At the Transgender Writers Convention: The Price of War

by shalimar

This was posted at Fictionmania as "At the Fictionmania Convention II: The Price of War"

This story is dedicated to all veterans who ever saw action.

It is posted in honor of the meeting of transgender fiction writers occuring on 2 April 2011.

Note: use of the Professor's Ovid "gods" with premission.

Let me explain some things. I met Monica at a weekly meeting of my local transgender group which just outside Atlanta, GA. She is a thirty-year-old male to female transsexual that is what we also call a little girl. In her mind she is really four. Although we have our differences we became close and I eventually became her “mother.”

Being both transgender fiction fans and hearing about the convention we made arrangements to take the week off and go. Our flight was uneventful, except Monica had too much to drink. You could say she had reason to drink, as she was a veteran of the Iraqi War. Unfortunately, while she was serving in the army, she saw terrible things and had to kill people. This destabilized her otherwise kind soul so she took it out in a way that she would forget: alcohol.

We registered in our hotel room and had our luggage taken upstairs. As we were both doing our twenty-four/seven real life as women there was no need for us to change. We registered for the convention and I decided to look around the convention hall while Monica told me she was tired and would go back to the room. Although I was suspicious, I didn’t check up on her. I found out later that I should have.

Walking the convention floor I met the Professor. He had a pretty young lady, dressed unusual, holding his arm. She told me her name was Princess Moonbeam. She looked like a refuge from San Francisco of the late 1960’s, complete with fringed skirt, long beads around the neck, granny glasses, and long hair to near the waist, boots and scarf on the top of her head. We talked and I believe we hit it off well. As we were leaving the main convention room we passed the doors to the bar.

I glanced in and exclaimed, “OH SHIT!”

“What’s wrong?” the princess asked.

“Monica,” I replied. “She’s drinking again. She’s an alcoholic.”

“Do you need help?” the Professor asked.

“I don’t know. It can’t hurt for you both to be there with me.”

As we walked in Monica was drinking a Jack Daniels. Pouring it down her throat was a better description of her actions.

“Monica, what are you doing?” I asked her.

“Drinking. Who are your friends?”

“They’re the Professor and Princess Moonbeam,” I replied. “Monica, you’re allergic to that stuff. You break out in blackouts.”

“Mommy, just one more please?”

“You already had too much.”

“Just one more?”

She was more than a little tipsy.

“NO!”

“Aw, mommy, you’re no fun.”

The alcohol was so strong on her breath that I thought I would get drunk.

“Come on, we’re getting you out of here.”

“Yes sir!”

Her salute made her fall, but I caught her before she hit the ground.

“You caught me,” she smiled. “That was wonderful.”

It was then that the bartender came over to us as I held Monica up under one shoulder, the Professor held her up under the other one.

“She’s been drinking hard and fast since she came in here about an hour ago,” he told us.

“What’s the tab?” I asked.

“One hundred,” he replied.

Still holding Monica, I opened my pocketbook and took out two hundreds and told him, “Here are two postmen. If you see her here again, no drinks. And I do mean none!”

“Yes, ah, mam.”

We dragged Monica out of the bar and over to the elevators that brought us to the top floor and the presidential suit.

“You’re the ones that have this baby,” the princess said to me as I unlocked the door. “I was surprised to see that it was already booked when I reserved our rooms.”

“If you want to I’ll switch,” I told her as we put Monica in the bed. “It’s paid for. It is a small price to pay for what I need from you now, Dianne. I think I need your help.”

We fixed Monica so she could sleep comfortably.

”At this convention I’m Princess Moonbeam,” she replied. “Our suite is good enough.”

“Normally I would respect your wishes, but I need you now as Dianne or Athena, or who ever. I’m desperate.”

I held back tears. I hoped she didn’t notice.

“OK,” she sighed. “What do you need?”

“Fix my friend.” I pleaded. “Fix her so she isn’t an alcoholic.”

“You’re taking this hard when she did this to herself.”

“I know, but that’s the way I am.”

“I’ll do what I can to give what she needs,” she replied. “Leave us alone for a few minutes.”

I went down the stairs to the lower level of my suite, went to the couch and cried softy into a pillow. For some reason I didn’t want Dianne to know.

A few minutes later I felt Dianne’s hand on my back.

“Monica is sleeping peacefully,” she told me. “In an hour or so her tummy will hurt and she is going to need her mommy.”

“Mommy?” I asked as I noticed the wedding and engagement rings on my hand.

“Yes, you changed also,” she explained. “She is now a sweet, innocent girl of four with no memory of being in the war. You are now her mommy.”

I gave her a hug.

“How can I ever thank you?”

“You just did.”