Darren / Jaime - Out of the Hospital
So I’m finally out! “Home sweet home!” Yeah right.
It’s been months since I last set foot in Jaime’s apartment, my apartment I guess. Fortunately I’ve had Ginessa and Vinessa. After visiting me in the hospital they took my keys and started taking turns looking after my place. I’m so glad that they’ve been here supporting me. The thought of coming back to wilted plants and a refrigerator full of spoiled food is disgusting. They’ve been a big help.
I’ve also gotten to see a whole new side to Jaime’s parents. Jaime’s mother has been at my side every day since the accident. She cried when I first woke up from the coma. Jaime’s father was there too. It’s strange. My first memory after waking was the feeling of his hand stroking the hair on my head. When my eyes opened he smiled and said, “That’s my girl.” I just remember a feeling of warmth and love.
Its strange because looking back I don’t really know how to feel. I can only describe as guilt??? They’re not my mom and dad. I know they see me as their daughter and love me in that way, but I just don’t feel the same way. I do my best to act like I’m returning their love, but I feel like I’m not being faithful to my real parents. And just as bad; I’m receiving the love that is really meant for Jaime. The real Jaime… I’m a phony… a fake.
The past year has been one bizarre moment after another. So much so that I can’t help but feel like my life has been slipping away; the holes slowly being filled in with one girly lesson after another. At what point is it my life and not Jaime’s? Do I really have a choice now? What am I going to do now?
I’m still a freaking chick! I have no idea where my real body is! Everything has just fallen a part. I’d be depressed but somehow I really don’t feel like I have the right to be. Despite all that’s happened I’m still alive. And that brings me something I’ve been reluctant to share.
Unfortunately I can’t put this off any longer. Alicia is dead.
I remember waiting anxiously at the motel for Alicia’s return. A couple of weeks later she did and in a new body. I don’t remember Alicia being sad at the fact that she was still male. I think the new name she had was what bothered her more. Something to do with having the same name as an ex-boyfriend?
Anyway, that night we decided to celebrate. I’d gotten tired of being cooped up in that motel room. We drove a mile or two before finding a bar. We talked for hours. I was ecstatic to be so close to getting my life back. Alicia was relieved that she’d no longer have to live a life in the military. We had every right to be happy.
I drank, but not too much. After that one night with Ginessa I’d decided to watch how much I drink. That didn’t stop Alicia. Seven beers later and I knew Alicia was in no condition to drive. I took the keys and started driving back to the motel
The police tell me I had nothing to do with the crash. Everybody keeps telling me that I did the right thing instead of letting Alicia drive. Alicia’s blood alcohol level was over the legal limit. Mine wasn’t but that doesn’t make me feel any better. Even as I took the keys from Alicia I knew I wasn’t at my best. It would have been safer to wait an hour and let the buzz ware off.
It didn’t help that I remember laughing during the drive back to the motel. Alicia was being goofy and I couldn’t help but giggle. Alicia had inherited a funny face and appeared to be a happy drunk. Maybe if I’d been paying more attention then I would have noticed the SUV that wasn’t slowing down? As we passed through the intersection the other car ran the light and hit the passenger’s side dead on. That’s as far as my memory takes me.
The police tell me the driver of the other car was drunk and died instantly. Sadly, so did Alicia. The right side of the car looked like a crushed soda can. Alicia’s side took most of the impact. The remaining force sent my head smashing against the side window. The doctors tell me that I was fortunate. Tell that to Alicia.
I’m a jumble of thought’s and feelings. I know I’m not responsible for the crash, but I still feel like it was my fault. I was behind the wheel. Maybe I could have swerved out of the way? If only I had waited another hour before getting back in the car. If only we hadn’t gone out for drinks.
To top that off I feel ashamed. I’ve been so selfish obsessing over getting my real body back. If it weren’t for my plan Alicia would still be alive. I know the accident wasn’t foreseeable, but that doesn’t change what happened. But that’s really beside the point. When I first woke up I didn’t remember anything. I didn’t remember that Alicia had already switched bodies. When Jamie’s parents first told me the news that the man I was traveling with had died; I welled up with panic and fear in my heart. A cold shiver ran over me as the warmth left my skin. My mind screamed, “I’m dead!” My body is gone!
Later I realized that it was Alicia who had died. In that moment my grief turned to hope, but just as quickly back to grief. The thought that I could still get my real body made me happy. Then I realized that there is nothing to be happy about. Alicia is dead! I want to tell myself its normal to feel this way, but I know it isn’t or that it shouldn’t. Like I said, I feel ashamed.
Ginessa and Vinessa have done their best to console me. Like I said they've been so helpful. But weirdly enough the one person I want to talk to isn't around. Casey hasn't been to see me since I was first admitted to the hospital and even then I was still in a coma. It’s disappointing. I could use a friend right now.
Labels: accident, Alicia, guilt
Arthur/Penny: Even when you get a break...
I had forgotten how insanely hectic the newspaper business is. I had somewhat naively thought that working on the giveaway dailies would be easier. After all, anyone who has read one of the things has to wonder just how much work actually went into them: Just pull things off the wire services, cut it down to one or two column-inches that any reader who knows the first thing about the subject is little more than stating the obvious, and use half the space for pictures.
There is, of course, more to it, especially for those of us in the sports department. In Boston even more than most cities, that section is going to be dominated by local content, so you are doing a fair amount of actual writing. Of course, you're still working within tight word limits, so you're still cutting down, and it's a lot more frustrating to reduce one's own prose than to pull relevant sentences from someone else's. Especially if you've spent all day on the phone, trying to call anybody who might have any sort of insight about Tom Brady's injury.
My last experience at a newspaper was also at the tail end of them seriously denying the importance of the web. I didn't work in sports much then - I did some, as interns go wherever they're told - but even though the deadlines for a daily paper are always tight, it's nothing compared to now. And now is the word - something happens, and you have to have a story up on the website
right now, constantly updated, while at the same time you're constantly updating the cut down version that will appear in tomorrow's paper.
That doesn't even begin to get to blogs. One of the things the giveaway papers have been doing lately, in order to fill column-inches cheaply and at least give the impression of being more connected to the community, is create programs where local bloggers can submit links to the paper, or even have their blogs hosted by them. As a professional writer, I'm not really a fan, for a number of reasons - it devalues the work I do, both by giving the paper free options and (often) reducing the quality of what people read in the paper, making it look like standards are lower. (I'm not a complete grumpy old man on this; there's a lot of good writing on blogs, especially sports, and a lot of papers would do themselves a lot of good to hire the talented, enthusiastic amateurs and can the tired old men) Plus, it creates more work for me and the editor: In order to get any half-decent blogger to participate, it has to be a completely opt-in-based process... That creates new and exciting ways to be accused of plagiarism, as the blogger knows the paper is aware of their work, and if they feel a published story is too close without acknowledging them, whether or not they've given permission to use their entry, they raise a stink, and their work went up instantly while yours didn't appear until morning...
Don't get me wrong, I've been enjoying it immensely. One of the great things about the job is that I've been able to reinvent myself fairly quickly. When I started, a lot of people had the impression that I was hired because I had a pretty headshot to put at the top of a column, while my previous job made me experienced enough to hire but green enough to not pay very much. Truth be told, that's probably it exactly. But after a month or so, they start to realize that you've got the goods.
Still, every once in a while you need to blow off steam. Or, failing that, drink. There's dangers there, of course, some wholly unexpected.
Thursday, for instance, I got out of the office relatively early, not having a Sox game to cover and having managed to get the football and baseball previews done for the weekend edition. I still had my phone set to page me for any important events, but it was the end of the work week and I wanted to unwind. (Yes, the Sunday to Thursday schedule takes a bit of getting used to). There are a few not-bad bars in the Downtown Crossing/Park Street area, and that day I ambled into The Sidebar. It's not the lawyer bar you might imagine from the name, but it's not bad snacks and beer for the price.
I still found a lawyer there, though. Raymond Kim was sitting at the bar, and that kind of stopped me in my tracks at first. I almost turned back to find another place, but then I realized that he wouldn't recognize me, and I found myself very curious just what he'd been up to in the last year-plus. So I walked to the bar, grabbed a stool right next to him, and ordered myself a beer. I've been female long enough to learn some of the tricks; it may be weird and uncomfortable for a woman to just walk up and start talking to a man, but once the bartender asked what kind of beer, I can turn to Ray, ask him what he's having, and order one of the same. Now we're talking and no-one's found it awkward.
I introduce myself, and he gets a laugh out of the name. "Heh, I have thought of going back to 'Nell' on occasion, but people remember 'Penny Lincoln'. It may be kind of porn-star-y, but that sticks in the mind." He blushes a little, but laughs, and asks me what I do. I tell him I write about sports for
Boston Today, and he says that he recognizes me from there, now that I mention it.
"Well, better that than the porn, right?"
He spits a little beer. "Sorry... This isn't the sort of conversation I have often."
"Really? Why not? You're a good-looking guy, I bet girls find an excuse to talk to you all the time."
"Not the All-American Amazons. Besides, I'm usually--" He's looking in my eyes, and decides to change answers, I think. "I'm usually in stuffy lawyer bars after work."
He finished off his beer, and raised two fingers to the bartender. I gave him a little half nod. "Thank you."
"No problem."
We chat about nothing for a while; he talks about the case he just litigated at the courthouse, and I give some exaggerated horror stories about doing play-by-play with a partner who doesn't respect me. He says it sounds terrible, and I say, yeah, but it gives me background for my book.
"Tell-all?"
"Murder mystery."
"Ooh, that sounds like fun."
"It is. Hard work, but plenty of fun."
He's about to say something else when we hear a throat clearing behind us.
"Hello, Raymond. Who's this?"
"Liz! Liz, this is Penny Lincoln, she writes about sports for that new paper. Penny, this is Liz--"
"Raymond's fiancée." She extends her palm in check-the-ring position. I whistle appreciatively, and that seems to satisfy her.
"Anyway, Penny was just telling me that she was writing a novel."
"A murder mystery, actually. Raymond mentioned he was a lawyer so I was picking his brain for some background information."
Elizabeth smiled sweetly. "Murder's illegal in Massachusetts."
I saw where this was going. "Good to know. Anyway, nice to meet you both." I finished the last sip of my Sam Adams, and signaled the bartender for the tab.
I stuck around the general area until the paper was officially put to bed, then headed back home. I wasn't sure what part of the evening had been stranger - talking with Ray like we were complete strangers, or seeing Liz from the outside, acting... Well, not like me.
- Art / "Penny"
Labels: Arthur, Boston, Boston Today, Liz, Penny, Ray
Kat - Men
It's been awhile since I've written anything here. I guess between school, a job, friends, and trying to enjoy life... I just really never made the time to keep writing - Not that there was really anything to write about anyhow.
Back in April I took a trip with Pete (the former owner of my body) to Las Vegas. I think it was partly the always-on "electricity" but mostly the anonymity of the city that prompted me to stay and try to find myself.
I found a nice little apartment, got a job, and started some online college courses.
I thought if I jumped right into the girl role, that I'd eventually feel more comfortable around guys. So I got a job at a club off of the strip - the pay isn't great, but it has a "safer" feel than the bigger clubs. They wanted me to be a dancer, you know, an exotic dancer... a stripper - but there was no way I could do that. So much for jumping into the fire. I stood my ground and let them know that I wasn't comfortable with that offer, but that I was more than capable of filling a waitress or bartender position they were advertising. I remember the look in the owner's eye as he stalled, seemingly testing my resolve... or my desperation, as I smiled, thanked him, and turned to walk out the door. I was flattered to hear later that some of the patrons gave him hell for not hiring me on the spot. Personally, I'm glad he didn't - I got an extra $1.50 an hour out of him to start.
Anyhow, enough gloating. I did find out that even after months of dealing with being a girl around guys, I still feel like prey being hunted by all those hungry eyes - it's still a little disconcerting, sometimes creepy, and occasionally downright scary. I'm afraid to ask any other girls if they feel the same thing... or if it ever goes away. I'm just very happy that I'm not a dancer. I have great respect for them being able to tolerate... or ignore, what I can only imagine they must feel and endure.
I have found a bit of solace... or maybe it's a comradarie... sisterhood when in the company of other women. I just feel safe. Or maybe it's just that the men are absent.
Labels: club, job, Las Vegas, prey
