CHAPTER 8 -- Shopping

On Monday, I plunged back into West Hell, doing my best to just focus on schoolwork and ignore everything else. Wednesday night, I called Teresa but got my aunt.

"Everything's straightened out. They won't bother you about wearing a skirt or a bra or whatever. Whether at home or out."

I spoke to Teresa, but she said couldn't talk long because of homework. She suggested I text her, but not expect her to answer right away. I had to look around on the web to find out how to text on my phone. I texted "see you Saturday" and went to bed. Next morning, I saw a reply that was sent an hour or so after my message: "Saturday see you :)"

Meanwhile, at school, I saw some signs that Biff was trying to stick up for me. When I saw him with his friends, a lot of the time he was arguing with them. One time I thought they'd get into a fight, but he just stormed off. I don't think it did much good, though.

Saturday, I put on the skirt and I didn't bandage my chest. My mom didn't say anything, but did take me over to my aunt's. I couldn't help noticing that she didn't talk to me, except for the essentials. It was a very quiet ride. Just as I was getting out, she said, "maybe you should look at the bus routes. I think there's a crosstown bus that goes near your aunt's house."

Aunt Edith said we'd go to the bra shop first, but before we went, she got me to measure myself for underwear. Then she sat me down.

"Martin, you're going to have to decide how you'd like us to introduce you to the salespeople: as a girl or as a boy. If we present you as a boy, you'll end up having to give more explanations than I think you want to. If you don't want that, I think you'll have to put up with being my niece and having people refer to you as 'she'. I'll go with whatever you decide, but I'd like to settle it now, not when we walk into a store."

I thought about it: letting them pretend I was a girl was one more step down a path I really didn't want to go, but I really didn't want to have a long conversation with every salesperson, and I really, really didn't want people to look at me like I was a freak all day. I sighed and said, "I'll go as your niece. What's my name?"

"Martina?" suggested my aunt. "That way if we slip up and call you 'Martin,' it won't be so obvious."

I winced. "That's what the jerks at school have been calling me. But maybe I can stand it for one day. If I have to use a girl's name, I'd like to think about which one."

The lady at the bra store was just what I'd expected: a hearty, big-chested lady in who looked like one of those society matrons out of a Marx Brothers movie. Aunt Edith introduced me.

"This is my niece Martina. She's getting fitted for her first bra. She's not too wild about it and she'd like something that doesn't make it too obvious."

I was afraid the lady would start getting chummy with me, but she didn't. Either my aunt's comments or my hunched shoulders and unhappy face must have signalled to her that I wasn't in the mood for being jollied or for nosy questions.

"I'll see if I have something in a Minimizer. I think you want it to fit right," she directed to me. I just nodded. "Any other things I need to think about? Special closures?"

My aunt replied for me, "she's having sore nipples, do you have something that won't rub or press on them?"

"I'll see." She turned to me and in what I guess was her most clinical way, she said, "Martina, I'm going to have to measure you. You'll have to pull up your shirt. If you want, we can go in a dressing room. Do you want your aunt or -- is that your cousin?"

"Cousin. No, I'm okay with just you. In a dressing room." It wasn't as embarrassing as I thought it'd be. The exams at the sex-change lab (that's what I was calling it) were worse. She told me to stand up straight with my shoulders back, took a few measurements, looked carefully at my breasts, and then went out to her stockroom. A few minutes later, she returned with a stack of boxes and started putting bras against my chest. When she'd narrowed them down to a few, she showed me how to put one on and got me to try them all. We found one that wasn't too uncomfortable and didn't press too hard on my nipples, which were still a little sore. I took a deep breath, left that one on, and put my shirt back on. My aunt bought three and also bought some women's panties in what I assumed was my size.

The next stop was a clothing store. I basically put myself in Aunt Edith's and Teresa's hands, and they found me a denim skirt that went over my knees and didn't look too girly and some shirts that were loose enough that the bra didn't show much. They also picked up some cotton T-shirts, which they said would make it so you couldn't see the bra through the shirt. They found a sock store at the same mall and picked up some knee socks. They also insisted on getting a package of black tights. When I protested, they said that men also wear tights and I would need them if I wore the skirt in winter. I didn't talk much, but still the sales people called me "miss." It grated, but I didn't protest.

We stopped off at a fast-food place for lunch, then headed home. The bra felt funny, but my back and chest no longer hurt and my nipples just felt tingly instead of sore. On the way back, Teresa was lost in thought, then looked at me and laughed.

"Am I so funny?"

"No, I was just thinking about a story I read, and you were reminding me of it. It's Kafka's The Metamorphosis"

"What's it about?"

"It's about this guy.... Uh, maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"You might as well tell me, I'll find out anyway."

"It's this guy who wakes up one morning and finds out he's now a giant cockroach. His family isn't very nice to him. I'm sorry, that's not how I think of you. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You've got a point. Things could be a lot worse. Maybe if they'd done the brain treatment on me the same time as the sex-change, I would have been turned into a giant cockroach. Can you imagine what they'd say at school if I'd shown up as a giant cockroach?" We laughed all the way home.

Back at their house, I changed into my new clothes. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like a boyish girl, but I had to admit, I now had a "look."

"It actually looks kind of cool," Teresa said after I'd looked at myself for a while. "But I have to agree, you're not a 'Martina.' If you end up going as a girl much, we'll have to come up with a better name."

"What do you mean, 'going as a girl'?" This was getting to be too much. I'd spent the morning letting myself be called "miss" and I didn't want to think about having to do it regularly.

"Be reasonable, Martin. There are going to be times like today when you can't pass as a boy, and it'll be easier to just let people assume you're a girl. You can still be Martin the rest of the time."

Uncle Boris called us downstairs, which cut off further discussion. My aunt and uncle looked at me and pronounced my clothing a success, then we all went out to a movie and then came back for dinner. When it was time for me to go home, I mentioned my mother's comment about busses, so Uncle Boris looked up the bus routes. I asked Teresa if we could get together again next Saturday.

"Oh, Martin, I'm sorry, but I have friends coming over."

"And you don't want me around then, I guess." As soon as I said it, I felt like a petulant little kid.

"Martin, it wouldn't work. Right now, you need all my attention when I'm with you. I'm not putting you down, you're in a tough spot right now. But I can't pay attention to my friends and give you the attention you need at the same time. Why don't you come over Sunday afternoon? I'll try and get my homework done by then."

I agreed to that and tried to look grateful. Uncle Boris had printed out some timetables and we all worked out times and routes for next Sunday. Then my uncle drove me home.