"Yeah, but," Eden countered, "— and not that I want to talk you out of it or anything — you know that you don't have to do girly stuff to be a girl. You of all people should know that."

---

 

13. Easy As Falling Off A Bike
 

[Thanks to Angharad for letting me borrow her title!]
 

I knocked on my bedroom door.

Mom answered from inside, "Don't open the door! I'm right behind it with a tray full of paint!"

"Okay," I replied. "How's it going?"

"It looks really nice, Marcie! I think you're going to like it!"

I figured a deliberate lie was the best way to go: "I think so too, Mom."

I listened to the rhythmic back-and-forth sound of the paint roller. "Mom, do you mind if I go to Eden's house? Or I could stay here and help, if you want."

The roller stopped. "No, no. Why don't you go to Eden's? That's a good idea. If you want to stay over, that's fine, too."

"You really want to get rid of me, don't you?" I joked.

At that, I heard some scrabbling noises, and the door jerked open. Mrs. Auburn's face — I mean, Mom's face — had a dash of pink — I mean, Peach Puff — on her nose. She wore a baseball cap backward on her head and an anxious look on her face.

"Mom, with that hat, you look like a rapper!" I joked, trying not to look at the pinkness behind her.

"Marcie," she said, "I don't want to get rid of you. You're my daughter, and I love you. I just want you to go away until I'm done."

I laughed, but there was still enough Marcie Donner in me to see that she was right. If I stayed and kept looking at that little-girl pink, I'd start flipping out. Then I had a sudden thought: Would I start yelling? That was followed by another thought: Why would I ever think that?

So I asked, "Mom, do I ever yell?"

She took a deep breath and considered her words carefully. "Sometimes you do get a bit out of control." She bit her lip. "I think those sports, and hanging around with Carla Richio, brings out your aggression."

"Oh," I said. My eyes kept drifting over her shoulder toward the pink glow, so she looked back at the walls she'd already done.

"It really is pink, isn't it?" she said, finally owning up to it.

For some reason, I felt myself getting a little angry, but I managed to smile and say, "No, it's Peach Puff."

Mom looked into my face. "Maybe I should have picked something calming, like green."

"No," I countered. "Maybe I need a little pink in my life. But, Mom? The curtains don't have any ruffles or frills, do they?"

"No," she said in a cautious tone, "They're just plain white curtains. I showed them to once, don't you remember?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, although I didn't remember at all.

She laughed. "You have no idea which curtains I'm talking about, do you?"

"No."

"Go to Eden's," she said. "Have fun."

"You, too," I said. "Oh, can I get in there and get a sweater?"

"I can hand you one," she said. "There isn't a lot of room to move around here."

"Could you pass me a skirt, too?" I asked.

"A skirt?" she repeated, as if she wasn't sure she'd heard right. Then, in a hopeful tone she added, "Something nice?"

"Surprise me," I said.

"Okay," she agreed. "You're sure surprising *me*."
 

---

 

As I walked toward Eden's house, I pondered the "girly" thing: There seemed to be a very big difference between Marcie Auburn and Marcie Donner.

The biggest difference between the two Marcies, the anatomical difference, I didn't mind at all. In fact, I loved it!

But the rest of me, the personality, the orientation toward life, the... I don't know what to call it... was confusing.

When I was Mark Donner, I was a nice guy, but fairly colorless... almost non-existent. At least that's how other people described me: as just there.

As Marcie Donner, I was a whole 'nother thing entirely. I had friends, adventures... but most of all, I loved being a girl. The clothes, the shoes, Cosmo... and boys.

Now it seemed that I was somebody else all over again. Marcie Auburn was, well, a jock. She played sports. Okay, I could live with that. But apparently she didn't care about clothes — and, by the way, I was NOT thrilled about her hair.

Plus, she was messy... my God, that room! And why didn't she paint it? White walls, that badly needed a fresh coat, at least a coat of that colorless white, if not a real color. Didn't she have any taste?

It was hard to put together. Marcie Auburn was supposed to be me, wasn't she?

Maybe I was just contrary. If I was a boy, instead of being active and strong, I was passive and dull. When I was a T-girl, I was super-active and girly. Now that I was born a girl, I acted like a boy.

"Almost full circle," I said aloud. "What a revolting development!"

As I spoke, I heard a bicycle coming up behind me in the street. The boy who was riding gave a ring-ring! with his bell to make me look his way. He turned his head to glance at me, turned back forward, did a double take, spazzed out and fell off his bike!

I ran over to help him. His legs were tangled up in the bike frame, and he was moving awkwardly so at first I couldn't see whether he was hurt. He needed to separate himself from the bike, but I couldn't help there: I wasn't sure where to take hold of the bike. It was sort of chain-upward, and I didn't want to get any oil or dirt on me. "Are you okay?" I asked.

Instead of answering, he gaped at me, eyes opened wide in surprise, his mouth hanging open. He stopped struggling, and now that I was standing close to him, I saw two things right away: one, that he wasn't hurt, and two... he was looking right up my skirt.

"Okay, John," I said. "I think you got the picture. That's enough." Because guess who it was: John Martin.

"Sorry," he replied awkwardly. "It's just that you don't usually wear a skirt."

"Maybe this is why," I told him. "Will you please get up off the ground!?" I backed over to the sidewalk, to change his viewing angle. Now he couldn't see any higher than my knees.

He extricated himself from the bike, stood up, and leaned the thing against a tree.

"I'm sorry, Marcie...," he began.

"It's okay," I said, smiling. "I'm sorry I made you fall off your bike."

"Yeah. Next time you wear a skirt, you ought to send out a bulletin... a warning, I mean," he joked.

"I think you're the only one I need to warn," I countered. His face brightened up at that, and I remembered what Cassie had said about the way I keep him dangling. So I thought Why not? He's a good looking guy, and as far as I remembered he was pretty nice... and he really did like me...

"So, John Martin," I continued, poking him in the chest lightly with my forefinger, "I'm warning you: I'm going to be wearing skirts more often. A lot more often. So watch out."

"I'll stay off my bike," he grinned.

"Just stay off the ground," I countered. We both laughed, and he walked with me to Eden's house. I asked about his Christmas, and kept him talking about himself. It was nice to listen to him, and it seemed to make him happy. Above all, I felt his sense of relief: he finally felt that I liked him, that he had a chance.

At one point, he nervously asked whether I'd see a movie with him tomorrow, and I said yes. He tried to stay cool, but I saw his excitement build inside him like a head of steam.

When we got to Eden's house, I touched his hand and said, "See you tomorrow, John."

The look on his face was priceless. That tiny touch seemed to make him so happy! Oh, you poor schmuck, you've got it bad, I thought as I walked to the door.

NOT that I think he's a schmuck! He's a nice guy; I like him. But I'd never been with someone who was so head-over-heels for me.

Eden smirked as she closed her front door behind me. "So...," she said, in an insinuating tone, glad to be on the very cusp of a bit of juicy news, "you've finally succumbed to John Martin's charms, have you?"

"I guess," I said coyly.

"So, spill!" she cried. "How did it happen?"

"Let her take her coat off, Eden," her mother said, as she came down the hall toward us. "Then I'll make some hot chocolate for the two of you... with whipped cream."

I glanced at Eden, and she knew what I knew, which was this: Mrs. Hensel wanted to listen in. Then, once she was sure she had the whole story, she'd call my mother with it.

"Well, you know," Eden told me once, in her mother's defense, "she's new to the neighborhood. She wants to make friends, too." And that was true: the Hensels had only moved here last September, about the time that Jerry moved in with his Aunt Jane.

Pretty soon we were in the kitchen, and I had the two of them laughing about John's fall from his bike.

"You know, what John said is true," Mrs. Hensel commented, "You never do wear skirts. What prompted you to wear one today?"

"Hmm," I said, looking at Eden to bring her into the joke, "I guess was inspired when I saw the way Mom was painting my room."

Eden hid her smirk pretty well, but Mrs. Hensel didn't buy it. "Just because I'm not a teenager doesn't make me stupid," she told me with a grin. "I know you don't like pink, and watching someone paint always makes *me* want to put on my oldest clothes."

"Okay," I said, more honestly this time. "It's kind of like this: I woke up this morning not feeling quite myself, and I figured it was a chance to try to do things differently."

"Hmmph," she said, nodding. Then, figuring she had a full enough load of gossip, she told us, "Alright, girls, I have to go upstairs and do a few things in my room. See you in a bit."

She's calling your mother, Eden mouthed when her mother's back was turned. I rolled my eyes and smiled.

"Tell my Mom I said hi," I called after her.

"Okay, I wi—" Mrs. Hensel stopped and turned back to look at me. "You girls!" she said. "Who ever said I was calling your mother?"

We giggled and she left.

"So, really," Eden asked, after her mother was out of earshot. "What's the deal? Why do you want to wear skirts and all that? It's not for John, is it?"

I shrugged. "I figure, if I can't do girly stuff, what's the point of being a girl?"

"Yeah, but," Eden countered, "— and not that I want to talk you out of it or anything — but you don't have to do girly stuff to be a girl. You of all people should know that."

"I know," I said, "but I feel like... the way I've been living, I might as well be a boy."

"Jerry Donner didn't feel that way," she teased, and I turned a ripe-apple red. "Wow! You know, I was really worried about you when he was here."

"Why?" I asked.

"It was too intense," she said with a frown. "I told you this before. You just lost all sense of proportion! It was like you wanted to spend every minute with him, like nothing else mattered but him, and... oh! Let me put it this way: you were crazier about him than John Martin is about you. Maybe ten times crazier. Maybe more."

"No," I said. "It was different. Jerry was crazy about me too. Wasn't he?"

"I guess. But I thought you were going to get carried away..."

"I know, I know... you thought I'd do something stupid. Well, I didn't. But anyway... enough about me! What about you and Cory? How's that going?"

Eden frowned a little. "It's okay. He's okay. Things are good, but I think I'm ready for a new boyfriend."

"Why?"

"Because... he's nice and everything, but he sweats like crazy, even when it's cold out! And he's really affectionate, but, you know, I started thinking I should carry a bath towel with me so he can dry off before he touches me."

"Oh, yick, Eden!"

"Yeah, I know. The thing is, I like him, and he likes me... really, the only problem is the perspiration." She sighed loudly. "Man!"

"Maybe he should carry a towel," I suggested.

"Yeah, maybe that would do it," she said, but she didn't sound convinced.
 

---

 

While I was walking home, I thought some more about Marcie Auburn's life. One big way that it was different is that it was so ordinary. Apparently, crazy things didn't happen to her. At least, not so far. And yeah, okay — aside from the time-travel business, which I still don't believe. Although, without it, I was at a loss to explain my physical change.

I still suspected that this whole experience was a dream or hallucination. A sudden thought hit me, and I stopped dead in my tracks: What if, when I was on the plane... when I had that feeling that I was sinking and falling, well... what if the plane had crashed? I could be a coma, in a hospital bed someplace, and dreaming this whole thing. Maybe that's why it all seemed so real, because I wasn't just asleep. I was way, way down, deeper than just plain sleep.

Still, I believed in what was happening enough to not do anything crazy. I wasn't going to step in front of a train or jump off a building, just to see if it would wake me up. Chances are, I would simply die or be badly hurt. It was a crazy risk that I wouldn't take.

Instead, I was going to do the only thing that I could do. I was going to live this Marcie Auburn life, and make it my own. I didn't really feel like I was Marcie Auburn, though. It was more like I'd been *dropped* into her life. Well, Marcie Auburn, I told her in my mind, move over, because I'm taking over, and I'm making some changes.

When I got home, I'd start writing a list. For now, I could keep it in my head: so far I only had a few changes, and they were pretty obvious:

1. I had to pay more attention to my appearance: specifically, my clothes and my hair
2. I had to make sure I had a good relationship with my new mother. She seemed pretty worried about me, and I had to find out what that was all about.
3. I wanted to see how things went with John Martin. I blushed as I thought of him, which I guess was a good sign.

Three things: it was enough of a list for now.

I went back to thinking about the metaphysical nature of my new life. Was it real? I had to act as if it was. If it wasn't real, was it going to stay the way it was now?

Then I had a thought that stopped me dead in my tracks: If all this wasn't real, what would happen when I fell asleep tonight? Would it all disappear, or change?

I took a deep breath and started walking again. For a moment, I thought I might try to stay awake as along as possible, to prolong this experience. Then I realized that it was a crazy idea. I'd just have to go to bed and hope I woke up in the same place as I am now.

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

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