A Different Key – This time A flat major

Previous chapter - The following Tuesday I came home from school and changed into Jane before heading back to dad’s studio. That evening at dinner he told mom and me about how his studio now had a solid 4 months of booked out recording time, thanks to Crazy Music Recordings which was absolutely brill. Dad said that with my school’s long break coming up, he’d like me to be available to play on sessions as required, which he told me I’d get reimbursed for by his company once I was a signed union member of the local artist’s guild. He then got up and left the table for a moment before coming back and handing me a large bundle of forms I’d need to fill out and sign to apply for union membership.

A flat major

The amount of paperwork dad gave me to read that I’d need to fill out and sign just to become a member of the Musician’s Union seemed ridiculous. Then I’d need to wait for the union to vet all the information I supplied on the forms and decide Yay or Nay about my application and if I’d been successfully approved for union membership. IF I was deemed acceptable for membership, I’d then have to hand over $600 (which I didn’t have) just for the privilege of being a probationary (6 month period) member.

To my total and stunned amazement dad had been adamant in telling me after I’d signed the EOI with Crazy Music Records, that until I could show him a current paid up union membership card he wasn’t even going to allow me to operate any controls in the studio let alone play an instrument there, even if I only wanted to play and record something there for my own enjoyment. It seemed he was being extremely unfair because after all I’d never had to worry before about being a union member when I used his studio or even play on any of the tracks he recorded for that matter and I’d never thought of dad of ever being a “union” supporter or even a member of one for that matter.

When I finally received by return post my membership card about 4 weeks later, my comment “Well hallelujah brothers and sisters and praise the lord……. big deal” had dad laughing loudly about my personal opinion on Union membership. As soon as he saw it he reverted back to being the “dad” I knew and loved as he began (at rapid machine gun fire) offering suggestions as to songs I might like to consider recording, what to choose for the musical accompaniment, whether to have mum sing back up or not now I had become a carded musician.

I’d been using the time while waiting for my membership to improve myself as Jane and had been seriously discussing a lot of things with mum since that first fateful night. It was now almost three months since my parents had first seen and met Jane and as much as dad still wasn’t entirely sure about her, she was living here 24/7 apart from school day hours.

Mom didn’t mind in the slightest. In fact she quickly grew to love the idea of having a daughter to care for and help. It appeared that it was now Michael who was struggling to cope with life, while Jane (Seymour) was blooming. Jane’s clothes wardrobe for instance was now quite voluminous in quantity (as well as quality) thanks to mom and I now almost never went out anywhere with her except as Jane. Most of my Michael clothes now consisted mainly of “metrosexual” styles, as school didn’t have a designated uniform as such which it seemed was the only place Michael ever went to now.

My hair style appeared more undefined perhaps genderless would be the appropriate term for it as mom encouraged me to grow my hair out longer and thicker. My eyebrows were also now more subtly feminine shaped and because of mom’s insistence on a regular nighttime moisturizing regimen of my face as well as exfoliating my body, Michael definitely looked and cut a less “masculine image” (for want of a better term) in public.

As to how my circle of friends took to the new Michael? I’d say the net result achieved about the same results overall. By that I mean I lost most of my dorky male school friends and countered it by about the same number of girls and guys who liked the appearance and mannerisms of the new Michael and spoke with me. That alone brought about a widening schism between me (Michael) and any hopes of ever being accepted by the general school populace overall.

For those of you who have never understood (or cared) the schoolyard hierarchy ladder (and if you never understood or cared you really must have been either brain dead or a mindless vegetable), the ladder shows Jocks and Cheerleaders at the top, their close friends along with hangers on a rung or two below, then a few rungs lower down the “Drones” or the majority of the student body (including teachers) at school. Then there were the Brainiacs and Nerds about ten rungs below the Drones. Fifteen rungs below even them were “the Pathetics” and last and least were “the Weirdos” which amounted to absolute social suicide at school.

The new Michael fitted in somewhere between the ladder rungs of the Brainiacs and the Pathetics. that meant I’d lost the friendship of most of the other guys who like myself simply wanted to be left alone to make our own choice of school friends and not have to pay homage to the school’s social elite publicly, while silently acknowledging their superiority over all that breathed at school.

Unfortunately I’d replaced it with guys of questionable masculinity who were treated worse than any weirdo, along with a lot of girls most of whom could only dream of being socially acceptable by a cheerleader but until then, chose to offer their friendship (along with opinions on style) to there just as socially outcast lesser school brethren. The slang term used most often around school to describe girls who liked effeminate men was “fag hags”.

I just wished that the effeminate guys now talking to me hadn’t be so open about it! But I actually enjoyed talking to the girls, some of them who were quite attractive if now socially outcast due to poorly timed comments or spoken opinions. So overall I now spoke to a lot less guys than I used to and replaced those with gay students as well as a few socially inept lonely girls who simply like to talk and gossip with other students.

With every new day, Jane became more confident and happy as if she’d always existed. And each day at school Jane (as Michael) would have loved to have been able to talk to the other girls about fashion and makeup. Every girl at school wore make up to some extent, but some of the girls while still pretty with the makeup they wore, could’ve been absolutely drop dead foxes if I’d been able to show them how to apply their makeup differently. That and a bit of thought as to the clothes they wore often had me bursting at the seams to say something, although saying something might well have been the end of my secret. Still just once I wished I could have gone shopping with some of them on a weekend instead of having to patiently listen to them relate their shopping experiences most lunchbreaks.

When as Jane I was out somewhere I’d often watch one or more of my female school friend’s walk past me subtly inspecting what another female “opponent” was attired in or what makeup I had on. It still amazed me how none of them appeared to know that the girl they were walking past was Michael in feminine attire. I was also grateful that our school social ladder rung also deterred visiting other people’s places and seeing their parents, as more often than not mom was usually with me and sometimes even dad shopped with us.

Those trips were a hoot because dad often walked around humming a melody or quietly singing lyrics to a song he’d recently recorded and more often than not, either mom or myself or both of us would just as quietly provide either the accompaniment or an alternative one and walk along with a subtle melodic feminine sway to our gaits, occasionally breaking out into sounds loud enough for others to hear nearby. This almost invariably had the other one, sometime both of us quickly letting the others know to tone it down and keep it silent. The number of weird looks we got from people nearby watching us didn’t seem to bother any of us in the least, although it usually saw a curtailment of the silent music jams for a short while until some melody popped into one or the other of our heads and saw us doing it all over again, just a lot further on down the shopping precinct.

The longer Michael fought with Jane for existence, the weaker I became while Jane grew stronger. At school, Jane’s mannerisms were becoming more dominant paling Michael’s to the point of almost none. I regularly now mimicked the behavior of all my “fag hag” girlfriends, which because of mom’s determined assistance at home simply made it seem easier to go with the “Jane” flow.

Mom was also providing me with (secretly agreed to) female hormone supplements. My entire body chemistry was slowly beginning to change from male to female. Everything about my external appearance began slowly changing such as my body hair becoming ever so slightly finer, along with the hair on my head which now had a slight sheen to it. My facial skin was also looked slightly different, which an often stray remark from a female friend, would make the other girls nearby or around me suddenly look for the change the girl had mentioned and remark on other changes I appeared to have, now more noticeable when they looked closer at me.

I pretended to appear tolerate to these sessions of observation and never outwardly showing signs of smirking. As Jane away from school, every one of my friends had seen me so often now and not realized it, that I privately wished I could have gone to school as Jane and no longer Michael. When the last day of school began, my wanting to be Jane instead of Michael grew ever stronger than before. Mom and I had begun talking about my feelings a lot recently and while mom could see how unhappy I was as Michael, asked for me not to talk to dad about it until she had had a chance to talk to him privately about things.

One thing was for certain in my own mind. Michael was on life support in ICU while Jane was trying to force the doors open to escape.

One Saturday after the start of summer break, dad and I (Jane) were shopping together with nothing particular in mind to purchase, when he diverted me into the local music store to browse a while. Inside there we encountered several groups of amateur musicians trying out instruments. Honestly most of the customers sounded terrible when they played and that’s putting it gently, but it didn’t stop dad from moving closer to a few of them and listen in.

With a head signal it was time to leave, we left the store and continued window browsing. All the while dad kept asking me questions about my school’s recording studio and radio station, which students studying music or film/sound production subjects were entitled to use both for training experience in using the equipment as well as providing in-house music for students to listen to in their earbuds or from the school speakers in the school canteen.

So far, although I’d now been an officially accredited union musician for about a fortnight, dad hadn’t mentioned when he and I would get together to start to record any of the five songs Crazy Music Records had offered to pay for. So perhaps it might have been the side trip to the music store that saw him asking me a number of questions about the school’s policy as to what music was played in-house there. He’d been openly honest (and skeptical) in telling me after I’d signed the EOI and Rick Daring had left, that he didn’t think the company would spend much money promoting any of my songs unless someone there thought they had a cash cow waiting to happen.

On Tuesday night after dinner dad quietly came into my open room while I/Jane was lying on my bed reading a magazine and without saying a word, slid some sheets of paper under my nose and lowered them till I could see they were music. He forcefully tapped two fingers on the pages of sheet music before leaving the room as quietly as he’d entered. Needless to say, Jane immediately began browsing the music then humming the melody. I already knew the song quite well, so quickly getting up to go and find dad, assumed the music he’d placed in-front of me was the song he wanted me to record.

Once I got up and corralled dad and had him tell me the obvious, we went and found mom then went and all sat down together to discuss his idea for the song.

But instead of dad starting to tell me more about the song idea he had in mind, he instead began asking me about Jane and how I was coping as her. His unexpected inquiry had me blushing as I told him how I was felling and how I felt about being Jane during the school holidays. I noted that mom didn’t say a thing as dad continued asking questions about me. Eventually mom grew tired of being a silent observer and asked dad why all the questions. His reply left me speechless!

An hour later (only interrupted by mom phoning up for takeaway) everything seemed to be decided on. Well as for Jane’s life anyway or at least her life during school hours. In just seven weeks time I’d be going back to school as Jane and Michael would be being sent to live with relatives on the other side of the country. The look of excitement and happiness on my face was matched only by my dads who continued to not only compliment me, but seemed to be genuinely thrilled for me. When mom had heard along with me why dad had been so “suddenly” converted (while never being actually “against” Jane) she was just as excited for me, not only because she was the one person who truly knew how I felt as Jane, but because dad had offered me the chance of a new life, an exciting life and along with it, the opportunity to explore whether my musical abilities might be better off down a female path.

During the takeaway meal dad expounded more on his strategy about how best to use my EOI offer for the best eventual outcome. He felt (and mom and I quickly saw his wisdom and agreed with him) we should use the 5 recording sessions, to firstly determine which was my best musical genre, and then concentrate on it. Funnily enough I’d never given the thought of a music genre to be that important, but I have to admit when dad asked me what my favorite style of music was, I had to mention several back to him. His smile and nodding head soon had him asking more detailed questions, which as Jane I tried to answer honestly (often with some help from mom for added definitiveness).

I’d never thought too much about the genre “Popular” before. But dad broke it down into sub categories and then into sub- sub categories for me, taking the time to mention several which I seemed to like and which I agreed with. Then he confused me entirely by stating I also showed a propensity towards Country and Country and Western as well as Folk. He named female artists in each genre of music, while also pointing out how women could also sing “male” songs if they chose the correct arrangement to sing.

Dad’s idea was to try and find some way to get some of my recordings played at school, trying to get students there asking local radio stations to play them and gauge the reactions to it all. Then we’d approach some of his music contacts as well as Crazy Music Records for a possible 1,3 or even 5 record contract, that they’d promote heavily because it was a financial decision and bottom line always ruled in the music industry.

As Jane, I’d also need to try and get enrolled at school to study music and possibly audio and film production classes too, because if the school radio station also aired songs with film clips, I’d be a better proposition for a program like MTV to play my song if it had a film clip, particularly if I had a recording company behind me paying for it. By the time the last of the fortune cookies was eaten, it had been decided when dad would do the first recording session. Meantime, mom and “Jane” had to work out how to sing the song dad had given me, or if we’d prefer another one to rehearse it till it felt good enough to sing instead. My eventual interpretation and singing of the song I’d select, would depending on if there was enough genuine commercial feedback, determine if that was my most suitable genre to try and capitalize on. Otherwise I had four more chances and genres we could try.

But it all turned out it to be a false start, of sorts.

Mom and I had a mother daughter talk in my room before I went to sleep that night. In her mind, Jane would find it hard to settle in at her “new” school and we wouldn’t be able to find out until I was enrolled whether I could get into a music class or even an audio or film production class. She felt I might be wiser to just get Jane settled at school first, before asking around about anything there. She said It might well be that dad’s ideas mightn’t be realistic until we knew more so the groundwork could be worked out. So the following morning we told dad at breakfast of Jane and mom’s decision and got him to nod his head and say it was a smart move to stop and see once we knew more.

Mom suggested Jane and she should spend the Sunday after lunch down in the studio while dad was still out playing golf, so that’s what we did. With a lot of patience and playbacks, we managed to record three different styles of the song Stay Awhile dad had suggested I should sing. When dad came home (on a high from winning a box of balls for nearest to pin), he joined us adding his own particular knowledge as well as instrument playing to versions 2 and 3.

Almost the entire following fortnight was spent with mom seeing our legal professionals and getting them to handle Jane’s sudden appearance. She (and therefore I) learned how the “old boys” network worked, so my “sudden” birth and appearance was covered from further investigation. That same network made my re-enrolling at school as easy as possible and also allowed me to apply for both the Audio and Film Production courses, which depending on numbers enrolled already, may still have places available. Mom and Jane spent the Wednesday before school restarted at the school’s admin office reworking my subject choice since the Audio course was already filled and on the following day did some minute school clothes shopping along with a mani-pedi for mom and me to calm any last minute nerves.

On Sunday night I thought I’d never get any sleep before having to get dressed for school, so I couldn’t believe I’d slept so long when the alarm went off the next morning. Mom came into my room after I’d showered to help me get ready. We’d both had already decided on what I should wear today so perhaps she felt her appearance here was more for comfort and steadying of nerves. It would have been too until she told me she’d put a sedative in my drink last night to help me sleep. No wonder I felt so calm still, I’d been drugged by my mom!

As I sat down at my vanity and started putting on my face, mom sat on my bed next to me quarterbacking. With her constantly reminding about “less is more”, it felt like I took twice as long as it normally took me. Perhaps that was because mom talked about her own days at school. After getting her silent nod of approval on my makeup, I started to cover the underwear I had on. Last night we’d both agreed on what clothes Jane should wear today with the idea of making nothing stand out prominently. I’d end up looking pretty (that couldn’t be helped unless I used crayons instead of makeup) but it was very important I didn’t look like a “hottie”. Asking mom if she’d ever been one had her placing her hands under her bust and lifting it slightly and telling me “damned right I was honey….hot and smokin”. Then she laughed before turning serious and needlessly reminding me that I needed to stay in the shadows for a while and stay out of the sight of the Princess Brigade, meaning the cheerleaders and any of the girls that hung around them.

That’s why my outfit’s top wasn’t too clingy and my skirt was knee length with a split flesh colored half-slip underneath that made both loose and airy finished off with a pair of black colored kitten heel shoes. My appearance was very much on par with what the girls wore during the holidays. True I had to use a new back pack for my books and things as well as a new laptop, but I was sure no one would even notice and if they did, I’d claim I lost my old one when I moved here. After I put my hair in a middle placed scrunchie mom told me I looked the personification of a typical everyday 16 year old high school junior girl. Mom then drove me to school and gave me a kiss on the cheek and best wishes, before driving off and leaving me to face my immediate future.

I walked into the school grounds slightly apprehensive while doing my best to try and see if my appearance was drawing stares or worse still students pointing their fingers towards me. After checking in with the school’s administration office to get my locker assignment, I headed for my registration room and tried to calmly allow curious eyes to glance over me along the way. Shortly after entering the room and finding a desk, the girl at the desk beside mine said hello, then offered her name before manners had me give her my own name and the information that I’d just moved here. We did a quick check of our timetables to find nothing compatible we could share, but she did a double take at seeing my classes for advanced English, Calculus and Mathematics. I also had science, plus band, music, and film production.

I turned back round to listen to the class room’s small tinny speaker announce something that didn’t concern me while my first new school friend had already turned the other way and was talking to someone else, but hopefully not about me. The bell for first class found me being swept along in a chattering student tide through the corridors to my first official class for the day. I only hoped that I’d get a desk somewhere towards the middle of the room and not at the front…….. oh yes thank goodness, where the teacher just handed out the proposed text book for that subject along with writing a course outline on the whiteboard for everyone to copy.

Each class followed a similar pattern up until lunchtime. I’d already made a brief detour to the admin office to ask if I could be reassigned a locker closer to my main classes, which I was told would be arranged if possible and I’d be contacted if and when one could be found. By lunchtime I also committed to memory the names of five girls I’d spoken to classes this morning, although I was certain a lot more girls knew my name from talking to each other. At lunch, I was lucky enough to grab a table by myself that soon had it quickly filled with other girls I’d seen from classes this morning, so this was how I made my first introductions.

My timetable showed that every Monday would be the only day I’d have entire afternoons devoted to elective subjects. Every other day would see only my final three periods related to my electives Music, Film Production and Band, with band always being the last subject each day. It also wasn’t too surprising I suppose to see that some of my other advanced classes students also took music related electives, but it was when I saw that of the other five I now knew visually (if not at first the four girl’s names) only one of them was a guy - Brad. But our band class was made up of about 45 boys of varying ages (including Brad) along with only 5 girls.

I’d only listed Band as an elective after I’d been notified that Audio Production course was already filled and had no idea as to what Band entailed, so I hadn’t bought an instrument with me to class. Not because I couldn’t have as I had quite a choice at home in dad’s studio which I could play. But everyone else today had bought their instruments, so I was looking at having to risk the teacher Mr. Carmichael select something for me to play or else I’d have to offer a suggestion. Since I’d never attended a Band class before (or Music either for that matter) I assumed there’d be a few students there who’d be first timers and wouldn’t have brought their own instruments. Guess I was wrong there!

As the other students knew what instruments they were to play and had been involved in the school’s band for several years, they only needed to stand/sit in the position in the band while I was left standing alone looking at everyone else look back at me. Mr. Carmichael already knew me from his Music class and he knew I could at least play the piano, but he was also keen to get on with the double period and must have expected all the students to have bought their instruments along, which meant Jane was soon facing my worst fear of a first day at school with sarcasm or ridicule being directed at me publicly by another student or a teacher. I hurriedly searched the huge music room for an instrument and spotted a decrepit and badly beat up old Xylophone (unlike the one in dad’s studio) leaning up against the back wall, which I quickly went and managed to carry over while being told by Mr. Carmichael where to place it at the back of the band, which regrettably turned out to be near the students playing drums.

While everyone was getting settled in place, he loudly zinged “are you ready to be part of the band now Miss Seymour” as he stepped up onto a conductor’s dais, announcing the music he wanted everyone to play and begin beating time with his baton. If one of the boys playing drums hadn’t quickly given me his music stand with the music score pegged to it, I would have had to interrupt Mr. Carmichael before the band even began playing.

From the playing of the first note, a horrible sound of almost 50 instruments playing off key and out of both tune and tempo started. What amazed me most was when the instrument playing finally stopped he said it was quite good for a first day back effort! How any classes nearby could have conducted lessons was beyond my imagination.

If this was what I had to look forward to of a Monday (and any other day) from now on, I just hoped we’d never get asked to play something for the public. Mr. Carmichael’s critiques of the performance while trying not to be spiteful to anyone he spoke to, should have been directed entirely at the band’s drummers. They were not only out of time and overly loud drowning out most of the band’s instruments, but had no idea as to the drum beat that was needed for the piece we just played. Instead they got a collective “good work, you just need some fine tuning boys”.

Before Band ended however, Mr. Carmichael handed me a glazed plastic bag holding a purple colored mothball smelling bundle of clothing along with a number of music scores with the instruments marked on them as to what note they needed to play. I was informed I needed only to learn the first two lines of each page of manuscript probably because Mr. Carmichael hadn’t even considered the concept of an old Xylophone being played in Band.

Until I learned which bus went to what area, mom said she’d arrange to pick me up and drive me to school. Our drive home on my first day at school was done with every window opened to try and smother the mothball reek. I spent it telling my mom about how Jane had gone in each class (which included lunch).
When the car stopped outside our garage, mom told me to go hang out whatever was in the bag and she’d wash it tomorrow and have me try it on for size. Afterwards I spent almost an hour telling mom all about what Jane had done today at school which had both mom and I satisfied Jane had survived her first day, well except for Band class I suppose she had.

Unlike last night mom didn’t do anything to my late night drink to help Jane sleep this time. Instead I simply went over everything in my head about today before I drifted off to sleep. I woke up the next morning and silently cursed to myself about forgetting to tell dad some answers to some of his questions about the school’s studio he’d asked me to find out.

And just like yesterday morning, mom greeted me when I walked back to my room with my damp towel tied up just above where my false B cups were glued onto my chest. Unlike yesterday though, mom didn’t help me with my clothes this morning. She simply winked as I put on a nicer set of underwear than the ones I’d worn yesterday. But I was careful about my outer clothes though. Jane normally wore a short denim skirt or tight jeans around the house during the holidays just ended, but I was still frightened about someone seeing Michael through the clothes and makeup, so I simply held out a pair of denim jeans for mom’s opinion and saw her nod her head in approval. The kitten heels I wore yesterday still matched this outfit so I needed nothing more than a pair of anklets to ensure my shoes didn’t blister my feet. Unlike yesterday I left putting on my face until I was dressed and decided when I put it on, to concentrate a little bit more around the eyes than yesterday. The silent look from mom as I finished up was worse than one of her arguments, so I turned back to the mirror and did just enough with my eye makeup to lessen the impact my smoky eyes attempt had left.

The drive in this morning left me a little early for registration so I spent the time sitting on one of the benches surrounding the base of a shade tree. Quietly meditating I was startled when a couple of the girls I’d talked to at lunch yesterday sat down either side of me and said hello and started talking with me. Before I realized it, I was in the middle of hearing about something Julie and her boyfriend did on the weekend when the bell went for registration class ending this important girl goss session.

Unlike yesterday which was mainly about handing out text books and course notes, today was the real start to the learning year. The desks I’d chosen for English, Calculus and Mathematics classes yesterday were already taken by others and surrounded by other desks with students quietly talking to one another until called to be silent. So as I spotted an empty desk I’d inquire as to whether it was taken, before by default I was eventually sitting among three other seemingly refugee students.

I hadn’t tried in any way to flout myself in any of my previous classes today (I was at pains to not even ask a question heaven forbid ), yet during Science, I discovered I didn’t necessarily need to parade myself to attract people. Our science teacher Mr. Morris was a favorite teacher of mine and in previous years in science class he’d always made it a point of trying to even out the benches with a fair mixture of students in an effort to avoid rowdy tables as well as to spread the brains around the room.

Each year he always allocated the best and brightest students first and any benches that held a “hottie” always had very quiet (but still audible) cheers or groans made as names were called out to sit at that bench. Since he had no idea that Jane had been one of his brightest and best, I had to stand among the others waiting to hear the bench I was allocated to. It allowed me to quietly peruse those already seated and I might have detected the barest sign of a return look directed at me. When I was eventually allocated (bench 6) I clearly heard a few male comments of hope. In the end I was the only girl on our 4 person bench and I spent most of the lesson trying to listen to Mr. Morris while attempting to discreetly answer whispered questions directed at me from my bench mates.

It was the same during the Film Production class. Normally the students doing this subject had done so since their sophomore years and knew who they wanted to sit with or team with. Being one of three other students who were doing the subject in their more senior classes this year for the first time, I was surprised to find myself being invited to join several working groups and eventually chose Brad’s group because we shared band and Music as well. At lunchtime the following day I learned through the girl grape vine I’d chosen badly and should have chosen another group to work with.

Today, music with Mr. Carmichael was alright and I found myself in a small study group there by process of elimination (chance) as he simply called my name and mentioned another girls name that I recognized from band class coming up next. My last class each day, Band, was almost as bad as yesterday except that today the emphasis was on relearning (or in my instance learning) about Band drill marching “foot cadence”.

Now I had all the answers to questions dad needed, at dinner this evening I told mom and dad all about how music was selected to be played on air at school as well as about how the school hired out filming equipment to students of a weekend, provided they supplied a $1,500 security deposit either in cash or by credit card. On hearing about all the rules relating to the music selection dad asked me to find out more about the procedure relating to how a CD or a memory stick was lodged with the studio before announcing that the three of us might try and get my first recording done this coming Sunday and he was pleased with mom’s and my agreement about his choice of song form me.

When dad had first handed me the music to for my first recording, I knew how it sounded because I’d heard it played through the home’s music speakers several times while I’d been growing up. Stay Awhile had been first recorded more than 40 years before I was even born and even my mom hadn’t been born when it had been recorded. I’d looked the song up on the net and read that’d been a sort of “hit” at the time. Dad’s strategy for choosing it was that with the recent wave of nostalgia still fresh in people’s minds, Jane should record it not so much for any possibilities of it becoming a hit once again, but more to determine which style of music might suit my vocal range, which he said when he’d first heard Jane’s voice, had quiet an extraordinary octave spread from tenor baritone through to soprano.

On Sunday morning Dad and I spent several hours playing the instruments needed for the melody, while mom sat at the console recording and mixing it all. When dad was satisfied the melody sounded right he started on the vocals after lunch. But almost 7 hours later, none of us were entirely happy with the end result. Mom finally announced we’d have to think about it a bit more and try to get back to it when dad had another break in his work schedule.

Perhaps I felt a bit drained (or was it disappointed) that the session hadn’t been perfect and I’d known that feeling before more than once or twice before, but unlike dad or mom for that matter, “Jane” didn’t know how to handle it the right way. Mom found me quietly crying to myself in my bedroom later while I was getting ready for bed. It took she took some time for her holding and hugging to work till I was cried out. Those hormone supplements of mom’s were certainly beginning to play havoc with my emotions.

Even the following morning I woke up still not emotionally settled. My face showed red swollen eyes that mum needed to show me a way to remove the puffiness from. Luckily we had a cucumber in the fridge’s vegetable crisper or I would have looked a mess at school. Classes that day felt like being in a funeral procession, slow and frustrating. The only bright spot in the day turned out to be lunch where I seemingly gained another new friend among the girls. All I can say is thank goodness for guys, fashion and music for lunch today because it was all I we talked about as we ate.

I ended a terrible school day by getting the school bus home. I’d found out which bus went closest to our street and mom seemed glad she wouldn’t have to drop me off or pick me up from school from now on. During the day mom had apparently washed my band uniform, because she announced after dinner, I’d need to try it on so she could get any adjustments pinned so a tailor could sew it to make the uniform fit properly.

Over the years I’d seen the school’s band uniform often enough to know why everyone hated it. Well not everyone hated it. Most of the band’s musicians seemed to like them although style and fashion degrees couldn’t have been among their knowledge attainments. Perhaps they thought the tag “Purple People Eaters” was something to be proud of. Admittedly our school’s sport’s teams liked the tag, but they would, they were jocks. I’d often hear the sarcasm used by students when talking to or about the band member’s uniforms as well as the marching girl’s outfits.

When I tried on Jane’s band jacket and trousers after mom’s washing the smell out of it, all my fears of being publicly outed became more real. Even with the alterations to make it less tent like, I dreaded the expected verbal (and therefore visual) attention I’d get once I turned up at school wearing the uniform. Mom said she’d get it retailored before Friday coming, which was when the band was to do a dress rehearsal that also entailed a photo for media purposes. When I tried on the altered uniform Thursday night, mom was almost ready to call 911 after I began hyperventilating badly and it took a lot of calming hugs and soothing words with her promise we’d go and see the tailors she’d used again on Saturday before I calmed down.

On Friday I rode to school on the bus with my plastic covered uniform hanging off the overhead head grab rail. Even that didn’t stop me from receiving a lot of sarcastic comments and taunts. Two of the Band members boarding the bus did so wearing their uniforms (the idiots) and they faced more ridicule than I could have ever imagined. At school I asked the ladies in admin if I could leave my uniform there till final period and learned it was the usual procedure.

The uniform aside for a moment, my worst fears about Michael being uncovered as Jane didn’t seem to be happening. In fact, everything that I hoped for about becoming Jane was actually starting to happen instead. I now had a lot more genuine friends (admittedly mainly girls) than I used to have as Michael (towards the end “You Hoo Michelle”) and I even spoke with a few straight guys as well. Brad (yuck) was one of those guys, but he unfortunately for me had some type of fixation about me that caused him to walk over and interrupt conversations with others I was talking with to discuss meaningless things. But opposite to him was Curtis, who even among my girlfriends was considered a hunk. He was another boy besides Brad that was talking to me more often than normal, which my girlfriends told me meant he was building up the courage to ask me out.

Scholastically, it didn’t take long for Jane to come to her teacher’s attentions either. My advanced classes had already had to lodge homework assignment essays, which had earned me A’s and even an A+ that now saw me being asked by teachers for answers to questions in class. Mom and I talked about that almost every night now and how I needed to avoid certain pitfalls if I was to make Jane’s newly found public attention in classes work in my favor. And each morning mom still kept a watchful eye over my school attire to make sure I was doing my best to keep out of the firing line of the Princess Brigade along with other bullies. None of the cheerleading girls spoke to me still, although a couple of the ones in my own year would raise a hand casually if they passed me while I smiled and bowed my head slightly in return of their even acknowledging my existence.

Music classes were at times interesting. The knowledge required in understanding a question relating to tempos or beats of music time was certainly improving my knowledge about music. Film production classes was a learning curve since everyone else in my group had two more years of technical knowledge more than I had. It exemplified I was a novice at the subject, but I tried to use Jane’s subdued looks to get every benefit I could.

By the end of the 4th week of school, Jane was about to celebrate almost 12 weeks of life. But I would have almost given it up if I could’ve found some way to sing dad’s song differently. I’d been trying for weeks to find the different rhythm that made me sound different to the original artist’s version of the song. “That” was the problem in both mine and mom’s minds. I seemed to be trying too much to sound too not sound like Dusty and because of it was failing. I’d recorded and remixed about a dozen different versions to find some noticeable difference I could hone in on but couldn’t find one. I’d even tried the Phil Spector approach and massed the instruments to produce a “Wall of Sound” but only found it marginally and not significantly better than any of my previous versions.

I was sitting in the lounge room with the TV turned down watching a show featuring old cartoons (some of which were my favorites when I was Michael) and was slowly strumming the chords of Stay Awhile and singing the words slowly, trying to find a way to make the song not sound like Dusty singing. Mom came in the room to clear away things and stopped to listen before walking off. I finally gave up on what I was trying to think of, with the thought of another useless effort ringing in my brain while I walked to the kitchen to get something to snack on and stopped to watch mom’s frantic keyboard antics. She was using her laptop and ear buds while her fingers literally flew across the keyboard, before leaning back in the chair and exhaling a loud breath of satisfaction.

Looking up and seeing my amused look, she stood up and forcefully dragged me over to sit down in the seat next to hers before she sat back down and extracting the earbuds jack and hit the enter key. The laptop’s speaker began emitting Stay Awhile through it before mom looked at me and said “listen”. Another tap produced a tune I knew very well and along with mom started singing “I only want to be with you”. Mom again said listen and with a finger tap I was listening to the same song but now sung very much slower and sung by another woman in a different key.

“That’s what I think I heard you trying to sing a few minutes ago” mom said to me before saying we should go to the studio and see if we can make the words match the tempo. After a few long and frustrating hours, we both felt I had the right cadence and versing in sync with the slower music tempo so mom re-recorded it before we started messing around adding different instruments in places to emphasis and highlight the mood I was trying to convey. With a CD copy and one on mom’s memory stick we went back upstairs and wait for dad to get home. After dinner and with both mom and I almost bursting out of our skins, mom told dad about what we’d done while he was out, although not telling him the exact specifics of the changes, before mom handed him her memory stick and said he should play it tomorrow sometime and give us his opinion tomorrow night at dinner.

School on Mondays would have to be the worst day of the week. But even this morning getting dressed and putting on a short denim skirt to wear instead of my usual outfits, I knew that it wasn’t going to be such a bad day. When mom didn’t say a word about my skirt when I kissed her good bye and perhaps that was a sign that Jane was finally being trusted enough by mom to be able to look after herself at school. It might have been my upbeat mood while my mind was singing my version over and over again throughout the day, perhaps it was the very different skirt to any I’d worn to school before, or how everyone behaved at lunch around me. But even double Band later on didn’t faze me in the slightest.

After I got home and did my homework, all the while listening over and over again to the song I’d recorded with mom, I went to the kitchen to help mom prepare the dinner plates passing dad on the way who simply asked if I’d had a good day at school. I might have hoped he’d tell me straight away what he thought of the recording but he didn’t say a word. Even during the meal he didn’t mention it nor did mom for that matter.

After the meal was finished and I’d done my kitchen cleaning up duties I joined mom and dad in the lounge room as I would have any night I didn’t have more homework to finish. Dad put me out of my agony and talked at length about the recording. Generally he liked my slower interpretation of the song and then gave me his reasons for not wanting to submit it to Crazy Music Recordings, citing the song was a one off or perhaps part of a one off album. While he liked my version very much, if I was a professional singer and tried to sing it at concerts, it’d be very hard to replicate the studio production sound. He gave a number of professional explanations for not being able to replicate the sound live, but also felt I should add the song to my musical resume. But as a commercial genre step, he felt it shouldn’t be one of my 5 EOI recordings, with mom nodding her head in apparent agreement and perhaps after a discussion while I’d been at school.

Seeing the look of anguish coming on my face, dad suggested I could try seeing if the school radio would play it a few times to see if the students there liked it. I might also consider lodging the tape at school under a non de plume and think of the recording as a bit of a ”teaser” release recording, telling me I should think of a short catchy type of name and use it to also release some of the songs on my demo resume. This spike bought mom into the conversation along with several immediate responses about a catchy name. Dad joined in the competition and after some good humored laughter we all seemed to agree on “Emerald” as a recording non de plume.

Dad also had a few ideas for adding some of the incidental music to my recording and a few nights later after tea and in little more than an hour, the final recorded version was decided on and was now even better thanks to some of dad’s haunting piano and slide guitar additions. I went upstairs later on happy with this final result and typed up a short letter which I’d enclose a spare memory stick in with it and drop it in the box outside Mr. Carmichael’s office tomorrow.

Perhaps I could always hope and dream that dad was wrong and the recording would make me an overnight sensation, but as much as I would‘ve liked for that to happen even I knew it never would.