"It isn't pink," she said defensively. "I know you don't like pink, so I didn't get pink. It's Peach Puff."

I went to the basement to check on my laundry. The white load was ready for the drier, so I started a dark load. That left enough for a third, mixed load. I didn't look forward to the ironing that would follow, but I still felt enough like a guest that I didn't want to weigh on my hostess, Mrs. Auburn. I mean, Mom.

As I worked, I thought about the time machine...

It had to be complete nonsense. As I went over the conversations we had, I realized that the Auburns didn't make any effort at all to convince me that the time machine was real... which struck me as evidence that the whole business was a very flimsy lie.

Maybe it was *supposed* to be a flimsy lie, so that I'd quickly see through it and get to the real truth.

Which was? I shook my head.

At the same time, I was sure and for certain a biological girl. How could I explain that?

AND, things were beginning to come back to me. I knew at once where the laundry detergent, softener, etc. were, and where I'd find the iron and ironing board.

It was nothing earth-shaking, but it was a start.

After that, I went into the kitchen, and — just for the hell of it, just to feel liked I lived in this house, I yanked open the refrigerator door and looked inside. Somehow, something in me was saying that's mine! that's mine! but I wasn't sure which articles of food or drink it was talking about.

So I shut the door and went upstairs to my room.

And there was Mom, in an old pair of highwater jeans and a oversized t-shirt. She was putting her hair up under a baseball cap. Everything in the room was covered with drop cloths, and the furniture had been pulled away from the walls.

"Wow," I commented. "You didn't waste any time! Do you want some help?"

She hesitated and looked at me. "Waste time?" she echoed, "Honey, I've been waiting to do this since you were eight years old."

"Really?"

"Yes! This room hasn't been painted in all that time! That's why it's so dingy! I don't know how you could stand it."

"I don't know either," I said. "I guess I couldn't decide on a color."

"Anyway," she half-interrupted, "I want to get it done before you change your mind or have second thoughts. And no — since you ask — I don't want any help. I'd rather you go away and let me do it. Why don't you call Eden and see if you can stay over there tonight?"

"You could stay in my room with me," Nina offered.

"Um," I said. It was clear that Mrs. Auburn — I mean, Mom — didn't want me underfoot. But I was worried about seeing Eden while I still didn't remember everything. "I'll stay with Nina," I said.

"Yay!" Nina cried.

"Okay," Mom said, with a look of great uncertainty and mistrust. "Well, why don't the two of you go off and... do something. Anything, as long as it's not right here."

"You could read to me," Nina said.

"Okay," I said. "Pick a book." She lifted the drop cloth that covered my bookcase, and dug around for a moment.

"So...," I said, looking at the can of paint in the middle of my floor. "What color did you get?"

"Marcie," she said, "Why don't you let me surprise you?"

"I won't change my mind!" I told her. "I swear!"

With great misgivings, she opened the can, and the color was...

"Pink!?" I cried in horror. Oh, brother! I suddenly remembered something: I remembered why I'd never let my mother choose the color of my bedroom.

"It isn't pink," she said defensively. "I *know* that you don't like pink, so I didn't get pink. It's Peach Puff."

"Okay," I said, trying to remember my promise. Whatever it was *called*, it was still pink. I hated it. I was sure I'd hate it for a long time to come.

"It will look different on the wall," Mom promised.

"Good," I said.

Nina emerged at that moment with a book in her hands. "Why don't we go downstairs and read?" I told her.

"Why don't you do that?" Mom told us. "That's a good idea. And don't come back up for a while. For a *long* while."

As we turned to go, Mrs. Auburn said, "Marcie? If you really don't like it, you can pick a new color, and I'll help you paint it, okay? Just give it a week, and then you can change it. If you want."

I nodded and smiled. "I appreciate it, Mom. The room really needs a lot of help. I'm going to try to keep it cleaner from now on."

She gave a cautious look, as if I've heard *that* before collided with the desire to not discourage me. She bit her tongue and said nothing.

I figured I'd throw her a bone: "Oh, and I'll throw out that old nightgown of mine."

She gave me a sheepish grin. "I already did," she confessed.

"Oh, well, uh, thanks," I replied.

Nina and I went downstairs and sat on the couch.

"Okay, so what is this book?" I asked.

"It's one of yours," she said, and handed me a well-worn copy of — what? Princess Marcelline, and other transgendered fairy tales, retold by Kaleigh Way.

"What the heck is this?" I asked her.

"It used to be your favorite book," she said. "I think because of the title."

Nina took the book from me, and turned the pages until she found the one she wanted to hear. "Read me this one."

"Please?"

"Please."

"Okay." I cleared my throat, and was about to begin, when Nina stopped me.

"Hey, you know why Mom says you can change the color?"

"Why?"

"Because she knows you won't."

I looked at Nina in silence. She grinned and shrugged and pointed at the book.

I cleared my throat a second time and started to read.

The Puir Laddie And His Godmother

"Oh, wait," said Nina. "What's a puir laddie?"

"I think it means poor boy," I told her. "I think it's Scottish."

"Why doesn't it just say 'poor boy', then?"

"I guess it sounds better," I replied, and shook the book so I could get on with it.

There was a time, oh so long ago, when your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather knew a man who knew a man who told the story of a poor couple who lived far off in a great forest.

The wife, as it happened, gave birth to a lovely baby boy, but the family was so poor that they couldn't get the laddie christened. You see, the parson didn't baptize babies just for the fun of it: he wanted his fee, and he wanted it first, so that he wouldn't go to all the trouble of sprinkling water on a child and THEN find out there was no money in it for him.

If there was any way of undoing a christening once it had been done, then the parson might have changed his tune, but as things stood there was nothing for it: the poor couple had to find the money, or the baby would remain unchristened.

And so, in the space of a single day, the father took himself from house to house and asked every soul he knew if they might be a godparent to his son. All were willing enough to stand, but not one of them felt the need to pay the fee.

At last, when there was no one left to ask, the poor fellow made his way home.

As he followed the path through the woods, he came upon a lovely lady dressed in fine clothes, who looked oh-so good and kind, through and through. She offered to get the baby christened, but after that, she said, she must keep the child as her own.

The father answered, "Fair enough, but I must ask my wife what she thinks about it."

When he got home and told her, his wife said, "No!"

The next day, the husband thought that someone might have changed their mind, and might say yes after they'd slept on the matter. But though he begged and prayed, he found no help.

Once again, on the way home, he met the lovely lady, who looked so sweet and good, and she made the same offer as the day before.

With a heavy heart, the man went home and told his wife how things had gone, and she said, "Husband, it's a hard lot we've been given, but try again tomorrow, just one more day. If no one will stand for the soul of our puir wee bairn, we must let the lady have her way, if she truly is as good and kind as you say."

The third day the man went out to ask again, but it was worse than the day before. And yet he tried with all his heart, and once again asked every single person that he knew, low and high, far and near, for a third and final time, but no one would do what he asked.

So, on the way home, when he met the lady again, he gave his word that she could have the child if only she would have him christened at the font.

The next day she came to the poor little cottage, along with two strong men to serve as godfathers. She took the baby and carried him straight to the church, where he was christened. After that, she took him to her own house, and treated the boy as if he were her very own son.

Time passed, and the boy grew, until he was nearly half-ways to being a handsome young fellow.

Then the day came when his foster-mother told him, "I must go on a journey. I'll return in a few days. While I'm gone, you may go anywhere in this house except for these three rooms." And she showed him which rooms she meant.

As you might guess, the moment his foster-mother was gone out of sight, the boy could bear it no longer, and he opened the first door, but just a wee little bit! just a crack! just a sliver! And when he did — POP! out flew a star.

I stopped at that point and looked at Nina, who giggled. "Go on," she urged.

When his foster-mother came back, she was very vexed to find that the star had flown off, and she got so angry that she threatened to send the boy away. But the child begged her, and promised and swore that he'd never do the like again, and so she let him stay.

Sure enough, time passed, and the foster-mother found that she had to go off on another journey, and just as before she made the laddie promise to stay away from the other two rooms, the rooms in which he'd never been. He promised that he would, and told her he'd be good as good, but as soon as he was left alone he began to think and wonder what on earth could be in the second room! At last he could stand it no longer, so he put his foot against the door, and pulled it just a crack, just enough to peep inside, when POP! out flew the Moon.

Nina erupted in a fountain of giggles.

"Nina, really," I said. "The Moon?"

"I like the POPs!" she said, smiling. "Come on, keep reading, keep reading!"

This time, when the foster-mother came home and saw what the boy had done, she fell into a deep sadness, and said, "There's nothing for it, my boy. You cannot stay with me a moment longer." But the lad wept so bitterly, and begged so earnestly, that when he asked her with all his heart to forgive him this time, too, she told him he could stay.

"Let me guess what happens next," I told Nina. "She goes on another trip."

Nina smiled impishly. "Maybe," she said. "But maybe not! Go on! Keep reading! Let's see!"

Time passed, and once again the foster-mother had to go away. This time she spoke quite seriously to the laddie, and told him he was old enough to understand, and that promises were made to be kept, and so on and so forth. She told him to be sure not to try, or even think of trying, to go into, or even to peep, through the smallest crack of the third and final room.

The boy promised quite sincerely, but the moment he was left alone, he ran to the door of the third room and put his ear against it. He didn't hear a thing. He wondered whether he could climb up and look through the window, but there was no way it could be done. He went off and did his level best to keep himself busy, but his thoughts kept drifting back upstairs to that little room.

At last he sighed and told himself, "I've learned my lesson with the first two doors! I won't make the same mistake again! This time I'm SURE I can make the teeniest tiniest wee little crack of a crack, and then I'll slam it shut. Nothing will come sailing out this time! See if it won't! Come on, then, my lad, buck up! Let's see what's hidden in that room! I'm sure I can do it, and my lady will never know!"

The boy pushed and pulled on the door at the same time, and tried to be as clever as clever could be. Still — as I'm sure you've already guessed — the moment he saw the smallest sliver of light — POP! out flew the Sun.

"Oh, Nina!" I cried. "The Sun? How could it be the Sun? If the Sun was locked up in a room, there wouldn't be any Sun in the sky! It would be night all the time!"

Nina guffawed. "Maybe this was back in the days *before* the Sun was in the sky."

I sighed. "There never was such a time," I told her.

"Just go on!" she said, tapping the open page. "Let's see what the mother does. Do you think she'll forgive him?"

I supposed she would, but I read on anyway.

Well, this time when the foster-mother returned, she was truly downcast, and when the laddie saw her face, he realized what an awful thing he'd done.

"You have cut me to the heart, my son," she said, and a tear ran down her face. "I have no more grace to give you. This time you must truly go. You cannot stay a moment longer."

The boy understood that now she would not bend, but still he wept and pleaded. He apologized, but it did no good. And promise? He could not: there was nothing left to promise; there were no more doors to open; he'd done all the wrong he could possibly do.

"Though it hurts me to do so, I must punish you as I send you away!" his foster-mother told him, "And yet, because I love you, you may choose your punishment yourself: you can either be the loveliest woman on earth, and not able to speak, or keep your speech and be the ugliest of men. Whichever fate you choose, away from me you must go."

The lad said, "Well, I'm sure I don't want to be ugly!" So he turned at once into a wondrously beautiful girl, but from that day onward, she was mute as a stone.

The girl left the house and went walking and wandering, and soon she came to a path through a forest. The farther she went along the path, the more distant the end seemed to be.

At last evening came, and in the darkness she climbed a tree, which grew over a spring, and arranged herself in a way that she could sleep without falling.

Close by the spring stood a castle, and each morning from that castle came a maid to draw water to make the Prince's tea. The maid came just below the tree in which the girl was sleeping.

When she bent to draw the water, the maid saw the girl's lovely face reflected and thought it was her own. She tossed away the pitcher and ran home, saying, "If I'm that pretty, I'm far too good to be fetching water!"

So another maid had to go, but the same thing happened to her: She, too, came back without the pitcher, saying, "I didn't know I was such a ravishing treasure! I'm far too beautiful to be fetching water!"

"Nina, come on!" I protested. "These girls are too stupid! Nobody could believe they'd never seen their reflection before! If there was a monkey in the tree–"

"Okay, okay!" she said. "You always stop there, anyway."

© 2008 by Kaleigh Way

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