Marc/Ryan: Flashbacks

Summer 2020

Marc Green, a man in his mid-thirties who worries about the slight expansion of his waistline and receding of his hairline, has quit his job as a corporate lawyer, over the protests of his wife Laura. He was spending 80 hours per week going over contracts for a heartless conglomerate and felt the soul being sucked out of him. The timing couldn't have been worse given Laura's ambition to start a business of her own, and the lawyer job provided much-needed stability. Then the pandemic hit and all bets were off, and suddenly every little disagreement between these two becomes magnified in the hothouse of social distancing.

We're going out to see some friends for the first time since the lockdown, and there's a disagreement over what dress she should wear. The truth is I am ambivalent -- women's clothes? What do I know about that? -- but when pressed, I make a ruling. She disagrees, and in fact is annoyed that I describe her choice as "a little cleavage-y," because it insinuates something prudish and patriarchal on my part. At a certain point, I think we're just picking fights over any little thing.

On this occasion, we limp through the evening, and even start to rebuild our dynamic and rediscover why we got together in the first place. After a few drinks, all is forgiven, and at the end of the night, after we've parted ways with our friends, we're making out in the car like a couple of teenagers. Sex becomes our only form of expression, which probably helps keep our relationship afloat through the final two very fraught years of our ten year tenure, a stretch marked by visits to three different couples counselors, one of whom, in 2022, will recommend a getaway. We're on a budget though, so we can't go further than... Maine.

Fall 2023

Chantelle Carey, a pretty, curvy-hipped and quite bosomy green-eyed brunette with the most beautiful, kissable round lips you've ever seen (not that many people kissed them) arrives home from work, goes straight to her room, and removes her pencil skirt and blouse. She pulls down the elastic band of her panties and notes the red mark where it has dug into her skin. "Damnit," she hisses, now examining her soft, fleshy body in the mirror. Gained an inch too many. She sits on her bed, half-naked, running her hands through her thick hair in stress.

It isn't that she's worried about staying thin. She's not thin, and she likes her round figure as it is, even when her thighs rub together as she walks. She's certainly made peace with it. She's come to identify with it. But the idea of it getting bigger, or changing in any way, is troubling to her. After all, she owns hundreds or thousands of dollars worth of clothes that are meant to fit this body. The last thing she wants to do is gain weight (or lose it!) and have to build an entirely new wardrobe. She wants things to stay exactly as they have been since she came into this form in the summer of 2022. Helplessness sets in. Not for the first time, she's trapped in a life she didn't ask for and doesn't know what to do next.

That night, I gathered my -- er, Chantelle's -- younger sister Emma, and niece Keisha, who was staying with me for reasons too personal and complicated to explain, and we went over every item in my wardrobe to figure out what still fit. Only a few items had to go to Goodwill, which was a relief.

By now, Laura was well out of my life, having embraced being Damon wholeheartedly, as though she always was him. I developed a conspiracy theory of sorts to try to explain how we wound up in these lives specifically, which I still think is 90% accurate, even if I couldn't quite finish connecting the dots between Laura and Damon. Ultimately, I was given a fairly sizeable cash "incentive" to basically ensure I will go away and never bother "Damon" again and never allow his wife to find out about his affair with Chantelle. The money remains in a secret account I will be able to draw on no matter what life I am living, as long as I have my faculties. The truth is I didn't have any leverage or intent to do damage, nor did I ask for the money, but we both feel a lot better when I sign the paperwork. It's over, our de facto divorce settlement.

A few months later, Keisha is going back to her mother, and Chantelle and I finally come to terms on a plan for her to return to her own body, much later than we had initially hoped. I am prepared to move forward as someone else, having ceded the life of Marc Green to someone else.

Summer 2024

At a gay club in Brooklyn, a handsome young man named Ryan Berardi -- a personal assistant by profession although he's between jobs -- spots the only guy who seems to look more out of place than him. Ryan's only there because "his friends" wouldn't take no for an answer, and, truth be told, he's been craving human interaction for so long he's willing to go anywhere he seems wanted. But he's not gay -- is he? After all, he is aware that he was a "straight woman" not that long ago, who sometimes harbored hopes for a physical reconciliation with "Damon," and who indulged in flirtation with males from time to time. He's a little ashamed to be "told" he is now a gay man, though, and thinks he must somehow find a way around it. You're only gay when you do something gay -- right? Sexually, he was in limbo... until meeting "John."

He couldn't even understand the appeal on a conscious level. John was older, with gray temples, crow's feet, and lines around his mouth, and aloof. But something about his presence was appealing. Something about his words sparked, maybe just because it was the most intelligent conversation Ryan had had in longer than he could remember, even as they shouted over the noise of the club. And maybe it was because John so clearly wanted him, and he wanted to be wanted, something he hadn't felt in... lifetimes.

At which point they started "doing something gay" with each other.

Lying in bed in the arms of a rough, hairy man, "Ryan" can almost see... not a future, but at least a very enjoyable year ahead. That wasn't so bad, in fact it really hit the spot. But an extremely quick social media search reveals John isn't who he says he is. 

Over the last year, I've chalked it up to everything from hormones and libido, to my own chronic loneliness dating back to my original life, to a rationalization that if it weren't me it would be someone else. I stayed in that affair for my own selfish reasons and for him. Something was clearly aching him inside and I didn't think he would find what he was looking for in his life as it was, so... well, you know the rest. It was a complicated entanglement to say the least, even before we went to the Inn. I feel like I recognized something of myself in him and thought I should do for him what I would have wanted someone to do for me -- get me out of a situation that is simply not tenable. I would come to regret that.

Winter 2025

Around 8 PM on a Saturday night, Ed Levesque is having a cup of decaf coffee at a diner with a woman nearly nearly young enough to be his daughter, and nearly old enough to have given birth to Marc Green. She's relating the customer service experience she recently got from her cell phone provider, and the "old man" is riffing along, perhaps surprising her with his up-to-date knowledge. They're making each other laugh far more than one would have expected.  

As much as I wished I could stop my affair with John, I wished I could start one with Christine. 

As with him, it was a very unlikely attraction -- she looked every bit her age and didn't exactly have a lot of effort to devote to disguising it, but in the body of Ed Levesque, I was beyond caring. Like John, she was someone I enjoyed spending time with for her own sake, someone with whom I had a lot of common ground. Unlike John, she didn't seem to have a dark side or be damaging anyone with her presence, other than Ed's daughter, who, not knowing the source of the money I kept handing out, had a lot of problems with me suddenly getting so friendly with a woman young enough to be... well, younger.

Physically, emotionally, practically, the elements just never came together. I think I'll always feel a little sad about that, but if I haven't learned how to move on from these things by now, it would be surprising. 

A few weeks later, John, in the form of "Cayden" will absolve me of the guilt I feel for bringing him to the Inn, telling me the experience has in some way been good for him. I'm still not entirely sure I've forgiven myself, but what's done is done and, more of a relief, has been largely rectified. He's where he's supposed to be, and I'm on the path I'm on, wherever it may lead.

It's hard to believe I've been all these people in my life, and now I'm on my way to becoming another. I wrote all of the above in transit to Old Orchard Beach but didn't hit publish until I got here. A family issue caused me to delay my arrival and now we're at the end of what is supposed to be my two weeks, and I hope it's clear sailing from here.

I know there are a lot of possible bad outcomes, but unlike other people I have to be here. I have to give Ryan back what's his. I'm hoping for that elusive fresh start, for the day I don't feel haunted by all the people I've been, but in the end, if something terrible happens, it should happen to me, a person ho knows what they're getting into, rather than some unsuspecting innocent. 

I just have to keep moving, accumulating all these memories until I just get full up and find a place to stop.

-Marc/Ryan/Everyone

Marc/Ed: The Cost of Goodbye

God bless the independent spirit of Maine, where even someone as hard-edged as Pam will think "Sure, take Cayden on an open-ended fishing trip in the middle of May -- he'll learn more with you than he would at school." The teachers sent along some homework, which John has dutifully been working his way through. He wants to be kept busy but is not particularly interested in treating this as a "vacation" -- we've hardly left the Inn, although I've been out for supplies, feeling weird about leaving an 11-year-old boy in a room by himself even for an hour. I saw Dave, briefly -- he and Shane were here the last time I was, but at the time I was pretty focused on what was going on in my room and was a little uncomfortable making contact with other guests. 

I was insistent that Cayden and Ed spend Mother's Day with Pam, to John's annoyance. "Do you know how confusing it's been to have to behave as though this stranger is my mother? To let her control me and monitor me this entire time?" Of course I do. But in my opinion, Pamela is a good mom and deserves flowers and appreciation, and we certainly haven't made it an easy year for her.

It's not a long drive to Old Orchard Beach, but we set out early yesterday and made it in time for a diner breakfast. After settling in, we had a lot of time to sit, play cards, and talk about things: where we've been, where we're going, what's next.

"There's a chance this goes wrong," I noted, "It happens, and if so, we'll adjust, but I'm going to make every effort to ensure it's right. We have to sleep every night the way we did the last time we were here."

"As I recall, we were cuddling, with me facing the east window," he said.

"Nothing weird about a boy and his grandfather sharing a bed," I shrugged.

"There's nothing not-weird about this scenario," he laughed. Then after a moment, he asked, "So what ended up happening with Christine?"

Ah, yes. The last time I wrote here, I had heard from Christine. I had thought that we would part ways simply, but as is so often the case in my life, simple is not so simple.

A few weeks ago, we met up for coffee. She was happy to see me, and I her -- to my embarrassment, it was a little like reuniting with an old lover, even though we had never technically been such. Over java, she explained her plight: she had a job offer, her first in a very long time, as a school administrator.

The problem? It was down in New Hampshire. That involves all kinds of moving expenses, money she can't come up with because she hasn't been working.

"I've asked you for so much," she said, a creak of sadness in her voice. "And I don't want anything from you in money, I've taken too much. All I need is for you to co-sign a loan for me."

I didn't like the sound of this. I asked her for the paperwork, which she had brought in her big woven purse. I put on my extra-thick reading glasses and began to scan.

"Christine, you can't do this," I said, almost immediately. The interest rates were what I would call predatory. She told me how much she was going to be making and I quickly deduced she would be paying this loan off until she retired. That's hardly the fresh start she needed.

"Ed, I don't have a choice!" she said, tears now welling up in her eyes. "I need to get out of Maine, I need this job, I have to do whatever it takes to make this work!"

"You ever hear the expression cutting off your nose to spite your face? Well, this is a nose, an eye and an ear. It's borderline usury. Just on this side of it."

"How do you know all this stuff, since when are you a lawyer?"

"I've got layers," I said with a grim smirk.

"Well, what else can I do? And don't say take the money from you, you know Pamela would never--"

"To hell with Pamela," I said. "I've got the money, I don't need it. It's yours, take it in good faith."

"Ed, no," she pled, "At the very least, let me pay it back... with whatever interest you want to charge."

"No, no," I insisted. Us getting into a long-term financial entanglement is the last thing I needed considering I won't be Ed much longer. I wanted to walk away free and clear, and I suppose -- somewhat selfishly -- I wanted to help repair someone's broken life without taking them to the Inn.

We met again a week later. I had the money order drawn up and some paperwork. It's boilerplate stuff basically absolving her of any responsibility to repay. It could theoretically be challenged in court since the signature on the bottom doesn't exactly look like the one on Ed's driver's license (though I tried hard to emulate it) but I took a picture of both of us holding up the contract and smiling to confirm that yes, Ed Levesque was of sound mind and body when he signed this paper, and under no duress.

After that we shared a celebratory beer, and then... gosh. It was like we were a couple of kids. Maybe it was the euphoria of her problems suddenly melting away, maybe it was the imminent goodbye on both of our sides, but we went back to her place and started kissing.

Soon it became a lot more than kissing as we explored each other's bodies in the way we had probably hoped to a few months earlier. If I were a mature and sensible person I would have put a stop to it before we got our clothes off, but it had been a long time since I had been in that position and I had been yearning for it...

Only for it to be stopped by outside forces.

"Ed," she said, reaching down, "I don't mean to offend you, but, um... are you... okay...? Down there...?"

There spirit is willing, but the flesh is... old and tired.

I looked down at my non-responsive Little Ed and sighed. You know, all these months, I hardly ever even thought about it, which was probably a sign about the way things were working down there. I felt a wave of frustration wash over me. Here I was, in bed with a woman I really did want, caught up in the moment, but my body seemed incapable of rising to the occasion.

No matter how much it made sense, no matter how much we probably shouldn't have proceeded, it gnawed at me. In my head, I am still a young-ish, vital person, even if I haven't been a man who has sex with women in years (and if you ask me ex-wife, she might say that that goes back well before our trip to the Inn...) Having that taken from me hurt on a level that most people probably wouldn't get. It's been a long time since my mind and my body were in synch that way, and this was a reminder of how far out of my control it all is, and will continue to be.

"Do you maybe... have a pill?" she asked hopefully. Ed's a fairly recent widower who was still in mourning for his wife, so that was a no.

We laid there in the altogether, hoping that something would happen that simply wasn't going to, before the moment passed. She kissed me goodbye and dressed herself, and we convinced ourselves it was for the best. Christine and Ed was not a thing that needed to happen. Not that Christine is so shallow that that's all she is interested in, but I took it as a sign, one of many, that I am not currently -- and maybe never will be -- the person she needs to fulfill her needs, and that I can lay to rest the idea that I am missing out on some great romance by not being able to spend more time with her.

It would seem that that chapter of my life is closed now... not without sadness or at least bittersweet notes, but it's for the best. Before long I'll be Ryan again -- hopefully -- and then I'll hand his life back and go on to my next adventure.

-Ed

Marc/Ed: Flirting with Danger

With Christine seemingly out of my life -- for the best but it doesn't feel that way -- I have a bit more free time. Too much, I would say. I've become the cliche of an old man puttering around the house all day waiting for his family to call.

Which Pam did, this past weekend, with an odd request: "I picked up a shift Saturday afternoon, would you take Cayden on his date?"

"On his what?"

Seems "Cayden" rehabilitated his reputation at school to the point where he was able to start "going out" with a little girl named Magnolia, which I heard a bit about going as far back as Thanksgiving.

"Don't sound so shocked, dad, they're just kids and they want to go see the stupid Minecraft movie. They're too young to know what dating really entails."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that... what with the TV and the YouTube." I swear, sometimes I sound exactly like the old man I am.

Part of me wanted no part of it, but I felt like it would be irresponsible of me to wash my hands of it completely, as the only person who is aware of the boy's true nature. When we had a moment alone before setting out I asked, "Okay, what the hell is going on here?"

"Ugh," he grunted, seemingly irritated by my questioning. "What do you think? Two children are going to see a children's movie."

"John, seriously," I sighed.

"What do you want from me, Marc?" there was palpable, very adult irritation in his voice. "I've felt alienated and drained since I got here. It's not good to feel like such an outsider all the time. I made a decision a long time ago that I was going to see these children as my contemporaries as much as possible. Learn about them, relate to them... is it really any different from your dalliance with that Christine woman?"

"Yes it is," I guffawed, "For a variety of reasons I shouldn't have to tell you."

"You're right, it is," he said, folding his arms across his chest and holding his nose in the air, "I, for one, am actually capable of keeping things innocent."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I was more amused than offended.

"It means that you had no business even broaching a sexual relationship with that woman if you had no intention of following through with it. You led her on in a way you couldn't possibly make good on. I'm just a friend to this Magnolia girl. She's sharper than others, she has a good vocabulary, she's interested in things I have to say."

"Oh yeah? What's her take on tariffs?"

"Don't be like that," he sneered. "I only mean that being around her is slightly less mind-numbing than others. Anyway. This is strictly platonic. We're eleven for crying out loud. She asked me if I wanted to see this stupid movie, and I haven't been to the cinema in ages."

"So this is just your way of keeping busy."

"Exactly. Harmless socializing."

"Okay, I'm satisfied," I told him.

We arrived at Magnolia's, who's parents were all "Isn't this so cute" and I had to pretend I felt so too. It was interesting seeing John in "Cayden" mode, although he doesn't make a very convincing kid, still tossing ten-dollar words around and saying words like "cool" in a distinctly stilted way. Magnolia was clearly very happy to be out with him though, which was sweet and a little sad. When they were together, she did most of the talking, which I took as a tactical decision from John.

There was a few funny moments -- one when he begrudgingly went to sit in the back seat with her (bless the innocent child, she didn't try to hold his hand or anything) -- and one when Fleetwood Mac came on the radio. "Oh, I love this song," he said, "I remember when I saw them at--" and then stopped, trying to figure out how to finish that thought.

"You mean when I showed you them on YouTube?" I interjected.

"Yeah, that's right Grampa."

The girl politely bobbed her head through the song.

A hundred or so dollars on tickets and treats -- and one harmless if nonsensical (to me) flick later, the kids still had some energy to burn off so I gave them some more money for the arcade. "Cayden" actually appeared to be having fun at points, especially when they played something more generationally-open like air hockey.

When I got home, exhausted just from watching such youthful energy, I realized my phone was still off from when I went into the theater, which isn't a problem usually as besides Pam there isn't really anyone who wants to talk to me.

Except of course there was... a new message from Christine, which I was both glad and sad to get. 

"Hate to ask, but I need help. Let's talk?"

We have an outing set up for her to explain what exactly is going on.

-Marc

Marc/Ed: Didn't even have a chance

Christine and I have had semi-regular dinners and coffees since shortly after we met, so I'm not sure why it felt so hard to make plans with her in the wake of our recent dalliance.

Okay, I do know. For the first time in a very long time, I like someone. I like her, but I can't be with her. We are within two months of returning to the Inn, at which point the role of Ed will go back to its originator and I think he would prefer to live out his days alone, looking after Pam and Cayden and Caesar the dog. 

Which is fine. It's great, actually. I do not want him to take up my relationship (such as it is) with Christine. I do not want Christine to try to have a connection with him, thinking he's still me inside. It's an impossible situation that is going to require breaking some eggs to get out of.

So I put off reaching out to her out of self-consciousness about that fact... wanting to see her but not wanting to face the truth, and not knowing how to break it off gently or what I was even going to do or say. And in all this time she didn't really contact me either, there was a frostiness between us and it seemed like we had crossed a line we didn't mean to cross when she spent the night at my place (half naked in my bed.)

You may not think it but that's a memory I will cherish for a very long time...

After a few furtive, fumbling attempts at communicating in the last few weeks, we finally did manage to sit down, and what she said was surprising to me.

"We made a mistake, that wasn't right, this can't happen."

I was taken aback. I was supposed to be the one saying these things, but I felt no relief hearing them out of her mouth. I was confused and a little hurt, even though it was "easier" for me to get it this way.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts and admitted, "I'm sort of on the same page... but I'm curious what makes you think that?"

She sucked in her teeth, like she wasn't sure how to put it. Deep breath, hold, looking around the room, finally she said some generic stuff about "When it happened, it felt great, but afterward something just felt off, and everything that was right about it kind of was tainted, and... well, then there's Pam..."

Pam, huh.

"She's been calling me, asking, more demanding to know what's going on between us, am I after your money, or... or what, and I... I just don't have the stomach for it, Ed."

I was dismayed. This was not the sort of thing that was supposed to come between us. This, to me, was the kind of thing that if you liked someone, you figured it out. And if I were in any position to do so, I probably would have dismissed it and said "Hey, you let me worry about Pam, I want us to explore this" because that's what I wanted. 

"You're a fun guy to be around, Ed. More fun than I would expect for a man your age, no offense. There's life left in you, and I hope that you enjoy your time and maybe find someone else who doesn't get off on the wrong foot with your daughter."

I placed a hand on top of my thinning scalp to absorb all of this, and run it through the filter of what do I think and then what should Ed think.

"I wish we could run away together," I said, perhaps with half a smirk, thinking of the Inn. "Someplace we didn't have to worry about Pam and all that. But that's not in the cards."

"No sir," she said.

We hugged and parted ways and I was left alone, a throbbing ache in my chest. When things ended with Laura it felt different... it was a slow disintegration that I didn't even notice happening so that when we were torn apart by the forces of the Inn we were both ready for it to happen. This was heartbreak. But it was necessary.

I wondered, as someone who is seemingly doomed to a life of wandering through the Inn, if I would ever be in a place to find love again. I literally do not know who I'll be in a year, but who does?

I went home and I thought about it all and I wondered exactly what Pam knew, or thought she knew, about me and Christine, and how. The answer seemed clear. I reached out to John, to ask what exactly he had told his "mom."

"Everything I could reasonably know," he said -- casually, like it was no big deal, "That you gave her money, that I thought I heard she'd slept over... of course I have to pretend like I'm a kid who doesn't know what that means."

"Why would you do that?" I asked, trying to mask my hurt.

"Because I couldn't let you get attached, Marc. I was looking out for you, the same way you looked out for me. You seemed to have some trouble detaching yourself from her. We have to move on, now don't we? I go back to where I came from, you move on to whatever it is you think you have ahead of you... better luck next time. Tell me if I'm wrong, if you honestly can."

I couldn't. It didn't feel good, but it wasn't wrong. The same way he eventually admitted it wasn't totally wrong for me to bring him to the Inn in the first place.

Hard truths. Sometimes it just doesn't work. 

Marc/Ed: Spring Cleaning

Now that we're almost at the end of this experience, the dynamic of our little makeshift family has started to change for the positive, much to my surprise. After John's little suspension, and the conversation(s) that followed, tensions between he and I thawed and I can tell hi perspective has changed. Not that I want to justify what I did in bringing him to the Inn -- honestly, it's one of my biggest regrets in life -- but he's certainly made peace with it and is willing to engage me as "grandfather" and also as a contemporary. The lines of communication are open, which is going to make the final stretch of this tour that much more bearable.

Pam, too, as long as I don't mention the name Christine. She invited me to Cayden's bowling birthday party this past weekend. I was up for it, and had fun, but I think it was a little awkward for the kids because a lot of them know something weird happened with Cayden recently but they don't know what it was or what it means. Not that I think it particularly bothered John -- surely he doesn't care about the approval of a bunch of  grade-schoolers, it just made the mood of the party a bit less festive.

I was more worried about keeping up with my fellow adults. It turns out my mind and body have different ideas about what I can do -- I bowled like a much younger man, I was laid up the whole next the day with back pain and leg cramps because of it.

Which sucked, of course, because I was planning on doing some work around the house. I'll admit I have not been in the habit of tidying the place. When I was Chantelle, I kept the apartment almost spotless, because I had energy to burn off after long days of work, and I had other reasons to do so, including but not limited to respect for the woman herself. With Ed, I tried to offer him the same respect but I got a bit behind. Neglecting to dust and vacuum eventually became letting the bathroom become dingy and letting grease accumulate on the kitchen countertops, that sort of thing.

Christine was going to help me, so I messaged her not to bother stopping by, we'd find another time, but sure enough she arrived at my door. I again told her to go home, but she insisted. "You'd probably just slow me down, anyway," she laughed.

So she cleaned and I watched from the recliner and we talked. I let her use her best judgment as to "what goes where" in putting junk away, because I have not really figured out a good organizational scheme for Ed's life. She mentioned she had job interviews coming up, but she had to buy some new clothes because she had gone up a few sizes since her last round of interviews. I laughed quietly to myself -- I don't suppose she'd believe me if I said I knew what it was like having to maintain your figure for fashion's sake.

I told her I'd transfer her a bit more, and she said no, really, she can just find some sales, it's just venting. I reminded her my money's not doing anybody any good, and it's not like Pam is missing out on some big windfall if I give a friend a few hundred bucks. (Again, unbeknownst to either woman, this is not Ed's money we're talking about.)

We ordered Chinese food and split a bottle of red wine, and then another one, and we talked long into the night, her about her late husband, me in code about Laura and other things that had gone on in my life. And we eventually decided that it was not a good idea for her to drive home.

And I only have one bed.

And the couch isn't very comfy.

You know, I've got this voice screaming in my head, "Marc, you have screwed things up enough for one lifetime, or more. Find some way out of this." But I either couldn't, or I didn't want to. We got into bed together, and we just fell into each others' arms and started kissing. That's as far as it went, but she asked if it was okay if she slept without any clothes on besides underwear, and I said, whatever she was comfortable with.

It's kind of funny. It isn't like Christine is objectively sexy and irresistible, but it doesn't matter. When you feel something for someone, their exterior is the least of your concern. You find things to like about them because they are them. I found myself enjoying her pudgy rolls, the droop of her bosom, the lines on her face. Excited to be close to her like this. I wished I could tell her all of this. I like her a lot more than I should, and it kind of hurts.

When I woke up with my arms around her warm, soft body, her breast in my hand, I felt bittersweet. It has been a while since I have been in that situation, and a lot longer if you skip over my fling with John, and it made me sad to think I had no idea where this could possibly lead or what the future could hold.

In the morning, we woke up in kind of a daze, half thinking it was a mistake and half thinking it was inevitable and we should give in. Of course, she doesn't know the full truth of it, which isn't fair to her, but how can I tell her that?

She must have been feeling weird too, because it's not like she kissed me again in the morning, she kind of just put her clothes on and left with a polite "see you later."

We haven't spoken much since.

-Marc

Marc/Ed: Ice cream

Pam didn't contact me for a while after finding out I had floated some money to Christine. I sensed that this prolonged period of silence was colored by a little more animosity and pointedness than her standard periods of not being in contact with her father, although it didn't last all that long in the end, as I got a call yesterday.

"Dad, I'm at work, and I need you to pick Cayden up at school. He's being suspended."

"What?" I gasped, "Why?" Being that I knew that Cayden is, in reality, a grown man (who has his flaws but is generally more or less a model citizen) I had to wonder what this could be about. Fighting? Talking back?

"I don't know the details," she huffed, "They said they couldn't tell me over the phone."

Pam was at least able to say that nobody -- not Cayden or anyone else -- was in any physical peril, which put my mind at ease, but still caused me to wonder. I got to the Principal's office and identified myself as the boy's grandfather, authorized guardian, etc. The Vice Principal -- an older woman (well, I guess that's relative ... older than I used to be, younger than I am now) -- took me into her office and sat me down at her desk. She looked serious but not, I suppose, grave.

"I'm trying to be delicate here, Mr. Levesque, because it's not funny, and of course it does happen from time to time, but the situation cannot go unaddressed."

"What situation is that?"

"Cayden was found... abusing himself in the restroom."

I don't know what my face would have looked like then, but I would guess it to be a mixture of aghast, confused, and a little intrigued.

"Abusing himself? You mean he was..." she looked at me, nodding along, as if she couldn't say it but I had to: "Masturbating?"

"That's right," she said, trying to retain her prim and proper posture. "Kids will be kids, of course, but they do need to be told that there's a time and a place for that sort of thing."

"Of course," I said. The shock was wearing off now and I was trying not to find the whole thing funny.

"You said someone found him," I went on, "In the restroom?"

"Yes, he had, erm... neglected to lock the stall. Whether on purpose or out of... negligence..." I could tell it was paining her to have this conversation, which only made it more amusing to me. I covered my face and snickered into my hand. "The child who found him has been offered counselling, and we've decided to suspend Cayden for the remainder of the day and tomorrow."

"This is really something you get suspended for?" I snorted. "Don't you think the embarrassment is enough?"

"Mr. Levesque, please, there is a code of conduct we expect all students to abide by."

"All right, all right, I'll take him home."

'Cayden' said nothing, staring at his shoes from the office back to the car. We got him buckled in and once we were alone, I asked, "Let's hear it."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Well, Pam is going to ask me what's up, so I need to at least hear your side of the story."

He let out a very adult grunt, then went on. "Miss Hastings. She's a young teacher, maybe twenty-five, and she's quite... curvaceous."

"Uh huh?"

"'Uh huh' what?"

"Well, how did that lead to...?"

"Do I have to draw you a diagram? You were a straight man in a previous life, right?"

"Right, right..." I said, keeping my eyes on the road, "I'm just looking for insight. I wouldn't have expected this, given you're... well, your age."

"Oh, come on," he huffed, "Let's not be naive. Lots of eleven-year-olds are capable of that, they just don't know it and have no reason to try."

"You're right, you're right," I allowed.

"I've tried to ignore it," he went on, "But you know how it is. You can want to ignore it all you want, but your body has other ideas. It demands you give in to impulse. I had already spent half a day in agony, how much longer should I have held out?"

"Until you got home, at least!" I chuckled.

"It's never been a problem before."

"It's happened before?"

"For weeks now!" he said, as if it should have been obvious. "I keep telling myself I'll stop, but then I remember that it's one of the few outlets I have available to me."

"This is just the first time you got caught."

"I was careless," he muttered.

"And the boy that found you... I'm struggling to figure out why he had to go get the Principal involved."

"Because it was a girl," John grunted.

"Excuse me?"

"The only bathroom available was the single-use one. Gender-neutral. I was in such haste I forgot to lock it."

"You traumatized that poor girl," I said.

"She didn't see anything, I just left in a hurry, and she spotted some of the leftovers and asked someone what it was. Honestly, they need to be teaching that in school, that's something I'll always believe." 

"Unbelievable, unbelievable..." I muttered, pulling into the driveway of his house.

"No, what's unbelievable is Miss Hastings in a tight sweater," he said, laughing under his breath slightly despite himself.

It was beginning to feel like we were -- borderline -- friends, something we actually never were. This is the most like equals we have ever felt, and I could sense that his wall of hatred toward me was becoming that much thinner.

"Hey," I said, "Wanna get some ice cream or something?"

"I'm a 50-year-old man, but... yeah, actually." So I backed back out of the driveway and headed down the road.

(When we got there, he hemmed and hawed analytically over the flavors. The college-aged girl behind the counter said he was a cute kid, and I allowed that yeah, he was like a 50-year-old man in a kid's body. He got pralines n' cream and I got rocky road.)

Over waffle bowls, he asked, "So, you and this Christine woman...?"

"Let's just say you have a more active lovelife than I do."

"Oh, come on," he said, "I know there's something there."

"Maybe," I said, "But I wouldn't want to break a hip."

"Could be worth it," he shrugged.

A few quiet bites later, he said abruptly, "I don't want to go back."

I stared dead at him. "Excuse me?"

"I don't mean I want to stay as Cayden, I mean I don't want to go back to being John. Come on, Ryan-- or Marc, or whatever your name is -- you've been an old man for months now. I wasn't in my 70's, but my life felt like it was just about over. Now I've been reinvigorated. I don't want to be a kid anymore but I don't see how I can go back to being my old self."

"Hm," I leaned on my elbow.

"Hm what?"

"It's just interesting. You had a good life. Why not go back to it?"

He looked down into his ice cream. "I think you know the answer to that, or you wouldn't have brought me here in the first place."

I took a big sigh. "I guess I was hoping to inspire you, to go back to living your life... more truthfully. Or reconcile it somehow. Make necessary changes, or get it all out of your system. It definitely wasn't my intention that you never go back to being John."

"But that was always a possibility -- that was a risk you were willing to take... a liberty with my body, by the way."

"Yes," I nodded along, "John, when I took you to the Inn, I abdicated my sense of logic and I've regretted it ever since."

"No, it was smart," he said, his voice creaking. "You saw what was going on with me and you-- I mean hell, if I knew this place existed I would have run toward it years ago, consequences be damned. I think I just resent you making the choice for me, but from what I understand, informed consent is impossible with the Inn. Okay. I know I won't be Cayden forever... believe me, I'm glad of that, but I don't see how I can go back to being John."

"Give it time, okay?" I said. "We still owe Ed and Cayden their bodies back and as far as I'm concerned that means we go back to being Ryan and John."

"Well, why don't you be John? Stay as long as you like. It'll be nice to settle down. Despite what I said, I'm sure there's a few good years left there."

"Because Ryan still needs his body back too."

"And you don't trust me?"

"I'm cleaning up my own messes, John."

"He said to the mess..." John said, his eyes shifting. Then he actually smiled, as if he had gotten some resolution from the conversation.

We drove back to the house. I told him I couldn't control what he did with the knowledge that the Inn exists, but I admonished him to listen to his conscience. There are people who care about him and that he professes to care about.

"That didn't matter to you when you took me."

"Temporary insanity... and a calculated risk."

"Liberties again," he shrugged. "But you're not wrong, and I hate that. God, just imagining having this conversation with Ryan, no wonder he was irresistible. To John, that is. Cayden... I don't think goes that way."

"No, we have evidence," I chuckled.

We pulled up and I dropped him off and we sent "Cayden" to his room while I filled Pam in on the story (or at least, a tactfully edited version of it). She was moderately scandalized that her little boy was growing up so fast, "I mean, first I catch him reading Stephen King novels, and now this."

"Yeah," I laughed, "He's full of surprises."

I stayed for dinner. We pointedly did not discuss Christine. It was nice.

-Marc

Marc/Ed: What's best

How long has it been since I was alone? 

I was with Laura for years. Then as Chantelle, I was a single lady, but thanks to her extremely involved family I was never really alone -- they wouldn't let me.

Now, it sometimes feels like I have all the time and space in the world, and it's a little scary, even if that was what I wanted for a long time.

It isn't that Pamela, Ed's daughter, doesn't care for him. I think from her perspective she checks in often and works hard to make sure he's all right. But compared to other lives I have lived, her approach is very hands-off (this is consistent with New Englanders/Mainahs in my experience.) Even the real Ed doesn't reach out to me, preferring to not acknowledge our predicament out of a sense of privacy, rather than commiserate with someone over the fact that he is currently living as a 30-year-old Indian-American woman. And John, of course, doesn't want to talk to me much unless it's on the topic of when and how we are going back to the Inn, which I arranged as soon as I could.

I always thought I was simply a loner. Why else would I have left a lucrative job in a bustling office to drive an Uber?

But maybe I was just keeping the wrong company, and without anyone I simply feel alone. Believe it or not, being older I am okay with. If, by some mistake of fate, I was stuck as Ed forever, I would accept it, but I don't think Ed would let that happen to himself or to Cayden. I ache, my eyes strain, but otherwise I am in okay health, and if this body falls apart before my mind does, there are less deserving (or at least less-prepared) people it could happen to.

(I assure you, this post is getting better.)

But it's being unoccupied and alone that was getting to me. I felt it around the holidays, where I made token appearances with family but otherwise kept to myself... but then there was Christine.

I mentioned her in passing. We met part of the same counselling group, which I have found immensely useful to talk around my problems even if I can't say "I was a high-powered lawyer who had a nervous breakdown, then lived for several years as a girl in Albany before becoming the man you see before you." I talk about loss, I talk about Ed's late wife as code for the end of my relationship with Laura and ultimately my departure from being the person I was born as, etc etc. Mostly I stay quiet and listen, and then we play games or have a movie night.

I started seeing Christine outside of that context once the days started getting really short and cold. I came and shoveled her walk a few times, even though she insists I'm too old and frail to be doing anything of the sort (and she may have a point but my brain refuses to agree.) We have coffee now and again and she laughs in surprise about how I, in her words, don't just seem younger than myself, but younger than her ("and yet, the way you complain about grocery prices, I can tell you really are an old guy at heart." Thanks Chris.)

She's made this whole experience a little more worthwhile but I think we're kind of in a weird spot. If things were different, I might consider trying to pursue a relationship with this woman. I really do have feelings for her in a way that I haven't in a very, very long time. But even if she did return them -- and there are times I catch her looking at me and think, improbably, that that's possible -- I'm not exactly in a position to make any long-term commitments. The snow may be piled high right now, but before long spring will be here and the real Ed will return (we can only hope) and shouldn't be expected to take up someone else's fling. From what I gather of Ed, I don't think he would be all that grateful.

One thing I've learned from my experiences at the Inn is to leave well enough alone. I messed with John's life and look where it got us. The best thing for me and everyone else is to just go back to being alone -- at least for the immediate future.

-Marc/Ed

Marc/Ed: Family, and other, Ties

I will readily admit that my situation is not the most gripping of those you could be reading about. When I have an opportunity to log on, I am enrapt by posts by Aidan/Emilia and the kids, and I am rooting for Dave/Chris and Shane/Sylvia to find their way through whatever it is they are experiencing, among others.

You would think that being an ole retired fella, I would have time to talk, but this body wasn't exactly made for spending a lot of time on the phone. Arthritic hands don't type so well on a PC either. Mostly I'm just trying to find peace in the situation.

It was Thanksgiving recently, and I had a lot of feelings about that. For the last couple of years I had been one of the "Carey Girls," part of a intensely-intertwined family of siblings, parents, and extended relations. There was always a lot of people around and a lot to do. It always chafed me a bit, being expected to fill the role of middle sister, the eye of the hurricane -- big sis had her own family to worry about, little sis was busy growing. Speaking as Marc Green, who had a frosty relationship with his parents and very few extended relatives, that dynamic was not one I was immediately comfortable with and did not instantly enjoy. Now I find myself nostalgic for it.

Ed's family is small but not quite the same as the one I came from. There's just him and Pam and her kids, and some of Pam's cousins who are not direct relations to Ed. So that's all who gathered for a quiet Thanksgiving where Pam, very reluctantly, made the turkey. My role was to sit in a recliner and watch football, but having recently been part of a family where being off your feet was for later, I found myself meandering into the kitchen, where I was greeted with confused looks and questions of "Do you need a beer or something?" It felt weird not just to not participate, but to be asked not to participate.

John, aka Cayden, was of course there, watching the game with me. Things between us have been frosty since I... ahem... brought him to the Inn. I know that there are commentors here that judge me for that. And you're not wrong, I've regretted it since the moment we arrived before the transformation even occurred, but you didn't see the pain that man was in, or causing to his wife. It was truly a no-win scenario and I thought that by meddling... ah, but I'm wasting precious join health litigating it for you. What's done is done.

John, understandably, does not really like to talk to me when he does not have to, but he would rather watch football than play with his contemporaries. When we had a minute, I asked him how things were. He heaved a very adult sigh.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Oh, uh... these damn Giants, they're blowing it," he said back.

Later around the table we were saying what we were thankful for, and one of the cousins who is about Cayden's age and goes to the same school teased, "I know what Cayden's thankful for!"

"Be quiet..." hissed John, convincingly in character as a bratty kid.

"It starts with Mag, and ends with Nolia!" the little girl continued through her missing teeth.

"Cayden's got a little girlfriend at school," Pam said, clearly amused by the situation.

"I do not! Shut up!" Cayden lashed out, then glanced over to me. My face must have looked quite bemused.

"Watch it, mister," Pam replied sharply, reminding John of his "place."

Later, I found Pam and asked what that "girlfriend" business was about. "Oh, that... apparently there's some girl who's got a little crush on him at school, she's been over to do homework, but he's still in his girls-are-icky phase and doesn't like being teased about it."

"Ah-huh," I said comprehendingly... trying to measure what Pam was saying against the truth that I knew.

After dessert, I invited him to take a walk with me, and sensing that we had matters to discuss he came along. Eventually I broached the topic of this Magnolia character.

He sighed a heavy, adult sigh. "She's a friend. Probably my only friend. Smart for her age. Understands things about the kids today that I don't. Obviously, there's nothing inappropriate about it."

"Right," I nodded. "You know where the line is."

"It's embarrassing," he said, "These are the only people I have to speak to. I can't exactly ask my homeroom teacher Miss Hawkins out for a latte to discuss Trump's cabinet picks."

"No, that would be weird in its own way," I nodded. "I just wanted to check in."

We walked a little longer, until he piped up again. "I'll probably never forgive you for putting me through this, but... the clarity has been nice. The simplicity of a child's life. These kids don't appreciate what they have," he laughed darkly, adultly.

That was nice to hear.

When I got home, I picked up the phone and called someone.

"Heya Ed, how was t-giving?"

"Oh, the usual, family squabbles, kids that don't want to be there, a few stressed women wringing their hangs over a turkey and stuffing," I said. "Yours?"

"Turkey soup for one at a diner," she said.

This is Christine, a woman I met at group therapy. Yes, I'm in therapy -- it was a compromise with Pam after I "gave away" the dog, that I needed to do something to get out and be around people. It's not even a "therapy" group, it's just talking, some games, people getting together on a Wednesday evening. I've been sort of talking around my problems, as Marc, framed through what I think Ed would be going through.

Christine is in her 50's and is mostly on her own. No kids, no parents, just one brother she barely sees. She had a husband who died in an accident ten years ago.  She's had a hard time of it and I guess I kind of gravitated toward her.

I guess, like John, I have to consider what would be an appropriate place to set the relationship between us. Part of me thinks it's improbable that someone her age would look at someone my/Ed's age that way, and part of me has a little bit of hope that there would be something there, even if I would be reluctant to act on it -- which would not be a smart thing to do given my recent track record.

"I would have liked to invite you, but I think Pam would have had a lot of questions," I said.

"Don't worry about it," she laughed. "I've made it this far on my own."

We talked a little bit longer until I got tired and we said goodbye for the night.

And that was Thanksgiving

-Marc/Ed

Marc/Ed: Hail Caesar

One thing I have learned about the life I have found myself in is that I have to b fairly wary of Ed's daughter Pam. I have caught her looking sideways at me a few times since I've been here, but it's not necessarily because she believes her father has been replaced by a stranger. Rather it's clear that she believes she is dealing with the same man she has always known and that he is as frustrating as ever.

This is a woman in her 40's who is clearly in the "now I have to parent my parent" part of her life, checking in relatively consistently by phone. If this old bar phone rings and Pam's number comes up, I had better answer or I won't hear the end of it.

It appears that Ed has been a widower for a number of years with his wife dying -- I won't say young but perhaps sooner than expected, if that makes sense. I think most old guys expect to go first and the sense that I get is that nobody was prepared for old Ed to be on his own.

She seems like a perfectly lovely woman, other than the combative relationship I have found myself in with her. There's actually something kind of comforting about having someone be so concerned about you, even if the tone is a little pushy. The dynamic of a small Mainer family is a little closer to home for me than the sprawling and hyper-involved version I saw when I was one of the "Carey Girls" (although I eventually became accustomed to that... lost stories from my time between blogs.)

As I mentioned, when I returned dramatically late with her son, Pam gave me considerable grief, but somehow it did not seem utterly out of character that Ed would go off on his own like that, which was a silver lining, as Pam's wrath was more confined to irritation that her father acted, if anything, extremely in character.

The next time I heard from her, it was to nudge me about another dangling thread. "So did you go get Caesar yet?"

Caesar?

"Um, the dog?" she sneered at me, in her default tone of exasperation, "Jeezum crowbah dad, he's been at the kennel for over a month, you've got to go get him!"

I was really surprised. Ed's message hadn't mentioned anything about a dog. In fact, it hadn't mentioned much about much. I hunted around to try to figure out how to find this dog, eventually getting the number of the kennel, where they gave me a somewhat surprising answer: the dog had already been picked up by my son Danny.

Ed doesn't have a son Danny -- that would be one of the new identities Ed and Cayden took on. That made a lot of sense, that Ed would go pick up the dog but it somewhat complicated things. I couldn't very well explain to Pam why I didn't have the dog but that it was OK.

I ended up taking a long drive down to Springfield, Mass, to the address that Ed had declined to give me where he and Cayden could be found in their new lives. It was a little apartment building. As I approached, I thought how insane it was that I was imposing on these people, who had not made it easy for me to find them, but I felt like I at least needed to hash this out in person.

After a deep cleansing breath, I knocked on the door. A young man with short cropped and receding hair answered, dressed in shabby pajamas and toting a video game controller. He took one look at me then turned away to call out to someone else in the room.

"Gramps, it's you!"

Cayden stepped aside and a woman stepped into the doorway, a young Indian woman wearing a loose-fitting plaid overshirt and boot-cut jeans. Her sleeves were rolled up and it looked like she had just been doing dishes. From what I could tell she had an ungainly stride that -- if you knew what you were looking at -- gave away that she was a 70-something-year-old man in a young woman's body, along with her flat, unwashed hair and lack of makeup.

He looked at me under a furrowed brow, tilting his head back to look up at me. "What brings you around?"

Before I could answer, a black furred German Shepherd-Border Collie type of dog padded to the door and approached me enthusiastically.

"Well, he does, actually," I said, petting Caesar who seemed very pleased to see his "owner."

Ed -- aka Parveen -- looked at me quizzically. "What do you want with Caesar?"

"Well, he's..." I stammered, "He's not mine, but..." I was at a loss how to explain that, for appearances, it was somewhat expected that I keep the dog.

"Yain't takin' him," he said firmly in a voice that definitely sounded as much like a grandpa as a 20-something-year-old Indian woman's throat could produce. He then pushed the dog back into the apartment -- as it whined for me -- and stepped outside with me, closing the door and standing with his arms folded under his chest. "That's the end of it. You tell Pammy that he's got a good home and he's safe and you'll get another dog if it makes her happy. Now if you don't mind, I'd just as soon you don't come back unless there's an emergency. It's confusin' him and besides, I don't much like being seen this way. Drive safe."

And abruptly, that was it. Puzzled, I went on my way. Rather than face the 3.5-hour drive back, as the trip had seriously worn out my old bones, I stayed the night in a motel (secretly hoping I would stumble into yet another cursed inn and get a fresh set of problems) and drove back in the morning, waking up at 5 AM or so.

I got back and explained to Pam what Ed had told me to say -- I had given Caesar away to a nice young couple. Pam was borderline apoplectic, giving me another round of "Jeezums" and wondering how I could do such a thing.

I came to realize that Caesar is, in an informal sense, a therapy dog, who Pam got for her dad to help him after his wife died. I think Pam thinks that he never warmed to the dog and resented having it, stubbornly wanting to go through his grief alone, but I can tell from his insistence on keeping it that that is not the case. For whatever reason Ed seems to have never let on exactly how important the dog is. Knowing that, I actually have no business keeping him but of course from Pam's perspective me losing him or giving him away is both unthinkable and very characteristically selfish. It put us in a really weird situation but at the same time, Ed seems to have been a really weird guy prone to making these command decisions that don't quite make sense to others, so I think it the long run a very irritated Pam has let me off the hook as just another quirk of her father's.

Being an Inn person isn't always as simple as rolling out of bed and into a blank slate you get to define how you want. No matter who you become, you really do get stuck in these entanglements that you have no control over.

Marc/Ed: The reality of the situation

Grandpa Ed was clearly not one for technology. He has a big old PC in the spare room of the house with the resolution cranked way up, which is a sad reminder that one of the many things I lost in this trade is the quality of my eyesight. John, if you're reading this, I just want you to know this has been no picnic for me either.

I would have loved to stay at the Inn a little longer and help people through their own transformations, but with John's reaction -- understandable but stressing -- and the specifics of the roles we had been slotted into, I felt it best if we hurry home posthaste. Cayden was supposed to be in school all this time and his mother -- Ed's daughter -- was not overly pleased at the delay.

Apparently their cover story was that Ed's very expensive fishing equipment had been stolen and he needed to stay nearby in case it was recovered. With Pamela -- Cayden's mom -- working long shifts as a nurse and raising the kids herself, she didn't exactly have time to come down from Portland to fetch him. I did indeed face her wrath when I got back though, and what could I say in my own defense?

Tensions thawed, somewhat reluctantly, between me and John/Cayden. I don't know that I was expecting him to embrace this thing with open arms, but he seemed to hate me a little less as days went on. His fury and ire settled into a quiet simmer, a cold shoulder, the silent treatment. On the drive home, I elected to fill the silence.

"You know, before this happened to me," I started to say, wondering whether I was being too blithe about it, "The first time... I was married. I lost my wife in the long run. We were already drifting apart though."

"I wonder why," he sniffed, staring out the window in the backseat.

"I deserve that," I shrugged. "It helped me though, to move on, to accept that I was not thriving in my situation. I was depressed and I needed a change, I just didn't know it."

"You think I was depressed?"

"I know you were depressed. Don't act like you didn't say as much."

Pause. "So you lost your wife. Maybe she knew what she was doing, just like you."

I took a long pause at that and kept my eyes on the road. It was not a thought that had ever occurred to me. Maybe John was just trying to get under my skin. The situations were certainly similar enough.

Had Laura known? She had never let on that she had. For God's sake, I even stayed a lawyer. You're telling me that's a coincidence?

"Maybe she did," I finally said, not letting him get any sense if I was bothered by the thought. It's all in the past now, and I even passed up my chance to go back to being Marc Green.

"When you asked me if I would give up my life..." he said, "I didn't think about not being there for my daughter's wedding. That's what I'm thinking about right now."

That certainly isn't something he thought of when I presented him with the hypothetical a few weeks ago. Nor in any of our other life-and-death conversations. It's funny what comes to you when you're really staring down an uncertain future.

"Is your daughter getting married?"

"Not yet, but someday I'm sure."

"Well then you'll be there," I said. "I'll make sure of it."

"Don't feed me lies, Ryan," he said. I could hear a tear in his voice. "You can't promise that."

Heavy sigh. My heart sank. I pivoted. "You know my name isn't really Ryan, right?"

"You're Ryan to me."

"You want to hear about who else I've been?"

"Not right now," he said in a vanishing little voice. "I'm tired."

Marc/Ryan/?: ...I'm tired and I want to go to bed...

"I took a risk, I took a risk, I took a risk..." I chant to myself during a private moment of examining my face in the mirror. I had figured the odds were in favor of John and I ending up in some lives that were perfectly livable while we worked to figure out how to proceed. In actuality, it's more evidence in favor of the fact that I should not be permitted to make decisions for my own life.

I wouldn't even say it was a particularly good vacation. I've certainly had better. The weather was agreeable but summer heat is over. John was very keen to cuddle at night, taking advantage of the fact that we were far away from anyone who knows him, but I was a little iffy on taking things further physically because, who knows what that might lead to if we transform mid-act (which I have some experience with.) That turned out to be a correct instinct, one of very few.

So the whole thing felt like a business trip and John was worried that I was upset with him. I tried to reassure him that wasn't the case, without actually explaining what was on my mind.

Despite the decreased intimacy, the trip gave us a chance to spend some real time together, browsing shops and going out to eat as if we were actually a, gasp, couple. I didn't say much about myself because I haven't been "Ryan" for too long, but John filled the silences, seemingly having waited a lifetime to unburden himself like this. There were times when I was really happy to see the real John at play. Something about seeing someone attempt to be comfortable in his own skin, combined with the predisposition toward men I had inherited, really made my heart beat, which was something I felt like I needed to put a pin in and unpack later, depending on how everything shook out. We did have some sex during daylight hours, since what little I understand about the Inn's magic, it appears to be a nocturnal thing.

I pointedly said we should not look at the mysterious baggage found in the closet, ostensibly out of respect but really because, well, I didn't want to deal with it.

I spent as much time as possible avoiding answering the question of: what do I actually tell him when it happens? Years of law practice gave me what I think is a pretty strong poker face, but it wouldn't be too hard to put two and two together when you consider how actively I worked to put this trip together.

When I woke up yesterday morning, I could tell almost immediately that the change had happened overnight. I knew some of what was different about m physical form but lying still in bed, I remained frozen as long as I could. Time was up on deciding how to play it. It felt like there was nobody in bed at all beside me. I would need to investigate further to determine what that meant: had John gotten up and left in the night? Surely if he knew he had transformed, he would have woken me up, no? 

The room was dim. The sun hadn't broken in yet. I reached over to my phone. It was not even 5 AM.

Gingerly, I pushed myself up. I felt heavy. Slow creep to the bathroom. Light. Mirror. Oh, no.

Looking back at me was the rather saggy and jowly face whose name I soon learned was Ed Levesque -- Grandpa Ed to some. I smacked my forehead. Dolt. Everyone assumes they'll become some pretty young thing or an affluent middle-aged person. I guess all walks of life find themselves at the Inn, naturally.

I went back to the bed, cautiously. There was lying a young boy of about 10. Little "Cayden," aka John. He had not yet woken up, at least not until I sat back down on the creaky mattress.

"What's going on?" he asked in his little voice. "Who are you?"

"John," I said in something of a wheeze, "Something's happened. Something very strange."

It's a bit of a blur, how I managed to mumble an explanation and let him see for himself. The word "No" was said and shouted a variety of times in his little voice. Well, I say little as in young, but he could really holler.

Finally came the part I had been dreading. In a cold, soft tone, "Did you... know this would happen?"

I sighed and dropped all pretense of lying to him. "I knew something would. Not this specifically. I just knew how badly you were hurting and needed to... to get out of your life. You said so yourself."

He cursed me out with all the fortitude of the grown man he really is: "You bastard! You rat bastard! What did you do to me? What did you do to me??!"

I certainly didn't expect it to do well, but I steeled myself and tried to draw on some of my past experience being in rooms with people who hated my guts. I could navigate this. I explained rationally that we could go back, but not until the Inn re-opened next year.

If you've never had a ten-year-old boy tell you "I never want to see your fucking face again," well, it's certainly an experience. Unfortunately, it seems like we're somewhat tied together, what with me being the lad's grandfather and all.

It's going to be some year.

-Marc/Ed