A chronically ill boy is visited by the ghost of his cousin who offers him a new chance at life. He just needs to learn how to appreciate the very special gift that he's given.
Authors note: This is mild horror with a happy ending. The story gets less and less horrific as it goes on and if you can make it through the opening scene, I think you'll like the story.
Acknowledgment: Many thanks go out to Puddin' for her wise and wonderful editing of this story. She helped me expand my story from an anemic version of five thousand words to this much better version that tops out at a little over sixteen thousand words.
Body and Soul
by Terry Volkirch
The woman floated down head first from very high above in the clear night sky, her arms outstretched towards me, calling my name. Her long blonde hair and youthful face reflected light from a long, flowing robe that glowed with swirling blues, purples and greens. Her hair and robe fluttered in a strong breeze that I couldn't feel. Nor did the breeze affect the field of wildflowers around me. It served only to make her descent look more rapid than it actually was.
A nagging fear caused me to edge back away from her, and something deep inside told me to turn and run. But I couldn't turn and take my eyes off such a strange sight. It was impossible. Everything about that moment was impossible. I had no trouble breathing, no trouble moving, when I normally had difficulty walking even short distances. I almost never went outside and my mother rarely left me alone... unless.... Was I dead? Could the flying woman be an angel of mercy coming to put me out of my misery?
Her flight set my nerves on edge, and her clothing scared me even more. The colors actually changed and moved across the fabric, giving her robe an otherworldly look that made me think of angels. The swirling light threatened to mesmerize me, but the bright glow hurt my eyes as she got closer. I had to look away for brief moments and blink away the spots.
Before fixing my gaze on her for the umpteenth time, I noticed that the whole area around me seemed to glow with a faint light of its own. In spite of the darkness, every nearby detail stood out in stark contrast to the midnight sky with its dusting of stars. I briefly looked down and could see every leaf and petal, every long blade of grass. I spared a quick glance at the backs of my hands and easily noticed the fine hairs and blue-green veins just under the skin. My body glowed.
A nervous laugh escaped my lips. I must be dead. I'm a ghost who's about to be taken away by an angel. But I kept moving backwards away from her. I didn't want to die.
The woman drifted diagonally down in my general direction until her hair brushed the tallest flowers. Then she flipped to right herself and settled to a stop. Her feet hovered just over the wildflowers about twenty feet away and her arms swung to hang at her side. The strong breeze around her calmed to a whisper, causing her tangled hair to caress her shoulders. As soon as she landed, the intensity of the light from her robe slowly began to diminish, allowing me to better see her. Something seemed off about her face but I wasn't too concerned about getting a closer look. I wanted nothing more than to escape whatever fate she had in mind for me.
"Ian," she said. "Don't be afraid, Ian." Her voice sounded oddly normal. I expected it to reverberate or rise to a loud screech that could strip paint. But I didn't let it fool me. She definitely wasn't normal, and I couldn't quite bring myself to trust her.
Still, I stopped and let her slowly drift towards me. My chest tightened with fear, and I started breathing heavily like I was running a marathon. Sweat dripped down my forehead. I tried to believe in her. I wanted to believe that she meant me no harm.
Her glow diminished enough that I could keep my eyes on her, and when she got within about ten feet, I saw what had bothered me about her face. Empty eye sockets snapped into focus. I saw two deep, dark holes within a sea of light and they surprised me enough that I cringed backwards and fell on my butt.
I no longer thought of her as an angel. I never heard of an angel that didn't have eyes. No. She was something else, evidently some sort of apparition sent to scare me to death, and she was doing a great job.
With a burst of speed, she caught up to me in a fraction of a second, hovering directly overhead and bending only at the neck to look down at me with a warm smile. Without eyes to track what she looked at, she slowly nodded her head to show that she was checking me out from head to toe, and she gave a last, sharp nod downward as if to draw my attention to myself.
My heart hammered in my chest. Even if I found my voice, I couldn't call for help. I was alone in a vast field. There was no one else around. I was left staring down a ghost without eyes and trying not to look at myself. But curiosity is a powerful force. My body felt strange and my eyes began to twitch downward. Eventually, I couldn't help it. I looked down at myself, and screamed.
I gasped and slowly sat up in bed, trying to shake off the dream. My dreams weren't usually vivid but I remembered every detail about that eerie woman. I also remembered looking down at myself and screaming. I wasn't exactly frightened by what I saw there. I screamed more from shock than anything else. What I saw on my chest was just enough to tip the scales and force me to relieve all of the tension that had built up, because what I saw was impossible. There were two very obvious mounds pushing out against my shirt. I had breasts.
I patted my flat chest and told myself over and over that it was just a dream. I tried to relax, and it started to work too, until I looked around my small, dark room and saw her standing next to my bed, a mere two feet away. I saw those horrible empty eye sockets again, up close, and froze with fear.
"Hello, Ian," she said, smiling as she reached over to brush away a sweaty strand of hair that clung to my forehead. Her faintly glowing sleeve carried a strong scent of red roses, just like the ones that my mother grew in her flower garden.
She didn't look evil, and her voice contained no malice that I could tell. She actually sounded pleasant enough that I began to let down my guard. There was something about her, something familiar. If only she had normal eyes, I think I would've been a lot less scared.
My head didn't move much to track her movements as she turned to walk around my bedroom. I mostly just moved my eyes. I wasn't actually terrified. I just needed time to get used to the idea that ghosts might be real.
I watched her stop here and there, surrounded by a small circle of light from her robe. She had a good look at my posters and books on my bookshelf and I wondered how she was able to see without eyes. Then I had a coughing fit and wet myself a little, something that happened far too often. I couldn't help it. My diseased body lacked control. But it wasn't the embarrassment so much as the smell. I hated the smell of urine. Cystic fibrosis sucks.
The ghostly woman slowly turned to look back at me, shaking her head. Her brow lowered to give her eye sockets a sad look and she gave me a faint smile. It was the sad smile of pity that I grew to hate. Everyone pitied the sickly teen who'd be lucky to reach his 25th birthday. Big deal. Get over it. I did... years ago.
I didn't need anyone's pity. I didn't want it. I just wanted to be left alone so I could try to enjoy whatever time I had left. But I wondered if I wasn't becoming delusional. Perhaps I could add mental illness to my long list of health problems. That might make my last few years interesting if not enjoyable. Just great.
"I am unreal," she told me, startling me from my thoughts. "I'm no longer of this world. But I'm yours if you'll accept me."
Okay. That was freaky. She seemed to be able to read my mind. But then I thought about what she said and got confused. What did she mean? I've never heard of a delusion trying to talk you out of believing that it was real. Four of my five senses told me she was real so she had to be real. Right? Besides, either she was real, or I had another serious problem that I really didn't need.
"We're very similar, you and I," she said, walking over to me. "We're nearly a perfect match. Please, accept my gift of life." She bent towards me with her lips slightly parted. She held the unmistakable pose of a woman waiting to be kissed. I know because I've seen it countless times on television.
I paused maybe three seconds before I told myself that I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. I'd kiss her and perhaps prove that she was real so I could at least keep my sanity. I'd also get to do something I never thought possible... never in a million years. I'd get to kiss a beautiful girl, even if she was missing her eyes. With my poor state of health, I'd certainly never be able to have sex. I... couldn't. But I was willing and able to try kissing. So I closed my eyes and met her lips with my own. I kissed her and my sense of taste finally joined forces with the rest of my senses to confirm her existence. I went five for five... and nearly puked my guts out.
Her kiss delivered a steady stream of tastes and smells, starting with cigarettes and beer. I felt sick and tried to back away but her arms reached around to hold me in a death grip, and I moved on to more pleasant sensations. I experienced the flavors of cherry ice cream, chocolate candy and several more foods that went by at an increasingly rapid pace. I thought I tasted stew and meatloaf somewhere in the middle of the kiss but they passed almost too quickly to catalog them. It seemed like a lifetime of sensory memories flew by before ending with one that stuck with me, something I couldn't identify. It seemed a little salty and smelled somewhat like bleach. It wasn't exactly unpleasant, just perplexing.
She broke the kiss and released me with a wry smile. It made me think that she'd relived the memories as they passed through our mouths.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you for allowing me to live on through you. You won't be sorry. Life is better than death. Trust me. I know."
With her last words, she faded away.
I suddenly felt exhausted and laid back down, falling asleep almost instantly.
I awoke the next morning feeling just as crappy as ever. The stench of urine started a coughing fit and I barely made it to the bathroom in time to prevent another accident.
When I stumbled back towards my bedroom, I sat down heavily on my bed and flinched, expecting to see two empty eye sockets pointed at me. What really happened last night? Did I dream it all?
I spent far too many precious minutes thinking about the experience and finally decided that it didn't matter. My poor health drew most of my attention away from the rest of the world. I had to fight hard not to dwell on it. I promised myself that I'd try to enjoy my few remaining years of life no matter what. My condition wouldn't stop me and neither would one strange kiss from a ghost, or whatever she was.
My mother appeared in the doorway at that moment. She's got uncanny timing.
"Ian, honey? Are you okay?"
"Come on in, Mom."
Her nose twitched slightly at the smell but she didn't say anything. Bladder accidents happen and we agreed it wouldn't help to point them out.
She helped me clean up and get dressed, then left me to go out to the kitchen while she tended to my bed. I took my time and sat down on a short stool at the counter, and it wasn't long before she caught up with me.
"Today's the big day," she said over her shoulder, her voice barely audible over the noise of banging pots and pans.
"I guess." I muttered a lot but she always heard me.
"Aren't you excited?" She turned around, gracing me with a smile that stopped just short of pity. She knew better.
"I don't know. I'm not sure what to think."
"Well, the doctors haven't exactly been brimming with enthusiasm but I thought you might at least be a little happy about it."
"Sorry." I tried to look apologetic but I didn't really feel it.
After talking with the doctors and doing some research on the Internet, I'd long since given up any hope. I hadn't seen anything to show that gene therapy would help me. I tried to be optimistic. You know... the power of positive thinking is supposed to be good for you and all that. But my problem wasn't just cystic fibrosis. I had a weak immune system and several related complications that pretty much guaranteed a short life.
"Hey, Mom?" I got her attention just as she started to get back to cooking breakfast again.
"Yes, dear?"
"After we eat, would you tap my chest and back like you used to when I was little? Please?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You remember that?"
"Yeah... kind of."
People with cystic fibrosis have pretty bad lung problems. The lungs get congested with mucus and forcefully tapping the chest and back loosens up everything so it can be coughed up. It was disgusting but important. It helped me breathe.
"What about your vest? Your father paid a lot of money for that vest."
The ThAIRapy Vest, or torture device as I liked to call it, was expensive, and it was effective. I just didn't like the idea of using it nearly as much as having my mother do the tapping. I knew it would be a lot of work for her but I really craved the attention that day.
"I know. The vest is okay... but I just want you to do it today. Please, Mommy? Pweeease?" I still had room for a little humor in my life, though I was serious about getting her to do it.
I knew I could get my mother to do just about anything I wanted. I would always be her baby, her only child, and my disease had conditioned her to wait on me hand and foot. I tried not to abuse my power but sometimes I gave in to temptation. I really felt a strong need for human contact that day.
Mom grinned. "Okay, Ian. I'll do it. Just don't give me the puppy dog eyes. I don't think I could take it."
We both had a good laugh until I had another coughing fit. She patted me on the back for a short time until I got through it. It wasn't pleasant though, and I quickly slipped back into my normal, dull state of mind. It was safer that way. No hope meant no disappointment when things didn't work out.
The doctors figured that the best I could expect with the gene therapy was a few extra years. I should be happy about that, and grateful. Unfortunately, all that short span of extra time did for me was underscore the fact that I still wouldn't live long, and I'd never be healthy. But I did want to live, so I agreed to go. Life is better than death, as the ghostly woman pointed out. I just didn't want to be too much of a burden on my mother.
Again, I had to distract myself before dark thoughts threatened to topple me into the pit of despair. I wasn't the most creative person but I managed to amuse myself by spinning my spoon on the table while my mother went back to preparing breakfast. It was going to be a long day.
The time at the hospital flew by in a blur. A team of several doctors and nurses talked amongst themselves and rarely addressed me except to give me directions. Lie down. Stand up. Hold still. Close your eyes and breathe as deeply as you can. I didn't remember when I ever coughed so much, or felt so miserable.
The early part of the process involved the drawing of large amounts of blood. Doctors seemed to love doing tests on blood. I guess it makes sense since so much stuff is supposed to be carried through the bloodstream, but I couldn't help comparing all those men and women in white coats to mad scientists or worse, bloodthirsty creatures of the night -- and I'm not talking about mosquitoes. I saw far too much of my blood go up into a syringe and thought of vampires.
Halloween wasn't too far away, or at least not far in the minds of shoppers thanks to all of the decorations and costumes for sale in stores. I didn't get out much but even I could see blatant consumerism at work whenever I was near a shopping area. I briefly imagined doctors doing tests on some fake blood that I saw in a store and laughed. Then I had a coughing fit again and had to take a break.
The loss of blood seemed to drain me but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I got plenty of juice and a large energy bar to perk me up a little, enough that I was shown some breathing exercises and asked to perform them. That went well enough so various medical professionals took my vitals afterwards and led me around to various departments for x-rays and several different scans, mostly to establish a baseline they said. I felt like a lab rat in a maze.
The long walks through the hospital tired me out but I refused to sit in a wheelchair. I thought it was important to keep my body moving. The human body was built to move. Sit away your life when you get older and your joints seize up and muscles atrophy. It becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. You talk yourself into being feeble and you become feeble. I refused to let that happen, and the doctors agreed that it was a good idea. They told me how brave and determined I was. I think they were just trying to pump me up so I could endure the ordeal to come.
When the blood tests were completed later that day, I was declared fit enough for the final phase of the gene therapy. The rest promised to be easy. I just needed to be injected with the genetic material and drugs that would improve my lungs and a few other organs. Simple. Right?
After the first of a zillion injections with frighteningly long needles, I had to be given a mild sedative to keep me from screaming. I wanted to be unconscious for the rest of it but they insisted that I be awake and sitting up for the procedure. I had to do breathing exercises between injections to maximize effectiveness or some such nonsense.
By the time my treatment -- the first of many more to come in the weeks and months ahead -- was done, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. My mother helped me back to the car and I slept all the way home. I barely stayed awake long enough to make it up to my room, undress and crawl into a clean bed. It didn't matter if the ghost woman showed up again that night. It would be many hours before I could be roused again.
The next morning, I'd felt a little groggy but amazingly enough, I hadn't had any pain. That had been a pleasant surprise. My body must have been too tired to hurt.
I fully expected to feel worse or at least tired after my morning routine of exercises and the dreaded vest, but quite the reverse happened. I felt better than ever. I actually looked forward to my afternoon lessons with my mother. I liked to learn most school subjects -- being taught sex education by my mom was embarrassing -- but it's hard to focus when you felt like crap all the time. The loneliness didn't help either.
Home schooling meant little to no interaction with others my own age. Everyone patiently explained that it was safer that way. There were too many bugs going around at school. Exposure to colds and sinus infections could infect my lungs too easily and kill me. I still didn't have to like it.
I didn't mind that particular day though. I felt good and I had an easy time with my lessons. Normally, my mother had to give me several breaks during the day but I breezed through them all with only the normal meal breaks and a couple trips to the bathroom.
By the end of the day, fatigue set in just a little but I still felt good, and I wasn't sure what to do with myself. Going to bed early would be pointless. I wasn't tired enough to sleep. My mom noticed as we sat together in the living room watching television.
"You're in a good mood," she said during a commercial.
"Well, yeah. I haven't been coughing much today. I think those doctors might be on to something." I gave her a wry grin.
Mother rolled her eyes and smiled at me.
"What?" I said, challenging her.
"Nothing. It's just that, sometimes you remind me of... someone."
"Who?"
"I'm not sure you'd like it."
"Come on," I said, nearly whining. "Tell me."
"Okay. Okay." She laughed. "It's your cousin Sherry."
"Sherry? I remind you of a girl?!"
"Sorry." She held her hands up as if to ward off a physical attack. She did that a lot with me. It always made me smile because there was no way I could be a threat to anyone.
"Didn't she die in a car accident when I was little?" I'd occasionally heard my parents talk about my cousin's death. It had devastated my aunt and they were constantly trying to find ways to help her get over it. I'd been preoccupied with my own problems so I didn't ask about it. Today was different though. Something deep inside pushed me to know more about her.
"Yes. She was killed in a head on collision with a drunk driver. Such a shame. She was only 19."
"Wow. I thought I had it bad."
I was currently 17 so I'd probably live a bit longer than my cousin at least. That helped put things in perspective. There were always those who were worse off than ourselves.
"So how do I remind you of her?" I didn't really want to be compared to a girl. Thanks to my disease, I was underdeveloped and not very masculine, and that made me a bit sensitive about the subject of gender. But my curiosity got the better of me. I had to ask.
"It's not your appearance." My mother knew me well. She knew how I felt about my small size. "It's more in the way you move and talk, and even the way you think. You really do have a lot in common with her."
I paused to consider that. It still bothered me a little but I was glad I didn't look like a girl. I wanted so badly to develop at least a little more. If I had to die young, I wanted to at least be a young man and not a feminine boy.
"Just a minute...." My mother muted the television and got up to rummage around in the hall closet. She returned with a dusty photo album and flipped through the pages for several minutes. After finding the picture she was looking for, she closed the album on a finger to save her place and came over to sit next to me on the couch.
"Don't tell your Aunt Susan I showed you this. I'm afraid she might get very upset if she knew." I nodded to her satisfaction and she opened the album on her lap, pointing to a large color photo. "Here's a picture of Sherry just a few months before she died. She had it taken by a college friend and sent them out as birthday gifts. It's a very nice shot of her."
I looked over to see a girl with long blonde hair and a familiar wry grin, and except for her bright blue eyes, she looked exactly like... the ghostly woman who'd visited me. I froze.
"What is it? Ian? Talk to me! What's wrong?"
I tried to speak but nothing came out. Instead, I cried. I leaned against my mother and cried my eyes out. I truly thought I was going insane. But I don't want to be insane!
I eventually shrugged off the photo incident. My mother tip-toed around me for several weeks afterwards but I acted as though nothing was wrong. It was easy to do because I had other issues on my mind that were much more pleasant. I'd grown stronger by the day, and by Halloween, I was 18-years-old and hadn't coughed up a lung for over three weeks. That had to be a record for me.
My return trips to the hospital were never nearly as long or unpleasant as the first. I didn't really grow to dread the treatments, only the doctors and their endless tests. Apparently, my gene therapy was a lot more successful than they'd expected and I had additional tests so they could try to figure out why. My friends in white coats poked and prodded me to no end, trying to discover what was going on, and I was all smiles as I bravely endured their torture.
I'd noticed my mother giving me funny looks that Halloween day and it had bothered me more and more as the day wore on. I'd thought that I had something on my face so I kept rubbing my eyes and cleaning my mouth with a napkin.
My father didn't notice anything different about me. He came home late from work as usual and barely got through the evening. He had a late, light supper and went to bed early. That's how it usually went. He had to work long hours to help pay for my hospital bills as well as everything else. My mother stayed home to help look after me. I felt a little guilty about it but I also appreciated the love he was showing... in his own way.
After an evening of catering to delightful trick-or-treaters, I got a last long look and a good-night kiss from my mother. Then I got ready for bed.
I made sure to brush and floss since I'd snuck several pieces of Halloween candy. I wasn't supposed to eat a lot of junk food but I'd felt good enough to handle it. After that, I took a long, hot shower with the fan off to allow steam to build up. The steam always made it easier to breathe and seemed to help me sleep better.
I finished drying myself and wiped the bathroom mirror with my towel. I remembered the looks my mother had been giving me and I wanted to make sure I didn't still have something on my face. It took a bit of elbow grease but I cleared a small oval on the mirror well enough to have a good look. And I gasped. The roots of my hair looked much lighter than my usual dark brown and my eyes looked funny, more blue than green.
It must be the light. Or I'm just more tired that I thought.
I wrapped the towel around my waist and opened the bathroom door. The steam billowed out and let in cool air that made me shiver a bit. I didn't think much about feeling cold though. The weather always turned cold by Halloween. I ignored the chill and headed to my room where I easily slipped into my pajamas.
I turned out the light and sat on my bed doing some breathing exercises that my doctors recommended. I'd really gotten into them since they seemed to help lately. It took longer and longer before I got tired and had to stop. I tried not to get too excited about it. I figured that I was just naturally getting stronger with the exercise.
When I finally finished and snuggled down into my bed for sleep, I had a strange feeling of being watched. I tried to ignore it but it persisted until I had to open my eyes and look around. That's when I got a real chill, the kind you can't protect against with a blanket.
I could just make out a tall, dim glowing shape in the room, and the longer I looked the brighter it became. It also slowly developed a familiar shape and appearance, that of my dead cousin with the creepy empty eye sockets.
"Hello," I said, my voice shaky. "Happy Halloween."
I kept telling myself that I was cracking up. Maybe I'd been working myself too hard. Or maybe the gene therapy had been doing strange things to my mind.
"You're not cracking up," the young woman told me. "Oh, and happy Halloween to you too."
"Sherry?" I propped myself up on my elbows to get a better look at her and wheezed just a little at the exertion.
"Yes?"
"Is it really you?"
"In the flesh." She giggled.
"Not funny!"
"Funny as a crutch." She giggled again.
"What?! Crutches aren't funny!"
"It's just a silly old saying. You hear lots of old stuff on the other side."
"I can't believe this."
"Believe it, cuz," she said. Then her voice got quiet and took on the tone of a dramatic stage whisper. "On Halloween, the barrier between worlds weakens and the dead walk among the living." Suddenly, she wailed like a horribly distressed ghost, or a passable imitation of a yowling, lovesick cat.
"Hey!" She suddenly stopped in mid-wail. "I sound nothing like a lovesick cat!"
"Will you get out of my head?!" I shouted back at her.
She shushed me and hissed, "You'll wake your parents!"
"My mom, maybe, but not my dad. And you're one to talk with all the noise you've been making."
"Whatever."
I stuck my tongue out at her and she laughed.
"You're different this time," I said.
"How so?" she asked, giving me a goofy grin.
"You were so serious... and mature before."
"Being dead will do that to you. But I've been free to keep an eye on you, and I've been remembering more and more about how my life was before my accident."
"Oh." I frowned when I thought about how her life was cut short.
"Hey. Don't you go all serious on me. You could use some loosening up too, ya know."
"Yeah, well being sickly will do that to you. I don't have many more years to live."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." I tried to look pathetic, though it was mostly just an act, more like a reflex really. I didn't really want to dwell on my condition out in public so I just focused on giving people what they expected, and most people were understandably sympathetic. I got a little attention out of it at least. Sherry didn't react how I expected though.
"We'll see," she said with a wry grin. "I gotta run now. Thanks. It's been fun."
"Wait a minute! What does that mean? Don't you have anything else to say? Don't you at least have a message for your mother or something?"
"I don't think my dear old mother could handle a message from the grave. I know it took her a long time to get over my death. I don't want to upset her... any more than I have to."
I wasn't sure what she meant by that last part but I let it pass.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess you're right. But what about me? Why are you spying on me?"
"I'm not spying on you... not really. It's more like watching your... progress."
"What does that mean?"
She stood there for several awkward seconds with her trademark wry grin before replying. "You'll find out soon enough. Be good. I mean it. I'll be watching... and listening. Talk to me if you want. I'll hear you."
I didn't know what to say to that. She shows up for a few minutes, scares the crap out of me and leaves. All I could do was respond with tears of frustration and sadness.
"See ya next year, cuz," she told me, just before slowly fading away. The last part of her to disappear was the big Cheshire Cat grin on her face.
Her smile didn't help. Neither did her telling me that she'd be watching me. Talking to her all that time, I forgot she was a ghost, in spite of her lack of eyes. She was just a family member having a chat with me. It was easy to forget. Seeing her vanish before my eyes shook me up again though. She said she wasn't spying on me, but I couldn't help feel like she was.
I looked up and waved. Then I flopped back down on my bed and cried myself to sleep.
During the Thanksgiving holiday, and again, even more so at Christmas, things got strange.
My dad got Christmas off, but only because his company closed their doors for the day. He looked as tired as ever from working too hard and was quite oblivious to all of the staring. Normally, I'd be concerned about him, and I'd feel a little guilty that he worked so hard for me. That night, he faded into the background much as Sherry faded from my bedroom back on Halloween, leaving me to contend with my aunt and mother. And that was just the beginning.
My aunt had came over to celebrate the holidays with us as she usually did since she lived alone -- we didn't talk about my uncle -- and she joined my mother in giving me long, appraising looks, but only when the two of them thought I wouldn't notice. I noticed.
All throughout the late afternoon and early evening, I positioned myself so that I could see their reflection in a glass cabinet door or large window, never a mirror. They were too smart to be caught in a mirror. At first, I'd catch glimpses of them out of the corner of my eye. I'd turn and they'd be talking to each other or busy with the usual holiday chores. They were very good at being sneaky. But I could be fairly clever when I wanted to be, and by noon on Christmas Day, I had enough. Soon after Christmas dinner, I waited for a good opportunity when they were both together and then pounced... verbally.
"I see you looking at me and comparing notes or whatever," I told their reflections in the large dining room window. I could see them standing next to each other in the kitchen.
Out of reflex, they'd quickly turned away from me, but they stopped and slowly turned to face me again. I turned away from their reflection to look back at them.
"What?!" I shouted, angry at the secrecy. "Do I have something stuck in my teeth? Lint on my sweater? A visible cloud of body odor around me? What is it? Why do you keep looking at me?"
They both looked down and muttered back and forth between themselves.
"You tell him," Aunt Susan said.
"No, you tell him," my mother countered.
They paused several seconds and then blurted out together. "You look different!" We all had a good, brief chuckle at that.
"You mean my hair turning lighter? And my eyes turning blue?" I noted the obvious changes that I tried to shrug off as minor side effects of the gene therapy. I was a little self-conscious about my appearance.
"It's more than that," Mom said. "Tell him, Sue." She lightly poked my aunt in the ribs with a wooden spoon and my aunt flinched.
"You tell him! He's your son. I had nothing to do with any of this."
My mom looked a little sad, but she set her jaw and didn't back down. I got a prime example of sibling rivalry that evening, something I'd never really understood very well being an only child.
"Don't give me that," my mom hissed at her. Then she turned to me. "Ian, honey, we used tissue samples from Sherry for the gene therapy."
I must have looked shocked but I don't remember much for several minutes after that. I vaguely remember getting a severe case of hiccups and being helped to the couch. My mom handed me a glass of water and I went through my little sipping ritual to rid myself of the hiccups. As soon as my cure worked, I went right back to the subject matter.
"What did you say about Sherry and gene therapy?" I asked. I actually heard what they said but I needed them to confirm it.
My mother sat next to me on the couch with my aunt looking on from my mom's recliner. I saw tears forming in my aunt's eyes.
They took turns explaining how they hoped that Sherry didn't die for nothing. They donated her uninjured organs to help others and donated the rest of her body to science. Years later, they managed to get access to some frozen body parts that they used in my gene therapy. The doctors wanted it because Sherry's DNA was a fairly close match to mine, and now they were beginning to wonder just how far the gene therapy was working.
"It's not just your hair and eye color, Ian," Mom told me with Aunt Susan nodding agreement. "You've had an amazing growth spurt. You're at least two inches taller and you're... filling out."
The two women looked uncomfortable for some reason I couldn't understand. I had a zillion questions to ask but my aunt took over.
"You move differently too, Ian. And look at the hair on your arms."
I looked down at the fine blonde hairs on my arm and shrugged. My hair was turning blonde everywhere. I didn't understand what she meant by that.
"It's like the gene therapy is going a little too far," my mom ventured, again with my aunt nodding agreement.
"What do you mean? I feel better than ever. Isn't that a good thing?"
"Of course it's good," my mother said while she rubbed my back. "It's just... odd."
I started to understand what they were getting at then. It was impossible for me not to notice my changes. I didn't like that they made me look a bit feminine but I kept thinking they'd stop at some point.
"Well... I don't like looking more like a girl, if that's what you mean."
Both my aunt and mother looked a little upset. My aunt was on the verge of tears again.
"Oh, honey," my mom said. "I'm sorry but you do look a little...."
"Feminine?" I finished for her.
She nodded. "What if... what if you keep changing... looking more like a girl?"
"But I'm not a girl, Mom. I'm getting taller and stronger. If this gene therapy keeps working and keeps me alive, I'll eventually become a man. Won't I?"
I was used to being small, more like a boy than a young man. My disease kept me from developing as I should. But I expected to get stronger and more masculine eventually, assuming the gene therapy kept me alive long enough.
"I don't know, Ian. The doctors don't know. No one knows. But you just keep looking more like...." She stopped herself and looked over at her sister, afraid to finish the sentence.
I didn't like where the conversation was headed. I didn't want to think about turning into Sherry. I quickly stood up and rushed upstairs, something I wasn't able to do a few months ago. I shut my bedroom door behind me and stood there, leaning back against the door. I tried not to think about my cousin but I couldn't help myself. I felt her presence even if I couldn't see her and I called out to her.
"What did you do to me?!"
Except for the holidays, Aunt Susan had always seemed to prefer remaining in the background, delivering groceries, doing yard work, always helping out my mom where she could as long as it let her avoid me. At least that's how it felt. I'm not sure why she spent so little time with me but it probably had something to do with losing Sherry.
My aunt had lost her daughter in an instant, and with my much shorter life span, it was like my mother was losing me too, only the loss was much slower, perhaps agonizingly slow. I'm sure that my disease made Aunt Susan uncomfortable, but whatever the case, I was never close to her, not until my body started changing.
She even surprised my father with her suddenly frequent visits inside the house after Christmas. That's how unusual they were. She'd come in and talk to my mom but she'd always manage to spend some time with me too. I wondered if she looked at my new body as somehow getting her daughter back. I looked more like Sherry every day.
According to my doctors, I had the hormone levels of a girl going through puberty, and my body responded accordingly. Stupid blood tests. I didn't want to hear that. I was a boy, a young man. I was supposed to get tall, strong and hairy. My father didn't exactly fit my masculine ideal, but I didn't have to turn out like him. I wanted to be a man's man, just like I saw on television. And in the meantime, I didn't want to be treated like a girl no matter what I looked like.
In spite of her earlier aloofness, I loved my aunt, but her staring really disturbed me. She looked at me with such longing and love, I couldn't stand it. I sort of understood it, but I couldn't stand it. She suddenly wanted to do things with me, like take me shopping, sneak out for a quick lunch, even go on short road trips to nearby national parks. I guess my aunt and cousin Sherry had been very close, but I wasn't my cousin, and in my heart, I wasn't a girl. I hated to disappoint her, but I couldn't help who I was.
"Mom?" I took advantage of a moment when I was alone in the kitchen with my mother to discuss the problem. "Could you have a talk with Aunt Susan about... you know... wanting to... take me everywhere?"
My mother fixed me with a knowing look and answered my question with another question. "You noticed?"
Of course I couldn't help but notice my aunt pestering me to take me places, but I mostly missed my mother's sarcasm. Or maybe I just ignored it. I was upset.
"She wants to take me shopping!"
"What's wrong with shopping?" She gave me the evil eye from her with that question.
"It's clothes shopping!"
My mom's look didn't change.
"It's shopping for girl's clothes! Come on, Mom."
She rolled her eyes and sighed. "Ian, you have to admit, you don't look much like a boy any more. And boy's clothes don't really fit you, or suit you. The doctors already explained it to us. Weren't you listening? You're developing a girl's figure."
"But I'm not a girl!" Not completely anyway. Not yet, though I was still heading slowly but surely in that direction, something that I refused to think about if I could help it.
I ran out of the kitchen and upstairs to my bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Running was impossible for me six months ago but I did it then with ease. I didn't think about that though. Instead, I muttered about being betrayed by my own body. I couldn't even flop face down on my bed any more, a new habit that I'd developed to help me emphasize my emotional state. My budding breasts started bothering me when I mashed them on the bed so I carefully curled up in a fetal position on my bed and cried.
I noticed that I seemed to be getting more emotional, just like a girl. But I cried anyway. It always felt better afterwards and I needed whatever comfort I could find.
Over the next few months, all of the symptoms and complications from my disease disappeared, along with my male wardrobe. My appearance was unmistakably female, and I'd be lying if I said I was happy about it.
At the urging of my mother and aunt, I let my blonde hair grow out, and although I stubbornly refused any makeup, I couldn't see much of the boy that I used to be in the mirror. I stared at my reflection and saw a slightly younger version of my cousin, Sherry, staring back. I felt better than ever, but I was very nearly all girl.
The one good thing about my new body was that I no longer needed my dreaded vest to shake loose the gunk in my lungs, and I no longer required all the drugs that helped treat my condition. In other words, I was less of a financial burden... or so I thought.
According to how much my father complained, my new clothes and accessories weren't cheap. He ranted for days about my mother and aunt having expensive taste.
I wouldn't know. I refused to pay attention. I let myself be dragged from store to store to try things on but I couldn't get into the spirit of it. Whether it was the ThAIRapy Vest and drugs or new clothes and accessories, it didn't make any difference. My father still had to work hard to support me. The only thing that mollified him somewhat was the selling of the vest. Even at half price, it still offered a welcome boost to my father's bank account.
The money from the vest didn't last long though, and even while my father had it, he seemed more relieved than happy. I thought that he'd been working too long and hard to ever be happy. He did actually take a few days off to celebrate but then went back at it after seeing my mom's credit card bill for all of my new stuff. I didn't blame him for being so cranky with my mother and so distant with me. I thought that I'd be the same way if I was in his shoes.
Things eventually calmed down after I'd accumulated enough clothes to satisfy my mother. My mother was happy and my father went back to looking relieved. But then things got strange again.
My father started staring at me and I nearly lost it. I guess he wasn't kept in the loop about my changes. Or maybe he was in severe denial. I wasn't sure. So when I came to dinner wearing a tight-fitting knit top that emphasized my significant bust line, my father couldn't take his eyes off of my chest. I suppose it didn't help that I rarely wore tight-fitting clothing. I didn't want to show off my curves. But I wore the top and my father noticed. I didn't know if it was shock or what. All I know is that it creeped me out even more than my cousin Sherry's first visit.
I complained to my mother and she had a talk with him. That seemed to help. He stopped staring and resumed treating me much the same way he did before I started changing. He pretty much ignored me.
Before my gene therapy, I got the impression that he wasn't proud of me, or was disappointed in me in some way. Maybe he just couldn't stand to see me waste away. I don't know. I just wish he could've spent a little more time with me. A little more of a masculine influence might have done me some good.
The doctors gave me plenty of attention, all of it bad. They buzzed around me like angry hornets, arguing about what was happening to me... and fighting over who got to take credit for it. I really wanted to tell them the truth but I knew they'd never believe it. I guess my changes could've been a combination of the gene therapy and my cousin's intervention. Who could say for sure? It didn't matter much to me anyway. I had other issues.
In spite of my denial, my genitals changed right along with the rest of me. My body would soon be all girl and I withdrew, from everything. I felt like a stranger, a perverted peeping tom sneaking peeks at my cousin. It got so bad that I started closing my eyes whenever I went into the bathroom. I left the light off too. That helped. I felt my way around and rationalized that it was Sherry's hands touching herself, not mine.
"Is this what you call helping me?" I frequently asked when I was alone, thinking of my cousin's ghost. I couldn't imagine any answer she'd give me. I only imagined her giving me a wry grin. It felt like some kind of cruel joke.
By my 19th birthday, I'd ovulated. I wasn't sure what had happened at the time, but my mother had figured it out after I'd complained to her about my symptoms. I'd had a sudden, sharp twinge in my lower abdomen, and I'd gotten all moist and sticky... you know... between my legs. My breasts had been a little tender too. I'd thought I was coming down with a weird cold or flu, something I didn't have a lot of experience with since I led such a sheltered life.
My mother had set me down on my bed for a little privacy and patiently explained what I could expect in a couple of weeks. I'd tried to ignore and deny everything but my flushed cheeks showed how ineffective I was. I'd never felt so embarrassed in my life. Stupid. I know.
So I slowly and grudgingly became a young woman. It was impossible but I did it, and two weeks after I ovulated, in spite of being warned, I still panicked after noticing some blood spots in my panties. My mom spent a good hour in the bathroom with me, calming me down and showing me the proper use of feminine hygiene products, and my cheeks glowed red with embarrassment again.
The gene therapy shouldn't have worked like it did. It shouldn't have changed my whole body. At best, it should've just helped my lungs a little. Sherry had to be responsible for the rest. She saved my life but at what cost? I was no longer a guy! I was supposed to be a guy! Wasn't I? Dang. Gender dysphoria sucks.
I don't remember much of what happened to me for several weeks after my first period, only fragments here and there. I couldn't ignore menstruation but I tried to block everything else out of my mind. I couldn't accept it. I wouldn't! I felt like I'd traded one illness for another. I traded physical pain for emotional pain, and I still felt like a financial burden to my father. I know that sounds stupid. That's because I was stupid. I was a stupid, naive boy who grew up very sick and very sheltered. Then I ended up blossoming into a healthy young woman who had no idea how to function in society. And I wasn't sure that I wanted to.
I wanted to be a young man and never had a chance. I really resented that. I was born male and robbed of any reasonably masculine experience thanks to my disease. My gene therapy promised to make me at least a little more masculine, and it did make me stronger and healthier. But I was a far cry from masculine. I felt like I couldn't win.
The doctors were no help of course. They were clueless, and they wanted to run test after test after test. I was sick of it, but I didn't dare tell them the truth. They wouldn't believe it. They'd label me as mentally ill and lock me away so they could do all the tests they wanted. I was sure that if they had their way, I'd be a miserable lab rat for the rest of my life.
I still wasn't sure that I wouldn't go crazy on my own. I had no friends and no one to relate to. My mother helped with the required basics but I needed someone closer to my own age, and I desperately needed someone to help me with my femininity issues. My lack of experience and discomfort as a young woman made me a nervous wreck. It was no wonder I wouldn't go out, and if I never went out, I'd never get experience. I felt so confused and frustrated. I was strong and healthy and firmly stuck in the prison of a new body.
My father eventually took my change in gender well. I suppose that was partly due to the fact that he no longer had to work so hard after my mother found a part time job. My mom no longer had to stay home to care for me so they both gave me more time alone, something that suited me just fine. When they were home, they kept finding ways to remind me that I was a young lady. I didn't like that at all. I wanted to forget! But at least they were mostly subtle about it.
My aunt tried to take up the slack in my life and she was quite the opposite of subtle. She was also persistent. I'll give her that. She used every trick in the book, from begging to bribery to guilt. I went on enough guilt trips to more than make up for my lack of trips to the mall with her. Still, she couldn't pry me from the house, and she eventually gave up trying.
I wouldn't budge physically or mentally. My life was fairly bland, and I wanted it that way. The only real problem I had -- other than accepting my new gender of course -- was being pressured to choose a new name. I ran through several names but I couldn't decide, and I had a very hard time accepting a new one anyway. I wanted to keep my old name, so I pretty ignored the issue as long as I could. My safe, bland existence didn't last long.
My mother and aunt ambushed me one afternoon soon after I braved a trip to the living room to watch television -- my only friend. I just flopped down on the couch in a most unladylike fashion and turned on the TV to start channel surfing when the two of them entered the room. They sat down in the two recliners across from me and cleared their throat to get my attention.
"We're not calling you Ian any more," they insisted.
That caught me by surprise. My eyes went wide and my lower lip quivered. Why couldn't they just leave me alone?!
The fact that they loved and cared about me never entered my mind. Instead, I felt like I was being ganged up on. They attacked me when I least expected it, when I was trying to enjoy the only pleasure I had left. I only saw them as working to remove all traces of who I used to be, and I felt sure that they both favored Sherry over me.
Tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cheeks, and I fought back as best I could. "I suppose you want to call me Sherry then!" I wailed. "It's like she's reborn and Ian is dead!"
"Oh, honey! No!" My mother rushed to my side to comfort me but I pushed her away. I wanted none of it.
Through my tear-blurred vision, I saw my aunt crying, and it made me feel even worse. But I didn't know what to do. I just wanted to wallow in self-pity. I ran up to my bedroom, where I could hide away from the world. I flopped face down on my bed, winced when I mashed my breasts and continued to cry.
Later that day, my mother came to my bedroom to tuck me in as she'd been doing for the last couple months. Sitting there on the edge of my bed, she looked like she'd been crying, and it made me feel a little guilty about how I'd treated her.
"We never thought of naming you Sherry," she told me. "That would be a terrible thing to do to you. You know we all love you. We'd never think of doing something like that."
"I know. I'm sorry." And I was. I was so sorry. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of emotions. I didn't know how to cope. I needed help. I needed my mother.
"Having Sherry's DNA essentially makes you her identical twin but it doesn't mean you're going to become her. Identical twins don't share the same personality. I know I said that you're very much like her but there are a lot of differences too. Never forget that you'll always be my child, not my sister's. I'll always think of you as my baby no matter what you look like."
I blinked away my tears but I didn't know what to say. She made a good case for moving on and accepting my new life. Why couldn't I move on?
"I had two names picked out before you were born: Ian and a girl's name if you were a girl."
"Really?" I thought it might not be a bad idea to have her name me.
"Yes. I was going to call you Jacqueline, or Jackie for short."
'Jackie,' I said to myself. 'I think I like it. It's not too feminine.'
"We could even shorten it more and call you Jac if you like."
"No. That's okay. I'll go with Jackie. I'm a girl now. I should have a girl's name."
"Oh, honey." She mugged me with a fierce hug and we had a good mother-daughter cry. The bonding moment didn't last though. I wouldn't let it.
I couldn't just let go of my dream to grow up into a big, strong man like I thought I should. Call it stubbornness. Call it stupidity. Call it anything you like but I couldn't turn around and be happy about being female. I pushed my mother away and told her I wanted to be alone again. I insisted on my solitude and my mother gave me the space.
I had a girl's name to go with my body, but I continued to resist my femininity and I struggled with my emotions. I couldn't help feeling like I was in the wrong body, especially since I looked exactly like my cousin. In spite of my mother's reassurance, I'd added a fear of losing my identity to the mix, and then an even worse thought popped into my head. What if Sherry planned to possess me and take over my life? At that moment, everything came together inside my mind to create a perfect storm, otherwise known as an emotional meltdown.
"I should be a boy! I was born a boy!" I looked up in what I thought was Sherry's direction. "Can you hear me?" I cried out to her. "You're still not helping!"
October flew by and before I knew it, I was a young lady on Halloween night with nothing to do. I had no party to go to. I didn't have a social life. I didn't go out and I had no friends. I simply existed. I was alive and healthy but I was the wrong gender and I refused to make a life for myself. Oh, the irony.
After wallowing in self-pity for so long, I completely forgot about my cousin's ghost. Imagine my surprise when she paid a return visit to my bedroom that night.
I'd just turned out the lights and sat for a short time on my new girly bed with its canopy and lavender colors. I'd tuned everything out and did a few breathing exercises, more out of habit than anything else. They'd helped me to relax though, and I'd soon laid back on top of my bed covers with my eyes shut. That's when the feeling of being watched hit me.
The feeling of being watched was so odd. How was it even possible? It creeped me out enough that I actually went back to thinking about my bed to distract myself.
I couldn't believe that I gave in and accepted the bed. I only did it because my father thought I'd like it. I think he forgot that he even had a son. He completely doted on me once he got used to the idea of having a daughter, and once my mother's income starting adding nicely to the family bank account. I suppose I liked the attention on some level. I could never be angry with my daddy for very long.
So I successfully distracted myself from the creepiness, but I couldn't prevent a certain someone from interrupting my thoughts. I felt a gentle tapping on my shoulder and tried to ignore it. When it continued and the tapping got harder, I kept my eyes shut and blindly slapped at the source until I heard a voice.
"Jackie. Open your eyes. Come on. Don't be bitch slapping me."
I nearly peed my jammies when I heard that. My eyes flew open and there was my cousin's ghost, smiling down at me.
"You're looking good, Jackie," she told me. Her beaming face reflected happiness along with a hint of pride.
And why shouldn't she be so happy and proud? Either I was going to continue her glamorous life for her or she'd possess me and make sure of it, and nothing, not even her bright smile, could put a dent in my funk. I answered her friendly greeting with a major pout.
"Awwww," she said. "Don't think like that."
"Don't do that! Get out of my head!"
She smiled that perfect little wry smile of hers and shook her head. "Come on. You should be happy. Don't you remember what I told you that first night I visited you?"
I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and sat up. "You said something about living on through me. I remember that well enough. So are you gonna possess me now? Is that it?"
Sherry frowned. "No, Jackie. I mean... yes, I did say I'd live on through you, but that's just because you've got my body. I'm so not going to possess you."
"Then what are you trying to tell me?" I tried giving her a fierce scowl and she barely suppressed a laugh.
"I'm here to remind you of one very important thing. Life is better than death."
"That's right. I remember now. You said that too, but so what. What's that got to do with anything?"
Sherry somehow gave the impression of rolling her eyes with her empty eye sockets and sighed. "I know," she said. "I know you're not happy being a girl right now, but I'm asking you to give it a chance."
"Are you kidding?"
"No! Before, you were a small, sick boy. Now look at you! You're a strong, healthy young woman. Which is better?"
"Um... is that a trick question?"
"I'm serious! Think about it. Which would you rather be? Sick and dying or strong and healthy?"
"Well, duh. I'm strong and healthy now. But what if I get a sex change?"
Sherry's empty eye sockets widened. "You wouldn't."
"Would."
"Even if I asked you not to? I gave you life! Why can't you accept being a girl?!"
"Duh! I'm a guy! I was born a guy and I... I want to be a guy." I glanced down at my chest and my breasts mocked me.
"You were raised more like a girl than a boy. You were too delicate to be anything like most of the guys I knew."
I sprang up off the bed and looked straight across into her eye sockets, challenging her.
"Hah! You said, 'most.' So you did know some guys like me."
My cousin had no answer to that except for some tears that pooled along the bottom edge of her empty eye sockets and dribbled down her cheek. I quickly went from feeling smug to feeling like I should join her. I felt awful.
"I really wanted to have children," she said, her voice so quiet I could barely hear it. "Is being a girl really that bad?"
"Well... I... I don't know how to explain it. My body just doesn't feel right. I'm sorry."
"You're just not used to it. I don't know why you can't give it a chance."
"I have been... and I don't like it."
"No, you haven't, Jackie. You've been fighting it every step of the way. I've been watching. Remember?"
I glowered, silently conceding the point, and she pushed forward.
"Do you know anything about sex changes?"
"A little," I muttered.
At one point, out of desperation, I'd done some research on the Internet after seeing a special on TV about transsexuals. The television special and research opened my eyes. There were others just like me!
There weren't as many female to male transsexuals as male to female but there were enough to lead me to the idea of sexual reassignment surgery. Too bad the surgery didn't work all that well. I could have my breasts removed but I'd never have anything close to a real, working penis. With testosterone injections and my female reproductive organs removed, I'd most likely end up as a strong, hairy man with a vagina. The people in the forums didn't recommend having all the female bits removed but I thought I should do it if I wanted to be a man, so I'd never have sex as a real man and I'd never have any children of my own. I'd never give my parents any grandchildren. Is that what I really wanted?
The idea of surgery had always scared me to death. In the past, doctors had explained that I could live longer with a lung transplant, but I'd been too weak to be able to handle surgery. If I'd stayed a boy with cystic fibrosis, I'd have to muddle through the rest of my short life without any transplants, without any surgery of any kind. Surgery had been out of the question, and in my mind, it soon developed into a nightmarish monster, with fangs and claws, just waiting for me to stumble across it in some dark alley.
Still, I couldn't continue living with my parents for the rest of my life. I knew that much. I either had to go out into the world as I was, or start transitioning, and soon.
"I bet they're really painful," Sherry told me, her sharp voice like a scalpel, cutting into my brain. "I bet it takes a long time to change too. It can't just happen over night. Are you ready for something like that? Can't you at least wait a few years before you decide?"
"I... I don't wanna."
She ignored my sulking. "And what about my mother? Did you stop to think what your sex change would do to her? It's like she just gets me back and you take me away from her again. It'll kill her! Please!"
My tears leaked out, giving her the answer she wanted, the one she needed. Still, she pressed on.
"I'm sorry, Jackie. Really, I am. But what do you have to compare to? What experiences have you had that you can say are distinctly male?"
I couldn't answer. Instead, more tears rolled down my soft cheeks and my face burned with shame. I didn't want to hurt my aunt, and I certainly didn't miss any masculine activities. How could I miss something that I'd never had the opportunity to try? I'd watched enough mens sports on TV to know that I'd be crushed if I tried them. Even golf was far too strenuous for me.
Sherry was right. I'd never achieved anything close to society's masculine ideal, and for the past few months, I'd been able to do more as a girl than I ever did being a boy. I was too sick to do much of anything before she showed up and saved me. I could barely walk up a flight of stairs. If only it wasn't so hard to let go.
I'd thought that I could figure out how to be a man. I'd watched enough television that I thought it would be easy. Being a man had seemed so easy. Picking out what to wear, getting dirty, being obnoxious, fighting, it had all looked so easy. But maybe I shouldn't have watched so much television. I'd finally started coming to the conclusion that what I saw on TV didn't exactly mirror what happened in real life. Maybe, just maybe, being a man wasn't as easy as it looked... and being a woman wasn't as difficult as it seemed.
"Okay!" I said. "Okay. I guess I can at least try being a girl for a couple... years. Is that good enough?" My voice squeaked with apprehension. It wouldn't be easy for me. I had a lot to learn about being a girl, but it wasn't the girl lessons that bothered me so much. It was Sherry's statement about wanting children that really got to me. It finally sunk in. I could get pregnant!
"Only if you really want to," she said, reading my thoughts. Her eye sockets narrowed and her voice sounded loud and clear. "Don't let any boys, or men, bully you into having sex. I mean it!"
"Hey! I know how men can be... I think. I'm not letting them get away with anything, and I'm not exactly ready for sex anyway."
Sherry smiled. "Good girl," she said, the love and pride obvious in her tone of voice.
"So is that it for now? Same time next year?"
Her sad face gave me my answer and my fear surged back.
"But I need you! Please! Don't leave me, Sherry. I don't have any friends. I don't know what to do!"
"I'm sorry, Jackie. My work here is done. I just wanted to get you to give my body a chance and you are. Now I need to move on."
"Why didn't you help me more? Why didn't you visit me more often?"
"I told you the truth last Halloween. It really is a lot easier to... materialize on this night. I'm not sure exactly why, but it is."
I thought about that for a short time but something didn't ring true. I thought back to her first visit and had to call her on it. Or maybe I was just desperate to find a way to make her stay.
"It wasn't Halloween the first time you showed up. Oh. And I didn't appreciate the nightmare by the way."
Sherry giggled. "Sorry about the nightmare. I was sort of half responsible for that. I needed a way to wake you up, and I figured it would be better than shaking you." I tried to ask about that but she held up a hand to stop me. "As for my first visit.... There are always exceptions. I had a little... help. I had to show up that night to prepare you for your therapy the next day."
That made sense, and I couldn't think of anything else to say so I had to let her go. I stood, frozen in place, and cried. My arms hung like dead weight at my side until Sherry approached and hugged me. Then my arms slowly rose and curled around my ghostly twin's waist. I could smell wildflowers in her hair and hear her whisper in my ear.
"I really don't think you'll need me, Jackie. Both your mom and mine will gladly teach you everything you need to know. You'll make friends and you'll do fine. You'll make a fine young woman. I'm sure of it. And I bet you'll like it. You just need to give it a chance."
I gently pushed her away and looked into her eye sockets. They didn't seem so creepy any more. "You really think so?"
She nodded.
"I'll miss you," I said. Then her words about moving on and getting help suddenly sunk in. Moving on to where? And just who was helping her? What kind of life do the dead have? It got me curious, enough that I had to ask her. It wasn't likely that I'd ever have another chance.
"What's it like being dead?"
Sherry reacted strangely to that. The look on her face went from surprise to thoughtful to absolute glee in only a couple of seconds.
"You asked!" she shouted. "They said you'd ask and you did!"
"Hello! Parents. Sleeping. Remember?" I said. She just stood there with a goofy grin on her face. It looked really odd with her empty eye sockets but I wasn't going to tell her that. I had a question instead. "Um... what are you talking about?"
She replied with a teasing lilt to her voice. "You asked the magic question."
I responded with the same teasing lilt. "So are you going to answer it or not?"
"I can't," she said, her voice suddenly flat.
"What? Why not? You said it was a magic question."
"I can't really explain what it's like on the Other Side, not with words. I have to show you. And since you asked...."
I gulped. I wasn't liking where the conversation was headed but I couldn't stop myself from continuing it. "Since I asked, that means you can show me?"
"Yep! Good guess." Her head tilted back slightly, like she was looking up, and she sounded like she was thinking out loud. "It's only fair, I think. Maybe not equal, but fair. I give Jackie life, and she lets me borrow her body to experience five minutes of that life. Any longer and I probably couldn't handle going back." She pointed her empty eye sockets back at me and spoke to me then. "It's only five minutes but I so wanna breathe again, and feel warm water splash over my hands, and slowly brush my hair. It hasn't been easy watching you the past year or so."
It took me a moment to process what she said before I could say anything. I finally responded with, "Five minutes? That's not very long."
"Nope. But them's the rules."
"Rules? What rules?"
"I can't tell you."
"Oh, come on!"
"Sorry. I really can't explain them all."
"Can't or won't?"
"Just let it go, Jackie. Please. I don't have time for this."
"Fine." I paused to pout a little, something that I found myself doing more and more often. Then something else occurred to me.
"Will five minutes be long enough for me to know what death is really like?"
"Oh, you'd be surprised," she said, her wry grin returning to dimple her cheeks.
I stood numbly for several seconds but I wasn't given much time to prepare. It all happened so fast. But really, how does one prepare for death anyway? Sherry said, "Here we go," and we switched places, just like that. And she was right.
There's no good way to describe the Other Side with words. You'll just have to wait and experience it for yourself. The only thing I noticed that could easily be put into words was that time flowed at a much slower rate. I drifted away, out of sight of Sherry in my body, and the five minutes slowed to a crawl that felt more like hours, maybe even a day. It's hard to say. There was no sun tracing a path across the sky. There was no sky. Oh! It was just so frustrating not being able to describe it. I could spend all day listing what it doesn't have but I couldn't begin to say what it does have. Everything looked so unreal, and though I didn't sense any others around me, I felt an undercurrent of love and support that comforted me and left me supremely satisfied in a nebulous sort of way. Even my emotional interactions were hard to explain.
In spite of my moment of spiritual bliss, I could see how the lack of sensual experiences might be missed, especially if you'd died quite suddenly at a young age like Sherry did. A being of flesh and blood becomes too attached to such things to give them up easily. I started missing my five senses and I'd barely been away from my body. I couldn't imagine what the Other Side would be like after several years, though I figured that one would get used to it eventually. It was only when a ghost lingered that I could see any problems.
I felt a sudden strong pang of guilt and sympathy for my cousin. She died so long ago, but for my sake, she'd come back to watch over me, seeing me indulge in sensual pleasures that I could no longer really appreciate. I could imagine her pain when she wanted to experience life again so badly, even if it was only for five minutes.
My guilt and sympathy didn't last long though. It was hard to concentrate on anything but that nagging feeling of love. I say nagging because it started to get a little overpowering. It reminded me of my mother except without the anxiety and other human failings that tended to dilute the beauty of love. I likened it to being in a dark room for several hours and then having a light turned on, a light so bright it hurt your eyes. The love was so strong and pure, it hurt my heart.
I tried to think about something else, anything else, but I kept coming back to that feeling of love. I darted off on mental tangents only to be slowly reeled back. I started wondering if someone wasn't trying to tell me something.
Since forcing various topics of thought didn't work so well, I tried the opposite. I tried to clear my mind and think about nothing, not even the overwhelming love. I just wanted to mentally relax. My conversation with Sherry took a lot out of me and the Other Side was relaxing if nothing else, at least from my perspective. Maybe it got more exciting as time went on. Maybe I had to seek out adventure and collect others to share it with. But I didn't know how much time I had left. So I just chilled out.
I'm not sure whether I floated or stood on solid ground or what. There was nothing to feel. I just... existed... for a long time... I guess, and time started to drag. That's when things got interesting.
I later found out -- yes, after some research on the Internet -- that my experience wasn't all that different from a sensory deprivation tank. Some strange things can happen after an extended period of time with minimal sensory stimulation. The mind can wander and hallucinate. It can be quite scary, especially when forced. But I didn't have much of a problem, other than having to face a certain subject that I wanted to avoid at all cost.
Images of doctors performing surgery started popping into my head and first, I fought like mad to block them out. As soon as I started mentally thrashing, the thoughts would vanish and I would relax again. But they started up soon after I relaxed. It went back and forth countless times, and it happened more and more frequently until I finally started getting used to it. It was like hyperactive desensitization therapy or something. Dang.
I was eventually desensitized. I lost most of my fear of surgery. It became nothing more than a faint chill down my spine and a twinge in my gut. Or maybe I was ovulating. Wait. No. It wasn't time for that yet. I kept track. I couldn't help myself.
My thoughts turned to my new body and I quite suddenly associated the surgical images with menstruation and all things female. Then my body was taken away. I found myself being rushed through the fastest change of gender in history. I had all the operations that I needed to become as male as I possibly could. I felt like I was being shown the way to nirvana! But I stopped short of my goal.
I reached out for more but didn't get it. I ended up exactly as I'd feared when I first discovered SRS on the Internet. I wasn't complete and I wasn't satisfied. I also felt a large void in my new imaginary life, and it didn't take me long to figure out what it was. It was lack of children. I realized that once again, Sherry and I shared a common trait. We both loved children. At least I did in the future that I was being shown. It was a little confusing when comparing my present self with my future self.
In spite of my confusion, I cried for my loss. I knew I could adopt, or possibly find someone else with children and help raise them, but I didn't want someone else's children. I wanted my own! I could've had children and yet I threw it all away chasing an impossible fantasy.
The experience soured me on love and life. I didn't like that future, but it continued to play out and in my later years, I isolated myself and couldn't stop mourning the loss of my children, my babies. I cried as I watched the years roll by... until that strong feeling of love returned.
I took more comfort from the love at that point. I needed it after what I went through. I basked in the warm and fuzzy feeling for a short while, recharging, and then I was taken back to my current self, and I realized something important. The future wasn't set in stone. I had a choice. I always had a choice.
A small hope flared inside me and suddenly, I was shown another possible future, one in which I transitioned towards a male appearance but I didn't have my reproductive organs removed. I only had a double mastectomy and testosterone injections.
That second future felt like it just might be the answer to my problem. I started really liking how I was turning out. I got big, strong and hairy, and it didn't matter so much that I still had a vagina. I presented as male and the world treated me accordingly.
My strong love of children developed again and it wasn't long before the subject of pregnancy was brought up. I went off testosterone to return to being fertile and my partner impregnated me. Apparently I was sexually attracted to men, or I soon would be. That was a surprise. It didn't matter though. I was over the moon! I finally achieved my dream of getting pregnant, and I'd soon raise my own little baby. I wouldn't be able to breast feed but I could experience everything else. I felt like I had it all... mostly.
The last trimester of pregnancy wasn't as nice as I imagined it. I ate, peed and waddled excessively and my little unborn bundle of joy kicked the inside of my uterus black and blue. My feet swelled up enough that I couldn't wear shoes, and I cried a lot for no apparent reason. Pregnancy jumbled my emotions like nothing else. It was a brutal three months that I wouldn't trade for anything. Then came the big climax: The birth.
Growing up as a sickly boy, I was used to pain, but my pain was nothing compared to giving birth. I didn't think that any description of it could do it justice so I won't go into detail. Like my trip to the Other Side, it had to be experienced to be fully appreciated. I handled it though, and as soon as the nurse placed the wee one in my arms, I forgot all about the pain. At that moment, my sole universe consisted of my baby girl and my love for her.
After the birth of my daughter, I lost my enthusiasm for testosterone. It felt like a lie to continue my hormone therapy. I just gave birth. How could I be a man after that? I couldn't think of myself as all man after that, and I couldn't wait to have a second child and possibly more. My partner was not pleased.
My relationship with my partner weakened as my bond with my daughter strengthened. I raised her the best way I knew how and that brought out feminine qualities that I'd buried deep inside myself long ago. My partner soon left me and I barely missed him. The only thing I found myself missing were my breasts.
Confusion ruled my inner world by that point. I was both a mother and a father to my child and I felt like neither. I tried to concentrate on the good. Everything had both a good and bad side. It was just a matter of perspective and proper focus. I kept telling myself that but I couldn't put it into practice. Emotions can't be herded by rational thought. It just doesn't happen.
My second future turned out much better than the first one and yet I still felt disappointed. I never found another partner. I wasn't in the right frame of mind to even look, so as soon as my daughter grew up into a lovely young woman and left home, I withdrew to become a lonely shell of a person. Long-term happiness eluded me.
The feeling of love returned to save me from dwelling on another bleak life, and it almost immediately plunged me into a third future. I tried to resist. I didn't feel ready for another emotional roller coaster. But I was swept off my feet.
In the third future, I didn't transition. I stayed all woman and had a difficult time adjusting at first. But as I tried new things, basic things that both men and women could do like going for a long walk and learning to drive a car, I found it usually didn't matter whether I was male or female. Men and women weren't opposites. They were both human beings who shared a large number of life experiences.
I still felt a little uncomfortable in my body. It was new to me and anything new can make someone uncomfortable. But I was definitely uncomfortable as a boy too. I was sick and in pain and didn't want anything to do with that part of my life. My new body gave me a much longer life and the opportunities to fully enjoy it. It also gave me a few new options.
Like in my second future, I found myself a big hunk of a man, and then I married him. We bought a house and nurtured our careers for several years before moving on to nurturing children. I got pregnant again with a baby girl, and luckily, the Powers-That-Be skipped past the pain of childbirth -- I expected to experience that pain enough in real life so I was grateful -- and moved on to suckling my child at my breast. I never felt such contentment and fulfillment... and love.
My husband and I remained together and had two more children, and we eventually went on become grandparents to half a dozen. All of the little ones that were sprinkled throughout the years made it easy to focus on the good things in my life. I rarely thought about my old dreams of being a man. I didn't have time, and I didn't miss it. I found true happiness at that point.
I barely noticed when that wonderful feeling of love returned. What had once felt too strong now felt perfect. I no longer felt overwhelmed by it. I was only filled with love and hope, not only for me but for my cousin Sherry as well.
It suddenly occurred to me that I'd only had a small taste of what Sherry had been experiencing. She'd hinted at so much more and I knew that she'd be okay, much more than okay. I almost envied her, but I had a long life to live first.
When our time was up, I suddenly found myself back in my body, and I had a couple surprises. My mouth was full of half-chewed grapes, and I had a hair brush in my hand.
Sherry giggled. "Sorry," she said. "I couldn't resist."
I took my time and finished chewing the grapes while I set my hair brush down on my dresser.
"There," I said, after swallowing the last bit of grapes. "That's better. I know you love grapes. I got your taste buds after all. It's okay." I smiled at her.
"Thanks," she told me, her voice quavering. "That really meant a lot to me."
"You're welcome, and likewise. Good bye, Sherry. I hope you find nothing but peace and contentment. I love you, and I love what you've done for me."
It was an understatement to say that the experience meant a lot to me. The time that I spent on the Other Side made me appreciate life like nothing else could. I would've honored my decision to give womanhood a chance, though I had to confess that I didn't expect to enjoy it. I didn't expect to even try. But after getting a taste of my third potential future, I sure as heck would try to enjoy womanhood. Actually, forget try. I'd make sure to enjoy every damn minute of it. I briefly wondered if that was the whole point of switching, but I didn't have time to dwell on it. I had a special moment to finish.
My cousin sniffled a little and distracted me. "Don't start swearing now," she said, after having read my mind once again. "Make me proud." With that, she raised her hand to give me a little finger wave. Then she slowly faded away, disappearing from my room and my life, leaving me with nothing but tears and fond memories, and a strong resolve to do as she hoped I would.
She didn't have to worry. I'd make her proud.
The very next day, I didn't waste any time. In fact, I had to make up for months of lost time.
I dressed myself in a soft, white cotton robe with pink bunnies all over it. The robe just screamed girl and I giggled when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I added a pair of warm, fuzzy slippers and followed my nose to the kitchen. According to the wonderful smells, my mother had been busy that morning.
"Hi, Mom."
"Jackie?" She stood in front of the stove and turned when she heard me. She had a potholder in one hand and a pancake turner in the other. All that she was missing was an apron and I thought she'd look perfect, just like I hoped to be sometime in the not too distant future.
"Yeah, it's me." I gave her a shy smile.
"You look nice, dear." She briefly returned the smile and then gave me a look of concern. "Are you okay?"
I hadn't exactly dressed as expected in spite of having a closet full of feminine clothes. Whenever I had any say in the matter, I homed in on sweat clothes in the drabbest colors I could find. I hadn't been all zombie on my shopping trips. I'd managed to snag a few things off the racks, things that I felt I could tolerate, and in spite of never going out, my formerly favorite clothes had already begun to wear out.
"Well, Mom. Actually... I'm not exactly a hundred percent." Wait for it.... "I'm... hungry! Got room for one more at the dining table?"
"Oh, you!" She playfully slapped my arm with the potholder and I left her to finish cooking while I set the table.
I barely finished my pleasant task before my mother was dishing up scrambled eggs, sausage and bacon. I could do without all the greasy meat but I really was hungry, and I had a nibble of everything before I gave my mother a real shock. It was a good thing she was sitting down.
"I do have something important to tell you, Mom."
She encouraged me with her eyes since her mouth was half full but I waited until she swallowed to make sure that she wouldn't choke.
"Well?" She said.
"Would you and Aunt Susan take me clothes shopping today? I'd like a chance to pick out a few new things. I'd like to develop my own style... you know... because you two picked out most everything for me."
I don't think my mother caught everything I said. Her jaw fell open after my first sentence and she looked to be in shock.
"Okay," she finally said after a good thirty seconds. "Who are you and what did you do with my child?"
"That's not funny, Mother." I really didn't like it. It reminded me of when I felt like I was being replaced by my cousin, when I thought that my mom and my aunt were going to change my name to Sherry.
"I'm sorry, honey. But you have to admit it's a little out of character for you."
I nodded agreement and considered telling her the truth. I didn't expect her to believe it though.
"I had one of those special moments last night where everything suddenly made sense. What do you call those again?"
"An epiphany?"
"That's it! I had an epiphany."
"Is that right?" She asked, raising an eyebrow to show her skepticism. "You're not telling me everything."
"Um... would you believe Sherry visited me last night and straightened me out?"
"What? You mean like in a dream or something?"
"Something." I nodded. "Definitely something."
My mother looked thoughtful. "That would explain what I heard last night."
"You heard us?!"
"I heard you." She gave me a stern look. "You were quite loud a few times. So...," she continued looking thoughtful. "I heard you shouting... evidently in your sleep... while you dreamed about Sherry."
I mentally slapped myself. Of course Sherry and I sounded exactly the same now. I had her voice as well as everything else. I didn't have any evidence of my encounter so I had to be careful.
"Right," I said.
"So what happened in this dream?"
"Well, like I said. Sherry set me straight. She gave me several very good reasons to give her body a chance... so I am." There. I told the truth but let my mother think it was a dream. Perfect.
"That must have been one hell of a conversation."
"Mother!"
"I'm sorry! People swear sometimes. Shit happens."
We both had a good laugh after I got over my brief moment of shock. I don't remember ever hearing my mother use such vulgar language before. It was kind of refreshing though, refreshingly different. And I was in the mood for something different. I was in the mood for a whole different lifestyle.
I never heard from Sherry again, but I didn't get too upset about it. I knew she was in a much better place, surrounded by that wonderful feeling of love. And besides, anytime that I wanted to be reminded of her, I could just look in a mirror, or even better, I could look at the photo of her that I kept in my room.
Every night as I got ready for bed, I'd sit at my vanity dresser and look at that photo. It was the one that my mother first used to show her to me, the one that had been hidden away in the closet. But it didn't belong in a dusty, old photo album. It deserved to be seen, and seen often.
Aunt Susan visited me quite often after Sherry's last visit, and she couldn't help but notice the photo. But she didn't mind at all. My transformation, both physically and spiritually, completely healed the pain of her loss. She'd lost Sherry, her precious only child, and soon after lost her husband, my uncle Charles, in an ugly divorce that very nearly pushed her over the edge. I didn't know the details and I didn't want to. All that mattered was that my aunt finally felt included as part of a family once again, and we all made sure to display lots of pictures of Sherry, my favorite being the one in my room.
At the base of the picture frame, I added my cousin's full name, Sherry Louise Barkley, along with the date of her birth and the date that she died. It was my little memorial to her. It wasn't much but it was enough that it reminded me to thank her every time that I saw it.
"I love you and I'll never forget you, Sherry. Thank you," I often whispered to the heavens.
She was right... about everything. I learned quickly, and I let myself enjoy the experience of being a girl. Being young and healthy helped. All those female hormones coursing through my body probably didn't hurt either. I'm sure they had something to do with my sudden new fascination with the opposite sex. Young men became an endless and mostly pleasant distraction, and they helped me forget all about my former life.
When I went down on my boyfriend for the first time -- only because I really wanted to! -- I remembered way back to that all-important kiss with Sherry and finally identified the last taste and smell. It wasn't my favorite thing to do but it wasn't so bad, and it usually led to other, much better things. My first few sexual experiences were a last, wonderful hurdle, and they made me realize that I'd be okay. They also made me think about the future... a lot.
It was only a matter of time before Mom would be a grandmother. I found myself in love with the idea of bringing a new life into the world. I wanted it all; a college education, a career, a husband and children, not necessarily in that order. Having children wasn't just fulfilling Sherry's wish. It was something that I truly wanted for myself. I was young and healthy, alive in my cousin's body, and I loved it. Life as a woman really was worth living.
© 2010 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this story are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.
Comments
The Importance of Editing
This might be better as a blog but I want to post it here because it relates nicely to the story.
I resisted getting an editor for the longest time. I wanted my stories to be solely my own creation. I kept thinking that an editor would somehow dilute my stories. But that's silly.
The words in this story are 99.9% mine. Puddin' made suggestions and showed examples for expansion and improvement, but I didn't usually take her advice exactly as given. Instead, I let her suggestions stew until they inspired my own ideas. Then I added them.
A good editor helps you learn the craft of writing and inspires you to be the best you can be. That's what Puddin' did for me and I'm very, very grateful to her.
Thanks, Puddin'!
- Terry
Effective, Strong Story...
Makes me wonder one thing, though.
How much of her "epiphany" really is generated by surrender to the near-forced-fem attitude of her family? Bear in mind that the author sets up the "alternate lives" that Jackie finds on the Other Side as possible hallucinations similar to those generated from one's own mind in deprivation chambers.
Is that the real reason that option three on the Other Side presents itself to her so positively? It's the line of least resistance to Sherry and to the three family members who are pretty nearly the only people she knows. And it saves her a little self-respect: in the final scene, her mother and aunt are willing and even eager for Jackie to create her own feminine style, which seems to be the only way that they'd let her resist theirs.
Food for thought, anyway.
Eric
Forced Femininisation?
I don't think so.
In the first place, they're bystanders, not participants in whatever combination of circumstances led to Ian's transmogrification into Jackie. It certainly wasn't their intention, nor that of the many doctors involved, to do anything nearly so drastic.
From their point of view, a true miracle has occurred, however the people in charge of the medical aspect of it may dress it up, or even write learned papers to "explain" the anomalous results.
From that viewpoint, Ian is rejecting a gift of grace, and failing to face facts. We note that Ian comes to very nearly the same conclusion early on, even before he's vouchsafed the visions of possible futures that form the backdrop of his ultimate decision. Although he grouses about it, he's already half-conceded that surgery is not, for him, an answer, and Sherry's concern for the network of interpersonal relationships that would thereby be disrupted is both an archetypical "feminine" response and a reflection of family reality. Even Ian/Jackie sees this when it's pointed out to him, which is a stunning reflection of the fact that his/her brain has been/is being rewired as much as has his body.
In point of fact, his mother and aunt *haven't* been forcing him/her to do anything, but rather leading him/her in the direction of appropriate dress for his/her age and new gender, although Ian is poorly compliant, shuffling around the house for the most part in loose attire which disguises his true body. All parents perform this sort of guidance -- especially mothers with their daughters -- because there's an immense vocabulary of attire and deportment that *must* be mastered is he/she is to have any hope of adapting to the world around him or her, however you want to look at it. They aren't -- as far as we can tell -- hysterical about it, though, other perhaps than rolling their eyes from time to time at "her" choice of sloppy attire when "she" had such pretty things available.
And the fact that Ian/Jackie identified his/her experience on the "other side" as "sensory deprivation" is particularly interesting, because voluntary sensory deprivation is quite often used as a meditative exercise in real life, often in "float tanks" where the submersion in an essentially weightless state very quickly induces “a rejuvenation of body and mind that will reinvigorate you and help bring balance to your world,” in the words of one purveyor of such float tanks.
One presumes that this context of sensory deprivation/float tank was known to Ian/Jackie before hand, through online research, which has been the only outlet for his/her intellectual curiosity and growth for much of his/her young life. Certainly, Jackie emerges from the experience reinvigorated and refreshed, just as advertised, and with a whole new attitude and a feeling of psychic integration.
From personal experience, I can vouch for the fact that many people benefit from such relaxation exercises, even without being simultaneously bathed in what we must assume is a sort of Heavenly bliss, or perhaps Nirvana.
It's also the case that the author has crafted a very lean story that lets our own brains create a lot of the context and final meaning without beating us over the head with any particular viewpoint.
The important bits are Ian's, and then Jackie's emotional responses when his and her life is turned topsy-turvy, and life and death is set before him, blessing and cursing.
At no point is he or she "forced" to do anything, although he or she may not foresee all possible outcomes of his/her choices. Ian *chooses* (in pity and love) to kiss Sherry despite her uncanny appearance, *chooses* (in pity and love) to experience death for a time so Sherry can have a taste of the life she was torn from so suddenly. Ian, for all his faults, is a mensch.
And Jackie chooses life. What more do we need to know?
Cheers,
Puddin'
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
You Make Some Good Points...
But I found your response better before you went back and added the last few paragraphs. "Jackie chose life" before the final visualizations, and for that matter just about every time that Ian was asked about it from the very beginning. Whatever the cost, Ian knew the answer to that question about as soon as Sherry first asked it.
The proverbial devil was in the details. That's what more we needed to know; that's what Jackie figured out on the Other Side. As you say, the story's spare enough that we can create our own conjectures as to why.
Eric
And on a personal note...
I've read this story many times, quite closely, and have never managed to get through it without tears blurring my vision of the words from time to time.
Cheers,
Puddin'
According to Buddhist texts, the Buddha spent an entire week gazing with profound gratitude at the Bodhi tree which had sheltered him on his inner journey to enlightenment.
-
Cheers,
Puddin'
A tender heart is an asset to an editor: it helps us be ruthless in a tactful way.
--- The Chicago Manual of Style
Tears
Execellent story! Made me cry, not easy to make me do that.
Oh Terry!
You made me cry! I can relate to this in a weird kind of, sort of way. Very good my friend!
Hugs!
Grover
Body and Soul
Well, Ian got to live the life of a woman and helped heal a few broken hearts.
May Your Light Forever Shine
May Your Light Forever Shine
A very good story, if a bit sad . . .
I really enjoyed it. I thought it was a bit different, with Sherry "inhabiting" her DNA as a way to transform Ian. Very Unique, in my opinion. I felt it was a great entry into the contest, and it makes a good "one shot" story. I suppose a sequel could be written, but the story does not "cry out" for one, unlike Beverly Taff's "Rescue", which begs for multiple seqels!
A very good job, Terry!
Wren
A well written story, Terry.
A well written story, Terry. I think at its heart it poses the interesting question of what price would you pay for chance at life. In Ian's case, it's his largely unused masculinity but then its a TG story site so he's prolly not giving up his love for jazz music or something. ;-)
I found the characters of Ian/Jackie and Sherry to be engaging and the portrayal of Sherry as being without eyes was suitably creepy for Halloween. It wasn't until I thought about it that I realised how scary the eyeless bit was in a person! I like the idea of the DNA treatment to explain the physical changes as well rather than it just being magic. And I'm glad that mom came out and said about Ian/Jackie always being her child regardless of appearance.
The only other comment I really have is that in the 'otherworldly' scene maybe didn't quite gel for me (though on re-reading felt better) but all-in-all though, a good story.
Thank you!
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Everyone should read this story
I've been too inwardly focused on doing my own thing lately, selfishly and methodically writing, editing, and not doing nearly enough to give back to our little community as a reader.
I decided to change that today, starting with a selection of contest entries, and I'm already very, very glad that I did. When I finished reading this story, I sat staring at the blank comment box for several seconds. I didn't know what I wanted to say, exactly. There was so much about this story.
I hate hospitals. I hate doctors, and I hate feeling like a lab rat. It's a position I've been in so many times that I even put my health at risk once because I refused to go to the hospital until it was nearly too late, so those scenes unnerved the holy high hell out of me.
Conversely I felt utterly rapt with each scene with Sherry. I've made no secret that when I was young, I read voraciously and my choice of reading was typically ghost stories, urban legends, or the more macabre writings of the greats like Edgar Allen Poe.
By the time Jackie swapped places with her cousin on The Other Side, the rest of the world around me had long melted away. I couldn't stop reading.
I can identify with her on so many levels. My solitude has been self-imposed. I shut myself off from the world, cut off ties with my family because I hate my body so, but I think of the people I've lost violently over the years, and I wonder how much they would give to have five minutes of the life I take for granted.
Life is too short, and too precious, and this story serves as a wonderful reminder of that. Like I said in the title: everyone should read this. You put a lot of work into this, and it shows. Thank you.
As for myself, there's a festival going on today. Every year I quietly ignore it and stay indoors. I think I'm going to get dressed and go. :-)
Respectfully,
~Zoe
And have fun!
It's important to, at the festivals.
I also read this story - half a day earlier. Well, I guess there is just one thing in the entire great story, one thing that a little bothered me - that Sherry said it's better to be alive than to be dead, while she was (most likely) basking in that sea of love at the time. Of course, Jackie explained it a little that it was from the lack of complexity of outside input, and from intensity and inavoidability of that feeling. Also, Sherry may have still been not adapted to her temporary neither-here-nor-there existance at the time.
Faraway
Big Closet Top Shelf
Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!
Faraway
Big Closet Top Shelf
Where you can fool around like you want to and most you get is some bemused good ribbing!
A new twist on life
This was very nice. I had never seen this device used in a story and I must say that it has worked admirably. This is very well written.
Thank you.
Gwendolyn
I thought I had commented on
I thought I had commented on this when I first read it, shortly after it posted. I did give it a Kudo.
I liked this story.
Nice that he got a new shot at life, and that he came to realize it was a blessing and not a curse.
Hugs,
Kristy
After getting to the end mew
I came to the realization, that the 3 lives Jackie was living, was showing her real perception to things. It seems to me that Jackie really was Jackie in her soul, and that's why after getting hormones and surgery realized that being a man wasn't really what she wanted mew. It didn't seem forced to me, it looked more like how some people think they are transsexual, and realize they aren't. Like my brother, he thought he was a transsexual, he realized he wasn't, and then started enjoying life as a boy on HIS terms. That's what Jackie was realizing she could enjoy life as a girl on her terms. Liking feminine things doesn't make one female, liking masculine things doesn't make one male. Who we are is our own gender on our own terms. I am a girl on my terms, my friend is neither gender on my friend's terms. We all are allowed to be who we are on our terms mew. And that's what makes the world and everyone in it so precious.
I know who I am, I am me, and I like me ^^
Bisexual, transsexual, gamer girl, princess, furry that writes horror stories and proud ^^
I know who I am, I am me, and I like me ^^
Transgender, Gamer, Little, Princess, Therian and proud :D
"Life as a woman really was worth living."
Yep. It sure is. Welcome aboard the Fem train, sister!
Fascinating story.
Terry, the “easy way out” in a magical transformation story (which it it, despite the medical stuff) is to have the transformed person love exchanging their Jody for that of a pretty girl. Pretty much what I did in MaxWarp. Your willingness to wrestle with Ian’s dysphoria really sets this story apart. Fortunately for him/her it wasn’t permanent.
Emma