
 
He only turned and looked down at me as if I were a disturbance. It was obvious 
that he had no idea who I was.
 
Andrea first had a wide-eyed stunned look on her face and turned crimson red 
while trying to push him back from her. 
 
I just turned and walked out of the place and to the car. Andrea was right 
behind me.
 
In the car, Andrea tired to explain that he was just someone she knew and that 
he had been away on vacation and just come back. He had been telling her about 
his vacation, that was all. 
 
I stopped the car along side the road, so I could see her reaction, “You’ve 
fucked him haven’t you?” 
 
Again, she turned a vivid red as her eyes dropped down to her hands. 
 
Still staring at her, watching her reactions intently, “And you’re going to fuck 
him again, aren’t you?”  
 
With tears in her eyes, but her voice too loud to be honest, “Conner, don’t 
think that! I love you and only you. Yes, I did and only once have sex with him 
but that’s over now. That time is over. Please believe me. Don’t pull away from 
me again. I can’t take that, please, oh please Conner. I need you.” 
 
That night, I turned my back on Andrea when she came to my bed. She did not 
climb in but went to hers. 
 
Sunday was quiet around the house. We avoided speaking much. 
 
Monday, Andrea told me she had a meeting Tuesday evening. It would keep her 
late. She might not be in before nine o’clock. 
 
Tuesday, Andrea didn’t get home until well after midnight. She went directly to 
her own room. 
 
Wednesday evening, Andrea was home but she was acting nervous as if she was 
contemplating something. That night she did come to my bed and we cuddled and 
kissed before sleeping. 
 
Thursday when I got home, Andrea was sitting at the kitchen table with a very 
sad and pensive look, “Conner, I’ve got to do this. I can’t just let this go. I 
know I said it was all over. I thought it was over. I honestly did. I’m going to 
go out with him Saturday night. I have to talk with him.”
 
I couldn’t believe this, “Andrea if you go out with him on Saturday, I won’t be 
here when you come back. I won’t come back no matter what you say or do. It’ll 
be over between us. I can’t take this again. It’ll kill me.”
 
Andrea’s face had an utter look of disbelief on it, as if this, she had in no 
way, anticipated, “Conner, it’s not that way. We’re only going to talk. That’s 
all. Even if there is something between us, I won’t do anything. I’ll come back 
here so we can first talk. Don’t leave me yet, please.” 
 
“No Andrea, you either love me or you love him. I’m not going to accept that you 
stay with me only because he doesn’t want you enough,” with that I walked back 
out the door and went to a restaurant to eat and think. 
 
Coming back to the apartment, Andrea was sitting in the darkened living room. 
Her eyes were red as if she had been crying. She looked up at me as if she 
wanted to say something. As if she hoped that we would talk. 
 
I walked past her and went to my room. I closed the door and locked it before 
climbing into bed. 
 
A half an hour later, the doorknob jiggled. Andrea wanted to come to me but I 
wasn’t going to allow that to happen. Now was the time for her to think and 
decide. After that and by her actions, I would do what I must do. 
 
I didn’t know what I could possible have for a life without her. However, with 
her, my only option in the end would be the bridge. That was no option.
 
It took me a long time to fall asleep and when I did, I had a different dream 
about the bridge and the semi truck.
 
 I dreamt, I was standing again at the top of the bridge, a semi truck was 
coming in the distance, and I knew that just before it passed under me, I would 
jump. 
 
As the truck was getting closer, I saw out of the corner of my eye a movement. I 
turned to look and there stood a girl. It was the young woman, I had seem so 
many years ago, staring back at me out of Janice’s bedroom mirror. 
 
This time, there was no scorn, or mockery, in her eyes. They were eyes showing 
kindness, caring and concern. They showed love. She was holding out one hand to 
me. Beckoning me to come to her. Extending that hand for me to take. 
 
Some time during that dream, I awoke. It was as if I was awake but still in the 
dream until it was completed. 
 
The dream had been so real. It was as if it had actually happened. 
 
It stopped though before I could react. I knew I had two options. I could jump 
off the bridge and to my death or I could take her hand and go with her. 
 
But, where would I go with her? What did she want with me? I had no idea what 
she wanted from me or where she wanted to take me. What I did know… no, felt 
from the deepest corner of my soul was that she had my best interests at heart. 
That she cared for me more than any other person in the world could. I needed 
only to take those steps from where I was to her.  
 
 Friday after work, I first stopped at a restaurant to eat. Then I went to my 
room to sort out things and begin packing. Andrea had cooked a meal but I wanted 
to give her as much distance and quiet thinking time as possible. I also wanted 
her to see that I was serious. She was not going to be able to talk me out of 
leaving, if she went to him.
 
Saturday morning, I finished my packing and left the house. I went walking in a 
park. Then ate at a restaurant. Leaving at eight o’clock. 
 
Andrea wasn’t there when I returned home. I waited another hour and then packed 
everything into my car. It was ten o’clock when I pulled out of the subdivision. 

 
I drove to a Motel 8 and spend that Sunday there. 
 
Both Saturday and Sunday nights, I again had the dream of standing on the 
bridge. Again the young woman from the mirror was also there, holding her hand 
out to me. Those dreams helped to calm me considerably. Yet confused me, because 
I didn’t know how to get to her. I knew I had to do something before I could 
hold her hand and be with her. I didn’t know what.
 
Monday, I was at work but made an appointment to see a divorce lawyer on 
Wednesday. After work, I found a motel that was cheaper and rented by the week 
or month. It wasn’t much but it was clean and had a clean bed, shower and 
toilet. That was all I needed. 
 
I also had her name taken off of my bank account and my one credit card. Andrea 
had her own banking account anyway. My paycheck went to my account, hers went to 
her account, and we only had each other’s names on the accounts in case 
something happened.
 
Andrea was served the divorce papers one week later. Since we had little and I 
had already taken what I needed, it was a no-fault divorce petition. I didn’t 
care to prove to anyone that Andrea had committed adultery. I already knew that. 
That was sufficient. 
 
About two week after Andrea had been served the divorce papers, was then the 
first I heard from her. My lawyer had received a call from her. She had received 
a call from Aunt Madge’s lawyer. He was looking for me. It was serious. 
 
I called Aunt Madge’s lawyer and he told me to come as quickly as I could. Aunt 
Madge was in the hospital and it did not look as if she would make it. She was 
dieing. 
 
I told my boss what was happening. On the way, I picked up some clothes from my 
room and drove, stopping only three times for gas. 
 
It was sometime late at night, early morning when I finally got to the hospital. 
One look at the sleeping Aunt Madge was enough for me to see that she was 
leaving me forever.
 
She lived for another two days. All of that time she was in and out of awareness 
but never had a completely clear mind. At times she spoke to me as if I were 
still very young. Then she spoke to me as if speaking to another man, a man she 
loved and lost. In the end she died in her sleep. 
 
It was during those next few days, before her burial and after, that I finally 
found out all about who actually Aunt Madge was and that she had not only cared 
for my future but for a lot of other people’s. 
 
Aunt Madge had been born in 1922. She was my mother’s great aunt. 
 
She had married the neighbor farm boy. They had grown up together and promised 
to marry each other when she was 12. At the age of 18 she had married him. 
 
Since both had been only children and their parents were aging, they combined 
the two ranches together. 
 
Dec. 8,1941 found her husband joining the Army. June 6,1944 found Aunt Madge a 
widow, her husband’s body, one of those many floating in the waters off of the 
Normandy beaches. 
 
Aunt Madge and her aging parents and in-laws fought a losing battle to maintain 
the ranch without her husband until in 1952 oil was found on the property. 
 
Aunt Madge kept the farm operating until only she was left, then she leased out 
almost all of the land to neighbors. Most all the land for miles around that I 
had always thought as belonging to neighbors had belonged to Aunt Madge. 
 
Financially, Aunt Madge was worth millions. Each month brought in a five-digit 
check from the oil companies.   
 
Though Aunt Madge had over twenty million dollars in bank assets at the time of 
her death, which was only part of the revenue she had taken in during that time. 
Most all of what she took in, in oil revenue, went directly out to charities. 
 
In Aunt Madge’s will, the charities got most all of the money that was in the 
bank. I got $600,000 in cash (after taxes) plus I inherited the land and 
therefore the revenue from the oil wells. 
 
Even though Aunt Madge’s financial advisors controlled most all the operations 
dealing with the money, the first thing I did in returning to Denver was quit my 
job. It made no sense to keep on working there. The only reason I had worked 
there was for money and now I had enough. 
 
Since I had received the money after the legal separation with Andrea, Andrea 
had no rights to any other settlement from the divorce. Even though she was 
informed of Aunt Madge’s death, she had not been at the funeral nor sent a card 
or flowers. We saw no reason to even inform her of the will. It was none of her 
business.
 
I don’t know who I missed more Aunt Madge or Andrea. What I did know is that now 
I was alone in the world. Other than for my money, no one cared the slightest 
about me. Aunt Madge’s death and the divorce pending with Andrea put me into a 
deep depression.
 
I was at a complete loss as to what I should be doing with my life. I was 
entirely disappointed with everything around me. 
 
Having money is not everything. If you don’t have goals and reasons, money is 
pretty much worthless. Money is there to buy things and create lifestyles to 
enjoy. But, I had nothing to enjoy. Here I was with over half a million sitting 
in the bank and I was still living in my dingy pay-by-the-week motel room.
 
I had no idea how I could change or what I could change so as to at least find 
some satisfaction within my life. I needed help and someone else’s opinions. I 
could not see a solution to my problems. That’s when I first started seeing a 
therapist. 
 
He was only a few inches taller then me but a lot older. All the times I saw him 
he always had on some sort of brown suit and a white shirt. I never saw him in 
anything but brown. Being older, sitting as much as he did, he was over weight, 
and carried his excess baggage around the middle. What I saw of his arms and 
legs seemed to be too thin for his body. The top of his head was bald and the 
sides always seemed a little bit shaggy and disheveled. He made a good attempt 
at being very academic and succeeded most of the time. He reminded me of many of 
my teachers in college. 
 
Since I had nothing better to do with my time, we started out with three 
sessions a week. It took also quite a few session of him only listening, until 
we were at a level, where we could begin discussions. Early on I had refused his 
offer of anti-depressants. I’ve never been one to use medications, unless it was 
absolutely required. 
 
Working out the problems of my childhood seemed too great of a problem, and 
anyway, the most important aspect of my visits was to stabilize my life, 
sufficiently enough to begin having desires and goals. We could then at a later 
date, work through these problems. 
 
One of the major issues, that we always seem to touch on, but skirt around, was 
my problem with how I saw myself and how others saw me. Why their views of me 
was such a cause of disturbance to me. 
 
I could never seem to give him a satisfactory explanation, of what my self-image 
was, nor could I explain, how I wanted people to see me. No matter what I said, 
it was, even for me, too vague. 
 
All I could explain was that it was other people’s view of me and that created 
attitude in them towards me, which always seemed to be the cause of much of my 
problems. It was that, my thinking about myself, and their views of me, were out 
of sync with each other. Yet I couldn’t explain how, or why. 
 
In addition, no matter how we talked about issues, the issue of contentment with 
myself was getting nowhere. 
 
It was then at the end of one session, that he asked me to do something. He 
asked me to think about those times in my life, where I had been content and 
happy and to examine them. 
 
He asked me to pick out that single moment in my life, where I felt I was the 
most content and happy… that I had ever been. Then I was to examine why this 
event had made me feel that way. 
 
He told me that we often suppress emotions, desires and feelings, because we 
feel they do not conform to our image of our planned lives and goals. He said 
that in attempting to succeed in our goals, we suppress and deny that what would 
have given us happy and contented lives. That it is often, not other people who 
hurt us so much, as that we ourselves are responsible for our own unhappiness 
and discontentment. 
 
That had been on a Thursday session, I spent all of Friday and Saturday thinking 
again about my college days with Andrea. I couldn’t seem to pick out one single 
moment that I thought stood out above the others. They were all as good a time 
as the other and in hindsight of my upcoming divorce; my memories of them seemed 
tainted.
 
Lying in bed Saturday evening was depressing. I was terribly disappointed in 
this venture of his. It was going nowhere. Yes, I had had good times with Andrea 
but she was a part of the problem. She was no longer with me. Nothing that 
centered on her was going to be a solution. She was out of the picture.
 
Early Sunday morning, I had again one of those dreams about the bridge. Like the 
other dreams, where the young woman in the mirror was present, they were dreams 
but not dreams. I seemed awake during them. I was wide-awake when they were 
over. 
 
 In this dream I was again standing on top of the bridge, watching the truck 
racing towards me. This time though, the young woman from the mirror was 
standing now only a few feet from me. She had a soft gentle smile on her face. 
Her eyes spoke only of love. There was no more worry, or concern, in them.
 
Emotionally, the thundering semi held no fear for me anymore. It was as if I had 
reached a turning point. Looking at her, I felt contentment in my heart, a 
complete satisfaction with the moment. 
 
She somehow seemed to embody perfection and more. From her seemed to radiate an 
aura of genuineness, a fact of being that could not be questioned. A feeling 
that encompassed the naturalness of life itself.   
 
I wanted to explain my feelings to her but I could not find the words. So, the 
dream ended there. Leaving me wondering why, the reasoning for the dream. 
 
That Monday’s session with my therapist was a worthless session. It seemed 
increasingly that we were only going in circles, getting nowhere.  
 
Driving back to my motel room, it hit me. I knew exactly that one moment in my 
life where I had felt far beyond any other moment, contentment, and happiness 
with myself. It was that one moment where I felt my body, my soul, and my mind, 
for once completely in tune.  
 
It didn’t make sense though. That moment wasn’t going to help me either. That 
moment was about as far away from reality, as any further moments with Andrea. 
 
Thinking about that moment, as a goal for my life was ridiculous and impossible. 
That moment, in itself, was a falsification… a lie.   
 
That moment had been one of those times while I was babysitting for Janice. It 
was in the final time, when I had each time after they left rushed into dressing 
fully enfemme. 
 
Not having any plan, I had just taken almost the first things I grasped to wear. 
I wasn’t dressed in any sexy, sensual lingerie or dress. I had put on a simple 
bra, full brief panties, a slip, and a flowery summer dress.   
 
I had spent the rest of the evening dressed that way, doing nothing special but 
spending time feeding one of the babies a bottle, watching television… nothing 
out of the ordinary. What had made that moment so special was the feeling of the 
complete naturalness of my actions within myself. I was being and doing exactly 
that what deep inside me, I was intended to do and be. 
 
It made absolutely no sense! It was all wrong and the reason why, the image of 
the young woman in the mirror had mocked me so cruelly, so often. Even though I 
maybe should have been, I wasn’t and never could be her. 
 
“I am a man. Even though, a weak, wimpy, pretty much a worthless example of a 
man, who can’t even have children, but a man, nether less.” 
 
“All this monkey business about “should have been a female” was only because of 
my mother’s psychotic fantasy, and the fact of my size and shape.” 
 
“God Damn It! I am a man! Why is it that every time people do accept me, every 
time I feel comfortable with myself, I’m considered to be acting like a female? 
Why can’t I just be me?” 
 
The whole thought process was depressing me, “I don’t want to be a woman. I’m 
not gay. I’ve never even looked at a man. I like women and being around women. I 
like sex with women. I just want to be myself and have people accept me for me. 
What so wrong with that?”
 
It seemed though, once the thought became fact; it was like a Pandorian box. 
“But who am I? What do I feel deep inside me? Is it that some people, see 
something in me that I don’t see?” 