I had never enjoyed shopping more. My feet ached and we’d about doubled the mortgage on the house, but I had so much new stuff. We did just about manage to empty the back of the car in one trip when we arrived home, but only with both Mum and me carrying as many bags as would fit in each hand.
“What the hell is this?” Dad grumbled from his seat. The water on his table was untouched and there were a couple of extra beer cans beside the one I’d left him. Well, if he wanted to start Sunday with a hangover, that was his lookout.
“We’ve been shopping,” I announced cheerfully. “What do you think?” I was wearing a simple, knee length, white summer dress, a pair of white sandals with almost no heel and a riotously ridiculous hat with a brim wide enough to protect all my delicate exposed skin from the naughty sun and its harmful UV rays. Yes, it was December, but the skies were clear. I pirouetted elegantly and swept past towards the stairs.
“How the hell much did you two spend?” This last question he directed at my mum. “And what do you think you’re doing pandering to this ridiculous whim of his.”
“It’s not a whim, dear. I don’t know how it happened, but we now have daughter. If what she’s been telling me is true, it’s possible we always did, only now by some amazing miracle, she’s shed her boy skin, like a butterfly climbing out of its chrysalis.”
“What the hell rubbish is this?”
“You’re grumpy dear. We’ll talk about this later when you’re more reasonable. It’s late and I didn’t have time to cook. Would you put a call into the Chinese and order a takeaway for us?”
“Can we afford it?”
“I’ve been putting a little money aside. This all came from my savings dear.”
“Savings? Since when did you have money to put aside?”
Mum and Dad have a traditional relationship. He earns the money, she looks after the home. At least that’s what it looks like on the surface. Mum had let me in on the secret, and I wasn’t going to spoil her fun.
“I’ll tell you about it sometime, dear. When you’re a little less grumpy and when you decide to show a little more interest in my life.”
I was kind of on Mum’s side in this argument. Kind of. I mean the pendulum swings because both sides want something different, and the further they are from achieving it, the harder they pull. This means that every time one side gets what they want, they relax, and the other side pull it out from under them. The best answer would be to compromise. Neither side would get exactly what they wanted, but the happy medium in the middle would still be good enough. With everyone chasing his or her own ideal, they whizz through the compromise point so fast no-one sees it as an option, so the battle continues ad infinitum. The trick is to pull just hard enough to get to the compromise point and no harder. That’s what kind of feminist I want to be. One who’s a masculinist as well. One who’s not going to be so consumed with wanting what’s best for me and mine that I’m prepared to tromp all over the other side.
It’s what always amazed me about the women of the past. I mean they didn’t have that much choice being dominated by so much aggression, but it always seemed that the powerful women of history were the moderating influence in the world. If men in general hadn’t been such dicks about it, maybe they wouldn’t have pushed women over the edge, and we wouldn’t be caught up in this stupid tug of war.
Maybe I had a different perspective, having lived on both sides at different times. Maybe less than a day as a woman wasn’t enough time to form any firm conclusions. Besides, I had clothes to unpack and put away, and before I could do that, I had all my old clothes I needed to chuck out.
The meal was an uncomfortable, frosty affair, Dad fuming, Mum silently inscrutable and me stuck in the middle. Mum had given me smaller portions than usual – about half the size – and I’d accepted it because logically my stomach would be smaller. I really didn’t want to put on weight, and even if I was likely to be burning more calories than an Olympian, I wanted to err on the side of caution until I found my new balance.
I ate slowly and delicately, instinctively aware that I would earn disapproving looks from Mum if I didn’t, and still emptied my plate before my parents were halfway through theirs. As soon as I finished my last mouthful I asked to be excused. I had homework, which I’d usually leave to late Sunday, but this time I just wanted to escape the battle of the frost giants.
Back within the relative safety of my room, I sent Stuart a text. I wasn’t entirely sure he had a phone capable of receiving one, but don’t try don’t get and all that. I needed to talk to Nick too, and boy was that going to be an awkward conversation. I started going through different scenarios imagining what I was going to say to him. My phone buzzed rescuing me from my most promising idea so far – ‘Hi Nick, I caught cooties and it turned me into a girl.’ Yeah, we don’t have cooties on this side of the pond, but we get enough American television that we know what they are. Sort of.
It was Stuart. The text, I mean.
“How did this afternoon go with your mother?” he asked, my mind mentally inserting a few stutteringly repeated words here and there.
I took that as an invitation to call him and dialled his number.
“Hello?” Apparently not recognising my number, which meant he hadn’t come to terms with all the intricacies of his mobile phone.
“It was great. All I needed to do to convince her was take my clothes off, and maybe give her a few minutes to take it all in.”
“Oh, hello Mitchel! I always thought yours was the generation of text messages, emails and those ghastly emoji things.”
“Some of us are capable of living in retro mode,” I said while texting him a poo emoji. Multi-tasking was so easy.
“Oh. Yes, well, er… Oh. What is that?” I assumed the emoji.
“Add it to your research list,” I told him. “Dad spent most of the afternoon passed out in front of the telly. Mum took me shopping and spent a small fortune on me. I have a pink case for my phone now.”
“Yes, I’m very pleased for you. Does this mean your parents accept your, er, your changes?”
“Mum does, but then I didn’t give her much room for denial. I think she’s going to be okay having a daughter when it finally sinks in. Oh yeah, she’s rechristened me. I’m Sarah now.”
“Oh yes, from the Hebrew meaning princess. Quite lovely. Do you, er, do you mind being a princess?”
“Are you kidding? Have you watched any Disney recently? Disney princesses are kickass!”
“I’ve no doubt they are. In which case your, er, changes may well be considered oddly appropriate. Now I do need to know about your parents’ decision regarding…”
“Nothing definitive to report just yet. Mum’s going to talk to Dad, but only after he’s slept off today’s libations. Right now, they’re doing the frosty silence thing, which means there’s a fifty-fifty chance Dad’s going to spend the night on the sofa. They will talk though, which means Mum will bring him round to her way of thinking.”
“Does that mean you’ll be able to continue your training?”
“Again, final decision under review, but now that I’m a girl, what’s the worst you can do to me? No don’t answer that. I just had creepy Jimmy Saville images in my head. I mean, I know you’re not like that, but it would be just the kind of sick, freaky story Dad’s imagination might come up with given half a chance – guy turns young men into hot babes so he can have his wicked way with them, sort of thing.”
“I believe this afternoon demonstrated quite adequately that, were I to try anything, you could quite easily tear my arms from their sockets and beat me to death with the, er, the soggy end. I believe that’s a phrase I’ve heard young people use. It actually originated in a dreadful science fiction series from the late nineteen seventies, did you know that?”
“Not really that interested. What I was trying to say was that, now I’ve been changed into a girl, like all the way, what more can happen to me? And if I keep pestering them about wanting to train for Irish Dancing…”
“They’ll most likely find you a coach from somewhere they’re more inclined to trust. Mitchel – So-sorry, Sarah, it is imperative you continue to train with me.”
“Don’t want to fill up your basement with vampire hulks?”
“Vampire hulks? Oh, I see, like the, er, the Marvel, er yes… They’re called greshnicks, which I believe is Russian for evildoer. I found a reference in an Eastern European bestiary from the Dark Ages. The slayer of the age encountered several in her time and her, er, mentor, er, chronicled her encounters. Were you aware they actually have two brains?” He let out brief fascinated laugh.
“I sort of figured that out, yes, or rather I got lucky. They also heal themselves really quickly.”
“Yes, yes, I see that…”
“What I’m saying is it would have been kind of neat to know all that before I fought it.”
“I’m aware, and now we can do just that, don’t you see? The creatures this slayer fought came from the same place as the one currently linked to the portal in my basement, so all these writings are likely to be relevant to us. Once I’ve had the chance to study this, and It may take me some days – the scribe didn’t have the steadiest hand – I should be able to advise you whenever anything new comes through the portal. At, at least in theory. There are likely to be creatures they didn’t encounter after all.”
“I guess not. Oh well. Any help is better than none.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to come to the shop tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. I’ll see what I can do. I’ll tell them you’ve been looking into why I’ve changed into a girl. You have been looking into that, haven’t you? I mean, you said there had been male slayers in the past, but not so many in recent years. Why do you think the power behind all this wants me as a girl?”
“I really don’t have the foggiest. I shall have to do some research, although I really don’t have much of a clue where to start. The current thinking is that the role is better suited to the female temperament, and after all it’s as simple to endow a young woman with mystical strength and agility as it is a man, so it really does just come down to temperament.”
“But I was a guy. What does that say about my temperament?”
“Well, if you’ll permit the speculation, it probably says that you had more of the temperament of a girl, and if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say the reason you changed is because you wanted to. Do you think it’s likely that you’ll function better as you are rather than as you were when I first spoke to you this morning? As I recall, your demeanour on the day of the trials was, was hardly the most mature.”
“Oh, I can do immature in this body just as easily,” I said and blew a raspberry at him down the phone.
“Yes, well done. Well, I shall continue to look into the matter. I do have a number of tomes chronicling the history of the slayers throughout er, well, er, history. Perhaps something like this has occurred before.”
“I’ll tell my mum and dad that’s what you’re doing, but I’m going to have to wait till the ice thaws a bit.”
“I’m sorry? Ice?”
“Frosty silence thing, remember? Current mood between the ‘rents. They’re not on speaking terms right now, but I’m guessing a night on the couch will put my dad in a more apologetic mood. It’s not that comfortable.
“I’ll call you as soon as I know something, or maybe text you.”
“Yes, er, alright but preferably without the, er, poo.”
“Ooh, you can multitask too. Maybe the magic will give you lady parts as well, then I’ll have a stuffy old maiden aunt who wears tweed skirts and works in a library and coaches me in Irish Dancing in her free time.”
“Yes. The image that conjures is quite enticing.”
“That reminds me, what do I call you?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Your name is Stuart Giles, but do I call you Stuart or Mr Giles, or sir or master or something. I’ve been calling you Mr Tweedy because…”
“Of the tweed suit. Yes, I suppose that has its own twisted logic. Hopefully in no way influenced by the character in that, er, rather intriguing Nick Parks motion picture.”
“You know, just because you read the dictionary from cover to cover doesn’t mean you have to use all the words in it all the time.”
“No, quite right I suppose. Well, I really don’t mind. Stuart will be fine when it’s just the two of us, but perhaps Mr Giles when we have company and wish to convey a more professional relationship.”
“And Mr Dictionary when you end up spouting word salad like now. Or maybe Mr Dic for short.”
“Word salad is a term used to describe a confused or unintelligible mixture of seemingly random words and phrases, and is generally associated with brain damage, I’ll have you know.”
“Best you talk to your doctor about it then, assuming he can understand you. Was that a direct quote from your dictionary?”
“Well, I’m going to hang up now. One of the advantages of a telephone when you’re speaking to someone who’s being tiresome.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Stuart. Thank you for today.”
“For turning you into a girl?”
“Unexpected major bonus, but no. For introducing me to something amazing. Something I think I’m going to love doing.”
“The dancing or the demon slaying? Because if it’s the latter, I hope you won’t end up regretting those words. Well, goodnight, I suppose.”
“Fair thee well, Stuart. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night till it be morrow.”
The line went dead. Maybe that had been a little too much. Still, Nick. I sent him a text which turned into a conversation. The actual exchange was a little more compressed, but the essence of it went as follows:
“Sorry for bailing on you today dude.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it. You gonna tell me what happened?”
“I don’t really know where to begin. It’s been a bit of a weird day.”
“You gotta give me something, man.”
There was an opening, but this wasn’t the sort of news you sent by text.
“The guy in that weird shop wants to coach me. It could end up being kinda big, and I mean huge.”
“He didn’t put you in a dress again like Miss Ephemeris, ‘cos you were seriously hot. I meant what I said about taking you to the dance.”
“You turning gay on me dude? ‘Cos if you are, I’m going to have to disappoint you man.”
Yeah, but maybe not for the reasons you have in mind.
“Nah, it’s good. I just figure it would be way cool if I took you and everybody was thinking, hey who’s the hot chicklet, and only you and me know that it’s you underneath it all.”
You and I. Fuck Stuart Giles for fixing my grammar. I was going to get a reputation for being the nerdiest chick on campus.
There was a thing. We were both going to be on campus on Monday, and I doubted I’d be able to hide from anyone then. The very least I could do for my best friend was give him a heads up.
“Can we meet tomorrow? There’s something I have to show you.”
“Might be a challenge bro. You know how my fossils get about homework. They’ll be riding my ass until I get all my assignments finished.”
“I’d offer to help, but I don’t know a lot about what you’re studying.”
“Nah it’s good man. I mean building regs are a drag, but I only have to learn them once, right?”
And then again every time they update them. Not that I was going to piss on his bonfire. Didn’t have the equipment to do so safely anymore for one thing, but more about letting him live in denial if he wanted to.
“What do you need to do?”
“Read through them all. Highlight them. Make notes on the important ones. Write a report summarizing them. It’s gonna take me like hours dude.”
“So start early. Get it all done by lunchtime or mid-afternoon, then we can hang for a bit.”
“Okay, so who are you and what have you done with Mitchel? You know I don’t get out of bed much before lunchtime on a Sunday man.”
“Make an exception this once dude. It’s kind of important.”
“So, why don’t you tell me now?”
“It’s the kind of thing that needs to be said face to face, in person.”
“You’re harshing my mellow man.”
“Sorry man. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important, and I want to make sure you know before school on Monday.”
“Shit, now you got me intrigued. Fuck okay, I’ll set the alarm. I’ll let you know when I can make it.”
“You’re the best.”
“Don’t you forget it man.”
I plugged the phone in to charge and put it on my bedside table. A deep melancholy flooded through me. That was likely to be the last testosterone charged exchange we’d ever have, not that I had anything much to contribute, but I could still fake it. After tomorrow, there would be an awkwardness that would drive a wedge into our friendship, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The biggest part of me didn’t really care. I mean we’d had fun, but we’d never exchanged anything on a meaningful level, and for all that our friendship was genuine, I’d always hated that it couldn’t be more intimate. Not in a sexual way of course, but in a sharing of feelings way. I’d most likely make girl friends now, and enjoy the full depth of that particular experience with them, but Nick had been a great friend through a lot of years, for all his puerile sense of humour and lack of depth. This felt like an ending and I was going to miss him.
I stuck my head out of my room. The muffled exchanges downstairs were clipped and lacking in warmth. I couldn’t make out the words, but the tone suggested downstairs was not a place to venture this evening.
I slipped into the bathroom and got ready for bed. Quick shower then pat dry. I tried towelling myself a little more vigorously, but my skin was a lot more sensitive, so I had to be gentler.
Next into my nightdress. I had a nightdress now. It was long and white and floaty and felt wonderful. Makes it easier to brush your teeth when your face is filled with such big smiles. For one thing the teeth are more accessible, for another you realise how much of an asset that smile is going to be to you and how important it is to look after it. I wondered if it might be considered wimpish to have a mouthguard next time I went up against a room full of blood thirsty vampires. Mind you, if I was going to go there, maybe I should invest in a neck guard to stop them biting me while I was about it, and a whole suit of armour to clank around in.
Next came brushing my hair. Always a bit of a drag, at least ever since I’d insisted on growing it long, but now it was thick and lustrous, the brush seemed to snag in it a lot more. Maybe all the jumping about hadn’t helped it much. I did seem to be brushing out a whole lot of desiccated vampire which was seriously ew. It took the longest time, but eventually my pretty face was topped with a cascade of golden wavy hair.
Which left the nightly routine. Mum had promised to take me though each of the minefield of different creams I now needed – like needed – to rub into my face and hands. For now she said the most important was the moisturiser. That was easy enough, though it felt a little odd, leaving my skin with a very slight greasy feel to it.
My underwear went into the laundry basket, but I hadn’t worn the dress that much. After a quick inspection I declared it fit for another outing before its first encounter with the enemy in the biological war against grubbiness. I took the dress back to my room and hung it up. It was still early, so I fired up my laptop and made a start on my homework. An hour later I had the framework for what I was going to write set up and most of the information researched. It would only take me another hour or so in the morning, then I’d have the rest of the day free.
There was a gentle rap on my door.
“Come in,” I called quietly.
Mum appeared with a couple of mugs of steaming hot chocolate.
“Don’t get used to this,” she said handing me one and plonking herself down on the bed. “How’s it going?”
“Good,” I said in the uniquely uninformative mode of response used by teenagers everywhere. Mum gave me a look which made me grin. “I have it about half done. It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two to put flesh to the bones tomorrow morning. How goes it with you and the Dadosaurus?”
“Does that make me the Mumosaurus?”
I gave her my brightest smile and pleaded the fifth. Yeah, I know it’s an Americanism, but like I may have said earlier, American shit makes up more than three quarters of the shit shown on TV these days, so you’re bound to pick up a thing or two.
“He’s being stubborn. He’s decided to sleep downstairs tonight, which means he’s going to be a grouch tomorrow.”
“Too soon to talk about Mr Giles and dance coaching?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Does it have to be him? I’m pretty sure we could find you someone just as good if we look around.”
Score one to Stuart for predicting this. At least it meant I had a comeback. Of sorts.
“He’s really good though Mum, and I really like him.”
“Plus he brought about this transformation of yours, however unintentionally. That’s not a reason to show him any loyalty.”
“You said yourself he was polite and well spoken. He’s already correcting my grammar.”
“Ooh. So you’re saying I get two for the price of one, eh?”
“I’m pretty sure his price for one – or two – is nothing.”
“So why does he do it if not for money?”
“For the pleasure of seeing someone like me reach her full potential. Honest Mum, he’s a good guy.”
“Alright, I’ll think on it. No promises though.”
Which was Mum speak for, ‘Okay but I don’t want to look like a pushover,’ also with a bit of, ‘How the hell am I going to persuade her father?’
I wanted to give her a hug, but we both had hot drinks in our hands, so I settled for a grateful smile.
“Monday’s going to be interesting,” I ventured.
“You’re telling me. I still haven’t figured out how we’re going to handle that. I mean it’s hardly as if we’re going to be able to pass you off as our son who just had reconstructive surgery. I mean you’re five inches shorter and nearly half the weight you were yesterday.”
“But what else can we do? I mean, if we make something up about doing a cousin exchanging with family in Australia or something, that won’t come anywhere near explaining how I’ve been doing the exact same courses and know the exact same material as Mitchel. Besides,” I put on one of the worst Australian accents possible, “I doun’t want to heve to keep on speaking with an Orstrilian accent all the time?” I know it’s not a question, but have you ever noticed how Australians tend to end a sentence with a rising inflection like they’re always asking one?
Mum didn’t quite laugh, but I did get a smile out of her. “So how do you think we should handle it?”
“I figured when they call Mitch’s name at registration, I’d put my hand up and say something like, ‘Mitch is gone. I’m Sarah Geller,’ and let them make of it what they like.”
“It doesn’t work like that, love. They’ll have a ton of questions.”
“To which the open and honest answer is going to be I really don’t know.”
“I’d rather wait till your father is back on our side. He’s much better at creative solutions than I am.”
“So, pancakes for breakfast?”
“Ooh. You really think like a girl, don’t you? Why did I never notice that before?”
“Probably hidden by the boy skin. I liked that, by the way.”
“Well, if you can find the boy skin and we show it to the authorities and explain that you shed it like a snake, maybe we can convince them not to send us all to the funny farm. Do you remember how to make American pancakes? You know what your dad thinks of skinny ones?”
“Yeah, he says they’re crepe, which was a lousy joke even before he started repeating it.” I ran through the ingredients and recipe, Mum nodding all the way.
“If he can see there are some benefits to having a daughter about the place that might just do it for him. I do actually have one last bottle of Canadian maple syrup left. It’s on the top shelf of the right-hand cupboard, right at the back. You’ll need the steps from the pantry. And don’t forget his coffee.”
I did the best Dad voice I could with my new vocal cords. “I like my coffee like I like my women. Any time of the day and for no apparent reason.”
Mum shook her head with a rueful smile. “Your father is the undisputed expert when it comes to dad jokes, isn’t he, sweetheart?”
“You know, I don’t remember the last time you called me ‘dear’ or ‘sweetheart’ before today.”
Yet again, Mum was unfazed by my abrupt change in direction. Almost as though she expected it.
“The last time I used a term of endearment with my son, he sort of winced and shut down on me. I didn’t understand at the time, took it as an unexplainable male reaction, but I imagine it was sort of rubbing salt into the wound, wasn’t it? It’s not that I loved you less before today, my beautiful, beautiful daughter, it’s just that you weren’t open to me expressing that love.” She looked up at me with tear filled eyes and a delicate smile. “Now that’s changed, I rather feel like I’m going to overdo making up for it for a while. I hope you don’t mind.”
I shook my head gently, feeling the fullness of my tresses tumble back and forth.
“Your hair is so lovely, you know that. In fact, that’s true of all of you. I hope you like boys, because otherwise you’re going to be beating them off with a stick.”
“Mum!” I wasn’t upset though. The grin told us both that.
“You’re not thinking about Nick, are you? Because you could do a lot better.”
“Better than the guy who stood by me through years of bullying at school? You know, I’m not sure I could.”
“Have you ever wondered that perhaps his reasons for befriending you may not be that altruistic? I mean, how many times have you have been in trouble because of something he suggested?”
“He’s not like that, Mum.”
“Oh? I don’t remember hearing about him ending up on stage wearing a dress at these dance trials of Miss Ephemeris’s.”
“That was different, Mum. I was the one making fun of everyone.”
“How hard was Nick laughing?”
“Well... yeah but.”
“Yes but, dear.” Oh great, electrocution lessons now. “And how hard was he laughing at you?”
“No-one was laughing at me at the end, Mum.”
“That’s not the point. Look, I’ve already argued with too many people in this family today.” She stood and held out a hand for my mug, which I was just a little surprised to find I’d emptied. “Just give it some thought, will you?”
“Alright Mum,” I passed over my mug, “and thanks for today, for everything. You’ve been amazing.”
“A little late to the party perhaps, but I am here now, and your father will come round. Don’t forget to brush your teeth again.”
“Oh yeah – yes – right. Protect your assets. Shine up the smile. Cavity prevention and all that.
I heard a pained grunting from the living room. I’m not sure if it was the smell of coffee or the sound of butter sizzling in a frying pan that roused him. I took a mug through to him. Strong, white with a spoonful of honey. Incidentally how he actually liked his women, which was just as well because I was here now.
I still had on my floaty white nightdress along with a thin floral gown over the top. I’d toyed with getting dressed first, but this had felt more girly, and it meant I could get to the kitchen before he woke up.
“Morning Daddy,” I said placing the mug in his hands and a kiss on his cheek. “Breakfast will be a couple of minutes.”
“Mitchel, what the hell is this?”
“Sarah, Daddy. Mitchel’s gone. And it’s coffee. How much did you have yesterday?”
“I don’t remember, but my head is telling me too much.”
I scurried back into the kitchen. The butter was still melting so I grabbed a glass and filled it from the kitchen tap, skipping back into lounge to place it on the table beside him.
“Hydrate, Dad. It’ll do more to clear the cobwebs than anything. If the headache’s really bad, there are paracetamol in the first aid draw.”
I hurried back to my cooking, spread the butter evenly, and poured in a generous dollop of batter. A couple of things about the American recipe. Firstly, the batter’s a bit thicker, so it doesn’t give you that French crepe thinness. Secondly, it has baking soda in it, which causes the pancakes to rise a little. I worked at the edges to keep them from sticking and shook the pan slightly to separate the bottom of the pancake from the pan.
“What are you wearing?” Dad asked from the doorway.
“My nightdress. Do you like it?”
“Since I’m paying for it, I imagine I should, but...”
“Actually, Mum did. Do you really not remember what Mum said yesterday?”
“Oh. Yeah. Still that doesn’t explain why my son is wearing...”
“Not son,” I interrupted. The top of the pancake was showing signs of cooking through, so I tossed it, catching it deftly as it came back down. “Daughter, Daddy. I’m pretty sure that came up in the conversation too.”
“Er... I was pretty sure I dreamed that.”
I slid the first of my creations onto a plate and added another knob butter to the pan. The plate went onto the breakfast bar where cutlery, more butter and the all-important bottle of maple syrup sat waiting. I pulled my nightdress tight against the front of my body.
“Look Daddy. Big bulgies up top, no bulgy down below. Not a dream.
“It’s not possible,” he said, adding a generous coating of butter to his breakfast.
I glanced through to the lounge where the glass of water remained untouched. I sighed and went to fetch it, digging out a blister pack with a couple of paracetamol in it.
“Take these and try not to be such a grump,” I said and turned back to my cooking.
“You sound just like your mother,” he said. Maple syrup added, he bit into a forkful of breakfast. “Cook like her too. This is really good.”
“Thanks Dad.”
“When did you learn...?”
“At Secret Girl School, Daddy.”
“What?”
Not him too. Was it me maybe? Did I bring out the whattage in people?
“Whenever you went away and it was just Mum and me, she’d kind of teach me to cook a few things.”
“Did she dress you up like that Giles chap yesterday?”
“Of course not.” The second pancake was ready, and he’d just emptied his plate. I slid it in front of him. “Though I’d probably have appreciated it if she had. She figured I’d need to be able to fend for myself because, you know, no girlfriend or anything, so she let me pick the meal then showed me how to cook it. Breakfast and dinner. Lunch not so much a problem because even I can’t mess up a sandwich.”
“So what’s with this Secret Girl School rubbish?”
“Just me having a bit of a joke, Dad. Mum was as surprised as you about all this.”
“So how...?”
“I don’t know. Do you want another of these?” I pointed at the pan, now halfway through its process of turning goo into yummy goodness. Well, perhaps not that good, but definitely yummy.
He nodded just as Mum appeared, also still in her night clothes. Dad was slowing down, so she could have this one and he the next. I tossed the pancake and poured Mum a coffee. Almost the same as Dad’s but with half the honey.
“Morning everyone. How did you all sleep?”
“Like a feather floating on a cloud,” I said with a dreamy smile.
“Don’t overdo it, sweetie.” She turned to Dad. “How about you, love?”
“Sleeping wasn’t a problem. It was the waking up that was difficult.”
I slipped a plateful of pancake in front of Mum while the next lump of butter melted, then added a short measure of batter to the pan. Dad’s last one was going to have to be undersized if I was going to get my share.
“So, take a tablet or two.”
“You know how I feel about medication.”
Mum snorted. “Paracetamol hardly counts, you stubborn old git.”
What I’d tried to say to him. It didn’t feel like she was stealing my thunder though, more like we were double teaming him, so it felt like we won rather than I lost when Dad finally gave in and swallowed the pills along with the entire contents of the glass of water.
“This is really good,” Mum said as I slid Dad’s third undersized pancake onto his plate.
“Hey, where’s the rest of it?” he asked with mock outrage.
I stuck out my tongue at him and set about cooking my own.
“Did you see that?” he asked Mum. “You’d think she’d have better manners now she’s a girl.”
That brought suddenly tears to my eyes and I ran from the room.
“What did I say?” Dad said.
“Exactly the right thing, sweetheart.”
“Women!”
I didn’t hear anything more as I slammed the door to my room shut and threw myself on the bed.
I had just enough time to soak my pillow before a gentle tap on my door preceded my Mum coming into the room with a tray filled with the breakfast I’d abandoned along with a mug of coffee. Extra milky with no sweetener.
“Congratulations on utterly confusing your father there,” she said. “I don’t think you could have done better if you’d been born a girl.”
I sniffed. “It wouldn’t have been an issue if I’d been born a girl. He really said that didn’t he?”
“He really did. I told you he’d come around. He’s like a super tanker you know. Give him enough time and space and he can change his heading, but you have to be patient.”
“And he’s alright with this?”
“Darling, I’m not sure I’m alright with this, but we’re trying. We can see it matters to you, so it matters to us. Now eat your breakfast and get dressed. Your father’s decided he wants to go to church.”
“Is that wise? I mean I’m going to turn quite a few heads as it is, and after what people saw yesterday...”
“Bull by the horns, love. You know what your father’s like.”
It would mean other people from college would see me before I had a chance to meet up with Nick. Which would mean it’d be all over social media before I had a chance to tell him.
I finished my pancake. A little thin on maple syrup, but that was my life now. If I wanted more, I’d need to accept less – more thickness of syrup, less pancake that is. I didn’t need a full size one anyway. I was full before I finished and left about a quarter of it untouched.
The coffee was great though.
I grabbed my phone – pink case. Yay! – and texted Nick.
“Twitter storm on the horizon, dude. I really wanted to meet up and tell you about it all first. Sorry.”
He’d most likely still be in bed, so I headed for the bathroom. I still didn’t have much experience in all the things expected of me as a girl, so I showered – hair in a shower cap to keep it dry – deodorised and slipped into fresh underwear before picking out a modest sundress with yellow flowers all over it. I knocked on Mum and Dad’s bedroom door, only entering when invited. I mean who wants to risk seeing a ‘rent in the nearly buff?
Dad was in shirt and trousers and was busily tying a tie. Mum was fiddling earrings into place, but otherwise she looked amazing.
“I know I’m missing something, Mum, but I can’t figure out what. Sorry about the meltdown earlier, Dad.”
“It’s alright sweetheart. Your mother explained it and I suppose it makes sense in a sort of women’s logic kind of way.”
Which meant it makes no sense, but I’m going with the flow.
Mum led me back into my room and sat me down in front of my dressing table mirror. She brushed through my hair a few times – I mean I’d already done that, but apparently not quite well enough – then rummaged through a draw full of random things she’d bought me the other day before pulling out a white hairband. With that in place, she pulled out a couple of gold bangles and added them to my right wrist.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to do the bling thing for church.”
“Not supposed to, but how many women at church have you seen totally unadorned?”
There were a few, but they were the extremists. She turned me to face her and spent a few seconds with an eyeliner pencil. Then she dug out a fairly neutral lip gloss and applied it to my lips. She pressed her lips together so I copied her. She turned me back towards the mirror. The effect was subtle, but it really brought out the girl in me. She handed me the lip gloss.
“That goes in your handbag along with your phone as long as it stays on silent and I don’t see it until after the service. White sandals I think and we’ll see you downstairs in a couple of minutes.”
It didn’t take a couple of minutes to put the sandals on. I had time to check my phone where I found a text from Nick.
“What the actual fuck man?”
“’Rents taking me to church. Expecting a bit of a reaction.”
“Sarah, come on,” Dad called.
I sent the text, checked the phone was on silent before adding it to my bag.
“Sorry Dad,” I apologised as I jogged down the stairs. Bra or not, my assets jiggled as I came.
It came as no surprise to find all the neighbours out in their gardens, prairie dogging us as we stepped out into the open air. Dad waved at the couple across the street who promptly went back to their pruning and weeding. Mum called out a greeting to the neighbours on either side of us, who responded with nervous greetings in return. Dad held the rear door open for me so I could sit and swivel, retaining what modesty I could in a dress that barely reached the top of my knees. I felt hugely self-conscious, which was nuts because I was a pretty girl wearing a pretty dress, and that was all perfectly natural, except that when I’d woken up the previous day, I’d been something entirely else.
The drive to church wasn’t long enough for my nerves to really take hold. We met in an old Anglican church building, but it was what Nick referred to as one of those happy clappy places. This meant the whole thing was a little less structured than you might expect. Dad went off to have a quiet word with the pastor while I kind of tried to hide behind Mum. There were quite a few kids my age here, including several who went to the same college as me. I was very much the focus of interest – I mean sleepy church in a sleepy village. A new arrival had to be the highlight of the year – but they couldn’t make me out. Had I really changed that much?
There wasn’t time to resolve matters before the band striking up gave everyone the signal to take their seats. The original pews had long since been stripped out and the floor repaired. The building served as the village hall most of the week, which meant stackable plastic chairs which weren’t that uncomfortable.
We entered into a round of songs that were kind of repetitive. I joined in, enjoying the considerably improved musical quality of my new voice, as well as the opportunity to join in with the women’s harmonies without earning myself any odd looks.
A couple of songs on we paused for notices. The dull but essential admin side of any church service. Better to get it out of the way early. They dragged on for a mind numbing five minutes, after which the pastor stepped up to the microphone.
“Er, Richard Geller has asked to share a few words before we get too far into this. Richard.”
The pastor waved at my dad who stood and made his way to the front. He was nervous as hell, but he covered it well. I doubt anyone but Mum and now me would have picked up on it.
He coughed and began, looking up at the congregation with a hint of challenge in his eyes.
“You may have seen, or maybe heard from someone who saw, that I was in something of a state yesterday afternoon.”
A murmur chased about the room. Dad hadn’t said anything particularly incriminating, but general reaction suggested there weren’t many who didn’t know what he was talking about. He waited for the noise to subside before continuing.
“I’m ashamed I let things slip that far yesterday, but we all of us fall from grace on occasions, and I had my reasons. Not great ones I’ll admit. My wife, Christine, coped with it all without any of the same loss of control I showed. You see, we both had to come to terms with a rather shocking piece of news yesterday.
“You’ll notice our son, Mitchel, isn’t with us today. That’s nothing unusual as he hasn’t come to church for some time now. The reason he’s not with us today though, is because...”
Oh shit! He was going to tell them all.
“Sarah, would you please join me up here?”
Oh double shit!! He was going to make me tell them.
I made my way daintily up to the stage.
Away from the microphone he spoke to me. “I’m sorry, I should have spoken to you about this beforehand. The thing is, you’re here to stay and we can’t hide you for long, so how do you want to handle this?”
By way of answer, I stepped up to the microphone and twisted it out of its holder.
“Hi,” I said, “I’m Sarah. I used to be Mitchel.” Bull by the horns eh Mum? I looked into her eyes as the room erupted around us. She smiled back at me, her eyes shining with pride.
There wasn’t a whole lot anyone could do to restore order after that. The pastor waved for those on the drinks rota to step in and get things ready as soon as they could, then he invited Mum, Dad and me to join him in the back room where he had a small office.
“Alright, anyone care to tell me what this is all about?”
Dad looked at me to ask if I wanted to take the lead. I shrugged.
“I ended up trying out for the Irish Dancing group at school last week.” No need to say how that had happened. “I didn’t get shortlisted, but there was a guy in the stalls watching. When my friend Nick and I went down to the arcade yesterday morning, the guy who runs that weird black shop came out and told me I had some pretty amazing talent and would I like to trial with him with a view to his maybe coaching me. I kind of said yes and by the time I’d finished dancing for him, I was halfway changed into this.”
“That brings up so many questions. Why would you think he was interested in you when the school turned you down?”
“Miss Ephemeris, the dance teacher at college said he was a kind of talent scout for this sort of thing and would most likely be contacting me. She already told me I wouldn’t be picked because they were looking for an all-girl squad.”
“You seem qualify now.”
“I didn’t then, which was why I wasn’t chosen.”
“Okay, question two. What do you mean halfway changed?”
“Erm, I had smaller breasts with more sort of masculine nipples, and I still had my, you know, my wedding tackle down below. I don’t think I was quite so short as I am now, and I hadn’t filled out quite as much. I could still just about get my boxers and jeans on then, whereas now, well, my hips are too wide.”
“And how did this change happen?”
“I don’t know. A bit must have been when I put the shoes on because there was no way my feet should have fitted. Also, maybe when I put the dress on, because it felt tight to start with, then it just sort of eased into place. Or maybe I eased into it.”
“I’m sorry, dress?”
“Yeah. I kind of liked it more than the men’s costumes.”
“So, you put on a dress and magically half changed into a girl. First question. Why would you put on a dress. Second question, just what!!?”
I glanced at Dad. Okay, time for complete honesty. Bull, horns, you know?
“Well actually, the first time there weren’t any men’s options. If there had been, I’d still have chosen to put on the dress though, and I’m pretty sure the men’s things would have hung loose on me.” Dad glanced across but chose not to intervene. “Anyway, the reason I put on the dress was maybe partly because there weren’t any other choices, but mainly because I wanted to.”
“You know the Bible is really clear on this?”
“Deuteronomy twenty-two, five. A woman mustn’t wear men’s clothing and a man mustn’t wear women’s clothing. Yeah, you preached on that a couple of years ago. About the same time I stopped coming.”
“The passage is very clear.”
“Things like that tend to be when they’re translated with a lot of cultural baggage.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I did some research of my own afterwards and the Hebrew has quite a different translation. It talks about a woman not being permitted to touch a warrior’s gear or a man not putting on women’s underwear, by which I’m not talking bra and panties. This was a kind of robe both men and women wore under all their other clothing. There was nothing different between what men and women wore, so why the hype?
“We know Moses had a hang-up about mixing blood, which is why women were considered unclean when they were menstruating. It might also be what the anti-gay Leviticus passage is about. It doesn’t say don’t have sex with a man as you would with a woman. Instead, it says you shouldn’t lie with a man in a woman’s bed. Less convincing there, but still a lot of evidence to suggest this whole thing is not about homosexuality or trans behaviour.”
The pastor looked at me as though I’d grown two heads. Two boobs yes, but to his credit his eyes stayed north of the scenery.
“Translations like the New International Version and the New American Standard Bible came out in the nineteen seventies, when translators were coming out of conservative bible schools in a Christian culture that had already made its mind up about the immorality of the LGBTQ movement, years before they were even a thing. You’re not going to convince me they were uninfluenced by their culture.”
“I guess I’m not. Alright. Let’s put a pin in that for now. How do you think you got changed?”
“I don’t know. Whether it was the clothing or the dance, neither explanation makes much sense. Unless you believe in magic or miracles.”
“Miracles?”
“More or less the same thing, don’t you think? Other than who’s responsible.”
“You think God did this to you?”
“I’d like to believe it’s something he would do. I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to believe he did, but then maybe that has more to do with the kind of God you’ve been telling me he is.”
“You don’t like me talking about a God of love?”
“Not when an aspect of that ‘love’,” sorry, finger quotes, “includes hating people who are different and can’t help it.”
“Last question. Why did you go back?”
Dad coughed. He looked at me and I shrugged. I’d probably done enough to condemn me to this guy’s hell, which from my perspective had the benefit that at least he wouldn’t be there.
“That was more my fault than Sarah’s.”
“You seem comfortable using that name.”
“I wasn’t yesterday, I can tell you that for nothing. I figured if Mitchel prancing about in a dress had anything at all to do with his change in appearance, then maybe if he put on a man’s costume and did the same thing, he might shift back.”
“What happened?”
Dad told him, making him blush.
“I told him to go cover up, which he took as permission to put on a dress. I did watch five minutes of him dancing, which I have to say was West End quality. Whatever else comes from this, my child has astounding skills in this kind of dancing.
“We left him to cool down, and Mr Giles, the shop owner, offered me a drink, then another, then another. It was exceptionally good single malt, so I found it impossible to say no.
“Part way through Mitchell’s cool down – which took ages, by the way – there was a loud crash and Mr Giles ran off to investigate. When he came back, he assured me it was nothing. Then Mitchel arrived, still wearing a dress and explaining how he couldn’t fit into his clothes. By then I was very much the worse for wear, so she called her mother who came to pick us and the car up.
“I fell asleep in my armchair. When I woke up, it was to find Christine and the newly rechristened Sarah arriving home with most of the inventory of every woman’s outlet within twenty miles of here.
“Christine tried to convince me that the changes to our son were complete, but I tend to get bull headed when I’ve had too much to drink, so I slept on the couch and woke up to find my daughter making breakfast.
“I don’t know what happened, pastor, or who’s responsible. I only known that it has happened. It came as a shock, but I’ve since made it through my state of denial. I don’t see a way of changing her back, and with her as happy as I saw her this morning, I don’t think I’d try to do so if I could.”
“I see.” He gave us all a look over. “You’re going to have to give me a chance to think this through.”
“Of course.”
“You do look a lot like Mitchel, you know, and you certainly argue like him.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“I still have a hard time imagining that you were Mitchel though.”
“I’m taking her to see a gynaecologist this week,” Mum said providing me with a piece of news I’d not yet heard. “We’ll probably be able to tell you more afterwards.”
Like what Mum? “Oh yes, I can see where his penis used to be?” Not likely to happen. Still, I guess this was one of those things on the cons side of girlhood. Still, no regrets yet.
“Go have yourselves a coffee and talk to your friends. I’m sure they’re all eager to talk to you.”
Not in my top ten list of things to do with my Sunday, but there was the bull, still with its horns.
We left him to his deliberations and headed out into a crowded hall that suddenly fell silent.
“Safety in numbers or divide and conquer?” Dad asked.
“I doubt you’d know how to talk to my friends, Dad, or Mum’s for that matter.”
“Either of you just holler if this gets too much.”
We both nodded and made our way towards the kitchen hatch. The crowd did a Red Sea impression as we approached, which had us at the hatch in no time. Teas all round because the coffee here was pretty rank. Only boring biscuits left but I needed a bit of a sugar kick, so I took from what was available.
My age group separated out loosely into three groups. His, hers and theirs. The couples stood with their backs to the room excluding everyone who didn’t belong. Unspoken rule, you could join, but only if you brought a plus one. No third wheels here, thank you.
A quick glance at the guys’ group confirmed that they were, to a man, giving me fuck the hell off vibes. How dare I, as an ex dude, turn up looking so hot? I could sort of imagine the burning shame they were all feeling, their heads saying to them that I used to be a guy, the contents of their trousers replying that they really didn’t care.
That left me with the girls. Wary looks all round, but at least they weren’t turning me away.
“Hi,” I said, still keeping my distance. “If this is too weird, I can go somewhere else.”
“Yeah, like where though? You’re cool with us. Come say hi.”
So I slid into their little clique and just because I was nervous, I said, “Hi,” again.
“So, like, were you really Mitchel Geller? Because if you were, like, oh, em, gee!”
“Um yes, I, er, I was.”
“So, like, who’s your surgeon, and can I have his number?” Whoever it was gave me an appreciative look over, concentrating on my rear lower aspect.
“Erm, no surgeon. Just, well, like I said, I really don’t know.”
“Seriously? You can’t expect us to believe that.”
“Well, you remember me from when I was here a while ago, yeah?”
“Kind of, yeah.”
That was the clique thing working. The guys stuck with the guys and the girls with the girls. The only exception was when two of them found a way of pairing up, at which point they joined the couples group. I honestly had no idea of any of these girls’ names. The only one’s I might have known were the two who went to college with me. That was Linda, who was currently part of the couples, and Kirsty, who apparently wasn’t here today.
“Yeah,” I said, “well I remember being taller than most of you and now I think I’m the smallest one here.”
“Yeah, but like, I heard how doctors can make you taller or shorter if you want. They cut through your arm and leg bones and either add extra bone or take it out.”
That was stupid, but I wasn’t going to make friends by pointing it out.
“Okay, so look at my hands and feet. They’re kind of in proportion to the rest of me, aren’t they? More than half the bones in the human body are in the hands and feet. Can you imagine how much work would be involved in making them smaller? I mean, when I was Mitchel, I was a size eight and half. Now I’m more like a size five.”
“Okay smarty-farty. You tell us what happened. How come you went from being kind of a forgettable guy to an uber-hottie?”
Smart-farty was a new one to me. Same for the rest of the girls if the degree of giggleage was anything to go by.
“I really wish I could say. I went to see the guy in that weird shop in the arcade, you know the black one – the Magic Box – and by the time I’d left…” I struck a pose. One leg bent forward, hands out to either side, palms up.
“You’re trying to say he magicked you to be like this?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Magic is like evil, you know. ‘A man or a woman who is a medium or a spiritualist among you should be put to death.’”
That was the same part of the Bible that came up with those verses I’d argued against with the pastor. I didn’t really trust it, but yet again, that sort of attitude wasn’t going to help me make friends and influence people.
“I don’t know it was magic. Besides, it can’t be all bad. I mean look at the way I turned out.”
“Doesn’t it bother you? I mean you were a guy.”
“Only on the outside.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Would you want to be a guy?” I looked over at the boys, all of whom were looking at me with a confused mixture of anger, lust and shame.
“Well no, but…”
“Neither do I. I mean I’m so much better off like this.”
“True, I guess, but…”
“There are no buts. I mean I’m blonde now too, and we all know blondes have more fun.”
“So, what would you say to, like, Josh if he came over an asked you out right now?”
“Do you think he has the guts?”
“Oh yes.” The tittering in the group increased to a level that indicated the presence of a bloke, and Josh was the least objectionable of the available group. He’d been the unspoken leader in the time when my presence had been tolerated. He’d not shown me any degree of kindness and I didn’t feel I owed him a lot, so when he cleared his throat, I didn’t even bother turning round.
“Er,” he said. “Sarah, isn’t it?”
I glanced at him over my shoulder. “You know I used to be a dude, right?” I asked.
His face went bright red and the tittering in our vicinity increased.
“The way you and your cronies were looking at me just now suggests you do, and given all that, what makes you think I’d be even the slightest bit interested?”
He retreated with his tail between his legs and his face burning. The tittering had stopped and instead my circle of new… friends? acquaintances? stared at me, jaws hanging open.
“You were, like, wow! That was, like, awesome!!”
“More like awful,” I responded. I’d been on the receiving end of a few put downs, back when I’d still been trying to be a bloke, and I knew full well what it felt like. I didn’t feel that sorry for Josh, because he was a bit of a dick, but even he hadn’t quite deserved being trodden on quite so completely.
Mum and Dad rescued me from any more awkwardness. I’m not sure what kind of reception they’d received from their friends, though from the unshed tears in Mum’s eyes and the unspoken anger in Dad’s, I assumed not well. It was time to go home, Dad told me, and I wasn’t sorry to be going.
“Do you want to, like, hang out later?”
This was apparently the queen bee of the girl’s brigade. She’d been the most vocal of the group, but she still hadn’t bothered to introduce herself or any of her friends. Still, she hadn’t earned an unkind response.
I shrugged apologetically. “I have a bunch of homework to finish, then I have quite a few other people to talk to about, you know, this.”
She also shrugged. Water of a duck’s arse by the looks of it. It seemed she’d only asked out of politeness, but then again, she had asked.
Back in the car, Dad finally let the steam out. “Bunch of sanctimonious, holier-than-thou morons,” he said as he started the engine. “They accused your mother and me of allowing this to happen to you.”
“And that’s what’s bad about it, is it?” I asked reproachfully. “That you allowed it to happen rather than it happened, or that I rather like that it happened?”
“No Sarah. I’m sorry, that came out wrong. It’s just what they said, but you’re right. There was no question of whether or not it was right but rather how we’d allowed something to go so wrong. If you want to be pissed off, please be pissed off with them rather than your mother and me.”
“Sorry Dad. I guess we’re all a little fragile right now.”
“That’s not a bad way to put it. Did you mean what you said about your homework? I thought you sorted that last night.”
“Foundations laid. I just need to build the walls. I was hoping I could go out once I’ve finished.”
“Out where?”
“Well, for one thing, I need to meet up with Nick ahead of going to school on Monday…”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“He’s my best friend, Dad. I get that you and Mum don’t like him much, but it would be a real dick move…”
“Sarah!” Mum snapped.
“What?”
“Language sweetheart.”
“Since when did you worry about me using words like that?”
“Since you became my daughter, dear. I know it seems a bit hypocritical, but it’s society has the double standard.”
“Okay, sorry.” I wasn’t sure I agreed, but that wasn’t the issue right now. “It still wouldn’t be kind to turn up at college tomorrow looking like this without giving him something of a heads up.”
“Alright,” Dad said. “When were you thinking about seeing him.”
“I told him I’d text him to arrange things when I knew what was happening.” I dug my phone out of handbag while I said it. It felt weird carrying a bag about with me all the time, but yet again, good weird.
“Fine,” Mum said. “You can help me with the lunch first, then finish your homework, then you can go see your friend.”
“Is that another one of society’s double standards?”
“I beg your pardon?”
I almost zoned out of the conversation, having just seen Nick’s most recent text.
“Er, you never wanted me to help with the lunch before.”
“Actually, I’d always appreciate a little help with the housework, I just never asked before. And no, it’s not one of society’s double standards. It’s one of mine.” Her tone sounded like she was expecting more of a confrontation, but…
“Oh, okay then.”
“DUDE! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, MAN?” The accompanying photograph, taken from where the couple’s clique had been standing, showed me nervously approaching the other girls. The caption read ‘Mitchel Geller’s new look’. For all my new curves and loss in altitude, my face still looked enough like the old me, albeit now very much a girl, to introduce all the freak out factor.
I started typing out an overdue response.
“Will you put that thing away so we can finish out conversation?” Mum snapped again. She wasn’t usually like this, but I suspected she had to be upset after her confrontations at church.
“I thought we had finished, Mum. I said okay, I’ll help with lunch before doing my stuff. This is Nick. One of my college friends sent him a photograph from church.”
I returned to more urgent matters. Again, this is the longhand version for those of you who might not speak Txt.
“I tried to warn you earlier, Nick. I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you before someone else did, but…”
“WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED, DUDE? I MEAN YOU’RE NOT EVEN A DUDE ANYMORE. OR ARE YOU?”
“Will you stop shouting at me.”
“BUT DUDE! I MEAN… FUCK, MAN!!”
“Tell me about it. It’s a lot weirder for me. Hey, meet me later and I’ll explain everything, or at least as much as I can.”
“Just tell me when, Dude. Dudette?”
“Don’t you fucking dare.” The expletive didn’t make it into the message I sent – conscious of Mum’s earlier comment I supposed, but I did add a string of angry face emojis at the end. “Gotta help Mum with a few things around the house first, then I’ll text.”
“DUDE!!!!!”
“Whatever. Later.”
“Are you quite done?” Mum had been watching my frantic thumb tapping. Amazingly I’d not made a single typo in all my texting. Slimmer fingers I guessed, and/or maybe better coordination.
“Yes Mum, sorry. It was kind of urgent though.” I dropped my phone back in my bag.
Did I mention it was pink now? Smiley face.
“Yes. Well. Alright then.”
“I was also wondering if I could meet up with Mr Giles afterwards.”
Dad nearly swerved into a parked car.
“Absolutely not!” he yelled, making both Mum and me wince.
“Dad, he’s not the bad guy here, and he’s still our best bet at figuring out what actually happened.”
“We don’t know that,” Dad said, both his voice and his driving under slightly better control. “Neither of those things. We don’t know either of those things.” Apparently not in such great control over his word salad.
Was that a better use of the term Mr Giles?
“I don’t want you seeing him until we know a little more,” Dad said. “I really don’t know if he has your best interests at heart.”
“So how are you going to find out more?” I asked. “Do you plan to attack him again like on our last visit, then drink the rest of that bottle of whiskey?”
“Now listen here young lady…”
“Dad, it’s not as if he can do anything more to mess me up, is it? I can’t become any more of a girl than I am right now.”
“That remains to be seen after you’ve seen the gynaecologist,” Mum said.
“Alright then, supposing it turns out I’m not all the way changed, how the hell – sorry Mum – do you suggest we deal with that particular shit show? – sorry again Mum. Actually, no I’m not.”
That shut them both up. Well, maybe Dad was focussing more on reversing the car onto our drive, since we’d just arrive home.
“Mum, we don’t know how this is happening to me, except it’s fairly certain that Mr Giles and his shop are responsible to some degree. I think it’s fair to say no-one in the medical profession will have much of a clue what to do with me, and if there’s even a chance that I’m still not changed all the way, I don’t want to end up as some freak in a lab somewhere being poked and prodded by a bunch of clueless white coats. Besides, even if they do figure out what’s happening to me, I don’t want to change back, even if it does mean I end up having to help Mum more.” That last was a joke and brought a slight twitch to Mum’s lips.
“Would you at least hold off for now?” Mum asked. “Give your father and me a chance to think on it for a day or two.”
“As long as I get to go and see him at least once more before your lady doctor shines a light up my you know where.”
