Toby/Dunia: A Much Longer Trip Than I Expected

So... Hi.  I'm afraid that I don't have any sort of introduction where I'm just me saying what I'm doing in Maine.  I kind of didn't even realize this place had a blog attached until after I became this girl. 

It's this sort of thing common, or is it all about the curse or whatever?  I've never really traveled much, or at least not to cities.  We used to go to some of the closer National Parks when I was a kid, but Ma had to sell the camper after the cancer took Dad, and even if there had been money we were never really sure there'd be a job to come back to if we took time off.  I didn't really think about it much, though, I guess because I never had it to miss and there weren't a whole lot of kids in my high school who were going on European vacations.

There were some folks with money around, though their kids went to private schools.  I guess Lambert was one of them.  I didn't know him before I answered the ad; he must've been a couple years ahead of me anyway.  He bought a car on eBay, and since he never liked to fly, he put something in a local Facebook group looking for someone to drive to Bangor and back with him.  Beat the hell out of my real job, especially since they were cutting hours due to the market for soybeans drying up or something.  He seemed all right and I guess he figured I could be trusted with his car on the drive back, so it was a done deal pretty quick.

We stopped at the Inn the night before driving up the coast - Lambert found it online and apparently the last two-week block of the year was an especially good deal for when you didn't necessarily know when you'd be in and out.  We got there on Monday, crashed for the night, and then started for Bangor in the morning.  We spent a couple hours after lunch inspecting and test-driving the Porsche - well, I kind of stood around for that - and then I was back in the BMW for the ride back.  We got dinner at a restaurant on a boat in Portland before stopping at the Inn for the night.

I was awoken by a high-pitched scream, bolting up in bed and looking on the other side of the room where there was a topless woman holding her breasts.  It was clearly the same room we'd been in last night - Lambert's stuff was on the end table - and I was a little fuzzier from the previous night's beers than I should have been, so I asked who she was.

"I'm Lambert Allen - who the fuck are you?"

"It's me, Toby!"  That when I noticed my voice didn't sound right in my ears and my hair was long enough for some  to be in my eyes.  "Uh, at least I think I am."  Hung over enough to go check, I stood from my bed and walked across the room to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.  "How in the heck?"

As you can tell from the subject line, there was a girl in the mirror, about my age, but I was shorter.  Not like super-short - I was six-foot-two and lost about six inches or so.  It made the t-shirt I'd been wearing really loose, although I could see a vague shape of breasts and nipples under it.  I was kind of surprised my boxers hadn't fallen down, but my butt was enough to hold it up.  I guess that may go with being Latina - my skin wasn't quite black but a pretty dark brown.  I pulled the neckline out to look down and then felt inside my boxers - I was all girl.

It woke me up and I ran back into the bedroom, where Lambert was pulling a suitcase out from under his bed and opening it.  He said "you have got to be shitting me" as he lifted the flight attendant's uniform that was on top out.

I did the same, only the top layer on mine was a letter "to the new Dunia Cortes".  It described the Inn's spell, and laid out a bit about the life I was inheriting.  Shes my age, 23, from the Miami area, Cuban-American although it was her grandparents that came from Cuba as children as opposed to someone more recent.  She had just been hired as a flight attendant and was expected to shadow veteran Alicia Polawski, but wound up following her to Maine when she wouldn't cut vacation short.  She lives with her father in "Little Havana" and has a boyfriend, but Hector is in the Army and stationed overseas.  She's become a retired truck driver in Phoenix, which feels as crazy as me being her.

Lambert's letter filled in some blanks; it turns out that Alicia Polawski used to be an college professor and a guy, but he got bored and decided to move on, saying the new Alicia could keep her life or not and he didn't care (she didn't care?).  He also seemed to have invited Dunia to join him specifically because it didn't look like there were going to be 13 people to trigger everything otherwise.  This Harmon guy sounds like a piece of work. 

If there were any people who has been through this before, I didn't meet them, aside from the hot dog vendor who said the thing that freaked me out the most, that there was nobody staying at the Inn after us until spring, so our lives and identities would be in a sort of limbo until then.  He said it's not so bad, because we'd have first dibs on our room and explaining not being around is easier than fixing a mess someone else makes of your life, but that's almost right months!  What's my Ma going to do without me, to start? 

Lambert seems to be more in a daze than I am.  He thought he might go home anyway, but apparently Alicia looks a lot like his last couple stepmothers and his dad is on the prowl again.  He also really doesn't like flying, and I almost wonder if it's bad enough for him to quit Alicia's job ahead of her next shift and try to live on his credit cards until then.  I'm not going to do that - this is apparently Dunia's dream job and she seems nice enough - although there's a pretty big handbook to study in the next week or so.

(It's a lot!  It looks simple enough on TV and in the movies, but I'm already afraid of screwing up the details or having to give someone CPR in midair!)

What he is sure of is that he's not leaving his new Porsche behind.  One of the coupons in the flyer that pointed us to Cary's hot dog truck and this blog is for a place that offers long term parking and storage, but he says there's no way he's leaving his new baby in some beach town that empties out for the winter.  He suggested we just do what we had been planning to do, me driving the BMW and him driving the Porsche, just south on Route One rather than west to North Dakota, but i said that I sure as heck wasn't going to get pulled over driving someone else's car as a Latina woman, so he reluctantly decided to park that one for the winter.  It's probably a good thing we initially packed pretty light, because it's not like the little sports car has  the trunk space to handle four people's luggage if Lambert and I had packed like Dunia and Harmon/Alicia.

It's weird as heck.  I'm sitting in the passenger seat of a really expensive car, and every time I look down rather than forward, I see how dark and slender my arms and legs are, and I've definitely got a figure even if my pink t-shirt doesn't show the boobage that Lambert's top does (we were not left a lot of clean clothes, and I really struggled to pull these shorts onto my big new butt this morning).  When we do get to Miami tomorrow, some guy is going to think I'm his daughter, and then I'm going to have to start working on airplanes starting next Wednesday despite having barely been out of North Dakota before.  I'm kind of tapping this out on my phone just so that I'm not staring at my body or Lambert (he's a little older, but pretty sexy) or talking in our new voices, something to do, and maybe find out if we're doing the right thing taking our stuff along to our new homes.  What I've seen of the entries here, folks usually just leave things there, but maybe not for months.

Maybe this will be my only post because I'll be too busy soon enough.  We'll see.

-Toby/Dunia

Arthur/Penny: Substitute Millie

I haven't had a reason to come back to Old Orchard Beach since I became Penelope after Jermy decided he was talking my life, and I can't remember if I liked it the first time around.  I was a young man and probably cynical about vacation/tourist spots, figuring they're not real or authentic, but between being older and having home on vacations with Millie, I think I understand their appeal a bit more.  These places have a goal and a function that I can probably appreciate anywhere else, but being sick in one when you are not happy, and feel like you have to guard against any attempt of the place to make you happy, is a certain sort of Hell.

I spent the whole week doing things I know are bad for me.  Eating at the worst fast good restaurants so I don't have any fond memories of the trip, holding my phone in my hands all the time just in case Millie decided to call, even though it's terrible for your mental health.  I texted and left messages to everybody in my Inn network, but was kind of curt with everyone, even Ray, mad he wasn't there to help even though I'm the one who said to hold the fort at home.

It could have gotten expensive, too, but Cary knew a guy who knew a guy, and I was able to hunker down in a little cottage that had been rented by a Canadian man who wasn't coming to the U.S. this year.  I didn't get a whole lot of work on the new book, being in no mental state to edit, especially when I took a deck chair and moved to the Trading Post's porch ahead of the new groups arriving on Thursday.  I wanted to at least have a look at the folks who would be in Room 4.

They didn't show up until late Friday, a couple of tattooed twenty-somethings who just absolutely could not keep their hands off each other, digging right into the fronts of each other's pants right in the off-street parking and yelling an enthusiastic "fuck off" to anyone who looked at them cross-wise.  I could immediately see into the future and what the school administration and coaches were going to be calling me about, especially if the guy wound up as Millie.  And there wasn't much time, because, sitting on the porch, I'd felt the tingle.

A lot of Inn people don't actually believe in the tingle; they either never registered it, figure those who claim to have felt something the afternoon before the change are retroactively drawing a connection, or just kind of dismiss the idea that magic can reach back in time, because cause precedes effect no matter what.  Despite being affected by something otherworldly, Inn folks as a group do not really believe in fate, more likely to see the place as something chaotic even if we settle into a new life and like it.  I figure there's no reason magic can't send ripples up and down the timeline, even if it does lead to me doing something I hadn't really considered before I felt it, although it seemed to make complete sense once it occurred to me.

So when I saw they had Room 4, I offered them the place I was staying in exchange.  It just made so much sense, even though I hadn't really considered it before doing it.  I'd been reaching out to people I know who might agree to be Millie until next year (Ashlyn actually might have done it if she and her boyfriend weren't on a cruise) and making plans for how to deal with someone who decides it might be a decent life, but when it comes right down to it, who else can I really trust? 

They thought I was nuts, but went along with it.  I let them drive me to the house, grabbed my luggage, and made my way back with the key.

Then I took a deep breath as I opened the door.  The room was still set up with a queen bed, Millie's backpack on one side and this other woman's suitcase on the other, and I took the bedding off to form a little next on the floor next to Millie's backpack.  I recognized that I was gambling at this point - first, it would be logical that they placed their bags on the sides of the room that corresponded to where they slept, but not certain, because folks don't necessarily figure out the minimal distance thing after just one trip to the Inn.  Honestly, there's still some holes in the theory - like, if things work out that there are ten people right on top of where the last person was in the center of the building, but the rooms on the ends have 1 and 2, but in different arrangements in separate visits, will one person change into someone all the way on the other side, or does whatever this force is go for the shortest total distance?  Also, by doing this, was I potentially closer to someone on the other side of the wall than where Millie had been?  Still, it was the best I could do.

Having a plan felt good, and I decided to indulge myself a bit, taking a cab into Portland, dropping a c-note on a nice dinner (including what I figured would be the last drinks I'd be having for the better part of a year), and coming back to the Inn full and buzzed and thinking that the person who wakes up as Penny in a couple weeks or so was going to have a stomachache and a hangover, and I should probably apologize for it in the letter.  I'd stopped at a 7-11 to get some of the energy drinks Millie likes that I usually find gross and popped one open so that I'd be awake for the change.

Around 2am, I set my phone up and started recording, figuring that if someone younger than me wound up becoming Penny, they might appreciate video over text, and assurances that there wasn't multiple layers of deception going on among the people with whom they'd soon be sharing a home.  It meant I got to watch myself change, and changing into one's daughter is a trip - it feels less like your face is turning into someone else's than you're noticing how much you have in common, right up until the moment when something she has that you don't shows up.  I noticed that my hair hadn't been that long in a while or that dark since I was Liz before any almond shape to my eyelids showed up, and then I pulled my knee up to my chin and, yeah, I keep in shape and have nice legs, but skinny 13-year-old legs are something else.  My pajamas were feeling a bit loose all around, and when I stood I could tell that the top and bottom overlapped a little more than they did before, although at the rate Millie's been growing, I'll probably be shrinking again in spring.

I stood up to take a proper look in the mirror, and immediately recognized that even if the alcohol in my body hadn't vanished with the change (and I honestly don't know whether it did or not; it's another thing you get different accounts of), I still bounced to my feet with ease.  Nell had been a college and (briefly) professional athlete, and I spend a fair amount of time in the gym to not waste what I had inherited, but it felt downright rude of the Inn to remind me that there is indeed a big difference between how a 40-something woman making her best effort looks and feels and how a sporty 13-year-old girl looks and feels.  I took a good look at Millie's face in the mirror, though as someone who has been through this I wasn't sure what I was expecting to find.  A beauty mark that hadn't changed?  Something missing?  Lines that didn't completely vanish?  Whatever it was, I suddenly felt like the caffeine was out of my system, and I flopped down on the bed immediately.

By the time I woke up the next morning - Millie can sleep in! - most of the screaming was done, and a note had been slipped under the door asking if there was an extra bag in my room.  I resolved to knock on the next door, but had to go to the bathroom first.  It all seemed normal enough until I was about to wipe and suddenly had a flashback to when I first became Liz and felt like this was a huge invasion of privacy, that I was now going to have to interact with someone else's private parts - a child! my child! - every day for months.  I gritted my teeth and told myself it was better than the alternative, but I still opted to hit myself with some spray deodorant rather than hit the shower, and practically looked away from examining myself in the mirror.  I knew from experience that I couldn't avoid this forever, but felt like putting it off.

There was a text from Ray saying that he was on the train when I checked my phone, and I replied saying it happened last night and I'd meet him at the station.  Then I gave the woman next door her new clothes and phone and wallet - she looked askance at the opened letter but and then her jaw dropped when I explained the very good reason and extracted a promise to call me as soon as she heard from the person whose life she was taking over, especially if they mentioned Millie - and then headed out.  I had a couple hours before the train arrived, and I needed to make a Dunkin' run (apparent teenagers buying breakfast sandwiches and coffee on a Saturday apparently not that unusual) and buy a change of clothes.  

Once i'd changed into them, eyes closed as much as possible, I made my way to the train station.  It was a little late, as is the Downeaster's wont, but I spotted Ray right away and jumped up, waving my hand in the air.  He saw me and started running toward me like he thought I was really Millie and was going to jump into his arms, before realizing that wasn't the case and stopping a little short, and awkwardly extending a hand.  "Hey, I guess we're going to be seeing a lot of each other.  I guess you must recognize me from the photos on Millie's phone, but where's Penny?  I was under the impression you'd met your mother for the duration."

"Uh, I'm right here, hon."  It suddenly seemed to dawn on us both that my messages had sort of said all the things I had done over the past few days but hadn't exactly put them together.  We started for a couple of seconds and then he pulled me into a hug.  "My God, Penny, what have you done?"

I started crying.  "The only thing I could think of to do!  I mean, who else are we going to trust with Millie's life?  Maybe Ashlyn if she were around, but--"

"But she's on that cruise, and it would be so much to ask of her."  I could feel the sigh that moved his entire body before he pulled back to give me a kiss, but froze when he saw my new face, hugging me close again.  "I wish you'd explained everything yesterday, so I could help."

I shrugged.  "How?  You'd just try to stay in the room with me, to increase the odds that one of us became Millie, only then we'd probably wind up separated and with all sorts of mess to deal with when it came to change back!  The next ten months or so are going to have enough moving parts as it is, and I kind of need you steady."  I paused as he gave me a strange look.  "Not that I was planning this, mind you, I was just kind of careless in my texting, but this is still probably the best case situation."

"And it sucks."

"It sucks so much!  I thought I'd be able to handle it but I've freaked out at least three times since 2am, and I've got no idea whether she'll thank me for this or never forgive me.  And now, she's not going to have, you know."

He didn't for a second, but then it clicked.  "It could still happen."

I shook my head.  "Maybe, but you know they were talking about preparing for menopause and how dangerous 'geriatric pregnancies' can be at my last physical.  And we're not going to try and sell the new me on the idea - you've talked to Jonah-slash-Krystle, and maybe you can say her situation's unique, but you know changing this much does weird things to your head, and even someone who said they would just act as an unconventional surrogate--"

He put his finger on my lips, which took me aback; it was something he would occasionally do with Millie when she was motor-mouthing off on a tangent, but not with me, and, again, he seemed to realize it after half a second.  "Hey, let's just worry about the kid we've got and not some hypothetical other one, okay?"  I nodded.  "Have you heard anything?"

I shook my head.  "No, but I'm pretty sure my neighbor will work on her predecessor.  Millie might be stubborn, but this other woman's a mom, and she'll get it."

"Absolutely."  He looked around.  "So, do you want to hang around here at all, or just get on the next train south?"

"Oh, next train south, absolutely!  Although..."  I took out my phone and checked the time.  "We've got a couple hours to decide what's staying in the room and what's coming with us - I'm going to need my writing laptop, for example - and maybe grab some hot dogs and let Cary and Krys know the latest and see if they can watch out for anything."  I tried to grin.  "Maybe he'll have some advice for you about what to do with a tween who thinks she knows everything because she's really an adult!"

He quarter-laughed - it was only half a joke but neither of us really felt like joking - and then we started walking toward the Inn.

-Arthur/Liz/Penny/Millie

Arthur/Penny: She's Gone

It looks like my fears from Saturday night were right: After tennis practice Saturday morning, my daughter Millie told her friend that she needed to head home, but instead went to North Station and bought a ticket for Old Orchard Beach.  She's tall enough that folks occasionally take her for being further into her teens than she is, and it's not like it's a federal crime to ride Amtrak as an unaccompanied minor.  Or if it is, it doesn't seem to have been enforced.

From there, I gather, she went to the Inn and started looking in windows, asking if there was anything weird about the place, and it didn't dawn on her until after the last train south left that there were likely no hotel rooms open in this beach town and the debit card onto which Ray and I deposit her allowance probably wouldn't be enough to check into one even if it was.  She was apparently sitting on the Inn's front porch when someone asked what was up and said she could stay in her room for the night.

She was lucky number thirteen, and the changes happened that night.

I know this because I decided to head north on Sunday morning, with Ray handling the search in Boston, knocking on all the doors, asking if anyone had seen Millie.  My heart sank when I saw there was a lot of confusion from post-transformation morning.  I explained what was happening to a lot of people - this late in the season, there aren't a lot of Inn veterans there, as chains from the people who were able to switch back in May break - and a couple my apparent age said that they saw her with the talking with their neighbor.  Nobody responded to my knocking, but they shared a bathroom which was unlocked.

I found Millie's backpack in the room.  She had already left.

Trembling, I opened the bag and found a letter on top.  I knew it wasn't for me, but I opened it anyway.

Dear Whoever Opens This:

My name is Millicent Anne Lee, Millie for short.  I came to the Trading Post Inn wondering what my parents meant when they said they weren't entirely my parents, and now I know.  My mom, and maybe my dad, used to be someone else, and now I get a chance to find out what that's like.

Their numbers are in my phone, so you can call them and tell them to pick you up.  They can tell you anything that you need to know about being me until we get a chance to come back, and you can tell them not to worry:  The lady who let me stay in her room last night is going to be with me and will help me out.  I'm a little older now, but not that much, and I think I can handle this situation.

I don't know if I'm ready to tell you or them who I am now yet, though.  I'm still kind of mad that they didn't tell me this.  I'm not running away for good, though, and I'm going to want to be me again as soon as I can.

Please don't do anything weird with my life,

Millie

I sat down on the bed and just cried for a while.  The people from the next room came in and asked if I was all right, and I said no, I wasn't, my daughter was somewhere out there in the world and I didn't know where or who she was.  I allowed that she was smart and mostly responsible, and that Ray and I had tried to raise her to look out for herself and solve problems, but she was still a kid and mad enough at me that she might not ask for help out of spite.

They didn't seem to know what to say, but said they'd be around for the next few hours if I needed to get back in that room.

I nodded, and they went back to their room to give me some privacy.

Obviously, the first thing to do was call Raymond.  He wasn't sure whether to be relieved to know what happened or panicked that this was something much bigger than Millie not checking in before staying over at a friend's house.  He started trying to remember everything he could about teen runaways, saying that most of them came home pretty quickly, and not just because they didn't get very far and realize they've got no resources pretty quickly.  Millie, though, may have the resources of an adult, and who knows what sort of adult?

I immediately realized that someone else might know, and ran across the room to see the bag beside the other bed, opening it up to find the letter they had left for the people in their lives.  It didn't tell me much - she was a woman in her mid-fifties, from somewhere in the Midwest, where she worked in the local town hall.  I looked her name up online, and she seems pretty trustworthy - a relatively young widow, one grown son, involved in her community.  Not much social media, but gently pushes back when conspiracy-minded friends get weird in the comments on Facebook.  You can't really know about people from their online profiles, especially now, but she seems okay.  Unfortunately, she also seems reluctant to disclose her new identity.

Still, the very fact that I have the equipment to give birth to a daughter means that there is an awful lot about this situation that shouldn't be taken for granted.  I've left a note of my own on the desk in the room, although I don't know if it will still be there when the next guests arrive - whoever cleans the Inn has been leaving lost luggage in rooms for at least twenty years, but will they throw that away?

I guess that I'll have to set up shop on the Inn's front porch, if I want to vet who is going to be filling in for Millie.  Ray's offered to join me, but he's got more time in courtrooms than usual this week, so I probably won't see him until Saturday.

What a terrifying and absurd sentence to write.  This isn't my first time in crisis mode as a mom, but I'll bet you can count on one hand the number who have tried to deal with this specific crisis.

-Penny

Daryl/Zee: So, This Is Weird...

...  I mean, I've been looking at a lot of posts here lately and thinking "How can you post that when there's a good chance the other person will read it, even if they say they won't?", but here I am, apparently feeling like my position as the person with the messiest personal life on the blog has been challenged, and doubling down.

So, you all know, Cary, who was Elaine before I was, and who has been "raising" Elaine and then Krystle as Mackenzie ever since.  He's also kind of the guy who winds up as first point of contact for Inn visitors who need someone to believe them, with an ad in the little guidebook which also includes a card with login details for this here blog.  Most of the time, folks just need to be reassured that this is real, but you can handle it, no matter how extreme the change may seem, and Cary's the guy to give it to them, a friendly white guy in his 60s who seems to be running his little hot dog truck as a hobby to the point where he can close up and give folks his full attention if need be, or call in Krystle/Mackenzie.

Someone needed it bad yesterday.  I gather they'd started out a young white guy who got turned into a petite Afro-Latina girl and in less than twenty-four hours their best friend - who I guess was kind of the same to start but became a tall, muscular, black college athlete - had convinced them they might as well try sleeping together, given the situation, and then talked them into a bikini and sort of paraded them around the beach the next day.  When she got to Cary, this person was kind of shell-shocked, and with Mackenzie out of town with friends, he called me to see if I could talk to them.  I said I would, but as Cary was talking to me, they had fallen asleep in one of Carl's Adirondack chairs.  Apparently, they had never gotten to sleep the previous night.

Not having anything planned for the day, I said I'd be up as soon as I could, and looked up the nearest car rental place.  I don't drive a lot as Zee, but there aren't that many trains or buses between Boston and Portland and I'd want to be able to put Cary on speaker if he called while I was in transit.  He didn't, but when he arrived there, there was a guy like he described trying to lead a girl away by the wrist.  A few guys from the beach were trying to stop him.  I sighed and slipped off my sandals, grabbing heels and sunglasses from my bag; it wouldn't get me up to his height, but if Cary was right, he might still be intimidated by an Angry Black Woman if I sent the right signals.

I made sure the heels made a lot of noise on the sidewalk and gave my best Angela Basset "what do you think you're doing?" as I approached.  He said something like "she's with me" and I stepped in a little closer, making it clear I knew he could hurt me but that he didn't dare.  "I don't know who you really are or who you are now, but you do not want to alienate the only person who does on your first day."  Obviously not what he expected to hear, because he let go of his friend, who hurried back to the stand and Cary.  Cary said I would take them to his house and they could borrow some clothes from Mackenzie's closet, since they just had a little handbag with their new wallet and phone.

They were breathing heavily as they got into the passenger seat of the rental, and I asked if they were okay.  "No!  I'm a girl, and black, and I'm not saying those are bad things, but it's really weird for me, and I let my friend fuck me in my new pussy, and who even are you?"

Keeping my eye on the road, I reached one hand out.  "I'm Zariyah, or Zee for short.  Started out as a Daryl, been an Elaine and a Magda in between, and let me tell you, it's really easy to make bad decisions with a bunch of new hormones.  I gave up everything for a man who wound up not being worth it.  But you can get through it.  Cary, the guy at the hot dog stand, he did, got his old life back, and helps others cope besides."

They grasped my had warily, introduced their new and old identities, and seemed surprised when I stopped at Cary's house so soon.  "New England towns are pretty small."  I got them inside and found some sweats in the laundry; they seemed relieved by the shapelessness, though I said they were probably going want something else soon with it being a hot day.

Then we told each other about ourselves, and they seemed worried about how completely I'd taken to female identities, and I said it sometimes felt strange to me as well, and one of the things they'd have to do until they changed back was differentiate between rash, impulsive, and reasonable under the circumstances.

Once they'd calmed down, I drove them back to the Inn.  The "boyfriend" wasn't there, so I helped them go through their inherited luggage, explaining that it would probably be wise to pick up where their predecessor left off with their birth control pills, looking their new life up online to see what could be learned, and helping write a letter to the person taking over their old life.  They gave me some side-eye when I offered make-up tips, but I pointed out this was something they were going to be expected to know soon.  I reflected that it was kind of crazy that, outside this blog, we don't really have a support network for people who just got changed.  A lot of people text back and forth with the next folks up and down their line, but they aren't that much more experienced than newbies, and it was really striking how much someone like me who had been there before could really make these crucial first steps go a lot better.  Honestly, I wonder how many people aren't even resilient enough to fake things and wind up in situations where they go into a spiral and can't get back to their real lives.  I've kind of always assumed that the folks like me who post on this blog are the ones who got into the most bizarre situations, but what if actually being able to confront and handle it this openly is actually better than the paralysis others feel?

By mid-afternoon, my new friends was feeling hungry, so we packed their things and went up to Portland (a surprisingly good restaurant town) and found a place with Dominican food to match their new identity.  Spice is apparently something they're going to have to get used to, because it seems like they're going to be around people who really like that sort of food.  I pointed out that they didn't have to if they didn't want to, but they said they didn't want to mess up this person's life.  I nodded, saying that for as selfish as some people are, it's really surprising how many folks who come to the Inn instinctively feel this sort of responsibility to people they've never met.  They said they hoped the next people staying in the room felt the same way.

We'd taken their bags with us - they really didn't want to spend another moment with their roommate, and bought a plane ticket to their new life.  They changed in a restroom at the Jetport, opting for the most gender-neutral outfit of slacks, t-shirt, and sneakers they could find, though it still revealed their navel.  I could see them doing a sort of "I think I can do this" thing in the restroom mirror, pulling their hair back behind their ears.  I told them they didn't have to go right away, that I had a spare room, but they said they figured it was best they try and explore their new life on their own, before someone was looking over their shoulder.  I nodded, making sure my number was in their phone, and saw them to the TSA line.

It was just starting to get dark when I got back to Cory's place to return Mackenzie's clothes and his keys.  He offered me a beer and I joined him on the couch to watch the ballgame.  I asked him how many like that he saw, and he said it was only a couple a year that were real bad.  The worst was a Naval aviator on shore leave whose letter him them that his new life had been fleeing an abusive home, although couples who got sent separate ways always made him sad.

After another beer, I had taken off my sandals again and had my legs up on the couch, leaned up against him.  It may surprise a lot of guys - it surprised me - but men with Cary's body type, a solid layer of muscle built up by a lifetime of hard work but a somewhat soft exterior built up by a lifelong fondness for hot dogs and ice cream, are a lot nicer to get close to than the really ripped and defined ones, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.  He responded instinctively by wrapping his arm around me, but when his hand came to lay on my breast, he jerked it back, apologizing.  I took that hand in mine and put it back, saying it felt good.  We kept watching the game for a little bit, and then I turned my head and scootched in a little closer, so that our faces were right next to each other, and then we kissed.  There was tongue, his hands in my hair, but after I got his shirt unbuttoned and he'd done the same with my top, he carefully pushed me away.

"I'm sorry...  I shouldn't..."

I nodded a bit, but more because I understood than because I agreed.  "Cary, that was mostly me.  It's, ah, been a while since I've been in the arms of a good man, or one who knows all about me, and I don't know if they've ever overlapped."  He was buttoning his shirt, so I did the same.  "It's lonely, you know?"

He grunted.  "I know."  Realizing he could, he elaborated.  "I haven't really gone out with anybody since I was Elaine.  Tough when you're a single dad, even if the kids aren't really kids, and they probably can look after themselves, but they'd probably envy any adult relationship you had, and who wants to date a woman that's okay with letting your daughter run wild?  I thought it would get easier when Mack got older, but it just hasn't.  Maybe I'm just too old for it now.  65 next week, you know."

I shrugged.  "That's not so old, and what's age mean for us?  I've been the older woman in a relationship, and even if others talk, it's okay if you really like someone."

"I don't recall that turning out terribly well for you, if you don't mind my saying."

I spit out a laugh.  "Oh, I say that all the time!  To the folks who would understand, at least."  Feeling like the evening was done and it would just get more awkward as I stayed, I put my sandals back on and grabbed my purse off the coffee table.  "You should put yourself out there anyway, though.  You're a good guy.  And a good kisser."

He saw what I was doing and held out a hand to shake, body language clear he would step back if I moved in closer, so I grabbed it, making a little joke of giving him a firm, manly handshake.  Then I headed out to the car, punched up the nearest Dunkin that was still open - two beers doesn't really get me that buzzed as Zee, but coffee seemed like a good idea anyway - and headed south.

So, yep, made out with Cary, a white guy almost twice my age, with whom I share a past identity.  It's probably a real good thing we didn't get to three or four beers.  I've made a lot of mistakes that started out with "hey, we've got this in common!"

Or maybe not.

-Zee

Aidan/Emlia: Congratulations?

Congratulations!  You get to be Emilia H---!  I know, you're probably wondering, what's the catch, but there isn't one.  Me and my friends Monica & Katey have been upgraded to really amazing new lives (maybe I'll tell you who we are someday, although you'll understand if we choose to keep it close to the vest for right now).  But that means you and whoever is in the next room get to be us, no strings attached!

That's how the letter i found in the luggage left in my room at the Trading Post Inn starts.  The guy at the hot dog stand says that's unusual, that mostly they're apologetic or laying out what they would rather you not do, or assuring you that you'll be able to return to your real life.  But, he said, it's not unheard of; a fair number of people as young as I look now tend to be impulsive, especially if their new lives look good, so maybe don't worry about it too much unless we don't hear from them or the folks taking over our lives when next year's slots open.

Sorry for kind of starting in the middle here, but I didn't contribute to the blog when we first checked in since it looked like some sort of scam or identity theft thing.  Conventional identity theft, that is.  This just seems like the weirdest part, at least for this blog, so I wanted to put it up top and get people's attention to see if they can help.  Maybe not to reverse this in some way that cheats whatever is making the Inn do this, but because I'm not sure I've seen anything about anyone in quite our situation.

Introductions:  I'm Aidan, until a couple days ago, a man in my late 40s.  I've got two sons, 15-year-old Rusty and 16-year-old Kutter; we lost their mother about ten years ago, and I never found anyone else, although I didn't exactly spend a lot of time looking, because raising two young boys doesn't exactly give you a lot of free time.  These two weeks at Old Orchard were our first real summer vacation in a couple of years.

We'd actually packed to go home the next morning when we went to bed Wednesday night; I set my alarm for 6am.  When it went off, I bolted upright, and then noticed that it was just a little pain around my chest rather than my back punishing me for that.  I looked down, saw that my undershirt was like a tent and the neckline drooped low enough that I could see I had breasts, then ran to the bathroom to take a look in the mirror.

I'm pretty, though my hair's a mess, and my boxers are riding a bit low on my hips.  I do a quick feel inside and almost pass out.

I don't, though, and remember the flier on the desk that said something about not disturbing or looking inside any luggage stored in the closet unless I really need explanations, and that's when I find the letter Emilia left, telling me about the Inn and details of her living situation.  My head's still spinning, because first I think, well, I can't just go off and leave the boys, then worry that they're going to be attracted to me, and then it hits me that the curse is on the Inn, not the room, and I rush through the shared bathroom into their room.

There's two women in there, asleep.  I guess one is Rusty, because (s)he's thrown all the covers off the bed in her sleep the way that he does; (s)he's Asian-American (half-Korean, we'll later learn) and has a hand resting on a bare breast.  The other must be Kutter; (s)he's laying on his/her stomach, one arm dangling over the side of the bed and snoring, brown hair kind of getting in his/her mouth.

I walk over to him first, pull him hair back and give him a shake on the shoulder.  He groggily rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist, opens them, and gives a kind of confused smile.  "Do I know you?"

"All your life, kiddo.  C'mon, I'll show you."  We walk to the bathroom, I put him in front of the mirror, and his eyes go wide.  He taps the glass with a finger, pulls it back, looks over his shoulder to see Rusty feeling himself up and then over the other to see my empty room.

"Dad?  What's going on?"

"Near as i can tell, cursed hotel.  You remember the weird pamphlets on the desks and the bags in the closets."  He gives me a look like I'm planning some elaborate prank, and I shrug.  "I'm in the same boat you are, kiddo, but we'll get through it.  Now, why don't you go to my room for a second so I can help your brother?"  He nods, and I walk over to Rusty's bed.  I'm about to wake him the same way as Kutter, but decide to cover him with a sheet first.  

It lasts a second; as soon as I shake his shoulder he bolts upright, feels that he's cupping his left breast in his right hand, and looks down.  "What the f---?"  Seeing me in the room,  he uses his other hand to cover the other one, then starts thinking aloud.  "If I've got those..."  He gets what coverage he can with his right forearm and then reaches his left hand into his boxers.  "WHAT THE F---?!"

I don't scold him about language.  "Near as I can tell, the place is cursed.  I'm your Dad, and Kutter's in the other room.  Same thing happened to him.  It turned us into the last people to stay here.  I guess these two rooms were occupied by young women."

"No kidding!" He took his hand out of his shorts, looked around, and saw his clothes from the day before by the bed.  "Uh, do you mind?"  I nodded and turned around until he said it was okay.  He was blushing - he hadn't hit his growth spurt yet, and while he hadn't gotten that much taller, the shirt was tight and hiding nothing.  "I, uh, think I'm going to need some new underwear."  His eyes were also going to what was showing for me.  "I think we all are."

I nodded, and said that this is what the luggage left in the room was for, so we told Kutter he could come back in and that's when we found out that Rusty had become "Monica" and Kutter was "Katey" (I'm not going to give our new or old last names, but Rusty groaned when he saw the full name on the driver's license).  We're all 21 or 22 years old - Rusty had a good laugh at being three months older than Kutter now - graduated from the same college and sharing an apartment in Brooklyn.  All of the letters suggested they really liked their new lives and wished us good luck.

I quickly got the idea that the boys didn't want me in the room as they got changed, and I figured that was reasonable; it's not like I've got any special expertise I could offer them.  I did grumble while getting my bra on the first time, envious that maybe they could help each other out.  I must admit that I didn't really know what to do with my hair until I knocked on the door and saw that Kutter had used one of the elastic loops I thought was worn on the wrist to put his into a ponytail.  We'd all gone for t-shirts, slacks, and sneakers, with Kutter grumbling that Katey had just thrown all her clean and dirty clothes into the same parts of the suitcase and who does that?

The next few days were surreal.  We visited the hot dog stand and the guy there gave us some useful hints, mostly not to worry too much because people tend to accept the obvious reality in front of them rather than pick at something that seems wrong.  The first month of learning your body's new normal will be horrifying, but after that, it's only a big deal if you make it that way.  And almost everyone can tread water for a year.

Also, we were in a beach town, but none of us really felt like dressing for the beach.  I tried to set a good example of being comfortable by wearing shorts yesterday - it was pretty close to the last clean clothes Emilia left me - but, wow, that's a lot of leg to show and it was stubbly enough for folks to make comments that made me self-conscious despite everything.

Oh, also - we weren't in the Inn for the last few days, because our check-out time was Thursday morning and their texts were very insistent about us being out of the room, saying that the next couple weeks for the Inn were fully booked and "many people are adamant about their choice of room", leaving out the part about it being about turning back.  It turns out that it is cheaper to find a motel and fly "home" to New York today rather than try to get a flight between Friday and Sunday.

That leaves us here, at the Portland International Jetport (I know a lot of people like to use the train but it's almost as expensive to take that between Boston and New York as flying), hoping there aren't more surprises waiting for us in the big city.

-Aidan/Emilia

Marilyn Vance/Juliana Nakamura: Family?

Where to begin?  I suppose with the obvious - a week and a half ago, I was your average white suburban mom, complete with all the tension behind the placid exterior; now I'm a teenager again, and from what I'm told and can see with my own eyes, a Japanese-American father and a Latina mother, crossing my fingers that my high school Spanish from almost twenty years ago will be enough for me to fake it.  My husband and son are in a similar boat, although I'm sure that they feel having a different gender is a bigger deal than a different ethnicity.

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know the gist of it, although I suppose it's worth going back a bit to understand what I'm dealing with here, although I'll try to get right to the point:  My marriage to Lucas was basically over before all this, and it was kind of a relief.  The end was better than the long decay leading up to it; instead of worrying about not being enough or resenting how success for one of us always seemed to lead to sacrifice for the other, and then worrying about how all of this was affecting L.J., deciding to divorce let us be practical and start to plot a way forward.  We've even been closer to friendly since we started hashing things out.

There was a kid in the middle of this, one who is probably reading this as I've encouraged him to read the blog and maybe contact some of the other authors who have been through what he's dealing with now, and while we obviously couldn't have expected this, we knew that the split was going to throw his life for a loop.  So, maybe underestimating him a bit - L.J. is 15 and feels everything so strongly! - we planned one last family trip.  We used to visit the coast of Maine every summer along with cousins, but that changed when Lucas's job took us from Prince Edward Island to Vancouver six years ago, and we were looking to recapture that before telling him everything just before we flew home.  But the place we booked was the Trading Post Inn, there was leftover luggage in our closets, and...

Well, you probably know the drill.  I'd been doing a morning run for the previous week, so I had my phone's alarm set, and when it went off I sat up quickly, feeling surprisingly refreshed and alert.  At first, I presumed I was just having a good morning, and didn't notice anything particularly amiss as a silenced my alarm, looked over to verify that Lucas was still a stationary blob under his covers in the other bed, and walked to the bathroom.  My skin was a little darker, but I'd picked up some color over the past week, and I didn't notice that I had much longer hair, jet-black at that, until I pulled off the headband I sleep in.  By then, I had turned the light on and was taken aback by what I saw in the mirror.

I didn't scream - at first, I thought that this was a dream where I had to live out some sort of weird fantasy of Lucas's, but when I stomped over to his bed and ripped the covers off to show dream-Lucas that I wasn't putting up with this...  Well, I'll let him describe himself and how he reacted; same with L.J.  Our son figured out about the luggage in his closet first, and that's how I've learned about Juliana Nakamura.

She, Cora, and Leda are classmates at the Burlington Academy for Girls in Vermont, and had come to Old Orchard without their parents to attend a music festival before returning to school.  I won't "doxx" Juliana and her friends, but suffice it to say that they have seemed to handle their change as well as can be expected, faking a story about testing positive for Covid before flying home, editing the photos they hadn't uploaded to social media because they were just boring pictures of them in their hotel rooms and sharing them in support of this story, and somehow rigging things up so that they could text home from their computers until we arrived.  Their parents have obligingly changed their flights so that we would go straight from Portland to Burlington where they are apparently best friends and suite-mates, rather than returning "home".  We didn't do anything so advanced for the people taking over our lives, although we did send emails to our employers and school district about our own positive Covid tests.

We arrived yesterday, and we're still trying to sort out living arrangements - Cora apparently had the single room while Juliana and Leda shared the other, but we're kind of not sure whether I should let Lucas and L.J. bunk together, or if he'd be more comfortable in his own room rather than sharing with his parents, or if he'd rather have me with him in case he needs to handle female problems on short notice.  We haven't mixed a whole lot with the other students who have already arrived yet - I get the impression that this group can be a little clique-y - but I'm already worried about L.J. a bit.  The last week or so has been a lot for him to take in, from proper hygiene to just rolling up stockings like you've been doing it for years.  He doesn't want to put makeup on, but his bare face does not look like what Leda puts up on Instagram, and his idea that he wouldn't need it in an all-girls' school showed that he hadn't really absorbed how that sort of thing can be more important among girls than in terms of attracting guys.

The thing that is really making me question myself, though, is that while I know it's only been a week, it sort of feels like "Leda" takes advice from "Juliana" better than "L.J." does from "Mom".  I don't know if I can explain it, other than him addressing me by that name even when no-one else is around, to try and make it a habit, or asking "how would you try to blend in?" when I try to tell him what he should do.

That's my question to the other former Inn guests:  How do you stay someone's mother when you've got to be something else practically 24/7?

Daryl/Zee: I can hardly believe this is FINALLY me

Of all the folks posting on this blog, I suspect that Jordan is the only one who really gets how nice it is to wake up in the Inn, look in the mirror, and feel like things are finally right, even if being white was easier in a lot of ways.  Two nights ago, I went to sleep as Magda for the last time, having intending to be awake to watch my body change in the mirror, but one's mid-fifties are no joke, and I eventually flopped down on the bed, only to wake up, see the sun on my darker legs, and suddenly feel energized to bounce up and run into the bathroom.

I'd seen the face already, but it was great to be able to make it smile in the mirror; this may be my fourth face, but I don't know that you ever get used to this.  It twirled my hair, thinking I'd probably braid it, because while it's not super-nappy, it's also not the fine, silky stuff they make wigs out of, so it would take a lot more combing than Magda's did for the same effect.  I said a couple test sentences, and my voice felt a little closer to right.  "Hi!  I'm Zariyah Andrews!  Call me Zee!"

Though I'd grown an inch and a half, it wasn't enough to make the shorts and tee I had slept in as Magda feel tight.  Heck, with the weight off my chest, it was probably a wash up top.  Not that I'm flat-chested now, but Magda had always been busty and had a kid besides, so being perky maybe didn't look quite so impressive, although I remembered from being Elaine that you can do a lot with the right bra.  My legs and butt looked pretty good, and a quick look inside the shorts indicated nothing unexpected.

(I feel bad about reducing this to a bunch of body parts, but apparently four years isn't quite enough not to be waking up a new woman by taking inventory of the sort of thing guys look for)

Soon after that, folks started yelling, so I threw some daytime clothes on and went to help folks out.  After that, it was the obligatory trip to Cary's hot dog truck.  I must have been smiling like an extra-special goofball or maybe nobody else orders a Chicago-style dog - or maybe both - but he sort of held it in the air for a second, considering what a fool he'd look like if asking "Daryl?" was the wrong call, before I busted out "call me Zee!" for the first real time.

He told me I looked really good, and I thanked him, and then he did me the favor of asking how dropping twenty years overnight felt because I wanted to say it was great, thank you very much, without acting like I pitied him for taking those years back after his time as Elaine.  Us having both had the same identity at different times gave us a bit more room to talk about how things were going with the original (and never being anyone else again) Elaine.  She and the guy living as me found each other and are getting married next spring, which is crazy, especially when you think that neither of them were using those names the last time "Daryl & Elaine" was a thing.

Anyway, he seemed genuinely happy that this had finally worked out for me.  I was planning to take over this life a year ago, but then the original Zee's father died, and even if it didn't mean much to the last person living that life, being in it meant responsibilities she couldn't get out of without feeling awful, so we put everything off a year.  I haven't posted about it because I didn't want to jinx this time, which feels stupid but I can't exactly say that there's no chance of jinxes being real, can I?

I spent most of yesterday afternoon making sure that new-Magda would be in good shape - doing laundry, buying a couple new underwear sets, finding a spot where you could print things out so that she had a bunch of maps and diagrams (and making sure they were all stored in her phone), attaching names to a bunch of people at the airport.

There was also a big section in the binder on Harmon/Alicia, more than I might have expected a year ago, but fake family's fake family, and maybe the new Magda would want to spend more time with him.  We never really got on, but ever since I got my own place in Flushing in preparation for this whole switch a year ago, he's kind of made himself at home there whenever his schedule takes him to New York, because after all, Magda wouldn't expect her daughter to stay in a hotel or crash pad, would she?  We aren't actually roommates that often - I still stayed over at J.T.'s a lot - but, we do go through the motions of playing mother and daughter more than we used to.

In fact, she was there when I got into town this morning, and you'll pardon if I switch pronouns up, but you would have to look very hard to see a man eligible to collect social security in the 27-year-old woman sitting on my couch in a miniskirt and a top that was little more than a bra, feet on my coffee table in high-heeled knee-high boots, hair back in a ponytail, barely looking up at me from her phone (where she was probably looking to see if anybody had tagged photos of her from the night before) as I came in using a spare key.  There's something about her that I don't like, maybe because I feel like it's a reflection of me switching lives for my own ends and not looking back.

That and the dismissive compliments, like "yes, I guess that's at least a lateral move" upon looking at me, which probably wasn't actually racist, but sort of felt that way, like being younger and taller and tighter maybe didn't entirely compensate for not being white anymore (I'm not proud that I've worried about that myself).  I shrugged it off and said I was going to take a shower and a nap, because I'd wound up taking the train after a flight or two was canceled.

It hit me as I saw myself in the bathroom mirror that my new face didn't match what I was expecting in this place - by now I expect the Inn to be random, I guess - and I started thinking about what I'd like to keep from this apartment/phase of my life to bring into the next one.  Should I want to bring more mementos, or physical things, than I was planning?  Given that J.T. and I figure to pick right back up where we left off it doesn't seem like I should be leaving as clean of a slate.

Of course, to do that, he's got to "meet" Zee, which is why I've spent an hour or so after getting up from my hap working on my hair and make-up and making sure I chose just the right outfit so that nobody would be surprised when this "tourist" catches his eye at the bar tonight.

It's funny - I've been with him for longer than I have been with any girl, but we've switched our shapes so often that it doesn't necessarily feel like that.  Heck, I almost wonder if we'll start joking about it if we hit a rut in a couple of years.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves - tonight, I'm seeing a play and finding out what these taste buds think of gin!

-Zariyaryl (Hmm, maybe not)

Andi/Andy: I Don't Believe This!

I'm trying not to be too mad at Andy, because it's not really his fault, but I can't help it.  It's just so frustrating!

We decided to spend the weekend hanging out with Krys and her friends (who call her Mac because Inn), having a beach day while we both had the bodies for it.  Krys's friends are a grade or two behind us, but whatever; it would be a lot weirder when Andy looked like some guy in his thirties.  It wound up being a little chillier than expected - New England basically decided to remind folks that it's not officially spring for another few days - so it wasn't really great weather for walking about shirtless, which I'd been weirdly excited about and scared of.  Like, yeah, I haven't had breasts for months, but even doing track & field, I've kind of had the tendency to change quickly and not take my t-shirt off during practice even when I'm getting really sweaty, because who knows, forces I don't understand are involved, and I could just suddenly change back, or I don't want to get into the habit for when we turn back.

Anyway, Andy was happy, because I guess he associates Len slipping him some tongue during prom with wearing a dress that showed a bit of cleavage, and he wasn't really looking forward to wearing a swimsuit, even a one-piece.  He was pretty glad to be able to have shorts and a t-shirt over it the whole time.  He kind of wasn't in the mood for much Saturday, and then yesterday he kind of waved us off and went back to the hotel room early in the afternoon, leaving me alone with Krys.

Which was fun, but weird - she was flirting with me pretty hard, and I kind of didn't know whether she was teasing or if she was trying to make something happen before I turned back.  And there's part of me that would kind of like that - like, what's the point of being a guy for the better part of a year if I don't get to try at least making out with someone, especially someone like Krys who has some experience.  A lot of experience, to hear folks tell it.  As both a girl and a guy.  I mean, I could learn some stuff.  But then I also get freaked out by just how Krys has been able to get all that experience and still look younger than me.

So I said good night after we got some pizza at Lisa's and headed back to the hotel room.  There was no answer when I knocked on Andy's door, so I figured he had already left so he could be at the Inn if the change happened overnight.

He wasn't, though - I heard groaning from the bathroom when I woke up this morning, and then a thunk as he fell.  I rushed in and saw him him struggling to sit up.  I helped him to the next room and got him on a chair - yay for being bigger, I guess - and asked if he'd been drinking or something and didn't realize how it would affect him at my size.  He said no, he just felt like he got hit with a truck the afternoon before, came back to the hotel suite to have a nap before heading to the Inn, and didn't wake up until morning.

A light went on in my head, and I said to stay right there while I ran to the nearest drug store and bought a couple of Covid tests.  We both took one, and I tested negative while he was positive.  Crazy; we've been together most of the past week or so, and it's not like I was that much better about wearing a mask than he was.  I got him back into his room right away, opened all the windows, and then headed out to the sidewalk myself.

I was about to call home when Krys rode up on her bike and asked how Andy was.  I asked how she knew and she shrugged, saying that ever since Cary started leaving coupons, a lot of people would come to the hot dog stand for explanations and such after they changed, and I looked at her in horror.  "Andy wasn't there - Covid knocked him flat yesterday afternoon!"

She looked at me wide-eyed and moved back a step.  "Are you...?"

I shook my head.  "Negative, for now, but you should probably get a test, too."

"Yeah, of course, but what about the curse?  You've lost a window!"

I hadn't even thought of that, really - seeing Andy with my face looking so sick didn't leave room for much else in my head.  I said I'd have to figure out what to do about that, and then called Dad and told him what had happened.

He gasped but managed to get me calmed down a little when I started talking fast and frantic.  He wanted to know first and foremost whether Andy was all right, and I said he seemed really tired and weak, and shouldn't it all be more mild because we're vaccinated?  He said nothing was 100%, which is why they still told us to wear masks and get outside as much as we could, but that Mom would call him right away to see how he was doing first-hand.

That's when I brought up that the Inn had done its thing without him, so what were we going to do?  I said I figured maybe I could head over there starting tonight, and then he would probably be well enough to take over after I changed, and that would gave us plenty of time to arrange to stay an extra couple weeks or hope that maybe we could squeeze another change in - it's not unheard of for enough people to hang around the Inn during peak vacation time long even after they change so that they change back before the next two-week block - but he said to stop and slow down and think about it a little more.  I wouldn't know who I was turning into, and if we couldn't finagle that extra change somehow, it would be a whole year in a life I knew nothing about.  That as much as me and Andy switching places was weird and uncomfortable, it was sort of a best-case scenario for us.

Then he said to hold on, that Mom just got off the phone with Andy, and that we were to isolate in separate rooms, wear masks indoors, all that, and not to mess with the Inn until we were sure we could extend stays a couple of weeks.

I don't have a good feeling about this, and the fact that I may have more chances to go shirtless doesn't exactly help.

-Andi-with-an-i

Andi/Andy: Help!

Do I have the order right for my names?  I was born Andrea, but now I've got to be my brother Andrew, and since we're twins, our folks always made the effort not to elevate one of us over the other, but it always trips me up in stuff where order is important.

I don't know if I'm going to become a regular poster here, but I lost contact with Krystle-slash-Mackenzie when I changed "back", and I'm hoping that she reads it or her foster dad does or something, or maybe someone who has been in a situation close to mine, because I need some advice and Mom and Dad are being no help whatsoever.

So let's start from the top:  My family went to the Trading Post Inn at the start of summer - me, my brother Andy, my mom and my dad - and you know the drill; we got changed into new people, another family like us, who I guess were locals who had stayed at the Inn while some repairs were done on their house.  It was weird - Mom and Dad became Dad and Mom, and we had to get used to new faces - but mostly I was a year older and Andy a year younger, so I got to do some bonus college visits, but Winona's life was enough like mine that I could handle it, and Krystle was around if we wanted to talk to someone who wouldn't think we were crazy.  And since there weren't a whole lot of people making long trips and stuff because of Covid, we were able to do the backwards-reservation thing during the same summer, meaning we could put it all behind us, although we had to tell the school we'd gotten positive tests while we waited to switch back.

That should have been it, but SOMEONE put mine and Andy's luggage on the wrong sides of the room, and we woke up as each other!

Now, don't get me wrong, I love my brother.  We used to say that we were best friends even before we were born, although we've each got our own friends now and don't even have a lot of the same classes because he's weirdly good at social studies while I'm better at math and stuff like that.  He's also almost a foot taller than me - or I guess I'm a foot taller than him now - so I woke up with my panties digging into my hips and everything else that goes with it, and we both really freaked out when we looked under our shirts and pajamas and stuff.  But we instantly knew we were each in the same boat, so I wasn't mad at him or the other way around.

So, we went to our parents and said this had to get fixed, but they pointed out that there wasn't enough time to do it before the Inn closed for the season, so we'd have to spend our junior year like this.  Which sounded gross, although they said that experiencing life as the opposite sex had been good for them, which sounded REALLY gross, but we at least kind of understood what they were saying in theory.  Still, that's a whole year!

We made it kind of a game for a while.  We may have each had our own friends, but we all still knew each other, so we didn't trip up, and the fact that we have different strengths made it a bit easier to make excuses, because we each had to work a little harder at school to keep up, so not a whole lot of extracurriculars, and neither of us were stars anyway.  If I kind of suck at soccer, whatever, Andy was only on the JV team and wasn't counting on a scholarship or anything.  He bombed my audition for the fall play, but I've never had a big role, and he likes doing tech anyway.  We kept busy.

Somewhere in there, we started having to deal with health-class stuff, which was nasty, but we handled it pretty well, if we do say so ourselves.

Which kind of gets us in the general area of what I'm writing about.  Last week was our birthday, and though we hadn't really had joint parties for the past few years because that feels like kid stuff, Mom and Dad suggested we do it this year, and we liked the idea.  It winds up being kind of lame - it's cold and even though we see each other at school all the time and know that we're all vaccinated, folks get nervous in basements when we're not masked and it's weird when we are.  It breaks up kind of early, with just me and Andy's best friend Len hanging around playing some video game while he's giving my friend Shawna a ride home.

"Hey," he says, "I'm gonna ask you something and you don't have to answer if it's weird."

"Trust me," I say, "I'm okay with weird."

"So, I never thought of your sister this way, but for the past couple of months, there's been something different about her, and I was wondering if you'd freak if I asked her out."

I dropped the controller, obviously.

I don't want to make it sound like I've got a crush or anything - Len's been just Andy's friend for as long as I can remember, and I got so used to him as Andy's friend that I never started looking at him that way even when our bodies changed.  And his sure did change - he got tall quick, he's kind of got a perfect physique for the swim team, and he has to shave about twice as often as I do now.  He dated girls a year or two older than him freshman and sophomore years.  Even if I wasn't Andy's twin sister, he'd be out of my league.

Not that I'm unappealing as myself or anything.  I always figured I was average, but I could be a bit more if I put a little work in - my skin and hair were good and I wasn't totally flat or anything.  A little makeup, a lot of brushing, etc., etc.  Andy hasn't been one of those guys you read about on this blog who dives into girly shit or anything and hasn't really developed in a way I hadn't yet - he's maybe in a little better shape than I was before because he enjoys running, but it's not like he's wearing shorts and belly-shirts to show it off, just wedges and chunky-heeled boots on occasion because he feels short - so it's not like he's suddenly the sort of girl that Len notices.

I stalled, saying that "Andi" was her own person and all that, the kind of thing I'd say to Shawna if she suddenly decided my brother was hot, but it kind of felt like it wasn't me talking.  Len left soon after, saying not to tell anyone, but obviously I grabbed Andy when he got back and told him everything.

At first, he looked like he was going to puke, and we laughed at it, him eventually saying it was a terrible idea.  We decided that we'd play it cool - I'd say I was okay with it as him, he'd say it was too weird for him as me, and nobody gets hurt.  We just made one stupid assumption, that Len would ask him one-on-one.

He didn't.  Len asked my brother out in front of all my friends, who of course all said he had to say yes, so he did, and now they're out having dinner before seeing West Side Story (that he's seeing it before me despite me being the real theater girl would be so annoying even if Len wasn't involved!).

I don't really feel like I should be too worried about anything happening tonight, but are we doing the right thing here?  Is this the start of a slippery slope, or something that just messes with our heads even after we change back?

-Andi-with-an-I

Eddie/Theresa: I can't say the face in the mirror is unfamiliar

I'm going to guess that most people writing on this blog don't say their shoulder is the first thing they notice as different, but that was the first thing that struck me when I woke up Sunday morning.  I've been doing a fair amount of rideshare driving, and some older gentleman had apparently opted to put a  cinder block in his carry-on, and I managed to strain something between getting it into and out of my trunk.  It wasn't so bad by the time vacation was over, but the first thing I noticed yesterday was "huh, all better".  I stretched a bit, half-noted that it felt kind of weird but not bad in the chest, and then got out of bed and headed for the shower.

That's when I encountered the bathroom mirror, saw Theresa Moreau wearing my t-shirt, and jumped back, making a clatter as I hit the stall's sliding door.  I was briefly embarrassed at the noise, then leaned into the mirror.  Taking a good look at my face.  I'd seen her briefly when I went to Pineland to put Mom's affairs in order - she was one of the agents at the real estate firm I had list the house - and my face looked more or less the same.  My hair was darker than hers had been, and she'd been wearing a mask then, but I'd liked her in high school and this was basically the same face.  I tentatively brought my hands up toward my chest, as the pull of gravity when I leaned in had kind of clarified that the odd sensation while stretching was breasts, but just let my hands hover a few inches out.  Belatedly not wanting to wake anybody, I whispered something like what sort of weird dream was this to myself, quietly enough that I couldn't really hear much difference in my voice.

My banging into the shower door had apparently awakened someone, though, as there was a knock on the other door in this connecting bathroom.  "Eddie?  Are you okay?  I know you've just had a shock, but I can explain!"  There was a pause.  "Can I come in?"

I did a quick inspection to make sure I wasn't showing anything someone else shouldn't see, and then answered okay.  The door opened, and I saw Theresa's fiance, Austin Greene, and not the person who had been there the last week.

"Austin--?  What's going on?  Where's, uh..."

"The cute co-ed you didn't even mention in your blog post?  That was me, and I've got to say, I was kind of used to making a bit more of an impression.  As you can see, the Inn is 'cursed'" - he made little air quotes - "and what with the Inn being closed for Covid last year, I got to spend a whole extra 12 months as her before getting back here, and a lot happened during that time, which is why Theresa isn't back yet and we needed to have a sub."

"And you decided that I'd make a good Theresa?"

"No, I figured you'd make a good me!  I've spent almost two years as a girl, and I really liked it, so I was going to be Theresa, but the folks who were living our lives must have slept on the wrong sides of the bed or something, and things got mixed up.  I'm really sorry, but try not to look at it as a bad thing, but that you've got a while to walk in someone else's shoes and see how the other half lives!"

"But," I sputtered, "you can't just do this to people!  I've got a life of my own!"

"But not much of one, right?  We looked at all the people we know and trust, and you were the one who seemed like he'd do well as me and didn't have much else going on.  And who knows, maybe someone else in your spot will build something you wouldn't have thought of!  This whole thing is usually random, but it's good for people to have their lives and perspectives shaken up every once in a while.  And it's totally reversible - the Inn gets booked pretty solid from people who have stayed here before and know how it works, but sometime next year you and the new you and hopefully Theresa will be able to line things up and get back to normal, if that's what you want."

"Next year?"

He shrugged.  "It's a curse, man, not a service!  We're just lucky that someone figured out the pattern.  Now, c'mon, let's get you dressed in something that fits."  He walked back to his room, wheeled in a suitcase, and stood there as he left it in front of me.  I said something about being able to do it myself and retreated back to my room, locking the door behind me.

The previous Theresa - and it was just starting to hit me that the one I talked to last year wasn't the real deal and I'd had no idea anything was off - was helpful.  Both dirty and clean clothes were rolled up tightly, the dirty ones in a plastic bag, with a little note apologizing for not doing laundry before leaving.  There were some items on the other side of the suitcase that I wasn't close to ready for, but most of it was casual.  Taking a deep breath, I let the sweatpants I'd been sleeping in drop, and then pulled my boxers after them.  The t-shirt I was wearing was big enough on Theresa's body that I didn't have to look at what was between my legs as I pulled a pair of still-in-the-package panties with no lace or anything like that up, and then a loose-fitting pair of slacks.  There were ankle socks and a pair of sneakers, too.

I pondered the bras for a second but couldn't bring myself to put one on yet.  There was a Paw Sox t-shirt in the bag, and I took my sweaty nightshirt off while looking at the ceiling, closing my eyes as I grabbed the other one and pulled it on, trying my best to ignore the hem touching my nipples on the way down.  I started to tuck it in, but that made the chest feel kind of tight, but it was loose enough to be kind of comfortable when I untucked.

There was a mirror in my room, and I looked in it.  My shoulder-length hair was a bit of a mess, but I'd worn in that long before.  I didn't look quite right, even as Theresa, but I'd had girlfriends who spent an hour in the bathroom before they felt ready to face the world, and it made me wonder how much of my image of her was either selective memory or her putting on makeup and coloring her hair.  I wondered whether me doing that would feel more like pretending to be her or someone else.

I unlocked the bathroom door, opened it, and saw Austin with a towel around his waist.  It was reassuring, I guess, that I didn't feel any sort of desire, even though fake-Austin had left him in pretty decent shape, and he didn't put a bulge in the towel on seeing me.  "Ah, the casual look.  I remember it well."  He gave a little wink.  "So, feeling good?  They leave Tee in good shape?"

"I guess.  I mean, I didn't look at anything."

"No?  I kind of went straight for the boobs, although, to be fair, they were bigger than Tee's.   Couldn't miss 'em.  Every guy in my group who turned into a girl did, but then, we just thought we'd turned into girls, not specific girls, until we read the letters.  I guess that's different for you."

Different was an understatement.

I just gave what I hoped was an angry look, and he continued.  "So, letters - you should probably write one to help the new you get oriented, and then we should hit the road; turns out they need you in the office tomorrow.  Let me get dressed, and you can start on that."

He closed the door, and I checked the suitcase for a letter to me.  There wasn't one - fake-Theresa must have figured she'd be handing the life back to someone who knew it - but there was a small purse with a wallet, including Theresa's driver's license, social security card, and credit cards.  There was also an iPhone, along with a charger and a note saying the PIN ("change it - better safe than sorry!", with a little smiley face on the letter I).  It had drained, so I plugged it in and started writing.  I was annoyed how quick it went, because that sort of meant Austin was right about my life.  I tried to pack up in a way that matched what the previous Theresa had done as closely as I could, but still found it strange to put my wallet, keys, and phone inside my gym bag and close it, trusting someone else with my whole identity.

Not wanting to go through the bathroom again, I grabbed the bags and walked out the door, knocking on Aaron's.  He saw I had both and said to put mine back, that finding strange bags in the room was a part of the whole Inn thing.  I did, and by now I was kind of numb as we walked through the parking area, by head turning a bit to track my car as we passed it.  After loading the trunk, we both approached the driver's side of Austin's car, and he chuckled.  "Sorry, my car.  Tee's got a cute little Mini.  But while you're here..."

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a little box, and I immediately recognized the type.  "Oh, no.  No, no, no."

He didn't smirk, at least, actually getting a concerned look.  "What, you want me to get down on one knee?"

"Hell no!"  I snatched the box from him, opened it, and held my breath at the sight of the diamond ring inside.  I plucked it out and felt my hand shaking as I started to slide it on.

"Uh, other hand.  Now you're got it backwards..."  I righted it, feeling like fifty pounds was sitting on my finger.

"Good god."

He grabbed my fingers and pulled them up.  "Don't worry, it's a long way away and we can probably delay it again, long enough so I can wear the dress like Tee and I planned.  It's just folks would talk if we came back from vacation and you weren't wearing this."

We got in the car and didn't talk much.  I think I was kind of in shock and running what would happen if I bailed and went somewhere else through my head but not coming up with a better idea than seeing it through.  And though he smiled at me and tried to be reassuring, I sometimes got the vibe that he was angry at me for having the body he'd wanted for himself.

We arrived in Rhode Island sometime mid-afternoon, by which point I was kind of amazed I'd held the coffee we'd bought at the first Dunks we encountered in.  He pointed me to the bathroom and I sat, my body somehow knowing what to release.  I tried to stand as soon as I was done but didn't like the wet sensation, so I sat back down, pulled some paper off the roll, and said "I'm sorry Theresa" out loud before looking down and wiping/patting everything dry.

(I'm not going to describe it; I felt I was invading Theresa's privacy enough as it was!)

The rest of the day was kind of a blur, with Austin pointing out what was different and me silently noting that it was nicer that any place I'd ever lived.

We agreed I'd take the guest bedroom; less on the walls to remind me that the space specifically belonged to someone else.  I spent a couple hours moving clothes in there and arranging them, giving me a look at my new wardrobe.  Theresa doesn't seem terribly high-maintenance; about half is comfortable weekend wear, half blouses and skirts for the office, and a few fancier things but no necklines that go down to the belly button or anything.  She's got more shoes than I've ever had at once, but only a couple pairs have difficult-looking heels.

Just as with the bags at the Inn, the drawers were considerately organized, with a couple week's worth of bra and panty sets still in their plastic.  There was a new toothbrush, and hairbrush, deodorant, and a few other grooming/beauty products I didn't recognize right away.  It actually calmed me down a little.  Just think of it as checking into a really nice hotel.

That said, I still made sure not to look when I changed into a nightshirt for bed that night, although I knew from taking a little sniff of the armpit area that this particular courtesy couldn't last much past morning.

-Eddie/Theresa

Eddie: Can't just have a vacation

Some holiday weekend, huh?  Hot and sunny during the week, and then you get to the beach and it's 60 and rainy.

I guess you get what you pay for; there's no way I could really afford a vacation right now, but this was an inheritance, I guess; I got a letter from Austin Greene saying Theresa had found the reservation in my mother's things, and figured I should have it.  I haven't seen Austin or Theresa Riggieri since high school, ten years ago, not even when I went back there a year ago to try and put my mom's stuff in order.  Everyone was locking down, of course, so it's not like we were going to bump into each other getting coffee or something, and there wasn't a real funeral.  Not that Austin and Theresa would attend; Austin and I had been on the baseball team together, but we didn't exactly move in the same circles otherwise, and I maybe had one class with Theresa.  And Mom, well, Mom was a mess way before the virus hit, part of why I hadn't been back there in so long, and was kind of just there long enough to see her cremated and have her house listed with a realtor.

Maybe I should have moved back there, but at the time, I thought I'd get my old job back once things blew over, but we all remember 2020, and nothing blew over, and a look at the job market in Pineland, Rhode Island didn't make it look that much better than Worcester, MA.  So I stayed, tried to stretch rideshare and delivery gigs as far as I could, and just waited for news that the house had sold so that I'd have a bit of money to start somewhere else.  Hasn't happened yet.  I suspect that Austin and Theresa must have found me on Facebook and seen I wasn't doing well, because the letter wasn't pitying but certainly didn't presume I had money to burn for a vacation.

I didn't have nothing to do, so that's why I'm here, in Old Orchard, watching the rain come down, wondering if I want to head to the drive-in tonight, even though the movie playing doesn't look that great.

I suppose that's not exactly what the folks who set this computer up in the front hallway as an online guestbook wanted to hear, in terms of who we were and how we were enjoying our stay here, but I've got to admit, it feels weirdly good to get that out.  I may send someone an email to get rid of it later, but I can't be the only one who's had the last year or so play out like this.

-Eddie

Steven: Made it

I have been going over all the possibilities in my mind and none of it really adds up. So I have come to Maine in search of answers. I managed to avoid Dorian and have found a fairly nice spot to vacation. Since being here, I've seen sights, mingled, had some good craft beers, and played cards with the older ladies who checked in ahead of me. It's been days and I'm starting to doubt anything weird will be happening anytime soon.

I know Shona. She's a lot of things. A raconteur. A kidder. A biting wit. Incisive. Intuitive. Caring. Loyal. Friendly but guarded. A secret Trekkie. Sometimes she withholds information or her true feelings, but other times she is very outspoken. But I have never known her to lie, not to me. And if she did, it wouldn't be some crazy story about a body-swapping Inn.

Which would make it all the more diabolical if it was a lie. But to what end?

I say "Shona" told me this. I am halfway convinced that the person I was talking to - the person I made love to - was not my real girlfriend, but only after she insisted for days this was true and at the end of one of the worst days of my life.

At the beginning it was like "Okay Keet, if you want some space I can give it," And not point out how unnecessary her story was. (Keet - short for Parakeet - is my pet name for her.)

After I got canned, I was driving around wondering who to call, and I got to Shona in my contacts. My finger was over her name and I had this weird hesitation, and it kind of hit me - maybe her story is true. What a weird time to think about that. Maybe I was thinking it because in my own way in that moment I no longer wanted my own life

You have to understand. From the time she came back from Maine until the day she told me her story, and beyond, I really felt I was in the presence of my girlfriend. I didn't clue in that her laugh was different or her walk, or the light in her eyes. Yes, the hiking was out of character, but that's a woman's prerogative. Did she become distant? Sure, but if you knew Shona that might not be so unexpected.

There are things that make a lot more sense if the Inn is true, but I wouldn't call any of them nonsense. She expressed a lot more concern and self-consciousness over her physical appearance than the woman I know. She didn't laugh at things I swore she would find funny. And yeah maybe she seemed a little lost when discussing the past but who spends much time discussing the past with someone they've been seeing for years?

See there's always an explanation.

I have the following theories:

1) This is her kooky way of breaking up with me, and she has more capacity for Fantasy stuff than I thought

2) This is some crazy con, and the first part was to make me fall in love with her so I would be more susceptible to it.

3) It's all true, and my Shona is somewhere out there, and she left me without saying goodbye, and frankly I am owed an explanation.

4) Body-swapping is real, but this is still a con, and I am letting myself get taken for a ride. This is something I fear in the put of my stomach, but "Jenn" - if she is who she says - has put a lot of work into making herself seem genuine on this blog.

5) Shona has had a delusional break from reality, which is perhaps both the most  troubling and the most likely.

I need answers and the fact that I'm willing to entertain the idea that this Inn does what it's said to do shows I am desperate. Yes, it was my idea to come. I told Shona -- Jenn -- I guess out of hopes she would come clean and that the story I was rapidly coming to believe was in fact fake news. Instead she said "If you're going, you have to become me." In the moment it seemed like a sensible plan. It was like playing chicken.

I got here and there was an unlocked suitcase full of Shona's clothes. If this works, in a few days time they will be my clothes. Think about the implications of that - you don't have to, there appears to be a full decade of writing on the subject!

And I'm walking into this willingly? That probably shows how little stock I put in the story, despite all the evidence. But hey, I'm here aren't I?

Earlier I had a Skype convo with a young girl purporting to be "Jenn." Seeing her meant nothing to me and I could not put in my brain that this was the same person who I had bid Bon Voyage to days earlier. I thought about asking her to tell me something only Jenn would know,  but there are ways to prepare for that. And besides, I don't know Jenn all that well.

Maybe I didn't know Shona as well as I thought either?

Well depending how things break this weekend, I might have a year to find out.

For now,
-Steven

Daryl/Magda: One Hot Mama

I'm a relatively new Inn Person, so I haven't talked with many in the community, but it feels like what I am trying to do right now - changing and then immediately trying to start my own new life on my own terms - it's pretty rare.  That's natural - most people, upon having their identity torn from them, aren't going to say "what would I do with a clean slate?" even if their new face didn't come with a letter asking them not to mess things up.  But a life's got inertia to it, too, and just picking up and starting over isn't easy even when you can.

And I didn't know if that was going to be the case when I got back to the Inn.  The room hadn't changed since I left it but I was acutely aware that there was no leftover bag in the room to tell me what I had in store.  I tried to be chill about it - like, okay, if these are going to be my last days as a woman, try a few things, like having a spa day or putting on a kind of sexy dress and doing some light flirting at a bar, not looking to get picked up, but just to see what it's like to be on the other end of some guy's game, maybe be more empathetic later.  Don't get me wrong, I brought along pepper spray, but thankfully didn't need it.

Still, it was a nerve-wracking week or so, knowing that I was going to come out of it as neither myself nor Elaine, but I could be pretty much anyone else.  It was a relief when I finally felt the tingle other folks talked about, although I couldn't stay up for the change; it had been a long day that ended with a few drinks.

I didn't really feel different when I woke up until I saw that my arm was white.  And not just Caucasian-white, but "Eastern European girl who hasn't been out of the house all winter" white.  I knew that was the way to bet - Jonah becoming Krystle probably used up all the odds of one black person becoming another by random chance in this place, given how white Maine is - but, man, that is a hell of a thing to be confronted with.  I felt like I'd lost something profound in that moment, even more so than when I watched Elaine's breasts grow out of my chest.

And speaking of breasts, yeah, as soon as I'd examined my hand enough to think about how weird it was that the designs on my nails were now kind of off-center, I sat up in bed and let the sheet drop away from my chest.  I could already feel just from sitting up that I was still a woman, but sometimes you need to see it.  My breasts had grown a bit and sagged a bit overnight, and the darker space around my nipples was a bit bigger.  They're not bad at all, and when I copied them in my hands they felt pretty solid, but not as close to perky as is been as Elaine.

The rest of my body was like that too - a bit softer around the waist, a bit more spread to my butt, more in the thighs.  I did feel weirdly guilty about the shape I'd left my bush in for Elaine when I saw how nearly trimmed I was down there (I was kind of skittish with the razor). After I'd seen all I could from that angle, I went to the mirror.

Not a bad new face.  Some lines around the eyes and dimples that tried to make up for the fact that it didn't seem to smile quite as wide, brown hair that was thinner than Elaine's but not really thin, decent lips.  I pegged myself at about forty or so, which was disappointing, but doable.

There was noise outside the room, so I figured it was time to find out how things had shaken out.  Elaine's clothes mostly fit, although I wouldn't recommend going up a bra size or two overnight (the amazing cleavage doesn't really make up for the straps digging into your skin), so I want like the guy in a way-too-small bathrobe trying to figure out what had happened.  It was a weird scene, 'cause by the time July rolls around most of the "reversal chains" have broken and it's just people who don't know what they're in for.  I explained what little I knew about the situation five times while asking if anybody had a suitcase that looked like it belonged to a middle-aged white woman in their room. 

Nobody did, but someone was able to get into one connected by an adjoining bathroom, and I found my new identity.  My eyes went kind of wide at the driver's license I pulled from the purse, because on the one hand, damn, Magda Polawski, you're doing pretty darn all right for almost 48, but on the other, that's almost two full decades lost on my part.  Then I got to the letter which Lindsey had left me, which spent a lot of time filling me in on Harmon but kind of soft-sold that Magda's life was mine, free and clear, should I want it.

None of the people at the Inn, looking at a year of trying to live someone else's life, really wanted to hear me talk about how that's some monkey's paw shit, but Cary and Elaine at least put on a good show of being sympathetic.  I mean, yeah, I want to make things work with J.T., but 47-year-old white woman isn't exactly easy mode.

But you've gotta try, right?  Lucky for me, Lindsey left me notes about how to "deadhead" on a flight, so I got to fly to New York for free.  I watched a bunch of YouTube videos about making yourself look younger via makeup before flying out and then got my hair done as soon as I landed.  Lindsey, not knowing who was going to become Magda, had traveled to Maine with a bunch of different clothing options, but probably didn't figure on someone like me being grateful for a little black dress and matching four-inch heels.

Heck, it was surreal to me as I changed in a food court restroom and then did what I could with the makeup, texting with J.T. about dinner reservations and how, no, I wasn't going to send a selfie so he could recognize me.  But I was kind of riding high on the idea that somehow the universe was arranging things so that two people who would never have been paired two years ago could be together, kind of excited about Act III.  I must have spent a half hour on the makeup, staying completely over twice and just being real timid, but eventually I decided I didn't look too bad.

J.T. had reserved us a table at a nice restaurant, and I managed to get in and sit across from him quietly enough to make him jump.  The dress showed plenty of cleavage, so his eyes were drawn there before my face.  "Wow.  You're, uh--"

"Older?"

"I was thinking 'not Elaine', but I guess that's part of it.  You look good, though.  Really good..."  I briefly felt ashamed for how easily we guys let boobs distract us.

We spent the meal making small talk, about sports and how cute real-Elaine being excited about getting her life back was.  He mentioned that he'd had an audition the other day, well off Broadway, because he was getting excited about digging into and creating character histories again after the Inn.

It was delicious, and we took a can back to his place, as I mentioned I had no place of my own in New York, and it was too late to spring all this on Pete.  We drank some wine, and then made hilariously flimsy excuses for heading toward the bed.  It felt really good for him to unzip my dress and then undo my bra, supporting my breasts with his hands while kissing my neck.  It felt good being a little softer in his hands, and we played around a lot before I was on my back his face right above mine, him entering me, both of us excited but kind of terrified about what might come next.

About that, let's just say that the over-sharing ladies at a previous job were maybe onto something when they told us embarrassed millennials that a woman's body doesn't really figure out how to princely orgasm right away.  I was like, well, shit, that part works when we got done.

Of course, I couldn't just stay there right away - Magda had a job, a lease, and a biological daughter on the other side of the country, and I couldn't just abandon them without causing trouble.  So, just a day later, I was flying "back" there to figure out how I could easily get myself back in that bed on a permanent basis.

Naturally, Harmon and I met when I was going through Magda's closet, trying to figure out which clothes to keep and which to give away.  As much as I had fun pushing my boobs into J.T.'s face that first night, there was some stuff theft which had either been there a long time or which probably was the result of Magda still seeing a younger woman in the mirror.  I may look somewhere halfway between my real age and what my new passport says, but I kind of think Magda was still stuck in an even younger mindset, not quite competing with Alicia but thinking she was still that girl.

And I can see how she thinks that - there's a box of Polaroids in her closet, and young Magda had a lot of what her daughter does.  And Alicia is hot as fuck, just everything I am now but tighter and smoother.  I don't feel desire when I look at her, but I probably feel a little more appreciation than someone who currently shares half my DNA with her probably should.  On top of that, she's got this attitude to her where she knows exactly what she's got and she won't barter access to it, or even her attention, cheaply.  I've dated enough girls like that to know it gets exhausting fairly quickly, but even though I know how insanely inappropriate the thought is and how uninterested Harmon is in being someone's girlfriend, I notice.  And, yes, I couldn't help but think of the roughly twenty-five extra years I might have gained if Harmon had come to the Inn.

That he didn't pay me much mind is kind of useful,  though - if he doesn't want to play family, that's a load off me.  I can decide some stuff is going to go and just email the original Magda and Alicia about it rather than finding time to schedule talks with him.  I can ask the airline about a transfer to New York and feel confident that the option to quit is in my back pocket, because he's not attached to working with "Mom".  I can get all the way to "hey, either sign this or don't" and only feel a little bad about how losing the apartment is going to mess with his life.

That got him upset, although he really had no right; was he sure that every future Magda was going to look after him like Lindsey?  Quite honestly, I kind of think she should have put her foot down earlier, but then again, I'm not exactly the posted child for letting pay relationships go after visiting the Inn.

Still, I'm looking forward to really making a new start in New York next week.  It's crazy how much I miss J.T. already.

-Magdaryl