Rosie/Ahmir: Goodbyes

Erin, er, "Chris" as he will continue to be known for the next year at least, sat on my bed next to my open suitcase while I was packing. I was struggling with the nitty gritty of it... all of this would still be here for the next Ahmir, (hopefully the original but we can't be sure) but I had to determine what he might need, whoever it is, when he wakes up in this beautiful black body one morning in a few weeks.

Being a white woman in a black man's body in a white man's world... I mean, you can probably tell by how little I wrote about it this year that it's a hard experience to wrap your head around. A lot of the time I just felt normal - aside from the fact that I was doing more physically demanding work - looking down at these thick, dark hands felt natural enough after a few months.

But I'm not going to lie and pretend I lived my life as Ahmir to the fullest. Even when I caught glimpses of "brothas" cutting loose and having a good time, my mind was never that far away from some recent tragedy. And how easily it could be me. I wondered how they could ever stand it. But being angry and afraid all the time is upsetting. Sometimes you want to just be.

Erin has been there for me. We're in a dangerous city and I go through phases where I'm scared to leave my apartment, and he is happy, usually, to come over and hang out. Then there are times when we go out and get a drink, and I'll feel strange because my only friend in the world is a white guy, and I feel other black men looking at me and think I'm not black enough. Well of course I'm not, but what business is it of theirs?

I wish I wrote more here, but every time I tried to, it felt like I was obsessed with the race thing. And if I tried to ignore it and talk about other stuff (it seemed like there were not many aspects of my life it didn't effect) I felt like I was being dishonest.

I wish it was more fun. I wish I could cut loose the way Erin does sometimes, throw myself into some lighthearted dating or something. I had Saraya, which was nice to have someone whose experience was so close to mine, but she decided I just wasn't enough of a man for her. (Maybe I'll see her again in Maine, maybe not.)

Still, I can joke about it, I jokingly say to Erin "Maybe next year you'll catch up to where I got." He blushes a bit. I know he wants to meet someone - female, it would seem - that he can share his time with. Especially now that his "buddy" is going away. He makes a great guy and now that he's got another year maybe he can stop worrying about it. "Nobody would want me," he used to say, self-pitying, "I'm a woman in a janitor's body." So not true. He's got great potential and I can feel this year is going to be great for him.

"You're lucky," I say. "The new-Erin seems like a great person - he'd have to be to agree to stay in your body for another year."

"Well, he got screwed over by the new-you," he answers, adding "no offense," as if he was talking about the real me.

"It's not my fault she's an asshole," I say, "You know, she invited someone else to the Inn to take his body?"

"Yeah, he put a stop to it," he said. "I can't believe he dated her."

"I'm not looking forward to seeing what she's done with my life," I said. But I suppose, deep down, doing anything is probably more use than I was getting out of it.

"Keep in touch, won't you?" he says as we go to the train station together.

"Of course," I say. I wrap him up in a big hug.

I board the train and take my seat, mind drifting off as my Broadway showtunes mix blares in my ears, when someone bumps my leg hard. I swear it wasn't sticking out that badly but I look up to see a very irritated looking white woman.

"Watch it," she sneers, as if it was my fault I've got long legs. I wonder if, mentally, she's adding "N****r."

Innbox: J. and M.

Hey guys, Tori here once more. Sorr I haven't posted lately. Life has actually been kind of crazy and I will have to update you soon. For now, here's a letter from the Innbox. I hesitated before offering to post this person's story because it concerns people who are also posting here, but they're okay with it as it turns out. Another reason I hesitated to post it because it was Valentine's day recently, and well... you'll see :(

And remember, if you've got a story to share, please don't hesitate to e-mail us at tradingpoststories@outlook.com - include your name and "Trading Post Story" in the subject to make sure it stands out!

-Tori

Dear Trading Post,

It hasn't been easy finding my way through this situation but I'm doing my best. My name is J_____ (name withheld on request). Back in the summer, I visited the Trading Post with my girlfriend, M_____. The reservation was a surprise for our first anniversary, as she had told me that the beaches of Maine were the most beautiful part of the country. I was skeptical but booked the trip because, well, that's the kind of guy I am.

She had a point, it was quite impressive scenery... the ocean air, the hiking, walking along hand in hand on the beach. And even if the Inn had a spooky, cold "mysterious secret" vibe, we were enjoying our trip immensely, especially since we didn't have much to do except go for long walks and spend hours and hours in bed. That spooky vibe actually helped us feel a little naughtier, if you catch my drift.

I also just realized... what is it about that place? From the second you step foot in there, you can feel the hairs standing on the back of your neck, some voice deep inside saying "Get out of here!" but you never do. Is that part of the magic? Does it "need" victims? Or am I just too lazy to book another room someplace else?

Then it happened. The thing that happens to everyone who stays there, the thing you all know about. I woke up one morning and rolled over to find a stranger in bed with me. Instead of my petite, blonde girlfriend there was a rather larger person, just lying there asleep on her side, as if nothing was wrong.

She was naked, too - draped only in the tatters of my girlfriend's sexy lace nightie.

I panicked, and let out a scream - only to find my voice had gone up a register. I covered my mouth in a truly bizarre "did that come outta me???" moment, and began noticing all the other strange things. The long reddish brown hair. The slender fingers. The fact that my t-shirt was now several sizes too big... even if it was tented by a pair of petite, perky breasts.

To make a long story short, we realized we had become two different people than we had gone to sleep as - I had become Erin Hanley, and my girlfriend had become Rosie Montand. You've met them through this blog, but if you were wondering what had happened to their bodies, it was us.

So, if you've been reading this blog long enough, you can fill in the blanks: "What the? Are you? Did we? We can't... but we have to!" Believe me, I don't think anyone considers it an easy transition to make. nobody in our group seemed to have experienced it before, so we figured it out together.

Erin was out of work. Rosie worked for the school board and as on summer break. There was a silver lining there... we had time to adjust, I guessed, to figure out a plan and work through it together. But then reality reared its ugly head.

M. was not happy. Yes, she obviously felt bad for me, but she was also very focussed on herself. She was... let's say proud of her appearance. She was gorgeous. If she was taller she could have modeled. She was skinny, sexy, a knockout. Now, she was huge. Tall, heavy-set, unkempt-looking. I told her "I still love you no matter what." It was true. She was hard to comfort, though.

It felt strange trying to wrap my now-shorter arms around her now-larger frame, and talk to her like she was still the woman I loved, but she was.

On the last night before we had to check out - when the Inn was mostly vacant - M. sat me down. Tears in her eyes. I had a whole speech prepared about being brave and seeing it through together. I was going to be the strong boyfriend even though I was secretly terrified (and embarrassed and emasculated and everything.)

She told me she had to do this, no matter what. That she was already thinking of breaking up with me once our trip was over, that she had been having doubts for a long time, and now was probably the time to just admit it and go our separate ways. She felt she couldn't possibly continue "faking it" in this form, and didn't want to use me just to feel good, because she knew it wouldn't last in the long run.

I was shocked. After all that had happened to shake our lives up that week, and now this? The ground just dropped out beneath me. I asked why, couldn't we work it out? Shouldn't we be there for each other?

She said no, if she had to pretend to be Rosie, she was going to do it "right," on her own, and make a clean slate. There was no saving us.

So. She went to Rosie's place in Maine, and I went to Erin's in Indiana. And I just... sat, and moped, and tried to get on with the business of being Erin with nobody by my side who knew who I was. I tried to forget M. ever existed., and in the process I almost forgot that J. existed too. But now it's a new year and I have my reservation for the Trading Post. I am doing fine, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I will put things right the best I can.

M. hasn't answered me to confirm if she is going back too, but I can't see why she wouldn't want to. She was so horrified at the thought of being a plus-sized woman that she locked herself in the bathroom to cry for an hour once we knew there was no way back. She's convinced her old body is so perfect that anyone who wound up in it would "steal" it, but even though that's a possibility, I believe what most people want is to put things right.

I don't know. After all she did to me, I feel like I would have a right to say "To hell with her" and not care what happens either way, but I do care, because it involves other people - good people who deserve better than having their body inhabited by a bitter, self-hating, image-obsessed immature woman like my ex.

-J_____.