Q: Rain, the young man is thinking. Of course it would be raining. Not a heavy, cleansing rain that leaves the streets steaming and the neatly sculptured yards lush and fragrant. This is a gray drizzling rain. A rain that makes him think of places like England and Scotland as they appear in those disturbing late night films on cable, the ones in black and white that weren't particularly memorable when they were made and are even less so now. Still, it rains and the air is cool. All he has to shelter him is a think nylon jacket. The jacket is soaked. It feels both chilly and coarse against his skin. His hair hangs in flat and sodden wings, falling into his eyes. It's long in the back, almost to his shoulders, and he thinks that the cars that pass him on the street, the occupants of those cars, might look at him and see only that he is wet and not that he is dirty as well. Can they tell that his hair has been unwashed for days? That his clothes are the same ones he's worn for more than a week? It doesn't matter. He's invisible to them as soon as they pass, taking any assumptions they might make with them. They might just mistake him for one of those hoity-toity college kids, one of those clean limbed and beaming have's who has happened to find himself caught out without his umbrella. He makes a desultory attempt to straighten his shoulders, to lift his eyes from the buckled sidewalk. To look like he might have a purpose or a destination. It doesn't help. He has become the day. He has internalized the environment. He did that years ago, in fact. That's all I can do. Not his words, of course, but he understands them. He is intimately acquainted with his limitations. Question: Why is the young man walking in the rain? === The answer to the above question is | OPTIONS:
- His friend never picked him up
- not enough information
- He was unable to find his umbrella
- He forgot his car
A: not enough information

Q: That day, my mother picked me up from school, wearing the yellow sundress and shawl I remembered from our trip with Father the year before. She looked just like she did most days back then--a glamour queen, a movie star ("Just like Lena Horne," my friend Chloe had once said, "only darker--oh, sorry, Leah!"), but today her beauty somehow had a harder, more defiant edge to it. I could smell the expensive Dior perfume as soon as I opened the door, which surprised me, because my mom was usually fastidious about not getting perfume on her clothes. She was wearing her bug glasses--huge dark things with lenses that bulged out like fly eyes and reflected my face like a fun-house mirror. She had tied a yellow silk scarf around her hair and was taking deep pulls on a cigarette held between two immaculately manicured fingers. Only I knew about the nicotine stains she carefully covered with her special order "forest sable" cream each morning. Tiffany, a stupid but vicious senator's daughter who I had the misfortune of sharing a classroom with, suddenly dashed from inside the school, her face flushed. "Hello, Mrs. Wilson," she called. Before my mother could respond, she giggled and ran back to three of her friends waiting beyond the door. I could hear them laughing, but I was glad I couldn't understand their words. They were all fascinated with my mother--the black housekeeper who dressed like Katharine Hepburn and drove a Cadillac, whose daughter's "light toffee" skin indicated that she might just like her coffee with a lot of cream. Sometimes I hated those girls. "Get in the car, Leah," my mother said. Her already husky voice was pitched low, as though she'd been crying. That made me nervous. Why was she here? "Ma, Chloe was going to show me her dad's new camera. Can't I go home on the bus?" My mom pulled on the cigarette until it burned the filter, and then ground it into the car ashtray--already filled with forty or so butts. She always emptied out the ashtray each evening. Question: Who greeted mrs. Wilson? === The answer to the above question is | OPTIONS:
- Chloe
- Samantha
- not enough information
- Tiffany
A: Tiffany

Q: Thank you for the A2A .. What has been your biggest heartbreak during your adult years? Had I answered this question 20 years ago, it would have been the death of my Daddy Had it been 12 years ago, it would have been the death of my Mother Had it been 10 years ago, it would have been when my son turned his back on God so far that he went into satanism As it is now ~ I would have to say that the biggest heartbreak in my life was 3 years ago when I discovered (online) that my beautiful daughter had begun taking Testosterone injections. Believe me ~ I've been told time after time that her decision to do so is her own to that fact I will agree. What I cannot agree with though, is that I have no right to feel hurt, upset, or any of the other assorted emotions that come with having a transgender child!! It's not okay to be devastated by the choices my little girl makes Its not okay to not agree with what she's doing to herself It's not gonna have an impact on her family It's not something that is allowed to affect our relationship The ONLY thing that matters ~ is the transgender person and how they feel!!!! One of the biggest things that bothers me is when I'm told that I can't love my child ~ unless I accept that she wants to be a male and give her support with that decision. I can say that I do love my daughter ~ I always have ~ and I always will. A mother's love doesn't go away. ***To those who wish to attack me for what I have to say on the topic of transgenderism ~ I respect your right to tell me your opinion and why you think I'm wrong but my feelings matter, too, and deserve that same respect from you.*** Wishing you the best!! Question: When did she discovered her daughter was taking testosterone injections: === The answer to the above question is | OPTIONS:
- Nine years after the death of her mother.
- Seven years after her son renounced the church.
- Three years ago.
- not enough information
A: Three years ago.